The Mother of All Drives - Part 4. Leh - Khardung La - Tso Moriri

Kyagar Tso. En route to Tso Moriri.

04 July 2001.

It had rained all night and it was still raining as we loaded up the Gypsy. We headed out of Leh at 7:30 am, giving us plenty of time to reach Karzok on the shores of Tso Moriri, or so we thought. We had barely gone a few kilometres when a strange buzzing sound began to emanate from the region below the steering wheel. The intensity of the sound increased as I accelerated and began to resemble an angry hornet's nest. Before this skewered our plans any further we decided to investigate. I looked for loose parts which might be creating friction and generating the sound but could find nothing. Fearing that the problem might lie in the bearings of the steering wheel which had been changed at Choglamsar only a few weeks earlier, we decided to stop at the Maruti Service Station where the repairs had been done. The facility was closed.

We made a couple of enquiries and were advised to seek help on the Leh - Kargil road! Not having a viable alternative, we soon found ourselves back in Leh and heading in the direction of Kargil. A mechanic at the Ladakh Auto Works was quick to diagnose the problem - it had nothing to do with the steering. The speedometer cable was the culprit and he soon had it fixed and we were back on track.

The delay had cost us an hour and a half, which meant we were now ready for breakfast. A fitting repast of omelets and eggs at Upshi gave me time to reflect on the events of the last couple of days.

01 July 2001. Shang Sumdo

We were in a state of bliss after our little trudge to the top of the lower of the two Kang Yaze summits a couple of days earlier
(see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/10/kang-yaze-trekking-peak.html ) and were camped in a lovely field of grass beside the Shang river. Earlier in the afternoon we had seen a herd of thirteen bharal as we trekked down the Chokdo nala and to see them scampering up an incredibly steep slope of scree was like an extra blessing being showered upon us.

Bharal in near perfect camouflage on a scree slope

In the evening, the guide Thondup and Hans, one of his clients, dropped in to say hello and return the pair of crampons that Hans had borrowed from me so he could climb Kang Yaze with the rest of his group. They invited us for some beers at their camp site which we politely declined as we were too lazy to move from the wonderful warm grass of our little meadow.

Shang Sumdo

L to R : Franklyn, Ravi and Franco. Tents were not needed that night.

02 July 2001. Shang Sumdo - Leh. Encounter with Goodwill Ambassador.

An hour and a half of flat walking on a gravel road brought us to Martselang, the entrance to the Hemis Wildlife Refuge. An official spotted us here and gave us a backdated receipt of Rs.280/- per head for the 14 days we had spent within its borders during our trek and climb. Two weeks earlier there had been nobody on duty at this check post! We paid our dues and hopped into the waiting Gypsy, emblazoned with the sign "Nezer Inexpensive Adventure" and were back at the Nezer View Guest House in Leh in about 45 minutes.

In order to celebrate our modest success we decided to treat ourselves to Chinese cuisine at a restaurant that evening. After the chow mien and the chili chicken and the fried rice had satisfied our cravings, we reverted to the old staple chai as the eatery began to empty. I noticed a young and lean male with slightly long hair nursing his brew at a table across from us. He smiled and came over to our table. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said. "Mind if I join you?"

We glanced at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and I said, "I don't see why not. Have a seat."

He pulled up a chair and sat himself down.

"Can you guess which country I come from?" he said.

I took one look at his visage and declared confidently,"Israel!"

He was visibly impressed. "How did you know?"

"Experience," I muttered.

He took a sip from his cup and then said,"I am sure you are wondering what this is all about. Well, I'll tell you. It is my mission to repair the unfortunate damage that some of my countrymen have done to the reputation of the Israeli nation around here by their thoughtless and sometimes brash behaviour. You can call me a Goodwill Ambassador for Israel!"

"Well, it is about high time," I responded and narrated the little incident we had witnessed a few weeks earlier
(see http://accidentaldriver.blogspot.ca/2015/01/the-mother-of-all-drives-part-2-raskat.html ).

For the last fifteen years or so I had heard stories from the local residents of the many mountain villages in Himachal Pradesh about young male and female backpackers from Israel behaving in ways that had caused minor friction in the host communities. Sometimes the consequences had been tragic: there had been reports of untimely and unnatural deaths of some of them. Most of the stories were hearsay and it was difficult to corroborate, but the fact remained that their reputation had been tainted.

The Goodwill Ambassador was obviously also aware of these tales and had set out to correct the imbalance. We chatted amiably for a while, he thanked us for our time, and then it was time to go. We had set an early departure for the Khardung La in the morning and were looking forward to what has been touted as The Highest Motorable road in the world.

03 July 2001. Leh - Khardung La - Leh

We were not the only ones making the pilgrimage to the Khardung La, as we soon found out. There were jeeps full of tourists, motorcycles, cycles, minibuses and regular sized ones, and vans all vying for space on the narrow road leading up to the pass. This was a change from the thin traffic that we had encountered on the Darcha - Leh sector. The road was fairly steep and once again I had to engage the 4WD gears to help our Gypsy to the crest of the Khardung La.

The mandatory self portrait for the records.

A mix of sleet and light snow greeted us on the pass. There was a booth manned by the soldiers stationed there dispensing free hot tea to one and all. My well known weakness for the brew made me join the long queue of hopefuls. Unfortunately, by the time it was my turn, the urn containing the tea was empty.

Ravi (in blue) chatting to the soldier

When I returned to the Gypsy, Ravi was chatting with a soldier who hailed from Maharashtra and who was obviously delighted to have the opportunity to speak in Marathi to a fellow native.

The crowd was a delightful mix of nationalities. There was a group from Brazil on a fleet of Bullet motorcycles and their trip had been organised by an Indian who lived there! There were Italians and Germans and French toiling their way up the tortuous road, clad in lycra and anoraks and pedalling stoically on their cycles; some came in groups, some came solo, but all of them came armed with steely determination. I was sure the heady atmosphere owed something to this enthusiasm in addition to its impressive altitude.

Franco above the notch of the pass

04 July 2001. Leh - Upshi - Chumathang - Mahe - Karzok / Tso Moriri

The road from Upshi to Chumathang along the Indus torrent was delightful, the rugged cliffs beside the route occasionally softened by bushes of wild roses clinging tenaciously to seams of soil sandwiched between layers of quartz and granite and sandstone.

Driving along the Indus between Upshi and Mahe

Lunch stop at Chumathang

Ravi (left) and Franco tuck into fried rice and noodles.

We interrupted a card game in progress at the Mahe bridge check post.  After the usual pleasantries and registration process we crossed the river and almost immediately drove on to a track of gravel and stones. There was a sense of entering an enchanted world.

Big fat marmots popped out of their burrows to look at us, some even ran alongside to satisfy their curiosity, while yaks grazed in the green pastures unconcerned at the passage of another four footed beast carrying four strange two legged creatures and grunting and creaking at every twist and turn.

Between Mahe and Puga

The sky was utterly and uniquely dramatic as it can be only in Ladakh. The miles rolled by and we did not encounter a single vehicle. A long line of sheep hove into view on our left and soon a body of water soaked in shades of aquamarine blue appeared. We had seen no road signs since leaving Mahe and were not too sure how far we might still be from Karzok and the shores of Tso Moriri. There was a yurt near the water's edge and I drove straight towards it.

The three dots are yurts at Kyagar Tso

As we stepped down from our vehicle a man emerged from the yurt. He was well built, clad in homespun garments and had a weather beaten face with wrinkles indicating many years of living outdoors in these harsh conditions. A strong wind blew his long matted hair and scraggly beard to one side. He looked as wild as the landscape around him and no one could ever doubt that this person absolutely belonged here.

I made a sign of greeting and said, "Jule". Then, in Hindi,"Karzok? How far to Karzok? To Tso Moriri?"

The man opened his mouth and said something in his native tongue that none of us could understand. I looked at the gaps between his stained teeth as he grinned and repeated my question.

He began to gesticulate vigorously with his hands, pointing repeatedly to the sandy ground beside his yurt. A couple of children and a woman now appeared from inside the structure.

"No, no," I said,"We don't want to camp here! We are looking for Karzok!"

He shook his head. We got back inside the Gypsy, yelled a cheery Jule to the wife and kids, and took off in a cloud of dust, hoping that Tso Moriri was somewhere around the corner.

After what seemed like a very long afternoon, during which we also had to stop to refuel from our spare jerry can, the limpid blue waters of what could only be Tso Moriri appeared through the windshield. A light breeze ruffled the surface and flashes of silver flashed from the wavelets generated. We stopped to touch the water and splash our faces with its cool essence. It was like being delivered unto the promised land! Karzok was now within reach.

The final stretch to Karzok along the shores of Tso Moriri

It was 7:15 pm when we drove into the collection of houses and lodges of Karzok. We checked into the  half finished "Tso Moriri Hotel", paying Rs. 400/- for two rooms for the night. Hot water was supplied to us in buckets to bathe in. A sensational feeling of rejuvenation followed.

An almost full moon bathed the vast expanse of the lake and the rolling mountains around it and life couldn't have been better.

to be continued.....

The Mother of All Drives - Part 3. Darcha - Bara Lacha La - Tanglang La - Leh

At the start of the More Plains.

The road stretched straight as an arrow across the More Plains in a classic demonstration of parallel lines merging at infinity. In this case, the perceived distance of infinity was substantially more than that at sea level, thanks to the incredible clarity of the high altitude atmosphere, the lack of smoke stacks and the lack of moisture.

Whooping with delight, I slipped the transmission into fourth and floored the gas pedal. The overloaded Gypsy lumbered forth, accelerating slowly. Soon we were going at a fairly good clip and the landscape whizzed past, the occasional nomad family glimpsed in a blur. It was the first time since leaving Solang that we had achieved a speed exceeding 50 kmph and I was elated.

View from the edge of the More Plains

Our elation did not last long. Suddenly, the steering wheel seemed to be possessed - the whole contraption began to vibrate violently. I slowed down. The vibrations continued. My three companions looked rather concerned. I knew what they were thinking: without steering control, the next turn on these mountain roads could be fatal. I pressed down on the wheel in an effort to stop the vibrations. Soon, I was leaning with my full upper body weight on it and it seemed to help. I drove slowly in this positively inelegant fashion for quite a distance before easing off the pressure. We were almost at the other end of the More Plains and the first curves were in sight.

Looking back on the road - seen here as a faint line on the slopes to the left - leading up to the Tanglang La

Downshifting on the gears, I turned the steering gingerly. The Gypsy responded. With a sigh of relief, we continued. The Tanglang La, the highest pass (at 17,582 ft above sea level) ) on the Manali - Leh road loomed ahead many kilometres away and we kept our fingers crossed. It was cold and windy on the pass and a brief snow shower welcomed us. We lingered just long enough to thank the powers that be at the small shrine built and maintained by the Border Roads Organisation, the omnipotent entity without whose sterling work travel on the northern frontiers of India would be impossible.

The multi-faith (Indians should be proud of this!) shrine at the Tanglang La.

Leh was now only 111 kilometers distant and it would be downhill from here all the way.

Flashback to 14 June 2001. Rohtang Pass - Darcha

The escape from the hordes thronging Rohtang Pass was well timed and all four of us sighed with relief as we glided down to Khoksar and headed for Darcha. Every time that I have crossed the Rohtang Pass, the meaning of Rain Shadow has been driven home. On the Manali side of the road, rain falls copiously and the landscape is green and verdant, forests clothe the hillsides and clouds lie in the hollows. On the Lahul side of the pass, a sea change is immediately noticeable: the air feels drier, the hills assume a more rugged profile, the colours of the slopes take on more earthy shades of brown, beige, russet and ochre. The clarity in the air accentuates every ridge, every slope, every rock and pebble and imbues the world around with a subtle divinity.

We stopped briefly at Tandi bridge to refuel and as we turned off the road which leads further to Udaipur a shiver of anticipation ran through my being: the route from here onwards would be new to me. I had passed through Udaipur en route to climb Menthosa in 1986 (see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2012/08/menthosa-climb.html ) but the road to the Bara Lacha La and beyond would be a new experience. We reached Darcha at dusk and found a lodge on the roadside where we could spend the night.  The night was cold and chilly and the place was extremely quiet. We were the only tourists here and we savoured the exclusive solitude. We retired to bed early with instructions to the tea shop owner next door to wake us up at 4 am with a brew. I anticipated a long day ahead and it was imperative that we cross Pang before the authorities closed travel on the Pang - Leh section at 3 pm.

15 June 2001. Darcha - Bara Lacha La - Pang - Tanglang La - Leh.

It was well below freezing as we motored out of Darcha in the dark at 4:30 am. We drove in silence as the headlights picked out stretches of the road ahead, its feeble artificial glow competing with the splendour of the dawn as the world around us began to light up slowly. At Patseo, we crossed an Army check post where my license and the vehicle documents were checked and our passage registered. This ritual would be repeated many times on our way to Leh and we soon had a drill perfected: as soon as I spotted a check post ahead, I would slow down and come to a stop, Ravi would hop out with my license and the documents and trot briskly across, greet the soldiers with a cheerful smile, make small talk, complete the formalities and trot back to the Gypsy. Ravi had been born with a permanent smile and it was great to have him on board.

Approach to the Bara Lacha La

As the Gypsy laboured up towards the Bara Lacha pass I had to lock the front wheel hubs, engage the 4 WD gears  in Low mode and nurse the vehicle up in second gear. We were heavily loaded and I do not think the Gypsy had been designed to carry such a weight. A small bus carrying a group of BSF (Border Security Force) men and emblazoned on the front with the Swaraj Mazda logo soon overtook us as we crawled slowly towards the top of the pass. I envied the bus its diesel heart and the torque that it could pump out!

Suraj Tal - just before the crest of the Bara Lacha La

The music of Phil Collins and UB40 kept us humming to their beat, the reggae of the latter especially suited to our leisured progress.

At the Bara Lacha La. L to R : Franklyn, Franco, Ravi.

We stopped for a couple of pictures at the pass before beginning the long descent to Bharatpur, the oddly named collection of teashops and dhabas. The name was totally at variance with the more local names of the other stops on the route. A motley collection of vehicles was parked here, headed for Leh or Manali. There was a bus which had come all the way from Kashmir and I could only admire the stamina and fortitude of both the passengers and the driver for undertaking such a rigorous journey in the spartan comforts of public transport.  Suddenly, I noticed a truck mounted on a Tata 407 chassis which looked very familiar. On closer inspection, it turned out to be the same one I had seen at Auli a few weeks earlier on my return to Joshimath from the Bagini Glacier trek
(see http://accidentaltrekker.blogspot.ca/2014/04/bagini-bouquet.html ). I said hello to the crew, they were the staff of Rimo Expeditions, the outfit which had been in support of Harish Kapadia and Suman Dubey's expedition to the Nanda Devi Sanctuary and whom I had also bumped into at Auli!
(For Harish's account of that trip see : https://www.himalayanclub.org/hj/58/9/nanda-devi-juggernaut/)

Ice still covered parts of the fledgling Tsarap river as we descended from the Bara Lacha La

A Lahuli girl in one of the dhabas whipped up omelets for our breakfast in record time. Thus fortified, we drove onwards towards Sarchu, enjoying the rugged scenery. There was one more social call to make a few kilometres before Sarchu. We drove into a flat meadow dotted with tents and a sign declaring North Quest Adventures. Vijay, an acquaintance of Franco's, who managed this campground, pulled out some chairs while his staff plied us with biscuits and tea.

Bharatpur

Ravi taking advantage of a photo-op between Bharatpur and Sarchu

Vijay (left) plays the genial host at the North Quest Adventures camp ground.

Things went fairly smoothly after the steering wheel incident at the start of the More Plains, but we kept our fingers crossed nevertheless as we descended on the snowbound stretch below the Tanglang La. Sighting a herd of yaks cheered us up as the snow gave way to gravel lower down. Soon evening chai was called for and we pulled in at the 3B "restaurant" which was constructed from the ubiquitous old parachute cloth covering almost every tea shop on the route. As we waited for the tea an olive green Army Gypsy came to a halt outside and an extremely smart looking lady officer dismounted, accompanied by a private. She had a baton under her arm and her cap was planted authoritatively on her head. Though a ragged bunch in comparison, we almost sprang to attention like a couple of soldiers. She acknowledged us with a curt nod, spoke briefly with the tea shop owner, and strode out as quickly as she had come in.

"She is a doctor," whispered the chaiwalla to us as we sipped the refreshing liquid from the cups he now offered us.

Descent from the Tanglang La - the black dots in the middle distance are yaks

At Upshi the road joined the one coming from Mahe and as dusk fell we could finally see the mighty Indus as it flowed northwest towards Leh. It was almost dark when we passed through Shey, the famous whitewashed chortens looming and vanishing as the road took a slalom course through the monuments.

At 8 pm we arrived in Leh, almost fourteen hours after having left Darcha. We were tired and hungry and longed for a good night's sleep and almost immediately fell victim to the solicitation by the son of the owner of the Nezer View Guest House!

The next morning we drove to Choglamsar to a Maruti service station to have the steering wheel problem looked into and to contact a muleteer for the pack animals we would need for our trek from Martselang to the base of Kang Yaze, the peak we planned to climb. For that story, see http://taccidental.blogspot.ca/2014/10/kang-yaze-trekking-peak.html

Car wash at Choglamsar

For the moment, we were content to let the two enthusiastic boys wash down the grime of the journey from the Gypsy after the bearings supporting the shaft of the steering wheel had been replaced. These two boys were the most cheerful lads I have ever seen working in an auto repair facility anywhere in the world!

We left the vehicle in the premises of the Hotel Horizon on the evening of 18 June because our guest house had no parking space. It would remain there till the next phase of the drive. In the meantime, we had a mountain to climb!

to be continued.....

View from Nakee La

Refuelling en route

The Indus river at Choglamsar