We decided to watch the sun rise over the Pangong Tso, a lake about 13,000 ft. above sea level in Ladakh. And that meant a three-hour walk from our camping spot, ascending another 1,500 ft. through bone-biting cold to the crest of the Luk La ridge. As a result, day one of our holiday began at midnight!
Nothing had prepared us for the spectacle of a dawn dominated by the myriad and frequent changes in the colour of the water — from deepest blue at dawn to faint-blue touched with silver at midday and a dull, grey-blue at dusk, which turned gradually to India-ink black by nightfall.
Descending to the lake’s shore under star light, our trek began the next morning from Pangong Tso’s northwest corner towards the south where the lake curves sharply to the east to enter China-occupied Ladakh. The landscape’s appeal was enlivened by large numbers of Brown-headed Gulls and several pairs of the Great Crested Grebes. Not far from the footpath along the shore were flocks of Snow Pigeons sunning themselves among the debris of long extinct glaciers. Our attempts to take close-ups of Black-Necked Cranes at the Chushul and Hanle marshes went unrewarded as did all ruses to get close to the playful Kiangs (Wild Ass). But the sheer joy of walking on the uninhabited Trans-Himalayan wilderness was exhilarating.
Then we entered the Puga Valley and crossed the Polo Kanker La to descend into a vast amphitheatre of relatively low mountains girdling a huge sand plain with Tso Kar, another heavenly blue lake, situated right in the centre. It was an Eden of solitude with welcome interruptions from flights of the Common and Whiskered Terns as they skimmed the waters for food. Sunset was ushered in by the distant calls of Himalayan Snowcocks, Snow Partridges and a large congregation of Ruddy Shelducks. Under the star-studded sky, we listened to the honking of the hundreds of Bar-Headed Geese crowding at the lake.
At this juncture, almost four days behind schedule, we lost our map bearings. For who could resist the eerie whistles of a Himalayan Marmot colony? These enchanting animals beckon a wayfarer to watch them pop up enquiringly, three-quarters of their body erect above their burrows, and then vanish just as impulsively with a mischievous squeal that seems to offer a “catch-me-if-you-can” dare. We must have followed them round and round, taking care not to slip into their interminable burrows and twist an ankle. In the event, we missed a rendezvous with the Army driver who was to transport us to Leh. Fortunately, we had not dismissed the two ponies carrying the two commodities that are hard to find in this trans-Himalayan wilderness — potable drinking water and fuel. After two days of “forced march”, we reached an Army outfit that provided us succour.
On the last leg of the trek, we entered the valley of the Shyok, a major turbulent tributary of the mighty Indus. We had set out to walk up the left bank of the modest Nubra to its source at the Saser La and then beyond to Daulat Beg Oldie (16,000 ft.), at the foot of the Karakoram Pass. One evening, tired and with rucksack straps digging into our shoulders, we were jolted out of our lassitude. At about 20 paces from us stood a solitary male Bactrian camel atop a low sand dune in the vast flat expanse near the mouth of the Nubra valley. My instinctive reaction was to clutch my wife’s anorak sleeve to restrain her impulse to “talk to”, and when possible cuddle, any animal that she comes across — whether an eel or an elephant. The dark brown coat of thick and shaggy fur and the signature twin humps were on splendid display. He was haughtily and disdainfully indifferent and appeared gigantic even in the presence of the towering Karakorams! In the evening, we remembered the opening paragraph of an article by Arthur Weigall in the Readers’ Digest , “All camels are discontented. They hate being camels, but they would hate to be anything else, because in their opinion, all other living creatures are beneath their contempt, especially human beings.”
Discovering the magic and the marvels of Changthang and the southern plateau of Ladakh before their pristine charms were fouled by modern contrivances was one of the best things we did.
