Climbing in Ladakh
On our first day’s walk we headed out on sandy, gravely ground – with bare hills to one side and a fast flowing stream far below us on the other. We had hoped to cross this stream further long but because of the unseasonable torrential rain experienced for several days before our arrival, the banks had been broken and some bridges swept away. On our travels we did cross two or three wooden bridges, some sloping alarmingly with very fast flowing, clear waters beneath, tumbling over white, grey and slate-blue stones. Mostly the scenery was wild and barren. Only occasionally did we come across a few scrappy shrubs and cacti-type plants with tiny white, purple and pink flowers. Once I saw some small white and blue butterflies.
The walking pace would be quite fast, except when climbing when each found his natural pace. Our guide and the younger members charged ahead; I and a few other hardies plodded with dignified purpose in the centre of the group whilst our ‘leader’ was at the back encouraging the stragglers.
Some days we walked through small enclosed valleys with ice cold streams and a few small, spindly birch trees. One area we had to traverse was full of grass tussocks surrounded by water – jumping from one to the next was fun. From the heights we could see small villages below with neat areas for crops. Occasionally we would meet locals; once a group from France who were using ponies – sissies!
But mostly we climbed and climbed. Once we had to ascend a huge, muddy hill along a winding and very narrow path of just 30 cm width that serpentined all the way to the top. Anchoring myself with my walking pole (on the high side - I’m not completely stupid) and slowly placing one foot gingerly in front of the other; slithering, slipping and shaking in sheer terror, I froze. Fortunately one of our nimble young guides spotted me in distress and gambolled down, taking a vertical route, extending his hand to rescue me.
My other memorable moment of panic was when climbing on shingle – with no chance of using the walking pole on the solid rock beneath and skidding with each step. There was nowhere to go but up – to continue higher and higher not looking at the drop below me that became becoming greater and greater! I consider that I did well for one who suffers from vertigo.
As we travelled and climbed, the landscape was continually and subtly changing. Looking up I could see patterns in brown lines, like writing, across distant fawn coloured rocks. At one place where we stopped for lunch, if I turned 360 degrees I could see such a variety of different scenery it was just stunning. This valley had a floor of white and grey rocks; another valley beyond was filled with cream and yellow ochre stones. Staggeringly beautiful snow capped purple mountains high in the far distance; craggy hills in browns and rusts in front of these; lower hills of green and red rocks; close by were rounded rocks in creamy white.
The final walk took us into a vast valley, stony underfoot with tall hills on one side and very steep mountains to the other. The different stratum of rock, with stunning colours and textures, along with the complete peace and silence was wonderful to experience. Because this wide route meandered between very steep hills, despite there being about fifteen in our group one could at times be utterly alone with not a soul, creature or bird in sight. Bliss.