Malc's return: an Indus Autumn

Ladakh, September 2003

By Joel Schone

After a full, satisfying and successful trekking season, to meet Malc Southern at Leh airport on a warm September day was delightful. He flew up with four others, Lisa, Bruce, and Andrea from Canada, and Dudu from Brazil. I had originally set up a custom trek for them but finding Malc was keen to return at the same time they kindly agreed to trek together. This turned out to be a great decision.

On our first night, Bruce’s 50th birthday, acclimatization plans went awry as the wine came out, and Dudu wiped me out with his confusion over our website gear lists; Down Jacket; "Down is down; is legs; jacket is top" and headtorch; us Europe-raised people forget to Americans a torch is something that lights the Olympic flame.

My Indian co-leader Kim, off in Tibet, was sadly missed as Andrea, with a shop in Mexico, brought out an almost entire shop stock of silver jewellery; and a quote of $8000 for a carpet had Dudu bargaining rather then fleeing.

Malc had been told after he was given titanium hips and a rod in his spine that he could never do hard exercise again so delicate was the operation. Thus his decision to do a 6000m peak.

The Markha valley trek is well known for being the most popular in North India. Knowing it well since 1988, I also knew that starting at Kiu, at 3100m lower then Leh would avoid the altitude problems that had plagued Malc last year.

We were blessed with 360 degrees of blue skies, and up to 37ºC. In 10 days Malc and I would look back on this as at a mythical childhood summer.

As a trekking guide you get used to 'All sorts' as the Brits say. The 'head down and go' type, inevitably despite careful briefing getting lost up side valleys; the pass bagger; the wildlife lover, carefully cataloging the flora, and those who delight in meeting the people of these remote valleys.

The Bailey group last autumn were simply delighted with it all and interested in all I had to tell them; schools, Gompas, villages. The 6 days Malc and I trekked with them flew past. We celebrates more birthdays, Andrea's and Lisa’s, champagne, beer and chocolate cake.

We had a cold days climb to Nimaling and snow squalls, then, as 'Papa' Lobsang predicted, clear blue skies for the 5000m pass. We all hugged and said goodbye, as Malc and I were heading off on our own.

Logistics? Lobsang and Tenpa had simply said ‘no problem’ to our plan of splitting 13 horses, food and gear into 2 teams, one trekking for two more days and one for 22. These guys are the Himalayan professionals.

By 10am Malc and I were high on the 5100m Chakstang La, and looking back across a sea of peaks we spotted an unmistakable friend, the “Singge” (Lion) of the Singge La pass away in Ladakh.

Then, down, and up the insanely narrow trail to the Poze La; a day later we crossed the Leh Manali highway at Rumtse, then we were truly out there, from there to Tso Moriri, count the passes – Mandalchan La, Kyamar La, Shibuk La, Konke La, Kyamuri La, Kartse La, and Yalung Nya La. All 5000m plus; nomad herds, blue sheep, Tibetan antelope all around.

Crossing one we came to the wide flat plateau and glittering in the sun was Tsokar, ringed by 6000m peaks. As we descended to our lakeside camp herdsmen galloped with their charges across the plains and distant dust devils converged, merged, and vanished; the sun glittered on the iceberg like salt deposits that give the lake its name. Even today, the locals harvest it and trade it for grain with the people of Lahul and Spiti, 9 days south. This mix of transhumance and trade was typical of these Buddhist kingdoms we trek to.

The weather now seemed to hit a pattern. Warm, still mornings, till 10am when all the winds of Asia seem to converge on our already weathered faces. Although we had planned to climb an easy peak before Tsmoriri, Tenpa and Lobsang pointed out one on the horizon called ‘Mountain God’. Apparently there was a good camp at the base of it, 8 hours away, and it was over 6000m. We looked, and looked. From a rounded peak it dropped to a wide ridge pointing towards us like the rear of a Rubens nude, curving down into the valley we would camp in. Lobsang, although never having climbed it, pointed the way up as we studied it. We slept on it, and next day after 9 hours walking with Tsokar slowly dropping behind us, we found a beautiful grassy camp with the pyramid of our peak right behind us.

It looked very, very big from here. But at 4am and -15ºC we crossed frozen streams by blue lights and headed up. A steep slope, and by 8 am we were on the ridge, 5400m as Lobsang predicted. Then the wind arrived to batter us from clear skies. We had to laugh through layers of Windstopper and down, the wind topping 30 knots. Lobsang and Malc moved faster, climbing into the sun. Sunglasses were vital but then we had to roll down neck gaiters as they steamed up, and our lips burned. 9am; a flat area beneath the summit cone, 5700m. I collapsed to drink and waved the others on. I hunched over and plodded up 45 degree scree slates, sliding and horrible. Malc and Lobsang vanished over the top and at 5850m I decided enough was enough, I had not felt my hands for an hour. Then I looked into the wind and across the horizon, glittering in its autumn snowcap, the Indian Himalaya, curving away to Nepal. There was Bara Shigri, somewhere there the Parvati Pass Kim and I had teetered over, crevasse shy, last summer, there was Nun and Kun, away in Kashmir, all sparkling and mocking my pretensions in the morning light.

I had to have this last 6000m peak, a fitting end with Malc and Lobsang to our season of enchantment. 10am, I was on top. Lobsang's watch had failed in the cold. I pulled my wrist clear of my sleeve and hit the altitude button. 6015m. We had done it. Maybe a hill to mountaineers, but a mountain for Malc. Hugs, and a cairn and the prayer flag’s went up.

We pointed out familiar landscapes to each other; the Taglang La, Chamser and Lungser Kangri, and way below the campsite our ‘Caravan’ group had used last August.

Then 4 hours down, heavenly tea, and sleep. Three days later we topped the last pass and there was Lake Tso Moriri glittering in the still, warm, autumn weather. Three hours later we walked into Korzok, and a seasons trekking was over. Lucky us, there was godfather beer, lucky us, there was fresh mutton, and lucky us, there was Angchuk and his jeep to drive us to Leh.