My introduction to trekking in the Himalaya

I was born in 1959 in the seaside resort of Blackpool. My life was simple and mostly enjoyable as I went through school and college, where I studied Hotel and Catering Management. After my studies I went to live and work in Germany and whilst there I read a book written by someone who claimed he was the first foreigner to set foot in the Himalayan region of Ladakh in 1974, the year it was open to foreigners.

To me (like to many others), the Himalaya invoked images of Nepal and Mount Everest, and I had not heard of places like Ladakh, Garwhal and other Himalayan kingdoms. I don’t remember much about the book now, but it planted a seed in my mind, and I decided I would like to trek in the Himalaya. I mentioned this to my dad who said he would also love to do the same, so we sent off for a few brochures (from adverts in newspapers – Google search didn’t exist then!) and we booked a three-week trip to Kashmir and Ladakh with a 15 day trek across 3 high passes, operated by a small company based in London and India.

Excited and a bit nervous the next few weeks were spent packing and planning what to take. Having only ever travelled in Europe (I did a couple of Inter Rail trips round Europe after college) it was all a bit daunting. Finally, in July 1984 we took off from Heathrow and eight hours later I stepped off the plane in Delhi to a blast of heat which felt just like someone had opened an oven door. Walking out of the airport into the crowds I spotted a man holding a piece of paper with our names written on it.

After a good nights’ sleep, we had a day in Delhi, and I fell in love with the Indian subcontinent. The sights, smells, colours, chaos and vibrancy filled every sense. I sat on a wooden stool outside the local Delhi office and drank hot, sweet, spicy masala tea, which has since represented what India is to me. A cycle rickshaw ride through the bustling aromatic spice market in Old Delhi, the splendour of the Red Fort and Humayun’s Tomb was like nothing I had seen before.

The following morning, we took an early morning flight to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. The flight took us over the Pir Pinjal, a range of mountains south of the mighty Himalaya but bigger than any I had seen before. We spent a wonderful couple of nights on the beautiful wooden carved houseboats and spent the days being rowed round Dal Lake in elegant shikaras visiting the early morning vegetable and flower markets, wood carvers and papie mache artists. Evenings were spent dining on deliciously spiced Kashmiri food and sitting in the warm evening air on the veranda of the houseboat looking across to the snow-capped mountains that surround the capital.

We were introduced to our local guide and cook for our trek. Ali was the young man who would guide us over the high passes on our 15-day trek to Ladakh and Ghulam would be our cook. They didn’t speak much English and we didn’t speak any Kashmiri but there was a lot of smiling and shaking hands and I couldn’t wait to set off trekking. Early one morning we were loaded onto a local style bus along with our guide and cook and some camp helpers. We had no map or detailed trip notes and just knew we would be walking for 15 days and we would cross the Boktal Glacier from Kashmir into Ladakh and our high point would be the Kanji La at 17.500 feet, which sounded quite high.

The bus rattled through beautiful verdant green countryside and by evening we were in the Warwan Valley, where our trek would start. Camp was set up and we were given hot spicy tea and coconut macaroons. My tent was large spacious, and I emptied my kitbag and set out my bright yellow karrimat on the floor and laid my sleeping bag on top. It was soon dark, and we were summoned to the dining tent where a full 3 course meal was served – soup, rice and delicious curry and tinned fruit to finish. The whole lot was washed down with hot chocolate.

At 6am I was woken with someone calling ‘bed tea’ from outside the tent – a phrase which I have learnt to love and welcome on every single trek I have been on – that early morning cup of tea (or coffee) served to me in my sleeping bag – a treat that is worth every night spent under canvas. Packed, we were fed more food and finally the moment came when we started walking. The ponies had been loaded up with all the gear and were being beckoned up on to the path. Unfortunately, one slipped and fell in the mud and we watched as its load – the egg cage – tumbled out onto the path and 15 days of eggs lay on the ground. This didn’t seem to faze our guides as they laid out a blue tarpaulin and we all helped scoop up the eggs sifting out the shells. “Well, I guess it will be scrambled egg for the next two weeks” I remarked. The next 15 days were one big adventure. We trekked out of the verdant green valleys of Kashmir and across the glaciated Boktal Glacier into the wilds of Zanskar. The mountains were bigger and the landscape more barren as we ascended higher and higher. We learnt that the sun is so much stronger at high altitude and the two men in the group ended up trekking in pyjama bottoms as their legs got burnt. No-one told us what to expect of the altitude and we puffed and panted our way up high passes. None of us must have got sick but there was no talk of how to cope with altitude and no talk of precautions. In Kashmir there were still ice bridges across the raging rivers, which we crossed gingerly but in Ladakh we had to paddle across the ferocious torrents clinging to the hand of one of our guides. Some were so deep and fast flowing we were put on a horse and sent across holding on to the saddle. Every night we camped in spectacular locations, where we washed in icy cold streams and we were fed with the most delicious food – porridge set us up for the day until a basic packed lunch. Our favourite time was afternoon tea – hot sweet Indian chai and snacks – samosas, onion bhajis, donuts and other deep-fried pastries kept us going until dinner time. We soon got into a wonderfully simple life of walk, eat and sleep – life was that easy. We passed a few remote villages, where the adults would stand and stare at us and the children would hide behind their elders, frightened of our white skin and strange clothes. The midpoint of the trek was Rangdum, an isolated monastery in Zanskar. We had left the green forests of Kashmir and entered the barren mountainous desert of Buddhist Ladakh. The multi coloured rocks of the Himalaya surrounded us and I fell in love with the scenery of this part of the Himalaya. The final few days of the trek took us over the Kanji La, our highest pass, and down into the spectacular Kanji Gorge. We paddled down the gorge with magnificent cliffs towering above us and after a night camped in Kanji village we emerged onto the main road between Srinagar and Leh at Heniskot.

Open backed jeeps met us, and we said a fond goodbye to our guide and his team as they headed back towards Kashmir and we headed to Leh, the capital of Ladakh. En route we visited the spectacular monastery at Lamayuru. Set amid a moonscape of pale coloured rock it is other worldly. Old ladies with wrinkled sun weathered faces wearing peraks (the traditional headdress of Ladakhi women studded with turquoise), circumambulated the monastery spinning handheld prayer wheels and chanting to themselves and the Gods above. The final few hours’ drive to Leh was like arriving on a film set. The sun was setting, and the oranges and pinks reflected magnificently on the rounded peaks surrounding Leh. Our hotel in Leh was absolute luxury and even though the hot water was only on for a couple of hours every evening, that first hot shower will be one I never forget. We had a couple of days in Leh to explore the wonderful Tibetan Buddhist monasteries in the Indus Valley before we flew back across the Himalaya (at a cost of £39 in the 1980’s I always thought this flight was the best value of any mountain flight I have done since). A night on the luxurious houseboats I Kashmir ended the adventure that would change the course of my life for ever.