Dhauladhar Dilemma

Satyabrata Dam

The Dhauladhar range of mountains in an east-west direction forms an impregnable ridge of rock, granite and permanently snow capped summits between Kangra and Chamba with altitudes ranging from 3000 - 5500 m. This very high ridge has more than dozen passes, each more arduous than the other, which travellers and local shepherds have crossed over centuries. This makes for an interesting proposal. To cross and re-cross this range of mountains at one continuous push and stitch up the entire range along its main axis of orientation. To my knowledge it hadn't been done so far. Such an expedition would need time, lot of it, and very sturdy members. I had neither, when I set afoot from Delhi during late September of 2008. Only one colleague accompanied me from Delhi and I vaguely knew that I might pick up one of my local village friends at the most. We had only two weeks at our disposal. Since it would be impossible to stitch up the whole range, I decided to at least cross the two extreme passes (east and west) of the range and chalk up a few in between for good measure. We also decided that we would only cross 4000 m and above passes. It did not take us long to conclude that our first pass would be Minkiani at the western flank and Thamser at the easternmost edge. The promise of the lakes, which this range abounds, was only an added attraction. I knew that perhaps the timing was not right since winter sets in early here and there was every likelihood of encountering deep snow across the passes. I had only maps, a magnetic compass, a broken pencil and half a plastic scale, besides, two extremely heavy rucksacks that poked us at all the wrong places.

After a quick round of Mcleodganj market, where I picked up a new pair of hiking shoes, we hired a three-wheeler till Satobari and from there headed for the tiny village of Ghera. At Ghera, by a tea stall, we met my friend Maan Singh, a resident of Kareri village who would be our local guide and sole companion for the expedition. By now the sun was up and my partner from Delhi, whom we shall call 'VC' for the sake of anonymity, was feeling the sack cut through his T-shirt. Maan Singh shouldered VC's sack and off we went on another wild goose chase. Little did I know that in the coming fortnight, it would be us who would be cooked true and proper.

Immediately after Ghera, the trail crossed a gently flowing stream, where a hydroelectric project was under construction, and thereafter it climbed steeply through rocks and sparsely crowded jungles towards Kareri. Less than two hours later, we crested the ridge and Kareri came into view. It was a sizeable village with lush fields and merry cows playing in the mud. We spent the night at Maan Singh's house and the next morning took to the road. Our first objective was to reach the Kareri Dal lake and from there cross Minkiani pass. The trail from Kareri to the lake is very well marked along a gushing stream, through heavily laden forest of rhododendron. We crossed several goat herds before reaching the temple complex at the lake around four and half hours later. Perched like a solitary gem amidst high ridges at an altitude of c. 3200 m, the lake reflected the blue sky in all its glory. Next morning, up with the larks, we headed for the Minkiani pass.

Soon the trail steepened and after a flight of precariously placed stone steps, we were on all fours traversing and balancing on slippery boulders and wet rock faces. To make matters worse, a thick dense cloud had enveloped us and our visibility in any direction did not exceed few metres. We emerged finally at the top after four hours. The swirling mist and clouds did not encourage us to stay long at the pass, which at c. 4400 m was a windy and chilly place. The trail on the other side descended through huge boulder ridden fields to a stream and green pasture, now covered in soft fresh snow. By the time we reached the stream bed, a fine drizzle had started and luckily we stumbled across a low and narrow cave, which sheltered us through the pouring night. The cave was warm and though we could barely sit on our haunches due to the low ceiling, it offered us a narrow view of the outside world. Besides us the cave had one more resident, who shared our dinner while we were not looking.

Next morning, the heavens had cleared marginally and a blue sliver streaked across the white sky. We started off towards the Lam Dal lake, which is the largest and deepest lake of the Dhauladhar range. Fresh snow made our progress slow. We ascended through the magnificent landscape. Soon we crossed the lake of Kali Kund. From there the trail snaked through boulders and rocks and shin-deep snow. Eventually we reached Lam Dal. The turquoise water rippled gently in the morning breeze as it caressed the white shores. We offered our prayers at the Shiva temple and dipped our feet in the cold water. Maan Singh completed his pilgrimage ritual, burnt few incense sticks and even took a dip. VC had by now collapsed and refused to take any further part in our enterprise for the day. As per my original plan I wished to cross two passes from here, namely go up the Gag pass, descend onto the other side and climb back up Bhim Ghasutri pass and return to Lam Dal lake. Both Gag and Bhim Ghasutri are reputed to be extremely difficult and treacherous passes and to my knowledge rarely attempted by trekkers. Maan Singh pointed out that the present snow conditions did not seem suitable for crossing or descending either of the passes. But I had to climb up and see for myself. Leaving VC reposing regally by the waters of Lam Dal we shouldered our heavy sacks and started off for Gag pass. The plan was that if we found a way down on the other side, we would descend and then VC could go back the way we had originally come and exit the valley in his own time.



Soon after leaving the lake, the trail suddenly vanished under deep and unstable snow. A series of blue arrows, intermittently emerged, to show us the way to Gag pass. On a clear and dry trail the climb would have been rather easy, but now the snow conditions made it really tricky and heavy going. To make matters worse we did not have ice climbing boots or gaiters or any ice tool. We had not anticipated so much snow at this time of the year. Maan Singh climbed like a goat and so did I. At few places we had to leave the trail and climb hand over head across vertical rock faces with sheer drops on either side. Thankfully we had a 20 m long rope and I would lead any technical pitches and hang the rope for Maan Singh to follow. In less than two hours we stood at the pass, which would have been impossible to locate through the deep snow, but for a solitary iron pole with a blue faded flag fluttering at the apex of the ridge. At c. 4350 m it was a very windy place. The other side simply dropped like a stone and disappeared amidst the clouds. We went down nearly 100 m on the other side before I felt it was getting too dangerous. The snow was fresh, wet and super slippery. One mistake and we would be hurtling several hundred metres into nothingness. We finally turned around and climbed back to the ridge. We descended carefully, mostly glissading on our bottoms and half way down we turned east and headed for the base of Bhim Ghasutri pass. Legends claim that when the Pandava brothers were hiding in these jungles and they had to cross the Dhauladhar range, Bhim (the strongest of them all) glissaded down the mountains at this place to make a trail for others to follow. Hence the name, Bhim Ghasutri pass.

Nearly two and half hours of dogged and teeth gritting snow plod later we gained Bhim Ghasutri at c. 4600 m. Though we were short of breath and wondering how we would go down, it was worth every breath we took to reach there. It was well past noon, we were hungry, thirsty, tired and very enchanted. I had absolutely no clue where VC would be. The day was turning grey, black clouds were rushing in from up and below. Snow could start any minute and here we were, two insignificant souls clinging to a wafer thin ridge of broken and sliding slab rocks with no option but to descend once again back to Lam Dal lake. When life offers no option, it also simplifies everything. An hour later when we tumbled down to the lake, we found VC patiently waiting on a rock with an extremely placid hallo on his countenance. He confirmed that he had had a good rest and had eaten his food and knew for sure that we would be down before dark. So much for my reputation as a nimble climber and my companion's faith in me! Much humbled and illuminated the three musketeers retraced steps silently back into the cave, where its permanent resident must have been delighted to see us return. VC wished that he could trap the bandicoot and barbeque it for supper. And here I thought that mountains are supposed to make you inwardly calm and non-violent!

The following morning, we headed north downstream, aiming to reach Darkund and Dunali. The trail descended through pristine forests of pine and birch. We covered the 18 kms in around six hours and stayed the night at the Darkund Forest Rest House. A leisurely walk the next morning, through some delightfully naive villages, brought us to Dunali, from where VC would depart while we would head deeper into the Ravi valley. A little after we had stuffed ourselves with food, a rickety falling-apart-at-the-seams bus grumbled up the slope triggering off a mini stampede of people trying to get in before the ones inside had even a chance to step out. Finally we squeezed in, dumping our sacks atop a trunk and depositing ourselves on the pyramid. The bus reached Luna and the driver told all of us to alight as it would go no further. We were far from our destination and the gathering dusk was not a very welcoming sight. We pleaded and plodded, aided by few others, and the driver agreed to take us as far as the road went.. .which surprisingly nobody knew for sure. After a rather nerve racking turn, where I was sure that the rear chassis of the bus had just gone over the edge, I felt that it would have been much safer to walk after all. The same thought must have crossed everyone's mind and at the next possible turn around point, we again pleaded for the driver to stop, who now wanted to show us his driving prowess and refused to stop. He finally took pity on our ashen faces and dropped us under a tree, just as the sun slid quietly behind the mountains.

Strapping our headlamps we plodded the 9 kms to Nayagaon, where the road actually ended and found the solitary rest house deserted. It was after 10 p.m. and thick darkness blinded us from all sides. Maan Singh suddenly started banging like a maniac on the barricaded doors. Abruptly a dim light sprouted inside and a ghost like voice sailed through, asking our credentials and intentions. If my scientific upbringing had been a millimetre less than what it was then I would have sprinted for my life at that moment. Maan Singh held his ground and blabbered out something in the local dialect. The door creaked open and an antediluvian man of indeterminate origin welcomed us to his refuge.

The trail from Nayagaon took us steeply down to the Ravi river basin where a bridge took us to the other side and immediately the trail spiraled up into the sky. This part of our trek definitely scored as one of the most scenic and enjoyable. The trail literally followed every bend of Ravi, while mostly staying high above the foaming river. A pause at a tea stall and we halted at Dardi village for lunch. Luscious apples enticed us from the trees. Post lunch the trail again took us all the way down to the river basin before climbing steeply further ahead. We now walked towards the tiny hamlet of Khaner. By dusk fall we sighted the few houses barely plastered to the steep mountainside with a huge drop beneath. We simply took refuge on the verandah of a locked house. It was the corn season so there were corns everywhere and the orange hue added colour to the place.



We started off early as Maan Singh claimed that it would be a long and arduous day before we reached Bara Bahangal. The track traversed through nearly invisible trails for the most part. It seemed never ending and at several places it appeared impossibly narrow and broken. Though on closer inspection very tiny foot and hand holds would appear like magic, helping us to grip the tiny ledges and cross chasms with several hundred metres of drops underneath. Nearing Bara Bahangal, out of the blue, a majestic peak resembling the Matterhorn north face reared its head into the azure. Rooted at the spot, I let my camera do the needful. It was a striking mountain and my map did not mention its name. We took another hour to finally reach the flat ground of Bara Bahangal, squeezed on to a plateau between the Ravi river and a stream. We caught hold of the Rest House keeper and got it opened. The village was sizable with a mid-level school and very friendly people. While Maan Singh tended the kitchen I wandered through the village lanes clicking pictures. Suddenly a brightly dressed woman in mid-twenties planted herself firmly right on my path and demanded to know why I wasn't clicking her or any other women's pictures... weren't they beautiful enough? This bowled me over. From then on I had a bevy of pretty women posing for me at every nook and corner.



Post dinner, Maan Singh, gave me the unsettling news of very heavy unprecedented snow on the Thamser pass (which was our planned exit route). Even few horsemen who had arrived earlier along with a trekking group were now stuck and so were the gaddis (goatherds). With impending winter, it was time for these people to migrate to Baijnath on the other side of Dhauladhar, but Thamser pass seemed impregnable for at least another 10 days due to the recent snow. This was bad news. I went into the village and discussed possibilities with the school principal, (a retired Air Force Sergeant) and also with the goatherds. They all advised me to wait for another week at the least before attempting Thamser or else retrace my steps back to Nayagaon.

Maan Singh and I decided to take our chances with Thamser. If things turned bad, we could always come down, but we deserved a fair attempt. When I picked up my load next morning, I realised that Maan Singh had picked up 12 kg of kidney beans, for which the region was famous, at a price for which he could only buy two kg back in his village. From Bara Bangahal we climbed steeply along a stream for about three hours before reaching the meadow of Marhu. There we met two gaddis with nearly 1000 sheep and goats stuck on the upper pastures due to the snow. They were waiting for the snow to melt before crossing over to the other side. We pitched our tents close to them as this area was thickly wooded and a leopard or bear attack was a distinct possibility. Around 4 a.m. in the morning a deepening roar and sheep's bleating jerked us awake. We quickly came out with our headlamps. The gaddis were out with fire lit torches, with their dogs barking into the darkness. With the first streak of dawn we witnessed the bloody scene. One dead sheep and another missing while one goat lay fatally injured with entrails spread around. A leopard had struck in the night. We made a late start after noon, allowing the sun to grow big and dispel the gloom considerably.

After an hour of mortifying struggle against gravity and sinking snow, we looked at each other and quietly dumped nearly all of the kidney beans and anything at all that seemed even remotely less than essential under a rock. It barely made any difference. As previously decided, we crossed 4000 m line and pitched our tent inside an abandoned shepherd shelter. We had to start walking really early the next morning to take advantage of the hard snow. By half past five we were on our way. There were no signs of any trail at all. The snow was at least a metre deep with boulders and rocks below which had gaping holes of few feet further. One wrong step or one fall could seriously injure us and we were far from help of any kind. To top it all we had no ice tool or snow boots and we were not geared up for such kind of snow. But if logic was something that mountaineers possessed then most of the mountains would still remain unclimbed. We slipped and fell innumerable times. Soon the sun came up into the crystal clear sky and the snow started softening like clay. Gradually we reached a glacial lake with limpid water reflecting all the neighboring peaks like mirror. From the lake, the slopes steepened suddenly and the boulders tottered even more dangerously. Throwing caution to wind, I headed for the steepest slopes right ahead and clawed my way up through the waist deep snow. My logic being that the steepest slope would also be the shortest path to the pass. Our epic struggle finally saw us topping the pass at around six in the evening when the sun had already set and a pinkish glow barely lit up the ground beneath our feet. We still had a long way to the campsite of Panihardu. We had taken nearly 12 hrs to climb to the pass on which an average trekker does not take more than three. We were both exhausted to the bones. On the other side, I simply let gravity take charge of me and I heeled my way down, tumbling and cart-wheeling few times before coming to rest near the lake on the other side. By now the night had fallen completely. Lit up with only my headlamp, we both literally ran down the mountain. Maan Singh had to be one of the finest navigators, since I had no idea how he knew where to descend or turn. After an indeterminate period of time, I heard the roar of a stream close by and my companion announced that we had reached the campsite. My legs and shoulders and my mind cried out in relief.

The following dawn seemed like an opera where the curtain had been raised and we were witnessing a grand symphony of nature. Cordoned off by high snow covered mountain ridges on three sides, the southern axis led along a glaciated stream towards the distant hamlets of Billing and Bir, from where we would finally exit. We had nearly 22 kilometres of tortuous descent ahead and my mind refused to tear away from the campsite. I really wished that time would stand still and I would be allowed to savour the place a little longer. Few hours later, well into the afternoon, we reached the Nepali stall at Palachak. Maan Singh was by now completely snow blind, having crossed Thamser without glasses the previous day. Hence I had to lead him by hand over rocks and boulders and streams. This did slow us down considerably. The gradient eased out beyond Palachak as we descended through lush forests and charming villages along the Uhl river. Once again, the night rolled in before we could reach Billing. Under the star lit canopy, counting the shooting stars, I drifted into a fitful slumber.

The purple-mauve dawn next morning seemed so surreal that it took me a while to recall where we were. We started down and reached Bir in few hours.

Summary :

A trek in the Dhauladhar range.