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zeal Lake
in the rocks
zeal In the 1977
obituary of Eric Shipton, his lifelong friend and climbing partner Bill
Tilman wrote of having suffered from “mountaineer’s foot” on the
expedition to climb Muztagh Ata in 1947. At that time, Tilman was 50 and his
mate ten years younger — and he explained that the disease was the
“inability to place one foot in front of the other.” Both Tilman and Shipton
were however supermen. They carried on mountain climbing and adventuring
until the very ends of their lives. I am a far lesser mortal and after having
quietly celebrated my sixtieth in February, I was still looking forward to a
few more years of hill walking. However, the sobering memory of my 2009 trek
to Mintaka when blistered feet caused me to ride a donkey took the spunk out
of me. Nevertheless, the following
year I had redeemed myself by walking from Shimshal, over the Shimshal Pass
(4725 metres) to the summer pasture of Shuwert — arguably the most
strenuous trek anywhere in Pakistan. Now I thought I was ready to tackle
Thalle La that connects Shigar with the Shyok valley about 25kms northwest of
Khaplu. Thalle is cumin in Balti
and I had long imagined that the route to the pass would be amply covered
with wild growth of the condiment in full flower in June. So there we were,
Hasan Jan, the man from Hushe who has climbed Nanga Parbat and three other
8000-metre peaks and Ashraf Hussain from Sadpara who too has a couple of
eight-thousanders under his belt, at the end of the jeep road that runs
parallel to and east of the main Shigar valley. The jeep deposited us where
men were busily welding steel pipes to feed the new one-megawatt power
station for Shigar at 2615 metres above the sea. We arranged the loads and
marched off. The sun was bright and blue rock thrushes, wagtails and
redstarts kept us company along the river. An hour after lunch, I,
having been sent on ahead while Hasan and Ashraf repacked the gear, reached
the spot where the stream washing the east flank of Thalle La meets the one
coming down from the north. The summer encampment is marked Baume Harel on my
U-502 map. But the man who greeted me outside his hut said they called it
Marposchu – Red Rock Wall. Thinking I was by myself, he also warned me
against trying Thalle La. “Too much snow,” he said ominously. I told him
I was walking with two supermen who would haul me across without difficulty. The snow warning was not
misplaced. Baltistan was in the grip of freak foul weather. In early June,
the sun was rarely seen and even as the old snow was not melting, the thick
grey clouds never failed to dump more snow at heights above 3000 metres.
Regardless of the man’s warning, my friends and I turned east to the Thalle
La. The valley, now narrower, was suddenly transformed from bare rock to
refreshing verdure. The grasses and flowers were richer and the slopes were
liberally covered with juniper. Ashraf said the hills to the south were home
to musk deer. We passed teams of men
walking back to Shigar with loads of juniper timber to be used as fuel wood.
Some of the trees these men had harvested were as much as four thousand years
old. But they were not mindful of the value of the juniper that grow no more
than a millimetre a year and thrives only in fragile eco-systems. Within the
next couple of decades the forest will be depleted and the musk deer gone
from the hills. Though it was an uphill
grind, the walk was refreshing under a thick overcast that kept up a light
but steady drizzle of rain and sleet. At just before five in the afternoon we
reached another summer settlement at 3745 metres above the sea. As we were setting up camp,
I realised that my legs were quite stiff. But like it had always been, I told
myself I would be fit for the pass in the morning. But the morning that dawned
with a dappled sky did not bring any renewed strength to my legs: if I sat
down on my haunches I found it difficult to rise again without support. This
was not a good sign. We set out at six hoping to reach the snow about nine
when it would still not have been softened by the sun. But I was moving
painfully slowly and the fifteen or so kilogrammes I carried seemed nearly
twice as heavy. The peaks to the east and
south were pristine with new snow, chilling the wind that scudded down from
them as we walked through ancient junipers. At eight in the morning we stood
about six or seven hundred metres short of the snow. Our height was 3943
metres, the deep snow was another five hundred metres higher and the pass lay
just above it at, I estimated, 4500 metres. It was a gentle snowy saddle, the
pure, untrammelled snow alluring. As we regarded the beauty
of the scene ahead, I knew that I would reach the deep snow no sooner than
two hours, perhaps even somewhat later. That would be mid-morning, the snow
would be softened by the sun and we would be sinking in deep mush up to our
middles. The way my legs were, I
knew I would not be able to take the slog. And so, I made no excuses; I
simply said it as it was: “I cannot do it. We have to abort.” Hasan Jan, who had walked
with me in 2006, was surprised I was giving up so near the pass. He
encouraged me to try even offering to carry my backpack. I have never dumped
gear in my life and I was not doing it now. As we sat there arguing,
Nature resolved the case for us: from the north came a huge bank of billowing
grey clouds obscuring the snow-laden mountains in front. The pass and its
nearby peaks vanished from sight and we saw snow coming down on the dark
hillsides. Light flurries hit us amid stinging sleet. We tarried until the cold
drove us back down. The Thalle La became a pass I had failed to make. In my
younger days, this would have been failure and I would have returned to turn
it into success. But now, it was defeat. I know I will never make another
attempt on Thalle. Postscript: The man at the
grocery store in Skardu where we purchased our provisions for the trek was a
wit. When he heard we were going up Thalle La, he quipped, “This is Thalle
La, not thallay la.” The second being “take (or put) it down” in
Punjabi. He asked if I was up to it and I boasted, I’ll bring him cumin
blossoms from the pass. After returning to Skardu I
went to see him in order to tell him of my defeat and that there was no cumin
on the northwest slopes of the pass. He suggested I try the other side to
check out if the name is apt or otherwise. I could only venture a feeble
smile.
Lake
in the rocks Gilgit Baltistan is famous
for its high mountains, water streams, sand dunes and far away lakes. Some
lakes are famous, more touristic and accessible — also there are some lakes
in the wild, far away and are difficult to access. I was staying at the Khaplu
Palace and Residence when its guest relations manager Abid told us about the
Kharfaq Lake, “It’s sad that I haven’t been to this lake in our own
Ghanche District. I’ve heard it’s beautiful and hardly any people go
there”. This excited me. Having a
day to spare in Khaplu I decided to visit the Kharfaq Lake.The next morning,
Abid and I left for the town called Kharfaq, a 45-minute drive from Khaplu.
We parked the car on the main road and Abid went inquiring about the lake. Everyone in the bazaar
surrounded him and we had to take permission from the local committee. I
tried to grasp their conversation but then Balti is one complicated language.
Though I picked a few words from the conversation like jheel, Kharfaq and
angrez. Some street children
gathered around the car and kept whispering ‘angrez’, ‘angrez’. I
don’t know what made me look like a foreigner to them?By the law of the
local committee, one local guide must go with the outsider to the lake and a
fee must be paid. For foreigners, it was Rs1,000. Abid convinced them I was
not a foreigner but a local journalist and hence they agreed on Rs500. Mohammad Amir from a nearby
village joined us as our local guide. Amir is a grade 10 student and a farmer
who works as a local guide in summer breaks.Amir said it would take 45
minutes to go up the lake — “It’s an easy trek and it’ll take an hour
to reach there, if we rest en-route.” But Amir was oblivious of
the habits of city dwellers — that they do not like to walk it and would
rather take elevators and park their cars close to the entrances. We bypassed the main road,
and took the shortcut through the Kharfaq village. It led us to a beautiful
path of stones with lush green trees on both sides and a water channel
flowing downhill. The path then turned uphill, with stones embedded in the
soil to facilitate the steep climb. Abid took a head start
while Amir stayed with me all the way up. The path seemed endless… but the
anxiety to see the lake kept us going. I had to make frequent stops on the
way up to give my city lungs some rest. And sometimes, to cover up for my
lack of stamina, I would pretend to be taking photographs. “Our destination
is not so far, just 10 minutes away”, Amir would say, pointing somewhere in
the mountains. Finally, the climb ended
and before us was a picturesque meadow, being tilled by the local women.
River Shyok flowed in the backdrop. But we had still not reached our
destination!One hour hike had already stretched to two hours and the lake was
still “just 10 minutes away”, Amir said yet again. Thereafter, the terrain
changed, the lush green ground gave way to rocky ground. Our stomachs
grovelled, and feet ached… finally, Amir said, “We have reached. That’s
the lake!” He pointed at the piece of rock on the mountain top which
according to my calculation was not more than 10-minutes away. Adrenaline
rush had me running towards the lake. I saw a glacier on top of the mountain,
and a patch of turquoise green water at a distance started to appear. It took us two hour forty
minutes to finally reach our destination.Kharfaq Lake was like no other lake
I have seen. There was no greenery, just dark mountains and rocks around it,
with no signs of human life. Kharfaq Lake is situated
about three kilometres above the village and presents an inspiring view en
route to Khaplu. At the height of 13,000ft, the fresh water lake is famous
for trout fish and is an attractive location for camping. I threw my bag aside,
rushed towards the water, sat on a stone, took rest and indulged myself in
the calm and serenity of the place. No wonder best moments don’t come easy.
I thought descend would be easy but to my surprise it was easy until the
stone steps. It became much more difficult as I had to exert pressure on my
feet and knees. Our descent took one hour and forty-five minutes. Dan Millman in his book
‘Peaceful Warrior’ says, “It is the journey that brings happiness, not
the destination”. I realised that it really wasn’t the destination, but
the whole journey to the Kharfaq Lake that remains etched in memory.
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