The Markha Valley Adventure

July this year, Daria and I did this great trip in Ladakh where we combined a shorter version of the Markha Valley trek with a climb of the mountain Kang Yatse II (6245 m, alpine PD). Instead of starting from Zingchen and going over the the Ganda La pass, we started the trek from Chilling village, going up the valley, over the Kongmaru La pass (~5300 m) and finishing at Shang Sumdo. 

We read blogs and queried friends for information, and developed the view that the valley trek would be rather easy. Long days under an oppressive sun walking on oft-broken trails was way different from our idea.

We were majorly interested in climbing Kang Yatze II. But, Daria had contracted HAPE on her last climbing trip the previous month, so we were basically doing the Markha trek to make sure she acclimatized well. 

In our usual manner, we planned to do the trip in a self-sufficient manner, carrying all food, fuel, tent and climbing gear. 

A two-hour ride in a mini-bus that dropped us 5 kilometers short of Chilling, wasn't exactly what we had hoped for. But, as soon as you step out and discover the sparseness that is Ladakh, even the fact that we got on a bus sounds fortunate. A couple miles on from Chilling, we came across this Jhoola Pul (trolley bridge) across the Zanskar river. The concrete bridge had been swept away two months earlier.

Daria on the way to Kaya village. While short, the walk became difficult because of the scorching sun and the arid land, signifying tough days ahead. Our stove gave out on us as we tried to get it burning in the evening. We gloomily brooded over the implications of a dysfunctional stove while eating cold noodles. Abandon the trek, or manage by cooking in kitchens in the nearby home-stays which abound in the valley ? Surely, there was little hope of even mounting an attempt on Kang Yatze II. In any case, we decided to move on.

Daria on day 4 of the hike after crossing the Markha river. If you look closely at her knees, you'll see the battering they received the day before. 

Sore and tired after walking for 10 hours, we came to a crossing of the Markha river. I crossed the swollen river first, after muttering something remotely funny about informing my Mom if things went wrong. Daria stepped in gingerly, and after a couple steps lost her balance. Freaked out of her mind, she tried desperately to stand up. The river couldn't budge her for a while, but eventually started to take over. She started going down and I hoped she'd still be able to do stand up somehow. I had been shouting incessantly from the other bank all this while. After going down a few meters, when it seemed she might go beyond reach, I threw my rucksack, and ran in to catch her. Safe. Phew!

We crossed the river later, at a downhill point where the river ran wider with the help of some very friendly German hikers. Daria was in shock and trembling. I hugged her tight and tried to calm her down with words. 

We were fortunate to be at the edge of Markha village, and decided to stay at a home stay for an extra day to soothe our nerves and dry Daria's stuff. Everything was wet, all digitals destroyed. 

This is day 4 of the trek, on the walk to Thachungtse campsite. The Gompa at the the top of the hill is very intriguing. Markha mesmerizes hikers with sights that include caves burrowed into hill-sides where monks meditated, oases of green fields blossoming in the harsh land with the warmest of smiles greeting one in this driest of lands. 

Just before Hangkar village, on this day's walk, we came across a section where the trail was broken, and we had to scramble up the mountainside. The section had broken a day before under-neath one of our Dutch friends' feet. Luckily, the sandy hill-side held him and he didn't fall in-to the river.

Yaks, our tent and me. A typical sunset at Nimaling. The driest of valley-treks leads to Nimaling pasture, high at 4800 meters. Amazing, just amazing! The valley opens up and affords expansive views all around. The Nimaling pasture serves as the grazing grounds for villages in the Markha river. On the other bank of the Nimaling Chu, villagers have built their seasonal mud-brick shelters. Yaks, cattle and sheep graze here by the hundreds. One was particularly fond of my ice-axe and Daria's socks. 

We figured that since we had reached Nimaling, we might as well put our climbing kits to use and give Kang Yatze II a try. There were two options : one was to pack some food, shift camp to the base camp, and attempt from there. The second was to go for a long push from Nimaling itself. I was able to convince Daria to go for the latter, since it involved less trouble, though reducing chances for a successful summit.

We set off minutes before 1 AM in the night, expecting nothing short of 7 hours to reach the top. We crossed a grassy-highland before descending steeply to a stream and crossing it to get started on the huge moraine covered mountain-side. We scrambled to the ridge we could see at the sky-line to the right. Once there, route-finding was never a trouble because of the cairns that had been put-up everywhere. We were at the above cairn at sunrise around 5. 45 minutes more on the moraine, and we were ready to start on snow. 

The first part of the climb is a long traverse of the N/NW face of the mountain. At the end of it is a big cairn with prayer flags attached. We sat here for a while, soaking in the views and sucking in some air. Rows and rows of hill ridges and small valleys flowed down to the Markha and to Zanskar rivers.

Just after starting on the snow traverse, Daria asked me the time, to which I replied in a rather petulant manner. As I continued panting and sulking, Daria continued to get pissed at me. At this point, if I had asked her for some of her home-made chocolate bars, she sure would have punched me.

At this point, we thought that the top was maybe 90 minutes max. away. Ignorant fools!

Daria on the summit ridge, low on wind and energy. A series of ridges each of which we mistook to be the summit ridge kept the suspense going. This is maybe, 15 minutes short of the top. Breathe, step, breathe was the rhythm to which I marched, willing myself to more than 20 steps at a time. I gave myself a Shabaash every time I went beyond 30.

The long and precarious ridge to Kang Yatze I from the summit. I reached the top first, and vertically dug my ice-axe and made a meek self-anchor by making a clove-hitch on the axe head. I hugged Daria as she reached, and we went through a subdued celebration that mainly involved lots of silence, and some chocolate and water. My mind was honestly blank. Devoid of the consistent urge of the last many hours to ascend, ascend, ascend, I couldn't think of anything else. Barely registering any emotion for the first some minutes except maybe, tiredness and thankful that there was no more to go. We noticed the time and saw that it had been 10 hours since we'd set off. Holy shit, we said !

I tried for ten minutes to ring my Mom on my cellphone to tell her not to worry. Sadly, the signal was fluctuating and weak. And then, I decided to finish my cam memory on summit photos. Miles and miles of mountains on all sides. That panorama dotted with hills to the very horizon is one of the best scenes I've seen in my life. Everything about that climb now feels like a privilege, starting from the clear starry sky under which we started and saw half a dozen meteors to the lung-pumping climb to the awesomely broad views at the top. Quite a ride! 

Daria leading the way down. Just as always, retreating any trail, makes you feel what you missed while you pressed head-on towards your target, ignoring to turn and admire your fortunes. 

Whilst all this sunniness prevailed, I stripped down to three layers and wore a sun-hat. Nature exposed me for the fool I am generally in life, when it hit us with a passing storm on the lower traverse section of the mountain. The snow had softened considerably by this point, and we sunk in to our knees at each of the steps. Sometimes, we would go up to our waists and would have to side-roll out of the step(s). After one such step, Daria exclaimed that she had almost fallen into a crevasse, with a foot dangling in the air. The hell-hole was at least 20 meters deep and had long icicles dangling from rocks in the upper wall! Her guardian angel was sure taking good care of her.

I grew increasingly impatient and edgy as we struggled on the slope and were battered by the storm. I cursed and shouted and even wanted to un-rope myself at one point. Daria shouted for the first time in years, as a response to my being as asshole to her.

The moment we got down from the snow and on-to the moraine, the storm passed. We apologized for all the shouting, and packed up our kit. We reached our camp at around 5 in the evening, ending the 16 hour epic climb.

The Yunam Descent

I had just finished taking out the eight pegs holding the outer of our two-man tent in place and was waiting for Daria to clear the tent. The combination of wind and snowfall was fairly uncomfortable at 730 in the morning. It had been snowing continuously for the past 12 hours. I had expected Daria to be done with her gaiters by the time I finished shoveling away snow from each of the tent sides and taking off the pegs, so that the unhappy task of packing the tent could be done quickly. Instead, Daria was so weak that she was barely done with one gaiter. I had no choice but to endure a short shivering wait outside as she finished.

Daria and I  arrived at the little colony of Bharatpur the day before to attempt the moderately challenging peak, Mt. Yunam. We had ascended to an altitude of somewhere around 5200 meters the  next day all ready for spending the night there and going for the summit the next morning. Given my climbing history during the past month, I was fairly confident about my acclimatization. Daria had not been higher than 4200 meters in this season, but her fine health in Bharatpur (~ 4600 m) made me think highly of how her physiology reacted to altitude.

We had arrived at our intended campsite after a three hour walk from Bharatpur. Throughout the day, our bodies seemed tuned to the altitude. The weather was implacable though; cloudy skies gave way to heavy fog and snowfall later in the day. We resolved to wake up at 2 in the morning to take a look at the weather and go for the top if possible.

It started around 10 in the night : Daria couldn't sleep; her cough made it impossible. Her temples throbbed with pain as the altitude finally struck her a blow. Her rasping breath left me in doubt that her lungs were getting filled with fluid, a strong sign of Pulmonary Edema. With the weather as it were, it was anyways impossible to make a bid for the summit. We managed a couple hours of sleep till Daria woke me up at 7 in the morning to tell me that she had had enough. We just had to go down now. She could take it no more. Even walking 5 steps made her breathless.


Daria finished her gaiters and came outside. As I worked around the tent taking it apart step by step, it hit me how bad Daria's condition was. She huddled on the mat spread on the snow next to our backpacks, unable to help me in any manner except in the smallest tasks like handing me the peg cover. That was when some of my initial optimism started to dissipate. I ended up tearing the outer of my tent with my shovel and also my tent cover trying to hurry around.

We started walking with each of us carrying our backpacks. I had tried to minimize Daria's load; hers only had her sleeping bag, clothes and personal gear. Mine had the food, fuel, tent and common gear. The sleeping mats we rolled up together and I carried them in my hand. However, the moment we started, Daria took two quick stops to catch her breath with just five steps separating them. That too, she would bend down at her waist as one does after running a sprint. Clearly, the load arrangement was wrong. So I took her backpack from her and decided to carry it on my front. Daria would only carry her ice axe and the mat roll.

Despite the lack of weight, Daria felt incapacitated during the initial ten minutes of the walk. At one point, she sat down and cried out that she couldn't do it. Daria's a hardcore girl, and didn't really require more than a few words of encouragement to understand the situation and be prepared to endure.

We had to plunge down a couple of otherwise easy snow slopes which were now covered with a foot deep snow layer. I started down first with my awkward load with Daria close behind. Multiple short rests happened during this section where Daria would put the mat roll on the slope, sit on it and allow the huffy-puffiiness to settle down. I think we probably took around a half an hour to get down these snow slopes. We settled on a rock cleared of snow and rested for a while. Daria expressed her anguish at her low energy levels and how she had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. She was coughing up sputum with traces of blood in it. Meanwhile, the weather did nothing to encourage us. The snowfall just wouldn't stop.

The next part of the walk was quite intimidating. A long scree slope down to the stream below beckoned. While this by itself was not bad, the problem was the layer of snow which now covered the slope. A misstep could possibly mean shattered bones or a trapped leg. On top of it, with a pack hanging on my chest, my vision was also compromised. My partner was so weak. Snow flew around us. It was a thoroughly depressing situation.

As we were about to begin, Daria suggested that we leave one or both of the bags behind. While this would alleviate my troubles to some extent, I'd have to come up the same evening or the next day to retrieve the bag(s). This made me look at the idea with some aversion and I rejected it until the time when walking with both packs would become unbearable.

I started the walk on this section with much apprehension. I slipped multiple times. Daria too. Each time Daria would fall, it seemed that the fall also damaged her already fragile enthusiasm. She would repeatedly argue after every seemingly bad fall of mine, that I leave at least one of the packs behind. But, we carried on. Her strength seemed to return as we got lower with her joking that now she didn't stop before forty steps and she was planning to increase the gap to fifty steps soon.

As we reached the stream, I started to feel much more positive. Bharatpur was just a flat walk along the stream away. We were near water too. The difficult sections were over. We walked for some distance downstream and crossed the stream; this itself proved to be a moderately painful experience for me, having to cross more than once to ferry all the load across.

We reached Bharatpur some minutes later where I expected Daria would be much better off. She wasn't. She barely ate over the next two days, managing just a couple eggs. For the most part of the day, she would lie down and try to sleep. The night gave her no respite. She coughed through most of the night, managing only some sleep in phases. I confess I did not think on the day we got down to Bharatpur, that we should head lower still right away. But even if that had to be done, it would have been near impossible with Baralacha remaining closed due to snowfall and roadblocks.

During the time we were gone, the old owners of the tent shelter we had stayed at in Bharatpur had gotten worried about our state. Uncle said had we not arrived the same day, he would have gone down to Sarchu to report to the police that we had gone missing on the mountain in serious bad weather. The young lad who worked there had tried to view and help us with his torchlight late the previous night, in case we had forgotten the way down. Biru bhai, the go-to guy for climbers in Bharatpur, said we were asses to head up the mountain and sleep there.

The trip finished with a fairly uncomfortable 18 hour ride in the cabin of a truck to Manali. It would be three days before Daria got anywhere near to the point where she could be said to be healthy.