13 July. Rest Day in Simikot. 0 km. 0 hours. 0m up. 0m down. I spent the whole day in the hotel doing digital duties on my fiddly little smart phone. I was frustrated by the wifi which was very erratic due to the wet weather and mist. The large communication dish which connected Simikot to the rest of the world did not function well in this damp atmosphere. Sending 90 photos in 10 emails proved very time consuming and frustrating and took about 12 hours. 

The others relaxed and washed clothes except Ramesh who went into town to rent a kerosene stove and buy provisions for the next 4-5 days. It took him all afternoon, but by evening he was packed and we were ready to go. We had separated all the stuff we did not need as we would be returning to Simikot after a 10-day anticlockwise circuit via Limi Valley to Hilsa and then back to Simikot. Hilsa was the end of the GHT but there was no way out other than a US$1500 helicopter or a 3-4 day walk back to Simikot via Muchu

14 July. Simikot to Lek Dinga. 17 km. 6,5 hours. 1280m up. 770m down. It was overcast with many mist patches when we left at 0800, and you felt rain was never far away. We walked up the road towards the west as it climbed up to a small pass. A Nepali with a rucksack caught us up. I recognized him. He was the cook from the World Expeditions group and they were a day early. I asked about their client, Brian, who had also walked the whole way from Taplejung in the east. He was just a few minutes ahead, so I sped up to catch him. 

He had gone from Phoksundo Lake, where I last saw him to Jumla over Kagmara La Pass, then north to Lake Rara and then up the usual way to Simikot. He had been ill on route and blamed it on an apricot; the same as Santos. As we chatted we entered the mist and a few minutes later our paths split. He headed down to Darapor in the Karnali Valley while I continued along the road which would take us to Yakba. It was a shame I did not get a chance to chat for longer.

 
We walked along the track and I recognized many of the simple hamlets we passed when I walked along the path here 11 years ago. The track was built over the previous path. The track was generally firm but when it went through a hamlet it became muddy again. After a good hour the track started a series of zig-zags down to the valley via the Hepka Khola side valley. There was a path which shortcut all the zig-zags down a bridge over this large side stream. Here we left the road, which apparently continued to Hilsa and headed up to Yakba. As we started down the shortcuts I met a French anthropologist, Tara, returning from Limi. She had been studying pastoralism there. I could have chatted in depth with here about the topic as I researched pastoralism with Kurdish transhumants for my anthropology degree. Unfortunately she was just leaving Limi after 3 months there. 

In Yakba I asked for the local shop, a posal. However everyone I asked said there was none. I was starving and I am sure the others were. I waited for Bharat who can always sort something out. He asked and got an affirmative reply. There was a posal but it was in someones house and it was very low key. We went along the muddy lane in the busy congested village iuntil we found the house then Bharat returned to find the others while I was ushered up to the rooftop. There were about 10 beehives up here and I noticed a few on the other roofs. However there was nowhere to sit and rain looked imminent so I went back down the log ladder to the first floor and went into the kitchen.

The others arrived soon afterwards and we all piled in. It was a Lama household but apparently the population of Yakba was very mixed, with a few castes. The kitchen was quite large, but dark with a stove in the middle. Santos cooked us noodles and spinach while the others chatted to the hosts. After the noodles we made milk and sugar tea, while the hosts made Tibetan tea in the large wooden tulum, a wooden tube and agitator. However when it was served they had our tea and we had their salty tea with butter. “Cultural Exchange” joked Bharat. We paid for the noodles and spinach and then headed off as the rain stopped.

 
We now had a steep 600 metre climb up the west flank of the valley. Initially it was scrub but soon we were passing some huge spruce. These trees were the dominant conifer of the day. The rain started again as we climbed. I noticed a couple of woodpeckers working a nearby spruce as I went past and managed to get a poor photo. The mist came and went as we slowly climbed through the atmospheric forest. Soon we got to a bowl which was full of terraces with crops growing. It was about 90 minutes walk up from Yakba. There were a lot of smaller stone houses in a cluster here and from the map I could see it was called Lek Hepka. There were about 20 houses here all stone built and all smaller versions of the ones down in Yakba. A few had blue tin roofs. All had a ground floor with a small door for the animals to go in. It was just big enough for the small cattle here. In the yard were piles of Bhutan pine needles for the animals bedding.  Upstairs would be the living quarters and above that more storage rooms on the flat roof. Each floor was connected by an external log ladder. I assumed this village was where the people of Yakba come at a certain time of year to graze their animals and cultivate the fields.

 
The mist came and went as I continued to climb. I knew there were grassy areas above but I was not too sure of the route. Not wanting a repeat of the long walk into the dusk on empty stomachs I was worried I might have missed the grassy area. However then another hamlet appeared it was Lek Dinga. Beyond it I could see flat grass. Lek Dinga was also a seasonal hamlet and was currently empty. The houses here all had stone with flat roofs. There was no tin roofs. Like Lek Hepka the ground floor was for animals and the first for living. The passages and spaces between the houses were covered in dock leaves, which seem to thrive where animals might gather. A lot of the lower doors to the animal quarters were open but the living quarters were locked. I thought about camping here so Ramesh could use the animal quarters as a kitchen but thought better of it.

Instead I carried on to the top of the hamlet and found a large meadow full of wild flowers with great campsites. There was water nearby in the form of a hose which went to a standpipe in the hamlet. We put the tent up and explored the area. There was a small lake nearby but the water here was too dirty to drink. When i got back Ramesh was ensconced in his kitchen beside a large stone. We fixed up a tarpaulin in case it rained; and that looked likely. The last forecast I saw predicted 50mm tomorrow for Simikot. As I wrote the blog in the tent I gazed out frequently to look as the mass of wild flowers outside in the verdant green meadow.

15 July. Lek Dinga to Dakyob Khola. 25km. 8 hours. 1410m up. 1060m down. It was very misty when we woke. All the wild flowers were covered in dew which was dripping off them. Dawa made breakfast for a change, but it was quite cumbersome and mine was not Santos’s usual standard. We set off up the path we saw yesterday evening and gained the track which looked newly made. The track slowly rose up to a gentle pass called Chhubang Lagna at around 4100m. There was little to see except the immediate vicinity, but it was a high grassy plateau. Occasionally I could hear the whistle of a Golden Plover type upland bird. Once we started the descent to Thangur Khola stream the visibility improved a bit and one could make out closer ridges covered in the tall slender firs. Occasionally we got a glimpse right down the valley towards the forests on the north side of the Karnali. We followed the track most of the time with the short cuts being full of rubble from the track. At the stream there was the small watermill which I remembered, but it was now dilapidated and the roof had collapsed.

 

The climb from the stream to Sechi La Pass, 4530m, was about 1000 metres. Initially through large firs and then smaller juniper trees and finally juniper scrub. The track was carved into the hillside up this once remote side valley and it made a scar. Hopefully with time the track will green over as I cannot see many vehicles using it. It was probably a project which had been allocated money in the local budget and the construction team and excavator were part of a company which the official who sanctioned the project owned. As I climbed I began to feel unwell. I was burping the whole time and was full of gas. Eventually half way up the pass Dawa’s breakfast came up and I felt a bit better for a while.

We each made our own way up the track shortcutting at will and randomly. Across the valley I could see three herders shelters and I remember spending the night in one of them with Bharat, Rasu, the young host who was a teeneager and his younger brother. Also inside, in a small pen, were three calves. It was a shame I was not on the other side, where there was a path also, otherwise we could have dropped in. The last few hundred metres to the pass were hard and I now had to dash into the dock leaves and squat as my stomach continued to rumble. I was watched by 150 curious goats who were marching up the hill devouring all before them, but still going faster than me. The track went to the top of the pass where the philistine of an excavator driver carved the road right through a previously pristine small pond and totally destroyed it.

 
The descent down to the Sechi Khola stream was short and steep. The scars the excavator had made here would take a decade to start to heal and the whole hillside, which was a sandy rubble was on the move down due to erosion now. At the bottom Sechi Khola flowed out of a magnificent and large pasture which was totally flat with the braided stream meandering across it. The pasture was about 3-4 km long. It was being grazed by about 20 horses who must have belonged to the 4-5 herder camps on grassy plateaus and knolls on the north side of the Sechi Khola valley where their animals had easy access to the higher pastures. We passed a few herders and all seemed to be from the village of Kermi. They all asked where I was going and then the next question was could I give them rupees, at which I walked off.

 
The track now went down the north side of the Sechi Khola and this was perhaps the only place where the track would last, and even here there was the odd landslide. The valley here above the treeline was full of Chauri cattle grazed by the herders. Higher up on the high misty pastures I could make out flocks of sheep and goats. There was a phalanx at the head of the flock and the rest followed in their wake. Soon the track entered the birch woods and then half an hour later the fir forests as the stream and the valley tumbled down to meet the larger valley with the Salli Khola stream. Here the track split with a fork used by a tractor to bring diesel to the excavator going down to Kermi, and an unused fork apparently heading for Limi. As we rested the tractor appeared and drove across the Salli Khola. Had the stream been 30 cm higher it would have been very exciting as it might have been washed away.

 
We were now to head up the Salli Khola for 5-6 km. It was a spectacular valley with huge rock faces on each side going up perhaps 1000 metres. Unfortunately the mist and drizzle which had been intermittent all day returned and these high faces were largely obscured. At one point I saw a waterfall, albeit, wispy and small, which must have plunged down some 500m in one drop. A dhzo driver, with two huge bulls lumbering along under their 70 kg loads, passed us. They are a male outcome of a cross between a cow and yak, while Chauri are the female outcome.

Now my energy was sapped and the tank was empty. For the next hour and a half I endured a personal hell as I slogged up the track towards the Dakyob Khola stream. The track was initially easy and then became very easy as it levelled out, but I was making hard work of it. The others were waiting for me at this large meadow with about 10 herding units. We were shown a place to camp near some stone and tarpaulin shelters. Then the owner of the tents said 350 rupees to camp, and if we wanted a further 550 to use a shelter for cooking. The shelter seemed OK but to camp in this open pasture for a fee seemed extortionate and I told the tent owner it was “lobi” (greedy). However I was too tired to move on and with the rain on and off it would be nice for Ramesh to have somewhere comfortable to cook in. We put the tent up and I went in and fell asleep quickly. It was the nice dreamy slumber of an afternoon nap. When I eventually woke to start writing it was getting dark. I went out to locate my emergency toilet in the meadow should I need it. I did manage a small dal bhat which Ramesh served together with a mug of hot Chauri milk. It was truly delicious and what my body craved. I think I was just run down and tired and it was nothing to do with Dawa’s breakfast. I think the stress and effort of trying to send the 95 pictures on the frustrating wifi in Simikot was a major contributing factor. 

16 July. Dakyob Khola to Dzang. 28km. 9,5 hours. 1290m up. 1380 m down. While I slept the others were in the tent owners other tent drinking. I had previously agreed to let Dawa come on this Limi leg as a favour on condition he and Bharat did not encourage each other to drink. They came to bed about midnight and then Bharat snored enough to keep me awake; as I had slept much of the afternoon. In the morning as the alarms went at 0530 I woke Bharat up. This time I did not read the riot act but gave him both barrels for about 5 minutes in front of the others. I then had a word with Dawa saying I was disappointed in him. Then I caught Santos and Ramesh in the kitchen tent and said I had no issues with them at all. I also told all 4 of them I was going to Dzang on my own and that they were to go to Tholing, a good 90 minutes from Dzang, camp the night there and then meet me in Dzang the next day at midday when we would all go to Halji. I felt a special connection to Dzang and did not was my space cluttered by them. Everyone was very sheepish when I left at 0645 with the words “see you tomorrow”.

The track was very misty, so misty I could not even see the zig-zag above to short cut. The track was a nice gradient and within 30 minutes I had already climbed 200 metres. Now and again the mist allowed me a view down to the kharkas where we camped and I could see the tent still there. They were probably still having breakfast, a bit shell-shocked about my outburst.  After an hour I got to a beautiful lake about half a km long. The other side was just visible, but the far end was obscured by mist. As I reached the pastures at the far end the mist cleared to reveal some 5 herders tents. Men were herding their Chauri cattle down and the women were milking them. The Chauri seemed to enjoy being milked and many were making their own way down.

 
From here the track zig-zagged up the hill for almost 2 hours until at last I saw the prayer flags. I pretty much just followed the track as it was gentle and easy. On the west side however the track was covered by snow. It looked like it would take a month to melt. Indeed at the top the drizzle was actually snow. The old path was still there and it went into a stony bowl, and then down a loose rocky spur until it hit the track much further down. There was now the easiest descent possible for the next 8 km as the track slowly traversed down the even hillside for 4 km until it met the valley floor, which it followed for 4 km. It was raining but the wind was at my back from the south so I hardly noticed it. I could stroll along hands in pockets, looking at the vast pasture below me. There were perhaps 25 herders shelters over the entire 8 km. Last time I came here there were perhaps just 6. Most of the herders did not look Tibetan but were probably from the Karnali valley to the south or from Yakba. The last part of the descent down the valley was a sandy floodplain, full of flowers and grazing calves. The river cut a lazy meandering path through it.

I had a choice now either go the longer way and ford the Ning Khola or a shorter way and ford the merged Talun and Ning Kholas and then the Traktse Khola at their confluence where the valley was wide and shallow. I chose the shorter way and followed the track across the river. It was not deep but surprisingly strong and my walking poles were quivering in the current. On the other side of Talun Khola the track continued past another two clusters of herders camps and then down the west side of the lake. As it went north it climbed and I got a great view of the lake and some geese which were dabbling on it. One seemed to be nesting on and island. The path continued to climb and I could look down to the Ning Khola coming out of a valley to the east across the lake. As it entered the lake it made a huge alluvial fan which was eating up the lake. Just to the north was the remarkable white sand dunes on which some black bushes were growing making a striking contrast. Below all that was the pasture of Traktse. However on the track I would be missing all of that, as I went round the west side and then dropped down to the stream again. which I had previously crossed, but now it was also joined by the Ning Khola which came into the lake.

As I headed for the crossing point I noticed some buildings on the other side. This was the badly planned government school which had been built at a ridiculous place at the confluence of two rivers without a bridge over either, and in the middle of nowhere. It would also be impossible to get teachers to stay at this bleak place a good 2 hours walk from anywhere. The locals shunned it because of the proximity to the river and the dangers that might pose to the children, so the whole thing was built and then put into mothballs at once. It was an ill-conceived idea and the current force leading the NGO section of teaching in Limi, Michael Duabe, was furious about the waste of resources. Michael Daube, in effect took over from Deanna Campbell for whom I raised money in 2009.

As I reached the confluence of the rivers I planned my route. The first crossing was the merged Talun and Ning Kholas, the second was the Traktse coming down from the north. The track forded both here, but that was just in the drier season. Right now the rivers were big. I took off my shirt and was just in my shoes and shorts. Steam emerged from the river bank beside me as hot springs well out of the ground, but that did little to warm the first crossing. I was up to my waist in cold water as it lazily flowed across a sandy bottom. The crossing was easy and I was now beside the mothballed government school. The second crossing was faster and rockier but the Traktse Khola was braided and I wove a route between islands with the water never above my thighs. On the north side I picked up the track again which headed for Dzang.

The weather was more settled here in Limi now as I had crossed the pass and all the Himal ranges to the south. Limi was essentially a part of Tibet, both culturally and geographically, which by historical quirk was part of Nepal and therefore never got annexed by China in the 1950’s. It was a beautiful valley for the two hours down to Dzang. The river was mostly lazy, but being swollen gave it some urgency. On each side of the river, especially the north side were great pastures. I passed the tiny hamlet of Thorling, but kept going until eventually I rounded a corner and there was Dzang. I spent a few days at Dzang 11 years ago and loved the place. It was at the same time H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche visited and the valley was in fervour with his visit. With him came Khenpo Tashi, his right hand man, and Deanna Campbell. The pair of them had formed a society to raise money for schools here, called Antakharana. Based on what I saw, essentially all in Dzang, it seemed a very worthwhile project and I did an 8 month trip in Norway (www.skipaddlenorway.com) and raised US$13,000 for their project. It paid for teachers salaries for 2 years. When Antahkarana faded in 2011-12, Michael Daube of CITTA, took over and is still going strong today. So Dzang has a special place in my heart.

I walked down the main lane of Dzang passed the house I previously stayed at and to wider bit where there was a cluster of buildings. Someone beckoned me over and he spoke good English. Fortuitously, he was the teacher so I showed him the pictures and told him I had raised money for Antakharana. He was lively, bright but smelt of raksi. He said he would arrange a homestay and we went back to the same house where I stayed before. He explained all to the host and his daughter-in-law. The teacher was very close to this family and came and went regularly and had even painted murals on their kitchen. The host was a dear old man in the robes of a Buddhist Lama, and indeed he was the Lama for Dzang. He was 76 but looked a good 10 years younger. He could not speak English, but his smile said it all. His daughter-in-law spoke good English having been educated at a boarding school at the Dalai Lama’s school in north India but her tone was quick, sharp and very to the point.

I chatted with the teacher Dhendup, while the Lama and his daughter-in-law made up a bed for me in the large prayer room, which looked like the prayer room of a monastery. It was a simple carpet on the floor with some blankets. I managed to lock myself into the prayer room by fiddling with a large wooden lock with some pegs in it and had to be rescued by someone who knew how to operate the lock. The prayer room was large, perhaps 5 by 5 metres. It had a long alter with tablet books and pictures of Rinpoches including H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche. There was the Lama’s drum and seat for puja. There was a bed for him and masses of rich decoration. The struts and beams in the room all had come from Salli khola by yak generations ago. Around the 3 walls of the prayer room which were not the altar were large chests.

 
The house was open and roomy with large rooms. Downstairs it was dark with cellars for the animals in winter time, but upstairs it was light with at least 4 big rooms. They mostly had flagstone floors which must have been very heavy and were resting on the struts below. In the midst of the rooms upstairs was a courtyard open to the elements above. It got wet but there was a drain. In the courtyard was a log ladder to the flat mud roof. Here there were two very large three sided shelters which were used to store grass for the yaks and other animals in wintertime. They were empty at the moment and still waiting to be filled.

 
The daughter-in-law made a dalbhat for me for supper using peas instead of dal. It was a novelty but not so tasty. After that I went into the prayer room to write and sleep. The lama came in an hour later. Before he went to bed he had a long ceremony. There was a lot of chanting from a tablet book in a repetitive almost meditative manner. It was broken by the ringing of a couple of bells he was holding and some banging on the table. He then made some full bows to the altar and went into his box bed. I tried not to look but it was interesting. I had a great day in all with a long brisk walk and then a warm welcome in Dzang and a cultural feast in the evening at the Lama’s house. It was nice being free of the others for a while who after last night were like worrisome children. It was all I wanted from a day.

July 17. Dzang to Halji. 9km. 2,5 hours. 120m down. 330m up. In the morning the Lama again had a small puja after getting up with plenty of full bows. It must have kept him supple. Then, just before my breakfast of tsampa and buttery salt tea Bharat and the others turned up. I told them to meet me here at midday not 0730! I could not be bothered with them at the moment so sent them on their way to Halji, the next village where I would go later, some 3 hours away, and went back up for breakfast. After a chat with the teacher I went along with him to the school. There were 8-9 pupils altogether in a new schoolhouse. The government one that was here in 2008 had been destroyed by heavy snowfall. This new one had been built my Michael Daube’s CITTA. It too had been hit by a small snow slide which had broken all the windows and scattered books in the snow. Dhendup, the teacher, said he was picking books out of the snow for weeks as it melted. The schoolhouse had desks and chairs and was a vast improvement from the previous time in 2008, when the pupils were sitting on sacks on the damp floor!

 

I had a brief look at the school and met the shy pupils and then went off to look at the monastery. It was a large rambling building in need of some maintenance. It was centuries old but looked tired. Last time I was here at the visit on H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche it was vibrant and newly painted. It was the last time he visited and it looked like nothing had been done since then. The door to the courtyard was not locked but closed so I went in. It looked like it had been abandoned with sheep wool blankets lying around in piles and windows tied shut because the latches had broken. I wandered around the courtyard and then went upstairs to the upper courtyard and explored there too. Someone was drying vegetables in one of the rooms. There were a few locked rooms to the main gomba, where the tablet books, altar, drums and other pieces of prayer were, some no doubt very valuable, but in general it seemed this monastery had seen better days. Of the 3 villages in the valley Til has 25 houses, Dzang 35 and Halji 85, so Halji has always been the main monastery and it is some 850 years old.

I went back to the homestay for lunch of chapati and mashed potato, more buttery tea and some sema, a delicious mix of mashed rice, butter and sugar. As I wrote the blog the Lama sat nearby in his robes making momos filled with minced dried yak meat for the schoolchildren who were coming here for lunch. I would also meet the teacher, Dhendup, for future contacts in Halji and Til, his home village, before I headed to Halji in the afternoon. He gave me names of people in both Halji and Til. In Til it was his sister. I said goodbye to the gentle Lama and is forthright daughter-in-law, who like many Tibetan women of Nepal would always come out on top in an argument with any husband. Dhendup walked with me to the new kami gate, built of concrete and quite lacking in charm. We said goodbye and he was quite moved. He was a very gentle, kind, genuine person. I was sad to leave Dzang.

After the kami gate the track seemed to continue. I followed it down past a large piece of grass on the riverside where the Limi Youth Club put on a show with much fanfare and horsemanship for H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche when he visited in 2008. I remember one rider picking up a handkerchief at full gallop. After that the track was quite barren for 4-5 km as it followed the north side of the river. There were some remarkable wild flowers and the wild roses were heavy with light mauve and purple blossom. I reached a flatter area at Sunkarni, which would have made a nice meadow were it not so arid. There was a single new house here which looked totally out of place. I later found out it was the police station with about 10 policemen stationed here. I passed one and his rifle looked like it was one stage up the munitions evolution ladder after the blunderbuss. If the government was going to build a school somewhere this would have been a better place rather than the remote, bleak place at the confluence of the rivers which they did.

The track in fact continued all the way to Halji. It slowly descended with the river at the bottom of the V shaped rocky ochre valley. There were very few side streams on either side as I descended the rocky track. Some 3-4 km after the police station I saw a large kami gate at the bottom of a ridge and knew that just after it was Halji, which lay on a large alluvial fan on the north side. I walked through the kami gate and at once saw the green fields and then a bit later the 85 houses clustered together where the stream entered the oasis. I walked along the path now as the road made a detour round the spur and then rejoined the road at the village. There were two solid Chinese lorries parked here, there wheels covered in cloth and yak skins to prevent the UV destroying the tyres, so they were obviously used very rarely and only when the pass was open.

I went straight to the monastery as I remember the entrance to it was a gathering place for people to sit. Again by chance I met 2 of the 3 teachers from the school. Their English was great and they helped me find somewhere to stay as the names Dhendup had given me were away. The person I was to stay with was in fact the third teacher called Nima. His English was OK but at once I could see he was an up and coming pillar of Halji society. We went to his house where he had one of the wooden block locks and he explained its workings to me. It was quit ingenious how it functioned and was reasonably simple. His house was old and solid built well over 100 years ago. On the ground floor it was dark as there were many rooms in the depths of the rocky foundations. Some rooms had great boulders in them, too difficult to break up, and the cellars had been built around them. These 2-3 rooms were for the animals in the winter when the snow was a metre deep outside. Nima had a few horses and these would stay here along with the yaks. The second floor was all storage with much of it being set aside for grass as the fodder. There was also a toilet here which dropped onto the ground floor where it would mix with the animal dung and go out to the fields in the spring. The third floor was all living space arranged around a courtyard open to the elements. It had a kitchen, couple of 3 sided rooms and a large all purpose room with horse bridles, and a puja room off it with a small altar and pictures of the Dalai Lama and H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche. I was to sleep in the all purpose room, but was warned there would be puja at 0500 tomorrow morning. 

I then went for a walk around the village and the 850 year old monastery, one of the most important in the area. The monastery was guarded by a Tibetan temple dog on a lead. It was a yapper and I am sure it would bite so one of the other teachers pacified it and we went past. There was single monk here and he unlocked the main and the secondary prayers rooms for me. They were surprisingly modest for such and important monastery. They had all the usual tools of worship like an altar with butter lamps, the drum, the tablets of books and pictures. There were some old tablet books found nearby in a cave on high quality paper and they were given to the Songsten Library in India established by H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche. These are thought to be over 1000 years old. Someone I know, Astrid, is working on the photocopy replacements translating them and filling in the missing pages. I went up onto the roof and had a look in a few of the other rooms. Last time I was here it was heavily decorated for H.H. Chetsang Rinpoche’s visit and now it looked much more bland.

I had a wander through the streets and down by the river which flooded occasionally due to an ice dam in a lake far above. Last time it destroyed two houses and the monastery is not entirely safe from it in this time of climate change. The lanes between the houses were a good metre wide and wove through between them. Boulders had just been incorporated into the walls. There were frequent tunnels and arches were houses had been built over the passages. The houses were all massive with tapered walls. I noticed all the doors had the large wooden peg locks and wooden keys. I met Bharat and Ramesh and they said they were staying in a Limi Youth Club building by the health clinic. They were happy there and had a kitchen and enough food. I had to pay 1200 rupees for this but was glad of the mental space and freedom it allowed me not to worry about them. In the morning I told them I would visit the school at 0900 and then we could all leave tomorrow for Til at 0930. I warned them it would probably be the same arrangement with me staying in a homestay and them fending for themselves.

I returned to Nimas house before dusk. A friend of his, Dawa, dropped in. He was the translator for Astrid translating the old scripts. He was very knowledgeable about the area and in fact most things. He was tired having walked from Hilsa but stayed and chatted for nearly 2 hours. Nima’s wife in the meantime made me vegetable momos for supper. I paid 1200 for the other 4 to stay in the kitchen and another 1000 for Nima. The Limi Youth Club run a rotation on homestays and I had upset the rotation by staying with Nima but apparently it will be adjusted. The flat rate was 1000 rupees per person per day. I could have stayed with the others and saved money but there was no cultural experience in that any more.

18 July. Halji to Til. 10 km. 3 hours. 530m up. 300m down. At last night’s supper I was sure the momos, which should just have contained spinach also had yak lard in them. However, I convinced myself it was butter which I had also seen about in the cooking area. It tasted slightly rancid and left a coating on the roof of my mouth like I remember cold mutton chops did. I dare not say anything though as Nima had started the cooking and I explained to him I was vegetarian, but then his wife arrived and took over and I assumed the vegetarian message had been passed on. I lay in bed with a greasy ball in my stomach and I was just waiting for an eruption at either end as it had been about 5 years since I had last eaten meat. However none came, so perhaps it was butter after all!

In the morning the puja started at 0500. The monk from the monastery came and they went through my room to the prayer room, separated by a thin partition with a door in it. Soon I heard the repetitive drum beat start. It was like the metronome timer for a piano. Then soon after the rhythmic chanting which must take a lot of practice, especially with the breathing. I think the chanting was both on the inhaling and the exhaling breath and it had a bouncing beat to it, almost like a basketball player bouncing a ball. I assumed as the monk chanted he was turning the pages to a tablet book. When the book, or chapter of it, was finished there would be a flourish of cymbals or small bells. Each chant was about 3-4 minutes. The chanting was soothing for me to listen to and it lulled me to sleep but the crash of cymbals woke me up again two minutes later. And so it continued for an hour. For the monk the whole puja must have been quite meditative or even trance-like. By 0600 all was quiet again and I snoozed to 0700 with a delightful smell of incense filling the room.

 
For breakfast, I played it safe and had my new favourite, tsampa. Every house had a bucket of it handy on a shelf, sometimes without a lid it was used so frequently. It was a finely ground cereal, in this case oats. I had a bowl of dry powder into which I poured Tibetan butter tea and sugar and then mixed it into paste. It was simple, filling and tasty, almost like eating horlicks powder out of the jar. I then packed, paid for Bharat and the others who used the kitchen, paid for myself and made a small 800 rupee donation to the school. Nima was over the moon with the 800 rupees, but when I told him I made an earlier donation of nearly 1.5 million rupees it did not sink in. It was enough for 5 teacher’s salary for a year. I enjoyed my stay at Nima’s, who was a decent honourable kind man, in a lively household with 4 kids, two of his own and two of his brothers. 

I went up to the school with 3 of the kids from Nima’s household. Kids were emerging from every house and streaming onto the path and then up the steep hill to the school. In all some 30 kids had assembled by 0900. Two cooks had also brought up enormous blackened pots in baskets. They were going to make lunch. By 0900 no teachers had turned up and the kids were milling around and showing me the classrooms. They even unlocked the school office so I could have a look. The school was built some 6 years ago by CITTA and Michael Daube, who took over from Antakharana and Deanna Campbell for whom I fundraised. The school had 5 classrooms, an office and a kitchen with a large stove. CITTA provided the school buildings and three teachers salaries. The Nepal government provided to fourth teacher but he was absent. The often are.

Then at 0900 something extraordinary happened. A couple of the 10-11 olds made all the others form two lines a metre apart, 15 to a line. Once done, they all started singing morning prayers. Even the 5 year olds where singing like larks. They sang 3-4 prayers for about 15 minutes, during which time the three teachers, including Nima turned up. There was then an orderly roll call organized by, Nyendrak, the curly haired 26 year old teacher, then the kids marched round the yard and into their respective classrooms. It was amazing to see such enthusiastic and voluntary discipline and it would be difficult to imagine it in Europe today. I popped my head into each classroom and said goodbye and started down the steep path. En route I noticed a small meditation place in an old building high up in the rocks above the village.

I went past the monastery and started towards Til. I crossed the bridge and lost the path almost at once, ending up in barley fields. The path soon vanished and not wanting to turn back I found myself in boggy ground following a line of springs beside the Halji Khola as it neared the large Limi Khola. The wildflowers here were amazing especially the columbines, but the price I had to pay was wet feet as I sunk in and water poured into my porous shoes, which had only just dried out. I reached the small bridge over the Halji Khola and with it the path to Til. It followed the north side of the river for a good km and then crossed to the south side over a log and stone cantilever bridge. It was dry and arid here, and for the first time in a week it was sunny with just a few clouds. I had my hands in my pockets as I sauntered along the path with willows and smaller Bhutan pines on each side. It was a very easy stroll down the riverside. The valley was deep now with very ochre rocks on each side. It was almost a canyon, but gorge was perhaps a better terms as the rocks were not sedimentary. After an easy two hours the path reached another cantilever bridge and recrossed to the northside where the Til Khola came down from glaciated peaks to the north. It formed an opening in the valley with a verdant alluvial fan covered in willows. This flat area was called Tiljung. The path forked here with a branch going to Hilsa and another up beside the Til Khola to Til. I took the latter.

It was a hard climb for me as I slogged up some 300m on a relatively easy path. I was tired. At a couple of chortens the path levelled off and I could look up and see the fantastically evocative Til monastery on the hillside above. Soon after I saw the lowest of the terraced fields, a few going yellow with mustard greens. Then the solid grey houses of Til came into view a good km away. It took a while to reach them as I lacked energy and stopped frequently. The two bowls of tsampa had worn off. Just as I reached Til and was about to cross the stream to the village I came across Bharat and the others. They had sent a scout team of Dawa and Santos across the bridge into Til and they had just returned. It seemed the village was abandoned except for the elderly and frail, and infants. All the others had gone to China to work for about a month. Those left could not speak Nepali and their dialect of Tibetan was incomprehensible to Dawa, who being Sherpa had some smattering of it. But apparently there was no local shop. Because there was no shop in Halji either we had run out of food. The political committee who ran Halji decided not to allow a local shop in an attempt to keep alcohol and cigarettes, and indeed sweets, out of the village and it was working. As we were pondering what to do I brought out my notebook and found Sangyal Lhama’s name. She was Dhondup’s (the teacher in Dzang) sister and he wrote the name in the book and told me I could stay there. He also showed me a picture of her.

At that moment a young lady came down to throw some rubbish into the river. Ramesh went down and was chatting to her for a few minutes. Then he disappeared and reappeared 10 minutes later. There was a lot of toing and froing, and other people became involved, all elderly from what we could see. Then Ramesh and the young lady came up to us and said we could stay. I said you look like Sangyal and she was surprised. I told her I had stayed with her brother 2 days ago and showed her a picture. She spoke English, Tibetan and Hindi having been educated at a Dalai Lama school in India. Her Tibetan was modern and Dawa could understand her. We went to her house and it was lovely. As usual downstairs was for animals in the winter. The middle floor was storage and grass for winter fodder and the top floor was the kitchen and main living room with a large opening in the roof. I was bright and fresh and there were plenty of plants growing in buckets under the open area. Dawa and Santos soon worked their charm and took over from where Ramesh had left off and she was pleased to have us. She was well educated but had some health problems and had to return to the village, and the money for her education ran out. She was the only young adult left in the village and was a bit stuck here and quite bored so we were a welcome relief. Her mother was away in China for the month, and her dad was estranged from the family and in China.

 
After tea she decided to accompany us to the monastery. It was a lively excursion and Bharat and the others in good form. My outburst and their drinking under the bridge now. The monastery was also very old. Like Halji said the Lama who was busy cementing the floor slabs. It had two prayer rooms. A small one for local occasions and a large one for the winter when 4-6 visiting monks came for the duration and stayed. They were very different in character with the smaller one looking more Bonpo with many masks of demons and some of animals. While the larger one was more orthodox with statues of Buddha, Guru Rinpoche and pictures of important Rinpoches like the Dalai Lama, H.H.Chetsang Rinpoche and others. I asked if I could take pictures and he politely said “not inside, but most welcome outside”. I had already taken some 11 years ago of the larger prayer room. We chatted outside for a good half hour with the Lama and he gave us sweets and I gave him a small donation.

We all returned and I went via the school. CITTA and Michael had built this also and it had 4 rooms. However, there was not the children in Til to fill even one class, and certainly not the 10 Michael needed to employ a teacher. The people of Til were also a bit reluctant to send their children to school here, and hoped instead for an overseas sponsor to send their children to a Buddhist school in India. So the school remained shut. I then wandered the lanes and passages of Til photographing all the features. It was the smallest of the 3 Limi villages with about 25 houses, but it was full of character. One feature here were the large metal framed windows which made the living space so much nicer. I returned to Sangyal’s house where Ramesh was making tea. Sangyal was getting on well with the others who were being helpful and sociable. She was loving their company, especially Dawa’s who was on top form. I wrote the blog. In the evening we all slept on the floor of the living room. The glow of mobile phones attracting the moths until we all had out digital fix. Tomorrow would be an early start.

19 July. Til to Hilsa. 21 km. 8,5 hours. 1250m up. 1540m down. Sangyal was up very early getting the stove going and cleaning. We got up at 0500 and I noticed how dark it was now just a month after the solstice. Breakfast was tsampa. I ate two bowls of it, carefully mixing the oat powder to a paste in the small bowl. I tried to pay a generous fee but Sangyal wanted the bare minimum. It was not the usual argument about payment. We left her the pressure cooker, spare kerosene and a few other things I though we did not need. We left well before 0700 on a morning with pretty good weather with just 50% cloud cover and little threat of rain. We were almost north of the Himalayas in a rain shadow now. We walked through the deserted village, save for the elderly and Sangyal, crossed the small bridge, walked past the mothballed primary school and walked into the birch wood nourished by seepage from the irrigation ditch for the verdant terraced fields below. For the next km we walked through rampant vegetation with wildflowers up to our waists. It was wet with dew so before long my cherished dry feet were soaking again. At a fork we took the branch and climbed away from the oasis of Til and up onto the arid scrub covered hillside. The next stop was Hilsa, about 8 hours walk away. It was our final destination and the end of the GHT. 

We climbed up to a chorten on a spur with a good view back up the Limi valley. Far below was the faint hiss of the Limi Khola, its roar muted by our elevation. We climbed up still further gently traversing up the hillside sparsely covered in juniper, wild roses and smaller flowering shrubs until we got to junction where the path split. Each branch continued west to the craggy spur ahead, with  strings of prayer flags marking the crossing. One branch went up and one down with recent footsteps on both. Frequently a path splits like this if the shorter route is unsuitable for beasts of burden, and mule or yak dung on one trail but not the other is a clue. We took the lower trail without dung, and reached the spur in 5 minutes.

 
There was a sensational view here. The Limi Khola heading west met the mighty Karnali heading east at the bottom of a gorge perhaps a kilometre deep. The river then turned south and continued down the gorge. The sides of the gorge were immense, very steep, and perhaps 1000m high. Rivulets and gullies had riven the cliffs so they were eroded into monstrous towers and pinnacles, where snow still lingered in their depths. The Karnali formed two sides of an inaccessible triangle with the mountains forming the third side. No human or domesticated animal could get here with great hardship. The small paths on the other side of the Karnali must be formed by blue sheep. This was their domain and nothing could disturb them, except maybe snow leopard and there must be one or two in a lair here high on the cliffs.

 
From the prayer flags the path descended down into this gorge for a short distance. Even on the north side, the topography was chaotic with ochre rock spires and ravines. It zig-zagged down for 100 metres into this steep jagged landscape and then began a sensational traverse on a wide rock ledge for a good km. The ledge wove in and out of ravines where the harder base protruded from the softer top as it contoured around the buttresses. It was like being in the Dolomites, except for the fact that half way round there was a large overhang in the upper top layer with a couple of caves and even a tiny spring. It was all that was needed for ascetic Buddhist monks to establish a meditation place here. There were perhaps 15 caves and simple stone shelters where monks would come. Except for a few they were all in disrepair now, and the few which looked recently used were most likely from people travelling to and from Limi Valley. There were many faded Buddhist paintings and murals on the exposed walls and prayers carved into the rock walls of the caves, confirming it was an abandoned retreat.

We left the rock ledge and continued west along the steep valley side until we met the path coming down from the higher path used by the beasts of burden. The merged path then continued to another spur, overlooking the Karnali gorge. On the opposite side the rock strata rose a good kilometre from the river which had exposed millions of years of geological time when the sediments built up, perhaps in a similar fashion to how the sediments are building up in the Bay of Bengal today. From the spur west the north side of the gorge relented and became a huge grassy slope, albeit very steep. The path contoured along it for a few km crossing the odd spring or rivulet to reach Manepeme. There was some camping here where patches between the boulders had been levelled with earth and a small spring nearby to the west. However the area was strewn with litter, and I am sure glass, all of it with Chinese labelling. It was not a pleasant campsite especially as it was perhaps just another 3 hours at the most to the fleshpots of Hilsa. For these 3 hours the path climbed over the top of a couple of massive landslides and then traversed the hillside until the path became a track. It continued west over a few spurs until at last there were signs of civilization. Meanwhile on the south side of the Karnail the gorge had surrendered to a barren arid hillside which swept up from the river to the Yari Pass. We would be climbing this tomorrow. There was a track which came over this pass from Simikot, which then descended the 1000m rapidly in a series of hairpins and sweeping descents round side valleys.

The civilization we saw at the spur was of marked contrast. On the south side of the Karnali was the dusty town of Hilsa. It was trying to pull itself out of the 15 century with its stone and earth houses and oasis of barley fields and become the hub of the Mount Kailash tourist industry. There were many new blue tin roofed hotels going up for the Indian tourists who were flocking to the town after an arduous, but modern, travel involving a few internal flights, a helicopter ride, masses of permits and paperwork and erratic delays due to weather. Some of these would conspire to thwart their pilgrimage. On the north side of the Karnali was a modern village of white concrete houses surrounded by the greenest of perfectly formed irrigated terraces. Below them was a huge immigration gate and buildings of the Chinese state with a well made tarmac road leading off to the plains around Purang and Mount Kailash. There was a stream of pilgrims going from the helipad, through Hilsa, across the suspension footbridge to a fleet of smart Chinese coaches, or vice versa.

We descended the track, steeply shortcutting the zig-zags, to the north end of the footbridge, just metres from the Chinese border. Then crossed the bridge to enter Hilsa. There were a few policeman here and they seemed much more professional than the bored unfortunates in remote postings with their blunderbusses. We asked a couple of them to take group photos of us as this was essentially the end of the GHT. We had made it right to the end unscathed and intact after 126 days of continual walking with no breaks of blemishes. It was the purest of hikes. There was no real emotion or outpouring of emotions and it was as if it was just another day had ended and now we would find a hotel and celebrate with dozens of cans of cheap Lhasa beer.

All day however we had seen helicopters ferrying the Indian tourists from Simikot to Hilsa and vice versa. I had previously spoken to Alex, a Brazillian helicopter pilot from Mountain Flights and he said his company could ferry us back from Hilsa on a return flight for US$1000. I calculated this would save me US$600 on wages and food and lodging over the three days it would take us to walk back, so the helicopter would only be US$400. I had already done that walk 11 years ago before the road was built, so was not too keen to repeat it. I said to the others “right let’s go and get a helicopter to Simikot”. I think they thought I was joking. We walked up to the helipad, I told the ground crews the price I had been offered and they wanted proof. At that moment Alex appeared on the horizon, so I told them to radio him. It was agreed but I had to pay now. I turned round and Santos and Dawa were missing. Ramesh was dispatched to run and find them and their loads and return all at a run. The others soon arrived, the helicopter landed and discharged its 5 passengers, I handed over 110,000 rupees cash and we piled in and took off.

It took just 20 minutes to fly up and over the Yari Pass, then down over the villages of Yari to meet the Karnarli as it emerged from its gorge. We then followed it down over a very wooded landscape passing the valleys of the Salli Khola and Hepka Khola where we previously walked. The helicopter then climbed up over a spur on the south side to gain height, crossed the valley and landed at the tiny Simikot airport. Three days walking in 20 minutes. In another 20 minutes we had walked up to the hotel, checked in and I was in the shower. It was less than an hour from out finishing photo session at the bridge in Hilsa and it was quite surreal. The GHT was over. 

Section 14. Limi. 110 Km. 38 Hours. 5880m up, 5380m down. 

Complete GHT Totals.  1787 km. 743 hours. 99370m up. 99510m down. 

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5 July. Mugugoan to Takya Khola Lake. 18 km. 7.5 hours. 1070m up. 170m down. The horseman we hired was supposed to show at the very lax hour of 0800. I was not comfortable with that as it was a long day and I was getting frustrated by frequent stops. In the end the horseman arrived at 0830, with not one but three horses. Two looked old and a bit skinny and the third was a foal of one of the skinny ones. It seemed the horseman was using this opportunity to take all up to the lush high pastures of Takya Khola and leave them there for the summer. He was using his thin foam mattress and his sleeping bag as padding for the horse. I did not care for him. He looked a rough diamond with broken teeth and the shiny inflated nose of a heavy drinker, and he smoked, and he had a stone in his hand to lob at the horses to hurry them along. There was none of the gentleness and panache which Khonjok had.

I took a few photos of the village as we headed out and it seemed many of the older houses were destined to collapse sideways soon like a pack of cards. Outside the village were wandered across close cropped and green pastures passing many chortens and a few mani walls. There were chortens everywhere around this village. Then we passed into the lush wide U shaped valley where there were pastures and sections of forest. It was mostly spruce along here initially’ but as we ascended they gave way to other trees. I reached the old village of Mugu, Purano Mugu, after about an hour and a half. Here the torrent split and it was easy to bridge with two old log cantilever bridges. It was drizzling a bit so I stopped under some birch and ate my snacks.

I was ahead of the others who seemed to be dithering a bit of late and waited for them. I saw the horses and foals I passed in the meadow before the bridge running, and then I saw the horseman chasing them. He even ran across the smaller of the two channels of the Mugu Karnali when the horses and foals crossed it. He was up to his thighs in his futile chase. The others appeared first and then the horseman. Bharat had been chatting with him and apparently he had 15 horses and many had foals. When he appeared he had only succeeded in getting a stallion, and an additional horse and it’s foal. As we when up the valley I came across horses everywhere, but there were no yak as there was last time. It took me a good two hours to walk up the valley past two or three large pastures, which had a tent bhatti as each one. At the penultimate I noticed a raksi still beside the tent and hoped no one would be tempted. I stopped at the last bhatti for the others to catch up but after half an hour there was no sign so I continued up the valley to its confluence with the torrent of the Takya Khola. I crossed this foaming torrent on a two log bridge and found a sheltered grassy spot to snooze on while the others arrived. I was thankful there were no leeches as I feared there would be.

After an hour, at 1400, Santos arrived, but there were no signs of the others. Santos headed up the track to Tibet insisting it was the way as the bhatti owner had told him. I doubted myself and followed him for 10 minutes until it was clear this was not the way up the spur on the north side of the Takya Khola I went up 11 years ago. I returned annoyed I had wasted energy following the impulsive Santos to find the others arriving. They seemed to be looking for a campsite. I was angry now and charged down to them asking Bharat what on earth was going on. I told them they were slow and we still had 4 hours left and it was time to get a move on.

Unknown to me the horseman had switched the load from the skinny horse mother to the stockier horse mother. While the stallion had disappeared from the group. As they were crossing the two log bridge over the torrent of the Takya Khola one of the foals had accidently knocked the other off the logs into the edge of the torrent. The mother, who was now carrying the load was fretting at the side of the torrent. Bharat and Dawa jumped into the water and rescued the foal and guided it, and the mother, across the bridge and were just taking stock when angry me arrived. Bharat said he had not seen the horseman since the last bhatti. I suspected he was in there for a drink, so insisted we carry on up the path I knew and not waste more time

It was a steep climb for about 300-350 metres which took a good hour. After that it traversed the steep hillside for another hour to eventually reach the upper part of the Takya Khola, which was essentially a hanging valley. I was worried about the foals on some of the sections as the path seemed very small and unused. To my dismay I saw a good path on the west side of the torrent and this came up diagonally from the last bhatti. It must have been new and the path I was on abandoned one. In the distance I could hear Dawa and Santos whooping and hollering to encourage the horse and foals up. The faint path, after it had finished climbing and traversing the hill, now descended slightly to the bottom of the boulder strewn valley to meet the foaming torrent again. I waited here for them and they arrived after 15 minutes.

What surprised me was that Santos was leading the load carrier with its foal following. Then Dawa and Bharat were shouting at the other two horses and foal. The foals seemed to manage very well through the boulders. When they stopped where I was the horses gorged themselves on the grass, while the foals started to suckle. I told them it was just an hour to the lake and set off. They followed driving and pulling the horses up. There was no sign of the horseman. Either he assumed we took the new path and was looking for us on that, or he was still in the bhatti drinking raksi. The others had to lead the horses across meadows and through occasional boulder fields. It was quite slow for them. I waited here and there and noticed some new wild flowers, white primroses and two varieties of the small fritillary, one purple and one yellow.

I got to a tricky boulder field, where a large rock jutted out into the river, and wondered how the horses would manage. It was raining now and the boulder fields were slippery and the grassy areas wet. Across the river on the west side was a large yarsagumba encampment with 25 conical tents. I carried on in the drizzle and wind towards the lake. Just before it I found a good place to camp and waited for the others. They arrived after 15 minutes, but without the horses or the baggage on the horse. Apparently at the tricky bit 10 minutes back the load carrying horse had wrenched the rope out of Dawa’s hand and had crossed the torrent at a wide shallow point. Its foal and the other two horses, and second foal followed suit. They felt they could not cross their so ascended looking for a crossing point to go back and retrieve the baggage, which is where they met me at the campsite. Across the river from me was another yarsagumba camp with about 25 conical tents.

Dawa and Santos crossed the river thigh deep and returned on the west bank to the lower yarsagumba camp. There they luckily managed to catch the horse and untie the luggage. They just left the 3 horses and 2 foals there as they were now more trouble than they were worth. They left the horseman’s sleeping bag and mattress on the horse as these were now soaking. They tied the rope up and left them content in the wet grassy meadow for the owner to find. I suspect he either had bad news and had to return to Mugugoan or was getting drunk in the bhatti. Dawa and Santos returned upstream with the baggage and then waded the freezing torrent again in thigh deep water. We set up camp at once as we were all miserable and wet, and dusk was arriving. As usual Ramesh had to brave the elements to cook us a meal while I typed and Santos slept. It was quite a day and I am not really sure what to make of the situation with the horseman and his horses. I guess we will leave here tomorrow and it is up to him to find us if he want paid for one of the two days we employed him for. Eventually we got cosy in our sleeping bags in the tent while the rain battered the ripstop nylon flysheet.

6 July. Takya Khola Lake to Takekharka. 21 km. 7 hours. 650m up. 900m down. It was drizzling in the morning but we managed to persuade Santos to get up at 0530 for the teas. We packed the soaking tent and set off in out waterproofs at 0700. My feet were soaked within minutes due to the water on the grass and shrubs so it made very little difference if I waded streams later in the day. We got to the north end of the lake, but going up the east side across wet grass and going through boulder fields was not quick and we all looked at the path on the other side. The boulders were covered in lichen, especially the yellow “geographical” lichen and were slippery. At the far end of the lake the pathless route climbed more grassy slopes and boulder fields to gain a long flat meadow some 3 km long, which must have been a lake now filled with silt. It would have been delightful walking usually but for now it was flooded in places and we had to pick out way round the east side and up and over a couple of spurs. The last time I came here we just walked straight over the meadow which was lush with wild flowers and full of grazing horses. Talking of horses there was no sign of the horseman and he never got reimbursed  for yesterday.

The meadow pretty much ended at the foot of the pass. We paused here for a snack before the climb. The sun was making a valiant effort to break up the mist but the latter was stubborn. As we climbed it slowly cleared and there were even patches of blue sky. It took just over an hour from the valley to reach the top. The route we chose went straight up the slope where the grass was short and there were gravel deposits, then we traversed eastwards climbing above some crags to reach the modest pass at about 5020m. There were few chortens, and no prayer flags, but there was a great view down the meadow we walked up, with its lazy river meandering slowly across the wet pasture. There was also a good view north east to a high pass over to Tibet, just 2 km away. We relaxed at the top for half an hour and then started the descent.

There was still a lot of snow on the north side of the pass, but for once the gradient was gentle. Shallow enough for me to sit on a sheet of plastic and slide down for a few minutes. However Santos, always ready to try something, put his whole baggage on a sheet of plastic, then sat astride it and set off, whooping as he hurtled down the slope. He went past me looking like he was on a snow scoter with a huge grin. At the bottom of the excitement the slope eased off even more and we had to descend on foot. We headed west the whole time as we descended to try and keep to grassy slopes and avoid a boulder field below the pass which would inevitably had been slippery. I found a nice grassy spur to head down all the way to the valley floor where the infant Take Khola was already a big stream. We just managed to hop across stones without getting our feet wetter to reach the north side. The promise of fine weather however was disappearing again and the blue patches of sky had vanished and the mist was descending.

I seemed to remember there was a path on the north side but it must have been lower down as the was none here. Instead we had a line of springs which made the north side quite boggy. I just sloshed through but the others went higher to avoid the soggy ground. The valley was shallow and open, wide and U-shaped. It was generally grassy but there was the odd boulder field. Wild flowers were thriving with many varieties, but it was the yellow and purple snake head fritillaries which excited me as I had not seen them in the wild before. The Take Khola stream slowly descended passing from sluggish sandy bits to a more lively shallow descent over small stones. It was a lovely valley and it was a shame the weather was not kind to us. Towards the end of the section before the Paththarchhage Khola side stream there was a lovely km across a shallow grassy slope to reach the tributary. I was worried about its size but it was easy to wade. It drained a largish area to the north up a remote valley full of jagged peaks in the Khangla Himal on the Tibet border. I am sure many of the peaks are unclimbed. To the south was a turquoise lake at the mouth of a valley which led up to a possible pass over to the large flooded meadow in Takya Khola were we were this morning.

Below Paththarchhage Khola the path quickly developed and we passed a herd of 10 horses who must have helped create it. The Take Khola also grew very quickly, and as the valley narrowed and the stream went into a slot it looked impassable. The path now started to descent more quickly but the valley remained verdant. I rounded one spur and suddenly came across a herd of Chauri cattle. As the path continued down I saw about 100 of them.  I can’t remember Chauri before just lots of sheep and goats. The Chauri were grazing right up the hillside on the rockier slopes as well as the meadows above the stream. We passed a very small lake of clear water and then I spied the Takechaur pastures down below where we were heading. It still looked as idyllic as I remembered. 10 minutes later we were arriving but there was a huge flock of sheep and goats on our previous campsite.

I suggested to Bharat we go and introduce ourselves and tell them we camped here 11 years ago. They were enthusiastic and said it was no problem to camp where we wanted. There were about 6 herding units here and another 2 up the side valley to the north. They did not have tents or tarpaulins, but their shelters were a wall of stones and the roof were birch branches covered with slabs of birch bark. The bark is waterproof and easily peeled from the nearby trees in 2 foot by 2 foot sheets and laid on the branches. It was a simple home for the summer months. All the camps were from the village of Nepka some 10 hours walk down the valley. As we put the tent up people came from all the stone and birch shelters to look what we were doing and to chat to us.

When I was in Nepka 11 years ago I took a group picture of some 20 children who had gathered to see me. I had this picture on my phone and showed it now to those who gathered to see me. The picture caused much excitement and everyone was pointing to people saying “that’s my brother” or “look at Rasu”. Then everybody wanted their picture taken in case I came back in another 11 years. Everyone over the age of 50 seemed to be smoking a chillum local tobacco and wanted to pose with it.

Bharat and the others bought a goat for 6000 rupees from one of the 6 herders and it was soon dispatched beside the river and cleaned down there ready for the pot. The herder who sold it had 500 animals all together, and it seemed the other herders had about 200 each so there were about 1500 animals gathered here each night, some were in the birch woods across the river and others sheltered in the boulders above the 6 shelters.

I was so glad that everything was as I remembered it here. There were no yarsagumba collectors and their accompanying bhattis. Even the shelters with their birch bark roofs remained the same. The only addition seemed to be the Chauri cattle. These herders were following a transhumance pattern which nearly all our forefathers, for hundreds of generations did, until perhaps 5-10 generations ago. It is in our cultural DNA to do so. While we have become disenfranchised from the land and these annual migrations the old ways remain just below the surface and the industrial and commercial eras have not erased them so far. It is heartening to know some people still practice this simple, nourishing lifestyle. It was a joy to be with them for the evening seeing their daily tasks and activities like spinning wool and collecting their animals into the vicinity of the shelters before nightfall. I also heard from some of them that the route I wanted to take up the Musyang Khola stream, over the Okhale Lek pass and down the Lurupya Khola river to Simikot was feasible and people from Nepka sometimes walk it.

7 July. Takekharka to Musyang. 32km. 10.5 hour. 310m up. 1770m down. We set off quite late as we lingered in the charka, chatting with the shepherds and paid for the goat, when we eventually went it was nearly 0800, which agitated me a bit as I knew we had a long way to go. We set off down the slope past “whatisthis” the nickname we gave to the Kieth Richards of the charka, a wizened, hunched old man with a wry smile and constantly puffing on his chillum. We made our way down to Jhulenchaur, the first meadow which was quite flooded with the excess water this year. The river meandered slowly across the flat pasture and we frequently had to avoid small ponds and channels. At the end of this meadow the now river started to plunge down a slope so that it was essentially a white frothing torrent. By now the birch trees were firmly established on the south side and probably would be on the north side too had they not been felled to provide pasture, but many copses remained.

It took surprisingly long to go down past a couple of charka, still milling with sheep and goats even at this time of day, to reach the loveliest meadow of them all at Bholbihanchaur, perhaps 3 hours from Takechaur. The path was quite rocky and covered in tree roots as we had entered the Silver Fir forest. The smell of resin was reassuring and being back in the thick forest again was like being back in the safety of the womb. This meadow had large glades and copses of fir. The tributary was large and there was an old cantilever log and stone bridge across it, which might have been the same structure as 11 years ago. When the others arrived they showed me the kerosene stove. It was broken beyond repair as a weld had broken and punctured the fuel container which needs to be pressurized. It was discarded under some boulders to rust away. We would now have to cook on firewood until Simikot and this would slow us down.

From Bholbihanchaur meadow the path dropped down past another couple of meadows, full of knee high wild flowers, to enter an huge gorge. We met a man on the way up with a mule and he said it was 4 hours to our destination but I knew it was about 6. Nepalis always underestimate time and exaggerate their own speed. Once in the gorge the path undulated up and mostly down as it had to cross spurs. Looking up I could see the walls rising high above me, often with high overhangs where chunks of rocks had peeled off long ago. The walls of the gorge in some places are nearly 1000 metres high. Down in the bottom of it the raging river tumbled down a continual set of rapids which on each side different forests exist. On the north side south-facing slopes the firs give was to a mixed forest with a lot of oak while on the south side north-facing slopes firs persisted.

At Kachyapu people were getting quite tired. I told them it was 4 km, about an hour and a half, to the next big tributary, the Niliga Khola, and set off to reach it myself. It was a long way as the path was slow and it took nearly 2 hours. But on reaching it the valley widened out and there were some nice meadows again. The others arrived soon afterwards and were tired. I explained to them that we could walk a km to the next meadow at Lepchachaur and see how that looked, if it was nice we could camp there, if not we would have to carry on the Galagnachaur, our original destination. We set of and immediately passed through some lovely campsites, with long ungrazed grass and flowers to reach Lepchachaur. There was a herders shelter hare but it was surrounded by goat droppings and the rest of the meadow was sloping and stony. Not really ideal for camping. Across the river through were some great spots but they were inaccessible.

So we headed off to Galagnachaur about an hour away. The porters were tired but were quite stoic, and refused to complain. After 10 minutes we came to a newish bridge across the huge torrent to the south side and great campsites. I was very tempted as we had water, firewood from the pine trees and a grassy underfloor. However the bridge looked rickety and if it collapsed whoever was on it would be washed down the torrent to their death. Also if the river rose and swept it way we would be stuck and probably need to be rescued, so we continued.

Galagnachaur arrived much quicker that I imagined. Bharat said “nothing changed”. It was a sloping meadow which had been terraced and was now either growing buckwheat, or was a riot of weeds and cannabis. There were some shelters but they were rather dirty with animal dung. The one we staying in 11 years ago had collapsed. Ramesh found a mediocre campsite near a shelter he could cook in but I did not care for it. I liked the look of one at the bottom of the meadow on a spur above the torrent. Dawa wanted to carry on. I said there should be something in half and hour’ not looking at my previous notes from 11 years ago

The half hour option was terrible. I apologized to the others and said we would probably now have to carry on to Musyang, the other side of a huge buttress. I said, and hoped, it would take an hour as it was already 1800. I set off first at a pace hoping to find something soon but wanting to get to Musyang in the light. As it happened there was nothing at all as the boiling river entered another gorge around the rock prow. The path was also difficult with plenty of ups and downs. The river was a white slot in an otherwise green, lush, forested gorge. I walked fast but the light was fading and I was feeling more and more guilty. At last in the last light around 2000, some two hours after I left the others I came to a damp flat area beside the raging river. It was covered in dock leaves but it would do. Just then it started to drizzle which quickly turned to heavy rain. I sheltered under a tree in the wet dark hoping to see head torches.

It took half n hour for the first lights to appear and then out of the rain 4 bedraggled figures appeared. We put the tent up in a muted silence and I could feel I was not popular. We all piled in and it was obvious that a wood fire was impossible. We ate a snack and then everyone went into their sleeping bags. The rain was very heavy and it almost felt tempestuous. I was a little worried about the river level as we were just 1.5 metres above it and it was a violent torrent of foaming water 30 metres wide. We all feel asleep quite quickly as the rain really battered the flysheet, and inside everything was quickly becoming clammy. Morale was low. About an hour later Dawa was sitting up shouting “Pani, pani” (water, water). I was frightened as I thought the river was coming up and into the tent. However it was just a nightmare and it lightened the mood. It would go down along with Santos’s “Baloo, baloo” (bear, bear) nightmare. Just after there was a tremendous thunderclap and I thought it was a landslide, but it was not. It was a wild night and I was glad went I woke and it was just a drizzle with larger drops off the overhanging trees

8 July. Musyang to Nepka. 12 km. 5 hours. 470m up. 740m down. Ramesh was up early but returned to the tent saying it was impossible to start a fire. I said we should head down to Musyang where there were agricultural shelters and a large stream, and we should find wood there. So we packed up under the dripping trees and headed downriver. I thought we were a good half hour away, but after a few minutes we arrived. There was indeed wood in one of the shelters and we got a fire going on the banks of the Musyang Khola tributary. Ramesh cooked a dhalbat while I looked for a path up the Musyang khola, which I had read was a route, and wanted a more exciting finish to the GHT than a gentle walk up the Humla Karnali which I had done 11 years before.

I found the path on the west side of the stream. It was very faint initially as it went through small fields of buckwheat and tobacco with rustic grass roofed shelters among them, but as it went up the hillside it was more obvious but overgrown with vicious nettles and angelica. I returned with the news which was received with complete apathy. Perhaps they were hoping I would not find it and they could have an easier walk to Nepka or even Piplan. I felt vindicated however as a few locals had said there was no path.

Santos served the meal while Ramesh rested. Santos then started to cooked the meat from the goat which was left over. Indeed there was quite a pile of it left and they were hoping for some last night but I scuppered that with my extra long day in search for a campsite. The sun was out and most of the sky was blue so we put out wet clothing, mostly socks out to dry. By 1000 all the meals were eaten and the washing up done and we were ready to set off. The mood was still muted. We went up to the shelters found the path and set off. In the glades it was overgrown but in the woods it was wide and well constructed. Ha! I felt, do you believe me now doubters. We climbed past some huge firs and deciduous trees and then back into glades. The nettles even stung me through my trousers which I had on specifically for them. We passed a collection of small shelters used for herding and the path got a bit smaller. The porters were having to push through the odd overhanging branches. Then we passed another collection of shelters by a kharka and the path got even smaller. It crossed a old landslide area in which it vanished but appeared again on the other side. As we continued my heart sank. We had not even climbed from 2600 to 2900 when the path became difficult to follow. I reckoned we would have to climb to about 3500 to be out of the thicker vegetation and into the fir and birch woods. We got to an area where someone was making shingles for roofing and the path reappeared again but soon it was back to landslides and windfalls making out progress very difficult. Before long all trace of any path had long vanished and we were in thick scrubby jungle. I had to heave and push to get through the branches, but the porters were finding it impossible. Still on thin ice after yesterday’s route march into the dark I had to admit defeat and agree to return. The mood lightened.

The descent took an hour. Together with the ascent it was 3-4 hours wasted on a side trip. We would go to Nepka and try another route. The route locals had said was the one they used. The descent to Nepka was easy and took just 90 minutes from Musyang. The trees on the north very largely deciduous now but on the southside there were conifers galore. The firs were now the Western variety of the Silver Fir, taller and more slender sometimes reaching 60 metres. There were also many Spruce, all with drooping branches and branchlets so had they been dogs they would have been Afghans.

Further down we came across scattered fields of millet beside the path, protected from domestic herbivores with loose rock walls or branches. These fields got more and more plentiful until we reached a bowl by the Nepka Khola which was covered in them. There were about 20 shelters here, all two storey with animals or storage below, and their fodder or bedding stored above under the apex of the grass roof. The route from manure to field was an easy one. Around all the shelters and each side of the path were tall and bushy cannabis plants, just producing their seeds, smelling pungent and oozing oil. It would have been easy to make hash from them by rolling the ends of the branches in the palm of ones hands some 10-20 times and then by vigorously rubbing ones palms together until a matchstick size of residue forms. All the plants growing here were weeds and clumps of them were pulled up where obstructing doors of lanes between the shelters. Just beyond the shelters I saw a snake in the sun but it quickly disappeared between the stones of a terraced field as I approached. Then suddenly I was walking into Nepka, a village with about 60-70 houses.

I have been to Nepka 11 years ago when walking down the Take Khola previously. Then I took a photo of some 20 children on a rooftop. As I approached some people I brought the phone out and showed it to them. Immediately there was a crowd and much excitement. When It got large I saw someone beckoning me up to a rooftop op a very high log ladder. I went up and he spread a carpet our for me. Some from the persistent crowd followed but most stayed below. One man from the school association wanted it transferred to his phone which I did. It proved useful as he later gave us permission to camp at the school for a fee.

When the others arrived we headed off there and found a nice pergola under which we could just pitch the tent. Ramesh was feeling grim so he went straight in to the damp inner and climbed into his damp sleeping bag. Having the tent under the pergola meant things could dry out at last. Soon the kids started to arrive to see us and before long there was 40 of them. Once the novelty had wore off they started playing in the yard. Occasionally they would climb onto the Pergola but Santos would bark at them and they would flee back to the yard. All in all they were a really well behaved, curious bunch who wanted to practice their English on me. They were all about 5-8. Then some teenagers arrived but they were hardly interested. Instead they commandeered the yard and put up a volley ball net and 8 of them started playing what must be Nepal’s national sport. I discovered a classroom which was open and had a bench and long desk. It was perfect for doing the blog. The younger kids tried to come in but I blocked the door with a desk and growled at anyone who came past it and they respectfully retreated.

As I finished it started to pour, battering of the corrugated roof. Tomorrow we will try a second route over to Lurupya Khola which will take two days. It goes up from here to some summer pastures and kharkas and then over a pass before the descent. The pass has a junction of paths and we will hopefully take a guide from the kharka to make sure we get the right descent. It will be exciting for Bharat and myself as it is the only part of the last 2 sections we have not done yet.

9 July. Nepka to Rakalchaur. 12km. 6,5 hours. 1690m up. 190m down. It was grey and drizzling when we woke but thanks to the pergola the tent was dry. Santos was up to make a fire under the eaves of the school for tea and breakfast. I discovered there was still a plastic bag of goat meat in a sack which had been leaking. It stank so I made Ramesh put it at the bottom of his basket so it would not sully a holdall. We set off through the village. It had no toilets and the fields and side of the path seemed to substitute. In the village itself the lanes were ankle deep in mud and animal dung which had been shovelled out from the lowest floor of the houses where some of the animals overnighted. The wet climate of Humla during the monsoon season does not help but the village was very dirty. It was better than 11 years ago before a layer of cobbles had been added to the lane. That time it was twice as deep. At the far end of Nepka was a stream which seemed to double as a toilet. There was a path beside it down under many apricot trees to a bridge. Here I met the man from the school association and gave him the 2000 rupees for camping in the school. He also gave us instructions on how to find the route to the kharka before the pass over to Lurupya Khola.

We set off and went a good km to the split in the path, the lower one going to Piplan and the smaller upper one to the kharka. However after walking this path for a good km it ended up at some fields and a house. I returned to the junction and Bharat followed. I could see this was going to be a difficult day and with the slower start and the false path we had already wasted 3 hours. So I sent Bharat back to Nepka to ask the helpful man on the school association for a local guide. A good hour later he returned with the helpful man and also a young lad who had been playing volley ball at the school last night. The young lad would accompany us to the kharka and show us the way.

When I showed my picture of the kids at Takechaur a few day ago one of the people pointed to a teenage girl and said she had just fallen into the river a few days ago and died. She was now 25 and I thought what a shame. It now transpired she was the wife of the nice man on the school association and a mother of 3. He was very stoic about it said he was really thankful for the old photo. I  got his Facebook name and promised to send him more if I had them. Previously he had been a commander in Nepal’s Maoist army over a decade ago and had taken severance pay from it.

The path it turned out forked off the one to the single house but nobody saw it. So we returned up to the house but turned off half way there. It was already midday and the promise of nice weather had disappeared. I set off at a good pace and was soon ahead. However there was a wealth of new plants to see and photo, including two stunning lilies. The path was quite steep as it went up a rib on the hillside. After a good hour it came to a few shelters and some terraces of corn, which was just ripening. The trees up to here were quite sparse and just consisted of Bhutan pines and some oak. It was mainly grass and wild flowers. The weather limited the views down the valley, but I  could occasionally see to Piplan and it looked like there was a road up that valley, which was 10 km away. Looking up Take Khola valley you could see the deep U shaped valley which must have had some glaciation long ago. Now it was green and lush and the swollen Take Khola River was a wide silver ribbon on the valley floor.

From the shelters by the corn field the path continued to climb relentlessly. It followed the same spur but this was now covered in oaks. Their leaf litter covered the track. There was another set of plants i had not seen before so I was busy with the camera. The others were far back and the speedy Santos seemed to be struggling. On and on the path climbed for a second 500 metres until it reached the top of the oak forest and all I could see ahead was bare grassland. A few grouse type birds broke cover above me a glided down into the mists and I heard a cuckoo close by, and then saw it fly off looking like a small hawk. The local guide, Suprendra, caught up with me at the top edge of the forest, as he was possibly frustrated but the others speed. It was good having him along as he was carrying the tent and he gave me confidence we were on the right path.

The last 500m took us across grassland with many plantain type plants like the dockweed. There seemed to thrive where goats gather. The path crossed the rib into a new gully and then went up another rib to reach a collection of herders huts. They were all small and compact with stone walls and large shingle planks for the roof. They had an area set aside for living with a fireplace on the floor and a small area for calves to shelter in overnight to encourage their Chauri mothers to produce milk. The path detoured through these 5-6 shelters and then went back into the gully between the ribs to climb into the mist where I could see horses, Chauri cattle and goats. There were yet more wildflowers here, thriving in the monsoon. Soon I smelt smoke and then saw people on the hill above looking down at me.

I went up to the hill and met about 10 of the herders. There were a friendly bunch from the village of Pali near Piplan. I could not tell their caste at all but guessed Tamang or Chettri. One of the  ladies offered me a cup of Moi. It was whey which was being made into yoghurt. It was refreshing. I held my own in Nepali for about 10 minutes before I had used up all my words and the awkward silence set in. Just then the others appeared out of the mist and took over. They all looked tired and Santos was ill with an upset stomach. I had already been shown a hillock which was good for camping but it was now obscured by mist. I led the way to it and we out up the tent. Santos and I went in, me to write and Santos to sleep. The other 4 went back to the herders huts as it was raining and they were offered the chance to cook in them and buy some expensive firewood. The weather was miserable as nightfall came with heavy rain. I expected the last of the goat was being cooked and hoped someone would bring me my meal when they returned around 2100. I asked Bharat to see if he could get a guide for 0700 from the herders as the next section could be tricky in the mist.

10 July. Rakalchaur to Cave 2km south of Lurupya Khola. 13 km. 6,5 hours. 630m up. 940m down. The mist had cleared in the morning but it was damp and overcast. We packed up the tent by seven and went down to one of the herders shelters where Ramesh was making us tea using the expensive firewood. The shelter was made entirely of stone, with boulders for the walls and slabs for the roof, except for the roof beams. The entrance was tiny and I had to crawl to get in. Once inside it was cramped but cosy. There was a fire in the centre with a three legged pot stand and rugs and skins on the floor. There was enough room for about 8 to sit or 4 to sleep on the floor. Our host, a 50 something man, was also to be our guide for the day. After tea and tsampa we set off around 0800 just as the mist was returning.

This pass, which has no single name is used by a few people in Nepka to go to Simikot, however it is notoriously misty and the route is faint and convoluted. We were advised a local guide is essential and someone from the kharka is the best bet as few people from Nepka are familiar with it. we started around 4100 metres and followed the grassy hillsides for a good hour. En route we passed the guide’s sheep and he made some great whistles to round them up from a distance. To the east was the Nepka Khola stream which tumbled down to Nepka but it was too steep to come up hence the route via the kharka.

After an hour our guide plucked a few tufts of grass and picked up a flat stone the size of an outstretched hand. I did not see what he did with the grass but he put the stone on the nape of his neck almost in the hood of his jacket. We then crested a small rise and there was a magnificent small lake clear in colour with a sapphire tint. It was surrounded by grassy slopes and snow fields and then by misty rock faces leading up to unseen peaks. Our guide then approached a cairn on the waters edge, took off his shoes and respectfully walked towards the cairn. He took the stone from the nape of his neck and laid it at the foot of the cairn. He then walked backwards for the 10 metres to his shoes, put them on and continued to walk backwards, again plucking some grass. I asked about the cairn and it was in fact a shrine to Shiva. I assumed the whole puja was thanking Shiva for the bountiful grass this year and asking for good grass in the future.

After the lake the route became more faint and erratic and there were frequent boulder fields. I made heavy work of these and the others overtook me. The mist was thick enough now to be drizzle. I had a slight orientation as to where I was just due to the small roar of the Nepka Khola stream, otherwise I would have been lost. A local guide here really was essential. The boulder fields were soon interspersed with snow fields, all of which were at quite a manageable gradient even with soft shoes. Santos was still feeling weak and had diarrhoea, probably after an apricot someone gave him yesterday which could have been picked up from the dirty river bank in Nepka. Dawa somehow managed to take his load also leaving him with the bare minimum. Only an athlete of Dawa’s fortitude could have managed what I estimated to be a 40 kg load. Ramesh, as usual also helped, leaving Santos with about 5 kg.

After about 3 hours we seemed to circle round the fan which was the headwaters of the Nepka Khola stream crossing snowfields and slippery boulder fields. Then we made a short traversing climb until we reached the pass at about 4650m. There were no cairns, chortens, prayer flags or any other fanfare. Through the mist I could see the way down and it looked steep and snowy. At first instance I was worried but then I could see a route until the mist obscured it. I paid the guide for the wood and use of the kitchen in his shelter 1700 rupees and another 2000 rupees for the guiding. He said he was hoping for more. Bharat said he though another 1000 was due and I did not quibble. He had provided a great service and I thought the going rate was 1500 rupees for the day. We shook hands and he watched us as we descended into the mist.

It was just a steep descent down a rib for 30 metres to reach a steep snow field. However the snow was soft and easy to smash ones heels into to make a step. Then I saw the snowfield was in fact concave and descended some 200 metres into a bowl. I started going faster and was almost jogging down the slope until I slipped. I slid, almost on my bare bum as my loose shorts rode up for some 40 metres until the slope eased and I could stop. There after I could resume my speedy descent down another 100m to the bottom of the bowl. The others were following but Santos and Dawa had slippery shoes and were cautious. We had reached the bottom of a bowl with a jagged cirque of rocky peaks around it. The only chink in the cirque was the pass we came through. On the map it was called Chhetuma Lek, but no one local recognized the name. There was a tongue of snow which continued down for about another 100 vertical metres and it was great to follow it to its end in a collection of small flat meadows, which briefly had a rare patch of sun of them.

From here it was a good hour down beside a growing stream which crashed down slopes of rocky grassland. We could see a flock of sheep much further down and a couple of people. We continued our rough descent down the uneven hillside, careful not to slip on the stones. I though I was going fast but looked round once to see all 4 following closely behind me, very much at home on the boulders. Further down the valley I could see the main valley we were heading for in which the Lurupya Khola flowed. We were eager to get to it, cross the log bridge to the north side to gain the path and then blast down it for 10 km to reach the fleshpots of Dojan. As we neared the herd of sheep we realized it was a kharka so we went to ask directions. 4 shepherds came out to greet us, 3 spinning wool and one smoking tobacco in a chillum.

The news we got was not good. The bridge spanning the Lurupya Khola had been washed away and there was no way across the stream. In fact it was not a stream but a “Karnali”, a large river really. The only option for us was to force out way through the jungle of birch trees growing out of boulders fields on the steep south side of the river for some 7 km until we got to the next bridge. I knew this would take all day and we would be lucky to make a km an hour. Furthermore there was no more camping until this bridge at the collection of shelters, also called Lurupya. It seems the information we received, both from Nepka and the kharka was wrong and outdated. Indeed the 4 shepherds said no one had come over the pass this year so far. We were stuck really. Either 7 km of difficult jungle or return the way we came! The shepherds said our best option was to continue for another half hour to a large cave and spend the night there and then make an early start to fight our way through the jungle of birch tomorrow.

Despondently we went on down the valley in the drizzle and found the cave camp at the bottom of a buttress. There was wood and water nearby but the cave was much smaller that we thought. It was more of a slight, but very high overhang extending some 10 metres. If there was any southerly wind it would blown the rain onto the two platforms which could really only sleep 3-4 people each. The upper one was a bit smaller but had a good seat to write at. The others gave me the option and I took the upper while they took the lower, which had a nice fireplace come cooking area but the sleeping area was more exposed to the elements and half of it was already damp from drips. They explained they could use the two small tarpaulins we had, in a typically stoic Nepali way. In the upper platform I also saw a small stash on a rock which included a tarpaulin and an old blanket covered in sheep’s wools, which I could use in an emergency. It belonged to the shepherds. They arrived well before dusk and went to the lower platform to chat to the others. We were probably the first people they had seen this summer after coming over another pass from their village of Rodikot. As the others cooked and chatted I did the “office” while mist slowly drifted up the valley.

11 July. Cave 2km south Lurupya Khola to Kumlit Jula. 23 km. 10.5 hours. 540m up. 2070m down. The smoke from the fire below drifted up and at 0500 and I knew breakfast was under way. I had a remarkably good night in the cave despite the fact it drizzled all night. The others in the cave below had to cover the bottoms of their sleeping bags with a tarpaulin to prevent the drizzle soaking them. The two shepherds sleeping above me got up first and went down to the fire, then I went down. There was a  lot of chatting and I was a bit frustrated but we were still ready to go at 0700. Bharat approached sheepishly and I knew I had been asked to contribute to the firewood used. It was 600 rupees but then there was a kitchen charge also which was 400 rupees for essentially the side of the cave wall which they claimed ownership. Still the information they had given up was invaluable.

We started heading down the small path which pretty much went on top of the boulders for a half a km and then it entered the first of the birch trees. As it did it became more defined. It fell quickly through the trees heading down to the to the Lurupya Khola river. As it descended the vegetation became thicker and thicker but it was still manageable. I thought the very rough path would go straight down to this river where the bridge had been washed away but it tended to the west for a good km or two before it reached the river. All the time the drizzle continued to fall and the vegetation was soaking us. My shoes were wet in no time and my hands were earthy with all the mossy trees and branches I was grabbing to save myself slipping down the often muddy slope. When we got to the place where the remains of the log and stone cantilever bridge was I expected the path to stop, but it continued albeit in a much fainter version.

We took it in turns to route find with Bharat and myself usually at the front, the others having their big loads usually followed letting the leaders make the mistakes and walk back. Bharat had an special talent for spotting where the very faint path went, even when I thought it had vanished. A cut branch here or a pile of ruffled leaves was all he had to go by and it was lucky there had been some one here this season. Our progress was very slow, at perhaps a km an hour. From the map I could work out which ridge descending down to the main valley we had to reach before we got to the bridge. After a couple of hours of slogging through the wet dripping jungle it seemed we seemed to be no nearer. I was now soaking wet and covered in mud and leaves. Bharat joked with the others it was like commando training and that was probably not far from the truth. Some of the slopes were very steep and I often looked over at the tip of a fir just 10 metres away and then realized it was a 50 metre tree.

We got to an boulder which had a large overhang under which people had been camping recently. The others thought they were wild garlic collectors. We lit a small fire in their fire pit and ate our lunch snacks. It was so still the smoke hung in the air over the river like a ball of thick fog. The drizzle still continued after lunch. I took up the lead now for a good hour and was often ahead of the others who could easily follow my clumsy trail, “Like a buffalo” said Ramesh. We all slipped and fell. I had a lucky escape with a rock, my shoulder taking the impact rather than my head, and Ramesh crashed down on his ribs and was winded for a good few minutes. Santos still had his diarrhoea so we were a sorry bunch when we reached a small powerful stream we had to wade across. Even Bharat kept his boots on. Some of the route finding was very difficult and I thought I had lost the path numerous times.

Once, when I could see no sign of the path I looked down at the river and thought I could see some logs across to a large boulder in the middle of the torrent. I back tracked and could see that people had walked from the path towards the logs spanning half the river. When the others arrived we went to investigate. It was indeed a bridge, or two bridges to be precise. One from the south bank to a massive boulder and the other from the boulder to the north bank. They were both rickety, especially the first which was broken and just consisted of three logs. A fall would have been fatal. Eventually we were all across and up on the main path on the north side. We were saved after slogging through the jungle for over 5 hours.

It still took us 3 hours to walk down the muddy path to the confluence with the Chuwa Khola, and even bigger torrent. The 7-8 km took us through mixed forest with 3 of Nepal’s 5 main conifers, namely Fir, Spruce and Pine, only Hemlock and Deodar were missing. We passed some shepherds with a large flock of goats. They were also used for transport and the kharka had lots of small saddle bags stacked up which the goats carried. As the path descended to the confluence the trees on the north side virtually vanished, probably cut or burnt over the decades by shepherds wanting to improve the grazing. In the south side though across the inaccessible torrent the conifers flourished.

We questioned the shepherds about a local shop in Dojam or even a hotel. All our stuff was wet or at the minimum claggy. A night in the tent was feasible but would have been miserable and any firewood we found wet. They said Dojam just had a little shop but 40 minutes downstream at Kumlit Jula was a hotel. They advised us to take the path on the south side of the river, crossing at Syala at the confluence of the two violent rivers. We did this on another log bridge. As usual the 40 minutes turned out to be nearly two hours and we climbed and descended the very undulating path. We also failed to take a small fork down to the right and climbed for another 20 minutes before we realized our mistake. In the meantime it was just a short climb to Dojan where we would have met a well constructed path which slowly descended all the way to the hotel. It was bad information these shepherds gave us and the north route would have been far simpler and easier.

The hotel was quite rustic but the Lama host and his wife were very friendly and welcoming. We all enjoyed hanging up out wet clothes in the dusk and then went into the warm kitchen for a huge dalbhat and omelette. It was luxury to have the warmth of the kitchen and the ability to spread out. Our little adventure off piste was over and now it was just an easy well used path to Simikot some 4 hours away.

12 July. Kumlit Jula to Simikot. 13km. 5 hours. 1010m up. 430m down. It was nice to sleep indoors after a week in the tent. Even in the rustic room I could hear the rain when I woke smashing onto the tin roof. It was also nice not to wander off in the morning to find a secluded boulder, as there was the luxury of a squat toilet downstairs in a cramped small damp room. After breakfast the host, who suggested we go via Baragaon rather than Karpunath, showed us the path to take after walking us to the edge of the hamlet past a few watermills. By now the weather was misty but at least the rain had stopped.

We set off up the track to Baragaon and passed many groups of women, over 60 women in all and  few men on the way down. I assumed they were going to the fields around Kumlit Jula each side of the river. These fields looked fertile and were green and lush with millet and corn. It would explain why there were so many water mills in Kumlit Jula, which must be a satellite of Baragaon. It took an hour to reach Baragaon up the well-made and busy path. Unfortunately the whole village was in mist which was a shame as it was a very large traditional village full of character and would have been a photo bonanza. Even in the mist is was full of intrigue.

The first thing one noticed was the mud. Or rather mud come animal dung. It was up to 10 centimetres in the lanes. Under the mud was a layer of cobble sized stones otherwise I dare say it would be shin deep if not more. The mud came from the earth trampled by thousands of feet and hooves in the midst of the monsoon rains. The dung came from the ground floor of the houses where the animals spent the night in a dark, dingy, cellar type room whose floor was lined with leaves. I think most of this was taken out to the fields as manure. Inevitably some would be shovelled out or overflowed into the lane. In addition when the small cattle and goats were taken out to graze each day they would lay a pat or two in the lanes. There was also a fair amount of mule traffic, bringing goods to the small shops and they would also add to the dung in the lanes. I was stepping carefully in my boots, but Santos whose boots had finally fallen to pieces had borrowed Dawa’s sandals. Santos and Ramesh were convinced the population of Baragaon also used their lanes as a toilet, and I saw some evidence too, and this further added to Santos’s anguish.

I became confused quarter way through the village as to the path, and a teacher on his way to school directed me up some steps to a roof top. The path then went along the roofs of about 20 houses and past a Hindu Temple sited on one roof. Where there was a gap between houses it was bridged with rough planks. Below I could see the ooze in the lane. It seemed the rooftops was the social area and there were meeting everywhere. Men smoked tobacco in chillums and looked at me as I gingerly walked past. Women were generally busy but a few also smoked chillums. On one rooftop a lady had set up a seamstress business with sewing machine. I had to look where I was going because there were so many pipes poking out through the roof from stoves below. When the rooftops finished I was directed towards a log ladder and climbed it to start another series of rooftops and then again up another ladder and more roof tops until I descended to the muddy lanes again to find a way out of the west side of the village on the path to Simikot.

As we left the village we passed lots of the small cattle which were heading out of town to graze on weeds and bushes also the paths edge and on land too steep or poor to cultivate. They were a feeble and timid looking variety of cattle, with many of the adults being barely a metre high. Even the bulls looked like they might fall over if you gave them a good shove. The path climbed up to a ridge where there were great views in most directions across and up the valleys. Small medieval hamlets, surrounded by bright green terraces, clung to hillsides all around and were only revealed when the mist cleared. Down in the valleys the two major rivers of the area, the Humla Karnali and the Kharpu Karnali, which we had partly followed, met at the important Kharpunath Hindu temple far below.

The path now descended through the mist into the small side valley with the hamlet of Hildum. It passed above this huddle of 10 houses and then started a long 500 metre climb up the west side of the valley. I was now dog tired and had to pace myself up the hill. The others were far behind and I could see them coming down the path to Hildum. We were all tired, wet and fed up with the weather. At the top of the climb was another smaller but disheartening climb until I reached the edge of Simikot and a large sign saying it was a “Open Defaecation Free Zone” and something in Nepali presumably saying Open Defecators will be fined. The wide lane here was muddy even though there were few animals. I walked through the main street with the rain starting again. It was much busier now than 11 years ago with double the number of houses and shops, even the runway was now covered in tarmac.

I spied a cluster of new hotels at the far end of town and headed for them. The Bijay looked nice but was expensive. As I left it I bumped into an American and Brazilian staying there for the summer while they flew Indians on helicopters between Simikot and Hilsa en route to Mount Kailash. They convinced me it was the best and most reasonable in town so I humbly returned and checked it. I got two rooms on the roof for us with great views and drying options if the rain stopped. There were some Indians staying here, stranded by the weather, hoping to fly to Hilsa soon. I ate a delicious set meal with them and then spoke to Fiona after a month of silence. There was no hot water due to the sun’s absence so I had a bucket shower and managed to shave. For the second time this trip it was a month between washes. As I went downstairs the head of the Army in Humla District dropped in. He had done his officer training at Sandhurst and spoke excellent English. We chatted for about 10 minutes. He had an unpronounceable name but said just call me Nish. Later in the evening we saw the news and it seemed the whole of Nepal was getting battered by monsoon rains with severe problems elsewhere and massive flooding, so with out constant drizzle and mists we have got off quite lightly.  The hotel was comfortable and it would be a great place for us all to recover before we start the final Section 14. Limi. Which should take 10 days.

Section 13. Mugu to Humla Off Piste had been a hard section. The official GHT goes down to Mugu Karnali River from Shilenchaura Kharka for 3 days to Gamghadi and then spends about 5 days heading north, eventually up the Humla Karnali to Simikot. I have walked all of it before and it is a beautiful area but it is really in the hill region, or Pahar, rather than the mountain region, or Himal. The area is developing quite quickly and roads are branching out from Gamghadi and Humla. I had walked the most of my alternative from Mugugaon over the Takya Lek pass and then down the Take Khola to Nepka and indeed on to Piplan, which is all in the true spirit of the GHT to go as high as possible. I wanted to further enhance this by heading over from the Take Khola to the Lurupya Khola over one of the near 5000m passes. However the information was sketchy and it seemed the only route available was the one we took and the Musyang Khola one was a false lead.  Even the one we took was full of false information. The route up was fine, the route finding to the pass was very difficult and a local guide from the kharka was also essential. The descent to the cave was reasonably easy but the section from the cave to the rickety bridge over the Lurupya Khola, although only about 7-8 km is very difficult and will test even the most patient porter. Unless the bridge further up the Lurupya Khola is rebuilt I could not really recommend this route to anyone but the hardiest,  most adventurous trekking groups, especially in the monsoon season. The descent from Nepka to Piplan and then up to Simikot is the best. In retrospect though it had been fun and the 5 of us are already reminiscing.

Section 13. Mugu to Humla Off Piste. 8 Days. 144 Km. 58,5 Hours. 6370m up. 7210m down.

Back

16 March. Suketar to Simbu. 12 km. 4.5 hours. 300m up. 990m down. The two porters, Ramesh and Santos took the night bus from Kathmandu to Bertimod with all our baggage while Bharat and I flew to Biratnagar and took a taxi to Birtimod where we would meet around 10 and then charter a jeep for the four of us and all the baggage to take us up to Taplejung some seven hours drive away. Unfortunately a bearing broke on the overnight bus wheel and they were eight hours late. We left in our jeep as it got dark and had a hard drive for three hours past 1am to a dull pretentious hotel. The next morning the four of us got back into the jeep with the driver and drove another 4-5 hours to Taplejung and on to the nearly mothballed airport at Suketar where the road ended. We had a daltbat here to fortify us for the walk.

By the time the food was cooked at the bhatti we had packed the porters’ baskets and we ready to take our first of many million steps. After a group photo we raised out loads and headed east up the dusty track with the occasion rustic 4 wheel drive jeep, loaded to the gunwales, labouring past and blowing up dust. It was a short hike up to Deurali, which was a busy hamlet catering for pilgrims to the important Phathibhara Temple, but is now by passed by a dusty track where jeeps ferry the devout. We stopped for water here and then headed down the other side of the pass. It was largely forest on this side with some clearings far below. The road was carved into the hillside, sometimes precariously, and it made frequent hairpins. Where possible people have stamped a shortcut between the bends.

The forest was warm and humid but the haze in the air smothered the distant views beyond the next valley. It was largely dust and smoke in the air which is only in the early morning and dusk. Amongst the large tree were Rhododendrons vibrant with red flowers. However it was the grand magnolia trees which stole the show with the bright bulbous branches thick in white flowers. Much of the route was down on the track passing some homesteads until we got to the hamlet of Lalikharka. It was mooted as a place to stay but it was just 3pm and we had only walked two hours so I suggested we walk on Simbu in an hour and a half.

We went into the kitchen for a tea. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia inside. It was the genuine rural idyll inside with a neat earth stove and shelves of tin and copper utensils. Some dry meat was hanging from the rafters preserving itself in the smoke. How far removed is this from the noisy chaos of Kathmandu. it was the first time I had relaxed with the porters in a relaxed setting and I knew I would get on with both of them. Bharat has chosen well.

After the tea we continued down through clusters of homesteads circling above the pastoral village of Tembewa as we contoured across the hillside peppered with the bright red Rhododendron flowers. We then crossed a ridge and started a long descent on a rocky path. As we descended we reached homesteads in small fields now given over to cardamom, it being the new gold fever crop of the region.

With tired legs we reached the main cluster of Simbu where I found the rustic hotel I had been told about. They had a very simple room for me and space for Bharat, Santos and Ramesh on the floor. However they had a cosy kitchen and pressure cookers hissing with cooking rice and dahl. I retired to my room to write while the others hung about until it got dark and then moved into the kitchen. I could hear the buoyant barrel-chested Santos holding court. It was quite a short day but we were all glad it was over and I was delighted to be back in rural Nepal.

17 March. Simbu to Phumphe Danda. 18 km. 8 hours. 1160m up. 990m down. We all slept well in the cosy tea house and left after a quick breakfast at 0800. We could and should have left much earlier as it was daylight by 0600 and by 0800 it was already getting warm. We descended for almost an hour through small terraced fields and then into the humid warm jungle at the deep valley floor. We now faced the daunting prospect of a gruelling 700m climb in the hot sun. Santos and Ramesh paused frequently and Bharat stayed with them so I decided I would do the whole climb at my slow pace but without stopping before Kande Bhanjyang Pass.

I trudged up the steps occasionally coming to a track which zig-zagged up the hillside carving a ruthless path through what was once peaceful terraced fields. The path generally short cut the zig-zags passing some homesteads and chautera which are resting places under the shade of a peepal tree. After a good hour I passed a rural village, called Hinchhebun, with a school and a few local shops. I stopped to chat in very broken Nepali to occasion people, usually men, working at their homesteads usually opening my conversation by asking directions. My smattering of 3-400 Nepali words slowly returning to me. After about three hours I finally reached the pass and found a clean local shop fun by a Gurung. I asked him to start cooking four dalbhat for me and the other three who I hoped would not stop to eat before at the usual time of 1000.

As always the meal took about 40 minutes to cook and was ready just as the others came into the hamlet. We fell upon the piles of rice, dahl and curried vegetables and cleaned out plates and then washed the meal down with tea and buffalo milk. We then relaxed and chatted with the Gurung owner for another half hour before it was time to set off again around 1300. I again went on ahead descending into a huge crescent formed by two ridges.

I descended into the bowl past homesteads sitting amongst terraced fields until the path entered jungle. The path was easier to follow here as it was less confused. It contoured across the hillside in the jungle and then climbed steep ground up to the other ridge of the bowl where there was a small temple and a chautera. I had a drink of water here waiting for the others but after 20 minutes there was no sign, so I continued through the small hamlet of Phungphung Danda contouring across the steep hillside to the village of Yanpang. Ahead of me far up the valley I could see the high peaks of the Kanchenjunga massif. At the far end of Yanpang was a small bhatti and I was making a beeline for it hoping for more buffalo milk tea to sooth my dusty throat. It was a lovely saunter through the cottages of Yanpang but the bhatti just had black tea. I waited half an hour for the other to catch up and hey looked as tired as I felt.

From the bhatti there was just an hours’ more walking slowly climbing up a ridge, initially gently and then steeply to crest another ridge. It was the final effort of a long day. From the top of the climb it was a delightful walk in the cooler late afternoon sun along a level path high above the valley floor for half an hour to the village of Phumphe Danda. Right at the start was a rustic hotel which seemed neat and tidy. There was also another English speaking group staying here so I was delighted I would have someone else to chat to that evening. Our group split that evening with the Nepalis getting together for a raucous evening in the hotel kitchen while me and the four English speakers gathered in a dining alcove for a quiet meal. I was tired but Ramesh and Santos recovered quickly – Santos so much so he chased a chicken across the hotel yard which ended up in their pot.

I chatted with the expats who were living in Thailand and I was glad of their easy company and gentle witty banter. Bharat came through with a tumble of raksi, told some stories and then disappeared. I hobbled up to bed quite early and slept quickly in the tiny room with the phone charging off a 12v battery system.

18 March. Phumphe Danda to Sherpagoan. 12 km. 6 hours. 990m up. 790m down. The morning did not start well. I was up and packed by seven, but the others had been up until late drinking and dancing. Once they were up I had some gentle words and would leave reading the riot act until later.

Again the day started with a 300 metre descent followed by a quick steep climb up to the village of Manankhe, a small Limbu village with clusters of cottages and a museum of cultural life but it was closed. I was walking with the expats and Santos now.

After leaving Mananhke we all noticed how dark the skies were becoming. This was not good news as any rain here, though unpleasant, would fall as snow higher up, and make life very difficult over any passes. Despite my 16 kg rucksack I felt quite buoyant and relieved to be out of the oppressive heat of the last 2 days. I left the others behind and walked across the steep hillside contouring in and out of steep ravines. Although I say contouring nothing in Nepal is flat and there were many short up and downs.

After in about three hours in all it was about 1100, well after Dalhbhat time and I knew Santos would be getting hungry, as were the other group with the expats so I stopped at a bhatti. The expat’s guide said it was the only place. He soon arrived and we ordered ten, six for them and four for us. It arrived an hour later and was a disappointment as the dahl was barely yellow water.

The small path continued its steep undulations until it descended to the river in the valley below by a swing bridge. We did not cross the bridge but wove through cardamom plantations on the valley floor for a glorious flat km. The sinister sky now broke with large droplets of water crashing into the dust on the path like little meteors. Just as the climb started the lightening and thunder also started which hastened my pace and I soon left the other behind. I powered up the smooth dusty boulders of the path but it became inevitable I would have to stop and cover up for the rain.

The path climbed rapidly up to Yampudin on a ridge. Below it on the valley floor in was a larger village with a big police post. Whether I needed to go there or not I don’t know but I could see the expats and their guide also bypassed it. It was now getting miserable and cold but tomorrow was a big day and it was necessary to continue up the hill for another hour to a delightful village called Sherpagoan. There were three rustic hotels here. I took shelter in one to see where the expats went.  They went to the other – it was the nicest place on the trail so far. The rain continued all evening and at the cloud level I could see the forest turning white with snowfall. It did not bode well.

19 March. Sherpagoan to Torantang. 22 km. 8.5hours. 1680m up. 810m down. The hotel was quite noisy and I woke a few times with people crashing about and when my alarm went at 0530 I dis not feel so well rested. To my dismay I heard one of the expats, Oliver shout that he needed a rest day to get over his cough. It was probably a good idea as there was 1400m of ascent in total up to the Lasiya Bhanjyang, 3310m, and it looked like the top half was covered in last nights snow.

Initially the path wove through the forest above Sherpagoan, climbing mostly, and passing a couple of herders with their tiny cattle and a few sheep. Eventually we go to a stream where two streams joined where there was a small bridge which looked like it was from a Japanese garden. This was the last water, and from here the path ascended steeply up the ridge between the streams for a relentless steep zigzagging 3-400 metres. I left the other behind here as they took frequent pauses and I trudged slowly but surely.

There were glimpses through the dense dark forest but I was mostly looking at the hillside. There were bamboos about on the forest floor and I optimistically kept my eye out for a Red Panda as they had been spotted here. After a hard hour I broke out of the jungle onto a more open ridge covered in Rhododendron, many just about to flower and festooned with plump buds. The path continued to climb weaving a route through the trees and across pasture. It was a delight to walk up it. The very fragrant lokti (Bhunia daphne) were just about in full flower and the rhododendrons were just starting. I saw the most florescent bird eating the flowers or the nectar but it was too active to photo. There were great views each side of the ridge from this high pasture.

The pasture did not last and soon the path veered to the east of the ridge and climbed up the flank of a steep knoll. The forest here was largely Rhododendron but of a larger variety with some very venerable trees. They were all covered in mosses and epiphytes and the forest floor was scattered with many clumps of Himalayan primrose. When I finally broke back onto the ridge again I found myself in the Himalayan Silver Fir woods. There was a lot of tree debris on the path which must have been a recent heavy snowfall. The final km up to the pass was very snowy but at last after an ascent of some 1400 metres I reached the small bhatti. There was no sign of the others but I knew they would be labouring and very hungry so I ordered four Dahlbhats.  Bharat and Ramesh arrived after an hour and I ate with them others minus Santos. After the meal the loyal, hard-working Ramesh went back to help Santos. He arrived back just as I was leaving with the huge red bag. I have seldom seen such a kind generous act.

Unfortunately there was a sting in the tail, as some 10 years ago a huge landslide had taken out about a km of the path. The landslide, even by Nepali standards was immense, and it was like a open would which would never heal as there was constant rock fall in it and no vegetation could establish itself. The new path went round the lip of this chasm and climbed another 200 metres before coming down the eastern edge of the vast scar. It was quite precarious, as there was about six inches of snow lying on this north facing slope. It took a good hour to gingerly shuffle down the path until the snow became sporadic. I did see the recent tracks from a pair of Red Pandas which had wandered up here within the last six hours.

The path now descended much more gently as it fell diagonally through the large mature Silver Firs. In one clump of bamboo I saw a striking red Blood Pheasant. As I reached the valley floor the mist closed in and gave the forest a mysterious ambience. In all it took about three hours to reach the valley floor from the snowy bhatti at the pass, and I did not see a soul as I wandered through this ancient forest. Once on the forest floor the drizzle turned to sleet and I quickly walked up beside the river for a couple of km to reach the tiny hamlet of Tortong by a bridge. It had a couple of simple lodges and in the cold sleet I chose the first. The others arrived about an hour later. We all piled into the cosy kitchen to warm up. The high cheek-boned owner of the lodge at Cheram arrived joined in. Despite the huge day the porters had both Ramesh and Santos were in great form.

20 March. Torantang to Chesam.12 km. 4.5 hours. 900m up. 50m down. The miserable weather continued through the night and I was getting concerned as the cold sleet down here would be deep snow on the Mirgin La pass we hoped to go over tomorrow. We left at 0800 on this shortish day to up Cheram and were walking across a few inches of snow at once. The sun was melting it on the rhododendron leaves and it occasionally cascaded onto us. There were extensive patches of blue sky but these were short lived and soon grey patches of mist blocked them out.

We wandered up on the north side of the river climbing slowly and overtaking each other. The vigours of yesterday were taking their toll. The forest was lush and dripping in mosses, every stone on the floor was covered in moss, and then with a cap of snow on that. On each side the valley floor rose steeply. It was clad in large silver firs whose crowns were stacked with new snow. They were arranged up the ridges such that the snowy crowns stood out from the dark forest behind as if one were walking through a monochrome Chinese watercolour. Before long the dripping from the branches stopped as the temperature dropped with altitude and the sun was obscured.

It was a very beautiful walk up the snow clad valley but the snow was now 10-15 cm deep. I was ahead of the others and following the footsteps of the Cheram lodge owner and his porter. It was quite a winter wonderland and easy walking but the whole time I was worried about the accumulations on the pass. Suddenly there was a huddle of blood pheasants in the undergrowth of berberis in a forest opening. I was slow to get my camera out but they were magnificent against the snow.

I passed the uninviting campsite in a snow covered pasture at Anda Phedi and was heading down to the river again when a guide and tourist approached. They were coming down from Oktang where they were with a group who were preparing to film two Russians who were attempting to climb the SE face of Jannu later in the spring. We got chatting and discovered we were both from Scotland. Then I put two and two together and guessed his name as Keith Partridge. He was gobsmacked. We had a few mutual friends in common. He was going down to meet the Russians. He said their satellite phone forecast was not good with more snow due.

From here it was only a couple of km up to Chesam. My mind was churning with options. We had to give the pass a go perhaps with an extra porter from Chesam to share the porters’ load, who at 28 kg were at their limit. Bharat would also have to start earning his keep by forging a path for the rest of us to follow. The hotel owner as Chesam also said he would help and he was a big strong Sherpa. Alternatively we would have to return down the valley to Hellok and then go up to Ghunsa from there which would be four days instead of one or two most likely with the snow.

I arrived at the two lodges at Chesam, which was all Chesam was, and was beckoned over by the strong Sherpa. The other lodge was apparently run by his sister. He made me the most delicious milk tea with chopped fresh ginger and then showed me to a surprisingly spacious room. The others arrived over the next half hour with Santos the last announcing his arrival with whoops and bombast. The strong Sherpa, called Dawa Chirri Sherpa, made a great noodle and fresh veg dish as he had been a cook for a trekking outfit called Summit Expeditions for 15 years before setting up himself. After lunch I had a long snooze. As dusk closed in it looked miserable outside with cold grey mist enveloping everything, and icicles forming on the rough hand hewn shingles which made up the roof. We were nearly at 3900 metres now. In the evening it cascaded with snow and a good 15 cm fell in a few hours – dry polystyrene balls which stuck to nothing.

21 March. Chesam to Torantang. 20 km. 7.5 hours. 570m up. 1430m down. That night I did not sleep well and the options were running through my head. I got up around two and went outside and was amazed to see clear skies and a full moon. Perhaps we were destined to make it over the passes after all. I determined to talk to Dawa at first light. I would pay him well to ferry us over and if this big strong Sherpa could not no-one could. I heard him up at 0530 and went to chat to him. Yes he would do it and was delighted with my offer. We would leave ASAP and he would take us over three passes including Mirgin La, at 4836m. He warned it would be difficult. He would leave us at Mirgin La pass and return to Cheram, and we would make our own way down to Selele Camp in a saddle at 4200, where we could camp in the snow before going over the final Selele La pass (about 4500) tomorrow. We bought kerosene from him for the camp and set off at 0800.

It was a winter wonderland heading up through the large juniper trees on the steep slope. It was difficult to keep up with Dawa even though he was carrying 15kg of our stuff. He pointed out red fox tracks and places where he had seen snow leopards. He had 160 yak and each year he lost some 20 calves to snow leopards. He was however involved in the collaring programs and helped scientists locate them. After an hour the steep juniper forest finished and we continued to ascend steep scrub and boulders, all under 20 cm of snow. It was a glorious day with great views to the gargantuan mountains up the vast Yalong Glacier beneath us, essentially Kabru and Kanchenjunga.

As we reached the top of the scrub we began to tread across older snow and Dawa was starting to post hole, sometimes two feet deep. It looked exhausting and I volunteered a shot at the front. After 200 metres we reached a small frozen lake beyond a lip. Soon we were having to wade through the old snow and it was very slow going. I could tell by Dawa’s demeanour he thought further progress was hopeless as we were still a good way from the first pass. We had a little meeting when Bharat and Ramesh arrived and as the sky was also closing in thought it best to abandon the crossing. We had a small photoshoot at 4400m and then headed back down. Throughout this whole climb I was amazed as Ramesh. He admirably carried half his own weight in a basket up this immense terrain with a constant smile.

We quickly descended to Cheram again. Dawa was very apologetic and refused any money but I insisted and gave a fifth of what was agreed. He was delighted. Dawa and Ramesh are two outstanding humans. Back at Cheram we had a quick lunch and then bowed to the inevitable and started heading down some 2300 metres along the Tamur Nadi river down the valley. Once there we would have to head north and climb up to Ghunsa over three days. The excursion up to Cheram and Kanchenjunga south would cost us three days in all and it was a mistake to think this difficult series of passes around Mirgin La would be a pushover, especially in March.

It should have been an easy three hours back down to Torantang, but we were all tired. I had not slept well and the ascent and then the postholing in the snow had been taxing. I passed all the expats on the way down. Peter was alarmed to see me because they were hoping to go over the passes in a couple of days. His girlfriend had seen a Red Panda on the way up and still buzzing about that. Oliver was labouring at the back without his rucksack, still weak with his chest infection. It was good to see them again, and I hope our paths cross around Ghunsa in a week.

This time at Torungtan we chose the other teahouse, more of a bhatti really but the guys liked it and were soon chatting round the fire. Ramesh, eager to display his cooking skills, demanded to make the team supper on the wood stove while the owner looked on. Indeed the whole atmosphere in the old teahouse with its rough-hewn wooden shingle roof and wooden walls was very cosy. Santos as usual was holding court with five to seven people gathered around the other stove. It was perhaps the nearest Nepal gets to a country pub. After Ramesh commandeered the kitchen he produced the tastiest Dalhbhat. It seems both him and the bhatti owners’ son both worked in Malaysia. Many Nepalis do a 2-4 year stint somewhere, often a Muslim country, for a manpower agency. That night some musicians also arrived late in the evening and I could hear singing and dancing until late.

22 March. Torantang to Japantar. 19 km. 9 hours. 540m up. 1870m down. It was a clear day and I set off at 0800 with Santos in tow. I thought the path would be easy and it was down to the junction with the path up to Sherpagoan and even the bottom of the vast landslip I negotiated a few days ago. At that it crossed the river on a temporary bridge, with a new one under construction, to the north side of the valley. From here it began a torturous route up and down very steep spurs on small steps. Sometimes there would be very precipitous drops and a slip would be very serious. The path climbed and descended almost at random however, you then passed a buttress or climbed up over a landslip and you realized it was necessary.

it was a wild valley and thickly clad in bamboos and larger trees, many dripping in moss and broadleaved epiphytes. It was the ideal place to see a Red Panda and I kept my eyes peeled when the path allowed. Across the valley was a vast forest of Silver Fir and Hemlock. It was hardly surprising this path was not marked on the tourist maps. About three and a half hours after leaving Torungtang, Ramesh caught me up and suggested we stop. I hiked on to the next rivulet cascading down the hillside and we stopped here. At this point it seemed there was a mule track being built up the valley from Hellok where we were going. It soon transpired that the new track just followed the torturous undulating route of the old track with its steep ups and precipitous downs, it was just that it was now on steps of newly hewn stone. It took another two and a half hours to get to the first houses of upper Hellok, perhaps the hamlet of Sigodanda. They were mostly seasonal bamboo shelters of herders and goats were tethered in small shelters and brought leaves.

The descent into Hellok took forever, but at least the path was mostly down and there was plenty of cultural interest. The houses became more like simple one storey cottages with bamboo and occasionally blue tin roofs. After a good hour I finally reached the established homesteads in Hellok sitting proudly among their terraced fields which seemed to have mostly potatoes or maize growing in them. I was not sure of my way among a myriad of paths but could see the bridge over the Simbuwa Khola and knew I had to cross it. I was also wary of losing too much height ending up on a dead end path on the cardamom plantations below and having to climb up. I could not see the others so just followed my instinct and asked whenever I saw a mature person.

Eventually the path descended to a new track below Hellok and I turned and followed it north over a rickety bridge below the wire bridge I was originally aiming for. I then crossed the large Tamor Nadi twice to end up in a small teahouse at Sukethum. I had been going for about eight hours and was drained. I had a sweet black tea to get me along the last 20 minutes to a small collection of rustic tea houses at Japantar. I thought the others would already be here as I assumed they overtook me in the maze of paths in Hellok but it seems they were also confused. My clothes were in need of a wash now and Ramesh offered to do them. I had to tip him for that job.

23 March. Japantar to Thayam. 15 km. 7 hours. 1270m up. 470m down. We were all quite tired, especially me, so we dithered a bit and we did not get going until 0830. The sun was already warming the gorge. We crossed to the shaded south side at once and followed a twisting path beside the river through scant and poor cardamom fields. After a km the path crossed back to the south side and we were at the mercy of the sun again. I chatted easily with Bharat – he’s an extremely likable, jocular, sociable person.

As we continued along the bottom of the extremely deep gorge, perhaps 2 km deep, the path clinging to the edges just above the water. In many places it had to be hewn out of the sheer rock and in others a rustic concrete walkway clung to the edge. One was very vulnerable down here and you had the feeling a rock could land somewhere anytime having fallen from high above. Again we crossed from the north to the shadier south side when a vast buttress blocked any route for the path. While on the south side I heard a loud jingling of bells. Before I realized what it was a vast dhzo,, in full regalia was bearing down on me, sharp horns stick out from his headdress. A dhzo is a yak-cow cross and supposed to be slightly more even tempered than a yak. This one was the lead in a caravan and there were about ten behind him. He was not stopping for me and I had to climb boulders at the path side to let them past.

We the crossed to the north side again and began the climb up to Amjilosa. It was only some 3-400 metres but in the hots sun it was hard work climbing out of the depths of the gorge to a broad shelf on the valley side. The redeeming factor of this climb was we seemed to be entering a band of rhododendrons again and most were in a magnificent red bloom. Small colourful birds, perhaps a sunbird species, swarmed around these trees. I was the last to reach Amjilosa and Bharat had already organized things. There were about ten houses in this hamlet and three of them were tourist tea houses. We stopped at one for the morning Dhalbhat. After we had had our fill I could see everyone getting sleepy so we lazed around for half an hour.

Once we left we still had a good 200 metres to climb to the spur of a large ridge where the deep gorge far below turned north. Apparently this was a known quirk where there was mobile phone reception, and Bharat kindly lent me his phone to phone Fiona in Scotland for five minutes. The next opportunity might be in a month. As we turned north off the parched spur we started a taxing undulation through forest where the trees were once again covered in moss. Every short climb was felt in our legs. At last we then started the descent proper and crashed down some 300 metres through a forest of larger trees and an underfloor of bamboo. It was perfect red panda country again but this was not a remote track. Finally we reached the tiny very rustic local hotel at Thayam. I stayed here three years ago and got ill, so I was wary of it. There was a new water supply now apparently according to the old owner who was hand spinning wool when we arrived. I showed his some photos from my last visit and he was delighted. It would have been too far to push on and climb for three hours to Gyabla. I got a filthy bed in the back of the storeroom and the others got something worse. This place catered for the mule and dhzo caravan drivers, not genteel tourists.

24 March. Thayam to Ghunsa. 15 km. 7 hours. 1300m up. 290m down. I managed to get out of Thayam without food poisoning this time. I think they had changed their water source from the muddy spring the animals also drank out of. In fact, I felt good as I stormed up the path on this chilly morning in my shorts and shirt-sleeves. The path followed a gentle course along the west bank of the river for a few km before it started to climb through the oaks and bamboos. I remember seeing a fresh bear dropping here three years ago as it was foraging for acorns. By the time I started the steep climb up to Gyabla the others had caught me up and soon overtook me. I was sluggish now and they had a spring in their step.

The slope got steeper towards the top but I could see strings of prayer flags fluttering above me and knew the grassy plateau Gyabla sat onb was close. Soon I was on the closely grazed plateau and looking down onto the high waterfall, perhaps 100 metres high, over which the river plunged up ahead and beyond that the high snowy mountains of the Kanchenjunga massif. I sauntered up the grassy path for a few minutes to the heart of the hamlet. There was one enormous 26 room hotel which was nearing the completion of its construction. It looked very out of place and looked like it was from the Everest region. It dwarfed the sympathetic wooden lodges it was competing against, and dominated the hamlet.

After a very slow Dahlbhat we set off again at 1100 and hiked into the heat of the day. The porters were feeling it but I was keeping cool especially when the path entered the Hemlock and Fir forests. They were covered in moss but it was dry and dusty moss. It was a very pleasant walk for a short three hours as we slow climbed up the valley, often leapfrogging each other. Ramesh was on fine form but Santos was struggling with the heat and exertion. We brought up the rear.

At last there was the steep climb up to Lower Phale. Here again there was an extensive grassy plateau which was closely grazed by yak and dhzo, many being calves. However all the rustic wooden cabins here were empty. Lower Phale is where the people of Ghunsa come for December, January and February to escape the cold and snow in Ghunsa just up the valley. I had hoped for a tea here as I had had three years before, when I met Nima Chettin Sherpa who opened up his houses up to Lhonak for us that bitterly cold January. However Lower Phale was abandoned for the season and Nima had even moved up to Lhonak.

We carried on up to the adjacent Upper Phale where there was a thriving community of Tibetan refugees who had arrived and settled in the 1960’s. They had built two Gompas and had a number of tea houses. All the homesteads here were busy planting potatoes. We stopped at a tea house here in the mid afternoon for a well deserved rest. Inside was a brilliant Sherpa kitchen with many polished utensils shining in the semi darkness.

A tall dapper man arrived, and I assumed he was a second generation Tibetian Refugee. As it happens he was a son of the owner at Thanyam and also the younger brother of Nima Chettin Sherpa. When he realized I was here three years ago he immediately said how Nima had told his family about the large tip he got from me and how pleased he was. I told him it was no less than Nima deserved for his huge effort of four days. I am looking forward to see Nima in Lhonak in a few days but I doubt he will recognize me.

The final short two hours to Ghunsa were just about flat, which is a rare treat in Nepal. It passed through forests of large junipers which was until quite recently distilled into an oil in Ghunsa. Nima gave me a plastic coke bottle of it and I still have it in Scotland for aches and pains. We crossed the bridge over the Yangma Samba Khola river which we would go up in about 5-6 days. I noted with alarm the path up it to the Nango La Pass, 4778m, looked tiny and barely used. The heavily forested sides of the valley now opened out, and on a large alluvial plateau sat the large village of Ghunsa. We had at last arrived after our four day detour instead of two days over the blocked Mirgin La pass

Ghunsa is the main settlement of the area with, I guess, 50 houses, mostly two storey and made of wood with the animals on the lower floor. The people here were Sherpa through and through and made money from trading, yaks, and seasonal agriculture. Recently tourism has become important and there are about ten prominent guest houses.

Last time we stayed at Nima’s house but as he was away we went to the Selele Lodge – a new wooden building with power to recharge gadgets. There were another three guests, all middle aged Australian men, so I was delighted to have some English speaking company again. The lodge had a simple dining room for the tourists, which was kept warm by a well fed stove. It was roasting. The Nepalis congregated in the typically tidy Sherpa kitchen, while the Australians and I gathered round the stove. Occasionally a guide or porter would come in. Their guide was a dapper distinguished looking Brahmin, but he did not look at home in the mountains.

25 March. Ghunsa to Khambachen. 12 km. 5 hours. 800m up. 150m down. It was a crisp morning with frost on the ground and a clear view to the lofty peaks. Smoke hung in the air over the 40 houses of Ghunsa, all of which were adorned in prayer flags, limp in the still air. I took some photos, had breakfast and then separated my stuff to the bare minimum I needed. Ramesh and Santos had whittled the gear down to the bare minimum also and were looking forward to four easy days. They deserved a holiday after the last nine taxing days. I paid the bill then the lodge owner told me the Sherpa who had looked after Bharat and myself three years ago was in Ghunsa.

We dropped in to see him on the way out of town and were immediately invited in for a cup of tea. He had just come down from Lhonak for a community chore and was now packing supplies to go back up. He was going to Khambachen first and before I knew what was happening it seemed we agreed to stay. Ramesh and Santos were also commandeered to carry some supplies up. I don’t know who suggested it but I would have vetoed it. One of the items was a plastic bag full of eggs.

It was a delightful walk out of Ghunsa heading north with the sun melting the frost on the yak pastures. In the shadow of the junipers trees the frosty outline of the tree lingered. The frequent deep chimes of the yak bells sounded as they grazed. There were now pure yaks and much heavier and furrier that the hybrid Dhzo. The have a grumpy temperament and I gave them as wide berth if needed. After these valley floor pastures the path climber slightly and entered mixed juniper and Sikkim Larch forest. The larches were still bare. The path kept to the east side of the river and undulated through the forest crossing the occasional bouldery ravine.

I caught another group up an Australian couple form Darwin, and their guide and porter. Their guide was quite cocky when I said he would have difficulties crossing Mirgin La Pass in four to five days and implied it would be no problem for him as he was Nepali. Walking with them was Tenzing, co-owner of the White House lodge at Khambuchen. His English was superb and we left the others and chatted for an hour as we reached a small hut where the bridge was. The other three Australians from Perth and their entourage were here. We all chatted in the sun and soon the Darwin Australians and my group with Nima Chettin arrived. About 20 tourists, guides, porters and lodge owners were gathered here.

The lodge owners, Nima Chettin and Tenzin, dashed off. There was no catching them, while the tourists lumbered into gear. I had expected to cross the river here as I did three years ago. However it seems the route has changed and the path now continues up the east side of the river. It was quite icy initially in the shade of the junipers but as we broke out of the forest and started climbing up a huge moraine mound in the valley. Previously the path crossed the river and then crossed a very loose landslip area and as we headed up the moraine there was a rockfall right across the old path with some 20 small boulders tumbling down in a plume of dust. Not that the moraine on the east side was much safer and we had a few landslip areas to cross before the valley opened out into a beautiful high altitude pasture.

To the east, and it is difficult to exaggerate, was the truly awesome peak of Januu, a near 8,000 metre peak which rose steeply above its neighbours. Huge flutes of snow somehow clung to its very very steep sides. It is one of the giants of the Himalayas, and a prized summit. It was this mountain which two Russians were going to climb by the near impossible SE face and Keith Partridge, who I met a few days earlier, was going to film.

Once off the moraine and into the pastures at Khambuchan it was an easy walk to the hamlet. Initially it was a collection of simple yak herding shelters used seasonally in the summer with about 20 shelters each one belonging to a Ghunsa house. However now it had developed three tourist lodges for the trek to Kanchenjunga Base Camp. One of these rustic shelters belonged to Nima Chettin and I could see him dragging stuff out to air in the sun. However I decided I did not want to stay and listen to him chatting to Bharat, Ramesh and Santos all night in the cold so opted for the Kanchenjunga White House Lodge which was owned by Tenzin who I was chatting with on the way up and her brother. It seemed the three Australians from Perth were staying there also.

A welcome tea and a look in there sunny, warm, dining room convinced me. However there was an issue – apparently the Australian couple’s and my guides and porters were all from Solu-Khumbu and they did not care for the three Perth Australians’ guide and porter who were from Dahding. So much so they went to a different and inferior guesthouse. Bharat and my porters decided to spend then the night with Nima Chettin thereby avoiding the issue. The Australian couple however had to suffer a cold and draughty night as their guide refused to stay with the Dahding guide. It was a great teahouse but the prices were certainly starting to increase. That evening the snow returned and between dusk and the time we went to bed some 10 cm had fallen.

26 March.Khambachen to Lhonak. 8 km. 4 hours. 710m up. 40m down. It was a very clear night but by early morning the clouds had returned and before long there was the odd flake of snow. By 0800 it was apparent that a snow shower was coming in and everybody was reluctant to move up to Lhonak, especially the guides, who had no trouble persuading their clients. After breakfast I curled up under some blankets in the tea house dining room and snoozed. I was still snowing by 11 but it seemed to be clearing up.

As the snow cleared and patches of blue sky grew it seemed a bit lazy to squander the opportunity. When a party of 15 arrived from Lhonak having blazed a trail in the snow I knew we should go, and we set off at 1230. The trail was easy to follow initially as it climbed up on to a level lateral moraine beside the now retreated glacier and wove between juniper bushes on pastureland. I was ahead and the others followed all the way to Ramtang which would be a summer pasture camp.

After Ramtang the cloud closed in a bit and the odd speck of snow started to fall. It also got noticeably colder and was now well below freezing. The path was still quite discernible when Ramesh and Santos caught me up. The three of us walked together for about two hours through boulder fields and across ridges of moraine. It was a great shame the weather was poor as this was a spectacular landscape we were missing. After three hours I ran out of steam and the others went on. Soon Nima caught me up and this spurred me on and we walked the last half hour together.

I remembered from my last visit in January how impervious Nima was to the cold his bare hands unnoticing the wind and snow. At last we reached the sandy valley floor at the bottom of the Lhonak Glacier and from here it was just a long km across snow covered gravel to reach the very rustic shelters of Lhonak. Nima showed me a place to sleep and then went into the kitchen to make tea. I was whacked and put on my down jacket and then went into the kitchen and laid down on the dirty cushions. Nima heaped some old blankets of yak hair on me and with five minutes I could feel warmth returning. I could not stay awake and as the juniper and yak dung fire cooked water I feel asleep in the corner.

When I woke Bharat was presenting me with a plate of hot fried noodles and cabbage. I thanked him ate it and fell asleep again. I woke around seven and went through to my place to sleep which was draughty, cold and damp. With a few minutes I was in my sleeping bag and warming up again. I don’t know why I felt so weak once I arrived, perhaps it was the altitude, as we were around 4800m now or perhaps it was the vegetarian diet and the cold. I slept very well.

27 March. Lhonak Rest Day. 0 km. 0 hours. 0m up. 0m down. In the morning it was cold and clear but there was a brisk northerly wind. The mountains were all visible and were covered in new snow. However there was about 20cm of new snow in the yard between the buildings. It was obvious that a visit to Kanchenjunga base camp was off the cards, and Nima confirmed it. Better to wait until tomorrow when some had melted, the other groups had caught up and we could go together, and hopefully the poor spell of weather had passed. Ramesh was already up but I took Santos and Bharat a tea to have in their sleeping bags.

It was a long day. About midday another teahouse owner arrived to say all in Khambuchen were on their way up and he was opening up also. About three hours later they all arrived but went to the newly unlocked lodge. It seemed very unfair on Nima that all of the three groups went there and none to his but he did well to hide his disappointment. One of the guides and porters came over to chat to our group and I went over to their to chat to the two groups of Aussies. It seemed that they all wanted to make the 9-10 hour round trip to Base Camp tomorrow weather permitting. We would either go with them of follow them.

28 March, Lhonak to Pang Pema and return. 16km. 8 hours. 670m up. 670m down. I did not sleep well, and had to get up a few times to let excessive cups of tea out. Each time it was a perfect night with a sky full of stars and even the milky way was crisp and distinct. By dawn a perfect day was breaking without a cloud in the sky and a temperature of minus 10. My altimeter watch suggested high pressure was arriving. The three Australian lads and their guide set off around seven and we hoped they would break a trail in the 20cm of snow. However we set off a good half later and soon caught them as they floundered in the snow looking for the trail. Bharat had been here about five times before so he took over breaking the trail. As we climbed up the vast terrace between the Kanchenjunga Glacier and the 6000m mountains to the north the depth of snow reduced until the path was obvious.

We were in very spectacular scenery and to the south, well below the lip of the terrace was the enormous Kanchenjunga Glacier. It was about 30km long and largely a jumble of blue ice with very little stone or boulders covering the surface. Across the other side of this trench of geological proportions rose the precipitous ramparts of the Chang Himal which soared some 2000 metres above the glacier. These peaks were heavily fluted with snow ridges and even some small glaciers managed to cling to the extremely steep north faces. We expected to see an avalanche down these sides but were disappointed.

The problem with the glacier is that it has lost a lot of its mass. Perhaps as little as 100 years ago it would have been up to the level of the terrace we were walking on, but now it was some 200 metres below the terrace. This meant that the terrace was no longer supported by the glaciers bulk and as a consequence it had slipped in a few places. On one occasion we had to climb down steeply to lower collapsed level and then scramble up loose rock again to regain the old path. On another occasion a recent downpour, probably of Biblical proportions,  had scoured out a huge ravine some 40 metres deep in this level lateral moraine, and this chasm cut through the terrace and plunged down to the glacier far below. It was not possible to cross it, and we had to climb to the top of it to get across. I can’t remember either of these obstacles when I was here three years ago.  The extremely agile and fit Ramesh found a way through these obstacles and we followed but they put off all the Australian lads bar one who followed us.

Once past the obstacles it was an easy stroll along the top of the terrace. There was still a bit of snow and we imagined we frequently saw snow leopard tracks. Certainly there were frequent tracks of Blue Sheep and occasionally you could see they were running in small herds. The sun had now melted any sharp definition of the predator prints. Nima Chetten used to keep yak at Lhonak but now he says it is just not worth it. There are some 12 snow leopard in the area and they take most of the young calves. In addition there are roving wolves in the area and these can migrate to Tibet or Sikkim nearby and apparently the wolves can take a fully grown yak down. Nima cannot hunt the snow leopard or wolves due to their protected status and receives no compensation for his loses so he claims it is just not worth persevering with yak. He also says the blue sheep population in the region is crashing due to predation.

Around 5000 metres I was gasping for breath on occasion and felt a bit light headed so I was glad when after four and a half hours we reached Pang Pema, also known as Kanchenjunga Base Camp. There is a rustic stone shed here which might be a simple very rustic lodge during the main season. Just across the glacier rose the immense Kanchenjunga at 8586m, the third highest mountain in the world. Its lofty summit is perched on top of series of icefalls and glaciers. From here climbing parties set off across the glacier to reach the foot of the north face of Kanchenjunga and climb it. Once of my best friends, Stuart, did exactly this in 2002 with his good pal and climbing partner, Chris. They both successfully climbed Kanchenjunga alpine style but just half an hour into the descent Chris fell. I was moved to see his memorial plaque still held pride of place on a large stone adorned with prayer flags and facing Kanchenjunga. Most people are content to watch movies and dream, while a few others are the heroes of these movies.

The return was by the same route past the tortious ravine and then the landslip. By now much of the snow had melted or turned to slush in the hot sun in a perfect blue sky. The scale of the glacier seemed even more dramatic on the way down, with Lhonak spread out on an alluvial plain. When we arrived Nima had a cup of tea waiting for us. He seemed pleased to hear Chris’s memorial was unmoved, as a small landslide had affected others. He opened his rustic lodge in 2002 and Stuart and Chris were his first customers, he remembers them still. He also had two pots of Sherpa stew for us, one vegetarian for me and one with a chopped up piece of freeze-dried yak thigh for the others. Mine was very filling with about ten different ingredients. Before bed I went over to the rival teahouse to chat with the Aussie lads.

29 March. Lhonak to Ghunsa.  22km. 7.5 hours. 210m up. 1460m down. It was another stunning morning with a hard frost. I woke to the smell of juniper twigs being burnt in Nima’s stove. We intended to walk all the way back to Ghunsa. Nima Chetten made us a good breakfast and we all lingered around with tea outside in the yard. After a photo session Nima appeared with a couple of “safe travel” scarves and hung them round Bharat and my necks. I don’t know if it was leaving the very special place of Lhonak or saying goodbye to Nima but I was quite overwhelmed. Nima had twice looked after Bharat and myself and done it with such grace and friendliness. Here up at nearly 5000m in a bleak stone strewn valley in the Himalayas was a perfect gentleman, whose hard work had enabled him to bring up 4 sons and a daughter.

I was a delightful walk down to Khambuchen. It took me about three hours and the weather was perfect for the whole way. I passed Ramtang which was full of yakdung and stone buildings without roofs where seasonal herders set up tarpaulins to shelter under in the summer months. Perhaps they concentrated their herds and watchful eyes here so that the snow leopards and wolves were reluctant to seek prey here. From Ramtang there was a great view east up another glacier to Kanchenjunga again.

There was still quite a bit of snow in Khambachen when we got there. We all had dalbhat at the teahouse the Aussie Lads were staying at with the fantastic view of Januu, one of the most spectacular mountains of the Himalayas. As we ate outside in the hot sun some clouds started to roll up the valley and form round some of the peaks. It was a quick descent past down across the river flowing out of the Kanchenjunga Glacier and then up the moraine on the east side of the valley. We had to traverse along the moraine under some very loose looking boulders embedded in the crumbling sand. One would bolt along a stretch with the others kept watch for falling rocks for about five 50 metre sections. It was preferable to the old path on the west side where there was a significant rockfall area for 200 metres and even as we watched some small rocks hurtled down across the old route.

At last we got to the huge cave formed by a boulder at the top of the treeline and I encouraged the others to go on, as we were at the top of the forest and I wanted to saunter down through it. As the first juniper trees enveloped me I felt secured again in the mossy forest. The trees were only ten metres high but were ancient and venerable. Occasionally a rhododendron struggled for light on the forest floor but they never thrived. The air smelt of dry juniper. After an hour or so Sikkim Larch seemed to proliferate. They were still not in needle but the forest floor was covered in last years shed brown needles. The river was growing bigger with every tributary and waterfall and it crashed down over boulders to my west. After two hours the Larch were replaced by Silver Firs. They reached 30 metres and soon replaced all the other trees, The forest floor was still very mossy and the trees dripping in old mans beard. Here and there a tree had been cut but by and large it was a pristine forest of large specimens. I could see these magnificent trees continue up the steep valley sides on each side of the valley. Just before reaching Ghunsa there were forest clearings with yaks grazing and then the northern entrance main wall heralded the northern entrance.

Ghunsa’s 40 or so houses remain remarkably traditional with rustic plank walls and shingle roof planks weighted down by boulders. I ambled through taking photos of the traditional houses before I arrived at Selele Lodge. Within minutes I was under a canvas bag full of warm water and was washing off the grime of the last fortnight. Ramesh meanwhile was washing my clothes in the freezing river. Towards the evening the clouds drifted up the valley and I feared the worst which would be more snow, but thankfully it did not happen.

30 March. Ghunsa to Yak Kharka  7 km. 3 hours. 810m up. 90m down. The owner of Selele Guest house gave Bharat and the others of info about crossing the Nanga La pass, 4778m. He thought it was best we climb up to a pasture called Yak Charka at about 4160m and then spend the night there, then the next day leave early in the morning and finish the rest of the climb while the snow on the upper part of the pass is still firm. This meant we did not have to leave that early as it was only a three hour climb. We hung around the guest house slowly getting the extra stuff ready.

In the fields beside the guest house a lot of manure had been spread over the ground. I then noticed two dhzo getting harnessed up into a double yoke to pull a wooden plough. Once they were harnessed and the plough attached a young man led them by a nose ring up and down the field creating a furrow and turning the manure into the ground. Following them was a team of girls with baskets of seed potatoes, most of which were halved and many quartered. Then followed some older ladies with mattocks to bury the potatoes. Within the time of an hour the whole field had been sown. It was a colourful and happy occasion. In the guest house kitchen a vast pot of Sherpa stew was cooking for the planting squad for their break.

As I was finishing packing there was a knock and there was Peter from the expats who we met on the south side a week ago. We gave each other a hug. One of them, Oliver, was ill with some pneumonia/bronchitis and had to be evacuated by a very fortuitous helicopter which happened to be at Cheram dropping of stuff for an Indian expedition to climb Kanchenjunga. The rest of them had followed our footsteps up to Selele La Pass where they also got bogged down in snow. They then went the long way round down the tortuous path to Hellok. They were now heading up to North Base Camp and had time to spare.

After our Dalbhat we set off at 1100. Ramesh and Santos were loaded to the gunwales and each had about 35 kg. We had previously had a talk about not buying more food until we had eaten some of the 10kg we had been carrying from the start. That seems to have fallen on deaf ears as part of the food purchased here was 4kg of potatoes. I am sure they bought them for me and appreciate their willingness but I would rather have had rice than the extra weight.

It was a short walk to the start of out small track up the Yangma Samba Khola stream valley. It branched off from the memorial to the WWF party who died in a helicopter crash. The path we took was small and steep as it climbed steeply on the north east side of the tumbling stream. I plodded up steadily leaving the others with their loads behind. There were lots of bulbs and shoots appearing and it seemed that spring was in the air. Primroses were blossoming everywhere. Slowly but surely I clawed my way up they track in the forest of fir and juniper. As I climbed the fir gave way to the juniper entirely with an increasing understorey of rhododendron. At about 3900m I finally broke out of the forest onto the bare misty hillside. I could only see some 50 metres across the erosion channels which the path wove up. I climbed some 200 metres in this mist until I finally came to the meadows we were heading for at 4100. I could see in the mist they were covered in snow. I search for a flat snow free place to camp but found none.

I decided then to leave my stuff and go down and help lighten the porters’ loads. But they were just five minutes away. Together were scoured the pasture and found one small place to put up the large tent. It was a Helsport Spitsbergen Xtrem four man tent. Someone remarked it could sleep 12 Nepalis. There was easily room for the four of us. I sat down to write while Bharat and Ramesh dashed up the hill to the pass to see if there were any snow problems ahead. They returned two hours later with mixed news and handfuls of juniper scrub for a fire.

Just as they had finished cooking the meal there was thunder and it started to pour with snow. All the stuff was rapidly brought in and we settled inside while the juniper brush fire was swamped. The tent stood up well to the snow which was piling up on the roof. I stupidly lost two hours’ writing so had to start the whole process again while the other fell asleep. As I finished the snow stopped but it had already dumped 5cm.

March 31. Yak Charka Weather Day. 0km. 0 hours. 0 m up. 0 m down. The snow did not let up in the night at all. There was thunder and lightening accompanying it and frequently you could not even get a cigarette paper between the two. I frequently whacked the top of the tent and sent slabs of snow sliding off the roof. Santos and myself were sleeping at the edge of the tent and soon the sides started creeping in and almost enveloping us. What separated us from a two foot pile of snow was two thin layers of nylon. Our sleeping bags were wet with condensation but I had brought synthetic ones so I was not too worried. Bharat and Ramesh in the middle got off more lightly. By first light we were all worried about the tent and the huge amounts of snow piled up on it. All three leapt out of their sleeping bags grabbed a metal dinner plate and set about removing snow from the tent sides to restore its shape. It took about half an hour. About a foot of snow had fallen.

There was no question about going over the pass today. In addition to the old snow higher up this new snow would have made us wade through the stuff. I was beginning to hate the snow. It was remarkably unseasonal to have so much in March. We had been hampered three times so far because of it. I calculated each time it snowed so far it had cost me well over $500 in extra days. I made a tea and we had a meeting in our sleeping bags. We would stay here another day to see what would transpire. If the afternoon looked better we would leave the camp and wade up to the pass empty shouldered and make a route for tomorrow.

We spent much of the day lazing around. The sun tried to come out and when it did it caused the snow to melt quickly. On each side of the valley were frequent small wet snow avalanches. After lunch when we thought about beating our trail the weather closed in again and the mist returned from up the main valley to the south. This was not a good sign and I feared snow would return in the evening, so we abandoned the track making plans and had a siesta in the warm tent.

By the time it was getting dark the first flakes arrived. Then it poured down again, there was the crack of thunder, and it looked like we were in for a repeat performance of last night. Eastern Nepal gets much of its weather from the Bay of Bengal and perhaps due to global warming the sea temperature has risen a bit and is sending more moisture into the air which is the condensing on us as snow at these altitudes. I vainly hold out hope that perhaps tomorrow will bring some sun and respite as the snow seems to arrive in two day cycles with most falling in the evening. This is our second evening so hopefully the morning will bring sun and my barometer is rising. If not we might have to retreat to Ghunsa and wait for a more settled spell. On the positive side Bharat, Ramesh and Santos have been great and witty company and morale is high.

April 1. Yak Charka Weather Day. 7 km. 4.5 hours. 620 m up. 620 m down. I woke in the night to go for a pee at about 0400 and noticed how cold and clear it was. At last the weather was breaking at this half moon. In the morning the sun rose and unfolded speedily across the valley floor dispensing with the freezing dawn. As soon as the sun hit the tent the frost vanished and the temperature inside soared. Any damp on the sleeping bags was soon evaporated. We cooked tea in bed and discussed a plan. We would leave all the kit here and walk up to the pass in the sun. Hopefully our footprints would freeze overnight and then tomorrow we could leave early and follow them with all the gear on frozen ground.

We lazed around in the morning and had a very early lunch and set of at 1030. We were all alarmed however at the speed the blue skies were being snuffed out by cloud and mist, and indeed by the time we set off it was all gone and there were even a few flakes of the cursed snow. During the first half of the climb to the pass we were mostly on the new snows of the last two nights. The tops of juniper shrubs were just poking out and the tops of boulders had a 20cm hat.  The walking was arduous but manageable and Bharat and Ramesh took turns picking a route up the stony channels.

However after a good hour the ground was covered in vast snowfields of old snow. In they middle of these we were frequently sinking to our knees and it was hard work but at the edge of these fields where the snow was resting on boulders we were often up to our thighs. It was hard with no baggage, but it would have been impossible with the loads. Out only hope was this was to freeze tonight, which seemed very likely, and there was to be no more snow, which no seemed very unlikely. After three hours of hard graft we eventually made the pass adorned with prayer flags buried in thick snow drifts. All the snow here was old snow and we were up to our knees most steps, and taking turns to lead.  With loads this would have been impossible. We got a great view down the other side of the pass and this seemed to have less snow and we were looking forward to it tomorrow.

The return to the tent was quite quick and we followed out footsteps. However just as we got to the tent it started to snow more furiously. We had a siesta, and by the time it was over some 15cm had already fallen and it was barely 5pm. All our hard work today could be in vain. Around 6pm Santos went for water and said the path we made had gone. And it still continued to snow, indeed as we cooked supper the first of the thunderclaps arrived and the snowfall increased. It would be very unlikely we would be up at 3am to follow out frozen footsteps. I am a purist for keeping to the trail without skipping or flipping but it seems we will have to abandon this pass to Olanchun Gola and take a slightly lower one through the forest or we may be here for a week.

April 2. Yak Charka to Langjong Charka. 10 km. 6 hours. 620m up. 590m down. The snow continued much of the early night and the boys had to go out twice to clear the snow around the tent with the dinner plates. However by morning it seemed only some 20cm had fallen and it was a beautiful day. We had intended to go to Gyabla due to the snow but to my delight all three said they were up for the pass. I told them it would be gruelling but they wanted the adventure. I was indebted to their decision. We were a bit slow in packing up and did not get going until 1000, where 0800 would have been ideal.

Bharat led the entire way to the pass. I tried to go second putting some 120 kg into each footstep for Ramesh and Santos to have something firm. However it was difficult to say ahead of Ramesh who was carrying more than half his body weight. Generally we had the sun the whole way and occasionally I could see our footsteps from yesterday ahead of Bharat. It was a long haul up to Nanga La Pass at 4778m but having walked the route yesterday made it easier, psychologically anyway. The prayer flags at the top were a very welcome sight. I was exhausted at the top and Santos looked tired but Bharat and Ramesh seemed fine.

The descent down the other side should have been a doddle from what we had seen yesterday. But we were too late in the day. The first hundred metres of descent was fine. Then Bharat went west onto a slope which had had the morning sun and he was up to his armpits. Ramesh who followed him had no choice but to take his basket off and drag it. I was behind and saw it unfold, so veered east and had a lucky run down to the bottom of the slope for another 100m of descent. I flew down to the bottom and felt quite smug. Bharat and Ramesh somehow managed to fight back to my tracks and followed. There was the odd section which was steep but it ran convex into a U on the valley floor.

I got to the bottom and watched the others coming down. Ramesh was frequently thigh deep at the bottom. We then all waited to see if Santos would follow my footsteps which he did. But with the softening snow, his 30 kg load and size 40 feet he frequently postholed. It looked hard work for him. On one occasion he cartwheeled twice down the slope into deep snow and had to wade back to the track. Ramesh and Bharat were remarkably unsympathetic but my heart bled for him. As he approached he frequently post holed up to his thigh but remarkably hr remained in good humour and joked at us. It was one of the most remarkable displays of human spirit I have ever seen.

From here things got worse as we picked our way down trying to keep of the snowfields. For two hours Bharat led, I seconded, Ramesh came third and Santos was at the back. We were often up to our thighs in deep wet sugar snow. There was nothing else for it but to plough on down through it. It was completely exhausting and the porters must have been straining like horses to keep going. At last we reached a ruined shed where a glacier came in from the N and at last we seemed to be off the metre deep old snow and onto the 20cm deep new snow.

We now had an area of enormous slippery boulders to negotiate for some half hour which was full of potential to hurt oneself in a slip, before I suddenly noticed we were on a path. A snow shower passed and by the time it had gone we found ourselves on snow covered pastureland with plenty of yak droppings. We decided we had had enough and despite it being only four, decided to camp. We found a nice spot although it was covered in snow which we mostly cleared with the dinner plate. By the time the tent was up Santos arrived. The other three found wood and made a campfire to dry their socks, warm their hands and cook dinner while I retreated inside the tent to warm up and write. Occasionally when I emerged from the tent I could see in the evening light that it was the most spectacular place we were camped, with enormous mountains towering some 2000 metres above us on all sides. Despite their most exhausting day the porters bounced back and I could hear raucous laughter from the campfire. They really showed their mettle today and if they were my sons I would be extremely proud of them. I am indebted they chose to go over the pass and cannot be amazed enough by their fortitude. It seems we are close to the snowline so hopefully I will be a nice run down to Olanchun Gola tomorrow. We deserved it as it had been our hardest day yet.

April 3. Langjong Charka to Olangchun Gola. 22km. 8 hours. 650m up 1580m down. We slept well in the Kharha in the tent but it was cold at about minus five and the tent had a layer of frost on the inside. I thought it was Langjong Kharka but after we had descended through stunted rhododendron and entered the upper reaches of the taller junipers and the first of the firs we came across Langjong Kharka an hour into our descent. It was a fantastic place with a simple shelter and a good hectare of places to camp on yak dung covered pasture surrounded by mature forest. Had we known we could have descended last night but none of us had been here before.

From Langjong Kharka, at about 3700, we continued our descent into the forest. The smell of resin from the firs was strong, especially in the warm pockets of air. The small purple primroses were everywhere. It was a delight to be back in the forest again after four days of snowy mountain. There was a shortcut we could take to the Yangma Khola but when we reached the junction it looked like the main path was in fact closed as it was deliberately blocked by branches. So we took the shortcut. To my alarm it descended to the crystal clear stream in the valley crossed it and then entered a long snowy area on the north facing slopes sheltered from the sun by firs and rhododendrons. We were on the cusp of postholing through the snow but luckily it was still quite frozen.

The other went on ahead as I was feeling drained. They said they would go down and cook lunch. I lingered behind as I felt weak and tired. The forest was quite steep with large leafed Rhododendron and fir. It was full of birdsong. Suddenly there was a chirping beside me and i looked up to see a Himalayan Monal, also known in Nepal as a Daphane, the national bird of Nepal. It was a splendid and graceful bird which reminded me of a peacock. I was slow on the draw with my camera and it sneaked into the undergrowth before I had time to focus. Buoyed by my sighting I continued my descent down to the Yangma Khola passing some specimen Silver firs, often with a bole diameter of at least two metres. Down and down I plunged with the roar of the main river getting louder until I saw Ramesh far below already cooking on a fire by a large traditional log and stone cantilever bridge at a place I think was called Kugama. I was tired having descended the 1000 metres already today on a cup of tea and small bowl of porridge. A litre of a sugary drink and two bowls of spaghetti and I felt restored.

After crossing the bridge over the Yangma Khola to the west side the path now continued down a dangerous area with fresh landslides towering above us. This section lasted about 2km and I constantly had to keep my head turned to make no rocks were tumbling down. In the monsoon rains this would be a treacherous area. At last it finished and I could relax and the other overtook me. A bit later at a bridge we saw a disturbing sight, the tail of a red Panda. Obviously someone had been hunting and killed it and taken it to the side stream to clean it and had forgotten or discarded the tail. Bharat said that panda parts are desirable as traded items for Chinese medicine and there was and active trade of all items between the Sherpa of Olangchun Gola and the Chinese over passes up the valley. Some Chinese trader had created a market for red Panda parts and persuaded some locals to hunt hem illegally.  It was disturbing this could happen in a National Park.

The path continued to contour along the hillside with the Yangma Khola falling away. The hillside was very steep in places and a slip off the track would have a fatal tumble. However the path was good and there were yak wandering freely on it going from pasture to pasture. One such pasture was Chyame where there were lots of stone shelters. I kept hoping for the ridge to be the last before I turned NW up the Tamor Nadi river but there was false hope – ridge after ridge with frequent ups and downs. At last I saw the bridge at Ramite and knew this would be the last ridge, and soon the path plunged through the bamboos to near the confluence of the Yangma and Tamor rivers.  There was a small shortcut here which I took not knowing the others were waiting for me on the real route. They waited a good hour for me until they double backed and saw my footprints. As a consolation for them they saw a red panda beside the track and it was apparently a metre from Ramesh.

I plodded on up the Tamor Nadi river for a couple of km on a good track until I came to a waterfall where the river plunged some 20 metres. Just here was the start of a long climb up a series of switch backs on an old landslide area. The path perhaps climbed 200 metres in all. I passed some 20 porters with huge loads of bundles of plants. They were carrying these medicinal herbs up from Suketum. I later learnt that some of these loads were 70 kg. I overtook them and then made the final climb up to Olangchun Gola. It was not what I was expecting. It was much bigger and more tightly packed than Ghunsa and sat on the edge of a terrace over the river into which it might one day disappear. The houses were huge and rickety with many lopsided walls. Prayer flags and smoke hung over them and yak grazed on the small grassy parts in between. It was much busier than Ghunsa. I asked for the Hotel Lumba Sumba as this was run by Nima Chettin’s sister. I eventually found the hotel which was unsigned and simple.

I got a room and a huge flask of ginger tea and waited for the others whom I assumed had got lost. As I relaxed the porters with the medicinal plants arrived. It was called Chiraito in Nepali and was apparently made into mild painkillers like Paracetamol. All their loads were weighed. Some were 45kg and a couple were 70kg. I was astounded anyone could carry so much. The others arrived quite soon and got a great room. Ramesh in particular would enjoy not sleeping between Bhart and myself, two snorers, in the tent. I went through to the kitchen afterwards. It was a superb Sherpa kitchen with a stove in the middle and a pipe to remove the smoke. Some 15 people were sitting there including the medicinal plan porters, Bharat, Ramesh and Santos and a few others. The porters looked absolutely exhauster and sat zombiefied in front of their tombas of fermenting millet and hot water. They had no smiles at all and looked subservient and down trodden. Theirs was perhaps the misfortune to be born into a porter caste. Most were in their 20’s but hobbled as if they had sore hips. A porter in his late 30’s fainted on his bench and caused some concern. Their lot in life seem to be a miserable one. I wrote the blog in the kitchen before and after my meal.

April 04. Olangchun Gola to Mati Langmale Charka. 8 km. 4 hours. 750m up. 90m down. There was no great hurry this morning as we had to prepare for the next pass called Lumba Sumba which was higher at 5159m. We had to buy provisions, kerosene, service the stoves, get a temporary porter to the top of the pass and generally relax. We could only feasibly walk some 15km and gain 1200m in the next two days to set us up for crossing the pass on the third day. Ramesh bought provisions, including 7kg rice! Bharat had spoken to out host, Dalek, and had got a porter called Dale and Santos and myself did the stoves. Once all was done the five of us now had a large Dalbhat each before we set off around 1100. Bharat had to go to the police station to check in and while the three porters headed up the valley I took a detour to see the large old monastery atop the hill.

A squad of local villagers were building a concrete staircase up the hillside to the monastery which stood some 50 metres above the village. It was a great view from the top down onto the large rickety houses with their plank shingle roofs held down by stones. Their must have been 50 houses in Olangchun Gola in all. The monastery was nearly 500 years old and of a massive construction with huge thick walls. It was now covered in a tin roof which was probably a good thing as it looked unused and poorly maintained. I walked around it a couple of times taking photos. It seemed the village committee was making plans to conserve it. I left via the western path down the hill through a herd of yak calves who looked like they were kept indoors for the vulnerable night and let out to local pasture during the day.

To my surprise there was a road leading north from the village. It had been built south from the Chinese border some 25km to the north. Of course it was blocked with frequent landslides and would probably never see a vehicle except an excavator, but it did make a great path for the yak trains who would ply this route in the summer once the 5000m pass to China was open. We sped up here for a couple of hours on the north side of the now youthful Tamor Nadi river. I was alarmed to see how much snow was on the south side of the river on the north facing slopes hidden in the rhododendron and fir forest. Even at 3400m the cover was virtually continual. Still on the north side it was clear. After about 5km we came to a confluence of two rivers and left the track which headed north. We now headed west up a valley on the north side of a busy stream. There were frequent snow patches in the forest but luckily we did not pothole through that much. We followed the path up for about 2km until we got to a snow covered dirty, muddy pasture called Tallo (lower) Langmale Charka. It offered no nice camping so Dale suggested we go on half an hour to Mati (upper) Langmale Charka but said it would be full of snow. He must have been having the fly swig of cheap Chinese liqour as he was reeking of booze. I told Bharat to keep an eye on it as perhaps he just needed some Dutch courage being outside the main team.

As we approached Mati Langmale Charka which is incidentally different to the map which shows it much higher up, we saw day or two old bear prints. I looked like a large brown bear. The bear had been to Mati Langmale Charka and had found a families supply of yak herding stores and equipment under a tarpaulin tent. It had completely ransacked the place scattering sacks of corn and rice, scattering all the yak bells, ropes and saddles and a lot of personal belongings were ripped apart and left lying in the snow. The bear no doubt was just out of hibernation and very hungry but you can also understand the anger of the local family when they come up to graze their yak in a month or so.

There was no where really to camp here except on a large snowfield. We fashioned some tent pegs out of out staffs and sticks and set up the tent after stamping down the snow. We could carry rocks to attach other guys to and to put round the mantle of a storm flap. Despite the snow the tent got quite cosy until the mist drifted up the valley and chilled everything. We were camped at 3850m and tomorrow would make the short journey up to Pass Camp at 4460m in readiness for an early start over the pass on the third day. Once the tent was established everyone went off to find wood for a campfire on which to cook the evening dalbhat. Dale seemed to be fitting in with the guys well. In the evening all 5 squeezed into the tent.

April 05. Mati Langmale Kharka to Thandri Kharka. 13 km. 7 hours. 620m up. 90m down. We got up at 0530 to try and get the hard snow but the problem was there had not been a frost so the snow was wet, soft and unfrozen. It was going to make for difficult day. Dale led the way through juniper trees on the NE side of the river for a good couple of km until we got to a natural bridge to the SW side. The path now apparently went up this side of the river. But it was covered in Rhododendron and under a metre of soft wet snow. I immediately said it was a bad idea but Dale said the other side was just a yak path so I followed with growing concern. It seemed a hopeless task and I voiced my objections a few times. The poor porters were struggling as they constantly sunk in and got tangled in the submerged branches. I found myself in the lead a few times and I was just not making progress. In the end I crossed the river and was back on the NE bank on a small animal path but it was snow free. Everyone else followed.

The reason Dale followed the path, albeit the summer path, was because the NE side ran into a 2km stretch of huge boulders which had fallen down from the mountain above. Determined to show it was preferable to being waist deep in snow and tangled in rhododendron I took the lead and climbed up into the boulders. Most were car sized as opposed to house sized but it was possible to find a route through them and they were largely snow free. Where there was snow it was dangerous as it was possible to fall between them into a hidden chasm. The others were soon far behind making their own route through this jumble of stone, except Ramesh, whenever I looked round he was following. After a good hour of difficult hour of route finding I eventually broke out onto a steep hillside covered in juniper and thorn. It was solid though. I angled down to the river which was smaller now and could follow it up to a confluence of two streams in the valley at the bottom of a large snow free slope between them. At the bottom of this slope was a area where there had once been a fire and there was lots of dead dry juniper boughs. It was snow free and in the sun and I knew everyone would want a dalbhat here. I stopped and took of my soaked shoes and socks which were drenched by the snow getting in through the gaiters.  Ramesh arrived first and set about building a fire to cook on. The others were some 20 minutes behind. The meal took an hour to cook so I had a snooze in the sun.

After lunch we set off up the snow free mound climbing up to about 4200 metres without encountering any more snow. However there it changed and the whole hillside was white. Luckily it was more frozen here and I managed to stay on top nine steps out of ten before I crashed through to my waist again. The other four were holding back hoping I would call it a day and camp or they were showing me they wanted to stop. I don’t think it was the porters! I ploughed on up the increasing white slope and then entered a completely snow covered small valley where the mist came and went. I looked round and some 300 meters away was Ramesh following in my footsteps. I decide to wait for him and explain I was now looking for a campsite. By the time he arrived the others were in sight also so we regrouped and I explained my plans. They seemed to like the idea.

I picked my way across deep snowdrifts towards a large rock and the others followed. When J got to the rock I saw I was at the east end of a large flat area, which must have originally been a lake and now filled in with alluvial deposits. The whole area was covered in deep snow with a stream running under the snow. Occasionally the stream had caused the snow above it to collapse into it and the icicle clad snow banks were a metre high. It was a cold and bleak place but there was no other option.

We put the tent up on the snow using only the end guys as I did not expect wind and did not want to dig frozen stakes out of the frozen ground. The tent went up easily. I am most impressed with the tent and the quality of manufacture. It sleeps the five of us easily. Ramesh cooked another meal on the primus and Santos kept the ensemble entertained with his good humour. These two guys had a very hard day yet here they were at the end of it still full energy and humour.  I am full of admiration for them. They also cooked the breakfast ready for the early start tomorrow. We were all in out sleeping bags like piglets in a row by 1900.

April 06. Thandri Kharka to East Pass Lumba Sumba. 6 km, 6 hours, 620m up, 30m down. It was a beautiful starlit night when the alarm went at 0300. True to form it was Ramesh who set the alarm and he sprang up to lit the primus to re heat the Sherpa stew he made the night before. It took a couple of hours for us to eat, wash up, pack up and set off all in about minus five. We set off as the first light was appearing and the stars were losing their sparkle. The first km was easy as it was just across the km long meadow which was covered in snow. I was alarmed at how sugary the snow was and despite the frost we were sinking in 10cm. At the far end of the meadow was a steep climb for 100m but we could pick our way up through scrub and stones covered in new snow and avoid the old sugar snow.

From the top of this climb there was a small descent into a wonderful valley where the snow was a hard as concrete and you could saunter up it without a care. I was well ahead and enjoyed the still in the blue morning light. There were a few tracks – possibly hare – who somehow inhabit this bleak inhospitable landscape, albeit spectacular. As I approached a ridge of lateral moraine I knew that the route had to climb to the west and I did not like what I saw especially as the sun was now on it. I let the others catch up and confirmed with Dale this was the route. I set up a 100 m high snow field with the first steps being firm. But I soon began to sink in first to my shins and then to my knees. I was determined to keep ahead and plough a path but after some 20 minutes I was exhausted and sinking at least up to my knees every step as I tried to zig-zag up the slope. I could not continue and asked Bharat to take over, with half the age and combined body plus rucksack weight he made easy work of it. I followed but it was still absolutely exhausting. Ramesh as always was managing fine, but Santos with his huge load and small shoe size was struggling. Eventually we all made the crest of the moraine ridge but I was spent.

We now followed the moraine ridge up for a good half km to where our route up to the pass veered off at right angles up a steep slope which I was dreading. There were many small red sparrows in the crest of the ridge which was bare earth in places. Looking at the fiendish slope, the incoming snow showers, my drenched feet due to cheap Chinese copy gaiters I was ready to call it a day and camp. Bharat said we should give it a go and Ramesh seconded that and my lazy thoughts were made to feel guilty. We all watched Bharat as he gallantly tried one bit of the slope. He was up to his chest in places and just moved sideways for 10 minutes. In the end he gave up and tried another aspect of the slope which was more east facing. To my surprise he breezed up only sinking in up to his ankles.  We were obliged to follow and we did. I had great difficulties as I frequently sunk in up to my knees and each time I did it was a monster effort to heave myself out of the post hole. Santos was suffering the same fate but kept his cheery smile.

Eventually the slope eased and the snow became firmer and we made good progress following Bharat’s footsteps. However the snow was getting quite intense now and the mist cut visibility to some 100-200 metres. My watch told me we were around 5000m altitude. Our local porter from Olangchun Gola, Dale, was also looking tired and cold and my feet were freezing. Dale had been here a couple of times before, but it was in the summer and he was taking yaks over the pass to sell them. He was now understandably a little confused in the misty snow shower. We had all put in a good day and thought it best to camp at what we thought was the lower easternmost of the two Lumba Sumba passes and hope the wind did not get up.

We put the large tent up and within half an hour we had all piled in, changed our socks, spread out the mattresses and sleeping bags, zipped up the doors and hunkered down. Dale and myself had a snooze and when I woke Bharat, Ramesh and Santos were wrapped up in their sleeping bags playing cards and joking. The inside of the tent was a sea of orange synthetic sleeping bag, down jackets and foam mattresses. It was very cosy and looked like a Hindu temple stall selling marigolds, orange tikkas and powders outside Pashupati temple in Kathmandu. The snow and mist continued through the afternoon. Ramesh and Santos bravely went outside to set up a kitchen using two porter baskets and a sheet of plastic under which they operated the kerosene stove to make dalbhat for the rest of us who remained cosy in the tent.

Hopefully we would get over the pass tomorrow or the day after and Dale could return to Olangchun Gola and this would be the end of the first section. Section 01. Kanchenjunga. It had been quite a hard start to the trip. Mainly due to four unseasonably heavy snowfalls which probably made what should have been a two week section into a three week section. However it tested us as a team and we survived. It also tested most of our equipment and that seemed to hold up. The huge Helsport Spitsbergen Xtrem four man tent is superb, and the clothing and sleeping bags all seem great. The next section Section 02. Arun is much easier and seldom goes above 4000m so that should go according to plan before the crux section – Section 03. Makalu with its 6000m passes.

Section 01. Kanchenjunga. 277km 125hours 15790m up 13100m down

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There are 2 Great Himalaya Trails across Nepal. The Lower or Cultural Route which runs through the hill region, or Pahad, and the High Route which run through the mountains, or Himalaya. The route I intend to take is a slightly embellished version of the High Route. A map of the intended route and some information about the fundraising I hope to achieve are found under “About the Trip”

The Lower route takes about 100 days and it is nearly possible to do all of it staying in villages, hamlets and occasionally herding camps in the summer. If one can speak a bit of Nepali it is possible to do it alone seeking and paying for hospitality as you go, but you have to go south of the restricted area of Lower Dolpo. I did this route in three sections in 2012, 2013 and 2014, some alone and some with my usual guide Bharat KC. These 3 sections are written up as PDF’s on this website and accessed from the Home Page.

The High Route is much more demanding, not only physically but also  bureaucratically and financially. Most of the areas it goes through are restricted areas. These areas are restricted because they are both politically sensitive regions close to the Tibetan border, and because the terrain is challenging with many high remote passes which the authorities don’t want people wandering through haphazardly.

Over the the last 10 years I have done some more remote trekking in Nepal often in restricted areas.Whenever the regulations demanded it took a guide and this guide was usually Bharat KC,  an easy-going, good-humoured reliable guide. I am fortunate and he has agreed to do the whole of the High Great Himalaya Trail with me including some embellished route alternatives which we did before in the Mid West and Far West Regions of Nepal.

As there are long distances of 2 weeks between supplies sometimes with little accommodation on the route we have to be entirely self sufficient for long periods. We have to take enough food, essentially rice and lentils, kerosene for cooking, a pressure cooker, tents sleeping bags, batteries, first aid kit and much more. Possibly up to 80-100 kg each time we leave a supply point. For this we have to take at least 2 porter. Food, sleeping bag jackets for the porters will account for some of the 80-100 kg when we set off from each supply point.

It is my responsibility to make sure the porters have the right equipment, clothing and nutrition to carry their 25-30 kg over 5000 meter passes. To that end I have spent some $US 4,000 getting equipment for the trip which I will take out including 2 tents, 4 synthetic sleeping bags to -16 Centigrade, 4 Duvet jackets, 4 rain jackets for the start of the monsoon in June,  for myself, Bharat and 2 Porters.

After about 5 weeks on the trail we get to the Makalu Section. This involves crossing 3 passes around 6,000 meters with some glacier crossings. Our team of 4 will be joined at this stage by Dawa, a climbing sherpa, and 2 more porters as the porter loads reduce to 20-22kg. Dawa and his porters will bring extra equipment for Bharat KC, the original 2 Porters and myself, like warm boots and crampons, some of which I have bought and some which can be hired in Kathmandu. The High Altitude Sherpa guides  will take us over these passes to the relative luxury of the Everest region and then again over a high near 6000 m pass to Rolwaling. Thereafter they will return to Kathmandu leaving the original team of 4 to continue west.

The bureaucratic side is a challenge also. Just extending my 90 vias to 150 days took 2 visits, some tenacious explaining and a fistful of dollars at the Immigration department. Nepalis are tough and capable, but not infallible, so I also have provide injury or death insurance and helicopter evacuation insurance. This is in addition to my own insurance. I also have to configure communications channels with my emergency transponder device so the right people get any messages and can act on them by sending a helicopter if needed, Finally there are the restricted area permits. In the beginning Kanchenjunga, Rolwaling and Manaslu sections all require one and all the sections in the second half after require one.

To obtain the permit to pass through these restricted areas one has to pay a fee varying from $10 a week to $500 a week, One must have a government registered guide and be in a party of at least 2, For solo trekkers agencies often use details of a “ghost” trekker to make up a party, but this doubles the fees. If there were no regulations for the restricted areas strong, well-organized hikers, who could carry 10 days food at a time, might be able to manage most of the Upper Great Himalaya Trail alone. Solo hikers can in theory do this do this on the much easier 100-day Lower Great Himalaya Trail.

Wheels generally move very slowly in Kathmandu so I allowed a good week to get everything in place. it takes many meetings with the trekking agents before all the pieces of the jigsaw fall into place and only then one can start to think about buying kitchen utensils, like a pressure cooker, and food. While Kathmandu itself is a busy city without much to redeem it there are some great places nearby to explore while the plans fall into place; Bhaktapur, Patan, Boudhanath, Pashupatinath and Swayambhunath are a few of the highlights.

Bhaktapur is arguably the best of all with it’s fantastic largely unscathed temples, gatherings of its Newari folk sitting on shaded alcoves and vibrant market stalls in the squares and narrow lanes. Were it not necessary to oil the wheels in Kathmandu its genuine,  tranquil lanes would be a much better place to be than the contrived, self-important, bustle of Thamel in Kathmandu.

Patan is much closer to Thamel and shares much of Bhaktapur’s ambience, but the chaos of Kathmandu is slowly enveloping this ancient Newari kingdom as it becomes a suburb. The temples in its Durbar Square, like Kathmandu, were badly rattled in the 2015 earthquake and are being restored under huge scaffoldings.

During my week of preparation I have also set aside time to visit 3 large religious complexes in the Kathmandu Valley. The first is Pashupatinath, the most important Hindu Temple in Nepal. It is vibrant, intense and full of local worshippers and and pilgrims from both Nepal’s Hill County, Pahad, and the Lowlands, Terai. Kathmandu’s main Ghats are located here also on the banks of the holy Bagmati River.  The other two, Swayambhunath and Boudhanath are both ancient Buddhist centres. Swayambhunath (Monkey Temple) is within walking distance of Thamel on a hilltop and is revered by Hindus also. While Boudhanath is wholly Buddhist and has become the spiritual centre for the Tibetan populations in Nepal, both refugees and those who have always lived in the Mountains, Himalaya.

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