Trek Tales #2
Episode 2: The OG Kuari Pass
Note: If you haven’t read Trek Tales #1 yet, then click here to read it now!
Do you over-pack when you travel? Are you someone who plans different outfits for each day of the trip and then decides to carry a couple of extra items as backup - in case the earmarked clothes seem less appealing in hotel-lit rooms? Now I wouldn’t call myself an ‘over-packer’. But if I am going to a different city, is it not reasonable to assume that people there would want to see every t-shirt I own? Would they not be disappointed if I wore the same clothes every day? Thus, I have always approached packing for vacations from the standpoint of my duty to showcase my wardrobe to the public.
Packing for the trek, of course, was different. I had to fit everything into one rucksack and would have to carry it during the trek, so it couldn’t be too heavy. In other words, I could choose to labour under the weight of winter jackets or risk hypothermia. A delightful conundrum! Ultimately, I chose the former thinking an extra jacket (or two) would probably not make much difference.
This picture, from Day 2 of our trek, should tell you how well that worked out for me.
Being our first day on the trail, the Day 2 itinerary was quite low-key. We had to hike 3.5 kilometres, to reach our first campsite. The trail was a steady incline since we were moving uphill but I wasn’t too concerned. I’d imagined it’d be leisurely stroll. I would be whistling a carefree tune and pausing occasionally to smell pinecones. That, I figured, is what people typically do on treks.
Shockingly, it turns out that climbing a mountain under the afternoon sun, with 12kgs of luggage strapped to your body, is not a fun activity. And having a guide who has a flair for drama, adds to the challenge. Case in point: We had been hiking for over 2 hours on a dusty trail, threading our way through a forest of conifers and the occasional cotton tree (dubiously identified by Licks, his confidence far outstripping his botanical abilities).
I was hungry, thirsty and fondly remembering the afternoons I spent napping on my couch. We crested a hill and found ourselves in a beautiful meadow with glorious views of a mountain range. A group of trekkers had already set up camp there.
“This is a campsite….”, our guide announced.
I sighed in relief, gratefully shrugged my rucksack off, and sprawled on the ground.
“….But we will not camp here”, he concluded. “We will keep climbing.”
I think that was the first time I wanted to stab him with my trekking pole.
We eventually camped at a small clearing around half a kilometre further up the hill.
This was my first taste of living ‘outdoors’ and it seemed like a different world. For starters, I was wrenched off my mobile phone dependency: network was patchy, and in any case, we were keen to conserve phone batteries. Water, especially warm water, was a precious commodity and could not be wasted on luxuries, like washing your face1. I know it seems puerile to say this but once the sun set, it was utterly and completely dark. A darkness that is impossible in cities; a darkness that is the preserve of nature, unsullied by civilization. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed the stars - a surfeit of glittering pinpricks covering every inch of the inky black sky. Constellations toppled over each other to catch your attention and encouraged by the absence of internet-based fact-checking, we named them all.
But there were some distressing aspects as well.
An essential, and somewhat unfortunate, feature of a tent is the absence of a floor, unless you consider a yoga mat on bare earth as flooring. And bare earth is usually uneven. This combination can therefore result in you having to sleep in a position where your left leg is at an angle of roughly 20° to your right shoulder. And let’s not forget about the particularly gnarly pebbles determined to intimately acquaint themselves with your back. The trick to sleeping in such circumstances, I soon realised, is to stop seeking comfort and simply give in to the tiredness2.
The other notable predicament you face when camping, is the absence of a washroom. I have neither the skill nor the artistry to gracefully describe my feelings on this issue. Let me merely say this: the commode and jet spray are mankind’s greatest inventions. There is nothing else, the absence of which can cause such deep trauma to a human being. That is all. I wish to speak no further on this.
We had an early start on Day 3. The plan was to head towards Kuari Pass via Khullara campsite, then come back down to our camp in Khullara by early evening. We had to cover 11 kilometres and would climb to an elevation of over 12,500 feet.
We were above the snowline by now and our rocky trail was bordered by shallow banks of snow. Behind us, Himalayan peaks populated the horizon. It was quite the view.
From being surrounded by snow, we were soon walking through it (a muddy, slushy affair) and then, on it. Within a couple of hours, the landscape had changed completely. We found ourselves on a slope covered with icy snow, with only a few islands of rocks adding colour to a field of blinding, all-encompassing white.
Walking on snow is tricky business. You take each step hoping to hear the crunch of brittle ice crystals under your boot, which signals the presence of hard ice below. But the ground beneath your feet is whimsical, capricious. There will, inevitably, be a moment when you gingerly shift your weight to test your footing and at the exact moment you think the ice is solid enough to bear you, it crumbles in a joyful rush. Progress is slow and it can take up to an hour to cover a single kilometre. Yet, you keep walking, occasionally glancing up to see how far you need to go, because in those moments, your life is centred around placing one foot in front of the other; and because you know there’s a prize waiting for you at the top.
By noon, we had reached the “fake Kuari Pass”. According to our guide, “fake Kuari Pass” was the spot where commercial trekking companies ferry gullible trekkers and then claim it to be a “summit”. There is no “summit” in a mountain pass, he raged. These big trekking companies with their non-local ways, were scamming people and his blood boiled every time he thought about it. As a mountaineer and a local trekking guide, he was duty-bound to lead us to the actual Kuari Pass, which meant another hour of traversing the mountainside.
The man certainly knew how to get us going. We were tired and our legs had turned to lead. But here was an opportunity that would allow us to spend a lifetime saying, “Oh, you went on the Kuari Pass trek? But did you go to the real Kuari Pass? No? What a shame.” So onward we went, in search of the original Kuari Pass. Since we were among the first trekkers of the season, we were likely to be the first group attempting to get to the original Kuari Pass.
There is an undeniable thrill in venturing into virgin mountainous terrain, but the thrill can very quickly change to apprehension. We were beyond the established trekking trail (which ended at the fake Kuari Pass) and had to diligently (and quite literally) follow our guide’s footsteps. The mountainside dropped off treacherously to our right and a single misstep could have dire consequences.
After a short while, we realised our route was no longer navigable. We had reached a steep icy slope and there were no discernible footholds we could use to cross it. Our guide’s enthusiasm, however, remained undiminished. He brought out his ice-axe and started hacking away at the mountain, to create large potholes we could use to step across the slope.
During this leg of our journey, there had been a change in the weather. Dark, ominous clouds had been gathering above us, threatening rain and snow. And then, seemingly in the blink of an eye, the world turned grey. Our trek to the coveted “original Kuari Pass” had ended up offering a view of nothing but swirling, impenetrable fog.
But the view didn’t seem quite so important right then. It was beginning to rain and the wind was tearing through our many layers of clothing. We had been climbing for over 5 hours and had to go back the way we’d come; only now we’d have to do it in rapidly deteriorating weather. It was not a happy prospect.
I love being in the mountains, but right then, I wished I was somewhere else.
Read the final chapter in Trek Tales #3!
Although we did have the luxury of a guide and a cook, who set up our tent, made fresh meals and provided us with an endless supply of tea and coffee.
This is also the trick to living life, in general.
You are making me feel wistful
Haha - enjoyed reading this! The views, the hike - sound like so much fun.
I’m sure the lack of washrooms was also fun ;)