Menthosa - The Climb

We packed some food and fuel for a camp we hoped to establish above the couloir and set off with great optimism on 28 August. The lower part of the gully was moderate in its angle but reared up steeply the higher we climbed. I shall not risk my integrity by trying to guess the true angle of the ice. In his celebrated instructional book "Climbing Ice", the ace French climber Yvon Chouinard makes the very insightful comment that when the angle of ice begins to exceed about 55 degrees, to the climber who is trying to balance his way up on the front points of his crampons, it appears well nigh vertical! And if you are carrying a bit of a load and there are tottering towers of ice threatening to detach themselves from their moorings and come hurtling down, the precise angle does not really matter as you look at the sweep of icy white that drops away below your heels.

Faruk heads out from the camp on Urgus Pass

Taking a break as the angle steepens

I traverse across to join Faruk at the bottom of the couloir

Our Camp 2 was pitched between two crevasses

But we managed to cope fairly competently with the terrain, considering neither of us had any vast alpine climbing experience. As we neared the ice towers looming above us we began to traverse to the right, then climbed over some features which resembled giant white mushrooms. By afternoon we had topped out over the highest of the mushrooms and suddenly found ourselves in a trough of hard snow cradled between two crevasses and backed by an icy wall festooned with glittering icicles. We decided that this would be an appropriate location to site our next camp, and left our supplies here. We guessed - correctly as it turned out later - that the wall above provided access to the huge snow plateau of the upper mountain upon which was perched the summit.

We had to climb the ice wall behind the camp to gain access to the plateau

We moved up with bag and baggage the next day. It was hard work and in places the leader opted to climb without his sack. Once secure on a better footing, he would haul the sack up via a simple pulley system we fashioned with some carabiners and slings. By the time we reached the proposed campsite, the weather was turning ugly and once again we had to pitch our tent in driving snow. Once inside the little fabric shelter we proceeded to thaw out our numb fingers before putting on a brew. Late in the evening the skies cleared and we could truly appreciate the grandeur of our surroundings.

The location was one of the most spectacular places I have ever camped on. There was a fair amount of space to move around outside the tent even though we were sandwiched between two crevasses. The view from the zippered door of the borrowed tent (Satish Patki had been kind enough to part with his prized possession on condition that if I were to damage it in any way, I was to buy him a new one!) was nothing short of gorgeous : the slope in front of us dropped away into a void and across the vast emptiness rose hundreds of peaks whose names I would not be able to recall. From the few that I could identify with a degree of certainty was Phabrang (6172m / 20250ft) its vertical northwest face and airy north ridge soaring into the sky like a giant comb to the southeast. Above the Khanjar nala to the east two beautiful and icy peaks pierced the heavens. To our right, the shelf of ice and snow was contained by the filigreed wall of the crevasse at our back, and to our left the mountain sloped away, again into an unknown abyss. Reaching this point had been a strenuous challenge and we were extremely happy that we had made it so far without incident. The conditions had been great and the towers of ice ringing the upper parts of the couloir had desisted from obliterating us. In short, it was great to be alive and boiling water for a  dinner of instant noodle on our little gas stove. We had a very limited stock of the butane cylinders; this was 1986, and what climbers and trekkers in the western world took for granted was hoarded like precious metals by the minuscule community of self funded mountain climbers in India. We would sigh with envy every time we heard or read about the generously funded climbing expeditions from the Indian Mountaineering Foundation or the military who could import climbing and camping equipment rather freely - and best of all, the climbers did not have to pay for it! Ordinary mortals like us had to save our hard earned salaries, scout around for used climbing gear in the bazaars of Thamel in Kathmandu or in the hill towns of Darjeeling and Manali and use up vacation time to indulge in a little mountaineering. All climbers are definitely not created equal!

We settled down in our sleeping bags as delicate pastel hues coloured our world of ice, rock and snow. We were lulled to sleep by the smug feeling that perhaps the most difficult part of the climb was over. All we had to do was get up on to the summit plateau and trudge upwards toward the summit. We had forgotten that life tends to teach us lessons in humility at just the right moment.

We were up early with the dawn and Faruk set to work with gusto tackling the ice wall above whilst I belayed him from just outside the tent. The morning was cold and sunny, the sky was blue above Faruk, and the chunks of ice flew into the air as he hacked at the slope with his ice axe and plunged the front points of his crampons into the slope. He put in an ice screw along the way and threaded the climbing rope through the carabiner which he had clipped into the screw. With a little less distance to cover in case he fell, he kept on climbing, a little more confidently now that his security had been enhanced. This was a moment to savour : perfect weather conditions, the two of us climbing in perfect unison and in silence alone on a gigantic pile of rock and ice also known as Menthosa, eager to see what would greet us as we crested the wall.

What greeted us was the wind. It slammed into us as it swept across the wide snow plain and threatened to sweep us off our feet. We tottered away from the edge to try and get into the lee of an undulation in the snow and took stock. The summit block towered on our left hand side in a series of big snow slopes, separated from the top of the plateau by a huge crevasse. The ridge to the right seemed to offer a shorter, but perhaps steeper access to the summit area, so we began to make our way in that direction. However, we were stopped short by the gaping jaws of the crevasse. Crossing that wide gulf, with its attendant risks, did not appeal to us at all, so we retraced our steps and began to move slowly towards the left hand ridge. The snow was soft, we were sinking up to our knees and progress was extremely slow. We realised that this sort of terrain was best tackled in the freeze of predawn. By now the afternoon was well advanced, the altitude was probably around 20,000 feet, making us gasp with each step as we lunged ahead. We stopped for a short pow-wow and were unilateral in our decision to get down to our tent and make an early bid for the summit on the morrow. We were satisfied with the result of the reconnaissance, because that is what this was. We had determined that we would try and climb the mountain via its east ridge (the left hand side). In a little while we were back at the top of the ice wall down which we abseiled back to our little tent.

Determined to make an earlier start, we were out and climbing the ice wall at a quarter to six. The weather looked dubious - the clouds that had rolled in overnight refused to go away. A bitterly cold wind and spindrift stung our faces as we reached the plateau. The rising sun touched the summit with gold but we were too miserable to truly appreciate its magnificence. We hoped that the wind would pack in the snow, but it was not to be so. The snow was as soft and deep and as powdery as the day before and for hours we toiled up this, across a few well disguised crevasses and over endless humps and detours. Ragged clouds whipped across the east ridge whither we were bound. After about five hours we finally gained the ridge, through knee deep, then waist deep snow. The summit appeared to be near, but we knew that under the present conditions we would probably take another four to five hours to get there. We also had to factor in the rising altitude which had already slowed us down and would continue to do so the higher we climbed.

The altitude dictates a pause...

The East Ridge appears close

The bergschrund at the bottom of the West Ridge as seen from the East Ridge

We stopped for a rest and considered the alternatives : if we pressed on we would be absolutely fatigued by the time we reached the summit, always assuming that there were no hidden obstacles to overcome higher up. It would be close to sunset and we would not have sufficient time nor energy to make it safely back to camp before darkness enveloped the mountain. It was a no-brainer as far as we were concerned. Yes, summits are important to climbing; but returning to the everyday world below in one piece is a far more attractive proposition. We decided to turn around.

We were exhausted by the time we reached the tent and lay around in a torpor for some time. When I could think straight again, I knew that the only way we could climb to the summit safely would be to establish another camp high on the plateau above from where we could make a quick dash to the top and retreat again. This option was not very attractive, since it meant hauling our heavy backpacks again up a very steep wall and on to the plateau, and then floundering in deep snow till we found a place to camp. Faruk had been coughing up blood for the last ten days or so and it didn't seem a healthy sign. When I quizzed him about this, he said he had a problem with his stomach, he told me not to worry, he could handle it. His bowels too seemed to have a life of their own and I knew that we should not be lingering at this altitude for longer than was absolutely necessary.

The wind died down a little after sunset and I opened the zip of the tent. The panorama in front of my eyes was magnificent. I stepped out to admire the view and take pictures. As I edged close to the crevasse which we must cross to go down, I noticed that a rather alarming crack had appeared on the snow bridge. That, for me, clinched the issue. I rushed back to the tent to deliver the glad tidings to Faruk. If that bridge collapsed, we would be trapped on our little camping spot, unable to go down the mountain. We packed up that night, waiting for the dawn to vacate what had now become a rather uneasy perch.

This snow bridge over the deep crevasse had developed an alarming crack.

The mountains always seem to mock you as one prepares to vacate their sacred turf. The morning dawned  brilliantly sunny, implying that we should get the hell out of there while the going was good. We were in no mood to argue: we were out of fuel, we had only a couple of snacks left, and we were exhausted after our little attempt to reach the summit.

Ready....Set....

Go!

To speed things up we rappelled down some sections and were relieved when we reached the bottom of the couloir. We could now saunter down to the Urgus pass. When we arrived at the pass, there were a whole lot of people milling around : a large team from Assam had arrived at Base Camp in our absence and were in the process of stocking up the camp on the col. We were surprised at the considerable number of High Altitude Porters they were employing, but refrained from comment. We looked around for a familiar face and sure enough there was good old Bir Singh flashing us his ingenuous smile. He and Franklyn had returned from the village the previous night and Bir Singh's instinct had told him that Faruk and I would probably be descending the mountain by now...and he had come up to help. We gladly parted with some of our loads for him to carry. Lightened in body and high in spirit, we raced down to Base Camp. One of the great things of climbing in the Himalaya is that your body is pared down to the essentials by the exertion at altitude and the aerobic workout boosts your lung power. The increase in red blood cells in the veins delivers a rich cocktail of oxygen and air when you go down to lower levels and this leads to a wonderful heady feeling of being truly alive.

A whole lot of tents had sprung up around our little kitchen shelter and we no longer enjoyed the luxury of exclusivity. Voices wafted around the camp, and snatches of conversation, loud laughter, the crunching of boots on gravel and grass. It was time to go down to Gompha.

Bir Singh carries his wife Saraswati across a torrent

Menthosa - An Idea Takes Root

Our kit bags hit the ground with a dull thud as they were dropped unceremoniously from the top of the Manali - Tindi bus. Our rucksacks followed a little more gently as Bir Singh and Rinzing helped unload our baggage. It was a warm August afternoon in 1986 and the field next to the school at Udaipur was deserted.  I stretched my cramped legs and looked around at the hills overlooking this little hill town perched above the Chandra river in Lahul. The air here at almost 9000 feet was crisp and dry and I was filled with the tingling expectation of being on the brink of another great mountain adventure. The planning and the travel was over. We were at the mouth of the Miyar valley as it merged into the Chandra. The peak of Menthosa beckoned. At 21,140 feet it was the second highest peak (after Mulkila, 21,380 ft.) in the district of Lahul and had been first climbed only as recently as 1970.

I had mulled over Bir Singh's invitation the previous year to come to his native Miyar valley during its flowering season which traditionally occurred in July and August. He had watched bemusedly as I trained my lenses at the few ragged stands of pink willow herb struggling to exist amidst the barren moraine of the Bara Shigri glacier. His remark had goaded me to do some research at the Himalayan Club when I returned to Mumbai. The more I read about the Miyar valley, the more I wanted to go there. The Miyar valley dropped down from the Kangla Jot which led into fabled Zanskar and as it lost altitude it was joined by many feeder streams at the head of which lay scores of unclimbed peaks and high glacier cirques ringed by soaring granite towers. The Gumba Basin, one such valley, had been visited by my friend Satish Patki - the same Satish who had held my near-fatal fall on the cliffs of Mumbra in Feb 1985! Since I did not rate myself very high as a rock climber, I deleted the Gumba Basin from my list of likely destinations. Harish Kapadia, then the honorary assistant editor of the Himalayan Journal, suggested the twin peaks of Dhupao Jot and Baihali Jot. When I looked at the map, Menthosa, just a valley away, caught my eye. This was perfect! Here was a high peak, not technically hard if attempted via its First Ascent route, and its approach would lead me up the garden path (or so Bir Singh insisted) to his village of Gompha. From Gompha, a day's strenuous walk up the Urgus Nala would bring us to the perfect Base Camp below Menthosa.

The glaciers of Menthosa gave birth to the Urgus torrent which hurtled down from about 15,000 ft. and joined the Miyar valley at Gompha, Bir Singh's village. The mention of a trek through meadows blooming with exotic wildflowers was enough to convince my wife Margaret, my sister Ipi and my long time hiking friend Franklyn to join me. All I needed now was a companion to climb with. Faruk fitted the bill perfectly.

Faruk and I had been rock climbing regularly in the cliffs around Mumbai and had formed an easygoing and fun partnership. He was younger and much stronger and fitter than I. My reasoning was simple: if I were to slip on the mountain, he was capable of breaking my fall!

Faruk bouldering at Turalli in Bangalore.

Rounding up our support team were Bir Singh and Rinzing, whose acquaintance I had made the year before in the Bara Shigri glacier. I despatched two letters the old fashioned way : one to Rinzing in the care of the trekking agency that he worked for in Manali and the other to Bir Singh's village, a few days' march up the valley of the Miyar river. The fact that Bir Singh met us at the bus stand in Manali when we arrived was a testimony to the sterling work and efficiency of the Indian Postal Service: I had heard legendary tales of intrepid mail workers fording rivers and climbing mountains to deliver just one letter to a hamlet far beyond modern means of communication and was willing to wager that this was indeed true. I had once seen inscribed on the Post Office building facade on 8th Avenue in Manhattan, New York city, the following creed : "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds". This applied equally to the mailmen of the Indian Postal Service, I thought.

As the dust settled around us, we unpacked the few things we would need to spend the night on the floor of the veranda bordering the classrooms. It was a pleasant evening and we were soon eating the dinner we had picked up before we boarded the bus in Manali. The moon rose into a clear sky and Bir Singh and Rinzing melted away into the gloaming. They were bound for the village of Shakoli to round up some porters. Since Shakoli was about two hours walk up the Miyar valley, they would return in the morning, hopefully with the required number of men. Bir Singh, whose backyard this was, had assured me that he would certainly find the men. Trusting in his word, I snuggled into my sleeping bag and thought of the last few days that we had spent in Manali, buying supplies for this trip and also reconnecting with Nalini whom I had first met just 11 months ago. Nalini played the gracious hostess when I introduced my wife, sister and friends Faruk and Franklyn. We were treated to a round of tea and a walk around her little orchard...this helped to erase the unpleasant memories of the journey from Delhi.

With Nalini in her backyard.
Left to Right : Franklyn, Margaret, Ipi, Nalini, and Faruk.

The night bus journey from the Interstate Bus Terminus (always referred to as just ISBT) in Old Delhi to Manali had been eventful.

We were outmanoeuvred in the seat selection process, so ended up sitting in the last row of seats which  always provides its occupants with the most bumpy of rides, being perched aft of the rear axle. As the bus pulled out of Delhi, some young men who appeared to be college students began to imbibe liquor from a collection of bottles they carried and were soon very very drunk. They were getting more and more boisterous by the mile. The bus conductor appealed to them to keep it down and to stop drinking, but to no avail. One of them eventually could not contain his liquor any more. He got up from his seat, leaned over the head of the mild mannered pahari (hill man from Himachal Pradesh), and began to vomit all over the poor guy. This was the last straw. Faruk leaped up from his seat and almost punched the perpetrator. Everyone in the bus was hopping mad at the breach of decent behaviour and was ready to lynch the young men! I was truly surprised that the victim could keep a cool (albeit filthy!) head during the proceedings. I was certain that he was an enlightened soul who lived by Hemingway's "Grace under pressure" motto!

The driver swerved into a roadside dhaba just beyond Ambala where we helped the pahari to wash the muck from his hair. The rest of the night passed in relative peace. The drunks soon passed out and lay in a heap over each other as the bus groaned up the foothills to Sundernagar and on to Mandi, Kullu and Manali, where we arrived the next morning.

I love steep and winding mountain roads. I just cannot close my eyes when I am in a bus or other vehicle which is gaining altitude hairpin bend by hairpin bend. This is in stark contrast to Margaret, who would rather complete such journeys with her eyes closed. I had to nudge her each time an eye-popping vista unfolded through the small windows of the Himachal Roadways bus as it made its slow way from Manali up to the Rohtang Pass, down to Gramphoo in Lahul, and halted for a brief lunch at Keylong.

The mandatory photo op on the Rohtang pass.
Left to Right : Aloke, Bir Singh, Margaret, and Ipi.

The peak of Gepang Goh (5870 m) as seen from Rohtang Pass

Keylong exuded the true mountain vibes!

Glaciers and peaks above Keylong

True to his word, Bir Singh was back at 6 am with 8 men who were working on a PWD (Public Works Department) project to clear a landslide near the village of Shakoli. By the time we were packed up and ready to go, the morning was far advanced. Getting past the landslide was a hair raising affair, and we were soon camped in the stone shell of a schoolhouse under construction in Shakoli. The porters had to go back to their regular duties, so we would have to spend the remainder of the day at this spot while Bir Singh headed up the valley to his village to recruit our next lot of porters!

A motorable road was being blasted up the gorge of the Miyar river

PWD workers can be seen above the landslide area which wiped out the track



Old compacted snow forms a convenient bridge over the little nala

We spent a pleasant afternoon in Shakoli, the cynosure of all eyes. We were constantly surrounded by friendly little children whose innocent curiosity about strangers in their world was hard to satisfy. Late in the evening we retired to our tents to play Scrabble and finally drifted off to sleep, waiting for the morrow. It was going to be a long day but we looked forward to it...

Welcome to the Shakoli Sheraton!

Shakoli gentleman spinning wool

Scrabble by candlelight

Sara Umga La : Follow the sheep!

Two days of idyll followed a night of sporadic rain. I dried out my shoes in the sunshine that bathed these high (approx 13,500ft) pastures at 7 am. Bir Singh had woken me up much before sunrise with a welcome cup of chai. Commander Sood and one of the Brits, "Moose", went down to Tos village to replenish their dwindling supplies of food. Ravi Chandra, the LO with the Australian expedition, told me sotto voce that the food position in the British camp was rather sad and he blamed it on Alan Hinkes, their leader, being rather "tightfisted". I listened politely to the gossip, not realizing that this was the same Alan Hinkes who was later to become a rather big name in British mountaineering circles! The Brits were attempting to climb Dharamsura ( 6446 m / 21,148 ft), also known as White Sail, first ascended in 1941 by J.O.M.Roberts. Apparently they were trying to attempt a new route up the west face of the mountain.

The summit of Dharamsura is just visible from the East Tos glacier as a little triangle beyond the white dome.

The North East face of Dhramsura - as seen from the Bara Shigri Glacier

Alan and another of his team members left for their higher camp, leaving behind Gary, a tall (  6 ft 2 in ), friendly  anaesthetist. Gary was primarily a rock climber and this was his first ever trip to 13,000 feet. He had taken a year off work to concentrate on climbing and had just finished a stint in the Picos mountains in Spain. He dropped in for a long chat with us and we passed a pleasant morning.

Phil, one of the two Australians, had left the camp at 4:30 am, before any of us had woken up. He planned to climb Papsura ( 6440 m ) solo because his partner Frank had lost interest after they had failed to climb the West Ridge on the mountain. Phil was planning to repeat the original route climbed in 1967 by the first ascensionists Colin Pritchard and Geoffrey Hill.

Telephoto of Papsura from the East Tos glacier

I had a leisurely breakfast and then set off to explore the area immediately above and to the west of Base Camp. It took me two hours to reach the cirque of rocky peaks which ringed a small glacier. Again I failed to get a glimpse of Ali Ratni Tibba and could not really tell if I could see the Pass of the Animals - so named by Robert Pettigrew whose pioneering exploration of the area had found a way from the Malana glacier to the Tos valley. This little hike without carrying any load on my shoulders was exhilarating, the sun shone bright and warm and I could see behind me a long way up the East Tos glacier. I sat down on some huge boulders and ate the dates that I had stuffed into my pockets. Suddenly, there was an ominous rumbling noise that semed to originate right under me in the bowels of the earth and I felt that the slope I was on was going to collapse. I bolted like a rabbit and skated on to the relevant safety of the hard packed ice of the glacier. This was excitement enough for a rest day, so I retreated.

Bir Singh had once again produced a culinary delight with the simple ingredients of rajma, peas, potatoes and rice. After this sumptuous repast I hopped across to chat with Ravi Chandra. His tent was palatial compared to the one I shared with Bir Singh. Ravi was loquacious, recounting his other trips as LO to the peaks of Kun and Z8 in Zanskar and the bureacratic intrigue amongst the climbing clubs in Karanataka. Some time later Gary, who was getting bored all by himself, popped in as well; then all three of us came back to my tent where Bir Singh made chai. Gary invited us both for dinner on the condition that Bir Singh would make chappaties for him!

Bir Singh rolled out the chappaties on the lid of a "dekchi" (a cooking utensil), using a bottle as a rolling pin. The dinner was a big success and we all retired to our sleeping bags, full of food and good cheer. Such was social networking at Base Camps in the Himalaya before Facebook and Twitter!

I spent the next day walking up the East Tos glacier, past the icefall that descends from Dharamsura. En route I met the Australian Phil, walking back to Base Camp: his proposed solo attempt on Papsura had come to a rather abrupt end when he fell into a crevasse and just about managed to extricate himself in one piece. The experience brought home to him just how dangerous the mountains can be and so, choosing discretion as the better part of valour, he was headed down.

I could now see the upper pyramid of Papsura and a bit later Dharamsura's summit came into view far up in the distant sky. Only the tip could be seen above the bulge of its sister peak Angdu Ri. The head of the East Tos glacier was home to a number of rugged and unknown (to me) peaks, guarding access to the Bara Shigri system of glaciers behind their high ramparts. The sensation of walking alone in such a perfect wilderness was euphoric and I savoured every moment.

Peak on the left bank of the East Tos glacier

East Tos Glacier

I was back in camp for lunch and a welcome siesta, lulled to a comfortable slumber by bouts of rain and hail outside. I was grateful for this interlude of total relaxation; the morrow would see us climbing up to the Sara Umga pass at a little over 16,000 feet and descending the Chota Shigri glacier on the other side. I rechecked my notes on this interesting little notch in the mountains :

"...the Sara Umga La, a pass with romantic associations in the long history of Indo-Tibet trade but completely unknown to European mountaineers." Thus wrote Robert Pettigrew in the Alpine Journal in 1966. He continued - "According to A.P.F.Hamilton the pass could not be less than 16,000 feet, and it was said to be difficult. Nevertheless, it carried the ancient trade route from Ladakh, formerly known as Western Tibet, to Rampur-Bashahr in the Sutlej valley of the Punjab.

Captain Todd, who climbed in Kulu with Bruce in 1912, has described the historic events in the Beas Valley, notably the seizure of key points by the Rajput warrior-chieftains in the seventeeth century which ended the Tibetan occupation of Kulu. The excessive customs duty vigorously levied and collected by the new regime on goods passing over the Rohtang La, 13,050 feet - there is a canyon still known as Customs House - eventually closed the Rohtang and forced the trade-hungry Tibetans to seek a new pass across the Divide in an environment traditionally shunned by Indians as hostile.

Sketch map....(shows)...the trade route from the famous Bara Lacha La, 16,047 feet, to the foot of the Sara Umga La, 16,025 feet, traversing uninhabited, inhospitable and difficult terrain, finally skirted the obstructive snout of the Bara Shigri Glacier on the true left bank of the Chandra River to reach Phuti Runi (the Split Rock), the rendezvous point, in the level area still known as the Plain of the Kinnauris.

The Tibetans used 'Biangis" (big sheep) as pack animals carrying salt, borax and precious stones. They were met during October by the Kinnauris, enterprising middle-men from Bashahr in the Sutlej Valley. Encamped for a week at the foot of the Chota Shigri Glacier the barter would commence. The biangis were sheared, their wool being an important commodity for trade. The barter concluded, the Tibetans would return to Ladakh carrying the famous Lahul wheat and commodities from the plains of Punjab. In the reverse direction the Kinnauris, now with their tough little Bashahr sheep as pack animals, ascended the easy angled Chota Shigri Glacier, crossed the deep notch of the Sara Umga La, descended over steep and awkward lateral moraines of the main Tos Glacier, and continued on a good track down the true right bank of the uninhabited Tos nullah to the village of Pulga in the Parbati valley."

This graphic account of the history of the Sara Umga pass had kindled in me a strong desire to see the gap for myself. This was easier said than done...

We said farewell to Ravichandra, Gary, Frank and Phil and headed west to the crest of the moraine wall of the Tos glacier. We now had to descend onto the glacier itself and cross over to the other side before climbing up to the pass. The descent down a steep unstable slope of mud, stones and scree was hair raising. Bir Singh, in true child - of - the - mountains fashion raced down it and was soon waiting for me on the ice of the glacier. I was so spooked by then that I jettisoned both my rucksack and camera bag down the slope to be expertly fielded by my young companion. Then, with the help of my ice axe I made my way gingerly and with a great deal of trepidation down to the relatively level ground of the glacier.

The head of the Tos glacier, glimpsed enroute to the Sara Umga La

Once on the other side we climbed up the side of a nala down which a waterfall cascaded down and were soon at the campsite which is traditionally used before crossing the pass. The site was very impressive, with the backdrop of the monumental buttresses of red rock that flanked the Sara Umga La above. We shared some orange flavoured Amul chocolate before heading up in increasing cloud and rain. The rain soon turned to snow as we crested the pass, so we were robbed of any kind of views that this may have offered. There was a lot of snow on the pass, even so late in the season, and for the next 3 hours we weaved our way between crevasses, hopping from one safe spot to what we deemed to be another safe spot. Bir Singh did a wonderful job probing the soft snow for crevasses with the one ice axe we had and I marvelled that he was moving so comfortably in his canvas shoes. I had given him a pair of thick blue woollen socks but even so his feet must have been cold in those freezing conditions.

The lower ramparts of Sentinel peak (approx 18,000 ft.) guard one flank of the Sara Umga La.

Bir Singh heads across the Sara Umga La

On the Sara Umga La.

I was relieved when the ice of the Chota Shigri glacier gave way to boulder strewn moraine. But my relief was short lived as hopping from one huge unstable boulder to another in the fading light and the rain was less than comforting. We decided to camp at around six in the evening, after a nine hour day. We were cold and wet and miserable. We pitched the tent in a most uncomfortable spot and brewed some milkless, sugarless tea because we were out of those items. Salt was an acceptable flavour so we we added that to the pan. It rained all night and we thought we might be incarcerated at this miserable camp the whole day. Braving the cold and the drizzle we packed up and moved down the glacier at 11:30 am. We were glad we did; the terrain soon flattened out and we were at the bottom of the Chota Shigri! It occured to me that those Bushahri sheep must have been really hardy little critters to be able to cross the Sara Umga La!

The gorge of the Chota Shigri can be seen across the river.

There was a movement far across the Chandra river on the other side of the valley : it was the Kaza-Kullu bus. We saw it stop at the collection of tin sheds known as Chota Dhara before moving downstream towards Chatroo, the same stop we were headed for. In spite of the rain the walk was pleasant enough as it traversed some beautiful meadows blooming with wildflowers and criss crossed with gurgling brooks and filled with the song of wagtails (Bir Singh called them "rejicha" in Lahuli) hopping from one stream to the next. When I gushed about the flowers to Bir Singh, he snorted..."Come to the Miyar Nala, saab", he said, "and I will show you meadows teeming with wildflowers like you've never seen". Little did I know, but this little statement of his was to form the seed from which would spring my next mountain adventure less than a year later - a trip to climb the peak of Menthosa in the Miyar Valley, just a day's hike up from Bir Singh's village of Urgus!

Bridge over the Chandra river at Chatroo