I’m looking out through an open tent flap at a ring of snow-topped mountains, wondering what to do next. After an extended remote trek through 4 passes over 5000m in Ladakh, my senses thrilled by canyons, braided rivers, a tarcave, Buddhist Stupas and monasteries, my body aches for rest from the physical strain of slogging up gradients far steeper than I’ve met before at this altitude. Now the party has split. The others are continuing their well-earned rest in Leh, hoping for a sight of the Dalai Lama, on his way to Zanskar. I’ve come to Stok Kangri base camp, with an enthusiastic student group, aiming to climb the 6153m peak.
Our 2-night stop in the little hotel by the steps up to the Shanti Stupa was excellent. We visited Leh’s mass of tourist shops, Tibetan bazaars and cafes. Pavement markets, tended by aged locals whose faces display the struggle to survive on green patches in Ladakh’s harsh landscape, feature a wealth of vegetables, nuts and fruit, sold using hand-held balance scales to assess rough weights. From first floor cafes we could watch the crowded streets below. In truth I became rather ‘comfortable’ in Leh! The walk to base camp started near Stok Palace. The valley track starts from an office / cafe where the road ends.We presented our climbing permit and met the ponymen and their animals hired to carry our main equipment to base camp. Our two mountain guides proceeded very slowly, making every effort to keep the group together. Nevertheless, that day’s walk to Manikarmo saw me tiredly wandering up this fabulous valley and virtually exhausted by the time we reached camp. The books said we’d only climbed to 3665m thus far and base camp was 4900m. But the guide said it was: “Only a couple of hours walking tomorrow!” Was that up some sort of vertical wall? I privately promised that I’d just stay at base camp if I were able to get that far.
I felt better the next morning after yet another excellent breakfast from our talented cook. I was dreading the really steep section but it just didn’t happen. By lunch time I was resting at base camp, elated at having got there but troubled by the seeming difference between the guidebook and today’s walk. Lunch and crampon fittings followed. The decision was taken to attempt the climb that night.We packed our kit, had an early dinner and returned to rest in our tents.We were due to be woken at midnight for ‘breakfast’ before the climb. “OK,” I reasoned, looking up at the snow caps, “I’ll get as far as I can and then turn back.” I dozed a little, awaiting the early call. Hot porridge! A great reviver, even in the dark! Breakfast didn’t take long: we were all too nervous to eat much and were eager to get going. The first leg was a straightforward traverse path to the right. As we set off there was a call to wait for someone finishing one final loo visit. I’m afraid I just carried on. I reasoned that my slow pace was likely to hold everyone up and that it would be easier for me to get a bit of a start. The slope wasn’t too bad, though sharper certainly than it had looked. I plodded upwards, turning occasionally to look for the light from the head-torches of the group. It seemed an age before they got moving and I ended up waiting a good 15 minutes for them at the end of the traverse. I still felt good and was both sad and relieved to hear that one of the group had already had to turn back because of the effects of the altitude. Phil had been one I’d picked to get to the top, but now at least I wouldn’t feel such a fool if I had to turn back. It was still pitch black, but the next stage of the climb took us on another traverse back behind the ridge we had climbed up to. The few lights from the camp went out of view almost immediately and we had only our night vision and occasional use of head-torches to help our progress. The guides were pretty good at ordering rest breaks, though I might have preferred to plod on a bit more. They kept the pace down and I managed to keep up. A small group of the faster ones went to the front, but they were never far ahead. It may have helped not to be able to see too well where we were going, though we certainly continued to climb for the next hour or so. Finally we reached a slight corner, where the traverse effectively ended and moved onto a flatter stretch of path, running to the left side of a glacier. The guides had decided that we would cross further up. Looking on, we could see the snow face at the head of the glacier and got some impression of a ridge above it, blending into the dark sky. “We cross here,” our guide declared and rather to our relief added: “Don’t need the crampons for this bit; it’s quite flat.”We followed the line he took as best we could. Occasionally we needed to jump across small gaps where outwash streams would run later in the day as the temperature rose.We had gone up the left bank far enough to minimise the actual distance on the ice – perhaps it was 150 metres, but I wouldn’t trust my estimate too much in the dark. Over the other side we headed up what was a sort of path leading into the scree. Here we had a lengthy stop, whilst awaiting the arrival of the whole party. It turned out that Freddie had had to stop at the glacier because of trouble with his breathing. The first traces of light in the sky betrayed the approaching dawn and the guide was keen to get as far up the scree towards the snow field that we had yet to cross. The scree was a pain. There was no real path as we went higher and the rocks moved under ever step taken. It seemed to go on for ever. The snow appeared ever closer on our left as we climbed, but it looked as though we could just keep going on to the side of it. No such luck. “Crampons now,” said our guide.We’d practised putting them on at the camp, but now it was still pretty dark and our fingers got cold out of our gloves. A fair amount of cursing and some help enabled most of us to fit them and start to walk across the sloping snow field.
At the back, Rich’s enormous feet fought against any kind of proper fit and the crampons kept falling off. The same happened to Tom. The guides led them slowly across, slipping and sliding without the gripping teeth on their boots.With the light growing all the time, we could look back at their plight and thank God we’d been lucky. I suppose it was 30 minutes across the snow to the side of a ridge
and we could then remove crampons and look at the top of the mountain, perhaps an hour or so further on and quite steeply above us. Through a gap in the ridge we could see thousands of feet down to the sharply etched hills edging the next valley. The path wound its way up the ridge, sometimes requiring uncomfortable ‘steps’ to be negotiated. All the time we were conscious of the edge to our left and of keeping together to see the way the guides went. Another group rest was called and we were told to leave our rucksacks and take only essential items for the last 45 minutes of the climb. That meant a long last swig of water and pocketing cameras only for most of us. It seemed endless. Out of puff more than once, I simply lay back against the slope of the rock behind me and gasped away. If they’d not said there was not far to go, I might have given up there and then. Above, the advance party stopped at a corner. Wecaught up. “We’re there,” someone said.
“What?” They’d waited so that we could all do the last bit together. The path went about 10 yards straight on and then turned to the left in front of a rocky outcrop bedecked with Buddhist prayer flags. The group went nuts and I tried to steady myself to take some film, with no idea of what to say to try to get across the achievement of those who had got to the top, so many of whom had merely intended, like me, to: “Get as far as I can.” The sign said “Stok Kangri, 6153m”, but we felt as if we were on top of the whole world.We couldn’t see much, sad to say, because the cloud that had been around for most of the morning and prevented the sun from adding heat to the discomfort of our climb, had closed in. 15 minutes at the top was enough, in case the weather got even worse on the way down.
I hated to leave after the effort of getting here and lingered a little at the back. Just for about 2 minutes sections of the cloud on one side of the mountain blew away to reveal a glimpse of some of the scenery below. I could only stand in awe at Nature’s majesty: rugged brown hills separated by valleys and nearer to us the snow caps we could see from base camp and the glacier we had crossed sweeping out of the bowl made by the edge of the ridge we had climbed. I’m not that religious, but it was one of those moments: “Thank you, for allowing me to get here to see the beauty of the world from this place,” I muttered to myself. Then it was on after the others and down – a journey that posed more problems and showed us just how difficult some of the terrain we’d crossed blindly in the dark had been.We chatted away, flushed by our achievement. Reaching first our bags and then the snow field, we donned crampons again this time more competently, though Rich put his sack somewhere unstable and it rolled off down the slope for about 400 yards, bouncing on out of view at the end of the snow. He was lucky that one of the guides later found it for him. The scree was as dreadful going down as coming up, but the glacier was a joy to cross in the light. The outwash streams were now in full flow and the place we crossed was further down where the ice sheet was wider. I noticed that the sole had almost completely come off one of my shoes, in spite of the ministrations of a Sadhu shoe-mender in Leh. The final 2 raverses now seemed really easy and suddenly we were back at camp, being fed bowls of soup and sweet Nepali tea.We felt for our two friends who had had to turn back, but could not hide the joy of our journey to the top of the world.