Travels in Himachal Pradesh I: Rohtang Pass

 

We set off shortly before 8. With seven of us in a 12-seater van, it was comfortable enough, though perhaps not the height of luxury. We did, however, feel a bit insecure – particularly knowing the sorts of roads we would be travelling on – without any seatbelts to strap us in. Driving on Indian mountain roads teaches you new layers of trust and you can certainly understand how people live their lives with an acceptance of fate as the dominant principle. Later, as we careered around hairpin bends and along precipitous cliff edges, we had to put our trust in the skill and alertness of our driver; to hope and pray; and not to pay too much attention to the cavernous drops below us.

Still, it was gentle enough to start with. As we made our way out of Manali on the Mountain Road, the streets were lined with hire shops offering ski suits, winter coats, boots and ‘dangres’ (dungarees spelt out as pronounced in this part of the world!) for the many tourists who go up to the Rohtang Pass to experience the snow.

Laji told us that the local government issues a maximum of 1,500 passes a day for vehicles taking tourists to the Pass. It felt as though most of these were travelling up with us as we snaked our way up the head of the Kullu valley.

The drive up through the lush orchards and pine forests above Manali was pleasant. As we climbed, the valley got steeper, with some impressive waterfalls cascading down the cliffs on the other side. As we came up above the tree line, we passed a police check point and continued to climb, zig-zagging up towards the Pass. Near the top we drove through a large bazaar of Dhabas, complete with huge vultures circling above, seeking out the scraps of discarded food. And then we were up in the snow and the first of many traffic jams, as large convoys of vehicles tried to force their way past each other while tourist jeeps and vans lined both sides of the narrow road as their occupants delighted in the novelty of snow.

Leaving all that behind, we topped the Pass and an amazing panorama opened up before us: the long ranges of the Lesser and Greater Himalayas stretching out to our left and our right, and a single deep valley into which we must descend. This valley, running East to West was so different to that up which we had just come. The lush, green slopes of the Kullu valley were replaced by the dry barren rock of the Lahaul valley. There was a harsh power to this place that carried a different form of grandeur.

Above them, still enormously above them, earth towered away towards the snow-line, where from east to west across hundreds of miles, ruled as with a ruler, the last of the bold birches stopped. Above that, in scarps and blocks upheaved, the rocks strove to fight their heads above the white smother. Above these again, changeless since the world’s beginning, but changing to every mood of sun and cloud, lay out the eternal snow. – Rudyard Kipling, Kim

We began our descent, switching back and forth slowly down the icy road. Part way down we had to pause as a long convoy of army trucks inched its was up towards the Pass behind us. And then, a little lower down, our whole descending convoy ground to a halt. A huge yellow crane had got itself stuck trying to negotiate a bend. It didn’t have enough traction in the slippery mud to lift its massive weight up the road and was just digging itself deeper and deeper into a rut.

All traffic both ways was stopped.

A small army crane had managed to get above and attach a live with which it was trying to winch the larger crane free. We watched as they struggled together to free the monster.

Realising we would be here for some time, I decided to walk down the road past the blockage and climbed off to the side to sit on a large rock and watch the proceedings. Eventually they managed to get it free. Rather than pull aside to let the opposing rows of vehicles past, however, it continued to struggle up the road, only to meet the next spot where its wheels just spun in the mud and its huge weight slipped back down.

Eventually, though, the traffic started to move and I climbed down from my rock to join Lois, Amanda and Shelia who had also decided to walk down the road. We carried on some way down until I spotted a nice little valley running down to join the road further down, just below the junction where we were to turn off towards Spiti. Lois and I found a path down beside a clear Alpine stream while Sheila and Amanda stayed on the road. We reached the bottom of the valley just as our van turned the far corner and pulled over to pick us up: perfect timing, and a wonderful leg stretch and respite from sitting in the van; a respite we were to truly appreciate by the end of the day.

 

The road to Chichim

 We were now in the remote Lahaul Valley. Until the 1960’s accessible only by foot and pack pony. Even now we encountered occasional caravans of ponies making their way up to the Pass behind us.

At this point nearly all of the traffic continued West and North on the main road through to Keylong, Leh, and on to Srinigar in the disputed regions of Jammu and Kashmir. We, however, turned East dropping down to the Chandra river. As we came down the river we passed three glorious groves of Himalayan Birches shimmering golden in the autumn sun.

The colours here in the valley were so different to those around Manali: all browns, sienna, ochre, russet and red. And, in contrast, the rich teal of the clear mountain river reflecting the cloudless skies above.

We stopped at a small Dhaba at Chhatru for a welcome lunch of omelette, chapatis and daal, and then set out on one of the most unpleasant stretches of road I have ever been on: 44km of unsurfaced track through terrain made up of glacial riverbed stones. Every bump of the van jolted through our spines to our necks in a repeated frenzy of whiplash.

By the time we stopped at the Batal Dhaba for a much-needed glass of chai, the combination of the altitude, diesel fumes, and the jolting of the car had left me feeling nauseated, aching, and starting to struggle with shortness of breath.

After Batal the road continued in the same condition up and up to the Kunzum Pass at 4551m. From here, mercifully, the road itself improved – at least as far as the surface went, and we made much better distance dropping down to the Spiti river at Losar.

After having our passes checked, we carried on down the Spiti valley. As darkness fell, the valley looked ethereal in the moonlight; the dark silhouettes of the mountains rising up on either side, and strange eroded rock shapes rising like pedestals from the valley floor.

One final climb in pitch darkness brought us to the small village of Chichim – at around 14,000 feet one of the highest settlements in the world to be reachable by car, and the highest I have ever been on land. The air here was thin, dry and cold, and the stars above us bright and clear. We were met at the roadside by our host, Chenzing. We carried our bags down a short, steep path to his home, a most appreciated meal by a warm cow dung-heated tandoor stove, presided over by a 2017 calendar of the Dalai Lama, and a very welcome bed.