STOK KANGRI – SCALING MOUNTAINS OF THE MIND

It had not been the first time on this trek that I lent a hand with pitching tents. However, it was the first time that my head had reeled like never before. It was late morning. We had reached the “high camp” – a rocky campsite at 5,200 metres (over 17,000 feet) above sea level. We would make our bid for summiting Stok Kangri, a trekkable peak in Ladakh that stacks up 6,152 metres (about 20,300 feet) above sea level.

The mules and horses had arrived from the base camp (4,900 metres (16,170 feet) above sea level), shed their load onto the rocks, and were ready to trudge back down. Neighing, braying and farting, their bells sounded louder against the quiet nagging headache. The strong sun, although flirting with the clouds, reflected a white glare off the glacier next to the campsite. Grey clouds loomed at a distance, slowly teasing us out of visibility over the peaks in the horizon. The signal was clear – the weather gods may not play ball. However, mountain weather is fickle. After midnight, we would have to initiate the summit attempt regardless, giving up the summit only if we were to be left with no other option.

There had never been any obligation to help with the tents, more so at such high altitude. It was my bravado rather than camping etiquette that had driven me. I had wanted to validate my prowess at altitude. However, straightening a few foldable tent rods was as far as I could go. Self-doubt mounted with every pound of the subtle pain at the tip of the neck’s stem even as I sat back and watched the support staff work.

In no time just enough earth amidst rocks had been levelled, the tents had been spread, pitched and pegs hammered to hold them down. Meanwhile, one of the cooks had done three sorties to a distant stream, fetching water for our camp. Their consummate ease enhanced the feeling of self-doubt and inadequacy.

The past four days had been a dream run. I was among the few who were not on Diamox, the blood-diluting drug that mountaineers use to pre-empt mountain sickness. I had had no symptoms of either a loose tummy or plantar fasciitis (an inflammation of the sole), each ailment having cost me weeks of preparation for this trek.

We had hiked up here from the Stok Kangri base camp at 4,975 metres (about 16,420 feet). It had been a short trek to the base camp from Mounkarmo (4,250 metres, about 14,000 feet above sea level), our previous camp stop. The climb to the base camp had been rather quickly accomplished but many had displayed symptoms of greater altitude-induced fatigue after reaching the base camp. The weather gods had been friendly when at the base camp. Clear skies had held out hope of a fantastic summit view to follow. However, at the base camp, an acclimatization climb in the afternoon (where one climbs even higher to come back to sleep at the lower altitude) led to most of the teammates getting unsure of their prospects.

Avilash, our guide, had decided to drop anchor at the base camp and spend an extra day there making use of the spare summit day built into our time budget. Aussie Catherine had seemed to have sorted out the diarrhea she had contracted en route to the base camp, but added rest was most welcome. Indian-origin Yank Nisha had resolved to feel cold – despite the multiple layers she wore to bed, husband Patrick, who had trotted up to the base camp with no visible discomfort woke up with a scare when she started whimpering. She would eventually sleep with two sleeping bags over her. Sanjeev and Manmeet, who had carried their entire baggage themselves, started showing their first credible signs of fatigue at the base camp. Gopika and Suman had pulled along slowly and steadily but looked like they welcomed the rest day.

We had commenced our trek after a drive from Leh to Zingchen, under scorching sun on high desert but were soon onto a green trail along a strong stream. Mid-course to Rumbak (3,870 metres (12,770 feet) above sea level), where we would camp for the night, we learnt that our mules had not yet arrived in Zingchen. Reaching Rumbak without our baggage and camping equipment would be useless. We settled into a siesta on a meadow by the shade, and went on unscheduled side treks through Himalayan country, getting more acclimatized. We received news of the mules just in time before sunset and we made our way up to Rumbak, traipsing villages with home stays and stepping for herds of pashmina goats. A four-hour scheduled day had extended into a seven-hour day, but we were at an emotional peace with Himalayan terrain by the time we pitched up at Rumbak. Our first ‘Big Day’ (the very second day of the trek) lay ahead.

The team set out early. While we were to camp that night at a campsite in Mounkarmo en route, our trek involved a long and hard “mini summit climb” up Stok La, a high mountain pass at 4,890 metres (about 16,140 feet) above sea level. “If you do this one well, you would be mentally confident of the main summit,” Avilashhad said , also implying that we take this day as seriously as a summit climb.

Breathtaking Himalayan charm unfolded all around us as we trudged up Stok La. The cheese had moved. The steep trek up Stok La took the wind out of some in the group. Amazing vistas of the Himalayan Stok Range kept the mind green while the body toiled. Behind us, Rumbak and its surroundings slowly moved from life-size to miniatures and then to mere specks beneath our feet. Up ahead, all we could see was the steep trail that would eventually lead to Stok La. As we neared the boulders at the top of the trail, out of nowhere, it started snowing, first with just light flakes barely making it to the ground, and soon in torrents, blurring visibility. Huddled against the naturally-formed weather-worn mountain wall, we ate our packed lunch and gradually began our descent to Mounkarmo. Snow eventually gave way to sunshine, and sunshine gave way to rain, and rain gave way to hail. When we reached the wet campsite, about ten hours after we had started that morning, I did not know of any single team member who was not relieved that trekking for the day was over. The sun came out only so briefly as to let us pitch the tents, with the skies opening up soon after we got into the tents.

“For me, it is the journey that matters, not the destination,” I had assured my mother from Leh, hating myself for having written: “If I find that I cannot make it, I will be true to myself and turn back.” At high camp, that e-mail flashed before my mind ominously. One of us had dropped out at the base camp after the extra day of rest. However, a look around the campsite held out an uncanny reassurance. Collective hardship builds hope and mitigates individual misery. Every single trekker looked knackered, regardless of the extra day at the base camp.

Before the trek, I had read parts of Mountains of the Mind, a book by Robert Macfarlane, a nephew of Donald Peck, my friend and mountaineering philosopher, and sections of the book came to mind. Dozens of cups of hot water and loads of salty soup later, we did not feel that weak after all. The mountains of the mind had dissolved giving way to belief that we could attempt the summit after all. Besides, this year’s trek had an added inspiration – I had sought pledges of financial support for Akanksha, a child education NGO. I had to do be really convinced that I could not trek further before giving up.

We broke into two groups later that night, with the slower one, to which I belonged starting earlier. We crossed the glacier and crisscrossed our path up to the mountain’s ridge, gathered the two groups at the ridge and then continued in hierarchy of then available strength. It took us six hours since the start at the high camp for us to summit. The weather gods indeed did not oblige. A steady snowfall kept at us through the night as we took the ascent step by careful step, focusing our headlamps on just the immediate path ahead. What the eye does not see, the mind does not fear. Even as the day broke, we were atop Stok Kangri. Clouds barred our view from the top in all directions. But for a slight parting of the cloud curtain as we assembled ¬to start our descent, this summit did not give us the views people are willing to die for. However, it did not matter. Every single trekker from the high camp made it to the top. Not only had the journey been completed, the destination too had been reached.

By Somasekhar Sundaresan
Climber Stok Kangri Aug 23-Sep 01, 2009