The Markha Valley trek is a common choice among hikers in Ladakh. It's relatively mild difficulty and choice of two nights or five make it accessible to many. I chose this trek because I didn't have enough money to pay a guide, and figured since it is such a common trek, the path should be quite easy to follow. I seem to have temporarily forgot that I have absolutely no sense of direction and a knack for getting lost. But we'll get there.
The first day started in a place called Zinchen and was to end, five hours later in a village called Yuruche. It just so happened that six others (two Israeli guys and four French girls) were starting the two night trek from the same place on the same day, so the seven of us shared a taxi to Zinchen. About 25 minutes into the ride, the car suddenly stopped. We looked out to see that the road had been blocked by a massive landslide. Rocks were piled up almost 3 meters high. There was no question, we were walking from here. As we donned our gear and said farewell to our driver, the words of my friend from earlier echoed in my ear. "This is a good year to do this trek as it is the last year you can do it without a guide," he had said, "many people died on the trek this year. In fact, just a couple of days ago, an Israeli girl died in a landslide."
As ominous as a beginning it seemed, my anxieties were soon forgotten as the landslide was left behind and the mountains enveloped me on all sides. The first day was glorious. I passed a couple of people along the way, but for the most part, it was just me and the Himalayas. I stopped for tea in a little tent about two hours in, and from there, the path took a sharp left turn. I continued on about ten minutes down the path when a passed a Shepard going in the other direction. He asked me where I was headed. When I told him, he laughed and pointed back the way I had come. "You are headed to Stok," he said. Stok is a town near Leh. Had I continued on that direction, it would have been a very short trek indeed. He told me to follow him, so turned around and walked straight back to the tea tent. From there, he pointed me in the right direction and again I was off. I stopped for a short break every half hour or so for water and to enjoy the beautiful scenery around me. Even with the breaks and the slight detour, I arrived in Yuruche an hour and a half ahead of schedule. I put my things in my room (which was just big enough to fit a mattress on the floor and my backpack beside it) took my tea and book, and sat down beside the path to wait for the others I had passed.
Over the next hour or so, they slowly trickled in group by group. First came an English couple I had passed near the beginning and their guide.
"What time did you arrive?" The guide asked.
"1:30," I replied, "What time is it now?"
A quick glance at his watch revealed the time to be 2:15.
"Good pace," he said.
"I have long legs," I replied.
"No, you are strong. Your pack is heavy. It's a good pace."
I smiled in spite of myself. I was starting to think maybe trekking was my thing after all.
As the rest of the groups arrived, we congregated on the roof in the quickly disappearing sunlight and talked about our travels, our countries, what brought us to India. Every once in a while we would find ourselves in the shade as the sun sunk ever lower below the mountains and we would move further over to take full advantage of the sun's rays. Eventually, it disappeared all together and we were driven inside by the plummeting temperatures.
There, we played cards, had dinner, and at 8:00, found ourselves overwhelmingly sleepy. Despite the early hour, we all retired to our respective rooms, preparing for the next day which the guides had told us consisted of a three hour climb up to a 4500m pass, and a four hour descent to our next town of Skyu. The first day of my trek had been perfect. Besides the short detour, the path had been easy to follow, my pace was good, my pack hadn't proved too heavy. I went to bed feeling confident and optimistic about the next day. Perhaps too optimistic as the next day would show...
The first day started in a place called Zinchen and was to end, five hours later in a village called Yuruche. It just so happened that six others (two Israeli guys and four French girls) were starting the two night trek from the same place on the same day, so the seven of us shared a taxi to Zinchen. About 25 minutes into the ride, the car suddenly stopped. We looked out to see that the road had been blocked by a massive landslide. Rocks were piled up almost 3 meters high. There was no question, we were walking from here. As we donned our gear and said farewell to our driver, the words of my friend from earlier echoed in my ear. "This is a good year to do this trek as it is the last year you can do it without a guide," he had said, "many people died on the trek this year. In fact, just a couple of days ago, an Israeli girl died in a landslide."
As ominous as a beginning it seemed, my anxieties were soon forgotten as the landslide was left behind and the mountains enveloped me on all sides. The first day was glorious. I passed a couple of people along the way, but for the most part, it was just me and the Himalayas. I stopped for tea in a little tent about two hours in, and from there, the path took a sharp left turn. I continued on about ten minutes down the path when a passed a Shepard going in the other direction. He asked me where I was headed. When I told him, he laughed and pointed back the way I had come. "You are headed to Stok," he said. Stok is a town near Leh. Had I continued on that direction, it would have been a very short trek indeed. He told me to follow him, so turned around and walked straight back to the tea tent. From there, he pointed me in the right direction and again I was off. I stopped for a short break every half hour or so for water and to enjoy the beautiful scenery around me. Even with the breaks and the slight detour, I arrived in Yuruche an hour and a half ahead of schedule. I put my things in my room (which was just big enough to fit a mattress on the floor and my backpack beside it) took my tea and book, and sat down beside the path to wait for the others I had passed.
Over the next hour or so, they slowly trickled in group by group. First came an English couple I had passed near the beginning and their guide.
"What time did you arrive?" The guide asked.
"1:30," I replied, "What time is it now?"
A quick glance at his watch revealed the time to be 2:15.
"Good pace," he said.
"I have long legs," I replied.
"No, you are strong. Your pack is heavy. It's a good pace."
I smiled in spite of myself. I was starting to think maybe trekking was my thing after all.
As the rest of the groups arrived, we congregated on the roof in the quickly disappearing sunlight and talked about our travels, our countries, what brought us to India. Every once in a while we would find ourselves in the shade as the sun sunk ever lower below the mountains and we would move further over to take full advantage of the sun's rays. Eventually, it disappeared all together and we were driven inside by the plummeting temperatures.
There, we played cards, had dinner, and at 8:00, found ourselves overwhelmingly sleepy. Despite the early hour, we all retired to our respective rooms, preparing for the next day which the guides had told us consisted of a three hour climb up to a 4500m pass, and a four hour descent to our next town of Skyu. The first day of my trek had been perfect. Besides the short detour, the path had been easy to follow, my pace was good, my pack hadn't proved too heavy. I went to bed feeling confident and optimistic about the next day. Perhaps too optimistic as the next day would show...
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