Regular readers will remember our last attempt on the Diga La and the tremendously long day we had trying to reach the pass the Pass, from which we hoped to be able to look down on the Nubra Valley and across to the 7000M peaks of the Saser Massif of the opposite range.  Anyway, we failed that time and immediately started looking at the logistics of a second attempt.  As we wanted to spend some time in the Nubra Valley, we worked a plan for ‘the boys’ to take off a day early and walk over the Pass, while the ‘the gals’ would take a car over the Khardung La.  The boys and girls would then rendezvous on the other side at the Nubra village of Diga.

I was quite keen to avoid the car trip I had taken way back in 1995 … the Khardung La is trumpeted as the ‘Highest Motorable Road in the World’ by the Indian spruikers, though across in Tibet there are some slightly higher, but less dangerous roads.  The Kardung La is notorious for becoming impassable at very short notice.  Just before we arrived in Ladakh over 500 people, mostly tourists, had to be evacuated by the army when a landslide closed the road above 5000M.  Unable to go up, or down, many of them succumbed to altitude sickness and the Indian Army was called in to ferry the unhappy vomiters back down the mountain.

I neglected to give Josephine a full and frank briefing on the road, other then to say it was ‘just like’ the other high passes we had crossed coming from Kashmir … which was true to a point.

The walkers, Chris, Xavier and Simon, our dear friend and the Landscape Architect from DWLS, intended to walk for a whole day and camp just below the Diga La, then walk it early the next morning.  Simon planned to return to Sabbu in the Leh Valley, Chris and Xavier were to walk the 5 hours down to Diga to meet Josie and Mei.  Sounded like a good plan?!!!

All went well on the first day, though we ended up walking for longer than we though we would – about 6 hours with Simon and Chis carrying full packs.  Quite frankly we were completely stuffed when we got our tent up right next to a very pretty stream.  Our backdrop the whole day was the Stok Range across to the west, toward  the Zanskar.   Through the day we were able to roughly measure our ascent by gazing across to the high peaks opposite, particularly the imposing pyramidal Stok Kangri.  As the sun dropped the temperature really plummeted and we needed to get into thermals and layer up so that we could cook dinner.  Josie had put together a really nice tomato sauce, which we had with pasta – one of the most appreciated meals of the last few months and a brilliant job done by Simon getting it just right.  After dinner we sat gazing up at the stars that spread across a magnificent cloudless Himalayan sky eating chocolate and reminiscing about falling stars we had witnessed, and then we saw a beauty scratch across the shy above the mountains tops.  You can’t beat camping any time,  anywhere, but camping out at altitude in the Himalaya takes some beating.  Very cool.

Then we went to bed!  The temperature dropped and dropped some more, then the stream fell silent as it froze over and then the altitude kept Simon and Chris up all night.  Simon had to squeeze into the vestibule of my old Wilderness tent, but his new sleeping bag did the job … mainly!

The next day we set off, knowing it would be a really long and tough day.  Some poor guide literature and a map that did not match the terrain immediately challenged our plan.  Instead of finding the route and the Pass early we wasted precious time heading up the right side of a boulder strewn valley to about 5200M, never feeling really convinced we were on the right track.  Understand that there are quite a few tracks running up the sidewalls of valleys, mostly formed by livestock: mainly goats, zho or yaks.  With our morale pretty low and our planning looking a little pear shaped, I scouted ahead without my pack to try to find the elusive Diga La.  After about an hour the scouting was abandoned and the team retraced its steps to the junction of two high valleys and elected to head up the alternate one, which seemed to have an impossibly steep northern wall, which would have to be climbed to get to Nubra.  Simon did the scouting this time and after about an hour he found it – thanks to some zho that we sighted lumbering down the track.  By this time it was nearly 2PM and we were several hours off schedule.

We gave Xavier three options: return to Sabbu (a 5 hour monster trek back to where we came from … you never want to retrace your steps if you can help it, bivvy where we were and cross it the next day, or cross it straight away and head for Diga, several hours overdue, but at least in the Nubra Valley.  Xavier was already fairly shattered and disconsolate, but to his great credit, he elected to make a push for the Pass.  This would mean climbing the rock strewn zig-zagging trail over 300M to the top at 5400M.  It is tough at that altitude, particularly when you are exhausted, to get up and exert yourself even more … and with a solid pack on your back.

We went for it and at times it was a toss up if we would make it.  Simon went well ahead, he was lucky enough to have dropped his pack at this stage, as he would need to retrace his steps and he could pick it up on the way back. I kept up the rear to encourage Xavier (which occasionally turned to threats of violence, or offers of new electronic devices etc)

It took a very very long and arduous 90 minutes to get to the top, and often we were down to doing just a few paces and resting.  Very tiring!  But exhilertating at the to make it.

We spent 30 minutes at the top together (Simon had already descended) taking some nice snaps and enjoying being up high and surrounded by some icy peaks.  The view in both directions was tremendous, and close by there was hanging glaciers and snowy peaks to set the atmosphere.  We were stoked.

Then we headed off down to the Nubra.  Xavier had often lamented that he had never seen snow … at least never seen it fall … well fairly soon he got his wish, with snow beginning to fall lightly and the temperature dropping significantly.  Soon the atmosphere seemed quite ominous: very dark; cloud coming down off the mountain; sleet and snow falling, and an awful rocky track to negotiate.  We were very tired.  When the snow started falling harder, and visibility became quite poor I needed to make a call as to where we would stop for the night.

Josephine, I knew, would be waiting (anxiously) down the valley at Digar, so not heading on for 4 or 5 hours to meet up with her (and put her out of her anxiety) was a difficult call to make.  The situation was, however, that the safe thing to do was bivvy high up and get out of the weather.  We were both exhausted as well, so going on might have resulted in a trip or fall, and it is not a place you would like to be incapacitated.  So I elected to camp: problem was, our good friend Simon had half the tent … we had split the load earlier – not thinking we would need the tent, this seemed a reasonable thing to do.  At this altitude there are often some abandoned stone shelters and I thought there was good chance we might find one for the night – and we did after about an hour of walking down, with the weather closing in.

We prepared for a cold night – no door, cramped, snow coming in through gaps in the stone roof.  No cooking – straight to bed!  I barely slept – Xavier did better.  We were head to toe with not much space either side.  Miserable for me, as several times during the night I had to fortify my defences against the falling snow and sleet.  12 hours in a tent unable to sleep is not fun – but hey, dads and sons need to be closer in this modern age.

Xavier could barely walk the next day, but the weather was even worse so I swore at him (a little, hey – dads have to do that), a little, and attempted to walk down out of the weather.  It took about 2 hours to get free of it, and at one time the snow was horizontal, but we managed.

The rest is history, after about 5 hours we made it down, again completely stuffed, Xavier barely walking.  The whole of the Diga village had become swept up in the fate of the ‘Lost Australians’ … one told me: ‘your wife is confused; please quick march to her, please! quick march!’ … well, I was already marching as quickly as I could and Xavier looked as if he was finished (I was worried he would collapse!).  Finding a path through the medieval Diga was hard enough.

Anway, finally we made it, Josie and Mei very happy, father and son crawling.

Diga La? We will never return.

Over the weeks in Ladakh we often had trouble uploading photos and text to the internet.  Ladakh has a 2G phone network … and it often breaks down.  It was also turned off occasionally for political reasons … to shutdown social networking.  The main service, BNSL, which has the widest coverage, is also state owned and controlled.  With over 500,000 troops in Kashmir/Ladakh, security issues sometimes take precedence over blogging.  Power was also only on for a few hours every evening – so getting ‘charge’ was always important.  Stealing ‘charge’ became Xavier’s number one pastime.

So … we have archived many jpegs which we will put up over the next few weeks.  So … the blog is not necessarily chronological.

We went to the Polo Final a few weeks ago: the coppers versus the army, and the army guys one.  It was wild, and quite frankly, very dangerous.  Occasionally the crowd crept onto the pitch and had to scatter as the ponies galloped on to them.  The players seemed to find it quite easy to whack the ball on the full, to the delight of the several thousand in the crowd.  Polo is big here and has been for hundreds of years.

Arriving in Delhi, we were immediately invited to a wedding, with was getting underway in a muslin tent, on the street, down from where we are staying at Meera’s House.

A few days ago we left the kids at home with Yangdol and took off to the west to visit Matho Gompa which was founded in the 16th century by Lama Dugpa Dorje. Within its walls there are four hundred year old thangkas and a mad monk who suggested that I looked at least 60, maybe 70. He had a great collection of swords too, and wandered around with us calling out random numbers.

He was just slightly deranged.

The gompa is the only one in Ladakh belonging to the Sakyapa Lineage. In February two oracles run blindfolded on the roof defying the deadly drop, calling out predictions for the coming year, while cutting there necks and chests with knives. Afterwards, there is no evidence of the cutting.

The countryside is marked by grand residences and fields superbly demarcated by double width mud brick walls.

After a few hours we tried to hitch home for dinner, but managed to walk most of it due to a lack of traffic.