The Paradise Trek Part 3: The Valley of Flowers

The organizers’ website said, “Hop over a few boulders…” A FEW? Who were they kidding? This was an OCEAN of boulders. Some of the rocks seemed 3–4 feet in height, with what looked like deep dark abysses in between. One misstep, and a broken leg, or neck, or both, was guaranteed.

The boulders were probably the result of some landslide or mudslide a long, long time ago. They had remained where they were, coming down in a stream from the top of the hill, all the way to the river below.

The spot the guide and the four trekkers ahead of me had chosen to cross the boulders was perhaps the longest stretch. And, I had brilliantly followed them instead of climbing a little to the top and crossing a narrower one. The four had reached the campsite by then. And the rest of my team was yet to arrive.

And so, there I was, frozen in the middle of this rocky ocean like a statue of stone. Had I held up my trekking pole over my head, I could have looked like a unique version of the Statue of Liberty—in a tee and track pants, with a backpack slung on my shoulders, showing the way to liberty with the pole.

Unfortunately, there was no one to liberate me!

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When we left Lidderwat that morning, our trek leader Ankit said we would walk together to avoid the chaos of the previous day. He put the laggards in front and strictly said the rest should never overtake them.

So we did the first ascent in a straight line, several people took happy group photographs of the entire team, and we got plenty of breaks because the ones in front took frequent rest. So far, so good. But then, after the ascent was done, some of us just kept walking—slowly—because the laggards seemed to be in no mood to get up. We thought they would catch up.

Personally, I don’t (and can’t) walk too fast but I prefer to keep walking at my own pace, without stopping too many times. In the long term, I guess it makes me a fast trekker nowadays, at least on the ascent, though I never really feel like it. I walk slowly and take lots of photographs; long breaks make me impatient.

So, we started walking behind Safzar, the guide, and very soon, without even realising it, we left the laggards behind by a long way.

The trail, like the previous day’s, was not very tough. It was either flat or on a gentle ascent, winding its way around the hills, with a river flowing in the ravine alongside. Around an hour later, Safzar told us to stop, as he had been told by Ankit to do.

It was a spot shaded by trees and we sat down and waited for the others to catch up. They started arriving in ones and twos. However, as trekkers would know, long breaks can make the muscles get ‘cold’ and it can take a while before they warm up again and the walk seems easier. So, a long break was not welcome. Besides, the trail ahead looked quite inviting.

So, once some had arrived, one of the senior trekkers started off again slowly and I followed him. Not surprisingly, some of the others followed me.

But half an hour later, Ankit caught up with us and told us to stop. The laggards were having trouble keeping up, he said. “I told you to stop there, at the shaded spot. Why did you start off again? Now wait here under the sun,” he fumed.  

No one seemed to mind. It wasn’t too hot, and the scene was grand. Horses grazed on the grass on the slopes above us, and below, the river flowed, with pines and firs flowing down the hills on either side. So we sat down on the slope.

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I don’t remember exactly, but it must have been at least 30 minutes before everyone caught up. We started off again, the trail going fairly straight, towards some distant green hills, playing hide-and-seek from behind fluffy white clouds. The weather had been sporting that day and it had been bright and sunny since morning.

The trail went up and down, passing through thick shrubs of some white wildflowers that I had seen in Aru, too, by the Lidder. Funnily, I photographed some 30 wildflowers on the trek and forgot to take one of these white ones which we had perhaps met the most on the way. Sometimes, I’m capable of doing incredible things!

Anyway, around half an hour later, the trail went steeply down to the river, where there was an old, hard patch of snow for us to cross. Crossing the patch wasn’t too difficult for me, because I had done it several times on the Hampta Pass trail. The trick is simple: Take one step at a time and place your foot exactly on the footmarks of the previous trekker. I crossed the patch without a hassle, though a few of the inexperienced ones did slip.

On the other side, however, the trail was slightly horrific. It wasn’t really very difficult, but it was something to be handled with patience. It was narrow, uneven, pebbly, and went slightly up and down. The key was to maintain balance. However, this again I did without a hassle.

The trail led to a level, grassy patch dotted with boulders small and large. Wildflowers like speedwell and the Indian hawksbeard grew nearby and within a kilometre or so, I found other varieties like forget-me-not, buttercup, silver cinquefoil, tube lousewort and sage.

We had entered what I thought was Kashmir’s very own Valley of Flowers.

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Despite the flowers, however, the trail was rocky and looked barren compared to Aru and Lidderwat. One reason was the altitude. We were now at 10,500+ feet. Following the rocky trail that wound its way next to the stream, we found ourselves overlooking a vast valley—green yet rocky—and far away, somewhere amid the rocks, was our campsite.

Four young chaps led the way from here and I was slightly behind them. My tent-mate Manasa, who had had a lot of trouble the previous day, was doing great today, mainly because she had chosen to offload her backpack. She was right behind me. We went down towards the campsite and then, like a bolt from the blue, barely 200 metres from the campsite, came the vast stretch of boulders that I wrote about at the beginning of this post.

I saw the guys cross it more or less easily, though one of them had a little trouble. I followed them unsuspectingly. It was difficult for me right from the beginning, but I thought I would handle it. As I went on, I kept losing confidence little by little. And then, right in the middle of the stretch, I lost all of it and simply froze.

Manasa had chosen to cross it at the river. She shouted out to me and gestured frantically. But I had no clue what she was saying. She later said she was asking me if I could see the tents. I could, and that made it all the more painful.

When I was wondering what to do, I heard a voice from behind. It was Sanjay, who I had walked with most of the previous day. He saw I was in trouble and came promptly to my aid. He held my hand and led me out from that rocky hellhole, and though I gradually got increasingly comfortable on boulders through the trek, I never could do it as easily as the other did. It was my Achilles heel.

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The Shekhwas campsite welcomed us with a rainbow exactly ninety degrees above our head—and a sea of wildflowers. I made it a habit to spend some time with my camera around every campsite. As I said, I clicked some 30 wildflowers on the trek, and most of them came at Shekhwas.

At the campsite, I was surprised to see Manasa missing. I was a little worried because she was following the river, which was slightly off the trail. Then Suvir arrived said very calmly, “Manasa is taking a bath.”

“A bath?” one of the other guys asked open-mouthed. “Yes man, a bath. Haven’t you ever taken a bath?” Suvir said even more coolly.

I felt like laughing but I was also worried she would catch a cold. The walk seemed to have been pretty hot for her. When Manasa arrived finally, water dripping from all over, she said the river had made a natural pool at a place. On seeing it she couldn't resist herself and plunged.

She later popped a paracetamol simply as a precaution. That is, however, not advisable for any trekker who may be taking the trouble to read this post.

That day, the last trekker reached the campsite three hours after we had arrived. A young woman had fallen on the boulders but had luckily escaped without an injury. Ankit was simply furious. He gave us a good dressing down at the dining tent where he recorded our BP, pulse rate and blood oxygen rate every day.

“I knew there was the rocky stretch where may trekkers have trouble. Why did so many of you go ahead?” he growled. I pointed out then that we were with the guide, who had simply rushed ahead to the campsite without being around to help us. Safzar protested feebly, but did not really have much to say.

For several reasons, the trek was going a bit rough—just like the trail. The next day, we would be leaving for Tarsar, the prime attraction of the Paradise Trek. Would things get better from now on?