The Paradise Trek Part 4: The Blue Lake of Kashmir

The morning we left for Tarsar was misty and overcast, with layers of clouds sweeping over the hills in a continuous stream. And, the weather reflected the mood of the team very well.

Before we left, our trek leader Ankit held a pretty serious pre-hike meeting. “Today, we’ll all walk together because the time difference between the first and the last trekkers’ arrival at the campsite has progressively increased over the last two days,” he said.

He gave a solid reason, too—safety. Ankit said he was the one who carried the advanced medical kit and this difference meant that he would have to run back and forth to ensure that every one of the 22 trekkers was under his watch. He had already done it on way to Lidderwat, as Darshan and I had seen. Needless to say, it was a tall task.

However, there were a few experienced trekkers who immediately opposed the idea. They felt the team should be divided into the fast and slow trekkers, and the latter should be sent out an hour in advance.

I immediately made up my mind that if indeed the team was broken up, I would join the slow trekkers. At least I wouldn’t have to run across the mountains behind the guide! However, Ankit rejected the idea at once, pointing out that he would not be able to accompany both teams in turn and that would pose a big medical risk.

After a big war of words, Ankit took a tough stand. “Everybody will do as I say. Trust me; do it and you will all reach the campsite early. Anyone who does otherwise will be sent back,” he barked. After that, the dissenting voices quietened, but most people looked quite unhappy.

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The guy under the spotlight—as I had been on my first trek, Goecha La—was a young chap called Mandar. He had been the last person to reach the campsite on both days. Having been in his shoes only two years back, I understood his problem perfectly. He was underprepared, but he was learning. And he was eager to go on.

The previous evening I had got to know him a bit and had asked him how he had prepared himself. “I couldn’t jog. So I walked regularly,” he said. It was like hearing a recorded version of what I had told someone at Goecha La!

“It’s not good enough. And now you can’t do anything about it,” I told him. “But trust me, if you just keep walking at your own pace, whatever that pace may be, you will complete the trek. I can tell you because I have done it. But you have to keep walking without taking too many breaks,” I had shared with him.  

So when Ankit said Mandar would ‘lead’ the team that morning and no one would overtake him, I decided to help him in whatever way I could.

I am writing all this because trekking is not all about grand landscapes. It’s a big form of sport and involves a lot of risks. Like me and Mandar, many people overestimate their fitness and face trouble on the ‘stage’. Mostly it happens because of inexperience. So if reading this post prevents anyone from making the same mistakes, I would consider my job done.

But most importantly, I also hope that my trekker readers learn a thing or two about selflessness, sportsmanship and teamwork.

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We all set off together, just like we had done the previous day. And after the first ascent, we all stopped unlike the previous day when some of us had continued on our way. It was only a gentle climb, but Mandar already looked tired. I could see he was having trouble with his breathing. His lungs were not trained for such a task.

A 30-minute walk on level ground after that took us to a Gujjar tea stall. From here, Sanjay took charge of coaxing Mandar to go on. While some of the trekkers stopped for tea, some of us went on with Mandar after a very short break.

Within another half an hour, I met my bête noire—boulder crossing. It seemed slightly easier compared with the previous day, but I needed someone’s help to cross it. I realised gradually that only if someone held my hand—even if it was only a child—I could do it fairly easily. But on my own, I somehow froze.

Hurdle crossed, the walk was easy. We soon reached the next tea stall, where most trekkers sat down for a long break. Mandar had reached crawling speed by then. Only a few of us went on walking with him.

While Sanjay took on the selfless task of pushing (literally) him from behind, I would just go on about 300–400 metres ahead and set a ‘target’. Once Mandar reached the target, I would walk another 300–400 metres and set the next target. Sanjay was pretty strict with Mandar and if I tried to be a little gentle to the poor fellow, I would invite a sharp talk from Sanjay as well. It was thoroughly enjoyable.

The walk was mostly level—slightly undulating at the most. Another half an hour and we could see patches of snow in the rocky creases of the surrounding mountains. Another five minutes and the ground beneath our feet changed. All of a sudden, wildflowers seemed to crop up everywhere.

The first variety I stumbled upon was a pair of everlastings—growing almost as if by mistake in that desolate landscape. But soon, they were followed by a sea of silver-leaved cinquefoils. Even then, I did not realise what they signalled. But another 15 minutes, and the campsite was in view.

Though I could not yet see the lake, which was till behind the slope of a hill, the meadow ahead was carpeted with the yellow wildflowers (I also found some clustered rhodiola). The narrow trail wound itself through this verdant blanket, with the rivulet born of the Tarsar flowing in a slim stream alongside. We had followed it all the way from Shekhwas.

The day’s hike had taken us 3.5 hours. We had indeed arrived in good time as Ankit had promised. I’d say that experienced trekkers can do the trek from Lidderwat to Tarsar in a single day. It will take at most 7–8 hours and there are no tough climbs.

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Tarsar looks like a sapphire in a pile of pebbles. After the desolateness, its blue waters can seem almost surreal, especially if the weather is clear. We arrived amid dull weather but there was something magnetic about the lake that drew us to it at once. I simply dropped my backpack at the campsite and ran to it.

It was windy and quite chilly. The horses lazing and grazing on the meadow covered with cinquefoils, the howling wind, the crystal-clear water splashing on the rocks—it was all hypnotizing. The sky was already overcast; within 90 minutes, dark rainclouds came looming over the lake. I got a fantastic shot of the lake with a mass of menacing thunderclouds, which became a Nat Geo India Photo of the Day. 

Rain came pouring soon and lasted for about an hour. When it seemed to have stopped, I unzipped the tent door to find a grand sight. The lake looked a dazzling blue and almost like a fairy tale, riding a horse in this backdrop was our trek leader! I left at once with my camera.

When I returned to the campsite, I found Ankit still about on his horse. “Do you want a ride?” he asked me. “Yes!” I replied eagerly. “Do you know how to ride?” he asked. “No,” I said truthfully. “Then it’s better if you don’t. This horse is pretty moody. You may hurt yourself,” he said, dashing my hopes. I still hold the grudge against him (despite his pleas that it was for my own good)!

But soon we all got what could have been the fittest gift from nature in such a stunning landscape—a double rainbow. Though it was ‘broken’ in the middle, it was enough to lift everyone’s mood. But good things don’t last long.

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At dinner, Ankit had some bad news. The weather was not good. It was likely to rain heavily that night. Locals believe that if something—even a pebble—is dropped into Tarsar, it rains. Our horse team, which consisted of locals, was furious. They were certain one of us had dropped something in the lake.

I kept mum. While out taking photographs, I had seen some foreigners taking a bath in the lake! Following the superstition, it was likely to get flooded then! Here I should also mention that even if one doesn’t believe in such local superstitions—which most of us don’t—it’s better to honour local beliefs. It does nobody any harm.

However, the next part of Ankit’s speech was even more depressing. If the weather did not clear the next morning, we would have to drop the idea of crossing the 13,000-foot Tarsar Pass—a direct 1,000-foot ascent from the lake—to go to Sundersar, the next campsite. We would then have to return all the way to Shekhwas and hike another 8km to Sundersar—a total of 13–14km. If it seemed undoable to someone, (s)he would have to return to Aru.

I was more or less sure I’d be able to manage the 13–14km trek, but the prospect of another ‘incomplete’ trek was disheartening to say the least. I had looked forward to crossing the pass. It was tempting to the photographer in me because it would surely give some grand shots.

So, just like the previous treks, for the first time on the Paradise Trek, I went to bed with the big question—would I ‘complete’ this trek? Or would Mother Nature play the spoilsport yet again?