The Paradise Trek Part 5: 1000 ft up, 1000 ft down, and a 'pretty' lake

I looked up again. How far the top looked! So far on this trek, it had never taken me so long to catch my breath. But then, we had not faced a climb as steep as this one. Ankit, the trek leader, saw me panting furiously and offered a helping hand at once.

“C’mon, take my hand. I’ll pull you up the rest of the way,” he said. “No way,” I shook my head. “I’ve come alone all this way. I’ll climb this thing on my own,” I told him. He looked at me for a second and gently started climbing.

But the distraction helped. I had caught my breath and started climbing the last leg slowly. And without another break, I was on the top within a few minutes.

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It had rained the entire night, and the morning we were to leave Tarsar broke with a cloud cover. As I had suspected, Ankit soon gave the bad news. We could not cross the 13,500-ft Tarsar Pass in this weather.

As he had said the previous evening, we’d have to retrace our path to Shekhwas and take an 8km detour to Sundersar, which literally means the ‘pretty lake’. Those who were not willing to do the 13–14km hike would have to return to Aru.

I had almost resigned myself to destiny—this would be another ‘incomplete’ trek. I went about the usual morning routine with a blank mind. I knew I wouldn’t return to Aru. Come hell or high water, I’d trudge on to Sundersar.

We were packed and nearly set to leave. Only breakfast was left when a very weak sun peeped through the grey clouds. It gave some hope but I was not experienced enough to know how much we could hope for. But it turned out that there was reason to hope for the best.

Some of us had just started with breakfast when Ankit made the sudden announcement. “Guys, eat fast. We’ll leave in 20 minutes. The sun has come out, so there’s a window of opportunity. If we can climb at good speed, we may be able to cross the pass while the weather is still clear.”

And in another 20 minutes, we were out.

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On way to Sundersar

Sanjay, who was one of the experienced trekkers, had climbed till very close to the pass the previous afternoon, after we had reached the Tarsar campsite. It was a direct 1,000-ft ascent from the lake up a 75-degree angle. “It’s quite a tough climb,” he said.

Ankit told us to climb in a line and strictly follow the guide. Some of the slower ones were put in the front. I took my place somewhere in the middle.

The going was pretty smooth and incredibly disciplined. I realised why we had been told to strictly follow the guide. Though the slope was covered in grass and the cinquefoils, there was a trail somewhere that zig-zagged up the slope. Following the trail made the climb easier.

In astonishingly good time, we had covered more than half of the ascent. And luckily for us, the weather only kept improving. The lake looked like a dream from here. It was a bright blue—one of the brightest I’ve seen in nature so far. And the yellow cinquefoils made a striking contrast against it. The entire western hill was being reflected in the mirror-like still water of the lake.

More boulders to cross

Ankit went up and down the slope all the time, monitoring the entire team. That guy was as strong as a horse. He was carrying two backpacks—his own and another belonging to a trekker who felt he could not do the climb with his pack. Since all the pack animals were loaded, Ankit gladly took it upon himself. And yet, he ran up and down the slope as if he were in a garden out for a stroll.

Even with plenty of breaks, the team covered the thousand feet in an hour. It was not until I had reached in sight of the top of the pass that I felt breathless, as I have narrated already. But then within minutes, I was there, looking down at one of the prettiest lakes of the world.

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View from the top

The sun was well out by now, and in the photographs taken on the pass, I look ridiculous in my raincoat. I had put it on thinking it would rain and I would have trouble on the slope putting on the waterproof trousers.

My raincoat gradually became a joke among my teammates. Apparently it was enough to clear up the weather. “You also go to sleep in your raincoat. Then it won’t rain even at night,” Ankit told me with a straight face one day.

Anyway, after a brief rest on the pass, it was time to move again. And this time I had good reason to panic. We had to descend exactly the thousand feet that we had come up, on the other side. Although I have improved my ascent over time, my descent remains pathetically weak.

The contrast between the two sides of the pass was dramatic. It was like two different worlds—one green and vibrant, another stark and rough. The trail going down was gravelly and slushy in parts. I understood why crossing the pass would have been impossible in rain. While the grassy climb would have been slippery no doubt, the pebbly descent would have been suicidal.

Up that rocky trail we went

Seeing me hesitating to take the first step down, Sanjay, as usual, came to my aid. On this trek, I met some incredible people who were always eager to help their teammates in trouble. Whether it was Sanjay or Arvind or Nandita or someone else, I always got a helping hand while crossing boulders. Ankit was always around to help every trekker.

As I followed Sanjay down gingerly, he gave me some tips on descending on pebbly trails. “Don’t go straight. Walk sideways,” he said. It helped immensely. Soon, we were literally running down the trail. 

The descent ended in a flat meadow with intermittent rocky patches. It was not as barren as it had looked from the top though it was not as verdant as the Tarsar side. We stopped for a brief rest and took turns getting photographed carrying a goat kid. And then, it was time to set off again.

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And some more boulders

Very strangely, I remember very little of the rest of the day’s hike. Apart from some fleeting moments—much of which I owe to my photographs—the walk is now a blur. It’s strange because I wasn’t too tired. Maybe it was just monotonous.  

The trail was more or less straight as far as I recall. There were plenty of boulders to cross, maybe the reason I simply wished to forget about the walk! We were following the steam that originates from Sundersar, and some of the land we walked on was marshy. There were carpets of cinquefoil here, too, but not as thick as those by Tarsar.

I remember one moment very clearly but I have no clue now where exactly on the trail it happened. I don’t even have any photos of that part of the trail to help me out. All I remember is that it was very short climb—on boulders. Finally, losing my patience, I grumbled that the guide ALWAYS chose the complicated route.

Sundersar

I thought I had muttered under my breath—out of his earshot—but either he had extremely good hearing (almost animal-like) or I was too angry to realise how loud I was. “This is a trek, madam,” he glared at me. “Right a******, I know what I’ve signed up for,” I glared back, still (hopefully), muttering under my breath. Anyway, the match ended there.

The next I remember is the last leg of the trek. We were walking next to the stream, which was prancing down in a series of rapids. I was with my usual companions, Darshan and Sanjay. Darshan crossed the stream and I wondered whether to cross it when Sanjay told me it could be crossed later on.

A bend round the mountain, which at first sight had seemed impossible to take without getting into the stream, and we were at Sundersar. The river flowed out of Sundersar in a series of shallow streams crisscrossing its bed, and on the other side of this maze was the campsite.

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Sundersar campsite clicked the next morning

Sundersar looked nothing in comparison to Tarsar. It was neither as big nor as grand as Tarsar. The water was silvery grey and its surroundings had none of Tarsar’s enchantment. Besides, we were forbidden from going near the water, perhaps because of the local’s fear of cloudburst in case we dropped something in the water.

However, once everyone arrived, Ankit said something I had suspected he would say. Marsar, the other attraction of the trek, which was ‘optional’ for trekkers, had to be visited from Sundersar. It actually lies between Tarsar and Sundersar and is accessible from both the lakes. However, the trail from Tarsar is more treacherous. Hence, for a team, it’s best to visit it from Sundersar.

Our itinerary said we were to do it the next morning, before leaving Sundersar. But Marsar is notorious for going behind a veil of clouds every now and then. So, the clear weather had given us a window of opportunity and Ankit felt those who wanted to visit Marsar should do it right then. The next morning, the weather gods might not be so generous.

I debated what to do. I wasn’t tired. But the trail to Marsar—diametrically opposite our campsite across the lake—was full of boulders as I could see. We would have to go around half the circumference of the lake, climb over loads of boulders and, according to Ankit, we’d be able to see the lake from top of the ridge.

Sundersar

Even if I managed the ascent, I doubted whether I’d be able to climb down the boulders. So, when he asked who all wanted to go, I did not raise my hand. Ankit noticed it. He later came up to me and asked, “Why won’t you come? Don’t you want photographs of Marsar?”

“It will look the same,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “To me at least, it looks prettier than Tarsar,” Ankit said. He HAD to say this, I grumbled inwardly. “I’m sure you are not coming in fear of crossing boulders,” he said next, and I finally owned up.

“Yeah, there are way too many boulders and I’m not sure of the descent,” I told him. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you cross the boulders,” he said. Okay, I will go then,” I said, still not very convinced, but too tempted to say no. And so, after a 45-minute lunch break, 11 of us set out for Marsar, the lake that apparently kills whoever camps by it at night.