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This goes back a few years. December 2001 to be precise when your's truly and his three friends decided to visit Sangla and if possible, Nako Lake, in the middle of winter. I had a CBZ classic in those days. And the other riders had a Fiero, a Suzuki Samurai and a HH Splendor
between them. It turned out to be a memorable ride not just because of the weather but also due to the wide spectrum of bikes involved. In these days of 15 bhp bikes being common, few would think of travelling to such places on those with barely half the power. A slightly longer version of this write-up was also featured in Discover India, a travel mag, at a later date.
Things have changed now. The Karcham - Sangla road has been widened, courtesy the hydel project there. And the Nathpa-Jhakri plant has been generating power since the last 4-5 years.
The pics were all taken with a Zenit Roll Film SLR. I had a few postcard size prints that I scanned and am reproducing here. Have managed to misplace quite a large part of my photo-prints of these early rides during a couple of residence changes over the years. Though I believe I have the negatives stored somewhere.
Well then..background complete...so here goes.
Catchers of the Cold!
"What am I doing here?" This petite query keeps knocking the door to my rationality, much like a petulant obstinate child demanding undue attention. Each trembling shiver down my spine indicts the wisdom behind motorcycling into high mountain country in the thick of winters. The icy cold wind swirling around my body carries away precious body heat even through 6 layers of clothing. It penetrates through the tiniest of gaps in my helmet visor and chills my face within. There is little consolation in knowing I am not the only one going through this. There are three others behind me. A quick scan of the rear view mirror reveals three glowing headlights on the road behind. Tiny glow-worms on a string, each carrying his own lighted beacon and cocooned within a private world of cold wind and a busy buzzing engine. Through the misty afternoon, some 4 turns above, we discern a faint blinking amber light. Halfway to it, the shape appended to the light reveals itself as a dumper truck. The driver, having seen us, is waiting to give way on a widened curve. The width of the narrow road cannot accommodate a truck and a motorcycle side by side. We wave our thanks to the considerate trucker and ride on to Sangla.
The decision to tour Kinnaur on motorcycles in winter, mid- December, was spontaneous. It couldn't have been made any other way. Logic proscribes purposely pitting the body against harsh conditions. But the wantonness of passion foments it. The only logic being that snow was late this winter and we could chance it. So, we found ourselves on the Grand Trunk road heading for the distant hills. The chill of a foggy pre-dawn ride in the plains was a precursor of what was to follow in the freezing mountains in days to come. The fog burned off with the rising of the Sun. We stopped for an early breakfast a little beyond the industrial town of Karnal. Squatting cross-legged on jute cots in the bright warm sunshine, we feasted on hot tandoori paranthas with dollops of butter. Satiated appetites, a bright clear day and a smooth road heading for the horizon spurred us towards the hills at a fair clip. By noon, we reached the mountains. The road began its curvaceous journey uphill, hugging the contours of the mountains it winds across. The Kalka to Simla road, being smooth and wide, allowed us to make good time. Near Kandaghat, the narrow-gauge train chugged alongside us for a fleeting moment before being devoured by a tunnel its track goes through. We parted ways, wheels and motion in common, the routes different. Simla (Alt. 7000ft), the bustling and crowded capital of Himachal Pradesh, was bypassed as we were headed farther up. By early afternoon, we had made it to Dalli, a small hamlet that draws sustenance from the highway speeding through it. With the usual route to Rampur via Narkanda(Alt. 9800ft) iced over, we took the alternate through Basantpur and Sunni. This road follows the Sutlej River and being at low altitude, never experiences snow or frost. The road between Sunni and Luhri is a motorcyclist's dream come true. It accordions beside the Sutlej River, a winding ribbon of smooth black tarmac that demands the most in concentration and is indubitably exhilarating to ride on well. We stopped to eat at a roadside shack and filled up on scrambled eggs and buns washed down by hot sweet tea. By the time we reached Rampur, the sky was an orange bedspread across the horizon, lacquered scarlet by the setting sun. We were on the famed Hindustan Tibet Road now, Kinnaur's lifeline. With the departing sunshine went the warmth and the chill of sub-zero temperatures crept in. After re-fuelling at Jeori, we rode up the narrow ascending road to Sarahan in darkness. Some 14 hours on the road and we had finally arrived at the 'Gateway of Kinnaur'. We checked into a hotel for the night, the fatigue of those long hours on the saddle acting as a sweet sedative, and slept warm with a couple of blankets draped over the heavy quilts.
^ Sarahan and the beautiful Bhimakali Temple
The next day dawned bright and clear. We paid obeisance at the magnificient Bhimakali Temple. The rising sun made the snowy Srikhand Mahadev range glisten in the background, as we prepared for the ride to Sangla, our first stop inside Kinnaur. With only a 100 odd kilometers of scrawny corkscrewing mountain roads between us, we planned to enjoy the day at a leisurely pace. The sun warmed us as we passed through small hamlets called Tapri, Piwa and Wangto, names that already seemed to carry a strange aura of high and distant places. The four bikes, more like a quartet of fleet-footed dancers, weaved together on those curvaceous mountain backroads, chasing the rhythm of the twisty tarmac. A rhythm in symphony with nature herself as the road follows the inborn contours of the mountains.
^ The CBZ - all set to travel
By early afternoon, we had reached Karcham, the confluence of the rivers, Sutlej and Baspa. It was also our point of departure from the Hindustan Tibet Road to the state highway leading to Sangla Valley and Chitkul beyond. By now, the crisp brightness of the day had given way to an ominous mistiness of low clouds. Bad weather was in the offing, which at these heights and this time of the year usually means snow. The road to Sangla is perilously narrow, bordered by a deep drop into the threadlike Baspa flowing below. This was where we realised that a truck needs to wait at a widened curve to give way even to a motorcycle. We arrived at the Sangla PWD Rest house in worsening visibility and had barely off-loaded the bikes when it started snowing. To people from the plains like us, accustomed to the sound of rain from clouds, snowfall is strangely silent. The flakes settle ever so gently on any flat surface, barely stirring a leaf. And yet it needs but an hour of steady snowfall to cover one's entire surroundings in a cloak of pure whiteness. It is astounding and magical.
^ On the road somewhere near Naldehra
^ All four bikes at Sangla PWD Rest House
The next morning, to our utter amazement, was sparklingly clear and bright. The azure blue sky was devoid of any trace of last night's clouds. Everything in sight was enveloped in white, dazzling and pure. The snow on the road was beginning to melt, the residual heat within the tarmac from previous clear days and the warm sunlight doing the trick. But we could only get to Rakcham village, some 7 kilometers on. The road beyond was under a foot of compacted snow. So we walked, escorted around by a village dog that had apparently adopted us. The landscape around was bewitchingly beautiful, with the famed Kinner Kailash and Trishul peaks forming an august backdrop to the pristine whiteness all around.
^ Raksham Village - situated about half-way between Sangla and Chitkul
^ The road out from Sangla
^ Near Raksham - The Fiero and the CBZ. Had left the smaller bikes at the RH. Doubling on a bike adds weight and makes it easier to ride through snow.
^ In the midst of picture perfect surroundings
^ Rosy-cheeked Kinnauri children
We rode out of Sangla early next morning; intent on taking advantage of clear weather while it lasted. From Karcham, we headed upstream of Sutlej on the Hindustan-Tibet road. Having re-fuelled at Powari, the last petrol station till Kaza some 250 kilometers further on, we rode on to Nako Lake, a 100 kilometers hence, our destination for the day. This part of Kinnaur, called the Rupa Valley, lies in the rain shadow area and turns increasingly desolate and barren as one goes deeper into it. Yet, riding through villages like Jangi, Spello, Puh and Yangthang, the happy smiling faces of people who live there belies the utter harshness of the environment they face each day. Providing electricity, water and telecom facilities in such remoteness is an almost impossible task. Kudos to the State Administration for achieving and maintaining it. The roads are excellent inspite of the ubiquitous landslides and rock-falls. October onwards, temperatures regularly drop below freezing at night and water, that is not flowing, usually freezes. Nako Lake was partly frozen and so was a stream closeby, a trickle of water flowing underneath a thick layer of hard ice. The weather was again taking a turn for the worse. So we decided against going further and backtracked to Puh for the night.
^ Between walls of ice
^ With our canine friend at Raksham village
As feared, it was snowing the next morning and visibility was down to a few yards. A day of such heavy snowfall could block the roads for days to come. We realised it would be prudent to leave while the snow was soft and the road still rideable. It was a struggle to ride through a virtual blizzard. The wind was freezing and snow would accumulate all over us, penetrating the tiniest of gaps in our clothing. It took 5 hours of wrestling with the elements before we could finally escape the fury of the snowstorm.
Tired and chilled from rain and snow, we stayed the night at Bhavanagar, a small township on the banks of Sutlej, primarily identifiable by a major hydro-electric project going on there. Called the Nathpa Jhakri HydroElectric Project, it consists of damming the Sutlej at Bhavanagar and diverting some of its water through a 27 km long tunnel to Jhakri where the turbines are located. The intricate network of tunnels inside the mountain showcases man's ingenuity to the hilt. Capable of generating 1500MW of electric power, it is functional now and would provide a major boost to the state's economy.
The sky was a deep, clear blue leavened by buoyant white fair weather cumulous clouds as we prepared for our long ride back to Delhi. In a few hours, we would be out of this cozy lap of infinity into the depressingly realistic and finite urban life. Having experienced the sheer beauty and purity of both the land and its people from such close quarters, we feel that rarely have the paths of God and man crossed each other as in these awe-inspiring valleys of the Himalayas. Here, nature is at her spontaneous best. Rivers rush along their boulder-strewn paths as if making up for lost time. Even breathing becomes a pleasure in air so pure. The roads we rode on wind through these mighty mountains, towering heights on one side and plunging depths on the other, long stretches chiselled out of a sheer rock face, quite like a tunnel with one wall missing. They are miracles of human resourcefulness and persistence. Places where even for the best of riders, God is on call. And such compelling grandeur imposes a shift on the way we perceive life. Man is a mere atom to scale in nature's magnificence; his quibbles and quarrels so insignificant. Yet, by weight of sheer numbers he can destroy such fragile eco-systems and eventually be destroyed himself. He must do his bit in preserving this natural heritage. It is priceless and once gone, unredeemable.
Footnote:
My heartfelt thanks to you, the reader, for travelling with me on this nostalgic journey.
Ride long and safe....
OF
between them. It turned out to be a memorable ride not just because of the weather but also due to the wide spectrum of bikes involved. In these days of 15 bhp bikes being common, few would think of travelling to such places on those with barely half the power. A slightly longer version of this write-up was also featured in Discover India, a travel mag, at a later date. Things have changed now. The Karcham - Sangla road has been widened, courtesy the hydel project there. And the Nathpa-Jhakri plant has been generating power since the last 4-5 years.
The pics were all taken with a Zenit Roll Film SLR. I had a few postcard size prints that I scanned and am reproducing here. Have managed to misplace quite a large part of my photo-prints of these early rides during a couple of residence changes over the years. Though I believe I have the negatives stored somewhere.
Well then..background complete...so here goes.
Catchers of the Cold!
"What am I doing here?" This petite query keeps knocking the door to my rationality, much like a petulant obstinate child demanding undue attention. Each trembling shiver down my spine indicts the wisdom behind motorcycling into high mountain country in the thick of winters. The icy cold wind swirling around my body carries away precious body heat even through 6 layers of clothing. It penetrates through the tiniest of gaps in my helmet visor and chills my face within. There is little consolation in knowing I am not the only one going through this. There are three others behind me. A quick scan of the rear view mirror reveals three glowing headlights on the road behind. Tiny glow-worms on a string, each carrying his own lighted beacon and cocooned within a private world of cold wind and a busy buzzing engine. Through the misty afternoon, some 4 turns above, we discern a faint blinking amber light. Halfway to it, the shape appended to the light reveals itself as a dumper truck. The driver, having seen us, is waiting to give way on a widened curve. The width of the narrow road cannot accommodate a truck and a motorcycle side by side. We wave our thanks to the considerate trucker and ride on to Sangla.
The decision to tour Kinnaur on motorcycles in winter, mid- December, was spontaneous. It couldn't have been made any other way. Logic proscribes purposely pitting the body against harsh conditions. But the wantonness of passion foments it. The only logic being that snow was late this winter and we could chance it. So, we found ourselves on the Grand Trunk road heading for the distant hills. The chill of a foggy pre-dawn ride in the plains was a precursor of what was to follow in the freezing mountains in days to come. The fog burned off with the rising of the Sun. We stopped for an early breakfast a little beyond the industrial town of Karnal. Squatting cross-legged on jute cots in the bright warm sunshine, we feasted on hot tandoori paranthas with dollops of butter. Satiated appetites, a bright clear day and a smooth road heading for the horizon spurred us towards the hills at a fair clip. By noon, we reached the mountains. The road began its curvaceous journey uphill, hugging the contours of the mountains it winds across. The Kalka to Simla road, being smooth and wide, allowed us to make good time. Near Kandaghat, the narrow-gauge train chugged alongside us for a fleeting moment before being devoured by a tunnel its track goes through. We parted ways, wheels and motion in common, the routes different. Simla (Alt. 7000ft), the bustling and crowded capital of Himachal Pradesh, was bypassed as we were headed farther up. By early afternoon, we had made it to Dalli, a small hamlet that draws sustenance from the highway speeding through it. With the usual route to Rampur via Narkanda(Alt. 9800ft) iced over, we took the alternate through Basantpur and Sunni. This road follows the Sutlej River and being at low altitude, never experiences snow or frost. The road between Sunni and Luhri is a motorcyclist's dream come true. It accordions beside the Sutlej River, a winding ribbon of smooth black tarmac that demands the most in concentration and is indubitably exhilarating to ride on well. We stopped to eat at a roadside shack and filled up on scrambled eggs and buns washed down by hot sweet tea. By the time we reached Rampur, the sky was an orange bedspread across the horizon, lacquered scarlet by the setting sun. We were on the famed Hindustan Tibet Road now, Kinnaur's lifeline. With the departing sunshine went the warmth and the chill of sub-zero temperatures crept in. After re-fuelling at Jeori, we rode up the narrow ascending road to Sarahan in darkness. Some 14 hours on the road and we had finally arrived at the 'Gateway of Kinnaur'. We checked into a hotel for the night, the fatigue of those long hours on the saddle acting as a sweet sedative, and slept warm with a couple of blankets draped over the heavy quilts.
^ Sarahan and the beautiful Bhimakali Temple
The next day dawned bright and clear. We paid obeisance at the magnificient Bhimakali Temple. The rising sun made the snowy Srikhand Mahadev range glisten in the background, as we prepared for the ride to Sangla, our first stop inside Kinnaur. With only a 100 odd kilometers of scrawny corkscrewing mountain roads between us, we planned to enjoy the day at a leisurely pace. The sun warmed us as we passed through small hamlets called Tapri, Piwa and Wangto, names that already seemed to carry a strange aura of high and distant places. The four bikes, more like a quartet of fleet-footed dancers, weaved together on those curvaceous mountain backroads, chasing the rhythm of the twisty tarmac. A rhythm in symphony with nature herself as the road follows the inborn contours of the mountains.
^ The CBZ - all set to travel
By early afternoon, we had reached Karcham, the confluence of the rivers, Sutlej and Baspa. It was also our point of departure from the Hindustan Tibet Road to the state highway leading to Sangla Valley and Chitkul beyond. By now, the crisp brightness of the day had given way to an ominous mistiness of low clouds. Bad weather was in the offing, which at these heights and this time of the year usually means snow. The road to Sangla is perilously narrow, bordered by a deep drop into the threadlike Baspa flowing below. This was where we realised that a truck needs to wait at a widened curve to give way even to a motorcycle. We arrived at the Sangla PWD Rest house in worsening visibility and had barely off-loaded the bikes when it started snowing. To people from the plains like us, accustomed to the sound of rain from clouds, snowfall is strangely silent. The flakes settle ever so gently on any flat surface, barely stirring a leaf. And yet it needs but an hour of steady snowfall to cover one's entire surroundings in a cloak of pure whiteness. It is astounding and magical.
^ On the road somewhere near Naldehra
^ All four bikes at Sangla PWD Rest House
The next morning, to our utter amazement, was sparklingly clear and bright. The azure blue sky was devoid of any trace of last night's clouds. Everything in sight was enveloped in white, dazzling and pure. The snow on the road was beginning to melt, the residual heat within the tarmac from previous clear days and the warm sunlight doing the trick. But we could only get to Rakcham village, some 7 kilometers on. The road beyond was under a foot of compacted snow. So we walked, escorted around by a village dog that had apparently adopted us. The landscape around was bewitchingly beautiful, with the famed Kinner Kailash and Trishul peaks forming an august backdrop to the pristine whiteness all around.
^ Raksham Village - situated about half-way between Sangla and Chitkul
^ The road out from Sangla
^ Near Raksham - The Fiero and the CBZ. Had left the smaller bikes at the RH. Doubling on a bike adds weight and makes it easier to ride through snow.
^ In the midst of picture perfect surroundings
^ Rosy-cheeked Kinnauri children
We rode out of Sangla early next morning; intent on taking advantage of clear weather while it lasted. From Karcham, we headed upstream of Sutlej on the Hindustan-Tibet road. Having re-fuelled at Powari, the last petrol station till Kaza some 250 kilometers further on, we rode on to Nako Lake, a 100 kilometers hence, our destination for the day. This part of Kinnaur, called the Rupa Valley, lies in the rain shadow area and turns increasingly desolate and barren as one goes deeper into it. Yet, riding through villages like Jangi, Spello, Puh and Yangthang, the happy smiling faces of people who live there belies the utter harshness of the environment they face each day. Providing electricity, water and telecom facilities in such remoteness is an almost impossible task. Kudos to the State Administration for achieving and maintaining it. The roads are excellent inspite of the ubiquitous landslides and rock-falls. October onwards, temperatures regularly drop below freezing at night and water, that is not flowing, usually freezes. Nako Lake was partly frozen and so was a stream closeby, a trickle of water flowing underneath a thick layer of hard ice. The weather was again taking a turn for the worse. So we decided against going further and backtracked to Puh for the night.
^ Between walls of ice
^ With our canine friend at Raksham village
As feared, it was snowing the next morning and visibility was down to a few yards. A day of such heavy snowfall could block the roads for days to come. We realised it would be prudent to leave while the snow was soft and the road still rideable. It was a struggle to ride through a virtual blizzard. The wind was freezing and snow would accumulate all over us, penetrating the tiniest of gaps in our clothing. It took 5 hours of wrestling with the elements before we could finally escape the fury of the snowstorm.
Tired and chilled from rain and snow, we stayed the night at Bhavanagar, a small township on the banks of Sutlej, primarily identifiable by a major hydro-electric project going on there. Called the Nathpa Jhakri HydroElectric Project, it consists of damming the Sutlej at Bhavanagar and diverting some of its water through a 27 km long tunnel to Jhakri where the turbines are located. The intricate network of tunnels inside the mountain showcases man's ingenuity to the hilt. Capable of generating 1500MW of electric power, it is functional now and would provide a major boost to the state's economy.
The sky was a deep, clear blue leavened by buoyant white fair weather cumulous clouds as we prepared for our long ride back to Delhi. In a few hours, we would be out of this cozy lap of infinity into the depressingly realistic and finite urban life. Having experienced the sheer beauty and purity of both the land and its people from such close quarters, we feel that rarely have the paths of God and man crossed each other as in these awe-inspiring valleys of the Himalayas. Here, nature is at her spontaneous best. Rivers rush along their boulder-strewn paths as if making up for lost time. Even breathing becomes a pleasure in air so pure. The roads we rode on wind through these mighty mountains, towering heights on one side and plunging depths on the other, long stretches chiselled out of a sheer rock face, quite like a tunnel with one wall missing. They are miracles of human resourcefulness and persistence. Places where even for the best of riders, God is on call. And such compelling grandeur imposes a shift on the way we perceive life. Man is a mere atom to scale in nature's magnificence; his quibbles and quarrels so insignificant. Yet, by weight of sheer numbers he can destroy such fragile eco-systems and eventually be destroyed himself. He must do his bit in preserving this natural heritage. It is priceless and once gone, unredeemable.
Footnote:
My heartfelt thanks to you, the reader, for travelling with me on this nostalgic journey.
Ride long and safe....
OF
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