GREAT HIMALAYA TRAIL
Upper Dolpo, Lake Phoksundo to Namgung
This section of Upper Dolpo is one of the most exciting, including a walk around and above brilliant Lake Phoksundo, the first and most stunning 5,000-meter pass and Shey Gompa, an ancient monastery under the Crystal Mountain.
Into the heart of Upper Dolpo
Rounding Lake Phoksundo on a narrow path, high above its remarkable color and depth marks the beginning of Upper Dolpo. Long closed to Westerners, Upper Dolpo can only be explored if one is willing to climb over a series of high passes all over 5,000 meters — around 17,000+ feet!
So it stands to reason one should acclimate first at this relatively manageable altitude of 12,000 feet. We take a full day to explore starting with the pre-Buddhist Bon Phoksundo Gompa on its eastern shore (which is sadly locked up tight) We then scale a path leading to a lookout high above.
This side quest helps me feel more confident that I’ll manage the thin air to come. Leaving nothing to chance, I give myself extra security by taking Diamox. Also called Acetazolamide, it’s a drug used to reduce eye pressure in glaucoma that also acts as a respiratory stimulant and helps the body take in more oxygen.
The morning is lazy at our wee campsite on a terrace above the lake, yet loud with activity as hundreds of people pass by. They lead fully laden ponies carrying supplies for weeks of camping in the countryside.
These are Yarsagumba or Cordycep hunters. Cordycep is a creepy parasitic zombie fungus that attacks ghost moth caterpillars, exploding a stem directly out of their head. Yarsagumba is highly prized in Chinese medicine as it’s said to increase sexual vigor. As you can imagine, just a few kilos fetches thousands of dollars. No wonder most of the villages are empty during hunting season.
We soon follow those locals to walk around the western shore of the lake, up zigzags then steeply back down where we’ll meet a river valley and camp. If you saw Éric Valli’s Himalaya, this is the same narrow path where tragedy strikes. It’s called “Devil’s Way” or “Danger Walk Way” and is a set of carved stairs hanging on the edge of the cliff.
I am very nervous indeed that the vertiginous exposure will cause me to freeze me in place. But nowadays, there are handrails for the dangerous bits. This way I can concentrate on the fantastical views of this deep lake in indescribable shades of blue.
Like one of those mood rings so popular in the 1970s, the lake’s color changes as your perspective changes, clouds obscure the sun or wind ripples the surface. As we rise higher and higher, the Y-shape of this lake, Nepal’s deepest, is revealed. I can’t get enough and am bowled over that we have such a perfect day to walk beside it.
Soon enough, we descend through fir and birch where Hume’s Warblers make their loud, descending and screechy song. Phoksundo is smack dab in the middle of their breeding area and, just like in Northern Minnesota, they’ve migrated a great distance to come to this ideal landscape full of hatching bugs, water, trees and a temperate climate.
Closer to the beach where we’re served a hot lunch, I notice White Wagtails sashaying along the shore, skimming the water’s surface for a snack. I’m also having a snack of yak cheese, fry bread and canned wieners. It’s not far now up the river along a floodplain to Tholudhunga campsite. All along the way, Kanjiroba Himal, a 22,000-foot monster replete with colossal hanging glaciers ready to calve, broods above us, spring-green birch marching up its flank.
At one point, the water busts its banks and we need to negotiate through a flood. Beyond is a wide valley with plenty of room for all of us — nine tents, a huge porter tent, a mess tent, a small structure for cooking plus a verdant area for the ponies.
We have twenty-nine staff members — along with eight ponies — guiding us, carrying our gear and feeding us delicious meals served on plates with cutlery and a cloth tablecloth! It’s like a small city at camp and my huge three-person tent feels like a palace.
17,500-feet above the world
As we prepare for those impressive passes to come, it’s critical that we acclimate. Yet again, we spend two nights here, hiking high and sleeping low to train our bodies. Unfortunately we have to scrap our original plan to walk over famous Kang La. That route is covered in deep snow and most locals are using another path, one just as high, but positioned in such a way it’s snow-free and won’t require post-holing.
Called Nangdalo La, it’s a bit shorter but steeper. It’s also not laid out quite as well as the other pass for us to camp high and acclimate. So we choose to train by simply taking the Nangdalo trail as far up as we can, then coming right back down. That means we’ll hike this trail three times! But it is well worth it. In fact, this is the same route Peter Matthiessen took in his award-winning book The Snow Leopard.
It’s a short walk to meet the cutoff, where Tuk Kyaska Khola works its way through a narrow gorge. The climb is steep and dusty passing huge rhododendron blossoms and a Himalayan Birch forest filled with magnificent pink Mayapple blossoms. A bit further along, when the tree-line ends, I spot Peter Matthiessen’s Cave Camp.
Today is only a hike up to 14,500 feet before we eat a box lunch then head back to camp. I love it here, crossing one rushing branch of the river after another, some where Suman, Tanka and Dorji build temporary rock bridges. Those bridges are not only for us, as they’ll help the porters make it safely across with their massive loads carried via tumplines attached to their foreheads.
This may be the last time I see so many flowers before heading to the high, rocky aridness above. Ruby Cinquefoil, Himalayan Anemone and Redberry Creeper fill the space with vibrant color. I am so happy amongst this beauty and stop to take photos. Within that joy, though, is serious apprehension about the pass ahead. I want to take my time going up as if asking the mountains for permission to pass.
Over dinner, I tell the group that I’m afraid. I hope for reassurance. Instead, I’m told I spend too much time stopping for flowers and photographs and should simply keep moving. That “advice” rattles me more than I expect since my main reason for coming here is to linger, observe and savor. Just taking the time to do those things is good for the body, subtly training it to handle the altitude without trying so hard.
But I abandon my own instincts and instead the next morning, try to match the group’s pace. I shove aside why I’ve always hiked differently than most people and become a machine walking up the same trail we walked yesterday.
We go just a bit further to the aptly named High Camp nestled within a stark, rock-strewn bowl. It’s funny that the switchbacks leading to the scary pass, Nagdalo La are visible from here, an insistent reminder that the only way to go now, is up.
I prepare myself emotionally to take those zigzags the next morning. Thankfully, one of the group insists that we take yet another rest day to acclimate. Dorji prefers that we get up early and take on this 17,500 pass tomorrow, arguing that the porters find it very cold sleeping here and wouldn’t appreciate two nights in these conditions. We counter that we need more time and in the interest of good health, he relents.
So the following day is yet another acclimatization day, walking up the same dusty zigzags we’ll walk tomorrow but only pushing to 16,000 feet. And I love it! Now I have the time to saunter in these exquisite surroundings, studying the flowers and the water tumbling down from a nearby glacier as I teach my body to breathe in this air.
Tanka stays nearby and we explore a bench hanging above camp that’s dotted with tiny but sturdy white Himalayan Saxifrage atop tight green pincushions. He tells me coming here is a “bucket list” trip for him and I’m so glad he enjoys it, even if it’s a job. Several porters take advantage of their day off to look for cordycep and one is lucky enough to find two, hiding them deep in an inner pocket.
Pro tips:
- Take advice from John Muir and “saunter” in these mountains. This is some of the most extraordinary natural settings you will ever encounter. Why rush through it?
- Wear a mask and try to keep the dust out your lungs. Mine had an adverse reacted to this environment and I developed bronchitis which eventually left me vulnerable to High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. That’s basically a trip ender!
- Take the time for the three-hour side trip to Tsakang Gompa. It is exquisite,
Life in camp, meanwhile, is wonderfully comfortable. Whatever the group dynamic, our Nepali crew never stops taking care of us with hot meals served at a table with chairs. We’re offered tea or coffee while still in our tents and just now, as I return to camp, another guide named Kabbi brings “juice” for me. Basically a sugary drink-mix dissolved in boiling water, but it refreshes and I get several refills.
As night falls, it begins snowing and our tents are covered in a soft, white coating. We’re up at dawn, pack, eat and head up, all tingly with excitement for our first major pass. Nangdalo La, one considered the crux of the entire hike.
The day is clear and fresh, if a bit cold as we enter another hanging valley below the pass where glacial melt rushes by. We opt for a long switchback while the porters crack right up the side of the mountain looking like they’re hanging in space.
I’m doing fabulously, that is right up until the final ramp. It’s not even steep, but my body resists. This is the highest I have ever climbed, so it stands to reason. I walk 50 steps, then stop. Another 40, stop. 30…20, 10?! Finally I make it, huffing and puffing but exhilarated by the views.
A pile of mani stones covered in prayer flags welcomes me and a jaunty yellow sign reads “Congratulation for the Success!” To the north in Tibet is an enormous pyramid-shaped peak Danphe Shail, also called “The Dolpo Matterhorn.” And to the east is 27,000-foot Dhaulagiri, the seventh highest in the world.
After a few quick photos and videos, the group disappears over the horizon while I make my slow, steady way down. It is cold, after all. Fortunately Dorji and Colin stay nearby, grabbing my pack and ensuring I am safe on the steep and loose rock only recently buried in snow.
It takes about an hour to meet the trail coming from the other pass where cordycep hunters have set up camp in a green kharka or meadow near a stream. We eat lunch but no one says a word to me. I start to wonder if we just experienced the same glorious pass. A high five, maybe? A delighted discussion of what we saw? Nope!
Further along, a valley dotted with bright purple primrose opens up. Exquisitely carved mani stones are piled into walls and I know we’re getting closer to Shey Gompa.
Crystal mountain and its monateries
Shey Gompa is Tibetan for Crystal Monastery, as it sits under the Crystal Mountain, a centerpiece of this valley. The crystal are quartz-intrusions that sparkle in the intense sun. The monastery dates form the eleventh-century and marks the spiritual heart of Upper Dolpo.
The buildings are stucco-covered stone with traditional red and white paintings almost as if eyeballs, their pupils, so to speak, are carvings of wind horses. A crown graces the top and prayer flags blow in the constant wind.
Our camp is set near the river in a long, green valley, white-capped mountains towering above us. Two children greet me at a unique set of chortens set right within the rapids, the water pushing prayer wheels around and around to send their prayers to the heavens.
Little ragamuffins with filthy clothes and equally filthy faces, their smiles are huge with an impishness to match as one grabs my walking sticks and marches about imitating our very serious hiking. I gotta laugh. Our group’s intense focus to “get there” is admittedly pretty silly and worthy of poking fun at.
Juice arrives and snacks as well as warm water to wash off the dust, sweat and sunscreen. Tomorrow we’ll again acclimate by taking a rest day here at just over 14,000 feet. Of course, it’s not entirely a rest day since we’ll climb up to another even more stunning gompa at Tsakang.
I am particularly interested in this incredible location, one Peter Matthiessen writes about so beautifully in The Snow Leopard. It was this very same gompa where he met the Lama who was lame and would likely die here, not able to ever leave and walk over the high passes.
“Indicating his twisted legs without a trace of self-pity or bitterness, as if they belonged to all of us, he casts his arms wide to the sky and the snow mountains, the high sun and dancing sheep, and cries, ‘Of course I am happy here! It’s wonderful! Especially when I have no choice!’”
May we all possess that kind of wholehearted acceptance of what is.
I try to practice that form of acceptance myself, though sometimes that’s easier said than done, like the very next morning.
That one immature female hiker that I told you about in the first chapter decides to start the day by making a point of enthusiastically greeting someone who is standing right next to me, while completely ignoring me, freezing me out of her self-styled clique.
I don’t think it’s about caffeine this time. To be honest, I don’t know what it’s about, but it does take an intense need for exclusion to put on such a performance. The lama in The Snow Leopard was trapped here by his disability. I quickly realize I could also find myself trapped, this time by middle-school-level behavior.
So I turn away toward something more worthy of my attention. It will take a few hours to walk the long sidling traverse beneath the Crystal Mountain that will take us to the most astounding gompa of the trek.
Tsakang Gompa is built right into the cliffside. Dorji locates the caretaker who follows us up with a key as no one lives her now. The landscape is dry with only low bushes clinging to the rough vermillion-tinged rock. Far below, the same river we followed down from the pass is white and frothy and I can hear it tumbling all the way up here from my perch.
A final series of stairs leads to the complex, dominated by a white-washed main gallery with an ornately painted door next a deep-red stucco residence, a small balcony jutting out from his second floor. The stones at my feet are slate and covered with scallop fossils. Imagine, the Himalayas were once a vast sea!
We remove our shoes to enter the chamber where no photographs are allowed. I commit to memory a golden buddha sitting next to a drum that I touch lightly to hear its deep resonance. Exquisite walls paintings capture the wonder of this high altitude location where we just might be closer to God.
Outside, another trail leads up to a set of three chortens, buildings in miniature that act as a grounding influence for someone like me who might want to pray or commune with the spirit. I climb up and allow the infinite atmosphere bathe me in its grandeur, something larger than me and the pettiness of one immature hiker.
The following day we must leave this incredible place, which I do reluctantly. And sadly, now I am beginning to cough.
I took every precaution, getting vaccinated for flu and covid, taking supplements, wearing a mask, drinking plenty of water and trying to keep my breathing under control. None-the-less, my lungs begin to fill with mucus fighting off something, maybe all the dust and dry air.
I can’t help but wonder whether trying to keep up, rather than listening to my own body, has left me with less in reserve than I realize. It reinforces something I’ve long believed: hike your own hike.
We head right back up for our second 5,000-meter pass, Nanguna La. It’s a long, slow incline past more tiny villages tucked within terraced fields. I cough and cough my way up. Thankfully Colin notices and asks that we stop to get some medicine from the medical kit the guides are carrying. I do appreciate his thoughtfulness because ahead the trail moves at a much sharper angle up a rocky slope, devoid of life except for ours, struggling up to the prayer flags marking the pass.
I’m slow, I stop often, but I get there posing for a photo that looks to the edge of Tibet and its high brown and wind-swept plateau beyond. It’s all dirt here, the trees long gone, flowers a memory. Traders arrive on horses carrying supplies on their backs as well as a tightly-swaddled baby and one tiny, sweet calf! Again, the group races ahead even though waiting for the slow person struggling with a cough might’ve been a nice gesture.
I plod down and down through this unreal moonscape to a wide terrace where the tents are set in cold, gusty winds. One hiker forcefully tells me not to come to the mess tent and make everyone else sick. I’m fairly certain my cough is dust-induced and not contagious, but I respect his desire to take precautions. The guides bring me dinner in my tent and I end this remarkable day reading a really good book.
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Section 5, Nagung to Tinje
The landscape is arid, vast and harsh, revealing villages like Saldang built right into the folded rock strata where people have eked out a living for over 1,000 years.