High on the Lion

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Last Updated on Saturday, 01 January 2000 00:00

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'The Indus, historically and geographically one of the great rivers of the world, from which the very name India is derived; the Lion River, Sengge-ka-bab to the Ladakhis, which has already come 800 kilometres from it's source on the northern flank of holy Mount Kailash in western Tibet - where as tradition has it, it emerges from a Lion's mouth; the Indus will eventually empty itself into the sea near Karachi, 1600 kilometres on.'
- 'Ladakh, Crossroads of High Asia' by J.Rizvi

I was having a nightmare, but it was a strangely calm and silent one. I was gazing across a fast flat stretch of the river. The river was different, strangely transparent and glassy. I could see someone through the water, pinned motionless beneath an undercut cliff. I realised that I was looking at myself, and woke up with a start.
"Stuff this", I told myself, and I resolved to quit the river then and there.

The Indus is well-known in paddling circles on account of the 'Taming of the Lion' film. This depicts hilarious coverage of dwarfed multinational kayakers getting comprehensively hammered on monstrous silty grey white water. All this happened somewhere deep in the Rondu gorges of Pakistan, but it might as well have taken place on Jupiter as far as most paddlers are concerned; the humongous rapids depicted were the preserve of an insane elite few. It may surprise people then, to learn that there are long stretches of this famous river which are well within the bounds of experienced but mortal kayakers. They are hidden away in the most Northern district of India, Ladakh, and I happened to be there recently with a kayak to hand.

I had just taken a (purely decorative) part in a long and difficult trip in the area. It was a fabulous journey, but on more than one occasion I'd contemplated selling my paddling kit and taking up tiddlywinks in a big way. Recovering in Leh, Ladakh's most pleasant town (um, only town), I said goodbye to my paddling companions as they set off south towards the Monsoon in search of ever-crazier flooded suicide runs. The moment their bus had left town, the 'Hindustani Times' started covering it's front page with tragedy stories of whole neighbourhoods being washed away daily in the Ganges valley. Take a wild guess at their first intended port of call...I worried about them but knew they'd cope.

Anyway, it was time to consult the map. I had thrice paddled the easy but enjoyable stretch of the Indus near Leh as 'raft support' (i.e. - they give you a lift to the put-in and feed you, you then ignore the raft and concentrate on the play-spots). I had indeed paddled all of the Indus through the Leh valley. I was intrigued by the long stretch of the Indus upstream of the main Leh valley. My highly dubious tourist map showed the Indus dribbling across the border from Tibet (or China, depending upon your politics) and then making a beeline for the Leh valley in a 70 mile stretch that I knew it might be possible to visit. I asked some local rafters about this stretch. They had heard that it was a good trip but pointed out that the area was 'sensitive' and that the Army would be there in even more abundance than usual. Given that Ladakh was already bursting to the seams with blokes in camouflage, this last point was pretty off-putting. The rafters even suggested that my camera would be trashed and my boat confiscated. I weighed up the pros and cons and told myself that I had nothing else on in my diary.

Getting there was complicated, but not difficult. You need a permit to visit this area, only issued to groups of four or more. As there was just the one of me, I signed up for a tourist tour of the border region and took my place in a jeep along two Luxemburgers and a German. Angchuk, the driver, was a bit bewildered when I showed up carrying a kayak. With a quick discussion over the map, I managed to convince him to work my paddling plans into his itinerary. Our tour led up through the upper Indus gorges, and I was able to inspect odd sections of the river by hanging out of the window. I noted a few features to look out for on the descent; a river-wide pour-over, a gnarly looking rapid where a landslip had blocked the river, a tall rock distinctive because of it's suggestive shape....but overall, the river looked grade 3. Blithely reassuring my fellow travellers that it would all be no sweat, I forgot two basic rules of inspection; rapids always look easier from above, and the hardest bits are always the bits you can't see.

After an Army checkpoint at Mahe bridge, we climbed away from the river into the back of beyond, following a dirt track over a 5000 metre pass. The jeep then descended into a wide grassy plain, barren except for the odd lost yak. Geologically we were high on the Tibetan plateau...and coming from Dorset, it was a pretty weird place. The incredible scenery was lost on the Luxemburgers, who were busy chucking their guts up, suffering from altitude sickness. At dusk we reached Tso Moriri, a village beside a large brackish lake. My travelling companions turned out to possess no food and so the best of the food I'd planned to use on the river ended up in their stomachs. I also had the pleasure of showing them what their tents were for and how they were erected, all of which happened without thanks or comment. Perhaps they thought I was some kind of tour rep included in the price? Angchuk found all this incompetence hilarious and wandered off laughing hysterically to get slaughtered at a friend's house.

In the morning, I was woken from my open air bivvy by a cow crapping stereophonically beside me. As I stuck my head out of my sleeping bag, I found myself staring straight into the eyes of the cow's herders, a couple of local infants. I got up and wandered into the village, whilst the kids ran around gathering their friends to help laugh at me. Quite a place. On one side the lake, with Tibet just a short hop away. On the other side, a glacier reached up directly from the village into the clouds. The village was 'protected' from the mountain by a vast wall of 'mani' stones, carved with the Buddhist prayer, "Om Mani Padme Hum". Pretty impressive as impressive goes, but enough of the cultural stuff; I had some paddling to do. I headed back to the Jeep to meet a seriously hung over Angchuk.

A couple of hours later, we were back at Mahe bridge and I was changing into my kit watched by a crowd of locals. Once this feat was accomplished, I said my thanks to Angchuk for driving out of his way, and floated off downstream. The Indus was flat and sluggish, drifting through water meadows where horses trotted down to the bank to greet me. The level had risen since I'd passed the previous day, such that I found myself paddling through some bloke's orchard at one point. I paddled along enjoying the scenery and the solitude. The river had everything I needed just then...excepting white water. I didn't have to wait too long for this. A sharp right hand bend and a loud roar woke me up and I ferried frantically for the bank. An inspection revealed a big, steep hard grade 4 section...that went on for as far as I could see. Christ, I didn't see anything like this on the way up! Ferry out hard from the eddy, should have put in further back....turn into the main flow, run the entrance drop, big wave, the crunch is here somewhere....there it is, skirt the big hole and get some speed towards the right, jeez this is fast...find an eddy somewhere, hell no eddys, too much water....right, harder right....

I was so far right that I was paddling up the bank. The main flow would have been pretty intimidating even with backup. On my own I tried a whole new river-running philosophy; avoid anything anywhere at all times. This first rapid was several miles long but soon began to braid into channels; unashamed of my cowardice, I chose the channels with the least water flowing. This technique was surprisingly successful, at least when the river actually offered a chicken chute. I began to relax as I ignored the main flow and became engrossed in reading the eddys. A couple of hours into this, I glanced up from the eddyline I happened to be skirting along and thought, "Oh, it's grade 5 out there" in a detached frame of mind. It might have been a different river out there for all I could care.

The upper Indus rocks. Mile after mile of big volume grade 4 with a few harder bits, I was impressed but somewhat overwhelmed. This hadn't been in the plan. Even so it was going okay, as long as I didn't get too spooked by it all. As the sun went down behind the peaks, I began to look out for a decent bivvy spot. Easier said than done, the valley closed in and became a barren gorge. Rain began to hiss down. I had only a sleeping bag, and there was no sign of shelter. I decided to paddle on until I found a village. It wasn't too long before buildings began to crowd the banks, but this was a huge Army base which just went on and on. Obviously I wasn't going to try my luck there. I put my head down and sped past, hoping no-one would notice me. Below the base, the river went through one of it's steeper phases, not ideal at all as it was now getting dark.

Somewhere in the middle of an extended wave-train I became aware that I was being pursued along the bank by a jeep full of soldiers. I told myself that they weren't really after me and kept paddling. Half a mile further on, flashing headlights, screaming voices and the honking horn were impossible to ignore. If I didn't take notice, bullets would come next! I found a roadside eddy and hopped out. As they approached me, I focused in terror upon an assault rifle which was pointed in my direction and fumbled through my waist belt for my permit. I was astounded and relieved as an Officer stepped forward and addressed me in what had to be Sandhurst English.
"We are very sorry to interrupt you Sir, but we were wondering if you had seen the body of a young man who sadly drowned in the river two hours ago."
Perhaps thankfully, I hadn't seen the object of their search. As if it were commonplace to meet British kayakers running the river alone in the dark, they quickly wished me luck in my 'expedition' (their words) and waved me off on my way again. I was taking no more chances now. As soon as I was out of sight of the road, I pulled ashore and dragged the boat into a rare clump of trees which provided convenient shelter from the rain and prying eyes. Retrieving my sleeping bag from a dry bag which had actually worked, I hung my dripping kit around the surrounding copse and tucked into dinner. Tinned sardine eaten off Ginger Nuts is sure to catch on some day. Soon, I drifted off to sleep trying to justify it all to myself, thinking guiltily of my girlfriend at home.

I stayed in my sleeping bag for a long while into the morning, shaken and scared by the eerie dream which I had woken with. The sun was shining and the Indus looked far more welcoming than it had the previous day; even so I sat tight, telling myself my luck was used up and the trip had to end now. I stowed my kit and wandered out of the woods to see the escape route to the road high above. It looked like carrying the boat up would be hard work. Never wanting to waste an iota of effort unnecessarily, I laughed out loud and knew my decision was made. By the same logic whereby I'd rather buy new crockery than ever wash up, I decided that paddling on would involve less sweat than bottling out.

The river was quality below this point, as hard as before but with more breathing space between rapids and the odd bit of greenery brightening up the riverbank. Villages became frequent and after a few hours, I pulled over to share chocolate with a local family. A road sign indicated that I had only twenty miles to go until I reached the Leh highway, my intended takeout. Where had the other fifty miles gone? I was ecstatic, I knew I'd get there that afternoon. I began to enjoy the paddling rather than survive it, and my confidence leaped. I took on more of the river; sometimes with amusingly painful results (where did that hole appear from?), but it never got out of hand. I boofed and blasted, surfed and swiped. A big landslip grade 5 offered no chicken chute; I couldn't have cared less as I bobbed down the centre route, trying to recall how many waves there were before you had to skirt the monster hole...

The takeout bridge at Upshi came too soon. I surfed a tiny wave there, reluctant to call it a day. Changing beside an army checkpoint, I was ignored as the soldiers were busy kicking a lorry driver about (for reasons unknown). I dragged the boat over to a tent cafe where some dubious Dahl Bhat was being doled out and munched away. Waiting for the bus, I had time for reflection. It had been an unmissable trip, the only lacking thing being a bit of company; but I'd be back again with friends. My imagination ran wild, feverish with the morning's excitement. Maybe too, some day in the distant future, I'd keep on going, over the border into Pakistan, through the raging Rondu gorges, all the way to the Arabian Sea....but I brought myself sharply back to reality. That would require some unlikely political changes, and some even less likely alterations to the Indus's riverbed...

Mark Rainsley.