Trekking and mountain-biking in Ladakh
Zingchen to Stok trek
Alas, the constraints imposed by a knee with ever worsening patellar tendinitis and Helen’s unexpected breathing difficulties at altitude soon knocked that idea into a cocked hat. Helen’s trauma in the Ala-Kul trek in Kyrgyzstan 6 weeks ago put her off any kind of hiking where loose stone is involved too, so options were distinctly narrowed. We decided to compromise – I’d do a short trek that would challenge but be manageable and Helen would relax in Leh.
I opted for a two day trek in the starkly beautiful Hemis National Park, over a high pass starting in the tiny settlement of Zingchen (not much more than a house), through the little village of Rumbak and hiking to Stok over the 4,950m Stok-La pass.
We don’t often split up overnight so it was a little wrenching to set off without Helen, but I couldn’t leave Ladakh without doing something substantial. Trekking was the reason I wanted to come here, despite our physical limitations, and our Phuktal Monastery walk just didn’t scratch the itch enough.
The taxi to Zingchen only took about an hour, but it felt a world away from Leh. The Hemis National Park is a barren, largely mountainous desert that feels about as unforgiving as it gets. Indian Airforce fighter jets flew deafeningly low above our heads as we slowly navigated the road, a clear reminder that this area is pretty much on the front line when it comes to the ‘quick to flare’ border disputes between India and Pakistan. I asked to be dropped off about 7km away from the village of Rumbak. It’s now possible to drive all the way there but I’d heard the walk was lovely, following a stream uphill with little oases of trees and shrubs. Not for the first time though, reality proved somewhat different.
On the road to Rumbak – industrial litter
As the way is motor-able, no one walks it any more. The footpath I’d hoped to follow was all but non-existent now, so I was forced to trudge up the road, politely but bloody-mindedly refusing the several offers of lifts from passing trucks and pickups as they kicked up the dust around me. I saw a few trees, but mainly saw spent JCB parts littering the roadside. I came across a party of Nepali workers – a family shifting rocks whilst one of their number looked after two infants lying on cardboard and blankets. A fruit box next to them looked like it might double as a crib. I wound my way up, past new roads moving away from the path even further. A collection of stupas adjacent to the path which I’d hoped to see was now inaccessible, fenced off along with the original path and only visible from a good half-mile away. Another highlight on my map – ‘tea stall’ – was a derelict concrete mess……
I arrived in Rumbak after less than 2 hours. It should have taken 2 to 3. I’d promised Helen I’d take it easy, but it was hard to linger in a place like that. On a positive note I felt pretty good and relatively fit at 4,000m, despite my debilitating bout of food poisoning, and the weakening of the body that goes with it, a week or so before.
It was a real pleasure then to reach Rumbak and discover a wonderfully tiny and atmospheric little place along with some rather strange features. I asked around about a homestay, as the houses in the village operate on a rotation basis and I had no idea whose turn it was. Alas, the fabulously named Dhung Homestay was firmly shut, though luckily so was the alarmingly named Gang-Rup House. The operational homestay today was full too, apparently. A kindly local went to find the owner of the overflow house. I waited for half an hour outside before a lovely but rather decrepit old lady appeared and let me in. She sat me down in her kitchen and fed me sweet black tea from a flask on which was daubed an artist’s impression of St Petersburg in the snow, and gave me more biscuits than I could eat. Taisha, as I believe she was called, had been working in the fields and once she’d shown me my room (a very pink and pale green affair) she went back out to harvest something, as far as I could gather.
Rumbak village
Rumbak village (Homestay Dhung)
Rumbak village prayer wheel
I wandered around the village. Agriculture dominates here in this little enclave of productivity. This seemed to be the oasis I’d read about as the greenery was lush, if limited in expanse. Most of the houses here were of very traditional Tibetan style and often had something akin to corn dolls attached to the exterior – woven reeds and dried leaves arranged in a decorative pattern. Some seemed quite benign, but some were clearly incorporating animal elements. In one I thought I saw a mouse’s face, in another a calf’s head. I wandered further, almost getting trampled by a monk with 20 or so donkeys charging down a path. “Juleh”, he cheerfully called out as I pinned myself to a wall. It was then I noticed the strange coloured constructions dotted around the village. There must have been 10 or more at least. All consisted of animal horns and jaw bones and all painted in the same rusty orange paint. They reminded me of the voudou fetishes we came across in Togo & Benin a few years ago, but I’d never seen anything like this in a Buddhist region before. I never did find out what they were…
I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in my pink boudoir until dinner was served at 7:30, a wonderful clear soup and some hearty Tibetan fare, though it wasn’t great eating on my own as no other trekkers had turned up. The elderly lady spoke a little English but we couldn’t exactly have a conversation.
Rumbak in the early morning drizzle
An early start next morning, eating a breakfast of the saltiest omelette you could imagine, wrapped in a chapati, and a 7am start in the murk & mist of the drizzling dawn. No sign of the other homestay residents, or even lights on at their lodgings. No doubt they were being sensible and snoozing in bed.
The confidence I’d gained from yesterday’s hike was dramatically moderated as I wandered up through the village and out onto a wide rocky landscape stretching up to the dark, looming mountains above. My legs & knee felt good, but my breathing was strained. I thought I should be used to 4,000m by now, but there’s a big difference when you’re hiking and as per usual my bag was too heavy with the camera and 3 litres of water (plus more weight from an extra packed lunch I’d gained from my hostess).
The gloomy, unwelcoming slopes leading to Stok-La
It took 3 and a half hours to reach Stok-La – the pass at the highest point of the trek at a little less than 5,000m. It had been a struggle, but I felt in remarkably good shape despite my breathing difficulties. It had been drizzling most of the time since I’d left the guesthouse, but as I reached the last 50m or so of incredibly steep path the sun decided to make a glorious appearance as if in reward for my efforts. I was alone with a 360 degree vista of mountains, some barren and desolate, some with vague hints of greenery. Prayer flags fluttered in the stiff wind above a small animal horn shrine. There were some personal flags attached to the others, with messages and dedications, seemingly to honour loved ones, or those who couldn’t make it up here. It was magnificent and I felt, almost literally, on top of the world.
Stok-La (4,950m)
View from Stok-La
Not much time to linger though, so down and down and down I went, the weather gradually improving and warming, but still no sign of anyone else. Eventually I encountered a rather sad looking group of tourists with guides, making their way upwards at about 2:30 in the afternoon. “Are you going over the Stok-La?”, I asked one of them. “Dunno”, he said despondently, “Are we?”. “Yes, we are,” said his girlfriend. “No, we’re not,” another chipped in. Off they trundled, unsure of their destination and how they’d come to be trudging up a hot mountain slope…
Heading down from Stok-La
Heading down towards Stok village
I’d expected to have to cross a few streams on this hike, but the maddening weather over the past weeks had made them extremely fast and deep. Luckily there were other options. An enterprising individual had daubed orange way-markers on some of the rocks and I realised these were ways of avoiding the water. What I didn’t realise was that one path involved a vertical climb down a 7m cliff-face – not that high, but scary enough when you go over the top – and others had been marked in error and led nowhere. Still, at least I managed to keep my feet dry.
Final push to Stok village
About 8 hours after leaving Rumbak, I entered the village of Stok and meandered my way another 3km to a local restaurant for a taxi pick up. The second day of the hike was pretty brutal to be honest. It ended up being 20km long, taking in 1,000m of ascent, trekking to an altitude of 4,950m (the highest I’ve ever hiked) and then a descent of 1,500m. The latter is no joke when you’ve a dodgy knee to protect believe me. And all on my own too. Challenge I wanted, and challenge I certainly got….
Biking down from Khardung-La
We’d both been interested in going up to the second highest road pass in the world (the highest being the Khunjerab Pass in Pakistan which we’d avoided due to it being a horrendous tourist trap by all accounts). The Khardung-La (5,600m) 40km north of Leh was also touristy but had a much better drawcard. Enterprising outfits in Leh rent out mountain bikes and transport you to the pass so you can ride back down at breakneck speed in an adrenaline fuelled charge, so the marketing goes. Sounded great.
Aww – matching mittens and everything…..
We didn’t expect our experience to be particularly ‘pumped up’, but nevertheless decided to see what the fuss was about. We hired a pick-up, some bikes and an hour and a half later arrived at the pass and prepared our gear* for the long descent.
* Preparation in this case involved donning jackets as we realised it was a wee bit cold and borrowing some matching knitted gloves in a lovely shade of scarlet.
The road back to Leh
The descent started out, weirdly, on cobble-stones for about 500 metres, but quickly turned to sorry-looking tarmac littered with stones from the surrounding mountains. We started fairly slowly and stopped a lot to take photos as unsurprisingly it was most captivating nearest the top. Soon though, my small-boy instincts kicked in and I started letting the bike pick-up speed for longer and longer distances. Helen was happy to follow at a more sedate, lady-like pace.
Helen with support vehicle
View back up to Khardung-La
We’d understood the road was fully metalled, but this was not entirely true. Long stretches were rough and ready, but as we had mountain bikes this just made the descent all the more exciting as we skidded around bends and zipped past lumbering sedan cars at speeds far in excess of that considered sensible. I say we, but Helen was not so happy over the bumps, and was less happy with the amount of traffic we also had to contend with (though to be fair, it wasn’t really busy). She eventually decided to call it a day about half-way down, stowed her bike in the support pick-up and let me go off on my own, following me with camera in hand like the paparazzi.
Distracting scenery on the descent to Leh
I have to admit, I had great fun bombing down the road, rounding the hairpins at stupid speeds and skidding across the largely empty roads. At one point an unseen bump appeared out of nowhere and hard plastic bike seat met less than hard gentleman’s area, a meeting that caused considerable eye watering and an emergency stop. What is it with India and that part of my body?
Quick stop to admire the view
Motorbikers descending to Leh
Enjoying the rough bits….
We reached Leh in a couple of hours, thighs burning like buggers but feeling most exhilarated indeed. A thrilling ride down a dilapidated road through gorgeous scenery – quite the fabulous end to a sometimes difficult and frustrating time in Ladakh.
Simon (22nd August 2025)
Well you were very brave doing the trek on your own& staying overnight. Didn’t approve the bike stunts, you could have had an accident then what? ,you daredevil . Hope your men bits are OK now. & your tendinitis has eased. Just take care. X
All blokes are just big kids at heart are they not and I’m no different. Yes the bits are fine (luckily)…
You’re blooming mad going it on your own…although I get the rational I’m just glad I’m reading this after you’re back together and ok. 😮💨
Yes it was a bit of a risk, but I know what I’m doing. (Believe that and you’ll beleive anything…!!)