At 8am we were met by a jeep and introduced to Ranu, our guide for the day, Arun, our porter and Ranu 2, our driver. The drive up to the snow line took about an hour. We followed the river Beas for some of the way, passing tiny villages swathed in apple blossom. The principal export in Manali and the surrounding area is apples – they’re sold all over india – and now it’s spring the trees are in full bloom. As we crawled gradually higher, we began to pass small wooden shacks on the side of the road, each offering rack-fulls of the finest synthetic one-piece ski suits ever to grace the backs of chic 1980s alpine skiers.
Once we ran out of road, the jeep parked up and we changed into our own incredibly out-moded ski gear. Arun set off with our lunch things, my skis, boots and other supplies and Joe, Ranu and I began the ascent to camp. I had been expecting a gentle pig-track-up-to-Snowdon type walk, so was deeply upset to find we were immediately hiking up a steep, muddy, snowy and sometimes icy incline. Joe tripped merrily ahead with Ranu, swapping snowboard stories and taking in the views, while I heaved and grunted my way up some distance behind, cursing darkly and using ski poles to haul myself up.
We reached camp after about an hour and my dark mood was treated with several cups of chai and some biscuits. We chatted with some of the others who were just getting up and having breakfast, including a girl who’d had to retreat back to camp the previous day after crippling altitude sickness. She didn’t look at all well. Feeling a bit nervous, but in slightly better spirits, we set off with Arun and Ranu to begin the second ascent. At no point did anyone mention the precise extend of this climb. I was given to believe it would be about half an hour. Five hours later, I realised I had been cruelly tricked into climbing right to the bloody top of the mountain. Getting to the summit was tough going. It was extremely steep, with long patches of deep, slushy snow. Despite the altitude it was outrageously hot and even above 3000 metres we were harangued by flies. We took lots of stops, drank water frequently but every step was painful. By the time we reached the top, we were at 4250 metres. At this point the only thing less attractive than skiing down the mountain was walking back down so I wearily clipped on my skies and tried to ignore Joe who was scampering about like a child on Christmas morning in his retro ESF outfit.
It was an interesting decent.
Joe, in his element, dived straight in whilst I found that my thin racing skis sank slowly and sadly into the slush. Sinking and falling into waist high slush became the motif of my decent, so much so that I tunnelled rather than skied down. Ranu, a qualified instructor as well as a guide, was helpful but his tips were ultimately futile as over and over again I collapsed spectacularly into various wet holes of my own making. After a while I sort of got into it and therefore sort of began to enjoy myself. It was at least an hour before we finally spotted camp, and Joe made his entrance by hurling himself off a jump someone had made among the tents. I made my way down more sedately and almost cried to find there was hot chai, soup and pancakes waiting for us.
There was a bit more of a ski down, then we hiked in wet mud back to the jeep and back down to Manali. It was an oddly exhilarating day, challenging, painful, but absolutely the sort of adventure we imagined we’d be having when we started planning this trip.
Joe’s final thought
After the initial accent to the base camp Laura was actually enjoying the walk to the summit. Laura was the 4th person to make it to the top only beat by an American forest fire fighter, our guide Ranu and myself (I ran the last bit which was a mistake at 4000+ meters). I can’t deny the ski down was not exactly the finest run I’ve ever done, but certainly an experience surfing knee deep slush, hopping patches of mud and swallowing flies. Next stop the Andes.
