Pangong Tso, the gift that keeps on giving

Ladakh reveals its inner secrets only a bit at a time. This realisation dawned upon me 40 years back as one came upon wonder after another during drives on rutted and uneven mud tracks radiating in two broad directions out of Leh.

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The magnificent Pangong Tso was then and remains even now a great attraction. A tour of Ladakh would be regarded as incomplete unless one visits this spectacular near 150-km-long but relatively narrow water body at a height of 14,000 feet. The last bend in a gorge on the road from Tangtse reveals this spectacle in one quick moment at Lukung — a brackish water endorheic lake wedged up by the clashing of the Northern India and Southern Tibet plates, in the vicinity of the Indus Suture Zone.

As the initial exhilaration subsides and the eye surveys the lake from the proximate into the distance, one is treated to a gentle evolution in colours of its waters, from the light blue to aquamarine to azure to sapphire to Egyptian blue. Chalky encrustations on drift wood dotting the shore line provide amazing contrasts to the multi-hued waters. And the lucid and placid waters permit clear views of deep sea sediments, stones and pebbles on the bed of the lake, until it freezes over in winter and remains so for many months.

Adventurous ones have driven vehicles onto the icy crust in the past and successfully traversed small distances. The less circumspect ones attempting similar enterprises in early winter soon found themselves let down by a cracked ice crust and bogged down in a mushy mixture of ice and sand. These days, boats carry those wanting to have a waterside view of the barren sand-coloured ranges bounding the lake, but only a couple of kilometres from Lukung.

In the past, those driven by the lure of lucre would rather ascend a knoll known as Garnet Hill, at the near end of Pangong Tso, to fill sacks full of igneous rocks embedded with crude garnets. This mound continued to be ravaged over the years by covetous visitors even after it had become known that none who carried back the glittering burden were able to recover anything of value, despite the enlistment of very experienced jewellery craftsmen.

Spangmik, Man, Merek and Kakstet villages on the southern bank of the lake have vantage views through the year; at least two of them have become favoured spots for tourists who find comfort in rudimentary accommodations. Inured to the natural pageant before them that attracts so many, village residents remain pre-occupied in contending with the realities of a frugal existence, with minimal grain production and some livestock rearing. The munificence of nature stops on the shores of the lake and life is particularly tough in winter for the hardy denizens of these remote hamlets. The crunch comes as movement gets severely impaired in winter and the hard to cut and scanty juniper bush (there being no other vegetation) becomes the only source of fuel.

Years ago, children wrapped in layers of traditional winter wear used to press their sun-burnt noses against the side screens of vehicles of infrequent passersby to beg for matchsticks — “Maachis jule”, which stands for “matches please, thank you”. Such encounters jarred one into instant realisation of the extreme deprivation faced by people living in these stark, frozen and barren highlands and quickly quelled the rapturous swoon that followed a visit to the Tso. Hopefully, the people in these parts are better provided for now.

Not too far away lie marshes that play host to the rare black-necked Tibetan crane, a bird seen in the Indian highlands in Ladakh, Sikkim and Arunachal Pradesh. The advent of summer witnesses a couple of pairs of these tall and handsome birds descending from the Tibetan plateau into this habitat for breeding. The prevalent quiescence is only very occasionally broken by loud trumpet-like calls by this usually shy bird, but only when there are neither humans nor dogs belonging to herders around. Sensitive bird watchers have laboured hard to capture this bird in various stages of development; yeoman service considering that this crane remains vulnerable and is recognised internationally as a threatened species. Mercifully, this crane is not on the ‘bucket list’ of tourists and thus will likely survive in its highland habitat.

Another denizen of the higher reaches in Ladakh, not as uncommon and reclusive as the black-necked Tibetan crane, is the unshy Marmot. Seen in considerable numbers on the descent from Chang La (en route to Pangong Tso) during the summers, Marmots are herbivorous large ground squirrels. With earthen-hued brown coats, stout bodies, short but robust legs and large claws, they disappear into burrows often within rock piles, whenever approached, only to emerge at some distance to defeat the possibility of being trapped for their furry pelts.

These cameos are but a brief introduction to the bounteous natural wealth of Ladakh. With the depredations of insensitive tourists mercifully limited to a few areas, it remains for conservationists and nature lovers to preserve and protect the rest of this rich domain.