Lake Karakol

Dear all,

On a September morning we headed south and up down the Karakorum highway. If we stayed on this road it would take us to Pakistan but that was not our trip this time (Dragoman used to do overland trips through Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iran but then came war).

The road was bumpy and occasionally obscured by landslides and scree. In these spots a track would descend off the road then come back to it a while later. The slides did not look recent. Myles said that the Chinese were planning to close this road altogether so weren't maintaining it - they were not so keen on people passing between Pakistan and China by road. It was impassable for most of the year in any case due to snow.

There were many checkpoints on this road. As we approached the first Claire asked if everyone had their passports to hand. I was the only one who did not - I had packed in a hurry that morning and stashed my money belt in my backpack that was in our luggage locker. With the help of other passengers we completed a remarkably swift manoevere in traffic whereby we jumped out, opened up the back, threw a few bags about, got mine out, practically upturned it in haste to find the precious belt, stuffed everything back in, threw the bag back in the back and jumped back in the truck and moved on amidst the beeping. Going by my past record of keeping hold of my belongings, a few of my truckmates were afraid that I may not find it and I'd be stuck in a shack at a checkpoint in the mountains with only a few shady touts and Chinese soldiers for company. I had faith that I would be okay though.

As we ascended the mountains grew steeper and we spotted crests of white on the horizon. At first they were hazy and distant, as at Heavenly lake. However unlike Heavenly lake we grew closer and closer and soon the snow was not only in the far distance but surrounded us on many towering peaks. There were glaciers too, clear to see but too steep and high to reach (or so Myles our guide told us).

We reached a lake which I initially took to be our destination but which Myles informed us was a recently created reservoir. We were up on the plateau now. The air was thin and there was a brisk breeze but the sun was still hot. We stopped to pee and gazed across the reservoir at where the dunes or scree met the mountains and water. In the winter all this would be covered in snow. Now it was hot, sand and scree, more hospitable to life and ourselves but not much.

We boarded the truck and it was not long before we reached our lake, Lake Karakol, at three thousand five hundred metres above sea level. I was pleased to note that there were no barbed wire fences here. I was half expecting to see a car park full of tour buses round the next corner but there was nothing of the sort. I saw a couple of small girls running to gape at our truck, some herders with felt hats on motorcycles, and a few yurts.

We parked close to the lake. It was shallow, the shore consisting only of scree and thin grass. The water was clear and still and we could see the shores and mountains opposite with great clarity. The breeze blew colder here - I could not imagine night.

Shortly after we arrived quite a few of us, but not myself, decided to go swimming, despite Myles warning them that it was not allowed. They changed into their swimsuits with remarkable speed but then the herders and yurt owner appeared on their motorbikes. They did not want us tourists bathing in their drinking water even if we promised not to pee in the lake. Dan reported feeling quite underdressed during this conversation.

That's Myles in the green and I'm sure you can figure out which one is Dan.

We settled on a compromise. The swimmers would go downstream of our location. That way any surreptitious peeing would flow out of the lake down the mountain stream. I'm not sure what their plan was for the yaks that were bathing.

As the swimmers gingerly immersed themselves in glacial waters I set out to walk around the lake. The sun had set too early at Heavenly lake but I had more time here and could I clearly see my path. There were no fences, no steep ascents. Only myself, a shallow shore, the mountain slopes and many reflections were all ever present.

I encountered some camels. I didn't know who they belonged to - like the yaks they were just there, wandering, grazing and farting at will. Their farts really stank. I came quite close to them. One headed directly towards me at a good pace but I moved and he continued in his chosen direction. They weren't interested in me at all.

The camels headed towards the glaciers and I continued around the lake. The going was easy though I did get a little dizzy every time I stood up after going through my bag. I was well stocked for my walk - I had Crysthanenum tea, Kvass (a Russian fermented bread drink that I unexpectedly found in Kashgar supermarkets - evidently the influence of the former Soviet stans extended that far) and truck water.

The way narrowed to a path between a cliff face and the waters. There were clouds of insects surrounding me but none of them were biting. Other than the gnat like insects the only signs of life I could see was the occasional bird and a few discarded bottles and cigarette butts.

I was about halfway around the lake and in my stride when the way widened to an expanse of grasslands on which yaks and camels were grazing. Here the path diverged from the lake shoreline and headed towards a village. I didn't want to go to the village - I wanted to walk around the lake. I decided to continue walking by the shore. I couldn't see any fences so didn't anticipate any issues with this approach.

I soon encountered a river. Naturally enough this impeded my progress around the lake shore. I decided to go for a walk along the river as the sun was still high in the sky so I wasn't in a hurry. I met many yaks but found no fords. After deliberating for a moment I took my boots and socks off, rolled my trousers up and waded across. The cool water was welcome.

I was in an expanse of marsh, a place for yaks and birds but not for people with footwear. I carried my boots with me. One boot made a handy bottleholder for my kvass and the mud underfoot was soft. There were occasional spiky sections of dry dead grass but it was worth it for the freedom to walk in whichever direction I wished.

A man on a motorcycle appeared in the distance, drove to a point of solid ground up ahead and stopped. My chosen path round the lake would take me past him. As I walked towards him with foreboding I was reminded of those times I undertook a "straight line walk" across the fields of Worcestershire, aiming to reach my friend's house covering the least distance possible (though not the least duration possible). It was the nineties, the time of foot and mouth disease and I was headed off and turned back at many natural funnels by unsympathetic and possessive farmers.

This herder addressed me in words I didn't understand and pointed towards the village. I wasn't feeling happy now and pointed towards the shore. We exchanged a few words of basic English and I realised he was only offering to give me a lift to the village for a fee. I declined with relief and went on my way.

The marsh was getting deeper and there were more rivers to wade across but at this new vantage point I found different reflections within the same lake that we had repeatedly photographed from our campsite earlier. I couldn't see the truck any more but I was confident I knew the way. It's hard to get lost when you're walking around a lake.

I spoiled the shot of many a tripod laden Chinese photographer who had lined up by the side of the highway to photograph the unspoilt mountain pastures that I was tramping through. They were fresh from their 4x4s whilst my trousers were wet and muddy from a few wading spots of deceptive depth but I didn't envy them. The sun would dry me in no time whilst they had never approached the rivers that their DSLRs were capturing in telescopic detail.

I avoided meeting their gaze and joined the highway. This was the easy way back to the truck. I was running late for the dinner that a cook group had been preparing for the past two hours and I had spotted some fences, yurts and property further along the shore. 

I arrived precisely half an hour late for the scheduled serving of dinner and exactly as they were beginning to serve dinner. We had risotto, squash and peppers and mixed Chinese mushroom salad. I was the second to last to return - Mika was still out. As the sun dipped below the horizon we scanned the glaciers and peaks for him with binoculars and eyes. I asked the girls washing vegetables in the lake whether they would mind if I took a photo of them. They didn't mind.

Mika appeared from the same direction as I after dinner. He'd begun walking around the lake but diverged to climb a peak. When he came down he couldn't find a way across the river so he walked the village. There a herder offered to give him a lift to our campsite.

Night had come and once again it was bloody freezing. We headed to our yurts where our sole source of adequate warmth - sleeping bags and blankets - resided.

After a long yet companionable night (I feel less bad about having to deal with the usual dilemma of demands of the bowel vs desire for warmth when others are going through the same) we emerged to a crisp, beautiful and bloody freezing dawn. The yaks were already up and making their way to their grazing encouraged by the ever busy daughters of the lake.

We had pancakes with nutella-like spread and cowboy coffee for breakfast. Cook group 2 had made too much batter so I ate my fill which unfortunately distracted me from doing my bit with the washing up.

We packed up and were soon driving north back up the Karakorum highway towards Kashgar and Kyrgyzstan, passports in hand.

Stephen