Great Kashmir Lakes Trek-
Where Good Mountains can teach you
to breathe once again.

Landing in Srinagar I was anticipating anarchy – and I received it: the honking of cabs, the street sellers selling saffron, a pleasant aroma of kahwa in the air. But making a turn, the road grew nearer and nearer to Sonamarg and the sound diminished to silence. It was a four-hour drive, and time is weird in Kashmir. Each turn presented something previously unseen-wild horses pasture big rivers, shrivelled shepherds, fat fruit-bearing apple-trees. I asked myself: will the great Kashmir lakes trek begin quite like this? –then what will the remainder be like? When I had reached Sonamarg evening had fallen.

The golden meadows were what they were–Sonamarg, in fact, signifies meadow of gold. I joined my trekking mates and tried that evening cuddled up together, tweaked our packs and gazed at the mountains we would go through the next day in silence. Dinner was plain – hot rajma chawal, and hot kahwa in steel cups, afterwards. The sky was transformed to violet which is a Kashmir-only shade. The mountains had already damped out some of the noise in us before we started walking.

The line started off at daylight, and the atmosphere was so clear of the air that to breathe was like swallowing ice water. it was rising, slowly, slowly–green lowland, swell after swell, hand-coloured stretches of pine. Two hours later we arrived at Shekdur a cinematic meadow which might have been movie set. I was sitting there sipping a steel cup of chai and watching ponies grazing on silver mountains. It is said that once Shekdur was a resting place of the Bakarwals, nomadic herders who sometimes yet roam these ranges through with their sheds. It was late enough at sunset to cross the Nichnai stream and make camp. It was a Milky Way this night, pouring over the sky, and as bright as I has never seen it. The sound of the stream turned my lullaby, white noise of nature.

The third day was a change of direction, and it was no longer I am trekking. We started early. Our first real challenge was the Nichnai Pass which rose to 13,000 feet. Through the pass wind blew, And made your bones hum. Each one was getting heavier yet each one was becoming lighter. As we at last dropped down into the Vishansar Valley I chilled. In it Vishansar Lake glowed like molten sapphire and on its opposite end Kishansar Peak stood round it as a protector.

The water was as calm as clouds in it appeared to be confined. Locals believed that Vishansar was an incarnation of Lord Vishnu, Kishansar his brother and the two who were watching over the valley. It was a journey to the pages of mythology to walk here. That evening, I put my fingers into the crystalline, cool water, which brought me to ground. I went to bed with some exhaustion and thankfulness.

And this was the day the mountains made some tests of us. We started to ascend to Gadsar Pass, the peak of the walk – 13,800 feet above sea level. The path was steep and jagged, slashing across ridges, snow-fields and along narrow ledges. However, when we got up there, we could see the world – green valleys, blue lakes- jewels, and heaps that were so high that they ripped the clouds to pieces.

Below us was the lake of flowers or Gadsar Lake in which there had been many wild flowers. People living near it tell us it is haunted by spirits–the pure-hearted only can have clear reflections in its waters. However mythical or real, the silence in that was sacred. I told myself that evening in my journal: The higher we stand the less the world is heard. It is ironical that Kashmir trekking is the humming way in which cities fail to do.

At that point we were a family, blistered, sunburned, and joined. The path led off Gadsar to Satsar and clove through meadows, diffused boulders, and torrents of the Alps. The satsar or seven lakes take their one by one, still and out-of-the-way, mysterious.

Few of the trekkers observe all the seven. The upper lakes are frequently covered by mist. The locals believe that they were created out of the tears of a goddess because of the greediness of humankind. I stood there and felt it, because of the water and the curling of clouds.

That was a stormy night and the lightning flashed through the ridge. The tempter was fierce–the rains dharped tents, the wind sang their wild song. The sense of fear, awe, and stronger sense of belonging came over my mind.

It was a steep precarious route to Gangbal and Nandkol. We scrambled on boulders, waded streams and climbed till we choked with gasping breath. Two lakes suddenly came into view below Mount Harmukh and were like twin mirrors. It is believed that Gangbal Lake is the Ganga of Kashmir, the deity of Lord Shiva. Its smaller twin, Nandkol, repeats the same peak at a different angle- such as the yin and yang of the Himalayas. We sat quietly round the sun gilding of Harmukh. Someone was whistling a melody; time seemed to have come to an end.

The 7-lakes hike in Kashmir is not based on the quantity of lakes but rather those experiences when you lose yourself and encounter something more authentic.

The trail up to Naranag was a man-killer, 14 km of rocky slopes and sore knees, but it was attractive, too. The alpine landscape was becoming a pine-forest, then it became oak-forest and finally a moss-forest. We were dirty and exhausted and high, by the time we came to Naranag. The old temples were lifeless, carved stone, a part of which crumbled, yet endless. It was poetic how our great lakes quest to Kashmir terminated where earlier pilgrims used to pray.

When the jeep made its way back to Srinagar, I understood that there is no end to a trek when one takes it down the mountain- it reverberates. Each lake, promontory, quiet remains leathered on your bones.