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CLIVE ROBINSON
and one is apt to forget one's own unease in admiration of the ponies which, fully laden, negotiate the rocky path with marvellous sure-footedness. Once over, the rest of the descent into the Sind valley below is an unending joy of forest paths, strange bird calls and ever-changing mountain views. It took us the best part of two days to reach the Sind river and at our last night's camp we knew we had reached civilisation again by the noise of the watchmen beating on tin cans in an endeavour to keep the bears out of the Indian cornfields. That was the only night we chained our dog, Sally, to the camp bed.
One more day's walk along the valley to the village of Sonamarg and its military bridge over the river leading on to Leh. Here there is, or rather was, a large notice warning "Tourists and Trekkers" that they could go no farther. It sounded rather like the New Territories but when I enquired in the village I gathered that few tourists ever got to Sonamarg and we had been the first that year over the Yamher. We camped outside at Thajiwas (9,000 ft.) in the Valley of the Glaciers, and next day walked back into Sonamarg to catch a bus home. The drive took us about four hours and this time we had ducks and sheep with us as a variety.
So ended perhaps the most memorable holiday we have ever had. Certainly the walk is one of the best short treks it is possible to make in Kashmir. Going leisurely we had taken seven days, walked about ninety miles and reached a height of 14,000 ft.
Two days later we left the “Golden Gleam” and said goodbye to the incomparable Gaffar and his happy staff. Going up the Banihal Pass on the way home to Delhi my car developed the usual complaint of petrol-pump trouble which often happens in the more rarified atmospheres of heights over 9,000 ft. Unfortunately it did not respond to the regular Indian treatment of a wet mud-pack wrapped round the pump so, for four hours, I was compelled to remain crouched on the mudguard with my back to the way we were going in order to be in a position to apply a smart tap with a screw-driver to the ailing pump whenever it showed signs of giving up the ghost. Fortunately I had faith in my wife at the wheel as the hairpin bends on the Banihal are not particularly pleasant when seen backwards from the mudguard of a Riley!
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