50 shades of blue in the Pamirs

The Pamirs is possibly Asia’s best kept secret out of all of its mountain ranges. The highest peaks reach dazzling heights far above the 7000-metre mark and the longest glacier in the world outside the polar regions can be found here. There’s an extensive network of shepherd trails that make this rugged mountain chain unexpectedly accessible. Jan Bakker, co-author of the guide Trekking in Tajikistan, explores a high-altitude lake district in the heart of the Pamirs with a team of intrepid trekkers.

Our Toyota Land Cruiser bounces and shakes its way along the thundering Panj River, which forms the majority of the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan. The crumbling tarmac is regularly exchanged for rocks and mud. On the opposite side of the river we see small, isolated Afghan settlements enclosed by enormous mountain faces. It’s harvest time and the people are working hard to prepare the villages for the imminent brutal winter that lurks around the corner. The degraded Pamir Highway and the rickety wooden electricity poles seem like a luxury compared to the mainly autarkic existence across the river. After the 14-hour journey passing military check points, wobbly bridges and excited children we arrive at our first port of call Khorog, the capital “city” of the autonomous region of Badakhshan (GBAO) otherwise known as the Pamirs. It’s a peaceful town on the banks of the crystal clear Gunt River and a strategic base for many trekking routes in the area.

We are headed to the mountain village of Bulunkul, where we start our trekking expedition through the heart of the Pamir Mountain Range. At an altitude of 3760 metres it is the highest permanently inhabited settlement in Central Asia. From Khorog it’s a big jump in elevation and we make a d-tour via the neighbouring Shakhdara Valley to acclimatise. We spend the night in one of the many homestays that can be found in improbable remote locations all over the Pamirs. The family welcomes us with tea, homemade yoghurt and oven fresh non, the typical round Central Asian bread. The mudbrick house is built in accordance with a unique religious architecture called Chid. The design of the skylight is inspired by one of the world’s oldest religions, Zoroastrianism. It’s constructed with four window-panes, each representing the basic elements earth, water, air and fire. The five pillars in the house symbolise the five members of Ali’s family, a cousin of the Prophet Mohammed and founder of Isma’ilism, a branch of Shia Islam. The guestroom is a cosy space with colourful karputchas (carpets) where we will spend the night. In this part of the world there is no light pollution and the starlit sky pierces through the skylight, explaining the strong connection with the four elements.

*A loo with a view, Bulunkul at a chilly altitude of 3750m*

We reach Bulunkul via the 4271-metre high Koitezek Pass, one of the highest points on the Pamir Highway. Bulunkul is a place of extremes. In recent history, the mercury dropped to a whopping -63 Celsius, making it into the top 10 coldest permanently inhabited places on the planet. We’re on the western end of the Murghab with hardly any shelter against the bitterly cold winds that blow without interruption across the dusty plains. It’s only September, but we can already unpack our down jackets. In the distance, we see a dust cloud moving towards us. The caravan is our Tajik crew and their pack animals that will support us during our 9-day traverse across the Rushan Range, a sub chain of the Pamirs.

*The Alichur Valley and the western edge of the Murghab Plateau*

The first camp is a centuries old caravanserai on the banks of the Alichur River. One of the southern routes on the Silk Road ran across this valley and this place was a refreshing station for traders and pilgrims. To reach our camp we are forced to wade through the ice cold, waste deep river. It’s a breathtaking spot to spend the night. A short climb up the small ridge behind our camp gives us a sense of scale of this vast mountain range. Below, the Alichur meanders towards the turquoise Yashilkul Lake, Tajikistan’s fourth biggest lake. The next two days we’ll be following its northern shores. In the far distance the summits of the Rushan Range, that we’ll be crossing in a few days’ time, are beckoning.

There’s a long day of walking ahead of us. Before sunrise we fuel ourselves with hot porridge and tea and hit the trail shortly after. We are facing two tricky river crossings and a steep cliff. The first river crossing is fairly easy. We manage to keep our feet dry, hopping from boulder to boulder. The next obstacle is a 50 metre high cliff that rises almost vertically from Yashilkul Lake. We climb to the top of the cliff via a vague goat path, following a trail of goat droppings. The descent back to the shore goes via a solid, steep slope littered with small stones. It’s an extremely treacherous section. One of the team members tumbles down but manages to break her fall with her walking pole. Somewhat shaken we take a break when we reach the edge of the lake. The incident reminds us of the wild character of the Pamir Mountains. There are no way marks, fences or stairs. Pathways are criss-crossed carved in the mountain slopes by shepherds who have tended their livestock in this part of the world for centuries. Trails and bridges are wiped away by avalanches, landslides and mud flows on a regular basis. In case of an accident, help is far away. There is no mountain rescue service and in most cases not even mobile phone coverage. We are on our own and that is exactly the appeal of a trekking expedition in this wild, untouched mountain range.

We leave Yashilkul behind us and enter the wide, U-shaped Langar Valley via a short but strenuous climb. Spiky summits of over 5000 metres dominate the skyline on both sides of the valley. It’s a gradual ascent along the Langar River, that merges downstream with the Gunt River. This is one of the many tributaries of the legendary Oxus River, that bears the name Amu Darya these days and drains into the Aral Sea in Uzbekistan. Half way the valley we pitch our tents near a shepherd camp at around 4000 metres. In winter, shepherd families live at lower elevations to avoid the harsh temperatures and deep snow conditions. They spend the entire summer at higher altitudes in search of good grazing grounds for their goats and sheep. We are treated to fresh bread and kret (dried, salty yoghurt balls made of sheep milk) and catch a glimpse of the unique way of life high up in the Pamirs.

Higher up, the valley bends to the west and the wild Langar River has devolved into a tiny trickle, fed by the hanging glaciers on the north facing wall next to the 4610m high Langar Pass. We reach the highest point of the pass and descend to a small turquoise lake just below the pass. At the end of the lake we find a brilliant camp spot and decide to call it a day. After setting up our camp we spend the rest of the day exploring the surrounding mountain ridges. This is the very heart of the Pamirs and it is dotted with glittering mountain lakes in all shades of blue. The trekking route winds its way through a broad plain with grazing yaks and hospitable Pamiri shepherds. We pass the three Uchkul lakes and descend to a large summer settlement on the top end of the Irkht Valley. It’s a motley crew of long-haired goats, nervously barking dogs and yelling children who call this mudbrick mini-complex home four months of the year. The following morning we start the ascent to one of the most spectacular mountain lakes in Central Asia, Zarojkul. The landscape changes abruptly from a broad plateau to a narrow, seemingly impenetrable gorge filled with massive boulders and crystal clear ponds. The eroded trail is in a poor state and we need to pay attention, especially with the donkeys. A misstep will end without a doubt 30 metres lower in the near freezing water. When this last obstacle is tackled it’s an easy stroll to the northern shores of Zarojkul.

This lake is sapphire blue and completely surrounded by glaciated mountains. Before we manage to pitch our tents, dark clouds build up and obscure the mountains. It starts snowing, making tomorrow’s crossing of the 4795 metre high Shtik Lazar Pass uncertain. We tuck into our sleeping bags, listening to the snow falling on the tent sheet.

*A yak dung fire keeping the group warm*

It’s still dark when we zip open the tent fly. First light trickles in and accentuates the silhouette of ridge east of Zarojkul. The weather has cleared and we get the green light for crossing the pass. We break up our camp and after a quick breakfast we start the ascent to the highest point of the expedition. Shtik Lazar is covered with an impressive glacier and an early traverse is necessary to beat the fickle weather patterns in the afternoon. The glacier is rather flat and free of snow. The rope and crampons stay in the bags. Because we already spent five nights above 4000 metres, the team is perfectly acclimatised and before noon we reach the enormous cairn on top of the pass. From here it’s a 2000 vertical metres down to the picturesque mountain village of Bardara, the finish of the trek. The moraine at the northwest end of the pass is a big pile of rubble. An unclear path winds its way down the blocks and regularly disappears into chaos. Our chosen route sees very few people, even locals. We realise that the final descent will be tougher than the actual traverse of the glacier. The route zigzags towards the terminus of the moraine and we drop further across the rugged terrain. At the top of the Bardara Valley we still need to wade through the river to reach our last camp on the western banks. From here it’s all the way down.

It’s a special feeling to see friendly elements in the landscape again after having spent several days at high altitude. The first tree is solitary but stands proud next to the path and we can’t hide our big smiles. Gradually the valley becomes greener and we see the first signs of civilisation, agricultural patches of land and a small mudbrick hut. The last serious obstacle is a tributary that drains the glacial meltwater of the Turshedavi Glacier. It’s warm and the river has reached a critical level, just below its banks. Upstream we search for a safe place to cross but without success. We wait for our pack animals to arrive and hitch a ride across. The donkeys struggle to stay on their feet in the fast-flowing water, but we all manage to reach the other side dry. The final descent progresses quickly. The team is visibly motivated, breathing in the thicker air of Bardara. After nine days in the Pamiri mountain wilderness we collapse on the comfortable karputchas of our local homestay. No five-star hotel can beat this.

50 shades of blue in the Pamirs

The Fann Mountains revisited