Yading Big Kora Trek Diary: Day 4 - Yaka Pass to the Ampitheatre

Summary: on this short day we hiked from Camp 3 across the Yaka Pass and into the magical surrounds of the 'lost valley' of Lawatong, passing from the domain of Chanadorje (5958m) to that of Mt Jambeyang. We camped at an awe-inspiring location we called 'the Ampitheatre', surrounded on three sides by cliffs and right under the south side of Jambeyang.

I was slightly dreading the fourth day, expecting it to be tough because of my previous experience of an arduous crossing of the snow-bound Yaka Pass in 2010. But that had been done at the end of a long day when we were exhausted: this time we faced in it reasonably fresh condition. The day started with a frustrating wait at our pre-pass camp. We woke to beautiful clear weather and blue skies, but our porters failed to show up at the agreed 8am start time. Having already packed up, I mooched around impatiently, and was annoyed to see that the clouds and mist were starting to close in again. Our chances of hiking over the Yaka Pass in clear weather appeared to be diminishing rapidly. In any other circumstances it would be an idyllic place to spend a few hours, gazing up at the awesome twin peaks of Zambala and the sunlit pass above us.

However I was still in a shitty mood when the porters eventually showed up at closer to 10am - with no explantion for the delay. Even when we hit the track they appeared to be in no rush to get up the pass, constantly stopping for breaks, while I was itching to get to grips with the slope. On my last crossing six years earlier I had been almost doubled up with exhaustion - so weak I could not even carry my daypack. I'd had to trudge up, step by painful step. This time, however, I seemed to be leaping up the pass as if it was a walk up Malham Cove.

The trail led up the side of a waterfall, where we had a long rest, and then continued up a more rocky trail that the mules struggled with - but it was no problem for agile humans. I was feeling OK but the two young camera guys from CCTV must have been feeling the effects of the altitude because they rode on horseback most of the way up. They didn't look too good, and Yue Qiang in particular looked very sick with a bad cough.

Feeling impatient, I walked on ahead with Gong Que, who scurried around like a terrier investigating flowers and plants - and darting off on side trips to explore nearby areas. The director Qin Rey had to call him back a few times and remind him that he was supposed to be helping set up shots with me, rather than encouraging me to plough on in front before the cameras were ready to film me.

Feeling like I was in restraint, I dawdled along and whistled to myself. For some reason I couldn't get the song of Hartley the Lion from my childhood TV series the Herbs out of my head ...

After a bit of a slog up the trail we eventually reached the top of the northern side of the Yaka Pass, where Gong Que strung up some Tibetan prayer flags. There were nice views back down the Saiyo Katso valley from where we had come the previous day, and our flood-prone campsite of the previous night. However this wasn't the true pass, which was actually a vaguely defined spot a little higher up. This was because the Yaka Pass is not the 'knife edge'  ridge that it appears  to be from a distance. In fact, the pass was a broad expanse of open plateau big enough to put a football field on - if it was for all the huge boulders and outcrops. We paused here for a while as the porters had a smoke and I explained to them the story of how Joseph Rock had come here all the way from Thailand in the 1920s in his quest for plants. There were certainly plenty of alpine plants still in evidence around this 4500m pass.

We then began the descent into the huge Lawatong valley - and towards a test of my nerve, to a scary exposed part of trail where I would have to face my demons again. The trail was a gentle descent to some flooded meadows, from where we had epic views of the cliffs below Jambeyang, along which tomorrow's trail could be seen. The trail runs high up the side of the Lawatong valley, just beneath the top of the cliffs - and it appears that if you tumble down you will roll down the slope and over the edge of a precipice to fall about 1000 feet into the Lawatong valley. The thin line of path looked highly exposed on the steep hillside, but I knew that this was an illusion, and that it was actually not so steep -except for one or two scary bits.

But first we had to splash our way through the marshy grass and traverse a long scree slope below one of the glacier moraines of Jambeyang's south east side. At this point, tucked under a rock buttress we came across the famous 'traveller's rest' shrine that was photographed by Joseph Rock. Six years ago this collection of stone chortens and wall paintings looked little changed from when Rock photographed in in 1928. In 2016, however, the shrine had had some improvements - and there was now a fancy golden chorten had been installed, along with lots of prayer flags. Pilgrims circumambulating the three peaks had left offering of ivory and jade bracelets, necklaces and wads of Chinese currency. Qin Rey filmed me doing a spiel here, and I tried to mumble some serious answers to his questions about religion.

After the shrine and the crossing of the scree field I found myself back in the spot where six years ago we had a major drama - our emergency camping spot. It had been on this bit of mountainside that we had been forced to stop for the evening when our know-nothing guides had failed to find anywhere suitable to lodge for the night. It was a terrible place, with no level ground and no running water - just a patch of fir trees for a bit of shelter from the wind. We had pitched our tent on the track itself - the only bit of level ground - while our guides in 2010 had revealed they had brought no shelter - and had just built a fire and huddled round it for the night!

This time we breezed through because there was simply no reason to pause there - I don't know why they ever chose it as an overnight spot - there was a much better campsite just around the corner.

However, there was a catch - to reach the 'ampitheatre' campground  you have to traverse around the top of some cliffs that leave you exposed for a dramatic fall into the Lawatong valley. At one point the trail narrows and for about ten metres you have to skirt a few sections where there is nothing between you and an almost sheer vertical drop. The path is only one foot wide and I remembered it as being terrifying - had I been imaging this? I quickly found that the answer was a firm no.


When I got to the hairy bit I lost my nerve and had to call Gong Que back to give me a helping hand. There actually wasn't much he could do except provide a steadying hand and the advice - just focus on the track, don't look over the edge!' I staggered over and was relieved when I reached the mini pass at the top of the slope, where a broad trail led down into the ampitheatre. This was another patch of pasture in a spectacular setting. Again there was a small stone shelter where our porters had already settled in and got  fire going. We quickly put up our tents in the lee of a big chorten - and right on cue it started raining.

After dinner I explored the surrounding area and walked up the nearest stream to try get some cleaner water. This magical place seemed so secluded - was this the ultimate Shangri La? Is this where you could ponder the meaning of life? Jambeyang's dagger-like peak loomed above - but the only meaning I could find in this seldom visited spot  was a poster of Audrey Hepburn that had somehow found its way to be discarded in the stream bed!

The magic of this isolated place  was also marred by the large number of camping gas canisters that had been dumped here, presumably by other hikers. Why would you come to such a special place and then despoil it? How hard is it to take your rubbish away? I had a bit of a rant about this to the Chinese film crew for my daily video diary - after I collected about 20 empty canisters from the surrounding grassy area. I laid them out in the shape of the Chinese character Bu! (No!) - to try send a message to other would-be gas canister litter louts.

That night was another stormy one. This time the rain and wind hit so suddenly at about 1pm that I woke up and panicked, thinking the tent had collapsed. It hadn't - just one of the guy ropes had come loose - but the mad flapping of the tent and the heavy drumming of wind-blown rain made me nervous. I was so convinced that my tent was going to blow down that I got out of my sleeping bag and put on all my wet weather gear, in preparation for instant evacuation to the stone hut. However, the worst never came to pass, and I finally managed to nod off about 1am.

Yading Big Kora Trek Diary: Day 3 - Chanadorje to Yaka Pass

Summary: On this day we spent the morning exploring the glacier at the foot of Chanadorje, then hiked over the second pass to enter the Saiyo Katso valley. The head of this isolated valley is blocked by what looks like a sheer wall of rock that leads up to the Yaka Pass. In actual fact it is not so steep and can be hiked up without any need for scrambling.

After waking up to the sound of rain, the morning fined up a little, and after a breakfast in the log cabin I hiked up to the glacier moraine with Qin Rey and Yue Qiang. I went ahead and they filmed me scrambling around on the tip of the glacier. I'd always thought that glaciers would be made of ice - but this one was snow, just like you get on the streets of Leeds - you could have a snowball fight with it. The snow was surprisingly white and clean - I ate a bit ... but only realised why this was an hour later when a huge avalanche of ice and snow crashed down the chute above where we had been standing. Fortunately by this time we had gone back to the tent and were away from the danger zone.

While exploring the glacier I also walked a little further up to see the beautiful waterfall cascading down the brown rock face.

When I walked the 1km back to the tents I saw that Xiao Yu had set up a drone and was filming from above. It was a very timely setup because as soon as we got back the first of several ice falls occurred on the mountain. With a huge booming and crashing noise, tons of white powder swept down the east face, to eventually spew out onto the glacier moraine where we had been exploring!

This shook me up a bit, and I packed up the tent in a subdued mood.

After a lunch of Vitawheat crackers, Laughing Cow cheese and another cup of tea, our mule train set off to tackle the next stage of the trek - the second pass. We hiked up the pebbles of the dried up riverbed and turned left into the forest to ascend up the south west corner of Chanadorje. Once again I went into my "Old Man Walking" mode that I adopted on any upward slope at this altitude. This basically means that I just breathe really slowly and let my breathing dictate my pace of walking rater than the other way round. In practice this means I resemble Neil Armstrong walking on the moon - taking slow deliberate steps and breathing slowly and loudly. It might sound daft, but it enables me to set a slow but sure pace that I can maintain for ages - while the faster walkers take breaks every ten or fifteen minutes.

This slow pace got me up to the top of the first 'false pass'. We paused here, with a view of what we thought was the real Second Pass above us. Qin Rey got me kitted out with a GoPro camera and also set up Yue Qiang with  telephoto TV camera and Xiao Yu got the drone up and running. All this to film me making my way up to the very picturesque Second Pass. I felt like a right wally trudging up across the open country o my own with the drone buzzing round my head like a big white plastic mosquito.

Once at the 'pass' we discovered this still wasn't the main pass, which lay about 500m or so to the right. The route finding here was quite difficult - there was a track branching off to the left, which went down to an isolated farmstead comprising a wooden hut and an outhouse with a few yaks grazing nearby. However the real track went imperceptibly to the left and was hard to find at first - but the pass above was visible as a guide. At this section I walked with our guide Gong Que, who proved to have remarkable eyesight - he could see stuff with his bare eyes that I couldn't even locate with my Leitz 8x32 binoculars! He had seen some birds flitting about in the bush on the ridge that he thought might be vultures. However once I found them with the binoculars they appeared to be large pigeons - they looked like black headed gulls crossed with wood pigeons: - presumably Snow Pigeon.

After cresting the pass we entered the right hand side of the beautiful Saiyo Katso valley. There were two prominent peaks on the opposite, as described by Joseph Rock as Zambala. There was also a mysterious looking green alpine lake set in a basin on the opposite side of the valley. All completely deserted. This really looked like Shangri-La.

It got quite windy as we walked up the valley, following the directions of our Tibetan porters. We assumed they knew where we were going. We  passed under a long scree slope and then had to cross a deep gully carved out of the mountainside by a fast-rushing stream. The opposite side was steep and muddy and I was the last to cross. There was one section of about 3 metres that had no handholds and called for a bit of rough scrambling. The TV crew had already got over this and set up their cameras at the top and were pointing them in my face as I struggled up over the orange brown crumbly rock and slippery mud. As I got near the top I suddenly ran out of handholds and desperately searched around trying to locate something to grip onto to stop me slipping back into the gully. The camera guys just watched dispassionately as I fumbled around, until I lost my temper and yelled to them that I needed a hand, not a camera lens! Qin Rey reached out his hand and pulled me up, just before I slid back down.

For the next bit of walk he posed the question of whether 'the media' should intervene in the events they are filming. He cited the example of the photographer who snapped the famous photo of a vulture looking hungrily at a starving Ethiopian kid. I replied that I didn't give a toss about media ethics - I just wanted a hand and not to break my neck by being left to fall back down the cliff!

As we approached the Yaka Pass at about 4pm the Tibetans led up to an open patch of hillside with a bit of grass about the thick bush. It was hardly suitable for pitching tents because it was covered with rocks and there were few flat bits. Nevertheless the Tibetans dumped our bags there and said they would see us at 8am the next morning - and with that they legged it back down the valley to stay with the locals at the farmstead we had passed.

We put up our tents but I wasn't happy - the site was located high on the hillside and seemed to be something of a wind tunnel for the strong gusts coming down from the pass. I wasn't the only unhappy one - Tibetan guide Gong Que was also thinking it was a rubbish place to camp - and he went to have a recce further down the track. Sure enough, about 10 minutes later he returned saying there was a perfect camping spot further down on the valley floor  sheltered and close to running water. We could see it when we looked 'over the edge' of our hillside perch. He suggested we shift, but Qin Rey and the film crew were reluctant because they had a lot of heavy camera gear that had been carried on horseback. But after some cajoling we eventually  made the move, and  relocated further down. The campsite seemed ideal - lots of flat grassy space, sheltered from the wind behind huge boulders and rock outcrops.

I got my tent set up again and was just starting to boil some water for dinner when a rain squall swept in from the pass. I retreated inside the tent, leaving my gs stove cooking away. The rain increased in intensity and  turned into hailstones. We were in the grips of a flash thunder storm. I cowered inside the tent as the water and hail absolutely pelted down for about ten minutes. When it eased off I re-emerged to find my pan of water almost boiling, and yet with hailstones floating in it. I'm sure a physics expert could calculate the changing thermodynamic equilibrium as the thermal heat from the cooking gas competed with the equal and opposite cooling force of the hail and ice on the pan water.

But academic musing aside, I soon realised I faced a much more serious problem - the flat grassy camping spot had turned into a marsh - and I had pitched my tent right in the spot where draining water was now flowing like a small stream. It was two or three inches deep, but fortunately not high enough to go over he waterproof sides of my inner tent.

Reluctantly I got out and searched around for higher and drier camping spot. By the time I found a place and relocated my tent I was exhausted and hungry. I couldn't face another disgusting dehydrated meal so had one of my 'emergency' rations - pot noodles.

Despite only walking for half a day I felt physically and mentally exhausted, and spent the rest of the evening in my sleeping bag, like a zombie. I must have dozed off at around 10pm but was woken again at about midnight when another thunder storm erupted around us. The tent shook and rain belted down very loudly on the whipping flysheet. Even with earplugs in there was no way I could sleep. To make things worse there was thunder and lightning crashing around very closely. This wasn't suburban thunder, but very real and forceful yellow explosive flashes followed within milliseconds by cracking thunder that echoed off the nearby cliffs. It seemed to be getting closer - and I felt like those Londoners in the Blitz who listened with dread as they heard a stick of falling bombs getting ever closer. I suddenly realised that my tent poles were probably the only bit of metal for miles around - and my tent was pitched near the highest point of the valley. I felt like a perfect target for lightning.

And thus it was a lay nervously in my tent, unable to sleep in the early hours as the lightning continued for about an hour. Just when I thought it had receded there would be a new and sudden eruption. Very un-nerving.

Yading Outer Kora trek diary: Day 2

On the second day we walked over the first pass from Baiyu (Lurong valley) to a spectacular campsite at the base of Chanadorje's eastern face, where a huge glacier terminated.

I slept OK at Baiyu despite pretty much constant rain through the night. My fears about the integrity of the Nemo tent were unfounded - one of the few good things about camping in the rain is the snug feeling of being in a nice dry and warm sleeping bag in the tent. I was also fortunate not to suffer from any altitude effects this time around - no hangover headaches or problems sleeping due to being short of breath or having a dry mouth.

I woke at daybreak on Day 2 to the sound of rain pattering on the flysheet, and managed to drag myself out  of the sleeping bag and get my hiking gear on in the confines of the tent. Fortunately for my frail tent it hadn't been too windy, and the morning was cool rather than freezing when I wandered over to the stone hut to make a cup of coffee and some muesli for breakfast. I was already learning that even the simplest tasks become real chores when camping. Making a cup of coffee, for example - having to go and fetch some water from the stream. Then unpacking the stove and the food bag, find the lighter at the bottom of the pack, get it all set up ... and try boil some water without knocking the pan over in a crowded stone shelter where smoke from the fire turns makes eyes smart and turn bloodshot. Then repeat in reverse...

The mist and low cloud meant there still wasn't much of a view from this spot where Rock had gained such great views of the mountains ( and his description of this spot inspired the whole Shangri-La Blue Moon Valley descriptions in James Hilton' Lost Horizon). No exotic valley for us - just a lot of wet crags looming over us in the mist. And I felt sorry for the mules being left out in these conditions overnight (though they seemed happy with the little grazed areas of fertile paddock).

After breakfast the China TV crew filmed me gazing thoughtfully at the crags and scenery through my binoculars - and also striking my tent, as if I knew what I was doing. I was ready to leave by 9-ish but they faffed around packing up their gear so we didn't hit the trail until about 10am. I just sat in the shelter reading Alexei Sayle's autobiography (Thatcher Stole My Trousers) on my Kindle.

The track up to the pass wasn't particularly difficult - just a bit of a slog up through rocky and rather bleak terrain. We ascended a couple of steeper sections of track and lo and behold, there was the pass ahed - across an open expanse of slate rocks, looking not too far off. We reached it at about midday and I sat down by the prayer flags and chortens to have some cheese and crackers. I'd been worried the cheese brought from Australia would go off but it seemed to keep OK in this cool climate.

Across the pass (4900m?) we entered the familiar territory of the rocky valley that led down to a collection of huts used by Garu Tibetans who were foraging high in the hills in spring for congcao caterpillar fungus. I remembered this descent as being a long slog, but this time it didn't seem so far. I spent much of the descent chatting to Qin Rey, telling his that the scenery reminded me of the Lake District and Yorkshire dales - but of course on a much grander scale.

Qin had a running joke with one of the porters about finding a xiaomaibu (shop) that sold Coke.
We paused for an hour at the huts, where a few local Tibetans were in residence. The porters had some late lunch (tsamba, butter tea & momo bread) there and I gave away a few balloons to the local kids.

We then continued down the track that led to Galuo, but soon branched off on a parallel track to the right that led down to a bridge over a raging creek. The weather by now had really closed in and it was raining, with very little visibility because of the mist. At one point I caught a glimpse of an amazing waterfall - but by the time I'd got my camera out this vision had been swallowed up into the mist. The track down to the bridge through the forest was further than I thought - and it was a very muddy, rocky trail. It would only take one slip or mis-step to twist an ankle.

At the primitive wooden bridge the TV guys insisted on filming me crossing - twice (once from in front, once from behind). Then it was uphill again, back into the forest and we turned in a south-westerly direction towards the source of the Shuiluo stream - and towards Chanadorje. The walk through the fir forest was quite tranquil and pleasant - a few birds could be heard and there were loads of unfamiliar plants and flowers. I'm sure this would be a botanists' paradise.

We crossed three smaller streams before finding ourselves in the riverbed of the more open valley basin that leads up to the base of Chanadorje. I recognised the 'bendy tree' from last time - a spruce that has been deformed into a one-sided shape presumably by the wind. From here it was just a half hour stroll to the open pasture at the base of Chanadorje. Again our view was limited by the low cloud - but it was still an epic spot for campsite - especially with the glacier moraine right in front of us.

We picked a spot next to an isolated and deserted log cabin to make camp. And as if on cue, it started raining as soon as we started to put our tents up - and the floor of my tent was once again soaked.
Once again we steamed our clothes dry in front of the fire, and I took a wander down to the stream to try get some fresh water. Despite being from the glacier the water appeared to be suspiciously like urine: yellow and frothy, so I walked up the dried out river bed looking for cleaner source. I could hear water rushing down from the mountain but could not locate it. Then I found out why - after stumbling over rocks for 500m I located a clear stream running off the mountain - but it seemed to dry up or disappear underground at a spot where there were a lot of prayer flags and primitive chortens - a sacred magic spot?

And thus we settled in to the spot that Rock described as Shingara - The Sea Dragons Snout - where it seemed the icy eastern face of Chanadorje plunged vertically right to our feet. I did another episode of the Daily Video Diary in Chinese, feeling like a right berk trying to describe the 'spirit of the forest' in Mandarin. I suspect the TV crew would use my more spontaneous "Phew - this is brilliant!" remarks captured on their iPhone at the moment we arrived.

Yading Big Kora trek diary: Day 1 - Chonggu to Baiyu camp

The first day was an easy one with only about three hours walking - purposely so, as a way of breaking ourselves in gently to this seven-eight day trek at high altitude. We didn't set off from Chonggu Si until after lunch, partly because this was the earliest that the porters could get the horses together.

My 'solo' trek had morphed into something resembling Hannibal's Crossing of the Alps. The film crew from China Central TV in Beijing consisted of the director/sound guy and two camera guys. They had a ton of camera and audio gear in silver flight cases, so between us we required six mules and three Tibetan porters. And of course we had our Tibetan guide and general gaffer, Gong Que. So in total, eight of us.

We left the guesthouse after lunch and took a Landcruiser down to the end of the road near Chonggu Si monastery, where we loaded the mules up right next to the public toilets. We were watched by quite a few bemused Chinese tourists, who looked more geared up for a trek than we were.

Then it was finally time to start the trek - and this posed a problem because the track started just off from the private road along which ran the electric buggies up to Luorong. Access to this road was strictly patrolled by the Yading park ticket collectors who sought proof of the 80 yuan fare. They adamantly refused to allow us to walk up the road, so we had to take a boardwalk lower down and the cross over and try find the beginning of the track, which the previous day's recce had suggested was about 100m from the 'bus station'. Luckily we had a local guide who showed us that the track actually started about a further 100m beyond the most obvious one - it was just not visible from the road and I would never have found it alone, despite having travelled on it previous trip.

[If you are looking for the start of the track, the best advice I can give is to go to the first buggy bus stop then continue another 100m to a right curve in the road where there is a small park sign.]

And so at about 1pm we were finally off, up the hill through the woods. On my previous trek I had really struggled with altitude and exertion on this initial stage, to the point where I thought I was going to have a coronary - and almost gave up. This time, however, I took it slowly and found I could pace myself going up the hill quite easily without getting out of breath, and had no trouble whatsoever. Again, I put this down to the magical effects of Diamox and perhaps my 4 weeks of walking training at home.

The walk ascended through thick woods for the first hour and the initial sunshine soon gave way to showers - and the ominous rumble of thunder. I did the first of many clothing changes - first removing my fleece and walking in shirtsleeves - then when the rain set in switching from sunhat to rain hat and donning my raincoat.

After about of going up through the forest and passing a rockfall, we passed a chorten and emerged into open hillside. By now it was raining quite steadily and I was already beginning to feel water leaking into my jacket. Even the best GoreTex waterproofs in the world can only stand up to so much incessant rain before they 'wet out' and become damp - and this is what happened to my raincoat. I trudged on through the mist, feeling pessimistic that I would get any views of the mountains in the thick cloud and mist. It was also depressing to see that Tibetan pilgrims had discarded plastic bottles and food wrappers along the trail.

It took another hour or so as we followed the contour round the valley to ascend up into the basin where the Baiyu camp was located. This proved to be a patch of open grass next to a stream, with a couple of wrecked stone shelters and one that had half a roof.

Once we arrived I started to feel cold because of my wet shirt. Foolishly, I had left my fleece in my pack, which was now being carried by one of the horses, about 40 minutes behind us:

I hung around the half shelter beneath the misty crags, making a cup of tea to try ease my cold and miserable mood miserable until the horses finally showed up. At least my soft shell pants stayed reasonably waterproof - and my Scarpa boots had performed superbly, keeping my feet bone dry.

We selected a campsite on a flat patch of ground below the hut, and I discovered that pitching the Nemo Hornet 1P tent in the rain meant it got totally soaked on the floor (because the fly goes on last). Fortunately I'd brought along a sponge and small towel for washing pans - but which proved much more useful for mopping drying up the wet tent floor. It's amazing how wet a tent (and everything else) can get with just a couple minutes exposure to the rain.

And it wasn't just me who was soaked. We were all drenched, regardless of how good our rain gear was. We all crowded into the half shelter, where the Tibetan porters soon got a big fire going, and we spent the next couple of hours huddling round the fire with steam coming off all our clothes (which also got completely covered in ash). This steam drying by the fire was to become a recurring event for the rest of the trek - every afternoon.

I was disapppointed that my recently re-proofed eVent fabric wet weather coat had not stood up to the rain. I was to find that a much simpler solution to keep dry was to simply wear a cheap PVC poncho, kindly lent to me by Qin Rey. It looked daggy, but was completely impermeable to rain - and had the added bonus of keeping my backpack dry (whose contents had already become damp despite the bag having a raincover).

And thus we spent our first evening of the trek at Baiyu - altitude about 4400m and the place where Joseph Rock had spent three days in 1928, marvelling at the sights of Shenrezig and Jambeyang across the Duron (Luorong) valley. Needless to say, we got not such views, only some nice misty crags above us.

I cooked up one of my dehydrated Backcountry hiking meals - Beef Casserole if I remember rightly. It was disgusting, barely edible, seeming to consist mostly of tasteless chewy meat and lots of sweetcorn (which I loathe). I envied the other guys who had brought a week's worth of instant noodles.

The CCTV crew filmed me doing everything - making a cup of tea, drying my clothes, picking my nose. After dinner, sat  in the gloom of the shed next to the fire,  they did the first of what was to become a regular item - the Daily Video Diary. I spoke in Chinese to the camera for a few minutes, describing my thoughts for that day - the experiences, hopes and some of the background to the area. With my limited Chinese vocabulary I found it a real struggle, but they seemed satisfied with the results.

Eventually when it got dark I retreated to the ultralight one man tent, fervently hoping it would stand up to the incessant rain - and regretting that I had not spent an extra couple of hundred dollars and bought the more robust MSR tent that I'd had my mind set on. My tent seemed dry and reasonably comfortable, but I feared it would be too flimsy and too ventilated to stand up to a night of solid rain.

Yading Big Kora Trek Diary: getting there

[Some background: I first completed the Yading Big Kora in 2010 (link here), when I visited with an Aussie companion. We had great weather but felt that we had done the trek in a rush because our guides had pushed us too hard to complete the thing in five days. At that time very few westerners had done the kora and we were walking in unknown territory, without any proper maps. I'd always wanted to revisit the trek and do it 'properly', at a more measured pace and with time to explore some of the tantalising places we had previously rushed through. So in 2016 I found I could get two weeks off work in June and thought I'd make a return to Yading - hoping (in vain as it turned out) that it would be before the onset of the summer-long rainy season.]

I flew out of Sydney on 10th June, a Friday night flight with China Southern, to Guangzhou. I caught a connecting flight to Chengdu the next morning, and took the airport bus (10 yuan) downtown. In the past I have usually stayed at the Traffic Hotel (now Mrs Panda Hostel) in Chengdu because of its proximity to the bus station for Kangding buses. However, this time as I was flying into Daocheng, I stayed at a place called Flipflop Hostel, which was a really nice, friendly and efficient.

The weather in Chengdu was hot and sunny and I was beginning to regret my choice of softshell pants and a merino wool base layer. However, I was later to find this was well justified in the wet and cold Tibetan highlands! Chengdu had changed a lot since my last visit five years ago. The Bank of China wasn't where it used to be - but fortunately there is now an efficient Metro system that took me to the new location, north of the Sports Stadium.

In Chengdu I also bought  a few odds and ends that I thought I might not be able to get in Daocheng - such as Nescafe. I faced he dilemma of not being able to take camping gas fuel on the flight - again, I needn't have worried - there is an outdoor shop in Daocheng's main square.

On Sunday 12th June I got my 7am flight to Daocheng from the airport - but only after a last minute panic because it departed from Terminal 2, about 800m away from Terminal  1, where I was dropped off by taxi. I hadn't realised that the flight on Sichuan Airlines was to the highest airport in the world. Daocheng-Yading airport is at an altitude of something like 4400m, but it's not at all scary to fly in there - I have worse landings at Leeds Bradford airport. The flight was only about an hour, and we got great views of the Gongga Shan range on the way in.

Landing on the Tibetan Plateau was a bit of an anticlimax - the airport is set amid a lot of tarns on a flat, rocky landscape about 40km north of Daocheng. There's nothing much at the airport except for a space-age terminal. Looks like they have only 1-2 flights per day. I had been worrying about having altitude sickness when I got off the plane, but didn't feel bad at all - perhaps thanks to the Diamox I had started taking two days earlier.

On arrival at the airport I was met by a documentary maker for CCTV9, Qin Rey and his crew of camera and sound guys, namely Yue Qiang and Xiao Yu. They are making a documantary of the Gongga Shan region and chose my trek in the footsteps of Joseph Rock as one of the topics for a programme. For the next eight days they would be filming me almost constantly.

Qin Rey had a lot of useful local connections, and this meant he had already arranged some great accomodation in Riwa (now re-named Shangri-La). We stopped over in Daocheng to do a bit of last minute shopping. It had also changed a lot in the last six years - the main high street has been 'modernised' and the old guesthouses bulldozed. The centre of town now has a huge plaza, complete with statues of yaks. On the plus side, it also has an outdoor supplies shop - so if you are wanting to pick up supplies such as gas or gear this is obviously very handy.

We drove over to Riwa and the weather wasn't looking great - overcast with a bit of light rain. In Riwa we stayed at a great guesthouse called the Four Seasons Lotus Inn -  courtesy of the local government who were said to be very moved by my long term interest in their area! This was a pleasant surprise because the posh guesthouse usually costs around 600 a night. Qin Rey's connections also helped in getting into the Yading National Park. This usually costs a fortune - around Y280 - and you also have to take a special shuttle bus to Yading (again at high cost). However because of our inside track, we were able to drive in all the way to Yading in the Landcruiser.

At Yading we stayed at one of the many guesthouses built in Tibetan style. Again, Yading has seen quite a bit of change since my last visit in 2010 - most of the old guesthouses have been upgraded and expanded, and some are really quite grand. I ended up sharing a room with our would-be Tibetan guide, Gong Que, who hails from Kangding. He looked like a real cowboy with his stetson-type hat and flamboyant silk waistcoat - but he proved to be a real joker and all round nice guy.
The weather in Yading wasn't that great - low cloud and occasional showers. I was now glad I'd brought my wet weather gear and thermals because even in mid June it was quite chilly, especially after dark.
We stayed at Yading village for two days, acclimatising and getting our gear ready for the trek. On the first day we flagged down one of the shuttle buses, which took us (and a lot of other Chinese tourists) all the way up to Chonggu Si monastery. The road now extends all the way up to the monastery (in 2010 it had only gone as far as the 'park entrance gate' , now demolished, at the bottom of the hill.)

There were huge numbers of Chinese tourists going up to Chonggu monastery on the concrete path - and all of them seemed to be kitted out for some serious walking: trekking poles, rainjackets, boots. A few were carrying canisters of oxygen. On my last trip I had found myself struggling to walk up even mild gradients at Yading, because of the altitude - but this time I felt OK. Again, maybe it was the Diamox - or perhaps all those evening training sessions I'd done, walking up and down the hills of Lane Cove with a 15kg pack on!

Chonggu Monastery was undergoing some serious extension and restoration work. A whole new wing was being built, and I hardly recognised the place from my first visit. The original prayer hall was still there, but now dwarfed by the new big buildings.

Qin Rey and the TV guys organised an on camera  'interview' between and the new Living Buddha in the old prayer hall that I had visited in 1996. He was a smiley, ebullient guy who spoke rapid accented Mandarin that I could barely understand. He told me about the different deities who resided in each mountain. I asked him about the impact of mass tourism on the area, but he said this was not a problem - and he wished the local government would further open up the area to visits in the same way as Jiuzhaigou had one. Tourism had really improved the livelihoods of local people, he said, and there's no law in Buddhism that says you must stay in wretched backbreaking poverty, he added.

After this bizarre interview was over we went up to the small lake, Zhuoma Tso, beneath Shenrezig. It's now all laid out with duckboards, from which you must not depart- strictly keep off the grass. There wasn't much of a view because of the low cloud - but there were huge numbers of people there taking photos.

Back at the guesthouse I noticed that there was a young European woman staying there, but she seemed  a bit cold and snooty. At dinner I saw her sat with a group from Shanghai, who explained they were from an advertising agency and had come to do a photo shoot for fur coats. The cold blonde was a Russian model who was not impressed by her surroundings or companions (she spoke no Chinese) and looked quite sulky.

On our second Yading acclimatisation day we were up early and after a breakfast of pancakes, hard boiled egg and rice porridge, headed off up the Luorong valley on the electric buggies to go see Milk Lake (Niunai Hai) and Five Colours Lake (Wuse Hai). The weather was wet and gusty, but at least we got waved through for a free trip on the buggy - the CCTV connections working well again.

I didn't find the walk up to the lakes particularly strenuous, but some of the others did. I employed my usual go-slow, walk-like-an-old-grandad pacing and managed to get up there without feeling too bad.
The only problem was there were so many other tourists going up the muddy path and it was sometimes frustrating to have to linger behind a slow-moving group. It was also annoying to see so many people playing music out loud on their phones. So much for communing with nature.
I just felt like I'd got into my stride when we reached the lakes - and decided to carry on up to the pass rather than hang around amid all the trinket sellers.

So me and Gong Que left the young ones behind and continued up the gentle incline past the lakes, and made it to the Thee-Way Pass after about another half an hour. Must be over 4500m, but I still didn't feel I was taxing myself. We strode over to the other side of the pass where we had lunch looking down over the lake that Rock called Russo Tso and which locals told m is known as Lerxi Zuo in he local dialect.We would be coming past this lake in a week's time all being well - from the opposite direction.

On the way back down we got a few exhilarating glimpses of Jambeyang and Shenrezig when the clouds parted. The weather was a mixture of rain squalls and gusty winds. My gear appeared to be keeping me dry - and everything seemed to be working OK, so the recce had been a success - time to go back to the guesthouse and prepare for the trek starting the next day!

Yading Big Kora: lesson learned from my second circuit

I've just come back from Yading, where I did a 7 day circuit of Chanadorje, Jambeyang and Shenrezig. I originally intended to do this solo but had the good fortune to link up with Qin Rey and his colleagues from CCTV-9, who accompanied me on the trip so they could make a documentary about the kora - and its links with Joseph Rock's plant hunting expeditions. The documentary is part of a 3-part series on the Gongga Shan and surrounding area, due to air in 2017. Their assistance was invaluable - it made it so much easier to gain access to the Yading National Park (now a whopping 300 yuan entry fee) and also to hire porters etc.
The trek was great - we took 7 days to do the full circuit, and I will write a full track report in due course. However, it was marred by rain on almost every day - something I should have anticipated given that the 'monsoon' season starts in early June. So here are  a few lessons from the trek on what worked and what didn't.


#1 Don't go in the rainy season (June- end August)

My previous trip was in May 2010 and this was marred by ice and snow on the passes. It seems there is a very narrow window of opportunity to get clear weather in spring, but before the rainy season kicks in in early June. Lesson: go in Sept-Nov (but not Golden Week around 1 Oct).

#2 Take Diamox for altitude sickness

With average altitudes in the region of 4000m (and some of the passes at around 5000m), the big kora comes with a certain risk of altitude sickness. On my first two trips I suffered from the usual headaches, lethargy and lack of sleep, combined with dry throat and raging thirst at night. I also struggled to walk up very gentle slopes - and thought I would die of heart failure with any prolonged exertion. This time round, I started Diamox (acetazolamide) two days before departure and it made a world of difference. It basically allowed me to function as if I were at sea level - I allowed three days acclimatisation, and suffered no altitude sickness at all - and felt that hiking up the steepest pass (Yaka La, 4700m) was much like walking up Malham Cove in Yorkshire. My fellow trekkers had very bad altitude sickness, so I felt pretty smug about my performance enhancing drug results.

#3 Goretex rain jackets don't work - take a poncho

I thought I'd given my rain gear a pretty thorough testing in Sydney's heaviest downpours for years. I was wrong.  I found that my eVent rainproof jacket only stayed waterproof for the first day of rain (despite being recently re-proofed at great expense). After that it 'wetted out' and let in some water. My shirt was damp around the shoulders and arms. (I found the best solution was to wear my merino thermals as base layer, which though wet still kept me feeling warm and dry-ish. Everyone else on the hike had the same water leakage problems with their breathable rain jackets. We were saved by some cheap PVC ponchos. These were inelegant but kept us (and our packs) dry without making us feel clammy and sweaty - obviously because their is plenty of ventilation! My Patagonia soft shell trousers worked well at repelling rain and mud for a few hours, but also became saturated eventually (but to be fair they dried out very quickly). The best performers in the wet were my Scarpa Delta GTX boots, which kept my feet dry and warm despite being subject to a week of continual rain, stream bashing and ankle-deep sucking mud.
Lesson learnt - have waterproof bags for everything in your bag, especially your sleeping bag. (The waterproof iPhone cover also probably saved my phone from drowning).

#4 Don't rely on dehydrated meals for a week.

On most of my previous treks I have used the expensive ($11 a pop) Back Country Cuisine dehydrated meals for my dinners. These may be OK for a day or two, but I soon became sick of them - most seem to consist of tasteless meat, soggy rice or noodles, and loads of sweetcorn (which I detest). I found that pot noodles (fangbian mian in Chinese) were much more palatable and seemed to fill the gaps when combined with a bit of mashed potato and some beef jerky. And a lot cheaper too. For lunch I found myself very satisfied with Vitawheat and a mix of Babybel and Laughing Cow cheeses that I'd picked up in the supermarket - they didn't seem to go off over the week. I also learned that fun-size Snickers bars may be OK for energy - but it's impossible to walk and chew at altitude. A much better boost for getting up those 'up' bits was a pack of Werther's Originals (a bit like Murray Mints from the UK). Suck it and see.

#5 If you want to get ahead get a hat

The rapidly changing weather meant that I started the day with a fleece hat for warmth, switched this for a broad-brimmed, vented sunhat once I started walking in the glare, but then inevitably swapped this for a (polyester, quick drying) baseball cap to fit under my rainhood for the rainy periods.

#6 Other indispensable items: 

Sunscreen, teabags, spare torch batteries, Chinese Nescafe sachets, a bit of dubbin to re-proof the boots, some photos of family to show locals, photocopies of Google map 3D views of route (went down really well with local guides and helped route planning). A sponge ( for moping up water from tent floor after putting it up in the rain). Kindle, Thermarest, Swiss Army Knife, Iodine tablets, a waterproof head torch, some mementoes (baloons for kids), cheap sunnies (don't mind if lost or broken). Lucky batik scarf (acts as emergency towel, camera lens cleaner, eyemask, bandana and smoke filter).

#7 Don't forget to breathe

I find that breathing in and out helps me to get through the day, especially on high altitude treks. It may sound obvious, but at heights of 4000m or more there isn't as much oxygen in the air - and I used to find myself doing step counting to try achieve a manageable walking pace without becoming a gasping cripple. I now realise I was doing it the wrong way round. I now rely on my Advanced, Patent Pending 'Breathe-Like-An-Old-Geezer' method for going up hills when more than 4km higher than sea level. This involves breathing in and out slowly, a bit like Neil Armstrong on the moon. I set the walking pace according to my breathing rate, not the other way round. I find that this way I start out with a ridiculously slow pace, but this soon builds up a steady rhythm that allows me to keep plodding on for an hour or so while the 'hares' are having rest stops every five minutes.

In my next post: Why my Nemo Hornet tent surprised me. Why you shouldn't pitch your tent in a wind tunnel or potential river. And where you can get camping gas (butane/propane) supplies in Daocheng. Plus: why walking poles are for wankers.

Some things I've learnt from my Yading trek preparations

It absolutely poured down this weekend in Sydney (and the rest of the Australian east coast). Something like 300mm of rain. While most people stayed home and watched the TV reports of the floods, I was out giving my gear the ultimate waterproofing test. I was glad I did because I found that my usual MacPac rainjacket was not very breathable and hence I ended up really wet anyway from sweat. This might be because it has lost its built in waterproofing (DWR according to the jargon). I tried to fix this with some NikWax spray, but it didn't seem to make much difference when I tried it the next day. So I will instead opt for my more daggy REI jacket, which seem to be more breathable - maybe due to the eVent fabric.

Having said that, even the REI jacket was still damp inside after a couple of hours plodding round in the rain. I made the classic rookie mistake of wearing cotton as my base layer (a usually comfortable T-shirt) - it got wet and stayed sopping wet. After a bit of reading I learned that a merino or polypro base layer was the way to go - so I picked one up at Mountain Designs and what a difference it made! I was able to stroll around in the rain, slightly damp from the rainjacket but still feeling warm and comfortable.

The rain also taught me that I needed to get some new boots. My trusty old Kathmandu ones soaked up water like sponges and I was squelching around feeling very miserable. My previous treks over the Dokerla and to Yading etc had all been in mostly dry conditions, so I hadn't noticed how porous my footwear was after prolonged rain. Anyhow, those wet and soggy feet sent me down to Paddy Pallin where I picked up some Scarpa Deltas, which proved to be most waterproof in the rain.

To build up my knees in preparation for the trek I have been hiking up and down the steep street that I live on - this has also taught me how to adjust the  straps & belt of my Macpac Cascade pack. I have also learned that I need to have a hat with some ventilation - the usual closed hat gets too sweaty.
So I am now pretty much prepared - one last minute purchase may be a pair of softshell pants so that I don't have to take a spare pair of overtrousers.

For food, I'm planning to survive on muesli/milk powder/coffee for brekkie; VitaWheat and salami/cheese for lunch; dehydrated meals plus some mash spuds and bagel toast for dinner. Snacks will be mostly Snickers bars (though I still call them Marathons, betraying my 1970s British upbringing.)

The only other essential piece of kit is a bottle of Diamox. I only realised at the last minute that I will be flying in to the highest airport in the world this weekend - Daocheng-Yading airport is billed as being at 4400m! Must be on the plateau, because Daocheng town is listed as being 3750m. Hence the Diamox for high altitude.

The only blot on the planning front has been the loss of my film supplies through the incompetence of Australia Post. I'd bought 10 rolls of 120 film for my Rolleiflex via eBay - but the delivery never arrived. Well it did, according to Australia Post but they must have left it on the step because I never saw it. I am now weighing up whether to take the Rolleiflex with just 9 rolls of 12-exposure colour transparency  film - or to take my 35mm backup camera, a battered Bessa R2 (with Leica Summicron 35mm lens), for which I have 12 rolls of 36 exposure film.

Nemo Hornet 1P Tent Review

I have been looking for a lightweight tent to do the Yading outer kora next month (I gave away my last crappy solo tent to a guy at Qiunatong on the Nujiang last year, when I urgently needed to lighten the load to get across the border illicitly into Tibet on the back of a motorbike).
For this trip I had in mind an MSR NX Solo 1-person tent. I already have an MSR 3-person Hubba tent and it's great quality. However, at around $770 retail the Solo ain't cheap. I almost managed to bag one on Gumtree for about $450, but someone else beat me to it.
While browsing at Paddy Pallin  I saw they had an alternative - the Nemo Hornet 1P. It seemed ridiculously lightweight - 910g, which is like a feather even compared to the Solo (which is only about 1.2kg).
Again, quite pricey at $580 when new, but I saw one on sale on Gumtree for $400 and snapped it up. I bought it from a Canadian cyclist who had only used it once and didn't need it. And bonus - he threw in a free footprint worth $60.

Well, I tried the tent out this weekend as a prelude to using it on the kora. I took it to The Basin at Pittwater to give it a gentle introduction to the great outdoors. The tent is pretty easy and self explanatory to put up - a Y pole that plugs into round slots, so that it is pretty much freestanding. However my main first impression is just how thin the tent material is - it feels almost paper thin. Apparently the Nemo Hornet is only 7 denier (whatever that means) fabric. It certainly feels flimsy and I wouldn't want to give it any rough treatment or hard wear and tear. A couple of times I panicked when caught the fabric while trying to do up the zip - and very carefully picked it apart, worried that it might rip.

The other thing that doesn't inspire confidence with the Nemo are the plastic hooks that connect the inner tent to the pole - they look fragile, but I haven't tested them out in a strong wind. Thirdly, the fly doesn't go all the way down to the ground - it has a kind of mankini effect, leaving exposed inner tent, where the groundsheet is extended about a foot above ground. I suppose in theory if you had anything less than horizontal rain you should be OK - but it doesn't look reassuring. Overall, I would be a bit worried about using this tent in prolonged gusty conditions.

When pitched, the tent seems solid and appears quite stable. There is capacity for an additional three guy lines to really anchor it. I'm taking the extra pegs, but hope I don't have to use them.
I had the campsite pretty much to myself and turned in at 10pm to give the tent it's first try out. The Nemo has enough space for one tall person to sit up with just enough head room. It's not a bivvy bag - but it's not a mansion either. When lying down there's just about enough space around your head for a few personal effects, and that's about it. Forget about bringing your pack inside unless you use it as a pillow, sideways. I managed to drag my Macpac Cascade into the vestibule between the fly and inner tent mesh - but it was a squeeze and had to put my pack on its side.

Once in the tent it was comfortable and very airy - as you would expect given that much of the inner is just mesh. That makes it OK for a cool Australian night, but not sure I'd be be taking this anywhere too icy.

I slept OK in the tent, it was warm and well ventilated in temperatures that went down to about five degrees - and there was no condensation inside the tent itself. However the fly got completely soaked with dew overnight and didn't seem at all water repellant - good job it wasn't touching the sides. The other thing I really noticed again was how gossamer thin the groundsheet is - you really need to have the footprint, especially if you are camping on anything vaguely sharp such as rocks, stones or twigs.

So my overall impression on this baby test is that the Nemo Hornet 1P is neat, well designed ultralight tent. It's amazingly lightweight and that's why I have chosen it. I'm taking a chance with it on the kora, but only because I know there are stone shelters at strategic points along the way that I can use for emergency shelter should the need arise. I'll let you know how it fares under those conditions once I'm through.

UPDATE: The Nemo tent worked out OK on the trek, though I was worried about the rain sometimes. Here the review that I posted on the Nemo site:

I was wary about taking my new Hornet 1P on a seven day trek into the Tibetan borderlands of Yading. The average altitude was 4200m and we experienced pretty much continual rain for the whole trip. I was surprised (and obviously relieved) to find that the tent stood up well to the continual rain - even during thunder and rainstorms. I had to move the tent at one point because our chosen campground became swamped - but that wasn't a fault of the tent, which stayed dry despite sitting in 3 inches of water. I found the tent a little cramped - just enough room for me and my pack in the vestibule. But it was comfortable and roomy enough to change gear in. Ii is well ventilated and so I wouldn't recommend it for camping in snow or icy conditions.

My only criticisms of the tent are: 1. Pitching in the rain means the floor gets wet as the fly goes up last. Fortunately I'd brought a sponge for cleaning pans and this helped wipe up the water. 2. The inner tent zip kept getting caught on the fly - I worried it would rip (but it didn't). 3. The extra guylines were hard to see - people kept tripping over them, so I had to stick walking poles around them as warning markers.

Yading Big Kora - planning on making a detour

On my forthcoming trip to Yading in June I hope to do a little detour on the final sections. Thanks to the wonders of Google Earth 3D I have discovered this side valley with some alpine lakes that looks like it's worth exploring. So on the final stretch, instead of the usual route heading over the  7th Pass and returning to Chonggu monastery (in blue) I'm planning a little side trip (in red). Of course it's easy to make plans on Google Earth and find that in real life on the ground it is not so do-able. I found this out to my discomfort when i tried descending alone from the Balagong pass above Dimaluo in Yunnan two years ago. Looks straightforward on Google Earth but the reality was very thick bush, followed by a series of farmsteads each guarded by a rabid Tibetan mastiff!
But anyway I shall give it a go. Nothing to lose in trying.

Starting to train for the Yading Big Kora ...

I am trying to improve my fitness for the forthcoming Yading kora, by doing a few preparatory treks and testing my knackered knees with some climbing of the fire exit stairs in my 14-storey office (complete with 10kg weighted backpack).

One of my main concerns for the kora is acclimatisation to the 3000-4000m altitude, especially as I have only two weeks in total, and little spare time to get used to the altitude.

The other worry is how I will carry enough food for six-seven days travel - it looks like my pack is going to be pretty heavy to start with. I'll be relying on my usual diet of salami/crackers with a dehydrated dinner supplemented with some mash potato. One possible solution is to arrange for a food stash to be left at the three way pass (day five). This can be reached from Luorong, via the two lakes, and I may even do this myself as a way of acclimatising.

And my other great fear is dogs: anyone who has walked in remote Tibetan areas will know what I mean. The dogs kept by yak herders and farmers are vicious, aggressive beasts. We didn't encounter any on our last trek, but that was because we didn't stay in any settlements. My concern is that if I go off track or there are new 'camps' up high then I may run into dogs. Eek.

For these reasons I will be looking to get a guide at Yading. Easier said than done, if last time is anything to go by. And even if i do find a guide, I'm also wondering what he/she will do for shelter. I'm planning to stay at the stone huts along the way, where possible - but they are very bleak shelters with no warmth other than the fire you can build if there' any wood to be had. I'm taking mt Nemo Hornet 1 person tent, which is incredibly light - but barely big enough for one.

Yading Big Kora preparations

I'm due to be landing in Daocheng around the 12th of June, flying in from Chengdu. This is a first for me as I've usually taken the bus in via Kangding and Litang. But with limited time, I'm hoping I will not be too much affected by the sudden arrival at altitude.
My other concern is finding a guide to help me round the mountain. I don't actually need a guide - I know the way pretty well by now ... but to help my carry my gear and provide protection. I hope I can find somebody good - not like the clowns we hired last time, who didn't know the way beyond the second day and didn't bring tents or sleeping bags. It's hard to find guides in May/June because it's the caterpillar fungus collecting season. The locals can make more money from chongcao than from guiding. Maybe I will just have to go it alone - which is a bit of an ask at my age. Ah well, we shall see.
It's been five years since my last trip and I hope there haven't been too many other ugly developments around the Yading site. Last time I was shocked to find that an eyesore of a concrete  road had been laid all the way up tranquil Luorong pasture to accomodate the electric golf buggy-style tourist transport carriers. With a bit of luck there still won't be any of the hordes beyond the 5000 first pass.
The picture above shows the stone 'bothy' above Luorong at the beginning of the ascent  to the first pass. This is intended to be my first night's stay.

UPDATE: I corrected this post to show that I'll be trekking in June, not July. The rainy season starts in mid June - by July it will be overcast and wet at Yading - not good for trekking.

Why did Joseph Rock lead such a solitary life?

It's often said that Joseph Rock was an eccentric. He was an irascible man who lived alone in the wilds of China. He never married and seemed to have few real friends. I've sometimes wondered what made him choose that kind of life - especially given he was an accomplished botanist who could have led a life of the well-regarded expert in the US. Was he a repressed homosexual or a tortured soul who never recovered from his strict Catholic upbringing? I don't think so.
Perhaps this musing from his diaries may explain what really motivated him: