Getting from Pangong Lake to Turtuk: the Landslide Didn't Bring Us Down

A queue of vehicles waiting out the landslide

This is part of a series that describes the road trips we took from Leh. This post covers getting from Pangong Lake to Turtuk. The other posts in the series are:

• Day trip to the south of Leh (Takthok, Chemrey, Hemis, Thiksey, and the Shey Palace)

• Overnight trip to Lamayuru (Indus River, Bagso, Likir, Alchi, and Lamayuru)

• Overnight visit to Pangong Lake   

• Turtuk Village 

You can also find a post with a little bit of background on the Ladakh region here.

The prices to hire car and driver for these trips and many others are set by the Leh Taxi Union. You can find current prices at their website.

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Getting from Pangong Lake to Turtuk: Embrace the Chaos!

We had expected it to be a very long drive from Pangong Lake to the village of Turtuk, and that was before the landslide.

At first it was disheartening when, along with all the other vehicles trying to drive up the Shyok River Gorge, we simply pulled to a stop and sat there. Waiting in the road.

At first, it was frustrating to get the news that there had been a landslide somewhere up ahead and the road was blocked off until a crew could get it clear.

At first, it was intimidating to wonder if the wait would be so long we would end up needing to spend the night right here, in the van parked dead in the street.

At first.

And then the inner travel child in me took over as I realized I was stuck behind a landslide in the Karakoram Mountains. A glacial river, small but furious, tore through the gorge to my right. A group of smiling young men sat happily on the ground to my left, a pot of tea bubbling over a makeshift fire. Granite walls rose above us all on both sides of the river, pinching out the sky and making the scene feel . . . cozy.

This was the stuff I had read about, dreamed about since I was a kid. What explorer worth their salt had not been in a similar situation?

I was almost disappointed when our driver came back from checking with the group of young men, explaining that they expected the road would be open again very soon.

Roads like this are more than a little vulnerable to landslides

Not Actually the River of Death

The stretch of road between Pangong Lake and Turtuk follows the Shyok River for long sections. This is the kind of road that clings to cliffs, disappears into rivers, and reappears when it feels like it. It does not run on your schedule.

The road runs parallel to a river whose name is often mistranslated as the “river of death” (in reality, “Shyok” comes from Tibetan for “gravel mover”).

The scenery is stark and jaw-dropping—bare rock valleys, shredded mountains, and the occasional military outpost reminding you just how close you are to oft contest international borders.

The road itself exists thanks in large part to the Indian army, which keeps this area stitched together with enough asphalt to facilitate the logistical necessities of fighting either of the two countries India has battled with in this region in recent memory (China and Pakistan).

It’s a shorter route between where we were (Pangong Lake) and where we wanted to go (Turtuk) than going back through Leh, but also wild, remote, and wildly unpredictable. As we were finding out.

Daughter 2 waiting out the landslide

Th ewife, keeping the good attitude while waiting out the landslide

On the Road Again

Our wait was less than two hours. Just enough time to try to make friends with the others milling about, and maybe get a little reading done.

When they announced that the road was open and vehicles could carefully make their way through the newly cleared section, we found that the group of young men had actually been coming from the other direction. They started to walk back to the other side where their truck was waiting.

Men hanging on for dear life to the outside of our van.

But it turned out, we were able to give them a ride. About 20 men clambered on to the outside of our van, standing on any little foothold they could find. Sitting on the hood. Standing on the bumper. Dangling precariously from the doors. It was almost impossible for us to see out through the cocoon of humanity that had wrapped itself around our car.

The trip across the erstwhile landslide-covered section of the road was a bit of a bouncy thrill ride, and I worried that one (or more) of the men would be thrown off their perch into the river (thereby validating those who refer to it as the “river of death”). But they rode the roiling van like a surfer on a wave: with grace, and style, and more than a little beauty. I think one of them hung on to his cup of tea and sipped it, daintily and without spilling a drop, while the van heaved to and fro.

We dropped them safely on the other side, and they gave us a big cheer as they drove away.

And we settle back into our seats for the rest of our trip to Turtuk. Because travel is sometimes a waiting game.

The young men waving their farewell