White-water rafting on the Zanskar River: a near-death experience

Believe it or not, the drive to the launch spot was scarier than the white-water rafting itself, and we even flipped the raft. That’s not to say rafting on the Zanskar doesn’t get the adrenaline pumping. I just have a mortal fear of overtaking on blind bends, particularly when there’s a sheer drop to one side.

Despite my buttock clenching, there is no denying the drive to Chilling, the start of the 26km white-water run, was spectacular. Beginning in Leh, capital of the Ladakh region of Jammu & Kashmir, the mini-bus took us along the parched Indus Valley, and then veered off to follow the exotically named Zanskar River. Gradually the Zanskar Valley narrowed, swallowing our mini-bus into insignificance as we journeyed deeper into a towering gorge of reds, purples, greys and browns.

Twelve rather shaken tourists disembarked and poured themselves into wet suits, life jackets and helmets. The introduction to white-water rafting was straightforward but thorough, demonstrating the basic commands, technique and particularly safety instructions. It was all well thought out with numerous life-preserving measures in place, including a team in a van keeping watch from the road and an extremely agile man in a kayak travelling alongside us. Before our group was split into two rafts, someone had the presence of mind to ask what to do if the raft flipped. “Hold on to the lifeline (a rope going all the way around the raft) and wait for further instructions,” our guide said. “And never let go of your paddle – it’s expensive!”

Lecture over, we clambered into two rafts, six tourists in each. Our boat held me, Craig, an English couple and two Polish men. After a bit of practice, we let the seething, sediment-heavy Zanskar carry us along. The fish-eye views were even more impressive than the views from the road. The canyon soared above us, high into an impossibly blue sky. Mountains streaked with colour came and went out of view as we sped along at a surprisingly fast rate. The route is graded two and three – not too intense but certainly not boring – and the first few rapids had both boats whooping.

I admit it, by the time we reached the first serious rapids our raft, including our guide, was getting rather overconfident. The river narrowed as it surged under a bridge and we paddled our way over a gushing waterslide onto a patch of water that looked like shifting sand. Our guide told us to sit in the middle of the raft as he showed off, manoeuvring us on top of a standing wave, a section of turbulent water that goes downwards instead of along, like a whirlpool but without the whirl. For a few seconds everything was exhilaratingly novel but then the front left corner of the raft was slowly sucked under and water poured in. We flipped.

I kept my grip on the lifeline but saw Craig and some of the others fly out of the raft. I can’t imagine what it was like for them, but I felt myself being sucked downwards and it was all I could do to keep hold of the lifeline. Always a sad sucker for following instructions, I managed to hang on to my paddle too. A few seconds (they felt like eons) later, I bobbed back up to the surface next to the raft, about 10 metres from where it flipped. I couldn’t see anyone. Rather embarrassingly I began to maniacally scream Craig’s name. I had visions of him stuck in a muddy Zanskar grave underneath a mass of downward-pressing water.

After an eternity of mewling out for Craig, for anyone, and hearing only the hated drone of river rushing by my ears, I heard a voice that sounded vaguely Canadian. It turned out the river had sucked Craig down and, when he thought he wouldn’t make it out alive, vomited him up about 20 metres from the raft. Within a year (probably seconds) our guide appeared on top of the upturned raft and after motioning for us to move to the ends of the raft, yanked on a rope to flip it back over (I didn’t move in time, I’d like to add, and it landed on my head but that was nothing compared to what went before!). Bedraggled and shaken, all six of us were pulled back on board, with some help from the other raft, which, incidentally, also managed to squash me between it and our stricken craft as part of the international rescue effort.

Emergency over, the old cockiness made a comeback and our boat once again held the most hardcore rafters in India, apart from the two Polish guys who decided to abort when we pulled ashore for a well-earned break about 10 minutes later. The rest of the journey was spent recounting (and exaggerating) our individual experiences of The Flipping, taking in the surroundings and generally feeling lucky to be alive. The man in the kayak somehow managed to retrieve all of our sodden belongings from the Zanskar, including water bottles and a Marks & Spencer bag fresh from Britain, before spending the rest of the ride lithely skipping around the rafts like a playful dolphin.

The remainder of the trip passed with little drama – no grade three rapid can count as drama following The Flipping – and we drifted down to join the Indus River and toast our safe arrival with a bottle of Godfather Super Strong, a Kashmiri beer “guaranteed between 5.25 and 8.0% ABV”.

We booked our Zanskar River white-water rafting experience through Dreamland Trek & Tour (Fort Road, Leh) and it was run by Splash Adventures (Old Fort Road, Leh), but there are literally dozens of other tour companies offering similar trips, overturning of raft not guaranteed.