If 2025 was a bad year for Ladakh, August was a catastrophic month—when a combination of climate change and a rare weather phenomenon resulted in a deluge. The merging of western disturbances from the Mediterranean and the Indian monsoon resulted in 80.2mm of rain in Ladakh through the month, leading to flash floods, soil erosion and widespread damage to infrastructure, like bridges.
Flights in and out of Leh faced prolonged disruptions through the month, with regions cut off for days on end. For context, Ladakh, which falls in the rain shadow of the main Himalayan Range, has an arid climate and next to no summer precipitation, with the mean average rainfall for August being a mere 4.8mm. The rain last year was about 20 times over normal.
Ladakh has witnessed severe summer downpours before, but almost entirely in the form of intense cloudbursts. What differentiated the August rain from incidents in 2006, 2010 and 2016 was that this wasn’t a single or two-day downpour, but steady rain that lasted through the month.
Caught in the unseasonal rain were tourists, especially trekking groups attempting various popular trails across Ladakh, including along the valley of the Markha river, a tributary of the Zanskar. The Markha Valley trek, which winds up the riverside and crosses the Kongmaru La towards Hemis, is considered an easy hike and a great introduction to Ladakh’s unique environment. For Sujoy Das, who was leading a group for his Kolkata-based trekking outfit South Col Expeditions, it turned out to be a nightmare.
STRANDED IN THE DELUGE
“It’s a standard seven-day trek, nothing fancy nor very difficult. We started out from Leh on 23 August, drove to Chilling (the point where the Markha joins the Zanskar) and then on a jeepable track to the village of Skiu,” says Das, 65, who occasionally writes on the Himalaya for Lounge. The trek proper starts from there, but by then a steady downpour had begun. “This wasn’t the rain we are used to in Ladakh. It rained non-stop for the next 72 hours,” he says.
Soon, the Markha had swelled, making river crossings nerve-racking, even as the water began to encroach on the trail itself. A wooden bridge collapsed just after the party had crossed it, and one of the pack ponies fell in the river. Thankfully, it managed to swim to shore. “What would have been a 4-5-hour walk became a 9-hour one. We limped into Markha village late in the evening.”
Meanwhile, it kept raining, and the river kept rising to the extent that it was impossible to sleep in the tents. The party had to take refuge in one of the village homestays to stay dry, but once inside, the mud roof started leaking. The trekking party decided to wait out the next day in the village. While the rain continued, heavy snowfall began in the upper reaches of the valley.
“We met a few teams returning down the valley. They had headed up earlier, but they had been unable to cross the pass. So, on the third day I decided that we should also go back. To push on in this situation was not advisable,” says Das. The decision to quit the trek was a wise one, but that didn’t make the retreat any easier. The rain had slackened a bit, and the conditions were easing up, but as the party made its way downriver, they were faced with a picture of utter devastation. The trail that they had walked up a couple of days earlier was now largely destroyed, with big landslides and rock falls all along the valley.
The group slowly navigated this dangerous terrain to reach Skiu, but found that large portions of the jeep track too had been wiped out. This meant another two days’ trudge through heavy mud and landslide zones, until they reached a point where a vehicle could come and pick them up. The group had navigated seven landslides between Skiu and Chilling alone, walking 45km down from Markha village to extricate themselves. Das jokes that they did complete the seven days of the trek, just not the way that he had planned. “I have been leading treks in Ladakh since 2007, and I had never seen anything like this.”
What Ladakh had experienced in August was in large part due to climate change, since the unusually warm temperatures in the region drew in the rain-bearing systems. It is a prime example of how rising global temperature has disrupted settled seasonal variations in every Himalayan region. All weather is now unpredictable, and this seriously threatens the safety of Himalayan trekkers and mountaineers as well. Ironically, this is happening at a time when an ever greater number of Indians are heading to the mountains to experience the great outdoors.
THE MELTING MOUNTAINS
Although exact data is unavailable, tens of thousands of tourists travel to the Indian Himalaya through the year for hill walking of various degrees of duration and difficulty. These range from popular day hikes like McLeodganj to Triund in the Dhauladhar Range in Himachal Pradesh to multi-day walks like the Kedarkantha trail in Uttarakhand, to old, popular tourist trails like the Singalila Ridge traverse in West Bengal.
Then there are the more strenuous multi-day camping treks like the Goecha La hike in Sikkim, the Rumtse to Tso Moriri trail in Ladakh or the Kashmir Great Lakes trail. One step further still are the more technical, expedition-style treks, including the Panpatia Col and Kalindi Khal traverses in the Garhwal Himalaya. Finally, there are the 340 “open peaks” for mountaineers. A small number of these are “trekking peaks”, major Himalayan mountains over 5,000m high that are nonetheless considered relatively easy for guided ascents.
Taken together, this represents a rich panoply of mountain environments for Indian and foreign travellers to explore, and there are an ever-increasing number of trekking and climbing operators that offer guiding services, ranging from the excellent to the dodgy. It’s a loosely regulated field with no formal structures in place, but climate change is posing a growing threat to the entire industry.
“We started White Magic Adventures in 2010, but I have been guiding in the Himalaya since 1998,” says Avilash Bisht, 49. White Magic is one of India’s most respected trekking and mountaineering operators, running expeditions at every level of difficulty, ranging from the relatively simple Miyar Valley trek in Himachal Pradesh, to climbing the 7,075m peak of Satopanth in the Gangotri Glacier in Uttarakhand.
Bisht admits that earlier, when he used to hear about climate change and retreating glaciers, he wouldn’t consider it a big deal. “Over the past decade, though, I must say that the changes have been very stark, and they are happening very fast,” he says. Bisht hails from a village in Pauri Garhwal, and sees these changes both in the high alpine environments as well as in the struggles of farmers in his village.
“Earlier, there used to be some predictability to the seasons. We would know what to expect during the spring season, and we would relay that information to our customers: Snow will be at this level, you can probably cross this pass, but not that one. And if you go to the mountains, you will see rhododendrons blooming, and you will see waterfalls. But these days, that predictability is gone,” he says, adding as an example that where rhododendrons had a fixed blooming season of April-May in Uttarakhand, these days one can find blooms as early as January.
“Even in terms of precipitation, earlier western disturbances would result in pre-monsoon rain or snow till about April. Nowadays, they persist even into June,” says Bisht. This unpredictability is upending the ages-old march of the seasons.
The winter months, from November to March, would be when the largest volumes of snows would fall in the Himalaya. Since the soil and air temperature would be below freezing at altitude, the snow would freeze, and every subsequent snowfall would add to this volume. By the time summer came around in April-May, a firm snowpack would have formed, adding to glacier volumes. This would also create dependable, consolidated snow conditions for trekkers and mountaineers to walk on during the pre-monsoon season, which lasts from about April to mid-June. Monsoon would be a time to take a break, maybe ramble in meadows of wildflowers, and then with the retreat of the rain, the warm, settled and dry conditions of the post-monsoon season (late September to early November) would set in for another round of treks and climbs.
This clockwork of Himalayan seasons is now broken.
There have been many in-depth studies over the past five years on the ways that climate change is affecting the Indian Himalaya, and all of them make for alarming reading. A 2025 synthesis study of the latest climate data pertaining to India, titled A post-AR6 Update on Observed and Projected Climate Change in India, gives a concise snapshot of the state of the Himalaya. The report finds that India’s average temperature has risen by approximately 0.7 degree Celsius between 1901-2015, and by 0.89 degree Celsius between 2015-24 (above the 1901-30 average).
While this is lower than the global average, parts of India have heated up faster than the national average. This includes the Himalaya, which has warmed at the rate of 0.28 degree Celsius per decade between 1951-2020. The rate of warming increases at higher elevation, and so above an altitude of 4,000m, the Himalaya has been heating up by 0.34 degree Celsius per decade. That’s about 2.38 degrees Celsius of warming over seven decades, much higher than the global average (which is about 1.4 degrees Celsius).
This rapid and unprecedented heating is changing snow and ice conditions in the range, and severely affecting the glaciers that sustain perennial river systems like the Indus, Ganga and Brahmaputra. A 2023 study from the Nepal-based regional science and policy organisation Icimod (International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development) found that glaciers in the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH) region steadily lost glacier mass at the rate of -0.17m w.e. (water equivalent) per year in 2000-09 and at the rate of -0.28m w.e. per year in 2010-19.
A few of these glaciers are continuously monitored, and one such, the Chhota Shigri Glacier in Himachal Pradesh, has been losing mass at the rate of about -0.46m w.e. per year since 2002. “It is something like your bank account. You are earning some money every month, and you have some expenditure. So the precipitation coming in the form of snow, that is the positive balance for the glacier, and the melting because of the temperature, that is the negative balance. And the balance between both is the mass balance of the glacier,” glaciologist Mohd. Farooq Azam, one of the scientists monitoring the glacier, had told Lounge four years ago.
The glacial mass loss has only accelerated since then. The Icimod HKH Snow Update Report 2026 published last month showed that snow cover in the high mountains is the lowest it has been in 20 years, 27.8% below normal. According to current estimates, if the world warms by about 3 degrees Celsius by 2100, most glaciers in High Mountain Asia will hit peak water discharge by 2050 and glacier volumes will decrease by 80% by the end of the century, due to decreased snowfall and longer melt seasons.
For Bisht, the new normal means waiting for snowfall that never comes when it is supposed to. “Earlier, even if the snow was late, one could be sure that there would certainly be snowfall in February. That was the month when we would get the maximum precipitation. No snow from November to February. Then it snowed a little in March, then April, and it is now snowing in May,” he says.
A PREPPER’S GUIDE TO SURVIVAL
Independent mountaineer Anindya Mukherjee, 54, has been witnessing the extreme changes in the high Himalaya over the past 25 years. Mukherjee climbed his first peak in 2001 in the Garhwal Himalaya, and since then he has made countless first ascents across the length of the range. The situation at high altitudes, he says, is quite dire. To illustrate his point, he speaks about the snow conditions on Kamet in Uttarakhand, one of India’s highest peaks at 7,756m, which he had summited in 2005.
“Between Camp 4 and 5 on the peak, there used to be a large hanging glacier. Due to this feature, we had to traverse for about 2,500ft over a rock wall. That glacier has now disappeared, so nowadays climbers just walk across. It’s unimaginable that above 6,000m, a large mass of ice that used to contribute to the Kamet glacier is gone! Such disappearances are occurring all over the range,” he says.
Retreating glaciers leave behind large meltwater lakes, which pose a danger of resulting in GLOFs or glacial lake outburst floods, under the influence of sudden, violent cloudbursts. These cause widespread destruction downstream and can threaten any trekking and mountaineering groups that may get caught down the valley. Recent examples of such floods include the 2013 Kedarnath flood and the Lhonak lake outburst flood in Sikkim in 2023.
“When the massive cloudburst happened near Kedarnath in 2013, I was climbing on Trishul, and even at that altitude, it was raining, the kind of rain you’d see in the Sunderbans. And we couldn’t understand why this was happening, and that too for six days straight. Being caught in a cloudburst in the mountains is like being in a warzone,” says Mukherjee. In 2024, Mukherjee guided an IIT Bombay team to study the South Lhonak glacier and its glacier lake. He says that after all the devastation that he’s seen, he feels that nature is screaming warnings at us, while we remain oblivious to the dangers.
So how do mountaineers and high altitude trekkers prepare for this new, perilous world? Mukherjee says it is getting increasingly difficult to plan for contingencies in an environment that has lost all predictability. It is better to prepare for the worst. “In the new situation, I will assume that there might be a cloudburst, and that we should be prepared to dig ourselves out of a bad situation,” he says.
Like many Indian mountaineers, he is baffled and angry at the fact that Indian laws don’t allow expeditions to carry any satellite devices, be they satellite phones or messaging devices. As a result, teams high up in the mountains cannot access updated weather forecasts, and once out of mobile network coverage, are completely cut off from the world. “For Indians interested in serious exploratory climbing, we are extremely handicapped, because Himalayan weather is dynamic and you need constant updates. Which is why most expeditions are on well-known peaks with defined routes like Kang Yatse (in Ladakh) or around Gangotri where thousands of people go,” he says.
According to Mukherjee, the only real way to prepare is to be as well trained as possible, know the expedition route well, and have escape plans. “Imagine you have gone for a climbing expedition with an agency to attempt a difficult trek, like Auden’s Col or Panpatia Col, where you traverse a glacier for a good three-four days. And suddenly a cloudburst happens and you are trapped.” In such a situation, a hiker’s personal training and experience is often more vital than depending on the guides. This way, the guides too are less burdened.
“Carry emergency food and fuel, keep extra days in hand. Know the area like the back of your hand, so that even if there’s snowfall, you should still recognise your environment. Download offline versions of maps from mapping apps, and mark waymarks along the route, so that even in a complete whiteout situation, at least you can retreat to your base camp,” says Mukherjee. He knows only too well about the pitfalls of being underprepared, having discovered the bodies of eight young trekkers from Bengal, buried in a snow avalanche in their tent near Kalindi Khal in 2010. Over the years there have been many instances of guides abandoning customers, or excessive demands from customers resulting in the death of guides.
THE ART OF BUYING TIME
Bisht seeks to avoid any mishaps in the mountains by ensuring that his customers don’t try to bite off more than they can chew. Even if this means that White Magic can’t pursue the volumes game. Sending huge groups of inexperienced and under-equipped trekkers is the raison d’être of many Indian trekking outfits that buttress their bottom-lines under the guise of “democratising” trekking. A few charge large amounts for the treks, in return for experienced guides and support staff and top-of-the-line equipment.
“Our sport is full of risks, and what we’re trying to do is to manage these risks. How you’ve prepared and planned for it makes a difference,” says Bisht. He believes that while physical conditioning and skills do play a part, the most important thing is a client’s psychological makeup. Bisht prefers clients that are not prone to risk-taking and regularly dissuades customers from signing up for tough, technical climbs before they’ve gained valuable experience from doing easier treks and climbs.
“It is a step-by-step programme. Sometimes people say that they want to be a part of a serious mountaineering expedition, then we have to explain to them why they are not well suited for it. Perhaps they should do a trekking peak first at a reasonably lower altitude before thinking of an expedition-style climb to a 7,000m or 8,000m mountain. We have a full process related to that, and we never bypass it,” he says.
Bisht also feels that a part of his job is to be frank with his customers about the risks. This includes video calls with the whole group before setting out on an expedition, where every aspect of the route and weather and snow conditions are discussed. He needs his customers to understand that if conditions deteriorate, they must retreat. He also insists that clients do not cut corners like bringing a -5 degree Celsius graded sleeping bag for a trek that requires a -10 degree rated one. “It’s better to bring a -15 instead,” he says, laughing.
Like Mukherjee, Bisht is a firm believer in the necessity of keeping “buffer” days on every trip. Having a couple of extra days and not being in a rush allows a party to wait out rough weather, or wait for a good weather window to open when attempting peaks.
He gives the example of climbing a popular trekking peak in the Pir Panjal Range called Friendship Peak (5,289m), near Manali. Although this is a non-technical peak, the upper part of the mountain includes steep ice sections where using crampons and roping up becomes important. And since the peak is a hit with inexperienced newcomers, buffer days are of paramount importance.
“Our trip lasts for 12 days. Many operators offer the same climb in 7-9 days, and even with an acclimatisation schedule, it is possible to climb the peak in 10 days. But we do not compromise on the longer duration because it is necessary to have buffer, whether for someone falling sick or bad weather. Most of the time, it is the latter,” says Bisht. Earlier in April, of the various climbing groups on the mountain, the White Magic team was the only one to summit Friendship successfully, which they say was down to keeping extra days in hand for a good weather window to open up.
While buffering is one way to manage risk, some, like Sujoy Das of South Col, are also in the process of moving treks by entire months, purely because macro weather conditions are changing. This is something that he feels strongly after the Ladakh debacle last year. So, for 2026, Das has moved the Markha Valley dates to the second week of September. He says he doesn’t know if that will work, but is hopeful.
“There was a spell of very good weather from about 7 September to 7 October last year. My feeling is that September is not that cold any more for these mid-altitude treks of up to 5,000m. It might be a little colder, but at least it will be sunny and dry, which is much more important,” he says. Similarly, he’s planning on moving the dates of the Eastern Himalaya treks that South Col offers in Nepal and Sikkim. “October is no longer the best season, unlike earlier. Back then the monsoon would end by the first week, and we’d set off by the second week. But I’ve been observing that for the past 6-7 years that in Sikkim, Nepal, Darjeeling, it is still raining up to even 20 October. November has become the new October.”
Some others are looking to open new routes, because the existing ones are threatened by climate impacts. “The Green Lake trek in the Zemu Valley, leading up to the Kangchenjunga Base Camp, was always a very popular trek. But since the 2023 GLOF and landslides, the approach to the valley is completely blocked by rock debris. We don’t know when it will open again. But since Sikkim treks are so popular with Indian and foreign hikers, we are surveying new routes, like towards the Bhutan border,” says Binodh Gurung, a mountain guide from west Sikkim. This November, he’s taking a Dutch group on a unique extension of the Goecha La trek that will explore a chain of high-altitude lakes near the border with Nepal.
Ultimately, all approaches to minimising the risk posed by a rapidly changing climate is predicated on how well one understands the terrain and weather systems, and introspect why one would like to trek or climb in the Himalaya. If it is a genuine love for the outdoors, for Himalayan vistas, ecology and cultures, then adequate safety and preparation is a small price to pay. If, on the other hand, if it is because of a need to show off on social media and bring a shopping cart attitude to bagging treks and peaks, then perhaps one would be better off getting their kicks elsewhere.
Because the Himalaya is a dynamic terrain that is being made more dangerous by climate change. As Mukherjee says, both hikers and trekking operators must invest in high-grade tents and other essential equipment and training, and none of that comes cheap. “Experiencing the great outdoors, for most Indians, is a luxury. Most of us don’t get enough to eat, how can we go from there to expensive high-altitude adventures?” he wonders. “We have always considered Himalayan peaks to be deities, and therefore the range was never a field of conquest. But all of a sudden, there is a growing number of people who want to ‘conquer’ Himalayan routes and peaks and be rewarded and recognised for it. You’re approaching the mountains all wrong. Just like in life, if you claim to love someone, you will first have to get to know them better.”