Spiti Valley2017 · A cold desert of monasteries, moonscapes and high mountain roads.

Clouds spilling over the green ridges, mist drifting through the pines. The mountains said hello with a wall of fog.

Jagged crags wrapped in mist above green meadows. Kept pulling over for views like this.

A lone pine, a little waterfall and clouds drifting across the blue - the last of the green Himalayas before the cold desert begins.

A waterfall threading down the cliffs, clouds sitting low on the ridges. The climb into the hills had begun.

A cold river rushing through the green gorge, mist still clinging to the slopes.

Road winding up a green valley, little waterfalls everywhere, clouds resting on the hillsides.

Strolling the valley trail with jagged peaks crowding every side. Footage never does this place justice.

The greens are gone - bare brown mountains and a dirt road curling down into the valley.

A lone strip of green fields clinging to the valley floor, surrounded by naked mountains.

A boulder-strewn meadow tucked between barren peaks. Felt like the world's quietest picnic spot.

A vast braided riverbed, all gravel and silver threads of water, under mountains that never end.

Evening light turning the peaks gold above the fields. A village huddles quietly at the base.

Chasing the river down the valley from the moving car, golden slopes glowing in the last light.

Leaning on the railing with a whole mountain range for a backdrop. Not a bad photo stop.

Same viewpoint, new pose. Those layered peaks behind us stole the show.

High above the valley, the river braiding through the floor far below.

Two young monks in maroon at the Mani Lakhang door. They posed like total pros.

New friends on the village path, blue bucket and all. The valley drops away right behind them.

Boulders carved with prayers, stacked in piles everywhere. Every single rock has a story.

Mani stones stacked by a white chorten. Faith, one carved rock at a time.

A white chorten gleaming against the bare hills. Couldn't stop clicking it.

This place remains under snow for 5-6 months. All ingredients are locally grown. That was a huge bowl. Couldn't finsh it.

Cliffs sculpted into giant fluted towers by wind and water, the river glinting far below.

Standing under a sky full of prayer flags. The wind does all the talking here.

White chortens, prayer flags, and a snowcapped peak crashing through the clouds behind.

Yeah, thats me!

Lounging by an impossibly blue lake, stone stacks standing guard in the shallows.

Moody clouds over the lake, snow peaks peeking through. Couldn't stop staring.

Ripples racing across the lake as storm clouds roll over the ridges.

Waves on a high-altitude lake - yes, actual waves. The clouds were closing in fast.

A stone tower on the shore, the lake at its moodiest. Storm weather rolling in.

A little cairn by the water, snow peaks sulking under heavy clouds.

Same lake, new angle. Those clouds changed the mood every five minutes.

A lone horse grazing under the snow peaks while the storm built behind.

One perfect snow pyramid holding court over the valley, clouds swirling around it.

Two specks on the trail with a snow peak ahead and a sky that goes on forever.

Prayer flags strung right across the road at a tiny mountain camp. Red chairs out for travellers.

The sun punching through the clouds above the ridge. That blue needed no filter.

An old suspension bridge over the gorge, cables rusting under that crazy blue sky.

Jumping for joy in the middle of the gorge. The mountains make you feel weightless.