Hockey on Top of the World. by lightmediation

In the Himalayas, where the air is thin and distractions are few, Ladhakis people found a way to enjoy the harsh winters by practicing a sport coming from a distant foreign land. On icy ponds located at lofty elevations, thousands of meters above sea level, they skate and play the game of hockey, on top of the world.

Hockey on Top of the World. Photos ÂŠ Patrice Halley/LightMediation Text ÂŽAndrew Findlay Contact - Thierry Tinacci - LigthMediation Photo Agency - +33 (0)6 61 80 57 21 thierry@lightmediation.com

1996-31: Assisted by local coach Abbas Nordakh (left with sunglasses), L.A. Kings Juniors' coach, Rob Armstrong, kindly offered Ladhakis kids a week special of training sanctioned by a L.A. Kings jerseys and hats gift. The whole experience was a fun moment for the kids.

1996-01: Seen from above before arriving to Leh the 5500 meters + peaks of the Ladakh Range are streching East-West. Ladakh is surroundedd by mountains such as the Zangskar and the Himalayas thus

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-02: One of the bedroom of visiting Canadian hockey player in the Oriental guesthouse in Leh. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-03: Canadians residing in New-Delhi come to play hockey and share their love off "The Game" with Ladakhis. Here the Canadians are travelling from their guesthouse to the ice rink. /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-04: Ladakhis and visitors installing a banner around the hockey rink outside of Leh to celebrate hockey players taking the challenge of playing at such high elevation. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-05: Ladakhis have very little equipment. Most of it comes from foreign donations and, with only one skate sharpener for hundred of skaters, this man is fairly busy. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-06: Ladakhis have very little equipment. Most of it comes from foreign donations and of course, with no ice resurfarcing machine, the only way to get the ice clean is to broom it by hand. /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-07: Ladakhis have very little equipment. Most of it comes from foreign donations. Here, a local goalie wears cricket pads (see also photo 10195A008.) / India /

1996-08: Ladakhis have very little equipment. Most of it comes from foreign donations. Here, a local goalie tries new pads generously offered by a Canadian and brought to Ladakh by photographer Patrice Halley.

1996-06: Ladakhis have very little equipment. Most of it comes from foreign donations and of course, with no ice resurfarcing machine, the only way to get the ice clean is to broom it by hand.

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-09: A local goalie shows a teammate the goalie pads he had just received (see also photo 10195A008) / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-10: Outside of Leh, Ladakh' capital, the hockey rink where what is possibly the highest hockey tournament in the world takes place. The Ladakh range is in the background. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-11: Outside of Leh, Ladakh' capital, the hockey rink where what is possibly the highest hockey tournament in the world takes place. The Ladakh range is in the background. / India /

1996-13: Women with heads in shawls, Buddhist monks, for a westerner, the crowd at hockey games looks albeit different than usual though, Ladhakis are as passionate about hockey as any people enjoying

1996-14: Women with heads in shawls, Buddhist monks, for a westerner, the crowd at hockey games looks albeit different than usual though, Ladhakis are as passionate about hockey as any people enjoying

1996-15: At 3480 meters, players and spectators endure the cold to watch and play a foreign game making its way into Ladakh's sports scene.

1996-16: Outside of Leh, Ladakh' capital, the hockey rink where what is possibly the highest hockey tournament in the world takes place. The Ladakh range is in the background. Rob Armstrong one of the a

1996-17: Rob Armstrong one of the a Canadians playing an exhibition game against a Ladakhi team have no problem to score. However the all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-18: Canadians playing an exhibition game against a Ladakhi team have no problem to score. However the all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-19: Canadians playing an exhibition game against a Ladakhi team have no problem to score. However the all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. /

1996-20: Canadians and Ladakhis handshaking after an exhibition game. Canadians all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. tehy enjoy travelling to Ladakh to share

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-21: The Sacred Bulls, the "Canadian team", a bunch of expatriate mostly living in New Delhi or visiting India. On the second row, second from right is writer Andrew Findlay. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-22: Once exhibition games are over, Ladhakis players are practicing before the tournament. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-23: Hockey attract girls as well as boys and many train to form a female only team. / India /

Hockey in Ladakh / 1996-24: Hockey attract as boys as well as girls and many train to form a female only team. / India /

1996-25: L.A. Kings Junior's coach, Rob Armstrong, kindly offered Ladhakis kids special training. Here they are practicing some moves and techniques. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh

1996-29: The race is on ! When there is not enough people practicing a sport, sometimes just because of a lack of equipment, all ages and gender race together. This creates some unfair situation but the idea is to get the kids involved even if it means that some kids will be frustrated or exhausted.

1996-26: A young canadian shows a ladhaki kid a few skating tricks on the ice. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh during Winter and Ladhakis hope that the creation of a Winter sports

1996-27: Before a skating race kids are a bit nervous. Soem have just received some used skates donated by Canadians. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh during Winter and

1996-28: The race is on ! When there is not enough people practicing a sport, sometimes just because of a lack of equipment, all ages and gender race together. This creates some unfair situation but the idea is

1996-30: The race is on ! When there is not enough people practicing a sport, sometimes just because of a lack of equipment, all ages and gender race together. This creates some unfair situation but the idea is

1996-32: Buddhist monks are passionate about hockey and brave the cold to watch the games.

1996-33: Dozens of pair of skates as well as jerseys, helmets and other hockey equipment was donated by Canadians to Canada's most respected professional mountaineer, Patrick Morrow (first man in the

1996-24: Hockey attract as boys as well as girls and many train to form a female only team.

1996-34: Coach Abbas Nordakh has a big smile on his face. With all the equipment received from Canada, he can give hockey outfits to kids. Dozens of pair of skates as well as jerseys, helmets and other

1996-35: Donated equipment is sorted and will be sent to Ladakh's different regions so that villagers can create their own local teams and encourage kids and adult alike to skate and play hockey.

1996-36: Members of the Ladakh Winter Sports Club pose of an official photo after receiving equipment for diferent regions. The gear will then be sent to encourage the creation of local teams in various parts of

1996-37: Hockey gear is loaded on buses and trucks to will be sent to various parts of the province to encourage the creation of local teams.

1996-38: The dangerous road to Tangtse, the birthplace of Hockey in India, located in the restricted Changtang area is climbing into the heights of the Ladakh Range and over the 5320 metres high Chang

1996-39: The dangerous road to Tangtse, the birthplace of Hockey in India, located in the restricted Changtang area is climbing into the heights of the Ladakh Range and over the 5320 metres high Chang

1996-40: The dangerous road to Tangtse, the birthplace of Hockey in India, located in the restricted Changtang area is climbing into the heights of the Ladakh Range and over the 5320 metres high Chang

1996-41: On top of Chang La, a 5320 meters pass, a lone dog seems to ignore the cold, wind and thin air.

1996-42: While our driver warms up his hands, our friend and guide Noney Phuntsog Wangchuk (red jacket) enjoys a hot noodle soup in Chang La's only roadside "restaurant."

1996-46: A villager shows a pair of homemade skates made from old Indian army boots. Locals started to skate and play hockey after watching British and Indian army soldiers play the game in the late 40's.

1996-47: A pair of homemade skates made from old Indian army boots. Locals started to skate and play hockey after watching British and Indian army soldiers play the game in the late 40's.

1996-48: Contrast between dark ice and skates scratches and cuts on a local pond creates a temporary and abstract piece of art.

1996-49: Thanks to Canadian climber Patrick Morrow, who gathered equipment, local kids in Tangtse line-up to receive skates donated from individuals, the NHL and canadian companies. For the kids, used to

1996-51: For local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great improvement. They shoe on with pride and it does not matter to this girl if she is shoeing on a pair of boy

1996-52: For local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great improvement. They shoe on and skate with pride.

1996-53: For local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great improvement. They shoe on and skate with pride even though some of them have never tried skating

1996-54: For this local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having his own pair of skates and jersey is a great improvement and the coach reserved for V.I.P's sounds like the right place to put on his gear.

1996-55: For these local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great moment and the coach reserved for V.I.P's sounds like the right place to pose for the photographer.

1996-56: For this local kid of the remote village of Tangtse, having his own pair of skates and jersey is a great moment and it does not matter if his stick is still an handmade one, his smile reveals his pleasure

1996-58: For a local kid of the remote village of Tangtse, having his own pair of skates and jersey is a great moment and it does not matter if his stick is still an handmade one.

1996-59: Up high in the remote moutains of Ladakh, on a local frozen pond, kids become hockey stars...at least for a while.

1996-61: Photographer Patrice Halley and writer Andrew Findlay in Ladakh.

1996-04: Ladakhis and visitors installing a banner around the hockey rink outside of Leh to celebrate hockey players taking the challenge of playing at such high elevation.

Hockey on Top of the World. In the Himalayas, where the air is thin and distractions are few, Ladhakis people found a way to enjoy the harsh winters by practicing a sport coming from a distant foreign land. On icy ponds located at lofty elevations, thousands of meters above sea level, they skate and play the game of hockey, on top of the world. The scrape of steel grates sharply as two players chase a frozen black disc across bumpy ice. Frigid air sears the throat, while, high above the valley floor, the wind tears spiral plumes of snow into a sapphire sky. Next to the pond-turned-rink, a row of tawny, cherubic faces swathed in scarves and wool hats intently watches the action from atop a small snowbank as one skater feints left then cuts abruptly right, losing his opponent before releasing a weak shot. The attempt is easily turned aside by the goaltender, who looks vulnerable without a mask to protect against flying pucks and high sticks. But when the whistle finally blows indicating halftime, our altitude-weary Canadian squad - dubbed the Sacred Bulls - retreats to the bench, gasping. We're up by a tenuous two-goal margin. It's a scene straight out of any Canadian childhood spent playing shinny on iced-over prairie ponds. That is, except for a few minor details. This is Ladakh, in northern India, a country where the sporting claim to fame is cricket, not this North American import played on frozen water. Our opponents have dark-brown rounded faces, and their goalie sports

cricket shin-guards rather than hockey pads. The fans include a few monks from the Spituk monastery, a sprawling, five-century-old medieval complex of Buddhist temples and dormitories clinging to a nearby rocky butte. Less than a hundred metres away, one of Asia's great rivers, the Indus, meanders lazily downstream from Leh, the vibrant political and economic capital of Ladakh. And while the players sip water and summon strength for the rest of the game, a half-dozen human Zambonis take to the ice with short brooms made of bound grass. The large red banner next to the rink captures the scene succinctly: "Hockey at 11,000 feet. You have to see it to believe it." As fans of Canada's de facto national sport, when fellow adventurer and photographer Patrice Halley and I first heard about this improbable pocket of hockey thriving amidst a 2,000-year-old Asian culture, we felt compelled to investigate - to lace up the skates and experience the game in its most earthy and unusual incarnation. We found the locals equally passionate to comply. "Skating is in our blood. Our grandparents saw the army skating, so we made our own skates with blades fixed to army boots. For a puck we used a black ball," Noney Wangchuk informs me as we wait for the second-period whistle. Still, the president of the Ladakh Winter Sports Club, formed five years ago to boost ice hockey and speed skating in Ladakh, confesses that "we have chosen a tough sport to promote. In India it's all about cricket, cricket and cricket. We're less than 200,000 people in Ladakh, and without much influence." Present-day Ladakhis descend from a

blend of three racial groups: the Mons of northern India, the Dards of Aryan or European lineage and Tibetan nomads of Mongolian origin. At roughly five-foot-ten (178 cm), Noney is tall for a Ladakhi. Crow's feet splay out from the corners of his eyes and a head of thick, coal-black hair crowns a genial, smiling face. With his easy-going manner, he is the embodiment of hospitality and generosity in a culture where one of the worst insults a person can utter is schon chan, meaning "one who angers easily." Noney also happens to love hockey. Every winter since the early 1970s, when Indian army soldiers stationed throughout Ladakh began chasing pucks with rudimentary gear and skills, Ladakhi girls and boys have been playing hockey. Nearly 30 years later, India's Canadian expat population discovered that hockey was thriving in the Himalayas, and contests like today's became an annual January tradition: symbolic matches between Canadians living mostly in New Delhi and some of Ladakh's older and better skaters. Today both sides jokingly refer to the games as "hockey diplomacy." "I just love seeing the sport developing here in the Himalayas," says Tony Kretzschmar, a Calgary engineer who has lived in Delhi and organized the annual hockey expedition to Ladakh for five years. "It's like seeing the way hockey was 50 years ago in Canada." A hundred or so locals have gathered to watch this year's cross-cultural sporting event, underway just a 15-minute drive from Leh's bustling downtown. Rainbow-coloured prayer flags strung between trees next to the river flutter in the occasional breeze. Spectators warm their hands around cups of hot chai, the

sweet and spicy tea that is a staple in India. "Julley! Julley!" A voice calls out the joyful Ladakhi greeting and we turn to see Mohd Abbass, the 35-year-old Ladakhi coach who spends every winter day volunteering his time down at the rink. "The kids here are very hard-working and it doesn't matter if they stop for water," he tells us, pointing to some of his young charges anxiously waiting rink-side for the game's second half to start. "They just want to learn, and watching the Canadians play helps them." Ladakh - "land of high passes" - is a crucible of contradictions. With mountains soaring to 7,000 metres and valleys rarely found below 3,000, it is a region of immense scale, but seemingly incapable of supporting life. Yet this high-altitude desert, which basks in sunshine 300 days a year and receives as little as 60 millimetres of annual precipitation, has inspired one of the remarkable accomplishments of traditional Ladakh culture: an ingeniously careful balance struck between an environment barely fit for human habitation and a hardy human populace. During the brief but intense summer growing season, scarce water is meticulously directed into canal networks to irrigate fields of barley and other resilient crops: potatoes, turnips and peas. Dzo, a hardy hybrid of Asian cattle and yak, provide meat, milk, butter and cheese as well as draft labour and transport. As for the Ladakhi themselves, a people of infectious joie de vivre, they must also grapple with immense cultural change, the modus operandi since their first contact with outsiders. The push and pull of this ongoing struggle was thrown into relief when, on a brilliant late afternoon a few

days before the game, with the Indus River valley bathed in saffron light, I sat among the crumbling palisades of the fort above Leh. Known as the Peak of Victory, the fullisade was built in the 16th century to commemorate Ladakh's successful defence against Islamic invaders from the west, and the spot affords an eagle's view of the maze of narrow streets and alleyways in the Leh Bazaar, where cellphones, the Internet and automobiles, as elsewhere, are an integral part of modern life. Ladakh was opened to mass tourism in 1974, bringing a lucrative source of revenue and employment but also introducing new pressures on limited resources that have altered the tenuous relationship between humans and this unforgiving environment. Today in the Leh Bazaar, or Main Market, travellers find a curious blend of modern and ancient, with cellphone-toting young hipsters buying bread baked in wood-fired stone ovens the way it has been for centuries. Cradled by the Karakoram and Himalayan ranges, geographically Ladakh is landlocked by Afghanistan, Pakistan, Chinese-occupied Tibet and the Indian subcontinent to the south. Once ruled by kings of Tibetan ancestry, this remote world flourished as an independent kingdom from the ninth century until 1834, when it fell to an invading Hindu army from the south; by the mid-18th century, the great Indian subcontinent was under British colonial rule, followed by Indian independence in 1947. Today, Ladakh is often referred to as "Little Tibet." Its language, art, music and religion closely reflect this heritage, and though elements of Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism

and some forms of animism are all present, Tibetan Mahayana Buddhism is the dominant religion and culture, folded within the largely Muslim State of Jammu and Kashmir in what is a predominantly Hindu nation. Stark gompas - Buddhist monasteries - are tucked into deep valleys or appended tenuously to the sides of mountains as though hewn not by human hands but by the forces of nature itself. Somehow, it seems fitting that such a people would continue their maverick ways and gravitate to a sport such as ice hockey, in a country where the only ice most of its inhabitants may ever see will be on TV. "This is so important for Ladakhi children, because winter is an idle time," says Noney, explaining how hockey now serendipitously fills the gap in the calendar year that is school vacation: January and February. Meanwhile, the human Zambonis have nearly cleaned the ice. Now a few men gather around a large crack, trying to pack it with snow before the start of the second half. The whistle blows, and our mostly middle-aged squad takes to the ice; a few strides are all it takes to get the ticker thumping again. At an elevation of 3,500 metres, which is roughly where Leh is situated, the simple act of tying skate laces can be a test of endurance, particularly for a sea-level Canuck like me fresh off a plane from Delhi. Here and there the natural ice is perilously fractured with centimetre-wide fissures, reducing our smooth skating strides to awkward lurches. Lending an air of officialdom to the proceedings, the Ladakhi referee sports the trademark zebra jersey but has a comical misunderstanding of the game's finer points, such as waiting for two opposing players to be present for

faceoffs before dropping the puck. Perhaps it is an on-ice manifestation of the locals' Buddhist beliefs, but no one seems to notice or care. As with their approach to life in general, our Ladakhi opponents are determined, yet graciously accept upsets and adversity as part of the human condition. They display nothing approaching the mean-spiritedness and poor sportsmanship that can infect a game as intense as hockey. An errant wrist shot sends the puck flying over the snowbank into a tangle of willow next to the Indus, and a gang of giggling kids gives chase, thrashing about in the bush. It's a welcome opportunity to rest and catch our breath, which quickly condenses into tiny clouds in the -10째C temperatures. Two young spectators, the burgundy kasaya of their monks' attire concealed beneath thick homespun robes, resume an animated conversation punctuated with much laughter. Surprisingly, most of the Ladakhi players are wearing anything but primitive gear. Instead they are decked out in brand-name pads, sticks and skates, de rigueur at any North American rink. It wasn't long ago that modern hockey equipment was as rare as a rainstorm in Ladakh. But over several recent winters, renowned Canadian climbers and filmmakers Pat and Baiba Morrow worked on a documentary in Ladakh, and, being good Canadians, also gathered footage of the colourful local hockey scene. The result was Hockey Night . . . in Ladakh, a humorous 10-minute homage to Ladakh's unique sporting phenomenon. (The Morrows, who screened the film at the Banff and Vancouver mountain film festivals in 2005, are currently shopping for funds to spin the tale into a feature-length documentary.) Back in

Canada, armed with the film and tales of Ladakhi hockey converts struggling in prehistoric gear, the Morrows collected a few hundred sets of donated equipment. Thanks to their efforts, in December 2005, the Ladakh Winter Sports Club finally received a shipping container of prized gear from Canadians. To experience the true birthplace of Indian hockey, Halley and I were advised to journey first toward Tibet, to the far east of Ladakh. There we would find Tangtse, the village ensconced in the sparse and magical valley that spills into Pangong Tso, a saline, cobalt-blue lake extending 100 kilometres into Tibet. Tangtse is where those Indian soldiers first put skates to ice. (Because of its strategic location between Pakistan and China, nations with which India has ongoing border disputes, the Indian government maintains a significant military presence in the region.) And so, one frigid morning before today's big game, we set off from Leh aboard a government jeep with our guide in search of the holy grail of Himalayan hockey. As elsewhere in India, there is no such thing as a casual Sunday outing in Ladakh. Aziz, our appointed driver, was like a fugitive running from the law, slaloming between military convoys and potholes that could swallow a motorcycle. We veered east out of the broad Indus River Valley, beginning the long ascent to Chang La, for hours winding up switchbacks where one careless turn would plunge us into the abyss. Frequent road signs exhibited that endearing morbid humour germane to India: "Overtakers Beware the Undertaker" and "I Love You Dear But Take It Slowly," messages universally ignored. Finally we crested 5,320-metre Chang La, a desolate and inhospitable pass populated by a

small company of young soldiers stomping their feet around a noxious kerosene stove, presumably counting the days until they could return to warmer climes. The men seemed desperately bored, so we accepted an offer of noodle soup and rather limited conversation. By the time we descended Chang La early that same afternoon, the valley was already blanketed in cold, blue shadows. Massive granite boulders, inscribed with the ubiquitous Buddhist mantra Om Mani Padme Hum (this hypnotic six-syllable prayer evades direct translation, but it is said that all of the Buddha's teachings are contained within it), sat silently like giant art installations in a desiccated and austere wasteland of glacial till. The following morning the inhabitants of Tangste were anything but austere. Here, too, on the forgotten margins of the planet, the Ladakhis are crazy about ice hockey. We stood, amazed, next to a hallowed sheet of cracked ice half the size of a regular rink, 20 minutes upstream from the mud and concrete huts of Tangtse, where Ladakhi hockey had its genesis more than 30 years ago. Just yesterday, the village of Tangtse had received its share of used Canadian hockey equipment, so there was an elevated level of excitement. Monty Python itself could not have dreamed up a better parody of hockey than the one that unfolded before us next to a frozen brook in a remote corner of northern India that few Westerners could locate on a map. Small foot-high boards prevented the puck from sailing off into the army barracks, as

soldiers in clumsy white snow boots played pass the puck with young children gliding jerkily in skates two sizes too big. Twelve-year-old Tashi Namgyal showed off his homemade stick, a length of one-by-two with a hard rectangle of black plastic nailed crudely to the end. Another die-hard team Tangtse member, 14-year-old Stanzin Norbu, staggered toward me, nearly tripping over his skates, and announced how he planned to be a defenceman just like Tangtse's star player, Tsewang Gyaltsen. A man in military uniform proudly introduced himself as Major Kesha Ram of Jodphur, posted from his hot desert homeland to this frozen mountain desert for a three-year sentence. "This is the oldest rink in India. The stadium was built in 1971," he told us, puffing his chest and squaring his shoulders while pointing to a dilapidated row of weather-beaten bleachers sinking lopsidedly into a snowbank. "Hockey gave the soldiers something to do in the winter." Dorje Stanzin, the soft-spoken village leader and a descendant of ancient Tibetan royalty, showed us a pair of battered, makeshift skates, museum pieces that harken back to the days of local ice hockey when, out of necessity, players fashioned their own equipment. "This is what we used to skate with," said Stanzin through an interpreter, holding up a set of black army boots, each affixed with a roughly forged blade. Holding those crude implements, each as blunt as a garden spade, I was convinced it would warm the heart of any North American hockey fan to see how far the game has penetrated the culture here, against all odds. Who would have imagined that hockey diplomacy would bring the people

of such disparate lands a little closer together.

NHL play-by-play announcer is all that's needed to complete this iconic hockey scenario: "He shoots! he scores!!!"

Back in Leh, alongside the Indus River, the whistle blows. The game is over. Sacred Bulls 5: Ladakhis 2. The soft afternoon sun glows orange upon the tottering ramparts of 16th-century Leh Palace, visible across the broad sweep of the Indus River Valley. The Canadians collapse on plastic chairs next to the rink, gulping for oxygen, while young kids flood onto the vacated ice to play. Clearly, with this kind of enthusiasm, it won't be long before the Ladakhis will be skating right past this group of nearly washed-up Canadians.

The big leagues one day perhaps, but for now these two will be skating on frozen ponds on the roof of the world.

Noney Wangchuk, of the winter sports club, watches with a beaming smile as his homeland's future hockey stars chase pucks. As improbable as it seems, the game has given Ladakhi youth something more to dream about during the long, languorous winters. "Eventually, we hope to send a team to the Asian ice hockey championships, but we're just a small land, not many people," Noney says. I gaze up through the ethereal mountain air at the otherworldly summit of Stok Kangri, soaring six km skyward and buffeted by high-altitude winds. They may be small in numbers, I think. But with their indomitable spirits and, perhaps even more relevant, their altitude-toughened hearts and lungs, I can imagine young Ladakhis one day being drafted shoulder to shoulder with the Swedes, Russians and Canadians. Two such hopefuls, all of eight years old, sail past now, eyes on the puck, skates churning ice as they drive toward the goal, one then raising his plywood stick in the goal scorer's classic, triumphant pose. The clarion call of an

Captions. 1996-01: Seen from above before arriving to Leh the 5500 meters + peaks of the Ladakh Range are streching East-West. Ladakh is surroundedd by mountains such as the Zangskar and the Himalayas thus making it a difficult to access part of the world names "The Little Tibet." 1996-13: Women with heads in shawls, Buddhist monks, for a westerner, the crowd at hockey games looks albeit different than usual though, Ladhakis are as passionate about hockey as any people enjoying the game worldwide. 1996-14: Women with heads in shawls, Buddhist monks, for a westerner, the crowd at hockey games looks albeit different than usual though, Ladhakis are as passionate about hockey as any people enjoying the game worldwide. 1996-16: Outside of Leh, Ladakh' capital, the hockey rink where what is possibly the highest hockey tournament in the world takes place. The Ladakh range is in the background. Rob Armstrong one of the a Canadians playing an exhibition game against a Ladakhi team have no problem to score. However the all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. " If only it was not so damn high, at least we could breathe says Armstrong, a coach for the L.A. Kings junior team, with a big smile." 1996-17: Rob Armstrong one of the a Canadians playing an exhibition game against a Ladakhi team have no problem to score. However the all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. " If only it was not so

damn high, at least we could breathe says Armstrong, a coach for the L.A. Kings junior team, with a big smile." 1996-20: Canadians and Ladakhis handshaking after an exhibition game. Canadians all agree that Ladhakis players are becoming tougher to beat every year. tehy enjoy travelling to Ladakh to share techniques and strategy with the " Lettle Tibet" unhabitants. 1996-25: L.A. Kings Junior's coach, Rob Armstrong, kindly offered Ladhakis kids special training. Here they are practicing some moves and techniques. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh during Winter and Ladhakis hope that the creation of a Winter sports federation will help youn boy and girls to saty active and out of trouble. 1996-26: A young canadian shows a ladhaki kid a few skating tricks on the ice. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh during Winter and Ladhakis hope that the creation of a Winter sports federation will help youn boy and girls to saty active and out of trouble. 1996-27: Before a skating race kids are a bit nervous. Soem have just received some used skates donated by Canadians. There is very little to do for kids and teenagers in Ladakh during Winter and Ladhakis hope that the creation of a Winter sports federation will help youn boy and girls to saty active and out of trouble. 1996-28-29-30: The race is on ! When there is not enough people practicing a sport, sometimes just because of a lack of equipment, all ages and gender race together. This creates some unfair situation but the idea is to get the kids involved even if it means that some kids

will be frustrated or exhausted. 1996-31: Assisted by local coach Abbas Nordakh (left with sunglasses), L.A. Kings Juniors' coach, Rob Armstrong, kindly offered Ladhakis kids a week special of training sanctioned by a L.A. Kings jerseys and hats gift. The whole experience was a fun moment for the kids. 1996-33: Dozens of pair of skates as well as jerseys, helmets and other hockey equipment was donated by Canadians to Canada's most respected professional mountaineer, Patrick Morrow (first man in the world to complete the ascent of seven highest summits on each of continent) With the help of sponsors, he and his wife Baiba organized shipment to Ladakh thus spreading interest for the game in Ladakh. 1996-34: Coach Abbas Nordakh has a big smile on his face. With all the equipment received from Canada, he can give hockey outfits to kids. Dozens of pair of skates as well as jerseys, helmets and other hockey equipment was donated by Canadians to Canada's most respected professional mountaineer, Patrick Morrow (first man in the world to complete the ascent of seven highest summits on each of continent) With the help of sponsors, he and his wife Baiba organized shipment to Ladakh thus spreading interest for the game in Ladakh. 1996-36: Members of the Ladakh Winter Sports Club pose of an official photo after receiving equipment for diferent regions. The gear will then be sent to encourage the creation of local teams in various parts of the province. 1996-38-39: The dangerous road to Tangtse, the birthplace of Hockey in India, located in the restricted Changtang area is

climbing into the heights of the Ladakh Range and over the 5320 metres high Chang La (La means pass) Pass. 1996-40: The dangerous road to Tangtse, the birthplace of Hockey in India, located in the restricted Changtang area is climbing into the heights of the Ladakh Range and over the 5320 metres high Chang La (La means pass) Pass. Writer Andrew Findlay gives guide and friend Noney Phuntsog Wangchuk a hand to push our Jeep back on the right track 1996-49: Thanks to Canadian climber Patrick Morrow, who gathered equipment, local kids in Tangtse line-up to receive skates donated from individuals, the NHL and canadian companies. For the kids, used to share a pair of skates between them, a "one size fits all" deal, having a pair of skates for themselves that fits them is a great improvement. 1996-51: For local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great improvement. They shoe on with pride and it does not matter to this girl if she is shoeing on a pair of boy skates. 1996-53: For local kids of the remote village of Tangtse, having their own pair of skates is a great improvement. They shoe on and skate with pride even though some of them have never tried skating before, it seems a lot of fun.