Sichuan: Where Altitude Pushes Your Body and the Way You Shoot

Diary

Feeling sleepy is the consequence of suddenly dropping from above 4000m back to sea level in Hong Kong. I was lying in bed about to fall asleep when the whole trip flashed through my mind again: the stunning Route 318 in China, the seven-hour hike in Daocheng Yading. The landscape there feels like looking at the Swiss Alps, except far more overwhelming in scale. No optical tool can truly show how gigantic the place is or how different it feels compared to anywhere I’ve been.

Thanks to my friends Major and Victor for planning the entire itinerary. I got my Chinese driver’s license at the very last minute in Shenzhen just to serve as a backup driver. The six of us travelled from Hong Kong to Chengdu to meet Major, and that marked the beginning of our seven-day journey through the western part of Sichuan, the famous Route 318.

Before the trip, I had two main considerations. The first was camera gear: what to bring, what to leave behind, and which focal lengths would work best for such landscapes. The second was altitude sickness. I had been to Shangri-La in Yunnan once at around 3500m, and even then I had headaches and needed time to adjust. This time I wanted to be fully prepared. We saw a doctor to get Diamox for altitude sickness, and we took it one day before arriving and continued for four days. We also brought a Chinese medicine meant to help boost oxygen levels. Even gentle staircases felt endless up there, like running 30 minutes on a treadmill just to climb one floor.

I took a bold move and carried the Xpan II with the 30mm f/5.6 and 90mm f/4 lenses to cover both ultra-wide and telephoto. Tibet and Iceland are on my wishlist for this setup as well. Both lenses are extremely sharp, and having the 90mm makes a huge difference when capturing distant scenes. The Mamiya 6 has become a core member of my kit, with the 75mm f/3.5 being reliable for all kinds of shots. It’s compact and easy to use, though the built-in meter isn’t very accurate, so I also carried a portable meter. Last, I borrowed a Leica M11-P from Anakin. I had tried the M11 before but wasn’t sure about the magenta cast. The USB-C charging was convenient, and the high resolution made sense for this trip. I brought the Leica APO-Summicron 35mm f/2 ASPH and APO-Summicron 50mm f/2 ASPH, both great for landscapes. With the latest 2.6.0 firmware on the M11-P, I could customise RGB settings, which is perfect for someone like me who doesn’t enjoy heavy post-editing.

I’ll break this post into two parts. One on Daocheng and the other on Xigulian Mountain. This part begins with Daocheng.

After arriving in Chengdu, the rental company delivered two cars straight to our hotel, something I didn’t expect at all. The cars were hybrids with four massage seats and an AI system that handled everything from navigation to heating the steering wheel. It felt surreal. After loading our luggage, eight of us were ready to hit the road.

Chengdu was hazy, and my friends said the weather reminded them of London. Looking at my pile of ISO 100 film, I questioned why I didn’t bring more ISO 400 stock. Shooting on the Xpan at f/5.6 with a centre filter doesn’t give much room. But after passing through the tunnel marking the 2000m altitude point, the sky shifted into a deep, cloudless blue. I was shocked at how dramatically nature changes across altitude and climate.

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Carrying all these cameras made me extra cautious about altitude sickness. Standing up from a chair already felt like doing a few sets at the gym. My mind wasn’t ready, but I knew I had to push through. Every Tibetan village and cultural detail we passed tempted me to stop and take photos, but I learned to observe instead because the sun was dropping fast and we wanted to capture the sunset from the mountain top. After nearly two hours on a bumpy road, we reached the summit. It was freezing at –2°C. Even with gloves, I could barely feel my hands. I took a few shots with the Xpan on both 30mm and 90mm, then switched to the Leica M11-P with the APO 50mm. There was no time to think, only enough time to shoot and absorb the moment. It’s one of the most memorable scenes I’ve ever experienced.

Daocheng Yading felt unreal. The nine-hour drive from Xinduqiao was scenic the entire way, shifting from green valleys to snow mountains to open plains covered in scattered rocks. I kept wondering where all those rocks came from in areas with no mountains nearby. You could clearly read the marks left by nature: snowfall, landslides, wind erosion. It was surreal to finally connect my high-school geography lessons with actual landscapes. The scale of the place is overwhelming. I mostly used my Xpan and M11-P to capture it, but even then, it felt impossible to show its full essence.

We stopped here and there to stretch our legs, and every stop made us want to stay longer. But we still needed to reach the gate to catch the van into the national park. By the time we arrived, it was already 7pm. After a 40-minute ride, we reached our hotel at 4000m. The road there was pitch dark, and the driver took corners like scenes from Initial D. We were exhausted from the altitude but still managed to have hotpot before discussing the next day’s routes. There were three options: short, medium, and long. People said the long route was impossible due to windy conditions. The owner told us it was still manageable. That gave us hope, but Major reminded us of his experience last year, where rain and snow forced him to take oxygen for two hours at a hospital after finishing the hike. That shocked us, so we agreed to take the short route.

The next morning, my brother-in-law Gary planted the idea that maybe we should at least try to start the long route and see how we felt. I agreed. Sometimes, you need to try before saying no. We had breakfast, grabbed our gear, and caught the coach.

At the main gate, walking uphill felt heavy. My mind was blank, and the incline felt like a tennis warm-up session that wouldn’t end. I kept stopping and restarting, letting my body adapt while my mind kept telling me not to miss the scenery. There were monkeys, snow peaks, forests, everything looked magical.

Then a hiccup: my Mamiya 6 film advance got stuck mid-roll of Kodak Ektar 100. I thought the camera was done for. I found a shaded bench, laid out my gear, quickly opened and closed the back while shielding it under my jacket. Somehow it worked. I salvaged 9 out of 12 shots. A miracle.

Next, we took a horse ride for 20 minutes to the base of the mountain. It was my second time riding a horse, but my first time doing it while holding three cameras. I could barely focus, so I snapped a few frames with the Leica M11-P and the APO 35mm.

The real challenge began from 4200m to 4600m. The path was well built and incredibly scenic. The sound of flowing water mixed with the hiss of oxygen tanks. It felt like an ASMR landscape. Despite the crowd, it was quiet. Everyone was fighting the altitude, trying not to get sick, preserving energy. I felt lucky because just a week earlier, heavy snow had blocked the roads. Now we were walking in sunbeams that felt like a blessing. We constantly checked on each other because we wanted to reach the lake together.

The gentle path eventually turned into endless steps, like climbing Mua Cave. My heartbeat pounded, and I needed breaks every few minutes. Even reloading film felt like a workout. I’m not exaggerating.

When stepping out of the sun, the temperature dropped quickly. I had to switch layers constantly. At the top of the stairs, I stopped to put on a jacket and accidentally dropped my Voigtlander VCII meter. A travel companion of 12 years… gone. Since the Mamiya 6 meter isn’t reliable, I felt blank for a moment. There was no way to retrieve it, so I had to move on.

The scene ahead was exactly as I captured. The colours were incredibly strong, and the film didn’t exaggerate anything. The prayer flags matched the mountains beautifully. It reminded me of the walk to Hooker Valley at Lake Tekapo, except this place was more colossal and vivid.

We finally reached Niu Naihai, our goal. We were thrilled, but we had to stay mindful of our movements. Niu Naihai means “the sea of milk” in Chinese, named after the milky emerald lake.

Time was short. We had to descend by 4pm to catch the last coach. By the time we reached the bottom, it was already 6pm. Four of our friends were still behind. The staff rushed us into a van, and we waited anxiously at the entrance. A few minutes later, we saw them appear. Victor had altitude sickness and was completely drained. Back at the hotel, he immediately used oxygen and developed a mild fever, but later sent us a photo of himself “reborn.” What a relief.

Bringing three cameras was a challenge, but worth it. The Xpan gave me the panoramic flexibility I wanted. The Mamiya 6 worked beautifully with its medium-format look, though I relied on an external meter. The Leica M11-P was new to me, but pairing APO lenses with that 60MP sensor gave the images incredible detail and depth. It felt like capturing exactly what my eyes saw.