Soon we entered a mixed broadleaf forest, which gradually changed into a zone of tall conifers, as a dense fog settled down to create a landscape of ghostly shapes. Reaching the village of Ramman, we stopped for a tea-break in a Nepalese teahouse and were greeted by the sun and the local school children on our emergence.

I have always marvelled at how a little bit of sun can lift the spirits. Even the birds seemed to sing louder as we headed off, traversing across a slope of gnarled lichen-covered oaks, the yellow orchids drooping from high on their trunks complementing the brilliant pink and red colours of the first rhododendrons in bloom.

The climb started steeply through a row of prayer flags lining the path up through the village gardens and into the dense foothills forest. Just ahead, the sound of singing drifted down the mountain (shades of "The Sound of Music") and soon we met up with some fellow trekkers - a Sherpa family heading up on a day-visit to Phalut. Laughing and singing sherpa folksongs as they climbed rapidly up, the Sherpa Family von Trapp soon disappeared into the heights. Struggling and puffing as we followed, we agreed that they were much better than the movie.

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At last the track flattens out

Gradually, the taller trees gave way to smaller rhododendrons, their branches overhanging the track aglow with red and pink blooms. Scattered amongst them were yellow pea-flowers and white clusters of daphne on bare branches.

At 3250m we stopped for lunch and, as we ate, the wind gradually picked up, whipping streams of cloud through the trees on the top of the spur. Climbing on, we emerged into an open grassland, splashed with a dash of pinkish-purple primulas, and were soon enveloped in a thick fog. As the wind strengthened, Wangchuk led us across the foggy landscape to our destination at the Indian army border post of Phalut (3505m); the big climb was over!

The porters had just set up our tents and, after a hot tea and rum (courtesy of George), we climbed into our tents for a nap. Well that was the plan; during the next two hours we experienced hail, followed by gale-force winds, a fierce thunderstorm, and finally a blizzard.

It wasn't clear whether we would be struck by lightning, blown off the ridge into India or just have our tents shredded and die of exposure! At 4pm, after Chris and Hazel's tent started to break apart, the Sherpas decided it was time to abandon our tents to the snow for the relative security of the trekker's lodge next to the army post. Wangchuk and Sunder declared it the worst weather that they had experienced on this trek! At 3ºC it wasn't the warmest place in the world, but who wanted to be outside. Tired after the long climb and the events of the day, we were soon in the warmth of our sleeping bags, listening to the wind howl and wondering just what the morning would bring.

The Singalila Ridge is a long narrow grass-clad ridge line that divides India and Nepal and provides spectacular views across Nepal to the Himalayan Chain and then on the the mighty profile of Kangchenjunga some 60 km to the north, with a sweeping panorama on its eastern side of the mountains of Sikkim and Bhutan.

Of these views I can offer no comment! For us the Singalila Ridge was an ethereal world of dense fog, icy winds that whipped over the ridgeline from Nepal, rain, sleet, hail and snow. Walking 21 km from Phalut to Sandakphu in these circumstances was a surreal experience.

It seemed that we were walking through the dense fog in a slow-moving bubble with a 30-40m radius of visibility; there was no real perception of distance or depth, at times the ground would slope up, at times down, at times it was flat. The strange ghostly shapes of trees faded in and out of our bubble, the stark silhouette of the odd grazing yak or dzo appeared and disappeared. Even the occasional display of a flowering rhododendron failed to lift our spirits. At that moment, I would have traded a million rhododendrons for one brief glimpse of Kangchenjunga!

A lone yak watching us pass by

The sound of disembodied voices soon gave way to a line of porters almost jogging down a "sherpa shortcut" and then vanishing again into the mist. We were particularly glad for the skills of our two guides, Wangchuk and Sunder, who shepherded us safely through the dense fogs of Singalila, and to the cooks who managed to prepare a hot lunch in the worst of conditions.

As we ate breakfast, the cloud began to rise up from the valleys and by the time we set off, was drifting across the low points of the ridge line. We quickly descended a stony road, surrounded by the the dense green forest of the Singalila National Park.

The rhododendrons seemed to be particularly beautiful this morning as whisps of cloud blew through from the Nepalese side of the ridge. Reaching the village of Bakhay, we followed the road into Nepal, traversing the western side of the ridge through several small Nepalese mountain villages, and looking down into the deep valleys of eastern Nepal below us.

We stopped for morning tea in a teahouse in the village of Kalapokhari, before heading back into India. The locals and passing trekkers are indifferent to the border here - it seems only to be a concern for the Indian Army posts that sit on strategic hills on the ridgeline (no photos please!).

Descending slowly, the track led us through the superb forest on the Indian side, with rhododendrons, and the occasional brilliance of magnolias, lighting the way. A steep descent to the village of Gairibas saw us reach our lunch stop and passport check by the border post.

After lunch, we had an equally steep climb back into the treeless grassy slopes of Nepal, up to the village of Jaubari, with its Hindu temple, Buddhist chorten and burnt out police station. Apparently, the Maoists had attacked the station a few years earlier and it had not been re-manned - an indication of who really controls this part of Nepal. On occasion, they have also stopped trekking parties to collect "trekking taxes"; beautiful as it is, there is a harsher political reality to this part of the world.

The contrast between the Indian and Nepalese sides of the Singalila Ridge is stark; on the one side, the rich and verdant forest of the Singalila National Park, on the other bare shrub-dotted grass-lands, denuded of trees by centuries of wood collection for fuel. Then who are we to be critical; we like to walk in the forest, but at the end of the day are still happy to sit in front of a warm fire in a Nepalese guesthouse.

Still, the villages are all full of young children and you can't help wondering what the future holds for them.

One more zig into India, one more zag into Nepal and we reached our destination for the night, the very pleasant Shikhar Lodge at Tumling, with its large comfortable bedrooms and fire-warmed lounge.

Sitting around sipping our warm millet beers through a large straw, we agreed that this had been the best day of the trek. We were even weaning ourselves off the immodium. What a difference a day makes!

George admiring the mornng views

Another 5am rise to catch a glimpse of the great peaks - not a cloud above, but unfortunately, plenty in the valleys and across to the north.

The tip of Kangchenjunga rose faintly above the low cloud band, but that was all that we would see for the day. Still, the view back along the ridge to Sandakphu was magical, with thin wisps of mist drifting over the pastel shades of the ridge and forest in the pre-dawn light.

With only 12 km of trek left, we set out along a winding stony road, dropping into the bare Nepalese side once more, climbing slowly back across the ridge into India at Tonglu, with its Buddhist monastery of Senchencholing.