China -

"My first reaction when I heard the offer was, "Where?! It sounds like a place named by club wielding Cro-Magnon."

Wary of being packed off to a prehistoric theme park, I put the word out to my friends who have been everywhere from Anhui to Zhongdian – but to my surprise no one could come up with any information about the place.

Was this possible? A place in China, the world's most populated nation, which remained off-the-beaten-path? I was sold.

We set out from Chengdu heading toward Kangding, the capital of the Ganzi Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, and the last major town in the area. For hundreds of years Kangding was an historically important town on the Tibetan tea-trading route. Chinese collies would transport tea to Kangding on their backs, and yaks from Tibet would complete the remainder of the high altitude journey to Lhasa. Like any dynamic border town, Kangding has a 'Wild West' buzz and a diverse ethnic mix of Khampa, Hui, Yi and Han Chinese. For a town of only 50,000 it supports Buddhist temples, Catholic and Protestant churches and even a mosque for the Muslim community.

Having met up with two knowledgeable local horsemen, we set out on a ten-day expedition that would take us along the eastern side of the sacred Mt Gongga. Bunches of dark purple irises, pale pink delphiniums, and pristine white rhododendrons lined the trail making it easy to see why scientists regard the region as one of the richest places on earth for plant species. The unique climate, relative isolation and different altitudes have created the conditions for what is known as a 'hot spot' in the botany world. A kind of botanical Vegas, so to speak.

Only horses, yaks and the occasional nomad or pilgrim use the track to Daocaba Meodow. There was not a scrap of plastic wrap in sight. For all intents and purposes it appeared we were officially on the elusive unbeaten path. A wave of euphoria hit me – enhanced only by the high altitude and lack of oxygen going to my brain.

As we climbed over 3,000m above sea level, signs of altitude sickness like headaches, nausea, dizziness and shortness of breathe had begun to slow our progress. We took frequent rest breaks to allow our bodies to adjust.

But even though the conditions were challenging, the alpine environment provided an inspiring focus to the trek. We were able to spot a variety of indigenous animals like woolly hares, Tibetan picas, Himalayan marmots, grey flying squirrels, and even albino earthworms living in the freezing glacial waters.

Our third day of walking led us through the first of three passes, each one over 4,500m in elevation. Above the tree line and safely removed from the trampling of yaks, we passed through kilometres of alpine meadows filled with the most breathtaking assortment of wild flowers, including the striking yellow lampshade poppy. Every hue of yellow, pink, purple and blue could be seen blanketing the ground like a mammoth multicolour quilt. We also began to notice carefully arranged stone piles left by Buddhist monks and pilgrims. These cairn-like markers are known as mani dois and have Tibetan prayers carved on them. The stones serve the dual purpose of expressing the dedication of the faithful while acting as guideposts to pilgrims and herders.

As we made our way down again through the Yulongxi Valley we began to see yaks grazing in the green pastures, and the occasional hairy black tent too. As we passed by entire families would emerge from these temporary dwellings made from yak hair, curious to see the unusual visitors strolling through their fields. Some families invited us to partake in the region's traditional drink of yak butter tea. After a sip I was reminded it is an acquired taste. While it is a popular drink among Tibetan Khampas the thick-oily texture and salty-pungent taste have an extremely limited appeal to someone hanging out for a cup of dark French roast coffee. I was forced to put on my well-practiced this-local-delicacy-is-making-me-gag-but-I-have-to drink-it-because-you-such-a-kind-host smile.

That night a snowstorm entered the valley. While the sleet-like snow melted as soon as it hit the ground at the lower altitude, several centimetres accumulated higher up on the mountains. The following morning we huffed and puffed our way to the snowy summit and were rewarded with another fabulous vista; this time of the vast Mouxigou valley and the powder-topped mountains beyond. The descent, however, proved difficult as a slippery surface now coated the trail. No matter how carefully we walked there were slips that left the heart racing and the body scrambling to find its balance. With throbbing knees I trudged on motivating myself that Gongga would be just around the next bend.

Once Gongga temple came into my sight a wave of relief came rushing over me. When I entered the temple I was immediately struck by the rhythmic sound of the low octave chanting. Adjusting to the dim light cast by yak butter lamps, I climbed up into the darkened prayer hall on the second floor and listened to the monks praying. That night I slept surrounded by ornate tankas, colourful Buddhist statuary and ancient prayer books in the personal quarters of the Gongga Rimpoche, the spiritual head of the temple. I was startled in the early hours by a racket of cymbals crashing and horns blowing. I arose thinking there was a Tibetan prayer orchestra in the middle of the room. When my eyes focussed I noted that I was actually alone in the room except for the Buddhist statues looking down at me.

"BONG! BONG! BONG!" Again the cymbals crashed and I realised my room was directly adjacent to the prayer hall, separated only by a thin wall. No rest for the wicked! Once the noisy instrumental portion of the prayer was finished the monks went back to their repetitive chanting. My heart stopped racing from the shock and I began to enjoy listening to this most unusual alarm clock

I slipped out of the temple under the morning light to see if I could spot the elusive Mt Gongga. This 7,556m mountain is the highest in Sichuan and considered to be the sister mountain to Everest. Due to its extreme height, the mountain remains hidden in the clouds most of the time but this morning I was able to watch as the clouds playfully lifted around the base exposing glaciers and lower peaks. I waited patiently for an hour hoping to catch a glimpse of the highest peak but a cloud system entered the valley andI hiked back down to the temple satisfied with my partial yet still spectacular view.

After breakfast we bid farewell to the monks and set out for our last summit of the journey. Fortunately our legs were re-energised from the previous day of rest so the steep trails did not seem as punishing. The trail wound through the hills and valleys until we passed the tiny village of Zimei.

During our final summit the weather decided to put on a show for us. The blue sky suddenly filled with menacing clouds. The temperature plummeted to freezing. The winds howled furiously. Thunder bursts rattled my chest and the rain came slicing down like tiny frozen knives on any part of exposed skin.

We desperately scrambled down the slope carefully watching our footing on the slick rocks. As our group made it to a lower altitude the storm intensity faded as quickly as it had hit us. It was as if nature had planned one last reminder of her awesome power and ability to humble us.

As we strolled down the valley toward Shangmuju we heard the sound of motorcycles approaching. Standing aside we were greeted with a parade of bald, young monks clad in saffron and burgundy robes. They drove by on their way to repair a damaged bridge further up the trail. I smiled at their drive-by shouts and waves, so different to a typical biker gang.

On the homeward stretch we passed through Shade, an ugly gold mining town full of mangy stray dogs, garbage strewn streets, burnt out buildings and drab cinderblock homes, before entering a stunning valley known as Xinduqiao where we were absolutely captivated by the well-preserved stone houses and towers. These Migyagpa houses resemble little castles carefully arranged in one of the most picturesque rural scenes imaginable. Somehow time had stood still in this remote corner of the world and the cheap concrete, dark blue glass and toilet tile buildings had been magically kept at bay. If ever there was a place missing from the World Heritage List, this valley is it.

I arrived back in Chengdu in a haze of funky backpacker odour and headed straight to what was one of the greatest showers of my entire life. As I lathered up I knew that while the dirt and dust of the trip would soon disappear down the drain, the memories of this amazing survey trek would last a lifetime.