Skiing Gulmarg Means Thrills Beyond the Powder In early March, a white sport utility vehicle, crammed with a group of tourists from Germany, Austria, Switzerland and the United States, left the famous Kashmiri ski resort of Gulmarg well after dark. As the vehicle sped toward Srinagar, the summer capital of Jammu and Kashmir, the driver, Bashir, gripped the steering wheel and nervously scanned the road ahead. Given the recent demonstrations by Kashmiris who were protesting the hanging of Muhammad Afzal, a native of the region who was sentenced to death for his role in the Indian Parliament attacks in 2001, traveling by night was the best way to avoid encountering stone-throwing mobs, angry protesters and the large deployment of police and paramilitary troops. Mr. Bashir, who goes by one name, flashed his headlights to signal at the incoming cars, then slowed down to see if they'd stop with any news of what lay ahead. A stocky Kashmiri man in his mid-30s, Mr. Bashir has served as a driver for the Indian Army for over 10 years. He recalled the days he spent trying to dodge bullets in more than two decades of conflict between India and Pakistan over control of Kashmir. For him, the stone throwers were just another day on the job. But he did worry about the damage the protesters could inflict. Mr. Bashir pointed to the pieces of glass on the road illuminated by the vehicle's headlights. "That's the windows of cars the stone pelters smashed," he said. Two skiers and a snowboarder who spent a week carving through powder in Gulmarg attentively sat in the back of the S.U.V. "It's so boring at home," said Alex Wallnberger, a 28 year-old snowboarder from Austria. This place is so full of adventure. The streets look apocalyptic, like something out of "I Am Legend," the Will Smith science fiction horror movie." That two-hour drive to Srinagar went smoothly, but other travelers have not been so fortunate. The night before, the driver of an S.U.V. carrying six tourists from America, Canada and India turned his headlights off to avoid drawing the attention of stone throwers and drove into a huge ditch because he couldn't see the road. The terrified passengers and driver eventually made their way to Gulmarg. For the powder-loving skiers that come here, the thrill of Gulmarg is more than the serpentine turns in the Himalayas. When tensions in Kashmir are on the rise, as they were earlier this year, just getting to and from the ski resort is an adventure in itself. For most of the 1990s, the conflict between India and Pakistani-supported militants decimated tourism at the Gulmarg ski resort and throughout the region. But the collapse of the armed uprising in Kashmir and the lowest levels of militant infiltration from Pakistan since records were started in 1989 have brought quieter times over the past decade. The relative calm has allowed places like Gulmarg, which the British started as a ski resort in the 1920s, to thrive. It's easy to see why tourists come here, despite the threat of turmoil in the region. After a two-hour ski tour, at over 12,000 feet from the top of the gondola, several skiers and snowboarders from around the world stood next to the Line of Control, the de facto border between India and Pakistan. On one side was a no-man's land of soldiers with guns and binoculars, where hundreds of miles of forbidden powder stretched into Pakistan. On the other side, the Pir Panjal etched the skyline, inviting skiers to explore Indian-controlled Kashmir. When tourists started trickling back in 2005, "the ski field was 50 years behind Western resorts in basic things, like a ski patrol," said Brian Newman, the American manager of the ski patrol and founder of the Gulmarg Avalanche Center, a nongovernmental organization that gives daily avalanche bulletins and conducts avalanche education. Under his tutelage over the past five years, there's now a competent Kashmiri ski patrol that carries out search and rescue operations, understands basic snow science and avalanche control work. This year, Mr. Newman was able to procure his own explosives to blast for avalanches, a significant step in a place where dynamite is usually reserved for combat. Next year, there will be a rescue radio channel for skiers, which will allow them to alert the ski patrol if they are injured on the mountain. But even Mr. Newman, seasoned in the challenges of establishing a safety system under tumultuous circumstances, worries that recent events in India have the rumblings of major unrest in the future. A skirmish along the Line of Control in January claimed the lives of several Pakistani and Indian soldiers. Then militants attacked a paramilitary base in Srinagar on March 13, which left five Indian soldiers and the gunmen dead. The assault on the base was not a surprise to many people in the region. Since the Feb. 9 hanging of Mr. Afzal, the attitude of many Kashmiris has become more polarized toward the subcontinent. The failure of the Indian authorities to inform the family of Mr. Afzal, also known as Afzal Guru, before the execution and the government's refusal to return Mr. Afzal's body to his home region have infuriated Kashmiris, who have taken to the streets to voice their anger. Several young Kashmiris were killed in these protests, and more than 200 people were injured. "My guests understand that they are coming to Kashmir to ski," said Chris Werren, 59, a Swiss citizen who runs a ski tour company in Gulmarg and has been coming to the resort the past eight years. He had 120 clients from across Europe visit Kashmir this winter. "Some of my clients were concerned when they heard about the firings on the Line of Control in early January, but I did not have any cancellations," he said. Many skiers and snowboarders who ventured to the backcountry this year were stopped by Indian soldiers and told they had to return to the main ski slope. That did not go over well with the powder-hungry adventurers, and a comical game of dodging the soldiers ensued. "When the soldiers try to stop us, I just tell my clients to ski right by them," said Mr. Werren, a former downhill ski racer who employees six Kashmiri ski guides and has longstanding contacts in the region. But even the most stoic athlete can be unnerved. While leading a group of skiers down a popular off-piste route in March, one of Mr. Werren's clients from Germany hesitated. An Indian soldier threatened to shoot him if he continued to ski down the mountain. Not wanting to risk a possible ambush from behind, he skied back to the groomed slope. A skier from Australia, Ben Latta, recalled how the driver of his local bus in Srinagar rammed through a barricade during the early morning hours of a strike in February. "When we saw the barricade, the bus driver actually went back to the station to get an older, more experienced driver," said Mr. Latta. The senior driver hit the gas and went right through the barricade to the applause of the foreigners and Kashmiris on board. While dodging soldiers and going on midnight runs from the mountain are usually nothing more than heart-pumping adrenaline rushes for foreigners, the political developments of the last two months are much more serious for Kashmiris. Though foreign skiers said they felt safe traveling in the backcountry, they also said they would never go to the Line of Control with a Kashmiri, because it's not safe for locals. "If a Kashmiri were picked up by security forces while we were out there, there's very little we could do to help them," said Sandy Norval, 31, a towering man from Scotland, who returned to Gulmarg for his third season this year. The Kashmiri guides and hotel staff, who have often been interrogated by the Indian Army in the past, said the army's harassment was even more intense this year. "Tourists can get up the mountain pretty easily, but if the army stops us they want to know if we have any information on what's happening in the valley," said a hotel employee who did not want to be named because he feared for his safety. The recent developments have even turned former supporters against the central government. "I've always identified with India, and never understood what those kids throwing rocks were really fighting for," said Mohasin Bhat, 31, a Kashmiri businessman, as he sipped tea at Highlands Park, a regal hotel that overlooks the Himalayas. But I think hanging Afzal Guru was the last straw for many Kashmiris - even people like me. It seems India wants Kashmir, but not us Kashmiris.