Leave Lachoong for Tunkra pass—Moraines and their vegetation—Pines of
great dimensions—Wild currants—Glaciers—Summit of
pass—Elevation—Views—Plants—Winds—Choombi district—Lacheepia
rock—Extreme cold—Kinchinjunga—Himalayan grouse—Meteorological
observations—Return to Lachoong—Oaks—Ascent to Yeumtong—Flats and
debacles—Buried pine-trunks—Perpetual snow—Hot springs—Behaviour of
Singtam Soubah—Leave for Momay Samdong—Upper limit of
trees—Distribution of plants—Glacial terraces, etc.—Forked
Donkia—Moutonnéed rocks—Ascent to Donkia
pass—Vegetation—Scenery—Lakes—Tibet—Bhomtso—Arun river—Kiang-lah
mountains—Yaru-Tsampu river—Appearance of
Tibet—Kambajong—Jigatzi—Kinchinjhow, and Kinchinjunga—Chola
range—Deceptive appearance of distant landscape—Perpetual
snow—Granite—Temperatures—Pulses—Plants—Tripe de roche—Return to
Momay—Dogs and yaks—Birds—Insects—Quadrupeds—Hot
springs—Marmots—Kinchinjhow glacier.
The Singtam Soubah being again laid up here from the consequences of
leech-bites, I took the opportunity of visiting the Tunkra-lah pass,
represented as the most snowy in Sikkim; which I found to be the case.
The route lay over the moraines on the north flank of the Tunkrachoo,
which are divided by narrow dry gullies,[223] and composed of enormous
blocks disintegrating into a deep layer of clay. All are clothed with
luxuriant herbage and flowering shrubs,[224] besides small larches and
pines, rhododendrons and maples; with _Enkianthus, Pyrus,_ cherry,
_Pieris,_ laurel, and _Goughia._ The musk-deer inhabits these woods,
and at this season I have never seen it higher. Large monkeys are also
found on the skirts of the pine-forests, and the _Ailurus ochraceus_
(Hodgs.), a curious long-tailed animal peculiar to the Himalaya,
something between a diminutive bear and a squirrel. In the dense and
gigantic forest of _Abies Brunoniana_ and silver fir, I measured one of
the former trees, and found it twenty-eight feet in girth, and above
120 feet in height. The _Abies Webbiana_ attains thirty-five feet in
girth, with a trunk unbranched for forty feet.
[223] These ridges of the moraine, separated by gullies, indicate the
progressive retirement of the ancient glacier, after periods of rest.
The same phenomena may be seen, on a diminutive scale, in the Swiss
Alps, by any one who carefully examines the lateral and often the
terminal moraines of any retiring or diminishing glacier, at whose
base or flanks are concentric ridges, which are successive deposits.
[224] _Ranunculus, Clematis, Thalictrum, Anemone, Aconitum variegatum_
of Europe, a scandent species, Berberry, _Deutzia, Philadelphus,_
Rose, Honeysuckle, Thistles, Orchis, _Habenaria, Fritillaria, Aster,
Calimeris, Verbascum thapsus, Pedicularis, Euphrasia, Senecio,
Eupatorium, Dipsacus, Euphorbia,_ Balsam, _Hypericum, Gentiana,
Halenia, Codonopsis, Polygonum._
The path was narrow and difficult in the wood, and especially along the
bed of the stream, where grew ugly trees of larch, eighty feet high,
and abundance of a new species of alpine strawberry with oblong fruit.
At 11,560 feet elevation, I arrived at an immense rock of gneiss,
buried in the forest. Here currant-bushes were plentiful, generally
growing on the pine-trunks, in strange association with a small species
of _Begonia,_ a hothouse tribe of plants in England. Emerging from the
forest, vast old moraines are crossed, in a shallow mountain valley,
several miles long and broad, 12,000 feet above the sea, choked with
rhododendron shrubs, and nearly encircled by snowy mountains.
Magnificent gentians grew here, also _Senecio, Corydalis,_ and the
_Aconitum luridum_ (n. sp.), whose root is said to be as virulent as
_A. ferox_ and _A. Napellus._[225] The plants were all fully a month
behind those of the Lachen valley at the same elevation. Heavy rain
fell in the afternoon, and we halted under some rocks: as I had brought
no tent, my bed was placed beneath the shelter of one, near which the
rest of the party burrowed. I supped off half a yak’s kidney, an
enormous organ in this animal.
[225] The result of Dr. Thomson’s and my examination of the Himplayan
aconites (of which there are seven species) is that the one generally
known as _A. ferox,_ and which supplies a great deal of the celebrated
poison, is the common _A. Napellus_ of Europe.
On the following morning we proceeded up the valley, towards a very
steep rocky barrier, through which the river cut a narrow gorge, and
beyond which rose lofty snowy mountains: the peak of Tunkra being to
our left hand (north). Saxifrages grew here in profuse tufts of golden
blossoms, and _Chrysosplenium,_ rushes, mountain-sorrel (_Oxyria_), and
the bladder-headed _Saussurea,_ whose flowers are enclosed in inflated
membranous bracts, and smell like putrid meat: there were also splendid
primroses, the spikenard valerian, and golden Potentillas.
The ascent was steep and difficult, up a stony valley bounded by
precipices; in this the river flowed in a north-west direction, and we
were obliged to wade along it, though its waters were bitterly cold,
the temperature being 39°. At 15,000 feet we passed from great snowbeds
to the surface of a glacier, partly an accumulation of snow, increased
by lateral glaciers: its slope was very gentle for several miles; the
surface was eroded by rain, and very rough, whilst those of the lateral
glaciers were ribboned, crevassed, and often conspicuously marked with
dirt-bands.
A gently sloping saddle, bare of snow, which succeeds the glacier,
forms the top of the Tunkra pass; it unites two snowy mountains, and
opens on the great valley of the Machoo, which flows in a part of Tibet
between Sikkim and Bhotan; its height is 16,083 feet above the sea by
barometer, and 16,137 feet by boiling-point. Nothing can be more
different than the two slopes of this pass; that by which I had come
presented a gentle snowy acclivity, bounded by precipitous mountains;
while that which opened before me was a steep, rocky, broad, grassy
valley, where not a particle of snow was to be seen, and yaks were
feeding near a small lake not 1000 feet down. Nor were snowy mountains
visible anywhere in this direction, except far to the south-east, in
Bhotan. This remarkable difference of climate is due to the southerly
wind which ascends the Tibetan or Machoo valley being drained by
intervening mountains before reaching this pass, whilst the Sikkim
current brings abundant vapours up the Teesta and Lachoong valleys.
Chumulari lies to the E.N.E. of the Tunkra pass, and is only twenty-six
miles distant, but not seen; Phari is two marches off, in an easterly
direction, and Choombi one to the south-east. Choombi is the general
name given to a large Tibetan province that embraces the head of the
Machoo river, and includes Phari, Eusa, Choombi, and about thirteen
other villages, corresponding to as many districts, that contain from
under a dozen to 300 houses each, varying with the season and state of
trade. The latter is considerable, Phari being, next to Dorjiling, the
greatest Tibetan, Bhotan, Sikkim, and Indian entrepôt along the whole
Himalaya east of Nepal. The general form of Choombi valley is
triangular, the broader end northwards: it is bounded by the Chola
range on the west from Donkia to Gipmoochi, and by the Kamphee or
Chakoong range to the east; which is, I believe, continuous with
Chumulari. These meridional ranges approximate to the southward, so as
to form a natural boundary to Choombi. The Machoo river, rising from
Chumulari, flows through the Choombi district, and enters Bhotan at a
large mart called Rinchingoong, whence it flows to the plains of India,
where it is called at Couch-Behar, the Torsha, or, as some say, the
Godadda, and falls into the Burrampooter.
The Choombi district is elevated, for the only cultivation is a summer
or alpine one, neither rice, maize, nor millet being grown there: it is
also dry, for the great height of the Bhotan mountains and the form of
the Machou valley cut off the rains, and there is no dense forest. It
is very mountainous, all carriage being on men’s and yaks’ backs, and
is populous for this part of the country, the inhabitants being
estimated at 3000, in the trading season, when many families from Tibet
and Bhotan erect booths at Phari.
A civil officer at Phari collects the revenue under the Lhassan
authorities, and there is also a Tibetan fort, an officer, and guard.
The inhabitants of this district more resemble the Bhotanese than
Tibetans, and are a thievish set, finding a refuge under the Paro-Pilo
of Bhotan,[226] who taxes the refugees according to the estimate he
forms of their plunder. The Tibetans seldom pursue the culprits, as the
Lhassan government avoids all interference south of their own frontier.
[226] There was once a large monastery, called Kazioo Goompa, at
Choombi, with upwards of one hundred Lamas. During a struggle between
the Sikkim and Bhotan monks for superiority in it, the abbot died. His
avatar reappeared in two places at once! in Bhotan as a relative of
the Paro-Pilo himself, and in Sikkim as a brother of the powerful
Gangtok Kajee. Their disputes were referred to the Dalai Lama, who
pronounced for Sikkim. This was not to be disputed by the Pilo, who,
however, plundered the Goompa of its silver, gold, and books, leaving
nothing but the bare walls for the successful Lama! The Lhassan
authorities made no attempt to obtain restitution, and the monastery
has been consequently neglected.
From Choombi to Lhassa is fifteen days’ long journeys for a man mounted
on a stout mule; all the rice passing through Phari is monopolised
there for the Chinese troops at Lhassa. The grazing for yaks and small
cattle is excellent in Choombi, and the _Pinus excelsa_ is said to grow
abundantly there, though unknown in Sikkim, but I have not heard of any
other peculiarity in its productions.
Very few plants grew amongst the stones at the top of the Tunkra pass,
and those few were mostly quite different from those of Palung and
Kongra Lama. A pink-flowered _Arenaria,_ two kinds of _Corydalis,_ the
cottony _Saussurea,_ and diminutive primroses, were the most
conspicuous.[227] The wind was variable, blowing alternately up both
valleys, bringing much snow when it blew from the Teesta, though
deflected to a north-west breeze; when, on the contrary, it blew from
Tibet, it was, though southerly, dry. Clouds obscured all distant view.
The temperature varied between noon and 1.30 p.m. from 39° to 40·5°,
the air being extremely damp.
[227] The only others were _Leontopodium, Sedum,_ Saxifrage,
_Ramunculus hyperboreus, Ligularia,_ two species of _Polygonum,_ a
_Trichostomum, Stereocaulon,_ and _Lecidea geographica,_ not one grass
or sedge.
Returning to the foot of the glacier, I took up my quarters for two
days under an enormous rock overlooking the broad flat valley in which
I had spent the previous night, and directly fronting Tunkra mountain,
which bore north about five miles distant. This rock was sixty to
eighty feet high, and 15,250 feet above the sea; it was of gneiss, and
was placed on the top of a bleak ridge, facing the north; no shrub or
bush being near it. The gentle slope outwards of the rock afforded the
only shelter, and a more utterly desolate place than Lacheepia, as it
is called, I never laid my unhoused head in. It commanded an
incomparable view due west across the Lachoong and Lachen valleys, of
the whole group of Kinchinjunga snows, from Tibet southwards, and as
such was a most valuable position for geographical purposes.
The night was misty, and though the temperature was 35°, I was
miserably cold; for my blankets being laid on the bare ground, the
chill seemed to strike from the rock to the very marrow of my bones. In
the morning the fog hung till sunrise, when it rose majestically from
all the mountain-tops; but the view obtained was transient, for in less
than an hour the dense woolly banks of fog which choked the valleys
ascended like a curtain to the warmed atmosphere above, and slowly
threw a veil over the landscape. I waited till the last streak of snow
was shut out from my view, when I descended, to breakfast on Himalayan
grouse (_Tetrao-perdix nivicola_), a small gregarious bird which
inhabits the loftiest stony mountains, and utters a short cry of
“Quiok, quiok;” in character and appearance it is intermediate between
grouse and partridge, and is good eating, though tough.
Hoping to obtain another view, which might enable me to correct the
bearings taken that morning, I was tempted to spend a second night in
the open air at Lacheepia, passing the day botanizing[228] in the
vicinity, and taking observations of the barometer and wet-bulb: I also
boiled three thermometers by turns, noting the grave errors likely to
attend observations of this instrument for elevation.[229] Little rain
fell during the day, but it was heavy at night, though there was
fortunately no wind; and I made a more comfortable bed with tufts of
juniper brought up from below. Our fire was principally of wet
rhododendron wood, with masses of the aromatic dwarf species, which,
being full of resinous glands, blazed with fury. Next day, after a very
transient glimpse of the Kinchinjunga snows, I descended to Lachoong,
where I remained for some days botanizing. During my stay I was several
times awakened by all the noises and accompaniments of a night-attack
or alarm; screaming voices, groans, shouts, and ejaculations, the
beating of drums and firing of guns, and flambeaux of pine-wood
gleaming amongst the trees, and flitting from house to house. The
cause, I was informed, was the, presence of a demon, who required
exorcisement, and who generally managed to make the villagers remember
his visit, by their missing various articles after the turmoil made to
drive him away. The custom of driving out demons in the above manner is
constantly practised by the Lamas in Tibet: MM. Huc and Gabet give a
graphic account of such an operation during their stay at Kounboum.
[228] Scarcely a grass, and no _Astragali,_ grow on these stony and
snowy slopes: and the smallest heath-like _Andromeda,_ a still smaller
_Menziesia_ (an erotic genus, previously unknown in the Himalaya) and
a prostrate willow, are the only woody-stemmed plants above 15,000
feet.
[229] These will be more particularly alluded to in the Appendix,
where will be found a comparison of elevations, deduced from boiling
point and from barometric observations. The height of Lacheepia is
14,912 feet by boiling-point, and 15,262 feet by barometer.
On the 29th of August I left Lachoong and proceeded up the valley. The
road ran along a terrace, covered with long grass, and bounded by lofty
banks of unstratified gravel and sand, and passed through beautiful
groves of green pines, rich in plants. No oak nor chesnut ascends above
9000 feet here or elsewhere in the interior of Sikkim, where they are
replaced by a species of hazel (_Corylus_); in the North Himalaya, on
the other hand, an oak (_Quercus semecarpifolia,_ see vol. i., p. 187)
is amongst the most alpine trees, and the nut is a different species,
more resembling the European. On the outer Sikkim ranges oaks (_Q.
annulata?_) ascend to 10,000 feet, and there is no hazel. Above the
fork, the valley contracts extremely, and its bed is covered with
moraines and landslips, which often bury the larches and pines. Marshes
occur here and there, full of the sweet-scented Hierochlœ grass, the
Scotch _Thalictrum alpinum,_ and an _Eriocaulon,_ which ascends to
10,000 feet. The old moraines were very difficult to cross, and on one
I found a barricade, which had been erected to deceive me regarding the
frontier, had I chosen this route instead of the Lachen one, in May.
Broad flats clothed with rhododendron, alternate with others covered
with mud, boulders, and gravel, which had flowed down from the gorges
on the west, and which still contained trees, inclined in all
directions, and buried up to their branches; some of these débâcles
were 400 yards across, and sloped at an angle of 2° to 3°, bearing on
their surfaces blocks fifteen yards in diameter.[230] They seem to
subside materially, as I perceived they had left marks many feet higher
on the tree-trunks. Such débâcles must often bury standing forests in a
very favourable material, climate, and position for becoming
fossilized.
[230] None were to be compared in size and extent with that at Bex, at
the mouth of the Rhone valley.
On the 30th of August I arrived at Yeumtong, a small summer
cattle-station, on a flat by the Lachoong, 11,920 feet above the sea;
the general features of which closely resemble those of the narrow
Swiss valleys. The west flank is lofty and precipitous, with narrow
gullies still retaining the winter’s snow, at 12,500 feet; the east
gradually slopes up to the two snowy domes seen from Lachoong; the bed
of the valley is alternately a flat lake-bed, in which the river
meanders at the rate of three and a half miles an hour, and sudden
descents, cumbered with old moraines, over which it rushes in sheets of
Loam. Silver-firs ascend nearly to 13,000 feet, where they are replaced
by large junipers, sixty feet high: up the valley Chango Khang is seen,
with a superb glacier descending to about 14,000 feet on its south
flank. Enormous masses of rock were continually precipitated from the
west side, close to the shed in which I had taken up my quarters,
keeping my people in constant alarm, and causing a great commotion
among the yaks, dogs, and ponies. On the opposite side of the river is
a deep gorge; in which an immense glacier descends lower than any I
have seen in Sikkim. I made several attempts to reach it by the gully
of its discharging stream, but was always foiled by the rocks and dense
jungle of pines, rhododendron, and dwarf holly.
The snow-banks on the face of the dome-shaped mountain appearing
favourable for ascertaining the position of the level of perpetual
snow, I ascended to them on the 6th of September, and found the mean
elevation along an even, continuous, and gradual slope, with a full
south-west exposure, to be 15,985 feet by barometer, and 15,816 feet by
boiling-point. These beds of snow, however broad and convex, cannot
nevertheless be distinguished from glaciers: they occupy, it is true,
mountain slopes, and do not fill hollows (like glaciers commonly so
called), but they display the ribboned structure of ice, and being
viscous fluids, descend at a rate and to a distance depending on the
slope, and on the amount of annual accumulation behind. Their
termination must therefore be far below that point at which all the
snow that falls melts, which is the theoretical line of perpetual snow.
Before returning I attempted to proceed northwards to the great
glacier, hoping to descend by its lateral moraine, but a heavy
snow-storm drove me down to Yeumtong.
Some hot-springs burst from the bank of the Lachen a mile or so below
the village: they are used as baths, the patient remaining three days
at a time in them, only retiring to eat in a little shed close by. The
discharge amounts to a few gallons per minute; the temperature at the
source is 112·6°, and 106° in the bath.[231] The water has a slightly
saline taste; it is colourless, but emits bubbles of sulphuretted
hydrogen gas, blackening silver. A cold spring (temperature 42°)
emerged close by, and the Lachoong not ten yards off, was 47° to 50°. A
conferva grows in the hot water, and the garnets are worn out of the
gneiss rock exposed to its action.
[231] This water boiled at 191·6°, the same at which snow-water and
that of the river did; giving an elevation of 11,730 feet.
Observations on the mineral constituents of the water will be found in
the Appendix.
The Singtam Soubah had been very sulky since leaving Choongtam, and I
could scarcely get a drop of milk or a slice of curd here. I had to
take him to task severely for sanctioning the flogging of one of my
men; a huntsman, who had offered me his services at Choongtam, and who
was a civil, industrious fellow, though he had procured me little
besides a huge monkey, which had nearly bitten off the head of his best
dog. I had made a point of consulting the Soubah before hiring him, for
fear of accidents; but this did not screen him from the jealousy of the
Choongtam Lama, who twice flogged him in the Goompa with rattans (with
the Soubah’s consent), alleging that he had quitted his service for
mine. My people knew of this, but were afraid to tell me, which the
poor fellow did himself.
The Lachoong Phipun visited me on the 7th of September: he had
officiously been in Tibet to hear what the Tibetan people would say to
my going to Donkia, and finding them supremely indifferent, returned to
be my guide. A month’s provision for ten men having arrived from
Dorjiling, I left Yeumtong the following day for Momay Samdong, the
loftiest yak grazing station in Sikkim (Palung being too cold for
yaks), and within a day’s journey of the Donkia pass.
The valley remains almost level for several miles, the road continuing
along the east bank of the Lachen. Shoots of stones descend from the
ravines, all of a white fine-grained granite, stained red with a minute
conferva, which has been taken by Himalayan travellers for red
snow;[232] a phenomenon I never saw in Sikkim.
[232] Red snow was never found in the Antarctic regions during Sir
James Ross’s South Polar voyage; nor do I know any authentic record of
its having been seen in the Himalaya.
At a fork of the valley several miles above Yeumtong, and below the
great glacier of Chango Khang, the ancient moraines are prodigious,
much exceeding any I have elsewhere seen, both in extent, in the size
of the boulders, and in the height to which the latter are piled on one
another. Many boulders I measured were twenty yards across, and some
even forty; and the chaotic scene they presented baffles all
description: they were scantily clothed with stunted silver firs.
Beyond this, the path crosses the river, and ascends rapidly over a
mile of steeply sloping landslip, composed of angular fragments of
granite, that are constantly falling from above, and are extremely
dangerous. At 14,000 feet, trees and shrubs cease, willow and
honeysuckle being the last; and thence onward the valley is bleak,
open, and stony, with lofty rocky mountains on either side. The south
wind brought a cold drizzling rain, which numbed us, and two of the
lads who had last come up from Dorjiling were seized with a remittent
fever, originally contracted in the hot valleys; luckily we found some
cattle-sheds, in which I left them, with two men to attend on them.
Momay Samdong is situated in a broad part of the Lachoong valley, where
three streams meet; it is on the west of Chango Khang, and is six miles
south-east of Kinchinjhow, and seven south-west of Donkia: it is in the
same latitude as Palung, but scarcely so lofty. The mean of fifty-six
barometrical observations contemporaneous with Calcutta makes it 15,362
feet above the sea; nearly the elevation of Lacheepia (near the Tunkra
pass), from which, however, its scenery and vegetation entirely differ.
I pitched my tent close to a little shed, at the gently sloping base of
a mountain that divided the Lachoong river from a western tributary. It
was a wild and most exposed spot: long stony mountains, grassy on the
base near the river; distant snowy peaks, stupendous precipices,
moraines, glaciers, transported boulders, and rocks rounded by glacial
action, formed the dismal landscape which everywhere met the view.
There was not a bush six inches high, and the only approach to woody
plants were minute creeping willows and dwarf rhododendrons, with a
very few prostrate junipers and _Ephedra._
The base of the spur was cut into broad flat terraces, composed of
unstratified sand, pebbles, and boulders; the remains, doubtless, of an
enormously thick glacial deposit. The terracing is as difficult to be
accounted for in this valley as in that of Yangma (East Nepal); both
valleys being far too broad, and descending too rapidly to admit of the
hypothesis of their having been blocked up in the lower part, and the
upper filled with large lakes.[233] Another tributary falls into the
Lachoong at Momay, which leads eastwards up to an enormous glacier that
descends from Donkia. Snowy mountains rise nearly all round it: those
on its south and east divide Sikkim from the Phari province in Tibet;
those on the north terminate in a forked or cleft peak, which is a
remarkable and conspicuous feature from Momay. This, which I have
called forked Donkia,[234] is the termination of a magnificent
amphitheatre of stupendous snow-clad precipices, continuously upwards
of 20,000 feet high, that forms the east flank of the upper Lachoong.
From Donkia top again, the mountains sweep round to the westward,
rising into fingered peaks of extraordinary magnificence; and thence
—still running west—dip to 18,500 feet, forming the Donkia pass, and
rise again as the great mural mass of Kinchinjhow. This girdle of
mountains encloses the head waters of the Lachoong, which rises in
countless streams from its perpetual snows, glaciers, and small lakes:
its north drainage is to the Cholamoo lakes in Tibet; in which is the
source of the Lachen, which flows round the north base of Kinchinjhow
to Kongra Lama.
[233] The formation of small lakes, however, between moraines and the
sides of the valleys they occupy, or between two successively formed
moraines (as I have elsewhere mentioned), will account for very
extensive terraced areas of this kind; and it must be borne in mind
that when the Momay valley was filled with ice, the breadth of its
glacier at this point must have been twelve miles, and it must have
extended east and west from Chango Khang across the main valley, to
beyond Donkia. Still the great moraines are wanting at this particular
point, and though atmospheric action and the rivers have removed
perhaps 200 feet of glacial shingle, they can hardly have destroyed a
moraine of rocks, large enough to block up the valley.
[234] Its elevation by my observations is about 21,870 feet.
The bottom of the Lachoong valley at Momay is broad, tolerably level,
grassy, and covered with isolated mounds and ridges that point down the
valley, and are the remains of glacial deposits. It dips suddenly below
this, and some gneiss rocks that rise in its centre are remarkably
_moutonnéed_ or rounded, and have boulders perched on their summits.
Though manifestly rounded and grooved by ancient glaciers, I failed to
find scratches on these weather-worn rocks.[235]
[235] I have repeatedly, and equally in vain, sought for scratchings
on many of the most conspicuously moutonneed gneiss rocks of
Switzerland. The retention of such markings depends on other
circumstances than the mere hardness of the rock, or amount of aqueous
action. What can be more astonishing than to see these most delicate
scratches retained in all their sharpness on rocks clothed with
seaweed and shells, and exposed at every tide, in the bays of western
Scotland!
The Lachoong is here twelve or fifteen yards wide, and runs over a
pebbly bed, cutting a shallow channel through the deposits, down to the
subjacent rock, which is in some cases scooped out six or eight feet
deep by its waters. I do not doubt that the flatness of the floor of
the Momay valley is caused by the combined action of the streams that
drained the three glaciers which met here; for the tendency of retiring
glaciers is to level the floors of valleys, by giving an ever-shifting
direction to the rivers which drain them, and which spread detritus in
their course. Supposing these glaciers to have had no terminal
moraines, they might still have forced immense beds of gravel into
positions that would dam up lakes between the ice and the flanks of the
valleys, and thus produce much terracing on the latter.[236]
[236] We are still very ignorant of many details of ice action, and
especially of the origin of many enormous deposits which are not true
moraines. These, so conspicuous in the lofty Himalayan valleys, are
not less so in those of the Swiss Alps: witness that broad valley in
which Grindelwald village is situated, and which is covered to an
immense depth with angular detritus, moulded into hills and valleys;
also the whole broad open Upper Rhone valley, above the village of
Munster, and below that of Obergestelen. The action of broad glaciers
on gentle slopes is to raise their own beds by the accumulation of
gravel which their lower surface carries and pushes forward. I have
seen small glaciers thus raised 300 feet; leaving little doubt in my
mind that the upper Himalayan valleys were thus choked with deposit
1000 feet thick, of which indeed the proofs remain along the flanks of
the Yangma valley. The denuding and accumulating effects of ice thus
give a contour to mountain valleys, and sculpture their flanks and
floors far more rapidly than sea action, or the elements. After a very
extensive experience of ice in the Antarctic ocean, and in mountainous
countries, I cannot but conclude that very few of our geologists
appreciate the power of ice as a mechanical agent, which can hardly be
over-estimated, whether as glacier, iceberg, or pack ice, heaping
shingle along coasts.
On our arrival, we found that a party of buxom, good-natured looking
girls who were tending yaks, were occupying the hut, which, however,
they cheerfully gave up to my people, spreading a black tent close by
for themselves; and next morning they set off with all their effects
packed upon the yaks. The ground was marshy, and covered with cowslips,
_Ranunculus,_ grasses and sedges, _Cyananthus,_ blue asters, gentians,
etc. The spot appearing highly favourable for observations, I
determined to remain here during the equinoctial month, and put my
people on “two-thirds allowance,” _i.e.,_ four pounds of rice daily for
three men, allowing them to send down the valley to cater for what more
they could get. The Singtam Soubah was intensely disgusted with my
determination: he accompanied me next day to the pass, and having
exhausted his persuasions, threats, and warnings about snow, wind,
robbers, starvation, and Cheen sepoys, departed on the 12th for
Yeumtong, leaving me truly happy for the first time since quitting
Dorjiling. I had now a prospect of uninterruptedly following up my
pursuits at an elevation little below that of the summit of Mont Blanc,
surrounded by the loftiest mountains, and perhaps the vastest glaciers
on the globe; my instruments were in perfect order, and I saw around me
a curious and varied flora.
The morning of the 9th of September promised fair, though billowy
clouds were rapidly ascending the valley. To the eastward my attention
was directed to a double rainbow; the upper was an arch of the usual
form, and the lower was the curved illuminated edge of a bank of
cumulus, with the orange hues below. We took the path to the Donkia
pass, fording the river, and ascending in a north-east direction, along
the foot of stony hills that rise at a gradual slope of 12° to broad
unsnowed ridges, 18,000 to 19,000 feet high. Shallow valleys,
glacier-bound at their upper extremities, descend from the still
loftier rearward mountains; and in these occur lakes. About five miles
up, a broad opening on the west leads to Tomo Chamo, as the eastern
summit of Kinchinjhow is called.[237] Above this the valley expands
very much, and is stony and desert: stupendous mountains, upwards of
21,000 feet high, rear themselves on all sides, and the desolation and
grandeur of the scene are unequalled in my experience. The path again
crosses the river (which is split into many channels), and proceeds
northwards, over gravelly terraces and rocks with patches of Scotch
alpine grasses (_Festuca ovina_ and _Poa laxa_), sedges, _Stipa,_
dandelion, _Allardia,_ gentians, _Saussurea,_ and _Astragalus,_ varied
with hard hemispherical mounds of the alsineous plant mentioned at p.
89.
[237] On one occasion I ascended this valley, which is very broad,
flat, and full of lakes at different elevations; one, at about 17,000
feet elevation is three-quarters of a mile long, but not deep: no
water-plants grew in it, but there were plenty of others round its
margin. I collected, in the dry bed of a stream near it, a curious
white substance like thick felt, formed of felspathic silt (no doubt
the product of glacial streams) and the siliceous cells of infusoriæ.
It much resembles the fossil or meteoric paper of Germany, which is
also formed of the lowest tribes of fresh-water plants, though
considered by Ehrenberg as of animal origin. A vein of granite in the
bottom of the valley had completely altered the character of the
gneiss, which contained veins of jasper and masses of amorphous
garnet. Much olivine is found in the fissures of the gneiss: this
feral is very rare in Sikkim, but I have also seen it in the fissures
of the White gneissy granite of the surrounding heights.
I passed several shallow lakes at 17,500 feet; their banks were green
and marshy, and supported thirty or forty kinds of plants. At the head
of the valley a steep rocky crest, 500 feet high, rises between two
precipitous snowy peaks, and a very fatiguing ascent (at this
elevation) leads to the sharp rocky summit of the Donkia pass, 18,466
feet above the sea by barometer, and 17,866 by boiling-point. The view
on this occasion was obscured by clouds and fogs, except towards Tibet,
in which direction it was magnificent; but as I afterwards twice
ascended this pass, and also crossed it, I shall here bring together
all the particulars I noted.
The Tibetan view, from its novelty, extent, and singularity, demands
the first notice: the Cholamoo lake lay 1500 feet below me, at the
bottom of a rapid and rocky descent; it was a blue sheet of water,
three or four miles from north to south, and one and a half broad,
hemmed in by rounded spurs from Kinchinjhow on one side, and from
Donkia on the other: the Lachen flowed from its northern extremity, and
turning westward, entered a broad barren valley, bounded on the north
by red stony mountains, called Bhomtso, which I saw from Kongra Lama,
and ascended with Dr. Campbell in the October following: though 18,000
to 19,000 feet high, these mountains were wholly unsnowed. Beyond this
range lay the broad valley of the Arun, and in the extreme north-west
distance, to the north of Nepal, were some immense snowy mountains,
reduced to mere specks on the horizon. The valley of the Arun was
bounded on the north by very precipitous black rocky mountains,
sprinkled with snow; beyond these again, from north to north-west,
snow-topped range rose over range in the clear purple distance. The
nearer of these was the Kiang-lah, which forms the axis or water-shed
of this meridian; its south drainage being to the Arun river, and its
north to the Yaru-tsampu: it appeared forty to fifty miles off, and of
great mean elevation (20,000 feet) the vast snowy mountains that rose
beyond it were, I was assured, beyond the Yaru, in the salt lake
country.[238] A spur from Chomiomo cut off the view to the southward of
north-west, and one from Donkia concealed all to the east of north.
[238] This salt country was described to me as enormously lofty,
perfectly sterile, and fourteen days’ march for loaded men and sheep
from Jigatzi: there is no pasture for yaks, whose feet are cut by the
rocks. The salt is dug (so they express it) from the margin of lakes;
as is the carbonate of soda, “Pleu” of the Tibetans.
[Illustration: Tibet and Cholamoo Lake from the summit of the Donkia
Pass, looking north-west]
The most remarkable features of this landscape were its enormous
elevation, and its colours and contrast to the black, rugged, and snowy
Himalaya of Sikkim. All the mountains between Donkia pass and the Arun
were comparatively gently sloped, and of a yellow red colour, rising
and falling in long undulations like dunes, 2000 to 3000 feet above the
mean level of the Arun valley, and perfectly bare of perpetual snow or
glaciers. Rocks everywhere broke out on their flanks, and often along
their tops, but the general contour of that immense area was very open
and undulating, like the great ranges of Central Asia, described by MM.
Huc and Gabet. Beyond this again, the mountains were rugged, often
rising into peaks which, from the angles I took here, and subsequently
at Bhomtso, cannot be below 24,000 feet, and are probably much higher.
The most lofty mountains were on the range north of Nepal, not less
than 120 miles distant, and which, though heavily snowed, were below
the horizon of Donkia pass.
Cholamoo lake lay in a broad, scantily grassed, sandy and stony valley;
snow-beds, rocks, and glaciers dipped abruptly towards its head, but on
its west bank a lofty brick-red spur sloped upwards from it,
conspicuously cut into terraces for several hundred feet above its
waters.
Kambajong, the chief Tibetan village near this, after Phari and
Giantchi, is situated on the Arun (called in Tibet “Chomachoo”), on the
road from Sikkim to Jigatzi[239] and Teshoo Loombo. I did not see it,
but a long, stony mountain range above the town is very conspicuous,
its sides presenting an interrupted line of cliffs, resembling the
port-holes of a ship: some fresh-fallen snow lay at the base, but none
at the top, which was probably 18,500 feet high. The banks of the Arun
are thence inhabited at intervals all the way to Tingré, where it
enters Nepal.
[239] I have adopted the simplest mode of spelling this name that I
could find, and omitted the zong or jong, which means fort, and
generally terminates it. I think it would not be difficult to
enumerate fully a dozen ways of spelling the word, of which Shigatzi,
Digarchi, and Djigatzi are the most common. The Tibetans tell me that
they cross two passes after leaving Donkia, or Kongra Lama, en route
for Jigatzi, on both of which they suffer from headaches and
difficulty of breathing; one is over the Kambajong range; the other,
much loftier, is over that of Kiang-lah: as they do not compliin of
Bhomtso, which is also crossed, and is 18,500 feet, the others may be
very lofty indeed. The distance from Donkia pass to Jigatzi is said to
be ten days’ journey for loaded yaks. Now, according to Turner’s
observations (evidently taken with great care) that capital is in
latitude 29° 4′ 20″ north, or only seventy miles north of Donkia; and
as the yak travels at the rate of sixteen miles a day, the country
must be extraordinarily rugged, or the valleys tortuous. Turner took
eight or nine days on his journey from Phari to Teshoo Loombo, a
distance of only eighty miles; yet he is quoted as an authority for
the fact of Tibet being a plain! he certainly crossed an undulating
country, probably 16,000 to 17,000 feet high; a continuation eastwards
of the Cholamoo features, and part of the same mountain range that
connects Chumulari and Donkia: he had always lofty mountains in eight,
and rugged ones on either side, after he had entered the Painomchoo
valley. It is a remarkable and significant fact that Turner never
appears to have seen Chumulari after having passed it, nor Donkia,
Kinchinjhow, or Kinchinjunga at any time.
Donkia rises to the eastward of the pass, but its top is not visible. I
ascended (over loose rocks) to between 19,000 and 20,000 feet, and
reached vast masses of blue ribboned ice, capping the ridges, but
obtained no further prospect. To the west, the beetling east summit of
Kinchinjhow rises at two miles distance, 3000 to 4000 feet above the
pass. A little south of it, and north of Chango Khang, the view extends
through a gap in the Sebolah range, across the valley of the Lachen, to
Kinchinjunga, distant forty-two miles. The monarch of mountains looked
quite small and low from this point, and it was difficult to believe it
was 10,000 feet more lofty than my position. I repeatedly looked from
it to the high Tibetan mountains in the extreme north-west distance,
and was more than ever struck with the apparently immense distance, and
consequent altitude of the latter: I put, however, no reliance on such
estimates.
To the south the eye wandered down the valley of the Lachoong to the
mountains of the Chola range, which appear so lofty from Dorjiling, but
from here are sunk far below the horizon: on comparing these with the
northern landscape, the wonderful difference between their respective
snow-levels, amounting to fully 5000 feet, was very apparent.
South-east the stupendous snowy amphitheatre formed by the flank of
Donkia was a magnificent spectacle.
This wonderful view forcibly impressed me with the fact, that all
eye-estimates in mountainous countries are utterly fallacious, if not
corrected by study and experience. I had been led to believe that from
Donkia pass the whole country of Tibet sloped away in descending
steppes to the Tsampu, and was more or less of a plain; and could I
have trusted my eyes only, I should have confirmed this assertion so
far as the slope was concerned. When, however, the levelled theodolite
was directed to the distance, the reverse was found to be the case.
Unsnowed and apparently low mountains touched the horizon line of the
telescope; which proves that, if only 37 miles off, they must, from the
dip of the horizon, be at least 1000 feet higher than the observer’s
position. The same infallible guide cuts off mountain-tops and deeply
snowed ridges, which to the unaided eye appear far lower than the point
from which they are viewed; but which, from the quantity of snow on
them, must be many thousand feet higher, and, from the angle they
subtend in the instrument, must be at an immense distance. The want of
refraction to lift the horizon, the astonishing precision of the
outlines, and the brilliancy of the images of mountains reduced by
distance to mere specks, are all circumstances tending to depress them
to appearance. The absence of trees, houses, and familiar objects to
assist the eye in the appreciation of distance, throws back the whole
landscape; which, seen through the rarified atmosphere of 18,500 feet,
looks as if diminished by being surveyed through the wrong end of a
telescope.
A few rude cairns were erected on the crest of the pass, covered with
wands, red banners, and votive offerings of rags. I found a fine slab
of slate, inscribed with the Tibetan characters, “Om Mani Padmi hom,”
which Meepo allowed me to take away, as the reward of my exertions. The
ridge is wholly formed of angular blocks of white gneissy granite,
split by frost.[240] There was no snow on the pass itself, but deep
drifts and glaciers descended in hollows on the north side, to 17,000
feet. The rounded northern red shoulder of Kinchinjhow by Cholamoo
lake, apparently 19,000 feet high, was quite bare, and, as I have said,
I ascended Donkia to upwards of 19,000 feet before I found the rocks
crusted with ice,[241] and the ground wholly frozen. I assume,
therefore, that 19,000 feet at this spot is not below the mean level at
which all the snow melts that falls on a fair exposure to the south:
this probably coincides with a mean temperature of 20°. Forty miles
further north (in Tibet) the same line is probably at 20,000 feet; for
there much less snow falls, and much more melts in proportion.[242]
From the elevation of about 19,300 feet, which I attained on Donkia, I
saw a fine illustration of that atmospheric phenomenon called the
“spectre of the Brocken,” my own shadow being projected on a mass of
thin mist that rose above the tremendous precipices over which I hung.
My head was surrounded with a brilliant circular glory or rainbow.[243]
[240] It was not a proper granite, but a highly metamorphic felspathic
gneiss, with very little mica; being, I suspect, a gneiss which by
metamorphic action was almost remolten into granite: the lamination
was obscure, and marked by faint undulating lines of mica; it cleaves
at all angles, but most generally along fissures with highly polished
undulated black surfaces. The strike of the same rock near at hand was
north-west, and dip north-east, at various angles.
[241] Snow, transformed into ice throughout its whole mass: in short,
glacial ice in all physical characters.
[242] Two secondary considerations materially affecting the melting of
snow, and hence exerting a material influence on the elevation of the
snow-line, appear to me never to have been sufficiently dwelt upon.
Both, however, bear directly upon the great elevation of the snow-line
in Tibet. From the imperfect transmission of the heating rays of the
sun through films of water, which transmit perfectly the luminous
rays, it follows that the direct effects of the rays, in clear
sunshine, are very different at equal elevations of the moist outer
and dry inner Himalaya. Secondly, naked rock and soil absorb much more
heat than surfaces covered with vegetation, and this heat again
radiated is infinitely more rapidly absorbed by snow (or other white
surfaces) than the direct heat of the sun’s rays is. Hence, at equal
elevations the ground heats sooner, and the snow is more exposed to
the heat thus radiated in arid Tibet, than in the wooded and grassed
mountains of Sikkim.
[243] Probably caused by spiculæ of ice floating in the atmosphere,
the lateral surfaces of which would then have an uniform inclination
of 60°: this, according to the observations of Mariotte, Venturi, and
Fraunhœfer being the angle necessary for the formation of halos.
The temperature of the Donkia pass is much higher than might be
anticipated from its great elevation, and from the fact of its being
always bitterly cold to the feelings. This is no doubt due to the
warmth of the ascending currents, and to the heat evolved during the
condensation of their vapours. I took the following observations:—
Temp. D.P. Difference Tension Humidity Sept. 9
Sept. 27
Oct. 19 1.30–3.30 p.m.
1.15–3.15 p.m.
3.00–3.30 p.m. 41·8°
49·2°
40·1° 30·3°
32·6°
25·0° 11·5°
16·6°
15·1° 0·1876
0·2037
0·1551 0·665
0·560
0·585
The first and last of these temperatures were respectively 42·3° and
46·4° lower than Calcutta, which, with the proper deduction for
latitude, allows 508 and 460 feet as equivalent to 1° Fahr. I left a
minimum thermometer on the summit on the 9th of September, and removed
it on the 27th, but it had been lifted and turned over by the action of
the frost and snow on the loose rocks amongst which I had placed it;
the latter appearing to have been completely shifted. Fortunately, the
instrument escaped unhurt, with the index at 28°.
A violent southerly wind, with a scud of mist, and sometimes snow,
always blew over the pass: but we found shelter on the north face,
where I twice kindled a fire, and boiled my thermometers.[244] On one
occasion I felt the pulses of my party several times during two hours’
repose (without eating); the mean of eight persons was 105°, the
extremes being 92° and 120°, and my own 108°.
[244] On the 9th of September the boiling-point was 181·3°, and on the
27th, 181·2°. In both observations, I believe the kettle communicated
a higher temperature to the thermometer than that of the water, for
the elevations deduced are far too low.
One flowering plant ascends to the summit; the alsinaceous one
mentioned at p. 89. The Fescue grass, a little fern (_Woodsia_), and a
_Saussurea_[245] ascend very near the summit, and several lichens grow
on the top, as _Cladonia vermicularis,_ the yellow _Lecidea
geographica,_ and the orange _L. miniata_;[246] also some barren
mosses. At 18,300 feet, I found on one stone only a fine Scotch lichen,
a species of _Gyrophora,_ the _“tripe de roche”_ of Arctic voyagers,
and the food of the Canadian hunters; it is also abundant on the Scotch
alps.
[245] A pink-flowered woolly _Saussurea,_ and _Delphinium glaciale,_
are two of the most lofty plants; both being commonly found from
17,500 to 18,000 feet.
[246] This is one of the most Arctic, Antarctic, and universally
diffused plants. The other lichens were _Lecidea atro-alba, oreina,
elegans,_ and _chlorophana,_ all alpine European and Arctic species.
At 17,000 feet occur _Lecanora ventosa, physodes, candelaria, sordida,
atra,_ and the beautiful Swiss _L. chrysoleuca,_ also European
species.
Before leaving, I took one more long look at the boundless prospect;
and, now that its important details were secured, I had leisure to
reflect on the impression it produced. There is no loftier country on
the globe than that embraced by this view, and no more howling
wilderness; well might the Singtam Soubah and every Tibetan describe it
as the loftiest, coldest, windiest, and most barren country in the
world. Were it buried in everlasting snows, or burnt by a tropical sun,
it might still be as utterly sterile; but with such sterility I had
long been familiar. Here the colourings are those of the fiery desert
or volcanic island, while the climate is that of the poles. Never, in
the course of all my wanderings, had my eye rested on a scene so dreary
and inhospitable. The “cities of the plain” lie sunk in no more
death-like sea than Cholamoo lake, nor are the tombs of Petra hewn in
more desolate cliffs than those which flank the valley of the Tibetan
Arun.
On our return my pony strained his shoulder amongst the rocks; as a
remedy, the Lachoong Phipun plunged a lancet into the muscle, and
giving me his own animal, rode mine down.[247] It drizzled and sleeted
all the way, and was dark before we arrived at the tent.
[247] These animals, called Tanghan, are wonderfully strong and
enduring; they are never shod, and the hoof often cracks, and they
become pigeon-toed: they are frequently blind of one eye, when they
are called “zemik” (blind ones), but this is thought no great defect.
They average 5 pounds to 10 pounds for a good animal in Tibet; and the
best fetch 40 pounds to 50 pounds in the plains of India, where they
become acclimated and thrive well. Giantchi (Jhansi-jeung of Turner)
is the best mart for them in this part of Tibet, where some breeds
fetch very high prices. The Tibetans give the foals of value messes of
pig’s blood and raw liver, which they devour greedily, and it is said
to strengthen them wonderfully; the custom is, I believe, general in
central Asia. Humboldt (Pens. Nar. iv. p. 320) describes the horses of
Caraccas as occasionally eating salt meat.
At night the Tibetan dogs are let loose, when they howl dismally: on
one occasion they robbed me of all my meat, a fine piece of yak’s
flesh. The yaks are also troublesome, and bad sleepers; they used to
try to effect an entrance into my tent, pushing their muzzles under the
flaps at the bottom, and awakening me with a snort and moist hot blast.
Before the second night I built a turf wall round the tent; and in
future slept with a heavy tripod by my side, to poke at intruders.
Birds flock to the grass about Momay; larks, finches, warblers,
abundance of sparrows, feeding on the yak-droppings, and occasionally
the hoopoe; waders, cormorants, and wild ducks were sometimes seen in
the streams, but most of them were migrating south. The yaks are driven
out to pasture at sunrise, and home at sunset, till the middle of the
month, when they return to Yeumtong. All their droppings are removed
from near the tents, and piled in heaps; as these animals, unlike their
masters, will not sleep amid such dirt. These heaps swarm with the
maggots of two large flies, a yellow and black, affording abundant food
to red-legged crows, ravens, and swallows. Butterflies are rare; the
few are mostly _Colias, Hipparchia, Polyommatus,_ and _Melitæa_; these
I have seen feeding at 17,000 feet; when found higher, they have
generally been carried up by currents. Of beetles, an _Aphodeus,_ in
yak-droppings, and an _Elaphrus,_ a predaceous genus inhabiting swamps,
are almost the only ones I saw. The wild quadrupeds are huge sheep, in
flocks of fifty, the _Ovis Ammon_ called “Gnow.” I never shot one, not
having time to pursue them for they were very seldom seen, and always
at great elevations. The larger marmot is common, and I found the horns
of the “Tchiru” antelope. Neither the wild horse, fox, hare, nor
tailless rat, cross the Donkia pass. White clover, shepherd’s purse,
dock, plantain, and chickweed, are imported here by yaks; but the
common _Prunella_ of Europe is wild, and so is a groundsel like
_Senecio Jacobæa, Ranunculus, Sibbaldia,_ and 200 other plants. The
grasses are numerous; they belong chiefly to _Poa, Festuca, Stipa,_ and
other European genera.
I repeatedly attempted to ascend both Kinchinjhow and Donkia from
Momay, and generally reached from 18,000 to 19,000 feet, but never much
higher.[248] The observations taken on these excursions are
sufficiently illustrated by those of Donkia pass: they served chiefly
to perfect my map, measure the surrounding peaks, and determine the
elevation reached by plants; all of which were slow operations, the
weather of this month being so bad that I rarely returned dry to my
tent; fog and drizzle, if not sleet and snow, coming on during every
day, without exception.
[248] An elevation of 20,000 and perhaps 22,000 feet might, I should
think, easily be attained by practice, in Tibet, north of Sikkim.
I made frequent excursions to the great glacier of Kinchinjhow. Its
valley is about four miles long, broad and flat: Chango-khang[249]
rears its blue and white cliffs 4,500 feet above its west flank, and
throws down avalanches of stones and snow into the valley. Hot
springs[250] burst from the ground near some granite rocks on its
floor, about 16,000 feet above the sea, and only a mile below the
glacier, and the water collects in pools: its temperature is 110°, and
in places 116°, or 4° hotter than that of the Yeumtong hot-springs,
though 4000 feet higher, and of precisely the same character. A
_Barbarea_ and some other plants make the neighbourhood of the
hot-springs a little oasis, and the large marmot is common, uttering
its sharp, chirping squeak.
[249] The elevation of this mountain is about 20,560 feet, by the mean
of several observations taken from surrounding localities.
[250] Supposing the mean temperature of the air at the elevation of
the Momay springs to be 26° or 28°, which may be approximately
assumed, and that, as some suppose, the heat of thermal springs is due
to the internal temperature of the globe; then according to the law of
increment of heat in descending (of 1° for fifty feet) we should find
the temperature of 110° at a depth of 4,100 feet, or at 11,900 feet
above the level of the sea. Direct experiment with internal heat has
not, however, been carried beyond 2000 feet below the surface, and as
the ratio of increment diminishes with the depth, that above assigned
to the temperature of 110° is no doubt much too little. The Momay
springs more probably owe their temperature to chemical decomposition
of sulphurets of metals. I found pyrites in Tibet on the north flank
of the mountain Kinchinjhow, in limestones associated with shales.
The terminal moraine is about 500 feet high, quite barren, and thrown
obliquely across the valley, from north-east to south-west, completely
hiding the glacier. From its top successive smaller parallel ridges
(indicating the periodic retirements of the glacier) lead down to the
ice, which must have sunk several hundred feet. This glacier descends
from Kinchinjhow, the huge cliff of whose eastern extremity dips into
it. The surface, less than half a mile wide, is exceedingly undulated,
and covered with large pools of water, ninety feet deep, and beds of
snow, and is deeply corroded; gigantic blocks are perched on pinnacles
of ice on its surface, and the gravel cones[251] are often twenty feet
high. The crevassing so conspicuous on the Swiss glaciers is not so
regular on this, and the surface appears more like a troubled ocean;
due, no doubt, to the copious rain and snow-falls throughout the
summer, and the corroding power of wet fogs. The substance of the ice
is ribboned, dirt-bands are seen from above to form long loops on some
parts, and the lateral moraines, like the terminal, are high above the
surface. These notes, made previous to reading Professor Forbes’s
travels in the Alps, sufficiently show that perpetual snow, whether as
ice or glacier, obeys the same laws in India as in Europe; and I have
no remarks to offer on the structure of glaciers, that are not well
illustrated and explained in the abovementioned admirable work.
[251] For a description of this curious phenomenon, which has been
illustrated by Agassiz, see “Forbes’s Alps,” p. 26 and 347.
Its average slope for a mile above the terminal moraines was less than
5°, and the height of its surface above the sea 16,500 feet by
boiling-point; the thickness of its ice probably 400 feet. Between the
moraine and the west flank of the valley is a large lake, with terraced
banks, whose bottom (covered with fine felspathic silt) is several
hundred feet above that of the valley; it is half a mile long, and a
quarter broad, and fed partly by glaciers of the second order on
Chango-khang and Sebolah, and partly by filtration through the lateral
moraine.
[Illustration: Gneiss-block with granite bands, on the Kinchinjhow
glacier]