The sources of the Kuti River--The Lumpiya glacier--The summit of
the range--Bird's-eye view of Tibet--Rubso frozen almost to
death--The Lumpiya Pass--Two coolies in distress.
AT 9 A.M. we were ready again to start. The thermometer registered 40°
inside the tent, and the minimum temperature outside during the night had
been 14°. We followed the Kuti River at the foot of the mountain range,
travelling in a direction of 298° (b.m). On rounding a prominent
headland, where the Kuti River flows through a narrow passage, we saw
facing us on a mound, fourteen stone pillars and pyramids with white
stones on them and the customary flying prayers of cloth. It is from this
point that the ascent to the Lumpiya Pass begins.
[Illustration: ASCENDING THE LUMPIYA PASS]
There are two sources of the Kuti Yangti, joining in a large basin; one
comes from two extensive glaciers to the S.W., the other from a glacier
directly under the Lumpiya Pass. The river at the junction of the two
sources is not more than six yards across. Our route gradually ascended,
going N.W. first, then swinging away to N.E. until we attained an
elevation of 17,350 feet on a flat basin covered with deep snow. So far
we had proceeded with no very great trouble or fatigue, but matters
suddenly altered for the worse. Each coolie in the long silent row at the
head of which I marched, sank in the snow up to his knees, often up to
his waist. They formed, undoubtedly, a picturesque sight in this lonely
region, the only bit of life in the picture, the white frozen sheet of
snow throwing into strong contrast their faces wrapped tightly round with
white turbans. Some wore fur caps with ear flaps; all had long sheepskin
coats and high boots of skins; many used snow spectacles; and as this
procession, silent and grave, with loads on their backs, struggled higher
and higher with piteous panting, you speculated apprehensively as to
how many of them would ever return. Moving cautiously to avoid the many
treacherous cracks, I made my way ahead with considerable trouble to a
spot six hundred feet higher, where I halted for a while on a rocky
island fairly clear of snow. As coolie after coolie arrived, breathing
convulsively, he dropped his load and sat quietly by the side of it.
There was not a grumble, not a word of reproach for the hard work they
were made to endure. Sleet was falling, and the wet and cold increased
the discomfort. There was now a very steep pull before us. To the left,
we had a glacier beginning in a precipitous fall of ice, about one
hundred feet in height. Like the Mangshan glacier, it was in horizontal
ribbon-like strata of beautifully clear ice, showing no dirt bands.
Perpendicular stripes of a darker greenish colour could be observed
arising from the unequal degrees of compactness of the ice; the strata
showed almost horizontal, with no curvatures nor depressions in any part
of them. The top, the base and the sides of the glacier were in this case
also buried in deep snow.
The doctor and I went ahead. In our anxiety to reach the summit, unable
to discern the track, now covered by several feet of snow, we mistook our
bearings, and with great fatigue climbed up an extremely steep incline.
Here we were on a patch of the troublesome loose _débris_, on which we
struggled for over half an hour until we reached the top of the range,
18,750 feet, considerably higher than the pass itself. Four men had come
with us, the others, to whom we signalled, bearing more to the west by
another dangerous track skirting the glacier.
The wind from the N.E. was piercing and the cold terrible. Under the lee
of a large rock we found temporary shelter, and through my telescope
scanned the Tibetan plateau spread out before us. From this high eyrie we
obtained a superb bird's-eye view. Huge masses of snow covered the
Tibetan side of the Himahlyas, as well as the lower range of mountains
immediately in front of us, running almost parallel to our range. Two
thousand feet below, between these two ranges, flowed, in a wide barren
valley, a river which is afterwards called the Darma Yankti or Lumpiya
Yankti. In the distance, a flat plateau, rising some eight hundred feet
above the river, and resembling a gigantic embankment of a railway line,
could be seen extending for many miles; and far away to the north, a
chain of high blue mountains capped with snow, undoubtedly the Kangri
chain with the Kelas peaks.
[Illustration: THE LUMPIYA GLACIER AND PASS]
A painful incident had unfortunately happened to one of my followers:
poor Rubso, a Christian convert, had fallen exhausted from cold and
fatigue. He had been seized with cramp, and was lying in a semi-conscious
state, his teeth chattering and his features distorted and livid; his
eyes were sunken and lifeless, and he showed signs of complete collapse.
We hastily carried him under the shelter of a rock and rubbed him
vigorously, in the hope of restoring his circulation. After more than
half an hour of the greatest anxiety and exertion, to our intense relief
he partially recovered, and was able to proceed slowly with our help.
Having climbed the wrong path, we now had to descend to the pass, six
hundred feet lower. We made our way along dangerous rocks and _débris_. I
was just clinging with my half-frozen fingers to a prominent rock,
striving to get on the other side, when screams of distress from below
struck my ears. Notwithstanding the unsafe position I was in, I could not
help turning my head to see what had happened. On the steep incline of
snow two coolies with their respective loads were sliding, at incredible
speed. They eventually reached the basin, where the angle of the descent
being suddenly altered, it caused them to revolve several times on their
own axes, the different bags, &c., forming their loads, flying about and
being scattered in every direction. I gave a sigh of relief when I saw
the men getting up. One coolie picked up one after the other the goods
that had been entrusted to him, tied them together, got them on his back,
and began the difficult ascent a second time. The other was crying and
moaning, so that we could plainly hear him from our elevation. He seemed
giddy. After a moment or two he staggered, fell back and lay as if dead.
Hastening over the slippery rocks, and then down precipitously on the
loose _débris_, I gained the pass, 18,150 feet. Two reluctant men were
immediately despatched to the relief of the coolie in distress. They
first carried his load up, then him. After some time he, too, got over
the severe shock and fright, and though he was rather shattered and
aching all over, I succeeded in persuading the man that nothing was the
matter with him.
We then hurried down the steep declivity on the Tibetan side, to get away
quickly from the bitterly cold, windy pass. Describing a wide arc of a
circle, and then making straight down across several long snow-beds, we
at last reached the river level and pitched our tents on snow at an
altitude of 16,900 feet. There was no wood, no yak or pony dung, no
lichens, no moss, and therefore nothing with which we could make a fire.
It seemed hard upon my men that, after such a toilsome day, they should
be compelled to go to sleep without having had a good meal. They
believe--and they are right--that eating cold food at such high
elevations, with such low temperature, leads to certain death. They
preferred, therefore, to remain without food altogether. Night came, and
with it the wind blowing in gusts, and piling the grit and snow around
our tents. During the nocturnal hours, with the hurricane raging, we had
to turn out of our flapping canvases several times to make the loose pegs
firmer. Fastening all the frozen ropes was very cold work. At 2 A.M. the
thermometer was down to 12°. At 9 A.M. in the sun, it went up to 26°, and
inside the tent at the same hour we had a temperature as high as
32°--freezing-point.