THE KAMA VALLEY
We had not been able to gather much information locally about Mount
Everest. A few of the shepherds said that they had heard that there was
a great mountain in the next valley to the South, but they could not
tell us whether the Kharta River came from this great mountain. The
easiest way to get to this valley, they told us, was by crossing the
Shao La, or the Langma La, both of which passes were to the South of the
Kharta Valley, and, they said, led into this new valley. They called
this valley the Kama Valley, and little did we realise at the time that
in it we were going to find one of the most beautiful valleys in the
world. Mallory and Bullock had already left Kharta on August 2 to
explore this route, which we thought would lead us to the Eastern face
of Mount Everest. As Wollaston and Morshead had now arrived at Kharta,
there was nothing to prevent my following the others and learning
something about the geography of the country. Eleven mule-loads of
rations, consisting of flour, potatoes, sugar and rations for the
surveyors, had just arrived; there was therefore now no cause for me to
worry about shortage of supplies. These had been sent off from Yatung on
June 15, but had only arrived at Kharta on August 2. Learning that I was
about to start off, Hopaphema, the old Zemindar, hurriedly came round
with a large basket full of spinach, potatoes, and turnips, which he
insisted on my taking with me.
[Illustration: MAKALU from 21,500 foot peak on ridge south of Kama-chu.]
On August 5, taking with me Chheten Wangdi and a dozen coolies, I
started off in the tracks of Mallory and Bullock. For the first few
miles we travelled up the Kharta Valley, through rich fields of barley,
by far the best that I had seen so far in Tibet. The crops were very
even and everywhere quite 3 feet in height. The valley was thickly
inhabited, containing villages nearly every mile, and many monasteries,
some of which were surrounded by fine old gnarled juniper trees. Our
local coolies made very poor progress, taking six hours to cover the
first 6 miles, as they stopped at every village for a drink. After
passing the last village, there was a steep climb of 1,000 feet. Here
our coolies were very anxious to stop and spend the night, but I pushed
on ahead, and they came on behind very slowly and reluctantly. Seeing
that it was impossible to get over the Langma La, I stopped at the limit
of firewood and camped at a height of 16,100 feet. Poo, who was acting
as my cook, had forgotten to bring any matches with him, and I watched
him with much interest lighting a fire of damp rhododendron bushes with
the flint and tinder that he always carried. The day had been clear and
very warm; and on the way up we had had some fine views of the great
snowy peaks on the Eastern side of the Arun River. The villagers had
told us that this pass was impossible for ponies, and I accordingly left
mine behind at Kharta, though we found out that ponies could quite well
have crossed the pass. Opposite our camp was a peak of black rock with a
glacier just below it. During the night there was a little rain and the
morning was unfortunately cloudy. As our coolies had informed us that
there were three passes to be crossed in the next march, I had them all
started off by 5.30 a.m., after which I left with my coolies, Ang Tenze
and Nyima Tendu, who always accompanied me carrying a rifle, a shot-gun
and three cameras of different sizes. Above the camp there was a steep
climb of 1,000 feet on to a broad, rocky shelf in which was a pretty
turquoise-blue lake. This was followed by another steep climb of 500
feet on to another great shelf, after which a further climb of 500 feet
brought us to the top of the Langma La, 18,000 feet. The three steps up
to this pass were evidently the three passes that the coolies had told
us about, as from the top we looked down into the next valley. All the
coolies who were carrying loads complained of headaches, due no doubt
to the steep climb and the high elevation of the pass. To the East there
was a curious view looking over the Arun towards some high snow peaks.
Clouds were lying in patches everywhere on the hillsides, as the air was
saturated with moisture. To the West our gaze encountered a most
wonderful amphitheatre of peaks and glaciers. Three great glaciers
almost met in the deep green valley that lay at our feet. One of these
glaciers evidently came down from Mount Everest, the second from the
beautiful cliffs of Chomoloenzo, the Northern peak of Makalu, of which we
unfortunately could only get occasional and partial glimpses, an ice or
rock cliff peeping out of the clouds every now and then at incredible
heights above us. The third glacier came from Kama Changri, a fine peak
to the North of the Kama Valley which later on we climbed. The clouds
kept mostly at a height of about 22,000 feet, and prevented us from
seeing the tops of the mountains. After waiting for an hour at the top
of the pass in hopes of the clouds lifting, I started the descent,
catching on the way a very pretty Marmot rat, with huge eyes and ears
for his size, and a pretty bluish grey fur. Meeting shortly afterwards
some of Mallory and Bullock's coolies, I gave this animal to them to
take back to Wollaston. We now descended through grassy uplands for
nearly 3,000 feet, past another beautiful blue lake called Shurim Tso,
and came to a curious long and narrow terrace about 1,000 feet above the
bottom of the valley. Here there was a tent belonging to some yak herds;
and as wood and water were plentiful I determined to stop and spend the
night with them. They called the place Tangsham. It was certainly a most
glorious place for a camp, for it overlooked three great valleys and
glaciers. Opposite us, on the other side of the valley, were the immense
cliffs of Chomoloenzo, which towered up to nearly 26,000 feet, while
Mount Everest and its great ridges filled up the head of the valley. I
spent the whole afternoon lying among the rhododendrons at 15,000 feet,
and admiring the beautiful glimpses of these mighty peaks revealed by
occasional breaks among the fleecy clouds. The shepherds were able to
give me much information about the district, which proved very useful to
us afterwards. They come up here every year for a few months in the
summer and in the winter cross over to the valley of the Bong-chu.
[Illustration: MAKALU AND CHOMOLOeNZO.]
After a slight frost during the night, we had one of the few really
perfect days that fell to our lot in the Kama Valley. As soon as I had
finished breakfast I climbed up 1,000 feet behind the camp; opposite me
were the wonderful white cliffs of Chomoloenzo and Makalu, which dropped
almost sheer for 11,000 feet into the valley below. Close at hand were
precipices of black rock on which, in the dark hollows, nestled a few
dirty glaciers. Mount Everest being some way further off, did not appear
nearly as imposing. Our object now was to get as close to it as
possible; we therefore descended into the valley, a steep drop of nearly
1,000 feet, through luxuriant vegetation. A very beautiful blue primula
was just beginning to come out. This Wollaston had already discovered a
fortnight before near Lapchi-Kang. We then crossed the Rabkar Chu, a
stream which came out of the Rabkar Glacier, by a very rickety bridge
over which the water was washing. Beyond this was a very fertile plain
covered with rhododendrons, juniper, willow and mountain ash. On it were
a couple of small huts which were occupied by some yak herds. From here
we had to follow along the edge of the Kang-do-shung Glacier which,
coming down from Chomoloenzo, plunges across the valley until it strikes
against the rocks of the opposite side. Between the glacier and these
cliffs was an old water-course up which we travelled, but
stones kept frequently falling from the cliffs above and the passage was
somewhat dangerous. This had evidently been the old channel of the
stream that has its source in the glaciers of Mount Everest, but owing
to the advance of the Kang-do-shung Glacier, is now compelled to find
its way through this glacier and hurls itself into a great ice cavern in
it. Opposite this ice cavern we had a steep climb for 500 feet, and
found ourselves among pleasant grassy meadows, after a few miles of
which we came to a place called Pethang Ringmo, where we found some yak
herds living. We found that Mallory and Bullock had chosen this place to
be their base camp. It was a most delightfully sunny spot at 16,400
feet, right under the gigantic and marvellously beautiful cliffs of
Chomoloenzo, now all powdered over with the fresh snow of the night
before and only separated from us by the Kangshung Glacier, here about a
mile wide. Great avalanches thunder down its sides all the day long with
a terrifying sound. Everest from here is seen to fill up the head of the
valley with a most formidable circle of cliffs overhung by hanging
glaciers, but it is not nearly such a beautiful or striking mountain as
Makalu or Chomoloenzo. The shepherds would insist that Makalu was the
higher of the two mountains, and would not believe us when we said that
Mount Everest was the higher. Next morning was foggy, but there was a
glimpse of blue sky behind the mists, so after breakfast I hurried up
the valley, intending to climb a ridge exactly opposite to Mount Everest
which I had marked down the night before. After walking for an hour up
the valley in a thick fog, by luck I struck the right ridge, which
proved a very steep climb. Glimpses of blue sky and white peaks,
however, gave us hopes of better views higher up. It took me two and a
half hours to climb 3,000 feet, which at last brought me above the
mists. The top of the ridge was 19,500 feet high, and from it we had
most superb views. Mount Everest was only 3 or 4 miles away from us.
From it to the South-east swept a huge amphitheatre of mighty peaks
culminating in a new and unsurveyed peak, 28,100 feet in height, to
which we gave the name of Lhotse, which in Tibetan means the South Peak.
From this side the mountain appeared quite unclimbable, as the cliffs
were all topped with hanging glaciers, from which great masses of ice
came thundering down into the valley below all the day long. Between
Mount Everest and Makalu, on the watershed between Tibet and Nepal,
there stands up a very curious conical peak, to which we gave the name
of Pethangtse. On either side of it are two very steep, but not very
high, passes into Nepal; both of them are, however, probably
unclimbable. To the South-east towered up the immense cliffs of Makalu,
far the more beautiful mountain of the two. The whole morning I spent on
this ridge, taking photographs whenever opportunity offered. The clouds
kept coming up and melting away again and were most annoying, but they
occasionally afforded us the most beautiful glimpses and peeps of the
snow and rock peaks by which we were surrounded. At a height of over
19,000 feet, I had a great chase after a new kind of rat; but it finally
eluded me, and I was not able to add it to our already large collection.
Even at these heights I found both yellow and white saxifrages and a
blue gentian. From the top of this ridge I had been able to see
Kanchenjunga and Jannu, though nearly 100 miles away, but their summits
stood up out of the great sea of clouds which covered Nepal.
[Illustration: CLIFFS OF CHOMOLOeNZO from camp at Pethang Ringmo.]
On returning to camp in the afternoon, I found that Mallory and Bullock
were there. They had climbed a snow peak on the North side of the Kama
Valley, about 21,500 feet, and from this view point had been unable to
discover a possible route up Mount Everest on the Eastern face; they
thought, however, that there might be an alternative approach from the
next valley to the North. They therefore intended returning to the
Kharta Valley to follow that river to its source.
Next morning was cloudy, and neither Everest nor Makalu were to be seen;
but towards the East the view was clear, though the mountains appeared
to be much too close. We started all together down the valley. On the
way I climbed 1,000 feet up among the rocks opposite to the big glacier
that descends from Chomoloenzo. I failed, however, to get the good view
of Makalu which I had been hoping for, owing to the clouds, and returned
to my old camping ground at Tangsham, Mallory and Bullock branching off
from here towards the Langma La. The shepherds had told us that there
was another pass into the Kharta Valley called the Shao La, rather more
to the South. I therefore intended to make use of this pass on the
return journey to Kharta. As usual, in the evening, the clouds came up
and enveloped us in a thick mist. Every night this happened in the Kama
Valley, and was evidently due to the excessive moisture of the air. When
we started the following morning, there was still a thick Scotch mist
which made the vegetation very wet. We descended the Kama Valley, most
of the time keeping high up above the river. On the opposite side of the
valley were immense black cliffs descending sheer for many thousand
feet. On the way we passed through acres of blue iris, mostly over now,
and then through a very luxuriant vegetation which grew more and more
varied as we descended lower. There was a lovely emerald-green lake
beside the path, and like white sentinels on the hillsides grew the
great rhubarb of Sikkim, the _Rheum nobile_. This was a most conspicuous
plant with columns of the palest green leaves sheathing the flower
spikes which grew fully 5 feet in height. There were several other
varieties of rhubarb here, but none were as handsome as this. At one
place we descended as low as 13,000 feet and came once more amongst
dense forests of juniper, silver firs (_Abies Webbiana_), mountain ash,
willow, birch and tall rhododendrons. From every tree hung long grey
lichens attesting the moisture of the climate. Wherever there was an
open space in the forest, it was carpeted with flowers. Two delightful
varieties of primula were new to me, and were just coming out, one of
them being almost black in colour. The big deep red meconopsis grew
here, too, in great luxuriance. Gentians of all kinds abounded and many
other varieties of flowers and ferns, due to the fact that Makalu seems
to attract all the storms, causing the moist Monsoon currents to be
drawn into this valley. As the day went on, the weather improved; the
sun came out, and the clouds melted away, disclosing the magnificent
peaks of Makalu. A big glacier descended from the East face from a side
valley into the floor of the valley below us at a height of about 12,000
feet. It was very curious to see fir trees, birch and juniper, and a
very luxuriant vegetation growing on either side of the ice and on the
moraines beside it.
[Illustration: THE KAMA VALLEY.]
Below this glacier the valley became quite flat with grassy meadows and
patches of forest dotted about the pastures--a very unusual type of
valley for the Himalayas. Almost opposite to this glacier we turned into
a side valley; the path and the stream that came down this valley were
often indistinguishable. All round the valley were great black cliffs;
in one place where they were less precipitous the path found its way
upwards. Our camp was pitched that night on a shelf above the cliffs
where for a short time we had some very wonderful views. This place was
called in Tibetan "The Field of Marigolds," though at the time we were
there they were all over. We were at a height of 15,300 feet, and
Makalu's two peaks were almost exactly opposite to us. The cloud effects
were very striking; the storms seemed to gather round Makalu, and first
one peak and then the other would appear out of the great white cumulus
clouds whose shapes changed every minute. As usual, the mists came up in
the evening, and we were enveloped in a very wet Scotch mist with a
temperature of 46 deg. Fahr. Next morning, instead of getting the lovely
view that we had expected, a thick Scotch mist prevented our seeing more
than 20 yards away. We crawled up to the top of the Shao La, 16,500
feet, in driving rain, but after crossing over it we emerged into finer
weather. On the descent we passed several fine lakes, on the cliffs
above which were numerous ram chakor (Himalayan snowcock). I pursued a
covey of these, and after a chase managed to shoot one. They are very
fine birds, weighing between 5 and 6 lb.; they are extremely noisy and
fond of their own voices. The parent birds are always very loth to leave
their young, and early in the summer it is possible to approach very
close to them; but later on in the year, when the young have become
nearly full grown, they are very wily, and having excellent eyesight,
do not allow anyone to approach within a couple of hundred yards. That
afternoon I arrived back at Kharta, where the weather had been quite
fine, and where there had been but little rain during my absence.
During that night a thief broke into our store-room, forcing and
breaking the lock outside. The only thing he took, as far as we could
find out, was one of Wheeler's yak-dans (a leather mule trunk). The
thief had probably mistaken this one for one of mine, which contained a
considerable amount of money, and knowing that I was away, he thought
that my kit must be packed away in the store-room. We informed the
Jongpen and the head-men of the villages around of the theft, and had a
couple of suspicious characters watched; but we never found any trace of
the stolen articles, which luckily were of very small value. For the
next fortnight I remained at Kharta.
On August 19 Heron suddenly arrived back after a very interesting trip,
during which he had explored all the mountains North of Tingri and
Shekar Dzong up to the Brahmaputra watershed. He had had very bad
weather all the time. Every night there had been heavy thunderstorms and
practically all the bad weather had come from the North. The whole
country was under water, and it was very difficult to get about. Some of
the rivers that we had crossed earlier in the season were now a mile or
more wide.
On the following day Bullock and Mallory returned to Kharta after having
explored the Upper Kharta Valley. They thought that they had found a
possible way up Mount Everest from this valley, but at present the
weather was too bad for them to carry on with their reconnaissance, and
they had come down for a fortnight's rest, hoping that the Monsoon would
be over by the beginning of September and that they would then be able
to make a proper attack on the mountain. As Mallory and Bullock were
likely to be at Kharta for some time, Wollaston and I seized this
opportunity to visit the lower valley of the Kama-chu.
Therefore, on August 23, with eleven of our own coolies and several
Tibetan coolies, we climbed the Samchung Pass (15,000 feet), and then
descended into the valley of the fourteen lakes, and after crossing the
Chog La camped on the far side of the pass near a dark green and sacred
lake called Ruddamlamtso. On the way we saw a new species of black rat
in the moraine of a glacier; but Wollaston's servant, who had the
collecting gun with him, was unfortunately far behind; he was always
rather fond of drink and loth to leave the villages. The weather was
cloudy, and there were no views from the top of either pass. The march
was a strenuous one, taking the coolies thirteen hours to cover the
whole distance, and they did not arrive till after dark. The
Ruddamlamtso, the lake by which we were camped, had wonderfully clear
water; I could see every stone at a depth of 20 feet, and it was
evidently very deep. It is looked upon as a sacred lake, and to it
people make yearly pilgrimages, walking round it burning incense and
throwing spices into its waters.
The following morning the clouds were low down everywhere on the
hillsides and we had no views. There was a steep descent for 4 miles to
Sakeding--12,100 feet, through the most interesting zones of vegetation.
We followed the edge of the rushing stream, always white from the
rapidity of its descent. On one side of the valley grew rhododendrons of
many varieties and mountain ash, and on the other were hoary old
junipers with twisted stems. Grey lichens hung down from every branch,
and were often 5 or 6 feet in length. We came across some of the finest
and largest red currants that we had yet seen. Of these we collected a
great quantity, and they formed a very excellent stew. Birches, wild
roses and berberis were the commonest shrubs, while nearly every rock
was covered with an extremely pretty rose-coloured creeper, which in
places caused the hillsides to look quite pink. Earlier in the year the
iris must have been a very beautiful sight, as we passed through acres
of their leaves. A big yellow rock-rose with flowers 2 inches across
was also to be met with here, and many of the lower leaves of the
rhododendrons were turning yellow to scarlet, making a great show of
colour on the dark green of the hillside. Deep purple-coloured primulas
and monkshood, as well as a curious hairy mauve-red monkshood with a
very graceful growth, were also to be seen. The pretty white-crested
red-start flitted about from rock to rock, and numerous tits of various
kinds flew about in flocks from tree to tree as we descended.
Sakeding (Pleasant terrace) had been at one time a village of
considerable size, but a pestilence sent by the local demon had wiped
out all its inhabitants. This demon was still reputed to be very active,
and no one had dared to re-build the old houses of which the ruins,
overgrown with weeds and bushes, could be seen here and there. It was a
very pleasant site for a village, situated as it was on a terrace that
projected out into the valley 1,000 feet above the stream below. During
the summer months there is quite a trade passing through this place, the
Tibetans bringing salt from the North, and the Nepalese coming up from
Nepal with rice, dyes and vegetables, which they exchange. The rate of
barter at this time was two measures of rice or three measures of madder
dye for one measure of salt, and no money changes hands. Everything that
was brought here was brought on the backs of coolies, and these Nepalese
coolies were sturdy, cheery fellows, and thought nothing of carrying 80
lb. of salt on their backs up and down the execrable paths of the
district.
From Sakeding we descended steeply through a forest of the finest
juniper trees that I had yet seen. These grew 80 to 90 feet high, and
many of their trunks were 18 feet to 20 feet in circumference. As a rule
they had clean stems, without a branch for 50 feet or 60 feet. The
branches were all hung with grey lichens. We now descended beside the
muddy and tempestuous waters of the Kama-chu. The juniper forest
gradually gave way to silver firs--wonderful trees of enormous size and
great age. We passed through many open glades, park-like in appearance,
with grand clumps of fir trees or sycamore dotted here and there. The
hillsides were absolutely running over with water, and often for several
hundred yards we walked along logs put down to try and avoid the mud and
the running water. As many of these rounded logs were very slippery,
both we and our coolies had to proceed with caution, and even so we
experienced many a fall. At Chu-tronu--10,200 feet--there was a
well-made wooden bridge, 60 feet long, which spanned the river where it
flowed in a narrow channel between two great rocks. We crossed this
bridge, and finding a broad open space there, I selected a spot suitable
for our camp and ordered the coolies to cut down some of the grass where
we intended to pitch the tents. I could not at first make out why they
kept jumping about when thus engaged, but on going to investigate, I
found that the place was alive with leeches; however, as there was no
other better place in which to camp, we had to make the best of it. The
men collected some dry bamboos out of an old shepherd's hut which was
close by; these they burnt on the sites where we were to pitch our
tents, hoping by this means to drive away the leeches. This method,
however, was not very successful, for all that evening we were busy
picking leeches off our clothes, legs, hands or heads. They climbed up
the sides of the tents and dropped down into our food, our cups and on
to our plates. Wollaston invented the best way of killing them, which
was by cutting them in two with a pair of scissors. Our interpreter
remonstrated with him, as he said this method increased the number of
leeches, thinking that both ends of them would grow. After a somewhat
restless and disturbed night, due to these leeches, we started off next
morning to go down to the junction of the Kama River with the Arun. The
distance as the crow flies was only about 6 miles, but we did not
realise the kind of path that we should have to traverse. In that short
distance we must have risen and fallen quite 5,000 feet. The path was
never level and always very rough and stony. At first it led through
beautiful glades running with moisture and over logs buried, most of
them, inches deep in the water; they were, however, better to walk on
than the soft mud there was on either side. The silver firs were now at
their best--trees over 100 feet in height, and with stems 20 feet to 25
feet in circumference. Here grew great hydrangeas 20 feet or more in
height covered with flowers. Our only halts on the way down, and they
were pretty frequent, were to pick off the leeches from our clothes. We
took them off by tens at a time; they were very hungry, and varied in
size from great striped horse-leeches to tiny ones as thin as a pin and
able to penetrate anywhere. The track now left the upper terraces and
descended very steeply towards the river, at times climbing sharply
upwards again to avoid precipitous rocks and cliffs. During the descent,
we gradually passed from the zone of the silver firs into that of the
spruce, meeting the lovely _Picea Brunoniana_, which grew to an even
greater size than the silver firs. Many of the trees were over 150 feet
in height and without a branch for 70 feet or 80 feet; their stems too,
were often 25 feet to 30 feet in circumference. This valley is so
inaccessible that I am glad to think that these glorious forests can
never be exploited commercially. After passing a great overhanging rock
called Korabak, which is evidently much used as a halting-place, we
descended steeply to the river, which now forms a series of cascades,
leaping from rock to rock, a very remarkable spectacle. During the last
6 miles of its course, this river--the product of four large glacier
streams--descends at the rate of 450 feet every mile. In places there
were waterfalls of 20 feet and more, where the river hurled itself into
seething cauldrons; in one place I saw it confined to a breadth of
barely 5 feet. The junction of this river with the Arun is only 7,500
feet above the sea; just above the junction is a bridge which leads to
the village of Kimonanga, a picturesque village situated on a terrace
some 700 feet above the river and surrounded by some fine trees. In this
valley we came across a few blue pines (_Pinus excelsa_) and also a
large-leafed alder; near its junction with the Arun were many trees and
orchids of a semi-tropical character. On the opposite side of the valley
is a forest of evergreen oak trees, but as I was unable to cross the
river I could not say to what species they belonged. On the way we
passed many yellow raspberries on which we slaked our thirst. Our guide
also dug up some of the roots of the wild arum to show us; it is a great
flattish tuberous root, rather oval in shape. This the inhabitants dig
up and, after allowing it to ferment by burying it in a hole for several
days, pound it up, and then eat it; it was much esteemed by the
villagers. It is necessary to ferment it first, as otherwise the root is
extremely poisonous. We tasted a slice of bread made out of this root,
and I have seldom tasted anything nastier. It is supposed, if not
properly fermented, to cause all the hair to fall out of the head; but I
should be inclined to imagine that it would do this even if it were
properly fermented. Near the junction of the Kama and Arun Rivers, we
climbed up on to a terrace 1,200 feet above, on which was situated the
village of Lungdoe. The great Arun gorges here become a considerable
valley; for 20 miles above this point up to Kharta the Arun runs through
a narrow and practically impassable gorge, but here the valley widens
out for a few miles and contains several villages; a short distance
below it enters again into another great gorge. The river now was in
full flood and covered the whole of the bottom of the valley, being in
places many hundred yards in width. At one spot, where it contracted,
there was a well-made bridge leading to the village of Matsang. I was
astonished to meet with maize growing at this height--8,700 feet. The
villagers also grew cucumbers, pumpkins and several kinds of millet,
including an extremely pretty red one. The head-man of Lungdoe gave me
some millet beer, which was very refreshing after the long march.
Wollaston did not care for it, but between us we managed to eat three
large and juicy cucumbers. The head-man was very friendly; and a local
official was staying here who had just come from Kharta, who recognised
us, and presented us with some excellent honey cakes. We neither of us
looked forward to the uphill return journey, but after five and a half
hours' hard walking I reached camp just before dark. Wollaston did not
arrive till later, and I had to send a coolie with a lamp to bring him
in. We were both of us much exhausted, as the day had been a long and
trying one. That night we had a grand camp fire of rhododendron and fir
logs. Hundreds of moths insisted on flying into the fire instead of
entering the tent where Wollaston was ready with his cyanide bottle to
catch them.
The following morning the weather was dull and cloudy, and did not look
very promising. We determined, however, to visit the Popti La, the pass
between Tibet and Nepal, over which all the local traffic passes.
Leaving the camp, we entered a small side valley to the South, the path
climbing steeply upwards under big rhododendrons (_R. Falconeri_ and _R.
Argenteum_) with leaves 18 inches long. Noticing many of their leaves
strewn on the path, I inquired the reason for this. Our guide informed
us that the carriers fastened these leaves together with thin strips of
bamboo and thus provided an excellent waterproof cover for themselves
and for their loads. After climbing about a mile, we saw some bamboo
huts in the forest and a number of cows were grazing round them. These
belonged to some Nepalese herds who come over here in the summer,
bringing their cattle to graze. The path now followed the side of a
rushing torrent, peaty brown in colour, which came hurrying down under
the shade of birch, sycamore, silver firs, juniper and rhododendrons. As
we ascended higher, the open spaces became more frequent, though the
grass and weeds grew fully 3 feet in height, attesting the constant
rainfall of this district. On leaving the path to collect a few seeds
from some plants growing a short distance away from it, I found myself
in a few moments covered with leeches which apparently thrive here at an
altitude of over 12,000 feet; this must be almost a record height for
these pests. The path climbed up steeply, the rhododendrons growing
gradually smaller in size as we ascended. After going for four hours, we
reached the top of the pass--14,000 feet. Here on the top was a stone
half hidden in a pile of rocks with a notice, written in Chinese
characters, that this was the boundary between Tibet and Nepal. Across
the top of the pass was a long wall, mostly overgrown with grass,
evidently at one time considered to be some kind of defence. Owing to
the clouds being very low, we unfortunately had no view from the top,
but just below us, on the Nepalese side, was a fine black lake, about
half a mile long, with an island in the centre, which the Nepalese
called Dungepokri. On the top were many interesting Alpine flowers,
amongst them a charming white potentilla with a red centre; and a large
cream-coloured primula, shading into deep orange. We also came across
several new varieties of gentians. Here we rested for a couple of hours,
hoping that the clouds might lift, but a nasty rain began to fall
heavily. While we were waiting several coolies from Nepal passed by:
from these we found out that the pass was closed by snow for five months
in the year and that the trade market at Sakeding was closed by the end
of October. We now turned our footsteps homeward, urged on by cold
showers of rain. On the descent we were able to collect a few seeds.
Autumn was approaching, though the trees had not yet begun to assume
their autumn colours owing to the warm nights. That evening in the camp
we had an enormous bonfire of birch, juniper and rhododendrons, which
made the prettiest blaze imaginable, with flames of green, blue, violet
and orange. The large fire also helped to keep away the leeches. Heavy
rain fell again all night, and the thermometer did not descend below 55 deg.
Fahr. The morning, however, broke fine, and we started back again up the
valley to Sakeding. The sun shone every now and then, giving us
occasional glimpses of distant glaciers at the head of the valley. The
walk through the forest, with the sunlight shining on the dark green
leaves of the rhododendron and the dripping foliage, was very
delightful. The undergrowth consisted of wild roses, berberis with its
necklaces of scarlet berries, wild currants of a great size--sour to the
taste, but excellent when stewed--wild raspberries, light feathery
bamboos, birch, willow and a most luxuriant vegetation of flowers and
grasses. In one or two places the mountain ash were just beginning to
show traces of colour. We soon left the leeches behind us and followed
our old track through the forest beside the rushing waters of the
Kama-chu. Enormous rocks which had fallen from above had in places
almost blocked up the river. Often on these great boulders in the middle
of the stream were growing the graceful Himalayan larch. On the steepest
rock faces grew vegetation of every kind, thanks to the excessive
moisture of the climate, and from every tree and from every bush hung
long and picturesque lichens. Crested tits and bullfinches lived in
great numbers in this forest and gave it quite a homelike appearance.
The climb from the river had been a steep one, and we pitched our camp
at Sakeding in a downpour of rain, but towards the evening the weather
cleared up, allowing us fine views of great snow peaks which showed
above the mists on the opposite sides of the valley. It was too far to
go from Sakeding to Kharta in one day; we therefore decided to camp
before crossing the Chog La. We passed our old camp by the green lake
Ruddamlamtso, and I had a long chase after some ram chakor, but they
were too clever for me and ran up the hill faster than I could follow
them. The large moraines which converged in this valley were specially
interesting, and threw much light on its past history. Each moraine had
its own long line of boulders formed of different kinds of rock,
according to the character of the mountains from which they had been
carried down by the ice. It was not difficult to imagine the vast
glaciers by which these lines of boulders had been deposited; glaciers
which must at one time have completely blocked the valley and the
disappearance of which has made room for the chain of lakes which now
occupy the valley. We pitched our camp at a place called
Mendalongkyo--15,500 feet--in a pleasantly sheltered spot where a
gurgling stream disappeared under an old moraine. In the afternoon
Wollaston went out after rats, of which he secured a new variety. Our
coolies had a great chase after a fat marmot, which they very nearly
caught, but he got down into his hole just in time. Around the camp were
quantities of a very beautiful pale blue gentian--a regular Eton blue
colour. Wandering up the spur North-west of the camp I counted nine
lakes in the next valley and four lakes in the one that we were in; as
the rain began to fall again, I returned to camp.
The next morning, August 29, we began our homeward journey to Kharta.
Getting up early, we climbed on to the high ridge North-west of the
camp, from which we had a fair view; but unfortunately both Makalu and
Mount Everest were hidden by clouds. We waited for a long time in hopes
of a better view, but the clouds only grew thicker. We therefore
followed the ridge above the Chog La. On the way I shot a Tibetan snow
partridge (_Lerwa nivicola_), an extremely pretty bird with lovely
markings. This was the first I had seen.
We now turned our backs upon the Kama Valley with much regret. We had
explored many of these Himalayan valleys, but none seemed to me to be
comparable with this, either for the beauty of its Alpine scenery, or
for its wonderful vegetation. We shall not easily forget the smiling
pastures carpeted with gentians and every variety of Alpine flower that
rise to the very verge of icebound and snow-covered tracks, where mighty
glaciers descend among the forests which clothe the lower slopes.
After crossing the Chog La, we went down once more into the valley of
the lakes and then, crossing the Samchung La, descended to Kharta which
we found bathed in sunshine.