THE RETURN JOURNEY TO PHARI
Autumn had already come to Kharta. The willows and the poplars under
which we were camped were fast shedding their leaves, which rustled on
the ground, or blew into our tents, a warning that winter was not far
off. Even here there were one or two degrees of frost every night. The
days, however, were still warm and sunny. The next five days were fully
occupied with strenuous work. Wheeler and I took alternate mornings and
afternoons in the dark room. We had each taken a large number of
photographs during the past month. These had to be developed before we
started on our return journey to Darjeeling, and this would be our last
opportunity. An account of our last month's doings and our final
reconnaissance had to be written out for _The Times_, and this, together
with many other letters, had to be sent off to Phari as soon as
possible. Our stores, tents, Alpine equipment, had all to be collected
and sorted out. Lists had to be made of all of them, and most of them
had to be re-packed. The coolies were perpetually worrying us for money
and advances of pay in order that they might be able to buy Tibetan
clothing, or have money which they could spend on drink at Kharta, where
it was apparently very cheap. Our cook and most of the coolies used
constantly to return to camp in the evening blind drunk, and I had to
see that the cook was never allowed near the kitchen under these
conditions. On such an occasion my servant, Poo, would have to do the
cooking in his place. The chang, or barley beer, that they got must have
been a much stronger brew than what was given to us, as what we had did
not appear intoxicating at all, but the interpreters told us that
coolie beer was double strength.
The Jongpen was rather sad as the moment of our departure drew near. We
invited him to lunch one day, and he seemed to appreciate the beauties
of Scotch whisky, which he said was very much better than his own chang.
We had to pay him a return visit the following day, when he gave us a
great spread. Knowing that we were anxious to collect such curios as
were available, he produced all kinds of things for our inspection. I
bought from him a curious old Tibetan musket, elaborately decorated with
silver, and fitted with a pair of antelope horns on which to rest it
when firing. Some interesting copper and silver teapots we were also
able to get from him, and I remember his showing Wollaston many pieces
of finely embroidered Chinese silk. Both Hopaphema and the Jongpen had a
very good idea of the value of money, and were not at all afraid of
asking a stiff price for any of the curios which they produced. We
managed, however, to pick up some interesting Chinese snuff bottles of
carved agate, some with pictures painted inside. China cups of the
Chienlung and Kanghe periods we were also able to get; there were,
however, many things in the monasteries which we rather coveted, but
which the Lamas would not sell. Their tables were very ornamentally
carved with dragons and weird designs, all painted over in brilliant
colours. The Jongpen had one such table, but unfortunately I found out
that he had only borrowed it from the nearest monastery for the purpose
of entertaining us, and therefore he could not sell it. We left behind
us a good many stores which it was not worth while to bring along. Among
them was a lot of acid hypo-sulphite of soda, which the Jongpen at once
seized upon, and which he said he intended to make use of in washing his
clothes, knowing that soda was used occasionally for this purpose. The
Jongpen, of whom we had taken many photographs, and who had seen the
results, was anxious to buy one of our cameras, and to develop and print
everything himself. He imagined the whole process was very easy, and
was extremely anxious to get hold of one of the Expedition's cameras,
but we had to disappoint him in this. Nothing small would content
him--he wanted the biggest of the lot, and was quite willing to exchange
a sword or any other weapon for a camera. We, however, left behind with
him three pairs of skis, which we had brought out with us, but which had
never been unpacked. These skis had throughout our journeys been looked
upon by the Tibetans with the greatest interest. They had heard about
flying machines, and they thought that these were the framework of a
flying machine which we had brought with us, and on which we intended to
fly to the top of the mountains. Wherever we arrived there was always a
great crowd assembled round these skis, discussing the various methods
by which they could be put together and describing how the white man
would then fly. I left them with the Jongpen and told him that they were
very good exercise for him in the winter time, when the snow was deep,
and that if he wanted to reduce his weight, which was already
considerable, there could be no better method than by making use of them
in the snow.
At last, on October 5, we managed to leave Kharta. There were no pack
animals available; we had therefore to make use of coolies for our
transport for the first march; it took 140 of them to carry all our
loads. For some time the scene of confusion was very amusing. The
Jongpen himself came down, and it was only owing to his help that by
mid-day we got all the loads sorted out and put on the backs of the
coolies. Before he was able to do this he had to have recourse to the
system of drawing lots by putting garters on each load, a system which I
have already described in a previous chapter. Before we left, the
Jongpen and Hopaphema brought us presents of sheep and vegetables, and
they and all the people of the valley seemed genuinely sorry that we
were departing. Throughout our long stay at Kharta they had been most
helpful and had done everything they could for our comfort. They were
both of them very human, with a delightful sense of humour, and we
quickly became great friends. It was with much regret that we turned our
backs on Kharta.
We started off without a cloud in the sky, but with a strong South wind
blowing. High up on the mountains we could see the snow still being
blown off in white clouds. Our route lay up the valley of the Bhong-chu
for about 10 miles until the river suddenly turned to the East to go
through a deep and impassable gorge. We had then to follow the valley of
the Zachar-chu for 4 miles to Lumeh, where we camped beside the great
poplar trees. The bridge by which we had crossed the Zachar-chu in July
no longer existed. It had been washed away in August, but now that the
snows were no longer melting higher up, and the rainy season was over,
the river was very much lower, and it was possible to ford it. The
people at Lumeh were very pleased to see us again; we found tents
pitched and food prepared for our reception. From here there were two
routes open to us. We could either, by crossing two passes, drop down to
Tsogo in the valley of the Bhong-chu, and after fording the river there,
follow our previous route (of the outward journey) to Tingri, or we
could cross a small pass just above Lumeh, meeting the Bhong-chu again
immediately above the gorge, where there was a bridge across it. We
chose the latter route, as it was probably a couple of days shorter and
would take us through new country. On leaving Lumeh, for the first time
for several days we had a cloudy morning, which was unfortunate, as from
the top of the Quiok (Cuckoo Pass) we had hoped for a fine view. Our
transport to-day consisted of yaks and donkeys, which came along very
well. There was a steep climb of 2,000 feet to the top of the pass,
15,000 feet, where we just managed to get a glimpse of Makalu in the
clouds, but Everest was hidden. We thought that this would be our last
chance of a view of the Everest and Makalu group, but it turned out not
to be so. By going over this pass we had avoided the curious and
impassable gorge by which the Bhong-chu cuts through a high range of
mountains. It was only a little over 6 miles to the famous rope bridge
at Gadompa. I could not help laughing when I first saw the bridge. It
was such a comical, ramshackle-looking affair, and everything about it
seemed torn and ragged and uneven. Two crooked wooden posts set up in
piles of stones supported the ropes of raw hide which spanned the river.
During the rainy season one of these posts and all the ropes had been
buried deep under the water, but now that the river had dropped over 10
feet, the posts were out of the water. Between these two wooden posts
were three raw hide ropes, very frail and much frayed, and looking as
though they might break at any moment. On these ropes was laid a
semi-circular piece of wood, like the framework of a saddle, to which
were attached two leather thongs. The person or bale of goods that had
to be pulled across was tied by these two thongs to the framework, and
this was allowed to slide rapidly with its load down to the point at
which the "bridge" sagged most--somewhere about the middle of the
river--which here rushed along in a formidable rapid. If the Tibetans on
the far side failed to pull up the passenger or load and he or it was
left for a minute, either would certainly get the full benefit of one of
the ice-cold waves of the rapids and get thoroughly soaked before
reaching the far side. The Tibetans had great fun with our coolies in
transit, and very few of them were allowed to get over dry. The villages
on either side are exempt from the duty of producing transport, and have
instead to make themselves responsible for working the bridge. On one
side the operators were all women and on the other all men. It took an
average of five minutes to get each load or person across, and we spent
twelve hours before we got all our loads over. For part of the time I
superintended while Wheeler went to get some dinner, and after dinner,
owing to there being a certain amount of moonlight, Wheeler carried on
until the last load was brought over at midnight. It was a very chilly
proceeding, as the wind blew very cold, with a suspicion of snow every
now and then. It was a weird experience to see the loads of baggage
suddenly appearing out of the darkness and then being unloaded and
transferred to the yaks, who apparently were able to find their way
about in the dark. We got everything over in safety without losing
anything except a few eggs, which I saw drop out during the passage
across, and I felt very much relieved that we had had no accident.
That night we camped in a pleasant willow grove at the village of
Kharkhung. In the morning we awoke to find fresh snow on the ground, but
this speedily disappeared when the sun came out. Our new transport
consisted of donkeys and some very wild yaks, which rapidly got rid of
their loads. The march was only a short one of about 12 miles up the
valley of the Bhong-chu. The valley was uninteresting and stony, with
practically no undergrowth, and we eventually camped in a windy spot
near the village of Lashar, nearly opposite to the sandy camp at Shiling
where we had halted on our outward journey after crossing the
quicksands. The night proved much colder here, with 18 deg. of frost, but
the wind luckily died down and the next morning was beautiful. We
continued up the sandy valley of the Bhong-chu, which is here several
miles wide, until we came to its junction with the Yaru, where we
regained the route which we had followed on the outward journey. Just
before leaving the main valley we found, on looking behind us, that we
were in full sight of Mount Everest and its great South-eastern ridge,
and also of the Lhakpa La where we had camped. This was our final view
of Mount Everest, and knowing the geography of these peaks as we now
did, this view gave us an added interest in them. We had climbed slowly
and had not realised the great height which we had reached or the
conspicuous position of our camp on the Lhakpa La which we now saw
sharply defined against the horizon from a distance of 50 miles.
We rode up the gorge of the Yaru, and at the village of Rongme we met
the Phari Jongpen's brother. He was busy collecting the harvest rents,
which are a fixed percentage of the crops. I gave him some of the
photographs that I had taken of him and his house on the way up and very
soon after a big crowd collected around. The Tibetans are very quick at
recognising persons in a photograph, and they at once picked out all the
people by name in a group. I then rode on past his house to the village
of Shatog, where we camped. On the way I shot a couple of snipe and also
saw a number of teal, wild geese and kulan (grey crane), but they were
very wild and I could not get near enough for a shot. Heron joined us
here. He had been exploring some of the valleys to the North, but had
found nothing interesting or remarkable, geologically, and he
accompanied us back as far as Khamba Dzong. We were anxious to push on
as fast as possible, and determined to do a double march from here to
Tinki Dzong, which our transport drivers said they could do quite
easily. We started on a beautiful day after a sharp frost at night,
causing many of the ponds to be frozen over. We crossed the broad swampy
plain to Chushar. Wheeler, going on ahead at first, had a shot at some
geese, but did not succeed in getting anything. We crossed the Yaru
River by a very deep ford, and then kept along the North side of it,
past numerous ponds on which were swimming many bar-headed geese; these
were, however, very wily and would not allow us to approach within shot.
We now had a steep 3,000-foot climb to the Tinki Pass. On the way up I
came across some partridges; they were terrible runners, but after a
good chase I managed to collect two. They turned out to be the ordinary
Tibetan partridge (_Perdrix hodgsoniae_). I then rode on down to Tinki,
to which place I had sent on Chheten Wangdi in order to make
arrangements for our reception and to have transport ready for us on the
following day. The two Jongpens rode out to meet us; the elder of the
two had been at Tinki when we passed through on the way out, but the
other one I had not seen before as he had been away. I had very pleasant
recollections of our reception there before, and was delighted to see
the elder Jongpen, who was a most pleasant and agreeable gentleman.
They presented us with a couple of hundred eggs, rice and some grain for
the ponies, and had tents already pitched for us under the walls of the
fort. Here the Jongpens came and sat talking with us for a long time.
Our transport showed no signs of turning up, so we were very glad to
make our dinner off the rice and eggs that had been given us. The bulk
of the transport did not arrive till midnight. They had made every
effort to stop at Chushar, and it was with great difficulty that Gyalzen
Kazi had induced them to go on. The animal which was carrying Wheeler's
kit died on the way, and his bedding did not arrive till noon the
following day, another animal having been sent to bring it in. I had had
my maximum and minimum thermometers exposed as usual under the fly of my
tent, but during the night some wretch came and stole them. What good
they could have been to him I cannot imagine, but it was very annoying
and I hope he will drink the mercury. The weather had now changed again
for the worse: all day there were heavy snow showers with snow falling
on the mountains around and preventing any views. The march was only a
short one to Lingga. The wild birds in the lake beside the fort were as
tame as ever, the Brahminy ducks (ruddy sheldrake) almost waddling into
our tents and not paying the slightest attention to us. On the water
were swimming about thousands of duck, bar-headed geese and teal which
the Jongpen's little dog used to have great fun in chasing. We were not
able to follow our former route from Tinki to Lingga as the country had
altered considerably. Most of the plain was now a broad lake several
miles long, and we had to follow the North side of the water along the
foot of the hills. On these big lakes were many duck, but they were very
wild. I managed on the way, however, to shoot two bar-headed geese, a
couple of Garganey teal and a pochard, which proved a very welcome
addition to our bill of fare. One shot was a most extraordinary one. I
was stalking some geese which were getting very restless and starting to
fly away, when just in front of me got up two teal close together. I
fired at the teal and both fell to my shot, and at the same time, to my
great surprise, a goose, which was in the direct line of fire, and about
40 yards away, also fell.
We found the people at Lingga busy thrashing. The thrashing time in
Tibet is a favourite one for drinking, and often the whole village after
a day's harvest will be completely incapacitated as the result of too
great an indulgence in chang. Their thrashing floors consist of an area
of about half an acre of hard beaten earth on which the barley is spread
to a depth of 6 to 8 inches. Fifty or sixty yaks are then driven into
this enclosure, followed by thirty people or more, beating drums,
rattling kerosene oil tins, ringing bells and shouting and yelling in
order to frighten the yaks, who, tail in air, are driven backwards and
forwards over the barley. This they continue doing until every one is
tired and hoarse, when the whole of the workers, both male and female,
adjourn for a long drink of beer, after which the same process is
repeated.
On October 11 we arrived at Khamba Dzong. We were having sharp frosts
now every night, and the mountains, both to the North and South of us,
were covered low down with a thick white coating of snow. It was not,
however, unpleasantly cold, and the cloud effects were very beautiful.
On the way I shot two goa--Tibetan gazelle--with good heads, and horns
over 14 inches long. We had to halt here in order to rest our coolies.
All day to the South there was a furious storm raging along the
Himalayas, and when it cleared up in the evening there had evidently
been a heavy snowfall. In the course of the afternoon we put up over
Dr. Kellas's grave the stone which the Jongpen had had engraved for us
during our absence. On it were inscribed in English and Tibetan
characters his initials and the date of his death, and this marks his
last resting-place.
Raeburn, Wheeler and Heron now left us, as they wanted to return to
Darjeeling by the short way over the Serpo La and down the Teesta
Valley. This route is only possible for small parties; with all our
transport we were unable to return that way as the villages on the way
and in the Teesta Valley are small and can supply but very few animals
or coolies. Wollaston and I had therefore to return to Phari and then to
follow the main trade route, along which it is always possible to pick
up any amount of hired transport. We left Khamba Dzong on October 13 in
20 deg. of frost. Kanchenjunga and the Everest group were just visible, but
ominous clouds were rapidly coming up. Our march was the same as on the
outward journey to Tatsang (Falcon's Nest)--a distance of about 21
miles. We rode through the fine limestone gorge behind the fort,
shooting on the way several Tibetan partridge (_Perdrix hodgsoniae_). On
reaching the top of the pass, I climbed another thousand feet on to the
ridge to the South of the pass, where I had a wonderful panorama of
snowy peaks, both to the South and to the North. Snow storms appeared to
be raging on either side and the wind was extremely cold. I came across
a fine flock of burhel (_Ovis nahura_), and had an easy shot at a fine
ram, but missed him hopelessly, and they never gave me another chance. A
little further on I missed a gazelle. On the plain below were grazing
numerous kiang (_Equus hemionus_), their reddish-chestnut coats being
well shown off by their white bellies and legs. Their mane appears to be
of a darker colour, which is continued as a narrow stripe down the back.
On the same plain I could see also a large flock of nyan (_Ovis
hodgsoni_), all fair-sized rams. I had a long chase after the latter,
but they never allowed me to approach close to them. Snow began to fall
now and a regular blizzard set in, the fine powdery snow being blown
along the ground into our faces. While riding along in this storm, I saw
two fine nyan which I stalked. My 2.75 rifle was rather small for such a
large animal, and though the larger of the two was badly hit by the
first shot, he went off as though he were untouched and gave me a long
chase after him. It was only possible to get a glimpse of him every now
and then in the blizzard, and whenever I lay down to try and get a shot,
the fine powdery snow blown along the surface of the ground nearly
blinded me, so that it took five more bullets before he finally expired.
He was a magnificent old beast with a grand head and horns, well over 40
inches in length and of great thickness. The weight of the body was
enormous. I had only Ang Tenze with me. With much difficulty we cut off
the nyan's head and then tried to lift the carcass, which must have
weighed well over 200 lb., on to one of the ponies. With the greatest
trouble we eventually managed to get the carcass on to the pony's back,
but the pony seemed gradually to subside on to the ground under the
weight and was quite unable to move. While we were doing this, my pony
took it into his head to run away, and though we made every attempt to
catch him, he completely defeated us, and was last seen galloping away
towards his home. I had therefore an 8 mile trudge through the snow to
get back to camp, not arriving there till well after dark. Five of the
coolies went back after dark to get the meat. They cut off as much as
they could carry, and the remainder had to be left for the nuns, who
sent out their servants to bring it in. I was cheered up, however, by
getting an English mail and many letters. Among these was one from Sir
Charles Bell from Lhasa, who wrote to ask the Expedition not to do any
more shooting in Tibet, as the Tibetans did not approve of it; for the
remainder of the time, therefore, the guns had to be put away.
During the night there were 32 deg. of frost, and everything inside our
tents was frozen solid in the morning; but the wind luckily died down,
and the next day was a most beautiful one. We knew that there was a long
march before us, so our transport was off by eight o'clock. At Tatsang
we were already 16,000 feet, and we gradually climbed higher, spending
most of the day between 17,000 and 18,000 feet. For several miles we
rode across a snow-covered plain over which the tops of Pawhunri,
Chomiomo, and Kanchenjhow appeared to the South. As we rose higher, the
snow gradually deepened to 6 inches and made the going very heavy. We
had to cross three spurs of Pawhunri by passes of over 17,500 feet.
Here the snow had been blown by the wind into drifts over 2 feet deep.
We had arranged to camp at a place called Lunghi, but on our arrival
there found that the nomads, who ordinarily spent the summer there, had
already left and were encamped some 4 miles further down the valley. In
a side valley I found some of their tents where I was able to warm
myself and get some hot milk before moving on down the valley, where we
were told that preparations had been made to receive us. There was
luckily a bright moon and we rode on down to the spot, where we found
some Tibetan tents which had been pitched for us; their owners had,
moreover, had the forethought to have great braziers of cow dung burning
in these tents. The smell was not agreeable, but we sat and warmed
ourselves, waiting for our transport, which did not arrive until eleven
o'clock that night. It was a bitterly cold wait, as the wind got up and
blew down the valley with 25 deg. of frost behind it. We were very glad to
see our transport and coolies when they arrived; they had really come
along very well, as a march of 23 miles in soft snow and at a great
height all the time is no light feat.
Breakfast the next morning was very comfortless, as the wind was still
blowing with 28 deg. of frost, and everything--boots and foodstuffs of all
kinds--was frozen inside our tents. We looked forward with no little
pleasure to finding ourselves inside once more and sitting in front of a
fire out of the everlasting wind which makes Tibet so trying. The march
was a fairly easy one of about 20 miles over gentle undulating country
until we reached the West side of the Tang La; there was, however, a
bitterly cold strong South wind which blew with great violence all day
and penetrated through everything. Many of our coolies had much
difficulty in coming along, as they were suffering from snow blindness
and their feet were also very tender from the cold and the deep snow of
the last few days. Chomolhari was a glorious sight all the way. We were
gradually approaching it, and it seemed to rise directly from the plain
in front of us. From its summit and from its ridges great streamers of
snow were being blown off and the gale--apparently from the
North-west--still continued. Nearly every day since we left Kharta we
saw along the higher peaks of the Himalayas the snow being blown off in
great wisps, showing that a strong Northwesterly current of air sets in
at great heights after the monsoon is over. After reaching Darjeeling we
noticed the same thing; every day, from Kanchenjunga and Kabru, could be
seen the same great wisps of wind-blown snow. That night at Phari we
were once more in a bungalow and out of the wind, and able to spend a
very comfortable and pleasant evening reading our letters and papers in
front of a fire which, though still mostly yak dung, was in a fireplace.
October 16 we spent resting at Phari. Our coolies were much exhausted by
the three days' march from Khamba Dzong, in which we had covered 65
miles, most of the time at considerable heights and in deep snow. We had
returned by the short way, which the people of Phari had told us in the
spring was impassable, and over which they would not go, sending us
instead around by the long way to Dochen, which took us six days instead
of three.
Phari is a place unfortunately too near civilisation. The Tibetans there
have lost their good manners, such as we had been accustomed to meet in
the more distant and out-of-the-way parts of the country. Much trade
passes through the town, and the people there are too well off. They had
an idea that the Expedition was a kind of milch cow out of which money
could be extracted to their hearts' content. Of this view we had to
disabuse them, and in consequence found them all very tiresome. The
transport turned up the following morning, but they refused to load up
unless they were paid in full beforehand and at a most exorbitant rate.
This I refused to do, telephoning at the same time to the trade agent at
Yatung. I sent for the Jongpen, and both Jongpens turned up. I rather
imagine that they were at the bottom of this trouble, for one of them
owed the Expedition some money; he had also, when forwarding on stores
to us, seized the opportunity to charge five times the ordinary rate, on
the pretext that he had supplied some of his own mules. After long
arguments I eventually induced them to accept part of the payment, the
remainder to be paid at Yatung, whereupon the Jongpens gave orders for
the animals to be loaded. It was not, however, until the afternoon that
we were able to leave Phari and to start on our downward march to
Yatung.