TARGO-GANGRI AND THE SHURU-TSO
Hitherto we had experienced no difficulties, but at Kokbo the state of
affairs seemed disquieting. Our old man informed me that he had sent a
message to the nomads at the Targo-gangri mountain, asking them to hold
yaks in readiness. They had answered that they could not think of
serving a European without express orders, and that they would resort to
force if our present guards led us to the lake. The old man, however,
was not put out, but believed that he could soon bring them to their
senses.
On April 26 we march north-westwards in a sharp wind over the pass
Tarbung-la. The sacred mountain exhibits all the beauty of its sixteen
peaks, and north, 33° west, is seen the gap where we expect to find the
Dangra-yum-tso. The view is of immense extent. The valley widens out and
passes into that of the Targo-tsangpo. Four antelopes spring lightly
over the slopes; black tents are not to be seen.
When we again reach more open ground, one of the most magnificent views
I have seen in this part of Tibet opens out to the west-south-west, a
gigantic range of uniform height, with snow-covered pinnacles and short
glaciers between, which is scarcely inferior to Targo-gangri in imposing
beauty and massiveness. The chain is bluish black below the snowy
points; at its foot lies a lake unknown to us, the Shuru-tso. The
journey to the Ngangtse-tso north-north-east by the way of the
Shangbuk-la pass is reckoned as only three days' march. On the eastern
flank of Targo-gangri five glaciers are deeply embedded, while to the
east of the mountain the flat open valley of the Targo-tsangpo comes
into sight, which we gradually approach, passing over five clearly
defined terraces, relics of a time when the Dangra-yum-tso was much
larger than now. Two wolves make off in front of us, and the old man
gallops after them, but turns back when they stop as if to wait for him.
"If I had had a knife or a gun," he says, "I would have killed them
both."
At length we descend to the valley of the Targo-tsangpo down a bold
terrace with two ledges, and here the river is divided into several
arms, and wild ducks and geese swarm. Brushwood grows on the banks. On
the right bank lies our camp, No. 150, not far from the foot of the
majestic Targo-gangri (Illust. 198).
Thus far we were to come, but no farther. Here a troop of twenty
horsemen armed to the teeth awaited us, who had been sent by the
Governor of Naktsang from Shansa-dzong, with orders to stop us "in case
we should attempt to advance to the holy lake." This time they had kept
a sharper watch, and had anticipated that I would take all kinds of
liberties. They had left Shansa-dzong fifteen days before, and had been
camping here three days, awaiting our arrival. If we had hurried we
should have been before them again. One of the two leaders was the same
Lundup Tsering who, as he told me himself, had stopped Dutreuil de Rhins
and Grenard, and had been in January with Hlaje Tsering at the
Ngangste-tso. He informed me that Hlaje Tsering was still in office, but
had had much trouble because of us, and had been obliged to pay a fine
of sixty _yambaus_ (about £675) to the Devashung. When I remarked that
Hlaje Tsering had told me himself that he was so poor that he had
nothing left to lose, Lundup answered that he had extorted the money
from his subordinates. All, too, who had sold us yaks and served us as
guides had been heavily fined. The next European who attempted to get
through without a passport would have no end of difficulties to contend
with (Illust. 200).
[Illustration: 197. KUBI-GANGRI FROM CAMP 201. S. 19° E., Ngomo-dingding
(1), with the Ngomo-dingding Glacier below. S. 2° W., Absi (2), with the
Absi Glacier, S. 21°-35° W., the Massive of Mukchung-simo (3).]
[Illustration: 198. TARGO-GANGRI FROM A HILL NEAR CAMP 150. N. 32° W.,
Sershik-gompa (4). N. 26°-13° W., the Dangra-yum-tso (5) in the
distance.]
[Illustration: 199. THE CHOMO-UCHONG GROUP FROM THE KINCHEN-LA, MAY 23,
1907 (cf. Illustration 212).
Sketches by the Author.]
Lundup pointed to a red granite promontory, 200 yards north of our camp,
and said: "There is the boundary between the Labrang (Tashi-lunpo) and
Naktsang (Lhasa). So far we can let you go, but not a step farther;
if you attempt it, we have orders to fire on you."
They read the passport from Shigatse, and affirmed that the words
therein, "on the direct way to Ladak," did not mean that we had
permission to make all sorts of detours, and, above all, we might not go
to the Dangra-yum-tso, which is holy and is in the territory of Lhasa.
Gaw Daloi had given orders that he should be informed daily which way we
were travelling. If they did not obey this order they would lose their
heads. It was evident, then, that I should have to give up the
Dangra-yum-tso for the third time, and just when I was only two short
days' march from it.
The outline of the mountain stood out sharp and white in the moonshine
against the blue-black starry sky. The next day there was a storm, and
not even the foot of Targo-gangri was visible, much less the icy-cold
heights where the winds sing their heavenly choruses among the firn
fields. In the evening, however, when the weather had cleared, the whole
mass stood clearly out, covered with freshly fallen snow.
Again we held a long palaver with the horsemen from Naktsang. I told
them that I would not leave this camp till I had at least seen the lake
from a distance. To my delight they replied that though they were
obliged, much against their inclination, to cause me the disappointment
of not visiting the lake, they would not prevent me from seeing it from
a distance, but that they would keep a good watch lest I should ride off
behind yonder red mountain to the north.
They had scarcely gone when our old Kyangdam guide came to complain that
the horsemen from Naktsang had threatened his life because he had
brought me here. I sent for the Naktsang men again and impressed on them
strongly that they had no cause of complaint against my escort, for it
was entirely my fault that we were here. They promised that they would
not again treat the Kyangdam men harshly, as they had most fortunately
caught me just at the right moment. The Kyangdam men could not thank me
enough for restoring peace, and their joy was still greater when I
presented the whole party with money to supplement their scanty store of
provisions. They gave vent to their delight by performing games, dances,
and wrestling bouts in front of my tent, and their happy laughter and
shouts were echoed till late in the night from the mountains.
Then came twelve more soldiers from Naktsang with fresh orders that we
were under no circumstances to be allowed to proceed farther northwards.
But all were friendly and polite; we joked and laughed together, and
were the best of friends. It is singular that they never lose their
patience, though I am always causing them worry, perplexity, and
troublesome journeys.
The chief of Largep was more unyielding than our old friends the
Naktsang gentlemen. He would not let me climb the red mountain, but
insisted that we should leave the district next day and travel straight
to Raga-tasam. However, I snubbed him, demanding how he, a small
chieftain in the mountains, could dare to speak so peremptorily. Even
the Chinese in Lhasa, I said, had treated us pleasantly and had left us
the fullest freedom. I would not leave the spot until I had seen the
lake. I threatened to tear the Shigatse passport in pieces, and send off
at once a courier to Tang Darin and Lien Darin, and wait for their
answer at the foot of Targo-gangri. Then the chief became embarrassed,
got up in silence, and went away with the others. But they were with me
again in the evening, and with a humble smile they said that I might
ride up the red mountain if I would promise not to go to the shore of
the lake.
A thin veil of mist lay over the country all day long. But when the sun
set, the western sky glowed with purple flames, and the cold glaciers
and snowfields were thrown up by a background of fire.
[Illustration: 200. LUNDUP'S SQUADRON. TO THE LEFT A PART OF
TARGO-GANGRI. CAMP 150.]
At last, on April 29, we take to the road and ride up the affluent
Chuma, flowing down from the right and called in its upper course
Nagma-tsangpo. We climb higher and higher up regularly curved lake
terraces; the view widens out the nearer we approach the summit, where
the Ladakis are waiting for us with a fire. The southern basin of the
Dangra-yum-tso was clearly visible as a bluish sabre-blade, and the
valley of the Targo-tsangpo widens out like a trumpet to the broad plain
beside the shore. It was the easier to trace the course of the river to
the neighbourhood of the lake because it was marked all along by white
glistening ice flakes and dark spots where bushes grow. At the end of
July the river is said to rise so high that it cannot be crossed. So
when letters have to be delivered to nomads on the eastern foot of the
mountain they are weighted with a stone and thrown across a narrow part
of the stream.
The water of the lake is said to be as salt as that of the Ngangtse-tso,
and is not fit for drinking; but nevertheless pilgrims drink it, because
it is holy. At this time the winter ice was breaking up, and long sheets
of ice lay only at the shore. In contrast to most other lakes of Tibet,
the Dangra-yum-tso runs north and south, and it narrows in the middle,
just as Nain Sing has drawn it on his map; but he has made the lake a
little too large, and has especially exaggerated the dimensions of the
southern basin. A horseman can travel round the lake in five ordinary or
seven short days' journey; the pilgrim road closely follows the lake
shore. The pilgrims always make the circuit of the lake in the direction
of the hands of a watch, if they are orthodox; but if they belong to the
Pembo sect, like the monks of the Sershik-gompa, they begin their march
in the opposite direction. Most of them come in late summer or autumn. I
was told that the pilgrimage round the lake, which of course must be
made on foot, was in honour of Padma Sambhava, the saint who came to
Tibet in the year 747, became the founder of Lamaism, and enjoys almost
as great a reputation as Buddha himself. He is called in Tibet Lopön
Rinpoche, and his image is generally found in the temples.
Sershik-gompa, of which we had frequently heard, and which Nain Sing
names Sasik Gombas on his map, stands on an even slope at the eastern
foot of the mountain. The monastery is under the Devashung, and has
twenty Pembo brethren and an abbot named Tibha. Some of the monks are
said to be well off, but on the whole the convent is not rich; it is
supported by nomads in Naktsang, Largep, and Sershik. The monastery is
constructed chiefly of stone, but it also contains timber transported
hither from the Shang valley. There is a _dukang_ and a number of small
images of gods. The Targo-gangri massive can also be travelled round,
and only one pass has to be crossed, namely the Barong-la (or Parung),
which lies between Targo-gangri and the mighty range on the west of the
Shuru-tso.
The short, lofty, meridional range which is called Targo-gangri, and is
rather to be considered an isolated massive, ends in the north not far
from the lake, the flanks of the last peak descending gently to its flat
plain. Nain Sing calls the massive Targot-la Snowy Peaks, and the
district to the south of the mountain Tárgot Lhágeb (Largep). The river
is marked Targot Sangpo on his map. His Siru Cho to the east of the lake
is known to no one here, and his Mun Cho Lakes marked to the south of it
actually lie to the west of the lake. His representation of the
mountains to the south of the lake is confused and fanciful. Some nomads
named the holy mountain Chang-targo-ri.
On the way back I took levels, assisted by Robert, and found that the
highest recognizable terrace lay 292 feet above the level of the river.
The Targo-tsangpo is here certainly not more than 6½ feet higher than
the surface of the lake. As the Dangra-yum-tso is surrounded,
particularly on the south, by rather low, flat land, the lake must
formerly have been of very large extent. At that time the Targo-gangri
skirted the western shore as a peninsula.
In the night there was a noise like an avalanche falling; it became
feebler and died away. The horses and yaks of the Tibetans, frightened
by something or other, had stormed the detritus slope of the terrace.
Half an hour later I heard whistling and shouting; the men were coming
back with the runaways.
[Illustration: 201. LUNDUP (on horseback to the left) AND HIS RETINUE
PREVENT ME FROM PROCEEDING TO THE DANGRA-YUM-TSO.
Targo-gangri and the river Targo-tsangpo in the background.]
Before we took leave of our troublesome friends they were photographed
on horseback (Illust. 201). They all wore roomy, dark cerise-coloured
mantles, and, unlike the bare-headed Largep men, a bandage round the
head, in many cases drawn through silver rings like bangles. One had a
tall white hat like a truncated cone, with a flat brim, a head-covering
I remembered seeing in Nakchu. Their guns, with the military pennants on
the forks, they had slung over their shoulders, and their sabres stuck
out horizontally from their girdles in silver-bound scabbards decorated
with three pieces of imitation coral. Over the left shoulder some
carried a whole bandolier of _gao_ cases with glass fronts, through
which were visible the little innocent gods which bring their wearers
good fortune on their journey. Their fat little horses stamped and
snorted, longing for their old well-known pastures on the shores of the
Kyaring-tso. They also were decked with needlessly heavy but dainty
ornaments. The white horses with red riders on their backs made a
particularly striking picture. It was a varied scene in the blazing
sunshine, with the snowy summits of Targo-gangri as a background and
Nain Sing's lake to the north. I begged them to greet Hlaje Tsering
heartily from me, and tell him that I hoped to see him again.
And then they struck their heels into their horses, drew together into
close order, and trotted gaily up to the level surfaces of the river
terraces. Captivated by the appearance of the departing troop I ran
after it, and watched the dark column grow smaller at the red spur,
where the old shore lines seemed to run together. Singular people! They
rise like goblins from the depths of their valleys, they come one knows
not whence, they, like us, visit for a few short days the foot of the
snowy mountain, and then they vanish again like a whirlwind in the dust
of the horses' hoofs and beyond the mysterious horizon.
We, too, set out, and I left the Dangra-yum-tso to its fate, the
dark-blue waters to the blustering storm and the song of the rising
waves, and the eternal snowfields to the whisper of the winds. May the
changing colours of the seasons, the beauty of atmospheric effects of
light and shade, gold, purple, and grey, pass over Padma Sambhava's lake
amidst rain and sunshine, as already for untold thousands of years, and
the steps of believing, yearning pilgrims draw a chain around its
shores.
Accompanied by Robert and our aged guide, I rode across the river, which
carries about 140 cubic feet of water, and up to a spur of Targo-gangri
in order to procure a rock specimen. One glacier tongue after another of
the long series on the east side of the mountain passes out of sight,
and now the gap disappears through which we had seen a corner of the
lake, and far away to the north on its other side the outlines of
light-blue mountains.
Six hundred sheep were grazing on a slope without shepherds. Now and
then a hare was started in the thick tufts of steppe grass. From the
screes on our right was heard the pleasant chirp of partridges. When we
were far away two shepherds came up out of a gorge and drove the sheep
down to the river. At the lower end of the moraine of a glacier stood a
solitary tent. I asked our old man what the spot was called, but he
swore by three different gods that he had no notion. The most southern
outskirt of Targo-gangri hid the rest of the range, but before we
reached camp No. 151 it appeared again foreshortened. This camp stood on
the left bank of the river.
[Illustration: 202, 203, 204. TARGO-GANGRI FROM THE SOUTH.]
May 1. Spring is come; we have, indeed, had as much as 29 degrees of
frost during the preceding nights, but the days are fine and clear, and
it is never as trying as in the Chang-tang, even riding against the
wind. At camp No. 150 we had been at a height of 15,446 feet; now we go
slowly down, following the river at first, but leaving it on the left
when we see it emerge from the mountains as through a gate. Over a
singularly uniform and continuous plain without fissures or undulations
we now approach in a south-westerly direction the threshold which
separates the Shuru-tso from the Dangra-yum-tso. On the south-west side
of Tangro-gangri appear six glaciers, much smaller than those on the
north and east, and rather to be regarded as spurs and corners of the
ice mantle which covers the higher regions of the massive. The Shuru-tso
is seen as a fine blue line. We approach its shore and find that the
lake is completely frozen over. We make a halt to photograph and to
draw a panorama. Our old man smokes a pipe, and Robert and Tashi try
which can snore loudest. When I am ready we sneak off quietly from the
two sleepers. Tashi is the first to awake, understands the joke, and
also sneaks off. At last Robert awakes and finds himself alone, but he
soon overtakes us on his mule.
Now we have the lake close on our right. To the south rise grand
mountains, one of the loftiest chains of the Trans-Himalaya, raven black
beneath the sun, but the firn-fields glitter with a metallic lustre.
Considerable terraces skirt the bank, and the valleys running down from
the east to the lake cut through them, forming hollow ways in which a
solitary tent stands here and there guarded by a savage dog. We encamp
on the terrace above the Parva valley, our eight black tents contrasting
strongly with the yellow soil (15,594 feet). Our old Tibetans from
Kyangdam now bid us farewell and receive double payment as a present. In
front of us are the congealed waters of the Shuru-tso, longing to be
released by the warm spring winds; to the south rises the Do-tsengkan, a
mighty elevation clothed in eternal snow; in the south-west the sun
sinks behind the huge crest of the mountains and the shadows pass
silently across the ice. Soon the evening red lingers only on the peaks
of Targo-gangri and Do-tsengkan, and then another night falls over the
earth. It is a pity that the Tibetans do not understand the relations of
the sun and the planets, for they might regard the solar system as a
unique immeasurable prayer-mill revolving in space to the glory of the
gods. In the darkness the lofty mountains to the north-west are misty
and indistinct, but when the moon rises they and the lake are
illuminated alike and seem to be connected. From our terrace we seem to
have a bottomless abyss below us.
On May 2 we ride southwards along the shore (Illust. 205). Like the
Dangra-yum-tso, the Shuru-tso runs almost north and south, lying in a
longitudinal valley which has this direction, so unusual in Tibet. There
is open water along the bank, and the waves splash against the edge of
the porous ice, on which wild ducks sit, often in long rows. Owing to
the swell the water on the bank is black with decayed algæ and rotting
water-weeds, in which wild geese cackle and scream. As we come to the
regularly curved southern shore of the lake, with its bank of sand, we
see the well-known signs of a storm on the plain before us, white dust
swirls, stirred up in spirals from the ground by the wind, like the
smoke of a shot. After a time we find ourselves in the path of the
storm--it will not need many such storms to break up the whole lake and
drive its loosened ice-sheets to the eastern bank. We ride across the
river Kyangdam-tsangpo, which comes from the Trans-Himalaya, and bivouac
on its western terrace (15,548 feet). Here we have the whole lake in
front of us to the north, and behind it Targo-gangri, now smaller again.
Here our attendants were changed. The Largep chief, who had been so
overbearing at first, was as meek as a lamb at the moment of parting,
and gave me a _kadakh_, a sheep, and four skins of butter. Every morning
when the caravan sets out Ishe comes to my tent to fetch my two puppies;
Muhamed Isa has the third, which he means to train up to be a wonderful
animal, and the fourth has been consigned to Sonam Tsering. They have
grown a deal already, and howl and bite each other on the march, when
they ride in a basket on the back of a mule. They are graceful and
playful, and give me great amusement with their tricks.
From the little pass Dunka-la we had a grand and instructive view over
the great Shuru-tso, which is of a somewhat elongated form and is convex
to the west. Next day we crossed the pass Ben-la in a south-westerly
storm. It raged and blew day and night, but the air remained quite
clear. On the 6th we rode up a steep path to the Angden-la. In the
rather deep snow and the tiring rubbish the horses can get on only a
step at a time, and have often to stop and rest. Tsering rides past us
with his yak caravan, and four Ladakis have stayed behind in the valley
suffering from acute headache. At the top of the pass (18,514 feet)
stands a huge cairn with strings and streamers, their prayers rising to
the dwellings of the gods on the wings of the wind (Illusts. 207, 209,
210).
[Illustration: 205. THE SHURU-TSO, WITH TARGO-GANGRI IN THE BACKGROUND.]
No words can describe the panorama around us. We stand above a sea of
mountains with here and there a predominant peak. To the south we see
the Himalayas clearer and sharper than before, and can perceive where
the valley of the Brahmaputra runs on this side of the white ridge. To
the north the Shuru-tso is much foreshortened, and the Dangra-yum-tso is
hidden by Targo-gangri, which is sharply defined, though we are six
days' journey from it. Nay, even the contours of the mighty mountains on
the north-east shore of the lake, which we saw in winter from the north,
are distinguishable, and they lie fully ten days' journey from here. I
sit at the fire, drawing and making observations, as on all the passes.
I am again on the Trans-Himalaya, 53 miles from the Chang-la-Pod-la, and
now cross it for the third time. Northwards the water drains to the
Shuru-tso, southwards to the Raga-tsangpo. My feet stand on the oceanic
watershed, my eyes roam over this huge system, which I love as my own
possession. For the part where I now stand was unknown and waited
millions of years for my coming, lashed by innumerable storms, washed by
autumn rains, and wrapped in snow in winter. With every new pass on the
watershed of the gigantic rivers of India which I have the good fortune
to cross, my desire and hope become ever greater to follow its winding
line westwards to regions already known, and to fill up on the map the
great white blank north of the Tsangpo. I know very well that
generations of explorers will be necessary to examine this mighty
intricate mountain land, but my ambition will be satisfied if I succeed
in making the first reconnaissance.
We leave the cairn and the fire, its smoke covering the summit of the
pass as with a torn veil, and follow the brook, of which the water will
some day reach the warm sea after a thousand experiences. I turn a page
and begin a new chapter in my life as an explorer; the desolate
Chang-tang remains behind me, and Targo-gangri sinks below the
horizon--shall I ever see its majestic peaks again?
We descend rapidly with the wind in our faces. Large blocks of ice fill
the valley bottom between walls of black schists and porphyry. Several
large side valleys open into ours, and deserted hearths are signs of the
visits of nomads in summer. Our valley unites with the large Kyam-chu
valley, which is 6 miles broad and descends from the Sha-la, the pass of
the Trans-Himalaya over which our Tibetans had wished to guide us. The
land round the nomad tents of Kyam is flat and open.
On May 7 we march on in a terrible wind with the blue mirror of the
Amchok-tso on the south. The ground is flat and hard. A hare runs like
the wind, as if his life were in danger, over this flat, where he cannot
find the slightest cover. Eight sprightly antelopes show us their
graceful profiles as they spring lightly along, rising from the horizon
against a background of sky. Robert has drawn his fur over his head, and
sits in the saddle like a lady, with both his legs dangling on the
sheltered side, while Tashi leads his mule. But as the wind still blows
through him, he lays himself on his stomach across the saddle. My horse
sways when the wind catches the broad breast of its rider. The wind
howls and moans in my ears, it whines and whistles as it used to do in
the Chang-tang, a whole host of indignant spirits of the air seem to
complain of all the misery they have seen in the world.
The plain is called Amchok-tang, and we march over it, following the
main stream. Amchok-yung is a village of five tents, where are some fine
_manis_ bedecked with yak skulls, antelope horns, and slabs of
sandstone, one of them, of a regular rectangular form, measuring 40
inches. The inhabitants of the village disappeared as if by magic; only
an old man gave us his company as we inspected two of the tents. But
when we had ridden on, the people crept out again from behind dung
heaps, hillocks, and grass tufts, where they had hidden themselves.
The wind bores thick yellow sand out of the ground into a spout, which
is so dense that it looks black on the shady side. It winds up in
cyclonic spirals like the smoke of a tremendous explosion and, like a
strange ghost, dances across the plain, and does not fall to pieces till
it reaches the foot of the eastern mountains.
[Illustration: 206. ON THE UPPER RAGA-TSANGPO.]
[Illustration: 207. ANGDEN-LA.]
[Illustration: 208. CHOMO-UCHONG FROM THE EAST.]
In our camp of this day, situated on the north-west shore of the
Amchok-tso, we heard Chinese and Tibetan officials spoken of who were
shortly to ride through the country in all directions, counting the
tents, people, and herds. It was thought that this inspection was
connected with the new taxation which the Chinese intend to introduce.
My boat lay ready on the strand, for May 8 was to be devoted to an
excursion on the Amchok-tso.