ASCENT OF SIPAN
August 2.--Walking our horses all the way, we reached Adeljivas
in four hours, excluding stoppages. The track follows the shore
of the lake the whole distance, and you never lose the expanse of
waters. In fact, it is the base of the block of limestones on the
west of Sipan that you are skirting throughout the ride; although at
first, and for some distance, the stratified rocks are superseded
by intrusive material of igneous origin. These sombre heights are
flanked by low foothills of purple conglomerate, which have been
thrown into a succession of shallow folds, with an axis parallel to
the shore. But as you approach Adeljivas the igneous rocks give way,
and the conglomerate thins out and disappears. The limestone meets
the waters, which it tinges with its own white hue. Hardened almost
to the state of marble, it is in places full of corals. The scene
becomes remarkable in the neighbourhood of the town, where cliffs
of this description and of great elevation descend abruptly into
the depths above which you ride. [257] Where these recede and leave
the shore, giving place to a wide alluvial strip at the foot of
Sipan, long concealed, is situated Adeljivas. The castle clings to
the cliff; the gardens clothe the alluvial soil. In other respects
our journey was not, perhaps, noteworthy. Besides Tunus, we passed
only a couple of hamlets the whole way. Such oases of verdure--for
the walnuts are especially fine--were much more rare than one would
expect. But the district is unsafe; and it was patrolled by soldiers
before we passed. This precaution was perhaps due to the presence by
our side of the Kaimakam of Akhlat. His colleague of Adeljivas came
out to meet us, near the border of his administrative district. The
promontories along this shore do not protrude far; but they are bold,
and with several prongs or bluffs. They offer no difficulties to the
road. Lagoons have been forming on a large scale within the bays,
due probably to the rise in level of the lake.
Passing through the enclosure of the ruinous walled city, which
recalled the Kala or Ottoman fortress at Akhlat, we encamped among the
gardens of the more modern quarter. [258] The trees are well grown,
and provided us with deep shade. At least one considerable stream
descends from the interior; the oasis is of some extent. Early next
day we made our way in the lightest of clothing from our tents in the
heart of the orchards to the margin of the shore. It was some little
distance, but the walk was all that we could wish. The morning is the
time to enjoy the picturesqueness of any Eastern town. There will be
shadows to give relief to the scene, and light sufficient to bring
out the colours. The deep white dust upon the lanes has not yet been
disturbed. Draughts of freshness from the groves and gardens keep the
air sweet and cool. Such a straggling lane or two, between low walls
of mud and stone, took us past an old mulberry tree studded with red
fruit, and a fountain gushing forth by the side of the way. So we
came to a little valley, opening out towards the lake, and harbouring
a swift and shallow rivulet, black with the shadows of an avenue of
willows. A mass of foliage, on either side of the adjacent meadows,
screened the pleasant place from fortress and suburb, except for a
glimpse of the citadel in the west.
We stripped on a narrow margin of pebble-strewn shore, regretting
our purple rocks at Akhlat. The water is shallow for some distance
out; but, in spite of the embouchures of the irrigation channels,
it was most intensely blue. We swam forth, enjoying the buoyancy
of the waves, with the distant barrier of the Kurdish mountains
before our eyes. Their bare escarpments towered up to their crown
of snow. In the reverse direction the landscape was already flooded
with light, and the foliage merged into the general brilliancy of
tone. A conspicuous object was the ruinous citadel, proudly placed
against the cliffs--the single witness in the scene to a period of
human masterfulness in direct contrast to the actual insignificance
of the human element in this fair and richly-gifted land.
When we returned there were two wooden couches with leather seats,
and a couple of chairs, of similar pattern and equal shabbiness,
arrayed upon the sward. These unusual objects had been unearthed
for our benefit. They were not long in finding occupants among
the personages of importance who were desirous of paying us the
honour of a visit. The Commandant of the garrison came, accompanied
by his aide-de-camp; they were followed by the burly mufti, and by
several notables; last of all came the two Kaimakams. It was a medley
of striped military trousers and gold lace, of flowing cloaks and
white turbans, of black frock-coats and the tasselled fez. Each had
a word to say upon the details of the expedition; each could help if
one would only give them time. My great regret was that time failed
me to receive their suggestions; there were indeed so many things
which must be done. First I had to feed and water my horses, for
the forage had not arrived in the early morning. When it came, the
several owners were at variance, one with another; and I was obliged
to seize it by force. Then there were my people, who would surely
go without their breakfast rather than take the trouble to procure
victuals. These I had provided with great difficulty overnight;
but the cook had experienced trouble with his fire. Such everyday
concerns were augmented on this occasion by several affairs of much
greater consequence. It was necessary to engage at least ten porters;
when these had been got together with infinite difficulty, there was no
possibility of arriving at terms and a price. By the time the Kaimakam
appeared, the orchard was alive with people, all intent on delaying the
conclusion of their several bargains for the mere love of talk. That
official was of great assistance, because he fixed the price himself,
and ordered each man to conclude his business on those terms.
But there was one matter which called for very delicate treatment,
and of which the ultimate issue was not so clear. It was most
important that our escort, during the journey through the wild
districts interposed between Sipan and Bingöl, should be composed
of men who might be trusted at least so far as not to involve us in
unnecessary brawls. They must obey my orders to the letter; but my
authority could only exist by delegation from a higher authority;
and it was essential that they should both respect and fear this
source. Now the Kaimakam of Akhlat alone inspired me with confidence
that his men would think twice before daring to play the fool. But
Adeljivas belonged to the vilayet of Van; and his colleague would
certainly insist in sending his own zaptiehs at least as far as the
borders of that of Bitlis. And at what point in that bleak region
could one hope to pick up the others? Fortune came to my aid in
arriving at a settlement. It so happened that the Vali of Van had
not been informed of our intention to enter his province. Indeed the
ascent of Sipan had not formed part of our original programme. Now
the Vali was alarmed at the prospect of a possible visit on our part
to his capital. Adeljivas was so very near; we should be across in no
time. And Van was in a state of unrest. His subordinate had telegraphed
overnight that we had arrived, and might return after our excursion to
Sipan. This it was in the interest of the Vali to prevent. A message
came that very morning, conveying greetings from his Excellency, but
enquiring whether we were furnished with a permission to travel, or
even with a tezkere, or travelling pass. Of course he well knew that
no such documents were in our possession, since the whole question
of the right of the Palace to prevent Englishmen from travelling had
been raised in connection with our persons. The incident brought the
very wind into our sails which we had been courting on every side. We
had not the least intention of going to Van. But the Kaimakam of
Adeljivas would now be anxious to be rid of us for good and all. When
therefore I placed before him the two alternatives, of returning and
perhaps proceeding to reason with his Excellency in the capital; or
of pushing on direct from Sipan and leaving his territory as fast as
possible--the latter course was at once and joyfully approved. And when
I made it a condition that the men of the Kaimakam of Akhlat should
be allowed to meet us at the base of the mountain upon our descent,
this proposal was also accepted without demur.
It was noon by the time these various matters had been decided--not
a bad piece of work under the circumstances. There only remained the
last and saddest of our duties--to say good-bye to the energetic and
admirable official who had accompanied us thus far on our road. What a
contrast between this Circassian, lithe of figure and nimble of mind,
and his heavy, thick-skulled colleague of Adeljivas! In the latter I
had recognised the former Kaimakam of Vostan--him whom I had met at
Akhavank. What memories arose of Khachatur and his famous dinner! I
learnt that he had already descended to his tomb.... Nothing could be
more pathetic than the spectacle of an honest man, endeavouring to
cope, not only with the inherent difficulties of his post, but also
with the tricks of such rascals in high places as you see on every
side. Such is the lot of the Kaimakam of Akhlat. It touched us to the
quick. It is quite as sad as the sufferings of the Armenians. In the
Turkish service there still remain a number of excellent officials--men
well capable of dealing with the Armenian question in a manner
conformable at once to humanity and to their country's good. But
they are flouted, and set aside. Some retire, others are constrained
to effect a shabby compromise; while the younger or less steadfast
become rapidly demoralised, and end as badly as they commenced well.
Two villages had been mentioned as both presenting a good base from
which to climb Sipan. One was Norshunjik, and the other Uran Gazi. The
first is situated on the south-western side of the mountain, and the
second rather more round towards the west. Uran Gazi--a Circassian
settlement--was, after some debate, selected, owing chiefly to
the reputation and resources of its head men. It may be reached in
about two hours from Adeljivas. Riding in a northerly direction,
we pursued a winding track which became involved in the recesses of
the hills. We must have been close to the break-off of the plateau
of limestone on the west of Sipan; but the view towards the east was
never open. The limestone was all about us, white and barren as usual,
in striking contrast to the verdant scene we had left behind. So
high did the escarpments tower, that although we continued to rise
at a considerable gradient for a space of about an hour, it was only
towards the latter portion of the ascent that we obtained a view of
the summit region of the great volcano. But the vista towards the
lake was of striking beauty, with the ruinous castle standing up
against the blue. Deep below us on our left hand we admired the site
of a walled monastery, high-seated in a broad valley. There was more
traffic along this track than one might have expected; we kept meeting
laden donkeys and a number of wayfarers. The adjacent slopes were,
in places, strewn with blocks of lava.
When we reached the pass, we were standing on the edge of an undulating
plateau, and were still within the zone of the limestones. A slight
descent from this point brought us almost immediately to a shallow
but very extensive depression. It had, in fact, the appearance of a
vast plain, somewhat of an oval, with an axis roughly from east to
west. In the latter direction we could see the plain tonguing into
the limestones, or, in other words, the almost latitudinal limestone
ridges sinking into the plain. But these were dwarfed in the east by
the flows of lava from Sipan, of which the huge frame was now fully
exposed. In particular a bold stream plunged down from the summit
region, ending in dark, precipitous sides. About in the centre of the
depression lay a little lake, fringed by marshes, and bordered by a
deep belt of what appeared to be a white efflorescence adhering to
its shores. It was the Jil Göl (lake of rushes), once of considerably
greater extent. A village, just a speck at the western extremity of
the bold ridge of lava, was identified as Uran Gazi. Behind us the
limestones stood up like a wall, screening the lake of Van.
Except for the marshes, there was not a trace of verdure in a landscape
devoid of trees or even of bush. Far and wide, the surface of the
plain was broken only by mounds or gullies--the mounds heaped up
with blocks of black lava, the gullies doubly darkened by the same
material. Indeed the whole depression has been covered with lava,
probably to some considerable depth. Its elevation above sea-level
is not much less than 7700 feet. [259] These lavas, which must have
been of a liquid nature, may have been, in part, emitted from the
volcano during its infancy, but have largely issued from fissures in
the plain. Flooding into the limestones, they compose such a lofty
pedestal that the volcano somewhat loses height. The climber is not
ungrateful for their help.
In another three-quarters of an hour we reached Uran Gazi, and were
received by two Circassian notables, resident in the village, Murad
Effendi and Shakir Effendi. I think I have already observed upon the
superiority of the Circassian villages to those of their neighbours,
Armenians or Kurds. The bread they make is eatable; fair cheese can
be obtained; the tenements are much more solidly built. Great stacks
of hay had already been collected against the winter. The Circassian
skirted coat and the Circassian cap are still worn; and, indeed, this
people cling to all the customs of their native country, from which
the Russians have compelled them to wander out. Of our two hosts, Murad
was in the prime of life; while Shakir, although advanced in years and
with snow-white hair, still retained his vigour and vivacity. It is
the vivacity of the Circassians which is so impressive in the moral
sphere, just as in the physical sphere it is the brilliance of their
eyes. Murad Effendi buckled to, with the result that in an hour and a
half all was prepared for the start. Tezek fuel for the fire, and hay
for the horses, and for ourselves a lamb and several chickens--such
were the burdens which were ready for the shoulders of the porters,
four of whom had already arrived.
The position of the village, at the extremity of the bold ridge of
lava (Fig. 187), may be taken as representing the furthest westerly
extension of the flows of lava from the volcano, as we see it now. The
ridge itself has an axis of about west-south-west. At four o'clock we
made our way along its southern margin, up the broad valley by which
it is separated from similar outliers on the south. The caterjis,
with the packs, followed this valley to its head; but our guides,
whether from knowledge of the ground or from mere impatience, were not
long before they led us right up the wall of the ridge. Dismounting,
we dragged our horses over the rocky surface, at considerable peril
to their legs. The summit was, however, almost perfectly flat; and,
although the upward slope and the craggy nature of the ground rendered
progress rather arduous and slow, the breadth of the ridge enabled
us to pick a way. In this manner we struggled on for about an hour,
when, at six o'clock, I called a halt. The caterjis were not in sight,
and, when last we had espied them, they were still in the trough
of the valley. There they would have remained, with our tents and
baggage, knowing well that we must come to them. I sent an officer with
instructions to bring them up by force; and, after waiting until night,
we were at length rejoiced by their arrival, and encamped on a stretch
of sward below a large patch of snow. Our elevation was 10,300 feet.
August 4.--The ascent of Sipan offers no difficulties whatever at this
season, and is, indeed, a delightful excursion. There is the joy of
awaking to a landscape so inspiring--such a wide segment of a circle,
almost without limits on the horizon, framed by the heights descending
upon either side. From the rocky island of the Kartevin to the western
slopes of the Nimrud crater, an immense region is outspread at our
feet. Flatness of outline is the almost universal characteristic; and
the marble peaks of the Akh Dagh, conspicuous even at this distance,
are at once an exception and a solecism. Further west, the view extends
to the even ridge of the Bingöl Dagh, flecked about the centre with
snow. Nearer masses of imposing aspect are Bilejan and Khamur; an
unknown mountain, which, later in our journey, we came to know as
Kolibaba, rising with lesser proportions between the two. But the
plains outdo the mountains, resembling a wide sea--although surely
no sea can be surrounded by such commanding objects. The treeless,
yellow surface commences deep below us, and stretches without a break
to the Kartevin. Low ridges come edging towards it from the block of
limestones, which, in the west, appears to encircle the lake of Nazik,
and to divide it from that of Gop. The outline of the block grows in
height towards Lake Van.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon before we were ready to start
upwards, turning our backs upon this scene, and on foot. The ten
porters carry our flying tent and our wraps, besides a little
tezek fuel for our camp fire, and four long poles for taking
measurements. They perform their work in an admirable manner, never
grumbling and never stopping to talk. Their features betray their
Armenian origin, although they are Mussulmans. The westerly eminence
of the summit region towers high above us; but there is no beach of
boulders to impede our progress, like upon Ararat, and no causeways
to circumvent. The tops of the streams of lava are always fairly
level, although they are rocky at the sides. They consist of a basic
augite-andesite, with conchoidal fractures, which grows more glassy as
you approach the higher region. Stretches of grass are not infrequent,
watered by the melted snow. Little runnels descend the slope with a
pleasant, gurgling sound, but cease to flow when the sun goes down. In
three-quarters of an hour we open out Lake Van, the ridges collecting
towards the summit circle. The gradient of the slope is now 33 1/2°,
the highest registered on this side of Sipan. We are above and
among large patches of snow. But the going is very easy, the ground
being covered with turf and flowers. It is quite a little garden of
forget-me-nots and pink daisies and buttercups and campanulas. These
raise their heads above an undergrowth of pearl-wort. There is no
juniper or yellow immortelle to be seen. Soon after four o'clock
this flowery slope gives way, and we enter the summit region, with
the westerly eminence on our left hand. Before us lies a deep and
irregular basin filled up with masses of snow.
Such perhaps is the most concise description of the strange scene
about us and at our feet (Fig. 188). My illustration was taken on the
following day from the top of the westerly eminence, or western summit
of Sipan. Our position now is on the slope of that lofty eminence,
on the upper margin of a field of snow, which is not visible in the
picture, but which descends to the little lake in the foreground. The
lake is known as Kirklar Göl, or lake of the forty Mussulman saints,
and is probably due to the dissolving of the snowy sheets which hem
it in on either shore. The slope on the opposite, or southern side of
the basin is very steep where it sinks to the pool; and it sometimes
happens that the snow falls headlong and in a mass into the blue
water. West of the lake, and especially beneath the western summit,
the edge of the basin is low; indeed we have entered into the summit
region by a natural passage or partial cleft.
Adhering to the skirts of this western summit, or taking refuge upon
the snow from the deep rubble on its uppermost slope, we proceed
in a north-north-easterly direction towards the northern side of
the basin. A new flower clings to the powdery surface above the
snow--sweet-scented arabis. The bold bluff of the peak above us joins
on to a pronounced ridge, corresponding to the ridge on the right of
the illustration, of which, indeed, it forms the counterpart on the
north. We now open out a most remarkable object--a round and very lofty
mass, built up, it would appear, of rubble, and of such dimensions that
not only does it fill the basin on its eastern side, but even destroys
and supersedes the peripheral figure. It looks as if it were flat upon
the summit, from which rise a number of little conical peaks, like
cairns. Its sides are so steep that they are nearly free of snow. We
exclaim, "There is Kerkür, piled upon Sipan!" The only feature which
we miss is the oak scrub. The mass is well shown in the photograph,
but not the second little lake which nestles in a lap of snow at its
foot. This pool is separated from the first by a low saddle in the
hollow of the basin, of which it collects the waters on the east.
The ridge upon which we stand narrows and becomes knife-like, as
it bends towards the northern extremity of the upstanding mass. It
provides the scantiest strip of bare but level rock between sheets of
snow on either side. On the north it is a cornice of snow above the
plains, thousands of feet down. In that direction there would appear to
be a tremendous abyss. Nor is the slope towards the basin of tolerable
gradient; it is so steep that it would be difficult to descend to the
second of the lakes without making a considerable circuit. Still this
ridge appears to offer a convenient site for our encampment, owing
to its central position. There are a few piles of rocks, nearly as
high as a man, which will prevent us being swept into the depths on
either side, in case a storm should arise. The only danger would be
a sudden drift of snow. I give orders to erect the tent against one
of these little screens; and, accompanied by a Circassian, Oswald
and I continue our march towards the lofty platform on the east.
Our slender parapet ends in its steep and talus-strewn side, which we
commence to scale. We step from block to block, the boulders consisting
of a light brown lava, which has broken up with sharp angles. There
can be no doubt that this mass is the latest result of eruptive action
upon the summit of Sipan. The whole or nearly the whole of the eastern
portion of the crater was blown away, and this cone raised upon its
ruins. It is almost circular in shape. The level parts of the platform,
upon which we emerge from the rocky slopes, are covered with snow and
ice; but the cairns, of which there are too many to count, protrude
from the white canopy with little beaches of brown rock. It is hard
to tell at a first glance which is the highest of these piles. Our
Circassian conducts us to one among them on the north of the mass,
which, indeed, is the most elevated of all. When we have clambered to
the summit, we are amazed to find a screen, rudely erected from the
boulders by a human hand. It provides us with just the shelter which
we shall require for our observations upon the following day. We have
reached an altitude of 13,700 feet. [260]
The sun is setting; so the tripod is rapidly erected, and the bearings
of the principal mountains registered with the utmost care. Happily
the sky is almost free of cloud. Ararat soars into space, a magnificent
object, both peaks of the greater mountain, although almost merged by
the perspective, being distinguishable by the naked eye. The bold snow
bastion on the west is seen to the fullest advantage. But the Little
Ararat is almost hidden by nearer outlines; and only the summit of that
graceful cone is exposed. If the mountain of the Ark be without equal,
or even rival, in a landscape which in all directions is sublime, it
possesses at least a neighbour with many attributes in common--the
Kuseh Dagh, beyond the plain of Alashkert. That giant overtops the
land forms, almost from the very base--a truly inspiring sight. It
is so essentially a great mountain, towering up to a symmetrical,
but deeply vaulted dome.
Night is falling as we descend to our little tent upon the ridge at
an elevation of 13,000 feet. But our poor porters and the several
zaptiehs who have, quite unnecessarily, scrambled up--how shall we
protect them against the rigour of the night? They prefer to remain
with us; so we wrap them up in the stout red cloth which we have by us
for our measuring poles. They cower over the smouldering fire against
the screen. But the temperature scarcely sinks as low as freezing-point
in the sheltered places, and at dawn the lake below us is free of ice.
August 5.--Neither my companion nor myself are able to sleep, although
we are quite fresh for our work next day. The same experience befell
our party upon Ararat; at these high altitudes one does not seem to
require sleep. We are up before the sun; but the light is already
sufficient to disclose the great world, silent at our feet. Not a
vestige of cloud is clinging to our mountain; and, as the sun rises,
all the outlines in the distance are well defined. To Oswald is
apportioned the task of taking measurements, and he starts off over
the snow-fields with his telemeter and his poles. I mount to the summit
of the platform on the east, which is reached at half-past six. There
I erect my instruments in the same cairn which we visited yesterday,
and which may be called the eastern summit. The pools on the way are
thinly crusted with ice.
With what joy I look out from the well upon the cairn, and am
greeted with the sight of Ararat in all his majesty, without a
particle of cloud! Every minute the outline grows in distinctness,
and each familiar feature becomes clear. How radiant the fabric
looks--such a bright presence in the sky, above the summits of the
Ala Dagh! Those mountains pass insensibly into the outlines on the
east--the horizontal heights of the Persian tableland. Westwards it
is a series of plains. The plain of Patnotz, deep below us, joins
the plain of Melazkert; that expanse is continued into the region
of Bulanik, threaded by the silver channel of the Murad. Kartevin
and Bilejan rise like islands from this sea-like surface, in which
are lapped the blue waters of Lakes Nazik and Gop. In the north the
undulations of the plateau country are continued up to the barrier of
the Mergemir--Kilich-Gedik; but that outline is so low that you almost
see the plain beyond it, supporting the base of the Kuseh Dagh. Further
west the plains are bounded by much bolder masses--Khamur with Bingöl
showing up behind. The peak of Palandöken is just perceived. But
the Nimrud crater is a conspicuous object--not the least remarkable
feature in the scene. How vast it all looks!--stray clouds throwing
liquid shadows, and earth reflecting the glow of morning in vague,
mysterious lights and hues.
In the opposite direction the contrast exceeds expectation--for one
is standing in the border region on the outskirts of the plateau,
and near the serried ranges which confine it on the south. Never
have I seen those ranges look so steep and savage, the seams rising
like spear-points from the water's edge. Nowhere is their outline
more broken into peaks, more exactly the opposite of the outlines
on the north. And the contrast is enhanced by the sea to which they
descend--the dream-like presence of the sweet sea of Van. Pleasant
verdure softens the landscape of the nearer shores, with their sinuous
inlets, already deepening to an intense blue.
I remain about three hours upon this summit, and then proceed to
the highest eminence on the eastern margin of the circular figure,
in order to overlook the eastern arm of Lake Van. On my way there a
strange incident occurs. My Circassian has told me that there exists a
ziaret, or place of pilgrimage, in the vicinity of this cairn. Curious,
and half doubtful, I ask him to show me the spot, which he says is
close by. What is my amazement when, opening out a slight hollow of
the snowy surface, we see before us a group of Mohammedan women,
standing upon the ice with bare feet and ankles, and prostrating
themselves before a pair of stag's horns! Indeed the antlers are so
thickly covered with little bits of rag that it is impossible to say
for certain to what species of animal they belonged. Stranger still
is the fact that a band of women--I count twelve--should have risked
their lives in this way. Tantum religio!... And yet the Kaimakam of
Melazkert is quite unshaken in his belief that only one man, and he
in exceptional circumstances, has ever trodden the sacred summit of
Sipan! [261]
After spending nearly another three hours upon the eastern eminence,
during which I draw in the portion of the lake which lies before me,
because I recognise several errors in the existing map, I return
to our camp upon the ridge. Oswald has just completed his arduous
work upon the snow; and the combination of our labours produces the
following results, which must be taken as approximate. The long axis
of the figure described by the summit region is but little inclined
from an east-west line. The centre of the circular mass, to which
the eastern summit belongs, is a little north of a line drawn from
the western summit in an easterly direction. The ultimate points
of this axis are, on the west, the western summit, and on the east,
the eminence upon which I last stood. The distance between the two is
one and a quarter miles. The breadth of the basin is just under a mile.
The Circassians and the porters dance with delight when the order
is given to take down the tent. They appear to have made up their
minds that we shall keep them shivering for another night. All give
utterance to devout and repeated Alhamdilallahs, thanks be to God! Our
last duty is to scale the western summit, and to become familiar with
the scene which it commands. We overlook the small circular lake of
the Aiger Göl, on the southern slopes of Sipan. It perhaps fills the
basin of a parasitic crater. The elevation of this peak is about the
same as that of the eastern summit, namely 13,700 feet. On our way
down we recognise the traces of a bear; and we reach our standing
camp without further incident at about five o'clock. It has been a
very full and delightful day. [262]