Altai. Lake scenery in a mountainous country is always picturesque,
always striking, from the variety of forms which it presents, and its
endless contrasts of light and shade, and its magical combinations of
colours. Moreover, it passes so rapidly from the calmly beautiful to the
sublime! for at one moment the silver waters sleep as profoundly as a
babe on its mother’s breast; at another, the storm-wind issues from the
savage glen, and lashes them into a white wrath. In the genial days of
summer it shines and sparkles with a peculiar radiance; a golden glory
seems to hang upon the mountain sides, and a purple light rests on the
bosom of the lake. In the dreary winter, nothing can be grander in its
gloom; the hollows and the glens are heavy with an eery darkness, through
which the white peaks show like sheeted phantoms. In truth, it appeals
to us by its twofold features of the mountain and the water. The former
awakens our awe, lifts us out of our commonplace lives, and fills us with
a sense of the wonder and mystery of God’s work; it is an embodiment of
majesty and power, a noble and sublime architecture, the study of which
awakens the higher and purer impulses of the soul. Beauty of colour,
perfection of form, an endless change in the midst of what seems to us an
everlasting permanency—all those are the mountain’s; all these belong to
that great cathedral of the earth, with its “gates of rock,” its
“pavements of cloud,” its snow-white altars, and its airy roof, traversed
by the stars. Then as to water; has it not a wonder and a beauty of its
own? “If we think of it,” says Ruskin, “as the source of all the
changefulness and beauty which we have seen in clouds; then as the
instrument by which the earth we have contemplated was modelled into
symmetry, and its crags chiselled into grace; then as, in the form of
snow, it robes the mountains it has made, with that transcendent light
which we could not have conceived if we had not seen; then as it exists
in the foam of the torrent, in the iris which spans it, in the morning
mist which rises from it, in the deep crystalline peaks which mirror its
hanging shore, in the broad lake and glowing river; finally, in that
which is to all human minds the best emblem of unwearied, unconquerable
power, the wild, various, fantastic, tameless unity of the sea; what
shall we compare to this mighty, this universal element, for glory and
for beauty? or how shall we follow its eternal changefulness of feeling?”
Bring the two together, the water and the mountain, and the landscape
attains its highest character; the picture is then as consummate in its
mingled beauty and grandeur as Nature can make it; and hence it is, I
think, that lake scenery has always such a power over the imagination.
The Altin-Kool, or Golden Lake, measuring about one hundred versts in
length, and from three to twelve in breadth, lies in an enormous chasm,
with peaks and precipices all around it, some of them two thousand feet
in height, and so perpendicular as to afford no footing even for a
chamois. On the west side of the lake, the mountain pinnacles rise to
10,500 feet, and on the south several are even loftier. On the east side
their elevation is less, but still they reach far above the line of
vegetation into the region of perpetual snow. Having engaged some
Kalmucks, or boatmen, Mr. Atkinson and his companions set out in canoes
to explore the lake, beginning on the east. For the first ten versts the
mountains do not rise very abruptly; they slope to the north, and green
cedar forests cover them to the very summit, while the banks on the
opposite side are almost treeless. Winding round a small headland, the
lake expands into a splendid basin, with picturesque mountains grouped on
either shore. Early in the evening the voyagers stopped near a torrent,
which poured its foam and din down a narrow gorge, and the Kalmucks
recommended it as a favourable site for an encampment. A bed of clean
white sand, about fifteen feet wide, sloped gradually to the water-side.
Between the upper rim of the sand and the rocks, large cedars were
growing, and under these a bulayan, or wigwam, was constructed. Though
consisting only of a few bare poles, covered with birch bark, open in
front, and the ends filled up with branches, it was warm, and it kept out
the mosquitoes; and within its welcome covert Mr. Atkinson and his party
contentedly passed the night.
At daybreak, a fresh wind was blowing, and until this subsided the
Kalmucks could not be induced to move. Satisfied at last with the
promise both of sky and mountains, they pushed off, and doubling round a
rocky point, entered a broad and beautiful bay, curving gracefully in the
shadow of snow-capped mountains. At Tasck-tash, a bold headland, the
lake turns directly south. Climbing to its summit, Mr. Atkinson enjoyed
a noble view of the expanse of shining waters—one of those views which
rests in the memory for ever, and is at all times a beauty and a joy.
The general character of the landscape is boldness. Along the west shore
the rocks dip to the east, at a very sharp angle, while upon their
foundations the crags rise perpendicularly, and, above all, a
snow-crowned summit shines like silver against the sapphire sky. On the
east, as already stated, the mountains are less abrupt; but one, a
conspicuous peak, rears a lofty and rounded crest far into the clouds,
with white vaporous billows clinging to its rugged sides, and the eternal
snow whitening its remote crest.
As the voyage progressed, the voyagers came upon such mysteries of colour
as filled them with delight. Out of the chinks and clefts in the deep
red granite bloomed bright plants and flowers with tropical luxuriance.
Some slate rocks, grey, purple, and orange, intervened; the bright yellow
of the birches lighted up the distant rocks; and the background was
filled in with the deep purple mountains. The whole was a wonder of rich
harmonious colouring, like a symphony of Beethoven’s. At another point a
gleaming waterfall leaped boldly over a succession of picturesque rocky
terraces, the colours of which were bright as those of the rainbow,
green, yellow, purple, and glowing red. There was also a white marble,
spotted with purple; another, white, with veins of bluish purple; and a
mass of exquisite, deep plum-coloured jasper. On the third day of their
exploration, the voyagers entered one of the wildest parts of the lake—a
deep circular recess in the Karakorum Mountains, into which three streams
fling their heedless waters, uniting near the brink of a mighty
precipice, and then tumbling down from ledge to ledge, to pass through a
natural arch and fall into the lake. Prom the summit of the cliff, where
the water takes its first leap, to the level of the lake, is not less
than two thousand feet. “Avalanches must sometimes sweep over this
place, and large trees are bent down and stripped of their branches.
Huge rocks are torn up and hurled along, crushing and grinding everything
in their course, as they rush on into the lake. No man can conceive the
chaotic confusion into which the mass of ice and rocks has been heaped.
One enormous stone, weighing not less than a hundred and fifty tons, had
been placed on its end, on the edge of the rock, in an overhanging
position towards the lake.”
Various rivers flow into the Altin-Kool, such as the Tchoulishman, the
Kamga, and the Karbou. They are navigated by the Kalmucks in light
canoes, each constructed from the trunk of a single tree. The poplar is
much used for this purpose; but, notwithstanding the softness of its
wood, the labour of canoe-building is very great, owing to the rude
character of the tools employed. The sides are cut down to a thickness
of about three-quarters of an inch; but the bottom, which is usually made
flat and without a keel, is nearly double the thickness.
* * * * *
Having completed his circumnavigation of the Altin-Kool, Mr. Atkinson,
with his thirst for new scenes unquenched, started on a visit to the
source of the river Katounaia. His route lay past Kolyvan, a town where
the population is principally employed in cutting and polishing jasper
and porphyry, and across the river Tchenish. He then crossed into the
valley of the Koksa, and descended upon the Yabagan steppe, where he met
with some Kalmuck auls, and was present at a curious pseudo-religious
ceremony, the offering up of an annual sacrifice to the Kalmuck deity. A
ram was presented by its owner, who desired a large increase to his herds
and flocks. It was handed to an assistant of the priest, who duly killed
it. Meanwhile, the priest, looking eastward, chanted a prayer, and beat
on a large tambourine to attract the attention of his god, while he
petitioned for multitudes of sheep and cattle. When the ram had been
flayed, the skin was hoisted on a pole above the framework of the
bulayan, and placed with its head to the east. The tambourine was loudly
beaten, and the wild chant continued. Then the flesh was cooked in the
large caldron, and all the tribe partook of the dainty—“there was a sound
of revelry by night.”
The Kalmuck priest wears a leather coat, over the laps of which impend
hundreds of strips, with leather tassels on the breast. He fastens a
girdle round his waist; and an assortment of brass balls on his back, and
scraps of iron in front, produces a continuous jingle. His crimson
velvet cap is ornamented over the forehead with brass beads and glass
drops, and at the back with feathers from the tail of the crane.
The Kalmucks who inhabit these steppes own large herds of horses and
oxen, and flocks of sheep. Some of the men are sturdy fellows and
perfect Nimrods; they live by the chase, and spend months alone in the
mountain wilds. Mr. Atkinson speaks of them as brave, honest, and
faithful. “I have slept at their bulayan, and partaken of their venison.
A City alderman would be horrified to see the haunch of a fine buck cut
into small pieces an inch square and half an inch thick, through twenty
of which a sharp-pointed stick is run, and the thick end stuck into the
ground in a leaning position near the fire. Every man here is his own
cook, and attends to the roast. The upper piece is first done, when it
is slipped off, dipped in salt, and eaten quite hot—without currant
jelly.”
At Ouemonia Lake, the last village in the Altai, Mr. Atkinson halted in
order to obtain a sufficient number of men and horses for his ascent to
the source of the Katounaia, and the Bielouka, the highest point in the
Altai chain. He was provided by the chief official, or magistrate, with
an escort of six Kalmucks and two Russians (one of them a veteran
hunter), and at seven o’clock on Wednesday morning sprang into his saddle
and rode away. Including himself and his attendant, the party consisted
of ten men, with sixteen horses and one dog. Crossing a little steppe,
about six versts long, they entered the forest belt which surrounds the
lower declivities of the forest-range, and through groves of pine, cedar,
birch, and poplar, began their ascent of the first chain. Emerging from
the thick leafy covert, they came upon the bare mountain-side, with a
storm of rain and sleet beating in their faces, and pursued their way to
the foot of a lofty acclivity, across which lay their track. Here they
rested, in a “cedarn shade,” until the gale had subsided: then _en
avant_! Through masses of fallen granite and jasper, interspersed with a
few giant cedars, they slowly made their way, until they began in earnest
to climb the great steep; a slow operation and a dangerous, for great
crags, hurled from the upper heights, hung here and there so insecurely
as, apparently, to need but a breath to send them crashing downwards in
an avalanche, and at other places the ledges along which they rode were
so narrow, that the slightest stumble on the part of their patient horses
must have precipitated them into destruction! A painful ride of two
hours brought them to the summit, which commanded a noble view of the
Katounaia valley and the mountains to the north.
Their ride was continued over a high plateau, on which huge rocks, rugged
and curiously wrought, the remains of shattered peaks, stood in their
awful grandeur; carrying back the imagination through the dim shadows of
the past to a period long before the present forms of life existed, and
speaking eloquently of the vast changes which earth has undergone. Their
aspect was often that of colossal castles, grim with tower and
battlement, which fancy peopled with the demons of the mountain and the
wilderness. But the travellers could not stay to study them; signs of a
terrible tempest were visible, and they dashed forward at a hard gallop
to seek shelter in the valley of the Tschugash. A group of cedars, with
a patch of smooth turf, was found on the river bank, and there they
bivouacked. The night passed without accident or adventure; and early
next morning they were again on horseback, and across ridge and valley,
through scenes of the strangest picturesqueness, pursued their track.
Across ridge and valley, but in a lofty region always—just below the line
of perpetual snow, but above the region of vegetation; the eye unrelieved
by branch of moss or blade of grass; until, towards evening, they
descended into the valley of the Arriga. Then they wound over a low
wooded ridge, and struck into a rugged pass, at the head of which they
encamped for the night. The tents were pitched; a huge fire blazed; and
the hunter having shot a very fine deer, a savour of venison speedily
perfumed the cool night air. What with venison and wodky, the travellers
feasted gloriously, and the echoes rang with the wild songs of the
Kalmucks.
The morning came, and with it the signal “Forward!” They ascended the
bank of the Arriga to its source—a small circular basin of about thirty
feet diameter, at the foot of a precipice seven or eight hundred feet in
height. The basin was deep, with a bed of white pebbles; the water,
clear as crystal, issuing forth in a copious stream, rolled downward in a
series of small and shining cascades. The path, from this point, lay
across a high mountain, the upper part of which was deep shrouded in
snow, and it toiled up to the summit in about a hundred bends and curves;
a summit like a razor-back, not more than twenty-five feet wide. The
ascent was arduous and perilous, but still worse the descent on the other
side, owing to the exceeding steepness. Accomplishing it in safety, Mr.
Atkinson found himself in the valley of the Mein. The river rises at the
foot of a precipice which reaches far above the snow line, and winds its
course through a morass which, in the old time, has been a lake, shut in
by a barrier of rocks, except at one narrow gap, where the little stream
finds an exit in a fall of about fifty feet deep. At the head of the
lake is another cataract, which throws its “sheeted silver’s
perpendicular” down the precipice in one grand leap of full five hundred
feet.
Crossing another chain, and still ascending, the explorers reached
another little lake, the Kara-goll, or “Black Lake,” with its waters
shining a deep emerald green. This effect, however, is not produced by
any surrounding verdure, for the lake is almost encompassed by high
mountains, and crags of red and yellowish granite, that rise up into the
region of eternal snow. At the upper end a huge mass of basaltic rocks,
of a deep grey colour, forms a fine contrast to the yellow castellated
forms at their base. On the opposite side of the lake high precipices of
granite are backed by grand mountain summits, white with the snows of
uncounted ages.
Fording the Kara-sou, or “black water”—a stream issuing from the lake—and
crossing a beautiful valley, the riders entered a thickly wooded region
which stretches over the lower mountain range down to the Katounaia, and
arrived on the bank of the river Bitchuatoo. Thrice had they changed
from summer to winter in the course of a day’s ride. Turning to the
south, they ascended a steep and lofty summit, from which it was supposed
the Bielouka would be visible. It proved to be a rocky height that
towered above all the mountains to the west of the Katounaia, even above
the loftiest crests of the Chelsoun; and vast and magnificent was the
panorama which it commanded. In the foreground, a ridge of huge granite
crags, tinted with mosses of almost every hue. In all directions rolled
chains of snowy peaks, like the storm-tossed waves of a suddenly frozen
sea; and as they rolled, they gradually ebbed, so to speak, down to the
far steppes of Chinese Tartary, and were lost in a vapour-shrouded
horizon.
But the Bielouka was not to be seen, and Mr. Atkinson resumed his ride,
keeping along the crest of the mountain for about two versts, and then
striking into a little valley, watered by several lakelets. A dreary
place! There were neither shrubs nor trees; and the barrenness of
desolation was relieved only by a few patches of short mossy grass.
Sharp edges of slate, projecting above the surface, showed that the
upheaval of the strata had been effected perpendicularly. To the south
rose “half a mountain” in a precipice of not less than 2500 feet above
the lakes; while a similarly strange combination of cliffs faced it on
the north. Between these precipices, at the head of the valley, towered
what might be taken for a colossal dome; beyond which a forest of white
peaks were sharply defined against the blue serene.
The travellers reached the head of the valley, and examined from a near
point the enormous dome. From a distance the curve on its sides had
appeared as regular as if wrought by human skill; but they now found that
it was piled up with huge blocks of slate and granite, over which it
would be impossible to take the horses. A steep ascent to the north
brought them, however, to its summit. There the scene was sufficiently
remarkable: you might have thought that the Titans had been at play, with
great fragments of slate, granite, jasper, and porphyry for their
counters. The horses and most of the men were sent round by the base of
the cliffs, while Mr. Atkinson, with his servant and the village-hunter,
scrambled through the chaos to the edge of a vast circular hollow, which
proved to be a vast volcanic crater, not less than nine to twelve hundred
feet in diameter, and fully fifty feet in depth. It was heaped up with
blocks and boulders and fragments of all sizes, from a cube of twelve
inches to a mass weighing half a hundred tons. It is a belief of the
Kalmucks that this gloomy spot is inhabited by Shaitan, and they regard
it with superstitious dread. Certainly, it is eery enough to be haunted
by many a ghostly legend.
* * * * *
Next day, taking a different track, Mr. Atkinson descended the valley of
the Tourgau, listening to the music of the stream as it raced over its
rocky bed with the speed of a “swift Camilla.” At a point where it
suddenly swept round the base of some cliffs of slate, the Kalmuck guide
said that it might be forded, though the passage was very difficult. “We
stood on the high bank a few minutes,” says Mr. Atkinson, “and surveyed
the boiling and rushing water beneath, while immediately above were a
succession of small falls, varying from six to ten feet in height. At
the bottom of the last there was a rapid, extending about twenty paces
down the river; then came another fall of greater depth; after which the
torrent rushes onward over large stones until it joins the Katounaia.
Across this rapid, between the falls, we had to make our passage—not one
at a time, but five abreast, otherwise we should be swept away. As we
could only descend the rocky bank in single file, and scarcely find room
at the bottom for our horses to stand upon, it was no easy matter to form
our party before plunging into the foaming water. Zepta was the first to
descend; I followed; then came three others, with two led horses. To go
straight across was impossible; we could only land on some shelving rocks
a few paces above the lower fall. The brave Zepta gave the word, and we
rode into the rushing waters, knee to knee. Our horses walked slowly and
steadily on, as the water dashed up their sides; instinct making them
aware of the danger, they kept their heads straight across the stream.
The distance we forded was not more than twenty paces, but we were at
least five minutes doing it; and it was with no small satisfaction that
we found ourselves standing on the rocks, some twenty feet above the
water, wishing as safe a passage to our friends. When I saw them drawn
up on the little bank, and then dash into the stream, I felt the danger
of their position more than when crossing myself. Their horses breasted
the torrent bravely, and all were safely landed; the dog was placed on
one of the pack-horses, where he lay between the bags in perfect
security. I am certain that every man felt a relief when the enterprise
was accomplished, which would have been impossible had the water been
three inches deeper.”
Continuing their ride down the valley, in about ten hours the party
reached the river Katounaia and the grassy valley through which it foams
and flows. Their route lay up its banks, and speedily brought them to
the broad swift stream of the Tourgau, which reflects in its water groups
of cedars and birches, with rows of tall poplars decked in foliage of the
richest colours. Fording the Tourgau, they soon afterwards came again
upon the Katounaia, and crossing it, reached a bend in the valley, which
presented to them the monarch of the Altai chain, the magnificent
Bielouka. Its stupendous mass uplifts two enormous peaks, buttressed by
huge rocks, which enclose a number of valleys or ravines filled with
glaciers; these roll their frozen floods to the brink of the imposing
precipices which overhang the valley of the Katounaia.
Mr. Atkinson determined on attempting the ascent of this regal height.
It was a bright morning when he started, and the two white peaks shone
grandly in the early sunshine, which gradually dipped down into the
valley, and with its fringes of gold touched the sombre cedars. An
hour’s ride carried him and his followers to the bifurcation of the
Katounaia, and then they ascended the north-eastern arm, which rises
among the glaciers of the Bielouka. When they had got beyond the last
tree that struggled up the mountain’s side, they dismounted; and Mr.
Atkinson, with the hunter, Zepta, and three Kalmucks, pressed forward on
foot, leaving the others in charge of the horses. At first they
clambered over the ruins of a mighty avalanche, which in the preceding
summer had cloven its way down the precipices, until they reached the
glacier, stretching far up the mountain, whence wells the Katounaia in
two little ice-cold, transparent streams. There they halted for their
mid-day meal. Turning to the west, they toiled up a terrific gorge,
filled with fallen rocks and ice, and then climbed a rugged acclivity
that, like an inclined plane, reached to the very base of one of the
peaks of the Bielouka. Step after step they wearily but persistently
ascended, until they reached the frozen snow, scaling which for about
three hundred paces they reached the base of the peak, already at such a
height as to overlook every summit of the Altai. Far away to the west
the vast steppes of the Kirghiz were lost in the blue distance. To the
west many a mountain-ridge descended towards the steppes on the east of
Nor-Zaisan, and to the Desert of Gobi. The shimmer of a lake was visible
at several points; while innumerable rivers, like threads of silver,
traced their fantastic broidery through the dark green valleys.
About a hundred paces further, the adventurers found themselves at the
head of another glacier, which stretched westward through a deep ravine.
Beyond it lay the great hollow between the two peaks. This, in Mr.
Atkinson’s opinion, it was possible for them to reach, though they could
not hope to ascend either peak. They are cones, he says, from eight
hundred to a thousand feet high, covered with hard frozen snow, with a
few points of the green slate jutting through. We imagine, however, that
to a member of the Alpine Club, to any one who has conquered the
Matterhorn or the Jungfrau, they would offer no insuperable difficulties.