We made a very early start again the following morning, as I had the
intention of crossing the range to the north of us and exploring some
of the virgin glaciers of the Tinker region and in Tibet. The mountains
were, however, so precipitous that we had some difficulty in finding a
spot where we could climb up and take our loads as well.
We again proceeded upward towards the Charles Landor Glacier, but kept
on the dune to the left (going up) instead of on the one we had taken
coming down the previous night. Again we passed along huge cracks in
the ice, and here and there more holes in the ice—relieving somewhat
the monotony of the grey débris that covered that tail portion of the
glacier. Again we got another distant glimpse of the majestic glacier
itself towering in front of us with its gigantic ice-terraces. Perhaps
the reason that these terraces droop towards the southern side may be
attributed to the heat of the sun shining upon the ice of that side for
more hours than on the north side, as the high wall enclosing the basin
on the east side casts a shadow upon the glacier until the sun is well
up in the sky.
Somehow or other the dune we were on was not as regular as the one of
the previous night, and the débris which covered it was very loose and
slippery. It often crumbled under us, so that we thought we had better
march in the deep channel between the mountain side and the dune. Here,
too, we had to feel our way with great caution, as the ground was
treacherous, with cracks in the ice bridged over with snow and débris.
This seemed a great day for landslides. At every moment we heard
crashing noises of masses of débris being precipitated upon the
glacier, and some of them were quite near enough for us to see.
The range to the north of us seemed so uninterrupted and so steep
everywhere, with a base of rotten débris, and high vertical rocks at
the summit, that we were quite puzzled to find a spot where we could
cross it. I had noticed a likely—but difficult—place the day before,
and it was, indeed, the only accessible way up. We there left the
glacier and began a stiff climb on the loose débris, my men
experiencing much difficulty in conveying their loads up. Every few
hundred feet they had to lie down for some minutes to rest. Although
the fatigue was really for them overpowering, they took matters in the
right spirit, and instead of grumbling they laughed heartily at the
difficulty of breathing, and the thumping and throbbing of the heart.
We eventually got away from the lower débris and proceeded among large
slabs of rock, most slippery and troublesome, and as sharp as knives,
our feet getting constantly jammed between them. At last we came before
a wall of rock, at such a steep angle that it looked almost
perpendicular, with cracks and fissures in it, and on this we had to
climb, clinging with all our might with fingers and toes. This part of
the ascent was quite dangerous, for, had we slipped, it meant certain
death. The rock was so cold that one’s fingers got semi-frozen; and we
felt much relieved when every now and then we found a hollow or crack,
or projection, allowing sufficient room to sit down and rest, our legs
swinging over the abyss down below. The bringing up the loads gave us
no end of trouble, and it was a pleasure to see how thoughtful and
helpful my men were to one another.
We eventually got to a spot where we could go neither up nor down, as
some of the rock gave way; and it was with some trepidation that we
watched one of my Shokas make steps in the rotten rock while clinging
with one hand and his toes apparently to nothing. This took a long
time, and this difficulty being overcome and a way made, we climbed and
climbed on all fours until we reached the pass.
We heartily named it there and then the “Savage Pass.” We took a long
rest on the summit, and erected two large cairns with our names in
them. We obtained a most stupendous view of the glacier we had left
behind uncoiling itself several hundred feet below us. It looked very
nasty, with its huge cracks and crevasses, and the three dunes all
along it, like huge serpents uncoiling themselves. We had hardly time
to admire the scenery before we were enveloped in thick mist, to the
north of us particularly, the entire landscape being hidden from us. A
few moments later it began to snow. Water boiled as low as 182°, while
the temperature of the air was 51°, the altitude in feet being 17,331.
Whether because of the reaction after the hard work of getting up
there, or because of the sudden cold and depression in the atmosphere,
due to the coming storm, a number of my men were taken violently ill
with mountain sickness. They wrapped themselves in their blankets, and
said they were dying and could not move. After a good deal of
persuasion, and some shaking—which is always a good remedy for most
complaints—we made a start.
On the other side of the range we were confronted with very much the
same sort of ground as what we had found coming up. First now came a
wall-like rock precipice to descend—much more difficult always than to
ascend; and then the snow falling fast prevented our seeing many feet
ahead of us, besides making our hands, ears, and nose unpleasantly
cold. We clung to those rocks and went carefully down, the rock being
so rotted that it frequently gave way. In some hours’ work we were able
to take all the baggage, partly by passing it down with ropes from one
man to another, stationed at various heights upon the rocky wall. Even
ourselves had to be let down one by one with ropes in many places where
the rock was so smooth and vertical that it was impossible to cling to
it; but otherwise we were not roped together, the ropes used being
merely those for slinging the loads on the men’s backs.
There rose a cutting wind, which made matters even more unpleasant, and
drove the sleet and snow with great force into our faces. When the
difficult part of the descent was over, and we gradually got lower
down, the weather cleared somewhat, and we obtained a good view of the
scenery to the north. The vertical rock we had descended measured 600
feet in height.
A magnificent undulating sea of clouds lay before us, screening the
lower section of the valley; then three distinct glaciers showed
themselves to the north of us, in terraces like gigantic stairways, but
with their base hidden in the mist, and barren, desolate, snow-capped
mountains rising above them. Then two more glaciers appeared. Above the
most northerly of the three glaciers rose a peak 20,279 feet high. As a
matter of fact, when the mist cleared up a little more, we discovered
that these five glaciers were only the ramifications of one huge
glacier, but they were distinctly separated in their upper portion by
ridges.
A sea of clouds is always an interesting sight, annoying as it is, at
the time, when it screens the scenery one would like to see. In fact,
the formation of clouds upon mountains is altogether an engrossing
subject to an observant traveller. The clouds at elevations above the
perpetual snow-line (about 16,000 in the Himahlyas) have a more
feathery appearance than those formed below, and the higher the
elevation the more feathery and light they seem to be. On the snow-line
itself one generally saw clouds, chiefly of a globular character, and
in such close succession as to form long horizontal streaks. This was
particularly noticeable at sunrise and at sunset. During the night,
except in case of storms, clouds formed less profusely, and, when they
did, disappeared quicker than in the daytime. Just before sunrise,
however, when the atmosphere was gradually getting warmer, at
elevations from 13,000 to 16,000 feet, mists were constant, which
eventually dispersed when the sun was high on the horizon. Towards
sunset and soon afterwards they generally recurred again, but the
nights were usually very clear. In that particular expedition, being
always at very high elevations, I had an opportunity of seeing many
phenomena of curious interest and beauty.
One afternoon when I had climbed with two men on a small peak to
reconnoitre the country around, we were confronted by a sea of mist
down below. The sun was rather low behind us, and it projected our
shadows, well defined but in an elongated form of some hundreds of
feet, on the sheet of pure white mist beyond. It had quite a weird
effect, when we were gesticulating, to see our movements magnified in
the shadows to such gigantic proportions.
Another beautiful effect I observed on several occasions when enveloped
in mist, of immense white concentric circles with a luminous centre,
caused by the sun penetrating through different layers of mist. When
under similar circumstances the sun was behind the spectator instead of
in front, and the spectator himself not enveloped in the mist, a huge
spectre—the spectator’s shadow—was often reflected in the centre of the
luminous circle. As I have elsewhere described, the latter phenomenon
can be produced by the moon or the sun, by the former in a less
intensified form, by the latter with a circular rainbow of beautiful
colours.
There are many kinds of “seas of mist” upon mountains, some with
islands (mountain tops peeping through), some without; some
smooth-surfaced like a placid lake, others in undulations or actual
waves like a stormy sea. The shadows and lights play upon the mist and
produce many quaint effects, and objects assume curious and interesting
shapes.
One misty evening, near the Nui Glacier, I saw before me what seemed an
immense crouching lion carved in the rock, not unlike one of the famous
lions in Trafalgar Square, only some thousand times bigger. Sure enough
you could see the eyes, the luxuriant mane, the extended forepaws, and
the tail spread out with the typical end tuft of hair. It was only on
getting quite close that the huge animal showed itself to be a mere big
boulder, with three mani walls with terminal chokdens (cairns) erected
by Tibetans from its base, which from a distance formed the lion’s legs
and tail.
So much for optical illusions; there are a thousand more upon high
mountains, and it is the number of surprises one meets at every moment
which makes a lonely life at great elevations full of enchantment.
Having, on our descent from the Savage Pass, reached a lower elevation
and less perilous ground to tread upon, we directed our steps towards
20° (N.E.) bearings magnetic. At 16,100 feet we found moss, but now
dead and dry. Unfortunately for us we were benighted before we could
find a suitable camping-ground, and a violent snow-storm broke out
which made it very difficult to see where we were going. We were
endeavouring to get lower down, where we could obtain some shelter and
a slightly warmer temperature, my men being simply paralysed with cold.
They stumbled along, a row of black silent figures, I keeping the
direction in which I wanted to travel with a luminous compass.
We went on for a considerable portion of the night, the storm getting
so bad that we could not see where we were putting our feet; and
towards midnight, having come across a lot of big boulders, we decided
to take advantage of them and make camp. My men were so tired and
frozen that they simply threw themselves down, covered themselves up,
and went fast asleep, declining to eat any food. They had eaten nothing
that day, for they maintained that if you eat food when you are so cold
you will surely die. Of course their philosophy does not go quite so
far as to reflect whether it is preferable to die of indigestion or
from the low temperature. Personally, as I have never been troubled
with the former, I thought I would not risk the latter. While everybody
around snored and moaned or was delirious from pain, I got out a small
spirit Etna and attempted to brew myself some hot chocolate. Box after
box of matches went in trying to keep it alight, and when, after using
the patience of a saint, I had succeeded in making the water tepid, my
tent was blown down on the top of us, and upset the whole thing. So,
cold chocolate I ate in chunks and some corned beef—oh, it was
cold!—and some biscuits.
It was as lonely a meal as I have ever had, with the wind hissing and
the snow accumulating upon my shoulders, knees, and head. I did not
like to rouse my poor men to put up the tent again, for it was no use,
the snow was too deep and the pegs would not hold; but I made myself a
sort of low shelter with some boxes and the tent spread on them, and
having crept underneath, slept soundly till the morning.
“Oh, what a morning!” I exclaimed, when I opened my aching, half-frozen
eyelids. Worse than the night before, and the snow coming down as I
have seldom seen it come before. My baggage was buried altogether, and
so were my men, except for some breathing-space cleared near the head.
All the urging in the world would not get them up, and every time I
gave them a dig in sensitive spots with my bamboo stick, it only
brought forth pitiable moans and groans.
Towards 10 A.M. the storm abated somewhat, and we dug out the loads and
departed, my men still declining to eat any food. Hungry and shivering,
they were indeed a pitiable sight. Their normal sense of humour was
sadly lacking that day, and they strode unsteadily, with long, mournful
faces, as if they were about to mount the executioner’s scaffold.
We went on the whole day mostly in mist and sleet and snow, and towards
evening we arrived at the bottom of the valley. Excitement did not
altogether lack. Three avalanches came down during the day with
deafening fracas. One of them, which brought down a lot of débris and
rock, sounded like a regular battle, with sharp fusilading and big
artillery, with a deafening report at the end which almost stunned us.
Next we came to a broad river which it was necessary to ford, and
wading across it chilled us about as much as we could endure. Our toes
got so cold—almost frost-bitten—that it required some minutes of
rubbing and thumping before we could stand upon them again. The pain
was quite excruciating.
While we were in this plight we heard voices. We answered, and
presently two Jumli shepherds, half-scared and shaggy, cautiously
approached us. We received the information that some few more hours’
marching would take us to the village of Tinker, and for it we made
with renewed vigour. Stumbling and slipping constantly after it got
dark, we went on and on. More snow, more wind. Hour after hour passed,
but no village. At last, at 3 A.M., my men half-dead with fatigue and
hunger, we arrived at the modest little village of Tinker. My men had
wilfully been forty consecutive hours without a morsel of food, but
once under a roof with a blazing fire, they were now preparing to make
up for lost time.