The corrected elevation of the Kuti village by boiling-point
thermometers is 12,554 feet—possibly one of the highest villages in the
world.
It was my intention to go up the Kuti River in a north-west direction
and cross over the Lebung Pass into the Darma district, in the northern
part of which I wanted to explore some glaciers and passes. The way up
the Kuti River was naturally very rough, but we had no great
difficulty; and as my own men were refreshed, and I also had excellent
additional followers and lavish food for everybody, everything went
well enough until we reached Jolinkan.
The Government chaprassis whom I had taken prisoners were getting very
anxious, now that they saw before them another prospect of camping on
snow and ice, and endeavoured to escape. I stopped them in time, and
warned them very seriously. With long, depressed faces they swore they
would not leave me till it pleased me to deliver them in person to
their superior officer.
We had brought up some sheep, carrying loads of food, and their
services answered a double purpose. When the loads were consumed the
transport animals provided nourishing diet for my men.
Our camp at the foot of the Lebung Pass was 14,913 feet above
sea-level.
We here abandoned the Kuti River, and after a good night’s rest
proceeded to ascend the Lebung Pass, by which we were to cross the high
range separating the valley of Darma from that of the Kuti River. Along
this range, a spur from the Himahlyan main backbone running somewhat
tortuously in a general south-east direction, are several peaks rising
to great elevations: 20,760 feet, 20,250 feet, 20,324 feet, 20,386
feet, 20,328 feet, 20,264 feet, 20,455 feet. The ascent on the east
side was very steep, but presented no great difficulty, although my men
suffered considerably owing to having over-eaten themselves the
previous night and in the morning before starting.
On the pass, 19,016 feet, we erected a cairn, and I took observations
on most of my men. They nearly all suffered from mountain sickness, and
the pulse of all was much accelerated. The highest registered 126, 118,
134, 108 pulsations. The average pulsations of these men at the
altitude where they lived was from 66 to 90. The usual symptoms were
present: a very warm forehead, pains and vigorous thumping at the
temples, pressure and aches in the top and back of head. Curiously
enough, when the pain in the temples was only on one side, it was
generally on the right side of the head. Occasionally this pain
extended all along the posterior fissure of the cranium.
Heart-throbbing as well as thumping in the centre of the chest were
general, and great sleepiness and exhaustion prevailed among them. The
pupils of the eyes were abnormally contracted, almost to the size of
the point of a pin.
When we had rested sufficiently we found ourselves confronted with
rather a trying task. On the other side of the pass of rotten rock,
several hundred feet in height, not unlike what we had met on the
Savage Pass, was a precipitous wall, requiring somewhat of a steady
head and endless labour in getting over. Perhaps a glance at the
illustration depicting the scene will give a better idea of the
situation than a long description. My men can be seen conveying down
the baggage—a most tedious and long performance, each package being
passed down from one man to another stationed at intervals along the
vertical rock. As the distance was considerable and the men few, each
man had to undergo considerable exertion and a lot of climbing up and
down to collect from the man above and deliver each load to his
neighbour below. So that to go those few hundred yards took us several
hours. The sheep accompanying us, too, had to be carried down one by
one, and in some places let down by means of rope slings.
We had passed a small glacier on the east watershed of the pass, and
now we had below us to the south-west the great Lebung Glacier, feeding
the Dholi Ganga by two or three streamlets. We skirted it to the north
on a lot of débris. The main portion had a general direction from
north-east to south-west, then an arm extended due west. In the latter
portion of the glacier were big cracks in the ice, while to the
north-west was an immense dune of ice, mud, and débris, forming a line
from 30° to 231°. From this point of observation the Lebung Pass stood
at 210° b.m. There were fine terraces in this glacier, supported on a
high wall of ice and mud. To the south-east could be seen one of the
high snowy peaks towering over the Rama Glacier to the south of the
Lebung.
The Darma Valley, in which we now found ourselves, takes its name from
the Darma Yangti, a river which has its birth at the foot of the
Lumpiya Pass, and is further fed by the tributary streams from glaciers
on either side.
The Darma Parganah was of some interest to me, as one of the minor
routes into Tibet was along this river. Darma proper was divided into
two divisions: the Malla and the Talla, or “upper” and “lower,” Darma.
The Malla Darma is that portion which comprises the Lissar River and
the Dholi Ganga, whereas the Talla Darma, as its name suggests, lies
nearer to the point at which the Dholi Ganga meets the Kali River.
The Darma Shokas, a tribe somewhat differing from the Shokas of Bias
and Chaudas, carry on the entire trade with Tibet by the Darma route.
Gyanema is the main centre, and the commodities are chiefly borax,
salt, wool, skins, cloth, and utensils, in exchange for which the
Tibetans receive silver, wheat, rice, sattoo, ghur, candied sugar,
pepper, beads of all kinds, and a few articles of Indian manufacture.
It was getting towards the end of September when I was in this region,
and the weather was very cold and stormy. We had plenty of snow every
night and the winds were cutting. It was a great temptation, I must
confess, when we reached the Dholi River, to turn towards the south,
which would bring us to lower elevations and therefore to warmth and
comfort; but my work was not finished, and we had again to go towards
the north (N.N.W., to be strictly accurate), for I wished to solve
certain geographical problems and visit some passes into the Forbidden
Land which I had not yet ascended.
We camped that night at a dreary spot called Gankan (12,295 feet),
where we expected to find some traders, this being one of their
temporary stations, but did not. So we fared rather badly. We could
find no fuel, and the supply which they generally bring up with them
was quite exhausted. All the trading with Tibet was now over from this
side, and everybody had retired southward. Two stray sheep—one dead,
the other still alive but with broken legs—were lying near the wall
which marked the favourite spot for a camping-ground. We passed a very
chilly night, and the next day when we woke snow was falling heavily.
My men seemed to be sufferingly greatly, and I decided to ask for two
volunteers to accompany me and carry my instruments to the glaciers
northwards, the remainder of the expedition proceeding one march
southward, to a place where fuel could be obtained, and awaiting our
return there.
We three started off in a fierce wind at six o’clock in the morning,
and passed three small glaciers to the east—the Suiti, Pungrung, and
Mangti. To the west were five other smaller glaciers. We had gradually
risen to 15,000 feet, and farther on, at the foot of the Nui Glacier,
at the spot known as the Nui Encamping-ground, the altitude was 16,950
feet.
It was at this place that, in the mist and snow, we saw the immense
image of what seemed a conventional crouching lion sculptured in the
rock. On approaching it, however, the illusion was explained. The main
body—as I have already explained—was merely a gigantic boulder, while
the extended paws and tail were mani walls with end chokdens built away
from the rock. From a certain point of view it looked exactly like a
lion.
This being the last camp before traders attempt the high pass, many
chokdens of all sizes are to be seen all over the valley and on the
hill-side. One of the peculiarities of these chokdens is that they are
as much as possible built with white or light-coloured stones.
The wind had got much worse as we got higher, and the effort of walking
was considerable. We had gone some eleven miles, and my two men were so
exhausted they were unable to continue. They dragged along
uncomplainingly, but I could see that they were on the verge of
breaking down. At the foot of the Nui we had some food, and having
laden myself with all the necessary instruments and cameras—quite a
considerable weight—left my two men to await my return, while I went
alone to survey the Nui Glacier and climb the high pass.
Once alone, I proceeded at a greater speed, but the ground was much
broken by huge boulders, and to cover a short distance involved a lot
of labour. About one mile and a half from where I had left my men I
came in for an experience which I did not quite expect at that moment,
although, fortunately, I was prepared for any emergency.
The Tibetans had had time to prepare a great many snares for me, and to
send soldiers to all the passes, and what they could not do by facing
me direct they attempted as usual to accomplish by treachery. Much to
my astonishment in this desolate region, I came upon a Tibetan
comfortably seated upon the ground, upon which he had spread several
coats. I asked him if he were alone, and he said yes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I am going back to my country. My friends went ahead yesterday.”
“Surely you have some one with you; you cannot carry all those coats
and paraphernalia?”
“No, no no; I am quite alone.”
As I was standing talking to him I noticed that his eyes were looking
at something behind me, and on turning round found myself confronted
with three Tibetans, who had evidently crawled out from behind rocks
where they were hidden. They made a dash to seize my rifle as I unslung
it from my shoulders, but they were not quick enough. In a second the
fourth fellow—the one sitting down—had jumped up to help his
companions.
One fellow got somewhat of a dent in his skull with the butt of my
rifle, the others, unluckily, ran away, and I did not pursue them, as I
needed all the strength I possessed to go up the pass. As the Tibetans
disappeared in the direction I had come I became rather alarmed for my
men, lest they should be taken by treachery, but I knew they could take
care of themselves.
After taking a rest, for the violent exertion had caused me a deal of
panting and blowing, I continued. I soon got out of the débris and
boulders, where I proceeded with great caution, and got upon the snow
on the north side of the glacier. For real majestic beauty the Nui
Glacier cannot be surpassed. It has immense terraces of clear greenish
ice, quite regular and well padded with snow on the surface; gigantic
crevasses, down which one was almost afraid to look, and a background
of huge white sharp-edged peaks, like the teeth of a saw, so white
indeed that the stormy sky beyond looked as black as ink. It was truly
one of the most impressive scenes I have ever set eyes upon. I never
feel very big on any occasion, but I do not remember ever feeling quite
so small and humble and insignificant as I did on that particular
occasion—a mere speck, a mere black spot, disturbing the peaceful
harmony of the grandiose landscape.
I have attempted to depict the scene in one of the illustrations, but
no brush nor canvas can satisfactorily reproduce the immensity of those
white mountains towering around you, the incalculable masses of snow,
the almost terrifying appearance of the immense cracks in the ice
hundreds of feet deep. It gave you a certain feeling of loneliness and
helplessness in case of mishap, and it really made you think a good
deal of how small are human beings and how puerile all their works,
when compared to those accomplished by the hand of Nature.
I think it would be a good thing if a great many other authors—not to
speak of our critics, who need it even more—could have an opportunity
of experiencing the sensation of humility I had upon me that day.
But, humble or not, I went on and on, like a tiny little ant upon the
immaculate and endless white carpet of snow, and higher and higher I
gradually rose upon the mountain side towards the Nui Pass. Panting and
blowing, and with a feeling that I wanted to throw away the rifle and
cartridges and cameras and instruments that I was lugging up with
me—oh, they were such a weight! always in the way, and ever dangling
where you did not want them,—I got higher along a narrow furrow so
steep as to be almost vertical. I went up for a time on loose rocks
which gave way under me, and were most trying to the temper. One could
not help constant falling, and one’s poor fingers and toes got jammed
to a pitiable extent.
Overhead a storm was brewing which promised to be of the very worst
kind; but luckily in the last portion of the ascent I was screened
somewhat from the cutting wind. Getting up to the top was a terrible
effort, carrying all my paraphernalia, but at last, in a desperate
struggle, I managed to get there.
The Nui Pass itself, as can be seen by the drawing I give in these
pages, is a very narrow opening, in parts quite free from snow owing to
its steepness and to being so boxed in. Besides, on the south side, by
which I ascended, it is rather more covered, because the snow is
generally driven with much fury from the north. In fact, when I reached
the summit and proceeded for some distance on the Tibetan side (north
aspect), the mountain was thickly padded with uninterrupted snow. The
wind was so fierce up there that it knocked me clean off my feet twice.
Now came the tedious job of boiling water in the hypsometrical
apparatus to ascertain the altitude, and taking whatever photographs
and sketches I found possible. But I had no sooner begun to unpack my
instruments in a sheltered nook than the storm broke out in all its
violence, and the snow, driven with tremendous force by the wind into
my face, felt just like hundreds of needles and nails thrown at me. I
wasted two entire boxes of matches in setting the hypsometrical stove
alight, and to accomplish this I had to protect it with my coat, of
which I had divested myself. I have never envied the Chinese gods with
a hundred arms more than I did on this occasion, for one’s two hands
were required in twenty places at the same time, the wind blowing
everything about in a most reckless manner. The water seemed to take
ages to boil, and the storm was getting worse and worse every moment,
almost freezing my poor hands, nose and ears, and giving me intense
pain.
At last the welcome puff of steam began to escape from the apparatus;
the temperature of boiling water (178°·1) and the temperature of the
air (30°) were duly registered, and I repacked everything to make my
descent. The altitude—the correct one—of this pass in feet by
hypsometrical apparatus was 19,621 feet, and two excellent aneroids I
also carried registered 19,600 feet.
A great deal is to be said for and against aneroids. In a few words,
this is my experience of them as regards work at great elevations.
Unless you can get aneroids of tested excellence and the very best that
money can procure, you had better go without them. Very small aneroids
may be more portable, but they are never of any real use. Always carry
your aneroids yourself, and never let them go out of your sight if you
want to keep them in good order, and never rely on them too much except
when constantly checked by boiling-point thermometers. Personally, for
important elevations, I have relied entirely on boiling-point
thermometers, the only practical and less cumbersome way of accurately
ascertaining heights for an explorer, but I also always carry several
aneroids, two specially constructed for me to measure down to 12
inches—over 25,000 feet—and I have invariably found them accurate. I
use them only for differential altitudes, and for the less important
observations.