OVER THE CREST OF THE KARAKORUM
We had a hard day on September 1. The ground was white, and the sky had
a threatening aspect, but a small blue strip to the south gave hopes of
fine weather. We started early, and as I jumped into the saddle I saw
the whole narrow valley filled with the various sections of the caravan.
When I consigned my tent to its fate, that is, Tsering and the Hindus,
our deserted camp-fires were still smoking, and the new cairn stood out
black against the snow. We left camp No. 1 with some excitement, for now
we were approaching wild lands in real earnest, and were to cross a pass
of the first rank, which none of my people was acquainted with, and of
which we knew only that it was called Chang-lung-yogma; it lies a little
east of the pass marked on the large English map of north-east Ladak,
and, as far as I know, no European has yet made use of it.
The terraces along the river bank gradually come to an end, and, where
they do occur, they are only a couple of yards high, and disturbed by
frequent landslips. Our route runs to the north-east. In front of us
appears a pure white saddle, now flooded with sunshine; we take it for
the pass; but no, the mules, as shown by their tracks in the snow, have
turned in another direction.
The flanks on both sides consist of loose, extremely fine material, wet
and crossed by clefts a foot deep. At the edge of some spurs these
clefts run like the curved fissures of a glacier tongue. The ground is
unstable; the slopes slip down and are displaced by their own weight,
for they are soaked through, and there are no roots to hold the fine
material; they are in a state of motion, and the gently rounded forms
prevailing in the landscape are the result of this phenomenon.
The silence of the desert reigns in this country where the feet of man
have never wandered; only now and then are heard the warning shouts of
the caravan men. Not one of the animals is left behind, all goes on
satisfactorily. May all this hard day's march pass fortunately! The
valley becomes quite narrow, the water trickles out of the gravelly soil
in quantities barely sufficient to form a brook. But even on this gravel
the animals sink in the mud.
At the foot of a trough leading up to a side-pass, which had led us
astray, the caravan came to a halt, and an accessible passage was
searched for.
I rode forwards up innumerable zigzags, and stopped at every corner to
take breath. Muhamed Isa reported that the true pass had been found, but
I rode with Robert up to a height rising above all the land around, to
reconnoitre.
The view from this point was far too striking to be sought merely for
the purpose of orientation. Above and behind the mountains in the
foreground, some of them coal-black, appeared a white horizon and a
jagged line of mighty Himalayan peaks. A really magnificent landscape!
The sky was almost clear; only here and there floated a few white
clouds. Down below us lay the small valley through which we had
struggled so laboriously; here it looked ridiculously small, an
insignificant drain in a world of gigantic mountains. Some detachments
of the caravan were still toiling up the narrow way, and the shouts and
whistles of the men mounted up to us. The horizon was quite clear, not
enveloped in haze, as it frequently was; its outlines were exceedingly
sharply drawn; silver-white, sun-lighted summits towered up above and
behind one another; generally the fields of eternal snow gleam in blue
tints of varying intensity, now dull and now dark according to the angle
of the slope in relation to the sun's altitude; now shade and light pass
gradually and insensibly into each other, now they are sharply defined.
Here physical laws work out their perfect complicated scheme, exacting
absolute obedience. On a shelf below us a part of the caravan halts and
puffs; the animals appear like black spots on the snow. Up here the
south-west wind enwraps us in swiftly passing clouds of whirling
snowflakes.
All this agitated sea of the highest mountains in the world seems
singularly uniform as the eye passes unhindered over its crests. You
conceive that no summit rises above a certain maximum height, for before
its head lifts itself above the crowd, wind and weather, denudation,
have worn it down. In this the mountains are like ocean waves; when
these, too, rise in foaming wrath, their undulations, seen from the
ship's deck, are of equal height, and the horizon is a straight line;
and it is just the same with the small ridges between the furrows thrown
up by the plough, which are all of uniform height; so that the field
seems in the distance quite level.
The horizon seemed to be very far off; nearer heights broke the sky-line
only to the north and north-east, hiding those behind, and in this
direction thick clouds were hanging, white above and dark and bluish
underneath, and lay like soft cushions on the earth. There was, then, no
suggestion of a plateau, but far in the north a mountain range seemed to
rise right up to heaven. In the north-west a main crest was plainly
visible, starting from our point of observation, that is, the height on
which we stood. This is the Karakorum range. The whole ridge here took
the form of a rounded back, without solid rock, and intersected by
numerous small valleys, all starting from the crest, and cutting
gradually deeper and deeper into its flanks. The main ridge winds like a
snake over the highlands, and the erosion valleys diverge on all sides
like the boughs of a tree. Here horizontal lines predominate in the
landscape, but lower down, in the peripheral region, vertical lines
catch the eye, as in the Chang-chenmo lateral valleys. Down there the
scenery is more imposing and picturesque, up here the surface of the
earth appears rather flat; here is the abode of storms, and their
boundless playground in the long dark winter nights.
[Illustration: 55. IN THE SNOW, N.E. OF CHANG-LUNG-YOGMA.]
[Illustration: 56. MY TENT.]
[Illustration: 57. LAKE LIGHTEN.]
Chilled through to the bones we walked down to the pass gap, where the
whole caravan was assembled; here the height was 18,963 feet, and the
temperature 2° above freezing-point. The men were too tired to sing,
but we had good reason to be satisfied, for all the animals had got up
safely with their burdens. We slowly descended along a small valley
running northwards. The ground consisted entirely of mud, in which the
animals sank at every step, and in the footprints they left behind muddy
grey water collected immediately. Round about us lay a chaos of
comparatively low, flat hills, furrowed everywhere by clefts which
indicate landslips. A tiny rivulet winds silently down the middle of the
valley without forming rapids. For the rest, all the country was
flooded, and so we had no immediate fear of scarcity of water.
Where we encamped not a blade of grass could be seen; there was,
therefore, no object in letting the horses run about loose, so they were
tied together in couples, and had to stand waiting till the sun went
down. Then Guffaru sat down on a rug, had a sack of maize placed before
him, filled a wooden bowl with the grain, and emptied it into a
nose-bag, which a Ladaki hung on the muzzle of a horse. And so the men
ran about till all the animals had received their rations, and the dry,
hard maize corns cracked under the teeth of the hungry beasts. The Ladak
horses positively refused to eat maize, and were given barley instead;
they whinnied with delight when the bags were brought, but the pleasure
did not last long; the chewing gradually ceased, and with lowered heads
and blinking eyes they wearily waited for the long night.
Some spare horses were laden with dry _yapkak_ plants; at camp No. 2
there was not a particle of fuel. We were now at a height of 18,215
feet.
In the morning we took leave of Chenmo, the _Kotidar_ of Tankse, and
Zambul, the _Numberdar_ of Pobrang, who turned back here. They would be
able to enjoy warm winds and bright sunny days again. Besides a liberal
reward for their valuable services they each received a testimonial in
flattering terms. They took my letters with them, and were to give the
messengers instructions about the route, should they fall in with them.
Our party was thereby diminished by six men, three horses, and seven
yaks (Illustration 46).
There were now only three men in my detachment, namely, myself, Robert
on horseback, and Rehim Ali on foot. We turned with the brook to the
north, and had hilly elevations on both sides. The country was, as it
were, dead--not a blade of grass, not a track of a strayed antelope; all
organic life seemed to be banished from the neighbourhood. But when we
had advanced a little further we found signs of the visits of man. A
faint light streak on the ground seemed to be a path which had not been
used for a long time, and beside it stood a cylindrical cairn surmounted
by a slab of stone. At one spot, too, lay several skulls of horses and
yaks; yet hunters, they say, never wander hither. Perhaps it was a
memento of the cartographical work of the Survey of India, or was
connected with the European pioneers who many years ago travelled
backwards and forwards between Eastern Turkestan and India.
The weather was quite Tibetan. One shower of hail after another chilled
us through, and drove a cold douche into our faces, but the sun was
always shining somewhere within sight. Long sheets of hail fell from the
clouds, which seemed of very insignificant volume, but they could not
whiten the ground. It seemed dry as tinder, in contrast to the wet
slopes on either side of the Karakorum Pass. Dust even rose now and then
behind the horses. Far in front of us we saw two dark points on the
yellowish-grey land--they were a horse and its guide which had lingered
behind the others.
The long procession of the caravan moved extremely slowly along the
descent. It made a halt, so pasturage had been found! Ah, no--the soil
was just as barren here as along the other 12 miles we had travelled
this day. So, as yesterday, the horses had to stand tied together, and
the nose-bags of barley and maize were strapped round their necks.
In the twilight I summoned Muhamed Isa to a council of war.
"How long can the animals hold out, if we find no pasture?"
"Two months, sir; but we shall find grass before then."
"If the marches are no longer than to-day's we shall take ten days to
reach Lake Lighten, which Sahib Wellby discovered twenty years ago, and
the route lies through Ling-shi-tang and Aksai-chin, which are some of
the most desolate regions in all Tibet."
"Then we will try to make forced marches, to get through the bad country
as quickly as possible; in the neighbourhood of Yeshil-kul the grazing
is good, according to Sonam Tsering, who has been there."
"How goes it with the animals?"
"They are in good condition--only a horse and a mule are tired out, but
we will let them travel awhile without loads. As for the rest, their
loads are a little heavier now that we no longer have the seven yaks.
But that will soon right itself."
"How are the hired horses?"
"They are all right except two, which are on their last legs, and which
we shall soon lose."
"See that the animals are spared as much as possible and are well cared
for."
"You may depend on me, nothing will be neglected. In camps like this
they get more maize and barley than usual, but where there is pasturage
we will be more sparing of our supplies."
On September 3 the level plateau was hidden in snowdrift and mist, and
it was hard to decide in which direction to proceed: we agreed, however,
that none of us should lose sight of the brook, for apparently no other
water was to be found. We had not gone far when snow began to fall, a
sharp south-west wind arose, and the whirling snowflakes hid even the
nearest hills. It now snowed so thickly that we were afraid of missing
the track of the caravan, which was far in front of us. According to the
English map we could not be far from a small salt lake, but in this
weather we were unable to obtain any notion of the lie of the land, and
it was no use to climb a hill in order to look round. We sat in the
saddle pelted with snow, but the snow soon thawed on our clothes,
leaving an unpleasant smell of dampness behind.
But this weather did not last long; the heavy dark blue and purple
clouds parted asunder like curtains, and continued their rapid course to
the east; the view was clear again. Some scouts, who had gone in
advance, discovered some fine _yapkak_ plants on the left bank of the
river, and our hungry animals were glad to put up with these. Three
antelope tracks we crossed were regarded as a good sign; there must be
pasturage somewhere about, but where?
The next day's march led us over an apparently level plain, begirt by a
ring of mountains, and our direction was on the whole north-east. We
started simultaneously. I rode all along the caravan, which made a fine
show. The animals did not march in file but in scattered troops, and
their footprints combined to form a broad highway. The mules keep up
bravely, and are always in the van. Several of the horses are suffering,
and lie down from time to time, only to be roused up immediately by the
Ladakis. Muhamed Isa leads the way on foot; he is the lodestone which
draws after it the whole company.
Now we tried to cross the broad swampy bed of the stream. Muhamed Isa
mounted his horse, but his steed sank in up to the belly; we had to give
up the attempt and follow the bank instead. At times we had to cross
side channels with the same treacherous ground. When the pilot had shown
the way, some laden mules followed; then the other animals came all
together. They sank up to the knee in the squelching ooze, and the
ground behind them looked like an indiarubber sponge.
At ten o'clock the daily storm set in. In the north-west its outer
margin was marked with great sharpness. It rolled, huge, black, and
heavy, over the plateau. Now the storm is over our heads and its first
black fringes swallow up the blue expanses of the sky. Two ravens, which
have faithfully followed us for some days, croak hoarsely; a few small
birds skim twittering over the ground. The hail lashes us with terrible
violence; it comes from the side, and the animals turn their tails to
the storm, and thus leave the trail, and have to be driven again into
the right direction. We do not know where we are going. I halt with
Muhamed Isa for a moment's rest on a hill.
[Illustration: 58 a, 58 b. PANTHOLOPS ANTELOPE. 59, 60. OVIS AMMON.
Sketches by the Author.]
"It would be better if we filled some goatskin sacks with water, in case
we lose sight of the stream," he suggests to me.
"No, let us go on; it will soon clear up, and then we can consider the
matter."
And the train moves on in spite of the drifting snow and the wintry
darkness. It grows light, and the eyes survey unhindered the dreary,
hilly, snow-covered land; westwards extend the plains of Ling-shi-tang;
to the south-east stretches the immense Karakorum range with peaks
covered with eternal snow, where thunder rolls among blue-black leaden
clouds. Soon this storm also reaches us, and we are enveloped in dense,
fine, dry snowflakes, while the darkness of night reigns around us. I am
riding at the tail of the train. The caravan is divided into four
columns. We travel in the wake of the last, which looks almost black
through the mist; the one in front of it appears as a dirty grey patch;
the next is hardly perceptible, and the foremost is almost quite
invisible. Muhamed Isa has vanished. The snow now changes into large
feathery flakes, which sweep almost horizontally over the ground. All is
silent in our company; no one speaks: the men walk with their bodies
bent forward and their fur caps drawn over their ears. The whole party
looks now like snow men, and the snow makes the loads heavier for the
animals than they need be.
At last our old friend, the brook, peeped out again from the duskiness,
and we pitched our camp on the bank. Tsering discovered abundance of
_yapkak_ plants close at hand--some green, to which the animals were
led, others dry, and very acceptable as fuel. In the evening there were
5½ degrees of frost. The moonlight fell in sheaves of rays through an
atmosphere full of fine snow crystals. Absolute silence! One can hear
the puppies' hearts beat, the ticking of the chronometer, the cold of
night descending and penetrating into the earth.
The country we marched through on September 5 was good and level,
especially near a small lake, which now showed its blue surface in the
south-east. Like all other salt lakes in Tibet it seems to be drying up,
for we travelled for some distance over its dry muddy bed, and saw,
higher up, plainly marked old terraced banks. Muhamed Isa reported that
an exhausted mule would probably not be able to cross a pass in a small
ridge which barred our way. It managed, however, to get over, and came
into camp in the evening, but was thin and exhausted. Two Pantholops
antelopes, easily distinguishable by their long, lyre-shaped horns, sped
away southwards, and we came across a wolf's spoor. In some spots the
pasture was so good that we halted a few minutes to let the animals
feed. We were sometimes tempted to pitch our camp, but yet we passed on.
At last we bivouacked in an expansion of the valley with a stagnant
creek, _yapkak_, and thin grass. We had scarcely hoped to find these
three things so necessary to us--pasturage, fuel, and water, so soon and
so close to the Karakorum. In this camp, No. 6, we decided to give the
animals a day's rest after all their exertions (Illustrations 58 a, 58
b).
On September 7, at daybreak, six miserable jades were picked out from
the hired horses, and, as their loads were already consumed, were
allowed to return home with their two guides. The sick mule lay dead.
The sky was perfectly cloudless and the day became burning hot. In
another respect we entered on new conditions, for, though we had covered
19 miles, we had not seen a drop of water before we reached the place
where our camp was pitched. It seemed not unlikely that the monsoon
clouds would come no more over the Karakorum, and then scarcity of water
might render our situation very critical.
The direction of the march was determined for us by open country lying
between low, round, reddish hills. The ground would have been excellent
if field-mice had not undermined it, so that the horses continually
stepped into the holes and almost fell on their noses. The mice
certainly did not show themselves, but it was too early in the year for
their winter sleep. The broad valley opened into a colossal cauldron,
skirted on all sides by grand mountains, a regular _Meidan_, as the men
of Turkestan call such a valley. To the north the mountains between the
Karakash and Yurungkash lift up their lofty peaks, and in the south the
Karakorum diverges farther and farther from our course.
Antelopes career over the plain in light flying leaps; they stand
motionless, watching us, but as soon as we come near dart off as though
on steel springs, and soon vanish in the distance.
A mountain spur in front of us seemed a suitable point to make for,
where water would surely be found. But hours passed and it seemed no
nearer. A dying horse detained me; he was relieved of his load, but he
was quite done for. I was very sorry for him, and regretted that he
could not come with us any farther. I stayed awhile to keep him company,
but the day was passing, and the two men who were with him were ordered
to cut his throat if he could not get on. My Ladakis thought it dreadful
to desert a horse as long as it lived; its death-struggle might last for
hours, and its last moments would be horrible if wolves got wind of it.
It was a tall, black Yarkand horse; in the evening its number was
entered in the list of the dead.
The caravan was moving in a black line to a ravine between the hills,
where a faint greenish tinge seemed to indicate grass. A short time
after, however, it came down again and marched out of sight; probably
there was no water there. Another fairly long space of time went by
before we distinguished on the plain westwards small black spots and
lines, whether wild asses or our own mules we could not determine. The
field-glass would not reach so far. At the foot of a mountain in the
west shone a silvery brook, but it was a long way off, and all distances
were so great that the atmospheric effect misled us, and what we took
for a caravan might be only a shadow on an erosion terrace.
But Robert's sharp eyes detected the smoke of a signal fire at the foot
of the mountain. The caravan had, then, reached it and set the camp in
order, and after a ride of an hour straight across the plain we joined
it. Here the height was 16,250 feet.
We were now in a country belonging to the unannexed region Aksai-chin,
in north-west Tibet. Or tell me to what Power this land belongs? Does
the Maharaja of Kashmir lay claim to it, or the Dalai-Lama, or is it a
part of Chinese Turkestan? No boundaries are marked on the map, and one
looks in vain for boundary stones. The wild asses, the yaks, and the
swift-footed antelopes are subject to no master, and the winds of heaven
do not trouble themselves about earthly boundary marks. From here,
therefore, I could move eastwards without acting in direct opposition to
the wishes of the English Government, and the Chinese would certainly
forgive me for not using their passport.
The distant mountains in the north, which had but now stood out in rosy
colours like rows of houses in a great city, now grew pale in the grey
twilight, and the grand contours were obliterated as another night
spread its dark wings over the earth. A flute sounded softly and sweetly
among the tents, and its tones lulled our weary wanderers to rest.
The following morning the camp looked unusually small, for the hired
horses and mules had remained behind on the plain, where their guides
had found water by digging. They were thus spared a considerable detour.
As a precaution we took a couple of goatskin vessels full of water, and
filled all the bottles and cans. Just before starting we saw our Ladakis
lying full length by the overflow of the spring thoroughly quenching
their thirst, and the horses were allowed as much water as they liked.
This day's route was excellent, firm and level; the great trunk road in
India could not be better, and hardly a highway in Sweden. Masses of
clouds appeared from the east round to the south-west; a storm was
probably raging in the Karakorum, but its outskirts never reached us.
Here the ground was dry, and the exceedingly fine dust stirred up by the
caravan hung like steam over the earth. The other columns, like
ourselves, made for a goal previously agreed upon, a mountain spur in
the north-east. As we approached it, we speculated whether we should see
beyond it Aksai-chin, the lake Crosby passed in 1903.
[Illustration: 61. A GULLY AT CAMP 8 (AKSAI-CHIN).]
North of the spur a large flat plain extends, and here the mirage was
marvellously perplexing. The mountains seemed to be reflected in a
perfectly calm lake, but the surface did not look like water--it was
bright, light and airy; it was as transitory as a play of colours in the
clouds, and seemed as though it had a foundation of transparent glass.
The mule caravan, now in front of us, was also the sport of the mirage:
we saw it double as if it also were passing beside a lake.
At last we reached the spur and rested there awhile. Robert climbed up
the side to look for the expected lake; as he came down the detritus
began to move, our horses were frightened and wildly stampeded towards
the east. Fortunately, they followed the track of the caravan, which was
in the act of pitching the camp. The grazing at camp No. 8 was the best
we had seen since Pobrang, and water was obtained by digging at a depth
of 22 inches. Kulans had supplied the fuel, for their dung was
plentiful. The place was so comfortable that we remained here the
following day, and made an excursion to an elevation of sandstone and
conglomerate almost in the form of an upturned dish, which stands on the
south of the plain and turns its sharply clipped margin to the north. On
the top Muhamed Isa erected a cairn--he had a mania for cairns. Little
did I dream then that I should see these landmarks again a year and a
half later (Illustration 61).
At dawn next day we made another advance into the forbidden land. The
air was not quite clear, and we saw it quivering over the ground; but
above it was clearer, for the crests of the mountains were more sharply
defined than their feet. We marched eastwards; on our right was
blood-red conglomerate, which lay upon green schists. On the left the
lake was now visible, its deep blue surface contrasting vividly with the
dull tones which prevailed elsewhere. The sight of a lake was
refreshing; it gave the crowning touch to the scene. The country was
open eastwards to the horizon; only in the far distance one snowy
mountain appeared in this direction, but probably our longitudinal
valley extended along the north or south side of this elevation. In
short, the land was as favourable as it was possible to be, and remained
so for several days; and I suspected that Lake Lighten, the Yeshil-kul,
and the Pul-tso, known from Wellby's, Deasy's, and Rawling's travels,
lay in this valley, which in every respect was characteristic of the
Tibetan highlands.
The ground was like a worm-eaten board; the holes of the field-mice lay
so close together that all attempts to avoid them were vain. Even on the
intervals between them one was not safe. Frequently the roof of a
subterranean passage, consisting of dry loose soil mixed with gravel,
broke in. Robert once made a somersault with his horse. These
troublesome rodents, which live on the roots of the _yapkak_ plants and
grass, are very irritating.
The caravan had camped close to the shore, beside splendid water, which
a brook poured down in great abundance into the salt lake. Late in the
evening we saw a fire burning in the far distance. Was it another
traveller, or had hunters wandered thus far? No, it was some of our own
people, who were watching the animals and had kindled a fire to keep
themselves warm. There were no men in this desolate country but
ourselves.