CHAPTER I
“Once you have visited the snows of the Himahlyas,” said a venerable old man of Kumaon to me, “you will have to return to them time after time until you die. When away from them, all through your life you will ever see them before you in your dreams.”
Well, that was quite so; and that is what everybody feels who has spent some time on the higher elevations of that majestic range of mountains. To any one who appreciates Nature in all its grandeur, the fascination is so great that everything else in the way of scenery sinks into perfect insignificance by their side.
It is, to my mind, rather a pity that in England people have not yet learnt to call that range by its proper and poetic name “Himahlyas,” by which the range is known all over Asia, instead of the [[2]]distorted “Himalayas,” which has no meaning whatever except to natives of these foggy little islands. The Americans, I am glad to say, when the corrected pronunciation was pointed out, at once accepted it, and it is now taught in all the schools.
Two years had elapsed since my first journey across Tibet, and I was still suffering greatly from the effects of the tortures and wounds which had been inflicted upon me during my captivity in the Forbidden Land. Nor did banquets and receptions and interviewers, autograph-collectors, etc., much help to rebuild my constitution. In fact, while in London, instead of improving I was getting weaker and more of an invalid every day.
In doctors I have no superabundant faith, but somehow or other felt that a little change from the monotony of a civilised existence, in the shape of chasing about their country some of my Tibetan friends who had tortured me, might possibly be of some benefit to my health. And if you take it into your head that something will do you good, it is not unusual that some sort of a cure results from it.
So, again I bundled my blankets, my surveying instruments, several cameras, and hundreds of [[3]]plates, provisions, and painting materials, and by the first P. and O. steamer sailed for Bombay. From that place I went by rail to Kathgodam, thence by trail to the hill-station Almora in the North-West Provinces, which I again made my starting-point, as in the first journey.
Perhaps it may interest the reader to know that the entire preparations, the selection of all my followers, the purchase of an excellent Tibetan pony, and of all the outfit and provisions to last my men several months, were accomplished in the short space of twelve hours.
The selection of men for the type of expeditions I undertake, in which abnormal endurance is required, is not an easy matter, but I was particularly fortunate on that occasion. Big athletic fellows I generally avoid as absolutely useless for work requiring steady endurance and quick perception. I gave preference to small, determined, wiry men, light in weight, supple and quick in their movements.
Having satisfied myself that they were perfectly sound in lungs, heart, and digestive organs—they were, indeed, too sound in the latter respect—we were ready to start the following day. Each man carried a weight of 20 seers (or 40 lbs.), a light [[4]]load, as I intended doing double and treble marches daily.
It was my intention to do a considerable amount of mountaineering en route, and I did it; but, contrary to the usual custom of British mountaineering expeditions (which set out with much flourish of trumpets) I did not burden myself with the company of Swiss Alpine guides. Here is the reason. I am well aware that it impresses a good many brainless folks to hear that an expedition to the Andes or the Himahlyas is accompanied, even led, by Swiss guides; but to any real mountaineer (I do not mean members of Alpine Clubs) the very fact that the members of such an expedition require guides at all is but a plain avowal that they have no faith in themselves, besides displaying a most infantile ignorance of how to find their way about. No mountaineer, who is a real mountaineer, ever needs to be told which is the best way to go up a mountain which is before him. His very instinct and observation tell him.
Let me remind you that the characteristics of mountains in different parts of the world vary to a considerable extent. It therefore seems to me that to employ a man (however fine a fellow he [[5]]may be) who has spent his life hauling hysterical Alpinists by a much-beaten trail up Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn, to show the way up a virgin Himahlyan peak, is as delightfully absurd as it would be to charter an untravelled London cabman to show you with intelligence the sights of Moscow, or Bagdad, or Jerusalem! Do not forget, too, that Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn are perfectly insignificant hills when compared to peaks in the Himahlyas.
As you know, the chief hobby and boast of certain Alpinists is to climb mountains by impracticable ways. This practice is to be condemned. In plain words, any man who tries to go up a mountain by any but the easiest way is an idiot, and should be confined to a lunatic asylum. When difficulties arise, and many do, naturally they have to be overcome as best one can. Then again, there are many feats in mountaineering and rock-climbing which appear very dangerous and are not dangerous at all to any one with steady head, heart, and legs; but the absurd mania of obtaining notoriety by going up a peak by a dangerous route when an easier way exists has no more sense in it than were a horseman to try and ride his horse under its tail instead of upon its [[6]]back! It is not real sport, and sport, above all things, should never be purposeless nor foolish.
Mountaineering, by any one in full possession of all his senses, is a delightful amusement, and possibly the pleasantest, healthiest, and most instructive exercise in existence. It develops every muscle in one’s body, makes one quick of sight and hearing, expands, cleans, and purifies one’s lungs, and it makes one—when dependent on oneself—a quick observer and a subtle student of Nature, its forces, and the ways of elements and how to counterbalance them. It should, therefore, be encouraged in any one born for the work; but, on the other hand, should be left severely alone by any one not specially constructed for the work by Mother Nature. It can but mean disaster in the end, and it generally does.
Unfortunate, too, is the man who in “exploring mountaineering” follows the rules and regulations laid down by theoretical but inexperienced amateurs of certain Alpine institutions. A practical mountaineer has nothing to learn from such misleading publications, whether brought out under the patronage of Clubs or by some enterprising charlatan or other. The constant suggestions to provide oneself with all sorts of [[7]]expensive and cumbersome tools, axes, alpenstocks, and other impedimenta are merely to swell the pockets of advertisers who support those publications, rather than to safeguard the life of intending mountaineers.
Personally, and I am speaking from a somewhat extensive experience, I owe my success and the lack of serious accidents in any of my mountaineering expeditions absolutely to the using none of the appliances recommended by Alpine clubs. I mention this at the outset to prevent the usual criticisms accusing me of having neglected precautions. It was done wilfully on my part, because, as far as mountaineering is concerned, I prefer to use what little common-sense I possess in preference to accepting the large amount of nonsense offered by other people.
I had spared no expense and trouble to obtain the best scientific instruments possible for taking observations, and they were specially manufactured for me, light in weight and extra strong, and with special cases to protect them from injury in the roughest of travelling. My instruments were tested at the Kew Observatory—both before going out of and after my return to England—and found in perfect condition. [[8]]
All altitudes of importance were invariably measured with the hypsometrical apparatus, several boiling-point thermometers being successively used in the observation. For differential heights of no great significance aneroids were used. All bearings were taken with a prismatic compass, and for latitude and longitude a 6-inch sextant was used, a chronometer watch, mercury and plate-glass artificial horizons.
Necessarily, I carried maximum and minimum thermometers and all necessary instruments and appliances for surveying work, photography, painting, etc. Several rifles and double-barrelled guns, a revolver, eight thousand rounds of ammunition, and ten pounds of gunpowder were carried, in case we had to do some shooting; while each man was given a large Gurkha kukri for his own protection.
For our needs I carried money in solid silver and gold. My tinned provisions were prepared for me in London, and were very good. All my most valuable possessions were packed in air-tight cases of my own design, which, as on previous journeys, I found answered very well.
A Tibetan tent, 7 feet high, 10 feet long, and [[9]]8 feet wide, twelve pounds only in weight; a small tente d’abri, and some shelters formed my camp.
Last, but not least, let me give some advice regarding your clothing when you go mountaineering. Do not masquerade for the occasion in fancy tweeds of startling cut, clumsy mufflers and gloves, and patent hobnailed boots. Wear the sort of clothes and footgear you are accustomed to put on every day. You will feel a great deal more comfortable, less ridiculous, and certainly a great deal safer.
Personally, I wear the same sort of clothing—serge suits of the thinnest tropical material—in any country and in any climate, with no underwear; thin socks, shoes of medium weight with no nails under the soles. I am very fortunate in one way, never feeling the slightest inconvenience through intense heat or cold. It is partly due, I think, to one’s constitution and circulation of one’s blood, partly to habit, and a good deal to being hardened through constant roughing.
Perhaps others, with not so rough a training, may not go quite so far; but never forget that the more you feel at your ease in your attire, the less you are hampered with articles of any kind which [[10]]you are not accustomed to use every day, the more successful you will be in your mountaineering expeditions—especially on unknown mountains. [[11]]