Katmandu was a colorful city of temples, pagodas, and palaces that rose from among lesser buildings and great open squares. The altitude was a little more than four thousand feet, and Charles Keene made a landing at the airfield to check on weather reports, while Muscles gave the plane another going over. From there, the plane took off westward, passing south of the great twin peaks of Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, gigantic sentinels twenty miles apart, with a deep valley tapering down to a river gorge between their five-mile summits.
"It's too soon to head north," decided Charles Keene, "even though that gap does look inviting. It would take us into Tibet, and we might have problems picking a course over into Kashmir. We'll do better this way."
This way took them out of Nepal, and soon they were flying over India again. There, Biff's uncle finally swung to the north, and again the Himalayas loomed ahead. Then they were knifing through fleecy clouds at two hundred and fifty miles an hour, straight toward the disputed Tibetan border.
"This course will bring us into Leh," Charles Keene declared, as the clouds began to thicken, "but we'd better get more altitude."
A gigantic mass of solid, snowy white rose through a rift in the clouds.
As the plane skimmed over it, they all drew a relieved breath.
"We nearly scraped frosting off cake," Chuba said.
Charles Keene smiled, but a bit grimly, as he studied his chart again.
Then:
"If that was Nanda Devi," he declared, "we are away off course." He turned to Muscles. "Is the altimeter right?" he asked.
"It was when I checked it last."
"Then we aren't climbing as we should."