Farther on we met a Nepalese woman carrying a child slung in a basket upon her back, while the husband walked peacefully behind. When the camera was pointed at the couple they were so disturbed that the woman dropped basket and child and took to her heels down a most precipitous slope, while her better half ran away from us, also full speed, but on a less dangerous route.
Farther on, as we got higher up, we encountered more shepherds, in as pitiable a condition as the first we had seen, having nearly lost their power of speech through leading a lonely life among these mountains. They all suffered from fever and rheumatism; some from goitre through drinking snow water.
The marching was very heavy, especially for my men who carried loads; my pony, of course, had to be abandoned long before this, and I had sent him down to lower elevations in charge of my sayce.
We were now nearing the magnificent Api Mountain, and we soon came to the moraine of the glacier. We reached the glacier—which I named the Elfrida Landor Glacier—at sunset, and it was indeed a most beautiful sight with its huge walls [[64]]of clear ice in irregular terraces, portions only being in broken-up heaps. At the sides, mud of a greyish colour and broken ice bordered the worn, eroded rock down to the level of the valley where the glacier lies.
The glacier lies from N.E.E. to S.W.W., with two high peaks, one to the N.N.W., the other to the S.S.E., the latter being known as the Api Mountain. Two snow-fed streams descend from the glacier, and, joining into a rapid torrent, become a tributary of the Lumpa River. The natives call all these glaciers by the generic term Sho-gal, or “snow glacier.”
Elfrida Landor Glacier, Nepal
The village of Chongur could be distinguished in the far distance to the N.W. of us, down, down below in the valley of the Kali; and to the N.N.W. we obtained a panoramic view of the Kuti River valley, with the conical Bitroegoar Mountain and a high peak to the N.N.E. Even below 13,000 feet the vegetation had become very sparse, but patches of short grass were found up to 16,000 feet. Above that all was absolutely barren, and generally covered with snow. In the high valley we had followed, whatever trees we found were weather-beaten and half-burnt by the snow and cold winds of the winter months. For long distances we occasionally [[65]]walked on thick beds of wild strawberries. These high valleys are considered good pasture-land by the Shokas, who send their sheep for grazing in charge of annuals, such as those we had met.
The foot of the glacier where we pitched our tent was at an elevation of 13,900 feet, and the temperature shortly before sunset not higher than 33° Fahrenheit.
Perhaps to those who have never slept on the ice of a glacier it may be interesting to know what it feels like. Barring a certain chilliness which anybody can imagine, a first night on a glacier has many surprises. I say “first night,” because we spent a great many, and we got accustomed to the weird noises which kept us awake and in some suspense on the first visit. Indeed, a Himahlyan glacier seems to be the home of noises of all kinds. The wind blowing among the pinnacles and recesses produces weird melodies like solos and immense choruses of human voices; you can hear shrill whistling all round you when sharper blades of ice cut the current of air, and roars like those of wild beasts, only stronger, when the wind penetrates into some deep cavity. No sooner were you closing your eyes again for a much-wanted sleep than thunder, so loud that it made you jump, startled [[66]]you, but when you peeped out of the tent there were brilliant stars and a limpid sky everywhere above you. Sleepy as you were, you could not resist—at least, I could not, and I am not much of a star-gazer—the temptation to gaze at the stars and planets. In the rarefied and limpid air they showed like huge diamonds, and gave quite enough light to see all round one, even when there was no moon. Indeed, no one who has never been to exceptionally high elevations has an idea of the beauty of stars. They appear several times larger than they do when seen from London or Paris, for instance, and the magnificence of their ever-changing colours is indescribable.