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.
Ascent to the Nui Pass
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 [[205]]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 [[206]]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. [[207]]
CHAPTER XIX
And now for the descent. I was quite numbed with cold—you see, a thin shirt only is not much protection against snow being driven into you with such force, and even when I put on my coat again my teeth were chattering so that I thought they would break. Well, I suppose that if I had been more muffled up and wearing heavy clothing I should have never got up there. My legs and hands had nearly lost all feeling in them.