The Diary of a Hunter from the Punjab to the Karakorum Mountains

by Augustus Henry Irby

We now saw a party, horse and foot, on the other side making their way towards us. They, too, were brought up by the formidable volume of turbid water rushing between us. We were within hail of each other, but any words indistinguishable, and they were not to be induced by any sign to tempt their fate by showing us the way over. Things now came to a dead-lock. The river guide funking—and no wonder—moved here and there, up and down, making as though he were desperately in earnest, but ever recoiling from the main rush of the torrent. The servants and coolies now arrived all safe, after some few narrow escapes, as Abdoolah informed me—the Cashmiries, poor creatures! of whom there were five, having to be held up in the water, even when without loads: they lost their heads and legs immediately. What despicable poltroons they are! I am confident that my three Punjabies would 'leather' the three shikarries and five coolies combined; though of them Abdoolah is the only one of true 'grit.' He is a first-rate fellow, rough and ready, honest and plucky.

I followed the guide, going up the river, then descending on a bank which divided the main current, the water flowing over it in diminished strength. I was in great hopes we were about to triumph, as we now neared the opposite party; but on reaching the tail of the bank we found the two currents there united which, sweeping roaring through a deep channel of a hundred yards wide, again effectually opposed us. I could have pushed my horse through swimming; and perhaps the tats with the shikarries might have got safe through, though very doubtful: but the coolies and baggage, never. We, therefore, retraced our weary, watery way, and again took downwards below the aforesaid bank, and got into the main stream; but our bewildered guide again retreated.

He and others much amused me by their idea of sounding the depth—just taking stones, and pitching them in, with the notion of judging the depth by the splash and sound; and this in a roaring flood. I now looked upon the passage to day as hopeless, for we had now tried up and down a mile in length; but the goose of a guide still rushed wildly about, entering the water where he could have no real intention of going on: so I hailed Abdoolah from the depth in which I was floundering to beat a retreat, and with Subhan, my only adherent, turned backward—a most disagreeable alternative. I could not halt on that bank in the middle of the waters, though apparently safe, as I know the dangers and uncertainties of floods in mountain regions. And to fight our way back, over ground it had cost such exertions to win, was most disheartening.

Another party of horse and foot had joined mine on the bank, the young relative of Ahmet Shah and attendants, who I forgot to mention came to pay his respects to me, being at Diskit detained by the flood from proceeding on to the Lobrah district of which he is kardar. He is a most prepossessing young man in physiognomy and manner, and is going to his district principally on my account, to aid my arrangements. It was now half-past twelve; and the flood's might, augmented as usual at this time of day by the melted snow, cut off our retreat, so I was the more anxious for my party and effects to hasten their movements, and saw with vexation that there they stuck, like Asiatics, irresolute on the bank. But, seeing me resolutely fighting my way back, they at last got under weigh, and, I am glad to say, all got back safe and sound, men and baggage. The latter had narrow escapes; four coolies, becoming bothered and frightened, lost their way in the middle of the current of one of the biggest channels, and had to be rescued.

I settled down again in my former ground, giving directions for further examination of the river to-morrow; but am resolved not to attempt the passage again, till some one has actually crossed. The delay is very vexatious, but I must endeavour to make up for it by expedition. If I get my extension of leave, it will not matter in the least; but should that be unattainable, I shall have to ride, night and day, through Roopschoo and Kulu from Leh to save my distance. But I must get to these Karakorum mountains, whatever may betide.

We saw numerous trees and pieces of timber remnants of the bridge once spanning the river somewhere above this, which was carried away some months since by the floods. The thanadar junior is here, I believe, to reconstruct it; but that will be a most difficult job from the distance the timber will have to be brought. There is stone enough and to spare; but they are not architects good enough to make use of it. Yet their houses are fairly put together of stone and sun-brick, but the stone rough certainly. They could never form a durable arch, even if they contrived tetes-de-pont, and piers. And now to wait as patiently as may be the subsidence of the waters.

3rd August. Cloudy and showery. I was informed that men had been sent to get information of the state of the river, and in the evening they returned, stating there was little or no change since yesterday. There was rain in the evening, and a heavy storm apparently bursting over the mountains east of us.

4th August. Again a cloudy day. I sent off Phuttoo and Subhan with the Lobrah man, Tar-gness, to get news of the river, and employed the morning in writing. About 2 P.M. Subhan returned with the welcome news of the waters having subsided, and Phuttoo and Tar-gness having gone across to the other side to the village of Lanjoong, he hastening back to give me the information: he said also, that he had marked down some wild fowl in the watery meadows. I despatched my letters carefully sewn up in a bit of sheepskin, being assured that they would be safely delivered at Sirinuggur, under cover to the Baboo; then took gun and shot, and went with Subhan after the ducks which we soon found, and I knocked down one, and wounded another, but, unfortunately, we could not get either. We tried all about, and saw others, but could not get near them, so, after an hour and a half's fruitless endeavours, returned in heavy rain.

5th August. Sunday. A cloudy morning. I took a ramble before breakfast, and enjoyed it much, finding more beauty than I thought the place possessed, but could not select a site that satisfied me for a sketch. The scene is too extended for any view that would include the principal features. There is a picturesque lama monastery high above the village on the mountain; but the village itself is such a scattered, stony, tumble-down place as to defy a definite representation. The valley, looking either way, when lighted, is beautiful—the mountains of fine and varied forms. The effects this morning were very striking, as the fitful gleams of sunshine, struggling through the heavy clouds, threw their shifting light here and there. Looking west, a considerable expanse of rich cultivated plain occupies the valley; east, all is sand and shingle.