The higher portions of the road from Gnatong over the Jelep are a very great contrast. It is almost like a march through the Highlands of Scotland, and hardly represents or brings to one’s mind the fact that one is among great mountains. The Jelep, which is 14,300 feet above the sea, is a perfectly easy pass, crossed by a horrid pavé road, very much out of repair, the descent into the Chumbi Valley being, for animals, the last word in discomfort. We employed altogether in our two parties about eighty mules from the Chumbi Valley, and we were all immensely struck by this wonderful transport. There is a considerable trade carried on between Tibet and Chumbi in particular for seven or eight months in the year, as on this road quantities of Tibetan wool are brought down for sale at Kalimpong, very nearly all of it being brought by the Chumbi muleteers, and most efficient they are. They thoroughly understand the loading and care of mules, and the pace they travel at is something to see. It is only understood if one walks for long distances with, or often behind, a train of laden mules. No doubt, owing to the continual changes from cold to warmth and heat, many sore backs are occasioned, and further, owing to the tremendous stress and continuous labour involved, many mules are worked that have no business to be worked. The muleteers themselves, when talked to about it, say that it distresses them, but they are hard put to it to carry out their work, and see no method very often of being able to fulfil their contracts and at the same time lay up their mules.
After crossing the Jelep La, and leaving Sikkim, it is almost like diving into Kashmir, so great is the difference in the general appearance of the country and in its forests. While we were sitting on the top of the Jelep we had the most splendid view of Chomolhari (23,800 feet). It showed itself at its very best; the day was quiet and very warm. Chomolhari stood out clearly, and still with plenty of atmosphere round it. Snow-streamers were blowing out from its summit. It showed its full height, and did full justice to its shape and beauty. It is a great mountain which completely dominates Phari and its plain, and is the striking feature as one enters Tibet from the Chumbi Valley. We all admired it enormously, but the enthusiasm of the party was somewhat damped when I pointed out to them that our high advanced base on Everest, in fact, the camp that we hoped to establish on the North Col, called the Chang La, which had been marked out the year before by Mr. Mallory, was, in fact, only about 600 feet lower than the top of Chomolhari itself.
Frozen Waterfall, Chumbi Valley.
On arrival at Richengong, which is at the foot of the valley which forms the junction between the Jelep Valley and the valley of the Ammu Chu, which is the Chumbi Valley, we were met by Mr. Macdonald, the British Trade Agent, who lives at Chumbi, and his wonderfully dressed chuprassis, and also by a guard of honour of 90 Panjabis, who supplied a small guard both at Yatung, in Chumbi, and also at the British post in Gyantse, on the road to Lhasa. We had a very pleasant ride by the Chumbi Valley to Yatung. I had previously supplied myself in Darjeeling with a treasure of a pony, Gyamda by name, who was locally very well known in Darjeeling. He was only 12½ hands, but had the go and the stamina of a very much bigger animal. He was attended by a sais who was nearly twice as big as himself, and was one of the finest-built Tibetans I saw the whole time. Gyamda himself hailed from the town of Gyamda, which is about 12 miles South of Lhasa. His enormous sais hailed from Lhasa itself, and, unfortunately, could hardly speak a word of anything but Tibetan. However, he improved by degrees, and very soon we got on very well. He adored the pony Gyamda, but had the habit of giving it, unless looked after, at least a dozen eggs mixed with its grain. When we stopped him doing this, he was caught hugging the pony round the neck and saying to it, “Now they have cut your eggs, you will die, and what shall I do?” Gyamda carried me right through the Expedition, and could go over any ground, and came back as well as he left, never sick or sorry, and always pleased with life.
We marched from Chumbi on April 5, accompanied by Mr. Macdonald and his son, who had come to help us make all our transport arrangements when we should arrive in Phari. Mr. Macdonald helped us on all occasions, and we cannot thank him enough for all the trouble he took from now on and during the whole time the Expedition was in Tibet. It was owing very largely to his help that we were able in Phari to get our Expedition on so soon, for he warned the two Dzongpens of Phari Dzong beforehand to obtain adequate transport for us.
Again, the march from Yatung to Phari has been described on many occasions, but it is quite impossible to march through it without mentioning its character. It is, especially at the time of year we went through, one of the darkest and blackest and most impressive forested gorges that I have ever seen, and almost equally impressive is the debouchment on to the Phari Plain at the head of the gorge, dominated as it is by our old friend Chomolhari.
We arrived in Phari on April 6, and made our first real acquaintance with the Tibetan wind. Phari is 14,300 feet, and winter was scarcely over; the weather also was threatening. Luckily, there is a little British Government rest-house and bungalow and serai at Phari, and there we found comfortable quarters. We were joined on the following day by the rest of the party. This really formed the starting-point of the Expedition, and, further, it was my birthday, and the bottle of old rum, 120 years old, specially brought out for this occasion, was opened and the success of the Expedition was drunk to. If we had known what was in front of us, we should have put off the drinking of this peculiarly comforting fluid until the evening of the day of our first march from Phari. The two Phari Dzongpens, probably owing to the fact that Phari is on the main route between Lhasa and India, were far and away the most grasping and difficult of any officials that we met, but no doubt their difficulties were pretty considerable. Although there is a great quantity of transport to be obtained in Phari, at this time of the year it is in very poor condition. Grazing exists, but one would never know that it existed unless one was told, and also unless one saw herds of yaks on the hillsides apparently eating frozen earth. Everything was frozen hard. We had difficulty, therefore, in obtaining the transport required. We found here collected the whole of our stores, with the exception of the oxygen. Our excellent tindel,[[1]] Chongay, who had gone on ahead, had got it all marshalled; the tents were also pitched and in good order.
[1]. Tent-mender.
On April 8 we set out from Phari, but had been obliged to reinforce the local transport by re-engaging fifty of the Chumbi mules. We had been obliged to do this because we were unable to get a sufficiency of transport that was capable of carrying loads in Phari itself. But these fifty mules were our salvation; without them, as it turned out, we should have been in a bad way.