During that night a thief broke into our store-room, forcing and breaking the lock outside. The only thing he took, as far as we could find out, was one of Wheeler's yak-dans (a leather mule trunk). The thief had probably mistaken this one for one of mine, which contained a considerable amount of money, and knowing that I was away, he thought that my kit must be packed away in the store-room. We informed the Jongpen and the head-men of the villages around of the theft, and had a couple of suspicious characters watched; but we never found any trace of the stolen articles, which luckily were of very small value. For the next fortnight I remained at Kharta.
On August 19 Heron suddenly arrived back after a very interesting trip, during which he had explored all the mountains North of Tingri and Shekar Dzong up to the Brahmaputra watershed. He had had very bad weather all the time. Every night there had been heavy thunderstorms and practically all the bad weather had come from the North. The whole country was under water, and it was very difficult to get about. Some of the rivers that we had crossed earlier in the season were now a mile or more wide.
On the following day Bullock and Mallory returned to Kharta after having explored the Upper Kharta Valley. They thought that they had found a possible way up Mount Everest from this valley, but at present the weather was too bad for them to carry on with their reconnaissance, and they had come down for a fortnight's rest, hoping that the Monsoon would be over by the beginning of September and that they would then be able to make a proper attack on the mountain. As Mallory and Bullock were likely to be at Kharta for some time, Wollaston and I seized this opportunity to visit the lower valley of the Kama-chu.
Therefore, on August 23, with eleven of our own coolies and several Tibetan coolies, we climbed the Samchung Pass (15,000 feet), and then descended into the valley of the fourteen lakes, and after crossing the Chog La camped on the far side of the pass near a dark green and sacred lake called Ruddamlamtso. On the way we saw a new species of black rat in the moraine of a glacier; but Wollaston's servant, who had the collecting gun with him, was unfortunately far behind; he was always rather fond of drink and loth to leave the villages. The weather was cloudy, and there were no views from the top of either pass. The march was a strenuous one, taking the coolies thirteen hours to cover the whole distance, and they did not arrive till after dark. The Ruddamlamtso, the lake by which we were camped, had wonderfully clear water; I could see every stone at a depth of 20 feet, and it was evidently very deep. It is looked upon as a sacred lake, and to it people make yearly pilgrimages, walking round it burning incense and throwing spices into its waters.
The following morning the clouds were low down everywhere on the hillsides and we had no views. There was a steep descent for 4 miles to Sakeding—12,100 feet, through the most interesting zones of vegetation. We followed the edge of the rushing stream, always white from the rapidity of its descent. On one side of the valley grew rhododendrons of many varieties and mountain ash, and on the other were hoary old junipers with twisted stems. Grey lichens hung down from every branch, and were often 5 or 6 feet in length. We came across some of the finest and largest red currants that we had yet seen. Of these we collected a great quantity, and they formed a very excellent stew. Birches, wild roses and berberis were the commonest shrubs, while nearly every rock was covered with an extremely pretty rose-coloured creeper, which in places caused the hillsides to look quite pink. Earlier in the year the iris must have been a very beautiful sight, as we passed through acres of their leaves. A big yellow rock-rose with flowers 2 inches across was also to be met with here, and many of the lower leaves of the rhododendrons were turning yellow to scarlet, making a great show of colour on the dark green of the hillside. Deep purple-coloured primulas and monkshood, as well as a curious hairy mauve-red monkshood with a very graceful growth, were also to be seen. The pretty white-crested red-start flitted about from rock to rock, and numerous tits of various kinds flew about in flocks from tree to tree as we descended.
Sakeding (Pleasant terrace) had been at one time a village of considerable size, but a pestilence sent by the local demon had wiped out all its inhabitants. This demon was still reputed to be very active, and no one had dared to re-build the old houses of which the ruins, overgrown with weeds and bushes, could be seen here and there. It was a very pleasant site for a village, situated as it was on a terrace that projected out into the valley 1,000 feet above the stream below. During the summer months there is quite a trade passing through this place, the Tibetans bringing salt from the North, and the Nepalese coming up from Nepal with rice, dyes and vegetables, which they exchange. The rate of barter at this time was two measures of rice or three measures of madder dye for one measure of salt, and no money changes hands. Everything that was brought here was brought on the backs of coolies, and these Nepalese coolies were sturdy, cheery fellows, and thought nothing of carrying 80 lb. of salt on their backs up and down the execrable paths of the district.
From Sakeding we descended steeply through a forest of the finest juniper trees that I had yet seen. These grew 80 to 90 feet high, and many of their trunks were 18 feet to 20 feet in circumference. As a rule they had clean stems, without a branch for 50 feet or 60 feet. The branches were all hung with grey lichens. We now descended beside the muddy and tempestuous waters of the Kama-chu. The juniper forest gradually gave way to silver firs—wonderful trees of enormous size and great age. We passed through many open glades, park-like in appearance, with grand clumps of fir trees or sycamore dotted here and there. The hillsides were absolutely running over with water, and often for several hundred yards we walked along logs put down to try and avoid the mud and the running water. As many of these rounded logs were very slippery, both we and our coolies had to proceed with caution, and even so we experienced many a fall. At Chu-tronu—10,200 feet—there was a well-made wooden bridge, 60 feet long, which spanned the river where it flowed in a narrow channel between two great rocks. We crossed this bridge, and finding a broad open space there, I selected a spot suitable for our camp and ordered the coolies to cut down some of the grass where we intended to pitch the tents. I could not at first make out why they kept jumping about when thus engaged, but on going to investigate, I found that the place was alive with leeches; however, as there was no other better place in which to camp, we had to make the best of it. The men collected some dry bamboos out of an old shepherd's hut which was close by; these they burnt on the sites where we were to pitch our tents, hoping by this means to drive away the leeches. This method, however, was not very successful, for all that evening we were busy picking leeches off our clothes, legs, hands or heads. They climbed up the sides of the tents and dropped down into our food, our cups and on to our plates. Wollaston invented the best way of killing them, which was by cutting them in two with a pair of scissors. Our interpreter remonstrated with him, as he said this method increased the number of leeches, thinking that both ends of them would grow. After a somewhat restless and disturbed night, due to these leeches, we started off next morning to go down to the junction of the Kama River with the Arun. The distance as the crow flies was only about 6 miles, but we did not realise the kind of path that we should have to traverse. In that short distance we must have risen and fallen quite 5,000 feet. The path was never level and always very rough and stony. At first it led through beautiful glades running with moisture and over logs buried, most of them, inches deep in the water; they were, however, better to walk on than the soft mud there was on either side. The silver firs were now at their best—trees over 100 feet in height, and with stems 20 feet to 25 feet in circumference. Here grew great hydrangeas 20 feet or more in height covered with flowers. Our only halts on the way down, and they were pretty frequent, were to pick off the leeches from our clothes. We took them off by tens at a time; they were very hungry, and varied in size from great striped horse-leeches to tiny ones as thin as a pin and able to penetrate anywhere. The track now left the upper terraces and descended very steeply towards the river, at times climbing sharply upwards again to avoid precipitous rocks and cliffs. During the descent, we gradually passed from the zone of the silver firs into that of the spruce, meeting the lovely Picea Brunoniana, which grew to an even greater size than the silver firs. Many of the trees were over 150 feet in height and without a branch for 70 feet or 80 feet; their stems too, were often 25 feet to 30 feet in circumference. This valley is so inaccessible that I am glad to think that these glorious forests can never be exploited commercially. After passing a great overhanging rock called Korabak, which is evidently much used as a halting-place, we descended steeply to the river, which now forms a series of cascades, leaping from rock to rock, a very remarkable spectacle. During the last 6 miles of its course, this river—the product of four large glacier streams—descends at the rate of 450 feet every mile. In places there were waterfalls of 20 feet and more, where the river hurled itself into seething cauldrons; in one place I saw it confined to a breadth of barely 5 feet. The junction of this river with the Arun is only 7,500 feet above the sea; just above the junction is a bridge which leads to the village of Kimonanga, a picturesque village situated on a terrace some 700 feet above the river and surrounded by some fine trees. In this valley we came across a few blue pines (Pinus excelsa) and also a large-leafed alder; near its junction with the Arun were many trees and orchids of a semi-tropical character. On the opposite side of the valley is a forest of evergreen oak trees, but as I was unable to cross the river I could not say to what species they belonged. On the way we passed many yellow raspberries on which we slaked our thirst. Our guide also dug up some of the roots of the wild arum to show us; it is a great flattish tuberous root, rather oval in shape. This the inhabitants dig up and, after allowing it to ferment by burying it in a hole for several days, pound it up, and then eat it; it was much esteemed by the villagers. It is necessary to ferment it first, as otherwise the root is extremely poisonous. We tasted a slice of bread made out of this root, and I have seldom tasted anything nastier. It is supposed, if not properly fermented, to cause all the hair to fall out of the head; but I should be inclined to imagine that it would do this even if it were properly fermented. Near the junction of the Kama and Arun Rivers, we climbed up on to a terrace 1,200 feet above, on which was situated the village of Lungdö. The great Arun gorges here become a considerable valley; for 20 miles above this point up to Kharta the Arun runs through a narrow and practically impassable gorge, but here the valley widens out for a few miles and contains several villages; a short distance below it enters again into another great gorge. The river now was in full flood and covered the whole of the bottom of the valley, being in places many hundred yards in width. At one spot, where it contracted, there was a well-made bridge leading to the village of Matsang. I was astonished to meet with maize growing at this height—8,700 feet. The villagers also grew cucumbers, pumpkins and several kinds of millet, including an extremely pretty red one. The head-man of Lungdö gave me some millet beer, which was very refreshing after the long march. Wollaston did not care for it, but between us we managed to eat three large and juicy cucumbers. The head-man was very friendly; and a local official was staying here who had just come from Kharta, who recognised us, and presented us with some excellent honey cakes. We neither of us looked forward to the uphill return journey, but after five and a half hours' hard walking I reached camp just before dark. Wollaston did not arrive till later, and I had to send a coolie with a lamp to bring him in. We were both of us much exhausted, as the day had been a long and trying one. That night we had a grand camp fire of rhododendron and fir logs. Hundreds of moths insisted on flying into the fire instead of entering the tent where Wollaston was ready with his cyanide bottle to catch them.
The following morning the weather was dull and cloudy, and did not look very promising. We determined, however, to visit the Popti La, the pass between Tibet and Nepal, over which all the local traffic passes. Leaving the camp, we entered a small side valley to the South, the path climbing steeply upwards under big rhododendrons (R. Falconeri and R. Argenteum) with leaves 18 inches long. Noticing many of their leaves strewn on the path, I inquired the reason for this. Our guide informed us that the carriers fastened these leaves together with thin strips of bamboo and thus provided an excellent waterproof cover for themselves and for their loads. After climbing about a mile, we saw some bamboo huts in the forest and a number of cows were grazing round them. These belonged to some Nepalese herds who come over here in the summer, bringing their cattle to graze. The path now followed the side of a rushing torrent, peaty brown in colour, which came hurrying down under the shade of birch, sycamore, silver firs, juniper and rhododendrons. As we ascended higher, the open spaces became more frequent, though the grass and weeds grew fully 3 feet in height, attesting the constant rainfall of this district. On leaving the path to collect a few seeds from some plants growing a short distance away from it, I found myself in a few moments covered with leeches which apparently thrive here at an altitude of over 12,000 feet; this must be almost a record height for these pests. The path climbed up steeply, the rhododendrons growing gradually smaller in size as we ascended. After going for four hours, we reached the top of the pass—14,000 feet. Here on the top was a stone half hidden in a pile of rocks with a notice, written in Chinese characters, that this was the boundary between Tibet and Nepal. Across the top of the pass was a long wall, mostly overgrown with grass, evidently at one time considered to be some kind of defence. Owing to the clouds being very low, we unfortunately had no view from the top, but just below us, on the Nepalese side, was a fine black lake, about half a mile long, with an island in the centre, which the Nepalese called Dungepokri. On the top were many interesting Alpine flowers, amongst them a charming white potentilla with a red centre; and a large cream-coloured primula, shading into deep orange. We also came across several new varieties of gentians. Here we rested for a couple of hours, hoping that the clouds might lift, but a nasty rain began to fall heavily. While we were waiting several coolies from Nepal passed by: from these we found out that the pass was closed by snow for five months in the year and that the trade market at Sakeding was closed by the end of October. We now turned our footsteps homeward, urged on by cold showers of rain. On the descent we were able to collect a few seeds. Autumn was approaching, though the trees had not yet begun to assume their autumn colours owing to the warm nights. That evening in the camp we had an enormous bonfire of birch, juniper and rhododendrons, which made the prettiest blaze imaginable, with flames of green, blue, violet and orange. The large fire also helped to keep away the leeches. Heavy rain fell again all night, and the thermometer did not descend below 55° Fahr. The morning, however, broke fine, and we started back again up the valley to Sakeding. The sun shone every now and then, giving us occasional glimpses of distant glaciers at the head of the valley. The walk through the forest, with the sunlight shining on the dark green leaves of the rhododendron and the dripping foliage, was very delightful. The undergrowth consisted of wild roses, berberis with its necklaces of scarlet berries, wild currants of a great size—sour to the taste, but excellent when stewed—wild raspberries, light feathery bamboos, birch, willow and a most luxuriant vegetation of flowers and grasses. In one or two places the mountain ash were just beginning to show traces of colour. We soon left the leeches behind us and followed our old track through the forest beside the rushing waters of the Kama-chu. Enormous rocks which had fallen from above had in places almost blocked up the river. Often on these great boulders in the middle of the stream were growing the graceful Himalayan larch. On the steepest rock faces grew vegetation of every kind, thanks to the excessive moisture of the climate, and from every tree and from every bush hung long and picturesque lichens. Crested tits and bullfinches lived in great numbers in this forest and gave it quite a homelike appearance. The climb from the river had been a steep one, and we pitched our camp at Sakeding in a downpour of rain, but towards the evening the weather cleared up, allowing us fine views of great snow peaks which showed above the mists on the opposite sides of the valley. It was too far to go from Sakeding to Kharta in one day; we therefore decided to camp before crossing the Chog La. We passed our old camp by the green lake Ruddamlamtso, and I had a long chase after some ram chakor, but they were too clever for me and ran up the hill faster than I could follow them. The large moraines which converged in this valley were specially interesting, and threw much light on its past history. Each moraine had its own long line of boulders formed of different kinds of rock, according to the character of the mountains from which they had been carried down by the ice. It was not difficult to imagine the vast glaciers by which these lines of boulders had been deposited; glaciers which must at one time have completely blocked the valley and the disappearance of which has made room for the chain of lakes which now occupy the valley. We pitched our camp at a place called Mendalongkyo—15,500 feet—in a pleasantly sheltered spot where a gurgling stream disappeared under an old moraine. In the afternoon Wollaston went out after rats, of which he secured a new variety. Our coolies had a great chase after a fat marmot, which they very nearly caught, but he got down into his hole just in time. Around the camp were quantities of a very beautiful pale blue gentian—a regular Eton blue colour. Wandering up the spur North-west of the camp I counted nine lakes in the next valley and four lakes in the one that we were in; as the rain began to fall again, I returned to camp.
The next morning, August 29, we began our homeward journey to Kharta. Getting up early, we climbed on to the high ridge North-west of the camp, from which we had a fair view; but unfortunately both Makalu and Mount Everest were hidden by clouds. We waited for a long time in hopes of a better view, but the clouds only grew thicker. We therefore followed the ridge above the Chog La. On the way I shot a Tibetan snow partridge (Lerwa nivicola), an extremely pretty bird with lovely markings. This was the first I had seen.
We now turned our backs upon the Kama Valley with much regret. We had explored many of these Himalayan valleys, but none seemed to me to be comparable with this, either for the beauty of its Alpine scenery, or for its wonderful vegetation. We shall not easily forget the smiling pastures carpeted with gentians and every variety of Alpine flower that rise to the very verge of icebound and snow-covered tracks, where mighty glaciers descend among the forests which clothe the lower slopes.