After a mile ascent we reached another frozen lake. The guide ran forward, and, collecting some snow and pieces of ice, he sprinkled them across the lake to show us the path and prevent us from slipping. This lakelet, of about the same size as the one just referred to, is held in the sacred books of the Sikkimese to be an object of special sanctity. It is called Tso dom-dongma, “The Lake of Peacock’s Spots,” and the eye of the enchanted devotee can see something like spots in the bubbles in the icy sheets of the lake. The glorious peak of Chum-bok la rose right before us. Clouds now swept swiftly across the sun, and within half an hour the whole vault of heaven was hidden from our view. Courage then failed our hitherto intrepid guide. “Why proceed further up, sir?” said he. “Death awaits us in this desolate place. One hour more and we shall be gone.” “What do you mean by this, Phurchung?” said I. “Where see you death?” “Sir, look at the sky; those clouds will shortly fall in heavy snow on us, from which no human means can enable us to escape. If you [[18]]escape the snows on this side of the path, you cannot do so on the other.” He trembled and looked pale and depressed. He cried, and said, “Oh, sir, we pon-yog [master and servant] will perish if we go not back to Bogto. The skies are ominous, and tell you to return towards the Bogto la.” He repeated his entreaties with childish tears, but in vain. I told him and the coolies that I was determined not to retrace a single step, and that all his entreaties were to no purpose. In an hour’s time we could scarcely reach Bogto, and if the snow began falling in the mean time, we could hardly escape; besides, such a course would not lessen our troubles, as we should have the risk of recrossing the distance we had now travelled over. There might be a second snowfall, when we should again have to turn back.
Ceding finally to my arguments, Phurchung pushed forward. I took the lead, and with fresh energy clambered on, till after an hour we stood on the pass. The skies had cleared up, the azure heavens again smiled on us, and the welcome reappearance of the brilliant sun dispelled all our fears. To our left was Sundub phug, to the right the towering pinnacles of Kangla jang-ma, while the rounded form of the lofty Lap-chyi in the Shar-Khambu district of Nepal rose above the haze. The valley of the Chum-bok la is called Chu lonkyok, “The Water-spoon,” because it receives the waters of the surrounding mountains in a spoon-like basin.
I had hardly time to congratulate myself on having reached the summit, when our guide, now smiling, put his arms in the straps (nambo) of his load, and uttering the usual prayer (lha sol), resumed his journey. The descent was fraught with immense dangers, for it lay through trackless snows. The guide sounded the snow everywhere for a path, and not finding one, he took a circuitous direction which seemed practicable to his experienced eye.
After walking about an hour we found we had made but little progress, when we came on the tracks of a Tibetan long-tailed leopard (sah).[26] I wondered how the animal had been able to walk along over the soft snow without ever sinking in it, but my men explained this by attributing supernatural powers to this beast, which they said was indeed the goblin of leopards. An hour’s struggle in the snow exhausted my strength, and I could proceed no further. The guide opened the loads and repacked them, putting all the breakable [[19]]objects in one, all the clothing and provisions in the other. The latter he threw down the slope, and it ploughed a path, down which I followed till the load brought up against a rock. Then I let myself slide down the half-hardened snow, guiding myself with my elbows so as to escape any crevasse across my path.
By 3.30 p.m. we had descended so far in the gorge of Chu lonkyok that patches of grass showed here and there amidst the snow, and I saw an alpine shrub called upala,[27] with large pink leaves at the top like those of the water-lily, waved in the wind, which had again begun to blow. The coolies now pushed rapidly ahead, leaving me far behind, but the gradual reappearance of grass, rhododendrons, and juniper bushes revived my spirits as I walked on, frequently halting to catch my breath. Continuing down the gorge through rhododendrons, junipers, and several species of prickly, sweet-scented shrubs, we finally reached, about dark, a great boulder, underneath which we camped. In front of it ran a brook about four feet wide, said to be the head-stream of the famous Kabili of Nepal, which receives the waters from the Chum-bok and the Semarum mountains.
November 21.—Though I still felt, when I awakened, greatly exhausted, I had to start without breakfast, as the coolies had left early, fearing lest the fine morning might be followed by a bad afternoon. Dressed very lightly in order to be able to climb more easily, I set out, following in Phurchung’s footsteps. The trail at first presented no great difficulty, though it was continually up and down over mountain ridges five or six hundred feet high; but our previous day’s experience made us think little of such a road. After a few miles we reached a kind of gateway lying between two rocky cliffs, where began the region of scanty vegetation that invariably is found just below the snow-line. Here we halted for a while and drank some tea; then, resuming our journey, we reached the summit of Semarum after a couple of hours of most trying climbing over ice and melting snow. The pass is protected to the south and west by a very rugged cliff resembling the outspread wings of an eagle both in colour and shape, and inspired me with a strange feeling of dread. Sitting on the summit of the pass, I enjoyed, though tired and unwell, the [[20]]grandeur and sublimity of the scene. No poet could adequately describe Nature’s exploits in this part of the world, no pencil could delineate these romantic scenes.
Legend has it that many years ago, on this very pass, a certain cunning and designing Limbu of Tambur Khola concealed under the rocks a red earthen jar filled with charcoal, with the object of establishing his heirs’ right over the whole easternmost part of Nepal, called Yangoro, which includes Singli la, and in his will he made mention of this bequest. A few years later hostilities broke out between the Limbus of Tambur Khola and Yangoro, which lasted for nearly twelve years, during which time the Gurung were the chief sufferers. Pasturing their cattle on the disputed land, both parties stole them as a rent for the right of pasture. Finally the Chambisi Rajah, who ruled at Bhatgaong, settled the dispute in favour of the Yangoro Limbus, the trick of the Tambur Khola Limbus having been found out.
From the Semarum pass I saw the Choma Kankar, or “Lord of Snows,” the famous sacred mountain of the Buddhists which overhangs Lap-chyi, the highest of its three peaks, dome-shaped, the two others standing side by side, of truncated cone shape; then to the north-west of these appeared the Shar Khambu Mountains, half lost in the rising mist; to the west, beyond the great chasm formed by the Tambur valley, were the valleys of Feylep, Yalung, Dhunkota, all indistinct in the general haze.
Phurchung endeavoured in vain to find a way down through the deep snow which everywhere covered the ground, and finally we had to slide down through the snow for several hundred feet; and then, finding a foothold, we waded on, dragging the loads behind us. I saw tracks of rabbits,[28] snow-leopards, and a species of bird called chamdang, probably the snow-pheasant. After a little while we could advance no further down the slope, so Phurchung made a detour over a ridge to our right, its summit a huge bare rock some forty to fifty feet high. From this we descended with great difficulty, throwing the loads down ahead of us and sliding down ourselves in the deep, soft snow.
By 4 p.m. we were clear of the snow, and once more found vegetation. After a short rest we resumed our journey along the gentle rill which leaps down from here with a pleasant murmur, and [[21]]is known as the second headwater of the Kabili, although the brook which we followed empties into the Namga stream which rises in the Kangla Nangmo pass near Jongri. The snow, reaching several miles below the Kangla pass on either side of the Namga, showed us that this pass was inaccessible. These early snows are called shingsa pahmo. The road led through dwarf rhododendrons, bushy junipers, and prickly shrubs bearing a red fruit. The river was frozen over, except in the narrow parts. In the distance the pine-clad flanks of Juonga, through which the Yalung dashes, were seen resplendent in the rays of the setting sun. We plodded on to 6 p.m., when we reached a broad flat called Namga tsal, “The Grove of Joy,” and shortly after crossed the river by a wooden bridge of the East Nepalese type, and some forty feet long, and came to the halting-place under the widespread branches of a high dung shing or cedar. Namga tsal received its name, I was told, from Lha-tsun, the great Buddhist patriarch of Sikkim, having spent a few days here to rest from his fatigue when travelling for the first time from Tibet to convert the Lhopas (Southerners). He so enjoyed his rest here that he ordered his disciples to hold the place sacred, and to celebrate their annual inaugural religious ceremonies at the cavern in which he had spent a few days. We could see the cave from where we were camped, and were told that the Buddhists of Sikkim and Eastern Nepal still resort to this place on pilgrimage.