The male part of the population is idle in the extreme, but the [[33]]women are correspondingly busy; some I saw were threshing corn, some gathering fuel, others engaged in various kinds of household work.
By 5 p.m. we got off from this wretched valley, where Phurchung and the coolies, by the way, were most desirous to remain to continue drinking chang, though Phurchung showed unmistakable signs of having already imbibed too much. After an hour’s march we reached Ki phug, where we found, under an overhanging rock, a bit of ground free from snow on which to camp; but Phurchung remained behind in Yangma, in a helplessly drunken condition.
November 29.—The way lay along the Yangma, which was scarcely visible, snow and ice covering entirely its bed. There was nothing to give life to the scenery; the river flowed in a deep gorge, or else opened out into lake-like expanses; on either side the mountains seemed to reach to the sky; not a bird, not even a cloud in the heaven, not a sound save that of our feet crushing the light dry snow. It was 11 a.m. when we came to an unfrozen pool, by which we ate our breakfast of tea and meal. This place, which is in a broad portion of the valley, is a favourite summer pasture-ground (tser chan) for the Dokpas, who, from July to September, bring their herds of yaks here.
Po phug was reached after a march of three miles through the snow, then the ascent became steeper and freer from snow, and we came to Luma goma, “Fountain head,” the source of the Yangma river; and after an easy ascent of half an hour we arrived at Tsa-tsam, the limit of vegetation.[51]
Here we began climbing a huge glacier, a quarter of a mile wide and more than three miles long, the Chyang-chub gya-lam, or “Highway to Holiness,” over which I was carried on Phurchung’s back wherever the snow lay deep. Then we climbed a huge mass of bare black rocks (Dsama nagmo), and darkness had overtaken us before we reached the “White Cavern” (Phugpa karpo), where we proposed passing the night. The fog added to the obscurity of the night, our feet were benumbed by the cold, and we frequently slipped into crevasses or between the clefts of rocks. Finding it impossible to reach the cavern, we scraped away the snow from between some rocks, and there I sat, my knees drawn up, hugging myself during the long night. [[34]]
How exhausted we were with the fatigue of the day’s journey, how overcome by the rarefication of the air, the intensity of the cold, and how completely prostrated by hunger and thirst, is not easy to describe. The very remembrance of the sufferings of that dreadful night makes me shudder even now, but I quickly recover under the inexpressible delight I feel at the consciousness of my great success. This was the most trying night I ever passed in my life. There was a light breeze blowing, attended with sleet, which fortunately weighed my blankets down and made them cover me closer than they otherwise would have done. And so with neither food nor drink, placed as if in the grim jaws of death in the bleak and dreary regions of snow, where death alone dwells, we spent this most dismal night.
November 30.—The coolies once more picked up their loads, and our guide began in his gravest tones to recite his Pema-jung-ne samba duba and other mantras. The morning was gloriously radiant, and the great Kangla chen glittered before us, bathed in a glory of golden light. Fortunately for us, there was no fresh snow on the ground; for, had there been any, we could not possibly have advanced. We found that we had stopped not more than a furlong from the Phugpa karpo, which, by the way, is not a cave at all, but only a crevasse between two detached rocks. Our guide, leaving his load in charge of his brother, took the lead, driving his long stick into the snow at each step, and digging footholds in the soft snow. From the White Cavern the top of the pass bore due east, and was distant about two miles. Just at the base of the final ascent there is a little sandy plain, in the middle of which is a huge boulder: this is the “Place of Salvation” (Tarpa gang), thus called because, when once this point is reached, travellers may be confident of attaining the summit of the pass.
I steadily followed in the footsteps of the guide, and would not let him take me on his back; for if I succeeded in ascending to the highest summit of Kangla chen without any help, I could look to the achievement with greater pride. Ugyen here gave out, and it was with difficulty that I persuaded Phurchung to carry him on his back, for they were far from being on the best of terms. An hour’s hard climbing brought us to the summit of the pass. The sky was cloudless and of the deepest blue; against it a snow-clad world of mountains stood out in bold relief. Far beyond the maze of snow-clad peaks we saw in the north-west the mountains of Pherug, [[35]]in Tibet, while those of Shar Khambu stood gloriously out to the west.
The summit of Kangla chen is a plateau, some two miles from east to west, and one mile and a quarter from north-west to north-east; it inclines towards the west, while to the north-west it is bounded by a mountain of considerable height. Our snowshoes (kyar) now stood us in good need; unfortunately we had but three pairs, so Phurchung and I had to wade through the deep snow in the footsteps of the others, with many slips and more than one narrow escape from falling into the deep crevasses. On all sides there was nothing visible but an ocean of snow. Innumerable snowy peaks touched with their white heads the pale leaden skies, where stars were shining. The rattling roar of distant avalanches was frequently heard; but, after having succeeded in crossing the loftiest of snowy passes, I felt too transported with joy to be frightened by their thunder.
These splendid scenes of wonderland, the grandest, the most sublime my eyes have ever beheld, which bewildered me so that even now my pen finds no words to describe them, inspired me with feelings of deep gratitude to Heaven, by whose mercy my life had been spared thus far.