MOUNTAIN SCENERY NEAR SIN GO LA.
THREE PASSES
The upland valley in which this village lies is known as Dji Dju Rong. Part of it, if I mistake not, is the bed of an extinct glacier. It was still snowing when we set out next morning. For about 3 miles we retraced our steps of the previous day, then crossed and left the stream that comes down from the Dji Dju La range and found ourselves in a beautiful open glade. It is a small flat plain, affording good pasture-land for a herd of yaks, and surrounded on all sides by forests and enormous mountains. It contains three log-cabins. From here our road lay W.S.W., and we struck up into the mountains again to the pass known as Wu Shu (or Shih) La. The forest accompanied us nearly all the way to the summit, the height of which is about 15,500 feet. The ascent is steep at first, then very gradual, and finally steep again near the top. The forest met us again on the other side, and through it we descended to the village of Wu Shu. The stage was a short one, probably not more than 11 miles. The scenery about Wu Shu is extremely beautiful. Close by the village are the remains of a ruin on a mound. It may have been an octagonal tower but it was impossible to identify it as such.
The ground was covered with snow and it was still snowing heavily when we started next day (23rd April) on what proved to be on the whole the severest day's march which I experienced throughout the whole of my long journey. We began a stiff climb almost immediately, and going south and south-west reached the summit of the first pass (Sin Go La), after a straight pull of about 5 miles. The elevation was about 15,000 feet. Before we reached the top the snow ceased to fall, and the weather for the rest of the day was brilliantly fine. From the summit we had a glorious view of lofty peaks towering far above the highest limit of the thick forests. We descended about 2,000 feet into a shallow ravine, from the further side of which we mounted about 3,000 feet to the second pass, Nai Yu La, about 16,000 feet. On the further side of this pass we descended very gradually to a confined valley, where we crossed a frozen brook and started to climb a third pass, Hlan Go La, the height of which is about 17,200 feet. This was the longest and most arduous climb of all.
"FAIRIES' SCARF"
I observed that on the sloping sides of the ravines dividing these three ranges hundreds of acres of forest-land had been cruelly devastated by fire. During my journey from Tachienlu to Yunnan nothing puzzled me more than the extraordinary frequency of the forest fires, which must have destroyed many thousands of acres of magnificent timber. The natives say they are caused by careless travellers, who leave the glowing embers of their camp fires to be scattered by the wind; but, as many of the fires commence and burn themselves out in pathless regions where neither natives nor travellers ever set foot, the explanation was obviously unsatisfactory. Serious as the fires are, the forests have to contend with an enemy even more dangerous. No traveller in this region can fail to notice the pale green moss that swathes itself round the trunks and branches of firs and pines, and hangs in graceful festoons from tree to tree. This is the parasitic lichen known to botanists as usnea barbata, and popularly as the "fairies' scarf," which dooms any tree once caught in its pendulous net to gradual decay and ignominious death. In many places I saw hundreds of fine trees—the parasite attacks young trees as well as old—stark and dead, stripped of their bark, as if they had been struck by lightning, but still draped with the vampire-like lichen that had sucked them dry. It seems to spread rapidly from one tree to another; its streamers are sometimes several yards long, and in a dense forest it only requires a moderate breeze to blow the loose end of a streamer from a tree that is already dying to its still vigorous neighbour; and so the disease spreads. Apparently the only way to protect the forests would be to cut a "fire-belt" round every group of trees that had been attacked, and so isolate it from the rest. But forestry is an unknown science in the Chinese empire, and the Government does not seem to realise the value of its neglected forests. For want of a better explanation of the forest fires I hazard the suggestion that they may be caused spontaneously by friction between the dry branches of adjoining trees that have been killed by the "fairies' scarf."
The descent from the pass of Hlan Go La into the ravine below was steep and long. A large level plain occurs during the descent, and it is after traversing it that the descent becomes steepest. We found shelter for the night, after a very arduous march, in Gur Dja (Chinese Yin Cho), a hamlet of log-huts. Clearances have been made in the valley just below (for the hamlet is perched on the side of a ravine), and there are a few fields of barley and buckwheat.
Next day we again retraced our steps to a distance of 2 or 3 miles. Then we crossed the ravine and commenced a climb on the opposite side. As usual our climb lay at first through forest, then we plunged into the snow, and found it deeper and more troublesome than on any of the other passes. At about 16,500 feet we reached the summit of the pass known as Ri Go La. The descent was sudden and steep, not without its exciting moments, and we lost a mule. We proceeded downwards in a southerly and south-westerly direction and re-entered the forest. Thence we descended several thousand feet into a deep ravine. By the afternoon we had left the snows behind us and entered into a region characterised by a luxuriance of vegetation that was almost tropical. Among other plants and grasses there were great clusters of bamboo—fragile and feathery, and so thin that it could be bent between two fingers. It was also pleasant to come upon beautiful beds of primroses and flowering shrubs. As we neared the end of the stage we met with a light shower of rain—a sure sign that we were at a comparatively low elevation and drawing near the valley of the Yalung. The village of Pei T'ai, where we spent the night, lay at an elevation of about 10,000 feet. Just before reaching it we had a short climb of 800 or 1,000 feet over the small pass of Pu Ti La, which gave us no trouble. The village of Pei T'ai is the proud possessor of three gilded pinnacles which adorn the roof of a miniature lamasery. The headman's house, in which I was entertained, almost adjoins it.