In our camp of this day, situated on the north-west shore of the Amchok-tso, we heard Chinese and Tibetan officials spoken of who were shortly to ride through the country in all directions, counting the tents, people, and herds. It was thought that this inspection was connected with the new taxation which the Chinese intend to introduce.
My boat lay ready on the strand, for May 8 was to be devoted to an excursion on the Amchok-tso.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
TO THE OUTLET OF THE CHAKTAK-TSANGPO IN THE BRAHMAPUTRA
The lake was free from ice, and only on the northern shore some blocks rocked on the surf. A south-west wind swept constantly over the country, and there was no prospect of good weather. A dozen Tibetans followed me at a respectful distance. I begged them to come nearer and see us start. The boat was brought down to the water, Rehim Ali and Shukkur took their places, and Lama carried me to the boat through the slowly deepening water. A promontory to the south, 34° E., was fixed as our goal, and the oarsmen began their struggle with the waves. For the first hour the lake was so shallow that the oars struck the bottom and stirred up inky-black mud. Shukkur cries out in time with the oars, “Shubasa, ya aferin, bismillah, ya barkadiallah”—to cite only a few words of his inexhaustible repertoire. Rehim Ali’s oar gives me a splash as it dips in, but I am soon dry again in the wind. The swell stirs up the mud from the bottom, and the water is so shallow that the waves show a tendency to break even out in the middle of the lake.
| 209, 210. Angden-la, a Pass on the Trans-Himalaya. |
Now the sandspouts begin their threatening dance on the western shore, and in that direction the water gleams white. The storm sweeps over the Amchok-tso, and the two Mohammedans must put forth all their strength to force the boat forward against wind and water. The swell grows heavier, the depth is 7.9 feet, and the water assumes a greener hue. Shukkur Ali, our old fisherman, puts out his line, but nothing but floating algæ will bite. In several places are seen wild ducks, gulls, and wild geese. Nomads have just arrived and are putting up their tents in a gorge on the eastern shore. At length we reach the promontory, having sounded a maximum depth of only 12 feet.
After observations have been taken, a panorama sketched, and dinner eaten, we again set off in a northerly direction, and the boat dances before the brisk wind lightly as a wild duck over the waves. We sail past three more tents, sound 10.2 feet, and approach the northern shore, where the water is only 20 inches deep, and is a muddy soup. We run aground at a distance of 100 yards from the bank. Rabsang comes up running, leading my horse by the bridle, and some other Ladakis follow him. They help us to land, and light a much needed fire at the foot of the sand terrace which here rises from the bank.