At the north-western bay we cross the old bed of the Sutlej, consisting of treacherous, quaking bog or dry, hard clay; it is broad, has no terraces, and has been much degraded and smoothed down by deflation and driftsand in later times. Two springs rise up in the middle, and flow in the direction of the lake. Westwards the bed seems quite level, but actually it rises slowly and evenly to a flat culmination, on the other side of which it dips down towards the Indus.

Now it had become dark, and we rode hour after hour among low hills and dunes and over meadows and water channels. I thought we had lost our way, when the bells of grazing cattle were heard, a fire appeared, and Rabsang came to meet us with a lantern in order to lead us to the village Parka, where my tent was set up in a courtyard.

During the much-needed day of rest we allowed ourselves in Parka, I negotiated now and then with the govas of the neighbourhood. They asked me to set off definitely for the west next day, and I promised to do so, but on the condition that I might stay three days in Khaleb, half a day’s journey to the west. They consented without inquiring into my further intentions. I wished, be it known, to pass round the holy mountain by the pilgrim road, but saw that the authorities would never grant their permission. It could be done only by stratagem.

Here I received a second very kind letter from Mr. Cassels, who happened to be in Gyanima on official business. Unfortunately the force of circumstances prevented us meeting. He gave me a pleasant surprise with three packets of tea, which were the more welcome as I had latterly had to put up with brick-tea.

Here also the truth of the report that had so long followed us, that six Chinese and Tibetan officials from Lhasa had been sent to bring me to reason, was at length made clear. The report was certainly true, but when the gentlemen on reaching Saka-dzong heard that I had marched on westwards some time before, they simply turned back again.

I obtained all kinds of information about the two lakes and their periodical outlets, from Tibetans who had long lived in the country. Four years before some water had flowed from Tso-mavang to Langak-tso, which confirms Ryder’s statement. Twelve years ago the outflow had been so abundant that the channel could not be passed except by the bridge. The channel is sometimes called Ngangga, sometimes Ganga. The water of Langak-tso is said to drain off underground, and to appear again at a place in the old bed called Langchen-kamba, and this water is said to be the true source of the Sutlej, and to find its way to the large streams which form this river, called in Tibetan Langchen-kamba. Twelve years and forty-eight years ago the spring in the old bed is said to have emitted much more water than now. Sherring collected similar data in 1905.

Langak-tso is said to have been so poisonous in former times that any one who drank of its water died, but since the holy fish broke through the isthmus and passed into the lake, the water has been sweet. Langak-tso freezes in the beginning of December, half a month sooner than its eastern neighbour, and the freezing proceeds slowly and in patches, whereas Tso-mavang freezes over in an hour. Langak-tso also breaks up half a month before Tso-mavang. Both have ice 3 feet thick. In winter the surface of Tso-mavang falls 20 inches beneath the ice, which consequently is cracked and fissured, and dips from the shore; but Langak-tso sinks only one or two thirds of an inch. This shows that it receives water constantly from the eastern lake, but only parts with a trifling quantity in winter.

With regard to the goose island, I was told that three men are commissioned by the Devashung to settle on the island as soon as the wild-geese arrive, to protect them from wolves and foxes. They receive 8 rupees, a sheep, and a lump of butter as wages. At this time, in May, the ice is still two feet thick, but the egg-gatherers must take care that they are not cut off from the mainland by a storm. Some years ago it happened that two watchmen were isolated on the island in this way. They lived there eight months, subsisting on eggs and green food, and returned over the ice next winter as soon as the lake was frozen over. But one of them was so enfeebled that he died on reaching Parka.

After a lively feast held by the Ladakis in the evening, we rode on September 2 north-westwards, accompanied by an old grey-headed gova, who had become a particular friend of mine. The weather was fine, but we now felt biting cold in the morning, much as at home on the islets off the coast when the yellow leaves have fallen and a thin sheet of ice has spread over the inlets. All Parka was on foot to witness our departure. With us set out a high lama whom I had known in Leh. His retinue looked well in their yellow dresses against the grey and green ground. He had been in Shigatse, and had lately made the circuit of the holy mountain. During the march we waded through the rivers Dam-chu, Sung-chu, La-chu, and Khaleb, which together carried about 350 cubic feet of water per second to Langak-tso.

The nearer we came to the holy mountain, the less imposing it appeared; it was finest from Langak-tso. In form it resembles a tetrahedron set on a prism. From the middle of its white top a belt of ice falls precipitously down, and below it stands a stalagmite of ice, on to which a thick stream of water pours from above. The stream splits up into glittering drops of spray and thin sheets of water—a grand spectacle, which one could watch with pleasure for hours.