On the 19th of August, leaving my tent standing, I started to visit the Karakoram pass, the limit of my journey to the northward. The country round my halting-place was open, except to the north, where a stream descended through a narrow valley from a range of hills, the highest part of which was apparently about 3000 feet above me. All the rivers had formed for themselves depressions in the platform of gravel which was spread over the plain. At first I kept on the south bank of the river close to which I had halted, but about a mile from camp I crossed a large tributary which descended from the south-west, and soon after, turning round the rocky termination of a low range of hills, entered a narrow valley which came from a little west of north-west. At the foot of the rocky point of the range were three very small huts, built against the rock as a place of shelter for travellers, in case of stormy or snowy weather; and bones of horses were here scattered about the plain in greater profusion than usual.
VEGETATION OF KARAKORAM
August, 1848.
I ascended this valley for about six miles: its width varied from 200 yards to about half a mile, gradually widening as I ascended. The slope was throughout gentle. An accumulation of alluvium frequently formed broad and gently sloping banks, which were cut into cliffs by the river. Now and then large tracts covered with glacial boulders were passed over; and several small streams were crossed, descending from the northern mountains through narrow ravines. About eight miles from my starting-point the road left the bank of the stream, and began to ascend obliquely and gradually on the sides of the hills. The course of the valley beyond where I left it continued unaltered, sloping gently up to a large snow-bed, which covered the side of a long sloping ridge four or five miles off. After a mile, I turned suddenly to the right, and, ascending very steeply over fragments of rock for four or five hundred yards, I found myself on the top of the Karakoram pass—a rounded ridge connecting two hills which rose somewhat abruptly to the height of perhaps 1000 feet above me. The height of the pass was 18,200 feet, the boiling-point of water being 180·8°, and the temperature of the air about 50°. Towards the north, much to my disappointment, there was no distant view. On that side the descent was steep for about 500 yards, beyond which distance a small streamlet occupied the middle of a very gently sloping valley, which curved gradually to the left, and disappeared behind a stony ridge at the distance of half a mile. The hills opposite to me were very abrupt, and rose a little higher than the pass; they were quite without snow, nor was there any on the pass itself, though large patches lay on the shoulder of the hill to the right. To the south, on the opposite side of the valley which I had ascended, the mountains, which were sufficiently high to exclude entirely all view of the lofty snowy mountain seen the day before, were round-topped and covered with snow. Vegetation was entirely wanting on the top of the pass, but the loose shingle with which it was covered was unfavourable to the growth of plants, otherwise, no doubt, lichens at least would have been seen. Large ravens were circling about overhead, apparently quite unaffected by the rarity of the atmosphere, as they seemed to fly with just as much ease as at the level of the sea.
The great extent of the modern alluvial deposit concealed in a great measure the ancient rocks. At my encampment a ridge of very hard limestone, dipping at a high angle, skirted the stream. Further up the valley a hard slate occurred, and in another place a dark blue slate, containing much iron pyrites, and crumbling rapidly when exposed to the atmosphere. Fragments of this rock were scattered over the plain in all states of decay. On the crest of the pass the rock in situ was limestone, showing obscure traces of fossils, but too indistinct to be determined; the shingle, which was scattered over the ridge, was chiefly a brittle black clay-slate.
On my return no plants were met with till I had almost reached the bank of the stream. The first species which occurred was a small purple-flowered Crucifera (Parrya exscapa of Meyer). Throughout the day the number of flowering plants observed was seventeen, of which three were grasses, three Saussureæ, and two Cruciferæ; there was also one species of each of the following genera, Aster, Nepeta, Gymnandra, Sedum, Lychnis, Potentilla, and Phaca; the dense-tufted Alsine, and a shrubby Artemisia with yellow flowers, complete the number. The only animals seen, besides ravens, were a bird about the size of a sparrow, a bright metallic-coloured carrion-fly, and a small dusky butterfly. Returning by the same road, I arrived at my tent a little after sunset, the distance from the top of the pass being about ten miles.
MURGAI RIVER.
August, 1848.
While travelling at these great elevations the weather was uniformly serene and beautiful. There was but little wind, and the sky was bright and cloudless. At night the cold was severe, and the edges of the streams were in the morning always frozen. On my return towards Sassar I found that the bright sunny weather which had continued since the 16th, had made a great alteration in the state of the stream in the wide gravelly valley along which the road ran. It was now impetuous and muddy, increasing considerably towards the afternoon, when it ran in several channels, which were not always easily fordable. In some places the gravel was throughout the whole width of the plain saturated with water, and gave way under the feet, so that it became necessary to ascend on the stony sloping banks on one side or other, instead of following the centre of the valley. At Murgai, on the evening of the 23rd of August, just after sunset, I felt three slight shocks of an earthquake. On that day the weather again became dull, and on the morning of the 24th there was a slight fall of snow for about an hour.
The remarkable open plain to the south of the Karakoram pass occupies a deep concavity in the great chain of the Kouenlun, which there appears to form a curve, the convexity of which looks northward. The main range to the eastward was distinctly visible, forming a range of snowless, but certainly very lofty, black peaks beyond the sources of the most eastern branch of the Shayuk; while the heavily-snowed mountains, the summits of which were seen further east, were probably also a part of the axis of the chain, which apparently bends round the sources of the river of Khoten, or of some stream draining the northern flanks of the Kouenlun. To the westward, no peaks rose behind the snowy ridge which terminated the western branch of the Shayuk a little west of the Karakoram pass, beyond which the surface probably dips, while the axis of the Kouenlun bends to the southward, towards the glaciers of the Nubra river.
SNOW LEVEL.
August, 1848.
In crossing the open plain on my return towards Sassar, I had the splendid snowy peaks to the south-west always in view, and was able to form a tolerable estimate of their appearance and elevation. The range was very heavily snowed, and from the lateness of the season but little additional thaw could be expected. What seemed the highest peak was very near, and its position could be determined by bearings with little risk of error. It rose abruptly in the midst of a great mass of snow, which filled the hollows and slopes of the range all around. The surface of the plain over which I was travelling sloped very gently up to the westward, and partly concealed the lower edge of the perpetual snow on the mountains behind, the limit of which was, I think, between 17,500 and 18,000 feet. To the northward and eastward the snow-line was certainly much higher. Here and there, where there was shade, there were patches below 18,000 feet, but even up to 20,000 feet there was no continuous snow. As the source of the snow-fall on these mountains is no doubt the Indian Ocean to the south-west, the gradual rise of the snow-level in advancing north-east, and the occurrence of the highest peaks, and of the greatest mass of snow on branches of the chain, and not on its main axis, are quite in accordance with what is usually the case throughout every part of the Himalaya.