There can be no doubt that the sudden alteration in the character of the vegetation is due to the great depression in the chain separating Tibet from Kashmir, at the Zoji pass, which is far below the usual level of the lowest parts of these mountains. The access of a great amount of humidity, which would have been condensed if the moisture-bringing winds had been obliged to pass over a lofty chain, makes the autumn partially rainy, and frequently cloudy, thereby diminishing the action of the sun's rays, and lowering the mean temperature of the summer.
On the 27th of September, I crossed the pass of Zoji La, which had now a very different aspect from that which it had presented in April. From Maten the road lay up a wide open valley with a scarcely perceptible ascent, generally along the edge of a small stream, but occasionally on the slope of the hill-sides. The valley was flat and often swampy; but the mountains on both sides, more particularly on the left, were high and abrupt, not unfrequently precipitous. On that side there were in most of the ravines large patches of snow, and in one there was a fine glacier, which stopped abruptly within a hundred yards of the main valley. Latterly a few patches of snow lay even in the open valley. The vegetation was almost entirely Kashmirian, not more than six or seven out of about 110 species being otherwise; the hill-sides were covered with brushwood, at first of willow and prickly juniper, but latterly principally of birch.
Five or six miles from Maten, the main branch of the stream was found to descend from a narrow ravine on the left, at the head of which there was perhaps a glacier. In the valley along which the road lay, there was scarcely any water in the bed of the stream, and about a mile further on, without any increase in the inclination, I came to a large patch of dirty snow, beyond which there was a very evident slope to the southward. The boiling-point of water here indicated an elevation of 11,300 feet. A few hundred yards further, I arrived at a large pond (it could hardly be called a lake), into which a very small rill of water was trickling from the north, while from the opposite end a stream ran towards the south. This little lake was not, as I had expected, on the crest of the pass, but undoubtedly on the Kashmirian side of it.
BALTAL.
September, 1848.
Beyond the lake, the descent became steep, and the valley contracted into a rocky ravine, full of snow, under which the little stream disappeared. The road was at first on the left side of the valley, but crossed on the snow at the commencement of the contracted part, and ascended rather abruptly a steep hill on the right through a very pretty grove of birch. The top of this steep ascent is usually considered by travellers as the pass, and is the place to which the name Zoji La properly belongs. The point of separation of the waters must of course, for geographical purposes, be considered as the actual pass, but this ridge, which, if not actually higher, is at all events on a level with it, and has in addition a steep ascent on both sides, has not unnaturally had that honour assigned to it. On reaching the shoulder of the ridge, the valley of Baltal came in sight, presenting, in the words of Moorcroft, "as if by magic, a striking contrast in its brown mountains and dark forests of tall pines to the bare rocks and few stunted willows to which we had so long been accustomed." The sight of a forest is certainly a great source of gratification to a traveller who has been long in Tibet; but the pleasing effect of the view from the Zoji pass is not owing merely to contrast; as the traveller looks down upon the bed of Sind river, more than 2000 feet below, and the forest in the valley is not too dense, but interspersed with open glades, while beyond rise high mountains tipped with snow. I do not think that I have anywhere in the Himalaya seen a more beautiful scene than that which then lay before me; but the effect was enhanced by the recollection of the appearance of the same spot in April, when the whole landscape was covered with snow, and I descended from the summit of the pass on a snow-bank which filled up the now inaccessible ravine, on account of which I was obliged to make a long detour. The descent was extremely abrupt, through a pretty wood, down to a log hut built for the accommodation of travellers a few hundred yards from the river, at an elevation of 9,200 feet.
The flora of the Sind valley at Baltal was very rich: the forest consisted chiefly of pine, poplar (P. ciliata), birch, and sycamore, intermixed with underwood of Ribes, Berberis, Viburnum, Lonicera, and Salix. The herbaceous vegetation had all that excessive luxuriance which characterizes the subalpine forests of the Himalaya at the end of the rainy season. Gigantic Compositæ, Labiatæ, Ranunculaceæ, and Umbelliferæ were the prevailing forms. There were several large patches of snow in the bed of the lateral torrent which descended from Zoji La, as low down as the log hut; and it was not a little curious to observe, that in spots from which the snow had only recently melted, the willows were just beginning to expand their buds, and the cherry, rhubarb, Thalictrum, Anemone, Fragaria, and other plants of early spring, were in full flower.
KASHMIR.
October, 1848.
In descending the Sind valley towards Kashmir, my route was the same by which I had travelled in April. The mountains on the left were extremely precipitous and heavily snowed, and in a ravine a little below Sonamarg a glacier descended almost to 9000 feet. The lower part of the valley was one sheet of cultivation, chiefly of rice, which was almost ripe. In the neighbourhood of Kashmir, where I arrived on the 5th of October, the season of vegetation was almost at an end; species of Nepeta, Eryngium, Daucus, Centaurea, Carpesium, and several Artemisiæ being the most remarkable of the herbaceous plants remaining. In the lake there were vast groves of Nelumbium leaves, but the flowers and fruit were both past; Salvinia was everywhere floating in great abundance; while the other aquatic plants were species of Bidens, Stachys, Mentha, Scutellaria, Hippuris, and Typha, all European or closely resembling European forms.
Besides rice, which constitutes the staple crop of the valley, the principal grains cultivated in autumn appeared to be different kinds of millet, and a good deal of maize; Indian species of Phaseolus also were common, now nearly ripe. The wheat and barley, which are much earlier, were already above ground. I saw a few fields of Sesamum (the Til of India), and in drier spots a good deal of cotton, which was being picked by hand, but appeared a poor stunted crop, much neglected.
On the high platforms between Pampur and Avantipura the saffron was in flower, and its young leaves were just shooting up. This crop seems a very remunerative one to the Raja, who retains the monopoly in his own hands, compelling the cultivators to sell the produce to him at a fixed price. The bulbs are allowed to remain in the ground throughout the year, and continue in vigour for eight or ten years, after which the produce diminishes so much in quantity that the beds are broken up, and the bulbs separated and replanted. The flowers are picked towards the end of October, and carried into the town of Kashmir, where the stigmas are extracted.