FORT OF DRAS.
April, 1848.
On the 11th of April I reached the fort of Dras. For the last ten miles the snow lay continuously, and two or three feet deep, but there was always a clear path. The temperature being much above the freezing-point, the thaw proceeded rapidly. A good deal of Prangos, which is evidently a common wild plant (as it is also in many parts of Kashmir), was seen; the withered inflorescence projecting through the snow. I observed it also very abundantly in the hay, which is preserved in the villages, and seems to consist of all the plants of the meadows cut indiscriminately, and not of Prangos alone, as I had erroneously imagined.
MATEN.
April, 1848.
My former journey having terminated at Dras, the road in advance was new to me; but the whole country being still covered with snow, I could see little of the nature of the surface. The fort of Dras is about 10,000 feet above the sea: it is situated in an open, nearly level plain of some width, skirted by low hills. The higher mountains, which are several miles distant on both sides, are very steep. Several villages are scattered over the plain, at some distance from the fort, which stands alone, on the bank of a little stream, just before it joins the Dras river. Beyond Dras, the road to the pass having scarcely been used, there was no beaten path. In the morning the snow was hard and firm, and even in the afternoon, notwithstanding the warmth of the midday sun, the foot did not sink more than three or four inches. The depth of snow increased rapidly as I advanced. Two miles above the fort the plain contracts into a narrow valley, and the channel of the river becomes very rocky; the stream is also very rapid, and the slope of its bed evidently considerable. The valley again expands around the village of Pain Dras. Immediately beyond this I crossed the river on a bridge of snow, at least forty feet thick, which covered the river for more than a hundred yards. This snow-bed, which was continuous with the general level of the surface, was to all appearance quite solid. After a march of ten miles I encamped at Maten, the last village of Dras, a small group of stone huts half a mile from the river on its eastern bank, and immediately at the base of a very steep scarped mountain, which rises in precipices several thousand feet above the village. Maten I estimated, from the boiling-point of water, to be 10,700 feet above the sea.
ZOJI PASS.
April, 1848.
On the 13th of April I crossed the pass into Kashmir, starting, as the distance was said to be considerable, at about half-past two o'clock in the morning. The evening before had been dull, with irregular squalls of wind, so that the weather did not promise very favourably. It was very dark and quite calm at two A.M., and when I started it snowed slightly, but not enough to induce me to stop, as I hoped it would cease with daylight. Unfortunately, on the contrary, it increased rapidly, and by four o'clock was snowing heavily, and continued to do so till the afternoon. There was no wind, and the air was very mild, so that I suffered no inconvenience from cold. The surface of the snow, even in the morning, was a little soft, the cloudy night having prevented it from freezing. After four o'clock it snowed so heavily that the accumulation of fresh snow soon amounted to several feet, and we sank above the knee at every step. There was scarcely any slope, the road appearing quite horizontal. Before daylight my guides managed to lose their way, and we wandered for more than half an hour puzzled by our own footsteps. The compass was of no use, as I did not know the direction in which we ought to proceed, nor was it till after dawn that we recovered the road.
VALLEY OF THE SIND RIVER.
April, 1848.
After daylight there was no improvement in any respect, as the heavy snow completely obscured the view. The leaders of the party, however, seemed to recognize the outlines of the hills, as they held their course without hesitation. The valley was quite full of snow, which completely covered all irregularities of surface. The river was often quite covered by the mass of snow for distances of more than a furlong without interruption. Our path often crossed it; and, latterly, for several miles before gaining the crest of the pass, the stream was completely concealed.
About noon the snow fell more lightly, and we could see around. The width of the valley was from half a mile to a mile, and steep mountains rose on both sides to a considerable height, the peaks being, I should think, at least 16,000 feet. Patches of willow and juniper were seen on the sides of the hills. Still the road was to appearance quite level. The valley made several bends, and we turned finally to the right, before gaining the crest of the pass, to which there was a barely perceptible rise.
The descent was at first gradual, but soon became very steep, down a bank of snow, which filled the whole of a narrow ravine. The rocky walls on either side were at first bare, but soon became sprinkled with birch and pine. For two thousand feet below the summit of the pass the descent was uninterrupted, till I reached the banks of the Sind river, which flows through the northernmost valley of Kashmir, and is separated from the main valley by a lofty range of mountains. Here, on a level space separated by a little stream from pine-forest, I found a log-hut buried up to the roof in snow, which was heaped up round the building, probably from having been thrown off the roof. The snow at Baltal—for so this first halting-place on the Kashmir side of the Zoji pass is called—was not deep, probably little more than what had fallen during the day.