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MOUNT EVEREST

The Summit.

MOUNT EVEREST

THE RECONNAISSANCE, 1921
By
Lieut.-Col. C. K. HOWARD-BURY, D.S.O.
AND OTHER MEMBERS OF THE MOUNT EVEREST EXPEDITION
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO.
55 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.
1922

PREFACE

The Mount Everest Committee of the Royal Geographical Society and the Alpine Club desire to express their thanks to Colonel Howard-Bury, Mr. Wollaston, Mr. Mallory, Major Morshead, Major Wheeler and Dr. Heron for the trouble they have taken to write so soon after their return an account of their several parts in the joint work of the Expedition. They have thereby enabled the present Expedition to start with full knowledge of the results of the reconnaissance, and the public to follow the progress of the attempt to reach the summit with full information at hand.

The Committee also wish to take this opportunity of thanking the Imperial Dry Plate Company for having generously presented photographic plates to the Expedition and so contributed to the production of the excellent photographs that have been brought back.

They also desire to thank the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company for their liberality in allowing the members to travel at reduced fares; and the Government of India for allowing the stores and equipment of the Expedition to enter India free of duty.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LIST OF MAPS

INTRODUCTION

By Sir FRANCIS YOUNGHUSBAND, K.C.S.I., K.C.I.E.

The idea of climbing Mount Everest has been vaguely in men's mind for thirty or forty years past. Certainly that veteran mountain-climber and mountain-lover, Douglas Freshfield, had it persistently rising within him as he broke away from the Swiss Alps and subdued the giants of the Caucasus and then sought still higher peaks to conquer. Lord Curzon also had had it in his mind, and when Viceroy of India had written suggesting that the Royal Geographical Society and the Alpine Club should make a joint exploration of the mountain. Bruce, Longstaff and Mumm would have made this exploration in 1905 if the permission of the Nepalese and Tibetan Governments had been available. So also would Rawling a few years later. All these, and doubtless others, had contemplated at least a preliminary reconnaissance of Mount Everest.

But, so far as I know, the first man to propose a definite expedition to Mount Everest was the then Captain Bruce, who, when he and I were together in Chitral in 1893, proposed to me that we should make a glorious termination to a journey from Chinese Turkestan across Tibet by ascending Mount Everest. And it is Bruce who has held to the idea ever since and sought any opportunity that offered of getting at the mountain.

It stands to reason that men with any zest for mountaineering could not possibly allow Mount Everest to remain untouched. The time, the opportunity, the money, the ability to make the necessary preliminary preparation might be lacking, but the wish and the will to stand on the summit of the world's highest mountain must have been in the heart of many a mountaineer since the Alps have been so firmly trampled under foot. The higher climbers climb, the higher they want to climb. It is certain that they will never rest content till the proudest peaks of the Himalaya are as subdued and tamed as the once dreaded summits of the Alps now are.

Men simply cannot resist exercising and stretching to their fullest tether the faculties and aptitudes with which they each happen to be specially endowed. One born with an aptitude for painting is dull and morose and fidgety until he can get colours and a brush into his hand and commence painting. Another is itching to make things—to use his hands and fashion wood or stone or metal into forms which he is continually creating in his mind. Another is restless until he can sing. Another is ever pining to be on a public platform swaying the audience with his oratory and playing on their feelings as on a musical instrument. Each has his own inner aptitude which he aches to give vent to and bring into play. And more than this, he secretly owns within himself an exceedingly high standard—the highest standard—of what he wants to attain to along his own particular line, and he is never really content in his mind and at peace with himself when he is not stretching himself out to the full towards this high pinnacle which he has set before him.

Now fortunately all men are not born with the same aptitudes. We do not all want to sing or all want to orate or all want to paint. Some few want to climb mountains. These men love to pit themselves against what most others would consider an insuperable obstacle. They enjoy measuring themselves against it and being forced to exercise all their energies and faculties to overcome it. The Duke of the Abruzzi is as good an example of this type as I know. He was never happy until he had discovered some inaccessible and impracticable mountain and then thrown himself against it and come to grips with it in dead earnest and either conquered it or been thrown back from it utterly and completely exhausted, but with the satisfaction that anyhow he had exercised every nerve and muscle and faculty to the full. His native mountains he had early conquered over and over again, so he had to look further afield to Mount Elias in Alaska and Ruwenzori in East Africa; and having vanquished these he would doubtless have turned his eyes to Mount Everest if for political reasons the way to that mountain had not been barred, and he was compelled therefore to look to the next highest mountain, namely, the peak K2 in the Karakoram Himalaya in the neighbourhood of which he attained to a greater height, 24,600 feet, than has yet been attained by any man on foot.

The Duke no doubt is human and would like his name to go down to posterity as having conquered some conspicuously lofty and difficult peak. But undoubtedly the ruling passion with him would be this love of pitting himself against a great mountain and feeling that he was being forced to exert himself to the full. To such men a tussle with a mountain is a real tonic—something bracing and refreshing. And even if they are laid out flat by the mountain instead of standing triumphant on its summit they have enjoyed the struggle and would go back for another if they ever had the chance.

Others—like Bruce—climb from sheer exuberance of spirits. Blessed with boundless energy they revel in its exercise. It is only on the mountain side, breathing its pure air, buffeting against its storms, testing their nerve, running hair-breadth risks, exercising their intelligence and judgment, feeling their manhood and looking on Nature face to face and with open heart and mind that they are truly happy. For these men days on the mountain are days when they really live. And as the cobwebs in their brains get blown away, as the blood begins to course refreshingly through their veins, as all their faculties become tuned up and their whole being becomes more sensitive, they detect appeals from Nature they had never heard before and see beauties which are revealed only to those who win them. They may not at the moment be aware of the deepest impressions they are receiving. But to those who have struggled with them the mountains reveal beauties they will not disclose to those who make no effort. That is the reward the mountains give to effort. And it is because they have much to give and give it so lavishly to those who will wrestle with them that men love the mountains and go back to them again and again.

And naturally the mountains reserve their choicest gifts for those who stand upon their summits. The climber's vision is then no longer confined and enclosed. He can see now all round. His width of outlook is enlarged to its full extremity. He sees in every direction. He has a sense of being raised above the world and being proudly conscious that he has raised himself there by his own exertions, he has a peculiar satisfaction and for the time forgets all frets and worries in the serener atmosphere in which he now for a moment dwells.

And it is only for a moment that he can dwell there. For men cannot always live on the heights. They must come down to the plains again and engage in the practical life of the world. But the vision from the heights never leaves them. They want to return there. They want to reach a higher height. Their standard of achievement rises. And so it has come about that mountaineers when they had climbed the highest heights in Europe went off to the Caucasus, to the Andes, and eventually to the Himalaya to climb something higher still. Freshfield conquered the Caucasus, Whymper and Conway the Andes, and the assault upon the Himalaya is now in full swing.

It is therefore only in the natural course of things that men should want to climb the highest summit of the Himalaya. And though those who set out to climb Mount Everest will probably think little of the eventual results, being perfectly satisfied in their own minds, without any elaborate reasoning, that what they are attempting is something supremely worth while, yet it is easy for lookers on to see that much unexpected good will result from their activities. The climbers will be actuated by sheer love of mountaineering, and that is enough for them. But climbing Mount Everest is no futile and useless performance of no satisfaction to anyone but the climbers. Results will follow from it of the highest value to mankind at large.

For the climbers are unwittingly carrying out an experiment of momentous consequence to mankind. They are testing the capacity of the human race to stand the highest altitudes on this earth which is its home. No scientific man, no physiologist or physician, can now say for certain whether or not a human body can reach a height of 29,000 feet above the sea. We know that in an aeroplane he can be carried up to a much greater height. But we do not know whether he can climb on his own feet such an altitude. That knowledge of men's capacity can only be acquired by practical experiment in the field.

And in the process of acquiring the knowledge a valuable result will ensue. By testing their capacities men actually increase them. By exercising their capacities to the full mountaineers seem to enlarge them. A century ago the ascent of Mount Blanc seemed the limit of human capacity. Nowadays hundreds ascend the mountain every year. And going further afield men ascended the highest peaks in the Caucasus and then in the Andes and have been reaching higher and higher altitudes in the Himalaya. Conway reached 23,000 feet, Kellas 23,186 feet, Longstaff 23,360 feet, Dr. Workman 23,000 feet, Kellas and Meade 23,600 feet and the Duke of the Abruzzi 24,600 feet. It looks therefore as if man by attempting more was actually making himself capable of achieving more. By straining after the highest he is increasing his capacity to attain it.

In this measuring of themselves against the mountains men are indeed very like puppies crawling about and testing their capacities on their surroundings—crawling up on to some obstacle, tumbling back discomfited but returning gallantly to the attack and at last triumphantly surmounting it. Thus do they find out what they can do and how they stand in relation to their surroundings. Also by exercising and stretching their muscles and faculties to the full they actually increase their capacity.

Men are still only in the puppy stage of existence. We are prone to think ourselves very “grown up” but really we are only in our childhood. In the latest discussions as to the period of time which must have elapsed since life first appeared upon this earth a period of the order of a thousand million years was named. But of that immense period man has been in existence for only a quarter or half a million years. So the probability is that he has still long years before him and must be now only in his childhood—in his puppyhood. We certainly find that as he inquisitively looks about his surroundings and measures himself against them he is steadily increasing his mastery over them. In the last five hundred years record after record has been beaten. Men have ventured more and shown more adaptability and a sterner hardihood and endurance than ever before. They have ventured across the oceans, circumnavigated the globe, reached the poles, risen into the air, and it can be only a question of time—a few months or a few years—before they reach the highest summit of the earth.

“What then?” some will ask. “Suppose men do reach the top of Mount Everest, what then?” “Suppose we do establish the fact that man has the capacity to surmount the highest summit of his surroundings, of what good is that knowledge?” This is the kind of question promoters of the enterprise continually have to answer. One reply is obvious. The sight of climbers struggling upwards to the supreme pinnacle will have taught men to lift their eyes unto the hills—to raise them off the ground and direct them, if only for a moment, to something pure and lofty and satisfying to that inner craving for the worthiest which all men have hidden in their souls. And when they see men thrown back at first but venturing again and again to the assault till with faltering footsteps and gasping breaths they at last reach the summit they will thrill with pride. They will no longer be obsessed with the thought of what mites they are in comparison with the mountains—how insignificant they are beside their material surroundings. They will have a proper pride in themselves and a well-grounded faith in the capacity of spirit to dominate material.

And direct practical results flow from this increasing confidence which man is acquiring in face of the mountains. A century ago Napoleon's crossing of the Alps was thought an astounding feat. During the last thirty years troops—and Indian troops—have been moved about the Himalaya in all seasons and crossed passes over 15,000 feet above sea level in the depth of winter. On the Gilgit frontier, in Chitral, and in Tibet, neither cold nor snow nor wind stopped them. In winter or in summer, in spring or in autumn, they have faced the Himalayan passes. And they have been able to negotiate them successfully because of their increased knowledge of men's capacities and of the way to overcome difficulties that constant wrestling with mountains in all parts of the world during the last half-century has given. The activities of the Alpine Club have produced direct practical results in the movement of troops in the Himalaya.

More still will follow. When men have proved that they can surmount the highest peak in the Himalaya they will take heart to climb other peaks and become more and more at home in that wonderful region, extending for nigh two thousand miles from the Roof of the World in the North and West to the borders of Burma and China in the South and East and containing more than seventy peaks over 24,000 feet in height—that is higher than any in the Andes, the second highest range of mountains in the world—and more than eleven hundred peaks over 20,000 feet in height. This great mountain region which in Europe would stretch from Calais to the Caspian is one vast mine of beauty of every varied description. And a mine of beauty has this advantage over a mine of material wealth—that we can never exhaust it. And not only can we never exhaust it, but the more we take out the more we find, and the more we give away the richer we are. We may go on digging into a gold mine, but eventually we shall find there is no gold left. We shall have exhausted our mine. But we may dig into that mine of beauty in the Himalaya and never exhaust it. The more we dig the more we shall find—richer beauty, subtler beauty, more varied beauty—beauty of mountain form and beauty of pure and delicate colour, beauty of forest, beauty of river and beauty of lake and combined beauty of rushing torrent, precipitous cliff, richest vegetation and overtopping snowy summit. And when we have discovered these treasures and made them our own we can actually increase their value to ourselves by giving them away to others. By imparting to others the enjoyment which we have felt we shall have increased our own enjoyment.

We cannot expect those who are first engaged in climbing Mount Everest to have the time or inclination to observe and describe the full beauty there is. They will be set on overcoming the physical difficulties and they will be so exhausted for the moment by the effort they will have made that they will not have the repose of mind which is so necessary for seeing and depicting beauty. But when they have pioneered the way and beaten down a path, others will more leisurely follow after. Many even of these may not be able to express in words or in picture the enjoyment they have felt and be able to communicate it to others. They may not be given to public speech or writing and may have no capacity for painting. The flame of their enjoyment may be kept sacred and hidden within them, and it may be only in the privacy of colloquy with some kindred soul that the white glow of their enjoyment may ever be shown. But, others there may be who have the capacity for making the world at large share with them some little of the joy they have felt—who can make our nerves tingle and our blood course quicker, our eyes uplift themselves and our outlook widen as we go out with them to face and overcome the mountains. Such men as these from their very intimacy with the mountains are able to point out beauties which distant beholders would never suspect. And as Leslie Stephen through his love of mountains has been able to attract thousands to the Alps and given them enjoyment, clean and fresh, which but for him they might never have known, so we hope that in the fulness of time a greater Stephen will tell of the unsurpassable beauty of the Himalaya and by so doing add appreciably to the enjoyment of human life.

Such are some of the advantages which men in general will obtain from the attempt to climb Mount Everest. But it is time now to say something of the mountain itself.

Mount Everest for its size is a singularly shy and retiring mountain. It hides itself away behind other mountains. On the north side, in Tibet, it does indeed stand up proudly and alone, a true monarch among mountains. But it stands in a very sparsely inhabited part of Tibet, and very few people ever go to Tibet. From the Indian side only its tip appears among a mighty array of peaks which being nearer look higher. Consequently for a long time no one suspected Mount Everest of being the supreme mountain not only of the Himalaya but of the world. At the time when Hooker was making his Himalayan journeys—that was in 1849—Kanchenjunga was believed to be the highest.

How it was eventually discovered to be the highest is a story worth recording. In the very year that Hooker was botanising in the Sikkim Himalaya the officers of the Great Trigonometrical Survey were making observations from the plains of India to the peaks in Nepal which could be seen from there. When they could find a native name for a peak they called it by that name. But in most cases no native name was forthcoming, and in those cases a Roman number was affixed to the peak. Among these unnamed peaks to which observations to determine the altitude and position were taken from stations in the plains was Peak XV. The observations were recorded, but the resulting height was not computed till three years later, and then one day the Bengali Chief Computer rushed into the room of the Surveyor-General, Sir Andrew Waugh, breathlessly exclaiming, “Sir! I have discovered the highest mountain in the world.” The mean result of all the observations taken from the six stations from which Peak XV had been observed came to 29,002 feet, and this Peak XV is what is now known as Mount Everest.

The question is often asked, “Why twenty-nine thousand and two?” “Why be so particular about the two?” The answer is that that particular figure is the mean of many observations. But it is not infallible. It is indeed in all probability below rather than above the mark, and a later computation of the observed results puts the height at 29,141 feet. In any case, however, there are, as Sir Sidney Burrard has pointed out in his discussion of this point in Burrard and Hayden's Himalaya and Tibet, many causes of slight error in observing and computing the altitude of a distant and very lofty peak. The observations are made with a theodolite. The telescope of the theodolite may not be absolutely perfect. The theodolite may not be levelled with perfect accuracy. The graduations on the circle of the theodolite may not be quite accurate. The observer himself may not have observed with sufficient perfection. An error of ten feet may have resulted from these causes. Then there are other and greater sources of possible error. There may be error in the assumed height of the observing station; and the altitudes of peaks are always varying in nature with the increase and decrease of snow in summer and winter and in a season of heavy snowfall or a season of light snowfall. Another source of error arises from the varying effects of gravitational attraction. “The attraction of the great mass of the Himalaya and Tibet,” says Burrard, “pulls all liquids towards itself, as the moon attracts the ocean and the surface of the water assumes an irregular form at the foot of the Himalaya. If the ocean were to overflow Northern India its surface would be deformed by Himalayan attraction. The liquid in levels is similarly affected and theodolites cannot consequently be adjusted; their plates when levelled are still tilted upward towards the mountains, and angles of observation are too small by the amount the horizon is inclined to the tangential plane. At Darjeeling the surface of water in repose is inclined about 35̎ to this plane, at Kurseong about 51̎, at Siliguri about 23̎, at Dehra Dun and Mussooree about 37̎. For this reason all angles of elevation to Himalayan peaks measured from the plains, as Mount Everest was measured, are too small and consequently all our values of Himalayan heights are too small. Errors of this nature range from 40 to 100 feet.”

This then is a considerable source of error, but the most serious source of uncertainty affecting the value of heights is the refraction of the atmosphere. A ray of light from a peak to an observer's eye does not travel along a straight line but assumes a curved path concave to the earth. The ray enters the observer's eye in a direction tangential to the curve at that point, and this is the direction in which the observer sees the peak. It makes the peak appear too high. Corrections have therefore to be applied. But there is no certainty as to what should be the amount of the correction; and it is now believed that the computers of the height of Mount Everest applied too great a correction for refraction and consequently reduced its height too much.

Burrard brings together in the following table the different errors to which the carefully determined height of Mount Everest is liable:—

The following table shows how the different values of the height of Mount Everest have been deduced:—

Height of Mount Everest

The height 29,141 is still, Burrard thinks, too small, as it has yet to be corrected for the deviations of gravity. But though it is a more reliable result than 29,002, the latter is still to be retained in maps and publications of the Survey of India.

As to the name, it was called Everest after the distinguished Surveyor-General of India under whose direction the triangulation had been carried out, one result of which was the discovery of the mountain. From the Indian side and Nepal it is not a conspicuous peak on account of its lying so far back. No native name for it could be discovered and Sir Andrew Waugh, the successor of Sir George Everest, called it after his predecessor. From the Tibetan side it is much more conspicuous and, as General Bruce stated in his lecture to the Royal Geographical Society in November 1920, and as Colonel Howard-Bury found in 1921, the Tibetans call it Chomolungma, which Colonel Howard-Bury translated, the “Goddess Mother of the Mountains”—a most appropriate name. But the name Mount Everest is now so firmly established throughout the world that it would be impossible to change it. It is therefore now definitely adopted.

Now, this mountain so coveted by mountaineers is unfortunately situated exactly on the border between two of the most secluded countries in the world—Nepal and Tibet. To reach it the climbers must pass through one or other of these countries and the difficulty of getting the necessary permission is what has so far prevented any attempt being made to attack Mount Everest. But recently access through Tibet has become more possible, and it so happens that it is on the Tibetan side that the summit seems most accessible. From the distant views that could be obtained of it from Sandakphu beyond Darjeeling and from Kampa Dzong in Tibet, a ridge running from the summit in a northerly direction seemed to give good promise of access. Major Ryder and Captain Rawling in 1904, viewing the mountain from a distance of sixty miles almost due north, thought the mountain might be approached from that direction. At the same time the Tibetans were distinctly more favourable to travellers than they had ever been before. The chances therefore of at least exploring Mount Everest were much more promising, and Major Rawling was planning an expedition of exploration when the war broke out and he was killed.

Mr. Douglas Freshfield would certainly have taken the matter up during his Presidency of the Royal Geographical Society, but he had the misfortune to hold that post during the years of the war and no action was possible. But as soon as the war was over interest in Mount Everest revived. In March 1919 Captain J. B. L. Noel read a paper to the Royal Geographical Society describing a reconnaissance he had made in the direction of the mountain in the year 1913. He showed how attention during the last few years had been focused more and more upon the Himalaya and said, “Now that the Poles have been reached, it is generally felt that the next and equally important task is the exploration and mapping of Mount Everest.” So he urged that the exploration which had been the ambition of the late General Rawling with whom he was to have joined should be accomplished in his memory. “It cannot be long,” he continued, “before the culminating summit of the world is visited and its ridges, valleys and glaciers are mapped and photographed.” And at the conclusion of his lecture he said that “some day the political difficulties will be overcome and a fully equipped expedition must explore and map Mount Everest.”

It was not clear whether Captain Noel was advocating a definite attempt to climb the mountain and reach the actual summit, and Mr. Douglas Freshfield and Dr. Kellas who followed after him referred only to the approaches to Mount Everest. But Captain J. P. Farrar, the then President of the Alpine Club, seems to have considered it “a proposal to attempt the ascent of Mount Everest,” and said that the Alpine Club took the keenest interest in the proposal and was prepared not only to lend such financial aid as was in its power, but also to recommend two or three young mountaineers quite capable of dealing with any purely mountaineering difficulties which were likely to be met with on Mount Everest.

The hour was late, but I was so struck by the ring of assurance and determination in the words of the President of the Alpine Club that I could not help asking the President, Sir Thomas Holdich, to let me say a few words. I then told how General Bruce had made to me, twenty-six years ago, the proposal to climb Mount Everest. I said the Royal Geographical Society was interested in the project and now we had heard the President of the Alpine Club say that he had young mountaineers ready to undertake the work. I added, “It must be done.” There might be one or two attempts before we were successful, but the first thing to do was to get over the trouble with our own Government. If they were approached properly by Societies like the Royal Geographical Society and the Alpine Club, and a reasonable scheme were put before them and it were proved to them that we meant business, then, I said, they would be reasonable and do what we wanted. This was a big business and must be done in a big way and I hoped that something really serious would come of that meeting.[1]

Sir Thomas Holdich in closing the meeting advocated approaching Mount Everest through Nepal, and hoped that at some time not very remote we should hear more about the proposed expedition to Mount Everest.

Only a few days after the meeting I met Colonel Howard-Bury at lunch with a Fellow of our Society, Mr. C. P. McCarthy. He was not a mountaineer in the Alpine Club sense of the word, but he had spent much of his time shooting in the Alps and in the Himalaya, and becoming deeply interested in the Mount Everest project, had a talk with Mr. Freshfield about it and made a formal application to the Society for their support in undertaking an expedition. Things now began to move, and the Society applied to the India Office for permission to send an expedition into Tibet for the purpose of exploring Mount Everest. The Government of India in reply said that they were not prepared at the moment to approach the Tibetan Government; but they did not return any absolute refusal.

During my Presidency the Society, in conjunction with the Alpine Club, still further pressed the matter. We asked the Secretary of State for India to receive a deputation from the two bodies, and the request being granted and the deputation being assured of his sympathy we invited Colonel Howard-Bury to proceed to India in June 1920 to explain our wishes personally to the Government of India, and ask them to obtain for us from the Dalai Lama the necessary permission to enter Tibet for the purpose of exploring and climbing Mount Everest. Lord Chelmsford, the Viceroy, received Colonel Howard-Bury most sympathetically and after some preliminary difficulties had been overcome, Mr. Bell, the Political Agent in Sikkim, who happened to be in Lhasa, was instructed to ask the Dalai Lama for permission, and Mr. Bell being on most friendly terms with His Holiness, permission was at once granted.

The one great obstacle in the way of approaching Mount Everest had now at last been removed. What so many keen mountaineers had for years dreamed of was within sight. And as soon as the welcome news arrived—early in January 1921—preparations were commenced to organise an expedition. A joint Committee of three representatives each from the Royal Geographical Society and the Alpine Club was formed under the Chairmanship of the President of the former Society and was named the Mount Everest Committee. The three members of the Society were Sir Francis Younghusband, Mr. E. L. Somers-Cocks (Honorary Treasurer) and Colonel Jack. The three members of the Alpine Club were Professor Norman Collie, Captain J. P. Farrar and Mr. C. F. Meade. Mr. Eaton and Mr. Hinks were Honorary Secretaries.

Our first business was to select a leader for the Expedition. General Bruce, who had had the idea in his mind for so many years, who knew the Himalaya as no one else did, and who had a special aptitude for handling Himalayan people, was now in England, and it was to him our thoughts first turned. But he had just taken up an appointment with the Glamorganshire Territorial Association and was not then available. In these circumstances we were fortunate in having ready to hand a man with such high qualifications as Colonel Howard-Bury. He had much to do on his property in Ireland, but he willingly accepted our invitation to lead the Expedition, and we could then proceed to the choice of the mountaineers.

From the very first we decided that the main object of the Expedition was to be the ascent of the mountain and that all other activities were to be made subordinate to the supreme object of reaching the summit. It was to be no mere surveying or geologising or botanising expedition which would as a secondary object try to climb the mountain if it saw a chance. To climb the mountain was to be the first object and the mapping and everything else was to come afterwards. The reason for this is obvious. What men really want to know is whether man can ascend the highest mountain.

Knowledge of the topography, fauna and flora of that particular area is of very small consequence in comparison with the knowledge of human capacity to surmount the highest point in men's physical surroundings on this earth. By some perversity of human nature there are men who shy at putting the ascent of Mount Everest in the forefront, because it is adventurous and must therefore, they seem to think, cease to be a scientific object. They profess to be unconcerned with the climbing of the mountain so long as a map is made or plants collected. But the plain man instinctively sees the value of the adventure and knows that the successful ascent of Mount Everest will show what man is capable of and put new hope and heart into the human race.

But while it was decided to make the ascent of Mount Everest the main object of the Expedition, Professor Norman Collie and Mr. Douglas Freshfield from the first insisted that a whole season must be devoted to a thorough reconnaissance of the mountain with a view to finding not only a feasible route to the summit but what was without any doubt the most feasible route. We knew nothing of the immediate approaches to the mountain. But we knew that the only chance of reaching the summit was by finding some way up which would entail little rock-climbing or ice step-cutting. The mountain had therefore to be prospected from every side to find a comparatively easy route and to make sure that no other easier route than the one selected existed. This was considered ample work for the Expedition for one season, while the following season would be devoted to an all-out effort to reach the summit along the route selected in the first year.

On this basis the first year's Expedition had accordingly to be organised. The mountain party was to consist of four members, two of whom were to be men of considerable experience and two younger men who it was hoped would form the nucleus of the climbing party the next year. Mr. Harold Raeburn, a member of the Alpine Club who had had great experience of snow and rock work in the Alps, and who had in 1920 been climbing on the spurs of Kanchenjunga, was invited to lead the mountain party. Dr. Kellas, who had made several climbing expeditions in the Himalaya and had in 1920 ascended to a height of 23,400 feet on Mount Kamet, was also invited to join the climbing party. He had been making experiments in the use of oxygen at high altitudes and was still out in India preparing to continue these experiments on Mount Kamet in 1921. It was suggested to him that he should make the experiments on Mount Everest instead, and the party would thereby have the benefit of his wide Himalayan experience. This invitation he accepted.

The two younger members selected for the climbing party were Mr. George Leigh Mallory and Captain George Finch, both with a very high reputation for climbing in the Alps. Unfortunately Captain Finch was for the time indisposed and his place at the last moment had to be taken by Mr. Bullock of the Consular Service, who had been at Winchester with Mr. Mallory and who happened to be at home on leave. Through the courtesy of Lord Curzon he was able to get special leave of absence from the Foreign Office.

While we were finding the men we had also to be finding the money. As a quite rough guess we estimated the Expedition for the two years would cost about £10,000, and at least a substantial portion of this had to be raised by private subscription. Appeals were made by their Presidents to the Fellows of the Royal Geographical Society and to members of the Alpine Club, and Captain Farrar was especially energetic in urging the claims of the enterprise. As a result the members of the Alpine Club subscribed over £3,000 and the Fellows of the Royal Geographical Society nearly that amount. Later on with the advice and help of Mr. John Buchan arrangements were made with The Times and the Philadelphia Ledger for the purchase of the rights of publication of telegrams from the Expedition, and with the Graphic for the purchase of photographs. So eventually the financial position of the Expedition was assured.

The equipment and provisioning of the Expedition was undertaken by the Equipment Committee—Captain Farrar and Mr. Meade—and the greatest trouble was taken to ensure that the most suitable and best tents, sleeping bags, clothing, boots, ice-axes, ropes, cooking apparatus, provisions, etc., were purchased and that they were properly packed and listed.

In the same way the scientific equipment was undertaken by Colonel Jack and Mr. Hinks.

Finally the services of Mr. Wollaston, well known for his journeys in New Guinea and East Africa, were secured as Medical Officer and Naturalist to the Expedition.

Throughout these preparations the advice and help of the best men in every line were freely and willingly forthcoming. For such an enterprise all were ready to give a helping hand. Whether they were scientific men, or business men or journalists, they were ready to throw aside their own work and devote hours to ensuring that the Expedition should be a success along the lines on which they severally had most experience.

And most valuable was the encouragement given to the Expedition by the interest which His Majesty showed in conversation with the President, and His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales in receiving Colonel Howard-Bury—an interest which was shown in practical form by generous subscriptions to the funds of the Expedition.

The Expedition was able, therefore, to set out from England under the most favourable auspices, and it was to be joined in India by two officers of the Indian Survey Department, Major Morshead and Major Wheeler, and by an officer of the Indian Geological Survey, Dr. Heron. It was thus admirably equipped for the acquirement of knowledge. But acquirement of knowledge was not the only object which the Expedition had in view. It could not be doubted that the region would possess beauty of exceptional grandeur. So it was hoped that the Expedition would discover, describe and reveal to us, by camera and by pen, beauty no less valuable than the knowledge.

Footnote:

[1] In the enthusiasm of the moment I seem to have displayed a regrettable excess of “nationalism”! According to the record, I expressed the hope that it would be an Englishman who first stood on the summit of Mount Everest. I trust my foreign friends will excuse me! I have this at least to plead in extenuation, that if I have always striven for my own countrymen when they led the way, I have never been backward in helping explorers of other nationalities whom I have met in the Himalaya; and I have received the thanks of both the French and Italian Governments for the help I have given to French and Italian explorers.

THE NARRATIVE OF THE EXPEDITION
By
LIEUT.-COL. C. K. HOWARD-BURY, D.S.O.

CHAPTER I

FROM DARJEELING THROUGH SIKKIM

Early in May most of the members of the Expedition had assembled at Darjeeling. Mr. Raeburn had been the first to arrive there in order to collect as many coolies of the right type as he could. I had come out a few weeks earlier in order to visit the Indian Authorities at Simla and to make sure that there were no political difficulties in the way. There I found every one very kind and helpful and all were anxious to do their best to assist the Expedition. Owing to the heavy deficit in the Indian Budget, the expenses of every Department had been rigorously cut down, and the Government of India were unable to give us financial assistance. They agreed, however, to take upon themselves the whole of the expenses of the survey, and to lend the Expedition the services of an officer of the Geological Department. The Viceroy, Lord Reading, who, together with Lady Reading, took the greatest interest in the Expedition, kindly gave us a subscription of 750 rupees, and at Darjeeling the Governor of Bengal, Lord Ronaldshay, had not only put up several members of the Expedition at his most comfortable house, but had also given the Expedition several rooms in which to collect their stores for separation and division into loads. Local stores, such as tea, sugar, flour and potatoes had to be bought on the spot. Coolies had to be collected and arrangements made for fitting them out with boots and warm clothing. The coolies were to receive pay at the rate of 12 annas per day while in Sikkim, and when in Tibet were to receive another 6 annas per day, either in cash or the equivalent in rations. The former proved the most acceptable eventually, except during the period when the coolies were up on the glaciers, where there were no villages and consequently nothing could be bought.

A passport had been sent to us by the Government at Lhasa under the seal of the Prime Minister of Tibet, of which the following is a translation:—

To
The Jongpens and Headmen of Pharijong, Ting-ke, Khamba and Kharta.

You are to bear in mind that a party of Sahibs are coming to see the Chha-mo-lung-ma mountain and they will evince great friendship towards the Tibetans. On the request of the Great Minister Bell a passport has been issued requiring you and all officials and subjects of the Tibetan Government to supply transport, e.g. riding ponies, pack animals and coolies as required by the Sahibs, the rates for which should be fixed to mutual satisfaction. Any other assistance that the Sahibs may require either by day or by night, on the march or during halts, should be faithfully given, and their requirements about transport or anything else should be promptly attended to. All the people of the country, wherever the Sahibs may happen to come, should render all necessary assistance in the best possible way, in order to maintain friendly relations between the British and Tibetan Governments.

Dispatched during the Iron-Bird Year.
Seal of the Prime Minister.

Our start had been originally arranged for the middle of May, but the “Hatarana,” in which were most of our stores, was unable to obtain a berth, as accommodation in the Docks at Calcutta was very insufficient for the large number of steamers that call there; she had therefore to lie out in the Hoogly for a fortnight before she could get room in the Docks. However, by May 11 everything was unloaded at Calcutta. The Darjeeling-Himalayan Railway had generously given the Expedition a free pass over their line for all stores and goods, and as the Customs had granted a free entry into the country, everything was up in Darjeeling by May 14. The time of waiting at Darjeeling had, however, not been wasted. Four cooks had been engaged for the Expedition and some forty coolies. These were Sherpa Bhotias, whose homes were in the North-east corner of Nepal, some of them coming from villages only a few miles to the South of Mount Everest. They were an especially hardy type of coolie, accustomed to living in a cold climate and at great heights. They were Buddhists by religion and therefore had no caste prejudices about food, and could eat anything. They proved at times quarrelsome and rather fond of strong drink; they turned out, however, to be a useful and capable type of man, easily trained in snow and ice work and not afraid of the snow. We later on picked up a few Tibetan coolies in the Chumbi Valley and these proved to be as good as the best of the Sherpas. They were very hardy and got on well with the Tibetans, who were always rather suspicious of our Nepalese coolies. They were also less troublesome to manage and could carry heavy loads at great heights. These coolies had all to be fitted with boots and very difficult this sometimes proved to be, as often their feet were almost as broad as they were long. Blankets, cap comforters, fur gloves and warm clothing were issued to all of them, and for those who had to sleep at the highest camps, eiderdown sleeping-bags were also taken. Arrangements had also to be made for interpreters to accompany the Expedition, as with the exception of Major Morshead, who knew a little Tibetan, no one was able to speak the language. It was a matter of great importance to get hold of the right type of man as interpreter. It was essential to find men of some position and standing who knew not only the Tibetan language, but also all their ways and customs. After many names had been suggested, we were very lucky in getting hold of two men who possessed these qualifications to a great extent. Gyalzen Kazi, who came from Gangtok in Sikkim, where he was a Kazi and landowner, was a young and ambitious man who knew the Tibetan language well and was well read in their sacred writings and scriptures. The other one, Chheten Wangdi, was a Tibetan who had been for a time a captain in the Tibetan army, and who had left them and been attached to the Indian army in Egypt during the war. He was a most energetic, hard-working man, knew all the Tibetan manners and customs, and was up to all their tricks of procrastination and attempts at overcharging. By his knowledge and persuasive powers the Expedition was saved many thousand rupees.

The Expedition when it left Darjeeling included nine Europeans. The Alpine climbers were Mr. Harold Raeburn, Dr. A. M. Kellas, Mr. G. L. Mallory and Mr. C. H. Bullock. Dr. Kellas had unfortunately in the early spring of this year tried his constitution very severely by climbing Narsing,[2] and he had also spent several nights at very low temperatures in camps over 20,000 feet, on the slopes of Kabru,[2] so that when he arrived at Darjeeling a few days before the Expedition was due to start, he was not in as fit a condition as he should have been. The two Surveyors were Major H. T. Morshead, D.S.O., and Major O. E. Wheeler, M.C. These officers had been lent by the Survey of India. Major Morshead had already a considerable experience of travelling in the Eastern borders of Tibet and in the Kham country, where he had carried out some useful survey work, and under him were three native surveyors, one of whom was left in Sikkim to revise the existing maps, which were very inaccurate, while the other two, Gujjar Singh and Lalbir Singh, accompanied the Expedition and filled in all the details of the country traversed on their plane tables at a scale of 4 miles to the inch. Major O. E. Wheeler, the other Surveyor, was a member of the Canadian Alpine Club and a very keen climber himself. He was an expert in the Canadian system of Photo Survey—a method especially useful and applicable to a difficult and mountainous country. The Indian Government had also lent the Expedition the services of Dr. A. M. Heron, of the Geological Survey of India, in order to study the geology of the country through which it was about to go, and about which nothing was known, and to investigate the problems which surround the age and the structure of the Himalayan range. Besides these, there was Mr. A. F. Wollaston, a member of the Alpine Club and a very distinguished traveller as well, who had made some most interesting journeys around Ruwenzori in Africa and in the interior of New Guinea. He accompanied the Expedition in the capacity of Doctor, Naturalist and Botanist, and was equipped with a complete collector's outfit.

During our time of enforced waiting at Darjeeling, we came in for the Lebong races—a unique and very amusing entertainment. The course is a small circular one, where the top of the Lebong spur has been levelled, and only genuine Tibetan and Bhotia ponies are allowed to race there. There were always large entries for these races, as they were very popular among the hill-folk, who flocked into Darjeeling from great distances, dressed in their finest clothes and with their women covered with jewellery and wearing clothing of brilliant shades of green and red. There was very heavy betting on each race, and the amount of money that the coolies, sirdars or servants were able to put up was astonishing. In most of the races there was at least a field of ten, which made the start a very amusing affair. The jockeys were all hill-boys, and as they and the ponies were up to every dodge and trick, and were equally anxious to get off first, and as most of the ponies had mouths of iron, it was always a long time before a start could be made, and in nearly every race one or more of the ponies would run out of the course at the point nearest its own home.

On May 13 Major Morshead with his assistant surveyors and fifty coolies left Darjeeling for Khamba Dzong. They went the direct road up the Teesta Valley correcting the Sikkim map as they went along. Their object in going this way was to connect the Indian Survey with the new survey that it was proposed to carry out in Tibet. This would occupy all Major Morshead's time until we should be able to join him at Khamba Dzong in June.

The chief transport of the Expedition consisted of 100 mules belonging to the Supply and Transport Corps and lent to us by the Commander-in-Chief. These arrived at Darjeeling a few days before we were due to start and were camped in the open on the old parade ground at the top of Katapahar. Sub-Conductor Taylor, who had already had experience of mule transport in Tibet in 1904–5, and was to have come in charge of them, was unfortunately laid up at the last moment with a bad attack of influenza. The next man chosen was passed medically unfit, and the third man in temporary charge of the mules was, when he arrived at Darjeeling, already suffering from ague. It was not till May 15 that Sergeant Fowkes arrived, who was to take charge of the mules. He was a very capable and energetic N.C.O., and their subsequent failure was in no way due to him, but solely to the fact that the mules were in no kind of condition to do hard work in the hills, being sleek and fat from the plains where they had had very little work to do. The muleteers, or drabies, were all hill-men and had been picked out specially for us and fitted out with every kind of warm clothing. Though there were a hundred mules, this did not mean that there were a hundred mules to carry our loads—so much extra warm clothing and blankets had been given to the drabies that together with all their line gear it needed twenty-seven mules to carry their kit, which left only seventy-three mules for the Expedition loads, each mule carrying 160 lb., and this was not nearly sufficient for our requirements. A certain amount of our stores had therefore to be left behind at Government House, Darjeeling, for a second journey, and we only took with us sufficient food and supplies for three and a half months, relying on the mules going back and returning with the remainder of the stores in July or August. Owing to the camping grounds being small, and bungalow accommodation limited on the journey across Sikkim, we divided ourselves into two parties with fifty mules and twenty coolies in each party; Wollaston, Wheeler, Mallory and myself being with the first party and Raeburn, Kellas, Bullock and Heron with the second.

The first party left Darjeeling on May 18, and the second party the following day. I remained behind to see the second party off, and then by doing a double march I caught the first party up that evening at Kalimpong, not, however, without noticing on the way that several of our mules were already knocked up. The night before we started rain came down in torrents, and it was still pouring when the mules came round in the morning, and though the rain stopped soon afterwards yet the hillsides were all wreathed in soft grey mists and every moss-hung branch and tree dripped steadily with moisture all day long. The first day's march from Darjeeling was to Peshoke—a seventeen-mile march and down hill all the way after Ghoom. From Darjeeling we gradually ascended some 500 feet to Ghoom and then for 6 miles followed the well-engineered cart road which leads below Senchal to the new military cantonment of Takda which is, I believe, about to be abandoned, as the Gurkhas, for whom it was built, are not at all happy there. During the war it was used as a German internment camp. Along this ridge there are magnificent forests of evergreen oaks, all of which were covered with ferns and orchids and long trailing mosses. This first ridge rising straight out of the plains condenses all the moisture-laden winds that blow up from the Bay of Bengal and causes it almost always to be enveloped in clouds and mists. The path now rapidly descended 4,000 feet, through tea plantations. The whole hillside was covered with tea bushes, neatly planted in lines, and showing a very vivid green at this time of the year. Here and there grew tall tree ferns, 20 feet to 30 feet in height, their stems covered with ferns and Coelogene orchids. The air was now growing hotter and hotter as we descended, but the wonderful and varied vegetation, the beautiful and brilliantly coloured butterflies—for which the Teesta Valley is famous—that flitted across the path in front of us, proved an irresistible attraction, and made us forget the fact that we were dripping with perspiration from every pore. We had already descended nearly 5,000 feet by the time that we reached the P.W.D. bungalow at Peshoke, which was situated in a clearing in the forest. We were, however, still 2,000 feet above the muddy Teesta River which ran down below us in its steamy gorge, and the next morning saw us descending 2,000 feet through a Sal forest by a slippery path of clay leading to the suspension bridge which crosses the mighty river that with its affluents drains the whole of Sikkim. It rushes along with irresistible force in mighty waves and rapids, and though attempts have been made to float timber down it for commercial purposes, yet the current is too swift and the logs were all smashed to pieces. Here at the bridge we were only 700 feet above the sea and the heat was intense. Several mules had been left exhausted at Peshoke and had been unable to proceed the following day and several more only just reached Kalimpong, the second day's march, only 12 miles from Peshoke, but the climb of 3,300 feet up from the bridge over the Teesta in the steamy and enervating heat proved too much for them. The forests here were very beautiful—huge sal trees and giant terminalia abounded with weird and wonderful creepers embracing their stems, or hanging down from their branches. The handsome pothos—the finest of the creepers—grew everywhere. The curious pandanus or screw pine displayed its long and picturesque fronds, while here and there among the dark green of the tropical forest showed up as a brilliant patch of colour the scarlet blooms of the clerodendrons. Above the forests the hillsides had been terraced with immense labour into rice fields, which at this time of year were not yet planted out, but the fields of maize were already ripening. At Kalimpong there was a large and comfortable Dak bungalow, surrounded by a well-kept garden full of roses and scarlet hibiscus with a beautiful and large-flowered mauve solanum growing up the pillars on the verandah. At Kalimpong we were entertained by Dr. Graham and his charming daughters, who showed us true hospitality and kindness. They live in a very pretty house embowered in roses on the crest of the hill and commanding lovely views over the Teesta Valley and up to the snowy peaks of Kanchenjunga. Higher up on the spur are the homes and the industrial schools that many years of hard work have brought into being, thanks to the indefatigable labours of Dr. Graham and the late Mrs. Graham; these now hold between 600 and 700 pupils, both boys and girls, who, when they leave these schools, have all been taught some useful trade and are sent out as useful members of society. They are given as practical an education as could be wished for anywhere. At the Grahams' house I met David Macdonald, the British Trade Agent at Yatung, who was acting temporarily as political agent in Sikkim until Major Bailey arrived from England. He was an old friend of mine, as I had met him before in Tibet. He promised us every assistance in his power and had telegraphed to Yatung and to the Jongpen at Phari to have supplies and anything we wanted in readiness at those places. He told me that an old Tibetan Lama, who knew Mount Everest well, had described it as “Miti guti cha-phu long-nga,” “the mountain visible from all directions, and where a bird becomes blind if it flies so high.” Throughout our journey across Sikkim the weather was very bad, with heavy falls of rain every day and night. We had had the bad luck to strike the Chota Bursat, or little monsoon, which usually heralds the coming of the proper monsoon a fortnight or three weeks later.

The march to Pedong was an easy one of 14 miles with a gentle climb of 3,000 feet followed by a descent of 2,000 feet past gardens beautiful with their great trees of scarlet hibiscus, daturas and bougainvilleas, which grew with wonderful luxuriance in this climate where frost is almost unknown in winter and where in summer the temperature scarcely ever exceeds 85° Fahrenheit. We passed some of the most wonderful datura hedges that I have ever seen with trees 15 feet to 20 feet in height and laden with hundreds of enormous white trumpet-shaped blooms 8 inches in diameter and fully a foot long. I could only stand and admire. At night these great white flowers glowed as though with phosphorescence in the dark and had a strangely sweet smell. I got thoroughly soaked on the march, for a couple of minutes of these deluges are sufficient to go through any waterproof.

Our mules were now beginning to give us great trouble. Several had to be left behind after each march and fresh animals had to be hired locally to replace those left behind. At Pedong there were more wonderful daturas, and all along the next march we kept passing grand bushes of these flowers. It rained all that night and most of the following day, so that we had a very wet and trying march to Rongli—the distance was only 12 miles, but this included a very steep descent of over 3,000 feet to the bottom of a steamy valley, followed by a climb of 3,000 feet across an intervening ridge and then down another 2,000 feet to the Rongli bungalow. The poor mules were very tired by the end of the march and one had died of colic on the way. Most of the others too were getting very sore backs from the constant rain. On the way Wollaston and I stopped at Rhenock to have a look at the Chandra Nursery kept by Tulsi Dass, where there were many interesting plants, chiefly collected in the Sikkim forests. There was a tree growing everywhere in the forests with a white flower which Sikkim people called Chilauni, and all along the paths the Sikkim durbar had been busy planting mulberry, walnut and toon trees. There was a curious pink ground plant that grew in the forests which I was told belonged to the Amomum species. There were also beautiful orchids in the trees, mauve, white and yellow, belonging to the Dendrobium, Coelogene and Cymbidium families—some with fine sprays of flowers 18 inches long. Here at Rongli the mules were so tired that we had to give them a day's rest before they could go on any further. It was a hot and feverish spot to stop in, and only necessity compelled us to do so, as we were unable to get any extra transport the following morning to supplement the mules that were sick.

All that day we had passed numbers of mules coming down from Tibet laden with bales of wool, and others were returning to Tibet with sheets of copper, manufactured goods, grain and rice which had been bought in exchange. The dark faces of the muleteers with their turquoise earrings formed a pretty picture and they were full of friendly smiles and greetings for us. The mules travelled on their own—if any mule stopped on the path, a stone always aimed with the greatest accuracy reminded him that it was time to go on. Owing to our having to halt a day at Rongli, we had to stop the second party, and were able to do this at Ari, a bungalow 3 miles short of Rongli. I rode up to see how they were getting on, and found they were having the same trouble with their mules that we had been having. On May 23 we left for Sedongchen, or Padamchen as the Tibetans called it. Sedongchen is the old local name, so-called because there once grew there a very large “Sedong” tree. This is a tree that has a white sap which irritates the skin intensely and sets up a rash. Sedongchen was only 9 miles from Rongli, but there was a very steep climb, from 2,700 feet up to 7,000 feet, and our mules only just managed to arrive there. The first part of the way is alongside the rushing stream of the Rongli, through lovely woods and dense tropical vegetation. Caladiums, kolocasias and begonias were growing on every rock, and the giant pothos with its large shining leaves grew up the stems of many of the trees. Climbers of all kinds, such as vines and peppers, hung down from the branches. Here, too, were magnificent forest trees, fully 150 feet high, with clean straight trunks and without a branch for a hundred feet; others nearly equally tall, which the Sikkim people call “Panisage,” had huge buttresses and trunks nearly 40 feet in circumference. Every branch here was covered by thick matted growth of orchids. For the first time since leaving Darjeeling the sun shone, and after we left the forests we found the uphill climb very hot. On to-day's march, out of the fifty mules with which we started there were only fourteen carrying our own kit, and of those fourteen we found on arrival at Sedongchen that none would be fit to proceed on the following day. It was therefore with great reluctance that I felt compelled to send back the Government mules, as they could not only not carry their own line gear, but had become an extra and very large source of expense and worry to us. That the mules should have completely broken down like this after a five days' march showed that they must have been in no kind of training and condition and were completely unfitted for heavy work in the mountains. The hill ponies and mules that we had hired to supplement them, although they had been given the heaviest loads, always arrived first, and made nothing of each march. By this failure of the Government transport we were now thrown back on our own resources, and obliged to depend everywhere on what local transport we could obtain, and this often took some time to collect.

At Sedongchen there was a pleasant bungalow, rather Swiss in appearance, with fine views down the Rongli Valley and across all the forest ridges over which we had come, right back to Darjeeling. Opposite us, to the South-east, were densely wooded hills with clouds and mists drifting along the tops, while here and there a waterfall showed up white amidst the dark green vegetation.

Rain came down steadily all night, but the morning proved somewhat finer. Being on the main trade route, we were luckily able to get other transport to replace the Government mules and to arrange for hired mules as far as Yatung. The local animal is a wonderful beast, extremely sure footed, and not minding in the least a climb of 6,000 feet. The path from Sedongchen is really only a stone causeway, very slippery and unpleasant either to walk or ride upon, but probably anything else would be worn away by the torrential rains that fall here. At one place we had to make a wide detour, as the rain of the night before had washed away some hundred yards of the pathway, but luckily this was not in a very steep part, as otherwise we might have been delayed for several days. The constant rain had already brought out the leeches, and on most of the stones or blades of grass beside the path they sat waiting for their meal of blood and clung on to any mule or human being that passed by. The mules suffered severely, and drops of blood on the stones became frequent from the bleeding wounds.

The climb from Sedongchen to Gnatong was very steep with a rise of over 5,000 feet in the first 5 miles, and we soon got out of the zone of the leeches and on to the most wonderful zone of flowering rhododendrons. The rhododendrons in the lower forest chiefly consisted of R. Argenteum and R. Falconeri. These grew in a great forest of oaks and magnolias, all covered with beautiful ferns among which showed up delightful mauve or white orchids. The lower rhododendrons had already flowered, but as we got higher we found masses of R. Cinnabarinum, with flowers showing every shade of orange and red. Then came rhododendrons of every colour—pink, deep crimson, yellow, mauve, white or cream coloured. It was impossible to imagine anything more beautiful, and every yard of the path was a pure delight. Among the smaller flowers were the large pink saxifrage, while the deep reddish-purple primula covered every open space. There was also a very tiny pink primula—the smallest I have ever seen—and another one like a pink primrose, that grew on the banks above the path. We went along quite slowly all the way, botanising and admiring the scenery. The path mostly led along the top of a ridge, and the views and colours of the many-hued rhododendrons in the gullies on either side were very delightful. Gnatong, where we were to spend the night, was a very small and rather dirty village lying in a hollow and surrounded by grassy hills. The fir trees (Abies Webbiana) no longer surrounded it, as those anywhere near had been cut down for firewood, or for building houses. From here I was able to telephone to Mr. Isaacs, Mr. Macdonald's head clerk at Yatung, to ask him to make arrangements for ponies and mules for us both at Yatung and at Phari now that our transport had broken down. Wonderful rumours seemed to have preceded our advent. Stories that we were coming with 1,000 mules and 500 men seemed to have been spread about in Tibet.

Gnatong is a most depressing place, and only owes its existence to the fact that it is the first stopping place for the caravans that cross over the Jelep Pass on the British side of the frontier. Rain always falls there, the rainfall in the year being nearly 200 inches, and when rain does not fall the place is enveloped in mist, with the result that the mud was horrible. It poured with rain all the time that we were there and we left again in heavy rain for the Jelep Pass 8 miles distant. We were already over 12,000 feet when we started, and the top of the pass was 14,390 feet, so that it was not a very serious climb. There was no view of any kind to be had as the rain fell steadily all the way and the hillsides were all veiled in mist. We had occasional glimpses of a hillside pink, white or yellow with rhododendrons, which now grew only about 5 feet high. I counted six or seven different varieties of primulas on the way, but near the top there was still plenty of the old winter snow lying about and the Alpine flowers were scarcely out. A big heap of stones marked the summit of the pass and the frontier between Sikkim and Tibet, and a few sticks, to which were attached strings covered with small pieces of rag on which were inscribed prayers, fluttered out in the strong wind that always blows up there. In the cold rain this was not a cheerful spot to linger in, so we hurried on down a steep and stony path and after descending a few hundred feet emerged out of the mist and rain and obtained glimpses of a really blue sky such as we had not seen for weeks. We had arrived at last in Tibet.

Footnote:

[2] Narsing and Kabru are two high mountains in the North of Sikkim.

CHAPTER II

THE CHUMBI VALLEY AND THE TIBETAN PLATEAU

The range of mountains which here forms the boundary between Sikkim and Tibet runs nearly North and South, and the two main passes across it are the Jelep La and the Nathu La, the latter being a few miles to the North of the Jelep La and about the same height. The Jelep La being the main trade route across which the telegraph line runs, and over which the postal runners travel, is kept open all the year round, though often after a heavy blizzard it is closed for ten days or a fortnight. On the Sikkim side the snow-fall is always the heaviest; this range of mountains stops most of the moist currents that drive up from the Bay of Bengal, with the result that the rainfall in the Chumbi Valley on the Tibetan side is only about a quarter of what it is at Gnatong on the Sikkim side.

The descent into the Chumbi Valley was very steep and stony, as there was a drop of over 5,000 feet from the top of the pass. The beauty of the valley and its wild flowers made up, however, for the badness of the path. The rhododendrons on the descent were extremely fine, and the whole character of the vegetation was altered and became more European. The great pink rhododendron Aucklandi showed up splendidly in the dark forests of silver fir (A. Webbiana) which here grows into a fine tree. There was also the yellow rhododendron Campylocarpum and a white rhododendron, probably Decorum; the beautiful R. Cinnabarinum with its orange bells of waxy flowers relieved the darkness of the firs. There was a small Tibetan rest-house called Langra where our coolies wanted to stop, but we pushed on past this and descended steeply through more wonderful forests. As we got lower we found birch, sycamore, willow and elder still clothed in the light green of early spring. A fine white clematis, a pink and white spiræa, a yellow berberis, white roses and the dark purple iris grew in profusion on either side of the path. Underneath these were the small flowers of the wild strawberry, which the Macdonald family collected later on in the year and made into jam in great quantities.

Near the entrance to this side valley we came to Old Yatung with its Chinese custom-house and wall built right across the valley to keep the British from going any further. All this was now deserted and in ruins. Soon afterwards we arrived in the main Chumbi Valley where were broad fields filled with potatoes and ripening barley. The houses here were mostly built of stone and wood and in two stories. In character they much resembled Tirolese houses except for the elaborate carving over the doors and windows and the many colours in which they were painted. We passed through the prosperous villages of Richengong, Phema and Chumbi before arriving at New Yatung, or Shassi as the Tibetans still prefer to call it. Here was a comfortable bungalow overlooking the bazaar on the other side of the river. Knowing that we had had a long and tiring march and that our coolies would only arrive late that night, Mrs. Macdonald had with much thoughtfulness sent over her servants who had tea and dinner prepared for us on a generous scale. No attention could have been more acceptable. It rained steadily all that night—a somewhat unusual occurrence in this valley—but the next morning it cleared up and the day was delightful.

The Chumbi Valley is one of the richest valleys in Tibet. Yatung lies at a height of 9,400 feet. Apples and pears do well here, and barley, wheat and potatoes are grown in great quantities. At this time of the year the air is scented by the wild roses which grow in large bushes covered with hundreds of cream-coloured and sweetly scented flowers. The villages all look extremely prosperous and an air of peace and contentment seems to pervade the valley. We had to hire a new lot of animals to take us on to Phari—28 miles further up the Chumbi Valley. These all arrived in good time, and by eight o'clock on May 27 our loads were all on their way. Before leaving, I sent off a telegram to Sir Francis Younghusband to announce the arrival of the Expedition in Tibet, a telegram which arrived opportunely at the Anniversary Dinner of the Royal Geographical Society, just at the commencement of dinner.

There is a small garrison at Yatung, consisting of twenty-five men of the 73rd Carnatics. There was also a hospital and a supply depot from which we were able to purchase sugar, flour, ata (coarse native flour) and potatoes, while later on we were able to send back to it for further supplies. We formed quite an imposing procession as we started off: Wollaston and myself on our ponies, Gyalzen Kazi and Chheten Wangdi, our interpreters, on their ponies which they had brought along with them. There was Mr. Isaacs, the head clerk, with a red-coated chaprassi and a syce also mounted, who accompanied us on a visit to two monasteries further up the valley. The path followed close to the banks of the Ammo-chu, which was now a clear stream and contained many a likely pool for fish. The valley was full of delightful flowers; curious ground orchids, with several beautiful varieties of the ladies' slipper grew there; the wild roses, especially the large red one, were very sweet-scented and filled the air with fragrance. Berberis, clematis and some charming dwarf rhododendrons abounded. After going about 3 miles the valley narrowed, and we passed the spot where the Chinese had built another wall across the valley to keep us out. Just above this wall there was a deserted Chinese village, for now all the Chinese have been driven out of the country and are not allowed to go back and live there. High above us on the hillside was the Punagang Monastery belonging to the old sect of the Bhompo's, who turn their prayer wheels the opposite to every one else and always keep to the right of Chortens and Mani walls. This monastery was too far off the path for us to visit it. We soon afterwards passed the large and flourishing village of Galinka surrounded by fields of barley. Here we turned aside to visit the Galinka Monastery, which stood in the midst of the village. This was quite a new building, with a great gilt image of Buddha inside it. The monks were still busy painting pictures of scenes from the life of Buddha on the walls. They apparently did quite a good trade in selling clay images of Buddha in his different forms and postures. These were stamped by a very well cut brass die, which the monks told me had been made at Shigatse. In a side room was a huge prayer wheel some 12 feet high and 5 feet to 6 feet in diameter. It was covered over with painted leather inscribed with the usual Om Mani Padme Hum (Hail, jewel of the lotus flower). They told us the inside was also filled with prayers, and that it contained one and a half million of these, so that each time the wheel was turned a million and a half prayers were said for the person who turned it. After each complete revolution it rings a bell. We were allowed to turn it several times, so that I hope the many million prayers sent up may benefit us. After leaving the monastery, the path rose steeply and the river came down in a series of waterfalls. Above us were masses of pink and mauve rhododendrons, flowering cherries, viburnum, berberis, roses and other delightful shrubs. Soon afterwards, at the entrance to the Lingmatang plain, we crossed the river and rode up a rocky spur formed of great boulders that had some time or another fallen down and blocked up the valley, forming a lake some 2 miles long, but this lake no longer existed, and there was only a flat grassy plain grazed over by yaks and ponies. On the top of the spur was the Donka Monastery in a grand situation, commanding beautiful views up and down the valley. I had hoped to see my friend the Geshe Lama or Geshe Rimpoche, as he is sometimes known, with whom I had lunched last year at the hot springs at Kambu, but unfortunately he was away at Lhasa. He is a man of very great learning and held in high veneration throughout these valleys.

On entering the big stone courtyard of the monastery a crowd of children and Lamas at once flocked round us. We were shown over the main temple, but it was badly lit with a few butter lamps and we could see little of its contents; amongst these were several statues of Buddha under his different forms. There were also kept there 108 volumes of the Tangyur, one of the Buddhist sacred writings. These books were very curious. Each volume consisted of a number of loose oblong parchment sheets 2 to 3 feet long and from 8 inches to a foot wide. These were kept together by two elaborately carved boards between which they were pressed. The writing was all done by hand by the Lamas, who copied out and illuminated books with the greatest care and skill in the same manner that the monks in the Middle Ages illuminated their missals. The book-shelves of the library consisted of a number of pigeon-holes in the walls in which these volumes were kept. Here, too, they were busy making clay images to bury under the Chorten that they were building above the monastery. Next door was another and newer temple, built to house the Oracle, and called the Sanctuary of the Oracle. He, too, was unfortunately away, as he was taking the hot waters at Kambu, but we were shown his throne and the robes that he puts on when he prophesies. There was a curiously shaped head-dress of silver, adorned all round with silver skulls, and a very quaintly shaped bow and arrow which the Oracle held in one hand while a huge trident was grasped in the other. I am told that he is consulted far and wide and has a great reputation for truth. We were then taken upstairs to a sunny verandah, just outside the Geshe Rimpoche's private room and commanding fine views up and down the valley. Here we were given Tibetan tea, made with salt and butter, and served up in agate cups with beautifully chased silver covers. After drinking this tea we were shown over the Geshe's private apartments and chapel, the prevailing colour scheme of the room being yellow. The little shrines with their silver bowls in front—the incense burner and the flame that is never allowed to go out—were all very interesting to us. We then took a photograph of the Lamas in front of their temple, after which the head Lama accompanied us some way down the path to say good-bye, hoping we would come and see them again on our return.

I have alluded several times to the hot springs at Kambu. These springs are two days' journey from Yatung up the Kambu Valley, but can also be reached quite easily from Phari. There is a curious account of these springs written by an old Lama and translated by Major Campbell. The writer describes the Upper Kambu Valley as quite a pleasant spot where cooling streams and medicinal plants are found in abundance. Medicinal waters of five kinds flow from the rocks, forming twelve pools, the waters of which are efficacious in curing the 440 diseases to which the human race is subject. The springs are then made to describe their own qualities in the first person:—

1. The Lhamo Spring (The Spring of the Goddess): My virtue is derived from the essence of stone—I am guarded by the Goddess Tsering, and my virtue therefore consists in purging the sins and obscurities of the human body. Those who bathe first in my waters will be purged of all sin and the power of all diseases will be abated.

2. The Chagu Spring (The Spring of the Vulture): My virtue is derived from black sulphur. As regards my properties, a vulture with a broken wing once fell into my waters and was healed. I benefit diseases of women, also sores, gout and fractures. I possess particular virtue for all diseases below the waist. I do not benefit neuralgia, nervous diseases, or loss of appetite.

3 and 4. The Pon Springs (The Springs of the Official): We two brothers derive our properties from both yellow and black sulphur. One of us provokes catarrh, while the other allays it. A learned man, who wished us well, once said that we were beneficial in cases of hemorrhoids, kidney diseases and rheumatism. We are not aware of possessing these qualities, and rather tend to cause harm in such cases.

5. The Traggye Spring (The Spring born of the Rock): My virtue is derived from a combination of sulphur and the essence of stone. I was formerly efficacious in cases of diseases of the arteries and nerve trouble, but later on the Brothers of the Pon Spring rushed down on poor me like tyrants so that no one now regards me. The caretaker of the Springs and visitors treats me like a beggar and pays no attention to me. Even now if some person with the permission of the Brothers of the Pon Spring would carry out some repairs, so as to separate my waters from theirs, I would guarantee to benefit those suffering from arterial diseases, nerve trouble, impurities of the blood and bile.

6. The Serka Spring (The Spring of the Crevice): My virtues are derived from sulphur and carbon. I am not beneficial to those suffering from ailments arising from nerve trouble, bile and acidity. I am beneficial to those suffering from chapped hands and feet due to hard work among earth and stones and also in cases of diseases of the kidneys and bladder. I am somewhat hurtful to those suffering from headache arising from nervous catarrh, or impurities of the blood.

7. The Tang Spring (The Spring of the Plain): My virtues are derived from carbon and a little sulphur. I am beneficial in cases of hemorrhoids, kidney disease, rheumatism and other diseases below the waist, also in cases of venereal disease. There is a danger of the waist becoming bent like a bow through too much bathing in my waters.

8. The Traggyab Spring (The Spring behind the Rock): I am beneficial in cases of disease of the arteries and anaemia—I am not aware that I am harmful in other cases.

9. The Tongbu Spring (The Spring of the Hole): My virtues are derived from a large proportion of crystalline stone and a little sulphur. I guarantee to be beneficial in cases of white phlegm, brown phlegm and other forms of phlegmatic disease. Also in diseases arising out of these, and in cases of impurities of the blood and colic pains. Please bear this in mind.

10. The Nub (The Western Spring): My virtues are derived from a little carbon. I am beneficial in cases of liver disease, impurities of the blood, flatulence, kidney disease, dyspepsia, brown phlegm, tumours, gout, rheumatism, gleet, and complications arising from these. I do not boast in the way that the other Springs do.

11. The Dzepo Spring (The Leper's Spring): I am cousin to the Western Spring. He guarantees to cure diseases arising from two or three causes, also kidney disease, flat foot, rheumatism and gout. I am beneficial in cases of hemorrhoids, gout, rheumatism and diseases of the feet. I possess particular virtue in cases of leprosy, sores and wounds.

12. The Lama Spring (The Spring of the Lama): My virtues are derived from a large proportion of lime and a little sulphur. I am beneficial in cases of lung disease, tumours, dyspepsia, both chronic and recent, poverty of the blood and venereal diseases.

Written by Tsewang in the hope that the People of Bhutan, Sikkim, and the surrounding country will bear this in mind.

Copied by Tenrab, clearly and exactly, from the original in the Male Iron Dog Year in the first half of the Earth Month.

After leaving the monastery we had a pleasant gallop across the Lingmatang Plain, after which the valley narrowed again and the path followed close beside the rushing stream. It was a delightful ride through forests of birch, larch, juniper, spruce, silver fir and mountain ash. Never anywhere have I seen birch trees grow to such a size. They were grand rugged old trees that matched the rugged scenery of the gorge. Blue poppies, fritillaries, ground orchids and sweet-scented primulas grew along the path, and mixed up everywhere in the forest were great bushes of R. Cinnabarinum, which varied in shade from yellow and orange to deep red. Wagtails and white-crested redstarts dodged about from rock to rock in the rushing stream, and the clear note of the shrike could usually be heard above the noise of the waters. The weather had luckily kept fine all day, so that we were able to dawdle along and enjoy the scenery and flowers.

After going about 12 miles we came to the bungalow of Gautsa, situated at a height of about 12,000 feet, and at the bottom of the gorge; here we spent the night. During the night there was heavy rain, and when we woke in the morning, fresh snow was low down on all the hills and within 1,500 feet of the bungalow. However, the day again proved brilliantly fine. For breakfast we had been given some large wild-goose eggs belonging to the bar-headed goose. Mine I had boiled, and found excellent, though one was sufficient for a meal. Two that the others had were rather passé, and were not equally appreciated. The day's path was at first very stony and climbed steadily uphill beside the torrent of the Ammo-chu. Pale blue iris, yellow primulas, a pink viburnum and a large yellow-belled lonicera grew beside the path, but the rhododendrons were still by far the most wonderful of the flowering shrubs. We passed many big blue meconopsis, and some of these flowers measured fully 3 inches across. Dwarf rhododendrons, only a foot high—some pure white and others pink, continued up until about 13,500 feet, and then the hillsides became purple from another little rhododendron, which looked in the distance like heather and gave the rounded hills quite a Scotch appearance. As we rose higher the flowers decreased in number. Larks and wheatears ran along the ground in front of us, and small tailless marmot rats dodged in and out of their holes as we approached. The distance from Goutsa to Phari was about 16 miles, of which the last 8 miles were over flat country with a springy turf, on which it was a pleasure to be able to canter again after having passed over so many miles of stony roads. Chomolhari, the Mountain of the Goddess, stood up as a wonderful sight with its sharp peak outlined against the clear blue sky. On its summit the wind was evidently very strong, as we could see the fresh snow being whirled off in clouds.

Phari is an extremely dirty village dominated by a stone fort and lying under the shadow of the great mountain Chomolhari, 23,930 feet high. It is 14,300 feet above sea level, and the climate there is always cold, as it is never without a strong wind. In the afternoon the Jongpen, or Governor of the district, came to call on me. He was a young man with an intelligent and pleasant face, and came from the country between Khamba Dzong and Shekar Dzong, so that he was able to give us much useful information about the road; he promised that he would write to his brother, who was acting as agent for him at his home, telling him to entertain us and give us all facilities in the matters of transport and supplies. He told us that he had received written instructions from the Lhasa Government to arrange for supplies and transport for us, and he promised that he would do his best. I gave him photographs that I had taken last year of his fort, and also of Chomolhari; these pleased him very much, and in return he presented us with a dried sheep which looked mummified and smelt very strongly, but which proved very acceptable to our coolies. It was necessary to stop here for several days as the second party had to catch up, and they too needed a day's rest. Also the transport that was to carry us along to Khamba Dzong would not be ready for several days, so the following morning I went to call on the Jongpen in his fort, where I found him living in some very dark rooms. I presented him with one of the new lever electric torches, which he much appreciated, though at first he and his servants were rather frightened by it. He gave us tea and sweetmeats, and soon afterwards the head-men of all the villages came in, and were given orders about our transport. Their quaint attitudes of respect and their darkly bronzed faces, that just showed up in the light, reminded me forcibly of an old Dutch picture. Some men, too, had been sent from Khamba Dzong for orders and to know when we should be likely to arrive there. In the course of the afternoon Dr. Heron and I rode over to a monastery about 3 miles away where I had been last year, and where I had taken some photographs. Some prints of these I brought back to the monastery, and the monks were very pleased with them. They were in the middle of a service when we arrived, as it was some kind of festival, and the dark temple was illuminated by hundreds of little butter lamps. The monks were all chanting their scriptures, and this they continued to do all the afternoon.

Chomolhari from the South.

On returning to Phari, we found that a message had come from the Jongpen to ask us to dine with him the following evening. The change in the climate and the bad cooking had affected the stomachs of all the members of the Expedition, and none of us was feeling very well. Dr. Kellas was the worst, and as soon as he arrived at Phari he retired to bed. The following morning was misty and the ground was all white with hoar-frost, though it was the last day in May; but as I was anxious to get some photographs of Chomolhari we rode, with the Chaukidar as a guide, through the mist across the plain to some hills just to the South of the great mountain; after a few miles we found ourselves above the clouds with the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky. The whole of the Phari Plain was covered by a sea of clouds. On the far side rose the Pawhunri group of mountains, while further to the South, Kanchenjunga towered above all the other peaks, such as Siniolchum, Kabru and Jonsong, all of which stood out very clearly in this brilliant atmosphere. I rode up a delightful little mountain valley full of dwarf rhododendrons and Alpine primulas until I reached a height of 16,000 feet. We then left the ponies and climbed on to the top of the hill, which was about 17,500 feet; from this point we had glorious views of Chomolhari immediately across the valley, while on the other side we looked over to the snowy peaks and ranges in Bhutan far to the South of us. We found the wind very keen at this height, and after taking several photographs we rode back again to Phari.

Here I found the place full of troubles. Our Coolie Sirdar was, as we were beginning to find out, not only useless, but very mischievous, and he was evidently at the bottom of an attempted mutiny among our coolies, who refused to go on. The Sirdar strongly objected to our interpreters, who were preventing him from fleecing us in the matter of stores and supplies. However, after much talking they were all satisfied. Then it was the turn of the cooks, all of whom the Sirdar had chosen. I should not have minded one or two of these going, as they were very bad cooks and usually drunk, and the fact that all of us had been ill was solely due to their bad cooking; but I could not let them all go, so it was necessary to find out which were the most useless, and this we were able to do in the course of the next few days. Dr. Kellas was getting no better; he refused to take any food, and was very depressed about himself. At Phari I was able to change a certain number of our rupees into Tibetan currency. The then rate of exchange was 33 rupees to 1 sersang—a gold coin—and 4½ silver trangkas to 1 rupee. The trangkas were a thin and very badly stamped coin about the size of a two-shilling piece. We found them, however, to be the most useful form of currency as the gold coin, though much easier to carry, could only be exchanged at a few places, and it was seldom that we met people who were rich enough to be able to change them.

That night four of us went over to have dinner with the Jongpen. First we were given tea and sweetmeats, followed by strong ginger wine, which was most comforting to our stomachs in their delicate condition. Then came dishes of mutton in varying forms with vegetables and macaroni. They were all served up in Chinese fashion in little dishes and some were quite appetising. We were very late in starting the next morning as all the loads had to be sorted and laid out for the very miscellaneous transport that had been given us. This consisted of ponies, mules, donkeys, bullocks and yaks. For riding-animals we were given mules, which trotted well and covered the ground quite quickly, though some of the Alpine climbers found them hard to manage and were apt to part company with their steeds. Our transport was by now becoming rather complicated as forty-four animals were going right through to Khamba Dzong and forty-four were being changed at every stage. Dr. Kellas was not well enough to ride and was carried in an arm-chair all day. Soon after starting I passed two of our cooks on the road hopelessly drunk, and left them there. Our way led over the Tang La, a very gentle and scarcely perceptible pass, 15,200 feet, but important as being the main Himalayan watershed. All day there was a very strong South wind blowing, but it was luckily at our backs, and we did not feel it too much. We then quickly trotted the 10 miles across the absolutely level Tang-pün-sum Plain. Here I saw several herds of kiang, the wild ass of Tibet, and got within 50 yards of one lot, but unfortunately the coolie who was carrying my camera was not up with me at the time. We also passed a certain number of Tibetan gazelle, but they were all very wary. The Monsoon clouds came up to the South of us in great rolling billows, but not a drop of moisture came over the Tang La. Chomolhari was a magnificent sight all day with its 7,000 feet of precipices descending sheer into the plain. Tuna (14,800 feet), about 20 miles from Phari, was our first halt. We were still on the main road to Lhasa and found a comfortable rest-house into which the eight of us all managed to stow ourselves. Dr. Kellas, though rather better the next day, was still too weak to ride, and was carried for the next march on a litter. We were now in the true Tibetan climate, with brilliant sunshine, blue skies, still mornings and strong winds all the afternoon.

The next march from Tuna to Dochen was still on the Lhasa Road. I did not follow the path, but rode with a local man from the village over the great Tang-pün-sum Plain in search of goa—Tibetan gazelle. We saw many of them on the plains, but they were the wiliest and most difficult animals to approach, and in this flat and bare country it was not possible ever to get within 300 yards of them. As a rule they ran off when we were still half a mile away. They are restless little creatures, always on the move, and never at any time an easy mark to hit. I thoroughly enjoyed this ride over the plains and our glorious views of Chomolhari and the great snow-covered and glaciated chain to the North of it along the foot of which we were travelling. A curious pink trumpet-shaped flower grew in great quantities on the plain; the leaves were buried under the sand and only the flower showed its head above the ground. There were also white pincushions of a kind of tiny saxifrage. This plain, over which we were riding, was evidently once upon a time a lake bed, as the pebbles were rounded and there were distinct evidences of former shores along the sides of the hills. Many kiang were grazing on it and many thousands of sheep were being pastured there. As we approached the lake called Bamtso, the country became very marshy, and our ponies got bogged several times. The bungalow at Dochen was situated near the shores of the Bamtso. Never have I seen a lake with so many colours in it. It was very shallow, and the shades varied from deep blue and purple to light green, while in places it was almost red from a weed that grew in it. Behind it was a background of snow and glacier-covered mountains, which in the still mornings was reflected faithfully in its waters and formed a charming picture. Swimming on this lake were many bar-headed geese and Brahminy ducks, and along the shores were many terns and yellow wagtails.

That evening an amusing thing happened in the kitchen. One of our cooks was heating up a tin of tinned fish and had put it in some hot water without previously opening it. When he thought it was sufficiently hot, he started to open it, with the result that it exploded violently, covering him and every one else in the kitchen with small pieces of fish. I was able then to explain to the Tibetans who were carrying our loads that our stores were very dangerous, and that if any were at any time stolen, they would be liable to explode and hurt them. It was, of course, the rarefied air that had caused this, for Dochen is at a height of 14,700 feet above sea level.

Every day on from now the wind used to blow with great violence all the afternoon, but would die down after sunset. It must have been of a local nature caused by the rapid changes from high temperature to low, because the clouds above at the same time were hardly moving. I sent back Dorje, one of our cooks, from this place, as it was the fourth time that he had been drunk, and this I hoped would be a lesson to the others. We now left the Lhasa Road and turned off Westwards, having henceforward to rely on our tents.

Loading up at Dochen.

From Dochen to Khe was a short march of 11 miles over the Dug Pass, 16,400 feet. I did not follow the road taken by the transport animals, but took a local guide and rode over the hill-tops in search of ovis ammon. I did not see any, however, though we sighted two or three goa, but they were very wild and would not allow me to approach within 500 yards of them. There were numbers of blue hares, however, and some ram chakor, the Himalayan snow cock. But beyond this the hillsides were very bare of game. There were pin-cushions of a beautiful little blue sedum growing at a height of over 17,000 feet, also there was a big red stonecrop. Khe is now only a small and dirty village with practically no water except a half-dried muddy pond, but at one time it must have been a place of some importance, as ruins and buildings of considerable size extend over an area of more than a mile. The Kala-tso evidently at one time came right up to this ruined town of Khetam, and the fact that it is deserted now is probably due to the shrinkage of the lake. This was only one of the many signs of desiccation that we saw in our travels in Tibet. There were some curious ruins which looked like old crenellated walls, but these walls were only places on which barley dough used to be exposed to feed the crows as a sign of prosperity. It was a curious custom and could only have prevailed in a very fertile valley, which this place is no longer. The age of the city I could not find out, but the few survivors told me that the holy shrine at Tashilumpo, which now is at Shigatse, ought to have been built here. According to a local legend, there was a certain stone in Khetam shaped like a ewe's-womb, and one day a donkey driver finding that his loads were unequal in weight, picked up this stone and put it on the light load to balance the other, quite unaware of the importance of the stone. This stone was then carried from Gyantse to Shigatse, where a high and important Lama saw it, and recognising that this was a very holy stone, had it kept there. The powerful monastery of Tashilumpo was built over this stone. We passed two small nunneries called Doto and Shidag in snug little valleys to the North of the plain, and on asking why there should be so many nunneries in these parts when in the greater part of Tibet men predominated, I was told that this was due to the fact that it was close to the Nepalese frontier where there had always been much fighting, so that most of the men had been killed and only women had survived. After a short and easy march we came to a small pocket in the hills called Kheru. Here were encamped some people belonging to a nomad tribe who always lived in tents. They were very friendly, put tents at our disposal, and did their best to make us comfortable. They told us that they came here every year in the twelfth month, about January, and left again in the fifth month of the Tibetan year (June) for a place near Tuna, where they disposed of their wool, butter and cheese at the Phari market. There were altogether about twenty families here owning some 200 yaks and 3,000 sheep. Dr. Kellas was slightly better, but Raeburn was not feeling at all well, and Wheeler was suffering from indigestion, so that we were rather a sick party. Kheru lies at a height of 15,700 feet, but it had been very hot all day in the brilliant sunshine, and on the way we had passed lizards and a number of common peacock butterflies. Next morning our march was to Tatsang (Falcon's Nest), a distance of 15 or 16 miles, and over two passes 16,450 and 17,100 feet. The going was easy all the way, as the gradients both up and down the passes were very gentle. Between the two passes was a broad valley, filled with huge flocks of sheep and herds of yaks, and after crossing the second pass, we descended into a great barren and stony plain, more than 10 miles across which was Tatsang and over which the wind blew very keenly. To the South of us appeared the snowy crests of Pawhunri, Kanchenjhow and Chomiomo and the Lhonak peaks. Again I did not keep with the transport, but followed the crests of the hills, where I had lovely views; on the way I saw plenty of gazelle, and was lucky enough to shoot one of them, as they are very good eating. Our camp at Tatsang was pitched just below the nunnery there, which is on the top of a rock and where there are about thirty nuns. Our camp was on a pleasant grassy spot where some excellent springs bubble up out of the ground. These within a few yards formed quite a big stream full of small snow trout. They do not really belong to the trout family, although they have somewhat similar spots, and are very good to eat. Bullock, with his butterfly net, and the coolies with their hands, managed to catch quite a number of fish, and we had them for dinner that night. The ground round our tents was full of holes out of which the marmot rats kept appearing. They were very tame, and did not seem to be in the least afraid of us. Dr. Kellas had had a very trying day. He had been rather better, and had started riding a yak, but he found this too exhausting and coolies had to be sent back from Tatsang to bring him on in a litter, so that he did not arrive at Tatsang till late in the evening. Tatsang is 16,000 feet, so the night was cold, the thermometer inside the tent registering 7° of frost, though it was June 4; outside there must have been quite 15° as the running streams were all frozen over, but once the sun had risen everything warmed up and we had a beautiful warm day. Dr. Kellas started off in his litter at 7 a.m. in quite good spirits. I did not start till an hour later, as I had wanted to see everything off, and then went up to visit the nunnery, over which the lady abbess showed me. There were thirty nuns living there, all with shorn heads and wearing a curious wool head-dress. The place where they worshipped was full of prayer wheels, both large and small. They sat down behind these, and each nun turned one or two of them if they could manage it. The room was very dark, with a low ceiling, and at the end were several statues of Buddha covered over with gauze veils. In another room there was a large prayer wheel which they said contained half a million prayers.

After leaving the nunnery we jogged along a dry and barren valley which gradually rose in about 12 miles to a pass 17,200 feet. On the way we passed Dr. Kellas in his litter, who then seemed to me to be still quite cheerful. I then rode on and at the top of the pass saw three ovis ammon, and after a chase of about a mile I shot one, which afforded plenty of food for the coolies for some days. It was a full grown ram about five years old and we had great trouble in getting the carcass on to a mule, as it was enormous and very heavy. After this I rode on down the valley for another 10 miles to Khamba Dzong. There were actually a few bushes in this valley, which was carpeted with the pretty pink trumpet-shaped flower mentioned above, also with light and dark blue iris. Suddenly the valley narrowed into a fine limestone gorge, and all at once the fort of Khamba Dzong appeared towering above us on the cliffs. It was really a very impressive sight and some of the architecture of the round towers was very fine. I found that Morshead had been waiting here for about nine days, but had employed his time in fixing the old triangulation points. Soon after I arrived the Jongpen came down to pay us a visit. He was quite a young fellow, only about twenty-four, but very pleasant and polite.

While we were talking, a man came running up to us very excitedly to say that Dr. Kellas had suddenly died on the way. We could hardly believe this, as he was apparently gradually getting better; but Wollaston at once rode off to see if it was true, and unfortunately found that there was no doubt about it. It was a case of sudden failure of the heart, due to his weak condition, while being carried over the high pass. His death meant a very great loss to the Expedition in every way, as he alone was qualified to carry out the experiments in oxygen and blood pressure which would have been so valuable to the Expedition, and on which subject he was so great an expert. His very keenness had been the cause of his illness, for he had tried his constitution too severely in the early months of that year by expeditions into the heart of the Himalayas to see if he could get fresh photographs from other angles of Mount Everest. The following day we buried him on the slopes of the hill to the South of Khamba Dzong, in a site unsurpassed for beauty that looks across the broad plains of Tibet to the mighty chain of the Himalayas out of which rise up the three great peaks of Pawhunri, Kanchenjhow and Chomiomo, which he alone had climbed. From the same spot, far away to the West—more than a hundred miles away—could be seen the snowy crest of Mount Everest towering far above all the other mountains. He lies, therefore, within sight of his greatest feats in climbing and within view of the mountain that he had longed for so many years to approach—a fitting resting-place for a great mountaineer.

Khamba Dzong.

Chapter III

FROM KHAMBA DZONG THROUGH UNKNOWN COUNTRY TO TINGRI

Our camp at Khamba Dzong[3] was pitched in a walled enclosure at the foot of the fort, built on a great crag that rose 500 feet sheer above us. They called this enclosure a Bagichah, or garden, because it once boasted of three willow trees. Only one of these three is alive to-day, the other two being merely dead stumps of wood. The Jongpen here, who was under the direct orders of Shigatse, was very friendly, and after our arrival presented us with five live sheep, a hundred eggs, and a small carpet which he had had made in his own factory in the fort. Next afternoon Morshead, Wollaston and myself went up to pay the Jongpen a visit in his fort. It was a steep climb from our camp, past long Mendongs or Mani walls covered with inscribed prayers. The Jongpen was at the entrance waiting to receive us. He then showed us over his stables, where he had several nice Tibetan ponies, which strongly objected to Europeans and lashed out fiercely as we approached them. After looking at them we went up many flights of most dangerously steep stairs, almost in pitch darkness the whole time, until we came to a small courtyard. Then after climbing up more steps, we were ushered into a small latticed room where we were given the usual Tibetan tea and sweetmeats. I presented the Jongpen with one of the new lever electric torches, with which he was much pleased, saying it would be of much use to him in going up and down his dark staircases. After tea he took us up on to the roof of the fort, which was quite flat, and from which we had a most magnificent view. We stood on the top of a great precipice and looked straight down at our camp, which lay many hundred feet below but almost within a stone's throw. From here too we could look across the wide plains and valleys of the Yaru and its tributaries to the main chain of the Himalayas which formed the Southern boundary to the picture. From this side they do not appear nearly as imposing as they do when seen from the South. Seen as they are from a height of over 15,000 feet, the distance to the sky line is not nearly so great, and as a rule we found the Northern slopes to be much less steep than those on the Southern side. The snow line, too, was also several thousand feet higher. Every day great masses of moist cumulus clouds came rolling up and round the peaks to the South of us, indicating heavy falls of rain and snow on the South, but very little of this came over the watershed—only an occasional slight hailstorm or a few drops of rain. From this point we could see as far West as Mount Everest, still over a hundred miles away. After spending some time up there and admiring and discussing the view, we descended once more into the fort, where the Jongpen showed us some of the carpets that his womenfolk were busy making and promised to have some ready for us by the time that we came back. We also much admired the curious old locks by which the doors and boxes were fastened; before leaving, he made me a present of one of these locks.

June 7 saw us still at Khamba Dzong, as the transport would not be ready till the following day. Raeburn, who for some time had been suffering from the same complaint as Dr. Kellas, was unfortunately getting no better and was getting weaker every day. We were therefore reluctantly compelled to send him back again into Sikkim to Lachen, where he could be taken charge of by the lady missionaries and properly looked after. Wollaston and Gyalzen Kazi were to accompany him down to Lachen, and if possible to rejoin us by the time that we got to Tingri. This break-up of our climbing party was most annoying and seriously weakened our party, obliging us to alter our plans for reconnoitring in a thorough manner the various approaches to Mount Everest. The following day, after a good deal of delay and argument about the loads, we got everything loaded up and started off for Lingga, a march of about 16 miles to the West. For the first few miles we rode across a great plain on which were several small herds of goa, but these were very wary and kept well out of shot. The path then took us alongside a small isolated rocky hill in which we kept putting up numerous hares who often got up right under our ponies' feet. We crossed the Yaru River, now only a small stream, at the picturesque village of Mende with its fine willow trees, and then after passing over a spur, formed of slaty rock, we descended into another great plain which extended all the way to Tingri. Five miles across this plain was the village of Lingga, surrounded by marshes and ponds, with barley fields and rich grass growing between the patches of water. There were several other villages in sight, so that the plain was evidently fertile and could support a considerable population. This was the first place where we became bothered by sand flies, which in the morning were very troublesome; but when the wind got up, as it always did in the afternoons, it blew them away, and for once was welcome. The villagers were very hospitable; they produced tea and beer brewed from barley for us as soon as we arrived there. The latter is quite a pleasant drink on a hot day, but it did not agree with my inside at all. The people here had never seen a European before, and though at first inclined to be rather shy, they soon became very friendly and curious. Some pieces of silver paper from chocolates quite won the hearts of the children who flocked around and did not in the least mind being photographed. To the South extended the chain of snows of the main range of the Himalayas, and on the way we had several clear and distinct views of Mount Everest. Morshead, who had left the day before, was camped at a small monastery a few miles to the North of us in order to follow the crest of the ridge of hills and to survey both sides, but was to join us again at Tinki. The weather now was really delightful, though to the South of us we still saw heavy clouds which brought showers of snow as far as the mountains, but they did not reach us.

From here to Tinki was about 13 miles over a perfectly level plain. The midges or sand flies were very troublesome the whole way and came in hundreds round one's head, got inside one's topee, and were thoroughly objectionable. The plain appeared very fertile, as there seemed to be plenty of water and great herds of yaks and flocks of sheep were grazing upon it. In the marshes and ponds were many bar-headed geese, Brahminy ducks, mallard and teal. After the rains, it is evident that a great part of this plain is under water. About a couple of miles from Tinki we crossed some curious sand dunes, about 20 feet high, which are evidently on the move, and soon afterwards the Jongpen of Tinki came riding out to meet us with a few mounted followers, he himself riding a fine white pony. He was very Chinese in appearance, wearing finely embroidered silks with a Chinese hat and a long pigtail, and his manners were excellent. He escorted us to the place where our camp was to be, and had had three or four tents already pitched for us. Tea and country beer were at once served, and we rested in the shade of his Chinese tents until our transport arrived.

Tinki Dzong.

We were encamped in a very picturesque spot beside a large pond that was full of bar-headed geese, Brahminy ducks and terns. On the opposite side of this pond rose the walls and towers of the fort of Tinki. As soon as we had settled down, the Jongpen came again to pay us a formal visit, presented us with four sheep and a couple of hundred eggs and promised to do everything he could to help us and to forward us on our way. Half a mile above us was a large village and a big monastery belonging to the Yellow Sect of Buddhists who also owned a fine grove of willows. The bottom of the valley was all covered with barley fields, now a tender green and coming up well. As the fresh transport had not arrived, we had to spend the following day there. This gave an opportunity for Abdul Jalil, our photographic assistant, to rejoin us. We had sent him back to Phari in order to change some more rupees into Tibetan currency, as we found that Indian notes or rupees were not accepted any further to the West. Abdul Jalil had been very nervous about travelling with so much money and had borrowed a revolver and a rifle from members of the Expedition besides two large Tibetan swords and a dagger which he obtained from the Jongpen. In the morning, with Bullock, I went to return the call of the Jongpen. His fort at the time was under repair, so he was living in a small house outside the main building. He was very affable and gave us tea: we were then able to make all the arrangements for transport except the actual fixing of the price. For this he said he would have to consult his head-men. Just as we were about to leave he insisted on our eating the large meal which he had had prepared for us. He gave us small dishes of excellent macaroni and mince, seasoned up with chillies and very well cooked—much better than anything our cooks could produce. This we had to eat with chopsticks—a somewhat difficult proceeding, as we were not yet used to them. Later on, however, after much practice, we found no difficulty in consuming the numerous bowls of this excellent dish that the Tibetans always set before one. The Jongpen told us that he had been twenty-nine years in Government service, and he was expecting to have a better post than this shortly. His health was poor and he said he had been suffering much from indigestion, so I gave him some pills and tabloids, for which he was very grateful. On the return journey, he told me that he had greatly benefited by my treatment. The bar-headed geese and the wild duck here were extraordinarily tame, allowing us to approach within five yards of them and showing no signs of fear. They would come and waddle round our tents, picking up any scraps of food. The Jongpen had begged us not to shoot or kill any of them, as he said a Lama had been sent specially from Lhasa some years ago in order to tame the creatures, and certainly the result was extraordinary; it was most interesting to watch these birds, ordinarily so wild, from so close a distance. In the evening the Jongpen came over to see us again, and after a good hour's bargaining over the price of the transport, we finally reached a reasonable and amicable agreement. Every evening, to the South of us, there were constant flashes of lightning all along the horizon. In the morning I woke up to the unusual sound of drops of rain, but this only lasted for five minutes and then cleared up, though the sky remained clouded all the morning. There was the usual fighting and confusion about the loads, each person trying to get the lightest loads for his own animal. The result was that there was much talking and fighting, and nothing was actually done until some head-man would come and take control and decide the dispute. The method of adjudication was as follows:—From each of the families who were regarded as responsible for the supply of a transport animal was taken one of the embroidered garters by which the man's felt boots are kept in their place. These garters were shuffled, as one might shuffle a pack of cards, after which a single garter was laid upon each load. The family to which the garter belonged thereupon became responsible for that load and had to pack it upon the animal's back. Although we had only ninety animals, there were forty-five different families supplying them.

The march from Tinki to Chushar Nango was about 14 miles and was up the valley behind Tinki to the Tinki Pass. On the way we passed well-irrigated fields of barley and then climbed up a spur covered with a small yellow cistus. After this a long gentle pull brought us to the top of the pass, 17,100 feet. There was a very fine view from here to the East looking over Tinki and Khamba Dzong and along the Northern slopes of the Himalayas. I climbed up a hill about 600 feet above the pass, whence I had a more extensive view still. I could see far away to the East to Chomolhari, while in the foreground was the large and picturesque lake called Tsomotretung backed by the rugged chain of peaks that separated us from the valley of the Brahmaputra. To the West we looked down into the valley of the Yaru, which flowed gently through a broad and flat valley. To the South-west was a range of sharp granite peaks rising up to 22,000 feet, which ran North and South and forced the Yaru to flow round them before it could find its way into Nepal. The descent from the pass was much steeper. We passed many of our old friends the pink trumpet-shaped flowers, also a curious white and pink flower, rather like a daphne in shape, and smelling very sweetly, which grew in masses along the path. It was evidently poisonous as no animal would touch it. I picked some flowers of it and put them in my buttonhole, but was warned by the Tibetans not to do so, as they said it was poisonous and would give me a headache. Lower down the valley was full of small dwarf gorse bushes—1 foot to 18 inches high—which carpeted the ground. Everywhere were flocks of sheep and cattle grazing in the valley. Our camp was pitched on a grassy flat just below the village of Chushar Nango with its fine old ruined tower of stone with machicolated galleries all round it. To the South of us was the Nila Pass, which afforded an easy way into Nepal. The climate here was fairly warm, but the wind blew very strongly all that evening. Next day we saw the mountains all covered with fresh snow down to 16,000 feet, but we only experienced a slight drizzle as most of the snowflakes evaporated before they reached the ground, though clouds remained overhead all the morning. Morshead and his surveyors had been kept very busy up till now surveying and plotting in the intervening country from the tops of the hills, but owing to the clouds they were unable to do anything. We were all very late in starting, as our transport animals had been changed and the yaks that were supplied to us were very wild. In the first few minutes after starting we saw the plain strewn with our kits and stores, and yaks careering off in every direction with their tails in the air.

The march to Gyangkar Nangpa to-day was only a short one and led across a wide plain through which flowed the muddy and sluggish waters of the Yaru. The existing maps of this country were quite misleading and we could no longer depend on them. The rivers flowed in opposite directions to those shown on the map and mountains were shown where there were none. After about 2 or 3 miles, we had to ford the river, which was about 80 yards wide and not quite 3 feet deep. We then rode on across the plain, which was in some parts sandy and in others muddy or gravelly; evidently during the rainy season a shallow lake. In places the dwarf gorse grew on it. The sandy tracks were covered with curious hillocks 5 to 6 feet in height formed by the drifting sand and the gorse bushes. These in order to keep alive were compelled to push their branches through the sand which in its turn became piled up around them. Towards the West end of the plain were marshes and shallow lakes around which we had to make big detours.

Gyangkar Nangpa, which was our destination, was the country residence of the Phari Jongpen. His brother, who was acting as agent for him, rode out to meet us and escorted us to his house, a fine solid stone building dominating all the small houses. The tops of the walls were covered with gorse and juniper, rather suggestive of Christmas decorations. Tents were pitched for us in a grass paddock close to a grove of willows. We were then conducted upstairs into a pleasant room where were some fine gilt Chinese cabinets and some good Chinese rugs. Here the Jongpen had a meal prepared for us. We were first given tea, milk and beer, after which some fifteen dumplings apiece, each as big as a small apple, were put down in front of us together with three other bowls. In one of these was a black Chinese sauce, in another a chillie paste, and a third contained a barley soup. We were then given chopsticks with which we were expected to convey the dumplings into the barley soup, break them up there, season them with the various sauces, and then convey them to our mouths—a not too easy feat. This meal was so satisfying that we felt that we did not want to eat anything for a long time afterwards. We were told that in the rainy season the river here was unfordable, as it rose several feet and flooded over the plains, and it was then necessary to keep to the North or to the South of it. In the evening the agent came to make an official call and presented us with a sheep and a number of eggs. We invited him to dinner and gave him his first taste of such European cooking as could be provided by our native cooks.

Gyangka Range from near Chushar.

There was a slight frost during the night, but the day turned out very fine. Our host accompanied us to the village of Rongkong, one of the villages belonging to his brother, and here he said good-bye to us. The day's march was uninteresting. We followed along the left bank of the Yaru past well-irrigated barley fields, for there was any amount of water here, until the valley narrowed and the sides came down steeper, when it became covered with gorse bushes. This valley we descended for about 10 miles until it debouched into another, a broader sandy valley where the Yaru changed its course to the South. We forded it at a point where it was about 90 yards wide and 3½ feet deep, and we then sat down and waited for our transport to come up. Beyond us lay a wide sandy valley through which a stream flowed sometimes on the surface, but more often underground, when it formed dangerous quicksands. When the transport came up, our drivers were very anxious to cross immediately, as there was a strong wind blowing and a violent sandstorm. They said that it would be much safer to cross now that all the fresh sand had blown over the wet sand. In the morning, they said, after a still night, it was very dangerous, so following their advice we started off, every one dressed up as though for a gas attack, with goggles over the eyes and comforters or handkerchiefs tied over the mouth and nose to keep the sand out. At first we wound our way through big sand dunes, off which the sand was blowing like smoke. Under one of these sand dunes we found our coolies halted and lost. Some of the donkeys, too, had been unloaded here, as they could not find their way across in the sandstorm. After leaving the dunes, there were wide stretches of wet sand to cross, over which the dried sand from the dunes was being blown like long wisps of smoke so that the whole ground appeared to be moving. In places where the wet sand shook and quivered we galloped along. Eventually we and our transport arrived on the far side of the plain in safety. It was now too late, however, to go on any further, so we camped on the dunes near the quicksands in the teeth of the gale. The sand was being whirled up on to us and into our tents until everything and every one was full of sand. Water was handy, but yak dung, our only fuel, was scarce and scanty.

Just before dark a very beautiful and lofty peak appeared to the Southwards. Our drivers called it Chomo Uri (The Goddess of the Turquoise Peak) and we had many discussions as to what mountain this was. In the morning, after taking its bearings carefully, we decided that this could be no other than Mount Everest. We found out afterwards that the name, Chomo Uri, was purely a local name for the mountain. Throughout Tibet it was known as Chomolungma—Goddess Mother of the Country—and this is its proper Tibetan name.

Next morning, after an uncomfortable and windy night, we rode for several miles across a plain covered with sand dunes 20 feet or more in height. On reaching the entrance to the valley of Bhong-chu, I determined to separate myself from the main party in order to explore a peak which attracted my attention on the North side of the valley and seemed to promise good views of Mount Everest and its surroundings. After a climb of some 3,000 feet, I found myself on a spur from which I had a very wonderful view. The view extended to the East from beyond Chomolhari—over 120 miles away—and embraced practically all the high snow peaks from Chomolhari to Gosainthan, a distance of some 250 miles. In the centre Mount Everest stood up all by itself, a wonderful peak towering above its neighbours and entirely without a rival. I spent four or five hours at the top of this hill, basking in the sun, as it was delightfully hot. I saw several swallow-tailed butterflies, also a number of bees, wasps and horse flies. Major Morshead and his surveyors soon afterwards joined us, intending to take advantage of the fine view. In the afternoon I left the peak and descended into the valley in search of our new camp, for we had now left the Yaru and had turned up into the valley of the Bhong-chu, a river that flowed from the West, with a very considerable volume of water. As there was rinderpest in the valley, our transport consisted now of donkeys only, many of them being very diminutive in size, but quite accustomed to carrying heavy loads. Our camp was pitched at a place called Trangso Chumbab, where there was an old Chinese rest-house. The Bhong-chu here was nearly 200 yards in width, but there was quite a good ford across it to Tsogo. Here we found many flourishing villages and much cultivation. We seemed to be entering a much more populated part of the country; from the top of the hill I counted in one valley no less than fifteen villages and quite a number of willow groves. From here a longish march of 18 miles up the valley of the Bhong-chu brought us to Kyishong—a pretty little village on the banks of the river. There were a few willow trees here and a lot of sea buckthorn. I did not keep to the road, but started early across a big plain on which I was lucky enough to shoot a goa with quite good horns. The day was very hot and sultry, and after crossing the plain I went up a side valley which turned out to be extremely pretty. It was very narrow and a mass of wild rose bushes. These roses were all of a creamy yellow, and every bush was covered with hundreds of sweet-smelling flowers. There was also a curious black clematis and several species of broom and rock cistus. Here and there were grassy patches with bubbling springs of crystal clearness. Rock pigeons, Brahminy ducks, blackbirds and numerous other varieties of small birds came down to drink here and did not mind us at all. About two o'clock the weather suddenly changed and violent thunderstorms started all round us, first on the opposite side of the valley and then on every side. Heavy hail came down at the same time and the ground soon became white. On descending into the valley, I put up what was to me a new kind of partridge, also numerous mountain hares. On emerging into the main valley, I noticed a group of five large Chortens. I was told that the centre Chorten had been built over a very bad demon, and that it kept him down. The other four Chortens at the corners prevented his ever getting away.

The next day's march to Shekar Dzong was a short one of only 12 miles. We followed the main valley for about 6 miles through some interesting conglomerate gorges alternating with open spaces covered with sea buckthorn. We then turned off Northwards up a side valley which led us to the town and fort of Shekar. This place was very finely situated on a big rocky and sharp-pointed mountain like an enlarged St. Michael's Mount. The actual town stands at the foot of the hill, but a large monastery, holding over 400 monks and consisting of innumerable buildings, is literally perched half-way up the cliff. The buildings are connected by walls and towers with the fort, which rises above them all. The fort again is connected by turreted walls with a curious Gothic-like structure on the summit of the hill where incense is offered up daily. On our arrival the whole town turned out and surrounded us with much curiosity, for we were the first Europeans that they had ever seen. A small tent had been pitched for us, but there was such a crowd round it that I retreated to a willow grove close by, which was protected by a wall. As the Jongpen had not come to see us, Chheten Wangdi went over to find him; presently he came along with a basket of eggs and with many apologies for not coming before, but he said that he had had no warning of our arrival. This was but partly true, for though our passport did not particularly mention this place, it authorised all officials to help us to their utmost, and the Jongpen certainly knew and had heard that we were coming. I asked him to give orders that no intoxicating spirits should be served out to our followers, remembering the trouble we had had in one or two places before owing to their all getting drunk. Our tents were all pitched inside an enclosure and in the shade of the willow grove, and above us towered the picturesque buildings of the fort and the monastery. This was by far the largest and most interesting place that we had yet come across. For our mess tent we were given a fine Chinese tent such as they always seem to keep for the entertainment of guests of honour. As in most places, there were two Jongpens residing here, one lay and the other ecclesiastical, and finding that Tingri was under their jurisdiction, we asked them to issue orders to their representatives at Tingri to help us in every way with supplies and transport.

Shekar Dzong.

June 17 we spent resting at Shekar. In the morning Morshead and I went to call on the Jongpen; he lives in a poor house at the foot of the hill, his official residence being three-quarters of the way up, but he wisely prefers to live at the bottom, not being very fond of exercise. He was busy adding on to his house, and we were shown into the old part in which he was living. He gave us the usual Tibetan tea and sweetmeats and then insisted on our having macaroni and meat seasoned with chillies, which was excellent, followed by junket served in china bowls. He had some very fine teacups of agate and hornblende schist with finely chased silver covers, which I admired very much. That afternoon several of us went up to visit the big monastery of Shekar Chö-te. This consisted of a great number of buildings terraced one above the other on a very steep rocky slope. A path along the face of the rock brought us to several archways under which we passed. We then had to go up and down some picturesque but very steep and narrow streets until we came to a large courtyard. On one side of this was the main temple. In this temple were several gilt statues of Buddha decorated all over with turquoises and other precious stones, and behind them a huge figure of Buddha quite 50 feet high. Every year, they told us, they had to re-gild his face. Around were eight curious figures about 10 feet high and dressed in quaint flounces which they said were the guardians of the shrine. We then went up steep and slippery ladders, in almost pitch darkness, and came out on a platform opposite the face of the great Buddha. Here were some beautifully chased silver teapots and other interesting pieces of silver, richly decorated in relief. Inside the shrine, which was very dark, the smell of rancid butter was almost overpowering as all the lamps burnt butter. The official head of the monastery showed us round. He was apparently appointed from Lhasa and was responsible for all the revenues and financial dealings of the monastery. We were given very buttery tea in the roof courtyard, which was a pleasant spot, and here I photographed a group of several monks. They had never seen a camera or photographs before, but they had heard that such a thing was possible and were very much interested in it. Before leaving we went in to see the Head Lama who had lived over sixty-six years in this monastery. He was looked upon as being extremely holy and as the re-incarnation of a former abbot, and they therefore practically worshipped him. There was only one tooth left in his mouth, but for all that he had a very pleasant smile. All around his room were silver-gilt Chortens inlaid with turquoises and precious stones and incense was being burnt everywhere. After much persuasion the other monks induced him to come outside and have his photograph taken, telling him that he was an old man, and that his time on earth was now short, and they would like to have a picture of him to remember him by. He was accordingly brought out, dressed up in robes of beautiful golden brocades, with priceless silk Chinese hangings arranged behind him while he sat on a raised dais with his dorje and his bell in front of him, placed upon a finely carved Chinese table. The fame of this photograph spread throughout the country and in places hundreds of miles away I was asked for photographs of the Old Abbot of Shekar Chö-te, nor could I give a more welcome present at any house than a photograph of the Old Abbot. Being looked upon as a saint, he was worshipped, and they would put these little photographs in shrines and burn incense in front of them.

The Abbot of Shekar Chöte.

About midnight that night I was suddenly awakened by yells and loud shouting and hammering close to my tent and next to that in which Bullock and Mallory were sleeping. The latter turned out and found that a Tibetan had seized an ice axe and a mallet and was busy hammering on our store boxes. He gave chase, but failed to catch the intruder. Some of our coolies, however, found out where he had gone to, and Chheten Wangdi had him handed over to the Jongpen. On investigation in the morning the man proved to be a madman whom his parents always kept locked up during nights when the moon was full, but he had managed to escape, so we handed him back to his family.

Our transport was very slow in arriving, and there were so many delays that it was midday before the procession finally moved off. The loads, too, were very badly put on and kept falling off, also the transport was quite the worst that we had yet had. For about 5 miles the path went up and down hill and through much sand until we came to the bridge over the Bhong-chu. This bridge consisted of four or five stout pillars of loose stones which acted as piers, on which were laid a few pieces of wood, on which flat stones were placed. It was a rough form of bridge, but served at ordinary times for its purpose. During the course of this summer, however, after heavy rain, these piers so dammed up the water as to cause it to rise some 4 or 5 feet on the upper side of them with the result that the immense weight of water swept the whole bridge away. Bullock and Mallory with half a dozen coolies had left early in the morning, intending to bivouac out for a couple of nights and climb one of the hills to the South of the Bhong-chu in order to get a view of Mount Everest. After we had gone about 5 miles we met them close to the bridge, as they had lost their way and had been walking for about 15 miles: not having found the bridge, they had forded the river and had got wet up to their necks in crossing it. At dusk we reached the village of Tsakor, where we found a tent pitched for us, and here we spent the night. Our transport did not turn up till nearly nine o'clock, and so we all slept in the mess tent. From here to Tingri was still another 20 miles—the path following the right bank of the Bhong-chu the whole way. In places the river was as much as 200 yards wide and flowed very sluggishly. We were told that the waters were very low, but that next month, when the rains had broken, the river often filled the whole of the bottom of the valley. On the way we passed some very handsome black-necked cranes as large as the Saurus crane. These had black heads and bills, with red eyes, light grey bodies and black tails with fine feathers. On this march the midges were dreadfully annoying the whole way, and we were surrounded with clouds of them the whole time. Their bite was very tiresome and extremely irritating. On the way we passed a Mongolian who had taken eleven months in coming from Lhasa and who was on his way to Nepal. His method of progression was by throwing himself at full length down on the ground. He then got up and at the spot where his hands touched the ground repeated the motion again. As we approached Tingri, the valley widened out and bent round to the South. Tingri itself was situated on the side of a small hill in the middle of a great plain, from which, looking to the South, was visible the wonderful chain of snowy peaks, many of them over 25,000 feet in height, which extends Westwards from Mount Everest. We crossed the Ra-chu—a tributary of the Bhong-chu, partly by bridges and partly by fords; it was split up into a number of small and very muddy channels that took their rise from the Kyetrak Glacier. Tingri was to be our first base for reconnoitring the Northern and North-western approaches to Mount Everest. It was June 19 when we arrived there, so that it had taken us just a month's travelling from Darjeeling to perform this part of our journey.

Footnote:

[3] Dzong means fort.

CHAPTER IV

TINGRI AND THE COUNTRY TO THE SOUTH

Tingri is a place of some importance, with a considerable trade at certain seasons of the year. It is the last place of any size on this side of the Nepalese frontier and boasts of a military governor. The garrison, however, when we visited it, consisted only of a sergeant and four or five soldiers. There were about three hundred houses in Tingri, all clustered together on the slopes of a small isolated hill standing in the middle of the great plain. On the top of the hill was the old Chinese fort, now all falling into ruin, but still littered with papers and books, written in Chinese characters, left behind by the Chinese on their hasty departure. Inside were quaint mural frescoes of curious old men riding stags or winged dragons painted in many colours. All the way up the valley of the Bhong-chu we had seen ruins of walls and evidences of much fighting. These all dated back, we were told, to the time of the Nepalese invasions of Tibet in the eighteenth century when the Gurkhas penetrated so far into Tibet that they actually got to Shigatse, and the Tibetans had to call upon the Chinese Empire for help. The Chinese came into the country with a large army, defeated the Gurkhas, drove them out of Tibet and crossed the Himalayas with a considerable army into Nepal, an extraordinary military feat considering the enormous difficulty of moving an army in these unhospitable regions over the high mountain passes through which it is approached. The Chinese, after this, never left Tibet until they were driven out by the Tibetans only a few years ago. In the hills round Tingri we came across many evidences of the fighting which then took place. This probably accounted for the large number of ruined and deserted villages that we saw in the valleys around. At the foot of the hill was a large Chinese rest-house which was only used to house Tibetan officials when they came there on duty. The Tibetans themselves did not like to live in or use the place, as many Chinese had died there and they thought that their ghosts haunted the spot. This rest-house was, however, swept out and prepared for our reception, as we had told the Tibetans that we should probably stay there for some time and should want a house to protect us from the wind and to provide a dark room for developing our photographs. The rest-house consisted of three courtyards in the outer one we put the coolies, in the middle one the surveyors, and the inner one we kept for ourselves. In appearance the building was quite picturesque with its mural paintings of flying dogs and fierce dragons; but in spite of its picturesqueness outside and its handsome appearance, the rooms inside were small, and when the rain came it poured through the roof and our beds had to be shifted many times during the night to avoid the drips of water. It however provided an excellent dark room for us after we had well plastered the walls, the floor and the ceiling with mud and got rid of the dust of ages. To do any photographic work in Tibet a house is a necessity, as with the violent wind that blows every day all one's belongings get covered with dust which would ruin any negative. At first we found water a great difficulty as the local water was full of mud, but we eventually discovered a beautifully clear spring, about half a mile away, which bubbled up in a deep bluey green basin, and this water we used always, both for drinking and for photographic work. Tingri had many advantages as a base. Stores, supplies and transport were always available there, as it was the headquarters of the district. It also provided an easy means of approach to Mount Everest from the North-west and to the high group of mountains that lay to the West of Mount Everest. After sorting out all our stores and equipment and seeing in what state they were after the journey, our next business was the making of a dark room, as we had taken many photographs on the journey that required developing. The weather at this time was very fine, but the Tibetans kept on telling us that the rainy season ought to be starting, so we determined as soon as possible to send out parties in different directions to make the most of the favourable opportunity. The first morning after our arrival we were up on the top of the hill by six o'clock in the hope of getting a good view to the South, but the clouds were already over most of the mountains. Everest we could see quite clearly, and Cho-Uyo, the great 26,800 feet peak that lies to the West of Mount Everest. The Depon here, who was acting as the Governor of the place, was a nice young fellow and very cheery, and later on I got to know him very well and went over to his house and was entertained by him and his wife. He told me that the Tibetans still paid tribute to Nepal for all that part of the country, and that the amount they had to pay was the equivalent of 5,000 rupees per annum. The Nepalese kept a head-man at Tingri and another at Nyenyam to deal with all criminal cases and offences committed by Nepalese subjects when in Tibet. I found later on that the Tibetans were very frightened of the Nepalese, or of having any dealings with a Gurkha. I took photographs of the Depon's wife and all their children, and of his mother-in-law, which delighted them immensely; the wife at first was very shy of coming forward, but after many tears and protestations her husband finally induced her to be photographed. The great semi-circular head-dresses that the women wear are usually covered with turquoises, and coral, and often with strings of seed pearls across them. Round their necks hang long chains of either turquoise or coral beads, sometimes mixed with lumps of amber. Suspended round the neck by a shorter chain is generally a very elaborately decorated charm box, those belonging to the richer or upper classes being of gold inlaid with turquoises, the poorer people having them made of silver with poorer turquoises. The officials, as a rule, have a long ear-ring, 4 or 5 inches long, of turquoises and pearls, suspended from the left ear, while in the right ear they wear a single turquoise of very good quality. Nearly every one carries a rosary, with which their hands are playing about the whole day. We were told that the laws governing marriage in those parts were strictly regulated. Owing to the excessive number of males, a form of polyandry prevails. If there were four brothers in a family, and the eldest one married a wife, his wife would also be the property of the three younger brothers; but if the second or third brother married, their wives would be common only to themselves and their youngest brother. In Tibet, when, owing to the severe climate, digging is impossible for about six months in the year, if a man dies his body is handed over to professional corpse butchers, of whom there are one or two in every village. These butchers cut the body up into small pieces, which are taken out on to a hill-top and scattered about for the birds of the air or the wolves to devour. If by any chance there is a delay in consuming these remains, this is looked upon as a sign that the man has led an evil life during his lifetime.

On June 22 Wollaston rejoined us again. He had escorted Raeburn to Lachen, and had there arranged for an assistant surgeon to come up and take him back as far as Gangtok. Wollaston had then come on as fast as possible to rejoin us. His kit did not arrive till the following day, as he had ridden in direct from Shekar Dzong. The following day Bullock and Mallory left us, making direct for Mount Everest, and intending to reconnoitre the North and Northwestern slopes. Looked at from here it is certainly a very wonderful mountain, as it seems to stand up all by itself, but from this side it looks far too steep to be climbed. On June 25 Wheeler and Heron went off to Kyetrak, from which point Wheeler was to begin his photographic survey. I had intended to start the following day and join them, but the acid hypo that I had been using for fixing had given off so many sulphur fumes that I had been quite “gassed” for several days and had lost my voice in consequence. Unfortunately my orderly and Wheeler's bearer, who were both Mahommedans, were taken ill with enteric. Wheeler's bearer was in a very bad way, and a few days after my departure he died, but my orderly, after a bad attack, recovered, and when I returned three weeks later he was able to be up and to walk about a little. As Wollaston was likely to be detained here for some time owing to these cases of sickness, and as Morshead wanted to get in some surveying all round Tingri, I thought it would be a good opportunity to visit the different parties that we had sent out, and also to get, if possible, some information about Kharta, which I intended should be our second base. The coolies that we had still with us at Tingri were kept busy by Wollaston, and daily they would bring in rats, birds, lizards, beetles, or fish which they had collected for him. The local people would not make any attempt to collect these animals, as they said it was against their religion. On June 26 I started out to the South and camped the first night at Sharto, a small village about 9 miles across the plain to the South of Tingri. On the way we passed numbers of bees that seemed to be coming up out of the ground and swarming. These were all of a very light brown colour. Sharto is only a small village, but there are no other houses between it and Kyetrak, so that it was necessary to stop there. As the wind always blows with great strength here, the tents were pitched within some sheltering walls. In every place that we went to now we managed to get some kind of green food which was turned into spinach; a small kind of weed that grows in the barley fields was generally thus used. At other times we tried turnip leaves, or again, when we were higher and above the limits of cultivation, the young shoots of the nettle which grows up to 17,000 feet, and is really very good. I had taken with me this time a Tibetan whom we had picked up on the way. He was called Poo, and he turned out to be an excellent cook who could make any of the Tibetan dishes. As he was a sensible fellow, and very seldom drunk, I made a good deal of use of him. He accompanied me in all my wanderings, and I could not have found a more useful servant when travelling, as he never seemed to mind the cold or the height and could always produce a fire of some kind, even though he had forgotten to bring any matches. That evening at Sharto there was a curious false sunset in the East with rays of light in the deep purple of the sky. All the hills stood out with wonderful sharpness, and the colours were very beautiful. Towards nightfall we saw a number of kiang, which came quite close up to the camp and started feeding on the barley fields in spite of the pillars of stones and the strings which are put round the fields to keep both them and the hares away from the crops. The next morning I started off early as I intended to climb a hill 17,700 feet, on the way to Kyetrak. This hill, however, proved further off than I anticipated, and we had some difficulty in crossing a glacier stream, so that I did not get up to the top till 9 a.m., by which time the clouds had hidden a great part of the mountains to the South of us. The view, nevertheless, was extraordinarily fine. The top of Everest just showed above a great icy range to the East of us, and South-east was that great group of mountains of which Cho-Uyo, 26,800 feet, is the highest. Immense granite precipices descended sheer for several thousand feet until they reached great winding glaciers, while from over the Khombu Pass long wisps of cloud came sailing round these peaks and eventually hid them from our view. To the North the view extended right up to the watershed of the Brahmaputra, 80 to 100 miles distant. The different colours of the hills, the light and shade from the clouds, all formed a charming picture. Once over 17,000 feet, I met my old friend the dwarf blue poppy (Meconopsis) and many pretty white, blue and yellow saxifrages that grew on the rocks. Descending from this hill into the Kyetrak Valley, we passed a number of goa which were quite tame, but unfortunately they were all females. We had two more big glacial torrents to cross which later in the afternoon would probably have been impassable as by that time they would have risen another 2 feet, due to the melting of the snow and the ice by the hot sun in the morning; indeed, we only just managed to get across when we did. The main Kyetrak stream comes from the great glacier that descends from Cho-Uyo and the Khombu Pass. Opposite the village of Kyetrak it is luckily divided into a number of small streams, so that it is usually possible to get across it, though in the afternoons it is always somewhat difficult.

This village lies at a height of 16,000 feet, at the foot of the Khombu or Nangba Pass and the Pusi Pass. The former is a high glacier-covered pass, about 19,000 feet, that leads into the Khombu Valley in Nepal. The other, the Pusi Pass, is a much lower and easier pass that leads into the Rongshar Valley. Between these two passes lies a very beautiful glacier-covered peak called Chorabsang. Here at Kyetrak I met Heron and Wheeler encamped in the shelter of some walls close to the village, which consisted of a few dirty stone houses and a big Chorten. The people told me that they lived here all the year round, and that they owned the grazing for many miles to the North and possessed herds of yaks several thousand in number. Traffic could be kept up over these passes, they said, at all times of the year, though only with great difficulty, and with much danger, whole convoys being sometimes wiped out by blizzards when trying to cross the Khombu Pass, as the fine powdery snow is blown down into their faces from every direction and they finally get suffocated by it. That night there was a sharp frost, and the following morning Heron and I started to go up towards the Khombu Pass, following at first the East side of the Kyetrak Glacier. For about 6 or 7 miles we rode beside the great moraine that extended along the East side of this glacier; every now and then we climbed up on to a mound on the edge of the glacier in order to take photographs of it. The ice was all torn and riven into wonderful shapes and opposite us was the finely crevassed peak of Chorabsang. I pushed on, leaving Heron to come on at a slower pace, as I was anxious to get to the top of the pass before the clouds should have come up and hidden all the views. Every day it cost us a race to get up to a point of vantage before the clouds should have come up and hidden everything. Leaving the pony behind, with one coolie, I pressed forward for some 4 miles up a very stony and slippery moraine on the glacier. Here were many curious ice formations—ice tables with a big flat rock superimposed, curious upright pillars of ice, and the main glacier itself was worn by stone and water into the weirdest shapes and forms. In places, too, we came across that curious formation which in South America is called Nieve Penitentes. As we passed onwards, new glaciers opened up in every valley. The views up some of these side valleys, which often widened out into great amphitheatres, were very grand, especially that of the huge glacier that swept down from below the rock walls of Cho-Uyo.

On arriving at the end of the moraine, the boots that my coolie was wearing came to pieces and he said he could go no further across the snow, so shouldering the big camera, I started off alone. At first the ice was firm, but soon I came to soft snow and much water underneath it: they made the going very unpleasant and I kept floundering about up to my knees in snow and water. At length I came to a large crevasse along the edge of which I followed for over half a mile as most of the snow bridges across it were unsafe. At last I found my way across and by climbing on to some rocks was able to look over the top of the pass and down into Nepal. The height of the pass seemed to be about 19,000 feet, and as the day was very hot, I lay down and went sound asleep, only waking up when it began to snow. I then started, none too soon, on my homeward journey: all the way back snow fell heavily. I was very thankful to meet my coolie again and to hand over the camera to him: carrying a camera for five or six hours in soft snow at a height of over 18,000 feet is a heavy tax upon the endurance of anyone unaccustomed to carrying weights. Wheeler meanwhile had moved up his camp from Kyetrak to a spot on the moraine East of the glacier and intended to spend a week or fortnight in that valley.

The next morning Heron and I started to go over the Pusi Pass (Marmot Pass), so called because of the number of marmots that frequent the Southern slopes. After fording the Kyetrak River, we climbed up the moraine to the West of the Kyetrak Glacier and then turned up some easy grass hills until we came to the top of the pass, 17,700 feet. Here at the very top were growing some delightful little dwarf forget-me-nots—not an inch high—also many white and yellow saxifrages. Most of the views were unfortunately hidden by clouds, though one fine triple-headed peak showed up well to the South. We passed several flocks of female burhel (Ovis nahura), which were quite tame, and allowed us to ride up to within 50 yards of them. The hillsides were bare at first and grassy and the air felt distinctly cold and damp. We now commenced our long descent, and at 16,000 feet began to meet with juniper bushes and many dwarf rhododendrons. As we got lower, many more varieties of bushes appeared. There were two or three kinds of berberis, loniceras, white and pink spiræas, and quantities of white roses; besides these were masses of primulas and anemones, and pink, white or mauve geraniums. We now followed the right bank of the Shung-chu, a great glacial torrent, which joined by several others became an unfordable stream. The path was well engineered, sometimes close to the river, and sometimes built out on rocks high above the stream. All of a sudden the valley narrowed into a great gorge. We had left all the granites and slates behind and had suddenly come into the zone of the gneiss, which extended many miles to the South. A little way further down, at a place where two other valleys meet, we caught sight of some green barley fields lying round the small village of Tasang where we encamped on a terrace for the night. We were now at a height of only 13,300 feet, and were able to get fresh eggs and vegetables again. It was a great pleasure once more to have wood fires in place of the yak dung with its acrid smoke, which caused all one's food to taste unpleasantly. Here we used as fuel the aromatic wood of the juniper.

This valley is looked upon as a holy one, owing to the number of juniper bushes that grow in it, and several hermits and nuns had taken up their abode in it and shut themselves up in caves in order to meditate. The nearest village used to supply them with food, and morning and evening could be seen ascending the blue smoke of the juniper, which they burnt as incense before the entrances of their dwelling places. There was a hermit who lived close to the village and whose cave we could see high up in the rocks above. The villagers told us that after meditating for a period of ten years, he would be able to live on only ten grains of barley a day, and they were looking forward to that day. There was another anchorite female who was supposed to have lived here for 138 years and who was greatly revered. She had forbidden any of the animals in the valley to be killed, and that was the reason why the flocks of burhel we had passed were so extremely tame. The next day, giving our transport a rest, Heron and I walked for 7 or 8 miles down the valley. On the opposite side of the valley the only trees were birches and willow, and it was curious that, at these comparatively low heights, there were no large rhododendrons or fir trees. On the other side of the valley, the vegetation consisted wholly of juniper, berberis or wild roses. We descended to 12,000 feet, most of the time going through narrow gorges. At one place we came across a number of gooseberry bushes covered with young gooseberries, of which we gathered a sufficient supply to last us for several days. The rose bushes were charming all the way. At first they were all of the white creamy coloured variety, but lower down we came on the big red one with flowers often more than 3 inches in diameter. Wherever there were springs of water there grew masses of anemones and yellow primulas. We now returned to our camp at Tasang, and rain then started and continued the remainder of the day. The people told us that this valley was passable for animals for three days' journey, after which the river entered into some terrible gorges down which it was only just possible for a coolie to get along, and these latter gorges formed the boundary between Tibet and Nepal. On July 1 we started to return to Kyetrak; the morning was misty when we started, and though the higher peaks were all hidden in the clouds, the sun shone brightly and the day was quite hot. Our kit did not arrive till between five and six o'clock, and the yaks had a great deal of trouble in getting across the Kyetrak River, as it had risen considerably. Wheeler was still at his high camp further up the valley, waiting for a really clear day. The clouds, too, were his great enemies, as they came up very early every morning from over the Khombu Pass.

From here Heron and I had decided to go on and see how Mallory and Bullock had been faring in the next valley, so the next morning, after breakfasting at 5 a.m., we started off. It was one of the coldest mornings we had had, with a very hard frost, and being on the shady side of the valley we did not get the sun till several hours after we had started. After going down the valley for about 6 miles, we turned off to the East and crossed several easy passes, the higher of them, the Lamna La, being 16,900 feet. The country was very barren of flowers and vegetation, but there was a certain amount of grazing for yaks and sheep. The march to Zambu was a fairly long one of 20 miles, but the yaks came along well. This was a more prosperous-looking village than most of them, and the houses were all whitewashed. We were still too high for barley fields as we were just 16,000 feet, but the wealth of the village lay in its herds of yaks and sheep; the villagers told us they owned 3,000 yaks. Shepherds in this country are but poorly paid, getting only thirty trangkas (10s.) per annum. But house servants are still worse off, getting only eight trangkas (2s. 8d.) per annum. However, they seem to thrive under those wages and there is no discontent or trades unionism among them. Our camp was pitched in a sunny spot not far from the village, looking straight over towards Mount Everest, whose top appeared over the opposite hills. From this side its precipices looked most formidable and there was also a magnificent ridge which we had not seen before. There was a slight frost again that night.

Breakfasting, as usual, at 5 a.m., I started up the hill South of the camp and was lucky enough to get a clear view of Everest and the Rongbuk Valley that led up to it. This valley ran right up to the foot of Mount Everest and seemed an easy enough approach, but the mountain itself looked absolutely unscalable from this side, showing nothing but a series of very steep precipices. The day turned out to be a very hot one. I descended into the valley below, and started to ride up towards Mount Everest. Presently I came to an unfordable stream, and after making several attempts to get across this, found myself compelled to return several miles down the valley to the monastery of Chöbu, where there was a slender footbridge. The pony that I was riding was swum across, a rope being attached to its head. He was then pulled over to the far side, a proceeding he did not at all enjoy. The yaks, too, were unladen, and the loads carried by hand over the bridge. After this the yaks were driven into the river and made to swim across, but they only went as far as an island in the middle of the river. From this place they would not budge in spite of stones, curses and threats, until at length a man with a sling, fetched from the monastery, hurled stones at them with great violence: this procedure apparently so stung them up that they thought it advisable to cross the remainder of the stream. At the entrance to the valley, we passed some very tame burhel within a few yards of the path, and then went along at the foot of some fine cliffs with limestone on the top and layers of hornblende and granite below. At first there was quite a rich vegetation growing here, considering we were just on 16,000 feet. There were juniper bushes, clematis, willows, a genista, rock roses, and even some yellow primulas, but as we got further into the valley it became more stony, and on either side of the path were small piles of stones heaped up by pilgrims. The valley was considered very sacred and was apparently a great place of pilgrimage. We found the base camp of the Alpine climbers pitched close to the Rongbuk Monastery, where there lived a very high re-incarnated Lama who was in meditation and not allowed to see anyone. This valley was called the Rongbuk, or inner valley—a name well suited to it; the legend was that from this valley there used to be a pass over into the Khombu Valley, but the high Lama who lived here forbade the use of it, as it disturbed the meditations of the recluses and hermits, of which there were several hundred here. At first these good people did not at all approve of our coming into this valley, as they thought we should be likely to disturb and distract their meditations.

The Rongbuk Monastery lies at a height of 16,500 feet, and is an unpleasantly cold spot. This monastery contains twenty permanent Lamas who always live there, together with the re-incarnated Lama. Besides these, there are three hundred other associated Lamas who come in periodically, remaining there for periods of varying length. These Associate Lamas are mostly well-to-do, and having sufficient money to support themselves are not a drain upon the villagers. They will often invest several thousand trangkas with some village, and in return for this money the village will supply them with food, barley, milk, eggs and fuel. Higher up the valley there was a smaller monastery, and dotted along the hillside were numerous cells and caves where monks or nuns had retired to meditate. Every animal that we saw in this valley was extraordinarily tame. In the mornings we watched the burhel coming to some hermits' cells not a hundred yards away from the camp, to be fed, and from there they went on to other cells. They seemed to have no fear whatever of human beings. On the way up the valley we passed within 40 to 50 yards of a fine flock of rams, but they barely moved away, and on the way back we passed some females that were so inquisitive that they actually came up to within 10 yards of us in order to have a look at us. The rock pigeons came and fed out of one's hand, and the ravens and all the other birds here were equally tame; it was most interesting to be able to watch all their habits and to see them at such close quarters. On July 4, Heron and I walked up the valley to see Mallory and Bullock, who had got an Alpine camp some 7 miles further up the valley at a height of 18,000 feet, where they were training their coolies in snow and ice work and trying to find out whether there was any possible way of attacking Mount Everest from this side. It was a beautiful morning when we started, and on the way we passed one or two small monasteries and numerous cells where hermits and recluses were living in retirement and meditation. After crossing several small lake beds and old moraines—for the big Rongbuk Glacier seemed to have been retiring in the last few years—we came to the big moraine-covered Rongbuk Glacier. This glacier appeared to be about 8 or 9 miles long, starting immediately below an immense circle of cliffs which formed the North face of Mount Everest. We found afterwards that there were several other side glaciers that joined in it, which were even larger and longer than the centre glacier. After some steep scrambles up the moraine-covered glacier and on to a high terrace on the West side of it, we found Mallory and Bullock with their coolies encamped in a pleasantly sheltered spot with plenty of water close at hand and commanding the most magnificent views of Mount Everest, which here seemed to be only about 6 miles away and towered up above the glacier, showing immense cliffs 10,000 feet high. Mallory and Bullock were hard at work training the coolies in snow and ice work and exploring all the different glaciers from that side. They were, however, much handicapped by there only being two of them, which made the work more strenuous. After spending the day with them, Heron and I returned to our camp in the evening. The evening light on Mount Everest was wonderfully beautiful. The weather seems nearly always to clear up about sunset, and its summit then usually towers far above the clouds in a clear sky. At dusk several of the Lamas came for medicines of different kinds, which we gave them, and much to our surprise in the morning they presented us with a number of fresh eggs in gratitude. Having seen Mallory and Bullock well established in this valley, our next most important duty seemed to be to select a site for our next base camp. Some place on the East side of Mount Everest would have to be chosen, and it seemed that somewhere in the Kharta Valley would be the most likely spot. Heron and I therefore determined that we would make a quick reconnaissance of that district before returning to Tingri. On the following day we moved down from the Rongbuk Monastery.

CHAPTER V

THE SEARCH FOR KHARTA

After leaving Mallory and Bullock to continue the search for a possible route up Mount Everest from the Rongbuk side, Heron and I, on July 5, started off down the Rongbuk Valley in order to visit Kharta. We had been told that it was only two days' easy march from the monastery to get there. It was a cold morning when we started off; there had been a sharp frost during the night and the sun did not reach us till late in the morning. Mount Everest stood out at the head of the valley wonderfully clear and clothed with a fresh mantle of white. Instead of crossing over the river by the bridge, at Chöbu, we kept straight on down the valley till we came to Chödzong, where were the first barley fields and cultivation. There was plenty of water here for irrigation purposes, and some fine grassy fields on which many ponies were grazing. We had to change our transport in this village and get fresh animals, so that it was not till three o'clock in the afternoon that we got started again. In Tibet they have a system of stages, and animals from one village are taken, as a rule, for one stage only. As each stage usually ends at the next village, and as villages are frequent, this is a most awkward and inconvenient arrangement—as it necessitates three or four changes a day. In order to avoid these constant changes, we used to persuade the villagers by promises of extra baksheesh, especially where we had a large number of animals, to undertake two or three stages. After leaving Chödzong we climbed up over a steep pass 1,200 feet above the valley and found a still deeper descent to the village of Halung, which lay at our feet. Here we waited for our transport, but as this did not arrive till dark, we decided to camp there, though we had only done 18 miles from Rongbuk; the yak travels very slowly. We were now again at 14,800 feet and found a much warmer climate, with green barley fields and here and there patches of yellow mustard. A large rhubarb with a curious crinkled leaf grew here and there in the fields. We tried to eat this rhubarb; it had an unpleasant taste, but this disappeared when it was cooked and it proved a welcome addition to our diet. The Tibetans do not use it for food, as sugar—without which it would be uneatable—is scarce and expensive in the country. The plant serves, however, as an acid for dyes.

Halung is a very prosperous-looking village with well-built houses. The villagers soon had three tents pitched for us on a grassy field between the village and the river; cushions, cooking pots and fuel were also brought out for us. Here we camped for the night in reasonable comfort. On the following morning the loads were all carried by hand across a fragile bridge over the glacier stream, while the yaks and the ponies were driven across it. We then rode for a mile down the green and well-watered valley, and afterwards turned up into another valley where every flat space was green with barley-fields intermixed with brilliant patches of yellow from the fields of mustard. A small glacier stream fed this valley and supplied plenty of water for irrigation. After passing several small villages we rode across a spur also covered with barley-fields to Rebu, where we had to change our transport. This was quite a picturesque village situated on a rocky knoll, part of the village being on one side and part on the other of the river. Along the various irrigation canals were wild flowers of all kinds. Monkshood grew there, also black and yellow clematis, rhubarb, ranunculus and primulas of different kinds. By ten o'clock our transport was changed and we were given ponies instead of yaks: they travel much quicker and we had apparently a long way to go yet before we could reach the next village. We were expecting all the time to get to Kharta that evening, but where distances are concerned all Tibetans are liars, and after doing 26 miles we stopped, Kharta being apparently as far off as ever. After leaving Rebu the path led for some miles up an uninteresting valley, in which limestone cliffs on one side and sandstone cliffs on the other came down almost to the stream, the waters of which, in contrast to the muddy glacier streams that we had been meeting the whole time, were as clear as crystal. There were many small birds along the banks, all of them wonderfully tame; these, when we were resting for lunch, hopped all round us and under our legs, carrying off crumbs or any morsels of food. We now climbed up on to a pass called the Doya La, 17,000 feet, from the top of which were fine views of great rocky peaks on either side, those on the South being covered in parts with hanging glaciers. About a quarter of a mile from the top of the pass we struck some granite soil on which grew an extraordinary variety of Alpine flowers; the blue poppy abounded, pink, yellow and white saxifrages covered all the rocks, and besides these were many other plants which I had not seen before and which were quite new to me. The range which we now crossed acts as a barrier against the approach of the Monsoon clouds and prevents them from passing over into Tibet. Over on the North side the country is mostly dry and very little grows there, whereas on the South there is a rich and varied vegetation and the air feels soft and moist. The road from the pass led by an easy descent into a fine valley with a green lake lying at its head under the dark cliffs of some bold rocky peaks. We followed this valley for many miles, a strong head wind blowing against us the whole of the time, and found ourselves before long once more among the junipers and willows. We also saw pink and white rhododendrons, and in places a small yellow one with waxy blossoms. The yellow rock cistus, spiræas, roses, yellow primulas, blue monkshood, campanulas, blue anemones, and hundreds of other wild flowers formed a rich flora which showed that a considerable precipitation from the Monsoon fell in this valley.

At last we came to a village, but every one fled at our approach, and we could get no information about the route. A little further on we came across more villages, in one of which, with much difficulty and after a long chase, we captured a man and made him guide us to the village of Chulungphu, where we decided to stop the night. After a little time we induced some of the villagers to come out from their hiding-places, and to produce tents and fuel for us. The camp was pitched in a field of sweet-scented primulas near the village. The architecture of these houses was quite different from what we had met before—they all appear to be strongly fortified, as they have practically no windows and there are only small loopholes facing outwards. They are all built of a brown stone—a kind of gneiss, and have sods on the parapet over which are laid branches of juniper. The next morning we woke to the sound of pattering rain and found all the hills wreathed in grey mist. This was their first rain this year, so the inhabitants told us. It was pleasant to one's skin after the dry climate and biting winds that we had been experiencing on the other side of the passes to feel oneself wrapped in a softer and milder air. We rode down this valley for about 6 miles until it debouched into the main Arun Valley. The people, however, do not know it by this name here, but call it still the Bhong-chu until it reaches Nepal. We passed villages all the way, villages brown in colour and built of a brown gneiss, around which grew fields of barley and mustard. After the barren valleys which we had left, these appeared very fertile; rose and currant bushes surrounded every field, while the hillsides were covered with juniper and willows. Along the path grew spiræas and clematis, while beside every watercourse were yellow marsh marigolds and primulas. A feature of the Arun Valley, which was fairly wide here, was the old terraces on its slopes, now all covered with barley, pea and mustard fields, the latter being a blaze of yellow. There were many villages here and some pleasant country houses surrounded by groves of willows and poplars. Down here the people were not quite so frightened of us as they were in the valley from which we had just come, where they had run away from us whenever we approached. The Bong-chu here is a large river with a very great flow of water, and quite unfordable. The nearest place where it could be crossed is at a rope bridge some 18 miles higher up, and during the rainy season this bridge is impassable, and communication with the other side completely cut off. To the South and close by, at a height of 12,000 feet, the Bhong-chu enters a terrific gorge on either side of which tower up great cliffs with snowy peaks high above them. On some of the slopes which are not quite so steep there are thick forests of fir trees and rhododendrons where, I was told, the muskdeer lived. After descending the valley for 3 miles, we turned up a side valley pointing Westwards. Down this flowed a very large and unfordable glacial stream. This evidently came down from the neighbourhood of Mount Everest, but local information as to its source was very vague, and it was evident that we should have to prospect for ourselves. Some 3 miles up this valley we came to a place called by the natives Kharta Shika, where the Governor of the Kharta District resides. Kharta was not apparently a village at all, but a district including a number of small villages. We halted a short distance below Kharta Shika and presently the Governor came out to meet us with a present of sweetmeats and the usual scarf. He apologised for not meeting us before, as he said that he had no information as to the date of our arrival. He begged that we would come over to his garden where he had ordered a fine Chinese tent to be pitched for us. We crossed the river by a wooden bridge, and after going through the village came to the Governor's house. Crossing through the courtyard we entered his garden, which lay in a nice sheltered spot surrounded by willow trees with a stream of clear water running through it. Big wild roses grew there and a few European flowers that he had planted, while under a very ancient poplar there was a large painted prayer wheel, some 8 feet high, which was turned by a stream of water. Here in his garden he provided us with a meal of excellent macaroni and a very hot chilli salad. It was very pleasant to rest the eyes on the luscious green of the well irrigated garden, and to be for once sheltered from the wind. During the night we were awakened by a regular shower bath. The Chinese tent, beautiful as it was in outward appearance, was sadly lacking in waterproof qualities. As it rained steadily most of the night, we had to take cover under our mackintoshes on which were pools of water in the morning. There seemed to be no doubt that the proper Monsoon had at last broken, and the Jongpen himself told us that this was the first really heavy rain that they had had. All the people considered that we had brought this rain with us and were very grateful in consequence; later on, when we left, they begged us not to stop the rain, as they wanted it badly for their crops.

As it cleared up a little about nine o'clock in the morning, though the hills were still all in cloud, we rode out with Chheten Wangdi, the Jongpen and Hopaphema, who was the largest landowner about here, to look out for a site for our next base camp. We wanted, if possible, to get a house that could be used as a store-room and also for photographic purposes. We rode down into the main valley, and after looking over several houses, we eventually selected one on an old river terrace with fine views all around and standing quite by itself well away from any village. The water supply was good and handy, and there was a pleasant garden of poplars and willows, in which we could pitch our tents. After a certain amount of bargaining, the owners were willing to let us have the house and the garden for the large rent of one trangka (3½d.) a day. It was apparently the first time anyone in that valley had ever wanted to rent a house, and there were no house agents there to run one up into exorbitant prices. We then rode on to Hopaphema's house, which was a fine solidly built dwelling surrounded by large juniper trees, willows and poplars. Later on we got to know this man very well, and used to call him always the “Sergeant,” as he was supposed to do any recruiting for the Tibetan army that was needed in that valley. He had a very kindly disposition, was always very hospitable, and had a great sense of humour. He had a tent pitched for our reception under a very old poplar with a grass plot in front surrounded by bushes of wild red roses. Here we were given tea, milk and beer, and then the usual macaroni and mince was produced. On leaving, he insisted on my taking away a large quantity of turnip leaves, as he knew I was very fond of green food, and they made an excellent “spinach.” The Tibetans that we met have invariably proved very kindly and hospitable.

On returning to Kharta, where I had left Heron, I found that it had been raining all the time, though in the main valley we had had it quite fine. In the evening I took a walk up to an old fort not far from our camp. This fort in old days had commanded the only path from here that led into Nepal, but now it had all fallen into ruin. Close by it, however, was a delightful dell full of hoary willow trees, underneath which the ground was carpeted with yellow primulas growing among the bushes of scarlet roses. Near by were two old poplar trees, whose trunks measured between 20 and 30 feet in circumference and were evidently of a very great age. The primulas everywhere were really astonishing. They outlined every watercourse with yellow and often grew between 2 and 3 feet high with enormous heads of sweet cowslip-scented yellow flowers. It rained again during the whole of the night, and the fine spray that came through the Chinese tent made sleep rather difficult. The next morning we started to go back to Tingri, and for the first day's march were given coolies for our transport. In this district coolies are used a great deal as all the trade with Nepal has to be carried on by them, the paths over the passes being quite impassable for pack transport; the Jongpen told us that we would find them quite as fast as ponies.

To-day's march was to Lumeh—a distance of about 17 miles—and the coolies arrived very soon after we did, having come along extraordinarily well. Our route for the first 3 miles was down the Kharta Valley until it joined the valley of the Bhong-chu; we then followed the right bank of this for some 10 miles. On the way we stopped at the house of Hopaphema, who insisted on giving us a meal of milk, macaroni and mince, although it was only just over an hour since we had had breakfast. On our departure he gave us a basket of eggs and some more turnip leaves to take along with us, and altogether showed himself a most friendly and hospitable host. At first we rode through fields of barley, peas and mustard for several miles, the valley then became much more barren and the path occasionally was taken high up on the face of a cliff, where the river swept round close beneath the mountain side. At other times we crossed broad stony terraces. We came eventually to the village of Dak, where the monks from the monastery had pitched tents for us and had another meal provided for us. Coolies had to be changed here, our old coolies arriving while we were having our meal; after the loads had been transferred, our new transport proceeded along to Lumeh, where we intended to spend the night. The path after Dak was in places dangerous owing to falling stones, and our guide every now and then urged us to hurry, as owing to the heavy rain of the preceding night many stones had been loosened. The main Bhong-chu suddenly turned off to the East from here, unexpectedly forcing a passage through a very curious and deep gorge, where it burst its way through the highest mountains. We did not, however, follow the valley of the Bhong-chu, but kept on up what appeared to be the main valley; this was really only the valley of the Lower Rongbuk that in its lower portion is called the Dzakar-chu. This river we crossed by a wooden bridge, built on the cantilever principle, and which a couple of months later was washed away. After riding for a couple of miles over a nice grassy turf we came to Lumeh. Here was a very fine country house around which were grouped a few smaller houses. This was the residence of Ngawangyonten, who was managing the district for the big monastery at Shekar Dzong, whose property it was. He had tents already pitched for us, and fuel, milk and eggs already prepared. Around this house were five of the largest poplar trees that I have ever seen. The largest was almost 40 feet in circumference at the base, and the others were all between 20 and 25 feet in circumference. The villagers told us that they thought these trees had been planted about 500 years ago. Magpies and hoopoes were very common in this valley—the former were quite tame and allowed us to approach very close. The barley-fields seemed to hold many hares. Some fine crops of wheat as well as barley were grown here, although the height was 12,800 feet. Every night now we had heavy rain which brought fresh snow down to 16,000 feet. As the clouds remained low all day we seldom got any distant views.

The march to Pulme, our next point up the valley of the Dzakar-chu, was 22 miles, a very dull and uninteresting ride. The going was bad—we often had to follow the bed of the river, which was now in flood and extended to the cliffs on both sides—at other times we kept high up on the steep sides of a gorge, sometimes of gneiss, sometimes of limestone rock. In places where the valley widened out, the river bed was full of bushes of tamarisk and sea buckthorn, but otherwise the vegetation was scanty. After going 15 miles we were to change coolies; but the Lumeh coolies, who were extremely poor and very different from those that we had taken from Kharta, took eleven hours to cover the 15 miles, and did not arrive till six in the evening. Much to Heron's disgust, I proposed to push on to Pulme, late as it was; but the road was good, and we trotted the 7 miles in an hour and a half, though the coolies and the donkeys did not arrive till well after dark. Fortunately we found tents as usual pitched for our reception. We had originally intended to ford the Dzakar-chu that evening and camp on the far side, but it was too dangerous to do it in the dark, though the villagers told us that by morning the stream would be a couple of feet higher. The river is a great obstacle at this time of the year, as there is no bridge over it here, the next bridge being at Chöbu, 20 miles higher up the valley.

The following day I started on my return journey to Tingri, leaving at 5.30 in the morning with Chheten Wangdi. I succeeded in fording the Dzakar-chu, which was deep and very swift. My pony was swept off his legs once and I got very wet, the icy cold water coming right over the saddle.

Heron and the coolies were to follow on slowly and were to take two days in reaching Tingri, but I was anxious to get back, having been away already longer than I intended. Four miles away, at Tashi Dzom, I changed ponies and procured a guide who was to take me on to Tingri, leaving Chheten Wangdi behind with Heron. This guide proved quite an amusing fellow, and suddenly surprised me by counting in English one, two, three, four, and then saying “Right turn” and “Left turn,” and other military words of command. On inquiring where he had learned this English, I found that at one time he had served as a soldier at Lhasa, where the military words of command are in English, and these were the only English words that he knew. After leaving Tashi Dzom we turned up into a broad side valley with villages every half-mile and surrounded by barley, mustard and pea fields. What was, however, especially noticeable about all these valleys that we had been passing through for the last two days, was the extraordinary number of ruined villages that there were everywhere. This was not due to lack of water, for there was plenty of water in all the streams; these valleys, however, must have at one time been very thickly inhabited, and it is probable that the dearth of population to-day is due to the wars with the Gurkhas in the eighteenth century. We had a very wet ride—one storm after another overtook us, and a cold rain fell heavily all the way to Tingri. We gradually ascended out of the cultivation and crossing a low pass, about 16,000 feet, looked down again on the great Tingri Plain. There was still, however, a long way to go, and it was not till after five o'clock in the evening that I reached Tingri, drenched to the skin. It had been a ride of between 36 and 40 miles.

At Tingri I found Wollaston and Morshead. The former had been very busy all the time I had been away in collecting insects, butterflies, rats, mice, birds and flowers, and had amassed quite a number of specimens. Morshead had been out a good deal with his surveyors to the North and to the West, but had been driven in by the bad weather of the last few days. This had apparently been general and we might say that the rainy season this year had begun on July 7, which the Tibetans considered very late for those parts. The following afternoon Heron arrived, and my kit also, which I was very glad to get, as I had only had a spare tent to roll around me the previous night.

The next day or two was spent mostly in reading letters and newspapers. Our postal arrangements were at first rather complicated, there being no regular postal service to the provinces in Tibet. We had, therefore, to make an arrangement with each Jongpen to forward on our mail. Phari was the last post office, and the postmaster there had to arrange with the Phari Jongpen for a messenger every week to go with our posts to Khamba Dzong; we had left money with him for the purpose of paying the postman. At Khamba Dzong we had arranged with the Jongpen there that he should forward our letters to Tinki, and at Tinki we had made further arrangements for them to be sent on to Shekar Dzong and from Shekar Dzong they were to be sent to Tingri. We had left money for this purpose with the various Jongpens, and each Jongpen as he received the mail bag was to affix his seal on it and send it on as quickly as he could to the next Jongpen. This system worked very well for the first two months, but after we had moved to Kharta, partly owing to floods, and partly perhaps to the laziness of the Shekar Jongpen, our mails were all held up and we eventually had to send coolies back from our camp to Phari to bring them along. The best plan another time would be to take with the Expedition a certain number of coolies to be used purely for going backwards and forwards with the mails. On July 13 Morshead and Wollaston left to go to Nyenyam in response to a cordial invitation from the Jongpen, asking that some of the Expedition should visit the place. We were glad to accept, and this should be a very interesting part of the country botanically.

CHAPTER VI

THE MOVE TO KHARTA

I had arrived back at Tingri on July 11, and remained there in the Chinese rest-house until July 24, when I started to move the base camp and all the stores round to Kharta. During the time I was not left always alone, for Heron came in occasionally for a night between his various geological expeditions to the North. Wheeler also came down for a change and a rest, and to develop the photographs that he had taken. He had been having a very trying and provoking time in the high camps, as the weather had been bad, with frequent snowfalls. Nearly every day he climbed up to a spur 20,000 feet or more in height, yet in spite of waiting all day there in the icy cold winds or driving snow, it was but seldom that he was able to get a photograph, and then the clouds would only lift for a few minutes.

There was always plenty to do at Tingri, so the time passed quickly. Much photographic work had to be done and much developing and printing of the many photographs that were being sent in by the various members of the party. Supplies had also to be sent out and arrangements made for the comforts of the climbing party in the Rongbuk Valley. There were also several expeditions to be made round Tingri, and these were full of interest. Anemometers were very popular in this district; they were fixed by the Tibetans above small prayer wheels, and owing to the constant winds, it was seldom that the prayer wheels were not revolving. Many yaks' horns, carved all over with prayers, were lying about on the different Chortens or Mani walls. The barley, which was only just coming up when we arrived, was now 18 inches high and coming into ear, and though we were over 14,000 feet, the crops looked very healthy and even. Every evening during this period we had heavy storms of rain with much lightning and thunder, and fresh snow used to fall during the night as low as 15,000 feet, but most of it melted again during the day. During this period the plains round Tingri were rapidly becoming marshes and the rivers quite unfordable. The storms always gathered to the North of us, along the Sipri limestone ridge, and the high mountain chain that formed the watershed between the Brahmaputra and the Bhong-chu. These storms generally worked down towards the South. Occasionally fine days came to us when there was a strong South wind to blow the rain back, and it was seldom that the Monsoon clouds brought rain directly to us from the South. The Sipri range was a very conspicuous limestone range to the North of us, the limestone being worn into the most curious shapes. It was looked upon by the Tibetans as being a holy mountain, and on its slopes were many small monasteries. Hermits also took up their abode in the limestone caves below the summit. Pilgrims used to come from great distances to make the circuit of the mountain. This took generally five days, and much merit was acquired by doing so.

On July 17 I made an excursion out to the Hot Springs at Tsamda, about 7 miles away to the North-west across the plain. The valley of the Bhong-chu narrows there for a few miles before opening out again into the wide Sutso Plain. There were two or three hot springs here, but only one large one, and this was enclosed by walls within which were little stone huts in which people could change their clothes. The water was just the right temperature for a nice hot bath. When I went there, there was one man bathing and also washing his clothes in it. The Tibetans said, however, that this was not the proper season for bathing. The autumn was the correct time for them to have their annual bath before the winter sets in. The water was saline and had, I think, a little iron in it, but was not very unpleasant to the taste. The rocks from which it gushes out are very extraordinary, the strata forming a very steep arch, on the top of which there is a crack, from the very end of which, and at its lowest point, the springs came bubbling out. Near by in the valley there were also a good many saline deposits. In one of the smaller springs there were a number of little pink worm-like animals that were swimming about and clinging with their mouths to the sides of the rock. Riding back to Tingri by a different way across the plain, I saw a number of kiang and a few goa, but they were very wild and would not allow us to approach to within 500 yards. I also passed three of the handsome black-necked cranes. The way across the plain was rather boggy, and we had some difficulty in finding it. When I got back I found that Heron had come in for a couple of nights, and the following day Wheeler too joined us, having walked in from Nezogu, the bridge over the Kyetrak River. He was anxious to develop some photographs, and as the weather was very bad, he could do no good by remaining in his high camp.

On July 20 we had very brilliant flashes of lightning, followed by a heavy storm of rain during the night. This was too much for the flat earth roof of the rest-house, and the water poured into all our rooms, causing us to move our beds many times during the night in search of a dry spot. I started off early in the morning as I had intended to climb the hills to the East of Tingri, but the rain that had fallen at Tingri had meant a heavy fall of snow on the mountains and the snow had fallen as low down as 15,000 feet. We passed several goa on the way, but they were too shy to allow us to get a shot, also some kiang, which were very tame, and showed up well in the snow. As we got higher, the snow became about 4 inches deep, but was melting rapidly. The glare and the heat were intense. I saw a good many flocks of burhel, but no very large heads. The views as I followed the crests of the hills were extremely fine; on the North I looked down into the valley of the Bhong-chu, which was in flood and had filled the whole of the bottom of the valley with water, and on the other side I looked over the Tingri Plain to the great range of snow peaks which finally ended in the mighty mass of Gosainthan. The weather had been very hot and oppressive all day, and as usual in the evening we had another very severe thunderstorm with heavy rain all through the night. The following day was more like an English November day—cold and grey with drizzling rain—and with the snow on the hills down to 15,000 feet. I bought a Tibetan pony during the morning for the large sum of £7. It was a bay, an excellent ambler, and very surefooted. The Tibetan name by which he was known was Dug-dra-kyang-po, which means “The bay pony like a dragon.”

Military Governor, his Wife and Mother.

I went over to have lunch with the Depon's representative. His family were all dressed up very smartly for the occasion, the women folk wearing their best head-dresses of turquoises, coral and pearls. He gave us rice and raisins as an hors d'œuvre, and an entrée of junket, followed by some pickled turnips, which I thought very nasty, after which we had the usual macaroni and mince. He had been very friendly and kindly to us the whole time that we were at Tingri, and had always supplied us with everything we asked for. On July 22 we saw a very fine solar halo with well-marked rings of yellow, brown, green and white, but the rain continued steadily nearly all the time. The day before we were to leave Tingri I sent away my orderly, together with two coolies who had been sick, and whom the doctor had recommended that we should send back to Darjeeling. They were given sufficient food to take them back to Darjeeling and an extra fifteen days' pay, the orderly also being given a horse to ride. Towards evening the weather improved and we had some lovely views of Mount Everest and that great group of snow peaks of which Cho-Uyo is the highest. They all looked very white under their new coating of snow, which lies thickly down to 16,000 feet.

On July 24 we eventually got off from Tingri; the last few days had been spent in packing up and re-arranging all the stores. There was the usual talking, shouting and arguing, but all the loads were eventually packed on to the animals, or loaded on to the backs of the coolies by nine o'clock. We then took a last farewell of the Depon's representative, who was very sorry to see us go, and who had done so much to make our stay pleasant there.

The first march was to Nezogu, where there was a bridge over the Kyetrak; this was about 19 miles, partly across the Tingri Plain and then over a tiresome moraine. While crossing the moraine, I shot a goa which had quite a good head. Wheeler had accompanied me, as he had left his camp at the bridge, and on arrival there we found his tents all pitched and his cook waiting ready to receive us. Our own kit did not arrive till it was getting dark, when the weather looked very ominous. Rain fell steadily most of the night, and just before dawn this turned to snow, so that when we woke up there were a couple of inches of fresh snow on the ground. As it was still snowing steadily, we were in no great hurry to start, and did not get off until nine o'clock. The weather than gradually improved and the fresh snow soon melted, though the ground was left in a very boggy condition. The march to Chöbu was about 15 miles over the easy Lamna Pass. Knowing the way, I climbed on to a ridge to the South, where I had a fine view again of Mount Everest and the Rongbuk Valley. We pitched our camp on the far side of the Rongbuk River, our loads being carried across the frail bridge by the villagers, and our ponies being swum across. Here Mallory and Bullock joined us. They had been experiencing latterly very bad weather in the Upper Rongbuk Valley, and constant heavy falls of snow had seriously hindered their reconnaissance work. Their coolies, too, were getting rather tired and stale from remaining at such heights for a considerable time, and were badly in want of a rest. I had therefore arranged for them to meet me here and to accompany me round to Kharta, from which place they could then explore the Eastern approaches of Mount Everest. During the night I suffered much from inflammation of the eyes, due to the snow that had fallen the day before. They were so painful as to make sleep quite impossible. I was not, however, the only one to suffer, as Chheten Wangdi, the interpreter, Acchu, the cook, and several of the coolies that were with me were all suffering from the same complaint in the morning. Though the sun had not been shining and the day had been misty, the glare from the new snow had been very much more powerful than anything we had expected and taught us a lesson that whenever there was the slightest fall of snow, we should always wear our snow goggles. From Chöbu we marched to Rebu—a distance of about 15 miles. Knowing the way, I took Mallory and Bullock by the upper road over a pass to Halung; from the top of this pass we branched off on to a spur where there was a very fine view of Mount Everest and the mountains to the North and North-east of it. There had been so much fresh snow everywhere that it was often very difficult to recognize the peaks, but Mount Everest from this side looked as impossible as ever with the great black bands of perpendicular cliffs that seemed to encircle it.

The day was actually fine and the march was a pleasant one through a fertile valley full of fields of barley, mustard and peas. The wild flowers all round Rebu were still very beautiful. Our camp was pitched on a grassy spot on the bank of a rushing stream and close to the village of Rebu.

The following morning the weather was again fine, and as the yaks were all ready for us, we were started by 7.30 a.m. This start was quite amusing; we ourselves had first to cross a flooded stream over which there was a very wobbly stone bridge. With much excitement and noise the yaks were then driven across the stream, but the current was too strong for the bullocks, which had to be unloaded and their loads carried over. While this was being done, the bridge collapsed, and a good lady and a bullock that were trying to get over by the bridge all fell into the water together. There was then a terrible excitement and mix-up, every one shouting and screaming, but they both scrambled safely to the shore, and beyond a wetting, no one was any the worse. We then took the road that I had travelled three weeks before over the Doya La. Knowing that there was a good view to be got from the top of the pass, I hurried ahead and climbed a rocky hill, 17,700 feet, close to the pass, where I saw a wonderful scene. Range upon range of snowy mountains extended right away to Kanchenjunga, and the course of the Arun could be traced wandering down through Nepal, while to the South towered up the great walls of Makalu. Mount Everest itself I could not see, as there were a good many clouds about, but to the South-west were some fine snow and rock peaks of which I took several photographs. I then basked in the sun for a couple of hours and enjoyed the view. The wild flowers on the top of the pass were delightful; I found three different kinds of gentians and the blue poppies were as numerous as ever. The primulas, however, had many of them already gone to seed, but the saxifrages still covered the rocks, and it was a delight to wander along and note the different varieties. Riding on to Chulungphu, we found tents pitched for us and fuel and milk all ready. In place of the primulas the ground was now carpeted with gentians. From here to Kharta the march was only a short one, but we thoroughly enjoyed riding along between the bushes of wild rose or juniper. The former were no longer in blossom, but there were many other new varieties of flowers appearing. I rode on ahead to the spot that I had chosen, three weeks previously, for our new base camp, and I found that Hopaphema had already pitched some tents for us. He had also prepared a meal for us and made every arrangement for our comfort. Our camp was pitched under the willows and poplar trees in the garden, and it was pleasant to hear the rustle of the leaves in the wind once more. We were now at a height of only 12,300 feet, and the change in altitude was a very great relief to the climbing party and the coolies who had come down from the high camps. There were also plenty of green vegetables to be got here, and the coolies appreciated the change enormously. Just below us flowed the Arun, now a majestic river over a hundred yards wide. A mile lower down in its course it entered into the great gorges in which within a space of 20 miles it dropped from 12,000 feet to 7,500 feet, a drop of over 200 feet in the mile. From our camp we used to watch the Monsoon clouds come up every day through the gorge in thin wisps, but every day they melted away always at the same spot; and though rain fell heavily a mile below us, yet with us the sun shone brightly, and it was rare for any rain to reach us. Twenty miles away to the North again were heavy clouds and storms, and rain fell there daily, so that we seemed to be living in a dry zone between the two storm systems. The forests of fir and birch trees came up to the limit of the rainfall and then ceased suddenly where the rain stopped a mile below us. At this point the Kharta River formed a sharp dividing line between the wet and dry zones.

The next day was spent in settling down, arranging all our stores and making a new dark room in the house we had rented. The climate here was delicious and a great change from Tingri. The temperature in my tent used to go up to 75° Fahr. during the day.

The day after we arrived the Jongpen came down to pay an official call and brought a welcome present of a hundred eggs and five animals laden with fuel. He apologised for not coming the day before, but said he had been very busy trying a murder case where eighteen people had been poisoned by a family that had a feud with them, the poison used being aconite, with which they were evidently quite familiar. He told us that our coolies could collect fuel anywhere on the right bank of the Kharta River, but begged that we would not collect it anywhere near where we were living, as the villagers would object.

On July 30 I started off to explore a neighbouring pass and valley which looked interesting. Mallory and Bullock were having a few days' rest before starting off again, and so they remained in camp. Riding a few miles up the Kharta Valley, I crossed the river by a bridge at the first village, and then had a very steep and stony climb of nearly 3,000 feet to the Samchung Pass, 15,000 feet. As we approached the pass, and entered a moister climate, the vegetation increased rapidly. On these slopes there were rhododendrons 5 feet high, mountain ash, birch, willows, spiræas and juniper. At the top of the pass there was not much of a view, but prowling round I came across some very fine saussuræas with their great white woolly heads and a wonderful meconopsis of a deep claret colour that I had never seen before. There were fifteen to twenty flowers on each stem, and it grew from 2 to 3 feet high. Eight varieties of gentians also grew in the same valley, and a quantity of other attractive Alpine plants. From the pass we descended about 500 feet into a delightful high level glen full of small lakes, evidently once upon a time formed by glaciers which must have filled the whole of the valley. I counted fourteen lakes in this valley, two or three of them being nearly half a mile long, and all of them of different colours varying from a turquoise blue to green and black. For some miles we rode and walked up the valley. The road consisted of big loose stones, often with water flowing underneath them, and usually with big holes in between, so that our ponies were lucky in not breaking their legs. There was then a steep climb which brought us on to a second pass, the Chog La, 16,100 feet, close to which were three small glaciers. Across the top of the pass there was a wall built many years ago as a second line of defence against the Gurkhas, the first line being on the top of the Popti Pass. Unfortunately the clouds now came up, and it began to rain, so that we had no view into the Kama Valley, though later on I was to make the acquaintance of this most charming valley. For an hour and a half I sheltered behind the wall, but as the clouds did not lift I returned towards Kharta. As we descended into the valley again the glimpses of the lakes seen between the mists reminded me much of the upper lakes at Killarney. There were the same ferns, willows, birch and rhododendrons, and much the same moist atmosphere.

The Dzongpen of Kharta and his Wife.

Next day, with Bullock, I went to pay an official visit to the Jongpen at Kharta Shiga. He had made great preparations to receive us, and had put up a large tent in which Chinese carpets and tables were set out with pots of flowers arranged all round. Soon after our arrival we were given a most copious meal: bowl after bowl of well cooked macaroni and mince with pickled radishes and chillies were set before us. After we had finished this meal, I induced the Jongpen and his young wife to be photographed. She had a most elaborate head-dress of coral and pearls, with masses of false hair on either side of her head. It was not becoming. Barely had we finished taking the photograph when another meal was put in front of us: this time it consisted of Tibetan dumplings and mince patties, of which I gave the Jongpen's little dog the greater part surreptitiously; I then hurried off before I should be compelled to eat a third meal.

On August 2 Mallory and Bullock started off with thirty-two coolies to explore the Eastern approaches to Mount Everest. It had been very hard to get any information about Mount Everest. The people knew the mountain by name, but told us that the only way to get near it was by crossing over the ridge to the South of the Kharta Valley, when we should find a big valley that would lead right up to Chomolungma. Where the Kharta River came from they could not tell me, and whether it took its source from the snows of Mount Everest they did not know. Tibetans' ignorance of any valleys outside their own was really extraordinary. I could seldom get any definite information about places outside their valley, and on asking two or three people, they would invariably give contradictory answers. It was the same as regards distance. They would tell you a place was one, two or three days' march away, but for shorter distances they had no time-table, and the nearest approach to this was a measurement by cups of tea. I remember one day asking a village yokel how far off the next village was, and he surprised me by answering, “Three cups of tea.” Several times afterwards I got the answer to a question about distance given me in cups of tea, and I eventually worked out that three cups of tea was the equivalent of about 5 miles, and was after that able to use this as a basis for measurements of distances.

Two or three hours after Mallory and Bullock had gone, Wollaston and Morshead arrived from their trip to Nyenyam. They had had bad weather the whole time. Here, too, the weather remained overcast and threatening, with a strong South wind, the mountains remaining covered in clouds above 16,000 feet. To the South of us rain fell steadily all day, but the rain did not come up as far as our camp. One afternoon Morshead, Wollaston and I went over to have tea with our hospitable Zemindar Hopaphema about a mile away from us. On this occasion he gave us pods of fresh peas and the red hips and haws of the wild rose as a kind of hors d'œuvre, followed by a junket served with pea flour. Then came bowls of hot milk with macaroni and minced meat, seasoned with chillies, together with potatoes and a kind of fungus that grew in the woods. After this meal, from which we suffered no ill effects, for our stomachs were getting accustomed to queer foods, he produced an old painted musical instrument with two sounding boards, on which he played and sang at the same time some old Tibetan love songs. Some of these had quite a catching and plaintive melody. He showed us also some Tibetan dances. Our interpreter, unfortunately, refused to give us a literal translation of some of the love songs, though he seemed very amused at them.

Another afternoon I rode with Wollaston some 5 miles up the Kharta Valley to the Gandenchöfel Monastery. This was situated in a delightfully sheltered spot surrounded by poplars and ancient gnarled juniper trees of great size. On arrival we were shown into a picturesque courtyard, the walls of which were covered with paintings depicting scenes from the life of Buddha. Cushions and tables had been arranged for our reception and placed on a verandah where, on arrival, we were given cups of tea and hot milk. The Head Lama presently came out and after taking some tea with us, proceeded to show us round his temple. This was a curious building, square in shape, and surmounted by a cupola. It was very solidly built of stone and was, they told us, about 500 years old. It was founded by a saint called Jetsun-Nga-Wang-Chöfel, who after a great flood which swept down the valley, destroying all the houses in it, had taken a large frog (which animal is believed to represent the Water God) and buried it under the centre pillar of the temple. With great reverence they showed us the spot under which this unfortunate frog had been immured in the centre of the shrine. This immolation of the frog had apparently not been completely efficacious in preventing the floods as two other floods had subsequently occurred, and two small Chortens had been erected to make quite certain that the frog could not get out again and cause more floods. The interior of the temple was very dark in spite of numerous butter lamps. As our eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim light, we made out three figures of Buddha—a large one in the centre and smaller ones on either side. On the pillars were figures of the saint who had founded the monastery. In this temple were also represented some Indian saints, but these were shown as dark figures, very black and very ugly. Tibetans always despise the Indian and they therefore represent him as quite black and with the ugliest features imaginable. Around the shrine were twelve great plaster figures—about 12 feet to 15 feet in height—the guardians of the shrine, figures monstrously ugly, and evidently made so in order to frighten away the evil-doer. Outside the sanctuary there was a curious passage in the thickness of the walls leading all round the building, in which were stencilled and painted curious representations of Buddha. In one of the side rooms there was a huge prayer wheel, which rang a bell every time it was turned; it contained, the priests told us, many million prayers. After visiting the shrine, I took a photograph of the monks with their long trumpets, their bejewelled clarionets and their drums. After our tour of inspection we were given further refreshment in the way of macaroni and meat in a small secluded garden where the monks used to walk reading the Scriptures and meditating.

On another day Wollaston and I made an excursion down to the gorges of the Arun. We first rode up the Kharta Valley, crossing the river by the first bridge, and then following the right bank of the river as far as we could go. After riding only a short way, we entered into a country and a scenery where we might have been a hundred miles away from Tibet. The change was extraordinarily sudden—a dense forest covered the hillsides, mostly of fir (Abies Webbiana) and birch, many of them fine old trees. The undergrowth consisted of rhododendrons, 8 feet to 10 feet in height and extremely difficult to get through. Besides these there were many larch and willow trees growing on the hillside, together with many new and delightful flowers. We went on until we were brought up by a series of perpendicular cliffs that descended 700 feet sheer down to the river below us. It was a grand sight from here to see the mighty Bhong-chu or Arun River, narrowed now to one-third of its former width, forcing its way in a series of rapids through these stupendous gorges covered with woods wherever the precipices allowed a tree to grow and with trees dipping their branches far below us in the flooded waters of the river. On the opposite side of the gorge we saw a small track wandering along the cliffs; the inhabitants told us it was impossible to get across the river lower down at this time of the year until you reach Lungdö, where there was a bridge some 20 miles lower down. Kharta now remained the base headquarters of the Expedition until it was time to return to India in October, and all the expeditions that we made up the Kharta Valley, or into the Kama Valley, were made from Kharta. The Jongpen there and Hopaphema did everything they could to assist us by giving us coolies and arranging for supplies to be sent up to the various camps.

Lamas of Kharta Monastery.

CHAPTER VII

THE KAMA VALLEY

We had not been able to gather much information locally about Mount Everest. A few of the shepherds said that they had heard that there was a great mountain in the next valley to the South, but they could not tell us whether the Kharta River came from this great mountain. The easiest way to get to this valley, they told us, was by crossing the Shao La, or the Langma La, both of which passes were to the South of the Kharta Valley, and, they said, led into this new valley. They called this valley the Kama Valley, and little did we realise at the time that in it we were going to find one of the most beautiful valleys in the world. Mallory and Bullock had already left Kharta on August 2 to explore this route, which we thought would lead us to the Eastern face of Mount Everest. As Wollaston and Morshead had now arrived at Kharta, there was nothing to prevent my following the others and learning something about the geography of the country. Eleven mule-loads of rations, consisting of flour, potatoes, sugar and rations for the surveyors, had just arrived; there was therefore now no cause for me to worry about shortage of supplies. These had been sent off from Yatung on June 15, but had only arrived at Kharta on August 2. Learning that I was about to start off, Hopaphema, the old Zemindar, hurriedly came round with a large basket full of spinach, potatoes, and turnips, which he insisted on my taking with me.

Makalu
from 21,500 foot peak on ridge south of Kama-chu.

On August 5, taking with me Chheten Wangdi and a dozen coolies, I started off in the tracks of Mallory and Bullock. For the first few miles we travelled up the Kharta Valley, through rich fields of barley, by far the best that I had seen so far in Tibet. The crops were very even and everywhere quite 3 feet in height. The valley was thickly inhabited, containing villages nearly every mile, and many monasteries, some of which were surrounded by fine old gnarled juniper trees. Our local coolies made very poor progress, taking six hours to cover the first 6 miles, as they stopped at every village for a drink. After passing the last village, there was a steep climb of 1,000 feet. Here our coolies were very anxious to stop and spend the night, but I pushed on ahead, and they came on behind very slowly and reluctantly. Seeing that it was impossible to get over the Langma La, I stopped at the limit of firewood and camped at a height of 16,100 feet. Poo, who was acting as my cook, had forgotten to bring any matches with him, and I watched him with much interest lighting a fire of damp rhododendron bushes with the flint and tinder that he always carried. The day had been clear and very warm; and on the way up we had had some fine views of the great snowy peaks on the Eastern side of the Arun River. The villagers had told us that this pass was impossible for ponies, and I accordingly left mine behind at Kharta, though we found out that ponies could quite well have crossed the pass. Opposite our camp was a peak of black rock with a glacier just below it. During the night there was a little rain and the morning was unfortunately cloudy. As our coolies had informed us that there were three passes to be crossed in the next march, I had them all started off by 5.30 a.m., after which I left with my coolies, Ang Tenze and Nyima Tendu, who always accompanied me carrying a rifle, a shot-gun and three cameras of different sizes. Above the camp there was a steep climb of 1,000 feet on to a broad, rocky shelf in which was a pretty turquoise-blue lake. This was followed by another steep climb of 500 feet on to another great shelf, after which a further climb of 500 feet brought us to the top of the Langma La, 18,000 feet. The three steps up to this pass were evidently the three passes that the coolies had told us about, as from the top we looked down into the next valley. All the coolies who were carrying loads complained of headaches, due no doubt to the steep climb and the high elevation of the pass. To the East there was a curious view looking over the Arun towards some high snow peaks. Clouds were lying in patches everywhere on the hillsides, as the air was saturated with moisture. To the West our gaze encountered a most wonderful amphitheatre of peaks and glaciers. Three great glaciers almost met in the deep green valley that lay at our feet. One of these glaciers evidently came down from Mount Everest, the second from the beautiful cliffs of Chomolönzo, the Northern peak of Makalu, of which we unfortunately could only get occasional and partial glimpses, an ice or rock cliff peeping out of the clouds every now and then at incredible heights above us. The third glacier came from Kama Changri, a fine peak to the North of the Kama Valley which later on we climbed. The clouds kept mostly at a height of about 22,000 feet, and prevented us from seeing the tops of the mountains. After waiting for an hour at the top of the pass in hopes of the clouds lifting, I started the descent, catching on the way a very pretty Marmot rat, with huge eyes and ears for his size, and a pretty bluish grey fur. Meeting shortly afterwards some of Mallory and Bullock's coolies, I gave this animal to them to take back to Wollaston. We now descended through grassy uplands for nearly 3,000 feet, past another beautiful blue lake called Shurim Tso, and came to a curious long and narrow terrace about 1,000 feet above the bottom of the valley. Here there was a tent belonging to some yak herds; and as wood and water were plentiful I determined to stop and spend the night with them. They called the place Tangsham. It was certainly a most glorious place for a camp, for it overlooked three great valleys and glaciers. Opposite us, on the other side of the valley, were the immense cliffs of Chomolönzo, which towered up to nearly 26,000 feet, while Mount Everest and its great ridges filled up the head of the valley. I spent the whole afternoon lying among the rhododendrons at 15,000 feet, and admiring the beautiful glimpses of these mighty peaks revealed by occasional breaks among the fleecy clouds. The shepherds were able to give me much information about the district, which proved very useful to us afterwards. They come up here every year for a few months in the summer and in the winter cross over to the valley of the Bong-chu.

Makalu and Chomolönzo.

After a slight frost during the night, we had one of the few really perfect days that fell to our lot in the Kama Valley. As soon as I had finished breakfast I climbed up 1,000 feet behind the camp; opposite me were the wonderful white cliffs of Chomolönzo and Makalu, which dropped almost sheer for 11,000 feet into the valley below. Close at hand were precipices of black rock on which, in the dark hollows, nestled a few dirty glaciers. Mount Everest being some way further off, did not appear nearly as imposing. Our object now was to get as close to it as possible; we therefore descended into the valley, a steep drop of nearly 1,000 feet, through luxuriant vegetation. A very beautiful blue primula was just beginning to come out. This Wollaston had already discovered a fortnight before near Lapchi-Kang. We then crossed the Rabkar Chu, a stream which came out of the Rabkar Glacier, by a very rickety bridge over which the water was washing. Beyond this was a very fertile plain covered with rhododendrons, juniper, willow and mountain ash. On it were a couple of small huts which were occupied by some yak herds. From here we had to follow along the edge of the Kang-do-shung Glacier which, coming down from Chomolönzo, plunges across the valley until it strikes against the rocks of the opposite side. Between the glacier and these cliffs was an old water-course up which we travelled, but stones kept frequently falling from the cliffs above and the passage was somewhat dangerous. This had evidently been the old channel of the stream that has its source in the glaciers of Mount Everest, but owing to the advance of the Kang-do-shung Glacier, is now compelled to find its way through this glacier and hurls itself into a great ice cavern in it. Opposite this ice cavern we had a steep climb for 500 feet, and found ourselves among pleasant grassy meadows, after a few miles of which we came to a place called Pethang Ringmo, where we found some yak herds living. We found that Mallory and Bullock had chosen this place to be their base camp. It was a most delightfully sunny spot at 16,400 feet, right under the gigantic and marvellously beautiful cliffs of Chomolönzo, now all powdered over with the fresh snow of the night before and only separated from us by the Kangshung Glacier, here about a mile wide. Great avalanches thunder down its sides all the day long with a terrifying sound. Everest from here is seen to fill up the head of the valley with a most formidable circle of cliffs overhung by hanging glaciers, but it is not nearly such a beautiful or striking mountain as Makalu or Chomolönzo. The shepherds would insist that Makalu was the higher of the two mountains, and would not believe us when we said that Mount Everest was the higher. Next morning was foggy, but there was a glimpse of blue sky behind the mists, so after breakfast I hurried up the valley, intending to climb a ridge exactly opposite to Mount Everest which I had marked down the night before. After walking for an hour up the valley in a thick fog, by luck I struck the right ridge, which proved a very steep climb. Glimpses of blue sky and white peaks, however, gave us hopes of better views higher up. It took me two and a half hours to climb 3,000 feet, which at last brought me above the mists. The top of the ridge was 19,500 feet high, and from it we had most superb views. Mount Everest was only 3 or 4 miles away from us. From it to the South-east swept a huge amphitheatre of mighty peaks culminating in a new and unsurveyed peak, 28,100 feet in height, to which we gave the name of Lhotse, which in Tibetan means the South Peak. From this side the mountain appeared quite unclimbable, as the cliffs were all topped with hanging glaciers, from which great masses of ice came thundering down into the valley below all the day long. Between Mount Everest and Makalu, on the watershed between Tibet and Nepal, there stands up a very curious conical peak, to which we gave the name of Pethangtse. On either side of it are two very steep, but not very high, passes into Nepal; both of them are, however, probably unclimbable. To the South-east towered up the immense cliffs of Makalu, far the more beautiful mountain of the two. The whole morning I spent on this ridge, taking photographs whenever opportunity offered. The clouds kept coming up and melting away again and were most annoying, but they occasionally afforded us the most beautiful glimpses and peeps of the snow and rock peaks by which we were surrounded. At a height of over 19,000 feet, I had a great chase after a new kind of rat; but it finally eluded me, and I was not able to add it to our already large collection. Even at these heights I found both yellow and white saxifrages and a blue gentian. From the top of this ridge I had been able to see Kanchenjunga and Jannu, though nearly 100 miles away, but their summits stood up out of the great sea of clouds which covered Nepal.

Cliffs of Chomolönzo
from camp at Pethang Ringmo.

On returning to camp in the afternoon, I found that Mallory and Bullock were there. They had climbed a snow peak on the North side of the Kama Valley, about 21,500 feet, and from this view point had been unable to discover a possible route up Mount Everest on the Eastern face; they thought, however, that there might be an alternative approach from the next valley to the North. They therefore intended returning to the Kharta Valley to follow that river to its source.

Next morning was cloudy, and neither Everest nor Makalu were to be seen; but towards the East the view was clear, though the mountains appeared to be much too close. We started all together down the valley. On the way I climbed 1,000 feet up among the rocks opposite to the big glacier that descends from Chomolönzo. I failed, however, to get the good view of Makalu which I had been hoping for, owing to the clouds, and returned to my old camping ground at Tangsham, Mallory and Bullock branching off from here towards the Langma La. The shepherds had told us that there was another pass into the Kharta Valley called the Shao La, rather more to the South. I therefore intended to make use of this pass on the return journey to Kharta. As usual, in the evening, the clouds came up and enveloped us in a thick mist. Every night this happened in the Kama Valley, and was evidently due to the excessive moisture of the air. When we started the following morning, there was still a thick Scotch mist which made the vegetation very wet. We descended the Kama Valley, most of the time keeping high up above the river. On the opposite side of the valley were immense black cliffs descending sheer for many thousand feet. On the way we passed through acres of blue iris, mostly over now, and then through a very luxuriant vegetation which grew more and more varied as we descended lower. There was a lovely emerald-green lake beside the path, and like white sentinels on the hillsides grew the great rhubarb of Sikkim, the Rheum nobile. This was a most conspicuous plant with columns of the palest green leaves sheathing the flower spikes which grew fully 5 feet in height. There were several other varieties of rhubarb here, but none were as handsome as this. At one place we descended as low as 13,000 feet and came once more amongst dense forests of juniper, silver firs (Abies Webbiana), mountain ash, willow, birch and tall rhododendrons. From every tree hung long grey lichens attesting the moisture of the climate. Wherever there was an open space in the forest, it was carpeted with flowers. Two delightful varieties of primula were new to me, and were just coming out, one of them being almost black in colour. The big deep red meconopsis grew here, too, in great luxuriance. Gentians of all kinds abounded and many other varieties of flowers and ferns, due to the fact that Makalu seems to attract all the storms, causing the moist Monsoon currents to be drawn into this valley. As the day went on, the weather improved; the sun came out, and the clouds melted away, disclosing the magnificent peaks of Makalu. A big glacier descended from the East face from a side valley into the floor of the valley below us at a height of about 12,000 feet. It was very curious to see fir trees, birch and juniper, and a very luxuriant vegetation growing on either side of the ice and on the moraines beside it.

The Kama Valley.

Below this glacier the valley became quite flat with grassy meadows and patches of forest dotted about the pastures—a very unusual type of valley for the Himalayas. Almost opposite to this glacier we turned into a side valley; the path and the stream that came down this valley were often indistinguishable. All round the valley were great black cliffs; in one place where they were less precipitous the path found its way upwards. Our camp was pitched that night on a shelf above the cliffs where for a short time we had some very wonderful views. This place was called in Tibetan “The Field of Marigolds,” though at the time we were there they were all over. We were at a height of 15,300 feet, and Makalu's two peaks were almost exactly opposite to us. The cloud effects were very striking; the storms seemed to gather round Makalu, and first one peak and then the other would appear out of the great white cumulus clouds whose shapes changed every minute. As usual, the mists came up in the evening, and we were enveloped in a very wet Scotch mist with a temperature of 46° Fahr. Next morning, instead of getting the lovely view that we had expected, a thick Scotch mist prevented our seeing more than 20 yards away. We crawled up to the top of the Shao La, 16,500 feet, in driving rain, but after crossing over it we emerged into finer weather. On the descent we passed several fine lakes, on the cliffs above which were numerous ram chakor (Himalayan snowcock). I pursued a covey of these, and after a chase managed to shoot one. They are very fine birds, weighing between 5 and 6 lb.; they are extremely noisy and fond of their own voices. The parent birds are always very loth to leave their young, and early in the summer it is possible to approach very close to them; but later on in the year, when the young have become nearly full grown, they are very wily, and having excellent eyesight, do not allow anyone to approach within a couple of hundred yards. That afternoon I arrived back at Kharta, where the weather had been quite fine, and where there had been but little rain during my absence.

During that night a thief broke into our store-room, forcing and breaking the lock outside. The only thing he took, as far as we could find out, was one of Wheeler's yak-dans (a leather mule trunk). The thief had probably mistaken this one for one of mine, which contained a considerable amount of money, and knowing that I was away, he thought that my kit must be packed away in the store-room. We informed the Jongpen and the head-men of the villages around of the theft, and had a couple of suspicious characters watched; but we never found any trace of the stolen articles, which luckily were of very small value. For the next fortnight I remained at Kharta.

On August 19 Heron suddenly arrived back after a very interesting trip, during which he had explored all the mountains North of Tingri and Shekar Dzong up to the Brahmaputra watershed. He had had very bad weather all the time. Every night there had been heavy thunderstorms and practically all the bad weather had come from the North. The whole country was under water, and it was very difficult to get about. Some of the rivers that we had crossed earlier in the season were now a mile or more wide.

On the following day Bullock and Mallory returned to Kharta after having explored the Upper Kharta Valley. They thought that they had found a possible way up Mount Everest from this valley, but at present the weather was too bad for them to carry on with their reconnaissance, and they had come down for a fortnight's rest, hoping that the Monsoon would be over by the beginning of September and that they would then be able to make a proper attack on the mountain. As Mallory and Bullock were likely to be at Kharta for some time, Wollaston and I seized this opportunity to visit the lower valley of the Kama-chu.

Therefore, on August 23, with eleven of our own coolies and several Tibetan coolies, we climbed the Samchung Pass (15,000 feet), and then descended into the valley of the fourteen lakes, and after crossing the Chog La camped on the far side of the pass near a dark green and sacred lake called Ruddamlamtso. On the way we saw a new species of black rat in the moraine of a glacier; but Wollaston's servant, who had the collecting gun with him, was unfortunately far behind; he was always rather fond of drink and loth to leave the villages. The weather was cloudy, and there were no views from the top of either pass. The march was a strenuous one, taking the coolies thirteen hours to cover the whole distance, and they did not arrive till after dark. The Ruddamlamtso, the lake by which we were camped, had wonderfully clear water; I could see every stone at a depth of 20 feet, and it was evidently very deep. It is looked upon as a sacred lake, and to it people make yearly pilgrimages, walking round it burning incense and throwing spices into its waters.

The following morning the clouds were low down everywhere on the hillsides and we had no views. There was a steep descent for 4 miles to Sakeding—12,100 feet, through the most interesting zones of vegetation. We followed the edge of the rushing stream, always white from the rapidity of its descent. On one side of the valley grew rhododendrons of many varieties and mountain ash, and on the other were hoary old junipers with twisted stems. Grey lichens hung down from every branch, and were often 5 or 6 feet in length. We came across some of the finest and largest red currants that we had yet seen. Of these we collected a great quantity, and they formed a very excellent stew. Birches, wild roses and berberis were the commonest shrubs, while nearly every rock was covered with an extremely pretty rose-coloured creeper, which in places caused the hillsides to look quite pink. Earlier in the year the iris must have been a very beautiful sight, as we passed through acres of their leaves. A big yellow rock-rose with flowers 2 inches across was also to be met with here, and many of the lower leaves of the rhododendrons were turning yellow to scarlet, making a great show of colour on the dark green of the hillside. Deep purple-coloured primulas and monkshood, as well as a curious hairy mauve-red monkshood with a very graceful growth, were also to be seen. The pretty white-crested red-start flitted about from rock to rock, and numerous tits of various kinds flew about in flocks from tree to tree as we descended.

Sakeding (Pleasant terrace) had been at one time a village of considerable size, but a pestilence sent by the local demon had wiped out all its inhabitants. This demon was still reputed to be very active, and no one had dared to re-build the old houses of which the ruins, overgrown with weeds and bushes, could be seen here and there. It was a very pleasant site for a village, situated as it was on a terrace that projected out into the valley 1,000 feet above the stream below. During the summer months there is quite a trade passing through this place, the Tibetans bringing salt from the North, and the Nepalese coming up from Nepal with rice, dyes and vegetables, which they exchange. The rate of barter at this time was two measures of rice or three measures of madder dye for one measure of salt, and no money changes hands. Everything that was brought here was brought on the backs of coolies, and these Nepalese coolies were sturdy, cheery fellows, and thought nothing of carrying 80 lb. of salt on their backs up and down the execrable paths of the district.

From Sakeding we descended steeply through a forest of the finest juniper trees that I had yet seen. These grew 80 to 90 feet high, and many of their trunks were 18 feet to 20 feet in circumference. As a rule they had clean stems, without a branch for 50 feet or 60 feet. The branches were all hung with grey lichens. We now descended beside the muddy and tempestuous waters of the Kama-chu. The juniper forest gradually gave way to silver firs—wonderful trees of enormous size and great age. We passed through many open glades, park-like in appearance, with grand clumps of fir trees or sycamore dotted here and there. The hillsides were absolutely running over with water, and often for several hundred yards we walked along logs put down to try and avoid the mud and the running water. As many of these rounded logs were very slippery, both we and our coolies had to proceed with caution, and even so we experienced many a fall. At Chu-tronu—10,200 feet—there was a well-made wooden bridge, 60 feet long, which spanned the river where it flowed in a narrow channel between two great rocks. We crossed this bridge, and finding a broad open space there, I selected a spot suitable for our camp and ordered the coolies to cut down some of the grass where we intended to pitch the tents. I could not at first make out why they kept jumping about when thus engaged, but on going to investigate, I found that the place was alive with leeches; however, as there was no other better place in which to camp, we had to make the best of it. The men collected some dry bamboos out of an old shepherd's hut which was close by; these they burnt on the sites where we were to pitch our tents, hoping by this means to drive away the leeches. This method, however, was not very successful, for all that evening we were busy picking leeches off our clothes, legs, hands or heads. They climbed up the sides of the tents and dropped down into our food, our cups and on to our plates. Wollaston invented the best way of killing them, which was by cutting them in two with a pair of scissors. Our interpreter remonstrated with him, as he said this method increased the number of leeches, thinking that both ends of them would grow. After a somewhat restless and disturbed night, due to these leeches, we started off next morning to go down to the junction of the Kama River with the Arun. The distance as the crow flies was only about 6 miles, but we did not realise the kind of path that we should have to traverse. In that short distance we must have risen and fallen quite 5,000 feet. The path was never level and always very rough and stony. At first it led through beautiful glades running with moisture and over logs buried, most of them, inches deep in the water; they were, however, better to walk on than the soft mud there was on either side. The silver firs were now at their best—trees over 100 feet in height, and with stems 20 feet to 25 feet in circumference. Here grew great hydrangeas 20 feet or more in height covered with flowers. Our only halts on the way down, and they were pretty frequent, were to pick off the leeches from our clothes. We took them off by tens at a time; they were very hungry, and varied in size from great striped horse-leeches to tiny ones as thin as a pin and able to penetrate anywhere. The track now left the upper terraces and descended very steeply towards the river, at times climbing sharply upwards again to avoid precipitous rocks and cliffs. During the descent, we gradually passed from the zone of the silver firs into that of the spruce, meeting the lovely Picea Brunoniana, which grew to an even greater size than the silver firs. Many of the trees were over 150 feet in height and without a branch for 70 feet or 80 feet; their stems too, were often 25 feet to 30 feet in circumference. This valley is so inaccessible that I am glad to think that these glorious forests can never be exploited commercially. After passing a great overhanging rock called Korabak, which is evidently much used as a halting-place, we descended steeply to the river, which now forms a series of cascades, leaping from rock to rock, a very remarkable spectacle. During the last 6 miles of its course, this river—the product of four large glacier streams—descends at the rate of 450 feet every mile. In places there were waterfalls of 20 feet and more, where the river hurled itself into seething cauldrons; in one place I saw it confined to a breadth of barely 5 feet. The junction of this river with the Arun is only 7,500 feet above the sea; just above the junction is a bridge which leads to the village of Kimonanga, a picturesque village situated on a terrace some 700 feet above the river and surrounded by some fine trees. In this valley we came across a few blue pines (Pinus excelsa) and also a large-leafed alder; near its junction with the Arun were many trees and orchids of a semi-tropical character. On the opposite side of the valley is a forest of evergreen oak trees, but as I was unable to cross the river I could not say to what species they belonged. On the way we passed many yellow raspberries on which we slaked our thirst. Our guide also dug up some of the roots of the wild arum to show us; it is a great flattish tuberous root, rather oval in shape. This the inhabitants dig up and, after allowing it to ferment by burying it in a hole for several days, pound it up, and then eat it; it was much esteemed by the villagers. It is necessary to ferment it first, as otherwise the root is extremely poisonous. We tasted a slice of bread made out of this root, and I have seldom tasted anything nastier. It is supposed, if not properly fermented, to cause all the hair to fall out of the head; but I should be inclined to imagine that it would do this even if it were properly fermented. Near the junction of the Kama and Arun Rivers, we climbed up on to a terrace 1,200 feet above, on which was situated the village of Lungdö. The great Arun gorges here become a considerable valley; for 20 miles above this point up to Kharta the Arun runs through a narrow and practically impassable gorge, but here the valley widens out for a few miles and contains several villages; a short distance below it enters again into another great gorge. The river now was in full flood and covered the whole of the bottom of the valley, being in places many hundred yards in width. At one spot, where it contracted, there was a well-made bridge leading to the village of Matsang. I was astonished to meet with maize growing at this height—8,700 feet. The villagers also grew cucumbers, pumpkins and several kinds of millet, including an extremely pretty red one. The head-man of Lungdö gave me some millet beer, which was very refreshing after the long march. Wollaston did not care for it, but between us we managed to eat three large and juicy cucumbers. The head-man was very friendly; and a local official was staying here who had just come from Kharta, who recognised us, and presented us with some excellent honey cakes. We neither of us looked forward to the uphill return journey, but after five and a half hours' hard walking I reached camp just before dark. Wollaston did not arrive till later, and I had to send a coolie with a lamp to bring him in. We were both of us much exhausted, as the day had been a long and trying one. That night we had a grand camp fire of rhododendron and fir logs. Hundreds of moths insisted on flying into the fire instead of entering the tent where Wollaston was ready with his cyanide bottle to catch them.

The following morning the weather was dull and cloudy, and did not look very promising. We determined, however, to visit the Popti La, the pass between Tibet and Nepal, over which all the local traffic passes. Leaving the camp, we entered a small side valley to the South, the path climbing steeply upwards under big rhododendrons (R. Falconeri and R. Argenteum) with leaves 18 inches long. Noticing many of their leaves strewn on the path, I inquired the reason for this. Our guide informed us that the carriers fastened these leaves together with thin strips of bamboo and thus provided an excellent waterproof cover for themselves and for their loads. After climbing about a mile, we saw some bamboo huts in the forest and a number of cows were grazing round them. These belonged to some Nepalese herds who come over here in the summer, bringing their cattle to graze. The path now followed the side of a rushing torrent, peaty brown in colour, which came hurrying down under the shade of birch, sycamore, silver firs, juniper and rhododendrons. As we ascended higher, the open spaces became more frequent, though the grass and weeds grew fully 3 feet in height, attesting the constant rainfall of this district. On leaving the path to collect a few seeds from some plants growing a short distance away from it, I found myself in a few moments covered with leeches which apparently thrive here at an altitude of over 12,000 feet; this must be almost a record height for these pests. The path climbed up steeply, the rhododendrons growing gradually smaller in size as we ascended. After going for four hours, we reached the top of the pass—14,000 feet. Here on the top was a stone half hidden in a pile of rocks with a notice, written in Chinese characters, that this was the boundary between Tibet and Nepal. Across the top of the pass was a long wall, mostly overgrown with grass, evidently at one time considered to be some kind of defence. Owing to the clouds being very low, we unfortunately had no view from the top, but just below us, on the Nepalese side, was a fine black lake, about half a mile long, with an island in the centre, which the Nepalese called Dungepokri. On the top were many interesting Alpine flowers, amongst them a charming white potentilla with a red centre; and a large cream-coloured primula, shading into deep orange. We also came across several new varieties of gentians. Here we rested for a couple of hours, hoping that the clouds might lift, but a nasty rain began to fall heavily. While we were waiting several coolies from Nepal passed by: from these we found out that the pass was closed by snow for five months in the year and that the trade market at Sakeding was closed by the end of October. We now turned our footsteps homeward, urged on by cold showers of rain. On the descent we were able to collect a few seeds. Autumn was approaching, though the trees had not yet begun to assume their autumn colours owing to the warm nights. That evening in the camp we had an enormous bonfire of birch, juniper and rhododendrons, which made the prettiest blaze imaginable, with flames of green, blue, violet and orange. The large fire also helped to keep away the leeches. Heavy rain fell again all night, and the thermometer did not descend below 55° Fahr. The morning, however, broke fine, and we started back again up the valley to Sakeding. The sun shone every now and then, giving us occasional glimpses of distant glaciers at the head of the valley. The walk through the forest, with the sunlight shining on the dark green leaves of the rhododendron and the dripping foliage, was very delightful. The undergrowth consisted of wild roses, berberis with its necklaces of scarlet berries, wild currants of a great size—sour to the taste, but excellent when stewed—wild raspberries, light feathery bamboos, birch, willow and a most luxuriant vegetation of flowers and grasses. In one or two places the mountain ash were just beginning to show traces of colour. We soon left the leeches behind us and followed our old track through the forest beside the rushing waters of the Kama-chu. Enormous rocks which had fallen from above had in places almost blocked up the river. Often on these great boulders in the middle of the stream were growing the graceful Himalayan larch. On the steepest rock faces grew vegetation of every kind, thanks to the excessive moisture of the climate, and from every tree and from every bush hung long and picturesque lichens. Crested tits and bullfinches lived in great numbers in this forest and gave it quite a homelike appearance. The climb from the river had been a steep one, and we pitched our camp at Sakeding in a downpour of rain, but towards the evening the weather cleared up, allowing us fine views of great snow peaks which showed above the mists on the opposite sides of the valley. It was too far to go from Sakeding to Kharta in one day; we therefore decided to camp before crossing the Chog La. We passed our old camp by the green lake Ruddamlamtso, and I had a long chase after some ram chakor, but they were too clever for me and ran up the hill faster than I could follow them. The large moraines which converged in this valley were specially interesting, and threw much light on its past history. Each moraine had its own long line of boulders formed of different kinds of rock, according to the character of the mountains from which they had been carried down by the ice. It was not difficult to imagine the vast glaciers by which these lines of boulders had been deposited; glaciers which must at one time have completely blocked the valley and the disappearance of which has made room for the chain of lakes which now occupy the valley. We pitched our camp at a place called Mendalongkyo—15,500 feet—in a pleasantly sheltered spot where a gurgling stream disappeared under an old moraine. In the afternoon Wollaston went out after rats, of which he secured a new variety. Our coolies had a great chase after a fat marmot, which they very nearly caught, but he got down into his hole just in time. Around the camp were quantities of a very beautiful pale blue gentian—a regular Eton blue colour. Wandering up the spur North-west of the camp I counted nine lakes in the next valley and four lakes in the one that we were in; as the rain began to fall again, I returned to camp.

The next morning, August 29, we began our homeward journey to Kharta. Getting up early, we climbed on to the high ridge North-west of the camp, from which we had a fair view; but unfortunately both Makalu and Mount Everest were hidden by clouds. We waited for a long time in hopes of a better view, but the clouds only grew thicker. We therefore followed the ridge above the Chog La. On the way I shot a Tibetan snow partridge (Lerwa nivicola), an extremely pretty bird with lovely markings. This was the first I had seen.

We now turned our backs upon the Kama Valley with much regret. We had explored many of these Himalayan valleys, but none seemed to me to be comparable with this, either for the beauty of its Alpine scenery, or for its wonderful vegetation. We shall not easily forget the smiling pastures carpeted with gentians and every variety of Alpine flower that rise to the very verge of icebound and snow-covered tracks, where mighty glaciers descend among the forests which clothe the lower slopes.

After crossing the Chog La, we went down once more into the valley of the lakes and then, crossing the Samchung La, descended to Kharta which we found bathed in sunshine.

CHAPTER VIII

THE UPPER KHARTA VALLEY AND THE 20,000 FOOT CAMP

During the early part of August Mallory and Bullock, after they had found that there was no possible means of attacking Mount Everest from the Kama Valley, crossed the Langma La and returned to the Kharta Valley. Up this valley they now proceeded until they reached the glaciers in which the Kharta River has its source. After exploring a number of valleys, they at last found one which led straight to Mount Everest. Accompanied by Major Morshead, who had joined them during their excursion, they made a long and tiring reconnaissance of this valley, and satisfied themselves that it afforded a practicable approach to the North-eastern ridge of Mount Everest. The slopes were fairly gentle, but were at that time covered with soft fresh snow, knee deep. Over these snow-covered glaciers, up which they had proceeded with great difficulty, they found a col from which it was possible to attack the mountain. Under the existing conditions of soft snow and warm weather it would have been quite impossible to take laden coolies along this route, and they therefore returned to Kharta to wait until the monsoon conditions had abated and the snow should have become hard and frozen.

On our return from the Kama Valley on August 29, we found Mallory and Bullock still at Kharta, waiting for the weather to improve. About this time it was showing distinct signs of improvement. The clouds were not so thick and there were many more bright intervals with blue skies. They therefore determined to start off on August 31, to form an advanced base camp up the Kharta Valley.

On September 1, much to the surprise of every one, Raeburn arrived back from Darjeeling. He reported very wet conditions throughout Tibet, the rivers everywhere being unfordable, and most of the bridges washed away. He also reported having seen five bags of our mails at Chushar. Our posts had latterly been very erratic, and for five weeks no mails had arrived. We did not know what had happened to them. We were sending in a couple of our own coolies every fortnight to Phari with our outgoing mail, and the first lot of these coolies had not yet returned, so that we were all without news of the outside world. Although it was the beginning of September, the night temperatures at Kharta were still much too high, ranging from 52° Fahr. to 47° Fahr. On September 3 Morshead and Wheeler left for the Upper Kharta Valley, intending to go slowly and to map and fill in the detail of the valley as they went along.

The tameness of the birds gave us many opportunities of studying their habits. A large family of redstarts lived in our garden at Kharta, and used to amuse me very much. The young birds were now fully fledged and spent most of the day in hopping in and out of my tent; they were not in the least degree afraid, and the mother would come and feed them actually inside my tent. On the terrace near the camp there were a number of prettily marked white rock pigeons which formed a welcome addition to our diet of Tibetan mutton, of which we were getting very tired.

On September 5 Wollaston, Raeburn and I, with twenty-six Tibetan coolies, and eleven of our own, started off to join the climbing party up the Kharta Valley. The first 7 miles of this valley I knew well, having traversed them many times before. The barley fields were now fast ripening, and were a beautiful golden colour. Curious to relate, the barley that grew at 14,000 feet was riper than that which grew at 12,000 feet. Two kinds of barley seemed to be grown here—the ordinary variety, and another with a red ear such as is, I believe, grown in the Shetlands. We rode past the tidy-looking monastery of Gandenchöfel, surrounded by its juniper trees, and after a steep climb past the entrance of the valley leading to the Langma La, descended on to some fine river terraces, on which were many prosperous farms and well-tilled fields. These extended for several more miles up the valley. We pitched our camp on a grassy flat a couple of miles above the last house, where willows, rhododendrons and junipers grew plentifully; the marshy ground was carpeted with gentians, one of the commonest being dark blue in colour with ten petals, and rather like a star in shape, the other being larger and of a pale Eton-blue colour. I managed to collect a certain number of seeds of both of these. We had a grand bonfire that evening, made of juniper and willow, the last that we were to have for a long time. The weather was disappointing and a drizzling rain fell all night with a temperature of 42° Fahr.

It was still raining when we started in the morning, so that there were no views. A white andromeda was still in flower on the hillsides, but the rhododendrons were all over. On the opposite side of the valley juniper alone flourished and grew to an altitude of nearly 17,000 feet. After going a couple of miles, we passed Morshead and Wheeler's tents pitched on an old yak camp. When we arrived, they were still having breakfast, as the weather was too bad to do any surveying. On leaving them we had a steep climb over grassy slopes, where the drizzling rain now changed to snow, and for the rest of the day it fell steadily. There appeared to be many branch valleys, and as our views in the mist were very curtailed, we were not at all certain as to whether we were going up the right valley—I only knew approximately the height of the place at which we were to camp. Therefore, on arriving at that height, I sent my coolies off in two different directions up two different valleys to see where Mallory and Bullock's camp might be. The mist lifted for a moment, and one of them luckily saw Mallory, whose camp was only a few hundred yards from us. We decided to call this our “Advanced base camp.” It was pitched in some small grassy hollows at a height of 17,350 feet. The site was well sheltered from the winds, and was a regular Alpine garden. Gentians of three different kinds were growing there, including the lovely light-blue one. There was also a beautiful little white saxifrage with yellow and brown spots inside the flower, a delightful pink androsace, and dwarf delphiniums with their single deep-blue flowers. Here grew also the musk-scented hairy light-blue delphinium with its overpowering smell of musk. The latter flower, the Tibetans told me, was a great preventative of lice, and I noticed that our cooks and most of our servants had picked great bundles of it. They also told me that if a man habitually wears this flower about him during his lifetime, after his death when cut up and exposed to the birds, no bird or wolf will touch his flesh owing to the strong scent apparently left by the musk. A pretty pink aster grew here in great clusters, and a few blue poppies were still out. Acchu, our cook, and Gyalzen Kazi, who were coming along behind us, both missed their way and wandered several miles further up the valley before they found out their mistake, and when they eventually arrived in camp, were both suffering from severe headaches, due to the great height. During our stay at this camp we had plenty of time and many opportunities of observing bird and animal life. Some of the birds were very brilliantly coloured. There was a snow bunting with bright scarlet breast and head, also a beautiful redstart with red body and black and white wings. Overhead the great Lämmergeier, or bearded vulture, sailed in graceful circles, while the big black raven croaked on the rocks by the camp. Morning and evening we could hear the ramchakor (Tetraogallus tibetanus) calling on the opposite side of the valley, and with glasses we could see them chasing one another and running round in circles. Red foxes I met with on several occasions over 18,000 feet.

Mallory and Bullock, who had already been here for a few days, had spent their time in carrying wood and stores up to a higher camp further up the valley; they had been having a certain amount of trouble with their coolies, due to the Sirdar, who was always trying to create difficulties. I therefore sent him away on a job to Chushar to collect some of our stores which were supposed to have been detained there, and which would keep him busy for a number of days and prevent him from interfering with our coolies at a critical period. We had brought up with us six live sheep, and very lively these proved. Dukpa, Mallory's cook, let three of them escape, but luckily some coolies coming up the valley saw two of them, and after a great chase brought them back. The third they could not catch and eventually drove him under a cliff, where they killed him with stones and brought his carcass back to us. The weather continued very unsettled. During the night a couple of inches of snow fell, but until the temperature became colder and the sky cleared, it was no use trying to go up to the upper camp. I shot a ramchakor on the opposite side of the valley. They are the most tasty of the Tibetan birds, and are quite excellent eating.

On September 8, after a frosty night, Bullock, Mallory and I with three coolies, for the purpose of keeping fit, made a little excursion along a rocky ridge that lay to the South of us. On the top of the ridge there were a number of sharp rock pinnacles that had to be climbed. I found these gymnastics at a height of over 19,000 feet to be very exhausting, but Mallory did not seem to mind them in the least. There should have been a lovely view from here, but all we got was an occasional glimpse of glaciers and rocky peaks through the mist. The sun was trying to shine through the clouds and at first it was beautifully warm; but after a couple of hours snow began to fall, so we hurriedly descended on to the glacier below. Snow fell all the way back to camp, and by nightfall there were 3 inches of fresh snow round our tents. During the night the thermometer dropped to 21° Fahr., and the morning broke clear and frosty. I started off early to climb the hill behind the camp, from which there was a very extensive view, both Everest and Makalu being for the moment quite clear and free from cloud. To the North extended a great range of snow peaks between 23,000 feet and 24,000 feet in height, rather uninteresting in appearance, and to the East stretched a great sea of accumulating cloud, out of which appeared the tops of Kanchenjunga and Jannu. The peak on which we stood was just under 20,000 feet; I spent several hours basking in the hot sunshine, which was rapidly melting the fresh snow. I was surprised to find growing at this height a tiny yellow saxifrage.

That evening eight coolies arrived with our long-expected mail, and the rest of the day was spent in reading letters and sorting out papers, for over two hundred letters and papers had arrived for me alone. There was again a sharp frost of 10° that night and the early morning was beautiful, but clouds came quickly drifting up the valley and obscured the fine views we had from the camp of Mount Everest and the rocky peaks to the North of the camp. On September 11, in spite of a warm night, Mallory and Bullock, being very optimistic, left for the upper camp, while Morshead and Wheeler rejoined us from their camp below, not having been able to do any work down there owing to bad weather. Snow fell steadily all the evening to a depth of about 3 inches. Next day was cloudy, but warm, and the snow disappeared again with extraordinary rapidity. I went out with a shotgun to try and shoot some ramchakor, and while after them saw a very fine grey wolf who was also stalking the ramchakor. He came up to within 50 yards of me, so that I was able to have a good look at him. He had a beautiful coat, and it was very unfortunate that I did not have a rifle with me. I wandered some way up a side valley to the foot of a glacier, but saw no signs of birds, as the wolf had evidently been there before me. In the afternoon Mallory and Bullock returned from the upper camp, having been driven down by the bad weather: another 5 inches of snow fell that evening, so that we were kept busy beating our tents to keep the ridge poles from breaking. On September 13, 14 and 15, snow fell on and off the whole time; but in spite of the bad weather I managed to shoot a burhel for food. Their meat is very much better than that of the tame sheep. On September 16 we had at last a fine day with a sharp frost at night. Wheeler at once seized this opportunity and took up a station on a hill-top on the opposite side of the valley, from which he was able to get some useful views. The next day, after 13° of frost in the night, Mallory, Morshead and I started off to climb Kama Changri, a peak to the South of the camp, that overhung the Kama Valley. We left the camp at 2 a.m., by the light of a full moon, which made the going as light as though it were day. We soon reached our view-point of a few days before, where, except for the distant roar of the stream far away below in the valley, there was no other sound, only an intense stillness. Never anywhere have I seen the moon or the stars shine so brightly. To the South, far away from us, there were constant flashes of lightning—the valleys in Tibet, the great gorges of the Arun, the wooded valleys of Nepal all lay buried under a white sea of clouds, out of which emerged the higher mountains like islands out of a fairy sea. In this bright moonlight, mountains like Kanchenjunga—100 miles away—stood out sharp and distinct. Here on this sharp ridge, at a height of 21,000 feet, with no obstruction to hide the view, sunrise came to us in all its beauty and grandeur. To the West, and close at hand, towered up Mount Everest, still over 8,000 feet above us; at first showing up cold, grey and dead against a sky of deep purple. All of a sudden a ray of sunshine touched the summit, and soon flooded the higher snows and ridges with golden light, while behind, the deep purple of the sky changed to orange. Makalu was the next to catch the first rays of the sun and glowed as though alive; then the white sea of clouds was struck by the gleaming rays of the sun, and all aglow with colour rose slowly and seemed to break against the island peaks in great billows of fleecy white.

Such a sunrise has seldom been the privilege of man to see, and once seen can never be forgotten. After sunrise the climbing became more unpleasant. We tried to follow the direct way up the mountain, but the snow was in bad condition and the slope very steep. We therefore crossed the glacier, putting on our snow-shoes, and followed easier snow slopes but bad owing to the soft snow. The going was very tiring; Mallory and Morshead appeared to feel the height very much. After six hours we reached the top, 21,300 feet, from which we had a most superb view. We looked straight down on to the Kama Valley. Makalu was immediately opposite us with its colossal precipices. Glaciers, cliffs of ice, rock peaks, fluted snow ridges and immense mountains towered all around us above a vast sea of clouds which stretched for hundreds of miles away to the plains of India. Here I was able to take many photographs, but no photograph can adequately portray the grandeur or the impressiveness of such a scene. We stopped on the top of Kama Changri for over three hours. It was extraordinarily warm; there was not a breath of air, and the sun seemed to shine with an intense heat. Clouds then began to roll up, and we returned to camp by an easier way down the glacier.

Next day, in spite of 13° of frost at night, snow and sleet fell all day again, and made us very depressed. In order to prevent our going to sleep too soon after dinner, four of us used to play bridge every night, and I do not suppose that bridge has often been played at so great a height.

On September 19, after a cold night with 16° of frost, Mallory, Bullock, Morshead and Wheeler started off for the 20,000-foot camp. The weather was now steadily growing colder every night. On September 20 we had 18° of frost, as well as a further fall of snow. During the night a very fine lunar halo was seen, but the morning broke clear. Wollaston, Raeburn and I started to join the remainder of the party at the 20,000-foot camp, leaving Gyalzen Kazi, our second interpreter, behind in charge of the advance base camp. It was very necessary to have some one here to whom we could send back for any extra stores or supplies that might be wanted, and who would be able to forward to us anything that might be sent up from Kharta. A four hours' walk brought us to the camp. I had a thorough feeling of lassitude all the way. It required, indeed, some effort to walk at all, and a strong effort, both of mind and body, to reach camp. On the way beautiful views of Mount Everest gave us encouragement. The foot of the Kharta Glacier descends to 19,000 feet. From that point on to the camp we travelled beside it. At first the glacier is cut up into wonderfully shaped “seracs,” but as we got higher the surface became smoother. It was an exceptionally white glacier; there were no moraines on its surface, and it was covered everywhere with a fresh coating of thick snow. We found the camp on a terrace between two glaciers. That above the camp resembled the pictures of a Greenland ice cap. A thick coating of ice, to a depth of 50 to 60 feet, covered the gentle slopes above us, and came down to within a couple of hundred yards of the camp. The drainage from the melting ice percolated through the stony ground, so that on digging to a depth of 6 inches we came upon water. A couple of hundred feet below the camp was the big white glacier which descended from the Lhakpa La. The day was gloriously fine, and we obtained magnificent views of Mount Everest and the snowy chain to the South of us across the Kharta Glacier. Over the top of this snowy chain appeared the great rocky crests of Makalu. At an altitude of over 19,800 feet I saw a hare and heard several ramchakor calling. There grew close to the camp a few gentians with their curious square leaves, also a dwarf blue delphinium and a little white saxifrage. It was an extraordinary height at which to find flowers and their season of summer cannot last long. On arrival at the camp, we found only Wheeler and Bullock there, as Mallory and Morshead with fourteen coolies had gone on ahead to carry loads up to the Lhakpa La, which was to be our next camp. They returned in a very exhausted condition in the course of the afternoon. The snow, they reported, was in better condition than last time on the lower slopes; but as they got higher, they found it still very soft and powdery. These extra loads that they had taken up to this camp would enable the whole party to go up to it and to sleep there, if necessary, for several days. As the sun was setting behind Mount Everest, we were treated to a glorious view. The ring of clouds that surrounded it were all touched by the bright evening sunlight, while the mountain itself was in deep shadow except for great streamers of powdery fresh snow which were being blown off the whole length of its crests. We stood and watched this extraordinary sight for some time, devoutly hoping that the wind would soon die down. Unfortunately we were soon to experience what a strong wind meant at these heights.

Sea of cloud from peak north of Kama Valley.
Kanchenjunga in distance.