We passed through the village, a tiny hamlet of a dozen houses, and came to the celebrated temple of Lapche. A square stone wall, about 60 yards each way, on the inner side of which are sheds to shelter pilgrims, encloses a roughly paved courtyard where stands the temple, a plain square building of stone with a pagoda-like roof surmounted by a burnished copper ornament. There is nothing remarkable about the temple excepting the hundred and more prayer wheels set in the wall at a convenient height for the pilgrims to turn as they walk round the building. Inside are countless Buddhas, the usual smell of smoky butter-lamps, and an effigy of the saint. The whole place is dirty and dishevelled, in the supposed care of one old woman and a monk, and nobody would believe that this is one of the most famous places in the country and that every year hundreds of Buddhists from India and from all parts of Tibet make pilgrimage to it.
Mila Respa, poet and saint and (it is said) a Tibetan incarnation of Buddha, spent his earthly life in this mountain valley, living under rocks and in caves, where the faithful may see his footprints even now. He seems to have been not lacking in a sense of humour. He was walking with a disciple on the mountain one day, when they found an old yak's horn lying in the path. Mila Respa told the disciple to pick it up and take it with him. The disciple refused, saying that it was useless, and passed on without noticing that the saint himself had picked up the horn and put it under his cloak. Soon afterwards a mighty storm descended on them—whether or not it was caused by the saint is not known. He took the horn from under his cloak and crept inside it. “Now,” said he, when he was safely sheltered from the rain, “you see that nothing in the world is useless.”
We stayed for two days at Lapche Kang, picking flowers and enjoying the beauty of the place, in spite of the clouds which swept up from the South and filled the valley from early morning onwards. To a naturalist it was a tantalizing place; there were many unfamiliar birds that we had not seen in Tibet, but in such a sacred place I dared not offend the people by taking life, and I even had some qualms in catching butterflies. One of the prettiest sights I saw was a wall-creeper, like a big crimson-winged moth, fluttering over the temple buildings in search for insects.
Having found Lapche Kang, where no European had before penetrated, and having placed it on the map, our next object was to go over the ranges Eastward to the Rongshar Valley, the head of which had been visited by members of the Expedition a few weeks earlier. This was accomplished in two long days of rather confused climbing over two passes of about 17,000 feet, crossing sundry glaciers and stumbling over moraines, and nearly always in an impenetrable fog. Our views of mountains were none at all, but the beauty of the flowers at our feet was almost compensation for that. Among many stand out two in particular, both of them primulas. One was ivory-white, about the bigness of a cowslip, with wide open bells and the most delicate primrose scent: the other carried from four to six bells, each as big as a lady's thimble, of deep azure blue and lined inside with frosted silver.[16]
As we went down the last steep slope into the Rongshar Valley, the clouds parted for a few moments, and across the valley and incredibly high above our heads appeared the summit of Gauri-Sankar,[17] one of the most beautiful of Himalayan peaks, blazing in the afternoon sun. It was a glorious vision, but it rather added to our regret for the views of peaks that we might have seen. The next morning at daybreak the whole mountain was clear from its foot in the Rongshar River (10,000 feet) up through woods of pine and birch, to rhododendrons and rocks, and so by a knife-edged ridge of ice to its glistening summit. It recalled to me the Bietsch-horn more than any other Alpine peak, a Bietsch-horn on the giant scale and seemingly impassable to man.
The valley of the Rongshar, like the Nyenyam and other valleys we had visited, though within the Tibetan border, is really more Nepalese in character. The climate is much damper than in Tibet, as one can see by the wisps of lichen on the trees and the greenness of the vegetation far up the mountain sides, especially at this season of monsoon, when the South wind blows dense clouds of drenching moisture through the gorges. Like those valleys the Rongshar is sacred, which is inconvenient when the question of food supply is pressing. The people had cattle and flocks of goats; they would sell us an ox or a goat, but we must not kill it within the valley, or ill-luck would come to them. They were a friendly and good-tempered people, much given to religion. In many places we had seen prayer wheels worked by water, but here for the first time we saw one driven by the wind. Though it does not do much work at night, it probably steals a march on the water wheels in winter, when the streams are frozen.
We walked up the valley of Rongshar, which in July should be called the Valley of Roses; on all sides were bushes, trees almost, of the deep red single rose in bloom, and the air was filled with the scent of them. After a journey of about 150 miles through unknown country we came to the village of Tazang, which had been visited by some of us before. Thence over the Phüse La (the Pass of Small Rats) we came into real Tibet again, and so in a few days to the Eastern side of Mount Everest.
Footnotes:
[15] In fairness it must be said that this was the only occasion on which we met with anything but help and civility from Tibetan officials.
[16] Both of these are new species; the former has been described as Primula Buryana, the latter as P. Wollastonii.
[17] Gauri-Sankar (23,440 ft.) was for many years confused with Mount Everest, which is still misnamed Gauri-Sankar in German maps.
CHAPTER XIX
NATURAL HISTORY NOTES
To a naturalist Tibet offers considerable difficulties: it is true that in some places animals are so tame that they will almost eat out of your hand; for instance, in the Rongbuk Valley the burhel (wild sheep) come to the cells of the hermits for food, and in every village the ravens and rock-doves are as fearless as the sparrows in London. But against this tameness must be set the Buddhist religion, which forbids the people from taking life, so that, whereas in most countries the native children are the best friends of the naturalist, in Tibet we got no help from them whatever. Also, in order to avoid giving possible offence, we were careful to refrain from shooting in the neighbourhood of monasteries and villages, and that was a very severe drawback, as birds congregated principally about the cultivated lands near villages. Another difficulty we found was in catching small mammals, which showed the greatest reluctance to enter our traps, whatever the bait might be. One species only, a vole (Phaiomys leucurus), was trapped; all the others were shot, and that involved a considerable expenditure of time in waiting motionless beside burrows. In spite of these disadvantages we made considerable collections of mammals and birds, and we brought back a large number of dried plants and seeds, many of which it is hoped will live in the gardens of this country.
Crossing over the Jelep La from Sikkim into Tibet in the latter part of May we found the country at 12,000 feet and upwards at the height of spring. The open level spaces were carpeted with a dark purple and yellow primula (P. gammieana), a delicate little yellow flower (Lloydia tibetica) and many saxifrages. The steep hillsides were ablaze with the flowers of the large rhododendrons (R. thomsoni, R. falconeri, R. aucklandi) and the smaller Rhododendron campylocarpum, an almost infinite variety of colours.[18] A descent through woods of pines, oaks and walnuts brought us to the picturesque village of Richengong, in the Chumbi Valley, where we found house-martins nesting under the eaves of the houses. Following up the Ammo Chu, in its lower course between 9,000 and 12,000 feet, we found the valley gay with pink and white spiræas and cotoneasters, red and white roses, yellow berberis, a fragrant white-flowered bog-myrtle, anemones and white clematis. Dippers, wagtails and the white-capped redstart were the commonest birds along the river-banks. From Yatung we made an excursion of a few miles up the Kambu Valley, and there found a very beautiful Enkianthus (Enkianthus himalaicus), a small tree about 15 feet high, with clusters of pink and white flowers; in the autumn the leaves turn to a deep copper red.
At about 11,000 feet is a level terrace, the plain of Lingmatang, where the stream meanders for two or three miles through a lovely meadow covered in the spring with a tiny pink primula (P. minutissima): it looks a perfect trout stream, but what fish there are (Schizopygopsis stoliczae) are small and few in number.
Between 11,000 and 13,000 feet you ascend through mixed woods of pine, larch, birch and juniper with an undergrowth of rhododendrons and mountain ash. The larches here have a much less formal habit of growth than those of this country, and in the autumn they turn to a brilliant golden colour. The berries of the mountain ash, when ripe, are white and very conspicuous. At this altitude Rhododendron cinnabarinum reaches its best growth, in bushes of from 8 to 10 feet in height, and the flowers have a very wide range of colour. In the woods hereabouts may often be heard and sometimes seen the blood pheasant, and here lives also—but we did not see it—the Tibetan stag.
At about 13,000 feet at the end of May you find a yellow primula covering the ground more thickly than cowslips in this country; the air is laden with the scent of it, and growing with it is a pretty little heath-like flower (Cassiope fastigiata) with snow-white bells. Here and there is seen the large blue poppy (Meconopsis sp.) and a white anemone with five or six flowers on one stem. Soon the trees get scantier and scantier, pines disappear altogether and then birches and willows and junipers, until only dwarf rhododendrons (R. setosum) are left, covering the hillsides like purple heather.
In a few miles the country changes in character completely, and you come out on to the open plain of Phari. Here at 14,000 feet we saw the common cuckoo sitting on a telegraph wire and calling vigorously. This is Tibet proper, and henceforward you may travel for scores of miles and hardly see any plant more than a few inches high. In some places a little trumpet-shaped purple flower (Incarvillea younghusbandii) is fairly common, it lies prone on the sand with its leaves usually buried out of sight; and as we went Westward we found a dwarf blue iris (I. tenuifolia). Animals are few and far between: the Kiang, the wild ass of Tibet, is occasionally seen in small parties; they are very conspicuous on the open plains in full daylight, but almost invisible at dusk. The Tibetan gazelle is fairly numerous, and it is not uncommon to see one or two in company with a flock of native sheep and taking no notice of the shepherd, but when a stranger tries to approach they are off like a flash. Another animal of the plains is the Tibetan antelope (Pantholops), which is found in large numbers a little to the North of the region we visited, but the only signs of it we saw were the horns used as supporting prongs for the long muzzle-loading guns of the Tibetans. The Tibetan antelope was probably the Unicorn described by the French priest Huc in 1845.
The only mammals that are commonly seen on the plains are the small mouse-hares or pikas (Ochotona), which live in colonies on the less stony parts of the plain, where their burrows often caused our ponies to stumble; they scurry off to their holes at your approach, but if you wait a few moments you will see heads peeping out at you from all sides. These engaging little creatures have been called “Whistling Hares,” but of the three species which we found none was ever heard to utter a sound of any kind. The Tibetan name for them is Phüse. It is interesting to record that from one specimen I took three fleas of two species, both of them new to science.
Birds are few on these stony wastes, larks, wheatears and snow-finches being the commonest. Elwes' shore-lark was found feeding young birds at the beginning of June, when the ground was not yet free from snow, and the song of the Tibetan skylark, remarkably like that of our own skylark, was heard over every patch of native cultivation.
A small spiny lizard (Phrynocephalus theobaldi) is common on the plains and on the lower hills up to 17,000 feet; it lives in shallow burrows on the sand and under stones.
Rising out of the plain North of the Himalayas are ranges of rounded limestone hills, 18,000 to 19,000 feet high, running roughly East and West. The hills between Phari and Khamba Dzong are the home of the big sheep (Ovis hodgsoni), which are occasionally seen in small companies. There are many ranges to the West of Khamba Dzong, apparently well suited to this animal, but it was never seen. On the slopes of these hills are found partridges (Perdix hodgsoniæ), and in the ravines are seen Alpine choughs, rock-doves (Columba rupestris) and crag-martins. Once or twice at night we heard the shriek of the great eagle-owl, but the bird was not seen.
At rare intervals on these plains one meets with small rivers, tributaries of the Arun River; along their banks is usually more grass than elsewhere, and here the wandering Tibetan herdsmen bring their yaks to graze. The wild yak is not found anywhere in this region. It might be supposed that so hairy an animal as the yak would become dirty and unkempt. Actually they are among the cleanest of creatures, and they may often be seen scraping holes in soft banks where they roll and kick and comb themselves into silky condition. The usual colour of the domesticated yak is black, more rarely a yellowish brown. A common variety has a white face and white tail. The calves are born in the spring, late April or early May.
Here and there the rivers overflow their banks and form lakes or meres, which in the summer are the haunt of innumerable wild-fowl: bar-headed geese and redshanks nest here, families of ruddy shelducks (the Brahminy duck of India) and garganey teal are seen swimming on the pools. Overhead fly sand-martins, brown-headed gulls, common terns and white-tailed eagles. Near one of these lakes one day I watched at close distance a red fox stalking a pair of bar-headed geese, a most interesting sight, and had the satisfaction of saving the birds by firing a shot in the air with my small collecting gun just as the fox was about to pounce on his intended victim.
Tinki Dzong is a veritable bird sanctuary. The Dzong itself is a rambling fort covering a dozen or so of acres, and about its walls nest hundreds of birds—ravens, magpies, red-billed choughs, tree-sparrows, hoopoes, Indian redstarts, Hodgson's pied wagtails and rock-doves. In the shallow pool outside the Dzong were swimming bar-headed geese and ruddy shelducks, with families of young birds, all as tame as domestic poultry. A pair of white storks was seen here in June, but they did not appear to be breeding. In the autumn the lakes in this neighbourhood are the resort of large packs of wigeon, gadwall and pochard. The Jongpen explained to us that it was the particular wish of the Dalai Lama that no birds should be molested here, and for several years two lamas lived at Tinki, whose special business it was to protect the birds.
Crossing over a pass of about 17,000 feet (Tinki La), the slopes gay with a little purple and white daphne (Stellera), said by the natives to be poisonous to animals, we came to a plain of a different character, miles of blown sand heaped here and there into enormous dunes, on which grows a yellow-flowering gorse. Here, near Chushar, we first met with rose-finches (Severtzoff's and Przjewalsk's) and the brown ground-chough (Podoces humilis): the last-named is a remarkable-looking bird, which progresses by a series of apparently top-heavy bounds, at the end of which it turns round to steady itself; in the middle of June it was feeding its young in nests at the bottom of deep holes in sand or old mud walls.
Following up the valley of the Bhong-chu we crossed the river by a stone bridge near Shekar Dzong. Here we found a colony of white-rumped swifts nesting high up in cliffs and ruddy shelducks nesting in holes among the loose boulders below. Occasionally we saw a pair of black-necked cranes, which are said by the natives to breed near lakes a little to the North, but we had no opportunity of visiting them. The slopes of the hills facing South were covered with a very pretty shrub (Sophora) with blue and white flowers and delicate silvery grey leaves, and among the loose stones a small clematis (C. orientalis) was just beginning to appear. Groups of small trees, like a sea buckthorn, growing 15 to 20 feet high, indicate a gradual change in the climate as you go Westwards. Here also for the first time we began to find a few butterflies, of the genera Lycæna and Colias.
At Tingri we found ourselves in a large plain about 20 miles long by 12 wide; a large part of the plain is saturated with soda and is almost uninhabited by bird or beast. In our three weeks' stay at Tingri we collected several mammals, including a new subspecies of hamster (Cricetulus alticola tibetanus) and a number of birds. This was the only place where we ever received any natural history specimen from a Tibetan. A woman came into our camp one day and, after making certain that she was not observed by any of the villagers, produced from a sack a well-worn domestic cat's skin stuffed with grass and a freshly killed stoat (Mustela longstaffi). The skin of the stoat is highly prized by the Tibetans, who say that it has the property of restoring faded turquoises to their former beauty. About the houses of the village were nesting tree-sparrows, hoopoes, rock-doves and ravens, the latter so tame that they hardly troubled to get out of the way of passers-by. In a tower of the old fort lived a pair of the Eastern little owl (Athene bactriana), which appeared to live principally on voles. On the plain the commonest birds were the long-billed calandra lark, Brook's short-toed lark, the Tibetan skylark, and Elwes' shore-lark, all of which were found with eggs, probably the second brood of the season, at the beginning of July. The nest of the yellow-headed wagtail, rare at Tingri, was found with eggs, and Blanford's snow-finch was found feeding its young more than 2 feet down the burrow of a pika (Ochotona curzoniæ). The common tern and the greater sand-plover nested on the shingly islands in the river.
Plants at Tingri were few and inconspicuous: a small yellow cistus, the dwarf blue iris, a small aster and a curious hairy, claret-coloured flower (Thermopsis) were the most noticeable. Along the rivers which traverse the plain is very good grazing for the large flocks of sheep and goats of the Tibetans; the sheep are small and are grown entirely for wool. By a simple system of irrigation a large area of land near Tingri has been brought into cultivation. The principal crop here is barley, which constitutes the chief food of the people; they also grow a large radish or small turnip, the young leaves of which are excellent food. The animals usually used for ploughing are a cross between the yak and ordinary domestic cattle, called by the Tibetans “zoh”; they are more powerful than the yak and are excellent transport animals. We found barley grown in many districts up to 15,000 feet—it does not always ripen—and in the valley of the Dzakar Chu near its junction with the Arun River is a small area where wheat is grown at an altitude of about 12,800 feet. Peas are grown in the Arun Valley near Kharta, where they ripen in September and are pounded into meal for winter food of cattle as well as of the Tibetans themselves. Mustard is grown in the lower valleys below 14,000 feet. It is to be regretted that we did not bring back specimens of these hardy cereals.
During the course of an excursion of about three weeks in July to the West and South of Tingri we covered a large tract of unexplored country, much of which is more Nepalese than Tibetan in character. Going over the Thung La we found numerous butterflies of the genus Parnassus, and near the top of the pass (18,000 feet) we found for the first time the beautiful little blue Gentiana amœna; it is not easy to see until you are right over it, when it looks like a little square blue china cup; some of the flowers are as much as an inch in diameter. Here also was just beginning to flower the dwarf blue poppy (Meconopsis horridula), which grows in a small compact clump, 6 to 8 inches high, with as many as sixteen flowers and buds on one plant; the flowers are nearly 2 inches across and of a heavenly blue. In this region, too, we met for the first time marmots, which live in large colonies at about 16,000 feet; the Himalayan is larger than the Alpine marmot, and it has a longish tail which it whisks sharply from side to side when it is alarmed; it has a twittering cry, curiously like that of a bird of prey.
Continuing down the valley of the Pö Chu to Nyenyam, we found several birds that we had not met hitherto, notably the brown accentor, Himalayan tree-pipit, Adams's snowfinch, the Himalayan greenfinch and Tickell's willow-warbler. At about 12,500 feet we first found the white-backed dove (Columba leuconota), which inhabits the deep gorges of the Himalayas but does not extend out on to the Tibetan plain. Beside the big torrent that flows South from Gosainthan we saw a pair of that curious curlew-like bird, the ibis-bill (Ibidorhynchus struthersi); it was evident that they had eggs or young on an island in the torrent, at about 13,800 feet, but unfortunately it was impossible to reach it.
The most conspicuous flowers in this region were a little bushy cistus with golden flowers the size of a half-crown, a dwarf rhododendron (R. lanatum) with hairy leaves, a white potentilla with red centre, which carpeted the drier hillsides, a white gentian (G. robusta), and a very remarkable louse-wort (Pedicularis megalantha) with two quite distinct forms—one purple, the other yellow.
Crossing a pass to the East of Nyenyam, we camped on a level spot covered densely with white primulas (P. Buryana) six to eight inches high; an inch or two of snow fell during the night, and so white are these flowers that it was difficult to see them against the snow. Near the top of another pass we found at about the same altitude, 15,000 feet, another primula (P. Wollastonii) with three to six bells on each stem, the size of a small thimble, of a deep blue colour, and lined inside with frosted silver. In the moister valleys hereabouts a pretty pink-flowered polygonum (P. vacciniifolium) rambled everywhere over the rocks and boulders. The Rongshar Valley in July was chiefly notable for the large gooseberry bushes, 10 to 12 feet high, and for the profusion of red and white roses. A wall-creeper, the only one we saw in Tibet, was seen creeping about the temple at Lapche, a few miles to the West of Rongshar.
From the beginning of August our headquarters were at Kharta in the Arun Valley, about 20 miles East of Mount Everest, and from there we made excursions South to the Kama Valley, and West up the Kharta Valley in the direction of Everest. Kharta itself is curiously situated as regards climate: the wide dry valley of the Arun narrows abruptly and the river passes into a deep gorge, where it falls rapidly at a rate of about 200 feet to the mile on its way to Nepal. The heavy monsoon clouds roll up the gorge to its mouth, where they are cut off sharply, so that within a mile you may pass from the dry climate of Tibet to the moist, steamy air of a Nepalese character, with its luxuriant vegetation.
In the immediate neighbourhood of Kharta were several birds we had not met elsewhere, notably Prince Henry's laughing thrush (Trochalopterum henrici), which is very much venerated as a sacred bird by the Tibetans, the Central Asian blackbird, almost indistinguishable from our blackbird except by its voice, the solitary thrush, Indian brown turtledove, and a meadow-bunting (Emberiza godlewskii), probably a migrant from the North.
Several species of small gentians and two very fragrant onosmas were flowering in August, and in this place Clematis orientalis attains its best growth, clambering over the trees and the houses of the natives; the flower of this clematis has a very wide range of colour from an apricot yellow to almost black. About the houses are often planted junipers and poplars, and it was about 10 miles from Kharta that we saw a poplar nearly 40 feet in girth, which we were informed was five hundred years old.
A few miles to the south of Kharta is a valley filled with a dozen or so of small lakes or tarns, inhabited apparently only by tadpoles (Rana pleskei); no fish could be seen. Not far from here was discovered an interesting toad of a new species (Cophophryne alticola). Growing about the lakes were large beds of purple and yellow iris (I. sibirica, near); the steeper banks were blue with a very striking campanula (Cyananthus pedunculatus); growing out from among the dwarf rhododendrons in dry places were tall spikes of a claret-coloured meconopsis, now going to seed—some spikes had as many as twenty seed-pods; and in the moist places beside the lakes and streams was the tall yellow primula (P. elongata), growing to a height of over 30 inches.
Ascending from the lakes to the Chog La we saw a small black rat amongst the huge boulders of a moraine; it appeared to be a very active little animal, and though four or five were seen at different times in similar situations we failed to secure a specimen. Near the Chog La we found the snow-partridge (Lerwa lerwa), and one was shot out of a flock of very beautiful blue birds—Hodgson's grandala. Another very handsome bird in this region is the red-breasted rose-finch, which is found up to 18,000 feet. Descending from the Chog La towards the Kama Valley we found at 16,000 feet the giant rhubarb (Rheum nobile), and at 14,000 feet we picked quantities of the wild edible rhubarb. A little lower down we came to large blue scabius, 3 to 4 feet high, a dark blue monkshood and quantities of the tall yellow poppy. Rhododendrons, birches and junipers begin at about 13,500 feet, and at 12,000 feet the junipers are the predominating tree; they are of immense size, upwards of 20 feet in girth and from 120 to 150 feet in height and of a very even and perfect growth. Here we met with the Sikkim black tit (Parus beavani), and a little lower down among the firs (Abies webbiana) we came upon bullfinches (Pyrrhula erythrocephala). At 11,000 feet I saw a langur monkey (Semnopithecus entellus), the only monkey I saw in Tibet. Excepting one solitary bat, the only other mammal we saw in this valley was another species of pika (Ochotona roylei nepalensis), which appears here to be confined to a zone between the altitudes of 12,000 and 14,000 feet; it is not found in dry valleys.
Among the trees in the lower Kama Valley grow many parnassias, a tall green fritillaria, a handsome red swertia and a very sweet-scented pink orchis. We found the tubers (but not the flowers) of an arum, which the Tibetans collect and make of it a very unpalatable bread. We went down through large rhododendrons, magnolias, bamboos, alders, sycamores, all draped in long wisps of lichen (Usnea), to the junction of the Kama with the Arun River, where we found ourselves in the region of the blue pine. The lower part of the Kama Valley is unpleasantly full of leeches, and in the course of an excursion to the Popti La (14,000 feet), one of the principal passes from Tibet to Sikkim, we were astonished to find them very numerous and active at an altitude of 12,000 feet. At our low-altitude camps in this valley hundreds of moths were attracted by the light of our camp fire, and a few came to the dim candle lamps in our tents. A collector who came here with a proper equipment could not fail to make a large collection of moths.
Proceeding up the Kharta Valley in the beginning of September we found that most of the roses and rhododendrons had gone to seed, but some of the gentians, particularly Gentiana ornata, were at their best. Near our camp at 17,000 feet, along the edges of streams, a very handsome gentian (G. nubigena) with half a dozen flowers growing on a single stem was very conspicuous, and growing with it was an aromatic little purple and yellow aster (A. heterochæta); in the same place was a bright yellow senecio (S. arnicoides) with shining, glossy leaves. A curious dark blue dead-nettle (Dracocephalum speciosum) was found on dry ground at the same altitude. In the stony places grew up to 19,000 feet the dwarf blue meconopsis mentioned above, and many saxifrages, notably a very small white one (S. umbellulata). On the steeper rocks from 16,000 feet to the snow-line (roughly 20,000 feet) were found edelweiss (Leontopodium) of three species. Very noticeable at these altitudes are the curious saussureas, large composites packed with cotton wool; if you open one of them on the coldest day, even when it is covered with snow, you find it quite warm inside, and often a bumble bee will come buzzing out.
Another very interesting plant at 17,000 to 18,000 feet is a dwarf blue hairy delphinium (D. brunnoneanum) with a strong smell. The Tibetans dry the flowers of this plant and use them as a preventive against lice. This has its disadvantages, for when a Tibetan dies his body is undertaken by the professional butcher, who cuts it up and exposes it on the hills to be disposed of by the vultures and wolves. A body tainted with the delphinium flowers is unpalatable to the scavengers, and it is known that a man must have been wicked in life whose body is rejected by the vultures and wolves.
The smallest rhododendrons (R. setosum and R. lepidotum) disappear before 19,000 feet, after which vegetation is almost non-existent. A few grasses and mosses are still found to 20,000 feet, and the highest plant we found was a small arenaria (A. musciformis), which grows in flat cushions a few inches wide up to 20,100 feet.
Mammals in the upper Kharta Valley are not numerous. A pika of a new species (Ochotona wollastoni) is found from 15,000 to 20,000 feet, and a new vole (Phaiomys everesti) was found at 17,000 feet. The small black rat previously seen was here too, and an unseen mouse entered our tents and ate our food at 20,000 feet. Fox and hare were both seen above 18,000 feet, and undoubted tracks of them on the Kharta Glacier at 21,000 feet. Wolves were seen about 19,000 feet, and those tracks seen in snow at 21,500 feet, which gave rise to so much discussion, were almost certainly those of a wolf. Burhel were fairly common between 17,000 and 19,000 feet, and we found their droppings on stones at 20,000 feet.
Birds of several species were found from 17,000 feet upwards. The Tibetan snow-partridge (Tetraogallus tibetanus) is common in large parties up to the snow-line. Dippers (Cinclus cashmirensis) are found in the streams up to 17,000 feet, and at about the same altitude lives in the big boulders of moraines a small and very dark wren, which is almost certainly new, but only one immature bird was brought home. Snow-finches and the Eastern alpine accentor appeared to be resident up to the snow-line. Several migrating birds were seen in September at 17,000 feet and above, among them Temminck's stint, painted snipe, pin-tailed snipe, house-martin and several pipits. More than once at night the cry of migrating waders was heard, curlew being unmistakable, and (I think) bar-tailed godwit.
Our camps at 17,000 feet and at 20,000 feet were visited daily by Lämmergeier, raven, red-billed chough, alpine chough and black-eared kite, and I saw twice a hoopoe fly over the Kharta Glacier at about 21,000 feet; a small pale hawk flew overhead at the same time. The highest bird seen was a Lämmergeier (bearded vulture); when I was taking photographs from our camp on the Lhakpa La (22,350 feet) I saw one of these birds come sailing over the top of the North peak of Everest and apparently high above the peak, probably at an altitude of not less than 25,000 feet.[19]
Footnotes:
[18] We marked many of the best-flowering specimens with the intention of collecting their seeds on our return in the autumn. Unfortunately when we came over the Jelep La in October it was in a heavy snowstorm which made collecting impossible.
[19] Detailed accounts of the collections made will be found: Mammals, Annals and Magazine of Nat. Hist., Feb. 1922. Birds, Ibid., July, 1922. Insects, Annals and Magazine of Nat. Hist., May and June, 1922.
CHAPTER XX
AN APPRECIATION OF THE RECONNAISSANCE
By Professor NORMAN COLLIE, F.R.S.
President of the Alpine Club
The chance of wandering into the wild places of the earth is given to few. But those who have once visited the Himalaya will never forget either the magnificence or the beauty of that immense mountain land, whether it be the valley country that lies between the great snow-covered ranges and the plains, where wonderful forests, flowers, clear streams and lesser peaks form a fitting guard to the mighty snow-peaks that lie beyond, or the great peaks themselves, that can be seen far away to the North, as one approaches through the foot-hills that lead up to them. The huge snow-covered giants may be a week's journey away, they may be far more, yet when seen through the clear air of the hills, perhaps 100 miles distant, they look immense, inaccessible, remote and lonely. But as one approaches nearer and nearer to them, they ever grow more splendid, glistening white in the mid-day sun, rose-red at dawn, or a golden orange at sunset, with faint opalescent green shadows that deepen as the daylight fails, till when night comes they stand far up in the sky, pale and ghostly against the glittering stars. Those who have been fortunate enough to see these things, know the fascination they exert. It is the call of the great spaces and of the great mountains. It is a call that mocks at the song of the Lotus-eaters of old, it is more insidious than the Siren's call, and it is a call that, once heard, is never forgotten.
One may be contented and busy with the multitudinous little events of ordinary civilised life, but a chance phrase or some allusion wakes the memory of the wild mountain lands, and one feels sick with desire for the open spaces and the old trails. The dreams of the wanderer are far more real than most of the happenings that make up the average man's life. It may be the memory of some desolate peaks set against an angry sky, or of islands set in summer seas, or some grim fight with deserts of endless sands, or with tropical forests that have held their growth for a thousand years; it may be the memory of rushing rivers, or lakes set in wild woods where the beavers build their houses, or sunsets over great oceans—the spell binds one, the present does not exist, one is back again on the old trail—“The Red Gods have called us out, and we must go.”
There is no part of the world where lofty mountains exist at all comparable with the Himalaya. Elsewhere the highest is Aconcagua, 23,060 feet. But in the Himalaya there are over eighty peaks that tower above 24,000 feet, probably twenty above 26,000 feet, six above 27,000 feet, and the highest of all, Mount Everest, is 29,141 feet.
The huge range of mountains, of which the Himalaya forms the chief part, is by far the greatest mountain range in the world. Starting to the North of Afghanistan, it sweeps Eastwards, without a break, to the confines of China, over 2,000 miles away. Yet in this vast world of mountains, very few have been climbed. For many years to come the Himalaya will provide sport for the mountaineer when most of the other mountain ranges of the world will have been exhausted, as far as exploration and new ascents are concerned.
Mountaineering is a sport of which Englishmen should be proud; for they were the first really to pursue it as a pastime. The Alpine Club was the first mountaineering club, and if one inquires into the records of climbing and discovery amongst the mountains of the world, one usually finds that it was an Englishman who led the way. It is the Englishman's love of sport for its own sake that has enticed him on to battle with the dangers and difficulties that are offered with such a lavish hand by the great mountains.
As a sport, mountaineering is second to none. It is the finest mental and physical tonic that a man can take. Whether it be the grim determination of desperate struggles with difficult rocks, or with ice, or whether it be the sight of range after range of splendid peaks basking in the sunshine, or of mists half hiding the black precipices, or the changing fairy colours of a sunrise, or the subtle curves of the wind-blown snow, all these are good for one. They produce a sane mind in a sane body. The joy of living becomes a real and a great joy, all is right with the world, and life flies on golden wings. It is, of course, true that there are many other beautiful and health-giving places besides the mountains. The great expanses of the prairie lands, the forests, the seas set with lonely islands, and in England the downs and the homely lanes and villages nestling amongst woods, with clear streams wandering through the pastures where the cattle feed—all these are good; but the mountains give something more. There things are larger, man is more alone, one feels that one is much nearer to Nature, one is not held down by an artificial civilisation. And although the life may be more strenuous (for Nature can be savage at times, as well as beautiful), and the struggle may be hard, yet the battle is the more worth winning.
Nowhere in any mountain land does Nature offer the good things of the wilds with more prodigal hand than in the Himalaya. On the Southern slopes, coming down from the great snow-peaks, are the finest river gorges in the world, wonderful forests of mighty trees, open alps nestling high up at the head of the valleys, that look out over great expanses of the lesser ranges; and as one ascends higher and higher, the views of the great peaks draped in everlasting snow, changing perpetually as the clouds and mists form and re-form over them, astonish one by their magnificence.
All things that the Himalaya gives are big things, and now that the mountaineer has conquered the lesser ranges, he turns to the Himalaya, where the peaks stand head and shoulders above all others. Up to the present, however, owing to the difficulties of distance and size, none of the greater peaks have been climbed.
In climbing the great peaks of the Himalaya, the difficulties are far greater than those of less lofty ranges. On most of the highest the mere climbing presents such difficulties that it would be foolish to attempt their ascent. Thousands of feet of steep rock or ice guard their summits. Unless climbing above 24,000 feet is moderately easy, and no strenuous work is required, it could not be accomplished. For in the rarefied air at high altitudes there is insufficient oxygen to promote the normal oxidation of bodily tissue. Above 20,000 feet a cubic foot of air contains less than half the amount of oxygen that it does at sea-level. As the whole metabolism of the body is kept in working order by the oxygen supplied through the lungs, the obvious result of high altitudes is to interfere with the various processes occurring in the system. The combustion of bodily material is less, the amount of energy produced is therefore less also, and so capacity for work is diminished progressively as one ascends.
But that one is able still to work, and work hard, at these altitudes is evident by the experiences of Dr. Longstaff and Mr. Meade. On Trisul, 23,360 feet, Dr. Longstaff in ten and a half hours ascended from 17,450 feet to the summit. Whilst on Kamet, Mr. Meade's coolies carried a camp up to 23,600 feet. Dr. Kellas also in 1920 found his ascent on moderately easy snow above 21,000 feet approximated to 600 feet per hour. All these climbers were, however, acclimatised to high altitudes. The effect on anyone making a balloon or aeroplane ascent from sea-level would be different. Tissaudier in a balloon ascent fainted at 26,500 feet and on regaining consciousness found both his companions dead. Even on Pike's Peak, 14,109 feet, in the United States, many of those who go up in the railway suffer from faintness, sickness, breathlessness and general lassitude. Yet there are places on the earth,—the Pamirs,—where people live their lives at higher altitudes than Pike's Peak, without any effects of the diminished pressure being felt. They are acclimatised; their bodies, being accustomed to their surroundings, are good working machines.
Although it is true that at high altitudes there is less oxygen to breathe, the body rapidly protects itself by increasing the number of red blood corpuscles. These red corpuscles are the carriers of oxygen from the air to the various parts of the body. An increased number of carriers means an increase of oxygen to the body. It is just possible, therefore, that anyone properly acclimatised to, say, 23,000 feet would be able to ascend the remaining 6,000 feet, to the summit of Mount Everest. Moreover, if oxygen could be continuously supplied to the climbers by adventitious aid there is little doubt that 29,000 feet could be reached.
The physiological difficulties met with in ascending to high altitudes are doubtless of a very high order, but can to a certain extent be eliminated by ascending gradually, day after day, so as to allow the body to accommodate itself by degrees to the new surroundings.
There are, however, other difficulties that must be reckoned with, such as intense cold and frequent high winds. In any engine where loss of heat occurs, there is a corresponding loss of available energy. A bitterly cold wind not only robs one of much heat, but lowers the vitality as well. At altitudes above 24,000 feet, the temperature is often arctic, and the thermometer may fall far below zero. On the other hand, the rays of the sun are intense. The ultra-violet rays, that are mostly cut off by the air at sea-level, are a real source of danger where there is only one-third of an atmosphere pressure, as in the case at the summit of Mount Everest.
The mountaineer also encounters dangers in the Himalaya, on the same scale as the difficulties. A snow-slide on a British mountain or in the Alps is an avalanche; often in the Himalaya it becomes almost a convulsion of nature. The huge ice-fields and glaciers that hang on the upper slopes of the mountains, when let loose, have not hundreds of feet to fall, but thousands, and the wind that is thereby produced spreads with hurricane force over the glaciers below, on to which the main body of the avalanche has fallen. Sometimes even the broken débris will rush across a wide glacier.
Rock falls also assume gigantic proportions in the Himalaya. But all these dangers can be largely avoided by the skilled mountaineer, and he can choose routes up a mountain where they are not likely to occur. Some risks, however, must be always run, but they can be reduced to a minimum.
On Mount Everest, as we now know, most of these dangers will be less than on any of the other very high mountains in the Himalaya. Also there are no difficulties in the approach to Mount Everest from India. In this respect it differs from such peaks as K2 and others. As a rule the highest mountains in the Himalaya always lie far back from the plains in the main chain, beyond the foot-hills and the intervening ranges. To approach them from the South in India, weeks of travel are often necessary, up deep gorges, and over rivers, where it is next to impossible to take baggage animals. Fortunately the approach to Mount Everest by the route from Darjeeling to Phari Dzong and thence over an easy pass into Tibet avoids all these difficulties. In Tibet a high tableland, averaging 13,000 feet, is reached.
Travelling in Tibet, North of the main range of the Himalaya, is entirely different from that on the South of the range. Instead of deep-cut gorges, a rolling, bare, stone-covered country exists, over which it is easy to take baggage animals, the only obstacle being the rivers that sometimes are not bridged, and are often swollen by the melting snow. From Kampa Dzong to Tingri Dzong, the base of operations for the Expedition, is an open country. Mount Everest lies 40 to 50 miles South of Tingri Dzong; the approach also is without difficulty.
The ascent of Mount Everest was not the primary object of the Expedition of 1921. A mountain the size of Mount Everest cannot be climbed by simply getting to it and starting the ascent immediately.
A reasonable route has to be discovered to the summit; which usually can only be done by a complete reconnaissance of the mountain. This has been admirably done, and a most magnificent series of photographs has been brought back by the members of the Expedition.
Mount Everest consists of a huge pyramid, having three main arêtes, the West, the South-east, and the North-east. It is the last, the North-east arête, that is obviously the easiest, being snow-covered along most of its length. Nowhere is it excessively steep, and nowhere are there precipices of rock to stop the climber. We now know that it can be reached, by means of a subsidiary ridge, from a col 23,000 feet, the Chang La, that lies to the north of the North-east arête. This col was the highest point on Mount Everest reached by the Expedition, and had it not been for savage weather a considerably higher altitude would have been attained; for above the col for several thousand feet lay an unbroken snow-slope.
It was only after much hard work, and over two months' exploration, that a route to this col was discovered. As is usually the case even with mountains far smaller than Mount Everest, it can be seen that if a point, often a long way below the summit, can be reached, not much farther difficulty will be encountered. But the puzzle is, how can that point be arrived at from below?
Quite early in the exploration of Mount Everest it was obvious that if the 23,000-foot col could be reached, most of the physical difficulties of the approach to the mountain would have been surmounted. But it was not so obvious how to win to the col. It lies on the South-east at the head of the main Rongbuk Glacier; it was therefore to this glacier that the mountaineers, Messrs. Mallory and Bullock, went from Tingri Dzong on June 23. They spent a month exploring the country to the North and the West of Mount Everest from the Rongbuk Glacier. Much valuable information was accumulated. A peak, Ri-Ring, 22,520 feet, was climbed and a pass on the West ridge of Mount Everest was visited, from which were seen views of the South-west face of the great mountain and also many high peaks in Nepal. Unfortunately, however, no feasible route from the main Rongbuk Glacier to the 23,000-foot col could be found. The next attempt was made by leaving the Rongbuk Glacier and exploring the Kama Valley that flows South-east from Mount Everest. Here a most magnificent ice-world was discovered. For a chain of giant peaks running South-east from Mount Everest to Makalu, 27,790 feet, guards the whole of the South-west side of the valley. But as an approach to the North-east arête of Mount Everest this valley was found to be useless. From the point of view, however, of exploration it was most fortunate that this valley was visited. The photographs of Makalu and its satellite Chomolönzo, N.53, 25,413 feet, are superb; moreover the lower reaches of the Kama Valley, as it dips down to the deep Arun Valley, was full of luxuriant vegetation, totally different from the wind-swept wilderness of Tibet.
The Kharta Valley, that runs North-east from Mount Everest, was the next exploited, to see whether from it an easy approach to the North-east arête existed. But by this time the monsoon weather was at its worst. Days of rain and mist, with snow higher up, succeeded one another, making climbing impossible. However, towards the end of September a high camp at 22,500 feet was made at the head of the Kharta Valley. From this camp the 23,000-foot col, Chang La, was finally reached, by crossing the head of a glacier that ran to the North. Higher climbing was out of the question; a furious North-west gale lasting for four days drove the party off the mountain.
The glacier mentioned above, running to the North, was found to be a tributary of the main Rongbuk Glacier, and has been named the East Rongbuk Glacier. There is no doubt that the easiest route to Chang La, the North Col, will not be all the way round by the Kharta Valley, but up this East Rongbuk Glacier.
Several other interesting expeditions were carried out by other members of the party. Colonel Howard Bury visited the group of five great peaks (25,202 to 26,867 feet), that lie about 15 miles North-west of Mount Everest. He explored the Kyetrak Glacier to its summit the Khombu La, also crossed the Phüse La with the Rongshar Valley that drains down into Nepal. Later he visited another pass on the ridge that connects Mount Everest with Makalu. From this pass most interesting views of the country South of Mount Everest were obtained.
Major Wheeler's and Major Morshead's map of the country that lies between the Himalaya and the Bramapootra River will be of the highest value, and the results of Dr. Heron's geological survey and Mr. Wollaston's collections of birds, beasts, insects and flowers, when they have been thoroughly examined, will certainly yield much new scientific information. The Expedition therefore has accomplished all that was expected of it, and has brought back material of the greatest interest, from a part of the world about which almost nothing was known, and into which Europeans had never been.
The attempt to ascend Mount Everest itself necessarily had to be postponed, but this year the Expedition that is being sent out will have for its primary object the ascent of the mountain. There will be easy access to the base of the peak from Chöbuk, where a base camp will be established, and from thence a feasible route on to the summit of the great North-east arête has been discovered.
Most fortunately this year General Bruce was able to undertake the leadership of the Expedition. His unrivalled experience of climbing in the Himalaya and particularly his special capacity for handling Himalayan people will be invaluable to the Expedition. Not only will he be able to organise and instil the right spirit into the coolie corps upon whom so much will depend for ultimate success, but he will also be able to give much wise advice to the actual climbers who are to take part in the ascent of the mountain.
Moreover, with his long experience of dealing with Asiatics he can be trusted to deal with the Tibetan people and officials in such a way as to retain their present good-will.
As the main object of the Expedition this year is to make a definite attempt to reach the summit of Mount Everest, it has been decided that the actual climbing party should be as strong as possible. But a limit to the size of the Expedition was imposed by the necessity of respect for the feelings of the Tibetans, and a warning had been received from Lhasa to keep the numbers as small as possible. For, although the authorities at Lhasa might be friendly enough, and although there might be no difficulty in obtaining transport from the district round Tingri Dzong, where animals were plentiful, yet a large party might press hardly on the inhabitants in the matter of food, such as wheat and barley. This consideration had therefore to be regarded. Still it was thought that the district would not be unduly pressed by a party of twelve Europeans. This number will include a climbing party of six chosen mountaineers, with two in reserve, making eight in all. With General Bruce, a doctor (who would also be a naturalist), a photographer and a painter, the expeditionary force of Europeans will be complete.
Colonel E. L. Strutt, C.M.G., has been chosen as second in command. He possesses first-rate mountaineering experience, and has been Vice-President of the Alpine Club.
Mr. Mallory fortunately has been able to accept the invitation of the Committee to return to Mount Everest again this year. The remainder of the climbing party are: Captain George Finch, who was unable to join the Expedition last year on account of his health; Mr. T. H. Somervell, a surgeon, a member of the Alpine Club and an extremely energetic climber; Major E. F. Norton (Royal Artillery); and Dr. A. W. Wakefield, renowned for his strenuous climbing in the Lake District and work in Labrador. Besides these six mountaineers, Captain Geoffrey Bruce and Captain C. J. Morris, both of Gurkha Regiments, and able to speak the language of the Himalayan coolies, will assist General Bruce both in looking after and encouraging the coolies, and also help in the general arrangement and organisation of the Expedition as a whole. They also are accustomed to mountaineering and will act as a reserve to the six climbers.
As doctor and naturalist Dr. T. G. Longstaff has been invited to join the Expedition. He has made many climbs in the Himalaya and other mountain regions, including the ascent of Trisul, 23,360 feet. He is not expected to join the climbing party, but his experience will be of great benefit to the Expedition generally.
As photographer, Captain J. B. L. Noel has been selected. He had reconnoitred in the direction of Mount Everest in 1913. For several years he has made a special study of photography in all its various branches.
But besides photographs of the mountains, the Expedition is anxious to bring back pictures which would alone be able not only to serve as a record of the infinitely delicate colouring of that lofty region, but at the same time would show how probably some of the grandest scenery of mighty mountains should be represented from the point of view of an artist.
Difficulty was experienced in finding a suitable painter, for painters capable of doing justice to mountain scenery, and who are also physically fit to travel amongst them at such altitudes as those round Mount Everest, are few. We have, therefore, to depend on Mr. Somervell to paint us pictures.
In the meantime communications were also passing between Colonel Bailey, the Political Agent in Sikkim, and the Mount Everest Committee regarding the enlistment of coolies for the special corps, and the engagement of the very best headman obtainable to look after them. Many of the coolies who were with the Expedition in 1921 had volunteered to rejoin this year. But a stronger corps and more carefully selected men were needed. The Maharaja of Nepal has been asked to allow some of the most famous Gurkha mountain climbers to join the Expedition, and the Government of India has been asked to put two or three non-commissioned Gurkha officers at the service of General Bruce, to assist him generally in looking after the coolies, and seeing that they were properly fed and paid, and that they behaved themselves properly.
The members of last year's Expedition on their return were freely and fully consulted as to equipment and provisioning of this year's party; the experience gained last year has been therefore made use of in every way possible. Suggestions for the improvement of the Mummery-Meade tents have been adopted. Better clothing has been provided for the coolies. General Bruce has purchased leather coats, waistcoats, socks, jerseys and boots from the equipment provided for our troops in North Russia during the war, which will be admirably suited for the majority of the coolies, whilst for the few chosen for high climbing on Mount Everest itself, clothing precisely similar to that worn by the British climbers has been provided.
Captain Farrar and the equipment committee have provided a most varied and ample supply of provisions which was despatched to India in January. The Primus-stoves have been overhauled and retested by Captain Finch.
Colonel Jack and Mr. Hinks have carefully examined all the instruments brought back. The aneroids have been retested, and all broken instruments replaced.
The photographic outfit has been considerably enlarged, including a cinematograph instrument. The question of supplying oxygen has been most thoroughly gone into. All flyers in aeroplanes at high altitudes find oxygen absolutely necessary. In mountain climbing, however, the almost insuperable difficulty is the weight of the apparatus supplying the oxygen. As far as possible, this weight has been reduced to a minimum. A large number of cylinders, the lightest and smallest obtainable, have been sent out full of compressed oxygen, and it is hoped that they will be capable of being used by the party that will attempt to climb to the summit of Mount Everest. If the climbers are capable of carrying them, and so getting a continuous supply of oxygen during the whole of the climb, there is little doubt that climbing up to 29,000 feet is possible. In aeroplanes considerably higher altitudes have been reached with the help of oxygen. Moreover, there is this fact in favour of the climbers on Mount Everest, they will be acclimatised to altitudes of 20,000 feet, whilst anyone in an aeroplane is not so acclimatised, having risen from sea-level. The climbers will have to accommodate themselves only to an increased height of 9,000 feet, whilst those in an aeroplane have to suffer a diminution in pressure equivalent to 29,000 feet.
Finally, arrangements have been made with the Press for the publication of telegrams and photographs from the Expedition. Full information of the progress of the Expedition will therefore be available for the public, and it will be possible to follow the climbing party, after they leave the base camp, which will be somewhere near Chöbuk, as they ascend the East Rongbuk Glacier to the advanced base under the North col. Afterwards all the preliminary arrangements will be reported, and finally there will be an account of the great attempt to reach the summit.
The Expedition will be starting nearly two months earlier than in 1921. The weather in May and June, before the monsoon breaks in July, apparently is more or less settled, and so the most must be made of it. In 1921 from the end of July till September high climbing was impossible. It is therefore obvious that a determined attempt to climb Mount Everest should be made before the monsoon sets in.