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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.