THE SEARCH FOR KHARTA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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