Charles Howard-Bury

THE MOVE TO KHARTA

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

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

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

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

Military Governor, his Wife and Mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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