A Very Extensive Rock-Slip Had Carried Away The Path And
Rendered Several Fords Necessary, And Before I Reached It Rumour Was
Busy With The Peril.
It was true that the day before several mules
had been carried away and drowned, that many loads had been
sacrificed, and that one native traveller had lost his life.
So I
started my caravan at daybreak, to get the water at its lowest, and
ascended the gorge, which is an absolutely verdureless rift in
mountains of most brilliant and fantastic stratification. At the
first ford Mando was carried down the river for a short distance.
The second was deep and strong, and a caravan of valuable goods had
been there for two days, afraid to risk the crossing. My Lahulis,
who always showed a great lack of stamina, sat down, sobbing and
beating their breasts. Their sole wealth, they said, was in their
baggage animals, and the river was 'wicked,' and 'a demon' lived in
it who paralysed the horses' legs. Much experience of Orientals and
of travel has taught me to surmount difficulties in my own way, so,
beckoning to two men from the opposite side, who came over shakily
with linked arms, I took the two strong ropes which I always carry on
my saddle, and roped these men together and to Gyalpo's halter with
one, and lashed Mando and the guide together with the other, giving
them the stout thongs behind the saddle to hold on to, and in this
compact mass we stood the strong rush of the river safely, the
paralysing chill of its icy waters being a far more obvious peril.
All the baggage animals were brought over in the same way, and the
Lahulis praised their gods.
At Gya, a wild hamlet, the last in Ladak proper, I met a working
naturalist whom I had seen twice before, and 'forgathered' with him
much of the way. Eleven days of solitary desert succeeded. The
reader has probably understood that no part of the Indus, Shayok, and
Nubra valleys, which make up most of the province of Ladak, is less
than 9,500 feet in altitude, and that the remainder is composed of
precipitous mountains with glaciers and snowfields, ranging from
18,000 to 25,000 feet, and that the villages are built mainly on
alluvial soil where possibilities of irrigation exist. But Rupchu
has peculiarities of its own.
Between Gya and Darcha, the first hamlet in Lahul, are three huge
passes, the Toglang, 18,150 feet in altitude, the Lachalang, 17,500,
and the Baralacha, 16,000, - all easy, except for the difficulties
arising from the highly rarefied air. The mountains of the region,
which are from 20,000 to 23,000 feet in altitude, are seldom
precipitous or picturesque, except the huge red needles which guard
the Lachalang Pass, but are rather 'monstrous protuberances,' with
arid surfaces of disintegrated rock. Among these are remarkable
plateaux, which are taken advantage of by caravans, and which have
elevations of from 14,000 to 15,000 feet. There are few permanent
rivers or streams, the lakes are salt, beside the springs, and on the
plateaux there is scanty vegetation, chiefly aromatic herbs; but on
the whole Rupchu is a desert of arid gravel. Its only inhabitants
are 500 nomads, and on the ten marches of the trade route, the bridle
paths, on which in some places labour has been spent, the tracks, not
always very legible, made by the passage of caravans, and rude dykes,
behind which travellers may shelter themselves from the wind, are the
only traces of man. Herds of the kyang, the wild horse of some
naturalists, and the wild ass of others, graceful and beautiful
creatures, graze within gunshot of the track without alarm, I had
thought Ladak windy, but Rupchu is the home of the winds, and the
marches must be arranged for the quietest time of the day. Happily
the gales blow with clockwork regularity, the day wind from the south
and south-west rising punctually at 9 a.m. and attaining its maximum
at 2.30, while the night wind from the north and north-east rises
about 9 p.m. and ceases about 5 a.m. Perfect silence is rare. The
highly rarefied air, rushing at great speed, when at its worst
deprives the traveller of breath, skins his face and hands, and
paralyses the baggage animals. In fact, neither man nor beast can
face it. The horses 'turn tail' and crowd together, and the men
build up the baggage into a wall and crouch in the lee of it. The
heat of the solar rays is at the same time fearful. At Lachalang, at
a height of over 15,000 feet, I noted a solar temperature of 152
degrees, only 35 degrees below the boiling point of water in the same
region, which is about 187 degrees. To make up for this, the mercury
falls below the freezing point every night of the year, even in
August the difference of temperature in twelve hours often exceeding
120 degrees! The Rupchu nomads, however, delight in this climate of
extremes, and regard Leh as a place only to be visited in winter, and
Kulu and Kashmir as if they were the malarial swamps of the Congo!
We crossed the Toglang Pass, at a height of 18,150 feet, with less
suffering from ladug than on either the Digar or Kharzong Passes.
Indeed Gyalpo carried me over it stopping to take breath every few
yards. It was then a long dreary march to the camping-ground of
Tsala, where the Chang-pas spend the four summer months; the guides
and baggage animals lost the way and did not appear until the next
day, and in consequence the servants slept unsheltered in the snow.
News travels as if by magic in desert places. Towards evening, while
riding by a stream up a long and tedious valley, I saw a number of
moving specks on the crest of a hill, and down came a surge of
horsemen riding furiously.
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