Books: Himalayan Journals (Complete)

J >> J. D. Hooker >> Himalayan Journals (Complete)

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As I ascended, the rocks became more granitic, with large crystals of
mica. The summit was another broad bare flat, elevated 13,080 feet,
and fringed by a copse of rose, berberry, and very alpine
rhododendrons: the Himalayan heather (_Adromeda fastigiata_) grew
abundantly here, affording us good fuel.

The toilsome ascent through the soft snow and brushwood delayed the
coolies, who scarcely accomplished five miles in the day. Some of
them having come up by dark, I prepared to camp on the mountain-top,
strewing thick masses of _Andromeda_ and moss (which latter hung in
great tufts from the bushes) on the snow; my blankets bad not
arrived, but there was no prospect of a snow-storm.

The sun was powerful when I reached the summit, and I was so warm
that I walked about barefoot on the frozen snow without
inconvenience, preferring it to continuing in wet stockings: the
temperature at the time was 29.5 degrees, with a brisk south-east
moist wind, and the dew point 22.8 degrees.

The night was magnificent, brilliant starlight, with a pale mist over
the mountains: the thermometer fell to 15.5 degrees at 7.30 p.m., and
one laid upon wood with its bulb freely exposed, sank to 7.5 degrees:
the snow sparkled with broad flakes of hoar-frost in the full moon,
which was so bright, that I recorded my observations by its light.
Owing to the extreme cold of radiation, I passed a very uncomfortable
night. The minimum thermometer fell to 1 degrees in shade.* [At
sunrise the temperature was 11.5 degrees; that of grass, cleared on
the previous day from snow, and exposed to the sky, 6.5 degrees; that
on wool, 2.2 degrees; and that on the surface of the snow, 0.7
degrees.] The sky was clear; and every rock, leaf, twig, blade of
grass, and the snow itself, were covered with broad rhomboidal plates
of hoar-frost, nearly one-third of an inch across: while the metal
scale of the thermometer instantaneously blistered my tongue. As the
sun rose, the light reflected from these myriads of facets had a
splendid effect.

Before sunrise the atmosphere was still, and all but cloudless.
To the south-east were visible the plains of India, at least 140
miles distant; where, as usual, horizontal layers of leaden purple
vapour obscured the horizon: behind these the sun rose majestically,
instantly dispersing them, while a thin haze spread over all the
intervening mountains, from its slanting beams reaching me through
otherwise imperceptible vapours: these, as the sun mounted higher,
again became invisible, though still giving that transparency to the
atmosphere and brilliant definition of the distances, so
characteristic of a damp, yet clear day.

Mon Lepcha commands a most extensive view of Sikkim, southward to
Dorjiling. At my feet lay the great and profound valley of the
Ratong, a dark gulf of vegetation. Looking northward, the eye
followed that river to the summit of Kinchinjunga (distant eighteen
miles), which fronts the beholder as Mont Blanc does when seen from
the mountains on the opposite side of the valley of Chamouni. To the
east are the immense precipices and glaciers of Pundim, and on the
west those of Kubra, forming great supporters to the stupendous
mountain between them. Mon Lepcha itself is a spur running south-east
from the Kubra shoulder: it is very open, and covered with rounded
hills for several miles further north, terminating in a conspicuous
conical black hummock* [This I have beau told is the true Kubra; and
the great snowy mountain behind it, which I here, in conformity with
the Dorjiling nomenclature, call Kubra, has no name, being considered
a part of Kinchin.] called Gubroo, of 15,000 feet elevation, which
presents a black cliff to the south.

Kinchinjunga rises in three heads, of nearly equal height,* [The
eastern and western tops, are respectively 27,826 and 28,177 feet
above the level of the sea.] which form a line running north-west.
It exposes many white or grey rocks, bare of snow, and disposed in
strata* [I am aware that the word strata is inappropriate here; the
appearance of stratification or bedding, if it indicate any structure
of the rock, being, I cannot doubt, due to that action which gives
parallel cleavage planes to granite in many parts of the world, and
to which the so-called lamination or foliation of slate and gneiss is
supposed by many geologists to be due. It is not usual to find this
structure so uniformly and conspicuously developed through large
masses of granite, as it appeared to me to be on the sides of
Kinchinjunga and on the top of Junnoo, as seen from the Choonjerma
pass (Chapter XI, plate); but it is sometimes very conspicuous, and
nowhere more than in the descent of the Grimsel towards Meyringen,
where the granite on the east flank of that magnificent gorge seems
cleft into parallel nearly vertical strata.] sloping to the west; the
colour of all which above 20,000 feet, and the rounded knobbed form
of the summit, suggest a granitic formation. Lofty snowed ridges
project from Kubra into the Ratong valley, presenting black
precipices of stratified rocks to the southward. Pundim has a very
grand appearance; being eight miles distant, and nearly 9000 feet
above Mon Lepcha, it subtends an angle of 12 degrees; while Kinchin
top, though 15,000 feet higher than Mon Lepcha, being eighteen miles
distant, rises only 9 degrees 30 minutes above the true horizon:
these angular heights are too small to give much grandeur and
apparent elevation to mountains, however lofty; nor would they do so
in this case, were it not that the Ratong valley which intervenes, is
seen to be several thousand feet lower, and many degrees below the
real horizon.

Illustration--KINCHINJUNGA AND PUNDIM FROM MON LEPCHA.

Pundim has a tremendous precipice to the south, which, to judge from
its bareness of snow, must be nearly perpendicular; and it presented
a superb geological section. The height of this precipice I found by
angles with a pocket sextant to be upwards of 3,400 feet, and that of
its top to be 21,300 above the sea, and consequently only 715 feet
less than that of the summit of Pundim itself (which is 22,015 feet).
This cliff is of black stratified rocks, sloping to the west, and
probably striking north-west; permeated from top to bottom by veins
of white granite, disposed in zigzag lines, which produce a
contortion of the gneiss, and give it a marbled appearance. The same
structure may be seen in miniature on the transported blocks which
abound in the Sikkim rivers; where veins of finely grained granite
are forced in all directions through the gneiss, and form parallel
seams or beds between the laminae of that rock, united by transverse
seams, and crumpling up the gneiss itself, like the crushed leaves of
a book. The summit of Pundim itself is all of white rock, rounded in
shape, and forming a cap to the gneiss, which weathers into
precipices.

A succession of ridges, 14,000 to 18,000 feet high, presented a line
of precipices running south from Pundim for several miles: immense
granite veins are exposed on their surfaces, and they are capped by
stratified rocks, sloping to the east, and apparently striking to the
north-west, which, being black, contrast strongly with the white
granite beneath them: these ridges, instead of being round-topped,
are broken into splintered crags, behind which rises the beautiful
conical peak of Nursing, 19,139 feet above the sea, eight miles
distant, and subtending an angle of 8 degrees 30 minutes.

At the foot of these precipices was a very conspicuous series of
lofty moraines, round whose bases the Ratong wound; these appeared of
much the same height, rising several hundred feet above the valley:
they were comparatively level-topped, and had steep shelving
rounded sides.

I have been thus particular in describing the upper Ratong valley,
because it drains the south face of the loftiest mountain on the
globe; and I have introduced angular heights, and been precise in my
details, because the vagueness with which all terms are usually
applied to the apparent altitude and steepness of mountains and
precipices, is apt to give false impressions. It is essential to
attend to such points where scenery of real interest and importance
is to be described. It is customary to speak of peaks as towering in
the air, which yet subtend an angle of very few degrees; of almost
precipitous ascents, which, when measured, are found to be slopes of
18 degrees or 20 degrees; and of cliffs as steep and stupendous,
which are inclined at a very moderate angle.

The effect of perspective is as often to deceive in details as to
give truth to general impressions; and those accessories are
sometimes wanting in nature, which, when supplied by art, give truth
to the landscape. Thus, a streak of clouds adds height to a peak
which should appear lofty, but which scarcely rises above the true
horizon; and a belt of mist will sunder two snowy mountains which,
though at very different distances, for want of a play of light and
shade on their dazzling surfaces, and from the extreme transparency
of the air in lofty regions, appear to be at the same distance from
the observer.

The view to the southward from Mon Lepcha, including the country
between the sea-like plains of India and the loftiest mountain on the
globe, is very grand, and neither wanting in variety nor in beauty.
From the deep valleys choked with tropical luxuriance to the scanty
yak pasturage on the heights above, seems but a step at the first
_coup-d'oceil,_ but resolves itself on a closer inspection into five
belts: 1, palm and plantain; 2, oak and laurel; 3, pine;
4, rhododendron and grass; and 5, rock and snow. From the bed of the
Ratong, in which grow palms with screw-pine and plantain, it is only
seven miles in a direct line to the perpetual ice. From the plains of
India, or outer Himalaya, one may behold snowy peaks rise in the
distance behind a foreground of tropical forest; here, on the
contrary, all the intermediate phases of vegetation are seen at a
glance. Except in the Himalaya this is no common phenomenon, and is
owing to the very remarkable depth of the river-beds. That part of
the valley of the Ratong where tropical vegetation ceases, is but
4000 feet above the sea, and though fully fifty miles as the crow
flies (and perhaps 200 by the windings of the river) from the plains
of India, is only eight in a straight line (and forty by the
windings) from the snows which feed that river. In other words, the
descent is so rapid, that in eight miles the Ratong waters every
variety of vegetation, from the lichen of the poles to the palm of
the tropics; whilst throughout the remainder of its mountain course,
it falls from 4000 to 300 feet, flowing amongst tropical scenery,
through a valley whose flanks rise from 5000 to 12,000 feet above
its bed.

From Mon Lepcha we proceeded north-west towards Jongri, along a very
open rounded bare mountain, covered with enormous boulders of gneiss,
of which the subjacent rock is also composed. The soil is a thick
clay full of angular stones, everywhere scooped out into little
depressions which are the dry beds of pools, and are often strewed
with a thin layer of pebbles. Black tufts of alpine aromatic
rhododendrons of two kinds (_R. anthopogon_ and _setosum_), with
dwarf juniper, comprised all the conspicuous vegetation at
this season.

After a two hours' walk, keeping at 13,000 feet elevation, we sighted
Jongri.* [I am assured by Capt. Sherwill, who, in 1852, proceeded
along and surveyed the Nepal frontier beyond this point to Gubroo,
that this is not Jongri, but Yangpoong. The difficulty of getting
precise information, especially as to the names of seldom-visited
spots, is very great. I was often deceived myself, undesignedly, I am
sure, on the part of my informants; but in this case I have Dr.
Campbell's assurance, who has kindly investigated the subject, that
there is no mistake on my part. Captain Sherwill has also kindly
communicated to me a map of the head waters of the Rungbee, Yungya,
and Yalloong rivers, of which, being more correct than my own, I have
gladly availed myself for my map. Gubroo, he informs me, is 15,000
feet in altitude, and dips in a precipice 1000 feet high, facing
Kubra, which prevented his exploring further north.] There were two
stone huts on the bleak face of the spur, scarcely distinguishable at
the distance of half a mile from the great blocks around them.
To the north Gubroo rose in dismal grandeur, backed by the dazzling
snows of Kubra, which now seemed quite near, its lofty top (alt.
24,005 feet) being only eight miles distant. Much snow lay on the
ground in patches, and there were few remains of herbaceous
vegetation; those I recognised were chiefly of poppy, _Potentilla,_
gentian, geranium, fritillary, _Umbelliferae,_ grass, and sedges.

On our arrival at the huts the weather was still fine, with a strong
north-west wind, which meeting the warm moist current from the Ratong
valley, caused much precipitation of vapour. As I hoped to be able to
visit the surrounding glaciers from this spot, I made arrangements
for a stay of some days: giving up the only habitable hut to my
people, I spread my blankets in a slope from its roof to the ground,
building a little stone dyke round the skirts of my dwelling, and a
fire-place in front.

Hence to Yalloong in Nepal, by the Kanglanamo pass, is two days'
march: the route crosses the Singalelah range at an elevation of
about 15,000 feet, south of Kubra, and north of a mountain that forms
a conspicuous feature south-west from Jongri, as a crest of black
fingered peaks, tipped with snow.

It is difficult to conceive the amount of labour expended upon every
pound of salt imported into this part of Sikkim from Tibet, and as an
enumeration of the chief features of the routes it must follow, will
give some idea of what the circuit of the loftiest mountain in the
globe involves, I shall briefly allude to them; premising that the
circuit of Mont Blanc may be easily accomplished in four days.
The shortest route to Yoksun (the first village south of Kinchin)
from the nearest Tibetan village north of that mountain, involves a
detour of one-third of the circumference of Kinchin. It is evident
that the most direct way must be that nearest the mountain-top, and
therefore that which reaches the highest accessible elevation on its
shoulders, and which, at the same time, dips into the shallowest
valleys between those shoulders. The actual distance in a straight
line is about fifty miles, from Yoksun to the mart at or near
Tashirukpa.

The marches between them are as follows:--
1. To Yalloong two days; crossing Kanglanamo pass, 15,000 feet high.
3. To foot of Choonjerma pass, descending to 10,000 feet.
4. Cross Choonjerma pass, 15,260 feet, and proceed to Kambachen,
11,400 feet.
5. Cross Nango pass, 15,770, and camp on Yangma river, 11,000 feet.
6. Ascend to foot of Kanglachem pass, and camp at 15,000 feet.
7. Cross Kanglachem pass, probably 16,500 feet; and
8-10. It is said to be three marches hence to the Tibetan
custom-house, and that two more snowy passes are crossed.

This allows no day of rest, and gives only five miles--as the crow
flies--to be accomplished each day, but I assume fully fourteen of
road distance; the labour spent in which would accomplish fully
thirty over good roads. Four snowed passes at least are crossed, all
above 15,000 feet, and after the first day the path does not descend
below 10,000 feet. By this route about one-third of the circuit of
Kinchinjunga is accomplished. Supposing the circuit were to be
completed by the shortest practicable route, that is, keeping as near
the summit as possible, the average time required for a man with his
load would be upwards of a month.

To reach Tashirukpa by the eastern route from Yoksun, being a journey
of about twenty-five days, requires a long detour to the southward
and eastward, and afterwards the ascent of the Teesta valley, to
Kongra Lama, and so north to the Tibetan Arun.

My first operation after encamping and arranging my instruments, was
to sink the ground thermometer; but the earth being frozen for
sixteen inches, it took four men several hours' work with hammer and
chisel, to penetrate so deep. There was much vegetable matter for the
first eight or ten inches, and below that a fine red clay. I spent
the afternoon, which was fine, in botanising. When the sun shone, the
smell of the two rhododendrons was oppressive, especially as a little
exertion at this elevation brings on headache. There were few mosses;
but crustaceous lichens were numerous, and nearly all of them of
Scotch, Alpine, European, and Arctic kinds. The names of these, given
by the classical Linnaeus and Wahlenberg, tell in some cases of their
birth-places, in others of their hardihood, their lurid colours and
weather-beaten aspects; such as _tristis, gelida, glacialis, arctica,
alpina, saxatilis, polaris, frigida,_ and numerous others equally
familiar to the Scotch botanist. I recognised many as natives of the
wild mountains of Cape Horn, and the rocks of the stormy Antarctic
ocean; since visiting which regions I had not gathered them.
The lichen called _geographicus_ was most abundant, and is found to
indicate a certain degree of cold in every latitude; descending to
the level of the sea in latitude 52 degrees north, and 50 degrees
south, but in lower latitudes only to be seen on mountains.
It flourishes at 10,000 feet on the Himalaya, ascending thence to
18,000 feet. Its name, however, was not intended to indicate its wide
range, but the curious maplike patterns which its yellow crust forms
on the rocks.

Of the blocks of gneiss scattered over the Jongri spur, many are
twenty feet in diameter. The ridge slopes gently south-west to the
Choroong river, and more steeply north-east to the Ratong, facing
Kinchin: it rises so very gradually to a peaked mountain between
Jongri and Kubra, that it is not possible to account for the
transport and deposit of these boulders by glaciers of the ordinary
form, viz., by a stream of ice following the course of a valley; and
we are forced to speculate upon the possibility of ice having capped
the whole spur, and moved downwards, transporting blocks from the
prominences on various parts of the spur.

The cutting up of the whole surface of this rounded mountain into
little pools, now dry, of all sizes, from ten to about one hundred
yards in circumference, is a very striking phenomenon. The streams
flow in shallow transverse valleys, each passing through a succession
of such pools, accompanying a step-like character of the general
surface. The beds are stony, becoming more so where they enter the
pools, upon several of the larger of which I observed curving ridges
of large stones, radiating outwards on to their beds from either
margin of the entering stream: more generally large stones were
deposited opposite every embouchure.

This superficial sculpturing must have been a very recent operation;
and the transport of the heavy stones opposite the entrance of the
streams has been effected by ice, and perhaps by snow; just as the
arctic ice strews the shores of the Polar ocean with rocks.

The weather had been threatening all day, northern and westerly
currents contending aloft with the south-east trade-wind of Sikkim,
and meeting in strife over the great upper valley of the Ratong.
Stately masses of white cumuli wheeled round that gulf of glaciers,
partially dissipating in an occasional snow-storm, but on the whole
gradually accumulating.

On my arrival the thermometer was 32 degrees, with a powerful sun
shining, and it fell to 28 degrees at 4 p.m., when the north wind set
in. At sunset the moon rose through angry masses of woolly cirrus;
its broad full orb threw a flood of yellow light over the serried
tops south of Pundim; thence advancing obliquely towards Nursing, "it
stood tip-toe" for a few minutes on that beautiful pyramid of snow,
whence it seemed to take flight and mount majestically into mid-air,
illuminating Kinchin, Pundim, and Kubra.

I sat at the entrance of my gipsy-like hut, anxiously watching the
weather, and absorbed in admiration of the moonrise, from which my
thoughts were soon diverted by its fading light as it entered a dense
mass of mare's-tail cirrus. It was very cold, and the stillness was
oppressive. I had been urged not to attempt such an ascent in
January, my provisions were scanty, firewood only to be obtained from
some distance, the open undulating surface of Jongri was particularly
exposed to heavy snow-drifts, and the path was, at the best, a
scarcely perceptible track. I followed every change of the wind,
every fluctuation of the barometer and thermometer, each accession of
humidity, and the courses of the clouds aloft. At 7 p.m., the wind
suddenly shifted to the west, and the thermometer instantly rose from
20 degrees to 30 degrees. After 8 p.m., the temperature fell again,
and the wind drew round from west by south to north-east, when the
fog cleared off. The barometer rose no more than it usually does
towards 10 p.m., and though it clouded again, with the temperature at
17 degrees, the wind seemed steady, and I went to bed with a
relieved mind.

_Jan._ 10.--During the night the temperature fell to 11.2 degrees,
and at 6 a.m. was 19.8 degrees, falling again to 17 degrees soon
after. Though clouds were rapidly coming up from the west and
south-west, the wind remained northerly till 8 a.m., when it shifted
to south-west, and the temperature rose to 25 degrees. As it
continued fine, with the barometer high, I ventured on a walk towards
Gubroo, carefully taking bearings of my position. I found a good many
plants in a rocky valley close to that mountain, which I in vain
attempted to ascend. The air was 30 degrees, with a strong and damp
south-west wind, and the cold was so piercing, that two lads who were
with me, although walking fast, became benumbed, and could not return
without assistance. At 11 a.m., a thick fog obliged us to retrace our
steps: it was followed by snow in soft round pellets like sago, that
swept across the hard ground. During the afternoon it snowed
unceasingly, the wind repeatedly veering round the compass, always
from west to east by south, and so by north to west again. The flakes
were large, soft, and moist with the south wind, and small, hard, and
dry with the north. Glimpses of blue sky were constantly seen to the
south, under the gloomy canopy above, but they augured no change.
As darkness came on, the temperature fell to 15 degrees, and it
snowed very hard; at 6 p.m., it was 11 degrees, but rose afterwards
to 18 degrees.

The night was very cold and wintry: I sat for some hours behind a
blanket screen (which had to be shifted every few minutes) at my
tent-door, keeping up a sulky fire, and peering through the snow for
signs of improvement, but in vain. The clouds were not dense, for the
moon's light was distinct, shining on the glittering snow-flakes
that fell relentlessly: my anxiety was great, and I could not help
censuring myself severely for exposing a party to so great danger at
such a season. I found comfort in the belief that no idle curiosity
had prompted me, and that with a good motive and a strong prestige of
success, one can surmount a host of difficulties. Still the snow
fell; and my heart sank, as my fire declined, and the flakes
sputtered on the blackening embers; my little puppy, who had
gambolled all day amongst the drifting white pellets, now whined, and
crouched under my thick woollen cloak; the inconstant searching wind
drifted the snow into the tent, whose roof so bagged in with the
accumulation that I had to support it with sticks, and dreaded being
smothered, if the weight should cause it to sink upon my bed during
my sleep. The increasing cold drove me, however, to my blankets, and
taking the precaution of stretching a tripod stand over my head, so
as to leave a breathing hole, by supporting the roof if it fell in, I
slept soundly, with my dog at my feet.

At sunrise the following morning the sky was clear, with a light
north wind; about two feet of snow had fallen, the drifts were deep,
and all trace of the path obliterated. The minimum thermometer had
fallen to 3.7 degrees, the temperature rose to 27 degrees at 9 a.m.,
after which the wind fell, and with it the thermometer to 18 degrees.
Soon, however, southerly breezes set in, bringing up heavy masses
of clouds.

My light-hearted companions cheerfully prepared to leave the ground;
they took their appointed loads without a murmur, and sought
protection for their eyes from the glare of the newly fallen snow,
some with as much of my crape veil as I could spare, others with
shades of brown paper, or of hair from the yaks' tails, whilst a few
had spectacle-shades of woven hair; and the Lepchas loosened their
pigtails, and combed their long hair over their eyes and faces. It is
from fresh-fallen snow alone that much inconvenience is felt; owing,
I suppose, to the light reflected from the myriads of facets which
the crystals of snow present. I have never suffered inconvenience in
crossing beds of old snow, or glaciers with weathered surfaces, which
absorb a great deal of light, and reflect comparatively little, and
that little coloured green or blue.