Books: Himalayan Journals (Complete)

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

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On our arrival, we found that a party of buxom, good-natured looking
girls who were tending yaks, were occupying the hut, which, however,
they cheerfully gave up to my people, spreading a black tent close by
for themselves; and next morning they set off with all their effects
packed upon the yaks. The ground was marshy, and covered with
cowslips, _Ranunculus,_ grasses and sedges, _Cyananthus,_ blue
asters, gentians, etc. The spot appearing highly favourable for
observations, I determined to remain here during the equinoctial
month, and put my people on "two-thirds allowance," _i.e.,_ four
pounds of rice daily for three men, allowing them to send down the
valley to cater for what more they could get. The Singtam Soubah was
intensely disgusted with my determination: he accompanied me next day
to the pass, and having exhausted his persuasions, threats, and
warnings about snow, wind, robbers, starvation, and Cheen sepoys,
departed on the 12th for Yeumtong, leaving me truly happy for the
first time since quitting Dorjiling. I had now a prospect of
uninterruptedly following up my pursuits at an elevation little below
that of the summit of Mont Blanc, surrounded by the loftiest
mountains, and perhaps the vastest glaciers on the globe; my
instruments were in perfect order, and I saw around me a curious and
varied flora.

The morning of the 9th of September promised fair, though billowy
clouds were rapidly ascending the valley. To the eastward my
attention was directed to a double rainbow; the upper was an arch of
the usual form, and the lower was the curved illuminated edge of a
bank of cumulus, with the orange hues below. We took the path to the
Donkia pass, fording the river, and ascending in a north-east
direction, along the foot of stony hills that rise at a gradual slope
of 12 degrees to broad unsnowed ridges, 18,000 to 19,000 feet high.
Shallow valleys, glacier-bound at their upper extremities, descend
from the still loftier rearward mountains; and in these occur lakes.
About five miles up, a broad opening on the west leads to Tomo Chamo,
as the eastern summit of Kinchinjhow is called.* [On one occasion I
ascended this valley, which is very broad, flat, and full of lakes at
different elevations; one, at about 17,000 feet elevation is
three-quarters of a mile long, but not deep: no water-plants grew in
it, but there were plenty of others round its margin. I collected, in
the dry bed of a stream near it, a curious white substance like thick
felt, formed of felspathic silt (no doubt the product of glacial
streams) and the siliceous cells of infusoriae. It much resembles the
fossil or meteoric paper of Germany, which is also formed of the
lowest tribes of fresh-water plants, though considered by Ehrenberg
as of animal origin. A vein of granite in the bottom of the valley
had completely altered the character of the gneiss, which contained
veins of jasper and masses of amorphous garnet. Much olivine is found
in the fissures of the gneiss: this feral is very rare in Sikkim, but
I have also seen it in the fissures of the White gneissy granite of
the surrounding heights.] Above this the valley expands very much,
and is stony and desert: stupendous mountains, upwards of 21,000 feet
high, rear themselves on all sides, and the desolation and grandeur
of the scene are unequalled in my experience. The path again crosses
the river (which is split into many channels), and proceeds
northwards, over gravelly terraces and rocks with patches of Scotch
alpine grasses (_Festuca ovina_ and _Poa laxa_), sedges, _Stipa,_
dandelion, _Allardia,_ gentians, _Saussurea,_ and _Astraga1us,_
varied with hard hemispherical mounds of the alsineous plant
mentioned at chapter xxi.

I passed several shallow lakes at 17,500 feet; their banks were green
and marshy, and supported thirty or forty kinds of plants. At the
head of the valley a steep rocky crest, 500 feet high, rises between
two precipitous snowy peaks, and a very fatiguing ascent (at this
elevation) leads to the sharp rocky summit of the Donkia pass, 18,466
feet above the sea by barometer, and 17,866 by boiling-point.
The view on this occasion was obscured by clouds and fogs, except
towards Tibet, in which direction it was magnificent; but as I
afterwards twice ascended this pass, and also crossed it, I shall
here bring together all the particulars I noted.

The Tibetan view, from its novelty, extent, and singularity, demands
the first notice: the Cholamoo lake lay 1500 feet below me, at the
bottom of a rapid and rocky descent; it was a blue sheet of water,
three or four miles from north to south, and one and a half broad,
hemmed in by rounded spurs from Kinchinjhow on one side, and from
Donkia on the other: the Lachen flowed from its northern extremity,
and turning westward, entered a broad barren valley, bounded on the
north by red stony mountains, called Bhomtso, which I saw from Kongra
Lama, and ascended with Dr. Campbell in the October following: though
18,000 to 19,000 feet high, these mountains were wholly unsnowed.
Beyond this range lay the broad valley of the Arun, and in the
extreme north-west distance, to the north of Nepal, were some immense
snowy mountains, reduced to mere specks on the horizon. The valley of
the Arun was bounded on the north by very precipitous black rocky
mountains, sprinkled with snow; beyond these again, from north to
north-west, snow-topped range rose over range in the clear purple
distance. The nearer of these was the Kiang-lah, which forms the axis
or water-shed of this meridian; its south drainage being to the Arun
river, and its north to the Yaru-tsampu: it appeared forty to fifty
miles off, and of great mean elevation (20,000 feet) the vast snowy
mountains that rose beyond it were, I was assured, beyond the Yaru,
in the salt lake country.* [This salt country was described to me as
enormously lofty, perfectly sterile, and fourteen days' march for
loaded men and sheep from Jigatzi: there is no pasture for yaks,
whose feet are cut by the rocks. The salt is dug (so they express it)
from the margin of lakes; as is the carbonate of soda, "Pleu" of the
Tibetans.] A spur from Chomiomo cut off the view to the southward of
north-west, and one from Donkia concealed all to the east of north.

Illustration--TIBET AND CHOLAMOO LAKE FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE DONKIA
PASS, LOOKING NORTH-WEST.

The most remarkable features of this landscape were its enormous
elevation, and its colours and contrast to the black, rugged, and
snowy Himalaya of Sikkim. All the mountains between Donkia pass and
the Arun were comparatively gently sloped, and of a yellow red
colour, rising and falling in long undulations like dunes, 2000 to
3000 feet above the mean level of the Arun valley, and perfectly bare
of perpetual snow or glaciers. Rocks everywhere broke out on their
flanks, and often along their tops, but the general contour of that
immense area was very open and undulating, like the great ranges of
Central Asia, described by MM. Huc and Gabet. Beyond this again, the
mountains were rugged, often rising into peaks which, from the angles
I took here, and subsequently at Bhomtso, cannot be below 24,000
feet, and are probably much higher. The most lofty mountains were on
the range north of Nepal, not less than 120 miles distant, and which,
though heavily snowed, were below the horizon of Donkia pass.

Cholamoo lake lay in a broad, scantily grassed, sandy and stony
valley; snow-beds, rocks, and glaciers dipped abruptly towards its
head, but on its west bank a lofty brick-red spur sloped upwards from
it, conspicuously cut into terraces for several hundred feet above
its waters.

Kambajong, the chief Tibetan village near this, after Phari and
Giantchi, is situated on the Arun (called in Tibet "Chomachoo"), on
the road from Sikkim to Jigatzi* [I have adopted the simplest mode of
spelling this name that I could find, and omitted the zong or jong,
which means fort, and generally terminates it. I think it would not
be difficult to enumerate fully a dozen ways of spelling the word, of
which Shigatzi, Digarchi, and Djigatzi are the most common.
The Tibetans tell me that they cross two passes after leaving Donkia,
or Kongra Lama, en route for Jigatzi, on both of which they suffer
from headaches and difficulty of breathing; one is over the Kambajong
range; the other, much loftier, is over that of Kiang-lah: as they do
not compliin of Bhomtso, which is also crossed, and is 18,500 feet,
the others may be very lofty indeed. The distance from Donkia pass to
Jigatzi is said to be ten days' journey for loaded yaks. Now,
according to Turner's observations (evidently taken with great care)
that capital is in latitude 29 degrees 4 minutes 20 seconds north, or
only seventy miles north of Donkia; and as the yak travels at the
rate of sixteen miles a day, the country must be extraordinarily
rugged, or the valleys tortuous. Turner took eight or nine days on
his journey from Phari to Teshoo Loombo, a distance of only eighty
miles; yet he is quoted as an authority for the fact of Tibet being a
plain! he certainly crossed an undulating country, probably 16,OOO to
17,000 feet high; a continuation eastwards of the Cholamoo features,
and part of the same mountain range that connects Chumulari and
Donkia: he had always lofty mountains in eight, and rugged ones on
either side, after he had entered the Painomchoo valley. It is a
remarkable and significant fact that Turner never appears to have
seen Chumulari after having passed it, nor Donkia, Kinchinjhow, or
Kinchinjunga at any time.] and Teshoo Loombo. I did not see it, but a
long, stony mountain range above the town is very conspicuous, its
sides presenting an interrupted line of cliffs, resembling the
port-holes of a ship: some fresh-fallen snow lay at the base, but
none at the top, which was probably 18,500 feet high. The banks of
the Arun are thence inhabited at intervals all the way to Tingre,
where it enters Nepal.

Donkia rises to the eastward of the pass, but its top is not visible.
I ascended (over loose rocks) to between 19,000 and 20,000 feet, and
reached vast masses of blue ribboned ice, capping the ridges, but
obtained no further prospect. To the west, the beetling east summit
of Kinchinjhow rises at two miles distance, 3000 to 4000 feet above
the pass. A little south of it, and north of Chango Khang, the view
extends through a gap in the Sebolah range, across the valley of the
Lachen, to Kinchinjunga, distant forty-two miles. The monarch of
mountains looked quite small and low from this point, and it was
difficult to believe it was 10,000 feet more lofty than my position.
I repeatedly looked from it to the high Tibetan mountains in the
extreme north-west distance, and was more than ever struck with the
apparently immense distance, and consequent altitude of the latter:
I put, however, no reliance on such estimates.

To the south the eye wandered down the valley of the Lachoong to the
mountains of the Chola range, which appear so lofty from Dorjiling,
but from here are sunk far below the horizon: on comparing these with
the northern landscape, the wonderful difference between their
respective snow-levels, amounting to fully 5000 feet, was very
apparent. South-east the stupendous snowy amphitheatre formed by the
flank of Donkia was a magnificent spectacle.

This wonderful view forcibly impressed me with the fact, that all
eye-estimates in mountainous countries are utterly fallacious, if not
corrected by study and experience. I had been led to believe that
from Donkia pass the whole country of Tibet sloped away in descending
steppes to the Tsampu, and was more or less of a plain; and could I
have trusted my eyes only, I should have confirmed this assertion so
far as the slope was concerned. When, however, the levelled
theodolite was directed to the distance, the reverse was found to be
the case. Unsnowed and apparently low mountains touched the horizon
line of the telescope; which proves that, if only 37 miles off, they
must, from the dip of the horizon, be at least 1000 feet higher than
the observer's position. The same infallible guide cuts off
mountain-tops and deeply snowed ridges, which to the unaided eye
appear far lower than the point from which they are viewed; but
which, from the quantity of snow on them, must be many thousand feet
higher, and, from the angle they subtend in the instrument, must be
at an immense distance. The want of refraction to lift the horizon,
the astonishing precision of the outlines, and the brilliancy of the
images of mountains reduced by distance to mere specks, are all
circumstances tending to depress them to appearance. The absence of
trees, houses, and familiar objects to assist the eye in the
appreciation of distance, throws back the whole landscape; which,
seen through the rarified atmosphere of 18,500 feet, looks as if
diminished by being surveyed through the wrong end of a telescope.

A few rude cairns were erected on the crest of the pass, covered with
wands, red banners, and votive offerings of rags. I found a fine slab
of slate, inscribed with the Tibetan characters, "Om Mani Padmi hom,"
which Meepo allowed me to take away, as the reward of my exertions.
The ridge is wholly formed of angular blocks of white gneissy
granite, split by frost.* [It was not a proper granite, but a highly
metamorphic felspathic gneiss, with very little mica; being, I
suspect, a gneiss which by metamorphic action was almost remolten
into granite: the lamination was obscure, and marked by faint
undulating lines of mica; it cleaves at all angles, but most
generally along fissures with highly polished undulated black
surfaces. The strike of the same rock near at hand was north-west,
and dip north-east, at various angles.] There was no snow on the pass
itself, but deep drifts and glaciers descended in hollows on the
north side, to 17,000 feet. The rounded northern red shoulder of
Kinchinjhow by Cholamoo lake, apparently 19,000 feet high, was quite
bare, and, as I have said, I ascended Donkia to upwards of 19,000
feet before I found the rocks crusted with ice,* [Snow, transformed
into ice throughout its whole mass: in short, glacial ice in all
physical characters.] and the ground wholly frozen. I assume,
therefore, that 19,000 feet at this spot is not below the mean level
at which all the snow melts that falls on a fair exposure to the
south: this probably coincides with a mean temperature of 20 degrees.
Forty miles further north (in Tibet) the same line is probably at
20,000 feet; for there much less snow falls, and much more melts in
proportion.* [Two secondary considerations materially affecting the
melting of snow, and hence exerting a material influence on the
elevation of the snow-line, appear to me never to have been
sufficiently dwelt upon. Both, however, bear directly upon the great
elevation of the snow-line in Tibet. From the imperfect transmission
of the heating rays of the sun through films of water, which transmit
perfectly the luminous rays, it follows that the direct effects of
the rays, in clear sunshine, are very different at equal elevations
of the moist outer and dry inner Himalaya. Secondly, naked rock and
soil absorb much more heat than surfaces covered with vegetation, and
this heat again radiated is infinitely more rapidly absorbed by snow
(or other white surfaces) than the direct heat of the sun's rays is.
Hence, at equal elevations the ground heats sooner, and the snow is
more exposed to the heat thus radiated in arid Tibet, than in the
wooded and grassed mountains of Sikkim.] From the elevation of about
19,300 feet, which I attained on Donkia, I saw a fine illustration of
that atmospheric phenomenon called the "spectre of the Brocken," my
own shadow being projected on a mass of thin mist that rose above the
tremendous precipices over which I hung. My head was surrounded with
a brilliant circular glory or rainbow.* [Probably caused by spiculae
of ice floating in the atmosphere, the lateral surfaces of which
would then have an uniform inclination of 60 degrees: this, according
to the observations of Mariotte, Venturi, and Fraunhoefer being the
angle necessary for the formation of halos.]

The temperature of the Donkia pass is much higher than might be
anticipated from its great elevation, and from the fact of its being
always bitterly cold to the feelings. This is no doubt due to the
warmth of the ascending currents, and to the heat evolved during the
condensation of their vapours. I took the following observations:--

Sept. 9, 1.30-3.30 p.m.: Temp. 41.8 degrees, D.P. 30.3 degrees,
Difference 11.5 degrees, Tension 0.1876, Humidity 0.665.
Sept. 27 1.15-3.15 p.m.: Temp. 49.2 degrees, D.P. 32.6 degrees,
Difference 16.6 degrees, Tension 0.2037, Humidity 0.560.
Oct. 19, 3.00-3.30 p.m.: Temp. 40.1 degrees, D.P. 25.0 degrees,
Difference 15.1 degrees, Tension 0.1551, Humidity 0.585.

The first and last of these temperatures were respectively 42.3
degrees and 46.4 degrees lower than Calcutta, which, with the proper
deduction for latitude, allows 508 and 460 feet as equivalent to 1
degree Fahr. I left a minimum thermometer on the summit on the 9th of
September, and removed it on the 27th, but it had been lifted and
turned over by the action of the frost and snow on the loose rocks
amongst which I had placed it; the latter appearing to have been
completely shifted. Fortunately, the instrument escaped unhurt, with
the index at 28 degrees.

A violent southerly wind, with a scud of mist, and sometimes snow,
always blew over the pass: but we found shelter on the north face,
where I twice kindled a fire, and boiled my thermometers.* [On the
9th of September the boiling-point was 181.3 degrees, and on the
27th, 181.2 degrees. In both observations, I believe the kettle
communicated a higher temperature to the thermometer than that of the
water, for the elevations deduced are far too low.] On one occasion I
felt the pulses of my party several times during two hours' repose
(without eating); the mean of eight persons was 105 degrees, the
extremes being 92 degrees and 120 degrees, and my own 108 degrees.

One flowering plant ascends to the summit; the alsinaceous one
mentioned at chapter xxi. The Fescue grass, a little fern
(_Woodsia_), and a _Saussurea_* [A pink-flowered woolly _Saussurea,_
and _Delphinium qlaciale,_ are two of the most lofty plants; both
being commonly found from 17,500 to 18,000 feet.] ascend very near
the summit, and several lichens grow on the top, as _Cladonia
vermicularis,_ the yellow _Lecidea geographica,_ and the orange
_L. miniata_;* [This is one of the most Arctic, Antarctic, and
universally diffused plants. The other lichens were _Lecidea
atro-alba, oreina, elegans,_ and _chlorophana,_ all alpine European
and Arctic species. At 17,000 feet occur _Lecanora ventosa, physodes,
candelaria, sordida, atra,_ and the beautiful Swiss _L. chrysoleuca,_
also European species.] also some barren mosses. At 18,300 feet, I
found on one stone only a fine Scotch lichen, a species of
_Gyrophora,_ the _"tripe de roche"_ of Arctic voyagers, and the food
of the Canadian hunters; it is also abundant on the Scotch alps.

Before leaving, I took one more long look at the boundless prospect;
and, now that its important details were secured, I had leisure to
reflect on the impression it produced. There is no loftier country on
the globe than that embraced by this view, and no more howling
wilderness; well might the Singtam Soubah and every Tibetan describe
it as the loftiest, coldest, windiest, and most barren country in the
world. Were it buried in everlasting snows, or burnt by a tropical
sun, it might still be as utterly sterile; but with such sterility I
had long been familiar. Here the colourings are those of the fiery
desert or volcanic island, while the climate is that of the poles.
Never, in the course of all my wanderings, had my eye rested on a
scene so dreary and inhospitable. The "cities of the plain" lie sunk
in no more death-like sea than Cholamoo lake, nor are the tombs of
Petra hewn in more desolate cliffs than those which flank the valley
of the Tibetan Arun.

On our return my pony strained his shoulder amongst the rocks; as a
remedy, the Lachoong Phipun plunged a lancet into the muscle, and
giving me his own animal, rode mine down.* [These animals, called
Tanghan, are wonderfully strong and enduring; they are never shod,
and the hoof often cracks, and they become pigeon-toed: they are
frequently blind of one eye, when they are called "zemik" (blind
ones), but this is thought no great defect. They average 5 pounds to
10 pounds for a good animal in Tibet; and the best fetch 40 pounds to
50 pounds in the plains of India, where they become acclimated and
thrive well. Giantchi (Jhansi-jeung of Turner) is the best mart for
them in this part of Tibet, where some breeds fetch very high prices.
The Tibetans give the foals of value messes of pig's blood and raw
liver, which they devour greedily, and it is said to strengthen them
wonderfully; the custom is, I believe, general in central Asia.
Humboldt (Pens. Nar. iv. p. 320) describes the horses of Caraccas as
occasionally eating salt meat.] It drizzled and sleeted all the way,
and was dark before we arrived at the tent.

At night the Tibetan dogs are let loose, when they howl dismally: on
one occasion they robbed me of all my meat, a fine piece of yak's
flesh. The yaks are also troublesome, and bad sleepers; they used to
try to effect an entrance into my tent, pushing their muzzles under
the flaps at the bottom, and awakening me with a snort and moist hot
blast. Before the second night I built a turf wall round the tent;
and in future slept with a heavy tripod by my side, to poke
at intruders.

Birds flock to the grass about Momay; larks, finches, warblers,
abundance of sparrows, feeding on the yak-droppings, and occasionally
the hoopoe; waders, cormorants, and wild ducks were sometimes seen in
the streams, but most of them were migrating south. The yaks are
driven out to pasture at sunrise, and home at sunset, till the middle
of the month, when they return to Yeumtong. All their droppings are
removed from near the tents, and piled in heaps; as these animals,
unlike their masters, will not sleep amid such dirt. These heaps
swarm with the maggots of two large flies, a yellow and black,
affording abundant food to red-legged crows, ravens, and swallows.
Butterflies are rare; the few are mostly _Colias, Hipparchia,
Polyommatus,_ and _Melitaea_; these I have seen feeding at 17,000
feet; when found higher, they have generally been carried up by
currents. Of beetles, an _Aphodeus,_ in yak-droppings, and an
_Elaphrus,_ a predaceous genus inhabiting swamps, are almost the only
ones I saw. The wild quadrupeds are huge sheep, in flocks of fifty,
the _Ovis Ammon_ called "Gnow." I never shot one, not having time to
pursue them for they were very seldom seen, and always at great
elevations. The larger marmot is common, and I found the horns of the
"Tchiru" antelope. Neither the wild horse, fox, hare, nor tailless
rat, cross the Donkia pass. White clover, shepherd's purse, dock,
plantain, and chickweed, are imported here by yaks; but the common
_Prunella_ of Europe is wild, and so is a groundsel like _Senecio
Jacobaea, Ranunculus, Sibbaldia,_ and 200 other plants. The grasses
are numerous; they belong chiefly to _Poa, Festuca, Stipa,_ and other
European genera.

I repeatedly attempted to ascend both Kinchinjhow and Donkia from
Momay, and generally reached from 18,000 to 19,000 feet, but never
much higher.* [An elevation of 20,000 and perhaps 22,000 feet might,
I should think, easily be attained by practice, in Tibet, north of
Sikkim.] The observations taken on these excursions are sufficiently
illustrated by those of Donkia pass: they served chiefly to perfect
my map, measure the surrounding peaks, and determine the elevation
reached by plants; all of which were slow operations, the weather of
this month being so bad that I rarely returned dry to my tent; fog
and drizzle, if not sleet and snow, coming on during every day,
without exception.

I made frequent excursions to the great glacier of Kinchinjhow.
Its valley is about four miles long, broad and flat: Chango-khang*
[The elevation of this mountain is about 20,560 feet, by the mean of
several observations taken from surrounding localities.] rears its
blue and white cliffs 4,500 feet above its west flank, and throws
down avalanches of stones and snow into the valley. Hot springs*
[Supposing the mean temperature of the air at the elevation of the
Momay springs to be 26 degrees or 28 degrees, which may be
approximately assumed, and that, as some suppose, the heat of thermal
springs is due to the internal temperature of the globe; then
according to the law of increment of heat in descending (of 1 degree
for fifty feet) we should find the temperature of 110 degrees at a
depth of 4,100 feet, or at 11,900 feet above the level of the sea.
Direct experiment with internal heat has not, however, been carried
beyond 2000 feet below the surface, and as the ratio of increment
diminishes with the depth, that above assigned to the temperature of
110 degrees is no doubt much too little. The Momay springs more
probably owe their temperature to chemical decomposition of
sulphurets of metals. I found pyrites in Tibet on the north flank of
the mountain Kinchinjhow, in limestones asasociated with shales.]
burst from the ground near some granite rocks on its floor, about
16,000 feet above the sea, and only a mile below the glacier, and the
water collects in pools: its temperature is 110 degrees, and in
places 116 degrees, or 4 degrees hotter than that of the Yeumtong
hot-springs, though 4000 feet higher, and of precisely the same
character. A _Barbarea_ and some other plants make the neighbourhood
of the hot-springs a little oasis, and the large marmot is common,
uttering its sharp, chirping squeak.