Books: Himalayan Journals (Complete)

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

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The terminal moraine is about 500 feet high, quite barren, and thrown
obliquely across the valley, from north-east to south-west,
completely hiding the glacier. From its top successive smaller
parallel ridges (indicating the periodic retirements of the glacier)
lead down to the ice, which must have sunk several hundred feet. This
glacier descends from Kinchinjhow, the huge cliff of whose eastern
extremity dips into it. The surface, less than half a mile wide, is
exceedingly undulated, and covered with large pools of water, ninety
feet deep, and beds of snow, and is deeply corroded; gigantic blocks
are perched on pinnacles of ice on its surface, and the gravel cones*
[For a description of this curious phenomenon, which has been
illustrated by Agassiz, see "Forbes's Alps," p. 26 and 347.] are
often twenty feet high. The crevassing so conspicuous on the Swiss
glaciers is not so regular on this, and the surface appears more like
a troubled ocean; due, no doubt, to the copious rain and snow-falls
throughout the summer, and the corroding power of wet fogs.
The substance of the ice is ribboned, dirt-bands are seen from above
to form long loops on some parts, and the lateral moraines, like the
terminal, are high above the surface. These notes, made previous to
reading Professor Forbes's travels in the Alps, sufficiently show
that perpetual snow, whether as ice or glacier, obeys the same laws
in India as in Europe; and I have no remarks to offer on the
structure of glaciers, that are not well illustrated and explained in
the abovementioned admirable work.

Its average slope for a mile above the terminal moraines was less
than 5 degrees, and the height of its surface above the sea 16,500
feet by boiling-point; the thickness of its ice probably 400 feet.
Between the moraine and the west flank of the valley is a large lake,
with terraced banks, whose bottom (covered with fine felspathic silt)
is several hundred feet above that of the valley; it is half a mile
long, and a quarter broad, and fed partly by glaciers of the second
order on Chango-khang and Sebolah, and partly by filtration through
the lateral moraine.

Illustration--GNEISS-BLOCK WITH GRANITE BANDS, ON THE KINCHINJHOW
GLACIER.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Donkia glaciers -- Moraines -- Dome of ice -- Honey-combed surface --
Rocks of Donkia -- Metamorphic action of granite veins -- Accident to
instruments -- Sebolah pass -- Bees, and May-flies -- View --
Temperature -- Pulses of party -- Lamas and travellers at Momay --
Weather and climate -- Dr. Campbell leaves Dorjiling for Sikkim --
Leave Momay -- Yeumtong -- Lachoong -- Retardation of vegetation at
low elevations -- Choongtam -- Landslips and debacle -- Meet Dr.
Campbell -- Motives for his journey -- Second visit to Lachen valley
-- Autumnal tints -- Red currants -- Lachen Phipun -- Tungu --
Scenery -- Animals -- Poisonous rhododendrons -- Fire-wood -- Palung
-- Elevations -- Sitong -- Kongra Lama -- Tibetans -- Enter Tibet --
Desolate scenery -- Plants -- Animals -- Geology -- Cholamoo lakes --
Antelopes -- Return to Yeumtso -- Dr. Campbell lost -- Extreme cold
-- Headaches -- Tibetan Dingpun and guard -- Arms and accoutrements
-- Temperature of Yeumtso -- Migratory birds -- Visit of Dingpun --
Yeumtso lakes.

On the 20th of September I ascended to the great Donkia glaciers,
east of Momay; the valley is much longer than that leading to the
Kinchinjhow glacier, and at 16,000 or 17,000 feet elevation,
containing four marshes or lakes, alternating with as many transverse
moraines that have dammed the river. These moraines seem in some
cases to have been deposited where rocks in the bed of the valley
obstructed the downward progress of the ancient glacier; hence, when
this latter finally retired, it rested at these obstructions, and
accumulated there great deposits, which do not cross the valley, but
project from each side obliquely into it. The rocks _in situ_ on the
floor of the valley are all _moutonneed_ and polished on the top,
sides, and face looking up the valley, but are rugged on that looking
down it: gigantic blocks are poised on some. The lowest of the
ancient moraines completely crosses the river, which finds, its way
between the boulders.

Under the red cliff of Forked Donkia the valley becomes very broad,
bare, and gravelly, with a confusion of moraines, and turns more
northwards. At the angle, the present terminal moraine rises like a
mountain (I assumed it to be about 800 feet high),* [This is the
largest and longest terminal moraine backed by an existing glacier
that I examined with care: I doubt its being so high as the moraine
of the Allalein glacier below the Mat-maark sea in the Sachs valley
(Valais, Switzerland); but it is impossible to compare such objects
from memory: the Donkia one was much the most uniform in height.] and
crosses the valley from N.N.E. to S.S.W. From the summit, which rises
above the level of the glacier, and from which I assume its present
retirement, a most striking scene opened. The ice filling an immense
basin, several miles broad and long, formed a low dome,* [This
convexity of the ice is particularly alluded to by Forbes ("Travels
in the Alps," p.386), as the "renflement" of Rendu and "surface
bombee" of Agassiz, and is attributed to the effects of hydrostatic
pressure tending to press the lower layers of ice upwards to the
surface. My own impression at the time was, that the convexity of the
surface of the Donkia glacier was due to a subjacent mountain spur
running south from Donkia itself. I know, however, far too little of
the topography of this glacier to advance such a conjecture with any
confidence. In this case, as in all similar ones, broad expanses
being covered to an enormous depth with ice, the surface of the
latter must in some degree be modified by the ridges and valleys it
conceals. The typical "surface bombee," which is conspicuous in the
Himalaya glaciers, I was wont (in my ignorance of the mechanical laws
of glaciers) to attribute to the more rapid melting of the edges of
the glacier by the radiated heat of its lateral moraines and of the
flanks of the valley that it occupies.] with Forked Donkia on the
west, and a serried range of rusty-red scarped mountains, 20,000 feet
high on the north and east, separating large tributary glaciers.
Other still loftier tops of Donkia appeared behind these, upwards of
22,000 feet high, but I could not recognise the true summit (23,176
feet). The surface was very rugged, and so deeply honey-combed that
the foot often sank from six to eight inches in crisp wet ice.
I proceeded a mile on it, with much more difficulty than on any Swiss
glacier: this was owing to the elevation, and the corrosion of the
surface into pits and pools of water; the crevasses being but few and
distant. I saw no dirt-bands on looking down upon it from a point I
attained under the red cliff of Forked Donkia, at an elevation of
18,307 feet by barometer, and 18,597 by boiling-point. The weather
was very cold, the thermometer fell from 41 degrees to 34 degrees,
and it snowed heavily after 3 p.m.

The strike of all the rocks (gneiss with granite veins) seemed to be
north-east, and dip north-west 30 degrees. Such also were the strike
and dip on another spur from Donkia, north of this, which I ascended
to 19,000 feet, on the 26th of September: it abutted on the scarped
precipices, 3000 feet high, of that mountain. I had been attracted to
the spot by its bright orange-red colour, which I found to be caused
by peroxide of iron. The highly crystalline nature of the rocks, at
these great elevations, is due to the action of veins of fine-grained
granite, which sometimes alter the gneiss to such an extent that it
appears as if fused into a fine granite, with distinct crystals of
quartz and felspar; the most quartzy layers are then roughly
crystallized into prisms, or their particles are aggregated into
spheres composed of concentric layers of radiating crystals, as is
often seen in agates. The rearrangement of the mineral constituents
by heat goes on here just as in trap, cavities filled with crystals
being formed in rocks exposed to great heat and pressure. Where mica
abounds, it becomes black and metallic; and the aluminous matter is
crystallised in the form of garnets.

Illustration--SUMMIT OF FORKED DONKIA, AND "GOA" ANTELOPES.

At these great heights the weather was never fine for more than an
hour at a time, and a driving sleet followed by thick snow drove me
down on both these occasions. Another time I ascended a third spur
from this great mountain, and was overtaken by a heavy gale and
thunderstorm, the latter is a rare phenomenon: it blew down my tripod
and instruments which I had thought securely Propped with stones, and
the thermometers were broken, but fortunately not the barometer.
On picking up the latter, which lay with its top down the hill, a
large bubble of air appeared, which I passed up and down the tube,
and then allowed to escape; when I heard a rattling of broken glass
in the cistern. Having another barometer* [This barometer (one of
Newman's portable instruments) I have now at Kew: it was compared
with the Royal Society's standard before leaving England; and varied
according to comparisons made with the Calcutta standard 0.012 during
its travels; on leaving Calcutta its error was 0; and on arriving in
England, by the standard of the Royal Society, +.004. I have given in
the Appendix some remarks on the use of these barometers, which
(though they have obvious defects), are less liable to derangement,
far more portable, and stand much heavier shocks than those of any
other construction with which I am familiar.] at my tent, I hastened
to ascertain by comparison whether the instrument which had travelled
with me from England, and taken so many thousand observations, was
seriously damaged: to my delight an error of 0.020 was all I could
detect at Momay and all other lower stations. On my return to
Dorjiling in December, I took it to pieces, and found the lower part
of the bulb of the attached thermometer broken off, and floating on
the mercury. Having quite expected this, I always checked the
observations of the attached thermometer by another, but--how, it is
not easy to say--the broken one invariably gave a correct
temperature.

Illustration--VIEW FROM AN ELEVATION OF 18,000 FEET OF THE EAST TOP
OF KINCHINJHOW, AND OF TIBET, OVER THE RIDGE THAT CONNECTS IT WITH
DONKIA. WILD SHEEP (_OVIS AMMON_) IN THE FOREGROUND.

The Kinchinjhow spurs are not accessible to so great an elevation as
those of Donkia, but they afford finer views over Tibet, across the
ridge connecting Kinchinjow with Donkia.

Broad summits here, as on the opposite side of the valley, are quite
bare of snow at 18,000 feet, though where they project as sloping
hog-backed spurs from the parent mountain, the snows of the latter
roll down on them and form glacial caps, the reverse of glaciers in
valleys, but which overflow, as it were, on all sides of the slopes,
and are ribboned* [The convexity of the curves, however, seems to be
upwards. Such reversed glaciers, ending abruptly on broad stony
shoulders quite free of snow, should on no account be taken as
indicating the lower limit of perpetual snow.] and crevassed.

On the 18th of September I ascended the range which divides the
Lachen from the Lachoong valley, to the Sebolah pass, a very sharp
ridge of gneiss, striking north-west and dipping north-east, which
runs south from Kinchinjhow to Chango-khang. A yak-track led across
the Kinchinjhow glacier, along the bank of the lake, and thence
westward up a very steep spur, on which was much glacial ice and
snow, but few plants above 16,000 feet. At nearly 17,000 feet I
passed two small lakes, on the banks of one of which I found bees, a
May-fly (_Ephemera_) and gnat; the two latter bred on stones in the
water, which (the day being fine) had a temperature of 53 degrees,
while that of the large lake at the glacier, 1000 feet lower, was
only 39 degrees.

The view from the summit commands the whole castellated front of
Kinchinjhow, the sweep of the Donkia cliffs to the east,
Chango-khang's blunt cone of ribbed snow* [This ridging or furrowing
of steep snow-beds is explained at vol. i, chapter x.] over head,
while to the west, across the grassy Palung dunes rise Chomiomo, the
Thlonok mountains, and Kinchinjunga in the distance.* [The latter
bore 241 degrees 30 minutes; it was distant about thirty-four miles,
and subtended an angle of 3 degrees 2 minutes 30 seconds. The rocks
on its north flanks were all black, while those forming the upper
10,000 feet of the south face were white: hence, the top is probably
granite, overlaid by the gneiss on the north.] The Palung plains, now
yellow with withered grass, were the most curious part of the view:
hemmed in by this range which rises 2000 feet above them, and by the
Lachen hills on the east, they appeared a dead level, from which
Kinchinjhow reared its head, like an island from the ocean.* [It is
impossible to contemplate the abrupt flanks of all these lofty
mountains, without contrasting them with the sloping outlines that
prevail in the southern parts of Sikkim. All such precipices are, I
have no doubt, the results of sea action; and all posterior influence
of sub-aerial action, aqueous or glacial, tends to wear these
precipices into slopes, to fill up valleys and to level mountains. Of
all such influences heavy rain-falls and a luxuriant vegetation are
probably the most active; and these features are characteristic of
the lower valleys of Sikkim, which are consequently exposed to very
different conditions of wear and tear from those which prevail on
these loftier rearward ranges.] The black tents of the Tibetans were
still there, but the flocks were gone. The broad fosse-like valley of
the Chachoo was at my feet, with the river winding along its bottom,
and its flanks dotted with black juniper bushes.

The temperature at this elevation, between 1 and 3 p.m., varied from
38 degrees to 59 degrees; the mean being 46.5 degrees, with the
dew-point 34.6 degrees. The height I made 17,585 feet by barometer,
and 17,517 by boiling-point. I tried the pulses of eight, persons
after two hours' rest; they varied from 80 to 112, my own being 104.
As usual at these heights, all the party were suffering from
giddiness and headaches.

Throughout September various parties passed my tent at Momay,
generally Lamas or traders: the former, wrapped in blankets, wearing
scarlet and gilt mitres, usually rode grunting yaks, which were
sometimes led by a slave-boy or a mahogany-faced nun, with a broad
yellow sheep-skin cap with flaps over her ears, short petticoats, and
striped boots. The domestic utensils, pots, pans, and bamboos of
butter, tea-churn, bellows, stools, books, and sacred implements,
usually hung rattling on all sides of his holiness, and a sumpter yak
carried the tents and mats for sleeping. On several occasions large
parties of traders, with thirty or forty yaks* [About 600 loaded yaks
are said to cross the Donkia pass annually.] laden with planks,
passed, and occasionally a shepherd with Tibet sheep, goats, and
ponies. I questioned many of these travellers about the courses of
the Tibetan rivers; they all agreed* [One lad only, declared that the
Kambajong river flowed north-west to Dobtah and Sarrh, and thence
turned north to the Yaru; but all Campbell's itineraries, as well as
mine, make the Dobtah lake drain into the Chomachoo, north of
Wallanchoon; which latter river the Nepalese also affirm flows into
Nepal, as the Arun. The Lachen and Lachoong Phipuns both insisted on
this, naming to me the principal towns on the way south-west from
Kambajong along the river to Tingri Maidan, _via_ Tashirukpa Chait,
which is north of Wallanchoon pass.] in stating the Kambajong or
Chomachoo liver, north of the Lachen, to be the Arun of Nepal, and
that it rose near the Ramchoo lake (of Turner's route). The lake
itself discharges either into the Arun, or into the Painomchoo
(flowing to the Yaru); but this point I could never satisfactorily
ascertain.

The weather at Momay, during September, was generally bad after 11
a.m.: little snow or rain fell, but thin mists and drizzle prevailed;
less than one inch and a half of rain was collected, though upwards
of eleven fell at Calcutta, and rather more at Dorjiling.
The mornings were sometimes fine, cold, and sunny, with a north wind
which had blown down the valley all night, and till 9 a.m., when the
south-east wind, with fog, came on. Throughout the day a north
current blew above the southern; and when the mist was thin; the air
sparkled with spiculae of snow, caused by the cold dry upper current
condensing the vapours of the lower. This southern current passes
over the tops of the loftiest mountains, ascending to 24,000 feet,
and discharging frequent showers in Tibet, as far north as Jigatzi,
where, however, violent dry easterly gales are the most prevalent.

The equinoctial gales set in on the 21st, with a falling barometer,
and sleet at night; on the 23rd and 24th it snowed heavily, and being
unable to light a fire at the entrance of my tent, I spent two
wretched days, taking observations; on the 25th it cleared, and the
snow soon melted. Frosty nights succeeded, but the thermometer only
fell to 31 degrees once during the month, and the maximum once rose
to 62.5 degrees. The mean temperature from the 9th to the 30th
September was 41.6 degrees,* [The result of fifty-six comparative
observations between Calcutta and Momay, give 40.6 degrees
difference, which, after corrections, allows 1 degree Fahr. for every
438 feet of ascent.] which coincided with that of 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.;
the mean maximum, 52.2 degrees, minimum, 34.7 degrees, and consequent
range, 17.5 degrees.* [At Dorjiling the September range is only 9.5
degrees; and at Calcutta 10 degrees.] On seven nights the radiating
thermometer fell much below the temperature of the air, the mean
being 10.5 degrees and maximum 14.2 degrees; and on seven mornings
the sun heated the black-bulb thermometer considerably, on the mean
to 62.6 degrees above the air; maximum 75.2 degrees, and minimum, 43
degrees. The greatest heat of the day occurred at noon: the most
rapid rise of temperature (5 degrees) between 8 and 9 a.m., and the
greatest fall (5.5 degrees), between 3 and 4 p.m. A sunk thermometer
fell from 52.5 degrees to 51.5 degrees between the 11th and 14th,
when I was obliged to remove the thermometer owing to the accident
mentioned above. The mercury in the barometer rose and fell
contemporaneously with that at Calcutta and Dorjiling, but the amount
of tide was considerably less, and, as is usual during the
equinoctial month, on some days it scarcely moved, whilst on others
it rose and fell rapidly. The tide amounted to 0.062 of an inch.

On the 28th of the month the Singtam Soubah came up from Yeumtong, to
request leave to depart for his home, on account of his wife's
illness; and to inform me that Dr. Campbell had left Dorjiling,
accompanied (in compliance with the Rajah's orders) by the Tchebu
Lama. I therefore left Momay on the 30th, to meet him at Choongtam,
arriving at Yeumtong the same night, amid heavy rain and sleet.

Autumnal tints reigned at Yeumtong, and the flowers had disappeared
from its heath-like flat; a small eatable cherry with a wrinkled
stone was ripe, and acceptable in a country so destitute of fruit.*
[The absence of _Vaccinia_ (whortleberries and cranberries) and
eatable _Rubi_ (brambles) in the alpine regions of the Himalaya is
very remarkable, and they are not replaced by any substitute.
With regard to Vaccinium, this is the more anomalous, as several
species grow in the temperate regions of Sikkim.] Thence I descended
to Lachoong, on the 1st of October, again through heavy rain, the
snow lying on the Tunkra mountain at 14,000 feet. The larch was
shedding its leaves, which turn red before they fall; but the annual
vegetation was much behind that at 14,000 feet, and so many late
flowerers, such as _Umbelliferae_ and _Compositae,_ had come into
blossom, that the place still looked gay and green: the blue climbing
gentian (_Crawfurdia_) now adorned the bushes; this plant would be a
great acquisition in English gardens. A _Polygonum_ still in flower
here, was in ripe fruit near Momay, 6000 feet higher up the valley.

On the following day I made a long and very fatiguing march to
Choongtam, but the coolies were not all able to accomplish it.
The backwardness of the flora in descending was even more conspicuous
than on the previous day: the jungles, at 7000 feet, being gay with a
handsome Cucurbitaceous plant. Crossing the Lachoong cane-bridge, I
paid the tribute of a sigh to the memory of my poor dog, and reached
my old camping-ground at Choongtam by 10 p.m., having been marching
rapidly for twelve hours. My bed and tent came up two hours later,
and not before the leeches and mosquitos had taxed me severely.
On the 4th of October I heard the nightingale for the first time
this season.

Expecting Dr. Campbell on the following morning, I proceeded down the
river to meet him: the whole valley was buried under a torrent or
debacle of mud, shingle, and boulders, and for half a mile the stream
was dammed up into a deep lake. Amongst the gneiss and granite
boulders brought down by this debacle, I collected some actinolites;
but all minerals are extremely rare in Sikkim and I never heard of a
gem or crystal of any size or beauty, or of an ore of any
consequence, being found in this country.

I met my friend on the other side of the mud torrent, and I was truly
rejoiced to see him, though he was looking much the worse for his
trying journey through the hot valleys at this season; in fact, I
know no greater trial of the constitution than the exposure and hard
exercise that is necessary in traversing these valleys, below 5000
feet, in the rainy season: delay is dangerous, and the heat, anxiety,
and bodily suffering from fatigue, insects, and bruises, banish
sleep, and urge the restless traveller onward to higher and more
healthy regions. Dr. Campbell had, I found, in addition to the
ordinary dangers of such a journey, met with an accident which might
have proved serious; his pony having been dashed to pieces by falling
over a precipice, a fate he barely escaped himself, by adroitly
slipping from the saddle when he felt the animal's foot giving way.

On our way back to Choongtam, he detailed to me the motives that had
led to his obtaining the authority of the Deputy-Governor of Bengal
(Lord Dalhousie being absent) for his visiting Sikkim. Foremost, was
his earnest desire to cultivate a better understanding with the Rajah
and his officers. He had always taken the Rajah's part, from a
conviction that he was not to blame for the misunderstandings which
the Sikkim officers pretended to exist between their country and
Dorjiling; he had, whilst urgently remonstrating with the Rajah,
insisted on forbearance on my part, and had long exercised it
himself. In detailing the treatment to which I was subjected, I had
not hesitated to express my opinion that the Rajah was more
compromised by it than his Dewan: Dr. Campbell, on the contrary, knew
that the Dewan was the head and front of the whole system of
annoyance. In one point of view it mattered little who was in the
right; but the transaction was a violation of good faith on the part
of the Sikkim government towards the British, for which the Rajah,
however helpless, was yet responsible. To act upon my representations
alone would have been unjust, and no course remained but for Dr.
Campbell to inquire personally into the matter. The authority to do
this gave him also the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the
country which we were bound to protect, as well by our interest as by
treaty, but from which we were so jealously excluded, that should any
contingency occur, we were ignorant of what steps to take for
defence, and, indeed, of what we should have to defend.

On the 6th of October we left Choongtam for my second visit to the
Kongra Lama pass, hoping to get round by the Cholamoo lakes and the
Donkia pass. As the country beyond the frontier was uninhabited, the
Tchebu Lama saw no difficulty in this, provided the Lachen Phipun and
the Tibetans did not object. Our great obstacle was the Singtam
Soubah, who (by the Rajah's order) accompanied us to clear the road,
and give us every facility, but who was very sulky, and undisguisedly
rude to Campbell; he was in fact extremely jealous of the Lama, who
held higher authority than he did, and who alone had the Rajah's
confidence.

Our first day's march was of about ten miles to one of the
river-flats, which was covered with wild apple-trees, whose fruit,
when stewed with sugar, we found palatable. The Lachen river, though
still swollen, was comparatively clear; the rains usually ceasing, or
at least moderating, in October: its water was about 5 degrees colder
than in the beginning of August.