On June 14 we were cheered with the news that our transport was approaching, and I think a good many sighs of relief were uttered. We had quite made up our minds to cross over into the Kharta Valley, and, having had a sufficiency of rest, to explore the Kama Chu more completely than had been done in 1921, and, if possible, to examine the whole gorge of the Arun where it breaks through the great Himalayan range; but our first idea was to get down to a decent elevation where some rest could be obtained, where we could get adequate bathing and washing for our clothes and get everybody into a fairly respectable condition again. Living continuously for many weeks at elevations never below, and generally far above, 16,500 feet, does not tend to general cleanliness, and it also, after a time, I think, tends to general degeneration. At the same time, we were by no means convinced that at medium elevations there is any particular loss of physical powers or that acclimatisation takes long to complete. I found, personally, that I was getting better and better when exerting myself at the medium heights to which I went. I found, during the 78march that was in front of us, that I could walk at elevations of over 16,000 feet very much more easily than when I first arrived at the Rongbuk Glacier, and this certainly does not show that one had been degenerating physically. I think, really, that the strain was more a mental one; and this remark probably also applies to every member of our party. At the same time, it was most exhilarating to think that one was descending to a low altitude. We made our first march back to the Rongbuk Glacier, and that evening we were left in peace—by the Lamas, that is to say, but not by the wind, which howled consistently, bringing with it thin driving sleet.
 
The Chief Lama, Rongbuk Monastery.
On the following morning we arranged that we should all meet the Rongbuk Lama; and so, having got our kit packed, we left it to be loaded by the Tibetans, and the whole party, including all our followers, porters, all the Gurkhas who were with us (with the exception of Tejbir, who had gone on in advance with Geoffrey Bruce and Norton), went up to the monastery. There we waited in the courtyard until the Lama himself descended from his inner sanctuary in state. Tea was first served in the usual way, ordinary tea being provided, I am glad to say, for the others and myself by special arrangement of the interpreter. I think Noel, however, a man of infinite pluck, took down a bowl or two of true Tibetan tea. The Lama made special inquiries after the Expedition, and then began the blessing. He offered us his very best 79wishes, and presented me, through Paul, with a special mark of his goodwill, a little image of one of the Taras, or queens, of Tibetan mythology. My special one was the Green Tara, who takes precedence among all ladies. This was a mark of very great favour. Paul was also presented with another little mark and many little packets of medicine, which were to preserve him from all and every description of the illnesses which afflict and worry humanity. The Buddhistic side of Paul came up on this occasion, and he received his blessings and the medicines in the most humble and reverent spirit. The Gurkhas all went up too, and were suitably blessed, being even more humble in their aspect than the very much overcome and reverent porters themselves; they could hardly be induced to approach his Holiness. However, we all parted on the most friendly terms, and left our own good wishes, for what they were worth, with the old gentleman.
By three o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at Chodzong. But what a difference there was in our march! The few days of the monsoon and the small amount of rain which had fallen, even this little way back from the mountains, had changed the whole aspect of the valley. Flowers had begun to show, and in places there was even a little green grass. At Chodzong there was quite a considerable amount of grass, and we enjoyed here what was more pleasant than anything we had experienced for a long time—a shower of rain. We had almost forgotten the existence of rain, and the relief from the very trying 80dryness of the Tibetan atmosphere, which parches one’s skin as if one was in the Sahara, was immense. Still, at Chodzong it was cold at night and the temperature below freezing-point. Here we found all our ponies and their saises returned from taking Norton and Geoffrey Bruce over to the Kharta Valley. Also the gigantic D(r)ubla and his small Gyamda very fit and well.
This camp at Chodzong was a place particularly impressed on our minds on our way up, as we had there the very coldest breakfast that we anywhere indulged in. The wind was blowing half a hurricane, and the temperature nearly at zero, while our breakfast was actually being brought to us in the morning, and the misery and discomfort of that particular temperature was in great contrast to the delightful weather we were now experiencing. From this place we diverted a large convoy of our spare baggage to Shekar, to await our return after we had finished our further wanderings in Kharta. The following day took us up the Rebu Valley. It was a fairly long and very windy march, but the climate was so greatly improved that, generally speaking, it was very enjoyable, and again we camped in a very pleasant spot in grassy fields—such a change from our late life. Not only that, but in the evening, as the people up here had no prejudices, we caught a sufficient number of snow-trout, really a barbel, to make a dish. My own servant, Kehar Sing, the cook, always had a reputation for being, and always was, a first-rate poacher. At any form of netting or tickling 81trout he was a great hand. However, he was completely eclipsed later on by one of Macdonald’s servants, to whom I am quite certain no fish-poacher that ever was could have given a wrinkle. He was also quite a good hand at catching fish with rod-and-line. The Gurkhas, as usual, took a hand; they are immensely fond of fish, and their methods are primitive. Tejbir, who came along with us, was nearly recovered from his exertions with Finch and Geoffrey; he had lost a good deal of skin from seven or eight fingers and a large patch off his foot, but though his frostbites were many, they were slight. He was really suffering from being rather overdone, and took at least a fortnight to recover.
The next day’s was an interesting march, though very long, and tiring for the animals. Our way led over the high ridge which divides the Dzakar Chu country from the Kharta district. Although the rise was not very great from our camp at approximately 13,500 feet, still the pass itself was just 17,000 feet, or rather, to be absolutely accurate, just 3 feet under. The way led for several miles, hardly rising at all, up a grassy valley, and then over the strangest and wildest and most completely barren of hillsides. From here, no doubt, we should have a fine view of the great supporters of Everest, but clouds completely obliterated the mountains. We had the ordinary balmy Tibetan breezes through the snows, but modified to what they would have been quite a short time before.
82The descent from the Doya La was very fine indeed; the colour wonderful, and very soon giving promise of a greener land. The first 300 feet on the Kharta side is down a very steep rocky track, and I was told afterwards by Geoffrey Bruce that he never dismounted, and that the wonderful Gyamda had carried him down without making a mistake. On that day we all of us well overtopped 17,000 feet. There was a little joke about Crawford, who was not very tall, but who certainly did not deserve his nickname of the “Two-and-a-half-footer” given him by the porters. It was a joke among them afterwards, when told the height of the pass, that he had just missed the 17,000 feet by 6 inches.
It was a very long descent, but into a valley rapidly changing from bare hillsides to grassy banks. Never was there a more welcome change, and here we came into a real profusion of Alpine flowers. It was a full 20-mile march to our halting-place at Trateza, and as we got down where the valley narrowed we passed the very picturesquely situated village of Teng. Everybody was delighted with the change. Our camp was pitched near the village on quite thick and beautiful green grass, and the hillsides were green and covered with bushes. We were absolutely happy and intensely relieved, and pleased with our surroundings. The ponies and animals simply pounced on the green grass, and were even more happy than their masters.
The following morning we all started off in wonderful 83spirits, shared in by the yaks, several of whom took it into their heads to run amuck, and we had a first-class scene of confusion in the rather tight camp before we could get matters straightened out. One yak especially was peculiarly gay here, and took to the hillside after throwing his load on three or four occasions. We had, in fact, a real hunt after him; everybody joined in the fun, and I am afraid on one or two occasions some of the more light-hearted of the porters kept him going on purpose. This march, however, was even pleasanter than the one before. The part we were travelling down grew richer and richer; the hillsides were thickly clothed in cedar trees and in shrubs of many kinds; the valley itself, wherever possible, was cultivated. We passed on our way two or three small villages extremely well situated, and finally debouched into an open valley full of fields and cultivation, where we joined the main Arun Valley and the district of Kharta proper. Kharta is a fairly large district, and not a village. The largest settlement is called Kharta Shika, and it is there that the Dzongpen has his abode. The whole of this district, also, is under the Dzongpen of Shekar Dzong, and the Dzongpen of Shika apparently has not as full powers by any means as the Dzongpen at Shekar Dzong. However, for all that, he appears to be quite a little autocrat.
It was quite delightful riding out into the main valley, and there also we were cheered by meeting Geoffrey Bruce and John Macdonald, who had come out some miles from 84where our camp had been established at the small village of Teng. We passed, also, the old gentleman, known, I think, in the last year’s Expedition as “the Havildar,” but whom Geoffrey and Norton had promptly christened Father William. He was a rather officious, but at the same time most helpful, old man, and on our way back he asked us to come in for a meal into his very attractive garden; but as it was only a mile or so from Teng, where our camp was pitched, we did not think it was worth while then, knowing we should see a good deal more of the old gentleman. He brought us plenty of what we were yearning for—fresh green vegetables, the very greatest boon.
We found our invalids very nearly recovered; Norton’s feet, however, were tender, and Geoffrey’s toes still in a distinctly unpleasant condition. It was wonderful, nevertheless, how well both were able to get about with the help of plenty of socks. Our camp was pitched in fields at a height of about 10,800 feet, and below us, at about the distance of 3 miles, we could see the entrance to the great Arun Gorge where it cuts through the Himalaya. On the opposite side of the Arun the two mountains, old friends of ours that we had noticed on our way up, looked down on the camp. On the whole of my way down I was struck with the resemblance between these valleys and parts of Lahoul and Kailang. They were less rich, however, and the forests of pencil cedar not so fine, but still the whole character of the country and of the hillsides was very much the same.
85
Tibetan Dancing Man.
 
Tibetan Dancing Woman.
86Above the camp at Teng was a very well situated monastery, which Noel afterwards photographed. Soon after our arrival during the afternoon, the Dzongpen from Kharta Shika arrived to meet us. He was reported at first to be very suspicious of the party, and such, indeed, appeared to be the case. However, after a long conversation, and having presented him with pictures of the Dalai Lama and of the Tashilumpo Lama, as well as with the ubiquitous Homburg hat, he became much more confidential, and we finished up very good friends. He also told us that on the following day he would bring down some Tibetan dancers and acrobats to give us a performance.
The rapidity with which the whole party seemed to recover at Kharta was perfectly wonderful. Everybody was in first-class health and spirits, especially all our porters, and that night their high spirits were not only due to the atmospheric conditions, but were taken into them in a manner they thoroughly approved of and of which they had been deprived for some time. However, after all their very hard work and the wonderful way in which they had played up, it is not altogether to be wondered at if they did occasionally “go on the spree” on their way back.
So attractive was the whole country, and so strong was the call of the Kama Valley, that we were all very soon anxious to get a move on again. Tejbir was still not quite recovered, and would be all the better for further 87rest, so he was detailed with one of the other Gurkhas, Sarabjit, to stay behind and take charge of our camp and spare equipment. The rest of us all set to work and planned an advance into the Kama Valley, and, we hoped also, an exploration of it, both towards the snows up and to the Popti La, which is the main road into the valley of the Arun, and, if possible, up the great Arun Gorge itself. But this year’s monsoon never gave us a chance of carrying out more than a small portion of that programme. We were now living in an entirely different climate. We had many showers of rain, which were hailed with delight by the people of the country, as their crops were now fairly well advanced. The crops at Kharta consist chiefly of peas and barley, as usual, but there is a certain amount of other grain and vegetables to be obtained from the gardens.
Having arranged the transport, we started our caravan off to Kharta Shika. Norton had issued a large-hearted invitation for us to lunch with him at the mouth of the Arun Gorge. Previously Norton and Geoffrey had explored, while they were waiting, the country round as far as they could go on horseback, and Norton had discovered at the mouth of a gorge an alp like those on the Kashmir Mountains, surrounded with a forest which he described as equal to a Southern Himalayan forest, and we positively must go and see it, and climb up the hillsides and look down into the gorge itself.
We all accepted his invitation with the greatest alacrity. 88On the afternoon of the day before starting, the Dzongpen, as he had promised, produced us his acrobats and dancers, and we had a very hilarious afternoon. They were not particularly good either as actors or as acrobats, but they danced with prodigious vigour, and it was altogether great fun. Before all the dances and the little plays they covered their faces with masks of an extremely primitive kind. They failed at most of their tricks once or twice before accomplishment, and these failures were invariably greeted both by the spectators and by the actors with shrieks of laughter.
On the following day (June 19) we all set off, the luggage proceeding direct to Kharta Shika under the charge of the interpreter and the Gurkhas, while we switched off to Norton’s alp. It really was delightful, and though the forest was rather a dwarfed forest, it contained several kinds of fir trees, birch, and rhododendron scrub, and, after Tibet, was in every way quite charming. We climbed up the hillsides and suddenly came round the corner on to great cliffs diving straight down into the Arun Valley, and we could see further down how enormously the scale of the mountains increased. It was a most attractive gorge, but on our side it appeared to be almost impossible to have got along, so steep were the hillsides. On the far bank, that is, the true left bank, the East bank, there was a well-marked track, and it appears that lower down it crosses to the right bank and then continues on the right bank to the junction with 89the Kama Chu. Later on Noel and Morris were able to explore and photograph the greater part of the gorge. We all sat on the top of the cliffs and indulged in the very pleasant amusement of rolling great rocks into the river a thousand feet below us—always a fascinating pursuit, especially when one is quite certain that there is no one in the neighbourhood. The lunch did not turn up for some time, when an exploring party discovered that our porters, who had been detailed to carry it, had dropped in at a village and visited the Barley Mow, and could hardly get along at all in consequence; finally, however, the lunch was rescued and an extremely pleasant time passed. It was absolutely epicurean: Gruyère cheese, sardines, truffled yaks, and, finally, almost our last three bottles of champagne. It was intended to be an epicurean feast—and it was so.
By the evening we arrived in Shika, and found our camp pitched in beautiful grassy fields high above the village of Shika. The Dzongpen was very anxious to entertain the whole party, but we were rather lazy and did not want to go down to his village, which was some way off, but promised him that we would pay him a visit on our return from Kama. The Dzongpen, however, imported his cooks and full outfit and gave us a dinner in our own tent, himself sitting down with us and joining in. He was a plump and very well dressed little man, and by now had completely recovered his confidence in us. He was, however, very anxious that we should do 90no shooting, and this anxiety of his was no doubt very largely occasioned by the fact that he had only arrived from Lhasa about a fortnight before our arrival. We were to reach in two marches Sakiathang, in the Kama Valley, where Colonel Howard-Bury and his party had encamped the year before. Our first march led us over the Samchang La to a camp called Chokarbō. It was a steep and rough walk over the pass, but knowing the wonderful capacity of the Tibetan pony, several of the party took ponies with them. It was necessary both for Geoffrey and for Norton to rest their feet as much as possible until completely cured, and so on arrival at Chokarbō they took their ponies on over our next pass, the Chog La, which is no less than 16,280 feet, and down into the Kama Chu. This is a very rough road indeed.
We had here reached the most perfect land of flowers, and in the low land which lies between the Samchang La and our camp at Chokarbō we found every description of Alpine flora, reinforced by rhododendrons—the very last of the rhododendrons. We also found several kinds of iris.
The road leading up to the Samchang La was extremely steep and rough, but the path was well marked, and it was evident there was a considerable amount of traffic leading into the Kama Chu. The local people stoutly denied that yaks could cross, but later on we actually found yaks carrying loads over this road. I can quite understand their reason for not wishing to send their 91yaks, as the road from one end to the other is very bad for animals. At Chokarbō all the riding ponies were dispensed with, with the exception of Geoffrey’s and Norton’s; these two ponies they particularly wished to look after, as they had bought them, knowing that they must assure mounts, probably to the end of the journey. They had certainly picked up the most useful little couple. All the same, they had to walk most of the way, as it was quite out of the question for anyone to have ridden at all, except over short pieces of open ground, and it was perfectly wonderful the way in which these two ponies got over the most shocking collection of rocks, big and little, and how they negotiated the extremely slippery and rocky path which led down from the Chog La. The ascent to the Chog La was easy, and the latter half of it still under winter snow, as also was the first thousand feet of the descent. The mountains were interesting on each side, so much so that Somervell and Crawford went off for a little climb on the way. The descent was delightful, although the road was, as I have said, very stony indeed. One passes through every description of Eastern Himalayan forest and wonderful banks of rhododendrons of many kinds. We were, unfortunately, much too late for their full bloom, but a month earlier this descent must be perfectly gorgeous, the whole hillsides being covered with flowering rhododendrons.
 
Old Tibetan Woman and Child.
The descent to Sakiathang is at least 5,000 feet, and may be a little more. Thang means “a flat bench,” and 92such was Sakiathang, set in gorgeous forest, and deep in grass and flowers. But the weather was breaking fast, and by evening the clouds had descended and wiped out the whole of the valley. Before it was quite obliterated we got glimpses of what it must be like in fine weather.
In the early morning of the following day (Thursday, June 22), when I woke up and looked out of my tent, the mouth of which looked straight up the valley between the big mountains, the clouds had lifted somewhat, and the whole end of the valley was filled with the gorgeous Chomol?nzo peak, and for an hour or so I was able to watch it with the clouds drifting round its flanks, and then, just as the sun lit up the valley for a moment, the great monsoon clouds coming up from the valley of the Arun, driven by the wind up the Kama Chu, completely wiped it out again. It was a glorious glimpse, and the only one we obtained during our stay of more than a week in Sakiathang.
We found encamped in the neighbouring woods Nepalese shepherds, with their flocks of sheep, and saw for the first time the very fine type of sheep which these men own—a far bigger and better breed of sheep than exists in Tibet, and also carrying a very much finer coat of wool. They were rather strange to look at at first, as the whole fore-part of their body was black and the hind-part white. We also found that the Nepalese shepherds thoroughly understood the value of their own sheep. They keep them all to make butter from their milk, which they collect 93and sell in the bazaars in Nepal. All these shepherds were Gurkhas belonging either to the Gurung tribe or Kirantis, and, curiously enough, one of them was related to my servant Kehar Sing, he having gone through the “mit” ceremony with his relations, and that is quite sufficient for him to be also a “mit.” This “mit” ceremony is rather difficult to explain. It is not exactly blood-brotherhood, it is more of the nature of religious brotherhood; but it is quite binding, as much so as an ordinary relationship. This eased the situation for us pretty considerably in the matter of obtaining milk and butter. As I have before mentioned, I do not myself eat butter in an uncooked state, but the remainder of the party reported that this sheep’s butter was of very fine quality, and it was certainly very clean. These shepherd establishments are known as g?ts. Naturally forgetting that certain terms are unfamiliar, I told Wakefield that I had bought two sheep from the g?ts. He seemed more confused than usual by the strangeness of the country.
As we were rather short of provisions, we despatched Noel’s servant and our excellent Chongay Tindel to obtain supplies for us; the first down to the junction with the Arun, and the second over the Popti into Damtang, a large Nepalese settlement.
The remainder of the party stayed behind, hoping for better weather in order to explore the upper valley of the snows, and up to the Popti to get a view of the country into Nepal, if possible. It was no use attempting 94to move unless the weather cleared to a certain extent. Meanwhile we were living in a smother of cloud, mist, and rain. But how delightful it was to have an ample supply of firewood and to be able to build, for the first time since we had entered Tibet, a reckless camp-fire round which we could all sit! It is a real hardship in Tibet never to have a good roaring fire, and it is a little damping to one’s spirits having always to go to bed in order to get warm. Whenever it cleared, we went for short walks through the neighbouring forests and into the neighbouring valleys, and saw quite enough to fill us with a desire for much more exploration. The forest of the Kama is unbelievably rich; the undergrowth, especially the hill bamboo, of a very vivid green, and the cedar and fir appear very dark, almost black, against it. But the forest also contains every other kind of tree and shrub proper to the Eastern Himalaya, and the river-banks were, in places, overhung with the most glorious Himalayan larch, identical with the European larch in appearance, but with possibly a greater spread of branch.
The weather got worse and worse, and our food supplies lower and lower. There were no signs of the return either of Noel’s servant or of the Chongay from Nepal, and so, with the greatest reluctance, we gave up further exploration as a body. We were reduced to only half a day’s grain-food for our following, and not only that, but the Tibetan porters whom we were expecting to help us back, and who had been ordered, showed no signs of arriving. 95Having searched the country round, we managed to rope in a few local people, mostly Tibetans, who had come over from Kharta for wood. There is considerable traffic from the Tibetan side, as in this well-wooded country they cut most of the timber required for their houses and carry it over on their own backs, or else on the backs of unfortunate yaks, when they can bring themselves to risk their yaks’ legs over this awful road. We carried as much luggage as we possibly could with us, not knowing how many men we should be able to obtain to send for the remainder. We had not enough men with us to carry the whole camp, and so two Gurkhas were left here in charge of what remained. They were also to meet Chongay and bring him back with them, and it was considered an absolute certainty that he would be in time to save them from a shortage of rations; also, they would be able to get enough to keep themselves alive from the Gurkha g?ts, although these g?ts themselves are on a very short ration of grain, living largely on sheep’s milk.
Our own porters and a few local people, with the help of a little chaff to excite them, vied with each other in the size of the loads they could carry, and they certainly gave us a first-class exhibition of load-carrying. One girl, about eighteen years of age, actually carried a 160-lb. tent by herself from Sakiathang to Chokarbō, over the top of the Chog La. Moreover, this tent had been wet for the last ten days, and although we did our best to dry all our camp as much as possible before starting, 96it must have been at least 20 to 30 lb. heavier than it ought to have been. I am quite certain that not a single man or woman carried less than 100 lb. that day over the pass, and this they did apparently without undue fatigue, arriving quite cheerful at Chokarbō. We started in fairly fine weather—a break, we thought; but before we had gone half-way up the hill the clouds descended on us, and it was raining hard when we got to our camp. The day before we left we came to the conclusion that it would be quite possible for a very small party to get down to the junction of the Kama Chu over the Arun, and Noel himself was intensely anxious to photograph the Kama Chu and the gorges of the Arun itself. He had also a plan, if possible, to get up the gorge and to cross up over the high cliffs and hillsides, which would bring him down almost to the alp where we had our picnic with Norton. This was a magnificent conception, but, considering the weather, we thought that he would have a very rough time of it. He chose Morris as his assistant; he took off his own particular porters, reinforced by some Tibetans, and left on the 27th, we leaving on the 28th.
While we had been over there, Geoffrey’s feet had completely recovered, and he was able to walk now as of old. Norton could walk uphill, but his feet pained him when descending; his ear had by this time completely recovered.
On the 29th, Geoffrey and I, leaving the remainder of the party, went down to see the Dzongpen of Kharta, with a view to making arrangements for our final return. 97I had, previous to this, written to the Maharajah of Nepal with a scheme by which Mallory should be allowed to cross the upper end of the Wallung and Yallung valleys and to cross into British territory by the Khang La, returning to Darjeeling by the ordinary route along the Singalela Ridge. The Maharajah gave his consent to this expedition, but unfortunately it had to be modified, owing to difficulties of transport and to the very bad weather; but as Mallory was rather pressed for time, it was arranged that he, Somervell, and Crawford, should return direct to Tinki, crossing the Arun by the rope bridge which was utilised in 1921 for the return of the party, and from thence descending into Sikkim and travelling via Lachen and Gangtok back to Darjeeling. The remainder of the party, with the heavy luggage, would have to return via Shekar and the way we came in order to square up our various accounts with the different Dzongpens and with the authorities, postal and other, in Phari Dzong and the Chumbi Valley. All this required a certain amount of arrangements. Before going into Kama, we had given the Dzongpen an outline of our requirements, but everything in Tibet, as elsewhere, requires a considerable supervision, and so Geoffrey and I went down before the rest of the party to complete our arrangements. On our way down we met a large contingent of Tibetan porters coming over to move our camp. This eased matters off very considerably. They were sent off into the Kama to bring the remainder of the camp, and on their 98return to move the full camp down to Teng. Meanwhile we descended and had a long and very interesting interview with the Dzongpen, who by this time had quite lost all suspicion of us. He entertained us splendidly, and presented us each with a jade cup before leaving.
On July 1 we were all assembled in Teng, and packing up and dividing our luggage preparatory to the return of the party by the different routes. On July 3 Mallory’s party set off, and we did not see him nor the rest of the party again until our arrival in Darjeeling, more than a month later. We were now joined by Noel and Morris, back from their adventurous journey up the Arun. They gave me a report of their travels. I think it would be worth while once more to point out what the course of the Arun is. The Arun is one of the principal tributaries of the Kosi River (that is evident from the map), and has a very long journey through Tibet, where it is known as the Bhong Chu.
It rises near and drains the plains of Tingri and Khamba, and then turning due South, forces its way through the main chain of the Himalaya directly between the mountain passes of the Everest group on the one side, and of the Kanchengjanga group on the other. Between our camp at Kharta and the village of Kyamathang, which is on the actual Nepal frontier, a distance of some 20 miles, the river drops a vertical height of 4,000 feet; and therefore we were particularly interested in the exploration of this wonderful gorge, and we wished to find out, 99if we could, whether this tremendous vertical drop consisted of a series of great rapids and waterfalls or a steady fall in the bed of the river. It was also clear, from first glimpses that we had had of the Arun Gorge, that lower down they must be of the greatest possible grandeur and interest. I have before described how we looked down from our picnic into the Arun and hoped we should be able to explore it.
When we despatched Noel and Morris it was in terribly bad weather, the whole of the Lower Kama being a smother of mist and the jungle dripping with moisture. We had most of us been down as far as a place called Chotromo, where the river is crossed by the road which leads up to the Popti La, and this is the common road down into Nepal. From there the road is far less well known, and is not so well marked.
I will now give Noel’s description of his journey.
 
Fording the Bhong Chu.
“On the evening of the 27th June, at the end of our first day’s march, we pitched our camp on a little pleasant grassy shelf situated in a small clearing in the forest near empty shepherd huts, which comprise the camp at Chotromo. The hot, damp atmosphere of the Ka(r)ma here at 9,000 feet harbours a world of insect life. No sooner had the sun set that evening than swarms of tiny midges emerged. They annoyed us for most of the night, except when, in moments of exasperation, we got out of bed and drove them away by lighting a small fire of juniper-wood at the mouth of our tent. From Chotromo a little 100shepherd track leads down the left bank of the river to Kyamathang. In actual distance Kyamathang is not far, but the road is scarcely level for more than a few yards. It zigzags precipitously a thousand feet up and down in order to avoid the ravines through which the river rushes, thus trebling the marching distance. The forest here becomes more tropical; bamboos and ferns are thick in the undergrowth, the trees increase enormously in size, and leeches make their appearance. The path where it descends to the river passes through bog and marsh, where the Nepalese shepherds, who mostly use this road, in order to reach the upper grazing grounds, have cut and laid tree-trunks along the path. The forest here darkens owing to the height of the trees, junipers being particularly noticeable; most of the trees being festooned with thick grey lichen. Here and there on level spots beside the river-bank one marches from the forest into delightful glades carpeted with moss and thick with banks of purple irises in full bloom.
“Ascending and descending precipitously the hillsides, and covering all the time horizontal distance at a despairing rate, we came at last, tired out, to the bridge which leads across the Kyamathang, and there found that another climb of some 1,500 feet remained before reaching the village, which is perched on a small plateau overlooking the junction of the rivers. Kyamathang, though, strictly speaking, in Tibet, is a typical Nepalese village. The neat little chalets are each surrounded by well-kept fields of 101Indian corn, wheat, and barley. The fields are bounded by stone walls, and each contains a small machan (a small raised platform), from where a look-out is kept for bears at night. Kyamathang and the surrounding villages are so inaccessible that the people do not appear to come under the influence of Tibet or Nepal, leading an independent life. The village boasts of five Gembus (headmen), all of whom, so excited at seeing Europeans for the first time, did all they could to help us, and insisted on accompanying us on our first march up the gorge.
“The road from Kyamathang, after passing the fields of Lungdo, plunges once more into the forest. The path mounts up over cliffs, hiding the view of the river in the gorge below, but revealing across the valley the magnificent waterfalls of Tsanga, some thousand feet in height.
“At our first halting-place we met a fine old Gurkha shepherd, Rai or Karanti by tribe, a man of some seventy years of age, who many years ago had been employed by the Survey of India. He was able to tell us much about our route ahead. This stretch of country, although inhabited by Tibetans, is yearly visited by Nepalese shepherds, who use the rough track in order to reach the grazing grounds on the mountain-tops above the gorge. He told us we should find a track of sorts along the right bank of the river, which would eventually bring us out at Kharta again.
“The Arun has no great waterfalls, but passes through three deep gorges, one at Kyamathang and one near 102Kharta, where it enters the main chain. There is another also between these two. For the rest it is a raging torrent running through a narrow forested defile.
“In order to pass these gorges, the path ascends and descends many thousands of feet. Looking down from the ledges of the precipices, one gets occasional glimpses of the torrent below; the cliffs above frequently rising as much as 10,000 feet above the river-bed, and ending in snow-capped peaks. Here and there the promontories of the cliffs afford a grandiose panorama, which rewards the exertions of the terrific ascents, but as these alternate ascents and descents are not single occurrences, but the normal nature of the track, ever climbing up by crazy ladder-paths and plunging amongst tangled undergrowth, one ceases to revel in the scenery, and would forego those bird’s-eye views from the cloud-level for the sake of a few yards of marching on the flat.
“At the end of our second march, where the track appeared to come to an end, while pitching our camp in a small clearing, swarms of bees descended upon us, scattering our porters in all directions; they did no harm, however. Our third march was a struggle through pathless jungle, and, mounting over the great central gorge, on the far side of which we dropped down to the river-bed, we found a narrow strip of sand, just room enough to pitch our camp. This was one of the most beautiful spots seen in the valley. Wild flowers grew here in great profusion, the most conspicuous amongst them being some 103great white lilies fully 6 feet in height. That evening the rain, which had been falling most of the day, cleared, and the rising clouds revealed the luxuriant walls of the valleys, which seemed to rise almost vertically above us, with black caverns beneath, where the trees trailed and projected over the water’s edge.
“During the fourth march we again struck the track which is apparently used by Tibetans who come down from the Kharta end of the valley to get wood. This led us up the side valley, descending from the mountains round about Chog La. We camped towards the top of the valley, and next day crossed by a new pass, which we judged to be about 16,000 feet in height, and then crossed the Sakia Chu, which descends from the Samchang Pass across the Yulok La, and descended on Kharta.”
Well, I think that is a very fine description of an intensely interesting journey. One thing the party was quite certain of, and that was that they never would have got through had they numbered any more. It was very difficult to get supplies even for themselves, as the roads were so very, very bad, and camping grounds so very, very small. They said all their men had worked like horses, but it was so warm that they took nearly all their clothes off and worked almost entirely naked. It is an extraordinary thing how, when one gets far back into the Himalaya at altitudes at 7,000, 8,000, and 9,000 feet, one is often extremely warm. This is generally due to the fact 104that most of these places are usually between mountains and in confined conditions; such altitudes on the lower spurs of the Himalaya are by no means so warm. We all envied Noel and Morris their trip and the gorgeous country which they had seen, and, further than that, I in particular envied them the occasional glimpses which they could get right down the Arun Valley into Nepal, glimpses of country which I believe no European has yet looked on.
As a matter of fact, I had also written to the Maharajah to find out whether it would not be possible for me to return to Darjeeling via this same Arun Valley. It was a mere ballon d’essai; I had no real hope that the rules and regulations of the Nepal Durbar would be overridden in my favour, but it is probably not more than 50 miles from Kyamathang down the Arun Valley to Dhankuta, which is a large Nepalese town, and only some five or six days’ travel from Darjeeling itself. What a wonderful experience it would have been! The Maharajah was extremely kind about it, but quite firm.
At the same time as Noel and Morris arrived, our Chongay also came from the Popti route, and he brought with him quite a number of chickens and vegetables and excellent potatoes. He had been delayed at Damtang by the weather. There was quite a change in Chongay on his arrival. We were filled with admiration. He wore a Seaforth Highlander’s bonnet and a Seaforth Highlander’s tunic, both of which he had obtained from some demobilised Gurkha who had sold his effects in the Upper Arun Valley. 105We joined hands and danced round him with cheers; Chongay bridled from head to foot.
Soon after Mallory’s party left, a note arrived from Crawford to say that his pony and his pony-man had run away during the night, and asking us to find out about it, as he had been paid for the full journey. This was reported immediately to the Dzongpen. He knew exactly what to do. Without a moment’s hesitation he seized the man’s elder brother, down with his clothes, and gave him a first-class flogging, and nearly flogged old Father William himself, so angry was he, as this man was one of Father William’s underlings. Father William was humbler than ever after this, and produced more and more green vegetables.
On July 4 the main body set off, even now very considerable. We were to march direct by a road up to the present date untravelled, our first march being to Lumeh, which was also on the road used by Mallory and by last year’s Expedition. From there we marched up the Dzakar Chu instead of turning to our right and crossing the Arun. We had been largely in summer in Kharta, but on our way to Lumeh we came in, for a time, to some of the very strongest winds we had met since leaving the Rongbuk Glacier. Crossing a little gully, I was nearly blown off my pony. Our camp at Lumeh has been described by Colonel Howard-Bury, and is a very charming spot.
The following march to Dzakar Chu was quite new ground, not travelled by any European, and was very 106interesting indeed, but extremely rough. It led for part of the way through a steep and deep gorge, extraordinarily like the gorges in the Hindu Kush in Gilgit and Chambal. The gorge, owing to its elevation, is of less depth, but the whole colour and form of the mountains, their bareness and barrenness, and the smell from the wormwood scrub, brought back to me the Hindu Kush in very vivid recollection. Those gorges, however, as so often in the West, are terribly and oppressively hot, but here, at 12,500 to 13,000 feet above the sea, we were in a fresh and exhilarating air. We camped at a village called Dra, at the foot of the pass we were to cross, which is called the Chey La. Our camp was pitched in a very pleasant grove, and here we had, for the last time until we arrived at the Chumbi Valley, a gorgeous and glorious camp-fire. Curiously enough, the wood was willingly given to us by the inhabitants.
The following morning there was a long march and a continual pull to the top of the Chey La, about 17,000 feet, the last thousand feet being a very rapid ascent, but from the top we were almost in sight of Shekar and the Arun Valley. The camp at which we stopped was a very short morning’s walk from our old camp at Pangli, and separated from it by a low ridge.
The next morning, after crossing the Arun at the Arun Bridge, we reached Shekar, where we had a great reception. The Dzongpen played up, and he had no less than 160 mules all collected and ready for us the following 107morning; and not only that, but every one turned out the evening, and we had a little race meeting of our own and a great tea with exchange of cakes and compliments with the Dzongpen himself. Altogether we were evidently in very good favour both with the Dzongpen and with the great Lama of Shekar. Noel and others paid a very interesting visit to the great Lama, and were shown by him his collections of curios of all kinds. They thought at first that the old gentleman prized and guarded these as G?mpa property, but they were rather surprised to discover that he was perfectly ready to sell at a price—and that his own. He was by far the shrewdest trader that we had come across in Tibet. Most of the things that he was ready to part with, however, were beyond the pockets of our party.
John Macdonald, who has a very good eye for a pony, took out a likely mount in the horse-races and himself won no less than three races that day. He bargained for it, as he was looking forward to the Darjeeling pony-races in the autumn, and before we left Macdonald, to his great joy, had concluded a very respectable bargain.
 
Panorama at Shekar Dzong.
The following morning we got off not quite as well as we should. We had difficulty in loading and some difficulties on the march. Shekar had proved altogether too much for the porters and the following morning they were not of much use; in fact, it was with the greatest difficulty that many of them were produced at the next camp. The place was called Kyishong. It had not been a very 108promising little camp, so we thought of stopping down by the river on a very pleasant plot of grass, but on arrival there we found a dead Tibetan in a basket moored to the bank in the water about a hundred yards above our camp, so that was no place for us. Instead of marching back exactly the same way we had come, via our camp at Gyangka-Nangpa, we determined to follow up a smaller branch of the Arun which would bring us finally down on to Tinki itself. By so doing we avoided wading the Yaru in two places, and also the rather high and steep Tinki Pass. On our way across the plains of Teng, before one arrives at the great sand dunes of Shiling, we passed a Sokpo, a true Mongolian, whose home was in Northern Mongolia, near Urga, a religious devotee. He was travelling from Lhasa to Nepal, that is, to Khatmandu, on a pilgrimage, by the time-honoured method of measuring his length on the ground for every advance. He was a young man and apparently well fed, trusting to the kindness of the villages through which he passed for his food. He told us that he had been continually travelling and that it had taken him one year to reach the place where we found him from Lhasa, and that he hoped to get to Khatmandu in another year, if he was lucky and able to cross the mountains. We encouraged him the best way we could and left him to his work.
Our halt that night was in a very pleasant camp surrounded by low cliffs at a place called Jykhiop. Our march up this valley was a great contrast to our march 109into Tibet. A warm sun and a pleasant cool breeze blowing; the clouds drifted across us and we had some rain, which only added to our comfort. We camped one night at a place called Chiu, where we all bathed, and bathed the ponies into the bargain.
Our last march before reaching Tinki was over an interesting pass, which suffers under the terrible name of the Pharmogoddra La, down to a pleasant little camping ground with a very dirty village near it. Here we caught an enormous number of fish, the inhabitants proving quite ready to help us do so. Every one fed freely on fresh fish that night.
An easy pleasant pass the following morning led us down in 2? hours to Tinki. Here we met the Dzongpen of Tinki for the first time. He was an extremely pleasant individual, and the most friendly and intelligent official we met in Tibet. He helped us in every way, and had previously helped Strutt’s party on their journey through. We heard excellent reports also of him afterwards from the advance parties. When we had gone through in the spring this Dzongpen had been away collecting his dues for the Tibetan Government. Tinki was a very different place, very green, and altogether very lovely. Before travelling in Tibet we had heard so much of the wonderful colour of Tibetan scenery. It was only on our return journey when there was a considerable amount of moisture in the air, when clouds rolled up from the South, that one obtained a real notion of what Tibet could be like when 110at its best, and Tinki, which had been an absolute sandy waste when we marched up, was now covered with beautiful green grass and flowers. Nor was the air of that horrible and rather irritating dryness, but was almost balmy, considering the height of the country.
Two days later we reached Khamba Dzong. The Dzongpen was absent, but his two head men helped us in his place. We had pouring rain the whole of the following night. There must have been from 1? to 2 inches of rain, a most surprising experience in Tibet and one for which we were hardly prepared. The men had been breaking out a little again, and one sportsman had broken out considerably more than anybody else. For purposes of letting the porters down easily we never considered a man was inebriated as long as he could lie on the ground without holding on, but this man for three days in succession had been hopeless, giving no reaction whatever to the smartest smacks with our sticks, and finally having to be brought into camp and giving a great deal of trouble. So we determined on an exemplary punishment. The other men who had broken out badly had all been given loads to carry for a march, but the next day this man was condemned to carry an enormous load from Khamba Dzong to Phari. Considering what his condition had been we were absolutely astounded when the following day he carried the whole of well over 100 lb. for a 20-mile march to T?ts?ng, over a pass of 17,000 feet, grinning and smiling the whole way as if it was the finest joke he had heard of. 111Everybody “pulled his leg” on the way, but nothing could possibly interfere with his good temper. He was condemned to carry this load right into Phari Dzong, crossing the three high ridges of the Donka La, and never for a moment did he lose his temper or bear any ill-will. This is characteristic of the people: as long as your treatment of them is understood by them to be just they bear no ill-will whatever, nor does it interfere in any way with one’s friendly relations; but still, for all that, it seems to me that they are unkillable. After his behaviour and the condition he was in for so long, to do such terrific hard labour as we condemned him to do without the smallest sign of fatigue was pretty remarkable. But, after all, my own particular Angturke had only complained of being a little dazed after falling 60 feet on to his head at the time of the accident.
We camped at T?ts?ng, and here we parted with Noel, who carried off his own people and left us for Gyantse; he was very much afraid of bringing his cinema films down into the warmth and damp of Sikkim until they were properly developed, but not only this: it was now the season of the great meetings and dances of Gyantse, and he hoped to get first-rate studies of Tibetan life generally. The climate and accommodation also at Gyantse would just suit him, and he would be able there to put in a full month’s work completing his films and adding immensely to his collection of pictures of Tibetan life. He accompanied us for 5 miles, almost up to the camp we had 112occupied on our arrival in the spring, and we left him with great regret.
 
In Kampa Dzong.
We had a long march that day from T?ts?ng, and again crossing the ridges of the Donka La a very cold wind and sleet and rain overtook us. It was the last shot at us the typical Tibetan weather had, and considering the time of year it did its very best for us, but we camped that night under the Donka La at a great height, not far from 17,000 feet. While we were waiting for our luggage we took refuge in a Tibetan encampment. The Tibetans were out with their herds of yaks, grazing them over the hillsides. We were rather amused to find that they had guns in their encampment, which they evidently used for sporting purposes, and we thought regretfully of the limitations which had been put on our expedition.
Next morning we had a delightful march crossing the last and highest ridge of the Donka La and camped half-way to Phari, finally reaching Phari Dzong after a very pleasant morning’s ride over delightful green turf and passing immense flocks of sheep grazing on the hillsides.
Here, on July 20, we found a welcome post and spent the day in great comfort in the Phari Dzong bungalow. Two days later we reached Chumbi and met the Macdonalds again, and were, as usual, sumptuously entertained by them. Here our transport had to be reorganized to take our still rather large convoy down to India. Geoffrey and I climbed the neighbouring hills and really revelled in the whole journey down, which had been very 113reminiscent of the Western Himalaya in summer. Chumbi is wonderful; even in the rains the climate is delightful. It cannot have more than one-third of the rainfall which falls only 20 miles away on the other side of the Jelep: in fact, when two days later we crossed the Jelep, we were immediately involved again in the mists and rains and sleets, and were again in a completely and absolutely different type of country.
We arrived at Gnatong on July 27 in pouring rain, but next morning it had cleared, and on the way down as we started the clouds showed signs of really lifting. On arrival at the ridge over which the road crosses before beginning the long descent to Rongli Chu, about 400 feet above Gnatong, we were lucky enough to come in for one of those sudden breaks which occasionally occur during the monsoon, and if one is at the moment in a position to profit by them one obtains one of the most glorious sights to be found in this world. Such was our luck this morning. Standing on the ridge we were able to see the plains of India stretched out beneath us to the South, the plains of Kuch Behar with the Mahanadi River running through them quite clear, while on our right Kanchengjanga rose through the clouds—a perfectly marvellous vision of ice and snow, looking immeasurably high. The clouds were drifting and continually changing across the hillsides and the deep valleys. The extremely deep and, in places, sombre colour, the astonishingly brilliant colour where the sun lit up the mountains, and the prodigious 114heights, made a mountain vision which must be entirely unsurpassed in any other portion of the globe. It was a moment to live for; but the moment was all too short. In half an hour the vision of the plains and the mountains was completely blotted out.
At Lungtung we visited the little tea-shop where we had all collected, as we had promised the patroness on our way up. There she was again, full of smiles, with her family round her, and we all stayed there and drank hot tea, which we thoroughly enjoyed after the cold and driving mist, and the flow of chaff I think even surpassed that of our first visit. So exhilarated were we that Geoffrey and I ran at top speed down to Sedongchen, which is only 6,000 feet, tearing down the hillsides, and by so doing, although we occasionally took short cuts over grassy banks and through forest where it was not too thick, we arrived at Sedongchen, having entirely baffled the leeches which swarm in this part of the forest. Not so, however, Wakefield; he also had been exhilarated and had taken a short cut down, but he had been too trusting, and he arrived with his legs simply crawling with leeches.
The rest of our journey through Sikkim requires no particular comment, except that the weather behaved itself in a wonderful way, and we escaped any real heavy duckings. The heat, although considerable in the lower valleys and moist, was not at all oppressive. So much so that we were able to travel at a great pace down 115to Rongli bridge, which is only 700 feet above the sea.
We arrived in Darjeeling on August 2, every one by now in thoroughly good health. Here we were to await the arrival of Crawford and Somervell, who were making tremendous attempts, considering that it was the height of the monsoon, to see something of the South face of Kanchen, and even, if possible, to do a little climbing—a rather ambitious programme under the circumstances. Five or six days later they arrived, quite pleased with themselves and having had a very strenuous time, but naturally having seen a minimum of the country they travelled over. At Darjeeling the party rapidly broke up, although the Staff of the Expedition had about a fortnight’s work clearing up business matters, which included the proper provision for the families of the unfortunate porters who had been lost in the avalanche.
 
Lingga and the Lhonak Mountains.
Thus ended the first attempt to climb Mount Everest. I think on the whole we may be quite satisfied with the results. It would have been almost unthinkable if a great mountain like Everest—the highest in the world, almost the greatest in scale as well—had yielded to the very first assault. After all, it took a very long time, many years in fact, to climb the easier of the great mountains of the Alps. It took many years to find the way, even, up the North face of the Matterhorn, a problem which would now only be considered one of the second class. How, then, could we expect on the very first occasion to solve all the different problems which are included 116in an assault on Everest? It is not merely a case of mountaineering, or of mountaineering skill, nor even of having a most highly-trained party; there are many other problems which we also have to consider. Our methods had almost to be those of an Arctic expedition; at the same time our clothing and outfit in many ways had to be suitable for mountain climbing. Our climbing season was extraordinarily short, far shorter than it would have been in any mountains in the West.
Not only that, but all the warnings of the scientists tended to show that no very great height could probably be reached without oxygen, and that even with an oxygen apparatus there were a great many dangers to be faced. Among other things we were told that having once put on the oxygen apparatus, and having once for any continuous period worked on an artificial supply of oxygen, the sudden cessation of that supply would certainly cause unconsciousness, and probably would cause death. Luckily for us this was proved not to be in accordance with actual practical experience, as the height reached by our climbing party which had not used oxygen was more than 2,000 feet higher than any point yet reached. For the Duke of Abruzzi, in his great attempt on the Bride Peak on the Baltoro Glacier in Baltistan, did not quite reach 24,600 feet. While Mallory, Somervell, and Norton reached 26,985 feet.
In the whole range of the mountains of the world there are only four peaks that top this great height, namely, 117Mount Everest itself, K2 in the Karakorum in Baltistan; Broad Peak on the Baltoro Glacier, and Makalu in the Everest group. Therefore this climb stands actually as the fifth of the great altitudes of the world. It is a perfectly prodigious performance, and taken simply as a tour de force stands in the front rank in no matter what department of sport or human endeavour. The men who took part in this climb have every reason to be proud of themselves.
As I have pointed out, Finch and Geoffrey Bruce, using oxygen, took a route traversing the face of the mountain to the West, and before they were completely played out and conditions were such that they had to return, reached a height of 27,235 feet. If they had directly mounted up the ridge they would undoubtedly have reached the point on the main Everest crest which is marked at 27,390 and have progressed along it to a greater altitude. There is no doubt in my mind whatever of this: not only would their route have been far more direct, but the actual ground over which they would have to climb would have been easier. It is quite certain that with the same exertions on the same day they could have reached a higher point than they did. That does not, however, in the least detract from their performance. Their experiences, as has been pointed out by Finch, ease the oxygen question immensely. It was shown that it was quite possible to remove the oxygen apparatus altogether, having used it fully and having reached a height 118of 25,500 feet, nor was the accident to Geoffrey’s apparatus attended with any of the terrible consequences which we were led to expect. These conclusions are all very satisfactory from the point of view of our final success in climbing Everest. There is no doubt that the height will be attained provided the very best men, the best apparatus, and an outfit of porters equally as good as our own, attempt it. And there are plenty of men to draw from for porters. We could probably obtain without difficulty a team as good, or better. Of that I am quite certain.
It was pretty evident that one of the secrets of living with immunity high up is that the actual clothes on the men’s backs should be as light as possible and as windproof as possible. Proper protection should be taken against the wind for the head also, and the greatest care must be taken and the necessity for care be understood by everybody in the protection of their hands and feet. It is quite possible that with a little more care we might have escaped this year without any serious consequences from that point of view.
These remarks apply equally to the outfit for the porters. Men who worked with so little experience, and took camps for us to a height of 25,500 feet, would, if correctly outfitted, take the camp 500 to 1,000 feet higher: of that I am quite convinced. An improved and lighter oxygen apparatus is under construction; when this has been completed I have every reason to believe that an 119oxygen dep?t could be well established at 26,000 feet, thus allowing a full time for the attempt on the greater heights. This year there was always at the back of the oxygen-carriers’ minds a slight doubt that their oxygen might give out and that the consequences to them would be most unpleasant.
Another problem that must always be borne in mind when one’s object is the assault of a great mountain in the Himalaya, is to bring one’s whole party there in first-class health and training. This sounds an unnecessary remark to have to make, but as a matter of fact the task is not as easy as it appears. The great danger lies in fatiguing and exhausting one’s party before the real test comes. This year there was great danger of our working the porters out, and this question gave me a good deal of anxiety. But they were all absolute gluttons for work, and I never would have believed that men could have carried out such tremendous hard labour in establishing our high camps and apparently continuing fit and well, showing no signs of staleness and quite ready to continue up the mountain.
Before we left Darjeeling I forwarded to the Dalai Lama, on behalf of the Mount Everest Committee, a letter of thanks for all the assistance which he had given to our Expedition, and sent with it, for him and for the Tashilumpo Lama also, a silk banner on which was printed a coloured picture of the Potālā, the great palace of the Dalai Lamas in Lhasa.