Mount Everest the Reconnaissance, 1921 Part 6

It was pitched in some small gra.s.sy hollows at a height of 17,350 feet.

The site was well sheltered from the winds, and was a regular Alpine garden. Gentians of three different kinds were growing there, including the lovely light-blue one. There was also a beautiful little white saxifrage with yellow and brown spots inside the flower, a delightful pink androsace, and dwarf delphiniums with their single deep-blue flowers. Here grew also the musk-scented hairy light-blue delphinium with its overpowering smell of musk. The latter flower, the Tibetans told me, was a great preventative of lice, and I noticed that our cooks and most of our servants had picked great bundles of it. They also told me that if a man habitually wears this flower about him during his lifetime, after his death when cut up and exposed to the birds, no bird or wolf will touch his flesh owing to the strong scent apparently left by the musk. A pretty pink aster grew here in great cl.u.s.ters, and a few blue poppies were still out. Acchu, our cook, and Gyalzen Kazi, who were coming along behind us, both missed their way and wandered several miles further up the valley before they found out their mistake, and when they eventually arrived in camp, were both suffering from severe headaches, due to the great height. During our stay at this camp we had plenty of time and many opportunities of observing bird and animal life. Some of the birds were very brilliantly coloured. There was a snow bunting with bright scarlet breast and head, also a beautiful redstart with red body and black and white wings. Overhead the great Lammergeier, or bearded vulture, sailed in graceful circles, while the big black raven croaked on the rocks by the camp. Morning and evening we could hear the ramchakor (_Tetraogallus tibeta.n.u.s_) calling on the opposite side of the valley, and with gla.s.ses we could see them chasing one another and running round in circles. Red foxes I met with on several occasions over 18,000 feet.

Mallory and Bullock, who had already been here for a few days, had spent their time in carrying wood and stores up to a higher camp further up the valley; they had been having a certain amount of trouble with their coolies, due to the Sirdar, who was always trying to create difficulties. I therefore sent him away on a job to Chushar to collect some of our stores which were supposed to have been detained there, and which would keep him busy for a number of days and prevent him from interfering with our coolies at a critical period. We had brought up with us six live sheep, and very lively these proved. Dukpa, Mallory's cook, let three of them escape, but luckily some coolies coming up the valley saw two of them, and after a great chase brought them back. The third they could not catch and eventually drove him under a cliff, where they killed him with stones and brought his carca.s.s back to us. The weather continued very unsettled. During the night a couple of inches of snow fell, but until the temperature became colder and the sky cleared, it was no use trying to go up to the upper camp. I shot a ramchakor on the opposite side of the valley. They are the most tasty of the Tibetan birds, and are quite excellent eating.

On September 8, after a frosty night, Bullock, Mallory and I with three coolies, for the purpose of keeping fit, made a little excursion along a rocky ridge that lay to the South of us. On the top of the ridge there were a number of sharp rock pinnacles that had to be climbed. I found these gymnastics at a height of over 19,000 feet to be very exhausting, but Mallory did not seem to mind them in the least. There should have been a lovely view from here, but all we got was an occasional glimpse of glaciers and rocky peaks through the mist. The sun was trying to shine through the clouds and at first it was beautifully warm; but after a couple of hours snow began to fall, so we hurriedly descended on to the glacier below. Snow fell all the way back to camp, and by nightfall there were 3 inches of fresh snow round our tents. During the night the thermometer dropped to 21 Fahr., and the morning broke clear and frosty. I started off early to climb the hill behind the camp, from which there was a very extensive view, both Everest and Makalu being for the moment quite clear and free from cloud. To the North extended a great range of snow peaks between 23,000 feet and 24,000 feet in height, rather uninteresting in appearance, and to the East stretched a great sea of acc.u.mulating cloud, out of which appeared the tops of Kanchenjunga and Jannu. The peak on which we stood was just under 20,000 feet; I spent several hours basking in the hot sunshine, which was rapidly melting the fresh snow. I was surprised to find growing at this height a tiny yellow saxifrage.

That evening eight coolies arrived with our long-expected mail, and the rest of the day was spent in reading letters and sorting out papers, for over two hundred letters and papers had arrived for me alone. There was again a sharp frost of 10 that night and the early morning was beautiful, but clouds came quickly drifting up the valley and obscured the fine views we had from the camp of Mount Everest and the rocky peaks to the North of the camp. On September 11, in spite of a warm night, Mallory and Bullock, being very optimistic, left for the upper camp, while Morshead and Wheeler rejoined us from their camp below, not having been able to do any work down there owing to bad weather. Snow fell steadily all the evening to a depth of about 3 inches. Next day was cloudy, but warm, and the snow disappeared again with extraordinary rapidity. I went out with a shotgun to try and shoot some ramchakor, and while after them saw a very fine grey wolf who was also stalking the ramchakor. He came up to within 50 yards of me, so that I was able to have a good look at him. He had a beautiful coat, and it was very unfortunate that I did not have a rifle with me. I wandered some way up a side valley to the foot of a glacier, but saw no signs of birds, as the wolf had evidently been there before me. In the afternoon Mallory and Bullock returned from the upper camp, having been driven down by the bad weather: another 5 inches of snow fell that evening, so that we were kept busy beating our tents to keep the ridge poles from breaking. On September 13, 14 and 15, snow fell on and off the whole time; but in spite of the bad weather I managed to shoot a burhel for food. Their meat is very much better than that of the tame sheep. On September 16 we had at last a fine day with a sharp frost at night. Wheeler at once seized this opportunity and took up a station on a hill-top on the opposite side of the valley, from which he was able to get some useful views. The next day, after 13 of frost in the night, Mallory, Morshead and I started off to climb Kama Changri, a peak to the South of the camp, that overhung the Kama Valley. We left the camp at 2 a.m., by the light of a full moon, which made the going as light as though it were day. We soon reached our view-point of a few days before, where, except for the distant roar of the stream far away below in the valley, there was no other sound, only an intense stillness. Never anywhere have I seen the moon or the stars shine so brightly. To the South, far away from us, there were constant flashes of lightning--the valleys in Tibet, the great gorges of the Arun, the wooded valleys of Nepal all lay buried under a white sea of clouds, out of which emerged the higher mountains like islands out of a fairy sea. In this bright moonlight, mountains like Kanchenjunga--100 miles away--stood out sharp and distinct. Here on this sharp ridge, at a height of 21,000 feet, with no obstruction to hide the view, sunrise came to us in all its beauty and grandeur. To the West, and close at hand, towered up Mount Everest, still over 8,000 feet above us; at first showing up cold, grey and dead against a sky of deep purple. All of a sudden a ray of sunshine touched the summit, and soon flooded the higher snows and ridges with golden light, while behind, the deep purple of the sky changed to orange. Makalu was the next to catch the first rays of the sun and glowed as though alive; then the white sea of clouds was struck by the gleaming rays of the sun, and all aglow with colour rose slowly and seemed to break against the island peaks in great billows of fleecy white.

Such a sunrise has seldom been the privilege of man to see, and once seen can never be forgotten. After sunrise the climbing became more unpleasant. We tried to follow the direct way up the mountain, but the snow was in bad condition and the slope very steep. We therefore crossed the glacier, putting on our snow-shoes, and followed easier snow slopes but bad owing to the soft snow. The going was very tiring; Mallory and Morshead appeared to feel the height very much. After six hours we reached the top, 21,300 feet, from which we had a most superb view. We looked straight down on to the Kama Valley. Makalu was immediately opposite us with its colossal precipices. Glaciers, cliffs of ice, rock peaks, fluted snow ridges and immense mountains towered all around us above a vast sea of clouds which stretched for hundreds of miles away to the plains of India. Here I was able to take many photographs, but no photograph can adequately portray the grandeur or the impressiveness of such a scene. We stopped on the top of Kama Changri for over three hours. It was extraordinarily warm; there was not a breath of air, and the sun seemed to shine with an intense heat. Clouds then began to roll up, and we returned to camp by an easier way down the glacier.

Next day, in spite of 13 of frost at night, snow and sleet fell all day again, and made us very depressed. In order to prevent our going to sleep too soon after dinner, four of us used to play bridge every night, and I do not suppose that bridge has often been played at so great a height.

On September 19, after a cold night with 16 of frost, Mallory, Bullock, Morshead and Wheeler started off for the 20,000-foot camp. The weather was now steadily growing colder every night. On September 20 we had 18 of frost, as well as a further fall of snow. During the night a very fine lunar halo was seen, but the morning broke clear. Wollaston, Raeburn and I started to join the remainder of the party at the 20,000-foot camp, leaving Gyalzen Kazi, our second interpreter, behind in charge of the advance base camp. It was very necessary to have some one here to whom we could send back for any extra stores or supplies that might be wanted, and who would be able to forward to us anything that might be sent up from Kharta. A four hours' walk brought us to the camp. I had a thorough feeling of la.s.situde all the way. It required, indeed, some effort to walk at all, and a strong effort, both of mind and body, to reach camp. On the way beautiful views of Mount Everest gave us encouragement. The foot of the Kharta Glacier descends to 19,000 feet. From that point on to the camp we travelled beside it. At first the glacier is cut up into wonderfully shaped "seracs," but as we got higher the surface became smoother. It was an exceptionally white glacier; there were no moraines on its surface, and it was covered everywhere with a fresh coating of thick snow. We found the camp on a terrace between two glaciers. That above the camp resembled the pictures of a Greenland ice cap. A thick coating of ice, to a depth of 50 to 60 feet, covered the gentle slopes above us, and came down to within a couple of hundred yards of the camp. The drainage from the melting ice percolated through the stony ground, so that on digging to a depth of 6 inches we came upon water. A couple of hundred feet below the camp was the big white glacier which descended from the Lhakpa La. The day was gloriously fine, and we obtained magnificent views of Mount Everest and the snowy chain to the South of us across the Kharta Glacier. Over the top of this snowy chain appeared the great rocky crests of Makalu. At an alt.i.tude of over 19,800 feet I saw a hare and heard several ramchakor calling. There grew close to the camp a few gentians with their curious square leaves, also a dwarf blue delphinium and a little white saxifrage. It was an extraordinary height at which to find flowers and their season of summer cannot last long. On arrival at the camp, we found only Wheeler and Bullock there, as Mallory and Morshead with fourteen coolies had gone on ahead to carry loads up to the Lhakpa La, which was to be our next camp. They returned in a very exhausted condition in the course of the afternoon. The snow, they reported, was in better condition than last time on the lower slopes; but as they got higher, they found it still very soft and powdery. These extra loads that they had taken up to this camp would enable the whole party to go up to it and to sleep there, if necessary, for several days. As the sun was setting behind Mount Everest, we were treated to a glorious view.

The ring of clouds that surrounded it were all touched by the bright evening sunlight, while the mountain itself was in deep shadow except for great streamers of powdery fresh snow which were being blown off the whole length of its crests. We stood and watched this extraordinary sight for some time, devoutly hoping that the wind would soon die down.

Unfortunately we were soon to experience what a strong wind meant at these heights.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SEA OF CLOUD FROM PEAK NORTH OF KAMA VALLEY. Kanchenjunga in distance.]

On the following night we had 20 of frost, and the weather appeared to be getting rather more settled. We were now sufficiently high up to be above the ordinary clouds, and we could look down upon the great sea of them which overhung the Arun Valley and the greater part of Nepal. As the sun warmed the clouds, they used to rise higher, but they seldom arrived as far as our camp owing to a strong North-westerly wind always blowing in the upper regions of the air which drove them back again.

Watching the movements of the clouds day by day gave me the impression that the Mount Everest group forms a dividing line between the two monsoon systems. The monsoon that causes so much rain in Sikkim comes from the Bay of Bengal, and these moist currents sweep up to Mount Everest, but it is only when the current is very strong that they pa.s.s beyond it. At this time of year this monsoon was still active, whereas the Arabian Sea monsoon--that is to say, the moist winds from the Arabian Sea--which had given us previously much rain and snow on the Western sides and slopes of Mount Everest, was now over, with the result that on the West side of Everest we had blue skies every day and no rain clouds, whereas on the East side the clouds and the moisture brought up by the Bengal monsoon still prevailed. During the course of the morning I climbed an easy hill to the East side of the camp and some 500 feet above it. We walked along at first just below the ice cap, which was very pretty with its long icicles gleaming in the sunlight. We then crossed on to the ice cap and found the snow in excellent condition, firm and crisp to the tread, so that it was a pleasure to walk along it.

From the top of this hill, 20,500 feet, was a very fine view to the East, over the great sea of cloud which filled up all the valleys as far as the Ma.s.sif of Kanchenjunga which towered up in the distance, and the more slender peak of Jannu. Amongst the Sikkim peaks I could also recognise Chomiomo and the Jonsong peak. To the South Makalu towered up above all the other mountains: while between it and Mount Everest, beyond the Southern watershed of the Kama Valley, showed up some of the great Nepalese peaks, among which we noted Chamlang, 24,000 feet. To the West of us Mount Everest showed up sharp and clear and very white after all the fresh snow that had fallen in the last month. From this side Mount Everest certainly looks its best, standing up as a solitary peak instead of being rather dwarfed by the high ridges that radiate from it.

The weather remained fine all day, and it was a real pleasure to sit outside one's tent and bask in the sun. Though we were 20,000 feet, we had breakfast, lunch and tea out of doors in front of our tents, and we could not have been warmer or enjoyed pleasanter conditions if we had been down at 5,000 feet.

On September 22, leaving Raeburn behind, Mallory, Bullock, Morshead, Wheeler, Wollaston and myself started off to Lakhpa La camp. We left the 20,000-foot camp in 22 of frost at four o'clock in the morning, accompanied by twenty-six coolies, who were divided up into four parties, each of which was properly roped. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and the mountains showed up nearly as brightly as in the daytime.

We rapidly descended the 200 feet from our terrace to the glacier, when we all "roped up." The snow on the glacier was in excellent condition, and as it was frozen hard we made good progress. Dawn overtook us on the broad flat part of the glacier, the first beams of the sun falling on the summit of Mount Everest, which lay straight in front of us, and changing the colour of the snow gradually from pink to orange, all the time with a background of deep purple sky, every detail showing up sharp and clear in the frosty air. We mounted gradually past Kartse, the white conical-shaped peak climbed by Mallory and Bullock a month ago from the Kama Valley. We wended our way without much difficulty through the ice-fall of the glacier, below some superbly fluted snow ridges that rose straight above us. Then followed a long and at times a somewhat steep climb over soft powdery snow to the top of the pa.s.s. Even at these heights we came across tracks in the snow. We were able to pick out tracks of hares and foxes, but one that at first looked like a human foot puzzled us considerably. Our coolies at once jumped to the conclusion that this must be "The Wild Man of the Snows," to which they gave the name of Metohkangmi, "the abominable snow man" who interested the newspapers so much. On my return to civilised countries I read with interest delightful accounts of the ways and customs of this wild man whom we were supposed to have met. These tracks, which caused so much comment, were probably caused by a large "loping" grey wolf, which in the soft snow formed double tracks rather like those of a barefooted man. Tibet, however, is not the only country where there exists a "bogey man." In Tibet he takes the form of a hairy man who lives in the snows, and little Tibetan children who are naughty and disobedient are frightened by wonderful fairy tales that are told about him. To escape from him they must run down the hill, as then his long hair falls over his eyes and he is unable to see them. Many other such tales have they with which to strike terror into the hearts of bad boys and girls.

I reached the top of the pa.s.s (22,350 feet) by 10.30 a.m., and was rewarded by a wonderful view of Mount Everest, now only a couple of miles away. From the pa.s.s there was a steep descent of about 1,200 feet to a glacier which after many wanderings finds its way into the Rongbuk Glacier. This valley had never been thoroughly investigated by Mallory and Bullock in their visit to the Rongbuk Valley. It does not, however, actually form the main Rongbuk Glacier, but stops several miles short of it, the entrance to the valley containing this huge glacier being both small and very insignificant. The bad weather that they had experienced in the Rongbuk Valley during the latter half of their stay there had made it impossible for Mallory and Bullock to explore this valley, or see what lay at its head.

We were now opposite the Chang La (North Col) which joins Mount Everest to Changtse (the North peak), and from this col was, so far as we were able to judge, the only route to the summit. The way from the glacier up to the Chang La looked steep and unpromising, and we doubted whether it would be possible to take laden coolies up, even to this point. I took as many photographs as I could, and as quickly as possible, for there was an icy wind blowing which almost froze my hands. This wind blew the fine powdery snow off all the crests of the ridges and it penetrated everywhere. We found a little hollow in the snow a few feet below the crest, and here we set to work to pitch our camp. There was not much shelter, but it was the only possible place. We had only brought small Alpine Meade and Mummery tents with us. Two of us occupied each tent.

They were very small and uncomfortable, and in order to enter them we had to crawl through a narrow funnel almost as though we were entering a dog kennel. The effort of crawling in was very exhausting and caused us to remain out of breath for a considerable time afterwards. Even these small tents were with difficulty pitched owing to the strong winds: cooking was quite out of the question until dark when the wind temporarily lulled. We had brought up with us some Primus stoves and spirit lamps. No one, except perhaps Wheeler, was very expert with the Primus stove, and though no doubt under favourable conditions they would be easy to work, even at these heights, we were never very successful with them and were forced to rely upon the spirit stoves.

After sunset we had a scratch meal of consomme, which we managed to warm up, followed by some cold ham and biscuits, after which we retired to bed. The moment the sun went down there were 25 of frost. Up till now I had felt no ill-effects from the rarefied air; I had not even had a headache and my appet.i.te was good, though I owned to feeling rather lazy and it always needed an effort to concentrate one's thoughts. The coolies who had accompanied us up to this camp all seemed to be well and were very cheerful. The eiderdown sleeping-bags were a great comfort; they were our only means of keeping thoroughly warm with 34 of frost outside. But I cannot say that I felt comfortable or, in fact, that I slept at all, as the snow which at most times had been much too soft, seemed here to freeze into uncomfortable lumps and b.u.mps underneath one's back, so that I could never get comfortable all night. The wind howled round our flimsy tents, and I do not think anyone, except perhaps Mallory, got any sleep that night. In the morning we were all suffering from bad headaches, due to the airlessness of these little tents, and I am sure that anyone camping at high alt.i.tudes ought to have a much larger type of tent in which to sleep if he is to avoid headaches. We blessed the early morning sun when it appeared and began to unfreeze us.

I noticed then that our faces and hands were all a curious blue colour in the morning, due to what is called, I believe, cyanosis of the blood.

With much difficulty Wheeler made us a little tea, which if not drunk at once, froze; Mallory thawed out some sardines which had all been frozen solid. There was luckily less wind than during the night, and as the sun rose higher, we all became more alive. The coolies, too, were at first all torpid and complained of bad headaches, but on getting into the fresh air, out of their small and stuffy tents, the headaches rapidly pa.s.sed away. After consultation, we decided that there was no object--in fact, that it would be dangerous--for the whole party to go on, so we decided that it would be best for the expert Alpine climbers only, together with a few picked coolies, to attempt the Chang La. If weather conditions were favourable, they might, we thought, see how high they could get on Mount Everest itself. We therefore quickly sorted out and divided up the stores, and after seeing Mallory, Bullock and Wheeler off, unpitched our own tents, being satisfied that we could be of no use by remaining where we were, and that it would be best that we should return to our 20,000-foot camp and carry down with us as many stores as we could. We accomplished this without any difficulty, and arrived back during the course of the afternoon. The contrast here was extraordinary.

We seemed to be in a totally different climate, and our larger tents and camp beds appeared to us to be the height of luxury. We spent a very comfortable night in spite of 22 of frost, and all slept soundly after our exertions, though once or twice during the night I was awakened by rats gnawing at the food which had been left out on the boxes in my tent. One of the coolies also started to say his prayers in a loud tone of voice at 1 a.m., but after a few winged words he relapsed into silence.

The next day was delightfully warm and sunny, though there had been during the night a good deal of lightning towards the South. The snow could be seen whirling off the crest of Mount Everest during the morning, and in the course of the afternoon the wind grew much stronger, and blew huge clouds of snow off the slopes of the mountain, and from all the surrounding ridges. We could see great wisps of snow being blown off the pa.s.s that we had just left, so that the climbing party must have been having a very cold time in their new camp. In the evening there was a curious false sunset in the East with fine purple and orange rays, while as usual the Kama and the Kharta Valleys were filled with a sea of cloud. Here, however, we seemed to be above and beyond the reach of the clouds. Next night there was again constant lightning to the South and 23 of frost, but the weather kept fine and sunny. On climbing a snow-covered hill to the West of the camp, about 21,000 feet, I had some superb views of Everest and Makalu with their appalling cliffs and beautifully-fluted snow slopes. A strong North-westerly gale still continued in the upper regions of the air above 22,000 feet, and every ridge of Everest was smothered with clouds of blown snow. I had a pleasant glissade down steep snow slopes back to the camp, where the climate was delicious and where I could bask in the sun at the entrance of my tent with a sun temperature of 173 Fahr. Earlier in the season we had often recorded temperatures of 195 and 197 Fahr. in the sun with the black bulb thermometer. During the afternoon we were able with our gla.s.ses to see black specks appearing on the top of the Lhakpa La. These were the Alpine climbers and their coolies returning after their strenuous efforts on Mount Everest. We watched them with the greatest interest descending the glacier and wondered how far they had been successful. They all arrived back safely in the course of the evening, having been extraordinarily lucky in not having had any casualties or frost-bites in spite of the Arctic gales. Mallory will, however, tell of their adventures in another chapter.

CHAPTER IX

THE RETURN TO KHARTA BY THE KAMA VALLEY

Winter was now rapidly approaching. Every night was growing steadily colder, and we were all anxious to get down to lower alt.i.tudes. Every one had been feeling the strain of life at these high alt.i.tudes. It had been, however, a great relief to us that all the party had got back to the 20,000-foot camp in safety, and that we had had no cases of sickness or frost-bite. The coolies had throughout worked most willingly and to the best of their ability. They had been well supplied with boots and socks, warm clothing of all kinds, cap comforters and fur gloves, as well as blankets, and for those who had slept at the higher camps, eiderdown sleeping-bags had been provided capable of holding four or five. Here at the 20,000-foot camp we did not have to depend on Primus stoves or spirit lamps, as while we were waiting at the advanced base camp we had daily sent up coolies with loads of wood for our future use, and even during our stay here the coolies who had been left behind under Gyalzen Kazi had been sending up further loads. We now divided our party into two: Mallory, Bullock, Raeburn and Morshead were to be responsible for taking all the stores back to Kharta, and for this purpose we had arranged with Chheten w.a.n.gdi and the Kharta Jongpen for a number of Tibetan coolies to help in the work of removal. The remainder of us, that is to say, Wollaston, Wheeler and myself, were to cross over a snow pa.s.s and return to Kharta via the Kama Valley. Wheeler was anxious to do this in order to complete his survey work, for up till now he had been unable to visit the Kama Valley. Wollaston had already seen the lower parts of the Kama Valley, but was very anxious to see the upper end, particularly after my descriptions of the scenery and the Alpine flowers that were to be met with there.

On September 26 the two parties started off in different directions.

Taking with us fifteen coolies, all pretty heavily laden, we descended to the great Kharta Glacier, which it was necessary for us to cross. We were not at all certain as to the conditions we were likely to meet with on the other side of the pa.s.s. The climb from the Kharta Glacier to the Karpo La, 20,300 feet, was quite gentle, though the snow was very soft and powdery. On the North side of the pa.s.s we found the slopes to be a snow-covered glacier, but on the South side there was a very steep rocky descent which had to be faced. From the top of the pa.s.s we had a remarkably fine view into the Kama Valley which lay below us. Makalu, Pethangtse and Everest stood up clear above the clouds which floated along the bottom of the Kama Valley. Across the gaps between these peaks we could see other snow ranges in Nepal. Here at the top of the pa.s.s we were luckily just sheltered from the Northwest and the gale, but on either side of us snow was being blown off the mountains in long white streamers. Our descent was down a very steep rocky rib. We began by roping ourselves together, but the coolies were all of them heavily laden and were, moreover, very clumsy on the rope, sending down so many loose stones that I found my position as foremost man quite untenable owing to the amount of debris and rocks which were dislodged above me.

We therefore unroped, and Wollaston lowered the coolies one by one over the steepest part--a somewhat long proceeding--after which they were able independently to make their way down to the glacier below without mishap. We now put on the rope again, and so crossed the easy glacier which led down to the moraine on which I had been two months before.

Wheeler branched off here and took up a position on one of the ridges.

Here he found the gale very troublesome, his theodolite being nearly blown over several times. He managed, however, to take a number of readings and to get a good many photographs--sufficient to map the whole of the upper part of the Kama Valley. All that day the gale continued above 20,000 feet. Below this the valley was filled with clouds, over which at first we had magnificent views. As soon as we descended into the valley, we gradually became enveloped in the autumn mists, which lasted all the remainder of the way to Pethang Ringmo. This was the place where I had met the yak herds two months before when they were pasturing their yaks on the gra.s.sy uplands. They had left the place, and we were therefore no longer able to draw on them for b.u.t.ter and milk. I had, however, arranged for Wheeler's fat cook to be sent up from Kharta to this place to meet us and to bring with him some fresh meat and vegetables. These we found on arrival, the fat cook having only arrived an hour before. We all of us slept that night much better than we had been doing at the higher camps, and though even down here we had 14 of frost, I was delighted to find that my boots were not frozen as hard as nails, as they had been all the last week.

From this camp I determined to attempt an expedition which I had long desired to make. My ambition was to reach the ridge between Makalu and Everest, and from it to have a look right down into Nepal. Mallory and Bullock did not much encourage me in my project, and doubted whether it could be accomplished within the short time which was now available. I decided, nevertheless, to make the attempt. On the night of the 26th all our servants overslept themselves, and I had some difficulty in waking them next morning. We succeeded, however, after a hurried breakfast in making a start at 5.45 a.m., just as the first sunlight was touching the highest peak of Mount Everest. It was a most perfect autumn morning, without a cloud in the sky and with the ground underfoot white with h.o.a.r-frost. After going a mile up the valley, we had to cross the Kangshung Glacier--here about a mile wide and consisting of a great ma.s.s of ice hummocks, often 100 feet or more in height, mostly covered with boulders, with the ice showing every now and then below us in curious caverns and lakes. It took us an hour to cross this glacier, as the walking was very tiring up and down hill over loose stones all the time; luckily, however, many of the stones were frozen to the ice, which made the crossing easier than it might have been later in the day. We then climbed on to a spur, over 19,000 feet, which jutted out into the valley. From this we had marvellous views right away to Kanchenjunga in the East. On the opposite side Mount Everest stood out with every detail showing clearly in the autumn sunshine. Above us towered the perpendicular cliffs of Ch.o.m.olonzo, opening out into a most astonishing series of peaks, the existence of which we had never suspected when looking at the mountain from the valley below. For once in a way the air was drier and the valleys below were not filled with cloud, so there was a prospect of our having clear views all day. Wheeler had come a short way along the ridge until he got a good view-point, when he stopped to set up his theodolite and camera for a station, after which he came along no further. I followed the crest of the ridge as far as I could, finding it at times very difficult and rocky and having to make many detours to get along. A descent of about 500 feet was followed by a climb of another 1,000 feet, at the end of which we found ourselves exactly opposite to the great amphitheatre of granite formed by Ch.o.m.olonzo and Makalu and facing Westwards. So steep were these great white granite cliffs that no snow lodged on them. Above them were other cliffs of ice with rather gentler slopes; at their feet was a great glacier that filled up the whole of this basin and then swept down till it almost joined the Kangshung Glacier. I had taken with me as usual Ang Tenze and Nyima Tendu, the two coolies who always accompanied me, each of them carrying a camera. We now came to a glacier which it was necessary to cross, and therefore roped up once more. The snow by this time had become rather soft, and we were constantly breaking through the crust. The glare and heat of the sun on this glacier were very intense, and both Nyima and I were feeling very limp from the heat. Ang Tenze was extraordinarily active and did not seem to mind heat or height--a quite exceptionally gifted mountaineer. Having successfully crossed the glacier, we left the soft snow and found our way over some easy rocks and eventually reached the top of the ridge for which we were making, at a height of about 21,500 feet, and some 500 feet above the snow-covered pa.s.s to the East of us. From the top of the ridge we had a most glorious view looking across range upon range of snowy mountains in Nepal.

Immediately below us was a large snow "neve," towards which glaciers descended from a number of snow-covered peaks. From this neve a great glacier swept round towards the Southern side of Makalu, apparently descending into a valley that ran parallel to the Kama Valley and on the South side of Makalu. Chamlang and other snow peaks to the South showed up very clearly, covered with snow and ice to very much lower elevations than any mountain on the North side of the Himalayas. On either side of us towered up Makalu and Everest, but seen from this point the huge cliffs of Ch.o.m.olonzo presented by far the most astounding sight. From here I could see a few thousand feet of the Southern slopes of Mount Everest which we had been unable to see from any other point before.

From the angle at which I saw them these appeared very steep, and even if it were possible and permissible to go into Nepal, it seems improbable that a practicable route lies up that face of the mountain. I spent a couple of hours up here taking photographs, enjoying the views, and eating my lunch in comfort, for the sun was hot and for once in a way there was no wind. To the South-west of us, across the neve, there appeared to be another easy pa.s.s which seemed to lead round to the South of Mount Everest, and Ang Tenze, who came from the Khombu Valley, said that he thought that he recognised some of the mountain tops that he saw over this, and that if we crossed this pa.s.s, we should eventually descend into the Khombu Valley. He also told me that there were stories that once upon a time there was a pa.s.s from the Khombu Valley into the Kama Valley, and that this was probably the pa.s.s in question, but that it had been disused for a great number of years. To support his theory we found on the way down a kind of shelter built of stones and some pieces of juniper hidden under a big rock. This would have been too high up for any yak herds to camp, as it was above the grazing pastures, and seemed to prove that the spot might have been used as a halting-place for smugglers or people fleeing from the law before they crossed these pa.s.ses. It had taken us six and a half hours from camp to get up to the top of this pa.s.s; and we had had no halts on the way beyond what were necessary to take photographs. The downward journey took us four hours.

We tried another way by the side of the Makalu Glacier, desiring thereby to avoid the tiresome and rather difficult bit along the top of the ridge. This short cut proved, however, to be still more trying and wearisome. From the cliffs above there had been great rock falls down to the edge of the glacier, and for a couple of miles we had to jump from boulder to boulder and to clamber either up or down the whole time.

There was still the Kangshung Glacier to cross, with more up and down hill work, the stones being much looser and more inclined to slip under foot than they were in the morning. Eventually we reached camp, just before dark, and feeling very tired. A cup of tea, however, with a little brandy in it, completely removed all fatigue. Wollaston had been able during the day to get some beautiful photographs of the snow-powdered cliffs of Ch.o.m.olonzo, and also some interesting ones of the Kangshung Glacier. Besides these he had been able to collect a number of seeds. It is astonishing how quickly at these heights seeds ripen, and how short a time it is after flowering that they are fit for picking.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ch.o.m.oLoNZO. from the alp below the Langma La, Kama Valley.]

We had been very lucky in getting such a perfect day in the Kama Valley, for fine days there were very few. After our one perfect day the weather changed again, and for the next three days we descended the Kama Valley in sleet and snow. The first morning our march was only to our old camp at Tangsham on a glacial terrace 1,000 feet above the valley.

At first Everest was clear and all the mountains to the West, but heavy clouds came rolling up from the South-east and soon enveloped everything. On the way I managed to collect for Wollaston a number of the seeds of that lovely blue primula which I had found in flower here in August. I shot, too, a common snipe, which I was very surprised to meet at these alt.i.tudes. I flushed him beside a small spring close to the camp. During the afternoon it snowed and sleeted, and Wheeler came in very tired in the evening after having spent the whole of the day on a prominent peak, from which he had been unable to get a single photograph or to take any bearings. In spite of the snow that evening we had a cheery bonfire of juniper, willow and rhododendron. The next morning, though we were down at 15,000 feet, there were a couple of inches of fresh snow on the ground. The weather at first was very misty, and we had no views at all. We soon, however, descended below the snow, and the autumnal colours in the valley began to show. On the opposite side of it below the great black cliffs, the bushes were all shades of brown and gold. In the forests the rose bushes had turned a brilliant red, and the mountain ash showed every shade of scarlet and crimson, contrasting well with the shiny dark green leaves of the rhododendron.

The golden colours of the birch and the dark junipers also made a beautiful combination of colour. Rain set in again steadily, and as snow was falling on the "field of marigolds" where we had intended to camp, we pitched our tents in the midst of a huge rock-fall--1,000 feet lower down. Our coolies did not pitch any tents for themselves, but preferred to scatter in twos and threes and to camp under the overhanging rocks which they found apparently warmer and more comfortable than the tents.

There had been a wonderful growth of vegetation among these huge boulders, many of them 40 feet to 50 feet in height, which had come down from the cliffs above. Wollaston and I spent most of the afternoon pottering round and collecting seeds of plants of different kinds. The next morning we had trouble in getting hold of the coolies; they were scattered among the rocks, and in spite of shouts, refused to budge until I went round with a big stick and poked them out of their holes. I crossed the Shao La in thick mist, though Wollaston and Wheeler, who came along an hour behind, had some beautiful glimpses of Makalu in the clouds and were able to get some photographs. After crossing the pa.s.s, we descended past several beautiful lakes and arrived in fine weather at Kharta in the afternoon. The autumn tints on the way down were again very beautiful, and most of the crops had already been gathered in.

Mallory and Bullock had, we found, left Kharta, being in a great hurry to get back to civilisation again.

It was September 30 when we reached Kharta. We had now finished our reconnaissance. We had investigated all the valleys to the West, North-west, North, North-east and East of the mountain, and had eventually found that there was only one possible route of approach to the summit. The bad weather and the furious North-westerly gales had prevented our attaining any great height this year. The rainy season had begun some three weeks later than usual. The rains, they told us, had been much heavier than in most years in Tibet, and the wet season had lasted until very nearly the end of September, after which time a period of gales set in which made climbing at heights above 23,000 feet a physical impossibility. Undoubtedly the best time to try and climb the mountain would be before the monsoon breaks in May or early June. It might be possible, if the monsoon happened to end by the beginning of September, to tackle the mountain early in September, but after the middle of that month the chances of doing any good grow steadily weaker and the cold increases with great rapidity. Whether it will be possible in any conditions to reach the summit I am very doubtful. We, however, had never intended to make a sustained effort to reach the top in 1921.

The reconnaissance of the mountain and its approaches afforded us indeed no time to make such an effort, and we felt bound to investigate every valley that led up to it. The Everest Committee had already before we left for India in 1921 decided to send out a second Expedition in the following year, for the express purpose of climbing Mount Everest, and for this purpose had already then promised the leadership to Brig.-General C. G. Bruce, whose unrivalled knowledge of climbing and climatic conditions in the Himalayas specially fitted him for the work.

Whether the task is capable of accomplishment I will not attempt to say, though I should think the chances are on the whole against success. If Mount Everest were 6,000, or even 5,000 feet lower, I think there can be no doubt that it could be climbed. There are no physical difficulties in the shape of the mountain which prevent it being climbed--the difficulties are all connected with its alt.i.tude. If the snow is soft and powdery, and the conditions are such as we met with so often; or if, again, there is difficult rock climbing in the last 2,000 or 3,000 feet of the climb, I do not think the summit will be reached. I cannot say what the effect will be if oxygen is taken to aid the human effort. I only know that cylinders of oxygen are very uncomfortable and heavy to carry, and that to wear a mask over the mouth and to climb so equipped would not seem to be very feasible or pleasant. Living at great heights, and trying to sleep at great heights, lowers the vitality enormously.

Larger tents than those with which we were supplied might well be taken in order to prevent the depressing headaches that follow from sleeping in a confined and airless s.p.a.ce. Among minor discomforts which count for much may be mentioned the difficulty of preparing good warm food, and for this purpose a coolie should be trained in cooking and in the use of the "Primus" and spirit stoves. This coolie should be a man accustomed to great heights, and he should accompany the party up to the highest camps in order to avoid the difficulties we had in connection with the preparation of our food and then having to live on such makeshifts as sardines and biscuits. I never lost my appet.i.te at heights over 20,000 feet--I was always able to eat well, though not everything appealed to the palate. Sweet things were especially wanted. That it is possible to acclimatise the system to live at heights is true, but only to a certain extent--up to about 18,000 feet we could acclimatise ourselves very comfortably, and I know in my own case that after six months' living in Tibet, I was able to do far more than when I first came into the country, but at greater heights I think a prolonged stay permanently lowers the vitality. Sleeplessness is another great enemy at heights, and most of the party I found slept very poorly at the highest camp.

Mallory, I think, was the only exception. It ought to be possible to pick out a few coolies capable of carrying loads able to go as far as any European can get. Some of them seem to feel the height much less than others, and I believe that an unladen native would be able to go much higher if he had the knowledge of ice and snow that Alpine climbers have, and would not improbably reach a greater height than any European.

Twenty-nine thousand feet is, however, a tremendous height for anyone to attain, and I own that I am not at all sanguine that the summit will be reached, though I have no doubt that this year will see the Duke of the Abruzzi's record of 24,600 broken, and I shall not be at all surprised to see a height of 25,000 or 26,000 feet arrived at.

CHAPTER X

THE RETURN JOURNEY TO PHARI

Autumn had already come to Kharta. The willows and the poplars under which we were camped were fast shedding their leaves, which rustled on the ground, or blew into our tents, a warning that winter was not far off. Even here there were one or two degrees of frost every night. The days, however, were still warm and sunny. The next five days were fully occupied with strenuous work. Wheeler and I took alternate mornings and afternoons in the dark room. We had each taken a large number of photographs during the past month. These had to be developed before we started on our return journey to Darjeeling, and this would be our last opportunity. An account of our last month's doings and our final reconnaissance had to be written out for _The Times_, and this, together with many other letters, had to be sent off to Phari as soon as possible. Our stores, tents, Alpine equipment, had all to be collected and sorted out. Lists had to be made of all of them, and most of them had to be re-packed. The coolies were perpetually worrying us for money and advances of pay in order that they might be able to buy Tibetan clothing, or have money which they could spend on drink at Kharta, where it was apparently very cheap. Our cook and most of the coolies used constantly to return to camp in the evening blind drunk, and I had to see that the cook was never allowed near the kitchen under these conditions. On such an occasion my servant, Poo, would have to do the cooking in his place. The chang, or barley beer, that they got must have been a much stronger brew than what was given to us, as what we had did not appear intoxicating at all, but the interpreters told us that coolie beer was double strength.

The Jongpen was rather sad as the moment of our departure drew near. We invited him to lunch one day, and he seemed to appreciate the beauties of Scotch whisky, which he said was very much better than his own chang.

We had to pay him a return visit the following day, when he gave us a great spread. Knowing that we were anxious to collect such curios as were available, he produced all kinds of things for our inspection. I bought from him a curious old Tibetan musket, elaborately decorated with silver, and fitted with a pair of antelope horns on which to rest it when firing. Some interesting copper and silver teapots we were also able to get from him, and I remember his showing Wollaston many pieces of finely embroidered Chinese silk. Both Hopaphema and the Jongpen had a very good idea of the value of money, and were not at all afraid of asking a stiff price for any of the curios which they produced. We managed, however, to pick up some interesting Chinese snuff bottles of carved agate, some with pictures painted inside. China cups of the Chienlung and Kanghe periods we were also able to get; there were, however, many things in the monasteries which we rather coveted, but which the Lamas would not sell. Their tables were very ornamentally carved with dragons and weird designs, all painted over in brilliant colours. The Jongpen had one such table, but unfortunately I found out that he had only borrowed it from the nearest monastery for the purpose of entertaining us, and therefore he could not sell it. We left behind us a good many stores which it was not worth while to bring along. Among them was a lot of acid hypo-sulphite of soda, which the Jongpen at once seized upon, and which he said he intended to make use of in washing his clothes, knowing that soda was used occasionally for this purpose. The Jongpen, of whom we had taken many photographs, and who had seen the results, was anxious to buy one of our cameras, and to develop and print everything himself. He imagined the whole process was very easy, and was extremely anxious to get hold of one of the Expedition's cameras, but we had to disappoint him in this. Nothing small would content him--he wanted the biggest of the lot, and was quite willing to exchange a sword or any other weapon for a camera. We, however, left behind with him three pairs of skis, which we had brought out with us, but which had never been unpacked. These skis had throughout our journeys been looked upon by the Tibetans with the greatest interest. They had heard about flying machines, and they thought that these were the framework of a flying machine which we had brought with us, and on which we intended to fly to the top of the mountains. Wherever we arrived there was always a great crowd a.s.sembled round these skis, discussing the various methods by which they could be put together and describing how the white man would then fly. I left them with the Jongpen and told him that they were very good exercise for him in the winter time, when the snow was deep, and that if he wanted to reduce his weight, which was already considerable, there could be no better method than by making use of them in the snow.

At last, on October 5, we managed to leave Kharta. There were no pack animals available; we had therefore to make use of coolies for our transport for the first march; it took 140 of them to carry all our loads. For some time the scene of confusion was very amusing. The Jongpen himself came down, and it was only owing to his help that by mid-day we got all the loads sorted out and put on the backs of the coolies. Before he was able to do this he had to have recourse to the system of drawing lots by putting garters on each load, a system which I have already described in a previous chapter. Before we left, the Jongpen and Hopaphema brought us presents of sheep and vegetables, and they and all the people of the valley seemed genuinely sorry that we were departing. Throughout our long stay at Kharta they had been most helpful and had done everything they could for our comfort. They were both of them very human, with a delightful sense of humour, and we quickly became great friends. It was with much regret that we turned our backs on Kharta.

We started off without a cloud in the sky, but with a strong South wind blowing. High up on the mountains we could see the snow still being blown off in white clouds. Our route lay up the valley of the Bhong-chu for about 10 miles until the river suddenly turned to the East to go through a deep and impa.s.sable gorge. We had then to follow the valley of the Zachar-chu for 4 miles to Lumeh, where we camped beside the great poplar trees. The bridge by which we had crossed the Zachar-chu in July no longer existed. It had been washed away in August, but now that the snows were no longer melting higher up, and the rainy season was over, the river was very much lower, and it was possible to ford it. The people at Lumeh were very pleased to see us again; we found tents pitched and food prepared for our reception. From here there were two routes open to us. We could either, by crossing two pa.s.ses, drop down to Tsogo in the valley of the Bhong-chu, and after fording the river there, follow our previous route (of the outward journey) to Tingri, or we could cross a small pa.s.s just above Lumeh, meeting the Bhong-chu again immediately above the gorge, where there was a bridge across it. We chose the latter route, as it was probably a couple of days shorter and would take us through new country. On leaving Lumeh, for the first time for several days we had a cloudy morning, which was unfortunate, as from the top of the Quiok (Cuckoo Pa.s.s) we had hoped for a fine view. Our transport to-day consisted of yaks and donkeys, which came along very well. There was a steep climb of 2,000 feet to the top of the pa.s.s, 15,000 feet, where we just managed to get a glimpse of Makalu in the clouds, but Everest was hidden. We thought that this would be our last chance of a view of the Everest and Makalu group, but it turned out not to be so. By going over this pa.s.s we had avoided the curious and impa.s.sable gorge by which the Bhong-chu cuts through a high range of mountains. It was only a little over 6 miles to the famous rope bridge at Gadompa. I could not help laughing when I first saw the bridge. It was such a comical, ramshackle-looking affair, and everything about it seemed torn and ragged and uneven. Two crooked wooden posts set up in piles of stones supported the ropes of raw hide which spanned the river.

During the rainy season one of these posts and all the ropes had been buried deep under the water, but now that the river had dropped over 10 feet, the posts were out of the water. Between these two wooden posts were three raw hide ropes, very frail and much frayed, and looking as though they might break at any moment. On these ropes was laid a semi-circular piece of wood, like the framework of a saddle, to which were attached two leather thongs. The person or bale of goods that had to be pulled across was tied by these two thongs to the framework, and this was allowed to slide rapidly with its load down to the point at which the "bridge" sagged most--somewhere about the middle of the river--which here rushed along in a formidable rapid. If the Tibetans on the far side failed to pull up the pa.s.senger or load and he or it was left for a minute, either would certainly get the full benefit of one of the ice-cold waves of the rapids and get thoroughly soaked before reaching the far side. The Tibetans had great fun with our coolies in transit, and very few of them were allowed to get over dry. The villages on either side are exempt from the duty of producing transport, and have instead to make themselves responsible for working the bridge. On one side the operators were all women and on the other all men. It took an average of five minutes to get each load or person across, and we spent twelve hours before we got all our loads over. For part of the time I superintended while Wheeler went to get some dinner, and after dinner, owing to there being a certain amount of moonlight, Wheeler carried on until the last load was brought over at midnight. It was a very chilly proceeding, as the wind blew very cold, with a suspicion of snow every now and then. It was a weird experience to see the loads of baggage suddenly appearing out of the darkness and then being unloaded and transferred to the yaks, who apparently were able to find their way about in the dark. We got everything over in safety without losing anything except a few eggs, which I saw drop out during the pa.s.sage across, and I felt very much relieved that we had had no accident.

That night we camped in a pleasant willow grove at the village of Kharkhung. In the morning we awoke to find fresh snow on the ground, but this speedily disappeared when the sun came out. Our new transport consisted of donkeys and some very wild yaks, which rapidly got rid of their loads. The march was only a short one of about 12 miles up the valley of the Bhong-chu. The valley was uninteresting and stony, with practically no undergrowth, and we eventually camped in a windy spot near the village of Lashar, nearly opposite to the sandy camp at Shiling where we had halted on our outward journey after crossing the quicksands. The night proved much colder here, with 18 of frost, but the wind luckily died down and the next morning was beautiful. We continued up the sandy valley of the Bhong-chu, which is here several miles wide, until we came to its junction with the Yaru, where we regained the route which we had followed on the outward journey. Just before leaving the main valley we found, on looking behind us, that we were in full sight of Mount Everest and its great South-eastern ridge, and also of the Lhakpa La where we had camped. This was our final view of Mount Everest, and knowing the geography of these peaks as we now did, this view gave us an added interest in them. We had climbed slowly and had not realised the great height which we had reached or the conspicuous position of our camp on the Lhakpa La which we now saw sharply defined against the horizon from a distance of 50 miles.

We rode up the gorge of the Yaru, and at the village of Rongme we met the Phari Jongpen's brother. He was busy collecting the harvest rents, which are a fixed percentage of the crops. I gave him some of the photographs that I had taken of him and his house on the way up and very soon after a big crowd collected around. The Tibetans are very quick at recognising persons in a photograph, and they at once picked out all the people by name in a group. I then rode on past his house to the village of Shatog, where we camped. On the way I shot a couple of snipe and also saw a number of teal, wild geese and kulan (grey crane), but they were very wild and I could not get near enough for a shot. Heron joined us here. He had been exploring some of the valleys to the North, but had found nothing interesting or remarkable, geologically, and he accompanied us back as far as Khamba Dzong. We were anxious to push on as fast as possible, and determined to do a double march from here to Tinki Dzong, which our transport drivers said they could do quite easily. We started on a beautiful day after a sharp frost at night, causing many of the ponds to be frozen over. We crossed the broad swampy plain to Chushar. Wheeler, going on ahead at first, had a shot at some geese, but did not succeed in getting anything. We crossed the Yaru River by a very deep ford, and then kept along the North side of it, past numerous ponds on which were swimming many bar-headed geese; these were, however, very wily and would not allow us to approach within shot.

We now had a steep 3,000-foot climb to the Tinki Pa.s.s. On the way up I came across some partridges; they were terrible runners, but after a good chase I managed to collect two. They turned out to be the ordinary Tibetan partridge (_Perdrix hodgsoniae_). I then rode on down to Tinki, to which place I had sent on Chheten w.a.n.gdi in order to make arrangements for our reception and to have transport ready for us on the following day. The two Jongpens rode out to meet us; the elder of the two had been at Tinki when we pa.s.sed through on the way out, but the other one I had not seen before as he had been away. I had very pleasant recollections of our reception there before, and was delighted to see the elder Jongpen, who was a most pleasant and agreeable gentleman.

They presented us with a couple of hundred eggs, rice and some grain for the ponies, and had tents already pitched for us under the walls of the fort. Here the Jongpens came and sat talking with us for a long time.

Our transport showed no signs of turning up, so we were very glad to make our dinner off the rice and eggs that had been given us. The bulk of the transport did not arrive till midnight. They had made every effort to stop at Chushar, and it was with great difficulty that Gyalzen Kazi had induced them to go on. The animal which was carrying Wheeler's kit died on the way, and his bedding did not arrive till noon the following day, another animal having been sent to bring it in. I had had my maximum and minimum thermometers exposed as usual under the fly of my tent, but during the night some wretch came and stole them. What good they could have been to him I cannot imagine, but it was very annoying and I hope he will drink the mercury. The weather had now changed again for the worse: all day there were heavy snow showers with snow falling on the mountains around and preventing any views. The march was only a short one to Lingga. The wild birds in the lake beside the fort were as tame as ever, the Brahminy ducks (ruddy sheldrake) almost waddling into our tents and not paying the slightest attention to us. On the water were swimming about thousands of duck, bar-headed geese and teal which the Jongpen's little dog used to have great fun in chasing. We were not able to follow our former route from Tinki to Lingga as the country had altered considerably. Most of the plain was now a broad lake several miles long, and we had to follow the North side of the water along the foot of the hills. On these big lakes were many duck, but they were very wild. I managed on the way, however, to shoot two bar-headed geese, a couple of Garganey teal and a pochard, which proved a very welcome addition to our bill of fare. One shot was a most extraordinary one. I was stalking some geese which were getting very restless and starting to fly away, when just in front of me got up two teal close together. I fired at the teal and both fell to my shot, and at the same time, to my great surprise, a goose, which was in the direct line of fire, and about 40 yards away, also fell.