Mount Everest, the Reconnaissance, 1921. George Mallory
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served up in Chinese fashion in little dishes and some were quite appetising. We were very late in starting the next morning as all the loads had to be sorted and laid out for the very miscellaneous transport that had been given us. This consisted of ponies, mules, donkeys, bullocks and yaks. For riding-animals we were given mules, which trotted well and covered the ground quite quickly, though some of the Alpine climbers found them hard to manage and were apt to part company with their steeds. Our transport was by now becoming rather complicated as forty-four animals were going right through to Khamba Dzong and forty-four were being changed at every stage. Dr. Kellas was not well enough to ride and was carried in an arm-chair all day. Soon after starting I passed two of our cooks on the road hopelessly drunk, and left them there. Our way led over the Tang La, a very gentle and scarcely perceptible pass, 15,200 feet, but important as being the main Himalayan watershed. All day there was a very strong South wind blowing, but it was luckily at our backs, and we did not feel it too much. We then quickly trotted the 10 miles across the absolutely level Tang-pün-sum Plain. Here I saw several herds of kiang, the wild ass of Tibet, and got within 50 yards of one lot, but unfortunately the coolie who was carrying my camera was not up with me at the time. We also passed a certain number of Tibetan gazelle, but they were all very wary. The Monsoon clouds came up to the South of us in great rolling billows, but not a drop of moisture came over the Tang La. Chomolhari was a magnificent sight all day with its 7,000 feet of precipices descending sheer into the plain. Tuna (14,800 feet), about 20 miles from Phari, was our first halt. We were still on the main road to Lhasa and found a comfortable rest-house into which the eight of us all managed to stow ourselves. Dr. Kellas, though rather better the next day, was still too weak to ride, and was carried for the next march on a litter. We were now in the true Tibetan climate, with brilliant sunshine, blue skies, still mornings and strong winds all the afternoon.
The next march from Tuna to Dochen was still on the Lhasa Road. I did not follow the path, but rode with a local man from the village over the great Tang-pün-sum Plain in search of goa—Tibetan gazelle. We saw many of them on the plains, but they were the wiliest and most difficult animals to approach, and in this flat and bare country it was not possible ever to get within 300 yards of them. As a rule they ran off when we were still half a mile away. They are restless little creatures, always on the move, and never at any time an easy mark to hit. I thoroughly enjoyed this ride over the plains and our glorious views of Chomolhari and the great snow-covered and glaciated chain to the North of it along the foot of which we were travelling. A curious pink trumpet-shaped flower grew in great quantities on the plain; the leaves were buried under the sand and only the flower showed its head above the ground. There were also white pincushions of a kind of tiny saxifrage. This plain, over which we were riding, was evidently once upon a time a lake bed, as the pebbles were rounded and there were distinct evidences of former shores along the sides of the hills. Many kiang were grazing on it and many thousands of sheep were being pastured there. As we approached the lake called Bamtso, the country became very marshy, and our ponies got bogged several times. The bungalow at Dochen was situated near the shores of the Bamtso. Never have I seen a lake with so many colours in it. It was very shallow, and the shades varied from deep blue and purple to light green, while in places it was almost red from a weed that grew in it. Behind it was a background of snow and glacier-covered mountains, which in the still mornings was reflected faithfully in its waters and formed a charming picture. Swimming on this lake were many bar-headed geese and Brahminy ducks, and along the shores were many terns and yellow wagtails.
That evening an amusing thing happened in the kitchen. One of our cooks was heating up a tin of tinned fish and had put it in some hot water without previously opening it. When he thought it was sufficiently hot, he started to open it, with the result that it exploded violently, covering him and every one else in the kitchen with small pieces of fish. I was able then to explain to the Tibetans who were carrying our loads that our stores were very dangerous, and that if any were at any time stolen, they would be liable to explode and hurt them. It was, of course, the rarefied air that had caused this, for Dochen is at a height of 14,700 feet above sea level.
Every day on from now the wind used to blow with great violence all the afternoon, but would die down after sunset. It must have been of a local nature caused by the rapid changes from high temperature to low, because the clouds above at the same time were hardly moving. I sent back Dorje, one of our cooks, from this place, as it was the fourth time that he had been drunk, and this I hoped would be a lesson to the others. We now left the Lhasa Road and turned off Westwards, having henceforward to rely on our tents.
Loading up at Dochen.
From Dochen to Khe was a short march of 11 miles over the Dug Pass, 16,400 feet. I did not follow the road taken by the transport animals, but took a local guide and rode over the hill-tops in search of ovis ammon. I did not see any, however, though we sighted two or three goa, but they were very wild and would not allow me to approach within 500 yards of them. There were numbers of blue hares, however, and some ram chakor, the Himalayan snow cock. But beyond this the hillsides were very bare of game. There were pin-cushions of a beautiful little blue sedum growing at a height of over 17,000 feet, also there was a big red stonecrop. Khe is now only a small and dirty village with practically no water except a half-dried muddy pond, but at one time it must have been a place of some importance, as ruins and buildings of considerable size extend over an area of more than a mile. The Kala-tso evidently at one time came right up to this ruined town of Khetam, and the fact that it is deserted now is probably due to the shrinkage of the lake. This was only one of the many signs of desiccation that we saw in our travels in Tibet. There were some curious ruins which looked like old crenellated walls, but these walls were only places on which barley dough used to be exposed to feed the crows as a sign of prosperity. It was a curious custom and could only have prevailed in a very fertile valley, which this place is no longer. The age of the city I could not find out, but the few survivors told me that the holy shrine at Tashilumpo, which now is at Shigatse, ought to have been built here. According to a local legend, there was a certain stone in Khetam shaped like a ewe's-womb, and one day a donkey driver finding that his loads were unequal in weight, picked up this stone and put it on the light load to balance the other, quite unaware of the importance of the stone. This stone was then carried from Gyantse to Shigatse, where a high and important Lama saw it, and recognising that this was a very holy stone, had it kept there. The powerful monastery of Tashilumpo was built over this stone. We passed two small nunneries called Doto and Shidag in snug little valleys to the North of the plain, and on asking why there should be so many nunneries in these parts when in the greater part of Tibet men predominated, I was told that this was due to the fact that it was close to the Nepalese frontier where there had always been much fighting, so that most of the men had been killed and only women had survived. After a short and easy march we came to a small pocket in the hills called Kheru. Here were encamped some people belonging to a nomad tribe who always lived in tents. They were very friendly, put tents at our disposal, and did their best to make us comfortable. They told us that they came here every year in the twelfth month, about January, and left again in the fifth month of the Tibetan year (June) for a place near Tuna, where they disposed of their wool, butter and cheese at the Phari market. There were altogether about twenty families here owning some 200 yaks and 3,000 sheep. Dr. Kellas was slightly better, but Raeburn was not feeling at all well, and Wheeler was suffering from indigestion, so that we were rather a sick party. Kheru lies at a height of 15,700 feet, but it had been very hot all day in the brilliant sunshine, and on the way we had passed lizards and a number of common peacock butterflies. Next morning our march was to Tatsang (Falcon's Nest), a distance of 15 or 16 miles, and over two passes 16,450 and 17,100 feet. The going was easy all the way, as the gradients both up and down the passes were very gentle. Between the two passes was a broad valley, filled with huge flocks of sheep and herds of yaks, and after crossing the second pass, we descended into a great barren and stony plain, more than 10 miles across which was Tatsang and over which the wind blew very keenly. To the South of us appeared the snowy crests of Pawhunri, Kanchenjhow and Chomiomo and the Lhonak peaks. Again I did not keep with the transport, but followed the crests of the hills, where I had lovely views; on the way I saw plenty of gazelle, and was lucky enough to shoot one of them, as they are very good eating. Our camp at Tatsang was pitched just below the nunnery there, which is