THE NETHERLANDS-KARAKORAM EXPEDITION, 1929*

JENNY VISSER-HOOFT.

IN THE spring of 1929 we arrived for the third time in Srinagar to make our final preparations for another Karakoram expedition. Panamik was to be our base, and from it we hoped to visit the unknown side-valleys and glaciers of the lower Nubra and upper Siachen. As second and third items on our programme were placed the western valleys of the Shyok to the south of the Saser pass and the unsurveyed region to the east and north-east of the Karakoram pass.

Besides our faithful companion of both other occasions, Franz Lochmatter, one of Switzerland's best-known guides, two new members joined our expedition : Mr. A. Sillem, ornithologist, and Dr. R. Wyss, geologist. Another important member was Khan Sahib Mian Afraz Gul Khan. We had already learnt to value his services as a surveyor in Hunza in 1925, and we were most grateful to the Survey of India for allowing him to accompany us once more.

Our last few days in Srinagar were spent at the Residency where we were the guests of Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie, whose hospitality created for us a charming parting remembrance of civilization. The beautiful garden was looking its best, with rows of tulips glowing against the background of the Takht. It was hard to believe, as we set out on the familiar road up the Sind valley, that a few days would bring us into the heart of winter on the ill-favoured Zoji La. In Baltal the first crocuses were peeping forth among the patches of melting snow ; beyond, the narrow cleft was filled with masses of fallen avalanches. The mountains around were white.

However on the 7th May we managed without great difficulty to cross with a caravan of ponies. We found that the soft snow reached down to Dras, lying bleak and forlorn in the wintry scene. In Leh our last arrangements had to be made, including the engaging of our permanent porters, and the settling of various matters regarding food supplies, transport, postal arrangements, etc. Dr. Peter of the Moravian Mission, the only European at the time in Leh, kindly gave us his valuable assistance. Our 34 permanent porters were a fine lot of picked men, several of them already having had experience of the hardships of mountain and desert travel with Major Kenneth Mason and Dr. Emil Trinkler.

Besides these men and the members of the expedition already mentioned, we had with us two stalwart Indian boys, Paulus Anthony and Francis Xavier Khan, both of them boy scouts and pupils of the Roman Catholic Mission at Baramula ; also Fazal Husain, Mr. Sillem's Indian servant, and Sultan Mir, our Kashmiri cook.

The spring of 1929 was exceptionally late. A heavier snowfall than usual still blocked the Khar dung pass. The crossing with baggage animals was reported to be out of the question. For ponies it certainly was ; and as for yaks, those useful substitutes for ponies on the snow, they were practically extinct in Leh, owing to an infectious disease which had created havoc among them.

Seen from the Joint Commissioner's garden, the steep white barrier, which separates the Indus from the Shyok, appeared singularly beautiful, but undoubtedly forbidding. However, cross it we must and on the 30th, Dr. Wyss with two porters started to reconnoitre the pass. Leaving Leh at 10-30 a.m., he returned twenty-four hours later, having walked all through the night. His report was satisfactory ; he had reached the summit without difficulty. I had however to give up the idea of taking the pony across, which I had recently bought in Khalatse. It was not till two months later that it was possible to send him on to Panamik.

Besides our permanent porters we had to employ additional coolies for the Khardung pass, and to cross in three groups on three different days. In Khardung village pony transport was again available. Emerging in the Shyok valley, we forded the Shyok river, the bridge higher up, which was swept away as long ago as 1926, never having been repaired.

We found the Nubra a valley of roses. The profusion of blossoms was amazing and the bright spots of colour in the arid desert were a joy to the eye. Confined in the narrow lanes and patches of fields between the menacing thorns, the reality of being literally hedged in predominates too much in Panamik to make it an agreeable halting- place ; we were therefore relieved when, after some delay owing to transport difficulties, we were once more on the road leading to the head of the valley.

The second day after leaving Panamik, on a grey morning, we crossed the river opposite the steep cliff where the track mounts to Umlung. Already the swiftly-flowing water had an angry look. We had now left familiar ground. The first village we came to was Kimi, whose worthy lumbardar welcomed us at the head of an excited crowd of villagers. In fact, the whole population had turned out. There were ten or twelve women, all with offerings of roses, including the village beggar-child, the leading Kimi matron with a rich, be- turquoised head-dress, and the local great-great-grandmother, a bundle of rags and crazy wits. Among the men the most picturesque were a couple of lamas and three male dancers, who attired in a weird kind of fancy-dress crowned by enormous hats, performed a solemn dance in our honour.

The dwellers on the right bank of the Nubra we invariably found to be friendly and cheerful folk. Rarely seeing Europeans, they are quite unspoilt, and contrast most favourably with the unobliging and grasping inhabitants of the Panamik region, who live on the caravans.

On the following march the number of stones and boulders bearing sacred inscriptions was particularly remarkable. I looked forward with interest to seeing the last inhabited spot in the valley, marked on the map as Gompa, as I recalled various discussions I had read about the miraculous light said to be visible on the rock above the monastery.

In the narrow lane, among the rose-bushes, the kindly abbot was waiting for us. He had drilled his little world well, for, as soon as we came into sight, the red-clad lamas sitting on the roof of the sanctuary commenced blowing their horns with a vigour that made the mountains echo with long drawn-out blasts, sounding like the gruesome laments of wandering souls. A mighty bowl of chang was produced, and standing by the road-side, where the sown abruptly verged into the desert, and where his small rose-bedecked domain ended, the old abbot, with a benevolent smile, filled each wooden bowl held out to him, as our porters, one by one, bending under their loads, passed out into the wilderness. It was a kindly act and a picturesque scene.

On being asked to show us the illuminated rock, the lamas indicated a smooth slab on the sheer rock-wall above us. We could however see nothing that might account for the story. Probably the most important factor, the eye of faith, in our case was lacking. One of our Nubra coolies affirmed, when questioned afterwards, that he had seen the light, describing it as being " like a flame ; like gold !" Standing actually near the place, it was not to be seen, he said, but only from afar, from a spot near the river. He mentioned two other places in the Shyok as also having these " lights," one of them being Rondu.

In the evening, after leaving Gompa, we came to a melancholy halt in the bend of the valley, where the Nubra dashed its foaming water right at our feet. The ford, if indeed a place for crossing existed, looked most unpleasant. A cold wind was blowing ; the evening closed in, grey and gloomy, as we stood surveying the stretch of the right bank where the steep cliff in the distance seemed to descend straight into the water. Another five minutes, however brought us to a dense grove of rose-bushes. It evidently had been the site of a shepherd's encampment, and we solved the immediate problem of where to spend the night by pitching our tents among the shrubs.

Our transport consisted of the permanent porters and a number of pack-ponies from Kimi, which were to take supplies up to the Siachen glacier. The next morning our party split up into two divisions ; my husband and Franz, going on foot with the porters, decided to try and force a way on the right bank, which would not involve the crossing of the main stream the rest of us, riding and taking charge of the baggage animals, proposed to ford the river opposite the camp and to continue on the left bank. Both parties agreed to re-unite at the foot of the glacier, where we intended to camp. However, as we found later on, things turned out very differently.

The pony-caravan began the day with an adventurous crossing. Fortunately the river divided its mass of turbulent grey water into three main channels, but even so, it caused us some anxious moments before all had landed safely. Once on the left bank the going was easy enough, but as we at last approached the glacier in the late afternoon, we realized that even quite near the snout it would be quite impossible to re-cross the seething volume of swiftly-flowing water to the opposite bank. The large stones; turned over by the torrent, made a curious rumbling noise and testified to its impetuous force.

A way over the ice might be found, although it looked equally forbidding, but it would certainly mean a difficult passage along a sheer precipice of rock, and probably a certain amount of step-cutting on the glacier itself. It was a case of being so near and yet so far I In the meantime the party on the right bank had safely arrived at their end of the glacier snout, but although we tried to communicate with each other by shouting across the water, it was impossible to hear anything. Each group then retired gloomily to the best camping- place it could find, only to discover that those on the right bank had all the bedding, but no tents,—and the cook, but no food !

Late in the evening Dr. Wyss managed to find a route across the glacier to the other side, and the next morning he and Franz brought over a party of porters to fetch the loads left behind by the pony transport. A long rope was soon dangling down the face of the steep cliff, which was the chief obstacle on the way, and the whole morning was spent in hauling up and letting down the porters and their loads, both safely secured and held from above by the guides.

On an icy hummock of the stone-covered Siachen, we at last were all re-united.

The next day a wide side-valley was discovered on the left bank leading in an easterly direction. Part of the descending ice of the Siachen flowed into this valley. It can thus be said that the Siachen shows the rare feature among glaciers of having two snouts.

While I returned to establish a base-camp at the head of the Nubra, my husband continued up the Siachen side-valley, which, penetrating into the heart of magnificent mountain scenery, and confined between steep walls of rock, offered no easy admission. The water here again was the cause of serious difficulties. Further on, a debris-covered glacier was found to fill the entire width of the trough. On the second march upwards after leaving the Siachen, it became evident that this new glacier flowed down from a northern side-valley.

Proceeding to the junction of two ice-streams, Dr. Wyss and the Khan Sahib now explored immediately north, while my husband and Franz followed the great flow of ice coming from the east, an adventurous journey among terrific seracs, rendered dangerous by stone-avalanches. One of these fell among the porters, but fortunately no damage was done.

In spite of the threatening sky—snow was already falling—the whole party crossed the glacier to the other side. It proved to be a three-hours' scramble. The next morning the neve plateau was reached. An ascent of a peak of about 21,000 feet afforded a comprehensive view of the surroundings. The length of this glacier was about 19 miles.

Before returning to Panamik after the completion of this exploration, two more tributaries of the Nubra, one on each side, were explored by various members of the expedition.

June the 29th saw us again advancing upon Gompa. Across the endless wilderness of stones, the white walls of the friendly little monastery, first human habitation of the valley, became visible hours before we reached it. This time we kept entirely to the left bank and no crossing was found to be necessary. The sight of the rising flood however caused some anxious speculations as to how our return to Panamik, on the opposite bank, was to be achieved.

The passage of the river eventually took place on the morning of our departure from Aranu, a delightful rose-embowered village, with ruined chortens and masses of frail blue aquilegias nodding between the hedges. The hour was carefully regulated according to the time when the least volume of water rushed down the Nubra. It was eleven o'clock when the two wild-eyed individuals who, in their function of water-experts, were to look after our safety, announced that the auspicious moment had arrived. With voices uplifted, they urged our ponies into the swiftly-gliding river. Men and beasts followed, struggling frantically against the current, echoing the encouraging cries of the leaders. The ordeal of entering the cold and cruel water had to be faced several times, as the various channels, the existence of which made the crossing possible, were divided by strips of sand and mud.

Our friend, the lumbardar of Kimi, took pride in personally conducting us across the river. Mounted on his ragged white pony, the old man kept a watchful eye on the struggling caravan, and he must have heaved a sigh of relief when he saw us all land safely on the hot dry sand below Umlung. In the afternoon we entered the stony lanes of Panamik.

On the 24th July, in a burning heat, we definitely turned our backs on the Nubra and ascended the steep track to Umlung. The transport problem had at length been satisfactorily solved, but only after much deliberation and no little obstruction, emanating from the Panamik Zeldar. This worthy, finally reduced to a more helpful attitude, was a far from gallant figure in our camp, nervously telling his beads and casting terrified glances at Patiala, my big Tibetan dog. A contract with a trader in Panamik settled the question of our transport right through to Turkistan. The surplus baggage was to be temporarily dumped at Saser Brangsa, while for the exploration of the Shyok valleys we intended to rely entirely on our permanent porters.

At Skyangpo-che the weather was bad, but for the crossing of the Saser glaciers on the 26th July the sun shone brightly and we safely accomplished the dreaded journey,-—dreaded mostly by the unfortunate ponies, wending their painful way past hundreds of fellow- victims of the road, who having succumbed, lay along the track in all stages of frightful decomposition.

The Shyok valley gleamed far below us as we stood on the last snow-slope of the Saser. Viewing the grand mountain scenery, the realization came forcibly that a new range of marvellous colours is revealed to the traveller. And as evening fell, flooding the camping - ground on the barren hills with warm light, the fairy-tinted rocks vermilion and purple, were clothed in supreme majesty. This impres sion of a new and different country, abounding in strange new colour, fantastic reds and crimsons, ever glowing deeper or softly fading to palest orange, to which the Ladakhi and Turki wanderers respond with their " Red Valleys," " Red Rocks " and " Red Rivers,''--this first sense of another land, persisted even as we daily grew more familiar with it. Before ascending, however, to the wind-swept plateaux of " Black Gravel," the problems of the Shyok first awaited us.

On the 27th July we entered the first big valley south of Saser Brangsa, where we got once more into difficulties owing to the water. Several crossings could not have been undertaken safely without the ever-useful rope. During the stay at the head of the valley various peaks were climbed and several glaciers explored. Soon the map of the unknown region, thanks to the Khan Sahib's zeal, showed another blank space filled.

Our tents were pitched at the foot of the gigantic seraes, above which towered the great snow-peak of the Saser. From the main valleys it is nowhere visible, but during our explorations in 192-2, we had already admired it from the other side.

On the right bank of the stream, we found clear water and a delightful little grazing-ground for my pony. It was the only spot of verdure in the valley. There were signs of former camps and we thus concluded that it is known to the Yarkand traders who come here to graze their animals.

The second big valley to the south of Saser Brangsa we also explored, but on the 6th August we had to return, as on the morrow our pony caravan was due to be here.

As we leisurely progressed along the Shyok, we instinctively cast many a glance upwards at the mountains on our left. Would, in case of necessity, an escape in that direction be possible ? If the famous dam broke—and the catastrophe was said to be expected any day,—our calm progress through the Shyok valley was doomed to develop into a wild scramble up the hill-side. At one place, where smooth slabs of rock overhung a pool of wonderful sapphire blue, we acknowledged that we would have been beaten. Flight at that point would have been quite out of the question.

However all remained quiet, and with a feeling of relief we reached our old camp at Saser Brangsa. These sentiments would have been even more intensified, could we have known that exactly a week later the dam would burst. Although we missed seeing the flood, we became aware of the catastrophe happening by the repeated occurrence of dull but distinct sounds, recalling the reports of a cannon a long way off. We were at the time at Daulat-Beg-oldi, a distance of about 20 miles from the dam.

Daulat-Beg-oldi was our starting-point for our last field of exploration, namely the region to the east and north-east of the Karakoram pass. During the few days we stayed there, loads were re-packed, food-supplies carefully counted, and the porters were given a rest. Here we had a visit from Mr. Ludlow, who had just left the Shyok dam, which he had been investigating with Mr. Gunn. It was the caravan season, and nearly every day we could watch from our tents a long string of ponies and camels on their way to the Depsang plains. Our projected route, however, branched off immediately from the caravan-track into the unknown wilderness. We first followed the upward course of the Chip-chap river. As it was to be foreseen that no grass would be found, and as he visibly suffered from the high altitude, I sent my pony to graze at Yapchan, at the head of the Shyok, where a month's rest completely restored him. The altitude not only proved a severe strain to the animals crossing the Depsang ; we ourselves found that the continued sojourn at more than 17,000 feet affected us, although during the whole time we were all in perfect health. Having to rely for transport entirely on our 34 native porters, we travelled light, reducing the loads to a minimum. This necessary measure made food-supplies scanty, and our hopes of supplementing the larder by shooting any game were doomed to disappointment. Three Tibetan antelopes were the only bag we shot, and except on one or two rare occasions, no other animals were seen. In this desolate region no animal life is possible. At times, even hurtsa, that blessing to the wanderer on the high plateaux, failed us, and in spite of diligent search, not even the scantiest plant could be found. The worst camps however, were those where the meagre water-supply was lacking, although now and then our hopes were raised by a salt lake, which was found to have lured us on with a deceitful promise.

We had indeed left behind us the wild peaks and glaciers, the deep gorges and rushing streams, the gigantic awfulness of Muztagh's chaotic world. Here colour supplied the chief interest in the scenery, colour weird and unreal : blood-red walls of rock and orange-hued sands, miniature lakes changing from turquoise blue to fantastic green, and in the distance, shadowy and mysterious, the purple barrier of the Kun-lun. The great chain held deliverance from the endless undulating high desert-land of sand and gravel, where death seemed to reign and neither man nor beast was tempted to linger. Somewhere along the purple line must flow the Kara-kash ; and the porters turned tired eyes to it as to a land of promise.

Afraz Gul, as we advanced, worked feverishly at his plane-table. Time was short ; soon winter would fall upon us, and the blank space on the map was large enough to daunt the most zealous worker. However at the end of September, to our great satisfaction, his task was completed.

A few words will suffice to describe our route. The first marches took us up the Chip-chap valley. We discovered that the branch of the river, marked on the map as being the principal stream, does not contain the greatest volume of water. This issues from the north, from the mountain-group into which we penetrated on our way to the Kara-tagh pass. From here we reached the Khushku Maidan, and finally after an exciting search, struck the route to the Kawak pass. Traces of this route having been used—although certainly not recently—brought us once more into human contact. The finding of a bit of charred wood was an event to be compared with the discovery of Man Friday's foot-print.

The most interesting immediate result of the exploration of this tract of country was without doubt the discovery of glaciers, of which more than twelve were noted, in an area where they were unexpected.

The whole region is about 17,000 feet above sea-level. It is intersected by mountain ranges, generally running parallel to each other. Geologically it is of considerable interest. Many fossils were found and Dr. Wyss made an excellent collection. Both salt and fresh-water lakes were met with. But for the botanist and sportsman it is disappointing. The very sparse vegetation is confined to a few desert plants.

In the central group my husband and Mr. Sillem, with Franz and Dr. Wyss, climbed a summit of 21,000 feet. A steep ice-slope rendered it an Alpine adventure. But at this season—it was September,-and at this altitude, cold is the climber's greatest enemy. The weather on the whole was good, although a bad snow-storm showed us how dangerous a blizzard on these trackless plains might be. The mornings were agreeably calm, but later in the day a sudden wind regularly sprang up, often blowing with such force that all hands were needed to keep the tents from collapsing.

Came at length the parting of the ways. At a short distance below the Kawak pass, the Khan Sahib and his porters turned back to resume once more at Daulat-Beg-oldi the road to India. After a sincere farewell we wandered along the gently-undulating slope towards the pass. Hardly perceptible on the southern incline, it falls more steeply to the north, but even so there is nowhere the slightest difficulty. Our main interest was now concentrated on where it would bring us. Would we reach the Kara-kash river in one day from the pass ? As we found later, it could be easily done, but our porters were tired, and double-marches were necessary to bring down the loads.

Traces of cattle were found as we eagerly descended over patches of stunted yellow grass. Evidently this spot had been used as a summer grazing-ground. Then once more an arid region filled the landscape, until suddenly, far below us, a green valley came into sight.

On the rocks we halted, gazed down and gazed again, while a strange emotion took hold of us.

" Green grass ! Trees ! Water ! "

Trees, yes, trees, they were the most wonderful sight of all— although they were mere shrubs—to our desert-weary eyes. After many weeks of barren country, that night we pitched our tents once more on grass. Two porters who had wandered off in search of wood brought sensational news. They had seen a woman ! She apparently belonged to a Kirghiz settlement lower down the valley. The next morning two men appeared with a sheep and an invitation to visit them on the way down. We were, they said, quite near the Kara-kash.

Feeling our troubles to be at an end, we marched to the Kirghiz camp in high spirits. The red-clothed women, with their tall white head-dresses, gave us milk and bread and welcomed us to their tents. The men and boys looked as if they had stepped out of some rustic operatic scene. A short walk took us to the junction of the Kawak and the Kara-kash. Hundreds of sheep and yak were grazing in the broad valley. To us it seemed a land of plenty and of peace, though to others it would appear a desert.

Our evening's camp was pitched at a delightful place. At the tent doors flowed the wonderfully clear and blue water of the Kara-kash, the peaks of the Kun-lun, forming the background, rising immediately from the other bank. The mild climate of the lower altitudes was pleasant to our chilled bones, food was plentiful and the night was soft and warm. By the murmuring water the porters sat in a circle round the fire and told tales of Gessar Khan.

Two more marches brought us to Suget Karaul and on the 4th October we started on the journey to Yarkand via the Sanju pass.

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