Himalayan Journals, vol 2 by J. D. Hooker (android pdf ebook reader TXT) 📕

feet, and are probably much higher. The most lofty mountains were on the range north of Nepal, not less than 120 miles distant, and which, though heavily snowed, were below the horizon of Donkia pass.

Cholamoo lake lay in a broad, scantily grassed, sandy and stony

valley; snow-beds, rocks, and glaciers dipped abruptly towards its

head, but on its west bank a lofty brick-red spur sloped upwards from it, conspicuously cut into terraces for several hundred feet above

its waters.

Kambajong, the chief Tibetan village near this, after Phari and

Giantchi, is situated on the Arun (called in Tibet "Chomachoo"), on the road from Sikkim to Jigatzi* [I have adopted the simplest mode of spelling this name that I could find, and omitted the zong or jong, which means fort, and generally terminates it. I think it would not be difficult to enumerate fully a dozen ways of spelling the word, of which Shigatzi, Digarchi, and Djigatzi are the most common.

The Tibetans tell me that they cross two passes after leaving Donkia, or Kongra Lama, en route for Jigatzi, on both of which they suffer

from headaches and difficulty of breathing; one is over the Kambajong range; the other, much loftier, is over that of Kiang-lah: as they do not compliin of Bhomtso, which is also crossed, and is 18,500 feet, the others may be very lofty indeed. The distance from Donkia pass to Jigatzi is said to be ten days' journey for loaded yaks. Now,

according to Turner's observations (evidently taken with great care) that capital is in latitude 29 degrees 4 minutes 20 seconds north, or only seventy miles north of Donkia; and as the yak travels at the

rate of sixteen miles a day, the country must be extraordinarily

rugged, or the valleys tortuous. Turner took eight or nine days on

his journey from Phari to Teshoo Loombo, a distance of only eighty

miles; yet he is quoted as an authority for the fact of Tibet being a plain! he certainly crossed an undulating country, probably 16,OOO to 17,000 feet high; a continuation eastwards of the Cholamoo features, and part of the same mountain range that connects Chumulari and

Donkia: he had always lofty mountains in eight, and rugged ones on

either side, after he had entered the Painomchoo valley. It is a

remarkable and significant fact that Turner never appears to have

seen Chumulari after having passed it, nor Donkia, Kinchinjhow, or

Kinchinjunga at any time.] and Teshoo Loombo. I did not see it, but a long, stony mountain range above the town is very conspicuous, its

sides presenting an interrupted line of cliffs, resembling the

port-holes of a ship: some fresh-fallen snow lay at the base, but

none at the top, which was probably 18,500 feet high. The banks of

the Arun are thence inhabited at intervals all the way to Tingre,

where it enters Nepal.

Donkia rises to the eastward of the pass, but its top is not visible.

I ascended (over loose rocks) to between 19,000 and 20,000 feet, and reached vast masses of blue ribboned ice, capping the ridges, but

obtained no further prospect. To the west, the beetling east summit of Kinchinjhow rises at two miles distance, 3000 to 4000 feet above the pass. A little south of it, and north of Chango Khang, the view extends through a gap in the Sebolah range, across the valley of the Lachen, to Kinchinjunga, distant forty-two miles. The monarch of

mountains looked quite small and low from this point, and it was

difficult to believe it was 10,000 feet more lofty than my position.

I repeatedly looked from it to the high Tibetan mountains in the

extreme north-west distance, and was more than ever struck with the apparently immense distance, and consequent altitude of the latter: I put, however, no reliance on such estimates.

To the south the eye wandered down the valley of the Lachoong to the mountains of the Chola range, which appear so lofty from Dorjiling, but from here are sunk far below the horizon: on comparing these with the northern landscape, the wonderful difference between their

respective snow-levels, amounting to fully 5000 feet, was very

apparent. South-east the stupendous snowy amphitheatre formed by the flank of Donkia was a magnificent spectacle.

This wonderful view forcibly impressed me with the fact, that all

eye-estimates in mountainous countries are utterly fallacious, if not corrected by study and experience. I had been led to believe that

from Donkia pass the whole country of Tibet sloped away in descending steppes to the Tsampu, and was more or less of a plain; and could I have trusted my eyes only, I should have confirmed this assertion so far as the slope was concerned. When, however, the levelled

theodolite was directed to the distance, the reverse was found to be the case. Unsnowed and apparently low mountains touched the horizon line of the telescope; which proves that, if only 37 miles off, they must, from the dip of the horizon, be at least 1000 feet higher than the observer's position. The same infallible guide cuts off

mountain-tops and deeply snowed ridges, which to the unaided eye

appear far lower than the point from which they are viewed; but

which, from the quantity of snow on them, must be many thousand feet higher, and, from the angle they subtend in the instrument, must be at an immense distance. The want of refraction to lift the horizon, the astonishing precision of the outlines, and the brilliancy of the images of mountains reduced by distance to mere specks, are all

circumstances tending to depress them to appearance. The absence of trees, houses, and familiar objects to assist the eye in the

appreciation of distance, throws back the whole landscape; which,

seen through the rarified atmosphere of 18,500 feet, looks as if

diminished by being surveyed through the wrong end of a telescope.

A few rude cairns were erected on the crest of the pass, covered with wands, red banners, and votive offerings of rags. I found a fine slab of slate, inscribed with the Tibetan characters, "Om Mani Padmi hom,"

which Meepo allowed me to take away, as the reward of my exertions.

The ridge is wholly formed of angular blocks of white gneissy

granite, split by frost.* [It was not a proper granite, but a highly metamorphic felspathic gneiss, with very little mica; being, I

suspect, a gneiss which by metamorphic action was almost remolten

into granite: the lamination was obscure, and marked by faint

undulating lines of mica; it cleaves at all angles, but most

generally along fissures with highly polished undulated black

surfaces. The strike of the same rock near at hand was north-west,

and dip north-east, at various angles.] There was no snow on the pass itself, but deep drifts and glaciers descended in hollows on the

north side, to 17,000 feet. The rounded northern red shoulder of

Kinchinjhow by Cholamoo lake, apparently 19,000 feet high, was quite bare, and, as I have said, I ascended Donkia to upwards of 19,000

feet before I found the rocks crusted with ice,* [Snow, transformed into ice throughout its whole mass: in short, glacial ice in all

physical characters.] and the ground wholly frozen. I assume,

therefore, that 19,000 feet at this spot is not below the mean level at which all the snow melts that falls on a fair exposure to the

south: this probably coincides with a mean temperature of 20 degrees.

Forty miles further north (in Tibet) the same line is probably at

20,000 feet; for there much less snow falls, and much more melts in proportion.* [Two secondary considerations materially affecting the melting of snow, and hence exerting a material influence on the

elevation of the snow-line, appear to me never to have been

sufficiently dwelt upon. Both, however, bear directly upon the great elevation of the snow-line in Tibet. From the imperfect transmission of the heating rays of the sun through films of water, which transmit perfectly the luminous rays, it follows that the direct effects of

the rays, in clear sunshine, are very different at equal elevations of the moist outer and dry inner Himalaya. Secondly, naked rock and soil absorb much more heat than surfaces covered with vegetation, and this heat again radiated is infinitely more rapidly absorbed by snow (or other white surfaces) than the direct heat of the sun's rays is.

Hence, at equal elevations the ground heats sooner, and the snow is more exposed to the heat thus radiated in arid Tibet, than in the

wooded and grassed mountains of Sikkim.] From the elevation of about 19,300 feet, which I attained on Donkia, I saw a fine illustration of that atmospheric phenomenon called the "spectre of the Brocken," my own shadow being projected on a mass of thin mist that rose above the tremendous precipices over which I hung. My head was surrounded with a brilliant circular glory or rainbow.* [Probably caused by spiculae of ice floating in the atmosphere, the lateral surfaces of which

would then have an uniform inclination of 60 degrees: this, according to the observations of Mariotte, Venturi, and Fraunhoefer being the angle necessary for the formation of halos.]

The temperature of the Donkia pass is much higher than might be

anticipated from its great elevation, and from the fact of its being always bitterly cold to the feelings. This is no doubt due to the

warmth of the ascending currents, and to the heat evolved during the condensation of their vapours. I took the following observations:--

Sept. 9, 1.30-3.30 p.m.: Temp. 41.8 degrees, D.P. 30.3 degrees,

Difference 11.5 degrees, Tension 0.1876, Humidity 0.665.

Sept. 27 1.15-3.15 p.m.: Temp. 49.2 degrees, D.P. 32.6 degrees,

Difference 16.6 degrees, Tension 0.2037, Humidity 0.560.

Oct. 19, 3.00-3.30 p.m.: Temp. 40.1 degrees, D.P. 25.0 degrees,

Difference 15.1 degrees, Tension 0.1551, Humidity 0.585.

The first and last of these temperatures were respectively 42.3

degrees and 46.4 degrees lower than Calcutta, which, with the proper deduction for latitude, allows 508 and 460 feet as equivalent to 1

degree Fahr. I left a minimum thermometer on the summit on the 9th of September, and removed it on the 27th, but it had been lifted and

turned over by the action of the frost and snow on the loose rocks

amongst which I had placed it; the latter appearing to have been

completely shifted. Fortunately, the instrument escaped unhurt, with the index at 28 degrees.

A violent southerly wind, with a scud of mist, and sometimes snow,

always blew over the pass: but we found shelter on the north face,

where I twice kindled a fire, and boiled my thermometers.* [On the

9th of September the boiling-point was 181.3 degrees, and on the

27th, 181.2 degrees. In both observations, I believe the kettle

communicated a higher temperature to the thermometer than that of the water, for the elevations deduced are far too low.] On one occasion I felt the pulses of my party several times during two hours' repose

(without eating); the mean of eight persons was 105 degrees, the

extremes being 92 degrees and 120 degrees, and my own 108 degrees.

One flowering plant ascends to the summit; the alsinaceous one

mentioned at chapter xxi. The Fescue grass, a little fern

(Woodsia), and a Saussurea* [A pink-flowered woolly Saussurea,

and Delphinium qlaciale, are two of the most lofty plants; both

being commonly found from 17,500 to 18,000 feet.] ascend very near

the summit, and several lichens grow on the top, as _Cladonia

vermicularis, the yellow _Lecidea geographica, and the orange

L. miniata;* [This is one of the most Arctic, Antarctic, and

universally diffused plants. The other lichens were _Lecidea

atro-alba, oreina, elegans, and _chlorophana, all alpine European and Arctic species. At 17,000 feet occur