Of The Three Lofty Passes On This Route, The Toglang, Which Is
Higher, And The Baralacha, Which Is Lower, Are Featureless Billows Of
Gravel, Over Which A Carriage Might Easily Be Driven.
Not so is the
Lachalang, though its well-made zigzags are easy for laden animals.
The approach to it
Is fantastic, among precipitous mountains of red
sandstone, and red rocks weathered into pillars, men's heads, and
numerous groups of gossipy old women from thirty to fifty feet high,
in flat hats and long circular cloaks! Entering by red gates of rock
into a region of gigantic mountains, and following up a crystal
torrent, the valley narrowing to a gorge, and the gorge to a chasm
guarded by nearly perpendicular needles of rock flaming in the
westering sun, we forded the river at the chasm's throat, and camped
on a velvety green lawn just large enough for a few tents, absolutely
walled in by abrupt mountains 18,000 and 19,000 feet in height. Long
after the twilight settled down on us, the pinnacles above glowed in
warm sunshine, and the following morning, when it was only dawn
below, and the still river pools were frozen and the grass was white
with hoar-frost, the morning sun reddened the snow-peaks and kindled
into vermilion the red needles of Lachalang. That camping-ground
under such conditions is the grandest and most romantic spot of the
whole journey.
Verdureless and waterless stretches, in crossing which our poor
animals were two nights without food, brought us to the glacier-blue
waters of the Serchu, tumbling along in a deep broad gash, and
farther on to a lateral torrent which is the boundary between Rupchu,
tributary to Kashmir, and Lahul or British Tibet, under the rule of
the Empress of India.
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