An idea may be gained
of the steepness by the fact that we now left the valley of the Shah
Roud, barely one thousand feet above sea-level, to ascend, in a
distance of about twelve miles, over six thousand feet.
The Kharzan Pass is at all times dreaded by travellers, native and
European, even in summer, when there are no avalanches to fear,
snow-drifts to bar the way, or ice to render the narrow, tortuous
pathway even more insecure. A serious inconvenience, not to say
danger, is the meeting of two camel caravans travelling in opposite
directions on the narrow track, which, in many places, is barely ten
feet broad, and barely sufficient to allow two horses to pass each
other, to say nothing of heavily laden camels. But to-day we were safe
so far as this was concerned. Not a soul was to be seen in the clefts
and ravines around, or on the great white expanse stretched out
beneath our feet, as we crept cautiously up the side of the mountain,
our guide halting every ten or fifteen yards to probe the snow with a
long pole and make sure that we had not got off the path.
A stiff and tedious climb of nearly seven hours brought us to within a
mile of the summit. Halting for a short time, we refreshed ourselves
with a couple of biscuits and a nip of brandy, and proceeded on our
journey.
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