Hei Shui Ho.
Chu Lo.
12
India the range is shown as following round the concave side of the river bend; but I believe the surveyors did not actually explore the bend, and the trend of the range is different from what is shown on the map. Across the top of the north section of the Lichiang plain the mountain runs in a north-east and east direction. The ramifications of these spurs fill up a great part of the bend, but immediately at the north foot of the Snow Mountain there is a valley sloping down from east to west to the Yang-tsze, while the main back-bone of the range is continued on the left bank of the river in northerly direction towards Chung Tien, and so on to Thibet. The Yang-tsze has forced its way through the range by a stupendous gorge, and the snow mountain of Lichiang may be described as the tip of one of the tails of the Himalaya, cut off by the river from the back-bone connecting it with Thibet.
I commenced my exploration of the bend, which I regret that time did not permit me to complete, in splendid weather. On leaving the town of Lichiang there is a view of the other or west side of the valley. From the col which is crossed by the Ashi road, a rocky spur rises up in a north direction; as it rises it becomes more bare and jagged, and finally culminates in a great precipice, on the top of which is a snow nevé, and, apparently, a glacier; above this are six tooth-like peaks of snow, the third of which, counting from the east, is the summit, which I believe to be somewhat over 17,000 feet. On the east of and below the main peaks, there are a number of perfectly naked, needle-like pinnacles. The mountain, as far as I could observe, is wholly composed of limestone.
We marched up the lonely valley north of the city in full view of this majestic sight. After four hours' march the valley narrows, and we crossed a low spur (10,400 feet) into a wide grassy plain on the east flank of the mountain, which was covered with fir trees up to the foot of what I christened the Great Eastern Glacier; by this glacier I think that a skilled mountaineer would reach the summit without much difficulty. If ever a Yünnan Alpine Club is formed, here is a peak worthy of its virgin ambitions.
At six and a-half hours we turned slightly east, and descended through a forest of pines to a stream issuing from the east side of the mountain, and here we camped at 10,000 feet. I shot a specimen of the large wood snipe, the only living thing to be seen at this height. A furious wind blew down from the mountain all night, and in grey, raw weather we resumed the march on the next day, first crossing a forest-clad spur to Hei Poa Shao, which consists of a single log shanty, where copper from a neighbouring mine is smelted, and then ascending another great spur, along the side of which we continued to march till 3:30 P.M. We did not see a human habitation; the pine forests, festooned with moss, and the bamboo brakes inclosed us for miles, only here and there opening to give glimpses of wooded spurs descending east to the Yang-tsze. The road, however, is frequented by a small, but constant, traffic of Thibetan caravans bringing drugs and musk to Lichiang, and taking tea, salt, and sugar and cloth back to Thibet. Emerging from the forest in the afternoon, we saw a wall-like precipice of limestone, distant about 10 miles to the north-east; there was evidently a river at the foot of it, and the guide informed me that it was the Yang-tsze flowing in a south direction to Yung-peh.
Our regular stage would have been Min Yin, 34 miles from Lichiang and 34 days from the north of the Yang-tsze bend, and 4 days from Yung Ning, on the other side of the Yang-tsze, where there is a native Chief with the rank of Prefect. Instead of proceeding to Min Yin we turned west, and after a mile's walk through maize and buckwheat, we found good quarters in a Lashi village. The people here confirmed what we had learned at Lichiang about the bend. They offered to take us to the riverside in a short day's march, going either east or west from their village. If we went west we should find the river flowing north, and if we went east we should find it flowing south. We accepted the former alternative.
The village was at the head of a wide funnel-like valley, which appeared to cut across the north feet of the great mountain. Down this valley we proceeded with the snow hill on our left, and a confused mass of lower ranges on our right. After four hours' easy march past several Lashi villages and much cultivation, we reached the considerable village of Taku, situated in a wide fan-shaped plain, but there were no signs of the river. However, our guide took us across some downs beyond the village, and quite suddenly we came upon a precipitous defile, with sides some 100 feet deep, at the bottom of which was the Yang-tsze flowing due north with a steady current. The high-water mark was 20 feet above the December level; there is no regular ferry here, but it is possible to scramble down to the water's edge and then be floated across on four inflated sheep-skins, the motive power being supplied by a naked Charon, who swims and pushes the skins and the passenger on the top of them before him as he goes. One mile south of this primitive ferry the river issues from the stupendous gorge by which it has cut its way through the snow range, and at about 1 mile further north it enters another gorge.
13
This remarkable open valley of Taku is largely composed of gravel and conglomerate. It would seem to have been the bed of an ancient glacier, descending from the Snow Mountain.
The next day the hills were covered with mist, and a steady rain was falling, but as time was limited we started an ascent of the mountains due south of the village, apparently towards the main summit. At 7,000 feet the rain became heavy snow, and a fierce and bitter wind assailed us from all quarters. No path was visible, and it was impossible to know where we were going, except that we were making a continuous ascent in a south direction. After 6 hours of this kind of thing the question of what was to become of us in this desolate storm-swept forest became interesting, but luckily we had a reliable guide, who at length brought us safe through the whirling mist and snow out on to our former route, near Hei Poa Shao, and we were forced to share the hospitality of that tumble-down hostelry with a number of Thibetans. These interesting people, with their red woollen mantles and embroidered leather boots, are better studied in the open.
Under a roof they exhale a very ancient and fish-like smell. On Christmas day the dazzling sunshine returned, and we went back over our old route, through deep snow to Pei Sha market, 5 miles west of Lichiang, where the gentry placed at our disposal the temple of the God of Literature. This market has a population of about 800, and is a good example of the manner in which Chinese influence has worked upon the Minchias and Lashis. The people have adopted clan names in the Chinese fashion, but they are clearly not Chinese clan names—e.g., Mu and Ho. At the door of the Chinese temple were floating Thibetan flag charms, and some of the literati who have got Chinese degrees can hardly speak the language of Han.
From Pei Sha I passed over westward into the plain of Lashi, where a Lashi farmer put us up in his clean and comfortable wooden house. The circular lake in the middle of this plain is receding, and the alluvial soil round it gives excellent crops of rice, wheat, and opium.
On the 27th December, undeterred by a heavy fall of snow, I set out to visit the ferry of Ashi, on the Yang-tsze. We ascended another wooded spur of the great mountain which closes the west side of the Lashi Valley to 9,400 feet, and as we descended through pine forests by a rough stone road the weather lifted and we were rewarded by glimpses of the river, a terraced valley along its banks far below us, and, on the other side of the river, the cloud-capped mountains which block the way to Thibet. In the scrub under the pines as I descended I killed two fine silver pheasants.
Just at the bottom of the descent the high road from Lichiang to Weisi (six days) branches off to the west from the Ashi road, which latter we followed, winding through a large village and passed many terraced fields to the water's edge.
The little valley of Ashi is famous for its opium. In the open season and when the Chunglien road is not closed by snow, there is a considerable mule traffic passing the Yang-tsze at this point; ponies, drugs, wool, furs, musk come out, and cottons, sugar, salt, tea, and wheat wine, for which Lichiang and the district round is famous, go in to Thibet.
The Yang-tsze at Ashi is far more like the river in Szechuan than it is at Taku. The ferry is well served by a large flat-bottomed barge. In December the river here was 120 yards broad, but in the summer it must be over 200 yards; both banks are fringed with a narrow but fertile valley, but about 2 miles north of Ashi the banks contract, and the river enters the vast and impassable gorge, from which it issues at Taku for a short space. I made the height at Ashi to be 5,450 feet, or 150 feet higher than at Taku.
The Yang-tsze is known all over North-west Yunnan as the Chin Chiang (Gold River) or Chin Sha Chiang (Gold Sand River). In the bend it is also known as the Ashi River, because the chief ferry is at Ashi.
The geographical and ethnological features of this country deserve a thorough exploration by competent traveller with plenty of time. The late autumn and the early spring are the best times for travelling; in the dead of winter I suffered from the cold, and was hampered by constant snowstorms. It is necessary in the bend country to inquire beforehand if or where there is a village or grass near the end of the stage to be performed.
Returning from Ashi to our farmer's house for the night, we started the next day in a south direction, skirting the west shore of the lake, with flocks of fowl flighting over the water on the left of us, and pheasants crowing on the hills to the right. Passing some large villages and a handsome lamasery, we said good-bye to the Lashi, and...
[2021 h-1]
E
1.
250
Hei Shui Ho.
Chu Lo.
12
India the range is shown as following round the concave side of the river bend; but I believe the surveyors did not actually explore the bend, and the trend of the range is different from what is shown on the map. Across the top of the north section of the Lichiang plain the mountain runs in a north-east and east direction. The ramifications of these spurs fill up a great part of the bend, but immediately at the north foot of the Snow Mountain there is a valley sloping down from east to west to the Yang-tsze, while the main back-bone of the range is continued on the left bank of the river in northerly direction towards Chung Tien, and so on to Thibet. The Yang-tsze has forced its way through the range by a stupendous gorge, and the snow mountain of Lichiang may be described as the tip of one of the tails of the Himalaya, cut off by the river from the back-bone connecting it with Thibet.
I commenced my exploration of the bend, which I regret that time did not permit me to complete, in splendid weather. On leaving the town of Lichiang there is a view of the other or west side of the valley. From the col which is crossed by the Ashi road, a rocky spur rises up in a north direction; as it rises it becomes more bare and jagged, and finally culminates in a great precipice, on the top of which is a snow nevé, and, apparently, a glacier; above this are six tooth-like peaks of snow, the third of which, counting from the east, is the summit, which I believe to be somewhat over 17,000 feet. On the east of and below the main peaks, there are a number of perfectly naked, needle- like pinnacles. The mountain, as far as I could observe, is wholly composed of
limestone.
We marched up the lonely valley north of the city in full view of this majestic sight. After four hours' march the valley narrows, and we crossed a low spur (10,400 feet) into a wide grassy plain on the east flank of the mountain, which was covered with fir trees up to the foot of what I christened the Great Eastern Glacier; by this glacier I think that a skilled mountaineer would reach the summit without much difficulty. If ever a Yünnan Alpine Club is formed, here is a peak worthy of its virgin ambitions,
At six and a-half hours we turned slightly east, and descended through a forest of pines to a stream issuing from the east side of the mountain, and here we camped at 10,000 feet. I shot a specimen of the large wood snipe, the only living thing to be seen at this height. A furious wind blew down from the mountain all night, and in grey, raw weather we resumed the march on the next day, first crossing a forest-clad spur to Hei Poa Shao, which consists of a single log shanty, where copper from a neighbouring mine is smelted, and then ascending another great spur, along the side of which we continued to march till 3:30 r.M. We did not see a human babitation; the pine forests, festooned with moss, and the bamboo brakes inclosed us for miles, only here and there opening to give glimpses of wooded spurs descending east to the Yang-tsze. The road, however, is frequented by a small, but constant, traffic of Thibetan caravans bringing drugs and musk to Lichiang, and taking tea, salt, and sugar and cloth back to Thibet. Emerging from the forest in the afternoon, we saw a wall-like precipice of limestone, distant about 10 miles to the north-east; there was evidently a river at the foot of it, and the guide informed me that it was the Yang-tsze flowing in a south direction to Yung-peh.
Our regular stage would have been Min Yin, 34 miles from Lichiang and 34 days from the north of the Yang-tsze bend, and 4 days from Yung Ning, on the other side of the Yang-tsze, where there is a native Chief with the rank of Prefect. Instead of proceeding to Min Yin we turned west, and after a mile's walk through maize and buckwheat, we found good quarters in a Lashi village. The people here confirmed what we had learned at Lichiang about the bend. They offered to take us to the riverside in a short day's march, going either east or west from their village. If we went west we should find the river flowing north, and if we went east we should find it flowing south. We accepted the former alternative.
The village was at the head of a wide funnel-like valley, which appeared to cut across the north feet of the great mountain. Down this valley we proceeded with the snow hill on our left, and a confused mass of lower ranges on our right. After four hours' easy march past several Lashi villages and much cultivation, we reached the considerable village of Taku, situated in a wide fan-shaped plain, but there were no signs of the river. However, our guide took us across some downs beyond the village, and quite suddenly we came upon a precipitous defile, with sides some 100 feet deep, at the bottom of which was the Yang-isze flowing due north with a steady current. The high-water mark was 20 feet above the December level; there is no regular ferry here, but it is possible to scramble down to the water's edge and then be floated across on four inflated sheep-skins, the motive power being supplied by a naked Charon, who swims and pushes the skins and the passenger on the top of them before him as he goes. One mile
13
south of this primitive ferry the river issues from the stupendous gorge by which it has cut its way through the snow range, and at about 1 miles further north it enters another gorge.
This remarkable open valley of Taku is largely composed of gravel and conglomerate. It would seem to have been the bed of an ancient glacier, descending from the Snow Mountain.
The next day the hills were covered with mist, and a steady rain was falling, but as time was limited we started an ascent of the mountains due south of the village, appa- rently towards the main summit. At 7,000 feet the rain became heavy snow, and a fierce and bitter wind assailed us from all quarters. No path was visible, and it was impossible to know where we were going, except that we were making a continuous ascent in a south direction. After 6 hours of this kind of thing the question of what was to become of us in this desolate storm-swept forest became interesting, but luckily we had a reliable guide, who at length brought us safe through the whirling mist and snow out on to our former route, near Hei Poa Shao, and we were forced to share the hospitality of that tumble-down hostelry with a number of Thibetans. These interesting people, with their red woollen mantles and embroidered leather boots, are better studied in the open.
Under a roof they exhale a very ancient and fish-like smell. On Christmas day the dazzling sunshine returned, and we went back over our old route, through deep snow to Pei Sha market, 5 miles west of Lichiang, where the gentry placed at our disposal the temple of the God of Literature. This market has a population of about 800, and is a good example of the manner in which Chinese influence has worked upon the Minchias and Lashis. The people have adopted clan names in the Chinese fashion, but they are clearly not Chinese clan names-e.g., Mu and Ho. At the door of the Chinese temple were floating Thibetan flag charms, and some of the literati who have got Chinese degrees can hardly speak the language of Han.
From Pei Sha I passed over westward into the plain of Lashi, where a Lashi farmer put us up in bis clean and comfortable wooden house. The circular lake in the middle of this plain is receding, and the alluvial soil round it gives excellent crops of rice, wheat, and opium.
On the 27th December, undeterred by a heavy fall of snow, I set out to visit the ferry of Ashi, on the Yang-tsze. We ascended another wooded spur of the great mountain which closes the west side of the Lashi Valley to 9,400 feet, and as we descended through pine forests by a rough stone road the weather lifted and we were rewarded by glimpses of the river, a terraced valley along its banks far below us, and, on the other side of the river, the cloud-capped mountains which block the way to Thibet. In the scrub under the pines as I descended I killed two ben silver pheasants.
Just at the bottom of the descent the high road from Lichiang to Weisi (six days) branches off to the west from the Ashi road, which latter we followed, winding through a large village and passed many terraced fields to the water's edge.
The little valley of Ashi is famous for its opium. In the open season and when the Chunglien road is not closed by snow, there is a considerable mule traffic passing the Yang-tsze at this point; ponies, drugs, wool, furs, musk come out, and cottons, sugar, salt, tea, and wheat wine, for which Lichiang and the district round is famous, go in to Thibet.
The Yang-tsze at Ashi is far more like the river in Szechuan than it is at Taku. The ferry is well served by a large flat-bottomed barge. In December the river here was 120 yards broad, but in the summer it must be over 200 yards; both banks are fringed with a narrow but fertile valley, but about 2 miles north of Ashi the banks contract, and the river enters the vast and impassable gorge, from which it issues at Taku for a short space. I made the height at Ashi to be 5,450 feet, or 150 feet higher
than at Taku.
The Yang-tsze is known all over North-west Yunnan as the Chin Chiang (Gold River) or Chin Sha Chiang (Gold Sand River). In the bend it is also known as the Ashi River, because the chief ferry is at Ashi.
The geographical and ethnological features of this country deserve a thorough exploration by competent traveller with plenty of time. The late autumn and the early spring are the best times for travelling; in the dead of winter I suffered from the cold, and was hampered by constant snowstorms. It is necessary in the bend country to inquire beforehand if or where there is a village or grass near the end of the stage to be performed.
Returning from Ashi to our farmer's house for the night, we started the next day in a south direction, skirting the west shore of the lake, with flocks of fowl flighting over the-water on the left of us, and pheasants crowing on the hills to the right. Passing some large villages and a handsome lamasery, we said good-bye to the Lashi, and com-
[2021 h-1]
E
1.
250
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