close the plain upon which the Bam tso is now but a
dwindling stretch, frowned upon us as we moved past
the successive openings. Some grazing might perhaps
be found here in the height of the summer, but in April
there is no blade of vegetation except the usual wormwood.
Divided from the road by a wide swamp, the
waters of the lake, then partly frozen, were dotted
with the innumerable wild-fowl which the previous
explorers had reported. Ruddy sheldrake, pintails, barheaded
geese, pochards, terns, teal and wild-duck were
all to be seen and it was easy to approach within twenty
yards of them. A curious thing was here to be seen.
These birds undoubtedly migrate annually across the
Himalayas from the plains of India. Lower down,
they had had experience enough of the meaning and
danger of a man s figure. Here in Tibet, where no
bird had been shot since Bogle offended the susceptibilities
of his companions, they did not show the
slightest fear when the long dusty column bore down
upon them. But after the evening of the 5th, when
shooting was for the first time permitted after our
arrival in camp, the change that came over the fowl
was strange indeed. In a moment they became, and
remained, as shy as ever they had been in India.
Under foot, on the cinderous slopes, the only vegetation
was the hard circular sponges of saxifrage or the
tiny plants of edelweiss, no larger than a florin, hiding
away between the boulders and the stones. Here
and there a hare scurried away before the feet of the
column, but it was a rare break in the monotony. Across
the lake to the east, the road to Lhasa ran visibly,
and away to the south-east could be seen the deserted
walls and sangars of Hram, which the enemy had deserted
during the fight at Guru. Chalu was reached
about three o’clock.
The village itself lies half-way between the two lakes
on the borders of the stream which flows from the
Bam tso into the Kala tso, a distance of about three
miles. A halt was made just where this stream leaves
the former lake. It was a cold, pitiless afternoon, with
a horizontal sleet blowing and the promise of heavy
snow that night. A few duck were shot and a welcome
store of bhusa was obtained from Chalu. Lu-chea
monastery was visible half-way up the hills to the east,
but it was not visited, except by a foraging party.
The stream joining the two lakes is traversed by a
long stone causeway, about a quarter of a mile from
the upper lake, and on the following morning it was
crossed by the column, who were to make only a short
march that day. The road between the two lakes
runs at a little height above the stream in the defile.
On either side there are steep hills, and Chalu occupies
the only level place beside the road. It is only a short
distance before the gorge ends and the waters of the
Kala tso are seen. Even the most recent map makers,
I notice, have insisted that this gorge is ten miles long.
It is curious that they should have persisted in this
mistake in spite of the far' more accurate map which
Turner drew in 1784.
As one goes on an extraordinary optical illusion is
seen. The Kala tso stretches out, a great shield of
silver grey on the left front, and the river, some thirty
feet below us on the same side, appears to run up hill
into it. This illusion, which is very striking, can only
be accounted for by assuming that the eye is mistaken
in the apparent height of the Kala tso. This lake cerv
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