and faster as they drew nearer. On arriving at the
camping-ground, the grain would he given out and
placed in nosebags, five of which were taken by each
man. During this process of distribution, the ponies
would stand round in a ring, pushing and squealing,
each one trying to edge in a little nearer to the grain
than his neighbour; those in front — generally the
strongest — were kept back by raps of a stick, while
those behind, receiving no correction, pushed and
struggled all the harder.
When all was ready, the pony-men picked up their
bags together and dispersed. A wild scene of tumult
followed. The men shouted for their own particular
animals; they, knowing their masters’ voices, jostled
after them, neighing, biting and kicking. Then the
nosebags would be quickly slipped over their heads, and
a sudden calm would ensue—not a sound being heard
but that of steady munching. It was a scene that
we never tired of watching, and when the days came
when the grain failed, we were almost as disappointed
as the ponies themselves.
At Pamzal there was but little grass to be found,
and the ponies fed off the dead leaves of the shrubs
which grew all along the banks of the river ; the yaks,
however, were more fastidious, and consequently had
nothing to eat that day. The wood of these shrubs
burned brilliantly, and it was appreciated all the more
as we knew it would be the last we should see for a
long while.
Turning eastwards from Pamzal, we made our way
up the valley of the Changchenmo — ascending by
almost imperceptible degrees to the Lanak La, the
pass separating Ladak and Tibet. The valley itself
is broad, and flanked on either side by rolling mountains
and grass-grown nullahs, once celebrated as the
I fm.
haunt of the ovis ammon and the yak. For the
greater part of the year a west wind tears through the
valley with such force that it is well-nigh impossible to
make headway against it. Down the centre an icy
torrent flows over worn and ever-shifting boulders, the
rush of water continually forcing the smaller rocks to
take up a new position lower down. The river was
also full of ice and snow, whilst here and there snow-
bridges spanned the rushing water. These causeways
proved invaluable, as we were compelled to cross
the river several times, and only in one place was
much difficulty experienced. Here the river ran close
under a precipitous cliff, leaving a bare two-foot
■space between the rock and the perpendicular ice-wall
■of the river itself; this narrow way was found to be
■too small for the laden animals to traverse, and con-
Isequently the protruding rock of the cliff had to be
knocked off—a proceeding which took a considerable
time. Fortunately no casualties occurred, owing to
the skilful and energetic work of the drivers, who
pulled, pushed, and held up the animals in the most
wonderful way, when a single slip would have meant
the total loss of beast and baggage.
The climatic conditions prevailing during our
■passage through the Changchenmo Valley would be
completely altered six weeks later; snow, mist and
biting winds giving place to flowers, luxuriant grass
and blazing sunshine.
Kyam, our next halting-place, is situated on an
extensive plateau, 100 feet or so above the river.
Numerous streams so irrigate the valley that excellent
grazing is produced during the summer months. On
our arrival, however, it was found that the whole
of the feeding-grounds were still covered with snow,
and little grass was to be seen. Hot springs bubbled
3