A cold wind was blowing in our faces all the day. We had breakfast by a bridge, and here crossing a spur, we entered a wider valley which was full of juniper, all of bright autumn colours.
Three miles on, we came to Mataigum, the usual stage from Dras. Here are a few native houses, a large serai and a small rest house. Except for a few small fields of grain, the valley and lower hill slopes were grass covered, with pencil cedars and shrubs. A very dreary looking place, hemmed in by these vast hills. It must be a terrible place to live in for seven months of the year. We decided to go on another 8miles to Mechahoi. It would have been a pleasant march but for the cold wind, and later, shower of snow.
The valley got narrower, the stream being in a deep gorge on our right. We were on a glacial moraine which filled the valley right across except for the gorge the stream had made. The once-great glacier now only protrudes a little way from the mouth of its nullah on the left.
Close under its end we reached the rest huts of Mechahoi. There was a flat place close by for camping on, so we pitched our tents.
Looking up the side nullah, we could see 2 snow peaks from which the glacier comes. They looked rather weird in the moonlight.
Wednesday Oct 2nd. When we turned out in the morning, the ground was covered with snow, and before we had finished packing up, snow was falling again, and we had our choti hazir in the khansammah’s tent.
Descended about 50 feet off the moraine to the proper level of the valley. Ahead was a fine looking mountain draped in snow, at the foot of which the stream divided, we taking the left branch. Our path kept along the foot of the slopes on the right; on the left was a level ridge not more than 100 feet high covered with snow, which, getting thinner towards the bottom showed the autumn colouring through the white. The bottom of the valley was about a ¼ mile wide, with swampy grass. There were only trickling streams, which presently we found to be flowing our way, showing that we had crossed the water shed. This pass, being only 11300 ft above sea level must be about the lowest dip in the main Himalayan range.
A mile or two on, the flat valley bottom ends at the sudden drop of 2000 feet to the Sind Valley. The stream goes down a narrow, precipitous gorge which, when filled with snow in the winter and spring is the way of ascent and descent. Here, at the top of the descent, we meet the first birch trees. below are pines.
Looking down and across to the head of the Sind, we saw that all the lower slopes of the mountains are clothed with pines. It is a sort of new world one comes to, and with such suddenness. Just as I reached the top of the drop, there was a flurry of snow and a gust of wind which brought off a shower of leaves from the birch trees, like gold mist with the snow.
The 2000ft descent on a steep and rather slippery path brought us to Battal where there is a rough rest house and some small huts for coolies. It was now raining, making an unpleasant 9 mile march down to Somamerg village. Of the fine scenery, there was nothing to be seen. All about the village was a swamp. There was no question of camping, and our baggage was a long way behind. We were shown a barn-like building which was said to be the rest house, but was evidently, from the state of the floor, used regularly as a cow house. At one end the floor was a bit raised, so we got this scraped clean, more or less, and here, when the baggage arrived, put up our beds. The khamsamah lit his fire on the floor close by, and soon there was a cloud of smoke. the bottom level of which floated about a foot above our beds. One could lie down and be clear of it, but not sit up, so the khamsamah had to be turned out to cook in a very narrow bit of a verandah outside. The cows came home, but found their quarters occupied, and spent the night outside in the rain. Later other native travellers came in, with their ponies, so we were a bit of a party. Fortunately there was room enough.
We found letters at the post office, which brought some cheer to an otherwise rather squalid situation.Thursday 3rd Oct. The clouds hung low and there was some more rain, so one could see little of the very beautiful scenery through which we were passing.
From the valley we ascended some hundreds of feet on to Sona merg (the “Golden meadow”, from the St John’s wort which abound there in summer). An undulating grassy plain, a square mile or more in area, bounded west and north by the vale of the Sind River, on the south by a deep wooded valley down which flows the stream draining the so-called Glacier Valley from a succession of small glaciers that are seen lying between a succession of rocky peaks.
Leaving the merg, the road dropped again several hundred feet to the Sindh which here enters a very fine gorge, the sides rising precipitouslyu some thousands of feet, with pine trees clinging on wherever they can find a hold.
The scenery here is very beautiful, and very grand and wild. The valley bottom very narrow in places, in others widening out a little, is forest, through which the river rushes as a torrent, its course obstructed by great rocks that have fallen from the mountain heights above.
We only marched 15 miles today, to the village of Rewik, where Neve had time do a little work, preaching and doctoring.
We are now among Kashmiris once more who in the villages are mostly Mahomedan.
Oct 4th, Friday. Turned out at 6.30. A bright fresh morning, but a rather cold wind. Enjoyable walk along the hill side with indigo shrubs and trees. The mountains on either side of the valley now getting lower, and the forests greener, but more crimson and pink colouring due to pear trees. Fine walnut trees everywhere, the white shining river running along over its stony bed. Passed Gond, the usual stage and camping place at 4 miles, and two miles further on we crossed the river, though the baggage ponies, which we had exchanged for coolies, kept on the higher road, on the right side.
Another mile or two under the shade of fine walnut trees, the path carpeted with their fallen leaves, and we crossed again to the right bank. While we were sitting down a dog, a sort of pomeranian, came up and seemed over-powered with joy to see us, as white folk. He must have belonged to some sahib and lost him. He followed us some way. Then a long stretch of flat going amongst indigo bushes and trees tinted bright crimson.
Breakfast at 12.30. Some Dogan soldiers passed, coming from Leh. A mile-and-a-half on we crossed the bridge again by a rather long and slender bridge, and came through the dirty village of Haion, where were many bee hives in the walls of the houses. They are in gurehs (large earthenware pots) which are inside the houses, but with their mouths on the outside of the walls for the bees’ entrance. To get the honey, they smoke the bees out and break the pots.
We camped just beyond the village under walnut and willow trees by a small stream. There were bunches of misteloe on the walnut trees, and besides great bundles of hay hung up to store, as elsewhere about here.
As we wanted to makle an early start, we dispensed with our tent, and bivouaced.
Saturday 5th October. Turned out well before dawn and ate choti hizari by the light of the fire over which Khamasamah Gulam Mahomed had made some fat and rather greasy sort pf chappatis which were tasty, sustaining but somewhat indigestible.
The ordinary road to Srinegar keeps on down the valley to the end; we were taking a short cut over the hills to our left. A walk in the sweet of the morning, among fields at first and then through jungly land brought us by a gradual ascent to the foot of the hillside.It was an ascent of about 4000 fet by a steep zig-zagging path through forest to the top - and I went up without a halt.
On the top, the whole of the vale of Kashmir burst into view. Five thousand feet below us lay the Dhal Lake, calm and blue in its frame of green. Beyond were glimmers of the Jhelum River in its winding course. There was the long brown patch of the city, then miles of flat plain melting into the grey-blue of the pine forests of the Pir Punjal range, and above them, the long line of high alps and serrated peaks, now pure white with the the first fall of snow, stretching away to the end of the vale,60 miles away. And above all, a cloudless sky of blue.
A rough scramble down 4000 feet and then an easier descent through jungly land brought us to edge of the lake, where up a little green canal we found Dr Ernest Neve, who had come with a boat and his cook and breakfast,to meet us.
A six mile paddle across the lake brought us to one of the canals, at the end of which we passed through the Dhal Gate into the Chenar Canal. Here,turning left,we pass under the walls of the mission hospital,and in a few minutes,pass into the Jhelum. Another few hundred yards and we are at the nev’s ghat, where we land, and Neve is back home.
For myself, a twenty minutes walk down the bund, along the river, brought me back to the Sheiikh Bagh and Holton Cottage, where I found Cecil and Blanche and Fanny to welcome me, not to speak of Harold and baby Julian.
The first consideratoion was a bath and a change of clothes, and the removal of an eight-weeks’ growth of beard.
END
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