---

However, the night passed, quiet and windless, and we woke up the next morning to see

our camp and the countryside buried under snow. Heavy gray clouds hung over the horizon

and the air was damp and chilly. The snow falls seemed to have begun early this year.

Leaving camp we followed a narrow camel trail across a sandy plain covered by scant

coarse grass. About noon we reached the banks of the river Chu-mar. It was shallow and

flowed in several channels with swampy bottoms. We spent some time searching for a

fording place and one of our Mongols, with his horse, sank deep into the river bed, and

had to be rescued. After the river, the trail led over belts of sand dunes. The camp was

pitched on the shores of another lake of rain water. The countryside abounded in such

lakes, the presence of which indicated the heavy rainfall that the region must have

received during the months of July and August.

During the night there was a light snow which quickly melted in the morning. We were forced to spend a whole day on the spot, on account of the grave condition of the *nyer-wa*. He nearly died the evening of the previous day and we advised him to return to Tsaidam to await complete recovery, but he insisted on following our caravan.

marching in two columns over the sandy plain in a southwesterly direction. An absolute

absence of any track made the progress somewhat difficult. Numerous holes made in the

ground by rodents, and swampy patches of sands hampered us, and several of our camels

and horses sank knee-deep into sand. Evidently the region had received an unusual amount

of precipitation, for our guides never remembered having seen so many pools of water.

The country gradually ascended toward the Kokoshili Range that was seen to the south—a

dark blue line of low rolling hills.

valleys. We camped on the banks of the stream, at the place where the river valley

broadened and merged into the vast latitudinal plain that separated the Kokoshili from

the Dungbudra Range.

fireplaces along the trail. The Tibetan outposts seemed to have moved farther south.

The Dungbudra-kötöl was some 15,700 feet high and presented no difficulty. The descent

was rather steep and followed a narrow mountain gorge filled by huge bowlders.

gates to Tibet greeted us with hail and a bitter southwest wind. We descended into a

mountain valley, and camped on a level patch of ground, covered by abandoned fireplaces,

signs that the place had been frequently used as a camping ground by passing caravans.

To the south rose the snowy mountain range of the Thang La, and north of our camp

towered the rocky wall of the Tsagan Khada.

On September 24 we continued our march in a westerly direction. Soon after leaving the

camp, the trail emerged on a vast sandy plain. To the south rose the mighty Thang La—a

mass of eternal snows, one of the highest and most important ranges of Tibet. To the

east of the track lay numerous salt lakes, which gave to the plain the Mongol name of

Olun-nor, or "Many Lakes." The Tibetan name is Sang-jya jya-lam, for it is the

junction of two important caravan routes of Tibet: the route from Tsaidam by which we

were coming, and the trade route from Sining. After a two hours' march across the

plain we noticed a black tent at the foot of the hills stretching south of the plain. We

at once sent out a reconnoitering party, which soon returned with the report that this

was an outpost of Tibetan militia. We saw a horseman leaving the tent in all haste and

galloping to the southwest. Soon a group of militiamen with their chief approached the

caravan, and the chief invited us to stop for the day and inquired about our passports.

These were shown to him and, after a lengthy examination, the chief found them in order

and promised to send a report at once to his superior, posted with a detachment of

militia on the Sining route. He also said he would dispatch mounted messengers to

Nag-chu announcing our arrival.

The militia outpost consisted of ten men, who were all tribesmen from the Nag-chu-ka

district. They were an unkempt lot, with long, matted hair and gray, almost black,

sheepskin coats. Their armament consisted of Tibetan swords and matchlocks. Two of them

had long Tibetan spears. The chief of the outpost wore a green Homburger hat and could

write with some difficulty. He drafted a long report about us and inquired the number of

our firearms and the number of riding and pack animals in our caravan. The men of the

outpost were very civil and said that they had heard of our coming several weeks before.

The chief of the outpost told us that mounted messengers covered the distance between

Sang-jya jya-lam and Nag-chu in four days. He also informed us that the two

Joint-Governors of Nag-chu had recently been changed and that at present the district

was governed by the well-known Go-mang garpön, the former Tibetan trade agent at Sining.

Who the new civil governor or *nang-so* was, they could not tell us. The

militiamen told our Mongols that the trade route was closely watched and that numerous

militia outposts, supported by regular troops had been stationed along the route to

Lhasa. According to them, four Russians were held up at Sheng-di. These four strangers

were preparing a survey of the country and came from Sining. They were negotiating with

the Lhasa Government for permission to visit Lhasa, which so far had been refused.

On the next day, we were delayed by the militiamen, who were supposed to ride ahead of

us, but could not find their horses in time. They agreed finally to let us go ahead and

to join us on the way. The trail crossed the low ridge immediately south of the outpost

and then led to a sandy plain covered by hillocks and small saline lakes. The ground of

the plain was swampy. Herds of *kyangs*, Tibetan antelope, and gazelles were seen

grazing in the distance. We even observed the exciting scene of two wolves following a

young gazelle in hot pursuit. The wolves had a hard time and ultimately had to give up

the chase.

The two militiamen who were ordered to carry the report of our coming to Nag-chu, joined

our party on the banks of the Mar-chu River, the Tokhtomai-gol of the Mongols and of our

maps. Both of the men were mounted on small shaggy horses which had difficulty keeping

pace with our own Mongol horses. Both had long Tibetan swords and Tibetan matchlocks

with long prongs used as supports for the gun. One had a felt summer hat brimmed with

red cloth. In his right hand he carried a big prayer wheel, which he continuously turned

for the benefit of his soul.

It took us fully one hour to cross the river, which is noted for its swampy treacherous

bottom and quicksands. The horses of the militiamen sank deep into the sand and had to

be rescued. The camp was pitched on the southern bank of the river. The militiamen left

us and rode on toward Nag-chu.

The next march was toward Dri-chu or the Yang-tze. The path ascended a mountain pass,

some 15,600 feet high, with swampy ground. From the top of the pass we obtained the

first glimpse of the river, a silver string thrown across the valley.

There are two roads across the Dri-chu, the eastern and the western. Both are indicated

on the map of Tibet. The western route shortens the journey to Thang La by one day. We

decided to follow the western route. Far to the south rose the snowy mountain of

Buhu-mangna, also called Thang La te-tse in Tibetan. South of it towered the snow peaks

and glaciers of the main range of the Thang La. We were unable to reach Dri-chu on the

same day, and camped on the bank of a tiny stream with brackish water of a most

unpleasant taste. A violent wind came up soon after we had pitched our camp and hail

swept across the plain. The wind abated toward sunset and the night was clear and warm.

We decided to push on toward Nag-chu as fast as we could in order to arrive there before

the yearly fair, held at Nag-chu at the end of September and the beginning of October.

The fair is usually preceded by religious dances in the Shab-den Monastery, and is

attended by a large number of people from Lhasa, Kham, and the Pon-chu Valley, and even

from distant Nga-ri and Ladak. The fair is one of the important events in the life of

the region and we were very eager to attend it.

Next day we were early in the saddle and after half an hour's ride reached the

Dri-chu, a broad, clear stream with firm, gravel bottom. The fording presented no

difficulties, for at this time of the year the water reached only to the stirrups. The

place was known under the name of Rab-dün or the "Seven Fords." Having forded

the river, we crossed a grassy plain with several small salt lakes and after some twenty

miles of marching reached a shallow depression, amid flat hills. The spot was watered by

a small brook of fresh water. A violent northwest wind blew throughout the afternoon and

we again had hail and wet snow.

The Tibetan *nyer-wa*, who stood the journey remarkably well, became weak again,

and we feared that he would be unable to stand the rarefied atmosphere of the Thang La.

We had been told about the nomad encampments on the southern bank of the Dri-chu but saw

none, and the country seemed even more deserted than before.

**September 28, 1927** [Karka Valley](/#m=9/33.5215/92.4151&l=Gs&p=245/o)

summit, all the Mongols and Tibetans dismounted and the lamas intoned a chant. They

burned incense and their deep sonorous voices rose high in the serene atmosphere of

the lofty pass. The descent was not steep and a sea of mountains and snow peaks

unfolded before us. As far as the eyes could see, rose snow-clad mountains. In the

distance stood the snowy Shang-shung Ridge, a northern continuation of the lofty

Nyen-chen Thang La Range, itself a part of the Trans-Himalayas

enormously relieved when he sees the dreaded pass behind him and great is his enthusiasm

at the sight of endless mountain ranges, of sublime grandeur, that bar the road to the

holy city of Tibet and of the entire Lamaist world.

and the heavy mountain track. We continued to descend the river valley which bears the

local name of Chu-tsen-chu, because of the hot springs and geysers found along its

banks. The river valley was a broad mountain gorge, with low, rolling hills rising on

either side. We crossed a ridge known under the name of Lam-chung. Nomad encampments of

black tents were seen in side glens.

On October 6, 1927, we broke camp very early in order to reach Sheng-di before noon and

to have plenty of time to buy supplies from local nomads. The valley of the river, which

we were following, broadened and nomad encampments with flocks of sheep and herds of

domestic yaks were seen on the neighboring slopes. After some seven miles of easy road,

we suddenly noticed a group of men standing on the trail. They proved to be militiamen

with strict orders to stop us and to report to the High Commissioner of Hor, stationed

at Chu-na-khe. Most of the men were unkempt youths without arms. Instead of a sword, one

of them had an antelope horn stuck in his girdle. The headmen in command of the

detachment tried their best to express their friendly intentions and by sticking out

their tongues and thumbs, begged us to halt for only one day at Sheng-di to give them

time to report to the High Commissioner.

We decided to halt, for it was our intention to enter the country peacefully, without

forcing our way through a region protected by militia outposts. Sheng-di was a vast

latitudinal valley with flat bottom, covered by good pastures in the short summer

months. We found all the grass destroyed by the caravans from inner Mongolia, Tsaidam,

and China which are usually detained in this valley, pending the receipt of permission

to proceed to Nag-chu. The ground of the valley was covered by swamps and in the evening

the air was cold and damp. Some three miles from our camp was a small lake called

locally Yang-tse-ma tsho, situated at the foot of the hills.

The whole of the local population came into camp. Young men, with long tresses of hair

hanging on either side of their foreheads, were attired in sheepskins trimmed by strips

of black cloth, and high Tibetan boots, made of homespun and leather. Some of the better

dressed had their cheeks painted with rouge. Others had their faces covered with black

paste, used by Tibetan women to protect the skin from the winds of a Tibetan winter. The

nomads were very eager to exchange our Mongol horses for local ones. The headman,

attired in a new sheepskin, paid us a visit and drafted a long report. He again inquired

the number of men and animals in the caravan and the amount of baggage. We told him that

this had already been done by the outposts at Olun-nor, and that the report had been

sent to Nag-chu. He replied that the militia outpost at Olun-nor was subordinate to the

Joint-Governors of Nag-chu but that he had to report to the High Commissioner of Hor,

Kusho Kapshöpa, who was higher in rank and social position than the Joint-Governors of

Nag-chu. He accordingly proceeded with his report and counted and recounted the caravan

animals, which were wandering about the pasture, and the poor man each time obtained a

different number of horses and camels and had finally to drop the matter.

A militia guard of four men was placed in our camp and a white tent was pitched outside

the camp. The official explanation given us was that the tent and men were placed in our

camp to protect our animals and baggage during the night. In reality the men were placed

there to spy upon our every movement. We did not protest, hoping that this strange

attitude would soon change. We were still confident of our Tibetan passports and the

good intentions of the Tibetan Government. We were permitted to buy milk and butter but

were forbidden to sell or exchange our caravan animals. We protested against such an

infringement on our personal liberty, but the headman excused himself, saying that he

was acting under orders from higher authorities. According to him the four Russians who

were detained at Tsom-ra had a Japanese among them and they were allowed to visit

Nag-chu only because the *khan-po* of Nag-chu was a personal friend of theirs.

They were refused permission to proceed toward Lhasa and would probably have to proceed

to Sining or Ladak.

**October 7, 1927** [Sheng-di Valley](/#m=9/32.20714/92.32412&l=Gs&p=249/o)

The next day we spent in camp, waiting for an answer from the High Commissioner. The

local nomads suddenly became much more restrained for they were forbidden to trade or

communicate with us. Milk, butter, and fuel were furnished by the headmen. We spent the

day rearranging loads and doctoring the sores on the backs of our animals. According to

the headman, strict rules had been introduced since last year, and nobody was allowed to

pass the frontier without a permit from the Dalai Lama, who always fixed the date of

departure of caravans from Nag-chu. These strict regulations not only concerned

foreigners—Mongols, Chinese or other nationalities—but also Tibetans coming from

Mongolia or China after a long residence in these countries.

Late in the afternoon, we were visited by two headmen attired in red *puru* coats

and Homburger hats, carrying Tibetan swords, ornamented with semiprecious stones. They

brought the news that the High Commissioner of Hor, Kusho Kapshöpa, and the

Joint-Governors of Nag-chu invited us to move at once to Chu-na-khe and Nag-chu. The two

men again prepared to draft a report but this time we made a strong protest and told

them that three reports were enough. They smiled and dropped the matter.

by the two headmen, was marching southward. I had spent a very bad night and felt

terribly weak. The great strain of the previous days, frequent night watches, tiresome

marches and endless negotiations with frontier authorities for three days, had been

completely exhausting.

as Kam-rong La stretched a highly intersected country with grassy hills and side glens.

We passed a yak caravan on our way. These yak caravans are very slow on the march and

make only nine or ten miles a day. The two headmen who were to accompany us to

Chu-na-khe, stayed behind and we proceeded alone.

Suddenly a group of horsemen dashed across the trail toward us and with loud cries "

," "don't go," tried to stop us. Their chief had a sword and a Mauser pistol slung

across his shoulders. The rest of the men carried only cartridge belts but no rifles. We

had to stop and wait for the two headmen who galloped up and ordered the men to retire

and give us passage. This they did with cries of "

"—"go, go, go." It was curious to see that the militia post on the route was not

informed of our passage. We rode on and the country became more and more intersected.

Dispatch riders came from all directions and many greeted us in Indian fashion, "

"

activity and I was able to come down to our camp, pitched in the valley of Chu-na-khe.

One of our Mongols also dropped from his horse, and had to be assisted down the pass.

in the camp to see us coming. Many of the crowd were Lhasa traders and one of them

astonished us by saying, "Time is money," and other English words.

Early in the morning of October 10, our camp was visited by several officials with an

invitation to visit the camp of the High Commissioner of Hor. In spite of a great

weakness, I had to accompany Professor Roerich and our Colonel to the General's

camp. The General desired to know about our expedition and the presence of an

interpreter was urgent.

The High Commissioner's camp was situated in the northeastern corner of the

Chu-na-khe depression. The road to the camp was heavy and tiresome, because of numerous

hummocks and the absence of a well-trodden path. The horses stumbled frequently and with

each jerk I felt the drowsiness returning.

Our party rode in the following order: first, a Mongol from our escort with the

expedition's flag, then came Professor Roerich, the Colonel, and myself. We were

followed by three armed Mongols with rifles slung over their shoulders. Tibetan

officials rode behind them. On the way I had another attack and was forced to stay

behind with one of the Mongols. A Tibetan official galloped back to our camp to bring

the doctor. A little later we were joined by Mrs. Roerich, the doctor and Mr.

Portniagin, who remained with me while Professor Roerich and the Colonel proceeded to

the General. After the doctor had given me another dose of digitalis, I felt somewhat

better but was still too weak to ride to the General's camp. A Tibetan officer and

several soldiers arrived from there and insisted that I should come to see the General.

The men endeavored to carry me on rifles used as stretchers, but this did not work well

and they had to leave me. Meanwhile the General sent another messenger urging me to come

as soon as possible. It was his private secretary, a young Tibetan whom I had met in

Darjeeling in 1924. I made a final attempt to reach the General's camp on the

doctor's horse, an animal with an exceptionally even pace, and this time was

successful.

The General's camp was a nomad city of black tents. In the center stood the spacious

white tent of the General, surrounded by a high wall made of sods and bags of argal.

This wall protected the tent from the strong windstorms of the Tibetan upland. In front

of the tent was planted a flagstaff with the Tibetan military flag. A guard of honor was

drawn up at the entrance and the men presented arms as we passed. The soldiers wore

European uniforms, imported a few years before from India, but the words of command were

Chinese. We dismounted from our horses, which were cared for by servants, and entered

the General's tent, where we found the General and Professor Roerich. The interior

was decorated with large pieces of multicolored Chinese silks and brocade, which formed

a canopy over the General's seat. On the wall of the tent hung *thang-kas* or

painted banners. In the right corner stood an altar with heavy silver charm boxes, the

work of Nepalese artists.

Kusho Kapshöpa, the High Commissioner of Hor, or Hor chyi-chyap (Hor spyi-khyab)—a young

man of twenty-four—was seated on a raised platform covered with leopard skins. He was

attired in a long coat of yellow Chinese silk and wore the usual official fur cap,

surmounted by a golden *dorje* or thunderbolt inlaid with precious stones—a sign

of his high military rank. A massive golden ring with a large emerald adorned the

General's hand. In front of him stood the usual Tibetan low table with the silver

teacup and inkstand and other writing implements. To the central pole of the tent was

tied his personal standard (carried before him in processions), and his sword in a green

leather sheath. To the left of the General sat two young officials, wearing official fur

caps and silk robes. On a lower seat sat a Tibetan officer with the rank of a

*ru-pön* (*ru-dpon*) or major. We were invited to sit down on the right of

the General, on a platform covered with furs and carpets. Servants in purple robes

brought tea, dry fruit, and biscuits imported from India.

After the usual ceremonial inquiries about health, the difficulties experienced on the

route, and the objects of the expedition, the General expressed his admiration for

Professor Roerich, who in spite of his high position and age, had agreed to undertake

such a difficult journey to so insignificant a country as Tibet. "We heard,"

added the General, "that America is the wealthiest country of the world. We are

bound to receive an American expedition well. I, being an official of the fourth rank,

have the right to communicate directly with His Holiness the Dalai Lama and shall at

once inform the Lhasan authorities of your arrival." The General expressed his

desire to visit our camp the same day. The major in command of the General's escort

was summoned and received orders to prepare the procession. The preparations lasted an

hour, during which time the General asked questions about the expedition, and mentioned

that Dr. Filchner was staying at Tsom-ra, awaiting a reply from Lhasa. Our conversation

was interrupted by the major who reported everything ready. The General rose, and we all

stepped out of the tent. A mounted guard was drawn up in front of the tent, and the men

saluted their General by standing up in the stirrups and giving a military salute. The

General mounted a prancing charger, with an English saddle, covered by a thick Tibetan

carpet. The procession started. At the head rode a soldier with the General's

standard, then came mounted pipers, followed by a detachment of cavalry. The troops were

followed by the General, his suite and ourselves. A large body of retainers followed on

horseback. When we had left the camp a salute of eight guns was fired and a local Hor-pa

orchestra with Tibetan trumpets sounded a deafening fanfare.

On reaching our camp, the soldiers again saluted their General, who made a general

inspection of the camp. Our tents attracted his special attention and he inquired

whether we were prepared to sell some of them. After a brief stay the General returned

to his camp and invited us to move closer to it in order to facilitate negotiations.

Early next morning we moved and pitched our tents within a quarter of a mile of the Tibetan camp. In the afternoon we again paid a visit to the General. The High Commissioner assured us that in two days we should be able to proceed farther and that the delay was temporary, in order to give the civil authorities time to prepare everything along our route. The General again spoke of Dr. Filchner and his work. Professor Roerich pointed out that Chu-na-khe was a very unsuitable place for a long stay. The General replied that the great men of the West had the same miraculous powers as the great Incarnated Lamas of Tibet and were able to endure tremendous hardships and that he felt confident that nothing would happen to us. The General added that he was willing to admit that it was impossible for him to detain such prominent people as Professor Roerich and that he was anxious to honor the expedition. He had given orders to his orchestra of pipers and drummers to play daily in our camp. Late in the afternoon the General and his assistants paid us another visit and examined our baggage. "The baggage of great men must be examined by officers of the highest rank," observed the General, "and that is why I came today." Everything was checked up and all our arms carefully examined. A long report was drafted and dispatched at once to His Holiness the Dalai Lama, who was anxious to hear about us. In the evening the pipers and drummers played for us again and sounded the retreat.

Next morning the General entertained us with a luncheon of Chinese and Tibetan dishes.

Notwithstanding the apparent politeness and friendliness of the officials, we could

notice this time a certain chill in the atmosphere. The General informed us that the

civil authorities of Nag-chu had positively refused to let us through and that we should

have to await an official answer or *ka-len* from Lhasa. He had tried his best to

induce the *khan-po* of Nag-chu to let us proceed, but the *khan-po* and

his colleague were very stubborn people and refused to listen to him. The General

himself would have to go back to Byi-ru gompa, his winter headquarters, but his chief

escort would remain with us until permission had been received and would attend to all

our needs. We mentioned that we had Tibetan passports, but His Excellency remarked that

the Tibetan representative in Urga was just a private person without any official

standing and that he was living there for private reasons!

The General summoned all the local headmen to his tent and made them solemnly promise

that they would do their best to serve us and supply us with all necessities. A guard of

militia would be posted in our camp to protect us and our baggage from robbers and the

local population. It was impossible to argue any more, for the General turned a deaf ear

to all our protests. We had to return to our camp and await an answer from Lhasa, which

was promised in fourteen days.

In the afternoon a salute of eight guns notified the local inhabitants that the High

Commissioner had left his camp. A brilliant *cortège* of officials and retainers

in bright costumes whirled past our camp, leaving us to face the severity of a Tibetan

winter alone.