# George Roerich. Trails to the Inmost Asia ## XIV. The Great Tibetan Upland --- <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 16, 1927** It took twenty-one days to cross the dreary, inhospitable upland of Tibet. The great upland plains, with an average altitude of some fifteen thousand to sixteen thousand feet, that stretch south of the K'un-lun and north of the Trans-Himalayas, are usually designated by the Tibetan name chang-thang or "northern plain." It is a country of climatic extremes, of burning sun in the rare sunny days of the summer and of bitterly cold nights. The terrific wind storms and the great amplitudes in temperature have contributed toward the formation of the present relief of the country. Once a highly intersected country of towering mountain ranges, the north Tibetan upland of the present epoch is a series of weathered mountain chains which have been considerably leveled, and broad intermontane plains, the home of herds of wild yaks. <a id="t4p-415-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:415 --> Our first night on the Tibetan upland passed in dead silence, everyone resting after the previous strenuous days. The silence was only broken by the groans of the suffering nyer-wa. "Aro, aro, aro," "Friend, friend, friend" sounded his mournful complaint. The man had a severe heart attack during the night, and it was a miracle that he survived and was able to resume the journey in the morning. Our doctor did his best to relieve him but each step of the camel caused him pain. <a id="t4p-416-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:416 --> The trail followed a mountain valley, sheltered by low hills of undulating relief. A tiny stream, called by our Mongol guides the Angar Dakchin-gol, flowed through the valley. After a long march across a sandy country, we camped on the bank of a fresh water lake, fed by summer rains. Some of our men who searched the neighborhood for fuel, reported having seen horsemen in the neighboring hills. This meant that we would have to be again on our guard, and be especially vigilant during the night. <a id="b4p-417-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:417 --> **September 17 — 18, 1927** 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 19, 1927** *Through: Kokoshili-kötöl pass* <a id="t4p-222-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:222 --> Next day we made an early start as usual and by six o'clock the whole caravan was 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. <p> <a id="t4p-222-N2"></a><span text4placeid:222> We forded a small stream, flowing west by east, and not indicated on the existing map of Tibet. After three hours of hard marching across a sandy plain, we reached the foot of the Kokoshili Range. This range is a system of grass-covered hills with undulating relief. From the foot of the hills a long ascent led toward the Kokoshili-kötöl, a low col situated at an altitude of 14,500 feet. Numerous kyangs and gazelles grazed on the slopes of the hills. The descent from the pass was easy, the trail following a small mountain rivulet, called by Mongols, Kokoshili-gol. The southern slopes of the range were much more rocky and we observed weathered crags that formed a jagged wall. </span> <a id="t4p-418-N1"></a><span text4placeid:418> The grazing was unusually fine and large herds of wild asses and yaks were seen in the 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. </span> </p> <a id="t4p-418-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:418 --> In the evening a herd of wild yaks descended from the hills into the river valley and grazed in the vicinity of our camp. We suddenly heard a tremendous noise of falling stones, like an avalanche—a crash, and the dull sound of hundreds of trampling hoofs. A mass of yaks was coming down the steep slope of the mountain. In a few seconds the banks of the river were black with yaks. The superb beasts grazed on its banks and drank the fresh mountain water. The huge bulls, the guardians and leaders of the herd, stood with lowered horns, ready to charge. <a id="b4p-419-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:419 --> **September 20, 1927** Emerging from the river valley, the trail crossed a sandy plain intersected by several dry river beds. Toward the south and southwest, rose several snow-capped peaks of the Dungbudra Range. We halted for the night at a dry river bed, amid sand dunes covered by thin grass. The water was scant and muddy. <a id="b4p-420-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:420 --> **September 21, 1927** Next day the trail continued toward the southwest, across sandy dunes and large expanses of swampy ground with numerous rain pools. The caravan advanced slowly for the camels slipped often and horses and mules sank deep into the mud. Not far from the Hapchiga-ulan-müren the track turned southward and skirted a big sandy hill, after which began the descent toward the river. From this point one could overlook the country. Toward the north stood the dark blue line of the Kokoshili Range, to the east and west stretched rolling hills, on the south rose the high hills forming the approaches to the Dungbudra Mountains, which are at present the political frontier of Tibet. Behind these mountains we would meet the first Tibetan outposts and enter the forbidden territory of the Lama Kingdom of Tibet. Descending toward the Hapchiga-ulan-müren River we noticed something white on the farther bank of the river, at the foot of the hills. From the distance it looked like a Tibetan tent used by officials or wealthy traders. We accordingly thought it advisable to send out a reconnoitering party ahead of us. The Hapchiga-ulan-müren River was quite half a mile wide and in the early summer was difficult to cross. The bottom was muddy and the banks were full of quicksands. On its northern bank rose a river terrace, quite some sixty feet high. At this time of the year the river was much reduced, and flowed in several rather narrow channels, separated from each other by swampy islands. The white spot on the opposite bank proved to be a huge geyser, with a crater of saline crust, fully thirty feet high. The opening of the crater was triangular. We camped for the night on a plateau, situated at the foot of the northernmost offshoots of the Dungbudra Mountains. During the day's march, we were forced to abandon two of our animals, a horse and a pack mule. <a id="b4p-227-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:227 --> **September 22, 1927** On September 22 we continued the ascent toward the Dungbudra Mountains. The trail led through a gorge blocked in many places by large bowlders and *débris* from the surrounding mountains. On reaching the head of the gorge, the path turned southeast and crossed a high, grassy ridge with exceedingly swampy slopes. A well-marked trail continued across a mountain valley covered by hundreds of holes made by field mice. We tried to cross a steep pass situated some five miles east of the Dungbudra-kötöl, the usual pass on the trade route to Lhasa. This pass shortened the route to Dri-chu by one day, but it proved impracticable for camels. We were obliged to turn southwest and retrace our steps in order to reach a narrow gorge leading toward the Dungbudra-kötöl. We camped on the banks of a small mountain stream called by the Mongol guides the Büre-yin-gol. During the day we observed an unusual amount of wild game; brown bears, numerous herds of wild yaks, *kyangs*, and several Tibetan gazelles. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **September 23, 1927** *Through: Dungbudra-kötöl* <p> <a id="t4p-421-N1"></a><span text4placeid:421> Next day we made an early start in order to cover as much ground as possible. We found 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. </span> <a id="t4p-244-N1"></a><span text4placeid:244> For some distance, the trail followed the course of the Büre-yin-gol, and then emerged into a broad valley, which separated the main range of Dungbudra from the rocky range of Tsagan Khada, situated south of the principal range. The scenery was of great beauty and quite unlike the monotonous hilly landscape of the country round Kokoshili. Sharp rocky peaks rose everywhere, and dominated the valley. The path passed between two colossal crags that formed a tremendous gate, leading into forbidden Tibet. The ground was swampy and slippery, and we had to keep close to the rocks to pass the treacherous spot. </span> </p> <a id="t4p-244-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:244 --> The day which had been fine since morning, suddenly became dull and cloudy, and the 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. <a id="b4p-243-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:243 --> **September 24, 1927** 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. <a id="b4p-422-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:422 --> **September 25, 1927** 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. <a id="b4p-423-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:423 --> **September 26, 1927** 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. <a id="b4p-228-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:228 --> **September 27, 1927** *Through: Rab-dün* 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. <a id="b4p-245-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:245 --> **September 28, 1927** [Karka Valley](/#m=9/33.5215/92.4151&l=Gs&p=245/o) On the next day we reached a valley called by the Tibetans Karka, situated in a grassy plain that slowly ascended toward the Thang La Range. Snow peaks were seen everywhere and cold blasts of wind heralded the approach to the icy Thang La. On European maps the valley of Karka is called by its Mongol name of Andak Hapchiga. In 1904 the valley was visited by the Dalai Lama, then on his way to Mongolia and in his honor a throne of stone had been erected on the spot to commemorate his passage and stay. Close to the camp we observed a large, brown bear. There were now many of them. The afternoon was again marked by a bitterly cold northwest wind with hail and snow. The cold during the night was extreme and late in the evening a violent storm buried the camp and the surrounding mountains in deep snow. <a id="b4p-425-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:425 --> **September 29, 1927** Next morning we had great difficulty finding the trail. The surrounding mountains were buried under deep snow and thick mist hid the summits. After several hours of wandering, we emerged on a broad valley, covered by snow, and ascended a low col with a steep, but short ascent. From the summit of the col we saw the same dull snow-covered landscape. Mountains were to be seen everywhere. It was impossible to tell the exact route, and after some consultation, our guides decided to follow the broad valley southeast of the pass. We accordingly descended into the valley and followed it for some three miles, going all the time in a southwesterly direction, until we had reached a former camping place, probably once occupied by a militia post. The ground was free from snow and stones, and was surrounded by a low stone wall made of bowlders and sod. Heaps of fuel made the place so inviting that we decided to camp there for the night. During wet weather it was impossible to procure dry argal (yak dung) and the large supply of it at this place was extremely welcome. During the day we had the misfortune to lose two of our horses. Mrs. Roerich's bay ambler was showing signs of weakness and had to be supported by additional doses of *tsam-pa* or parched barley flour. We were beginning to suffer from a shortage of grain and other supplies. The horses and mules had to be fed on *tsam-pa* and many of the animals refused to take it and as a result grew weaker. It was imperative to reach Nag-chu with its market, where we could buy fresh supplies for the rest of our trip through Tibet. <a id="b4p-424-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:424 --> **September 30, 1927** Next day our guides mistook the direction and we marched far to the west, and finally had to camp in a small circular mountain valley, covered by several feet of snow. It was impossible to find the right track to the Thang La Pass because of the mist that hid the mountains. We sent out our Tibetan guide to search for local nomads in a side glen. We had fortunately noticed several herds of domestic yaks grazing on the mountain slopes. While our Tibetan was absent, a small party of us crossed the rivulet to reconnoiter the country. We found a local man, wearing a pair of green snow goggles, and a long Tibetan sword. We persuaded him to accompany us to our camp and took him across the river on horseback. He thought that we were Mongols, for he had never seen Europeans. According to him we were some four miles from the right track to the Thang La and he promised to guide us the next day. He informed us that a big Tibetan outpost of some thirty cavalry was stationed not far from Karka. We had missed it in the snowstorm, having taken a much more westerly course. According to him the High Commissioner of Hor was stationed with two companies of infantry and several mountain guns at a place called Chu-na-khe, five days distant from our present camp. He also mentioned the fact that large reinforcements of local militia were being mobilized and that the local population was wondering at these military preparations. <a id="b4p-246-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:246 --> **October 1, 1927** Next day we started very early and, guided by the local Hor-pa, retraced our steps for about three miles. The trail followed the crest of a low ridge, and continued to ascend a dry river bed. The whole country was still buried under snow and the sun glare was terrible. Professor Roerich had a slight attack of snow blindness and one of our Mongols and a Tibetan also suffered. After some fifteen miles of heavy track, frequently blocked by snow, we reached a small river coming down from the Thang La Range and camped on its banks at a place called by Mongols Ekin Hapchiga. Scant grass along its banks afforded some grazing to our animals, which had been deprived of it for the last two days because of the snowstorm. During this march we lost two camels and one mule, which were left in charge of the Hor-pa. We again observed *kyangs*, gazelles, and several brown bears. One of the bears was so alarmed at seeing our caravan that he ran into our mule detachment and followed it for some time, causing considerable panic among the animals. Huge flocks of gray herons were migrating southward, flying at a great height. For the past several days we had had some difficulty with our horses, bought in Tsaidam. Most of the animals were hopelessly lame, their hoofs being unable to stand sharp stones. <a id="b4p-247-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:247 --> **October 2, 1927** On October 2 we began the ascent toward the Thang La Pass. An early start was made as usual. A light mist hovered over the summits and the sun rays reflected on the misty veil. The cold was intense, and the hard, frozen earth resounded under the hoofs of the animals. A low, stony track followed an unnamed rivulet that descended from the mountains situated south of our camp. The path crossed the rivulet frequently and then emerged on a broad plateau. An impenetrable mist veiled the country and hung over the plateau. The route was easy and several well-trodden parallel tracks indicated that we had struck the Thang La route. After a two hours' march we climbed a low col, not indicated on the existing maps of the region. Its summit was crowned by a stone cairn with several flag staffs adorned with multicolored pieces of cloth. From the pass we descended into a broad mountain valley, southwest of the col. The surrounding landscape was arctic in its severity. Everywhere rose high snow peaks, which stood out clearly in the cold, rarefied atmosphere. Several salt lakes were seen to the southeast of the path. The track ran southwest and crossed another low ridge, crowned by eight stone cairns. We camped, after a twenty-two mile march over an elevated mountain country. The grazing was comparatively good but the cold was intense. The frosty day was followed by a clear, but bitterly cold night and our sentries froze in their heavy fur coats. We decided to rise early in the morning and cross the Thang La before the usual afternoon storm. The site of our camping was commonly designated by the Mongols, who camp on it during their yearly pilgrimages to Lhasa, by the name of Kiyun-shirik, "The Cold Grazing." *Shirik* is a kind of coarse grass that grows on the hummocks of the swamps of the Tibetan upland. This grass is the usual food of caravan animals and so the word acquired the sense of "grazing." A Mongol sent out to reconnoiter a camping ground, would return saying, "*Usu baina, shirik baina*," "There is water, there is grazing," and that always meant that the place was suitable for camping. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 3, 1927** [Chu-tsen-kong](/#m=9/32.62159/92.3885&l=Gs&p=426/o) *Through: Thang La Pass* <p> <a id="t4p-139-N1"></a><span text4placeid:139> Next morning we started at half-past five. The atmosphere was remarkably transparent. The whole of the Thang La Range stood out clearly and its white, sparkling outline rose high above the intricate mountain country that stretched around it. We were following a rising plain. </span> Behind a low spur, we discovered several black nomad tents with fettered horses standing near by. This was a militia outpost but no one came to ask us where we were going or where we had come from. The place seemed deserted and only the blue smoke that rose from the tent indicated that it was occupied. Probably we were too early for the men and the warriors were peacefully drinking their butter-tea and *tsam-pa* . </p> The day promised to be warm. The thawed surface became slippery and our camels had a hard time ascending the pass. We were obliged to leave one camel behind and distribute its load among the rest of the animals. <a id="t4p-139-N2"></a><!-- text4placeid:139 --> The ascent was long but not too steep. *Kyangs* grazing in the vicinity of the path were the only living things to disturb the serenity of the great mountain ridge. The Pass of Thang La is believed to be the abode of some thirty-three gods or heavenly denizens, and our Mongols and Tibetans said that it was an auspicious sign that we were crossing the pass on an exceptionally fine day. There is a firm belief among the caravaneers of Tibet, that whenever an undesirable person comes into Tibet, a scornful wind blows over the pass and the unlucky travelers freeze on the icy slopes of the mountain. <p> <a id="t4p-139-N3"></a><span text4placeid:139> The summit of the pass was crowned by a stone cairn and a men-dong or stone wall decorated with prayer flags and ceremonial scarfs. On reaching the 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 </span> first traced on the map by the great Swedish explorer, Dr. Sven Hedin. The traveler is 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. </p> <p> <a id="t4p-139-N4"></a><span text4placeid:139> On the summit of the pass we had to abandon one of the best amblers in the caravan. The animal was at the end of its strength and was unable to go any farther. </span> A Hor-pa youth with two loaded yaks came up the pass and we intrusted the animal to him. The Hor-pa spoke a strange dialect and even our Tibetans were unable to understand his words. He wore a gray woolen cap, a *puru* coat and Tibetan high boots made of homespun cloth, held under the knee by a garter. He had a long Tibetan sword and a magazine rifle of European make with prongs fixed to it, and rode a diminutive pony of the north Tibetan breed. His features were not unpleasant and he was much interested in our caravan, although his strange language made communicating difficult. He was bringing grain to his home that lay north of the Thang La. </p> <a id="t4p-426-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:426 --> For some time we followed the course of a rivulet, flowing into the Yag-ra-chu, a river descending southwest from the pass. We camped for the night after some twenty-eight miles of hard marching. Close to our camp were numerous sulphur springs and the place was known by the name of Chu-tsen-kong, "The Upper Hot Spring." It was said that the valley of the Yag-ra River was particularly rich in hot springs. This day our losses in caravan and riding animals were exceptionally heavy. We lost three horses, one mule and one camel. The Tibetan *nyer-wa* had a violent heart attack, but he survived. He was brought into the camp at about eleven o'clock in the evening, groaning and almost unconscious. For the past few days our doctor had had to attend him day and night. The man was in a very critical condition and insisted on taking medicines of Sino-Tibetan pharmacopoeia, prepared by one of the lamas in the caravan. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 4, 1927** [Chu-tsen par-ma](/#m=9/32.48312/92.32224&l=Gs&p=427/o) *Through: Chu-tsen-chu, Lam-chung* <a id="t4p-248-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:248 --> Next day we were late starting. Everyone was exhausted after the march across the pass 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. <p> <a id="t4p-248-N2"></a><span text4placeid:248> While crossing the Lam-chung La we encountered a small detachment of local militia, mobilized among Hor tribesmen. The detachment consisted of eight men, armed with swords, rifles and lances. Their destination was the distant Chu-mar River. They informed us that the Government was apprehending a Chinese or Mongolian advance from Kansu and Tsaidam and that militia outposts were stationed as far north as Chu-mar. </span> The men of the detachment were quite wild in appearance. Most of them had no hats and their long, matted hair waved in the wind. Their bodies were barely covered by dirty sheepskins. They had two pack ponies which carried their belongings, one tent and some tent furniture. The Hor greeting is *Abo lam-nye* which means "Friend, good road to you." When a person of high position is addressed the word *shag-pa* is used to denote "friend." Still more polite is the expression *shag-nye* which is seldom used. </p> <a id="t4p-427-N1"></a><!-- text4placeid:427 --> We halted for the night at the foot of a rock on the left bank of the Yag-ra River. The place was famous for its hot springs and was called Chu-tsen par-ma, "The Middle Hot Spring." There are two routes to Nag-chu, one along the left bank of the river, and the other along the right bank. We had to follow the route along the left bank, for it was the only one practicable for heavily loaded camels. The other route was used only by yak caravans and was stony and heavy. A yak caravan with bales of tea bricks passed our camp on its way to Nag-chu. Each bale contained twelve tea bricks or *cha-ba* and twenty-four tea bricks made a yak's load. <a id="b4p-428-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:428 --> **October 5, 1927** Next morning we resumed our march along the river valley. After some five miles, the trail crossed a low spur and led into a broad valley, which again narrowed and soon became a mountain gorge, cutting through a low ridge. We camped in the gorge, after some fifteen miles of easy marching. Some of our animals were still tired after the heavy march across the Thang La, and we had to be careful with them. Our camp was visited by two young Hor-pas armed with Russian service rifles of 1899. The rifle butts were manufactured at Nag-chu. They told us that the four foreigners who were detained at Sheng-di were allowed to proceed to Nag-chu after two weeks of negotiations. They expressed their doubts as to whether we should be permitted to proceed farther south and soon left our camp. Our caravaneers were of the opinion that these men were spies sent out by the Hor High Commissioner to reconnoiter our movements and strength. Two Hor women, a mother and daughter, came to our camp and presented us with some yak milk and butter. In return they received some dried Turkestan grapes. They were very anxious to learn whether we had seen Goloks on the route coming from Sining and complained that Golok brigands made attacks on the local nomads. To protect themselves, the local Hor-pas had to decamp and move to distant mountain valleys. We also tried to exchange some of our Mongol horses for local horses, the price of which was about twenty-five *ngü-sangs* each. Our supplies were rapidly coming to an end and we had to buy butter and *tsam-pa* to keep us alive until Nag-chu. The price of ten *khe* of butter (one *khe* is approximately five pounds) was twenty-five *ngü-sangs*. <a id="b4p-249-N1"></a><!-- block4placeid:249 --> **October 6, 1927** [Sheng-di Valley](/#m=9/32.20714/92.32412&l=Gs&p=249/o) 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. <a id="b4p-249-N2"></a><!-- block4placeid:249 --> **October 7, 1927** [Sheng-di Valley](/#m=9/32.20714/92.32412&l=Gs&p=249/o) The first night spent at Sheng-di was cold and the air very damp. In the early morning we again received a visit from the local headman, who informed us that several officials from the High Commissioner of Hor and the Nag-chu Joint-Governors were coming to visit us and discuss the matter of our further route. At about ten o'clock in the morning we heard the jingling of bells in the distance, and soon noticed several horsemen rapidly nearing our camp. One of the riders was a noncommissioned officer or *she-ngo* of the Tibetan regular army, accompanied by several soldiers in uniforms. They dismounted at a distance from our camp and held a lengthy discussion with local headmen, during which they drank numerous cups of tea and examined our baggage and tents. After a long conversation with the headmen, the *she-ngo* started for our camp. He rode an iron-gray Tibetan pony, under an English saddle. A fur cap of foreign make adorned his head. Over his uniform he wore a coat of black velvet and a sheepskin. He was accompanied by a young soldier in uniform and puttees. Over the uniform the man wore a homespun Tibetan coat and a large Tibetan fur bonnet protected his head. He was armed with a Lee-Enfield rifle, adorned with ceremonial scarfs or *khatags*, that hung from the barrel. He wore several cartridge belts which play an important part in a Tibetan attire. Both of the men were terribly shy and from the first were silent. The officer soon retired to our servants' tent and started to write a long report. He counted our animals again and even asked to open several of our cases. In one of the cases he found our collection of Tibetan banners and other religious objects. This had a great effect on him for he suddenly declared his task to be finished and started for his horse. He informed us that in case His Excellency the High Commissioner would find it possible to grant us permission to proceed farther, he would return and escort us personally. He retired to the tent of the militia outpost and spent two hours drinking tea with our guards. At about two o'clock we again heard the bells heralding the arrival of more visitors of official rank. This time it was a *do-nyer* or representative of the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu accompanied by two petty officials from the *dzong* or fort of Nag-chu. Dismounting from their horses, the new visitors came at once to our camp and introduced themselves to Professor Roerich. They all said "*salam*" and one even added "good morning." They were offered seats outside Professor Roerich's tent and a long and tedious conversation began. The *do-nyer* introduced himself as one knowing all the customs and ways of foreigners and expressed his desire to draft another detailed report. He said that he was specially deputed for this purpose by the Nag-chu *khan-po* or Go-mang garpön who was his master and superior. According to him, the *khan-po* was a very severe man, and if he should be slow in discharging his duties, he would certainly be punished. After this brief introduction, he begged us to help him in drafting the report. "What were your intentions in coming to Tibet?" was their first question. "This is an American expedition, sponsored by several American institutions," was our reply. "Ameri Ameri, Ameri-Khan," repeated the *do-nyer* several times and suddenly snatched his pen and rapidly wrote something on a long scroll of paper. I was able to read the first lines of his report from behind his back and to my great amazement read the following statement: "On such a date of the Tibetan eighth month of the Fire Hare Year, arrived at Sheng-di King Ameri, whose object is to study Buddhism and acquire sacred scriptures and images." We protested, and tried to explain to him that "American" could not be interpreted as Ameri-Khan but the *do-nyer* dismissed our protest saying that he knew some Mongolian and everyone knew that "khan" meant "king" in Mongolian and that he therefore was quite sure of the correctness of his happy explanation. Our protest only confirmed his idea that he was on the right track and that we only tried to conceal from him the true standing of our leader whose name was "Ameri" and whose rank was designated by the Mongol word "khan." He moreover requested to have a photo of each of the members of the expedition and a group photo of the whole expedition. All these photographs, together with his report would be presented to His Holiness, the Lord All-Knowing, who would then order his ministers to inquire into our case. We mentioned to the *do-nyer* the fact that we were in possession of a Tibetan passport, and that we were entitled to proceed without further hindrances. The *do-nyer* replied that he knew nothing about our passport and that his superiors never told him about it. It was evident that the authorities were trying to disregard the fact that we were in possession of documents permitting us to travel across Tibetan territory and considered us to be ordinary explorers who infringed on the seclusion of their country. Quite unexpectedly the camp was visited by the two militiamen who had carried our passport from Olun-nor to Nag-chu. We questioned them and they certified that the passport was handed over to the Joint-Governors of Nag-chu. The *do-nyer* seemed confused and explained that the passport was probably with the *khan-po* of Nag-chu and that the *khan-po* did not think it necessary to speak about it to his subordinate. The *do-nyer* again counted our caravan animals and loads, and after completing his report, departed from our camp. He told us that the foreigners who were traveling ahead of us were a party of four men, one Japanese, one American, and two Germans. He could not tell us their names, but told us that they had taken many photographs and were collecting insects. It was apparently a scientific expedition. We thought of Dr. Filchner, who with one assistant had been working for some time past in the region of Sining. In the evening the official visitors left our camp and rode at quick pace toward the mountain south of the valley. <a id="b4p-249-N3"></a><!-- block4placeid:249 --> **October 8, 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 9, 1927** [Chu-na-khe](/#m=9/31.92864/92.14585&l=Gs&p=429/o) *Through: Kam-rong La Pass* <p> <a id="t4p-250-N1"></a><span text4placeid:250> Next morning we rose long before dawn, and by six o'clock the whole caravan, escorted 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. </span> The trail crossed the valley of Sheng-di and ascended a low pass. From this point as far as Kam-rong La stretched a highly intersected country with grassy hills and side glens. </p> 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 " *man-dro* ," "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 " *song, song, song* "—"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, " *salam, Sahib!* " <p> <a id="t4p-250-N2"></a><span text4placeid:250> An attack of mountain sickness made me almost drop from my horse on the Kam-rong La Pass. I had almost no pulse, but remained conscious, and heard the doctor saying, "Well, he is gone." After two hours I revived but had to stay on the pass. </span> <a id="t4p-429-N1"></a><span text4placeid:429> The doctor gave me a large dose of digitalis, that restored the weakened heart 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. </span> The local population had apparently heard of our condition, for a large crowd assembled 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. </p> <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 10, 1927** 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 11, 1927** 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. <!-- block4placeid:null --> **October 12, 1927** 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.
