"Siberia"  S. Turner

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PREFACE

The progress of geographical exploration in all parts of the world has been more rapid during the last few years than at any previous period of the world's history. How far this is to be attributed to George Stephenson's epoch-making invention it is difficult to say, but the greatest tribute to the memory of that great man, to my mind, is' the enormous stretch of 6,466 miles of railway from St. Petersburg to Vladivostok, which spans the gulf between the Eastern and -Western worlds and is steadily peopling and developing Siberia—a country which covers one-thirteenth of the land surface of the globe. It is impossible to over-estimate the importance of this development from an international point of view. The exploration of the Highlands and Steppes of Siberia has been successfully carried out by able Russians and Siberians, leaving very little virgin ground for explorers of other nationalities; but the highest Siberian mountains, for want of mountaineers, remain almost unexplored.
The Siberian trade route to Mongolia has occasionally been traversed by sportsmen who have passed through the Altai Mountains in search of wild goats (Ovis Amman), but, so far as the mountains themselves are concerned, no previous English-speaking explorer has been there, and there is no English literature on the subject, although the Altai Mountain district covers 144,140 square miles, an area nine times as large as Switzerland.
The present volume claims no more than to give an account of a" winter exploration of the Altai Mountains. It makes no scientific pretensions, beyond recording the ascertained altitudes of the mountains, describing the passes and glaciers, and placing on the map those of the mountains which it was my privilege to discover and ascend. The remaining portion of the book records my personal impressions of the journey across Siberia.
My main object in visiting Siberia was business, but, business concluded, and the journey having carried me within 400 miles of the highest Altai Mountains, I decided to devote the remainder of my stay to the exploration of that unknown region which includes the highest mountain range of South Central Siberia—Katunskie-Belki (Alps). Eventually it was my privilege to stand on the summit of the highest discovered mountain in Siberia.
It is my conviction that exploration and commerce should be in intimate relation, and that the explorer who fails to do something towards promoting the trade of the country he visits falls short of the main purpose of exploration. I propose, therefore, to describe Siberia's chief industry—the dairy industry— which owes its rapidly-growing prosperity to the unique geographical conditions of the country: mountains for the grazing of cattle more idea! than those of Switzerland; a rich virgin soil and succulent grass of the steppes richer than that of any Canadian prairie and more valuable than the gold mines of Klondyke or South Africa.
The views and opinions to which I venture from' time to time to give expression are offered with all humility. Having thought and read extensively about Russia and Siberia, and having been in the very favourable position of conversing with more than a hundred Russian, German, and Danish merchants residing in Siberia, besides having made short stays with English families in different centres of the country—most of my informants have lived in Siberia several years—I have compared their views with the results of my own observations.
Whatever shortcomings this book may have therefore, it contains at least the conscientious opinions of an unprejudiced Englishman, who has had the advantage of good sources of information. Nations, like individuals, should be judged with some reference to their own ideals and modes of thinking, and not by our pet personal standards of right and wrong. Instead, for instance, of looking to Siberia for a perennial crop of exaggerated exile horrors, we should, I venture to believe, be better employed in studying its vast commercial possibilities. We should then be led to admire a nation which, instead of imprisoning its convicts, has sent them to Siberia, to help in the development of a country which is already producing enormous supplies of food for the evergrowing populations of Western Europe, and the potentialities of which it is at present almost impossible to gauge.
I should like to mention that some of the statistics have been taken from: the Siberian Railway Guide and the most recent Government Blue Books on Japan and China. Finally, I wish to express my indebtedness to Baron Heyking for the brief outline of Siberian history which forms Appendix II. p. 315.

CHAPTER VI PEAK-BAGGING IN THE ALTAI

Position of Katunda—Belukha—Difficulty of reaching the mountain —A hunter refuses to accompany us—Slow progress—A Kalmuck hut and a halt—We camp in a tent six feet six inches long—Rough riding-Our first view of the Katunskie-Belki range—We select a spot for a camp—Belukha glacier— " Windy Camp "—Sleeping through a hurricane—Glacier action—Hardness of the ice—-Disposition of the mountains —Falls of rock—The moraine—Lakes—Skis—A hanging glacier—My hunter refuses to go any farther—I proceed alone—Beauty of the view—Measurements of the mountains —I begin the return—Am thoroughly exhausted—A Kalmuck dinner—Kalmuck appetite—The horns of the ibex

KATUNDA is situated in 86° 10' east longitude, and Belukha is 86° 30' east of Greenwich. From information I had received from Professor Sapozhnikoff, I learned that Belukha, which was believed to be the highest mountain in Siberia, somewhat resembles Mont Blanc, in that it consists largely (on the .south side) of a slope and a glacier. I had made inquiries about the most suitable route and had learned that the southern approach is about three times longer than that from the north. The passes, moreover, were choked with snow, and therefore inaccessible to horses. On the other hand, we could not have succeeded in dragging the sledges containing our instruments and provisions for fourteen days in the mountains ourselves even if we had been desirous of doing so, while dogs that could be used as draught animals were not procurable. After carefully weighing all the pros and cons, .we decided to take the road to the north, although we had not the vaguest idea as to what it would be like. The bracing air and the pleasure of the unknown helped to keep alive the spirit of adventure, and rendered us sufficiently indifferent to obstacles. We even decided that, if further progress were at any time to become impossible by any other means, we would attempt the journey on snow-shoes, and accordingly added a pair to each man's outfit.
We made our first halt, after leaving the village of Katunda, at the house of a peasant recommended by Professor Sapozhnikoff as a suitable guide; but he refused to accompany us, as he considered .the journey too dangerous. We had some lunch at his house, a small wooden building which accommodated three families. The families were sufficiently prolific. While seated in the heated room which had been set apart for our use, a' little girl, about three years old, peeped through the open door at me. I beckoned her to me and presented her with 20 kopecks. She went away, and returned presently at the head of a flying column of youngsters, whose ages ranged front two to twelve, and who were quite plainly of opinion that they were entitled to the same consideration. There were fourteen of them', but I ceded the point with as good a grace as possible. How the three families contrived to live in that one small house was a mystery to me. The huntsman made us a parting present of half a sheep, as he did not think we would be able to shoot anything until we were nearer the mountains. A very small flour-mill, driven by water power, stood opposite the house. Half an hour's ride from the place brought us to for fourteen days in the mountains ourselves even if we had been the River Katun, which we crossed, although the ice was breaking up. Arrived at the other side, we entered a dense, trackless forest, through which we groped our way in complete darkness; it was wonderful how the leading horse found his way through it. Our rate of travelling was not more than about three miles an hour, the state of the ground rendering more rapid progression out of the question. We had intended to follow the course of the river, but this was impossible, as the ice was breaking. .We very nearly had an accident with one of the pack horses, which became frightened and restless because of the holes in the ice. At one time it seemed as though it would tumble through a hole, in which case it would have been washed under the ice by the fast-flowing river, which at that place was deep. A second forest was entered and left behind us, and then we entered a mountain pass which led us up to a height of 6,000 feet. A Kalmuck followed closely behind us and seemed to think it a great privilege, as, like all Kalmucks, he seemed to be afraid of high passes. He had not been over the pass in the winter before, and, as many of the Kalmucks were starving for want of food, he took the opportunity of following us over to visit a friend in the Akkem valley to see if he could spare any stores. It was about halfway up the pass that he joined us, and seemed to bring bad luck, because we were immediately greeted by a snowstorm. We were not long in reaching the summit of the pass, however, where we noticed the pieces of coloured ribbon which the Kalmucks tie to the branches of trees by way of thank offerings for their safe arrival. After a brief rest we made a rapid descent, still accompanied by the storm, into the Akkem valley. The road down the pass zig-zags for two or three miles, ending in a steep dip to the right into the Akkem valley, which at this place is quite flat, with the River Akkem flowing down it. It was snowing hard when we reached this spot. We were undecided whether to pitch our tent, when I noticed a Kalmuck bark hut, which made the valley seem quite civilised. Night was setting in, so we called a halt and prepared our camp by scraping away the snow and erecting a tent.
The Kalmuck who occupied the bark hut was quite pleased and excited at seeing us and, while he scraped away the snow, his children brought some dry sticks from the hut; he then lit us a fire, while we unpacked the Luggage, putting the guns and everything we wished to keep dry in his hut. We gave him our kettle, and he soon had it filled with water from the river. Pushing a stout branch of a tree into the ground, so that one end leaned over the fire, he placed the kettle on it. Before we had unpacked the tea and provisions the water was boiling.
My interpreter prepared dinner, one of the hunters and myself pitched the tent, and the other hunter looked after the horses. We sat round the fire in the thick snowstorm. The thermometer registered 20 degrees below freezing point and the snow was falling fast, but we did not permit either the snow or the cold to interfere with our dinner, which consisted of tinned ox-tail soup, Army and Navy rations, rusks, black bread, jam, and tea. There seemed little likelihood of the snow abating, so we did not sit very long by the fire. My companion proposed to retire to the tent. He was five feet 10 inches' in height, while the tent was only 6 feet 6 inches long, stood 3 feet from the ground, and weighed 12 lbs. I had not contemplated using it except on the ledges of precipices while climbing the mountains. However, we succeeded in collecting sufficient clothes to spread on the ground inside the tent and presently retired. When I crawled in it seemed to me that the inside was rather damp, and I had not been asleep very long when I was awakened by a small stream of water running down my neck. It came from the small hole in the tent, through which the cord is inserted which is used to tighten it up, so I had to change my position. This was not as easy as it sounds. There were only a few inches of room left, and any sudden movement might have brought the tent down. We slept fairly well and comfortably afterwards. The water down my back soon dried, but it seemed to soak into our articles of bedding, making the soil underneath nice and soft, and allowing the body to settle down into a mould, thus preventing my interpreter from rolling on me, or me on him. In the morning, as we had expected, we found the ground on which we had been lying afloat, and the ancient sheep-skin coats, which had served us as rugs, saturated with water.
The Akkem valley in which we camped is 4,325 feet above sea-level, and the spot at which we had stopped was the last Kalmuck settlement along the Akkem river. Our little tent was pitched quite close to one of the Kalmuck huts, which was of the usual pattern, being made of long poles or selected saplings, stripped of their branches, ingeniously disposed and covered with strips of bark from neighbouring trees. Each hut has a heavy wooden door 2 feet from the bottom, measuring about 4 feet by 5 feet and opening outwards. The Kalmucks were very amicably disposed towards us. One of them, who helped us to pack our tent, was exceedingly doubtful as to the success of our undertaking and pressed us very much to stay awhile with them on our return journey. He informed my huntsman, who spoke the language of the tribe, that no one else had ever thought of making the journey in winter, on account of the severe cold and the quantity of snow. He was quite sure no horse could stand on the ice-glazed slopes of the mountains, and that it was quite possible the horses would slip down and fall upon the River Akkem, and be killed with their riders. The river winds its way through the mountains. One bank is precipitous, while the other is a gentle slope of 45 degrees clothed with a forest growth as dense as an Indian jungle. The sound of our voices was re-echoed as in some vast cavern, and the scenery was wild and impressive. At first we had a rough road and one or two frozen streams to cross, but afterwards we came to the ice-glazed slopes. The pack horses managed to shake their burdens into such a position that it was necessary to dismount and re-adjust the luggage about every half mile.

We found the forest slopes frozen for about 20 miles. Before we had travelled half the distance we had been through all the antics and positions possible on horseback, from sliding down the slope on the horse's back to dragging the helpless animal up some very steep slope. It is surprising what one can grow accustomed to, even to tumbling and getting the horse up again without losing the stirrups, by merely jerking him up by the aid of the bridle, with one leg pushing against the slope ; and scraping between thin trees by using all one's strength to push them apart.
The snow was usually deep and soft at the bottom of the slope, with ice-glazed ground underneath, but on the higher slopes it had all slipped down, leaving the ice-glazed slope, and making it much more difficult for a horse to stand. With the exceptions of halts to extricate a fallen horse or to re-arrange the baggage, we were in our saddles for nine hours, there being no convenient spot at which to call a halt. There was no track, and our horses had frequently to pick their way among the fallen trees scattered over the frozen slopes, making riding an increasingly difficult task.
The trees in this part of the country, which are principally firs, are very tall and graceful, tapering to a fine point at the crown and almost devoid of branches. Their shape at the base is rather peculiar and different from that of any trees of the same species that I have ever seen. The first 8 or 10 feet are relatively much thicker than the rest of the tree. These trees do not grow in the valleys, but only on the mountain slopes and down to the water's edge. Our hunters were constantly on the look-out for bears, Ovis Amman, ibex, or other big game, and we saw by my Zeiss binocular several herds of what appeared to be ibex or Ovis Amman, too far away to stalk, so we had to let them go. I watched one herd while the hunters were dragging a pack horse out of a snow heap and, although we did not seem to be making much noise, considering the distance, they raised their heads and vanished among trees.
Descending the slope and crossing the Akkem river at an altitude of 5,650 feet, we obtained our first good view of the Katunskie-Belki range. We watered our horses at a place where the ice had broken. On reaching the opposite bank we found that the horses could not get up it, and were, therefore, obliged to unload the pack horses and help them up the slope, dragging the baggage after us. The bed of the forest is composed of rock, with a layer of sand, which no doubt accounts for the slender roots of the trees. Several of them fell during our progress through the forest, making a dull, crashing noise. A large number of trees on the side we were now on appeared to have been uprooted by a recent hurricane. They were lying in all directions against one another and on the ground. We had constantly to push the branches out of our faces, and sometimes the man following would get a slash across the face if he did not keep his hand up to catch the branch.

After rounding the slopes of a mountain we emerged out of the forest to the left, and eventually reached the banks of the River Yarlow, a tributary of the Akkem. «We selected a suitable elevated spot at the base of a mountain, and in close proximity to a forest, where we thought we would be protected from the wind and find a sufficiency of dry wood to enable us to maintain a good fire, on which our lives depended, as the tent would only hold two of us and the hunters or ourselves would have to sleep in the open.
On Professor Sapozhnikoff's map, which is the only one of this district, there is a River Yarlow. We found where this river evidently flowed in the summer, but it was quite dry, and, judging by the stones forming the bed, it is only a fairly large mountain stream, which had evidently been dry a long time, as there was no frozen water in any part of it. This appears to me to prove that the mountain tops and glaciers must freeze suddenly, or that it is very much colder there than in the valleys, or the whole stream would have frozen; as it was, we found the river quite dry, owing to the intense frost. This river takes its source in the east of the Katunskie-Belki range, and, in the summer time, is, according to Professor Sapozhnikoff, a fast-flowing stream. By all appearances there is a glacier near the source, which remains to be explored.
We had been on the road two days since leaving Katunda, fourteen hours of which had been spent in travelling through dense forests. It was on the second evening that we encamped, at 5.30 p.m., 8,150 feet above sea-level. Snow commenced to fall at eight o'clock, the temperature in the open being 15 degrees below freezing point. We could see Belukha mountain rising before us, in a direct line, about eight miles away, and we were practically in the circle of the Katunskie-Belki range.

Opposite our camp was a bank, covered to a great depth with snow, evidently a' lateral moraine of the Belukha glacier. It must have been a very old moraine, as small trees were growing on it, but the trees were much younger than the forest trees around. Everywhere was ice and snow and perfect stillness; a more rugged spot could not be imagined. I pitched the tent, while the huntsmen went in search of wood. Having finished my task I joined in the search, and found that I was able to break several of the young trees quite easily, owing to their extraordinary dryness. When the fire was lighted they burnt like match-wood, giving out a good heat. The kettle was boiled and soup prepared, after which we roasted the half sheep and two ryabchiks, which had fallen to our guns on the way. These birds are vastly superior to partridges. Dinner over, we felt quite satisfied with ourselves and our surroundings and reconciled to the complete loneliness and silence. One striking thing I noticed while sitting at the fire was the sudden shifting of the wind. No sooner did we move round to prevent the smoke of the fire blowing in our faces than the wind followed us round. It shifted so often, filling our eyes with smoke, that I christened this spot "Windy Camp." We were near the junction of three valleys, and no doubt the next explorer who reaches this spot will know it by the Nestl©’s milk tins, Army and Navy ration and soup tins, and the general clearance of the trees. I advise him not to pitch camp near this spot, if he wants comfort.
Despite the wind, we chatted pleasantly for a short while, making plans for the morrow, and then decided to retire to the tent. Just as we were on the point of falling asleep a terrific hurricane sprang up, which scattered the fire and threatened to tear up the tent. In the deafening turmoil I peeped from the door of the tent. The moon was shining brightly. Belukha, although eight miles away, appeared to be quite close to me, and the whole scene was wrapped in a death-like mantle of snow and ice. The intense cold of the wind caused me to shut the door of the tent very quickly and to wrap my fur coat more closely around me. My neighbour was snoring vociferously, as if challenging the storm, but I soon fell asleep notwithstanding.
We were up at five o'clock the next morning and I spent this, our first day in the mountains, in an exploration of the Belukha glacier, obtaining as close a view of the mountain itself as was possible from one side of the glacier. One circumstance struck me as being rather peculiar, and that was the absence of crevasses. The ice also was uncommonly hard. I made one or two experiments to see how much the glacier would move, and, as far as I can judge, the glacier does not move more than at the rate of about 1 foot in twelve months. I am sure the ice is as stationary as any glacier in the world.
I soon discovered it was impossible for the nails in my boots to make any impression on the ice, for, although I stamped my feet, I was unable to make the nails stick enough to walk up the slightest incline. We discovered a large number of boulders which had been scratched and grooved on the side nearest the glaciers. These were situated about two miles from the glacier itself, and showed how far it had receded. Some of the grooves, of which I took photographs, were half an inch broad and a quarter of an inch deep. There were no marks of the progress of the glacier on the other side of the stones. The mountains on both sides are composed of granite, and are entirely without vegetation above the level of the glaciers. From these, huge blocks of rock had fallen. The only crystallised granite mountain is Belukha, yet thousands of enormous boulders were scattered abroad six miles from that mountain. Judging from the character of the glacier and the boulders I should assume that the mountain was at one time quite twice its present height. Most of these mountains appear to have been split in half quite recently by some powerful natural agency. One proof of this was the extreme softness of the rock, which had tumbled from the peaks and had sharp edges which did not show the slightest wear by ordinary denudation. Some of the rocks were so soft that I could break them by dropping them a yard.

The Katunskie-Belki group forms a circle, the principal peaks of which have an average height of 14,000 feet. In the centre of this circle, there are three mountain ridges, branching north and south, which, at a distance, have the appearance of three enormous fins. It was these fin-shaped mountains which appeared to be split in two. A Swiss Alpine climber soon learns that even the mountains crumble and in some cases are just like a pile of loose stones, and this is still more apparent in these Siberian mountains. The highest point of the glacier on the north side of the Belukha is at an elevation of 12,000 feet, and the rocks which shed their boulders upon it tower some 2,000 to 3,000 feet above, barren and desolate almost beyond conception.
There had been the heaviest fall of rock from a peak on the right side of the glacier, which appeared to have occurred very recently, and we were fortunate enough to see several falls of rock in the course of our journey, the only objection to which was, that they added materially to the perils of climbing the mountains. Instead of the Siberian climber looking out for single stones, as he would in the Swiss Alps, he runs the risk of a few thousand tons of the mountain falling his way.
The moraine is composed of two ridges, which are from 200 to 250 feet higher than the glacier itself, and there appeared to be rather more moraine than glacier. Speaking from my own experience, I had never seen so large a moraine. I have visited and stumbled over many of those in the Alps, but none of them can be compared in size to this one. Its present length is 5 miles, but there are indications that it cannot at one time have been less than 8 miles long. In two places lakes have formed, dammed in by the moraine, which were buried deep in snow. There is very little vegetation near the lakes, and what there is, is of the wildest description. Professor Sapozhnikoff's map of the same locality only shows one large lake and one small one, but his visit was made in the summer. A Kalmuck who had accompanied us from the last settlement told us that large quantities of animals of all kinds came down to drink at the lake during the summer, and that it is a splendid place for shooting, but that with the exception of one other Kalmuck Nimrod and himself no one knew of its existence. There are high passes on both sides of the glacier. My interest being aroused by another glacier and one or two very high passes, I decided to explore one of the valleys, arranging to start on my expedition at three o'clock on the morning after the arrival at our camping-place, but I could not persuade the huntsman to accompany me, on account of the thick haze which hung around us and completely obscured our view of the peaks and glaciers. At four o'clock, however, we made a start on skis, crossing the frozen moraine and the lake. It was my third experience of skis, and one leg persisted in going the wrong way, laying me low on the soft snow. Once over the deep snow that covered the actual moraine we went over lumpy earth for about 300 yards to the frozen lake. Continuing over the lake we went too far to climb the glacier that we had intended to climb, so we decided to go to the end of the frozen lake and follow the course of the stream which flowed into it to its source. We left our skis at a spot on the bank by a clump of trees, and proceeded without them, but were soon obliged to desist, owing to the steepness and hardness of the ice. My companion had crampons on, while my boots were only furnished with ordinary Alpine nails. We could not stand, or make any impression on the ice, so we abandoned the stream and took to the steep slopes which flanked it. Here we had some formidable loose earth to negotiate at an angle of about 70 degrees. Once at the summit, however, the ground was fairly level, although buried in snow.

The skis, which we had left behind us, were bound with fur, the object of which was to take a firm grip of the snow and prevent our sliding backwards. We lived to regret not having taken them with us, as we sank deep into the snow at every step. Leaving the snow at last we climbed some steep rocks, only to find ourselves on a snow slope, the surface of which only was frozen over. We presently reached the lower end of the glacier, and again found the ice too hard and smooth for our boots. We were, therefore, compelled to take to the loose rocks once more. Following these by a zig-zag course, which introduced us to frequent snow slopes and isolated square blocks of rock, also covered with snow, we at last reached the top of the glacier, which we found to be as flat as a billiard-table, and nearly as hard as rock. The altitude was 13,000 feet. We found it impossible to retain our footing without striking our feet hard against the glassy surface, and even with this precaution and the additional one of roping ourselves together, we frequently slipped. At the upper end of this glacier, which was only about 200 yards across, there was a hanging glacier, which presented a very pretty sight. The ice here was buried a foot deep in snow, and snow lay also on a steep slope to the left, which was exposed to the north. I made the hunter photograph me, and then I took another photograph of the top of the glacier, afterwards picking out, with my Zeiss binocular, the way which I intended ascending the first slope. There were an ice-glazed slope and some steep rocks, and it looked as though I was in for some good climbing. I looked at the rocks very carefully to see if there was any possible route, and all the time the hunter was evidently taking in the situation. He pointed to the rocks and wished to know if it was* my intention to attempt to ascend them. When I told him that such was my modest desire he demurred with considerable vehemence, so I left him and took a course up a steep slope to the left. Fearing an avalanche, I changed my course a little farther on and selected a more difficult ascent over a shoulder of steep rocks, not unlike the shoulder of the Matter-horn in character, but with an outward dip and descending slope. Once on top of this I proceeded along an easy ridge—13,300 feet high—which led to the summit. I took my own photograph, and afterwards proceeded up the ridge. I encountered several very steep gullies, which demanded respectful treatment, owing to the presence of a quantity of loose rock. Great caution was necessary in stepping from one piece to another in order to avoid being precipitated on to the ice below. The general impression produced by the mountain at this part was that it had at one time been considerably higher, but had been shattered by some powerful agency. I was now on the south side of the ridge. The north side was a sheer precipice with semi-circular gullies varying in width and depth. The last of these gullies was about 150 yards from the northern extremity, making an almost complete semi-circle of the ridge and nearly cutting off the summit, which required some very good climbing to attain. On reaching the summit I found that no snow had accumulated on the steep northern slopes, which were composed of loose rock, while the north-eastern face of the mountain was cased in hard ice, and was quite impossible to climb. It was completely free of snow and reflected the sun's rays like a looking-glass. I had never before seen ice adhering to a mountain peak at an angle of 70 degrees. The Matterhorn glacier breaks and falls on the Swiss side at an angle of 53 degrees.

These peaks are apparently too much exposed to the strong winds and blizzards to retain any snow on their summits. The intense cold of the blizzards plasters the side of the mountain with snow, which is speedily converted into the hardest ice. The hardness of the ice is difficult to realise, and is due principally to the fact that the mountains are fanned by the bitterly cold winds which sweep across the Siberian steppes from the Arctic regions, freezing everything they come in contact with and expending their dying fury on these remote peaks, which they clothe in a translucent armour of sky-blue ice of indescribable beauty and purity. There is a wealth of beauty in the snow-clad summits of the Alps when the sun is upon them, as seen from some neighbouring peak. I have gazed at Mont Blanc from the summit of the Matterhorn, and the Matterhorn from Mont Blanc, and some of the grandest views in Switzerland, but the northern faces of the Katunskie-Belki range, with the crystal clear glaciers hanging in the sun and sparkling like diamonds, form a picture so striking and beautiful that my experience can offer no parallel to them. It is mere commonplace to say that it was the finest view I had ever beheld. The wind was intensely cold and the mountain seemed to draw nearer, the glory of the panorama before me making me wish for some one with whom to compare impressions. One peak in especial, of a shape reminiscent of the Matterhorn, but having an obelisk of rock about 2,000 feet less than that of the famous Swiss mountain, particularly impressed me. It stood out among its comrades with such imposing grace that it was difficult for me to remove my eyes from it. This peak was draped in ice about 50 or 100 feet thick, forming a wall about 2,000 feet in extent. I took several photographs and felt as if I could have taken hundreds more. The indescribable beauty of the view before me and the consciousness that I was gazing upon a scene that had never yet been desecrated by the camera, or described by any human being, was one of a lifetime, and amply repaid me for the difficulties and inconveniences I had experienced on my way. Here all was virgin ground. There were no passes known and labelled; no well-trodden routes to be followed; no Mark Twain had ever made the ascent of these peaks in imagination; no telescope had scaled their heights before my Zeiss binocular; no avalanche had hurled its hapless victims to an untimely death; no Alpine hut vulgarised the slopes or ridges or obscured the view of the summit; no Baedeker enumerated the guides or reduced the glories of the ascent to a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence. I was in the home of the maral, the marmot, the ibex, the bear, and the red Alpine wolf. When the summer came the mountain slopes would be alive with the song of countless myriads of birds and the hum of numerous insects, unmolested by civilisation and unhunted toy man.
I found myself wondering whether, when the great Mogul race was predominant in Asia, some stray adventurer had ever visited these mountains, or whether they too had dreaded them as the Kalmuck and the moujik dread them to-day. It is certain that this particular cluster of mountains is altogether off the line of the caravan route from Omsk to China, or the Mongolian sheep-hunter's route via Onguadi; and this fact, coupled with the comparative isolation of Siberia from the .West of Europe, would account for my having had the great honour of leading the way to the exploration, a lead which I hope will soon be followed, of a land far excelling Switzerland in its wild Alpine beauty. I am confident, from what I saw, that the range contains mountains of even greater altitudes and magnificence than those I have described.

A host of thoughts crowded through my mind as I stood amid those rugged giants of the Altai. The word Altai means gold, and golden mountains they appeared to be as they reared their mighty crests in the rays of the slowly-descending sun; and later, when the afterglow rested upon them, the scene was such as no Alpine sunset can reproduce or emulate, beautiful though the peaks, like the Matterhorn, are under like conditions. Not a bird sounded its call, no rippling stream was to be heard, no avalanche raised the echoes with the thunder of its fall, no Alpine cow-bell sounded in the distance; a [silence that could be felt rested on all around me. Yet, in the silence, the stately mountains seemed to welcome me and to invite a closer acquaintance. The frozen river lay in its winter sleep beneath me, the lakes in their ice-sheets slept peacefully beyond. In the distance were the pure white snow-fields; around me scores of glaciers clothed the slopes and precipices. The summits dreamt in the glow of the closing day. The sky was clear and of a beautiful blue tint. I felt that my journey had not been in vain.
Ere long, I hope, others will visit those mountain scenes and record their impressions of them, and who knows but that some day, after the pioneers have broken the ancient solitude of these mountain regions, organised excursions will be led to them for the benefit of the Kalmuck, and Kalmuck hotel proprietors will make their little fortunes, as their Swiss precursors have done before them.
From the peak on which I was standing the Belukha mountain was visible in its complete and majestic proportions. I placed my aneroid barometer on a sheltered ledge of rock and estimated the altitude of the mountain to be 17,850 feet, or after deducting 50 feet for the known error, 17,800 feet. My aneroid had been officially tested by the best authorities before I left England, and found to be correct. Mr. Edward Wihymper has also very kindly examined and tested it since my return to England, and has declared it to be a very good and reliable instrument, and it was also tested by the Kew authorities. I mention these facts merely because aneroid barometers occasionally get out of order, and therefore require to be very carefully tested both before and after use. I took a number of photographs and several prismatic bearings. I also conceived the idea of photographing myself on the summit by attaching my camera to a screw on the head of my ice-axe and pushing the stock of the axe into the snow. An india-rubber ball attached to a long tube of the same material served to take in its winter sleep beneath me, the lakes in their ice-sheets slept peacefully beyond. In the distance were the pure white snow-fields; around me scores of glaciers clothed the slopes and precipices. The summits dreamt in the glow of the closing day. The sky was clear and of a beautiful blue tint. I felt that my journey had not been in vain.
Ere long, I hope, others will visit those mountain scenes and record their impressions of them, and who knows but that some day, after the pioneers have broken the ancient solitude of these mountain regions, organised excursions will be led to them for the benefit of the Kalmuck, and Kalmuck hotel proprietors will make their little fortunes, as their Swiss precursors have done before them.
From the peak on which I was standing the Belukha mountain was visible in its complete and majestic proportions. I placed my aneroid barometer on a sheltered ledge of rock and estimated the altitude of the mountain to be 17,850 feet, or after deducting 50 feet for the known error, 17,800 feet. My aneroid had been officially tested by the best authorities before I left England, and found to be correct. Mr. Edward Wihymper has also very kindly examined and tested it since my return to England, and has declared it to be a very good and reliable instrument, and it was also tested by the Kew authorities. I mention these facts merely because aneroid barometers occasionally get out of order, and therefore require to be very carefully tested both before and after use. I took a number of photographs and several prismatic bearings. I also conceived the idea of photographing myself on the summit by attaching my camera to a screw on the head of my ice-axe and pushing the stock of the axe into the snow. An india-rubber ball attached to a long tube of the same material served to take the snap-shot. This method was fairly successful, but the axe occasionally insisted on falling forward, distorting the picture and entirely spoiling the effect. The temperature by this time had fallen to ???.\ degrees of frost, and it fell still lower after the sun went down.
I wrote my name on a stiff piece of paper, in English and Russian, and deposited it under a pile of stones. The rocks at the summit I found to consist mainly of schist, felspar, and hornblende, and, somewhat to my surprise, to be so brittle that I could break pieces off them with my hand quite easily.
The Katunskie-Belki form a circle of peaks, of which Belukha appears to be the highest. To the north of Belukha there are three mountains, shaped like huge fins and parallel with the glacier. They are abruptly pointed at the summits and extend in a direction from north to south. The peak which I climbed had a position from east to west. These ridges were far too attenuated at the top to serve as a resting-place for the snow that fell upon them, and which the winds sweeping across them from the Akkem valley consistently carry away with them, but a prominent peak just beyond them was better adapted for the purpose, being dome-shaped.

With the mountaineering instinct still unsatisfied within me I commenced the descent of the peak, and, after a three hours' climb, reached the snow pass. I was too tired to walk down through the deep snow, so I decided to let myself slide, and, fortunately, succeeded in doing so without accident. Being too tired to walk down the glacier I lay down on my back, and, steering myself with my ice-axe, again glided gently to the bottom. Here I rejoined the Kalmuck hunter, who was waiting for me, and returned to the camp. I put on my snow-shoes to cross the lake and the snow-field that lay between me and the camp, and travelled across as far as the moraine, but being too tired to tie the skis on properly, I had two awkward tumbles while descending the moraine. I was thoroughly exhausted by this time and was heartily glad when I got to the tents.
I shall never forget dragging my weary limbs into camp and sitting down by the fire. I had been away for seventeen hours, two hours of which I had spent on the summit of the peak, and had eaten only a few raisins and a little chocolate which I had taken with me, as, when we set out, I 'had not foreseen that by going up the valley we would arrive so near the mountains. The temptation to climb them had been so great, however, that I had given way to it, and had made a much longer journey than I had originally intended. At dinner-time I was so tired that it was necessary for my interpreter to wait upon me, an office which he performed with great kindness and willingness.
One of the Kalmucks whom we had encountered at the last Kalmuck hut was sitting at our fire when I returned. My interpreter prepared supper, including a very welcome cup of tea in the menu. The Kalmuck handed me a piece of sugar to put into my tea. After I had drunk three cups of tea without stirring it to dissolve the sugar, I took a fourth one and was surprised to find that the most energetic stirring failed to reduce the dimensions of that miraculous piece. I took in my mouth, to discover, amid the laughter of the Kalmuck who had given it to me, my two hunters, and the interpreter, that what I had taken for sugar was a small piece of marble, and that the Kalmuck had scored upon me in a very decided manner, proving himself a humorist.
As the tent had been taken down we all slept that night in the open. The exposed situation, and the fact that the tent only weighed 12 Lbs., made it rather troublesome to fix it. It had been blown down during the day. That night the horses became so frightened that they would not leave us, and came quite close to the fire. The hunters said there were wolves about, and the horses had evidently seen them. Wolves or no wolves, it did not stop me from rolling myself up in my fur coat and tumbling off to sleep.
I slept until about 9 a.m., the following day being given up to hunting the particularly wily ibex and the wild sheep. Our hunt was fairly successful. The ibex is a skilful climber, so that in order to stalk it the huntsman requires, to be; a fairly good mountaineer himself. These animals are exceedingly intelligent and wary. Our arrival in the vicinity of their haunts had caused them to withdraw fully two to three miles from the camp, and our party had a long and weary tramp before we got within stalking distance of one or two herds of them. Ultimately we discovered a small herd on a rocky ledge of one of the peaks. The Kalmuck detected their presence long before the rest of our party had the least idea of it, and, resting his gun on the two sticks which were attached to it for support; he fired, hitting one in the neck. It turned over and fell to the bottom of the precipice. The remainder of the herd made their escape, and, for an hour or two, our prospects of securing anything to take back with us appeared very doubtful. Shortly afterwards, however, my interpreter and the two hunters came across several large ibex, each of which received an ounce of lead too much. We returned to the camp with our trophies and made a meal off one of the ibex, which we enjoyed exceedingly. Our Kalmuck friend boiled the half of the animal for himself in a large black pan. I thought he would never finish eating. I have never seen a man eat one quarter of the quantity that Kalmuck could account for, and probably never shall again, unless it is my good fortune to revisit the place. Yet with all that he was thin and wiry.

We took a photograph of the horns of the ibex we had shot, and measured them. My own trophies were :—a large horn 42 inches long and 10 inches thick ; another horn 25 inches long and 8 inches thick ; and a third 23 inches long and 7 inches thick. This last is not so large as those of two others shot by my interpreter.
The horns of the ibex are sold by the Kalmucks to the Chinese, who grind them to powder and make medicine of them. For this reason the Chinese are their best customers. The southern and western slopes of the Altai range, which are hunted by the Mongolians, are becoming exhausted, the animals being steadily driven to the more remote valleys and secluded gorges, similar to the spot where we had made our bag. The Kalmuck informed us that the horns of some of the ibex he had shot were much larger than the largest secured by me. Evidently the hunter, like the fisherman, is the same all the world over. If that is not the case, however, the ibex in question must have been larger than any of which there is an authentic record, which were not more than three or four inches longer in the horns than the one secured by me. It is to be hoped that some English sportsman may be induced to visit the locality and find out for himself what those mountain valleys and ridges have to offer. I am convinced that the sport he will have will repay him for the trouble of the journey.

CHAPTER VII CLIMBING BELUKHA

I decide to climb Belukha—Difficulties with the hunters, who turn back—I pitch my tent in a snowstorm—An unpleasant shock— Making soup in a portable tent—Sleep and dreams—Morning— No sign of the hunters—I decide to continue alone—Among the boulders—Hardness of the ice—Apparition of one of the hunters four miles away—The ascent—A snow-slip—I narrowly escape—The descent—Difficult progress—I make up to the hunter—Taken ill—I reach the camp with difficulty—Inflammation of the eyes—Compelled to abandon attempt—Striking our tents—We miss our track, but arrive at Kalmuck hut— Shelter and warmth—On the way again to Katunda—Crossing the Katun—Advice to future explorers—Climbing—Akkem Valley—Climate—Mountain formation—Fauna and flora.

THE weather on the following morning was calm and promising, so I decided to climb Belukha. The thermometer registered 45 degrees below freezing point, and there was every prospect of a good climb. It was my intention to move the main camp as near as possible to the mountain, but the hunters refused to go as far as I wished. I explained that the distance from our present camp to Belukha was eight miles, and, owing to the very difficult moraine, and the peak being quite unknown to me, it was quite necessary that we should move the main camp much nearer to Belukha. The hunters argued there was no wood procurable for a fire and that we should all be frozen to death. I told them of a large number of fir trees at the base of the glacier which I had noticed the day previously, and said I was quite sure that the spot was much better than " Windy Camp," as we should be protected by the peaks.
All my arguments were of no avail. My interpreter was very much against my climbing, and the hunters, seeing this, felt that they were right in refusing to go farther. However, after a lot of talk, it was agreed that we should camp on the side of the lake about one mile nearer Belukha.
We packed our horses and had very great difficulty in getting them over the deep snow of the ancient lateral moraine, at which the hunters complained very much. We soon reached the lake. The water had evidently flooded the top of the lake and frozen again, because it broke and let the horses through it for about six inches at each step, but no deeper, as the ice underneath was very hard.
Just as I thought we were getting along splendidly the hunters made for the side of the lake, and, when I informed them that we must at least go to the end of the lake, they threatened to go home and leave me unless I allowed them to have their own way. They both argued that, even if I went to the end of the lake, I should not be able to reach the peak in one day, and they would proceed with my light tent as far as I wanted. This being the best I could do, as soon as we made the second camp I intimated that I wanted to sleep on the top of the glacier at the foot of the Belukha precipices that night. Continuing on our way, we rode the horses to the end of the lake and tied them up to the trees.
When we started from our camp at about 11 a .m. the hunters were quite willing to go to the spot where I wanted to sleep, but as we gained the moraine they got into difficulties on the ice-glazed boulders and constantly slipped off, sinking up to the hips in snow and getting their legs jammed between the boulders. They soon wore a look of disgust on their faces.
I had anticipated, that if I did not carry luggage myself, they would complain of their loads being too heavy, so I had taken as much as both of them together, and, when they began to complain, reminded them of that fact. I quickened my pace and left them some distance behind. When we left camp the weather was very cold, the wind blowing from the north. The sky was clear and blue.
An hour later, as we were making our way up the moraine on the left, snow began to fall and my companions became anxious to return; but I argued and cajoled, and finally prevailed on them to go on. We proceeded for another hour, when they finally struck, although it was next to impossible to camp on that moraine, and they had agreed only two hours previously to carry out my wish to sleep that night at the base of Belukha. We had, therefore, only covered two miles of the six which lay between us and the peak. My arguments were of no use, however, for, suiting their actions to their word, they both put down the luggage and were about to leave me, when I agreed that if they would help me to find a suitable place for the camp, they could come up at 4 a.m. in the morning and carry it to the base of Belukha, which they solemnly promised — a " Russian promise "—to do.
They took up the luggage again and we wandered on a little, but there was no place for a camp. I wanted to take them a little farther, when they insisted on my choosing a spot close to where they sat. The rest of the moraine was quite as desolate, so I turned over as many boulders as possible to get the dryer side. After scraping away the snow and levelling up the boulders, I found that there was no possibility of driving pegs in between them, so I had to tie boulders to the cords of the tent and pile others round it to protect it in case of wind. I had pitched my tent by about 1 o'clock p.m., 11,000 feet above sea level. The hunters, who complained bitterly of the cold and snow, turned back hastily, refusing to wait for me to make them a cup of tea.
I was soon very stiff and cold with the bitter wind and snow driving against me, and was glad to crawl into my small tent, lay my big coat on the boulders, unpack my knapsack and make ready to light the spiritine lamp, in order to make some soup and obtain as much comfort as was possible under the circumstances. I was surprised, and not a little alarmed, to find that the spirit had all leaked out of the lamp. I was beginning to realise the awkwardness of the situation, when I recollected that I had taken a few small tin blocks of spiritine as a precaution, little thinking at the time that my very life was to depend upon them. My legs began to freeze in the big leather boots studded with heavy nails. I took them off in time to restore the circulation and put my «valenki» on instead. Then I lit two small blocks of spiritine, after thawing the tops. I reached out my hand and tied up the opening of the tent, in order to prevent the entrance of the bitterly cold air, and then boiled a tin of soup, drinking it eagerly to warm myself. Supper ('I call it suPPer because I was going to sleep on account of the storm. The time was about 5 p.m.)' over, I left one block of spiriting burning, and rolling myself carefully in the fur and putting on my warmest cap, turned over and tried to go to sleep, the fierce wind doing its best all the while to tear my little tent from its moorings. I congratulated myself on the manner in which I had piled the stones and boulders round for protection, and shortly after, amidst half-conscious reveries, in which I wondered whether I should survive the cold and get back to dear old England again, I fell asleep.
I awoke suddenly about midnight with an icy shiver, as though I were lying in a cold bath. The light had gone out, and in my sleep, dreaming of home, and mountains, and ibex, and wolves, and bears, and snowstorms, I had kicked off the coat. It took me half an hour to restore the circulation to my frozen limbs, and, concluding that it would be dangerous to go to sleep, I lay thinking, wondering how I should ever succeed in making the ascent through all that snow. Nature proved stronger than my determination, and I presently dozed off to sleep once more. I must have slept for three or four hours, for when I awoke day was breaking; it was about three o'clock in the morning. I reached for my boots and found that they had frozen very hard and that I could not get my feet into them. My feet were also swollen. I thawed the boots by lighting a block of spiriting, and managed to squeeze my feet into them. My body was very stiff after sleeping upon those boulders. I consulted my watch and found I had been in the tent thirteen hours, during about ten of which I was asleep on the boulders. I named that camp "Desolate Camp."
I opened the tent and crawled out, brushing the snow away from the boulders as I did so. It had fallen to the depth of about six inches during the night and was falling still. The wind had dropped, however, so I decided to turn in for another hour. Looking out of the tent some time afterwards, and finding that the snow had ceased falling and that it was lighter, I again crawled out, brushing §way the snow. The peaks were being lit up by the first rays of the sun. I waited for some time for the hunters, and, while doing so, took a round of photographs, including myself and the tent, About two inches of very hard snow, almost as hard as ice, was frozen on my tent, and the boulders piled round the tent, which had been turned over, were ice-glazed.

I decided that I would not sleep in that tent another night. The hunters had made a faithful promise to be up at the tent by four o'clock, but it was now nearly five and there was no sign of them. I could see that it was no use relying upon them to take my tent to the base of the actual peaks above the glacier, so I decided to make a bold bid, or rather a rush, for the summit. I took as little baggage as possible, and proceeded over the ice-glazed boulders. I have had considerable experience in scrambling over Swiss boulders, but those which formed the moraine of the Belukha were glazed from the fresh snow that had frozen upon them. They were nearly all covered in this manner, and I found it very difficult to keep my feet upon them. To avoid sinking up to the hips in the soft snow that lay between the boulders it was necessary to jump from one to the other of them, and with all my care I overbalanced myself repeatedly, and was obliged to step down between two of them, severely jarring my legs and narrowly escaping a broken limb. I have never found climbing so difficult as on the moraine of the Belukha glacier.
I then decided to try the glacier itself, but could make no better progress. The ice was too hard to allow the nails of my boots to grip, especially as I was not sufficiently heavy, although my boots were shod with Mummery steel Alpine nails. The weather had become very warm and sultry. I changed my course once more and took to the boulders. As I stepped from one to another of them I loosened them, and it was rather interesting to hear how boulder after boulder, as I stepped from them, went tumbling down into unseen holes. Several times I only succeeded in saving myself, by throwing my body forward, from accompanying them on their downward career. After many difficulties and troubles I sat down to rest on a boulder as flat as a table, and round. It was quite 3 feet across. I unpacked my rucksack and made a good meal, as I could see there would be no chance of taking anything up the precipice with me. Whilst resting on these boulders I heard a noise and looking down the glacier I saw the hunter Cherapanoff about 4 miles away, beckoning for me to go back.
I had heard quite enough from the hunters about the dangers of the mountains, and, as the clouds seemed to be drifting up towards me, I thought he was trying to warn me of the coming storm. The clouds which were descending from the peaks all around me made me hurry. I took my aneroid and left the rest of the luggage on the slab of rock.
I first of all tried a gully up the precipice of Belukha, but the rocks were too ice-glazed and, after proper examination, I concluded that it was quite impossible to make the ascent that way. I turned back to some steep rock which I concluded led to the ice ridge, and, for about an hour climbed up slabs, and wriggled up cracks of all sorts. The snow and ice gave me trouble and it presently began to snow. Whilst resting on the top of the ridge I measured it. It was 13,800 feet. I left my card under a piece of rock and proceeded through the mist towards the higher ridge.
On gaining this ridge I was reminded of the long ice ridge of Monte Rosa near the summit of Dufour Spitz. After proceeding over deep snow I came to a ridge of hard ice at an altitude of 14,300 feet. I had attained a height on this mountain that nobody had attained before me. Professor Sapozhnikoff had gained 13,300 feet from the south side in the summer time, but it was altogether another matter in the winter^ and the hurried climb up the northern precipice of Belukha began to tell on me.

After the difficulty I had experienced, the sight of the summit stimulated me; I was so exhilarated that I felt like making an attempt to run up the slope, although I knew running would be impossible. The summit could not have been much more than 150 yards away. The first 30 yards were over deep snow, and afterwards clear ice, which lay at an angle of 35 to 40 degrees; but after that the ridge seemed to lie up an easy, if somewhat narrow, slope, apparently covered with soft snow, which I expected to be able to walk up without difficulty. I laboured across the first stretch and exhausted myself, the deep snow making the climb exceedingly heavy. I was ready to take a rest, so I stood awhile and admired the view. To the north was a circle of mountains, and several avalanches fell, while I was looking, from the north-western peaks, near the glacier and moraine along which I had come. The weather was unsettled but the snow-fall had ceased. Turning to look along the glacier, which was about 8 miles long on the south side of the mountain, I could also see a large number of snow-capped peaks. The glacier was covered with fresh fallen snow. The ridge on which I stood was rather dangerous, as the hard ice with which it was coated would not allow the nails of my boots to get a good grip. The view of the summit, however, filled me with an irresistible desire to climb it, and although badly in need of a rest I began to cut at the hard ice. I was disappointed to find that my hardest blows only succeeded in chipping away small pieces of the ice scarcely larger than a hazel nut, and it was nearly half an hour before I succeeded in cutting one decent step. This convinced me that it would be impossible for me to reach the summit that day, especially as I had nothing with me to shelter me while I slept upon the ridge. The north face of the precipice, near which I was standing, was glazed with ice, which rendered the few cracks and hand holes that might be there quite useless. On the other hand, even had I been able to climb that part of the mountain, it would not have been possible for me to get farther than to the west side of the ridge. The only way out of the difficulty, was to gain the south side of the peak at the base and make the attempt from the west. I had noticed that the western ridge was not so long, and persuaded myself, that as it was sheltered from the Arctic winds, the ice might be softer. So I determined to try it, although I knew well enough that the snow was soft and an avalanche exceedingly likely. I had come a long way and was not inclined to give in without a struggle, even if it involved some risk, so I started very carefully: but after going on for about 6 yards, I suddenly became aware that the snow was giving way beneath me, and the next moment I was on; the top of a billow of loose snow that was gliding down the mountain side considerably more swiftly than was either comfortable or safe. I had concluded that it was all over with me and that an obituary notice was perhaps the thing I should be requiring next, when the motion stopped suddenly. I immediately relinquished hold of my ice-axe and knocked the snow away from about my head until I was able to breathe freely, but my body was crushed down in a most uncomfortable manner. I pushed away the snow and secured the head of my, axe, and, using it as a lever, was presently able to wriggle myself out of the snow. The snow had gone down my neck, making me very wet and uncomfortable. I brushed as much of it away as was possible.

Then I began to crawl, the ice-axe serving to drag me along, while with the disengaged hand I managed to secure a hold of any protuberance that offered, however small. In this manner I advanced slowly, foot by foot, well aware all the time that if I wais so unfortunate as to start that avalanche on its downward career once more I would most certainly be precipitated on to the ice below and killed. In spite of every care, however, my knees slipped on a smooth piece of ice and I felt myself gliding again. To save myself I threw myself flat and lay for a second, until I could get a better hold with the axe and scramble to my knees again. I now remembered my knife, so I got it out and opened the short blade which I used for opening tins. This was a great help, and, with its aid and that of the axe, I managed to regain the ridge; but it seemed to take about two hours to accomplish the distance, which seemed to be about 60 feet. It is probable, however, that I was wrong both in my estimate of the distance and of the time it took me to cover it. On regaining the ridge, I scraped the snow as well as possible from my neck, but it melted and gave me a cold bath. After my pockets were cleared and clothes shaken out, I felt quite thoroughly wet and very cold. To keep up the circulation, more than with any idea of climbing the ridge, I decided to cut as many steps as possible and return the next day to complete the step-cutting. I had cut the second step much more quickly than the first one, at the risk of breaking my ice-axe, but while I was engaged in cutting a third one a strong wind sprang up from the north and forced me to abandon all further work for that day. Although cutting the step had restored the circulation to my limbs, the fierce northerly wind chilled me to the marrow and absolutely made me beat a retreat. My clothes seemed to stiffen upon me, and at one time I felt that I was going to lose the use of my hands. I began the descent, but the wind had glazed the rock with ice and I was a very long time climbing down, and had to exercise the greatest caution. The climax came when I found myself above a gully which required to be climbed down and appeared to project very considerably. I had not come up it, so I concluded that I had lost the route by which I had made the ascent. I stuck in that gully, carefully calculating whether I could let myself drop with safety on to a ledge, about two feet wide, covered with snow and slightly slanting outwards, some distance below me. I knew that if the slopes were ice-glazed I should almost certainly slip and fall down the mountain, but I was unable to get back. I argued that the ledge had been protected through being in a north-westerly position, and at last let myself drop. As luck would have it, I was able, just as I landed on the ledge, to grasp a projecting piece of rock which had been invisible to me from above, and clinging to it with my ice-axe, which hung on my arm fastened by the leather strap, I was quite safe. The remainder of the climb was fairly easy, because it was below the line where the fierce wind had frozen the snow into ice. In a little while I regained the moraine, where I had left my camera and several other things, and started on my return journey. The temperature on the moraine was 18 degrees below freezing point. I found it very difficult walking, as I was getting very tired and my body was racked with internal pain. There was no fighting the feeling that I was quite ill. I knew, however, that if I gave up there I should probably never be found, so I made another desperate effort. Progress over the moraine became difficult in the extreme. It required all my will power to cover the four miles, and each mile took me about an hour. At times I was compelled to sit down absolutely exhausted, with a feeling that I could not move another yard. I had been tumbling from ice-glazed boulders and sinking up to the hips in Soft snow between them so often that I began to think one of my legs was broken. Still I struggled on. When I reached the tent I found my hunter resting quite contentedly with his back to the tent and with my overcoat over him to protect him from the cold wind. He was very pleased when I told him to pack up, and was not long in taking down the tent and packing the remaining things together. He explained that he had managed to get so far alone, but that the other hunter had been afraid to come. He spoke as though he thought he was very brave, and, as he had never been on a mountain moraine or glacier before, no doubt he was right. He pointed to a hole in the glacier which he had narrowly escaped tumbling into. He also expressed his opinion that he was sure that if he had tried to follow me he would have been killed. He showed me nasty bruises on both legs, the result of his tumbling on the ice-glazed boulders. From inquiries I made, I found that he had been four and a half hours in covering the two and a half miles between the main camp and the tent, but his interest had been attracted by a huge bear whom he had encountered by the trees at the bottom of the moraine, and whom he tried to kill with his large knife. He had spent quite an hour and a half of his time in stalking him. He explained that the bear ran when he got near to him, and that he vanished in the mountain pass. I was not inclined to believe his story, as it sounded too much like an excuse, but he showed me what appeared to be the track of a bear in the snow, together with his own, and I was constrained to accept his explanation. Curiously enough, the hunter was not at all afraid of the bear, and explained that he had killed several with his large knife alone, but he admitted that he was desperately afraid of the mountains. I was feeling very ill by this time, so I decided not to spend another night up there and in that small tent. The hunter's assistance and companionship were very welcome on the journey to the camp, which we reached late the same evening. My interpreter remarked that I looked very unwell, and I was very sick for about an hour. I attributed it to my having swallowed some solder from the tin which contained oxtail soup, which I had drunk so hurriedly in the little tent. I have no doubt also that the snow and ice water we had been drinking, and the poor bread we were eating, together with the tinned food, had something to do with my illness. I went to sleep by the fire. During previous nights, sleeping in our fur coats in front of a big fire kept us warm enough, but this night the wind blew a hurricane and the thermometer was very far below freezing point.
I awoke very early in the morning to find that my eyes were closed with inflammation and that I could only bear to open them for a few seconds at a time. As soon as daylight appeared I gave the order to •pack up, which was gladly obeyed, as my illness and the state of my eyes made any further climbing out of the question ; but I determined to return and conquer the last few yards of that mountain at some future date. We rode the first twenty miles in a bitter cold wind and through a driving snowstorm, sheltered only by trees. My eyes were very painful and I could not see for above five to ten seconds at a time, consequently the branches of the trees swept across my face, leaving severe scratches; the marks on my nose will probably remain with me till I die. The faces of the whole party were nearly frozen by the wind. The ibex horns on the horse's back, and the leather bags on the side of the horses, knocked against the trees and shook them as we passed, and the snow dropped upon our backs, and down our necks. We tried to find our1 former track, but the snow had obliterated all traces, and we were very uncertain at times of the direction in which we were travelling. The horses fell frequently during this part of our journey and required a lot of pulling up, and every time this happened the luggage required to be repacked. It was a pleasant relief when we reached the Kalmuck's hut and were able to obtain shelter and to dry our clothes. An iron slab in the centre of the floor of the hut held the boiling pan, and a Kalmuck girl was grinding rusks to powder to be boiled in milk. Her mother lay ill on the wooden bed at one side of the hut. Over her bed was the icon, and the pig-tail of the one man had been shaven off, all of which denoted that the inmates had been converted to Christianity. I had an opportunity to study the character of these nomads of the Altai, and, from observations and inquiries which I made, I am led to believe that they are the most natural and unwed affected people in the world. They are very calm and alert, and are particularly friendly in their relations with each other. They commanded the respect even of our fighting hunter, and it is quite astonishing how much the Russians think of them. They are so modest that your best feelings go out towards them, and so simple, unpretentious, and happy, that it would be impossible to take advantage of them. They are born horsemen and hunters, and, as already stated, although the Russian Government will not allow them to serve as soldiers, they excel the Cossack in many respects. They are respectful, but brave and chivalrous. They wear a skin cap on their small round heads and a coat of bear or sheep skin tied round the middle, and their boyish faces and high cheek bones are eloquent of vigour and strength. The Kalmucks wear the same skin coat all the year round, summer and winter. They evidently think that what will keep out the cold will keep out the heat. If a man's happiness depends upon the fewness of his wants, the Akkem Kalmuck must be the happiest man alive.
I was delighted to be able to distribute some chocolate amongst the children, who had collected in the hut to welcome their mysterious white friends. Two of the Kalmucks had come ten miles to see us. They had never heard of England, Europe, St. Petersburg, Moscow, or, in fact, of any place farther than Bysk, yet they were as happy as mortal man can expect to be. There is plenty of fresh air in these huts, as they are open at the top. We were made very welcome and I had a chance to ask many questions. As for the hut itself, it seemed a, little palace to us after sleeping so many nights in front of our camp fire. We slept comfortably that night rolled in our coats on the floor of the hut, the fire being kept up all night. I tried to draw the inflammation out of my eyes before the fire, but without success.
We were up early next morning, as we wished to reach Katunda as soon as possible. Before we went, I sold the rifle which I had bought at Bysk to one of the Kalmucks who had followed us to the mountains, and he was very pleased. He paid me in Russian money and appeared to be fairly well to do. He had made money out of cattle, and this last summer had done exceptionally well by hunting. He and another Kalmuck had quite the monopoly of the hunting ground. They were very sorry when we mounted our horses and commenced our second day's homeward journey up the hill towards the high Kalmuck pass bearing to the left from the Akkem valley. Several families had collected to give us a welcome, but they were only in time to bid us all hearty farewell. Half-way up the pass we met two Kalmucks, also on their way to visit us. They were fine specimens of horsemen, and were mounted on small sturdy ponies. They rode on one side of the exceedingly steep ice slope in order to let us pass. In the course of a short conversation they said they had run short of food because of the very severe and prolonged winter.
Judging by the experience Professor Sapozhnikoff had in the summer, and my own experience in the winter, the weather must be very changeable. Sudden blizzards and fierce north winds, with blinding snowstorms, occur in the winter, and excessive rains in the summer. The future explorer in the summer must expect very heavy rains about May and early June, and very fierce wind and heavy snowstorms in the winter.
After bidding our friends good-bye we were not very long in gaining the summit, where we gave the horses a rest. They were quite exhausted by slipping about on the frozen slopes. While we rested we could take in the view of the mountains.
We descended through forests, and most of the streams were free of ice. We found it was impossible to cross the stream at the place where we had come over, as it was flowing much too fast for the horses to swim across, so we crossed several small streams. We passed a place where a Kalmuck rears marals in order to cut off their horns to sell them to the Chinese. We then came to a bend in the River Katun where the water was smooth. Hailing a Kalmuck on the other side, he paddled the canoe across. My interpreter and myself went in the canoe, while the hunters swam the horses across. After the Kalmuck had paddled us over, he offered us a duck he had just shot, for which we gave him 20 kopecks (5d.) When we joined the hunters and told them we had paid this small sum for the duck, they said we ought to get two ducks for the money, as 10 kopecks— 2^d. each—was the usual price.
We noticed piles of bark on each side of the river, which had been cut off the trees in winter by the Kalmucks, who would take it up the river in a canoe as soon as the spring had returned. We waited for the hunters and horses and rode them up a steep bank and down through a wood, and soon entered the village of Katunda, where a crowd gathered in the post station.
The journey from Katunda, which had taken Professor Sapozhnikoff three days each way, only took us two. The hunters would have taken three days if I had not been very firm with them. So far as the hunters are concerned, it is not possible to get men who are either able or willing to climb, and, if serious mountain exploration is thought of, a good Swiss guide or porter is quite necessary. The traveller would also feel safer, and would not run the risk of being left in the mountains.

One thing that my hunters complained of very badly was that the camping arrangements were bad. Professor Sapozhnikoff, they said, had taken two large tents, one for the hunters and one for himself, and had not hurried or wanted to climb so often. Whatever may be said for the hunters, I should recommend any future explorer to be quite independent of their aid in the mountains, and only to take them to look after the horses; while an interpreter knowing English and Russian (probably some butter merchant who would like a holiday) could be found at Omsk, Novo-Nicolaevsk, or Barnaul. There is a lot of work to be done in these mountains, and, now that travelling on the Siberian railway is pleasant and a journey of 800 miles from civilisation brings you to the foot of the highest mountains, there is no reason why botanists, geologists, artists, hunters, explorers, and climbers should not find these mountains quite as attractive as any in the world.
So far as photography is concerned, the air is much more actinic than the air in the Swiss Alps, and snap-shots or short exposure will be quite exposed enough in summer, while even in March a snapshot was the most useful, and a very short exposure all that was necessary.
It is necessary for the climber to take crampons, which must be very sharp and of the very best steel; also a particularly sharp ice-axe. The axe I used is an old one and not sharp. This made it much more difficult to cut the ice; besides that, I had it cut down to pack into a cricket-bag, and was therefore unable to get much leverage on it.
The nails on the climber's boots are of vital importance, and the boots must be felt-lined. The cold is so intense, that even the temperature on Swiss peaks in winter is nothing compared with the cold on the summits of the Altai Mountains.
The climber must make preparations, both in summer and winter, for much colder mountain tops and much colder winds than on the Swiss Alps. It is of vital importance to have the thickest underclothing, a short seal-skin or bear-skin coat down to the knees, and a very thick «shuba " (all-fur coat) to go over all.
Great care should be taken to have all instruments packed carefully, because there are no springs on the sledges or droskies. The explorer will do well to protect himself, when camping, from the severe Arctic wind, and avoid a valley if possible, because the wind comes very suddenly and from all points of the compass.
The pass to the west of the Akkem valley is very long and narrow. This valley leads straight to the Katunskie-Belki, and gradually rises from 3,800 feet high to the Akkem lake, at an elevation of 8,000 feet, a rise of 4,200 feet in 40 miles. The Akkem river has a very strong current. The road, for about 30 miles out of 40, is over forest-clad slopes. Before my visit, no one had ever been there in winter, and, considering the frozen state of the slopes, we were fortunate to get our horses there and back without any serious accident. Professor Sapozhnikoff, whom I have already mentioned, was the only man who had been up this valley before, and his expedition was in the summer. The Akkem valley, or any part of the Belukha mountain, is thought to be inaccessible in winter, and, after my experiences, I do not recommend exploration of the Altai Mountains during that season. The cold is so intense, that every living thing, from bears to birds, is either hibernating or has withdrawn to a more congenial climate, and we did not come across any animals except a few herds of wild sheep, ibex, and stags, and a flock or so of ryabchiks. The best and most delightful time for a journey in these regions would be the month of July, as the aspect of the Altai flora alone would repay the visit.

There is a great deal to be learned in regard to the mountain districts of Siberia. My own theory of their formation is that the earth's pressure must have pushed them up, and at no distant date. The rocks are quite new and soft, yet the edges have not been worn smooth. Notwithstanding their softness, moreover, there is very little crumbling. The pieces of rock at the head of the mountains indicate that falls have taken place on a tremendous scale. Lightning could not have caused such havoc, and traces of ordinary denudation are quite absent. The only explanation which seems probable is, that the mountains, which resemble huge fins, have been pushed up by pressure of the earth's crust, and then, becoming top heavy, have split and crashed down on either side. Glacial action would have polished the base of the mountains very effectively, owing to the softness of the rocks, but there are no signs of glacier scratches higher than the course of the existing glaciers. I feel quite sure, from my study of the Katunskie-Belki, that it would not take a scientific geologist long to prove conclusively that mountains are formed by pressure.
Of the great mountains in the world, the Himalayas form the largest semi-circle. The ends of the ranges point north, and the range bends like a bow to the south. The Himalayas and the Caucasus form a semi-circle, which stretches across a large portion of our earth's surface. The ranges of the Altau and Altai are branches of the Thian Shan, which joins the Himalayas. The same semi-circular structure is still more apparent in the Katunskie-Belki range. In the Akkem valley, and by the side of the Akkem glacier, there are four or five mountains of rock similar in shape to the seracs of the Glacier de Geant. The Siberian mountains grow smaller and smaller, until the great Siberian plains reach the Arctic circle. If the earth's mountains are formed by pressure this is as it should be. Mount Everest, which is the highest, has been pushed up highest, because the rock gave the greatest resistance, but the east and west end of the great main range project in a northerly direction.
I throw out these suggestions in the hope that they may encourage an expedition to the Altai Mountains for the purpose of studying mountain formation and to consider whether mountains are produced by pressure or cut out by glacial formation. If by glacial formation, how could the glaciers make these circles of mountains and climb over passes to get out? The theory that mountains are formed by the earth's pressure has been proved clearly to my mind by my visit to these previously unknown mountains.
The fauna and flora of the Altai are very varied and their examination would repay tenfold any one who would take this trip to the mountain districts. From information I gathered I find that in summer the flora of the south Altai is magnificent and surpasses anything in the world. Specimens of plants known in Europe are also found there, but they are of enormous size and grandeur. There are also specimens not seen elsewhere.