Friday, May 31, 1929
Eggs on biscuits and we left at 6:30 to climb a mountain. Instead of walking way around a low spur or tableland of another mountain, we cut over it. Boy, what a job we let ourselves into!!! The slopes were nothing but terraced rice fields. Before we could even get to these, it was necessary to cross a small torrent flooded by melting snows. Of course, we walked downstream, thereby missing the bridge. But at last we found a place we could wade it, with the help of a fallen tree. Once across, we began the fun of walking along the mud walls of rice fields, going plenty far in zigzags and getting nowhere. The plateau was also planted with rice, with a little corn thrown in. Small streams had to be crossed every few feet and there were lots of places to get good cold drinking water, sometimes muddy—but water.
At last we came to the torrent tumbling down the narrow valley we were about to enter. Unluckily we crossed the bridge to the other side and climbed a mile out of our way through rice fields. Finally we got up where the valley narrowed, so we had to follow the right path—when we could find it. The way was extremely rocky, always up at a sharp angle, but the beauty of the place was magnificent, for the path led along under the big trees beside the stream, while the nearly perpendicular sides of the valley were masses of green pines and furs [sic.]. The stream leaped down the valley like mad, roaring loudly as it tumbled over huge boulders, or fell over the edge of a precipice into the foam below. It was clear, and so cold you couldn’t touch your teeth to it.
Our path side-tracked us into another valley which rose with increasing sharpness till when it reached the snow—it was almost perpendicular. Two high falls and the melted snow fed this stream. We cut across the stream and started to climb the mountain. Frank only went a couple hundred feet up as Mort’s shoes weighed him down. However, Mort and I went way up. I got up, perhaps, a thousand feet above the stream, where I had a splendid view out the mountains, down the gorge to the Sind Valley.
We intended to climb to the peak, but when I had only reached the snow-line at 3 o’clock, we changed our minds. We did find a shorter route home and returned 13 hours after we started—plenty hungry because we had had no lunch. This time we had such a large bowl of vegetables that they lasted for breakfast and then had to throw lots away.
The hard going over the rocky paths about knocked our feet off.