CHAP, vm NINETY MILES FROM LAKE RUDOLF 131 



northward along the shore. We crossed a number of lava 

 sheets, broken by parallel faults into a series of cliff-faced 

 terraces ; one of these, rising directly out of the lake, com- 

 pelled us to go a little distance inland. Elephant tracks were 

 abundant, but they were at least two months old, and we saw 

 no game of any kind. I pointed out a suitable place for the 

 camp on the northern shore, and told the men I would join 

 them there at sunset ; I followed the raised beaches of the 

 lake across the northern watershed, at a point where Lake 

 Baringo must once have had an outlet to the north. The pass 

 is dominated by a massive, straight-faced, flat-topped lava hill 

 named Lobat ; I intended to climb it, until I saw that time 

 could be more profitably spent on the pass than on the peak. 

 The view from the former, however, was very fine ; it embraced 

 a long stretch of desert that sloped northward between the 

 peaks of Mesuri and Chibchangnani, that terminated the 

 escarpments of Kamasia and Elgeyo on the west, and the 

 ridges of Weweini and Subugu Loluko, that formed outliers of 

 the Laikipia plateau on the east. 



At the other end of this basin, less than ninety miles away, 

 was the southern shore of the great Basso Narok (Lake 

 Rudolf). It was mournful to have to turn back when so near 

 it, but it was useless to go unless I could get some time there for 

 scientific collecting. To have dashed across the desert simply 

 for the fun of dashing back again and saying that I had been 

 there, would have been an unjustifiable waste of time and 

 energy, and a needless risk. More than two months of my 

 five had already gone, and there was nothing for it but to 

 lament the waste of time on the Tana, and go back to camp. 

 This it was now high time to do, for the sun's lower rim was 

 already resting on the western plateau, and Lomweri was 

 going through a pantomimic show to remind me that when 

 the sun had set, the lions would rise. " Kampi lokwa, Pokwa " 

 (The camp is far off, O Bulging Pockets), he had been repeating 

 for some time past, making as good an effort as he could to 

 pronounce my nickname, which he had learnt from the men. 

 After a last look over the northern desert, at the rose-tinted 

 slopes of the eastern hills, and the dark shadow that was 

 creeping from the frowning cliffs of Kamasia across the spark- 

 ling salt steppes, we turned to go. We recrossed the Lobat 



