KASHMIR VALLEYS 209 



marked track. Descents have none of the excitements 

 or thrills of the outward journey, and that day my return 

 seemed three times more dreary than the ascent. I 

 managed to miss the rhododendrons, and took a path, 

 obliging me to cross and recross the frozen stream, 

 sinking occasionally in half-melted snow and chilling 

 my feet to almost unbearable numbness, and once more 

 arrived at Killenmerg, a whirlwind caught me, and it 

 was only by roughest battlings and a most determined 

 front to the opposition of the storm that I crossed the 

 moraine and regained the shelter of the forest, where I 

 lay under the shade of a great pine, stupidly abashed 

 at the weakness and small endurance I had shown in 

 accomplishing an unimportant excursion. The weather 

 was my only excuse, and though it was late for such 

 a storm, the coolies who had been watching the hillside 

 from the camp, and who were sent out with tea in the 

 hope of meeting me, acknowledged it to be of wintry 

 power. 



More loitering on the summit would have involved 

 me in a duel with hail and thick snow, and next day 

 the side showed white where for some time previously 

 all snow had disappeared. Slowly making my way 

 down, keeping to the shelter of trees and bushes when 

 crossing the smaller mergs, I met the welcome tea 

 bearers, and one or two cups of that wonderful reviver 

 sent up my spirits to beyond even the powers of mercury, 

 and instead of returning immediately, I dawdled slowly 

 along, collecting flowers and filling my nostrils with the 

 fresh forest scents, a fragrance that acts as a stimulant, 

 stirring the pulses to more active life, bracing the 

 muscles to action, sweet tonics that, once inhaled, never 

 again leave wholly the lucky wight who has received 

 Q 



