3oo Sport and Life in the F^wther Himalaya 



far on the fresh spring was we had not an idea. 

 The breeze now blew in our faces, and as our 

 round- bottomed canoe could only sail before the 

 wind, we hitched on the tow-rope. About evening 

 the wind dropped entirely, and as the sun sank 

 behind the distant mountains it was a dead 

 calm. More weirdly beautiful days than these 

 we spent sailing, towing, and paddling down 

 the great lake, I have never seen. The barren 

 mountains round were themselves of every shade 

 of bizarre-colouring, the near ones standing out 

 startlingly bright and vivid, with every stone 

 and rock throwing a perfect image on the clear 

 water, the distant ones exhibiting blues and 

 purples of every exquisite shade, and of the 

 kind only seen where mountains are arid and 

 waterless. One might have imagined oneself 

 sailing down the Eed Sea, but with the purple 

 mountains of Baluchistan on either side. 



We had hoped to reach camp by sundown, 

 but night fell and the moon rose behind us, 

 throwing a wavering reflection of itself in the 

 wake of the canoe, and we were still towing on. 

 We now kept as far out as possible, for fear of 

 snags under the surface that would rip up our 

 canvas walls like paper. By-and-by we neared 

 a long promontory running far out into the lake, 

 behind which our guide told us was a fresh 



