192 A Winter Journey amongst the Lutzu 
blowing up the mountains was bringing it our way, and an 
hour later we were in the midst of whirling snowflakes. On 
the other side of the pass a foot of snow covered everything, 
and I had great difficulty in finding my plants, which, when 
found, yielded few seeds, for they were mostly scattered and 
lying snugly beneath the snow blanket which was to protect 
them for seven months. At this altitude (12,000-14,000 
feet) on the Mekong-Yang-tze divide there was not a vestige 
of snow as yet, and gentians were still in bloom. 
Half-way down the steep forested slope I was surprised 
to meet my friend Pére Mombeig coming up, on his way to 
Ba-hang, a journey which he and his lightly-laden porters 
intended to accomplish in two days, for they had crossed 
the Sie-la that morning. Thus they would cross from river 
to river in three days, which is remarkably good going. 
He brought reassuring news from Ssu-chuan, and advised 
me to waste no time in getting over the Sie-la, as the snow, 
which was now falling faster than ever, would make the 
pass difficult. 
In the afternoon we reached the hut in the valley, but 
so different was its aspect that I scarcely recognised it as 
the same place we had slept at in June. There was not a 
flower to be seen of all that glorious colour scheme upon 
which we had feasted our eyes only five months previously ; 
scarcely a vestige of that wealth of undergrowth we had 
waded through remained. We made ourselves as cosy as 
possible round the fire in the draughty hut, myself tortured 
by the smoke, and all night long it snowed. When we 
awoke next morning we gazed out on to a bitterly cold white 
world, on a scene essentially the same as that on which 
we had looked in June, and yet how changed! All the 
wonderful alpine meadow which, gemmed with poppies, 
primulas, columbines, lilies, and many more, had occupied 
the valley bottom, had been utterly blasted by the autumn 
gales. The alders and birch trees now flapped their long 
streamers of lichen dismally in the wind, icicles hung from 
every cliff, and the stream rolled its shrunken waters 
between ice-bound banks. 
It was a long stiff climb up to the Sie-la and again 
rolling mists enveloped everything, so that we could obtain 
no view of the Mekong-Yang-tze divide to the east. When 
