74 ALPINES AND BOG-PLANTS 



branch brings a stream down from Arolla and the Mont 

 Collon, the left arm is called the Val d'Herens, and 

 descends immediately from the Dent Blanche. And at 

 the junction of the Y stands Evolena, where the traveller 

 may spend the night. 



It was on a blazing morning that I set out from Evolena 

 for Arolla, up the steep valley to the right, upon whose 

 bare slopes of grass a pitiless sun was beating. There is 

 nothing but a track after Evolena, so that one must either 

 walk or jog it on a mule. Where, in the lower valleys, 

 it is a question of tramping endlessly upwards through 

 sweltering forests, I myself prefer the mule as the least 

 unpleasant of unpleasant ways to achieve a necessary piece 

 of drudgery. (This may sound irreverent. Remember that 

 I speak as a gardener. Opulent as the pine-woods are, 

 they give a gardener very little of interest. And no one 

 will deny that they can be stuffy and hot to an infernal 

 degree.) But from Evolena, standing so high as it does, 

 only desultory fringes of woodland are to be feared on our 

 upward way to Arolla. So that with an undaunted heart 

 one can set out to walk the six miles or so that lie between 

 the two. 



Very soon one has to say good-bye to the Dent Blanche, 

 which passes out of sight as one diverges from the Val 

 d'Herens. And it is almost with relief that one escapes 

 from that overpowering presence. All ranges and peaks 

 seem to me to have a personal character of their own. 

 Indeed, this is inevitable. Since all things organic and in- 

 organic, all rocks and mountains and trees must ultimately 

 become Buddha, perfect and unchanging, it follows that, 

 of these enormous pilgrims in the road of salvation, some 

 must be farther advanced on the way than others — that 

 all must, in fact, have personalities of their own. And, 

 far down in the scale as the rocks must be, the Dent 

 Blanche is surely farther down than many of its rivals. 



