HUNTING IN THE HIMALAYAS 
SPORTSMEN IN SEARCH OF THE UNUSUAL WOULD DO WELL 
TO PAY A VISIT TO THE HIGH COUNTRY OF NORTHERN INDIA 
M Y planter friend had written 
me to come and spend the 
autumn with him in northern 
India. “The mountain air will 
trace you up, and the walking, for you 
will have to walk here, will put muscle 
on you. Why not take passage by the 
‘Caledonia,’ which leaves Marseilles on 
September 15th? Bring your gun, and 
I will lend you a rifle”— so the letter 
ran and I wrote that I would take him 
at his word and in a fortnight I was on 
board the “P and O” steamer bound for 
Bombay. 
The hot and dusty train-journey from 
Bombay was not interesting until Bareil- 
ly had been left behind and the outer 
hills of the great range were to be 
viewed from the slow-running train. A 
fellow passenger and I had slept in the 
railway carriage at Bareilly, as there 
was then no night train from there to 
the terminus at the foot of the hills. 
Tust before the narrow-gauge train left 
Bareilly, at six o’clock, a sleepy kitmagar 
from the refreshment room brought us 
chota hazri (little breakfast), and pres- 
ently the train moved off. It was chilly 
and foggy, so I lay down and went to 
sleep again. I awoke an hour later to 
find the sun streaming in at the windows. 
My companion was shaving, and in- 
formed me that the hills were in sight. 
I sprang up in an instant, and attired 
as I was, in a sleeping-suit, went out 
onto the staging between our carriage 
and the next and stepped down onto 
the foot-board. 
“Were these the grand Himalayas? 
These forest-covered hills, green and 
hazy, with no snow-covered peaks in 
sight?” I returned to the compartment 
and expressed disappointment to my fel- 
low-traveller, who laughed. “Go and 
have a shave, man,” he said, “and a cold 
splash in the basin, and when you have 
finished we shall be a few miles nearer, 
and the hills will look more inviting.” 
Half an hour later the mountains 
loomed higher and became more clearly 
defined. Here and there big landslips 
By ALEXANDER DAVIS 
were to be seen, and on the higher spurs 
I could make out a few pines. 
At last the train drew up at the little 
station at Katgodam, which, my com- 
panion told me. Tommy Atkins had 
christened “Pussy-be-blowed,” and we 
got out. 
A short, sturdy, brown man, dressed 
in an old green Norfolk suit and wear- 
ing a smart white puggarie on his head, 
came up, and, salaaming, handed' me a 
letter from Blackmore, my planter- 
friend, at the same time talking in a 
language of which I only knew a dozen 
Head of Tahr shot by author 
words. My friend had kindly sent a 
servant, and some of his tea-garden 
hands for my luggage. Bateman, my 
fellow traveler, obligingly came and in- 
terpreted for me, and my baggage was 
handed over to half a dozen wild-looking 
men clad in loose gray blankets, whom 
Bateman informed me were Garhwalis, 
trom the middle ranges. My compan- 
ion’s luggage was handled by some dif- 
ferent-looking, but equally wild fellows, 
natives of the Nepalese Province of 
Doti. 
Having seen our baggage off we 
breakfasted at the refreshment room, 
and then mounted our ponies. Bateman 
rode a gray Bhotia hireling, and I a bay 
Cabuli. 
For two miles our way lay along a 
broad cart-road several inches deep in 
dust, and shaded by tropical forest ; steep 
hillsides towered above us, and presently 
we arrived at the Ranibaghdak bunga- 
low, prettily situated on the bank of a 
boulder-strewn river, the Gola. Here 
our ways parted, and Bateman insisted 
on calling for a split whiskey and soda. 
Wishing each other luck he “took the 
high road” which led to Naini Tab and 
“I took the low road” to Bhim Tab my 
first stage. I rode over the suspension 
bridge and slowly up the steep zig-zag 
gradients, the syce walking close behind 
the pony and often holding on to the 
animal’s tail. Presently we came upon 
my luggage-carriers, who were sitting 
smoking by the roadside, passing a “hoo- 
kah” round, each man taking three or 
four deep draws. 
A bright idea struck me, and taking 
out my cigarette case I offered them 
each a smoke. They grinned with de- 
light, and accepted. 
A few miles further and w r e came 
suddenly in sight of Bhim Tal, a fine, 
deep sheet of water, about a mile and 
a half long, and half a mile or so broad. 
Several bungalow's on the hillsides 
around, some of them blanked by forest 
trees, gave a homely and picturesque 
appearance to the place. 
We crossed a lock, of stone masonry, 
the outlet of the lake and arrived at the 
dak bungalow' the khansama in charge 
of which could understand English. It 
was four o’clock, and I was glad of some 
tea. After tea I took a stroll round the 
lake, and on my return, at dusk, found 
