The Valley of Flowers Frank Smythe
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THE VALLEY OF FLOWERS FRANK SMYTHE High in the Himalayan ranges of Garhwal, India, in the state of Uttaranchal lies an enchanted valley. In 1931 , Frank S. Smythe - mountaineer, explorer, botanist, romantic and much else — chanced upon this valley with its colourful fairy land of flowers. Entranced, he named it the Valley of Flowers, He returned from England to visit it again in 1937. This book is an absorbing account of Smythe's discovery subsequent visit. Now world famous the Valley of Flowers – its glory, peace and mysterious beauty unspoilt since Smythe's time - continues to lure adventurers. Complete with maps, this is the most authentic account of the Valley of Flowers. Along with the Valley, Smythe also presents the gripping story of his encounter and pursuit of the abominable snowman, and paints a vivid picture of the brave porters who accompanied him, the people he met on his travels, places around the valley his own and attempts at Himalayan peaks. Written in the lively, sensitive, imaginative style associated with Smythe, this rare book would be of great interest and value to mountaineers, explorers , botanists, gardeners, naturalists, photographers, travellers and give delight to the lay reader. AUTHOR’S NOTE I WISH here to thank many kind friends for their help and generosity, and especially my wife who was indefatigable in assisting me with the preparations for the expedition. Some I have mentioned in the text; of others, I must especially mention Messrs. Huntley & Palmer, who supplied and shipped 80 Ibs. of their excellent biscuits ; Kodak Ltd., who supplied photographic materials ; Messrs. A. Wander Ltd., who supplied “Ovaltine” and “Ovaltine” choco-late. In India, I am indebted to Mr. Temple, the Purser of the S.S. “ Corfu,” for the preservation of my botanical specimens ; to Mr. C. E. Boreham of the Army and Navy Stores, Bombay, the generous, efficient friend of previous Himalayan expeditions ; to Mr. Wears Taylor, the Superintendent of Posts and Telegraphs at Naini Tal ; to the Forestry Depart-ment, who kindly allowed me to use the Forest Bungalow at Ranikhet; to the Cawnpore Woollen Mills, who supplied porters’ clothing at a generous discount; and to Messrs. Spencer & Co. of Calcutta, who supplied a quantity of excellent food at a very moderate price. CHAPTER I THE VALLEY OF FLOWERS THIS is the story of four happy months spent amidst some of the noblest and most beautiful mountains of the world. Its inception dates back to 1931. In that year Kamet, a mountain 25,447 feet high, situated in the Garhwal Himalayas, was climbed by a small expedition of six British mountaineers of whom I was one. After the climb we descended to the village of Gamsali in the Dhauli Valley, then crossed the Zaskar Range, which separates the upper Dhauli and Alaknanda Valleys, by the Bhyundar Pass, 16,688 feet, with the intention of exploring the mountainous region at the sources of the two principal tributaries of the Ganges, the Alaknanda and Gangotri Rivers. The monsoon had broken and the day we crossed the pass was wet, cold and miserable. Below 16,000 feet rain was falling, but above that height there was sleet or snow. A bitter wind drove at us, sheeting our clothing with wet snow and chilling us to the bone, and as quickly as possible we descended into the Bhyundar Valley, which bifurcates with the Alaknanda Valley. Within a few minutes we were out of the wind and in rain which became gradually warmer as we lost height. Dense mist shrouded the mountainside and we had paused, uncertain as to the route, when I heard R. L. Holdsworth, who was a botanist as well as a climbing member of the expedition, exclaim :“Look! “I followed the direction of his outstretched hand. At first I could see nothing but rocks, then suddenly my wandering gaze was arrested by a little splash of blue, and beyond it were other splashes of blue, a blue so intense it seemed to light the hillside. As Holdsworth wrote: “All of a sudden I realised that I was simply surrounded by primulas. At once the day seemed to brighten perceptibly. Forgotten were all pains and cold and lost porters. And what a primula it was! Its leek-like habit proclaimed it a member of the nivalis section. All over the little shelves and terraces it grew, often with its roots in running water. At the most it stood six inches high, but its flowers were enormous for its stature, and ample in number—sometimes as many as thirty to the beautifully proportioned umbel, and in colour of the most heavenly French blue, sweetly scented.” In all my mountain wanderings I had not seen a more beautiful flower than this primula; the fine rain-drops clung to its soft petals like galaxies of seed-pearls and frosted its leaves with silver. Lower, where we camped near a moraine, were androsaces, saxifrages, sedums, yellow and red potentillas, geums, geraniums, asters, gentians, to mention but a few plants, and it was impossible to rake a step without crushing a flower. Next day we descended to lush meadows. Here our camp was embowered amidst flowers: snow-white drifts of anemones, golden, lily-like nomockaris, mari-golds, globe flowers, delphiniums, violets, eritrwhiums, blue corydafa, wild roses, flowering shrubs and rhododen-drons, many of them flowers with homely sounding English names. The Bhyundar Valley was the most beautiful valley that any of us had seen. We camped in it for two days and we remembered it afterwards as the Valley of Flowers. Often, in dark winter days, I wandered in spirit to these flowerful pastures with their clear-running streams set against a frieze of silver birches and shining snow peaks. Then once again I saw the slow passage of the breeze through the flowers, and heard the eternal note of the glacier torrent coming to the camp fire through the star-filled night. After many years in London I went to live in the country, where I set to work to make a garden out of a field of thistles, ragwort and dandelions. I had looked on gardening as an old man’s hobby, and a dull and unremunerative labour, but I came upon something that Karel Capek had written: “You must have a garden before you know what you are treading on. Then, dear friend, you will see that not even clouds are so diverse, so beautiful and terrible as the soil under your feet ... I tell you that to tame a couple of rods of soil is a great victory. Now it lies there, workable, crumbly and humid. You are almost jealous of the vegetation which will take hold of this noble and humane work which is called die soil.” So I became a gardener. But I was profoundly ignorant. Two and a half years ago I did not know the difference between a biennial and a perennial. I am still ignorant, for there is no limit to ignorance or knowledge in gardening. But I discovered one thing; that there is a freemasonry among gardeners which places gardening on a pinnacle above jealousy and suspicion. Perhaps this is because it is essentially a creative task and brings out a fine quality of patience. You may hasten the growth of a constitution but you cannot hasten the growth of an Alpine plant. In 1937 the opportunity came to return to the Bhyundar Valley. I travelled alone for several reasons, but it was arranged that Captain P. R. Oliver of the South Waziristan Scouts should join me towards the end of July and that he and I should spend two months mountaineering in the Garhwal Himalayas, after which I should return to the valley to collect seeds, bulbs, tubers and plants. Thus, I should have six weeks on my own before and during the monsoon season, and to help me I engaged, through the kind offices of Mr. W. J. Kydd of Darjeeling, four Tibetan porters of whom the Sirdar, Wangdi Nurbu (or Ondi,) was an old friend of mine. One reason for this small party was that, after four large and elaborately organised Himalayan expeditions, I welcomed the opportunity of taking a Himalayan holiday, a very different affair from an attempt to climb one of the major peaks of the world and involving an entirely different scale of values both human and material. The ascent of Mount Everest has become a duty, perhaps a national duty, comparable with attempts to reach the Poles, and is far removed from pleasurable mountaineering. Mountaineering in the Garhwal and Kumaon Himalayas more nearly resembles moun-taineering in Switzerland, for here are mountains and valleys like Swiss mountains and valleys but built on a greater scale. But, unlike parts of Switzerland, the country is unspoilt by commercialism. There are no railways, power lines, roads and hotels to offend the eye and detract from the primitive beauty and grandeur of the vistas, and there are peaks innumerable, unnamed and unclimbed, of all shades of difficulty, and valleys that have never seen a European, where a simple kindly peasant folk graze their flocks in the summer months. Then the flowers. From the hot valleys in the south, moist and humid during the monsoon season, to the golden hills of Tibet with their dry, cold winds, there is much to tempt the imagination of the gardener and the botanist, yet, strangely enough, little collecting has been done since the years between 1846 and 1849 when Sir Richard Strachey and J. E. Winterbottom made their famous collection of specimens. It was left lo R.