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sun; but for the most part we had clouds and rain. I should remark (by the way) that people who 
live in cities have quite different standards of bad weather from open-air folk. When one is living in 
a tent, on discovers that it is very rare indeed to experience twenty hours of continuous bad 
weather. There is nearly always a period of the day when one can get at least an hour or two which 
is fairly decent. The townsman's observations are confined to a small section of the day. The 
weather on the Baltoro glacier may therefore be judged as quite exceptionally abominable. 
I have had very bad luck (on the whole) with my weather on mountains. Even in Mexico, we had a 
fortnight of cold and wet which had no parallel in the memory of man, and caused the stoves in the 
city to be sold out in the first forty-eight hours. Then I was once at Wastdale Head for forty-three 
days when it rained quite continuously except on one morning and one afternoon. On the other 
hand, during the nine days I was at Akyab it once stopped raining for nearly twenty minutes. I ought 
to have taken the exact time: but I thought the end of the world had come, so that it never 
occurred to me to look at my watch till it began again. 
I had been altogether sixty-eight days on the glacier, two days longer than any other member of the 
party. It was another world's record; and, as far as I know, stands to this hour. I hope I may be 
allowed to die in peace with it. It would be a sorry ambition in anyone to grasp my laurels and I can 
assure him that to refrain will bring its own reward. Of these sixty-eight days, eight only were fine, 
and of these no three were consecutive. Of course some days were of mixed character. But in no 
case have I classed as bad weather any days which would be considered in the Alps fine enough to 
go out on an average second-rate peak. 
An almost unbelievable impression insisted on stamping itself on my reluctant mind. Eckenstein and 
Knowles were really upset by the reports of the cholera in the Bralduh Nala. It is true that by all 
accounts it was pretty bad. One report said that a hundred men had died. For some reason I treated 
the whole thing with scepticism; and when I passed through Askole I certainly saw no signs of 
agitation or mourning. The only precaution I took was to prevent my men coming in contact with 
the villagers. 
But Eckenstein and Knowles would not pass through the village at all. They decided to return to 
Shigar by the Skoro La, which is a pass avoiding the big bend formed by the Bralduh Nalan and the 
Shigar Rivers. It is just about as many days' march and is decidedly harder on the men. So the doctor 
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and I went round by the valley. At Ghomboro we hound fresh apricots, and after a final go of 
indigestion caused by surfeit of fresh mulberries and melons at Shigar my health cleared up with 
astonishing rapidity. Within a week I was in perfectly good form again and convinced more than ever 
that mountains as such have precious little to do with mountain sickness. 
I noticed later that Sir Richard Burton, from even his small experience, remarked that he did not 
believe that the symptoms were due to altitude but to indigestion. Burton was always my hero and 
the best thing about him is his amazing common sense. In one place, for instance, he refers to 
influenza as "that dreadful low fever called influenza": which is exactly the truth. When one 
compares with this description the buckets full of pseudo-scientific bilge of modern medicine, one's 
disgust makes one long for the level heads and clear eyes of such men as Burton. 
The descent to the valley offered little new to the eye. The broad Mud Nala had cakeddry; but 
before doing so it had overflowed to an extra hundred yards or so in breadth in one place. The 
Narrow Nala was still wet, but not so deep in mud. At Dasso we found fresh apples; and at our next 
camp, just beyond Yuno, fresh peaches. This last march was very severe, over nine hours across 
blazing sand without a square foot of shelter anywhere. On the following day a new experience was 
in store. We were able to travel by zak. 
The zak is a local variety of raft; to a framework of crossed bamboos are bound a number of goat 
skins. Our raft had twenty-four: six one way and four the other. As these goat skins all leak, one has 
to find a landing place every twenty minutes or so, and this is not always easy. The great danger is