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that one may stick on a submerged rock. It would be quite impossible to get off and quite 
impossible to get ashore, though one might be only six feet from the bank. At each corner is a man 
with a long bamboo pole to fend off rocks. But otherwise little can be done to direct one's course or 
even to steer sufficiently to prevent the zak turning round and round. I was reminded of Ben Gunn's 
coracle in Treasure Island. The behaviour of a zak on a sea confirms the analogy, for at one place 
the river was traversed by rows of waves five or six feet high. 
It seemed inconceivable that we should not be swamped. We kept our places by wedging our feet 
between the bamboos and holding on to them with out hands. The current is appallingly swift. We 
had begun our "adventure by water" in crossing the Yuno, for we were on the wrong side of the 
river, and a man had had to be sent down from far above to arrange for the raft to take us over. 
(Until one actually goes travelling in a country of this sort, one can form no idea whatever of the 
frequency of utterly insuperable obstacles. It was not our fault, for instance, that we were on the 
wrong side of the river, for the other bank involved a detour of some three days.) 
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It required more than one voyage to cross the river. It could not have been crossed at all but for the 
fact that it is divided into seven streams, only one of which could not be forded. Naturally, a 
passage was chosen where the current was least formidable. But for all that we were swept down 
about three-quarters of a mile in order to cross less than two hundred yards. In order to regain its 
starting point for the next journey the zak had to be carried up stream a couple of miles. So much 
for mere crossing. But the next day we were only three hours and ten minutes actual going to 
Shigar, which in the ordinary way is three long marches. 
The pace of the current varies enormously. Sometimes we were kept half an hour at a time spinning 
about amid contending eddies; sometimes we were flung violently down the stream at over twenty 
miles an hour. The sensation is extraordinarily exhilarating --- the motion, the imminent peril, the 
intoxication of the air, the majesty of the background, but above all, the beatific realization that, 
as the doctor said, "the roads are doing our walking for us," combined to make me delirious with 
delight. Great too was the joy of rejoining Knowles and Eckenstein, who had now recovered their 
equanimity. We all went down to Skardu in two hours on a big zak. There we found fresh ripe 
grapes, potatoes and green corn. Our joy was unconfined; youth at the prow and pleasure at the 
helm! 
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41 
There are two ways of returning from Skardu to Srinagar; one the way we had come, the other 
across the Deosai plateau. This is a high table land from fourteen to seventeen thousand feet, 
crossed by four principal rivers. It has a devilish reputation for inhospitality. The rivers, in 
particular, play the prank of inducing you to cross one or two of them, and then coming down in 
spate, holding you up indefinitely and starving you out. I wanted to go back by that way; but 
Eckenstein's memories were too painful. We decided to travel separately --- he with Knowles, and I 
with the doctor. (After we had started, he changed his mind and followed us.) On the twenty-sixth 
of August I had a final go of fever and lay in bed till the afternoon, after which I got up and saw to 
the bandobast for the journey. The next day we started for Pinderbal, about five hours on 
horseback --- a very pleasant ride up a steep nala. The only incident was that my pony had been 
reading the Old Testament and proceeded to vary his pleasures by bolting under a tree so that I was 
caught in its branches like Absalom, while he went on his cheerful way, neighing merrily. We 
camped under a huge boulder; and as I sat by the fire after dinner reposing delightfully with a pipe, 
a very characteristic incident occurred. 
A shapeless mass was moving down the slopes. It resolved itself into a man who must have been 
nearer seventy than sixty years old, carrying a sack, much bigger than himself, of what proved to be 
dried apricots. I greeted him affectionately and offered him some tobacco. He squatted opposite 
me and began to chat. When he said "dried apricots" I had to summon all my philosophy to prevent