THIS book is an attempt at combining a record of exploration with the teaching of a little elementary physiography. Facts newly observed and theories of my own are also woven into the general description of a characteristic region. May the difficulties of the experiment in some measure reconcile the general reader, desirous of hearing something interesting or amusing, and the critical scholar in search of information. The style of the book sufficiently accounts for the omission of an incubus of footnotes and literary references. I have absorbed the writings of others, not quoted them. The bibliographical list at the end will, I hope, form the necessary acknowledgment of intellectual property. Scientific discussion has been reserved for the Appendix, where I have laid stress on the intricacies of many problems, also drawing attention to various questions to be cleared up by future travellers. The student of physical geography for whom this book has chiefly been written need not despair when faced by frequent doubts. Scepticism tempered with enthusiasm is the attitude of true science.

I express my deepest gratitude to the Council of the Royal Geographical Society and to the Syndics of the University Press who, by their munificent help, have both enabled me to publish this work. Nor can I forget that invaluable guide behind the scenes, the Corrector.

My sincere thanks are due to the Imperial Russian Government and its political representatives, as well as to His Royal Highness the Amir of Bokhara, for permission to travel in their dominions and for the invaluable assistance they always gave me. I also include many kind friends and helpers in Russian Turkestan and the Caucasus.

Wishing to draw a picture of the Zarafshan valley in its unbroken length, I have kept until now our fortnight's excursion to the Fan district or Hazrat-sultan, as this part of the Hissar range is sometimes called (see Maps 110 and 115). We left Varziminar on the 26th of July, and soon found ourselves on the dangerous cornice-paths of the Fan-darya. The Russian soldier, fond of pet names even for pet aversions, has given the name of “balkonchiki” to these giddy ledges. All bridges and paths are emergency structures, for our friend the native only builds emergency roads and emergency houses, his whole life being evidently one long emergency in view of a more permanent state in paradise. The “balconettes” are characteristic of most Asiatic mountain roads, and reflect great credit upon the improvising skill of the inhabitants, having been made without the use of a single ounce of powder for blasting or a single inch of rope for tying. We have more eye for their defects, but explorers and Cossacks have horses, whereas the humble pedestrian praises Allah for having caused such a comfortable passage to be made by man. Steep rock walls rise from the foaming torrent and along their face runs the narrow shelf stuck together out of crooked sticks and rubble. Twisted trees and branches are jammed into clefts or supported by friction on pads of brushwood ; little walls are raised on tiny ledges, or alternate layers of blocks and fagots formed into a coping. On this projecting scaffold is spread a mixture of stones and bits of wood, the surface of the overhanging road.

We left Pamak on the 2nd of October, proceeding down the Yakhsu, where numerous kishlaks line the great diluvial terraces on either bank. The openings of side valleys on the left (south) ever disclose new forms and arrangements of conglomeratic fancy. Below Saripul the spurs of conglomerate begin to thin out, and near Sinji there is a last revelry in the shape of a comb of cylinders and slender finials. Here I shall describe an excursion which my wife and I made to the province of Kuliab towards the end of October, 1898. Below Saripul we struck out for a region of wavy hills among which lies the provincial town of Muminabad. When some years later I saw the loess landscape of the Kaiserstuhl and Kenzingen in the Rhine valley I was much impressed by the close and remarkable likeness it bore to the yellow slopes of Eastern Bokhara. There is the same general aspect of rounded swellings dotted with trees singly or in files, amid dry fields and powdered vineyards (compare Fig. 185). There are the same tray-like terraces, water cuts, and dust; and there is also in proud evidence the lime-loving walnut-tree, which may be called a characteristic denizen of loess hills and dry mountain slopes. It is a noteworthy fact that it avoids the plains, perhaps because they are too moist, or because it cannot gain a footing in the thick and spongy deposits of the irrigated country. It may also be that, as a wild tree, it has long ago been cut down in the lowlands, and is not cultivated owing to the slowness of its growth.

After our return from the Fan (Chap. XII) we left Varziminar on August 11, making straight for the Zarafshan Glacier 150 miles away. This we reached after seven days and a half, thus covering an average of twenty miles per day. Over the flatness of terraces and along the outrun of great slopes travelling was now easy, the only difficulties being those opposed by the fissures which tributary rivers had sunk into the vast blocks of Zarafshan conglomerate. Into and out of these we had to dive by means of corkscrew tracks scratched into the hard grit. Occasionally, when the water had wormed itself through hard rock, the cleft was sufficiently narrow to be spanned by a bridge and in this way we rode over the Chindon torrent 200 feet above its bed, our eyes vainly endeavouring to fathom the dark recesses of a gurgling depth (Fig. 89). Thus having to cross and recross the Zarafshan several times we were treated to samples of every conceivable variety of bridge (Fig. 81). Being innocent of railings and enjoying that springy elasticity which we sorely miss in the carts of the country, they afford good practice for beginners in the art of rope walking. Most people dismount on approaching these frail hyphens of the sundered road, but natives of more than ordinary fatalism or officials pervaded with proper pride remain in the saddle with unconcerned or haughty mien. We always got off and sent the horse on in front, for being weak in the faith and but poor travellers we were unable to look either unconcerned or dignified.

REVIEW

What pre-eminently characterises the Duab mountain landscape is the regularity of the phenomena of erosion and the preservation of all the forms of young deposits. Nobody can fail to observe the huge terraces of the Zarafshan, nor the deep canyons cut through them by lateral streams. The lack of atmospheric moisture and the resulting absence of an evenly spread covering of grass or forest is responsible for this state of things. During summer and autumn the great rivers consist of almost nothing but glacier water, a fact which, by the way, sufficiently betrays the great extent of glaciation. The amount contributed by rain or springs during the drier half of the year is very small indeed. Therefore these river systems are made up of comparatively few lines running through barren matter. The symbol is a tree with long, gaunt ramifications, the ends of the stronger branches being glaciers, the leaves representing snow patches. With this let us contrast the northern slope of Alpine Europe, in which case the river tree must be compared to a succulent growth of innumerable capillaries filling up and draining the spaces between the trunk and branches, and between all the branches. The main channels appear embedded in a network of veins permeating the substance through which the rivers are traced. The Duabic river, on the other hand, sends out bare and lanky shoots interlaced only towards the top, like the thorny plants of the steppe. A formula by which we can express these different conditions is one giving the permanent points of confluence on a given surface.

The nice, homely Highland weather lasted for several days which we devoted to a thorough examination of our surroundings. Almost without transition the great glacier rests its foremost point upon the alluvial plain (Figs, 100, 101). A fringe of low terminal moraine bears witness to the latest and most rapid stage of recession, which was the work of a season, for, as the natives say, there was ice a year ago where now the water is. After showering a hem of rubbish from its slippery sides the extreme tip melted back very quickly, leaving a round lake in the place it formerly occupied. This pond is fed by a fairly strong source from the glacier, the overflow escaping through a gap in front to the wash plain where it ultimately joins the Zarafshan. In the morning the terminal lake is almost dry, presenting a glistening surface of black, sandy mud, only covered with a foot or two of water during the heat of the day. Traced on the level plain this circular dam which measures about 120 feet across, is also conspicuous for its reddish colour against the grey of fluvial shingle. That the disorderly heaps of stones in front of us still form part of a glacier can only be seen from the shiny, black facets of dirty ice appearing here and there. An irregular wing of the frontal wall is sent out towards the left1 where it is breached by the main river. Its continuations flock together with other lines or mingle with the morainic deposits of the Yarkhich fan (Fig. 101).

On the 27th of August, we took leave of the vale of the Zarafshan so similar in many respects to that of Hunza. It would be a delightful place to live in and second to none as a health resort for the European population of Turkestan. With a scenery sometimes verging on the sensational it offers fresh air, good water, shady gardens and many opportunities for vigorous exercise, and fair sport may even be had among the mountains.

The ravine to the Pakshif pass is comparatively short and steep. On the right slopes we saw an enormous mudspate divided into many branches. Some of these had frayed out gradually into the most delicate of welted furrows sketched on hard turf with the last and finest of sediment. Framed in the shoulders of the outgoing valley Yangi-sabak reared its massive head above the Turkestan range. The Russian map gives it a height of 20,000 feet. All loads had to be carried for the last 200 feet of vertical height separating us from the top of the pass which proved most difficult at this time of the year, so much of the snow having withdrawn from the saddle. How the horses ever got across, even barebacked, still remains a mystery to me. Very steep neve” and a staircase cut into clear ice were bad enough, but then came a traverse over a rock slab, where the animals had to place their feet on a tiny ledge offering brief support for a spring of about two yards.

Between Samarkand and Panjikent and about seven miles due south of Juma-bazar (which is marked on Map II), lies the important village of Urgut, famed for its vineyards. As from a cornucopia it flows out of a recess of those mountains which the Russian map calls Kirtau and which form a branch of the Hissar range (Map I). The Takhta-karacha pass, which leads from Samarkand to Shakhrisiabs is the deep gap separating them from their further continuation to the west, the Aktau (Kemkutan).

As seen from the minar of Ullugbeg the snowfields of Urgut look very near, and even ridiculously near when one is told how long it takes to get there, namely eight hours. The distance to their base is 26 miles by the road and 22 miles in a bee-line. A not too ambitious City express with four stoppages on the way might traverse the intervening space in an hour. This would enable the business man of Samarkand to leave his office at one, take his lunch and board the train at three o'clock. Reaching Urgut at four he could have some tea, and then walk or ride to some high camp the same evening. On Sunday he has all day for climbing peaks or traversing ridges, and may catch either the 7 p.m. excursion train or the late slowcoach at 10 p.m., so that in any case he will be home and in bed by midnight.

On the 19th of July, 1906, we left Samarkand for a long journey through the mountains of the Duab. My companions were my wife, Cenci von Ficker (now Frau DrSild), the Tyrolese guide Albert Lorenz of Galtür and Makandaroff, the Caucasian interpreter, who had already accompanied me on seven journeys. Lorenz is one of the best mountaineers of the Alps, while “Mac” may be described as a famous expert in all the broken idioms of Europe and Asia, as well as in cooking and laundry. To the ladies I owe a debt of gratitude for the assistance which they gave me in my photographic and other work. Six horses carried the photographic outfit consisting of a large and a small camera and a thousand glass plates. Exploring with a big apparatus is beset with difficulties tempting a man to waste his hidden store of emergency language. To get this heavy artillery into position from six to ten times during a day is a good test of nerves, but the ladies did all the drudgery, setting up the camera and handing me various objects while I made notes or calculations. Thus the firing off of exposures became a silent and smokeless affair. In the beginning it took over half an hour to unload the photo-horse, to unpack and prepare the camera, to pack and load up again, but later a record of nine minutes and a half was obtained. Some time ago I read a letter written to the press by a famous traveller, wherein he speaks of certain Indian officers as “fortunately unmarried.”

Standing on the edge of Afrosiab and looking towards the south one sees between the two blocks of the ruined Bibi-khanum a grey mountain outlined against the sky (Fig. 53). According to the Russian maps the highest point visible from Samarkand is called Kemkutan (7268 feet; 2216 m.). It is the culminating summit of a group of hills forming part of the large mass between us and the valley of Shakhrisiabs, which are sometimes known under the oftrecurring name of Aktau. Rising, as it does, nearly five thousand feet above the city, and by reason of its conspicuous shape, Kemkutan must needs tempt the mountaineer. On its slopes the members of the Samarkand Alpine Club received their first lessons in climbing and hill-craft, but I believe that by now they have found out that it is much wiser to admire mountains from below. In company of my wife, Carruthers and others, I have visited the district about ten times, including three ascents of the highest peak. As some of these excursions were made at different seasons, I shall give a separate account of four of them.

To the village of Agalik at the foot of Kemkutan is a distance of ten miles which we generally traversed in a carriage and pair. This sounds very distinguished especially when no less a personage than Phaeton has stood sponsor to the vehicle in question. But the Russian “phaeton” is a four-wheeled hackney carriage of the victoria kind, which can be found at every street corner, unless one happens to be in a hurry.

The Zarafshan (Zerafshan, Zeravshan) (see Map II), the Polytimetus of the ancients, the nourisher of Sogdiana, is the river of the Duab. It is the Strewer of Gold, the Picture of Life, the River Symbolic.

What the Duab is for Middle Asia as a representative of type, that the Zarafshan is for the Duab, a summary of its features. Along its course the whole panorama from mountain snows to desert sands is unfolded before us. I shall therefore use it as a thread on which to string the first part of my description.

The Zarafshan is the very essence of life to Samarkand and Bokhara. Springing from the Alai mountains it runs for two hundred miles through a ravine and then for two hundred more in open country, ultimately losing itself in the plains without reaching its destination, the Oxus.

Let us issue forth from the busy streets and crowded bazars of the noble city of Bokhara. Through the massive gate we pass and through the silent graveyards where the dead lie in tombs of brick; we walk along the shady avenues outside, where hostelries and tea-houses are filled with the din of caravans. Gradually the rows of shops and houses break up and we pass between the interminable mud walls of vast gardens, with their mulberry trees and vines. Through many villages we travel, around us the thick abundance of a fertile soil, till, at last, the clusters of dark foliage open out to the gaps of a distant view. The trees are rare and lonely in the last yellow wheat fields, the canals and runlets vanish one by one, losing themselves in swampy pools and clumps of huge reeds.