the snowy range of mountains was hidden
from sight. What a lovely subject for a picture! I was tempted to halt
and get out my paint-box and sketch-book; and abandoning my lunch, which
was being cooked, I climbed to the summit of a high peak in order to
obtain a more extensive view. The ascent, first on slippery grass, then
over slaty rocks, was by no means easy, nor devoid of a certain amount of
danger; but so keen was I to get to the top that I reached the summit
very quickly, leaving half-way down the mountain slope the two men who
had followed me. In places near the top there were rocks to climb that
stood almost perpendicular, and it was necessary to use hands as well as
feet. It was not unlike climbing up a rough wall. I was nevertheless well
repaid for my trouble. The view from that high point of vantage was
magnificent, and I confess that I felt almost too ambitious when, having
unslung my paint-box, I attempted to reproduce on paper the scene before
me.

"I am a fool," said I to myself, "to try and paint that! What painter
could do those mountains justice?"

I dashed off the picture as usual very hastily, but never was a rash
venture rewarded with poorer result, and those eternal giants remained
unpainted.

Disconsolate, I made my way down. It was more difficult even than the
climb up. A false step, a slip, and it might have cost my life,
especially along the steep precipice, where I had to cling to anything
projecting in the wall-like rock. I had gone four thousand feet higher
than the camp, reaching an elevation of 11,450 feet above sea level.

It was this performance, watched anxiously from my camp down below, as
well as by the army of men belonging to the Deputy Commissioner of
Almora, who was also here encamped, that won me the name among the
natives of "Chota Sahib," the "Langur," the "small sir," the "monkey," a
name of which I have been proud ever since.

Some seventy-three miles from Pithoragarh the Shankula River enters the
Kali, the course of the Shankula being roughly from N.N.W. to S.S.E.

The track once crossed, the Shankula stream tends towards the South-East
and with a gentle incline rises to 8570 feet at Gibti, where I encamped
somewhat above the Gala Daramsalla. I had gone through forests of maple,
beech, oak and rhododendrons, with a thick undergrowth of scrub and
bamboo.

The Kali River, about two thousand feet down below my camp, marks the
boundary between Nepal and Kumaon. From this