People in this part of the world much prefer tea and salt to cash as a means of exchange. Money has no real value, for towns are far removed and nothing can be bought.

The Tibetans we met were all friendly, greeting me with uplifted hands to show that they concealed no weapons, and when one wanted to be very humble he stuck out his tongue and, with thumbs pointed upward, smiled.

Along this stretch of the Mekong one sees many mud watchtowers, erected some 500 years ago by a Likiang Nashi king. The villages here reminded me much of those of Hopi Indians of the American. Southwest, with their flat roofs on which yellow Indian corn is dried. For ladders a notched log suffices (see page 168).

Of all the trails along which we had passed thus far, none could compare with that which leads from Londjre gorge out into the Mekong. It is a veritable corkscrew up a weird black chasm, at the bottom of which roars the stream coming from sacred Dokerla. The trail is built against a rocky wall of sandstone in short, steep zigzags, a most appalling structure of tree-trunks suspended over the deep, narrow, yawning black canyon with overhanging cliffs. A gale was blowing in addition, which meant that at every turn one had to brace oneself against the wind, holding on tightly to the cliff.

Through a narrow gap we eventually emerged once more into the Mekong Valley, with the river far below.

Our trip to the Salwin had taken just twelve days. We now entered a still deeper and more terrifying canyon, absolutely barren, through which the river wound in long loops, as if in agony, like a snake that wishes to free itself from a firm hold.

PEERLESS MOUNT MIYETZIMU

High above the gorge to the west, and almost as if contiguous with the sheer black wall, rose the peerless peak of Mount Miyetzimu, some 24,000 feet into the azure sky (see page 177).

Miyetzimu is the most glorious peak my eyes were ever privileged to see; no wonder the Tibetans stand in awe and worship it. It is like a castle of a dream, an ice palace of a fairy tale, or an enormous mausoleum with gigantic steps and

buttresses all crowned by a majestic dome of ice tapering into an ethereal spire merging into a pale-blue sky.

Next to it is a huge crest of ice resembling a giant cockscomb; then comes Kaakerpu (page 152), from which the range derives its name, a vast pyramid of ice with glaciers radiating in many directions. One of these descends from the finely ridged vertical peak into the valley of the Mekong, the river flowing some 15,000 feet below the summit.

Leaving the Mekong, we entered a narrow, rocky ravine to the right, at the end of which lay the frontier town of Atuntze, a conglomeration of flat-roofed huts.

IN A STREAM OF PILGRIMS BOUND FOR SACRED DOKERLA

I now decided to cross to the sacred Dokerla, to the south of Mount Miyetzimu, and photograph this glorious range from Tsarüng, in Tibet, following the trail trodden by 20,000 pilgrims every

year.

The journey took eleven days.

To reach the Doker Pass, at an elevation of 15,000 feet, one must first cross the rope bridge at Yangtzà, and camp several days on the way.

We were in a stream of pilgrims and a host of Tibetan coolies carried our luggage.

Dokerla is on the actual border between Tibet and China (see page 175). On the Tibetan side the mountain is very steep, the trail descending in 118 zigzags to the bottom of the ravine.

A constant stream of pilgrims treads the narrow trail with the sacred prayer Om Mani Padme Hum ever on their lips, as they whirl prayer wheels in their right hands. Thus they acquire merit. Many commit suicide by throwing themselves down the Dokerla, for to die on that sacred spot means emancipation and deliverance from rebirth.

the ground, then rise, and where their outstretched hands have touched they lie down again, thus consuming months to make the weary journey.

We started on our return journey to Likiang on November 30 by a different route, crossing the mighty Peimashan range, which separates the Mekong from the Yangtze.

This range is much less eroded than the Salwin-Mekong divide, which acts as a rain screen, precipitating the monsoon clouds. Long after the passes to the Salwin are closed and all the flowers have died, the gentians are still blooming on snowless Peimashan.

THE FINEST OF THE YANGTZE GORGES

By far the finest of all the gorges in Yünnan are those through which the Yangtze flows north of Likiang, as it slashes through the mighty snow range (see illustration, page 140).

In grandeur these gorges may be compared with that of the Brahmaputra before it leaves Tibet for the Assam plain.

From Shiku, where the Yangtze turns north, flowing parallel to itself, the waters are broad and placid, the current gentle, and near Yulo, where a ferry plies, one would never dream that only a few miles farther on the river becomes a mad torrent flowing through a terrifying gorge.

The Yangtze flows at 6,000 feet elevation where it enters the gorge, and as the peaks of the range which it pierces as with a giant's sword are more than 19,000 feet in height, the gorge is approximately 13,000 feet in depth.

In many places the river is only 20 yards in width and is one continuous series of cascades and rapids. The actual depth of the water must be enormous, for the vast placid stream is here compressed into a narrow ribbon of white foam.

The cliffs rise steeply on both sides, culminating in jagged crags and pinnacles, and above these tower the ice-crowned peaks of the Likiang snow range (p. 182). We entered the gorge after having crossed the Chungtien River, which flows into the Yangtze. A narrow trail for mules with Tibetan saddles permits ingress to Loyü, a hamlet within the gorge.

From here on the path can be used only by porters and leads at times 2,500 feet

above the river. On the right cliff, perched in a small hollow, is a Lissu village, accessible only with great difficulty, while on the left are three small hamlets, veritable castles on the rocky bluffs. Beyond Djipalo it is possible to go down to the river bank and watch the rapids.

For three days the journey lasts, until Taku is reached. Beyond Pentiwan, the third hamlet in the gorge, the trail is exceedingly dangerous, as rock slides occur continuously.

As the ferry at Taku was smashed by the Tibetan hordes in April, 1923, and the owner placed in jail for possessing such a convenience for travelers, we were forced to return to Yulo, where we found another ferry.

From Taku the Yangtze flows north, only to return again above Fungkou, by Lapo, where it flows in rocky gorges worked by Nashi gold-diggers, who sell their precious metal to jewelers in Likiang.

THE YANGTZE'S ONLY BRIDGE BUILT BY A ROMANTIC HERO

Mr. Eric Teichman, a British consular officer, who traveled far and wide in China and Tibet, states in one of his books that in the whole length of the Yangtze course not a single bridge spans the river. He overlooked the imposing structure at Tsilikiang, one and a half day's journey southeast of Likiang (see page 183). This bridge is the result of a romance which may be told here.

Once, not so very long ago, lived a man in Hoking, south of Likiang. He fell in love, as most men do, but in China such things are prearranged by parents shortly after birth, and the individual has little to say about the plans. But this man had an independent spirit and he eloped. When he arrived with his selfchosen bride at Tsilikiang, the ferryman, who had already learned of the escapade, for news travels fast in China, refused to take the couple across the river.

The prospective bridegroom then swore an oath, that should he ever be blessed with riches he would build a bridge across the Yangtze, and thus facilitate matters for others in a like predicament.

The gods were good to our hero and he in turn to others; hence the bridge.

Y FIRST significant insight into the history of the moon-jelly (Aurelia aurita) was due to chance. It was a late afternoon in October. At the thwart of my little boat I was studying with curious eye a varied population that covered the crumbling framework of an old and partly submerged wreck.

Mussels and barnacles had for the most part preempted the available areas of the rotting hulk; but here and there, exposed by the falling waters of the outgoing tide, were also to be seen the flaccid forms of seaweeds and hydroids, anemones and starfishes, and other less rigid shapes which made up the more colorful part of the living mantle that draped the dripping hull.

Eventually darkness came and the tide turned. A heavy mist arose. Out of the starless void the incoming waters flowed silently, swiftly, luminously—a ghostly stream, a river of sulphurous light!

For a while I remained intrigued by the eerie splendor of the night. I seemed to be sailing over a milky sea which throbbed with flames of phantom fire. Pale, pulsating patches of glaucous light swirled by, losing themselves in eddies of vaporous blue. Scintillating points of purple, coming close, would suddenly flare, then as suddenly fade.

Diffused flashes of an unearthly hue appeared on every side, and as they glided past mysterious, vague, unreal it seemed as if I were drifting through cosmic space, through a delectable realm of illusion.

A LIVING DRAPERY OF FLASHING COLORS

The mist then cleared away, and with its dissolving the skeletal outlines of the ancient hull above the water line loomed black and indistinct in the vastness of the night. Below the water line it was invested with a living drapery of ambient fire of azure and of violet, fleeting flashes of mauve, and ripplings of pale ruby and rose.

Like embers fanned by a fitful breeze, the submerged timbers were tremulous with a warm and friendly light, made up of thousands of jellyfishes, none of which was larger than the breadth of my two hands.

Free and vigorous use of my dip-net was made, and soon the half-barrel at the bow of my boat contained a crowd of the creatures swimming to and fro, emitting violet flashes and filling the tub with a continual glare. I examined them in the strong beam of my electric flash lamp.

But how can I adequately describe the moon-jelly? Picture, if you can, a flattened, soft, jellylike hemisphere of about the diameter of an ordinary soup bowl (see Color Plate I). Indeed, for our purpose, the animal may well be likened to an inverted bowl of glass, for in this position it propels itself through the water.

Within the outer, exceedingly transparent dome is another one less arched, but equal to it in diameter, and joined to the other throughout the extent of its rim. This rim is notched at eight equidistant points, thus dividing the periphery, into eight lobular structures, each bearing a fringe of numerous threadlike tentacles less than a half inch in length.

The inner dome is of a bluish milky white, marked with confluent veinlike patterns extending radially from the central region, which is distinguished by the most curiously shaped structures of any jellyfish-peculiar horseshoe-shaped gonads, or sex organs (see page 191).

They are four in number and are placed with their open ends facing the center. It is by these prominent organs that Aurelias are easily distinguished in the water from all other jellyfishes.

The individuals in my tub differed. from each other in the color of these gonads. Some were of a pinkish cast (the males); others were a bright yellow, the latter being gravid females, whose pouches were laden with eggs, and a