But one of the caravans which followed us did have a horse killed by falling stones and one of the porters had an arm FILLIPO DE FILLIPI (1914) Gol – 5 February The few people about when we left Skardu all stopped to stare at the dotty ferenghis; and one young policeman, who speaks some English, informed us that we are unlikely to reach Khapalu alive because of icy or disintegrating paths, rockfalls, blizzards, avalanches and landslides. Had I not known that the hazards of this route are considerably less than those of the M1 I might have been rattled. Like many simple peoples, the Baltis delight in exaggerating local dangers. For a people so little affected by tragedies when these do occur, they are extravagantly gloomy about potential disasters. It was such a mild morning that I needed no gloves and left my parka unzipped. The first seven miles were tiring on an icy track: then, where the land rises, it became sandy underfoot and remained so until we left the Skardu Valley. Just past the turn-off for Shigar Rachel suggested an early lunch, and while Hallam ate his barley ration we sat on black rocks amidst the snow, sniffing the scent of wild thyme and eating one dog-biscuit each.
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