ABSTRACT
We have had brilliant days and cold nights at the 4th Advance Camp on the Siachen. The moment the sun set, every rivulet, every drip or trickle of water which, when the sun was high, intersected the space where the camp was, began to freeze: it must not be forgotten that we were encamped on a glacier. The nights, therefore, were cold, and the feeling of cold was further increased by a very strong wind, which, though it might scarcely affect anyone who was sleeping in the little hermetically sealed “Whymper”, yet penetrated with a whistling sound into my large tropical tent. But, to tell the truth, I also remained unaffected by it, lying hidden in my sleeping-bag, into which I disappear early in the evening, not to reappear until early next morning.
