It needed all the beauty of the scene to make me forget that the thirteen
miles from Eshmakam were long and hot, and that I was woefully out of
condition, and we rejoiced to see the gleam of tents amid the pine-wood
which constitutes the camping-ground of Pahlgam.
We sat peacefully on the thyme and clover-covered maiden, amongst a herd
of happily browsing cattle, until our tents were up and the irritating but
needful bustle of arrival was over, and the tea-table spread.
Pahlgam stands some 2000 feet above Srinagar, and although it is not
supposed to be bracing, yet to us, jaded votaries of fashion in stuffy
Srinagar, the fresh, clear, pine-scented air was purely delightful, and a
couple of days saw us "like kidlings blythe and merry"--that is to say, as
much so as a couple of sedate middle-aged people could reasonably be
expected to appear. The camping-ground is in a wood of blue pines, which,
extending from the steeper uplands, covers much of the leveller valley,
and abuts with woody promontories on the flowery strath which borders the
river. Here some dozen or so of visitors had already selected little
clearings, and the flicker of white tents, the squealing of ponies, and
the jabber of native servants banished all ideas of loneliness.
About half a mile below the camping-ground is the bungalow of Colonel Ward,
clear of the wood and with Kolahoi just showing over the green shoulder
which hides him from Pahlgam.
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