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Despite these inconveniences we made good progress, stopping whenever we came to a roadhouse. From time to time we had a view of the Himalayas, which surpass in natural beauty anything I have ever seen. We met fewer and fewer nomads, and the only living creatures we saw on the right bank of the Brahmaputra were gazelles and onagers. We were now approaching Gyabnak, the last name on the list of places mentioned on our travel permit. Further than this the authority of our friend in Gartok did not extend. The decision as to what to do next was taken out of our hands, for on the third day of our stay at Gyabnak a messenger arrived in breathless haste from Tradun and summoned us to go at once to that place. Two high officials wanted to see us. We had no regrets about leaving Gyabnak, which was so small that it hardly deserved to be called a place. It consisted of a single house belonging to a monastic official of the province of Bongpa. The nearest nomad tent was over an hour's march away. We started at once and spent the night in a lonely place inhabited only by wild asses.
I shall always remember the next day for one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had. As we marched forward we caught sight, after a while, of the gleaming golden towers of a monastery in the far distance. Above them, shining superbly in the morning sun, were tremendous walls of the ice, and we gradually realized that we were looking at the giant trio Dhaulagiri, Annapurna, and Manaslu. As Tradun and the filigree towers of its monastery lay at the far end of the plain, we had many hours in which to enjoy the view of these mighty mountains. Not even the necessity of wading through the icy waters of the Tsachu dampened our exuberance.