ENTRY 01 — MARCH 4, 1926 · KHARA WELL
First light on the sand ocean
We came out of the well at four in the morning and watched the dunes assemble themselves out of the dark, ridge after ridge, like a fleet under sail. The camels dislike the cold. Bektur says the wind here has a memory — it returns every ninth day from the same quarter. I have begun a page to test him.
Note to self: the survey camera's brass screws have seized again. Salt in the wind, or worse — sand in the shutter. Do not open the plate holders before dusk.
— the light is not gold here, it is old brass —
ENTRY 02 — MARCH 19, 1926 · TASH-KURGAN PASS
The pass that keeps its own weather
Three days climbing and the map still lies to us. The pass the traders call Tash-Kurgan — stone-cliff — shows exactly at noon, then seals itself behind cloud for the rest of the day as if embarrassed. We measured 4,120 metres by aneroid. The ponies ate the last of the barley. Bektur sang.
Pencil memo, found loose: heights corrected — the aneroid was dropped at camp II. Trust the barometer, distrust the mule.
ENTRY 03 — APRIL 2, 1926 · CAMP IV
Night work and a small fire
The cold at this altitude is a kind of silence. We photograph the camp by the fire's light alone, exposures of half a minute, everyone holding still like statues. Somewhere north, the route we came for bends toward the salt flats. Tomorrow we fold the map and follow it.
— Bektur's ninth-day wind arrived on the ninth day. I owe him a cigarette. —
R.G.S.
KHARA
1926