The rocky edges to this plateau on the western side are broken ever and again by rifts, down which a more copious supply of water tumbles from above, opening out into little nooks under the shelter of the heights before joining the main valley of the river below. In such places a village may be found amid a patch of comparatively luxurious cultivation, well illustrated by the vines and mulberries of Rowanduz. This pleasant spot lies at the foot of the steep descent from Karakul upon the plateau, and is marked by the ruins of a fine mediæval castle crowning a prominent cone-like hill.[10] The groves and gardens are watered by a primitive system of irrigation. The rich soil readily repays the labour bestowed upon it in however simple fashion. Lower down, in the main valley and nearer the river’s bed, the aspect of the country is generally savage and neglected. A short withered scrub speckles the surface of the ground, which is reft in every direction by the dry gullies of winter torrents. The main routes, here as elsewhere, keep consistently along the higher levels, crossing the rifts near their beginnings, before they have become too rough and too steep to scale. Other tracks are found naturally along the river’s bed, which they cross and recross, scaling the cliffs where the water has laid bare the rocks, and at other times passing through more open spaces cheered by narrow strips of corn-land and the rich bloom of a myriad oleanders, wherever the steep banks recede a little way on one side or the other. These lower tracks, however, are never easy to follow, even under favourable conditions, on account alike of the numerous scrambles over cliffs often shaly and precipitous, where a false step of horse or man might lead to disaster, and also of the numerous crossings of the river, often deceptive to any one unfamiliar with the fords. The latter obstacle becomes a grave danger after mountain storms which may have passed almost unnoticed in the valley. Even in summer-time thunder-clouds from time to time collect above the heights, and amid a gorgeous display of lightning and reverberating thunder a torrential rain transforms in a few minutes the rocky basin of the river. The dried-up gullies are now alive with splashing streams, and the slumbering rivulets become foaming torrents, the sudden uproar of scurrying streams and newly born cascades striking the ear with curious strangeness and foreboding.[11] In an hour or two the streams are once more tranquil and the sun has reappeared; but the river below has received nearly all the water that has fallen, and swirls on deep and dangerous. Fords that have little changed their appearance are now impassable, and none but the stranger will attempt to cross them.