Jim’s Wildlife Blog

You’ll Be Surprised

Not much in China turns out the way you think it will. The other day, for example, we arrived at a grim little bus station first thing in the morning full of foreboding, expecting a) horrible jolting bus rides, b) visits to villages in which nothing much is happening and nobody wants to be bothered by a pair of gesticulating Westerner textile freaks, finishing up with c) a night in another redneck town staying in the flea pit by the bus station. The bus we intended to get on was cancelled. We very nearly changed our plan and jumped on a high speed coach back to the big city. Luckily, a kindly Taiwanese, Mr Wu, took charge of us. Sussing out we were heading the same way as he was, he found us a country bus and off we went. And against all expectation, the day just took off from there. The sun came out, we found a M’iao village where terrific traditional batik was being made by friendly and helpful people and the buses worked out fine. Even the bone rattling road surface improved by the end. We made it all the way to the relaxed but lively town of Leishan, which is actually quite pretty, something of a rarity for a Chinese town.

This day was typical of our time in China- never what you expect. It works both ways, of course. If you’re eagerly anticipating your visit to a village in the hills which every guide book has promised is an unspoilt haven of traditional textile creativity, don’t hold your breath. More than likely you’ll be dumped in a huge coach park and expected to produce 6 quid to pass through the village gate. It’s all downhill from there, but only metaphorically.

So we left Lanzhou’s smog, traffic, noise, chaos and 3 1⁄2 million people with no great hope that our attempt to get away from it all in the wilds of western Szechuan would deliver. Deliver it did, however. We walked and climbed in the mountains around Xiahe (actually in the province of Gansu, north of the Szechuan border), Langmusi and Songpan. Our experience of this sort of thing is a bit limited. Yorkshire, Wales and Scotland, mostly. We did climb a pretty fierce mountain called Phu Kradung in Thailand a couple of years ago, but until we started this overland across Asia journey, the highest we’d ever been was 2, 800m (Doi Inthanon in Thailand) , nearly all of which was achieved in a Thai friend’s Datsun.

We set some new personal altitude records in Kyrgyzstan. On the way to Lake Songkul, itself over 3,000m, we went over a pass at 3,600m. Time and again in Kyrgyzstan I felt that I was looking at scenery more romantic and inspiring than any I’d seen before. Certainly it was all on a grander scale, the air fresher and the stars closer, than I’d known, but, to be honest, it’s not exactly teeming with wildlife up there. There are thousands of animals, but it’s all about the herds of horses and cattle, the flocks of sheep and goats. It’s wonderful to see great numbers of semi-wild horses, and we caught our first glimpse of that inestimable species, the yak. But out there on the mighty pastureland they call the jailoo the most interesting wild sightings were of some lark-like species which seems to hunt insects in and around the dung, and very low flying large birds of prey, a sort of Harrier, I would say, hunting, perhaps, the aforesaid larks.

All in all, the most thrilling wildlife moments in Kyrgyzstan were provided by red squirrels. I know this shows up my incredibly low excitement threshold when it comes to wildlife, but there you go. I was brought up on ‘60s animal picture books which were swarming with the things…BUT I’D NEVER SEEN ONE. Not for the want of trying, in Scotland, France (where I caught a distant red flash, I think) and everywhere I’ve been where they’re supposed to be found. Three separate sightings, close up and just photographable, was a big deal for me. Another fab Kyrgyz photo op came courtesy of a stone creeper in the Karakol valley.

In the magnificent uplands of western Szechuan came the best of all China’s surprises. Winter was now chasing us. October was coming to its end and we were at 3,100m in our homestay. We were the only westerners around, nearly all the cafes and hostels were closed for the season From the village of Langmusi, home to 2 Tibetan monasteries and 1 Hui mosque, we had three fantastic walks. The first one included the moment when pair of vultures (or eagles, still not sure which) soared out beneath us as we stood exhausted on a mountain top. I think this picture has already featured in one of Diane’s blogs, but here it is again. Next day, while Di bought a Tibetan robe, I got chased down the White Dragon River Valley by an incoming snowstorm.

Then, as the sun shone on the third day, we set our new altitude record….not sure exactly how high, but the best trekking map available shows we were certainly over 4,000m. On the way back down, I saw a fox. It was lighter in colour, probably a bit bigger than the European version, with a huge gold and white tail. It was a classic fox encounter: we caught sight of each other at the same moment, about 100m away, we both stopped still. He gave me a long cool look, and then set off, not seeming to hurry but actually moving quickly in a fast straight-backed trot. Diane came up just in time to get a good look at him before he was gone.

As we carried on down towards the village, exultant about how the day had gone, another treat! This time a hare, incredibly fast, shot out from behind a clump of grass and headed off up the mountain. This too looked big, the size of a small deer, almost, and again very light in colour. I wonder now if the species there would go white in winter. It seemed so quick it was as if it were flying. Neither of these animals gave us time to take a photo, but sightings like these seem to hardwire themselves immediately into the memory.

The next day was October 29th, my birthday, and the cold was beating us and the hotel’s heating system. The only bus south left at 7.00a.m. in the icy darkness. No heat emerged from the engine to thaw us out for an hour or so. It was a tough and forbidding start, the day was not shaping up that well. We made our way through immense grasslands. At close to 4,000m, the great Yak herds were still out there, but more and more of them were being brought in by the mounted Tibetan herdsmen and women to their winter quarters. These were wind-shielded corrals, where the animals would survive on gathered fodder and shared body heat as they were crowded close together. I was cheered up by watching from the bus the antics of the Pikas. These rodents had dug burrows in the plateau, forming a huge colony some miles in length. They scurried back into their holes as the bus passed.

Then both driver and conductor shouted in unison, the bus juddered under the brakes and a collective gasp of excitement went round the passengers. We all jerked our heads for a glimpse of big running dogs with white faces, dark backs, light under parts, the fur very dense and gleaming. Not dogs. Wolves! There were six of them, and in common with the fox and the hare they seemed to move incredibly quickly. The sense that they were moving at great speed was heightened by their size, because they were big, as big as German Shepherds, but bounding along much quicker, lighter over the ground than the dog. I’d read that there was “no chance of seeing large wild animals in China without a professional guide”. On the other hand, the author of a blog I saw said “Wolves are very, very hard to see. The only time I’ve come across them is when it’s cold and they’re hunting for Pika.” So thank you, cute little rodents. You may be seen as a pest by the Chinese Government, but I’m truly grateful. How many times in my life will I see proper wild wolves on my birthday? How many times in anyone’s life might such a thing happen? Awesome.

Er, no photo again. Sorry. Here are some lovely polite
yaks…

And some horny sheep.