Saturday 21st May 2016

Essentially a travel day, beginning with another attempt to see Rufous-headed Robin in Jiuzhaiguo National park: 

We awake in the Zechawa Community Village, at the bottom of the Keze valley, over 2000m high in the Jiuzhaiguo National park. Today is our second, and final, attempt to see Rufous-headed Robin. First light reveals a change in the weather. Low cloud and mist hugs the thickly forested slopes. The dawn chorus is a fantastic mixture of special birds: Himalayan Owl, Golden Pheasant, Himalayan Cuckoo, Claudia’s and Large-billed Leaf Warblers amongst the thousands of singing phylloscopus warblers:

We walk 45 minutes up to the Robin site. Once again the silence of one of the world’s greatest songsters was deafening. We spend the first few hours of light waiting and listening, but without success. Gradually we come to terms with the fact that we will not see Rufous-headed Robin. In fact, at the time of writing, no Rufous-headed Robins have been reported from Jiuzhaiguo National park in 2016. As this area of  secondary growth forest, between 2400-2600m, here and in one nearby valley are the only known territories on the planet, this is ominous news for the long term survival of the species. Two years ago there were up to three singing males here, last year just one on one day and this year none. We are too late. The only hope is that, as we saw with the recent Blackthroat discovery at Wolong, any remaining Rufous-headed Robins have discovered suitable breeding habitat elsewhere. Amongst the other birds that we do see are more Père David’s Tits, another Chinese Nuthatch and this scruffy Nutcracker… 

… but eventually we are forced to admit defeat. We walk down to catch the bus back to the National Park entrance. Whilst we wait for a bus we notice a flock of swifts feeding under the low cloud base. Swifts have a special place in most birder’s hearts and quite rightly so. They are the purest manifestation of flight. Years can pass without them touching solid ground, most sleep and mate on the wing. China hosts a multitude of exciting swifts, including the species many regard as The Ultimate Swift: White-throated Needletail, the fastest bird on the planet and one that I have been waiting to see since I first read about them as a young boy.

The birds we were watching at about 2500m altitude have been driven down by low cloud. We all know what species they are, but we all call them different names: I know these birds as Pacific Swifts. Ian, from Australia, as Fork-tailed Swifts; Roland, our local expert, as Salim Ali’s Swifts. These birds breed around the Tibetan plateau and then disappear. Their wintering grounds are unknown. There are perhaps 50 swifts, together with a scattering of Asian House Martins. Photographing them against a dark grey sky is a monochrome business, though their white rumps are occasionally obvious:

This was to be the beginning of a fabulous day for Swifts and hirundines. Next up were the local Crag Martins that breed around the National Park entrance buildings:

We drive south-east from Jiuzhaigou and, in the late morning, pull up in a steep sided valley:

There is a completely different selection of birds at this lower altitude. We quickly notch up Brown-breasted Bulbul, Collared Finchbill, White-browed Laughingthrush, the spectacular Red-billed Blue Magpie and Spot-billed and Vineous-throated Parrotbills. A Père David’s Rock Squirrel scuttles across the rocky slopes, whilst the Black-naped Orioles and Grey Bushchats that we see are the only ones of the trip. We eventually get distant views of Long-tailed Rosefinch, and whilst Ian and Roland attempt better views, I decide to do a spot of exploring and wander further up the road.

Glancing up I see more swifts. A small flock of Salim Ali’s Swifts feed above the highest ridge, driven down to this altitude by the increasing cloud. My ears turn to identify the source of a rising roar from somewhere up near the Pacific Swift flock. The sound is getting louder, a rushing wind, increasing in volume and getting closer. Frantically scanning the upper reaches of the valley, I pick out two shapes dropping vertically out of the sky, the source of the sound, heading directly towards the ground. Sleek powerful bullets, the two dark shapes spiral around each other as they dive. They drop below the level of the lowest ridge at such speed that the sound of the wind rushing over their wings is clearly audible over hundreds of metres. Incredulous, my mind working ahead of events, the possibility that these birds are going to power themselves into the ground at the bottom of the valley flicks through my mind. Then, at what must be the absolutely last possible moment, at tremendous speed and against incredible gravitational force, the dark shapes effortlessly pull out of their dueling dive in perfect synchrony.  The roaring sound of the the sky being ripped in two by their wings intensifies to a crescendo as the birds pulled out of their dive, then abruptly falls silent. The two birds pass over my head at the speed of jet fighters. A momentary image of dark bird with a white throat and white undertail coverts that stretch around onto the flanks was burnt onto my retina. Then they are gone. This was not birdwatching, this was pure science fiction. I have been in the presence of something supremely aerial. Never have I felt so slow, so grounded, so terrestrial.

Some time after, in my shocked state it felt like about ten minutes but it was probably about two seconds, a tidal wave of adrenaline surges over my brain. At the same moment I scream to Ian and Roland, several hundred metres down the road: “Needletails!” But by then the birds were probably in Nepal.

I have waited over 45 years to see White-throated Needletail. Could they have announced their presence in any more dramatic a fashion? I did not just see them. They announced themselves to me with the sound of the atmosphere being forced apart by their flight. I heard the splitting of the sky with their wings. And then a low altitude fly-by worthy of any airshow:

But there are more. I look way down the road at Ian, who is now looking vertically up at the sky with binoculars. He turns, looks at me and simultaneously we point excitedly at the skies: “Needletails!“. Single birds scorch the air above the wooded slopes above us, skimming fast and low over the treetops:

Scanning the airspace above us, flocks of White-throated Needletails are gathering, fanning out their tail feathers to soar and glide. At least 70 White-throated Needletails whirled around above us, with 30+ Asian House Martin, a few Crag Martins and a single Asian Red-rumped Swallow: 

And then, as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. A degree of spontaneous celebration took place in the aftermath of our Needletail experience: 

We leave the valley and, under increasingly dark skies, we begin the long drive to Tangjihae Nature Reserve. As it gets dark, it begins to rain…

Next: Call Noah, its Tangjihae Nature Reserve!

Friday 20th May 2016

A whole day and an overnight stay in Jiuzhaigou National Park, one of the most beautiful areas in all of China:

Tourist activity begins early in Pengfeng. I was particularly aware of this as the window in my room did not close, so the noise of thousands of tourists mobilising for their day in Jiuzhaigou National Park reached me at first light. Last night we had learnt that, in terms of visitor numbers, it was going to be a quiet day. The park averages 7,000 visitors per day, with a reported cap of 12,000 per day.  For some reason the park authorities had closed down the automated ticket selling machines, meaning all the thousands that would visit today would have to queue for tickets at the gates before gaining entry. Even worse the park gates were not due to open until 8am, with the first coaches not due to take visitors up the mountain until 8:45am. As there was a 45 minute walk from the nearest official bus stop, it could be nearly 10am before we reached the Rufous-headed Robin site.

This was far from ideal. Rufous-headed Robins, like many birds, are most active and therefore most detectable, in the first few hours of daylight. If present, our target species, one of the rarest birds on Earth, could have finished it’s singing for the day hours before we even arrived. Fortunately we had Roland. 

We got a cab down from Pengfeng and then experienced one of the most surreal moments of the trip. At the front of the park were two lines of women. Each and every one of them was selling selfie sticks. Pink selfie sticks. We entered the famous Jiuzhaigou National Park through an archway of pink selfie sticks being thrust into our faces. This was a taste of what was to come.

Roland made sure that we were the first in the queue at the entrance gates. In picture above, Ian waits patiently, notching up Sooty Tit and Crag Martin whilst in the queue. When the park opened, using a combination of fluent mandarin and persistence, Roland ensured that we were on the first staff bus up the mountain, just after 8am. He then persuaded the driver to drop us off at the roadside, rather than at an official bus stop, so we were on site by 8:30 am. Result!

But that was where our luck ended. We spent the remainder of the morning slowly and quietly working our way around the traditional Rufous-headed Robin site, without hearing a single call or song. The news that no Robins had been seen here this year so far does not fill us with confidence, although potentially a migrant Rufous-headed Robin could arrive and begin singing at any moment. We catch up with lots of other good birds though, including Chinese Leaf Warblers: 

This is another Pallas’s Warbler type, but is even less bright than Sichuan Leaf Warbler and has a completely different song. Chinese Leaf Warblers sound almost like little sewing machines rattling away. There is something reminiscent of locustella warblers in their song. A few Bianchi’s Warblers (one of the Golden-spectacled Warbler complex) were holding territory:

Himalayan Cuckoos (the local version of Oriental Cuckoo) called, we had glimpses of a cracking male Indian Blue Robin and a Rufous-gorgeted Flycatcher, together with the more common phylloscopus warblers, Claudia’s Leaf and Large-billed Leaf Warblers. Prize for the most elusive bird that we actually saw was Chestnut-headed Tesia. This tiny little thing zipped around the boardwalk, calling constantly, never perching for long enough for my autofocus to lock onto it. Modern cameras are astounding pieces of technology, but my levels of amazement were taken to new levels. The picture below was actually taken through a solid branch hanging in front of me. The bird is still identifiable!

We then tried another site in the next door valley, Arrow Bamboo Lake. The silence of singing Rufous-headed Robins was deafening. But, nice woodland birds present included Rufous-vented Tit:

Père David’s Tit:

Claudia’s Leaf Warbler, the commonest phylloscopus warbler, one with a median crown stripe and two wing bars:

Fortunately Claudia’s Leaf Warblers make phylloscopus identification much easier by having the unique habit of flicking alternate wings:

But the nearest thing to a Rufous-headed Robin we encountered was just a better view of a Indian Blue Robin, again through much forest:

With the early afternoon heat being felt, we turned our attention to the fabulous scenery of Jiuzhaigou National Park:

Such scenery attracts people and back on the pathways around the lakes, we came into contact with thousands of Chinese tourists. The men were doing what Chinese men do best, most were smoking heavily. The Chinese women were all armed with selfie sticks, though not many had the pink ones we had braved at the entrance. Remarkably and without warning, all around us Chinese women with a selfie sticks would fall into poses and start taking selfies, in a very unselfconscious fashion: 

Picking over the prostrate forms of selfie sticking Chinese tourists, we tried to keep on finding birds. Roland picked out Great Spotted and Crimson-breasted Woodpecker (below):

Bar-tailed Treecreeper:

It was getting towards late afternoon. Our failure to see Rufous-headed Robin meant that we would have to stay in the park overnight, which gave us the opportunity to try for the robin again in the morning and at first light.  We headed back to the Zechawa community village and Roland negotiated the semi officially tolerated arrangements to stay in the village overnight:

I thought that might be it for the day, but Roland had other ideas. He suggested that we take one of the tourist buses up towards Upper Season Lake and walk the 8-10km back downhill to the village. Unfortunately the bus ascended higher than we anticipated, leaving us to complete a 14km route march before dusk fell. The bonuses were Himalayan Bluetails, Grey-hooded Fulvettas and, at just under 3000m, our first Kloss’s Leaf Warbler (a Claudia’s type, identifiable by call):

We walked back into the village at dusk, serenaded by Lesser and Large Hawk Cuckoos calling from the darkening forest. It had been another long day, lots of good birds but the central character was still absent without leave. We would try again in the morning for Rufous-headed Robin. 

Next: Needletail wonderland.

Thursday 19th May 2016

Today we leave the Tibetan plateau and head for one of China’s most famous national parks, Jiuzhaigou:

But first, a pre-breakfast couple of hours of birding around Zoige. We try again for Tibetan Shrike on the usual territory outside of town, but once again are without luck. There are Ruddy Shelducks on their morning flights above the plateau and small flocks of Greylag Geese following the river through town. The rufiventris Black Redstarts up here were very smart – much more orange than black in these beauties:

By the river that flows through Zoige we located our only Tiger Shrike of the trip…

…  and we get better views of the local Brown-headed Gulls:

Common Terns also whipped around overhead, some gathering to perch together on the phone wires that crossed the river. Flocks of Common Terns perching on wires, something I had never seen before: 

We then headed back to our hotel, the improbably named “Le Grand Large Hotel”. We picked up our bags and began preparing for the drive south east towards Jiuzhaigou. Whilst packing our vehicle, I saw children playing in a school yard next to our hotel in Zoige:

Education in China is a long and laborious process. Each school day is far longer than the equivalent day in Europe. Educational content focuses more on repetition than on analysis. Vast swaths of information await each child, who must memorise much and analyse little. Roland noted that the Chinese symbol for a child learning, 學, resembles a child with a box for a head, ready to be filled with state-controlled data. It is not simply that the nature of the language means that that there are several thousand basic characters to learn. Education is far more political than that. The very first words a child learns at school are “I am Chinese. I love China“. The nation state is named before the individual. Contrast this with my youngest daughter’s first learnt words at nursery: “I am Yasmin“. The individual does not come first in China. The primacy of the state and therefore the Communist Party, are embedded at an early age.

The fixation with memorising information also extends to the Chinese driving test. To the visiting European it appears simply incredible that such a thing even exists. Driving in China is a vaguely organised dangerous chaos. But you can only drive in China with a licence. In the theory test there are 1000 possible questions, but each candidate is informed that only 100 will be asked. Therefore all 1000 correct answers have to be memorised. A pass is given if 90% of the questions are answered correctly. The tortuous story of a non-Chinese citizen attempting this feat, and some of the bizarre questions that can be asked, is nicely recounted here. We picked up some steamed buns for breakfast from a street vendor, said goodbye to Zoige and hit the roads of south-west China:

We crossed the south-east corner of the Tibetan plateau where fresh snowfall greeted us at the pass at 3,875m (12,700 feet): 

We then descended 400 metres and pulled up alongside a river valley filled with low shrubs and dwarf willows. There was birdsong. White-bellied Redstarts sang, European Cuckoos called and, even more surreal, an Asian Red-rumped Swallow glided overhead. Not an easy morning for an insectivore at 3,400m altitude. But we were here for something much more special: Siberian Rubythroats. They may skulk, but in early spring when pumped full of breeding hormones, they do respond to playback. You never forget the first time that you see the luminous red throat of a Siberian Rubythroat. It positively flashes out, enhanced by the white moustachial stripe and exaggerated by the overall plainness of the rest of the bird. Indeed, except for the throat area, Siberian Rubythroats are very well camouflaged: 

But it is all about that throat, a red lighthouse flashing out:

Even so, they do remain masters at keeping a branch or a leaf between any observers and themselves:

We worked our way down from the plateau, passing through villages and towns. There were a couple more stops in vegetated valleys that produced more Siberian Rubythroats plus White-throated Redstarts, Rufous-breasted Accentors and warblers: Hume’s, Alpine Leaf and Sichuan Leaf Warblers. We pass a mosque in one town reflecting our western location, historically influenced by Islam from Asia:

Over a lunchtime bowl of noodles, we were approached by this shifty looking group of men:

They secretively unfurled a bag of caterpillar fungus, visible in the carrier bag on the table in the picture above. This traditional Chinese remedy consists of a fungus whose spores kill the caterpillars of the Ghost Moth. The fungus then grows a fruiting body, a kind of tuber, from the caterpillar corpse, which itself goes on to produce more spores. It is this fruiting body which is used to “treat” ailments affecting the lungs, kidneys and for helping reduce erectile dysfunction. As Roland, Ian and I were drinking and breathing perfectly normally, I can only assume that the herb dealers thought that we looked like we required help in another department.

Caterpillar fungus is the second most expensive Chinese medicinal product after rhino horn. Had the herb dealers been offering us rhino horn, I am not sure that I would have been able to control myself. It is exactly these completely misplaced beliefs that power the poaching industry in Africa that has decimated the Rhino population. The influence of the behaviour of a country with 1.4 billion people stretches a long way. And there is a lot of blood on their hands:

By late afternoon we are on the edge of the forests that cover the valleys of this part of south-west China. We are here for another crack at Sichuan Wood Owl, following our failure at Baxi. Frustratingly we fail again. However, the steeply wooded valleys hold some pretty good birds. Singing male Himalayan Bluetail – surely the best looking member of the world’s Red-flanked Bluetail family?

Grey-headed Bullfinches are always good to see:

A (as yet unidentified) Pika rushed out onto the path in front of me. Perfect owl food: 

We ended the day in glorious sunshine in the fabulous scenery around the Jiuzhaigou National Park:

The forests held Claudia’s Leaf Warblers, our first Chinese Nuthatches and Oriental Turtle Doves. On the ground we found this lovely Chestnut Thrush:

We then drove into hell. The contrast between the lush green forests surrounding Pengfeng village and the straight-out-of-Vegas plastic fantastic tourist hell was almost physically overwhelming. The town acts as the accommodation hub for the thousands of daily visitors to the national park. We were completely unprepared for a 10km long strip of neon, hotels, bars, restaurants and tourists:

We were here for one reason and one reason only. To hear, and hopefully see, Rufous-headed Robin. This bird was the final piece in our rare Robin jigsaw. Having succeeded with Blackthroat and Firethroat on our first day we would need some serious luck to complete the rare Robin trilogy. Rufous-headed Robin is one of the world’s rarest birds. Juveniles are completely unknown and undescribed, females are virtually never seen and there is only one record of a female being photographed. In only one area on Earth tiny numbers of singing males can be found in spring:  here in Jiuzhaigou National Park. Last year one male was heard on one day. Tomorrow we would find out if 2016 would be our lucky year.

Next: Jiuzhaigou National Park, the search begins…

Tuesday 17th May 2016

Our first full day on the Tibetan plateau and it fully lived up to expectations. We left Hongyuan (3507m) and spent the day birding from the car as we headed north across the gently undulating plains of the plateau, to our accommodation in Zoige:

We began at first light with an unsuccessful search for Eagle Owl in a the local quarries. The smart red local Black Redstarts and Azure-winged Magpies present by the road were the only birds of note:

Having spent nearly a week in mountain forests, it was nice to be out in the open again. We passed a medium sized river which held Barn Swallows and a Sand Martin, plus Little and Cattle Egrets, Brown-headed Gulls and Ferrunginous Ducks:

We continued north, when suddenly a simply enormous eagle swept across the road, right in front of the car. I got a quick through-the-windscreen picture of this immature bird… 

… but by the time the we had stopped and jumped out of the vehicle the bird was well over 1 km away. We puzzled over the identification of this bird, assuming it must be an Eastern Imperial Eagle {1}. Then another, smaller, raptor joined it, a falcon, a Saker. In fact a pair of Sakers, which proceeded to take turns dive-bombing the much larger eagle. Although the action was very distant, at several points the eagle flipped upside down to present it’s talons towards the diving falcons. This was magical stuff, in fabulous scenery to boot:

An upside down Eagle fending off a diving Saker:

Boosted, we continued north, enjoying the scenery of the plateau:

Further road-side birds included Oriental Skylark…

… and Blyth’s Pipit:

But the most surprising sight was on the road itself. Suddenly we noticed a human body lying face down on the road. As we approached I was relieved to see the man get up (demonstrating it was not a corpse), stretch his arms above his head, take three paces forward and then lie face down again:

We realised we were watching a solitary Tibetan pilgrim. There are a number of forms of Buddhist pilgrimage, but we were witnessing the most arduous: prostration pilgrimage.

In gyangchag, full body prostration, one prostrates oneself to help purify human delusion, negativity and bad karma. It shows reverence for the Triple Gem, the three core concepts of Buddhism: the Buddha (the highest state of consciousness achievable); the Dharma (the teachings of the Buddha) and the Sangha (the enlightened community). Each prostration involves the hands and elbows, then the toes and knees and then finally the forehead being placed in contact with the floor. Or in this case in the roadworks. Then one stands, takes three paces forwards and repeats the process. The physical challenge of lying down flat and then standing up every three paces is enormous. The pilgrim, above, has protective clothing over his knees, hands and forehead. Some pilgrims cover thousands of kms in this fashion, their journey, understandably, taking years. This made me reflect that, as we had seen in our first hotel in Dujiangyan, whilst the Chinese were obsessed with the “lucky” number 8 (to the extent that the Beijing Olympics began on 8/8/08 at 8 seconds after 8:08pm) Tibetan culture revolves around the number 3. No wonder they can’t commensurate their differences.

Leaving the pilgrim to continue his repeating pattern of movement, we climbed into a small side valley and saw more raptors. Firstly, Upland Buzzard:

Secondly, a small group of Himalayan Griffon Vultures that had descended to feed on a huge pile of Yak corpses by the side of the road:

We then began searching this area of gently sloping hills for passerines:

Our target was a taxonomic oddity. It’s names over the years reflect the fact that these birds appear somewhere between a Bunting and Rosefinch and have long, pink tails. They have been called Pink-tailed Buntings, but have also been classed as Pink-tailed Rosefinch. Some also call them Long-tailed Rosefinch and/or Bunting. The modern preference is for Przewalski’s Finch. But then some say Przewalski’s Rosefinch. Only one thing is certain. They are one pink, long-tailed bird and we enjoyed seeing them: 

Other breeding birds of the upland slopes of the Tibetan Plateau included Tibetan Partridge…

 … Robin Accentor and perhaps the least satisfactory view possible of a Tibetan Snowfinch. This Himalayan Marmot only posed briefly outside of it’s burrow:

We also enjoyed seeing Hume’s Ground Tit. This is a charismatic bird that has had as many names as Przewalski’s Finch. The definitive Oriental Bird Images lists the English synonyms used for this bird: “Hume’s Groundpecker, Hume’s Ground Pecker, Hume’s Ground-pecker, Hume’s Ground Jay, Hume’s Ground-jay, Hume’s Groundjay, Brown Ground Jay, Hume’s Ground Chough, Hume’s Ground-chough, Brown Ground-chough, Tibetan Ground Jay, Tibetan Groundjay, Tibetan Ground-jay, Little Ground Jay, Little Groundjay, Little Ground-jay, Ground-tit, Tibetan Ground Tit, Tibetan Groundpecker”. From these descriptions you could get the idea that this bird is somewhere between a Chough and a Jay. In fact it is small and Ground Tit works much better:

Forgetting that I was at over 3500m altitude, I ran 100m up a 45 degree slope to catch up with this feeding bird. By the time I got there my heart was beating so fast and powerfully that I could feel each deafening heartbeat pounding throughout my whole body,  jolting my arms, shaking the camera. I have never before photographed a bird while being so breathless: 

We continued heading north, stopping every so often to scan for birds or at known sites. This monster is a Tibetan Lark, the largest lark on the planet:

And I finally achieved the sort of views of a Tibetan Wagtail that I had previously only dreamed about:

Late afternoon found us north of Zoige in fabulous scenery and wonderful light:

Attentive readers will have noticed how closely cropped the grass is here. Some of this is due to Yaks, though not all of them make it:

This high altitude short grass is perfect for snowfinches. Most common, though unapproachable, were White-rumped Snowfinch:

There were smaller numbers of Rufous-necked Snowfinch, our third snowfinch species of the day:

The occasional pair of Black-necked Crane graced the plateau backdrop:

Apart from Yaks, another herbivore feeds on the grass, Black-lipped Pika. My notebook records “Black-lipped Pika – perhaps a million!”. The entire surface of the grass, right across the plateau, was teeming with these small mammals, popping up from burrows all around us:

Such a vast supply of protein is not going to go unnoticed. There were Saker falcons here too:

The local Upland Buzzards were not adverse to a Pika meal:

We ended the day with dinner at a roadside restaurant. Outside a group of Chinese men approached us, keen to see our phones. We brought them out and they delighted in seeing roman characters in our texts. I was even more impressed to see the Chinese characters on their phones. In English we have a choice of 26 letters from which to text. In Chinese you need to know between 2,000 and 3,000 Chinese characters to read a newspaper, there are over 50,000 characters in total. How do you fit that number onto a keyboard on a smartphone? As we waited outside Roland noticed a Horned Lark fly in to land on the edge of the car park. Even better it walked right up to us:

It eventually strolled right past the end of my camera lens hood and nibbled on a piece of bread a couple of metres from my right shoulder, before calling and flying off across the road. A remarkable close encounter, with one of my favourite birds.

{1} November 2016: Thanks to the wonder of the internet, Pierre, a Netherlands-based birder has put us straight on the identification of this immature eagle. This is a juvenile Pallas’s Fish Eagle, that dark mask is apparently diagnostic. Thank you Mr Pierre, our China list has just got better!

Next: a fabulous day in the forest edges of the Tibetan plateau.

Monday 16th May 2016

The Tibetan Plateau is vast. Stretching from western China, through Nepal into northern India it reaches Pakistan and Tajikistan in the east. It covers some 2.5 million km², an area five times the size of France. It is the highest and largest plateau on Earth, having an average elevation of 4500m (nearly 15,000ft). It is the third largest store of ice on the planet, after Antarctica and the Arctic Ocean and is sometimes referred to as the Third Pole for this very reason. The graphic below shows land elevation over 1600m, which picks out the area of the plateau nicely:

 (Copyright the author of the work and GLOBE and ETOPO1 [CC BY-SA 4.0], via Wikimedia Commons)

We visited the eastern edge of the plateau (around Hongyuan) an area of flat grassland surrounded by rolling hills. Much of the plateau is too arid to support grassland, with an average precipitation of only between 100-300mm,  most of which, surprisingly, falls as hailstones. The area we visited was around 3500m above sea level. Having spent a few days ranging between 2000m and 4500m, we did not suffer symptoms of altitude sickness, even though we were sleeping higher than we had ever slept before.

Our day began with a drive north from Barkam, the road following a river valley east before we turned north to head for the plateau. This was a small river valley, with deciduous trees on the valley floor and conifers on the sloping valley sides. Even here, in a relatively remote area, human development was everywhere and increasing at alarming rates. All the major rivers have hydro-plants in China, an attempt to meet the spiraling energy demands of a rapidly growing population. This reduces the flow of water downstream. Even though the road we were on looked good, the valley we were driving up was about to get a brand new freeeway. Huge pairs of concrete pillars had been built along the valley, often in the river itself. They were awaiting the road surface which would take traffic high above the water. It was hard not to feel pessimistic about the environmental impact of this road on the valley. When completed the presence of the road, combined with associated litter that would be thrown from the vehicles, would be very destructive. Obviously the Chinese still believe in “away”. That place where rubbish can be thrown, apparently without consequence. Even when we got above the freeway construction, we turned a corner and came face to face with a scene from industrial hell. The valley was suddenly filled with white and yellow fumes.  A factory belching out smoke, filling the whole valley:

 This is not to say that we did not see some good birds. A Spotted Bush Warbler showed well in river-side bushes:

In true Black Redstart-like style, a small electricity compound held a lovely male Hodgson’s Redstart:

We climbed higher, to around 3200m and the valley opened up. We could enjoy ourselves again and began birding in the roadside willows on the edge of the treeline:

Eastern Great Tit. A bird with a great latin name: Parus major minor. 

There were phylloscopus warblers in the budding willows, Greenish Warbler:

The singing Dusky Warblers were nearly as elusive as the skulking autumn birds we see in the UK:

Having seen hundreds, I finally got close to a White-capped Water Redstart. They are stunning birds, velvet black throat, deep orange underparts and a glowing white cap:

We checked the river sides and found our first Godlewski’s Bunting. 10 White-browed Rosefinches fed in a ploughed field. Sichuan Leaf Warblers sang from the bushes, as did this male Slaty-backed Flycatcher, delicate in orange, grey and white:

I realised I was really enjoying birding outside of the forests. There was no waiting for hours for skulking robins and the light made photography much easier. Just before lunch we stopped at a known Ibisbill site: 

Unfortunately Chinese development had got there first. The shingle all around the traditional Ibisbill territory had been dredged for building materials. We searched upstream and down but without success. There have probably been Ibisbill nesting in this river valley for thousands of years, ice ages permitting. Now they have gone. To our knowledge no birds have been seen at this site this year.

It was time to cheer ourselves up with food. We had a traditional Chinese lunch, noodles and (Yak?) meat, with Jasmine tea. It has now been a full week since I lasted used a knife and fork, probably my longest period without cutlery since I learnt to use them as a child! 

These children were playing outside of the restaurant. They have a certain Tibetan look to them:

Post lunch things started off with a bang – a roadside Common Pheasant! Our first truly wild one. The abundance of this species in the UK, due to over 30 million birds per year being released into the wild by the shooting industry, meant that we did not linger long over it. Note the lack of a white neck collar on the Sichuan birds:

The willows by the road held more warblers, mostly Hume’s Warblers (below), but with glimpses of birds that looked good for Arctic and Eastern Crowned Warblers. 

We then climbed up onto the plateau proper, to the treeline:

With more open habitat, raptors began to appear. There were lots of distant Himalayan Griffon Vultures, but this juvenile Lammergeier flew right overhead. As it passed I noted that it was the tattiest Lammergeier I have ever seen. On inspection of my pictures I changed my opinion: perhaps it was simply just the luckiest. That hole in the bird’s right wing is the result of a gunshot, not feather moult:

A more pristine Black-eared Kite:

There then came two psychedelic bundles of colour. The first, the marvelous White-browed Tit Warbler:

The second a hitch-hiking Tibetan monk. We gently refused his request for a lift, as we were not going anywhere quickly. We were then pleased to see him overtake us on the back of a motorbike a few minutes later:

White-browed Tits were charismatic residents at the edge of the treeline:

Below,Ian and Roland survey the last of the trees before we drive across the plateau. Here Ian picked out an Oriental White-eye in a flock of Buff-barred Warblers, a ridiculously northern record for such a tropical species. A genuine vagrant or the product of the Chinese tradition of releasing birds for luck? Luck for whom one wonders?

Our first impressions of the Tibetan plateau were of flat grassland, backed by hills. The section of the road nearest the edge has a number of “tea houses”, tents to you and I, where tourists can spend money on tea, horse rides and can photograph the traditional Tibetan bunting (paper, not bird) covered poles.

To us, the birds not the bunting, were immediately more eye catching. The grazed turf held large flocks of Red-billed Chough and Daurian Jackdaws:

There were Azure-winged Magpies perched in distant bushes, Eurasian Cuckoos and Oriental Skylarks filled the air with song while Black-eared Kites wheeled over feeding Ruddy Shelducks:

It was at this point that we were pulled over by an unmarked Chinese police car:

Whilst some of us in the car thought that being arrested for photographing Ruddy Shelducks was a clear case of police harassment, I disagreed. You simply never know where those ruddy ducks have come from or have been. Roland’s fluent Chinese reassured the police officers that we were simply mad westerners looking at birds and we were free to continue on our eccentric way. The day ended in late afternoon rain watching Black-necked Cranes and oh, sorry officer, the autofocus has picked out the Ruddy Shelduck again…

… and quite simply the best wagtail in the world. Some call it Tibetan Wagtail. Some prefer the calcarata subspecies of Citrine Wagtail. It doesn’t matter. It is simply a ball of luminous yellow and black and was fabulous to see:

Next: Eagles, Snowfinches and Accentors on the plateau.

Sunday 15th May

Our final morning on Balangshān, before we continue north towards the Tibetan Plateau. The rain has continued overnight and it rains all through the 50 minute drive to the mountain. As we begin to ascend, the temperature drops and the rains turns to snow. By the time we reach the road tunnel it is apparent that it has snowed all night. 8-10cm of fresh snow coats the forest. I have never seen heavy snow on deciduous forest before. But then I have never seen deciduous forest at 3500m before:

We scan the higher slopes to see if we can find a Monal coming down to feed from its roost site. After 30 minutes or so Roland locates a male Monal descending through the snow. Of all the views of Chinese Monal I had anticipated, tobogganing was not one of them:

:

With little other bird activity we descended to check the mid-altitude slopes of Balangshān . I wondered how insectivores survived in such conditions? 

We soon found out – the sky was filled with large flocks of Plain Mountain Finches and Rosy Pipits all descending from higher altitudes. Birds were pouring out of the sky, landing on the roadside and on verges to feed in snow free areas:

Then into this monochrome scene, a  vivid flash of colour: a fabulous male Blue-fronted Redstart perched up close to the road:

We stopped for breakfast, more porridge from the car… 

… before driving, for the final time, up and over the pass and down the other side of Balangshān. We rose above the clouds, up to 4500m and then dropped down to head towards Rilongzhen:

Birds had clearly descended from the higher slopes down onto this of the mountain too. A large flock of several hundred Brandt’s Mountain Finches fed by the road:

There then followed a procession of great birds, most of which performed nicely for the camera which also benefited from the light reflected off the snow. Male White-throated Redstart:

Pink-rumped Rosefinch:

Streaked and Pink-rumped Rosefinches:

White-browed Rosefinch:

And another stunning male White-throated Redstart:

A Grey-headed Woodpecker was a surprise, especially as it perched up on a rockface for a while:

We then approached Rilongzhen, still high enough to have a dusting of snow, although when the sun broke through the radiation was fierce at this altitude. 

At Rilongzhen we had an enforced stay of about about an hour as the road was closed for roadworks. There was a large wave of warblers above the village, mostly Alpine Leaf Warblers. Again, it was extraordinary to watch phylloscopus warblers feeding in snow covered bushes, although these high altitude species must be adapted to occasional late falls of snow:

Red-billed Chough wheeled overhead, Crossbills were in the pines; warblers were Greenish and Alpine Leaf Warblers and we had our only glimpse of Chinese Babax. A flock of Snow Pigeons glided past, flying like no other pigeon species we had seen. Their effortless, light wingbeats were more reminiscent of gulls. A distant singing  Przevalski’s Nuthatch was a bonus:

Once the road was re-opened at midday, we spent the rest of the afternoon driving north and at some unsigned point we enter the Tibet Autonomous Region. We pass through rural villages in the river valley. This small boy is standing next to a cigarette stall:

China has a problem with smoking. In particular it has a male smoking epidemic. Women rarely smoke, two thirds of Chinese men do. They currently smoke more and start earlier than ever before. The Lancet reports that during this decade, the 2010s, smoking will cause 20% of all adult male deaths in China.  “China is the world’s largest grower, manufacturer, and consumer of tobacco and has the largest workforce devoted to tobacco farming, manufacturing, and sales. Being a government monopoly, China Tobacco (the Chinese National Tobacco Corporation) provides over 7% of the Central Government’s annual revenue through both taxes and net income“. Local beliefs, including that the Chinese are less susceptible to smoking related cancers and that smoking is an intrinsic part of Chinese culture, do little to help. But then fatalism seems to be part of Chinese life. Below, this truck pulled out in front of us to dump a wrecked car into the lorry on the right of the picture as we passed right underneath it. Only us westerners were screaming:

In the late afternoon we reached the Mengbishān pass:

We spent an hour or two searching for Sichuan Jay here, unsuccessfully, but did turn up Crested Tit Warbler and another nice zoothera thrush – Long-tailed Thrush:

As the light fades we descend into a beautiful traditional Tibetan village, Choktse. In this disputed region of communist China, prayers were being held at the temple:

Prayer wheels on the bridge:

The largest town in the region is called Aba, which would have presented endless pun opportunities, but we have arranged to overnight in Barkam instead. Neither sound very Chinese. But then again, the locals would have it that we are no longer in China.

Next: the Tibetan Plateau.

The alarm went off after only 4 hours sleep. Having had only 90 minutes sleep on the overnight flight from London the night before, it was a seriously groggy start to the day, though I still recall the singing Large Hawk Cuckoo in the predawn darkness. We drive west in the dark, leaving Dujiangyan and head into the earthquake zone. On 12th May 2008, eight years ago to the day, this area was the epicentre of the Sichuan earthquake , a 7.9 magnitude earthquake that killed nearly 70,000 people with another 20,000 missing, presumed dead. 370,000 were injured and 4.8 million people were left homeless. The road through the epicentre, which winds alongside a river at the bottom of a steep valley, is still being rebuilt. After an unpleasant (a relative term compared to the human suffering as a result of the earthquake) 15km of potholes and rough track we reached the entrance to a tunnel. It was unclear whether the “road” went through the tunnel, which appeared to be still under construction, or on a dirt track around the hill. Roland chose to go in. We drove into the darkness, not knowing whether we would emerge into daylight on the other side of the mountain or drive into a huge piece of tunnel excavating machinery. After what seemed like an eternity, we see daylight – we were through! We cleared the earthquake zone and began noting birds – our first Blue Whistling Thrush and the first of many hundreds of Plumbeous Water Redstarts we would see. We entered a large valley and began driving uphill towards Wolong:

We arrive at Wolong just before 7am, have a quick breakfast of noodles, then drive a short distance to park at the bottom of the valley. The only way was up. The first thing I noticed about the mountains of China was that the treeline is insanely high. In the Alps the highest decent trees are at around 2000m, higher than that the slopes become bare. In China the treeline finishes at around 3800m – nearly 2km higher! This means you can be walking though deciduous forest and still be well over 3500m high. I found this disorientating and was constantly amazed by how high we were, the landscape gave no clues.

A vision of black, blue and white

The trail was steep and climbed 600 metres pretty quickly. We ignored some common birds on the way up as we wanted to get to the Blackthroat site as early as possible. After 40 minutes of steep uphill walking Roland paused and called, “singing Blackthroat”. The bird was still present. However, seeing this bird would be much harder than hearing it, as it is one of the world’s great skulkers. In fact there are at least 2 birds, possibly three, present, in an area of secondary growth at about 2400m. This is exceptional luck. The first record of Blackthroat at Wolong was just last year. As we were considering a 10 hour drive, each way, to see Blackthroat later in the trip, the unprecedented arrival of multiple birds at Wolong was a huge bonus. Although, as we were to discover later, what Lady Luck gives with one hand, she will take with the other. The nearest Blackthroat sings regularly, but will not allow us a glimpse. Roland recounts a tale of a well known bird tour leader seeing a Blackthroat hop into a small patch of bamboo. He went in and waited, prepared to give the bird time to re-emerge. Six hours later he gave up, without seeing the bird again. We hear our Blackthroat change position occasionally, but the hours begin to pass and still we have no sightings.

Habitat at Wolong, 2400m

We listen, we look. We change our position. We try playback, we try silence. Still the Blackthroat sings from deep within close cover. We retire back to our hollow for some food. I enjoy the instant rise in blood sugar levels and feel my concentration rise and the background tiredness fade slightly. The Blackthroat has stopped singing, we think about other things. Suddenly there is a loud burst of song, Blackthroat song, from just behind us. It is so loud, pure and close that Roland says “Is that birdwatchers?”. Could there be someone on the main track using playback to try to tempt the Blackthroat into the open? Then Ian, pointing frantically, hisses “Its here! It’s here!”. I look up behind me and there, not 3 meters away, perched on bare branches just above us is a vision of black, blue and white: a male Blackthroat. We can see the complete black throat, the underparts glowing white in the darkness under the canopy, the back is blue-grey. There is no time to reach for a camera. I don’t even see the bird in binoculars. Just as my tired, slow brain takes in that we are in the presence of one of least known birds on the planet, it flicks to a perch just up hill of us – still only a few metres away, looks around and is gone. The whole encounter lasts for perhaps 5 seconds. There are scenes of quiet celebration and palpable relief.

The glowing, orange cushion of Wolong

Sleep deprivation and jet lag now begin to catch up with me and I find myself literally nodding off when we sit down, my eyes involuntarily closing. I try to concentrate on staying awake, aware that this is a critical time. We find ourselves sitting in a small hollow a short distance from the main track. I glance up at a tree-filled depression just above us. There is a strange orange glow coming from it, as if someone has turned on a bedside light with an orange shade. What is that? Am I hallucinating? I move away from Ian and Roland and peer over the rim of our hollow into the depression behind us.

Perhaps it is because I have had less than 5 hours sleep in two nights, but I can clearly see that there is a bright orange cushion moving through dense vegetation into the depression, some 5 metres up hill from me. Slowly, so slowly, the penny drops. It is a Tragopan, a male Temminck’s Tragopan and, although I can only see it’s back,  it is coming directly towards me. This is, arguably, the best bird on the planet. Looking back, this was a moment for great cool, for holding my nerve under the pressure of sleep deprivation and excitement. As it was, I humiliate myself. I slide back into the hollow where Ian and Roland are waiting and, barely able to contain my excitement, hiss “male Tragopan, coming towards us, its coming right towards us!”. I reach to grab my camera, pick it up, miss my footing and nearly fall on Roland. “You are moving around too much, it won’t come” says Roland quietly. Too right I am. No half-aware forest floor dwelling bird is going to continue it’s path towards a flapping birder, hissing and falling all over the place. I peer over into the depression above us again. It is empty. The orange glow is gone, the close encounter did’t happen. I have just seen my first Temminck’s Tragopan, yet I feel completely deflated.

We move on up the trail and become aware of the midge bites that we have all suffered whilst awaiting the Blackthroat. Our hands are covered in itchy red bites. We pick up some other nice birds, a soaring Mountain Hawk Eagle, Grey-headed Fulvetta, Long-tailed Minivet, Verditer Flycatcher, Vinaceous Rosefinch, Brown-flanked Bush Warbler and our first taste of the many phylloscopus Warblers – Claudia’s Leaf and Sichuan Leaf being the commonest.

Ian’s hands after the black biting midges of Wolong. The red bites remain itchy for days.

Pygmy Wren Babbler –  a cracking little fella, with a loud distinctive three note song.

Mountain Hawk Eagle, the only raptor of the day.

Verditer Flycatcher

A panarama from “on top” of Wolong, at about 2700m.

Eventually reaching level ground we get easier views of the canopy species. There are Rufous-gorgeted Flycatchers, Green-backed Tits, Sooty Tits, while Himalayan Cuckoos call from nearby hilltops. Being able to watch the many phylloscopus warblers moving through the canopy from above was a real treat. These gems will get their own blog post at some point.

Ian pauses to use the bushes and this toilet break produces a great bird. Ian notices a movement through the bamboo and finds a large parrotbill perched close by, at around head height. The obvious white eye-ring, dark lores and supercilium all indicate it is a rare Three-toed Parrotbill. It promptly peels off a strip of bark, drops into a low bush and begins nest building. Result!

Shortly afterwards we find another parrotbill, this time a monster: a Great Parrotbill. This is by far the largest member of this unique family of birds. It clambers about above us, like a huge thrush. 

“I hope that’s not the pet name for his penis”

In western male culture, when one man strikes a pose on the roadside, legs apart, arms flexed at the elbows, any other men present will instinctively turn away, leaving their companion to empty his bladder in relative privacy. So when Roland announces that he has to use the bushes, Ian and I turn away from him and start scanning for birds 180 degrees away from Roland. This move, strongly subconsciously, nearly reflexive, almost prevents us from seeing one of the most desirable birds of the trip. For Roland, mid-stream so to speak, sees a small bird hop out from the bamboo and begin to feed on the path. It is close enough to him that even without binoculars the startling bright red throat is immediately apparent. Ian and I, still standing 10 metres further down the path, backs turned towards him, hear his shout: “Firethroat!”. In strange contrast to my hysteria over the Tragopan, I am calm enough to pull out a quick one liner: “I hope that’s not the pet name for his penis” I quip. We run towards Roland, throwing cultural behavioural norms out of the proverbial window. As we arrive Roland calls “Firethroat on the path!”. And there, out in the open, is a truly magnificent Firethroat:

The reality of what we have just witnessed takes a few days to sink in. Blackthroat and Firethroat, both seen within a couple of hours of each other on the very first day of our trip. This has to count as a dream start. Not even in our wildest dreams could we have hoped to see two of China’s three rare robins on day one.