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.