Saturday 14th May
Another 4am alarm, but this time after a whole 5.5 hours sleep – bliss and I awake feeling human! I immediately wonder if Ian feels the same way after accidentally drinking a litre of contaminated water yesterday. I poke my head around the door and incredibly he reports feeling completely normal. These Australians are clearly a tough species. This is a great start to the day. We head down to the vehicle and are greeted with further good news – there are constellations above us, the skies are clear. It is an upbeat 50 minute drive from our hotel in Wolong up to the road tunnel on Balangshān: we have all had sleep, nobody has been sick and the skies are crystal clear. It is a chilly -4°C but we are all delighted to be able to see something after yesterdays struggle with the fog. As we stand, at around 3500m, waiting for dawn there is a palpable sense of anticipation. However, our first sighting of the day is not a bird but a Chinese mammal: 
A Chinese Goral. An interesting ungulate, a mixture of antelope and goat. But things quickly get much better as Ian locates a male Chinese Monal, our main target this morning, perched on a rocky outcrop next to the old road that runs around the tunnel. Our first instinct is the right one, to admire this Himalayan beauty through telelscopes, taking in the magnificent blue back and shining gold neck patch. Then, after perhaps 3 seconds and just as we reach for our cameras, it opens it’s wings and glides down the mountain, out of view. I am surprised that a bird the size of a small turkey has such a large white rump patch in flight. Close up, Chinese Monals are quite something to behold:
With a Goral and a Monal under our belts before 7am (and I’ll wager that this is the first time that this particular sentence has been added to the internet) it was time to see as much as we could before the weather closed in. Frustratingly we didn’t have long to wait. Clouds were building up below us and drifting up rapidly. This lovely Chinese White-browed Rosefinch was a nice find after failing to see one yesterday in the fog:
There were Blood Pheasants about, a Kesler’s Thrush hopped around on the high mountain turf and high above us Tibetan Yaks grazed:
Then it was time to get seriously high. We begin the drive up to the pass at 4500m. We ascended for a while and rise above the treeline. In China this means that you are approaching 4km high. Just before the serious switchbacks began, we pulled in. The clouds had caught up with us, visibility was again completely rubbish:
We stepped from the car and immediately I felt odd. I realised that I had developed a thumping headache. My feet felt like I was wearing boots weighted with lead in contrast to my head, which felt as light as air. I looked over at Ian, “Do you feel light-headed?“. Reassuringly, in a strange kind of way, he felt the same. So this was what oxygen deprivation felt like – we had the common symptoms of mild altitude sickness. We had a very necessary breakfast of porridge by the car and occasionally gaps began to appear in the clouds. Although every step was a strange and mighty effort that also increased my headache, there were birds to be seen up here on the scree slopes, including smart Rosy Pipits:
Then a Tibetan Snowcock called from close to the road. There is something special about Snowcocks. The very fact that they are only found on the world’s highest peaks means that special effort will be required to simply get into their habitat. Snowcocks also have evocative, melancholic calls that echo around their slopes. The calls of these birds, although slightly different, immediately took my mind back to the Caucasus Mountains of Georgia, where I last saw and heard Snowcock. After a short period of searching it was Roland who located the calling pair of Tibetan Snowcock. The birds seemed settled, so we climbed a short distance uphill for a better view. Walking uphill, I was still fascinated by the inefficient way my body was operating on 50% less oxygen.
We then we hit the switchbacks and climb up to the pass at 4500m, still surrounded by cloud:
As the ground levels off and I reach the highest point that I have ever been on Earth, we come across one of the bluest birds on the planet: a male Grandala. Technically a thrush, Grandala are found between 3900m and 5500m in the Himalayas. Our first bird was a distant female. The second a resplendent male, not only close to the road, but also hopping about amongst yellow flowers, just to set off that outrageous blue plumage. Please be warned, if you are not wearing protective eye-wear the following images may damage your sight. Grandala are super-blue:
And just to show that I have not used photoshop to enhance the colours on the above images, here is some more wobbly video, hand held from the car. As you watch this video, imagine an Australian voice saying, “turn your head you f****r, turn your head!” And that, Ian, is why there is no soundtrack 🙂
We begin descending and there are just fabulous birds all over the place. A smart Red-fronted Rosefinch by the road:
A stunning raspberry red male Streaked Rosefinch:
And some good, albeit slightly less colourful birds, Plain Mountain Finches:
We then descend several hundred meters to this area of stunted sea buckthorn, at perhaps around 4000m:
These low shrubs are home to our first target Rubythroat species: the stunning Himalayan Rubythroat. It does not take long:
The first glimpse of that ruby coloured throat is always a special moment. The large black lower border sets off the white moustachial stripes and supercilium very nicely, this is a dazzling bird! There were 2 or 3 singing males present. Himalayan Rubythroat seem to sit out much more willingly than their Siberian cousins, although most of the birds that we saw were quite distant. Just as I lined up the picture below of a singing male, two American cyclists passed by in the background. They were clearly more altitude adjusted than we were. Our heads were thick with hypoxia, we had pumping headaches and exertion worsened everything. But the cyclists pulled over on the switchback above us and I felt compelled to climb up and have a chat. They were endearingly modest about their achievements and fitness. This is one challenging mountain range to cycle over. 
I wondered what the Chinese made of cycling for pleasure? China is a country where there is an apparently insatiable demand for car ownership. China makes more cars than any other country on Earth, often controversially by copying western models and selling them as Chinese designs. After thousands of years of poverty for the majority of the population, giving up the trappings of recently acquired wealth and choosing to cycle, not drive, must appear to be incomprehensible behaviour: 
Back in the sea buckthorn, we also found Rufous-breasted Accentors, delicate in orange and brown:
The afternoon was drawing in. We drove back up towards the pass and pulled in for one final exploration of the higher slopes. The snow patches were large up here and fittingly Roland heard a Snow Partridge calling. We climbed up higher and found a small group of Snow Partridge on the skyline:
Even better, and much closer, was a fantastic mixed flock of Plain Mountain Finches, Brandt’s Mountain Finches, Alpine Accentors and Grandala:
Above and below, Brandt’s Mountain Finch.
Alpine Accentor. Always good to see, their plumage is full of features:
Then, with a few 4000m+ selfies in the bag, it was time to head back down from the pass:
We drove past the road tunnel and sought out another member of the phesant family, Verreaux’s Monal Partridge. Having seen Verreaux’s Eagle in Oman, I figure that any bird with Verreaux’s name associated with it must be worth seeing. We approach a group of calling birds and one of them pops it’s head up for long enough for me to get a few pictures. The chestnut throat (this bird is also known as Chesnut-throated Partridge) and red eye ring stood out well in the gloom:
Heavy rain curtails our late afternoon birding. On the journey back into the valley for our final night at Wolong, a flash of colour reveals a roadside Black-capped Kingfisher:
A dinner of Yak meat, vegetables and rice awaits us before we retire. Just before I get into bed I notice a slight shaking of the room. Not entirely surprising, I have experienced sleep deprivation for days and altitude sickness today, it would not be surprising if things seemed a little wobbly at the edges. It is only when I lie down that I realise that the bed is also shaking slightly. All my tiredness is instantly removed by a rapid infusion of adrenaline: the shaking is being caused by an earthquake. Having driven through the epicentre of the Sichuan earthquake which killed over 100,000 people in 2008 only two days previously, I am immediately concerned. The news that since 2008 all buildings have to be built to withstand earth tremors is tempered by the build quality of the new accommodation block in which we are in sleeping: the windows don’t fit into the walls, the steps don’t fit into the building. I’m no structural engineer, but I know this building won’t resist much movement. I quickly look outside from the window, the village has power, no-one is in the streets. This seems good. I walk towards the other bedroom to wake Ian and Roland and then the shaking stops. It lasted perhaps 90 seconds. Deciding that there is no point in waking anybody, I go to bed and, despite my adrenaline nightcap, I am asleep in seconds.
Next: snow and towards Tibet.