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.

Nine months later I found myself on board a British Airways Dreamliner, grateful that Chinese economic expansion had tempted the company to offer direct flights from London.

It was dawn on Wednesday 11th May and we were circling Chengdu, the capital of the south-western province of Sichuan. A glance at a map of China reveals that there are many cities the size of Chengdu plus many that are much larger. Shanghai now has an estimated population of 34 million people. I was shocked to discover that Chengdu has a population of over 18 million and that there are 15 cities in China larger than London, with populations of over 10 million people. 1.38 billion Chinese have to live somewhere and increasingly where they live is in huge sprawling cities. Rural migration into the cities has reached the point where parents leave their child at home to be raised by it’s grandparents, the so-called “left-behind children“, while they search for work in the cities. In poor populations it still is usually the case that there is only one child per couple, despite the state relaxing the One Child policy on 1st January 2016 to allow two children before a fine is imposed.

Bird deaths at the airport

But it wasn’t the population of the city below me that first attracted my attention.It was the size of the roads. Even from the air I could see 6, 8 and 10 lane superhighways, vast, wide roads. This was a country trying to catch up with the needs of its ever growing population. The consequence of millions of people recently becoming able to afford cars generated the second thing to strike me: air pollution. There was a yellowish haze settled over the city. Only objects in the near distance appeared remotely clear, the buildings in the far distance were nearly invisible in the smog. I was already looking forward to leaving town and we hadn’t even landed yet.

Unfortunately landing produced an even more depressing spectacle. Along the far side of the airport were long lines of mist nets, each several meters high and each holding the bodies of hundreds of slowing dying birds. These nets have been erected to prevent bird strikes on aircraft. Unfortunately they only seem to catch much smaller birds, ones that could not possibly pose a threat to a rotating jet turbine engine or the passengers on board. These birds are attracted to the only large area of grass around the city and this story is repeated at airports across the country (see this Birding Beijing article). This proved to be our first experience of many Chinese state projects, done on the sort of massive scale that only a dictatorship can actualise. In China, the state owns all land. Whilst an individual may own a house, the state can decide to drive an 18 lane superhighway through your valley leaving you with nothing but a compensation claim.

Having the potential for absolute control inevitably leads to absolute state paranoia. For the visiting birder this can also have consequences. For example, there are no large scale maps available. Only the state has access to this information. The tourist is just left with nice colourful small scale tourist maps. Visiting tourists are also unable to drive in China (unless they want to go through the process of acquiring a Chinese driving licence). After some research and some discussion between Ian (in Adelaide, Australia) and myself (in Oxford, UK) we decided that we would see more birds if we used someone who knew the birding sites and could also act as driver and translator.  Roland Zeidler was our man.

Plastic fantastic

I arrive at Chengdu airport and was processed with incredible efficiency. However, I was greeted (image below) with a scene of a plastic, idealised version of nature: Pandas at play. This is something that it would appear the Chinese authorities are striving for in their management of their national parks. This theme would reoccur throughout our stay in Sichuan.

Nature must be neat, with wild animals gambling quietly on sun dappled lawns. Paradoxically, it is an almost simplistic Disney inspired version of the natural world, which has nothing to do with biodiveristy, habitat protection or the complex wild, wet, insect and bug laden systems that have evolved over millions of years and supports a billion forms of life, but which human activity seems intent on reducing to nothing in a matter of generations.

My bag was the first one out and 30 minutes after landing Roland ran through arrivals to met me. Roland is a genuinely nice guy. A gentle man, whose natural Germanic organisational skills run up against the steel wall of Chinese state bureaucracy on a regular basis. Naturally such frustration will build up and occasionally spill out, sometimes leading to amusing outbursts. To hear Roland’s German accent cursing the Chinese destruction of forest with choice phrases such as “Zees people should be shot in zee head!” or upon seeing the horrendous plastic Las Vegas style township in Jaizhougou and grimly sighing “One bomb izz not enough” was very amusing. And we agreed with every word. Roland is also a good birder, knows most of the calls and can use payback to bring the trickier birds out. We estimate that Roland enabled us to see at least 60% more species than if we had visited the birding sites independently and gone in without a guide.

As Ian was not arriving from Australia, via Hong Kong, until that evening Roland and I went birding in Chengdu for the afternoon. We first stopped at the river, just south of the largest building on earth (in terms of volume). There is nothing else I can add about this building, it is just one huge block of steel and glass. I believe there is a beach complete with waves inside. The view from the river:

I had my first good looks at Asian Red-rumped Swallow, with their distinctive heavily streaked breasts:

The local doves were Spotted, the local finches were Grey-headed Greenfinches and there were White-cheeked Starlings, Plain Prinias, Long-tailed Shrikes, Crested Mynas and Vineous-throated Parrotbills in the bushes. The margins of the river held Little Egrets, Chinese Pond Herons and Night Herons, plus Little Ringed Plover and Common Sandpiper.

In the late afternoon we visited the Bailu Wan Wetland in south east Chengdu. This was a rather more scenic spot, though once again a sanitised version of nature and the sprawling city loomed, never far from sight:

Chinese Grosbeaks, Black-winged Cuckoo-Shrike and Oriental Magpie Robin were the highlights:

All hotel rooms begin with an 8

That evening we picked up Ian from Chengdu airport. Roland then gives us some great news. Sid has called to say there is at least one Blackthroat singing at Wolong. This is one of our major targets, but with the usual sites being inaccessible it would have required a 10-12 hour drive each way to stand a chance of seeing one of the world’s rarest and least known birds. To have one (or more?!) singing at a site just 2 hours away, meant a rapid but essential change to our itinerary. We decide to visit Wolong the very next day and overnight at a hotel in Roland’s home town of Dujiangyan.

Dujiangyan gave us our first experience of Chinese hotels and their obsession with superstition surrounding the “lucky” number 8. We were given rooms numbered 8405 and 8406. But when we entered the lift there were only 6 floors in the hotel. Roland explained that the number 8 is seen as a lucky number in China and therefore all Chinese room numbers begin with number 8. So we had to go to the fourth floor and find rooms 405 and 406 and ignore the 8. Similarly, hotels will try to get as many 8s into their phone numbers and wifi passwords as possible. We quickly noticed that often the wifi password were eight 8s in a row. In fact on a couple of occasions we didn’t even ask for the password, but just entered eight 8s and were logged on. This makes having a wifi password seem somewhat redundant: if in China just try eight 8s.

I hit the pillow at 1am, the alarm set for 4:40am. Having only had 90 minutes sleep on the plane the previous night, I was not not looking forward to hearing my alarm the following morning. Except that it would mean we were heading for Wolong!

I have come to realise that my very favourite birding is high altitude birding. There is something about the combination of stunning mountain vistas, combined with the very special birds that live up there and the very physical exercise involved in getting up high, that is very appealing. First from the Alps, then to the high peaks of the Tarus Mountains in Turkey, to the Atlas range in Morocco and even further to the Canadian Rockies, some of my favourite birding experiences have been above 2000 metres. Such special habitats also hold very special birds.

In the summer of 2015 I received an email from Ian Reid, formerly of Oxford, now a resident of Adelaide, Australia, informing me that he had a significant birthday in May 2016. Ian asked if I would be interested in helping him celebrate with a birding trip to somewhere special. He enclosed a list of potential destinations, but due to my inexperience of south-east Asian birding, most of the names meant nothing to me. However, one destination jumped out of the page at me: Sichuan in China. Spring migration in China? Now that sounded VERY interesting. A little research revealed that Sichuan was not one of those Chinese island migrant hotspots with, if the wind is blowing in the right direction, Siberian migrants jumping out of every bush. Instead it appeared to offer a combination of high altitude birding with many fabulous mountain species, combined with the chance to see some of the most highly desired eastern migrants. Having seen the colours and sounds of spring migration in Europe and North America a trip to Sichuan in May also presented the possibility of seeing spring migration on the Eastern Flyway.

Three rare Chinese Robins

Rufous-headed Robin, Blackthroat, Firethroat. The holy grail of world birding. Three of the world’s rarest, least know birds. All beautiful robins, but all complete skulkers, never coming out into the open, always singing or sitting deep within cover. A nightmare to glimpse, let alone see well. They would be tough to get to, let alone tough to see. Perhaps only a few thousand people have ever seen these three species. Learning that a trip to Sichuan would give us a chance to get close to, if not actually see, three of China’s rarest robins only added to the excitement of planning the trip.

It was time to respond to Ian’s email. Beginning with the requisite “I thought you turned fifty ten years ago” line, I jumped at the chance to explore eastern Tibet and western Sichuan. The trip was on! 

Ian did most of the basic research. Sid Francis is the go-to man for those wishing to go biding in Sichuan. When we contacted Sid in summer 2015 he was already booked for our available dates in May 2016, however he recommended his colleague Roland Zeidler, a German birder (now there’s a rarity) who has lived in China for 18 years, is fluent in English and Mandarin and has been birding Sichuan for the last 10 years. We took the plunge, booked Roland and began saving, planning and researching for the trip.