Jodi in China
Saturday, October 18, 2008
So, another day of bus travel and we made it back to Shangri-la. That was a month ago already now, so I am way behind in my story-telling. I have had a busy month since returning from the alpine, with a few overnight and daytrip fieldwork near Shangri-la. I hope to tell about these adventures eventually, but thought I would give an update on my life while I am in Shangri-la. On October 1, we started renting a Tibetan house in Old Town of Shangri-la. It is a big old house, a little bit dumpy because it hasn’t been kept up for a few months, but with lots of space, some furniture, and best of all, a wood stove. The house itself is kind of like a barn that has been fixed up for people to live in, so no insulation and a little drafty. Since it is getting pretty cold (high of 60 in the day, heavy frosts at night) I get a special pleasure out of the stove. When the sun starts to go down, the temperature, outside and insidel, drops rapidly. I love the evening ritual of bringing in the wood, starting, feeding and stoking the fire, and feeling the big old house slowly warm up.
I have become very interested to study songbirds here, there is a great diversity of them, and it seems that no one else has studied them. But the first step to studying them is to figure out how I would go about identifying them. So I have been devoting some time at the Shangri-la Botanical gardens, which is a safe place to walk around by myself, and has several different habitats in a relatively small area. It is a lot of fun, stalking the secretive ones and adding to my list every day. My favorites so far are the laughingthrushes. They are big, clumsy, and giggle a lot. But I have to admit it is a little tough going sometimes, and I have a really long way to go before I could consider doing any serious bird research. I am a birding novice, I haven’t found a great field guide for the region, nor have a found a local expert that could teach me about the birds specific to this area. But I have made a little headway, and I continue to search for a local expert to help me out. So far, I have identified around 40 species, and there are ~ 20 others I have seen but haven’t been able to identify. Just for you AWOL’ers, here is my list so far (I suspect your lists would be at least twice as long):
Common Hoopoe
A couple of pics of my birding territory. Although the autum forests aren't as pretty as Wisconsin, there are some nice fall colors.
Our Tibetan house in Shangri-la.
The downstairs of the house, and my new best friend, the wood stove.
Monday, October 13, 2008
The next morning, while drinking our yak butter tea, we discussed our plans for the day. Michelle explained to our guide that we wanted to return to the sites we had seen the day before, for data collection. Upon hearing this, our guide smoked his cigarette thoughtfully for a couple of minutes, and then politely suggested that there were better sites close to our hut. Michelle explained that we didn’t see any appropriate sites close to the hut, but that those other sites were just right for us. He again smoked his cigarette and pondered things for a couple of minutes, and then politely suggested that we it would be better to collect data at his friend’s pastures, which we had passed through on our first day hiking to the hut. Michelle explained that those sites just weren’t right for what we wanted to do. Again, he lit up another smoke, and thought a couple of minutes more, chattered in Tibetan with the other herders, and then in Mandarin politely explained that the sites we were interested in just wouldn’t be right for our data collection.
For sure, there was something going on about our guide’s relationship with the herders at the the sites where we wanted to collect data. What it was, we had no way of knowing. And we really didn’t want to press the issue, because in fact the research we are conducting is kind of a delicate matter. We are interested in sites that have been recently burned, and burning has been illegal for the past 15 years. Michelle and I, before arriving in Adong, had already discussed the possibility that researching burn sites may give bad attention to those that are illegally burning. Although the motives of the research are pure - to provide evidence that the burning ban is negative both for herders’ livelihoods and biodiversity - we recognized that there is a risk that researching such a sensitive issue could potentially have bad consequences for those who are breaking the law. When we discussed it before the trip, we had decided that the risk was small, and that the Adong village alpine territories are so far off the beaten path that that Chinese officials are unlikely to investigate this area.
Our guide and the other herders we met are proud and independent, and continue to manage their lands in the way they think is best. They are certainly no dummies, and they surely recognize there is a risk to guiding outsiders to areas where they are breaking the law, and helping us take pictures and collect data about these areas. It is their land, and we are entirely dependent on them to access it. They had given us their trust so far, and we did not want to jeapordize that trust.
In the end, by the time we had drained our bowls of yak butter tea, Michelle and I decided not to press the issue. We thought that by insisting against our guide’s wishes (whatever the political or personal issues may be), we might raise too many red flags with him and the other villagers. By insisting on certain sites, we could see that we may cause the doors to close for any research at all in the Adong alpine territories. So, we abandoned our hopes to sample our ideal sites, and worked on a Plan B.
Our Plan B was to make a day trip to our guide’s summer pastures. Michelle had already visited their pastures, and thought there may be some good potential sites, although not as good as what we had seen the day before. Although our guide’s son and his yaks had already left for the season, we could make a day trip there, collect some data, and make it back to our hut by nightfall. So, right after breakfast, we started out for another marathon day.
It was about a 4 hour hike to get to our guide’s pastures, back down into the forest and then up into another alpine valley. It is a beautiful valley, but alas had no great sites. Since we were scheduled to return back down to the Adong village the next day, we were running out of time. We chose the best sites available to do some data collection, at the very least it will be useful to try out our methodology and get some preliminary data. At 5pm, we had finished 3 transects, and had two hours left of daylight to cover the same distance – 4 hours steady hiking of steep and rocky up and down, not to mention a few slippery log crossings over rushing mountain rivers. To do the return trip, we had to practically sprint the damn thing. Thankfully, nobody got hurt, and we arrived at the hut in the dark, just as the stars started twinkling in the sky. (I wish I could take pictures of the stars here – pretty amazing). This hike was so intense, all three of us non-Tibetans -- me, Michelle and Li Hong -- were completely spent. Even our guide admitted he was a little bit tired. We ate, laid out our beds, and the three of us were asleep by 9pm. I didn’t even remember to brush my teeth.
The next morning we got up extra early and collected a transect at a site above the hut just for good measure, and then started the 8-hour hike down to Adong village. After four days of sweaty hiking and no water for bathing, all of our feet were shot. Poor Li Hong took off his cotton socks in the middle of the day, and hiked the rest of the way just in his $4 canvas military shoes. Back down at the village he revealed his bare feet, rubbed raw and bloody. Mine were a bit blistered and lot achy, but I guess thanks to $10 Smartwool socks and $100 Goretex hiking boots, they were not nearly in as bad of shape as Li Hong’s.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
That morning we had to once again transform our our side of the hut, this time from our sleeping area into our breakfast area. At breakfast, in my soggy boots (stashed in a corner of the hut all night) and my pants more soaked than when I had hung them outside the night before (morning dew? or yak saliva?), I sat next to the fire drinking my yak butter tea. We were discussing where we would go to on our first day in the alpine. Our guide had told Michelle that about a 6 hour hike away were the best, most productive summer pastures in the Adong village territory. Michelle was intrigued by what kinds of vegetation we might find there. So we decided to trek over to those meadows, looking for our study sites along the way.
What kind of study sites were we searching for? Michelle has developed the hypothesis that Tibetan yak husbandry practices contributes to the high biodiversity of the alpine ecosystems in this region. The alpine areas are not usable for grazing or farming for 6 months out of the winter because they are covered with snow or senesced vegetation. At the end of spring when the snow has melted, the herders will come up to investigate their summer pastures, and burn small patches of shrubland to create more grass for their yaks. Then, in June when the meadows are green and productive, they will bring their yaks up for the summer months. The grazing pressure on these pastures is historically relatively low, because the yak density per acre is not very high. Michelle hypothesizes that this combination of low-density grazing and rotational burning has created a more biodiverse alpine ecosystem that would otherwise exist.
About 15 years ago, the Chinese government ordered a ban against herder’s burning, with the goal being to promote forest growth and watershed protection. In alpine areas where the burning ban has been followed, there should be shrub and forest encroachment into the alpine meadows. Shrub encroachment is evident in many areas, especially those close to roads where burning can be monitored. Part of our collaborative research is to try to quantify the shrub encroachment since the burn ban at the regional scale.
Because Adong village and their alpine pastures are very remote, burning practices still continue. At the same time, Adong’s alpine meadows are some of the diverse found in the region. We decided to go to Adong because another goal of ours is to address Michelle’s hypothesis that burning promotes meadow biodiversity. So throughout our treks, we were searching for areas with different burn histories, where we could measure the plant types and cover, in our first attempts to address her hypothesis about the positive relationship between periodic burning and meadow biodiversity.
So we set off bright and early. We did a lot of up and down, but mostly stayed around 4200m, in the tree-less alpine, taking tons of pictures and asking lots of questions along the way. We saw lots of burn sites, but none were quite appropriate – some were too small, or on the wrong slopes or at the wrong elevation, some were isolated without any good comparison sites nearby. But about ¾ of the way to the “best pastures”, we saw a hillside with burn patches that Michelle and I agreed met all of our criteria as perfect sites to collect our vegetation transect data, and that we would return the following day for data collection.
Shortly after we saw these sites, our guide pointed to a very very very high mountain pass in front of us, and informed us that our destination was just on the other side of the pass. I had weathered the altitude surprisingly well so far, but this was going to be the “moment of truth”. We started up, me in the rear of the pack. As we climbed we passed through the shrubs, and then the meadows, and then the sparser meadows, and then to the rocky alpine scree, a stretch of loose rocks that would give and slide with each step. There was more and more distance between me and the other three as we climbed, because my breathing became more labored and my footing very insecure in such unfamiliar terrain. Then we came to a stretch of large boulders that we had to scramble up and over on our hands and knees. These boulders also would slide and teeter scarily with each step, and I became increasingly wary. Finally, I was kind of overcome by a (somewhat irrational) fear that to continue any further would result an inconvenient adjustment in the boulders. I envisioned that the next step would result in a terrible landslide, with me ending up far below, bloodied and broken, under a pile of boulders. I found myself paralyzed, unable to continue.
I stood there a minute or two, catching my breath, and, well, not moving. I heard Michelle shout from way above:
Michelle: “Are you coming?”
Me: “ummmm, I think if I take another step I will cause a landslide. And all the rocks will fall. And I will end up dead under a pile of boulders."
Silence. Then I heard Michelle translate this to our guide, and him responding something back.
Michelle: “He thinks that, probably, that’s not going to happen.”
Probably? I look up at the 200m or so of the same terrain above, and then look down at 100m of the same terrain I had already passed through. I was screwed – what should I do? I stood there paralyzed a couple of more minutes.
Michelle: “Are you coming?”
Me: “
No answer from above. I wait a couple of more minutes, unable to act. Then all of the sudden, my worst fears! There are some rocks and boulders shifting and tumbling above me! I look up, expecting to see a wave of boulders tumbling towards me. But instead here comes our guide, practically running down the scree, sure-footed as a mountain goat. He kind of skids to a stop right above me, and with a big grin and a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, gallantly offers his hand. “Well”, I say to myself, “I guess I’m going up.” I take his hand, and slowly but surely, hand in hand, we climb together up to the pass. Michelle got a big kick out of this one, so documented it all in play-by-play photographs. So we can remember it always.
At the pass we ate lunch, and then made our way down to the “best pasture”, a beautiful alpine valley with fresh, clean, abundant water and countless beautiful meadow plants. By the time we had investigated this valley, it was already past mid-day, and we had to high-tail it back to home. Our guide chose a different route back to our hut, to avoid the scary alpine scree. We made it back to the hut, exhausted but happy with all that we had seen that day, and a plan for where to collect data tomorrow, just as the daylight was ending. The rest of the evening was a replay of the night before: yak butter tea, fried pork fat, steamed bread, and my entertaining bedtime routine.
Me, crawling up the scree.
My hero escorts me to the top.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Night was falling when we arrived to the herder hut. We were greeted by about 40 yaks, jingling along because of big bells strapped around their necks, and our guide’s two Tibetan yak herder friends, the occupants of the hut. They had no way to know that a group of 4 was coming to invade their hut for the next several days, but they didn’t seem peeved. In fact, it became clear as the days and nights wore on that we were a welcome break from their usual monotony. Not only because their buddy, our guide, was visiting, but also because having a Chinese guy come visit was pretty novel – and then you throw in two foreign girls too? It was certainly an unprecedented visit to their hut, and a source of constant entertainment, I’m sure.
Arriving at the hut, I already had a plan. Change out of my clothes – sopping wet from sweat and rain – into some warm longjohns and outer layers, dry my boots by the fire, eat some food, and sleep. Things did not go exactly as planned. The hut was about 2 yaks wide, 3 yaks long, and about 1 yak high. Strewn about all over was empty cigarette packs, empty liquor bottles, little mounds of yak poo, and other sundry garbage items of bachelor yak herder life. The walls and roof were made of rough timber, and the floor of plain old packed dirt. About ¼ of the space, the whole center of the hut, was taken up by the fire, cooking utensils, and a makeshift altar to the Buddha. About ½ of the space was taken up by rows of yak cheese, yak butter, and herding and milking gear. That left the final ¼ of space (maybe about 1 yak?) for 6 people to eat, sleep, and, well, co-exist. Maybe I am exaggerating a little on the space, but not much.
Everybody else sat down by the fire to rest, but I was already shivering. The temperature had plummeted (we were at 4200m, above tree line), I was soaked, and so I dug some dry clothes out of my backpack and went outside with the yaks to change. Amazingly enough, no one else in our little group changed a bit of clothing the whole four days we were together. And our two yak herder hosts had definitely not changed clothes for the whole time they had been up there (2 months without a break!). Usually I am a sucker for peer pressure, but I just couldn’t resist having a change between day and night clothes every day. I learned a lot a lot during this trip, but probably the thing I learned that will stick with me the longest is what a wimp I am compared to this hardy group I was traveling with!
I came back into the hut with my wet clothes and damp boots in hand. I set my boots by the fire. Ooops! Fire is sacred, and not for setting dirty boots around. I managed to find a couple of pegs to hang my clothes on. Oops! Shirts are ok, but pants must be hung up outside. As Michelle explained these rules to me, I held in my laughter out of respect for my hosts, but I know I didn’t hide my look of disbelief as I looked around at the littered and jumbed hut. It was quite surreal that in such a chaotic and dirty place that rules would exist. But who am I to say? I put my things where they told me was ok, and plopped down by the fire.
Our hosts had just got done milking the yaks, and they came in and sat down and started preparing food. For the next four days our guide and our two hosts gaily prepared all of our food, laughing and joking in Tibetan the whole time. Yak butter tea, fresh yak cheese cut off in hunks from the piles on the edges of the hut, steamed bread, and thick slices of pork fat were the staples of our diets over the next four days, with a few potatoes and veggies mixed in.
After dinner, the Tibetans, on "their side" of the hut, cleared the supper dishes next to the fire, threw down a couple of yak hides, and each covered up with a thick wool blanket. It was clear they were set put for the night. On "our side" of the hut, uss three foreigners – me, Michelle and Li Hong our Chinese botanist-- followed suit and transformed our dining area into our sleeping area (in total about the size of a queen-size bed). As I pulled out my bright green thermarest and started inflating it, my Tibetan hosts stared at me with wide eyes and half-concealed smiles. Then I pulled out my inflatable pillow/neck rest and blew it up -- my hosts let out some stifled giggles. I unpacked my bright-orange, reflective space-suit material sleeping bag. My hosts couldn't take it any more - they laughed out loud in jolly amusement - they'd never seen such silliness! All set for bed I realized, darnit!, I forgot to brush my teeth. I crawl out of my sleeping bag, dig in my backpack a few minutes, haul out my toiletry kit, get out my toothbrush and Crest, brush my teeth, put on my boots to go outside and spit, etc. etc, all under the watchful gaze and constant chatter of the Tibetans. I can't understand anything of what they are saying, but it's not too hard to imagine- they are thinking this is the best entertainment ever, and at the same time sincerely confused at why I am making life so difficult? But finally....snug as can be wedged between Li Hong and Michelle, I fell asleep listening to the laughs and patter of our 3 Tibetan friends, who continued smoking and drinking swigs of cheap, strong rice liquor into the night.
I slept pretty good, and woke up the following morning to the laughs and patter of our 3 Tibetan friends, who had beat us out of the sack and were already busy making a new fire and making the breakfast yak butter tea. I opened my eyes, but couldn’t see to well, and I realized it was because my eyes were kind of swollen shut. Whether it was due to the cigarette and wood smoke in that poorly ventilated hut, or the altitude, or some other thing, I am not sure. But every morning I would wake up with swollen, itchy, inflamed eyes, and it would take a few minutes of fresh air before I could see very well.
On my first morning foray out into the meadow to find “the ladies room” (not so easy in an alpine grassland occupied by 40 yaks and 4 men) , I also found our water source. It was a sad dribbling spout of water channelized from a tiny meadow stream, and all above yaks tramping all over. I realized instantly why our boiled water from the night before was so brown and full of floaties. Any thoughts I had had of washing off occasionally in cold, clear mountain stream were done for. Even though we passed many such beautiful rivers during our hikes, there wasn’t such a thing close to our hut.
The hut from above.
The rest of our happy family.
This guy is milking a yak. The herders are busy with hard work all day long. In addition to herding and keeping track of the yaks, they milk them 2 times/day. The rest of the day is spent making fresh cheese and butter, by hand, from the yak milk. Every 10 days, someone (usually a family member) treks up from the village carrying food and supplies for the men, and the next day hauls the cheese and butter back down to the village. This is the routine during late spring, summer, and early fall, when the alpine areas are green and not covered by snow.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
So, after this trip to the botanical garden, and after a couple of days of schmoozing and preparations in Shangri-la, Michelle and I headed out for our first fieldtrip. Michelle is a botanist who is studying plant diversity in alpine ecosystems. Alpine ecosystems in this region are traditionally defined in this region as areas above 4000m (~12,000 feet). Tree-line in the region occurs right around 4000 meters, so Michelle is primarily interested in the plant diversity in the shrubs, meadows, and scree (rocky mountaintops) environments. I was pretty excited to go with her, because I had never been to an alpine area, I know nothing about them, and so I knew I was going to learn a lot.
There are several areas of alpine ecosystems near main roads. However, Michelle is pretty hardcore, and is interested in the most remote, unimpacted sites, because they contain the most diverse and interesting plants. So, it was going to be a several-days long adventure to get to and then spend time in, and then get back from, the sites that we wanted to visit.
We focused on visiting the summer pasture sites of the Adong village, a remote Tibetan village way up in the north of NW Yunnan, about as close as you get get to
We stayed the night, the next day, and the next night in his big, beautiful Tibetan house in the village, as our guide made preparations for our journey. So, finally two days later, we set out at 8am for the 12 hour hike up to the alpine. And what a hike it was! We went from about 2300m in the village to 4200m, where the herder hut is. We passed through our guide’s village, another village higher up, and then a long stretch of beautiful mature forests of spruce, fir, birch, poplar, and oak trees, many with long strands of lichens streaming from the gnarled branches. At tree line, the forest vegetation began changing into oak shrubs, rhododendrons, and stunted junipers. We continued climbing, and about at nightfall, exhausted and gasping for air (well, mostly it was only me who was gasping for air), we reached the alpine meadows and the herder hut which would be our home for the next 4 days.
Wandering around the Adong village while waiting for our guide's preparations, we found this big beautiful walnut tree, equipped with a ladder to climb up and harvest the nuts (or pose for a picture).
Starting the hike up through the villages.
Looking down on some terrace agriculture fields.
Beautiful mountain river.
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