On the fourth day, which was also the final day of bird watching in northwest Sichuan, we spent the morning in the car, traveling from Zoige back to Huanglong. According to the law of conservation of luck, if we had no luck in the morning, we should have some in the afternoon.
In the afternoon, we visited the same area near Chuanzhusi as on the first day, but took a different route. The first day was a small circle, while this time it was a medium circle, three to four times harder than the small circle. The small circle only took about an hour with no uphill roads, while the medium circle required crossing over a mountain with obvious uphill and downhill sections, taking about four hours in total. The local devout Tibetans walk a big circle when circumambulating the mountain, crossing over three large mountains, taking seven to eight hours in total. If taking pictures, it would take even more time, so we only did the medium circle. Circumambulating the mountain means walking around a big mountain. There were no paved roads in the mountains, mostly dirt paths made by people. When drilling through the forest, tree roots were randomly tangled in the muddy ground, making climbing even more difficult. In the mountains, stopping and resting was normal, not just for photography, but also because climbing mountains at high altitude was a challenge for both physical and cardiovascular endurance. Most of our travel
companions were gasping for breath, and the team couldn't move too fast. Although I had been exercising for a long time, I felt tired too. So I fantasized about encountering a blood pheasant, which would release dopamine and adrenaline to relieve my fatigue. But as we walked on and on, there was no sign of any blood pheasant. I pessimistically thought that maybe the quails from yesterday had drained all the pheasants today. Perhaps it was not that the heavens did not want us to return empty-handed after climbing mountains with such hardship, but rather that our circumambulating and spinning of prayer wheels had worked, and a small black shadow suddenly appeared in the sky when we were about to run out of strength. Looking up, I thought it was a black-faced babbler at first, but its body shape looked quite different. It was a bird similar to a magpie, but obviously different. After taking a blurry photo, the teacher next to me excitedly whispered, "This is a black-headed
jay!"
The black-headed jay is an endangered specie, a nationally protected animal, and a unique species in China. Its habitat is the coniferous forest at an altitude of about 4000 meters. This was the first time the black-headed jay was discovered at this location, with no previous records! Earlier, it was said that one pheasant is worth ten birds, but this time one black-headed jay was worth ten pheasants! That group of black-headed jays left the less obstructed forest before I could react, and I was too slow to capture them. Just when I was feeling extremely regretful about my sluggishness, the black-headed jays flew back in groups. Normally, these birds are solitary or in pairs, but this time there were about ten of them, which delighted me. After noticing our presence, they didn't immediately fly
away but rather leisurely continued their activities as if we weren't there.
For the rest of the mountain journey, I was immersed in the shock of encountering the black-headed jay, and the blood pheasant that I had been looking for from start to finish did not appear. We shouldn't be too greedy when observing nature. Now that we've seen the black-headed jay, there shouldn't be any more extravagant hopes. Along the way, there were many surprises that I didn't expect, as well as some small regrets. Whether rare or common bird species, each encounter was precious, and furthermore, I saw the relationship between people and nature in this area, which was very
valuable
