To a naturalist Tibet offers considerable difficulties: it is true that in some places animals are so tame that they will almost eat out of your hand; for instance, in the Rongbuk Valley the burhel (wild sheep) come to the cells of the hermits for food, and in every village the ravens and rock-doves are as fearless as the sparrows in London. But against this tameness must be set the Buddhist religion, which forbids the people from taking life, so that, whereas in most countries the native children are the best friends of the naturalist, in Tibet we got no help from them whatever. Also, in order to avoid giving possible offence, we were careful to refrain from shooting in the neighbourhood of monasteries and villages, and that was a very severe drawback, as birds congregated principally about the cultivated lands near villages. Another difficulty we found was in catching small mammals, which showed the greatest reluctance to enter our traps, whatever the bait might be. One species only, a vole (Phaiomys leucurus), was trapped; all the others were shot, and that involved a considerable expenditure of time in waiting motionless beside burrows. In spite of these disadvantages we made considerable collections of mammals and birds, and we brought back a large number of dried plants and seeds, many of which it is hoped will live in the gardens of this country.
Lower Kama-chu.
Crossing over the Jelep La from Sikkim into Tibet in the latter part of May we found the country at 12,000 feet and upwards at the height of spring. The open level spaces were carpeted with a dark purple and yellow primula (P. gammieana), a delicate little yellow flower (Lloydia tibetica) and many saxifrages. The steep hillsides were ablaze with the flowers of the large rhododendrons (R. thomsoni, R. falconeri, R. aucklandi) and the smaller Rhododendron campylocarpum, an almost infinite variety of colours.[18] A descent through woods of pines, oaks and walnuts brought us to the picturesque village of Richengong, in the Chumbi Valley, where we found house-martins nesting under the eaves of the houses. Following up the Ammo Chu, in its lower course between 9,000 and 12,000 feet, we found the valley gay with pink and white spiræas and cotoneasters, red and white roses, yellow berberis, a fragrant white-flowered bog-myrtle, anemones and white clematis. Dippers, wagtails and the white-capped redstart were the commonest birds along the river-banks. From Yatung we made an excursion of a few miles up the Kambu Valley, and there found a very beautiful Enkianthus (Enkianthus himalaicus), a small tree about 15 feet high, with clusters of pink and white flowers; in the autumn the leaves turn to a deep copper red.
At about 11,000 feet is a level terrace, the plain of Lingmatang, where the stream meanders for two or three miles through a lovely meadow covered in the spring with a tiny pink primula (P. minutissima): it looks a perfect trout stream, but what fish there are (Schizopygopsis stoliczae) are small and few in number.
Between 11,000 and 13,000 feet you ascend through mixed woods of pine, larch, birch and juniper with an undergrowth of rhododendrons and mountain ash. The larches here have a much less formal habit of growth than those of this country, and in the autumn they turn to a brilliant golden colour. The berries of the mountain ash, when ripe, are white and very conspicuous. At this altitude Rhododendron cinnabarinum reaches its best growth, in bushes of from 8 to 10 feet in height, and the flowers have a very wide range of colour. In the woods hereabouts may often be heard and sometimes seen the blood pheasant, and here lives also—but we did not see it—the Tibetan stag.
At about 13,000 feet at the end of May you find a yellow primula covering the ground more thickly than cowslips in this country; the air is laden with the scent of it, and growing with it is a pretty little heath-like flower (Cassiope fastigiata) with snow-white bells. Here and there is seen the large blue poppy (Meconopsis sp.) and a white anemone with five or six flowers on one stem. Soon the trees get scantier and scantier, pines disappear altogether and then birches and willows and junipers, until only dwarf rhododendrons (R. setosum) are left, covering the hillsides like purple heather.
In a few miles the country changes in character completely, and you come out on to the open plain of Phari. Here at 14,000 feet we saw the common cuckoo sitting on a telegraph wire and calling vigorously. This is Tibet proper, and henceforward you may travel for scores of miles and hardly see any plant more than a few inches high. In some places a little trumpet-shaped purple flower (Incarvillea younghusbandii) is fairly common, it lies prone on the sand with its leaves usually buried out of sight; and as we went Westward we found a dwarf blue iris (I. tenuifolia). Animals are few and far between: the Kiang, the wild ass of Tibet, is occasionally seen in small parties; they are very conspicuous on the open plains in full daylight, but almost invisible at dusk. The Tibetan gazelle is fairly numerous, and it is not uncommon to see one or two in company with a flock of native sheep and taking no notice of the shepherd, but when a stranger tries to approach they are off like a flash. Another animal of the plains is the Tibetan antelope (Pantholops), which is found in large numbers a little to the North of the region we visited, but the only signs of it we saw were the horns used as supporting prongs for the long muzzle-loading guns of the Tibetans. The Tibetan antelope was probably the Unicorn described by the French priest Huc in 1845.
The only mammals that are commonly seen on the plains are the small mouse-hares or pikas (Ochotona), which live in colonies on the less stony parts of the plain, where their burrows often caused our ponies to stumble; they scurry off to their holes at your approach, but if you wait a few moments you will see heads peeping out at you from all sides. These engaging little creatures have been called “Whistling Hares,” but of the three species which we found none was ever heard to utter a sound of any kind. The Tibetan name for them is Phüse. It is interesting to record that from one specimen I took three fleas of two species, both of them new to science.