|
|
October 28, Monday:
Quite A Ride in Yele
Today’s journal entry was written initially by campfire and later transcribed to the computer. The warmth of the fire felt great to our sore and tired muscles, most of which were used in some way today. We left the little hotel in Liziping after a typical breakfast of steamed rice bread, peanuts, rice porridge, hardboiled eggs and spicy pickled things. We stopped at the Yele protection station around 8:45 a.m. to pick up the reserve staff and camping equipment. The single office room for the reserve staff was as small as I remembered, but was newly refurbished with a huge new wooden desk that filled the room, and shiny file cabinets along the back wall.
It was misty and cool as we headed up the mountain road past the seven-year dam project. As we drove, the mist obscured our view of the area around the reserve. We wondered if we were going to be as wet and cold as during our last visit to Yele. But John’s GPS instrument also has a barometer and it was steady, with a forecast of partly cloudy. My sense was that at least it was not about to pour rain.
|
|
We had learned yesterday in our briefing that land would definitely be added to the reserve after the dam was completed: a large portion of the valley that stretched to the left of the road would be flooded, creating a lake. Most, but not all, would be added to the reserve. The remaining land would be left for the 600 Yi people who live here. Right now, nearly 2,000 Yi live in the valley, and another 1,500 people have moved in here to help with the construction. With four years to go, much is likely to change.
On our last visit, we had hiked through rough terrain alongside a rushing river, and I sprained my right ankle that time, too. We did get to some bamboo habitat that time, but we never felt as though we made it into the reserve. Today would be different. The whole purpose of camping was to be able to get farther into the reserve. At Yele, there is little access. This is a good thing, given the people surrounding it and the dam project. But it necessitated the plan to ride horses into the reserve.
As we wound down into the valley, we saw open grazing lands and many small farms. At first it appeared there were all sorts of horses here. But on closer inspection, I realized that they were mules, and all pretty small. I tried to insist that we walk, while our packs went by mule, but to no avail. It would take too long to walk. We parked in the middle of a commune, unloaded our packs, and waited for our mules to arrive. Ultimately, we were 19 people and 17 mules. As we waited, we were no doubt the topic of discussion among the Yi. The children gathering for school stood wide-eyed and looked at us, no doubt wondering who and what we were all about.
Initially, five mules appeared. Apparently, more were on their way. The mule herders had gone off to find some twine to tie all of our gear. I tried to convince Liming again that we should walk, but he and Mr. Ye insisted that everyone should ride, as it would be too far. I convinced Liming that the Americans should at least start off by foot while the mules were readied for the trip. My real purpose was to at least cut some of the time we would be riding the mules. Having grown up riding, I have had a few chances to ride horses in other countries. In general, not only is the horse small, but the saddle is small, and far from comfortable. I knew that I did not want to be on a mule for five hours. I figured that if the start of the walk was easy—along a road or good trail--we would be better off walking initially.
|
|
I made the right choice: the first two hours of our walk were really lovely. We walked down along the slope of the valley with the river below. Initially, we could hear the sounds of the dam construction behind us, despite the roar of the river. But after about an hour, as the skies cleared, the only sound was the rushing river. It was not an easy walk, as we headed uphill over what became a rocky mule trail. But it was much easier than our last walk at Xiaozhaizigou. Scattered along both slopes of the valley we could see the Yi’s livestock: yaks, goats, mules, pigs, and even a few small horses. The fall scenery featured lots of rust and orange colors in the fields and scattered trees with purple flowers. The trees in the distance lining the mountains up the valley were just beginning to turn colors. High up, just at the cloud line, there was snow.
The mules caught up with us at lunch, which included dried fish, dried yak, and pickles as well as steamed buns. We were at the last village and near the edge of the reserve, so after a brief rest it was time to mount our mules. The riding mules had saddles that appeared to be wooden frames with a blanket or jacket tied down for padding. They had rope halters in a variety of styles. Some had single rope lead lines. Others, a rope rein. The pack mules laden with gear were an impressive site: tent poles and backpacks and boxes (one contained a pressure cooker to make rice) balanced on either side.
|
|
Aside from the rope knot under my right knee holding a blanket in place, I was actually quite comfortable on my mule. However, once we started, I realized that there was no steering her. No signal I knew made a difference, leg or rein. She was following the other mules. And they had a definite pecking order. On the other hand, she did not have a proper bridle (none of them did), so I am not sure what I was expecting. At times, one of the mule handlers would grab the reins from me and lead the mule through the worst obstacles, yelling “shwaw, szhhh, zaow” all the way. Susan and John were given the same special treatment. Everyone else just went.
The first time I patted my mule on the neck and said “good girl,” all of the Chinese who heard me laughed. I think she liked it, and I continued to praise her, as I would do with my mule the next day. But I suspect it was a lot like the first time I said “hello” to Mei Xiang and Tian Tian when we were at Wolong. They seemed to recognize my tone of voice but had no idea what the English words meant.
Those mules were incredible. The trail we took was treacherous and would have broken several horse legs. Three hours later (we were 30 miles from the protection station), we were in the reserve at our campsite. The last hour by mule was very tough, up and down rocky and muddy inclines. Finally, at about 9,800 feet in elevation, we reached a partial clearing studded with trees, next to a river. It was truly a relief to dismount. For John, at over six-feet tall, and Susan, who had only ridden a horse once, I can only imagine how tired their legs felt. Despite my years of riding, I had never had a ride quite like this one.
There was no way we could have made it here by foot; the trail was too tough. Even so, the thought of going back via mule on the same route the next day was daunting. Meanwhile, the whole purpose of the trip was to get to giant panda habitat. The plan was to walk about an hour in the morning. Mr. Ye assured us that they routinely find fresh giant panda sign just an hour away.
Even if we do not find any evidence of giant pandas tomorrow, the trip here was a success so far. We were at least in the reserve now. And our hosts were putting their new equipment to work. Within an hour, they had two fires going, four tents up, and potatoes cooking. I decided to set up the satellite phone on a tree stump to see if it would work after bouncing around in my backpack alongside a mule for five hours. It worked just fine, finding the same IOR satellite easily. I marked the angle, and hoped it would work from my tent in the morning for my daily call to the office.
Dinner was spartan. We had only water to drink. The main meal of pork cooked over the fire was not ready by dark. John, Susan, and I ate a few baked potatoes that had roasted in the coals, and then crawled into our tents. Although it was just 7 p.m., we were wet and tired. The mist was heavy. The best strategy seemed to be to get warm and comfortable in the sleeping bag and rest.
Giant
Pandas Live High at Yele
