THE FORESTS AND LAKES OF THE FÊN HO BASIN
After the Clark Expedition, described in _Through Shên-Kan_, had been
brought to a close in T’ai-yüan Fu, I decided to continue the work of
scientific exploration provided that funds were forthcoming and that I
could find a suitable companion. Both conditions were soon fulfilled. My
wife would make a more than suitable companion, while financial
arrangements were made whereby I could carry on my work, sending the
results to the Smithsonian Institution.
Returning to T’ai-yüan Fu from the coast, my wife and I at once set
about preparations for an extended journey up the valley of the Fên Ho,
a large tributary of the Yellow River which flows from north to south
down two-thirds of the western portion of Shansi province.
Before starting, however, we decided to do a little work in the
immediate vicinity.
Accordingly we hired a cart and took our outfit on to the plain,
pitching our tents about five miles south of the city on the bank of the
Fên Ho. Here we stayed for ten days, during which time I initiated my
wife into the delights of camp life.
We spent the whole time trapping, shooting and riding. Geese, ducks,
quail and hares were plentiful, and many were brought to bag. One day a
bustard weighing about 16 lb. was brought down after a long and careful
stalk through the underbrush.
Our traps yielded well, so that we made a very respectable little
collection of mammals. It included specimens of the mink, the shrew, the
vole, the giant hamster, Anderson’s hamster, the gerbil and the common
mouse.
We next moved up into the mountains east of T’ai-yüan Fu, called
Lung-wang Shan, where we put up at a fine old temple. This place
constitutes one of the summer resorts of the T’ai-yüan community, and is
distant from that city about twenty miles.
The district is well wooded and is noted for its beautiful scenery,
especially during the summer. The deep ravines are filled with cypress,
firs and willows, while in places the rare white-barked pine (_Pinus
bungeana_) grows in a wild state. The rocky watercourses at the ravine
bottoms are filled with ferns, mosses and other cryptogams. Where these
ravines widen out there are rich grass-plots, on which grow the orchis,
the buttercup, the daisy, the forget-me-not and many other beautiful
flowers.
The tops of the shale slopes are studded with bushes of the wild peach,
the lilac and the yellow rose, all of which blooming in spring clothe
the mountains with rich masses of blossom, and lade the air with
delicate perfume. In autumn the rose bushes, which in themselves are
more than usually ornate, with their red stems and spines, and minute
pinnate leaves, are loaded with large sweet hips of a deep crimson
colour.
Throughout the warmer months flowers of one sort or another lend their
beauty to the scene, but it is in the autumn that the richest variety is
seen. Then it is that the deep rich blue of the gentian, mingling with
the delicate mauve of the scabious, the warmer tints of the vetches and
trefoils, the golden yellow of the toadflax, the pink of the daisy, and
the brilliant scarlet and orange of the lilies, presents a wealth of
colour hard to surpass even in the tropics.
At the time of our visit all these floral glories were over, and the
first nip of winter was making itself felt.
We collected here a few specimens of well known species of mammals, such
as the sulphur-bellied rat (_Epimys confucianus luticolor_), the wood
mouse (_Apodemus speciosus_) and the hamsters (_Cricetulus triton
incanus_ and _C. andersoni_).
On November 9 we returned to T’ai-yüan Fu prepared to face all the
rigors of winter travel through a practically unknown country.
This was no light undertaking for a woman used to all the comforts and
luxuries of the European settlements in the East. We would be entirely
dependent upon Chinese inns, often mere hovels, for shelter from the
bitter cold, while, even allowing for a good supply of stores, the food
must often be of the roughest. Nevertheless, my wife refused to be
dissuaded by sympathetic but sceptical friends from her purpose of
accompanying me.
We hired seven mules to carry our outfit, and engaged a groom, a cook
and two boys to act as servants. We ourselves would travel on horseback,
for which purpose I secured three good Mongol ponies.
Our outfit was as good as could be secured for the work in hand, and
everything promised a successful trip.
On November 25 our little caravan left T’ai-yüan Fu by the west gate,
and crossing the Fên valley, we entered the mountains due west of the
city.
Travelling very slowly, we followed the same route as that taken by the
Clark Expedition as far as Ku-chao, thirty miles west of T’ai-yüan Fu.
At this point we turned northward up the Fên Ho.
[Illustration:
PLATE IV.
[_Photo by P. H. Atwood._
LEOPARD (_Felis fontanieri_) SHOT BY DR. P. H. ATWOOD IN SHANSI.
]
[Illustration:
[_Photo by P. H. Atwood_
WILD BOAR (_Sus sp._) SHOT BY DR. P. H. ATWOOD IN SHANSI. WEIGHT,
330 LBS.
_Opposite p. 42._]
]
Journeying up the course of the river at this season was no light task.
The precipitous sides forced us to keep to the bed, and the wide stream,
flowing from side to side of the valley, necessitated frequent
crossings. As it was in a semi-frozen condition, this was dangerous
work. Once my wife narrowly escaped the horrible fate of being swept
under the ice. It was only the agility of her pony in bounding clear of
the breaking ice and rushing torrent that saved her.
More than once it was necessary personally to wade through the icy water
in order to find a firm bottom for the passage of the mules and ponies.
The natives neither dared nor could be trusted to do this, preferring
always to allow the mules to take their chance of crossing with dry
loads, while they themselves found safe passage where the ice would
stand their weight.
On December 8, after one or two short halts _en route_ to try and pick
up a few specimens, or to check up the compass traverse, we reached
Tsing-lo Hsien.
Here we stayed till December 14, while I tried to trap some pikas and
wolves. I secured two of the former, but was unsuccessful with the
latter.
Leaving Tsing-lo Hsien, we continued up the valley of the Fên Ho for
another ten miles, when, after spending the night at Yung-an-chêng, we
turned westward up a side valley, reaching a place named Wu-chia-kou at
the edge of some magnificent forested country. Here we decided to spend
Christmas, as the surrounding country offered prospects of good hunting
and trapping.
In this we were not disappointed. During our stay here we had a long
line of traps out, which yielded well, while in pig-hunting we were very
successful.
The first pig that was bagged was an enormous animal measuring six feet
two inches from tip to tip, with a height of thirty-two inches at the
shoulder and a weight of 310 lb.
For several days reports came in of a sounder of fifteen swine, led by
an enormous white pig, the size of a cow. I made up my mind to get this
fellow if possible. Several days were spent in fruitless search. Always
on returning to camp I was told that the sounder had been seen in some
valley other than _the_ one I had been searching. At last one evening,
as I was returning from a tiring day in the highest portion of the
range, the villagers told me that not half an hour before, the sounder I
had been hunting for had passed the village and had climbed the opposite
ridge.
Tired as I was, I at once set off in the direction indicated, and there
sure enough were the tracks I had grown so familiar with during the past
few days. Following these up, I climbed the long ridge, and was just
beginning to think that once more the pigs had eluded me, when one of
the villagers who had accompanied me pointed across the ravine on my
right. There, in a small field, about a dozen pigs were feeding, but
nowhere could I see the great white leader.
Thinking that I had better make sure of at least one pig, I began to
cross the ravine, keeping under cover as much as possible. Just as I was
near enough, and was about to aim, the great white leader came treading
majestically round a small shoulder of rock. What a pig! He seemed to my
excited imagination to be more the size of an elephant than a cow. On he
came with nose up, scenting round for danger, while behind came several
other pigs looking very small beside their magnificent leader.
Raising my rifle, I fired. The huge brute whirled round, stood for a
second, and then broke madly up and across the ravine. Reaching the head
he vanished from view. I hurried up the steep ravine, and reached the
top of the ridge just in time to see my quarry rounding the head of a
second ravine. Without waiting to regain my breath, I raised my rifle
and fired. The pig continued his course for a few yards, and then
suddenly plunged down the hill side. He struggled madly to keep his
footing, but presently staggered and went head over heels, finally
fetching up at the bottom of a small cutting, stone dead.
The following day I went in search of an old tusker, that had been
wounded the day before by a Chinese hunter, and had subsequently met and
knocked down one of my men, who was out setting traps. We found the
trail easily enough, but did not follow it up far, as it lost itself in
a stony ravine bottom.
While trying to pick it up on the wooded slope, we ran across a very
fresh trail and decided to follow it up at once. It led us across the
top of the ridge, and a few yards down the next slope, which was covered
with dense hazel scrub. As we entered the latter, there was the sound of
some large body moving through the brush. Breathlessly we waited, soon
being rewarded by the sight of a good-sized pig, rapidly climbing the
opposite slope. I fired a couple of quick shots, but the pig gained and
crossed the top of the ridge and vanished. We dashed down through the
hazel scrub and up the steep slope. On reaching the top a spot of blood
told us that our pig was hit. Continuing on the run we tracked him round
the head of the next ravine, over the divide at the top, and once more
drove him from the dense brush in which he was lying up. This time as he
climbed the slope opposite us, I managed to get in a shot that bowled
him over, but again he struggled to his feet and vanished over the crest
of the ridge. Another arduous climb brought us into a small wood of
scrub oak, where we found great difficulty in singling out the trail of
our quarry from a dozen others that ran in all directions. Sending the
hunter along one of the freshest, I followed another, which led along
the side of the ridge. Presently there was a splotch of blood in one of
the footprints, and I knew that I was on the right scent. As I hurried
along through the pines and larches, I presently became aware of my
quarry standing amongst the trees some twenty yards above me. With
gleaming eyes he stood looking down at me, but before he could make up
his mind to charge, I dropped him with a bullet through the neck, just
behind the ear.
The following afternoon we climbed a high range of jagged peaks that
lies to the south of the village, our object being to catch the pigs as
they left the cover of the forests for their feeding-grounds as dusk
came on. Two hours’ steady climbing through the most enchanting woodland
scenery brought us to the crest of a knife-like ridge between two
pointed peaks some 2,000 feet above the level of the valley bottom.
Below us on the one hand lay the dark woods of pine and spruce, through
which we had just climbed, on the other tier upon tier of the purple
ridges of the foothills stretching away to the pink horizon.
Away across the valley to our north rugged ranges rose higher and
higher, culminating in the massive granite peak of Lo-yah Shan, whose
castellated summit caught the last pink rays of the setting sun, while
its base lay shrouded in rapidly gathering mists and ever deepening
shadows.
Nothing could surpass the beauty of the scene which we beheld that
evening as we cautiously worked along the ridge, keeping a sharp
look-out upon the cultivated fields a thousand feet below us, whereon we
hoped to catch some early pig setting forth upon his night’s
depredations. We were disappointed, however, in not sighting any game,
but the wonderful scenery more than compensated us for the arduous
climb.
The next successful pig hunt, which was two days later, might well have
proved disastrous for me. In climbing round some steep rocks, from the
crevices of which sprouted some young spruce trees, affording me the
necessary foothold, I surprised a sounder of eight pigs, which were
lying sunning themselves at the base of the cliff. They escaped up
through the woods and over the ridge, my hurried shot failing to find a
mark. Having reached the top of the ridge ourselves after a hard climb,
we were just in time to see the sounder enter a dense patch of
thorn-scrub away down in the valley. Sending the two natives to drive
them out, I hurried down the ravine and took up a convenient position
below the patch of thorn-scrub. Suddenly the whole sounder broke cover,
and to my horror came thundering down upon me like a troop of cavalry.
Luckily the pigs were bent more on escape than attack, so when I clubbed
my rifle and swung it to beat off, if possible, the mad rush of the
foremost pig, he swerved to one side. The others followed suit, but
before the last one had passed I managed to reverse my rifle once more,
and, firing from the hip, hit him in the jaw. The wounded animal broke
away from the rest of the sounder, and, trying to cross a deep
watercourse, fell an easy mark to my second shot.
Besides the pigs we secured some roe-deer and eared pheasants, this
being the first occasion on which I had actually seen the latter, though
I had often heard them without knowing what they were.
Two of the roe-deer were bagged on the last day of the year, while I was
out hunting for something with which to furnish our New Year’s dinner.
Accompanied by my trapper, who carried my shot-gun, I was making my way
up a broad ravine the sides of which were heavily timbered. There was a
large open space near the head of the ravine, and a woodman’s path led
up through the woods to this spot, enabling us to get quietly through
the woods to the edge of the glade. Some five hundred yards up the slope
were three fine bucks quietly grazing. Leaving the trapper in the
shelter of the woods, I dropped upon my hands and knees and wormed my
way over the ground. Taking care not to break any dry twigs or to
disturb any leaves, I made my way slowly up towards the unsuspecting
deer. By making the best use of a slight dip in the ground and a few
small trees, I succeeded in gaining a point within a hundred and fifty
yards of my quarry. Luck was with me, for I was able to rise to my feet
behind a small pine without being observed. The distance was nicely
judged, and my first shot caused one of the bucks to spring into the
air, make a few convulsive bounds towards the shelter of the woods, and
then stagger and come rolling down the slope, almost to my feet. The
other two deer reached the cover of the woods, where they stood watching
their wounded companion. I hurried up the slope and entered the wood
where they had vanished. Scarcely had I gone ten paces, before I saw
them bounding through the trees, and taking a rapid aim, was fortunate
enough to bring one down. They were two nice bucks, weighing 60 lb. and
65 lb. respectively.
The eared pheasants (_Crossoptilon manchuricum_) gave us a new kind of
sport. It was on Christmas Day that we first encountered them. We were
sauntering up a wooded ravine when we suddenly caught sight of them
running up the steep, wooded slopes. As they were out of shot-gun range
I tried a revolver shot at one. At the first report there was a great
beating of wings and every bird left the cover of the pines and
commenced to sail gracefully across and down the ravine. Needless to
say, several passed within easy range of us and were bowled over. The
frightened birds would light at the bottom of the ravine and at once
scurry up the opposite side, when a report from one of our guns would
startle them into repeating the silly manœuvre, which had already proved
fatal to several of their number. In this way we made the very
respectable bag of six large birds, averaging 5 lbs. apiece. On four
different occasions I encountered flocks of these birds, all of which
acted in the same way.
Leopards were numerous in the districts, but I never succeeded in
actually encountering one. We tried trapping for these dangerous but
handsome pests, without success. They could be enticed to the traps, but
always managed to avoid being caught. A live sheep was cleverly
extracted from the midst of several traps, which were subsequently
overturned and sprung as if to express the contempt of the great feline
marauder. Tracks in the ploughed field showed how he had walked round
and round the group of traps, planning a way to reach the bait without
getting caught.
While up hunting in the highest parts of the range, I came across tiger
tracks in the snow. The Chinese in the district said that there were
tigers, but refused absolutely to lead me to their haunts, so greatly
did they fear this animal.
Several wolves were seen, and one was shot, but it escaped into a wood,
where it was subsequently picked up by a shepherd. This was one of a
pack of six, which, late one afternoon, after I had returned from a long
and tiring hunt, passed within a few yards of the house in which we were
quartered. I hurried out in my slippers and fired at the last wolf as it
crossed a low ridge. Thinking that I had missed him, I returned to camp.
That night the five remaining wolves attacked a sheepfold further up the
valley, killing eight sheep.
My traps were fairly successful, some seven species of rodents being
secured.
The heavy timber in this district consists chiefly of spruce and larch,
with a sprinkling of pines. The forests are even more extensive than
those of the Chiao-ch’êng Shan further south, which were explored on the
Clark Expedition. Owing to greater facilities in transporting the logs,
this district is being more rapidly deforested.
Besides the conifers already mentioned, extensive patches of scrub-oak,
hazel and birch exist, the last being a free peeling variety, from the
bark of which the natives manufacture household utensils and mats.
It being winter, we were unable to gather much idea of the rest of the
flora of this district, but on a subsequent visit in the autumn of 1911
I was able to observe much more in this line. I then discovered many
interesting wild berries, which are dealt with in the botanical notes at
the end of this volume.
The mountains here are very high and are mainly of archaic formations.
The highest peak, the altitude of which I estimated by means of boiling
point, aneroid barometer, and Abney level, to be some 10,000 feet, is a
stupendous mass of granite known as Lo-yah Shan.
The inhabitants of the district we found to be of the usual type of
Shansi mountaineers. Those who had not recently migrated thither from
other parts of the province were tall and well built, with healthy, rosy
complexions.
The chief occupation of these mountaineers is the cutting and hauling of
timber. This is stacked on the banks of the Fên Ho, awaiting the spring
and autumn freshets, when it is taken down in long rafts and sold at
various places on the T’ai-yüan Fu plain. A vast amount of timber is
thus taken out annually, while nothing is being done to replenish the
denuded areas.
On January 12 (1910) we once more took to the road, and returning to the
Fên Ho, followed it up to its source. A few fruitless days were spent
_en route_ at Tung-tsai, a large village engaged in the timber trade,
situated about ten miles from the head waters of the river.
On January 17 we discovered a series of mountain lakes, which constitute
one of the sources of the Fên Ho. These interesting lakes, which I have
already described in my geological notes in _Through Shên-Kan_, are five
in number, the largest being known as Mu Hai-tzŭ, and the second as Kung
Hai-tzŭ. These names mean the Female Sea and the Male Sea respectively.
The lakes are situated at an altitude of from 7,000 to 7,500 feet, and
lie in deep rock basins. There are many legends connected with them. One
of these states that Mu Hai-tzŭ occupies the site of an ancient town,
and it is said that on clear days in summer the ruins can be seen at the
bottom of the lake. At the time of our visit the lakes were frozen over
to a depth of several feet. The ice, however, was very clear, and near
the edges weeds could easily be discerned in the dark green depths.
January 18 found us at Ning-wu Fu, which town has already been described
in the foregoing chapter. We made a short stay here to check up and plot
the compass traverse.
On January 24 we left this city, and crossing a pass to the west
descended on to an extensive plain, which stretches away, unbroken by
any hills, as far as the Yellow River.
Traversing this plain for about twenty miles, we reached a small town
named Wu-tsai Hsien, where we settled down once more to continue our
collecting work.
This time we were very successful, for besides trapping, we induced the
natives to bring in specimens. To the number of different species
already collected, eight others were added, including the wolf, the fox,
the polecat, the mole, a vole, the desert hamster, the striped hamster,
and a new subspecies of hare, which was subsequently named _Lepus
swinhoei sowerbyæ_, after my wife.
There was no lack of sport, either, in this district, for large flocks
of bustards were continually seen, and many fine birds were bagged.
Three of these averaged 18 lbs. in weight apiece. As they were very shy,
we had to resort to various expedients to come within range. One method
was to ride round a flock, gradually drawing nearer. When within range,
I would drop off my pony and lie flat, while my wife would gradually
edge away, leading my pony and keeping at an even pace. In this way I
would be able to take a comfortable shot without startling the birds,
whose attention would be centred upon the ponies.
The method we enjoyed most, however, was plain stalking, when by keeping
flat upon the ground and utilizing every little ridge or hummock of
earth, we could often crawl to within easy range.
One day, to my own surprise and the delight of my wife and the natives,
I brought down a large bird, which was flying past me at about seventy
yards range. My bullet took it fairly in the side, and the great bird
slowly came to earth, a quarter of a mile away. It was stone dead when
we picked it up.
Foxes and hares also were plentiful on the plain, but as I seldom went
out with anything but my rifle, these escaped attention.
The Wu-tsai plain is in parts very fertile, but, generally speaking,
lacks a good water supply. The district is not notable for anything.
Not more than a couple of miles to the south of the town the plain comes
to an abrupt end, and the foothills of the great mountain range we had
already visited commence.
By February 15 we had completed our work on the plain, and decided to
return to T’ai-yüan Fu. Accordingly we left Wu-tsai and struck out due
south, and, entering the mountains, followed a deep valley as far as
Tien-p’ing, a small mountain village.
The mountain path which we followed was, in places, extremely dangerous,
so that we experienced great difficulty in getting the heavily laden
mules along in safety. Often a mere parapet, made of saw-logs and
supported by stakes driven into the rock surface, formed the only means
of negotiating the steep-sided gorges. More than once the mules, edging
up too close to the side, sent their burdens crashing down into the
rocky ravine bottoms below, causing considerable damage to our
equipment.
At Tien-p’ing the heavily forested mountains looked so favourable, that
we decided to stay a day or two to hunt. It was well that we did so, for
specimens of a rare flying squirrel were secured. It has not yet been
definitely ascertained to what species this squirrel belongs. Having
secured four specimens, I offered the natives 400 cash (about 1_s._) for
each additional specimen they could secure for me. They discovered a
nest of the coveted animals in a hollow tree, when, rather than risk
losing one, they plugged up the hole, cut down the tree and carried it
bodily to the village over a distance of about three miles. Six
squirrels were found inside, five of which I skinned, reserving one
alive. This one lived till well into the summer, when doubtless the heat
of the plains was too much for it.
During the few days we spent in this vicinity I hunted the sika deer
assiduously. This is a beautiful spotted animal about the size of the
British red deer. Though I followed their tracks for miles each day, I
never succeeded in sighting one, owing to the denseness of the forests
in which they lived.
Judging from tracks I saw in the snow, musk deer also were common, but,
being much hunted by the natives, they were very shy and always managed
to remain out of sight.
On February 23 we once more started for home. Our path now lay over the
most difficult country imaginable. The steep slopes were covered with
ice, so that our animals had the greatest difficulty in ascending them.
Spills were frequent, and more than once the loads were thrown off and
boxes smashed.
As we neared the pass, we entered a deep forest of very heavy timber,
through which we travelled for upwards of two hours. Here the snow was
above our knees, while in long chains over its surface were innumerable
tracks of deer, wolves, leopards, pigs, foxes, cats, martins and minks.
Unfortunately we could not camp in this district, the weather being much
too cold, even had we had our tents with us.
The divide, which was marked by a small shrine, I estimated at 8,000
feet. To our left the massive height of Lo-yah Shan towered above the
timber line, while to our right the heavily-wooded slopes rose gently to
some bare snow-clad uplands. Below and in front of us lay a frozen
tributary of the Fên Ho, beyond which a magnificent panorama of blue
hills and purple mountains, jagged peaks and winding valleys, spread
itself as far as the eye could reach. Behind us were the rugged
forest-clad ridges of the Tien-p’ing district.
Reluctantly we descended the southern side of the divide, for we
realized that nowhere in all North China could such scenes as we had
just gazed upon be rivalled.
That night we reached Wu-chia-kou once more, and being anxious for a
little more shooting, we decided to spend two days here.
Our decision was fortunate, as a pig was bagged each day, bringing our
total up to five; while a single specimen of the rarest of all Shansi
mammals, the little wood-pika (_Ochotona sorella_), was secured. With
this we were content and continued our homeward journey.
PLATE V.
[Illustration:
[_Photo by K. T. McCoy._
MR. AND MRS. A. DE C. SOWERBY WITH BAG OF WILD PIGS,
BUSTARDS AND SMALL GAME.
]
[Illustration:
[_Photo by R. S. Clark._
WATER-MILL IN WINTER.
_Opposite p. 58._]
]
Once more reaching Tsing-lo Hsien, we decided to take a different course
from that followed on our outward journey, so turned eastward up a large
tributary of the Fên Ho.
Following this up to its source we crossed two high passes in a granite
dyke, which here protrudes through the grey limestone. The last day into
T’ai-yüan Fu, we travelled for about ten miles along a deep and narrow
gorge in the same formation, finally issuing out upon the plain at its
northernmost point.
The last fifteen miles were quickly traversed, and we found ourselves
home once more after a most enjoyable and successful trip.
We had explored and mapped the greater portion of the upper reaches of
the Fên Ho, had discovered some hitherto unknown lakes and extensive
forests, and had brought out a good collection of mammals, amongst which
one at least was new to science, while six were new to the Institution
we represented.
We had enjoyed as good sport as any one could wish for, so that we felt
well satisfied with our winter’s work.
After our return to T’ai-yüan Fu, our work was discontinued for over a
year while we paid a visit to Europe.