It is indeed rare to look down from the top of a high mountain upon a condor1 spiralling below. This large bird has only but to think of it and without any effort it flies up to seven thousand metres and more. On that day, the bird was by my feet. Normally one has to gaze upwards to watch birds, and suddenly here I was looking down at one from above. It is a different kind of feeling. The bird seemed like a lone majestic cloud and it encaptivated me. It is only in the remote mountains in the north that this bird can meet its match, as all other birds are too fine and delicate. This bird's feathers change colour with the season; they are black in autumn, darkish brown in spring, and in winter its whole body turns bluish-green. At this time it seems as if it has turned into a completely different bird. Its back and feathers shine brightly with the reflection of the morning clouds lit up by the sun. It now glows with a yellow brass colour and the feather pattern on its back stands out clearly. Its originally lead blue exposed neck emits a dazzling shine. It is almost as if it has slipped on a silver ring. Its sail-like wings open steadily in the air, every feather on the outside of them spreading out like the edge of a transparent sword that swishes through the air.
I observed the bird through binoculars. This yellow condor was a female. The condor is the largest bird of prey. It weighs around 10 kilograms; its body can be as large as 1.2 metres. Its hunting area spreads as wide as 200 kilometres, which is about the same as the Manchurian tiger's. Changbai Shan nature reserve is only 76 kilometres in length from north to south and 36 kilometres from west to east which means that if the condor strays out of the conservation area it can at any moment be killed by hunters. Jilin Provincial Forestry Bureau conducted an investigation at the end of the seventies which revealed that there were only five condors left in the Changbai Shan nature reserve (including one captured while hunting).
I have taken this unexpected discovery to be a lucky omen. At that time I was just in the middle of searching for a Chinese goral2, scrambling up the fifth peak of the Mogu[1] mountain range. I kept my sight fixed on the condor as it glided through the air in a large arc (later my neck was stiff with pain), until Jin Pao roused me from my enchantment.
The Chinese goral, seen as rarely as the condor, lives on exposed rocky areas above the snow line. Throughout the year it lives in companionship with the condor and the alpine pika. I was lucky enough to see a condor, why should I worry about not seeing a Chinese goral?
The reason why I waited for five years and only then wrote down this story is because the person who personally experienced it has just recently died. Writing this story is my way of showing respect to him.
This person is specialised in animal behaviour. His name was Mr. Zhao Zhengjie, but people more often just called him "Dr. Bird" . He was my father's comrade-in-arms. In 1995 he and my father went to watch cranes together in the Xianghai Marsh, and on the way there he recounted this incident to my father. After my father returned home he passed it on to me. It was a real pleasure for us that live in a forest of concrete buildings to listen to a story that comes from a real forest. At the same time, this incident also aroused in me a childhood memory: On that day, it was snowing lightly. I was just on my way home from collecting firewood on Kulongyangshu Mountain on the outskirts of Tonghua city. I came across an army truck parked by the side of a road. Some soldiers huddled for warmth around a campfire. Several dead roe deer were hanging from the boot of the truck, on some blood still trickled from the bullet wounds on their bodies. In the pile of amber fur, there was a light grey carcass that particularly caught my eye. There were two black horns growing on its head. It looked similar to a goat. The old hunter that served as a guide to the soldiers told me that it was a Chinese goral. When I think back to it I can still remember every detail. What stands in my mind the most clearly is that the Chinese goral's throat that was sliced wide open. The wound was very deep and bloody froth lined the edges. The blood has already cooled. Snowflakes lined the mouth of the wound with a pattern of red-white crystals. I could not comprehend it: When killing an animal, shooting should do it, so what point is there in cutting the goral's throat open? Is it because on finding out that it hasn't died yet, you use a knife to finish it off? This is what hunters call humane means. Those soldiers were stationed locally. For them, hunting was a means to improve their mundane diet.
It is only after I heard this story that I knew how mistaken I was on that day.
When I heard the news that there were Chinese gorals at Mogu Peak, I was very excited. I had worked at Changbai Shan Protection Bureau for ten years. I had seen all the animals that there were to see, except for the Chinese goral. I hastily packed some outdoor equipment and called for my old guide Jin Pao. We got into a transport truck and headed straight for Mogu Peak. Jin Pao worked as a guide for the Protection Bureau. Twelve years ago he set out on a hunter's career path. He had been roaming the mountains for more than fifty years. He was great with a rifle. He only had to step into the mountains to feel just like at home.
