13 Apr The Nature of Bhutan
Our tour bus erupts in commotion on a partially paved road high in the Himalayas. Binoculars swing to the left. Middle rows stand. Back-seaters move forward. Windows shove open and camera lenses burst forth. A flurry of flakes and frigid air seep into the bus, but no one seems to notice. All eyes focus on a speck of red barely visible through a stand of dead grass. Having glimpsed other species of pheasant on our Bhutan travels, we’re well aware that this bobbing color may be all the look we get. We hopefully stare, listening attentively to the hushed blow-by-blow movement updates provided by our guide. The bird swishes this way and that, taunting us with hints of its glory before finally emerging to reveal its full splendor. To our amazement, another ruby male follows and the pair grace us with their presence for several minutes – grazing in the open, obscured only by fluffy white flakes falling from the sky. This is the Satyr Tragopan, a gem of a bird we’d all been hoping for.
Clouds roll across the snow-covered Himalayan peaks to the left, wispy tendrils consuming the evergreen-filled valley below as our group regains composure following this encounter. Our bus inches along the edge of a daunting precipice, then it once again lurches to a stop. Danger might’ve crossed our minds at the beginning of the trip, but we’ve come to appreciate that wildlife is more likely. We hush expectantly, scanning the windshield, muscles ready for another scramble, and then comes our guide’s proclamation – “Himalayan Monal halfway up the hill.” Two highly bejeweled and wary pheasants in one day? It hardly seems possible, yet here the sapphire equivalent of the ruby tragopan grazes casually before us.
These were by far the most cooperative pheasants we saw that day, but in the end, we saw so many tragopans and monals that people placed bets as to which we’d see more of. The day I asked if there was any chance of seeing near-endemic endangered golden langurs, we drove through several troops, stopping mere feet away from one family feeding along the road. That same day we saw Rufous-necked Hornbills, several sunbirds, and a variety of other birds so brightly colored a bowl of fruit loops would be jealous. Nearly every day yielded a cornucopia of wildlife, yet it wasn’t until the day a yellow-throated marten darted before us across Bhutan’s main cross-country highway that I fully appreciated how we’d been so “lucky” every day of our trip.
By U.S. standards, this major highway looked more like a path through the wilderness. Ancient trees festooned in green moss towered along either side of the road interrupted only by the occasional waterfall-driven prayer wheel. Other places boasted pine forest, others rhododendron scrub, or highland shrubs like those that surrounded us that tragopan day. Even areas of human occupation were generally small villages and terraced fields tucked among the woods. It was telling that every mountain pass boasted a worshipful stupa, prayer flags flapped above nearly every bend in the road and armies of tsa tsa (miniature clay stupas honoring the dead) filled every reachable crack and crevasse in the mountain. Bhutan’s unique style of Buddhism emerged from an ancient form of spirituality that worshipped the natural world, a world that clearly benefitted from their respect. I’d formed this opinion long before the marten crossed my path, but this was the day I realized it wasn’t just an impression – this was indeed a country dedicated to nature.
I was on my way to a conservation center dedicated to saving the critically endangered White-bellied Heron the day that marten crossed my path. Among the center’s insightful environmental displays was a map revealing that over half the country is formally protected by the government, including a network of wildlife corridors added to accommodate the movements of larger animals after tiger tracking data identified the need for these critical connections. The government is further committed to maintaining at least 60% forest cover across the entire country, but this alone doesn’t account for the fact that Bhutan is one of only a few carbon negative countries in the world. This is a country where trash isn’t thrown alongside the road. It’s a country where the large numbers of seemingly stray dogs are quiet and gentle, confident of being fed and well-treated even by strangers. It’s a place where pilgrimages are made to the annual winter gathering grounds of the endangered Black-necked Crane, and a festival is thrown in this bird’s honor. Bhutan is filled with people who tread lightly on the planet and respect its sentient beings, a fact that even the wariest of pheasants seems to understand.
Barend Gemerden
Posted at 03:12h, 16 AprilYou’ve said it perfectly. What a magical place Bhutan is!
Kirsten Hines
Posted at 19:56h, 06 MaySuch a pleasure to have traveled with you!!!
Lisa Remeny
Posted at 21:58h, 25 AprilThank you for sharing your epic journey with us!
Kirsten Hines
Posted at 19:57h, 06 MayThank you for following along!
Dana O Smith
Posted at 17:23h, 07 JuneFascinating! Such pretty birds. Thanks for enlightening us that Bhutan is an example of how to live peacefully and that is is possible!