IJIMA'S COPPER PHEASANT 171 



In such a place I have pitched my green umbrella tent, and making my way 

 to it as quietly as possible, I part the cloth and creep within. I am glad to rest 

 after the hard climb, and, lying still, I listen to the wind soughing through the 

 trees. Now and then there comes a deeper bass — the needle music of a gigantic pine, 

 which tops even the camphor trees down the slope. I have plucked a leaf from one 

 of the huge trunks near me, and the whole air is perfumed with the aromatic camphor 

 incense, seeming strangely tropical amid the early spring of this northern land. For 

 through the trees I can see the drooping branches of willows laden with catkins, and the 

 tang of spring is in the air. 



Birds are not numerous, but all are vocal with twitterings and chirps— all save a 

 single shrike, which perches for a moment on a distant twig. Active little white-eyes 

 are the most numerous, creeping vireo-like among the mossy branches. Now and then 

 a small flock of rosy finches whirls past with sharp metallic tmks. White-tailed finches 

 rise from the newly ploughed fields far below, as a young Japanese boy passes with a 

 load of radishes. The only song we hear is the double-phrased dyal-bird-like melody of 

 the •' heodori." 



The cryptomerias show among the pines as patches of rich russet — due to their 

 flowering tips. When a tit or other small bird alights on a branch, a perfect cloud of 

 smoke-hued pollen floats off upon the air. Little danger of any flowers on these trees 

 failing to be fertilized ! 



Behind my tent, and in a score of other places near by, I can see wild wisteria, 

 climbing shrubs or vines, twining around the trunks and branches of pines and other 

 trees. Their grasp is gentle, with none of the fierce, deadly compressing of tropical 

 vines and lianas. In time these will reveal beauty in wonderful splendour. Now only 

 tiny, brown, scaled buds hint of latent life within, but a few weeks hence the great 

 pendant purple pompons of the wisteria will uncoil and fill the valleys with colour and 

 odour. Some of the masses of bloom are said to be five feet long. 



A pair of Japanese ravens croak hoarsely as a brown kite soars slowly past, 

 and then suddenly the big black birds are silent and drop from their perch, winging 

 swiftly along the steep mountain-side. There must be something disturbing the wild 

 creatures farther along and still higher on the ridge. A flurry of small birds— tits and 

 sparrows— drifts nervously past, and a faint, distant whirr of wings tells me that larger 

 birds are a-flight. Fortunately my eyes are at a slit looking along the slope to the 

 eastward, when there come into view two pheasants, a cock and hen, scaling toward 

 me on bowed, motionless wings. They swerve when a few yards away, and with quick 

 beats break their speed and settle, running out the impetus of their landing. Then they 

 " freeze," and at that moment two more Copper Pheasants, hens this time, appear, and 

 fly on past my tent and around a curving out-jutting terrace of rock. 



Five minutes pass and the birds regain their composure. There is no hint of pursuit, 

 and they peck here and there among the fallen camphor leaves. A yard nearer they 

 come and find some source of food which holds their attention for ten minutes or more. 

 The cock scratches vigorously, then backs away and flicks the turf with his beak. Now 

 and then he utters a low crooning note, but does not share his spoils with his mate, who, 

 several feet away, is equally busy, but silent. 



Stepping out of the shade of the forest, the cock mounts a boulder, and makes a 



