WILD KALEEGE HYBRIDS 



KALEEGE HYBRIDS IN THEIR WILD HOME 



Standing on the high divide which shunts its eastern waters into China, and 

 its western into the great rivers of Burma, one sees, in the direction of the latter 

 country, a great tumbled, irregular mass of mountains and valleys. All is forest, 

 clad with bamboo, oak and other hard woods, and it was here, hidden beneath that 

 vast extent of many-tinted foliage, that I found pheasants which, from the point of 

 view of their origin, were the most remarkable of their family. 



Elephants and mules were the commonest means of transport, and I found it 

 necessary to take an escort of six Gurkhas. The Kachin tribes hereabouts are 

 nominally safe, but the individual components of these tribes are uncertain quantities. 

 As still-hunting was my method of finding and observing these pheasants, and as I 

 always carried a -303 rifle cartridge in the third barrel of my gun, I worried little 

 about human enemies and only twice was even threatened with any molestation. A 

 few miles to the north, however, the wild tribes are wholly independent, and work 

 their pleasure upon strangers. 



We spent many delightful days in the study of these birds, glorying in the 

 wonderful scenery and magnificent climate, after many months of hot, steaming, 

 tropical jungles. The early November mornings were keen and clear, and every 

 valley and depression was always filled to overflowing with a calm, waveless lake of 

 cloud, while the farthest Yunnan peaks were of a deeper purple than ever painter 

 dared put to canvas. The sweetness of the chorus of bulbuls was the major theme 

 at this hour, with a minor accompaniment of distant cooing doves. 



But pheasants were difficult to find in the morning, and one might wander 

 about for hours with never a glimpse of them. 



About three o'clock in the afternoon of one of my first days in this region, 



when the sun still held back the sting of the coming night air, I left camp and 



turned down one of the old native trails. The ground was littered with dried leaves, 



and the wind soughing through the bamboos gave an added hint of autumn even 



in this southern latitude. The rains were just over and the foliage was bright and 



clean. I crept as quietly as possible down to the very bottom of a deep ravine 



which the sun's rays had already left. I knew that the pheasants were certain, 



sooner or later, to come down to this level for their evening drink. Near the low 



murmur of the rivulet I seated myself and began my vigil. For an hour I sat thus, 



making certain that the birds had not yet come down. Through the curtain of lofty 



ginger stalks overhead I could see drongos darting here and there after insects. 



Small flycatchers and babblers passed in flocks, drinking and flitting upward again. 



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