SATYR TRAGOPAN 



Tragopan satyr a (Linnaeus) 



Names. — Generic : Tragopan, from the Greek xqayoc, goat, and Ildv the name of the god ; literally goat- 

 Pan. Specific : satyra, Greek adrvpos ; a satyr was a semi-deity, inhabiting forests, with the horns and hind limbs of 

 a goat. Both names from the fleshy, erectile horns on the heads of these birds, suggestive of a satyr or goat-like 

 creature, suggestive of the old Greek god, Pan. English : Satyr or Crimson Tragopan ; Sikhim Horned Pheasant ; 

 Indian Tragopan. French : Tragopan de Nepaul. German : Satyrhuhn. Vernacular : Lungi (Garhwalese) ; 

 Monal (Nepal) ; Omo, Boop (Bhutian) ; Tar-rhyak (Lepcha) ; See-a-gea (Chinese Tibetan). 



Brief Description. — Male: Most of the head and terminal half of tail black ; mantle and under parts 

 orange-carmine ; rest of upper plumage olive-brown ; above and below (except on upper mantle) thickly spotted 

 with white. Female : Above blackish mottled with buff, pale rufous and sandy ; below lighter, a central whitish 

 area on the feathers predominating over the buff and blackish mottling ; tail irregularly barred with rufous and 

 black. 



TYPE. — Meleagris satyra Linnaeus, "Habitat in Benghala," Sys. Nat, I. 1766, p. 269. 



RANGE. — The higher, wooded slopes of the central and eastern Himalayas. 



THE SATYR TRAGOPAN IN ITS HAUNTS 



The dawn of a new day had broken in the eastern Himalayas, gilding first the 

 pinnacle of Everest, for so through all the long centuries had the greatest source of 

 light paid homage to the highest point of earth. Instantly all the lesser snow-peaks 

 were aflame, reflecting the glow downward to where I was still deep in shadow. The 

 trail at this hour was saturated with the dews of night ; below me, like a sea of 

 tumbled snow and ice, lay the clouds — solid, compact, opaque — filling every valley and 

 gorge. So quietly floated this vapour, that one's knees were dimmed by its chill 

 blueness, while the face was still in the clear transparent air above. 



I tramped softly over the mossy trail, the distant sleepy croak of a raven coming 

 to my ears, or the chirp of some just-awakened titmouse from the bushes at the trail 

 side. A rhododendron branch, heavy with its gummy, unopened buds, swept across 

 my clothing, drenching me with a myriad dewdrops. I was on a high ridge, and the 

 slope on each side dropped almost sheer into the blue-grey mystery of the cloud. The 

 scores of square miles which I overlooked consisted of an archipelago of mountain tops, 

 clad in dark green, rising from the sea of cloud and crowned with the gleaming snows. 

 In all this land the only visible life was the slowly soaring form of a griffon vulture, 

 showing dark against the fog, pale against the forest. With outstretched head, the 

 bird rose higher and higher, at last catching the direct gleam of the sun and changing 

 to molten bronze, a glorious majestic form, the first life of day to greet the sun — "thus 

 may splendour come to the low caste." 



That subtle hesitancy which is a characteristic of early dawn was now about to 

 cease. A rustle of bamboo leaves and a downpour of drops presaged the morning 

 breeze, and the surface of the cloud slowly heaved and billowed. A sudden turn in the 



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