Category: Kyrgyzstan

July 25, 2018. Tash Komur, Kyrgyzstan. Funny name Roller, it attaches to a family of gaudy birds somewhat related to crows. As a child I used to gaze at photos of them and wonder if, or where, I’d ever see one. But time passes and I know I have seen three roller species: Broad-billed, Lilac-breasted and European, the first two last year in Uganda the third one two years ago in Kazakhstan and again most recently in Kyrgyzstan.

I think it was my first Kazakhstan sightings that most excited me, it came as a glimpse from the window of our moving train, trains don’t give second chances, then at every inter-post swoop of the utility wires there perched a large bluish bird. European Roller came to mind and so it was. It was September, late in the summer, and the birds had lost some of their glistening glamour, but still…

Then this year, in mid July, I was back in Central Asia and really not so far from that railway line. This time driving (or rather being driven) through the same type of dry, open farmland. I was looking for birds: eagles, vultures, bee-eaters and rollers in particular, and they were there, European Rollers strategically dotted along utility wires. But getting a photograph was always difficult, the moment we stopped and I picked up the camera they left; I started to despair.

This Cinereous Vulture quartered low over the hayfields and came close, there were European Bee–eaters nesting wherever they could find a sandy cliff-face and a gathering of Barn Swallows lined up along telephone wires. All good birds but still rollers managed to stay out of camera reach.

But a day or so later we stopped to look at a field dotted with bursting cotton bolls and while my companion apparently looked straight through it, I found myself almost eye to eye with this European Roller. We looked at each other for a while, long enough for me to put the camera to work and this is the result.

July 9 to 21 2018. Tien Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan. Well sooner or later the Snow Leopard expedition had to end; I’d spent the best part of two weeks in an extraordinary place, sensational really. We did not see a Snow Leopard; we hadn’t expected to. From the outset we were told our chances were virtually zero, they’re so rare, so secretive, and, other than a mother with cub, solitary. Our task was to look for evidence of the presence of Snow Leopards, signs such as prey species, footprints and scat.

Our teams’ many days of work paid off though, one team found footprints of a leopard mother and cub, expedition scientist, Dr. Volodyar Tytar, interviewed a herder and accepted as credible his report of finding the body of a cub high up the head of a valley, and best of all, one of our camera traps took a picture of a Snow Leopard, the first in five years; here it is.

And about the birding… well it wasn’t a particularly good birding place notwithstanding my seeing a handful of rather thrilling birds; it’s just not a birding hot-spot. I think the expedition as a whole recorded about 30 bird species. Complicating matters was the time of year, probably half the sightings were of newly fledged young, and fledglings can be challenging because so many of them are just little brown jobs. Given fleeting views, a young Isabelline Wheatear is indistinguishable from a Northern Wheatear and at times might just as easily be an Altai Accentor. But then, I wasn’t there for the birds.

And if this sort of expedition is for you, or a really thrilling wildlife citizen science project sounds appealing, check out Biosphere Expeditions website. Set aside plenty of time to explore the site, it holds some very out of the ordinary opportunities.

 

July 12 2018. Tien Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan. This day was notable for a couple of things: a Lamergeier; and a thunder storm that chased us off the mountain with snow, sleet and rain .

The Lammergeier (also known as Bearded Vulture) came first. It was warm and sunny when we first saw it, it was visible for several minutes, very high and far away circling the rim-peaks of the valley.  It’s worth noting that in this wide, long-views environment we saw many indeterminate black dots against the far sky, dots that might just as easily have been Golden Eagles, Cinereous Vultures, Lammergiers or even something smaller like an Upland Buzzard. In this case its shape and especially the long, diamond-shaped tail were diagnostic and the habitat was right. We confidently reported our bird as a Lammergeier at our evening de-brief and knowing nods of assent confirmed that it is to be expected as a resident species. Expected or not, it’s a pretty sensational bird. This photo was taken a few days later by Markus Gudat one of our team members; you’ll get the idea.

But what of the thunderstorm? Every day included long spells of clear fine weather, it was usually clear and cold to start and then warm T-shirt weather followed. But many times as the day wore on we’d watch a nasty cloud gathering over a mountaintop somewhere, often we heard distant thunder rolls too. We came to expect some kind of bad weather by mid or late afternoon but we were usually back at base camp by then. And bad weather it was with squally winds and driving rain. Once or twice as I lay snug (and dry) in my little tent I was sure the wind was trying to rip it all apart. Was it possible, I wondered, for the battering winds to pick it all up: me, tent and all, and flip the whole package skyward like the cow in the 1996 tornado movie Twister.

On this day our team had very nearly reached the upper limit of our day’s hike. We were near enough to the head of our side-valley, close to where milky-blue torrents of melt-water appeared from gravelly springs and moraines. We watched one of those dark clouds gather around the closest peak and then start to spill out in our direction growing thicker and more wintery cold as it did. We agreed it was time to turn back; our day’s survey work had turned up nothing of particular note and staying where we were would pointless (if not perilous.). It took about an hour, perhaps two, with snow turning to rain driving at our backs, to reach our Toyota. At base camp our drying-out yurt was ready with a hot stove, tea, and clotheslines; a place to share stories from the day.

July 16 and 18 2018. Tien Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan. This month in Kyrgyzstan was not just about birds, I have many other interests. Participation on the Snow Leopard expedition was simply an exciting opportunity that caught my imagination. I was just one of a team of volunteers coordinated by Biosphere Expeditions to help Ukrainian scientist, Dr. Volodya Tytar with field work. Our task was to hike up selected remote valleys and look for evidence of the presence of Snow Leopards: prey species, footprints, and scat primarily.

 

It was an exhilarating and awe-inspiring opportunity to go somewhere I’d never imagined I would. The team was a happy and cooperative group from Germany, Holland, Britain, Australia, USA and Canada. Our guides and cook were local Kyrgys, lovely people. Living conditions were comfortable; we were well-fed and provided necessary transportation and field equipment like compasses, radios and GPS (or sat-nav). It was up to us to participate in it as an expedition not as a holiday; that wasn’t difficult.

Each day involved hiking another tributary valley to its glacial head. It was always rough going and tiring although clearly easier for our two twenty-something year-olds. But hard or not it was endlessly and compellingly interesting: the snow-topped mountains, the loneliness, the sky, majestic views and flowers everywhere. Scattered families of nomadic herders turned their sheep, goats, cattle and horses out to graze the deep grasses around us. The yurt homesteads were managed by women, and the men, on horseback, with their lanky Borzoi dogs looked after the livestock.

Expanses of Globeflowers (Trollius altaicus) turned hillside meadows orange in sweeps, soggy low spots were sometimes shin deep in spectacular purple primroses (Primula nivalis) and several species of wild onion (Allium). There were rushing streams to cross, boulder fields to navigate, wide meadows and always the literally breathtaking hike upwards.

We’d pause to scan the high slopes and rocky ridges looking for Ibex or Argali, both prey for Snow Leopards. We knew there was not a prayer we’d spot a Snow Leopard in the endless walls, fractured crags and mountain debris. But for Ibex or Argali, there was every reason to scan and scrutinise closely.

At a breath-catching pause in today’s ascent we saw a small bird flitting from one lookout rock to another. It was small, bob-tailed, unlike any of the more common wheatears, larks or wagtails and quite hard to follow. It was almost too far away from us, so a challenge even with good binoculars. Only two of us in today’s group had any particular interest in birds and I was about to shrug it off when a glimpse, a sudden flash, of iridescent ruby triggered the identification, a Himalayan (or White-tailed) Rubythroat. Its flashy red chin is so distinctive making it unlike anything else in the field guide, it was an easy call.

I encountered another rubythroat two days later in another valley. I was crouched on a low rock absorbed in watching a busy group of young Mountain Weasels explore their home range. I must have been uncomfortably close to the rubythroat’s nest or fledglings because, while it flew from vantage point to vantage point, it was never far away and watched me closely.

Quiet inaction is very often highly productive for seeing birds well and on this same little bit of valley I enjoyed long, privileged views of Güldenstädt’s Redstart, Altai Accentor and Isabelline Wheatears, all great birds although none could quite match the Himalayan Rubythroat.

Dr. Tytar, was excited and intrigued by the rubythroats, he felt these sightings indicated an altitudinal range extension for the species (at about 3200M), perhaps a result of climate change. He was happy and so was I, blissfully.

July 17 2018. Tien Shan Mountains, Kyrgyzstan. The focus of our Snow Leopard quest was to find irrefutable evidence of the cats’ presence. But one or twice when I commented on finding something I thought interesting but doubted anyone else would, irrelevant maybe, I was surprised.  These tidbits provoked a sometimes-excited response from Dr. Volodya Tytar, our expedition scientist, who viewed them as possible indicators of changes in land use or climate, and therefore germane to the question of whether Snow Leopards are resident. Science, he pointed out, involves the painstaking, sometimes very boring, assembly of countless bits of information. My odd little observations were every bit as important.

So, in the interest of the bigger picture, it was quite appropriate that one day a small group with known interests in birds was directed to follow a herder’s track up a narrow valley and see what birds we could find. It is possible they were humouring us, but so what.

A group of birders doesn’t move very fast in the field, faster than botanists certainly, but we took all morning to cover less than a kilometre of rough ground and cattle pasture; we were having too much fun. In that morning we were slowed to a crawl by many intriguing birds, specifically including: Cinereous Vulture, Common Rosefinches, Common Cuckoo, Rock Thrush, and Hobby. I might also add Isabelline and Northern Wheatears as well as Citrine and White Wagtails, but they were to be expected anyway.

The vulture was almost our first bird and it was one of those experiences where I had to pinch myself . (I did that a lot). The setting was a towering green mountainside, a clear blue sky and this huge, solitary bird like a floating plank cruising the skyline. Much debate and field guide consultation (Birds of Central Asia) followed and we all became convinced that it was a Cinereous Vulture. Wow enough to be Bird of the Day; although perhaps too early in the day.

Stepping carefully around cow pats we puzzled a bit at juvenile Citrine Wagtails, (problem solved when the parents showed up to feed them) We inspected Common Rosefinches at length questioning whether they were really Commons or could they possibly be Red-mantled, or Spotted Great, or Red-fronted Rosefinches.  (But no, just Commons.)

Bird of the Day was a Rock Thrush, a fairly common bird as it turns out. I had been distracted by a Common Cuckoo which had persuaded us for a while that it was an accipiter; but then which one? Then my companions drew my attention to the Rock Thrush that had just popped into view on a small exposed rock cascade. It caused us a lot of head scratching; we were all beginners in this game. The bird was quite passive and only ever moved in order to allow us a better view. We made several uninspired guesses until the field guide made it abundantly clear. What a stunningly beautiful bird! And by a narrow margin my Bird of the Day.