2001 (autumn) – Gorge of the Dulong, NW Yunnan, China and adjacent regions of the Salween River

Fortunately for plant fanatics like me, an area exists in the world that contains an almost unbelievable assortment of rare, beautiful and scientifically interesting plants. Unfortunately for plant fanatics like me, this region, which, for the purpose of this article I will call the Tsangpo/Irrawaddy Flora, spans the borders of extreme northwestern Yunnan, southeastern Tibet, northern Myanmar (Burma) and northeastern India (in the state of Arunachal Pradesh), all relatively difficult if not nearly impossible to access. Here, at the very eastern end of the Himalaya Mountains, where the floristic regions of China, the Himalaya, and south-eastern Asia merge, a virtual maelstrom of evolution has taken place and continues to take place. The diversity here is due to a combination of factors, including the convergence of these floristic regions, the incredible topography due to the uplifting of the Himalaya and adjacent mountains, and the monsoonal climate. Five major rivers drain through and around the eastern terminus of the Himalaya. From east to west, they are the Yangtze, the Mekong, the Salween, the Irrawaddy and the Tsangpo (Brahmaputra). The easternmost three are all relatively accessible from Yunnan Province in China. The westernmost two are much less accessible for a variety of reasons, with the Irrawaddy running through Myanmar and the Tsangpo draining SETibet and portions of NEIndia. This latter region has a flora that differs substantially from the three progressively drier watersheds to the east. This Tsangpo/Irrawaddy Flora has close affinities to that of the Himalaya, with much less of an influence from those drier watersheds to the east lying completely within China, at least from the floristically relevant northern portions.

The most “accessible” portion of the Tsangpo/Irrawaddy region is the Gorge of the Dulong, a tributary of the Irrawaddy that runs through the remote northwestern corner of Yunnan. This isolated and mountainous frontier is bordered on the west by northern Myanmar and on the north by the virtually unknown southeastern corner of Tibet. The eastern border of Arunachal Pradesh lies less than 50 miles to the west across the narrow northern tip of Myanmar. For political reasons, and due to the sheer difficulty of traveling in northern Myanmar and Arunachal Pradesh, these two regions have remained largely unexplored in the modern era of plant hunting. And Tibet, although politically a part of China, remains a very difficult and extremely expensive place in which to travel freely. This is especially true of the rugged rain-soaked mountains of southeastern Tibet, adjacent to the Yunnan border. This leaves the Dulong Valley of northwestern Yunnan as the easiest (at least politically) of these regions to explore, despite its remoteness.

The Dulong Gorge is one of those almost sacred regions for plant hunters, a holy place in the world of rhododendrons and their relatives if you will. The deep canyon of the wild and little explored Dulong is smaller than, but similar to, the nearby and more famous Gorge of the Tsangpo. It is the very center of the zone where the flora of the Himalaya merges with that of the mountains of southwestern China. It is a region ripe for exploration, with its un-trodden trails awaiting western feet, and new species undoubtedly awaiting discovery.

They say the third time is a charm and, after two unsuccessful attempts, I was determined to make it into the gorge of the Dulong River. It remained unexplored since the early part of the twentieth century when men such as Frank Kingdon Ward and Heinrich Handel-Mazzetti were active in the region. It is a difficult region to access, both politically and physically. The upper Irrawaddy drainage is a wilderness of high mountains, tremendous rainfall, very few people and an incredible assortment of rhododendrons. With Peter Cox, David Chamberlain, and several other intrepid plant explorers, I had been able to see a tremendous variety of rhododendrons and other plants on two previous expeditions, in 1997 and 2000, to this remote corner of China. The actual gorge of the Dulong, however, remained elusive as we explored the mountains up and down both banks of the adjacent Salween River, itself a remote and difficult region. Various factors contributed to our inability to reach the actual gorge of the Dulong, including bad roads, horrible weather and difficult trails. I hoped for better luck and greater success on this third attempt.

After sixteen months of planning and preparation, I was set to lead the first plant hunting expedition into Asia ever organized by the Rhododendron Species Foundation. Four of us from the States were set to fly into Taipei en route to a pre-expedition survey of Myanmar prior to meeting the rest of our party in Kunming, the capital city of the province of Yunnan, China. While in Myanmar, I wanted to do a bit of exploratory preparation in the capital city of Yangon (Rangoon). If I could make the proper contacts I hoped to set up a future expedition into the currently closed northern part of that country should the opportunity arise. With me were my friends George Latchford, a geographer and Don Selcer, the trip’s physician. Joining us was the owner of a small nursery in the Seattle region. Unfortunately, our flights were scheduled for September 18, 2001, exactly seven days after the terrorist attacks on the United States. In the chaos following the attacks, getting into Asia began to look less and less promising as airports clamped down and many flights were cancelled. Emergency correspondence from our Chinese hosts suggested canceling the expedition. This, for me, was not an option. In the end our flights departed as scheduled, following our itinerary exactly as it had been planned.

Our Thursday evening arrival at the Yangon airport was similar to any other airport experience in southeastern Asia—loud, crowded and seemingly ruled only by chaos. Following a fairly lengthy but well-organized visa processing, passport checking and payment of a $200 entrance fee(!) we entered the main terminal to be greeted by a raucous din of cab drivers and tour operators—all screaming for attention as their “assistants” tried to pull the baggage from our hands (tips are expected for everyone who touches ones bags). As we oriented ourselves (we had been on planes and in airports for most of the previous two days) a young fellow began speaking to me in English. He was a student named Than, working for a tourism company, and he quickly verified that, yes, he could provide transportation for our group to the hotel I had booked prior to our departure.

We ended up hiring Than as our guide and primary source of transportation for the duration of our short stay in Myanmar before flying into Kunming on Sunday afternoon. The southern portion of Myanmar is well south of the Tropic of Cancer and the weather was quite hot and humid. We were thankful for the air-conditioning each evening as we enjoyed a beer and a Burmese meal in a local bar with a large-screen television in the corner. As we relaxed and made plans, we eagerly watched for the latest news about the terrorist attacks. At this early point, having left the US soon after the initial attacks of 9/11, we were still unsure of what had happened and very worried about what else could happen. I have to say we were quite surprised even to have access to western media such as CNN. The reputation of the military junta that currently rules Myanmar is well deserved, but I was surprised at the general level of prosperity in the capital city, at least compared to many cities of similar size that I have visited in China or India, for example. During the day, I met with local tour operators in hopes of gaining access to northern Myanmar on a future expedition. We also spent time wandering the city, seeing the sights and acclimating ourselves to the major time change. One afternoon we visited the Shwedagon Paya (Pagoda), the most famous temple in Myanmar and one of the most famous of all temples in the Buddhist world. This impressive stupa sits atop the tallest hill just outside of the city, providing fantastic views of Yangon and the surrounding areas. The Shwedagon was originally constructed more than 2,500 years ago but has been rebuilt and expanded many times since then. It now stands an imposing 321ft/98m high and is completely covered with approximately 60 tons of gold leaf. The structure literally glows in the light, beckoning followers of Buddhism from all over the globe. It is a custom of the people of Myanmar to visit the Shwedagon before an important journey. We hoped that good luck would follow us as we began our journey into the wilderness.

Although we had enjoyed our brief stay in Myanmar, we were very happy to be leaving the corruption and bribing so rampant in the city of Yangon. After a last early morning walk through the local street markets on Sunday morning, we were driven to the airport by our guide Than to make the short flight to Kunming. Of course, we would not be allowed simply to leave with all of our obvious riches! As we checked in, I was informed that we would not be allowed to board the flight due to our excessive baggage weight. This is a common ploy in many parts of the world and often valid. I had anticipated this and we had put all of our bags together as a group, hoping to circumvent this bit of extortion, but it was not to be; we would not be allowed on with all our baggage. I argued for a while but to no avail, eventually asking to see a manager. The hard expression on the agents face immediately softened and I was whisked off to a large man in full military dress standing behind another counter. He was red-faced and in a full-blown, very loud argument with a Chinese military officer. The agent explained my situation and I was directed to follow the Burmese military man as he walked rapidly down several long hallways and further into the building. We soon came to a room with another large man in full military regalia. His outfit was well hung with medals and he appeared very confident (at least more so than I was). Again the situation was explained and, once the necessary forms had been produced and signed and my own small contribution had been added to his impressively large roll of American bills, I was quickly guided back to the check-in counter. We were free to go, and our bags would be coming with us.

We were eager to move on to China and meet up with the rest of our expedition team. Upon our arrival at the Kunming airport, we were met by the Director of the Kunming Institute of Botany—Guan Kaiyun. Botanists from the Institute would be hosting our expedition and had made all of the preliminary arrangements for our traveling into the mountains along the Myanmar frontier. I was finally able to meet Dr. Zhou Zhekun, my primary contact and the Chinese leader for the trip. Dr. Zhou is one of the world experts on the Fagaceae (the oak and beech family), and along with three other Chinese botanists would be a valuable addition to the group. Dr. Zhou had never been to the Dulong and was as eager to explore the gorge as we were.

Early in the planning stages, I had decided to make this visit to the wilds of China a true botanical expedition, pressing duplicate herbarium specimens of everything we collected and documenting their locations with a GPS. Copies of the herbarium specimen duplicates would eventually end up in the herbariums at the RSF, the University of British Columbia, the Kunming Institute of Botany and even the Royal Botanic Garden in Edinburgh. I pursued this expedition in this fashion for a number of reasons. One, I thought that maybe our Chinese hosts from the Institute would take the venture a little more seriously if they were part of a truly scientific expedition instead of just guiding a bunch of plant nuts from the west. With a bit more effort on their part, maybe we would finally make it into the Dulong. It is not that they do not always work hard guiding the expeditions, but I sometimes feel they are merely performing their roles as tour guides, arranging our lodging and meals and keeping us safe. Furthermore, as the first actual expedition organized by the RSF, I felt it was important to establish a precedent and a professional reputation. Building a cooperative and reciprocal rapport with the Kunming Institute was a high priority. Of course, the additional botanists on the Chinese side, as well as the need to carry all of the bulky material needed to collect, document and preserve herbarium specimens properly added substantially to the cost of the trip. But this was all for the best, in my opinion.

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Part 2

We were driven to our hotel and I immediately went to find the other two western members of our expedition team. Peter Wharton, the curator of the Asian collection at the University of British Columbia Botanic Garden in Vancouver, Canada, had arrived the previous day as had Jens Nielsen, the propagator at Glendoick, the nursery in Scotland owned and managed by the Cox family. Jens, at the young age of 28, is considered by many of the botanists at the Kunming Institute to be the finest plantsman in the west, and I was quite pleased to have both him and Peter along. With our four Chinese botanists, our team was complete.

That same evening we flew to Baoshan, a large city in southwestern Yunnan near the frontier with Myanmar. The next morning we began the expedition by driving north for a full day to the city of Liuku on the Salween River. At about the halfway point of this scenic drive is a “famous” stop for plant hunters, a low-elevation pass of around 8,200ft/2,600m near the town of Caojian at the base of the Ziben Shan. We had a brief botanical stop here and noted the genera Vaccinium, Ilex, Styrax, Hydrangea, Cinnamomum, Machilus, Lindera and Magnolia among many others. Later in the day, as we neared Liuku, we were stopped at a military checkpoint and, while waiting for our papers to be inspected, George and Don nearly had their heads taken off by falling rocks as a small landslide rained down from the high cliffs above.

Liuku is the capital of the Nu Jiang (Salween) Prefecture, an area set aside by the central government as an autonomous region managed by the Lissu ethnic minority who dominate the local region. Like much of modern China, it is rapidly growing with new buildings under construction almost constantly. It has changed dramatically each time I have visited and one can now stay in a relatively modern air-conditioned hotel if one wishes to do so. Liuku straddles the Salween and has a subtropical climate. I have spent many enjoyable evenings in riverside “cafes” enjoying a warm beer or two and walking the river-spanning bridges in an attempt to stay cool. The mountains rising abruptly from the city on either side of the river are, of course, full of great plants and it is always exciting to sit in the subtropical breeze alongside this huge Asian river imagining the floral richness just waiting to be explored as one moves north from this Salween starting point.

The following day was another full day’s drive north along the Salween to the end of the road in the far northwestern corner of the province—the small town of Gongshan. The drive along the river is spectacular, with the lofty and incredibly vertical mountains along both banks forming an immense, deep canyon-like valley. Although the mountains along some sections of the Salween rise up to 14,000ft/4,250m or more in height, these higher peaks are rarely observed from the low elevation of the river due to the incredible steepness of the slopes. Deep narrow canyons split these massive walls with some regularity, the long cascading waterfalls within rivaling their famous counterparts in the Yosemite Valley of California. We were lucky to have a beautiful clear and sunny day for the entire drive north. Our spirits were high as we made our way ever further into the frontier.

The Salween road was in much better shape than it had been in previous years and we made good progress north to Gongshan in the very northwestern corner of the province. It had been blocked by landslides (usually more than one) almost every other time I had traveled upon it in previous years. In 1997, for instance, we were stuck in the small dirty town of Fugong, at about the halfway point between Liuku and Gongshan, for four days as the road just to the north was cleared, mostly by hand, of a major landslip. Gongshan is a great little frontier town astride the banks of the Salween and is literally at the end of the road. Years later, in the spring of 2005, when I made my fourth trip to the Salween, the northward advancing road, which was under construction during our visit in 2001, had been completed as far upstream from Gongshan as the small village of Bingzhongluo. To reach this small town in 2000, we walked the trail along the Salween. It lies at the base of the 14,600ft/4,450m high Kenichum Pu (Gomba La), the highest peak in the Gaoligong Shan. Since having been reached by the road, the small outpost of Bingzhongluo has grown tremendously.

I had spent a great deal of time in Gongshan during my first two expeditions to the region and had very fond feelings for the place. It is populated primarily by members of the local ethnic groups, including Lissu, Tibetan, and even a few Drung (also known as the Dulong people), a dwarf and little-known group that is slowly going extinct. There are reported to be only around 3,300 Drung people left, the vast majority of them inhabiting the isolated Dulong valley that we were anxious to explore. Most of the shops are owned and managed by ethnic Han Chinese—actual “Chinese” people and by far the dominant group in China, both numerically and politically—who had emigrated south from the extremely crowed Red Basin of Sichuan. A quick lunch stop in the town of Fugong typified the selection of food offered at this time of year along the Salween. Various fungi were in season and we enjoyed mushrooms with every meal. Another delicacy in this region, and a personal favorite, is stir-fried hornet pupae and larvae.

We arrived in Gongshan (elevation about 5,300ft/1,600m) early that evening and after checking in to the local hotel we were treated to a large feast by the local government officials on the open roof of the best local restaurant. As is typical with such functions, the local firewater soon appeared and we even sacrificed one of our few precious bottles of Scotch. A great deal of toasting took place through the course of the evening and we enjoyed the open views of the surrounding verdant mountains. After dinner, we spent a bit of time at a combination open-air pool hall and internet café. The internet access was an unexpected surprise as such a thing had not been available the year before. We were all very anxious to hear the latest news from home concerning developments with the September 11 terrorist attacks, and of course we used the opportunity to send messages to our families.

The next day was spent packing and procuring supplies for our planned six-day hike into the Dulong Gorge. Once in the gorge, we would spend the next week or two, depending upon access, exploring the high mountains on either side of the deep chasm. Since the Chinese handled most of the necessary work of hiring ponies and purchasing supplies, the rest of us took a short driving day trip up the newly built Dulong Road to look for plants and see the mountains. This “road” had been built in 1997-98 and we had observed much of the destruction and blasting during our first trip to the region in 1997. The steepness and incessant heavy rains caused much of the road to collapse almost immediately upon its completion. Subsequent and almost continuous landslides had rendered it basically useless for transportation since that time. As expected, during our visit, the road was closed due to landslides higher up. Still, we were eager to get to work and managed to drive to a point high enough to find many interesting plants including the Rhododendron species – floccigerum, glischrum, and even the rare big-leaf coriaceum. We returned to Gongshan late in the afternoon to finalize our preparations.

After a mellow dinner and planning session, all was set for what we hoped would be our successful trek when, late that evening, Dr. Zhou knocked on my door with the good news that the road into the Dulong had just been opened and that we could rent some lorries (specifically the ubiquitous large blue trucks of China that anyone who has ever been there would recognize in an instant) and drive into the valley the next morning. We changed our plans accordingly and the following day, after a rather scary eight-hour drive up and over the mountains outside of Gongshan, we entered the gorge of the Dulong River—five days ahead of schedule. As we left Gongshan, the road wound its way through the mountains, past rich forests and deep valleys. The forests in this part of Asia in many ways resemble the forests of the Pacific Northwest with many varieties of large conifers including spruce (Picea), larch (Larix), true fir (Abies) and Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga). Of course in these Asian forests, unlike our own coniferous forests, it is possible to observe 30 or 40 different species of Rhododendron growing in the wild. Many good plants were observed along the road, including several species of maple (Acer), various mountain ash (Sorbus spp.), massive evergreen oaks, orchids, and dozens of different ferns. Among the rhododendrons that stand out in my memory are the species arizelum, coriaceum, megacalyx, floccigerum—here seeming to merge completely with neriiflorum subsp. phaedropum, anthosphaerum, protistum, brachyanthum subsp. hypolepidotum, and megeratum, which grew only high up in the trees.

Remarkably, while still on the Salween side of the pass, Dr. Zhou received a call on his cell phone (even here we could not get away from the annoying, though admittedly useful things, the Dulong side had no service however). After a few minutes of discussion with his phone contact, he was obviously shaken. He asked if I knew a certain scientist from the U.S. but I did not recognize the name. Zhou’s call had been from his co-workers in the Institute working with an international team of biologists who were documenting the incredible richness of life in the Gaoligong mountain region. At that moment, they were working on the other side of the Gaoligong Shan, just over the ridge as it were. He reported the sad and shocking news that the senior herpetologist (a reptile and amphibian specialist) had just died from the bite of a poisonous snake. This is always a concern in this region with its tremendous diversity of poisonous snakes including kraits, cobras and many kinds of vipers, several of the latter no more than a foot in length. Needless to say we were all a bit thrown off by this horrible news and I, at least, became much more tentative about thrashing around in the brush.

We continued on our way along the precipitous narrow road, stopping occasionally to observe the wide range of plants along the road. We slowly gained elevation until we reached the pass over the divide separating the drainage of the Salween River from that of the Irrawaddy. The actual crossing of the pass was a tunnel that had been hand-hewn through the ridge at around 10,000ft/3,050m. The tunnel measured one quarter of a mile long and was only large enough for the smaller version of the common Chinese lorry. After pulling in our side mirrors the drivers slowly drove into the gloom, the headlights illuminating the rough rock walls slick with water. The support timbers jammed into various niches did little to ease our trepidation as we crept towards the distant spot of light. As we exited the tunnel we stopped for photos and our first look into the Irrawaddy drainage. As far as I knew, we were the first plant hunters in the modern era to gain access to the rich, diverse and distinct flora of this major watershed. It was a great feeling to have made it so far in so little time. My long elusive quarry was finally before me.

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Part 3
Once we crossed the pass into the Irrawaddy drainage, Jens quickly spotted what appeared to be the rare Rhododendron martinianum and R. sanguineum subsp. didymum. A brief stop and inspection revealed that his sharp eyes had been proven correct once again. Both species were new for me (and for us all) in the wild.

As we continued down into the valley we drove through some stunning scenery, including fine forests of Chinese Hemlock (Tsuga dumosa) that contained many large understory trees of Rhododendron hylaeum, a relative of R. thomsonii that remains very rare in cultivation. This species has rose to pink bell-shaped flowers in very early spring and stunning pinkish-gray bark that remains completely smooth from the tips of its new branches to the sinewy curving trunks rising through the dense undergrowth of ferns and wildflowers. Until recently, it was represented in cultivation by only one clone grown from seed collected by Frank Kingdon Ward (KW#9322).

The temperature began to climb as we continued to drive down from the pass into the valley. At this latitude, the river itself lies at about 5,250ft/1,600m and the weather was quite hot and muggy as we approached the village of Kongdan. Our primary objective for the day remained to reach the valley. We made good time in getting to Kongdan from whence we would begin our trek north. Kongdan is the largest village in the valley but still quite small and primitive. As it is the terminus for the new road, it is sure to become larger and more modern. We were quite surprised to be taken to a couple of newly constructed small buildings that would serve as our lodging for the night. Each of the two small rooms had three beds within and a red, white a blue tarp hung overhead as a ceiling beneath the tin roof. The openness of the building made for great transmission of the noisy rushing of the Dulong River that raced past just outside the village. Occasional blasts of dynamite thundered off of the surrounding cliffs as the local villagers blasted the river, attempting to kill or stun any nearby fish. This is an incredibly wasteful and destructive method of fishing and we protested to our Chinese hosts, but to little avail. We were in the “wild west” as it were, and there was little if any government oversight for such infractions. Walking around the village later in the day, I imagined myself in a frontier town in the old American west, full of shanties, small shops and lots of mud. Massive puddles of muddy water filled the main street and piles of livestock manure lay everywhere. Still, we had been saved from camping in a nearby leech-infested cornfield and for that we were most grateful. Our “hotel” even had a small porch above the mud with a few old chairs and empty diesel barrels to sit upon. We had a splendid evening drinking beer on the veranda and toasting our success and luck.

That evening we had dinner in a local house in company with two local government officials. They asked many questions and we talked about our plans. We received their blessing and were told that they would be accompanying us for the duration of our stay in the valley. They would act as liaisons for us in the villages as we worked our way upriver and would facilitate our mission in any way possible. It was fortunate that I had arranged this expedition as a scientific co-venture with our Chinese hosts. Chickens scratched around the dirt floor as we ate and the occasional local semi-tame monkey climbed in through the open eaves, obviously accustomed to receiving handouts. In this remote, rugged wilderness there are still good populations of the larger fauna of the Sino-Himalaya. Although Asian elephants, rhinoceros and most likely, Bengal tigers had all been extirpated from the local forests for decades, biologists still find signs of such rare beasts as the gaur, a 2,000lb/907kg species of wild cattle, red goral, musk deer, Himalayan black bear, wild dog, leopard cats, black serow, red panda and the unusual musk oxen relative, the takin, a large beast of the high mountains. In addition to several species of monkey and langur, the largest primate in the region, the Hoolock’s gibbon, still inhabits the mountain forests. The bird life is tremendous of course, with a multitude of hornbills, parrots, woodpeckers, etc.

As darkness descended we noted that even remote huts on the distant slopes had electricity. In an incredible stroke of luck, we had arrived on the day of a huge celebration that would take place later that evening. It was the Moon Festival, which just happened to be taking place in conjunction with National Day on the calendar that year. As the evening progressed and the occasional electric light was illuminated, several hundred people made their way into the village. We enjoyed traditional dancing and singing, the colorful costumes flashing in the exposed light of the naked bulbs suspended overhead. After a couple of hours of this, we retired to our beds. It had been a very long day and we had only just begun our excursion.

The next day we had a late morning start following the customary arranging of baggage on the 15 or so ponies we had hired to transport our gear and food. We were told that we were among the first westerners to make it into the Dulong Valley since the days of the early plant hunters. Most of the small number of more recent visitors had been scientists studying the mysterious Dulong people. As if to demonstrate the point, we were somewhat shocked to see a small group of young people, Israelis or possibly Europeans, arriving with their backpacks. They seemed equally shocked to see us. They had no permission to be there, however, and were quickly summoned to the local political office and given a ride right back over the pass to Gongshan, their Chinese travel agent being duly reprimanded. Things were being ruined already thanks to the new road and I knew the Dulong Gorge would soon be swarming (relatively speaking) with tourists.

We started off along a rough trail set with large stones. Leeches soon made themselves evident and we would be plagued with them for the duration of our stay in the gorge. We hoped to travel north along the river for a day or two, looking for access into the incredibly steep forest-covered slopes. The trail followed the river more or less, climbing up and over ridges as we climbed along the narrow and deep gorge. As we hiked, we made herbarium collections of many interesting low-elevation plants including lots of beautiful specimens of various Aeschynanthus species which hung in sheets from the wet cliffs and trees. This genus, a member of the Gesneriaceae (African Violet family), is related to the Lipstick Plant that is commonly grown as a houseplant. Many species inhabit the lower elevations of the Sino-Himalaya regions and I find them quite beautiful and fascinating. We also observed and collected several interesting trees and shrubs, many of them of Himalayan origin and not known from any other part of China outside of Tibet. As I have mentioned, the Dulong, as a branch of the Irrawaddy River, is the very eastern end of the Himalayan flora. One surprise was the beautiful Pinus bhutanica, a common enough species in Bhutan and adjacent regions of the eastern Himalaya but never recorded this far east. This pine is quite rare in cultivation and a bit tender for most climates, coming from fairly low elevations throughout its range. It is one of the white or five-needled pines, the long pendulous needles typically bright glaucous blue-green in color. Several Rhododendron relatives share a similar interesting range, the populations ending just inside China in this extreme northwestern corner of Yunnan—that is, the gorge of the Dulong. Two of these, both of which are common species in the eastern Himalaya, are Vaccinium nummularia, which I had observed growing wild as an epiphyte in Sikkim and Gaultheria wardii, a shrubby wintergreen with remarkable hairy stems that I had never seen before. While the former is well established in cultivation, the latter is still quite rare, and I was particularly pleased to find it arching out from the wet cliffs lining the trail. It forms large clusters of small blue fruits coated with a milky white wax. I would see masses of this species far to the west in Arunachal Pradesh, the heart of its range, a couple years later. A close relative of Vaccinium nummularia which also occurs only in this northwestern corner is the choice V. chaetothrix, a diminutive version of nummularia which typically occurred as a small evergreen pendulous shrub on the sides of trees and boulders, its tiny rounded and convex leaves lining the dangling stems like green pearls on a string.

The best of these rhododendron relatives, however, was a plant that I knew in cultivation only from a collection made in Nepal. This was another widespread species of the eastern Himalaya, a giant blueberry named Vaccinium gaultheriifolium. I had seen one specimen of this growing in the bit of forest on the Dulong side that we were able to access from the pass during our attempted trek here in 2000, so I knew it had to grow in the gorge. It is a stunning evergreen shrub with beautiful glaucous blue-green smooth leaves. The undersides of the leaves, the flowers and the blueberries are all covered with a thick layer of white wax. It was the main plant on my hit list. I was happy then, but not too surprised, to find it in abundance on our very first day in the field. It was quite common on the cliffs along the river, forming large upright and arching shrubs to a height of 10ft/3.5m, or more. The plants were laden with masses of both fruit and pure white flowers. What a find! It is, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful of all shrubs and although rare in cultivation, is well worth growing in those areas with a mild maritime climate such as northern California, the western coast of Scotland or New Zealand. In Seattle, I grow it in a container where it does quite well with plenty of water and the occasional trim.

Growing on steep exposed cliffs at around 5,000ft/1,525m was Rhododendron dendricola, here in the form previously known as R. taronense. This member of subsection Maddenia varies quite a bit over the wide range in which it occurs. It is generally a plant of the temperate rainforest where it typically grows epiphytically in the tops of tall trees, its presence detected only in the litter of the forest floor beneath. This species has large funnel-shaped white flowers, often with a pink flush and/or yellow, orange or green blotch, and is fragrant. It makes a fine plant in a container or the greenhouse but is a bit tender for growing outside in most regions. The unusual Rhododendron moulmainense also grows in these low-elevation forests along the river. This species can eventually form a large tree with striking smooth and peeling reddish to purple-brown bark. The large, fragrant, orchid-like flowers of the local variety, formerly R. stenaulum, are a lovely soft pink. We also observed our first colonies of the lovely Hedychium villosum, a perennial ginger relative and another genus in which I have a strong personal interest. This large monocot, with leaves like a giant orchid or corn plant, has large showy and colorful, often fragrant flowers in either late summer or fall, depending upon the species. The flowers on this particular species, which seemed to be the dominant species in the area, were pure white on red pedicels, quite striking. Members of the genus Hedychium make fine garden plants, easily grown in a sunny or partly shady position with any decent soil. They can be dug and stored like dahlia tubers in the fall in colder regions. I leave them in the ground year-round in Seattle, and also grow several species in large containers.

It was a very hot and humid day of hard hiking up and down the rough track and we were glad to reach the village where we would camp for the first night. We were welcomed by the villagers with bowls of their homemade rice wine. Not wanting to pitch our tents in the dung-covered courtyard that formed the middle of the village, we walked down to the river to check out some sandbars. This was a problem logistically so we ended up renting the one-room schoolhouse where we were able to lay out our sleeping bags for the night. Once everything had been organized, we took a quick plunge in the ice-cold river to cool off and rinse away the day’s sweat and grime. After dinner we prepared our day’s collection of herbarium specimens, setting up a system that worked well through the rest of the expedition. Dr. Zhou did most of the actual laying out and pressing of specimens while I took the field notes, the others pitching in when necessary or with bits of information about things they had gathered throughout the day. Things were going well so far.

As in Kongdan the night before, we met with the headmen of the village in order to seek information and plan the following day’s trek. We had hoped to be able to access the surrounding high mountains, but were told that the trails had mostly fallen into disrepair since the government had placed strict controls on the border in an effort to slow down the drug trafficking across the Myanmar border. This resulted in many of the old trade routes—in reality simply rough, but well-used trails, up and over the mountain passes—being more or less abandoned. Moreover, the area had a very small population base to begin with and most hunting had been outlawed with the intention of setting aside much of the area as national parks. So we were forced to face the reality of a true wilderness ahead of us, with little or no access into the mountains. While we were happy that this region was being preserved in its natural state, we were frustrated at the possibility that we would not be able to find any camping locations, let alone tracks usable for a group as large as ours in the relatively short time we had available. All this became more and more apparent as my Chinese partners and I met with the local village elders each subsequent evening as we slowly worked our way up the river. Each night the decision was made to proceed further up the river to the next village in the hope of finding trekking access and camping.

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Part 4
On our second full day in the Dulong gorge, we awoke to steady rain. Unfortunately, it was not to end anytime soon. After a light breakfast of fried rice with egg, we started off into the gloomy gray day, mud and leeches our constant companions. Through the hot, muggy and very rainy day, we hiked up and down ridgelines along the river, steadily making progress toward the Tibetan border, the river becoming increasingly narrow and rapid as we proceeded. An entry from my journal that day: “Very hot and humid with lots of leeches through the day. These are mostly smaller species and easier to get off than last year. Also they seem to inject less anticoagulant as there is much less bleeding after removal.” And so it was to go for the next few days.

Late that second afternoon we arrived in the next village. Here we were taken to visit some older Dulong women who still had the distinctive facial tattooing that used to mark the majority of women in this ethnic group. Very few of these older women remain, and the practice has now fallen out of favor. We were told that it was done in the past to prevent the more aggressive Tibetans from capturing women as slaves during their frequent raids to the south. Apparently, the Tibetan raiders, and their clients, found the tattooing so unattractive that the women became unmarketable. It was a rare treat to meet these people, remnants of a bygone day. In a rather ironic twist, we were asked for money to take photographs of the tattooed women, as were our Chinese hosts, all of whom were as enthralled with the spectacle as we were.

We again rented out the local schoolhouse for the night’s lodging—a real bonus due to the continuing rain, omnipresent mud, and leeches. The schoolhouse, like the village itself, was still only at around 6,000ft/1,825m elevation but we had great views of the river and surrounding steep ridges. All the way up the gorge we felt especially lucky in that all of the villages seemed to have just completed new schoolhouses, an unexpected bonus of the central government’s massive spending in this and other remote regions. Sleeping and working in the shelter of brand new wooden buildings would save us a great deal of frustration and time for the duration of our stay in the gorge. As the days of rain wore on, this nightly reprieve was a real spirit raiser for which I was extremely grateful. Something that I can now look back on with a bit of a smile but which at the time I remember as being very annoying was that, after all of the time we would spend each evening scraping mud off of everything and picking leeches from every nook and cranny, the ponies carrying our gear would show up. All of the bags would be covered with mud and literally crawling with leeches and we would have to start all over again as we tried to set up for the evening. The poor ponies would have huge leeches hanging from all over their already thin and scruffy bodies. Their heads and faces were especially vulnerable since they picked up new leeches each time they lowered their heads to graze.

The following morning, the first day of October, we again followed the river upstream, again in the pouring rain. Our ponchos were virtually useless, serving merely as a conduit for leech access to our heads and upper bodies. The small and poorly made umbrellas that we had purchased in Kunming were useful but difficult to maneuver through the dense growth of ferns and vines hanging over the usually very narrow path hugging the cliffs along the river. As we continued north, the gorge narrowed and became steeper, our elevation increasing slowly but steadily. Long ribbon waterfalls cascaded down from the steep cliffs overhead. Dr. Zhou noted that the Dulong Gorge was very similar both in appearance and floristically to the famous Tsangpo Gorge of southeastern Tibet just to the north and west of us. He and two other botanists from the Kunming Institute had made a historical, and highly successful, almost year-long expedition to a remote and unexplored portion of the Tsangpo Gorge near Medog several years earlier. They spent several months exploring, documenting the rich flora, and collecting herbarium specimens. Once they had entered the Gorge, they were basically stuck there and had to live off of the land with the help of the local native people. An amazing number of new species were described from their collections and much work has yet to be done on all of the material they found. Zhou mentioned that although the leeches were bad in the Dulong, they did not compare to what they endured in crossing the passes into and out of the Tsangpo. He noted that the local pony men would not take them over the passes during the high monsoon of the summer because the huge number of blood-sucking leeches around at that time would literally drain the life from their ponies. I’m not sure if his story of relatively even worse conditions made us feel better, or not.

We made it to the “last” village in the early afternoon. We would be staying here for the night, and once again conferring with the local elders. This was the next largest village after the main village of Kongdan where the road terminates, and where we had begun our trek. By this point, we felt that we were well into one of the few “unexplored” regions left in the Sino-Himalaya and were feeling quite isolated from the western world. Needless to say, we were quite surprised to walk into this last village, the incessant rain still pouring down, and find a large crowd of people cheering on a game of basketball. The game was taking place on an actual paved court, complete with hoops (no nets) and a makeshift basketball. The two teams of young men continued to run up and down the court as we all filed in to mingle with the large crowd that had gathered. Two game officials, both with whistles, ran up and down with the boys. The whole thing was quite surreal and, at that moment, leading the first group of people from the west into a remote, relatively unexplored gorge inhabited by one of the rarest ethnic groups on the planet, the world became a much smaller place in my mind. The reason for the ball game this particular day was because it was a day of celebration. We had stumbled upon another full-blown festival. The entire village was present, as well as numerous families from the surrounding area. They had gathered for what was probably their biggest celebration of the year. As we had witnessed in Kongdan a few days earlier, the village was celebrating both the Moon Festival and, to a lesser degree, National Day, the two of which were very close together on the calendar in 2001. We were warmly welcomed and provided with seats on a rough wooden porch, happy to be out of the pouring rain and enjoying a beer with the locals as we watched the end of the ballgame. I felt a little guilty and embarrassed, however, as our ponies, laden with boxes of gear and food, trailed in after us, completely ignoring all proper etiquette as they paraded right through the middle of the court, stopping play and making a mess of things. But the villagers enjoyed every minute of it and had it all quickly sorted out, thoroughly enjoying the novelty of our strange group.

In discussion with the locals, Dr. Zhou learned of a possible trail up into the mountains and, since we had plenty of daylight left, we decided to excuse ourselves from the festivities to check it out. The trail wound for a short distance through the large boulders lining the river. We found many interesting plants along here including the fantastic Rhododendron nuttallii (also known as R. sinonuttallii). This large-growing member of subsection Maddenia has the largest flowers of any non-vireya species in the genus. These huge fragrant flowers can be up to six inches long and equally wide at the mouth, white in color with a yellow flush or blotch. The equally impressive leaves emerge a vivid and very attractive purple color beset with silver scales. The upper surface of the leaves is deeply bullate and the reddish brown bark is smooth and peeling. Even the large capsules, which were the only sign of flowering present at that time of year, were impressive, each up to three inches long. Notwithstanding the excitement of finding this genuinely spectacular plant though, the most exciting plant of the trip so far was a strange rhododendron growing beside what was obviously the rare R. chrysodoron, in the shade of a large boulder. The rarely collected chrysodoron itself was a special find, although we had seen it on the Upper Salween in both 1997 and 2000. It is a member of the small subsection Boothia and is reminiscent of its more widely grown close relative R. sulfureum, sharing with that species small flattened bright yellow flowers, deep green leaves and smooth dark brown bark. Our newly discovered unknown plant was similar to chrysodoron but obviously quite distinct, and neither Jens nor I could put a name to it. There was, then, a possibility that we had discovered a species until now entirely unknown. We called it “species nova subsection Boothia,” and collected specimens. From this discovery I surmised that such things as this previously un-collected species still remained to be found because the earlier plant hunters such as Frank Kingdon Ward and Handel Mazzetti, both of whom had gone through this area in the early part of the twentieth century, had been able to access the tops of the ridges. They had traveled above, and thereby missed, plants to be found in the thick rainforest through which we, unable to reach the high ridges, had been forced to trudge. Thus, there were probably many plants growing in the lower elevations of the numerous valleys throughout the region yet to be documented and described. This was an exciting prospect indeed.

We were soon climbing up and over giant boulders along a side stream. The boulders were covered with interesting vegetation but the combination made for very difficult and dangerous hiking as we could not even see where to put our feet as we pushed through the stinging nettles. Without a machete man out front—all the locals had stayed in the village for the party—it became more and more difficult to push our way through the dense vinous growth. We were making very little progress and so gaining little elevation. It seemed ridiculous to continue, knowing that we would soon have to turn around and work our way back to the village. I called out to the others and we started back. By the time we arrived back in the village, the celebration was in full swing. Many more people from the surrounding area had arrived and decorations had been put up. Being the first group from the west through these villages, we generated a great deal of attention, especially from the children, all of whom gathered around to watch in amazement as we pulled one strange article after another from our bags.

We were provided with a large room facing the village square in which to lay out our gear and sleeping bags, thankful once again for a roof over our heads and not having to deal with mud and leech covered tents. We spent the evening mingling with the locals and drinking whatever they had available. Plenty of beer and the local rice wine were provided and we helped ourselves, enjoying the people and the celebration. Early in the celebration, Dr. Zhou and I left the celebration to confer with the village elders regarding our expedition. With all four Chinese botanists and several of the elder village men, I settled into a small smoke-filled room, sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor around a small fire. Homemade pipes and liquor were soon passing around and I offered some Scotch. We spent the next couple of hours poring over our limited maps and discussing possible routes into the mountains, everything having to be interpreted at least once with Mandarin, Dulong and English speakers all struggling to communicate. We drank many toasts as we sat coughing and squinting in the smoke-filled room. The celebratory sounds continued unabated, sneaking in to disturb our discussion each time the door was opened. I felt, at that moment and in that situation, more affinity with the famous plant hunters of the early twentieth century than I have ever felt. I could imagine Frank Kingdon Ward or George Forrest in exactly the same situation, meeting with the locals in a remote village, planning the next stage of his expedition.

I began to feel a bit positive about our predicament as it seemed as if we had finally found some people with a wide knowledge of the region. Distances and marching times were bandied back and forth between the Dulong elders, the Chinese and me. I had a difficult time in explaining that what they considered a simple half-day march equaled a probable one and one half or even two full days’ march for my people. Our varying concepts of time and distance forced us to reevaluate and then evaluate again every idea proposed, and my positive mood began to wane. A couple of options were promising until I was told that even if we could manage to clamber our way up the steep cliffs and densely vegetated slopes, our ponies and gear would certainly not be able to come along and we would not be able to set up any sort of camp on the almost vertical slopes. It all seemed hopeless and I despaired of ever climbing out of that infernal valley.

Then, as the serious pessimism set in, I was told of a small campsite that had been hacked out of the jungle high up the mountain at around 10,000/3,050m on the way to one of the passes into Myanmar. Such a location would be a perfect place for a base camp from which to make forays onto the surrounding peaks. I was told that a small Chinese army expeditionary force had come through several years previously and had formed the rough overnight camp one day’s hike up slope from the next “village”—a few small primitive huts, as it turned out, known as Ba—located a few hours upstream from our present position. Of course, one day’s hike for the Chinese army is not the same as one day’s hike for us! And the locals had no faith in our ability to reach the camp, if such a place even still existed. At one point there was much loud talking and pointing as they examined Don’s boots which earlier in the evening he had placed near the fire in an attempt to dry them out. The village leaders laughed when I was told through the interpretation of Dr. Zhou that our boots were too wide to navigate the narrow paths along the cliffs we would be scaling! It was not much of a plan and I was not very hopeful for success but it was our only chance. I had failed even to reach the Dulong in 1997 and I had failed again in 2000. This time, although we had actually entered the valley and had come a long way through some tough situations and under horrible weather conditions, we had not really made it into the rhododendron-rich upper slopes of the high mountains all around us. I decided we would head upstream in the morning to attempt what seemed to be our last and only hope of success in the Dulong Valley.

I emerged from the hut to raucous cheers, toasts, and a myriad of questions from my now quite jolly compatriots. I explained the situation and our options. Everyone was on board and we would continue on together. I was handed a beer and promptly raised a toast to exploration, the party was on. By now, darkness was settling in and some electric lights had been strung up for the festivities. As the celebration continued into the night we enjoyed performances of singing and dancing in native costumes, handmade native instrument recitals and even Karaoke. Late that evening, we were approached by our Chinese friends who had been asked by the locals to ask us to perform something from our own country. Of course we represented not one country, but Denmark, Canada and the USA. Nevertheless, after some discussion, the idea was put forth that we could sing “America the Beautiful,” the only song that all six of us knew any of the lines to.We also thought that it was an appropriate choice since we were still only a few weeks out from the terrorist attacks of September 11. This had weighed heavily upon us all for the duration of our expedition, since we had had very little news from home. We were still very unsure of what had happened or what might be happening. We all huddled together as Don guided us through a couple of practice rounds before making our way to the front of the large crowd. We lined up side by side and belted out a fair version of the song, every eye in the village watching our every move. The cameras of the Chinese botanists were flashing nonstop as we sang the song. The raucous applause upon the end of our performance was the loudest and longest of the evening.

Soon after this, the celebration began to wind down as a ritualistic dance began to form in the square. I have observed this many times in my travels and these communal dances are often very similar. The participants gather in a large circle and hold hands, singing or chanting as they rotate around in an intricate pattern of rhythmic dance steps. We enjoyed this spectacle for some time before retiring into our room for the evening. I could hear the lovely singing late into the night as I lay in fitful sleep on the floor in this remote village. It had been quite a day.

The following morning we continued north toward the small village of Ba, following the course of the river. It was still pouring down rain but we made good progress along the almost non-existent track, which included several small stream crossings that soaked us even more thoroughly than the non-stop rain. We eventually reached a major fork in the river, one branch, which we followed, coming in from the west, and one branch coming more or less straight down from Tibet. After the split, we soon came to a steep side stream in full flood. There was no bridge, but a small tree trunk had been dropped across the raging waters. At that moment I thought that we might have literally reached the end of the road since a slip off of the small treacherous log would be most dangerous, if not deadly. There was no way that our ponies and gear would be able to follow us even if we could make it across. We would have to leave them behind for the time being. We were debating our alternatives when, almost miraculously, a young Chinese man in a poncho appeared on the far bank. He beckoned us forth, waving his hand and promising shelter from the rainstorm and cold. He held out a long pole to steady us as we took turns slowly crossing the log. It was not a situation for the faint of heart.

Once we had all gathered on the opposite shore we learned that our new Chinese friend had only recently been stationed in Ba, our destination that day, to oversee the construction of a wooden schoolhouse and then to serve as a teacher for the dozen or so kids in the tiny settlement. Again – a major stroke of luck. We quickly made our way to his newly built schoolhouse, the small building still fragrant with raw wood and full of sawdust. We huddled into a schoolroom and began to peel off our soaking gear and clothes as a fire was built in the simple earthen fire-pit occupying the center of the room. We were now quite chilled in the cold wet air of 8,000ft/2,438m. Four days’ hard trekking had brought us up and out of the steamy rainforest. A thick clinging mist hung on the steep conifer-clad slopes above our heads. Muted splashes of white played hide and seek with the thick clouds high overhead. They were the jagged snow-covered peaks on either side of our deep canyon, occasionally visible even in the dense rainy gloom. We were glad to be inside.

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Part 5
The tiny “village” of Ba was really only a small cluster of a few very primitive thatch huts occupied by a few extended Dulong families, totaling around 50 people. This was the last human habitation in the valley and the trail effectively ended at that point. It was one of the saddest, most destitute and primitive human habitations I had ever seen. The Dulong (or Drung) people are considered the pygmy people of Asia with their own distinct culture and language. In times past, some anthropologists placed the Dulong people in the same racial group as the pygmies of Africa. This has, of course, been proven to be incorrect. They were also considered by early anthropologists as being almost stone-age in their customs and knowledge. They were known for being a “stunted” people, dressing in rags if anything at all, and suffering from generations of inbreeding. Being in Ba was like being in a place featured in an old National Geographic magazine. We were shocked to see many of the children running around naked in the freezing rain, and we watched in amazement as one of the mothers, with absolutely nothing on above her hand-made skirt, climbed an apple tree to pick some ripe fruit. It seemed a miserable existence in the constant rain and harsh conditions but the people seemed to be relatively happy. They were eager to help us, and Dr. Zhou hired virtually the entire village to go back down the trail to gather our gear from the stranded ponies and pack it back to the village. Late that afternoon, they all reappeared, each person, including the children, with a bag or large metal box on his or her back. They had crossed the raging stream with no difficulty, heavy load and all. I can’t imagine what they thought of us soft westerners in our dry clothes huddled around the fire. I insisted to Dr. Zhou that he double whatever wage he had arranged along with all of the food we had agreed to leave with them. This brought their total fee to around $50 for which they were very grateful. They also brought back news that the pony men were dropping trees to build a makeshift bridge over the swollen tributary. They estimated that they would arrive with the rest of our equipment the following morning. I was also told that the trail we were planning to take into the mountains was extremely difficult and now mostly grown over from disuse.

We spent most of the rest of the day processing the collections of plant material we had accumulated over the past couple of very wet days. As the weather conditions continued to degrade, Dr. Zhou and I decided that we would wait one day in the village to see if it would clear up even a little. It was our only hope. We both thought that it was becoming more and more likely that we would have to leave the village the following day and head back out the way we had come in. We spent our fourth night in a row on the floor of a schoolhouse and were told not to go out after dark unless absolutely necessary because of the abundance of vipers in the area. I immediately downed two Imodium tablets, the thought of squatting among the rocks in the pitch black of the evening under such conditions was not very appealing at that moment, nor for that matter, at any other.

After struggling with a vicious head cold for several days, I awoke the next morning completely congested and with my eyes swollen almost shut. After days of stress, the unrelenting sinus infection, and constant smoke in my eyes, my system had finally had enough. The good news was that the hard rain had abated. Our spirits rose along with the gray clouds. After breakfast, we were approached by a local hunter who had agreed to guide us up the infamous trail. Seeing the condition of my group, as well as that of the Chinese botanists, he suggested taking a quick reconnoiter of the trail and possible campsite himself, along with a couple of friends, returning that evening to make a report. Dr. Zhou and I discussed this at some length and finally decided that it was probably a good idea, but that we would send along one person to ensure that the report was as accurate as possible. We would have to send our strongest hiker if he were to have any chance of keeping up with the hunters and returning that same day. I approached Jens with our proposal and he immediately began putting his boots on. Jens, at the age of 28, was by far the youngest member of our group. He was a strong hiker and did not seem to be suffering at all from our tribulations. While he prepared for the hike, I had second thoughts about sending Jens alone on such a dangerous mission and asked my friend George, also a strong hiker and an extremely fit individual, to accompany Jens so that they would have each other in case of an emergency. They were given strict instructions to resist all temptation to stop and collect plants or take photos since they had a long and extremely difficult distance to cover in a very short time, and would have to keep up with the rapid pace of the guides. They were also instructed to turn around promptly at 2:00pm whether or not they had reached the possible campsite. In a very short time, they had both packed up their backpacks with only the most necessary items, tightly laced up their wet boots and were off, hot on the heels of the young Dulong hunters. I felt guilty for sending them to do what I felt I should have done myself, but I was clearly not physically up to the task at that point in the expedition. They were our best option.

The others were quite upset at not to be able to go into the mountains with George and Jens. This was quite understandable, and what I expected. After all, that was the whole point of all of our efforts up until that moment. But none of the rest of us could have made it at that speed, and there was no point in more than one or two going; it was, after-all, a recon mission. I think, deep down, we all knew they would not be bringing back good news, and that in the end, Jens and George would be the only ones to make it into the mountains of the Dulong.

In the meantime, the rest of us followed a local guide up a nearby ravine. It was steep and filled with giant rocks but, in the dry weather, a nice change from the muddy slogging along the river. It was the best bit of hiking we had enjoyed for several days and our spirits were high as we scrambled up the precipitous ravine. Our guide, a very short, very old wizened man, laughed constantly as he watched us struggle up and down the steep rocky slope. Unlike the rest of us, he leapt nimbly from rock to rock like a mountain goat, the smoke from his pipe often being the only indication of our route as he worked his way quickly up the ravine. Eventually, we reach the end of trail, so to speak, our ravine ending in an impassable bowl with three waterfalls, the three streams converging into the larger tributary we had been following all day. We made our way back to Ba, awaiting the arrival of the reconnaissance mission.

Late that afternoon, Jens, George and the guides emerged from the forest, completely soaked and obviously tired but with huge grins and great enthusiasm for what they had just accomplished. They reported that there was basically no trail, they had bushwhacked most of the way up to the campsite. It had been an amazing hike, literally scaling cliffs and hanging on to roots and stems above perilous streams, always at a very rapid pace. They had managed to keep up with the guides but did not think that several members of our large party would be able to make it. They did find the old campsite, located at around 9,200ft/2,804m. Of course, like the old trails, it had grown over with brush and small trees. In addition, it would only hold a few tents. I was forced to make a decision that I deeply dreaded making. We had been in the Dulong for almost a week and had accomplished very little. I would not split our team this deep in the wilderness to undertake what was a very chancy enterprise anyway. If a couple of us somehow managed to make it into the mountains outside of Ba, the rest of the party would have to stay in the valley for several days until they returned. I had to cut our losses. It was time to leave. We had to turn around and leave the valley as quickly as possible in order to explore various nearby mountains that I knew we good access to along the Salween. In this way, we could, with any luck, salvage the expedition and actually spend some time among the tremendous assortment of plants found in the higher mountains. To this day, although I know I made the right decision and that the others agreed that turning around was our only viable option, I continue to wonder, what if…

After our experience in the Dulong, we realized that the only way anybody was going to access the mountains above the gorge was as a one or two-person team with a guide. The terrain is just too steep and difficult and there is very little, if any, space to set up a camp for groups larger than this. Our ten-man group, with all of its attendant ponies and support staff, was just too big for this portion of the expedition. Nobody was happy with the decision but we all knew it was for the best. We left Ba the next morning, following our path back downstream to Kongdan, the village at the end of the road where it had all started. Of course the rain had returned and we were all quite dejected. It was a quiet and somber group for the next few days as we plodded back through the same mud and leeches we had struggled through a few days earlier. We were happy to have reached the Dulong but rather dejected in having accomplished relatively little once we got there.

Our time in the Dulong Valley had been amazing in many ways. It is a rare thing, today, to be able to travel through a region where westerners have not been in decades, if at all, a place where people still live much as they have for centuries, relatively untouched by modern society. From my notes upon leaving the valley: “The people in the valley live very primitively. More so than anywhere I have seen. Especially in the north it is day-to-day survival. Everywhere is filth, mud, leeches and poverty. It is very difficult to conceive that people actually have to live like this when we have so much excess.”

We made it back to Kongdan in three days. Once in town we were shown to our “porch” for a welcome beer and to await the latest news. We were at first relieved to hear that the road to Gongshan was open after having been closed for the past few days due to landslides from the constant rain. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, there were no vehicles for hire to drive us back to Gongshan. A message was sent to our drivers who were, of course, still in Gongshan, not realizing that we had returned already. At around five in the afternoon, we conceded that we were stuck for the night and we unpacked our gear. At dinner we heard that the road had once again been closed due to a landslide. We went to bed as the rain continued to pour down.

The next day things were not looking better. It had rained hard all night and continued through the morning. We spent our time drying our boots and gear. We had several days’ collections to process and this kept us busy as we awaited either news or vehicles. By mid-afternoon, it was not looking good for our “escape,” since we had heard no news and no vehicles were arriving in the village. The road was obviously blocked and so we began planning for the next day when we would start our trek out of the valley up and over the Irrawaddy/Salween divide and back to Gongshan. This was not a very positive development because it would take us five to six days just to hike out, most of that time in similar conditions to what we had experienced along the Dulong—mud, heat and leeches.

At dinner, Dr. Zhou presented us with another option. In order to maximize our shrinking schedule and to cover as much territory as possible, we could split into two groups, the first leaving in the morning on foot for Gongshan as we had already been planning. The second group would hole up in Kongdan and wait for the road to open. This could be a few days. In this way, the first group would be able to botanize the pass and forests along the footpath that served as the old trader’s route between Gongshan and Kongdan. I had been on this track twice already (in 1997 and 2000). The Kongdan group would catch the first ride available and camp their way out along the new road back to Gongshan. We had a lengthy meeting in our room and decided that since I had already been on the old trader’s route a couple of times, I would stay behind with only the Seattle nurseryman accompanying me. The others were quite happy to be on their way in the morning. I walked next door to tell Dr. Zhou our decision. He and the other Chinese were in a large room with many other people. They were watching the Chinese football (soccer) team beat the Oman team for its first entry into the World Cup. They were all drinking heavily and were very loud and excited. During a break in the action, Dr. Zhou informed me that the latest news was that the governor of the prefecture had been stuck on the Dulong road for the past two days. Because of this, the road was once again open! It was obvious that we should change plans again and take the entire group back to Gongshan as soon as the first vehicles arrived in the morning. I returned to the relative calm of our rooms and told the others the good news. There were whoops of joy and high fives all around. Nobody had really been looking forward to the next few days, either of sitting around or hiking through leeches.

We celebrated with more beer as I went back and forth between the two “camps” finalizing our plans as everybody repacked their gear. I remember the excitement and stress of that wild evening as it seemed that every time I went to see the Chinese, there was a new report. The road was open, the road was closed, the road was open—back and forth. We had no idea what the real situation was until late that night when we heard some trucks drive into town. The matter was settled. We would drive out first thing in the morning—unless the road washed out again. That night, the Chinese celebrated their football victory until well into the wee hours of the morning. They were very loud and the noise of their celebration passed easily through the uneven and thin wooden planks that formed our walls. We endured a fitful sleep.

In the morning, we quickly loaded most of our ten-man group into the first available truck. They drove off with smiles, leaving most of the baggage, George, Mr. Yang and myself to await another vehicle. Around an hour later, a second truck was hired and we quickly loaded our gear and bodies. The vehicle was what we called a “mini-lorry,” being one of the small logging/all-purpose trucks able to squeeze through the tunnel on the pass. George and I were crammed into the front with our packs on our laps, virtually sitting upon one another. It was an uncomfortable and very rough seven hours back to Gongshan, diesel fumes spewing into the open window the entire journey. We focused on the road, happy to be leaving the Dulong and headed for “home” in Gongshan. I had been involved in many expeditions and so knew the feeling of “coming out” of the mountains. I told the other members of the party that the small town of Gongshan, a quaint backwater on the edge of nowhere, would look like New York City when we returned. I was not proven wrong. We were lucky to have a decent day of weather and the road remained passable all the way out. Perhaps our luck was changing for the better.

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Part 6
Back in Gongshan that evening, we had our first bath in over a week. We had a feast and plenty of beer that evening, enjoying our return and the clean clothes that we had left behind. We sorted out the plans for the next several days, weighing our options now that we were free of the Dulong and with only a little over a week left in which to accomplish something. After dinner, we spent a great deal of time checking our e-mail messages at a local internet café, in itself an amazing development in such a remote place. We were especially anxious to learn of the latest news regarding the aftermath of the events of September 11.

The next day was spent resting, cleaning and repacking for our new excursions. It was decided that most of our group would leave in the morning for a four to five day round-trip trek up to a high pass near the Forest Station known as Qiqi. This was the same mountain pass that they would have crossed had they walked out of the Dulong. I had already been over the pass twice so I elected to split us into two groups, much as we had discussed in Kongdan. The nurseryman and I, with two of our Chinese hosts, would drive back up to the Dulong road pass to explore that region. In this way, twice as much territory would be covered in the same amount of time. We would spend two nights on the pass before returning to Gongshan to cover some of the surrounding high valleys that were accessible via old logging roads while we waited for the other party to return. All of the ponies had been left behind in Kongdan when we departed in our hired trucks. Fortunately, before we had left the Dulong Valley, Dr. Zhou had arranged for them to start over the pass to meet us in Gongshan. Amazingly, they actually made it to Gongshan to meet us the morning of our departure for Qiqi, only two days after leaving Kongdan. This journey would have taken us at least five days to walk. It was an incredible feat of endurance.

After quick goodbyes, my party left in our vehicles, back up the Dulong road again. After a few hours we reached the lower slopes of the pass and began to look for a place to set up our camp. We stopped at a small valley intersecting the road that I had noted as a possible camping spot during our journey out of the Dulong. It was still raining on and off, and although there were flat areas where we could set up camp on the floor of the valley, the ground was like a giant soaking sponge, the numerous small surface ponds indicative of the high water table. Dwarf rhododendrons and other interesting plants grew in profusion in the peaty, spongy soil but it was much too wet for a camp. As is typical for this part of China, there were no flat areas away from the valley floor. The surrounding slopes were much too steep for tents. The edge of the primitive, narrow road dropped precipitously off into deep canyons. We eventually stopped at what was basically a wide spot in the road and set up our camp, placing large rocks between ourselves and the main track in an effort to prevent being run over in the night. I watched in amazement as our Chinese hosts quickly assembled a shelter out of bamboo and tarps. We soon had a warming fire and spent the evening choking down smoke as the rain poured down around us.

It had rained all night and continued throughout the next day as we left camp first thing in the morning. We hiked back up the road to the little valley we had considered as a campsite. The road crossed the valley at about 10,600ft/3,250m and we were thoroughly soaked by the time we reached the ridgeline that ran to the pass at around 12,000ft/3,630m. We spent a very successful day exploring the valley and ridgeline, noting many outstanding plants. Among these were the following rhododendrons: mekongense, citriniflorum, stewartianum, calostrotum subsp. keleticum, forrestii, chamaethomsonii, temenium, cinnabarinum, campylocarpum subsp. caloxanthum and saluenense subsp. saluenense. Seeing cinnabarinum here really brought home the point of how incredibly vast and so little known the Sino-Himalaya remains. Although this area of northwestern Yunnan had been explored by several of the early plant hunters, including Kingdon Ward, Forrest, Rock and Handel Mazzetti, none of them had ever collected cinnabarinum, a species known primarily from the eastern end of the Himalaya. We had first seen it in this region in 2000 on the pass above Qiqi, the destination of the other party.

Rhododendron citriniflorum was the most common among these rhododendrons, and by far the most variable species in the area. One could have easily named several species of subsection Neriiflora from among the many permutations on display. The forrestii, in its “repens” form, grew under and amongst the larger species. It was also quite common on large mossy boulders that had been exposed in the numerous small streams. Besides the disjunct cinnabarinum, my rhododendron highlight was seeing large colonies of temenium, a little-known and little-grown species in subsection Neriiflora. The plants formed upright but compact small bushes up to 2ft/61cm or so in height. They were beautiful plants and quite distinct, probably representing the variety dealbatum which is distinguished by its tomentose shoots, glabrous lower leaf surface and rose-pink to white flowers. This is a real treasure and was quite a notable find.

Among the other plant highlights was the tremendous variety of alpine Ericaceae. These rhododendron relatives grew interspersed with the dwarf rhododendrons and included members of the following genera: Vaccinium (incl. both sikkimense and the rare modestum), Gaultheria (several species including praticola, trichophylla, fragrantissima, hookeri, hypochlora, etc.), Cassiope species and Diplarche. Among the other treasures were several species of Primula (agleniana being the most desirable and rare), Dysosma species, and many members of the lily family (sensu lato) including species of Maianthemum (formerly Smilacina), Polygonatum, Veratrum and Streptopus.

It was an exhilarating day scrambling up and down cliffs, sliding up and down stream banks and pushing through the ever-present bamboo thickets so common at higher elevations in this part of the world. It felt great to be out among the plants we had come so far to see and study. That evening, back in our roadside camp, we dried our clothes and boots, content with our day’s work. Later that evening after dinner, a passing truck stopped and I shared a bowl of homebrew rice wine with the trucker and our Chinese hosts.

The next morning we headed down the road with the plan of being picked up in our jeeps and driven back over the pass into the upper forests of the Dulong. We hoped to collect Rhododendron hylaeum, which we had seen there but not collected. We also planned to collect more specimens of the species martinianum and sanguineum subsp. didymum. As we walked the road we found the following species of Rhododendron: floccigerum, anthosphaerum, rubiginosum, megeratum, brachyanthum subsp. hypolepidotum, and the unusual fall-blooming monanthum. This last-named species is a dwarf shrub with small olive green leaves and smooth mahogany bark. It has bell-shaped yellow flowers and was in full flower in early October, its normal blooming season both in the wild and in cultivation.

That evening, we were back in Gongshan. In our hotel, we once again started the process of drying our gear and sorting our collections as we waited for dinner. It was another feast, with lots of beer and firewater. Sautéed lily bulbs were on the menu as well as one of my very favorites, stir-fried hornet larvae. As we relaxed with our Chinese friends, I thought of the other group, hoping they were having good luck with the weather, and enjoying an outstanding trek through what I knew to be one of the finest forests in all of China.

We awoke to a fine sunny Saturday morning. This was to be our last day in the field in the Gongshan area. The other group was scheduled to arrive back in town on Sunday and we would be heading south to finish the expedition after that. After another fantastic breakfast of jiaozi (steamed dumplings or what some people call won-tons or pot-stickers), we loaded into our jeeps hoping the dry weather would hold for our day trip into the Biluoxue Shan. This mountain range runs along the eastern bank of the Salween and contains a surprisingly different flora from that which we had been seeing on the western bank in the Gaoligong Shan. In 2000 we had spent a very productive day up a steep valley just to the south of Gongshan in the Biluoxue Shan. It was called Yi Niu Gu, and we had seen many interesting plants including the rare Rhododendron hylaeum, which, until that time, was not known to occur east of the Salween River. Higher up, we had also found R. citriniflorum var. horeaum and the big-leaf R. praestans, in both white and wine-red flowered forms. We were warned that the road had fallen into disrepair due to the government-imposed cessation of logging in the region. This was surprising because we had hiked through active logging camps the previous spring, the felling of the large hemlocks having provided easy access to all of the epiphytes growing in their tops. It seems that this was all illegal, and we were told that the officials who had allowed it to take place were now in jail.

After a few hours of driving, we reached a washed out bridge at around 7,700ft/2,350m. Unfortunately, we had no recourse other than to head back down the way we had come up. It turned out to be a completely wasted day because all of the forest on the way up had been cut for agriculture. We could have walked up the road but, due to the overall shallow grade of the valley, we would not have made it to anywhere near the elevation of around 9,000ft/2,740m where the native forest would still be intact and the rhododendrons and related flora would have become worthwhile or at least interesting. The shallow and relatively wide nature of the valley was, of course, the reason the road, and thus the people, were here to begin with. Most valleys along the Salween are nothing more than deep canyons with virtually perpendicular walls. This was one of the few accessible places along the entire river. There was no way we could walk up and back in a single afternoon. Our Chinese friends informed us that all the other formerly accessible roads had been blown up to prevent illegal logging in the numerous national parks and preserves that had been set aside along both sides of the Salween. We turned the jeeps around and headed back to Gongshan.

We had a late lunch in Gongshan at a place “famous” for its “Fire Pot,” also called hot pot. This turned into a two-hour long affair of feasting and drinking. The fire-pot is a large metal container with a burner beneath. Beer and seasoned broth are boiled in this and large plates of vegetables, tofu, mushrooms and freshly killed shrapnel chicken are brought forth and placed into the mixture a piece at a time. It is very spicy and quite delicious. The tables and floors are soon covered with liquids, grease and chicken bones. The final course consisted of several bowls of chicken blood that had been allowed to congeal as we ate the corpse. After such an extravagant feast, I had little appetite for the fine dinner later that evening.

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Part 7
After another fine breakfast of jiaozi the following morning, we looked forward to reuniting with the other members of our team, due to arrive from Qiqi that afternoon. Around 2:30 they showed up, quite wet but very happy. There were grins and handshakes all around as we compared notes from our separate expeditions. They had had a tremendous trek and were overwhelmed with the incredible flora they had seen. I well knew, from previous expeditions through the region, of the forests of 250ft/76m high Taiwania flousiana, a redwood relative that, like its North American cousin, is now quite rare in the wild, especially as old-growth. Expedition member Don Selcer has kindly agreed to let us publish his personal journal entries from a portion of their expedition to the Qiqi pass:

“10/10/01 Today, Jens, Peter, George and I along with Zhou, Li, Mr. Li the conservation officer and a couple of pony guys and seven ponies, hiked up to the forestry station at Qiqi. We left a bit late because the ponies didn’t show up on time. We started hiking up the Pula River around 10am and followed its tributary all the way up to Qiqi. The trail was infinitely better than the Dulong. No leech bites, little standing water, no rain and one could walk along and get into a hiking rhythm, and once it started to climb—we gained 500m—became a beautiful forest, with oak, lithocarpus with huge seedpods, Magnolia spp. rostrata and campbellii v. mollicomata, pine, hemlock, Taiwania flousiana, and Rhododendorn spp. stenaulum, protistum, and nuttallii. The stenaulum were huge with gorgeous purple smooth trunks.

The forest across the roaring river is untouched, mostly evergreen, with huge taiwania, 250ft/76m tall with dark dense green crowns, and vertical grayish-brown bark. The forestry station looks over the river valley and is away from any settlements, without mud and we sleep on beds indoors. Dinner, cooked by the Chinese on a fire in a little outbuilding was good—rice, taro soup with mustard greens, Chinese bacon and cabbage, along with preserved mushroom strips in oil, dried eggplant in a plastic bag, and the ever-present 2.9 Dali beer.

Each day at around this elevation and a bit higher, here and in the Dulong, we’ve heard the nearly constant screeching hiss of the cicadas. They seem to take a deep breath and then blow into a reed with much intensity, [the sound is actually the vibrating of a diaphragm as I remember]. It’s very loud and impressive and usually pleasing. The wagtails are numerous, with black bibs and top of head and white sides of face.

10/11/01 We hiked out of Qiqi in a light rain at 9:30am. The rain tapered off and except for occasional drizzle, was not a real problem. The trail was sometimes slippery and rocky and wet but not muddy. We ascended through a spectacular, complete, amazing old growth pristine forest, with some taiwania early on, large oaks and lithocarpus, Acer campbellii and higher A. pectinatum. The river is now faster and very picturesque, and waterfalls come down from the side canyons. The plant life is very rich—vaccinium, gaultheria, paris, ferns including filmy ferns, selagenella with long spore stalks, many orchids including flowering pleiones on mossy cliffs, and wonderful rhododendrons. R. protistum are on very steep terrain, some 70–80ft/21–24m tall with 3ft/0.9m diameter trunks, still understory plants stretching for light, some with enormous seed capsules like a bunch of mini-bananas. Also R. seingkuense (sp?) with seed capsules growing on boulders, cliffs and epiphytically. They grow vertically up or down depending on the light and look like small-leafed edgeworthii, bullate with thick brown indumentum (which occurred in similar habitat a bit higher up) with excellent foliage, and have yellow flowers in spring. R. monanthum, on cliffs or trees, was flowering—yellow small bells. R. vaccinioides, with a beautiful low dense habit was often on tree trunks and up in branches also as were tiny-leafed vaccinium, blue-berried gaultheria, orchids and ferns. The entire scene was overwhelmingly beautiful, and we were the only ones around! We camped in a little-used site in the old growth forest. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of greenery—moss, logs, a white flowering little ranunculaceae ground cover and seedling rhododendrons, especially rubiginosum and sinogrande. Nice sinograndes are everywhere, to about 30ft/9m. Larger ones were lower down on the trail, especially dense along the river banks, where they created a memorable sight.

This is what we were all hoping to experience and we’re very happy. After dinner (cooked on a fire under a tarp) of soy beans, sausage, rice and taro, we talk briefly and then head for our tents. It’s chilly, the ground is soft. The primeval forest is all around, with huge Abies ernestii (over 200ft/61m tall), picea, maples, and lithocarpus.

10/12/01 Today we hiked up from the campsite at 8,900ft/2,713mto the pass at 11,900ft/3,627m and back, at least 10mi/16k. We left at 8:30am and returned at 5:00pm except for Jens, who returned at 7:00pm in the dark with a very sore foot. It was an exhausting but wonderful hike. There had been no rain overnight, and none in the morning as we ascended over rocky trail (often “paved” with cobblestones and 6ft/1.8m wide–this was the main route from Gongshan to Kongdang before the disastrous road was built). The forest continued with many acer, hemlock, fir and spruce, then Larix speciosa, and Abies delavayi with its blue cones higher up, and a rich understory of many kinds of sorbus, rhododendrons (spp. rubiginosum, stewartianum, fulvum, citriniflorum, cinnabarinum, floccigerum, arizelum, and higher up sprawling old specimens of keleticum crawling over boulders with R. forrestii. As we approached the distant pass, the route grew steep, and we ascended into the clouds. The temperature, previously in the 60s, fell to 45°f/7°c, with a wet cold wind and minimal visibility. At the pass were masses of R. saluenense, forrestii, and xanthocodon along with tiny cassiope, vaccinium, dwarf juniper and a magenta flowering Diapensia. It began to rain and we descended after a necessarily short stay at the top down a now slippery and treacherous rocky path, having to concentrate on every step. But it was one of the best hiking days ever. I went right into my tent, put on warm dry clothes, took Advil (knees), drank water, and lay down! Then dinner and 12 hours of fitful sleep before the descent to Xixi and the next day Gongshan. The relatively good conditions, the small group, and the fantastic scenery in an area where we saw no other people for 3 days made this the high point of the trip for us all. Zhou and Li have been great and are happy that we’re happy.”

Thank you Don for sharing that with us.

That night after dinner we gathered together in the lobby of the hotel with our massive collection of specimens. We worked well into the night processing a large portion of our material. As I had hoped, we were quickly making up for the poor days in the Dulong.

The following day, we continued working on our collections until the early afternoon and had only a short time to do a final packing after a quick lunch. We had a 3 o’clock meeting scheduled with the local government officials. Very few people from the west visit this part of China and they were anxious to speak with us and gain some advice on tourism, etc., as well as to hear about the first “successful” foray into the Dulong. We were taken to the sixth floor of the government building and seated in a very official-looking room full of large wooden chairs covered with red velvet seats. We were placed on one side of a long wooden table facing a long row of officials in their formal dress. It reminded me of something out of an old Soviet-era movie. It was all very formal and we were served tea as introductions were made all around. A long speech relating to their region and its preservation was presented through an interpreter. As group leader I was asked to speak about our experiences and to give my impressions of their district, especially pertaining to the promotion of local conservation, the attraction of international funding, and related issues. This all went on for quite some time and by the end, several of our party had given short speeches. Group photos followed on the roof, and we were all invited to a goodbye celebration at a local restaurant.

These “end of the trip” parties with the local government officials were typical for such expeditions but, this one was exceptional in my experience. A veritable feast of local delicacies was laid before us as we gathered around three large tables. It seemed as if every government official in Gongshan, including the Vice-Governor himself, had been invited, and we toasted each and every one of them. The party went on until quite late that evening as dish after dish and toast after toast were presented. It was a great and fun-filled send-off, full of laughter and friendship.

The next morning we were all a bit shaky for the long drive back down the Salween. Fortunately, it was an uneventful day and we made it to the “metropolis” of Liuku by late afternoon. We would stay in Liuku for two nights with the day between, our very last in the field, spent on the nearby Hpimaw Pass into Myanmar. For dinner, I arranged for a chicken to be cooked whole instead of being chopped up into little bits from its beak to its feet as is customary in this part of the world. Dr. Zhou saw to my request and we all enjoyed the pleasant change from our daily, though tasty, fare of “shrapnel chicken.”

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Part 8
We awoke to a beautiful sunny day, a nice change and a pleasant surprise for our last day. The three-hour drive up to the Hpimaw Pass at 11,150ft/3,400m was very scenic, with fantastic long views down the Salween River valley and the surrounding mountains. An expedition in which I participated in the autumn of 1997 had twice failed to reach this famous plant hunting location due to washed out roads. We tried again in the spring of 2000 with much better luck due to the improved road conditions. By then, the old dirt road had been completely paved to facilitate the constant stream of trucks weighed down with virgin timber coming non-stop out of northern Myanmar. On that expedition, we had finally found the elusive Rhododendron mallotum in the wild. This was the first time that it had been recorded by westerners since it was found by George Forrest in 1924. That spring of 2000 we also found many other exciting species of Rhododendron, including a deep orange-red form of dichroanthum subsp. schyphocalyx, the rare basilicum, sinogrande, arizelum, sidereum, campylogynum, fulvum subsp. fulvum, edgeworthii and pseudociliipes, to name but a few. It is an extremely rich area.

During this visit we stopped on the pass and split into two groups, the weather still cooperating. Everyone followed me up the ridgeline except for Jens, who comprised the other group, of one, and who elected to bushwhack his way along the ridge on the other side of the road. We agreed to meet at 4:30pm and head back down the mountain. My group started straight up the mountain, pushing through the all-encompassing bamboo. We soon reached the same area where I had seen the mallotum and other treasures the year before. It was a great day in the sun and you could not have placed us in a better location at that moment. We were all in high spirits as we climbed the tall trees of the big-leaf species R. basilicum for a view over the bamboo of the surrounding mountains—fantastic! We made many interesting collections which were topped off that afternoon when we picked up Jens along the road. In addition to the myriad of material we had seen, photographed and collected, he had found heliolepis, caesium and euchroum. The first named is not too unusual, though we had not found it up here before. Rhododendron caesium is a little-known member of subsection Trichoclada that had only been collected once before, in 1925 by George Forrest. It remains rare in cultivation although it has attractive glaucous blue-green leaves and yellowish flowers in late spring. The third-named species, R. euchroum, is a member of subsection Neriiflora that has never been introduced into cultivation. It is closely related to sperabile and albertsenianum, differing in being more glandular with smaller leaves. It is a fine foliage plant with a deep red-brown furry indumentum. We congratulated Jens on his outstanding discoveries and headed back to Liuku. Our field work had come to an end.

For our final feast and celebration, we drove to a fine restaurant well outside of the large city of Liuku. Once again I made a special request of any large chunk of meat, cooked but not chopped up into little pieces. By this point in an expedition, most westerners are ready for a solid bite of meat, anything unencumbered by small slivers of bone. The others did not know what was coming and were thrilled when a roasted young pig was brought out as the first course. The whole pig was gone in a matter of minutes. Later that evening, we processed our day’s collections on the floor of the hotel lobby and retired to bed, exhausted from the last several days travel and work.

The long journey home began the next morning as we retraced our path—Liuku to Baoshan to Kunming to Hong Kong and then on to Seattle. It had been a very disappointing trip in many ways. My failure to penetrate significantly into the mountains of the Dulong Valley overshadowed the fact that we were the first group to access that previously forbidden and remote valley. On the positive side, our later excursions made up for the first half of the expedition and we gained a great deal of knowledge, having processed multiple specimens of 428 individual collections, many of them new locations for rare species or even species that were completely new to science. Had we accomplished what we had set out to do? In many ways, yes. To quote expedition member Peter Wharton, Curator of the Asian Garden at the University of British Columbia Botanical Garden, writing in the UBCBG journal Davidsonia, Vol. 13:1/2 “This was a very successful exploration trip. The itinerary and field work were planned and executed in a thoroughly professional manner. Most of our collection and all of our exploration objectives were realized. We saw 87 rhododendron species in the field and established an excellent personal and professional rapport with our hosts.” Peter’s celebration of the expedition’s success is without caveat.

We were all excited and anxious to get home. What, we wondered, had happened in the “real” world while we had been away? Had there been more terrorist attacks? Were we going to war? I think we were all worried, deep down inside, about our families, about the future, about getting home and what we would find. And yet, it had been strangely calming and even healing to be so remote and living under such different, and often difficult, circumstances, our thoughts, like those of all around us, being absorbed with day to day survival and life itself.

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