THE SNOW PARTRIDGE.
first two or three of the more elevated snow-capped ranges.
Snow seems to be a necessity to them ; and,though a few do occur,
as I have myself seen, in Southern Spiti, broadly speaking you
miss them the moment that, crossing the outer snowy chains,
you reach the more arid, comparatively rainless, regions of
Ldhul, Ladàkh, and Thibet.
The Karakorum knows them not ; neither Turkestan nor
Mongolia—all these regions are too arid for them ; nor do they
appear to extend westward into the apparently more suitable
mountains of Northern Persia; but Père David himself killed
some in the snowy ranges of Moupin at an elevation of between
11,000 and 12,000 feet. Now Moupin (not marked on any but
the most recent maps) is due east of Ching-too, on the borders
of China and Chinese Thibet, and in about the same latitude
as Simla ; and there is good reason to suspect that east of
Sikhim the Snow Partridge extends right along the higher hills
of Bhutan, and of the tribes due north of the entire valley
of Assam, to Moupin, which is only distant between 300 and
400 miles in a north-easterly direction from our easternmost
outpost.
It is probable that from Moupin this species runs northwards
along the Ta-sué-chan, or Great Snowy Mountains, to near the
borders of Kansu.
A L T H O U G H IN severe winters, and after heavy falls of snow,
crowds of Snow Partridges may be met with at from 7,000 to
9,000 feet elevation, Indian sportsmen, as a rule, never meet with
them, except in their summer haunts, at elevations of from
10,000 to even 14,000 feet ; and they are so invariably seen in
grounds frequented by Tahr and Burrcl, that, though one of the
very best of Indian birds for the table, they are but rarely
shot.
It is generally close up under the snow, amidst grey crags
and hoary precipices, or on tiny plots of stunted herbage, girt
round by huge boulders and rugged blocks of rock, amidst
which the snow still lies thickly, and at an average elevation of
11,000 feet (at any rate from May to September), that this
Ptarmigan-like Partridge is to be found.
It is very locally distributed ; you may march for a couple
of days, continually passing through or near the most likely spots,
and never see or hear a bird ; and again you may see a hundred
in a day's march, or one party, or at most two parties, daily
for a week.
Like many others of our game birds, they are (where not
worried) tame enough where they are numerous (as if they
realized that a few more or less would not endanger the continuance
of the race), while, where scarce, they are apt to be shy
and wary. Along routes frequented by sportsmen, and after
they have been shot at for several successive days, I have found
THE SNOW PARTRIDGE. 3
them {pace my old friend Wilson, whose remarks I shall quote
later) the reverse of tame.
In the spring they are usually in pairs, but it is not uncommon
to find a dozen such in a couple of hours' walk. Later
they are in coveys of from seven to thirty, old and young, and
by the end of September many of the latter are almost full
grown.
Their flight is rapid and strong, much like that of a Grouse ; and
if met with in comparatively unfrequented spots, they often
afford superb sport. Out of a good covey, you get at first no
doubt only a right and left, and even though somewhat
scattered, the whole of the birds rise at the second if not the
first shot ; but though they go off at a great pace and sweep
down towards the valley for a while, they soon curve upwards
again and alight at no great distance from where you flushed them,
and at much the same level as before. If it be a smooth bare
hill side, near the limits of vegetation—and you do find them
in such places—the same process has to be repeated, and the
trudge after each shot becomes longer and longer ; but if they
alight (then usually much scattered) amongst rocks and stones,
where they can squat unseen, you may get half a dozen in single
and double shots (the birds often flustering up close to your
feet) before the remainder make up their minds to a simultaneous
change of quarters.
Glorious sport may be enjoyed after the Snow Partridge.
Above, snowy domes and peaks glistening sharp-cut against the
blue sky ; below, almost under one's feet, and stretching away
for miles, a sea of green forest ; in front, alternate patches of close
shaven mossy turf, starred with a few alpine blossoms, and bare
slaty slabs, those in the shade still silvered by the morning's
frost—all sloping at a frightful angle, and traversed by little
silent snow runlets and long streaks of partly discoloured snow,
running down tiny gorges. As you halt to reconnoitre and rest
a moment, perfect stillness seems to reign around. There are
few signs of life; one little yellow butterfly fluttering here and
there ; by the mossy margin of a tiny trickling rill a few
delicately-tinted Horned Larks (Otocorys longirostris) and a flock
of Snow Chats (Grandala ccelicolor), the males glistening sapphire
like against the snow as they dart away on powerful wings.
From the depths beneath, the lowing of cattle steals upwards,
mellowed by the- distance and mingled with faint murmurs
from the torrents below ; a bee or two pass humming softly;
a stone clatters down over the shale ; the surging murmur
of some distant avalanche creeps along the hill side, and then
again a stillness as of death pervades the scene.
Suddenly from the bare rocks in front out rings a loud whistle,
and then another, and another ; and again all is still. It is
not good walking; and just between you and the whistlers
stones and snow keep every now and then coming down, as if