When I climbed up over another of many cliff ledges, they suddenly materialized through the thick fog from behind a cliff face. When they heard my abrupt cry, the entire herd came to a dead stop. They twisted their heads in unison to stare at me blankly. It seemed that for a split second they were stunned by the cold, standing completely still. Suddenly, a great cloud of mist blew over and everything disappeared from view. I rubbed my eyes a bit. Were these real life Chinese gorals or was it just my mind playing tricks on me? I looked around me and saw that the frost that had covered the Southern hillside overnight was just melting away under the force of the sun. The mist was gradually becoming thinner.
I was lying flat on the ground, completely still, waiting. At the same time I was terribly ashamed of my impudent behaviour: I committed a zoologist's cardinal sin. I scared these naturally timid animals away. When the cold mist gradually disappeared, I discovered that the gorals already retreated under the cliff. They stood huddled in a tight circle as if they were just weathering a sudden blizzard. Whisps of hot air swirled up from the middle of their circle and after a while again disappeared in mid-air. Behind them was a mushroom-shaped peak made up of loose boulders. This is probably how Mogu Peak's name came about. I endeavoured to make out the individual shapes from the bundle of black fur in front of me. I gradually managed to determine their number—seven, exactly seven—a seven-strong herd of Chinese goral.
At first glance they looked similar to a domestic goat, except that their snout and body were stubbier and more compact. They looked somewhat stronger and thicker, which is in accordance with the "Allihn theorem" . The further north animals push on, the shorter the protruding parts of their body become. Nature is the best architect. During the long evolution process it had added final touches in order to fulfil a specific survival purpose. Their fur was long and thick. It looked like a thick carpet draped over their back which made the body bulge out slightly, like a square-shaped wooden crate. Their fur colour appeared icy turquoise in contrast to the warm colours of the rock ledge. It emitted a hazy glistening lustre in the freezing air. From behind the neck all the way along the back up to the base of the tail stretched an indistinct purple-black coloured strip of fur. It seemed as if someone had stained the fur with thick black ink which blended into the surrounding colours that blended into its surroundings. There was a patch of white fur under the chin. It stood out clearly from the dark shadows like a spot of glittering silver snow. But the most moving thing was the eyes. A pair of amber eyes with long thick eyelashes draped over them. Full of secrecy and apprehension with a feeling of wildness about them.
Looking at the unfamiliar emotions in their eyes, I suddenly realised that even though I specialise in animal behaviour, I have no knowledge of their real attitude to life or emotions. Normally when I observe birds, I just mechanically record their appearance, habits, number of eggs, sustenance, brooding, pairing and courting habits, materials used in nest building, nesting places, migrating period and route and so on. I completely disregard their emotional state. That is especially the case with mammals as I would very rarely study them in depth. It was only at the end of seventies that I managed to borrow an original copy of Lorenz's King Solomon's Ring from a foreign friend. I then proceeded to read his Here I Am—Where Are You? and On Aggression. It would have been good if only such classics had been translated earlier.
Fortunately, from the day I got to see the Chinese goral onwards, when studying animals I have learned to observe them with affections. For this I have to thank the Chinese goral. It was the Chinese goral that taught me this observation method.
While I was lost in my contemplations, a loud puff of hot air on my neck told me that Jin Pao had arrived. He promptly swept the scene quickly and firmly fixed his sight on the lead male Chinese goral. His shoulder jerked slightly to slide the rifle from across his back into his hand, and he held it up steadily.
"Baa … baa …" the cry of a young lamb suddenly cut through the silence, so tender and innocent that it made me shudder. Its mother immediately replied its call, nudging its underbelly to push it closer to the rest of the herd.
Upon hearing the sound the alpha male moved into action. Its whole body tensed up. It outstretched its neck and braced its body, just like a bow yearning to let off an arrow. The two short but sharp horns that looked like a crude pair of iron hammers faced our way, ready to strike.
He was a mighty chap of about sixty or seventy kilograms, almost like a small bull. The seven or eight rings engrained on his horns revealed that he was in the prime of his life. Upon closer inspection I discovered that both sides of his head and shoulders were covered with a crisscross pattern of cuts and bruises of varying sizes. The comparatively pale fur colour revealed that these were old wounds. Half of his right ear was missing and there was a half-moon shaped cut on his flank on which only a layer of short fine grey hair had just sprouted. Alpha males have a very fiery nature. They excel at fighting. When it comes to contending for partners and protecting their herd and territory, they respond to what is a kind of "fight to the death" reaction and launch a full scale attack. This is especially true when they find themselves in a hopeless situation.
At that moment, they were the natural inhabitants here, and we were the outsiders.
