We knew, as we left Ziyardam and our gloriously dry quarters — the upper story of a bamboo clad structure with hard sleeping platforms — that any sense of luxury would not be had again for several days ahead. It rained heavily during the night that had awakened both of us repeatedly. By the time our packs were on our back and the party left the last village under heavy rainfall, we had resigned ourselves to a wet day ahead. We knew we were at last leaving this valley and heading to altitude and hardy plants, so the steady rain did not dampen spirits. [Read more…]

We awoke again to brilliant skies which remained clear and clean throughout the day, which was both a blessing and a curse. This was to be a 12 mile march and we would be holding at a steady and the sultry elevation of 3500′ for the entirety. On sunny days at lower altitudes in northern Burma during this season, one meets up with sand flies in great abundance, and today was no exception. These tiny insects would best be compared to no-see-ums, the difference being that you do not feel their bite. It is long after they have devoured a wee bit of your being that itchy, red welts appear that remain annoying for days following. [Read more…]

A jarring drive on a putt putt ( a motorcycle with an attached covered carriage that holds 6-8 people ) carried our gear, guide and 8 porters to the trail head, about ten miles east of Putao, in about 2.5 hours. This was the end of the monsoon season and the roads were relatively good. At even the best of times, one begins using their own locomotion within 16 miles anywhere east, north or west of Putao. ( Consider the fact that during the monsoon, it takes a vehicle on average three months to drive between Putao and Myitkyina, the next major city 174 miles to the south. )

It was a beautiful morning to begin an adventure. The rivers and streams we crossed by simple bamboo bridges presented few challenges as the water levels were low; only once did we need to remove our boots and negotiate a bridgeless river by fording. [Read more…]

It was from Putao, of northern Myanmar, in the 1920’s, that Frank Kingdon Ward wrote that, and I paraphrase, plant collecting is a congregation of seemingly endless, dull, frustrating moments interspersed with seconds that make the process worth the anguish and boredom. After months of planning, apprehension, reconsideration, excitement, and imagination, I am here, now, this moment, in that very settlement. Across the street from our guest house are the chants of Buddhists or Christians in service; I cannot tell the difference, though the preponderance of the Lisu minority in the area would suggest the latter. To the east, a gibbous moon rises blessed by a cadence of crickets and frogs. I cannot bring myself to believe that Frank Kingdon Ward’s times here differed significantly, except for the fact that he had servants and I have electricity (sometimes). [Read more…]