Two female Tibetan antelopes climb on a ridge 5,100 meters (16,800 feet) above sea level, conspicuous against the Kunlun Mountains in the background. Human vanity and greed for the antelope's fleece has led to the poaching and slaughter of these animals. Not even pregnant does are spared, and the antelopes are facing the brink of extinction. Furthermore, illegal gold mining operations are rapidly eroding the animals' habitat. In July 2006, the author visited their breeding grounds in the Aljin Mountains to check how the antelopes were faring.

The GPS indicated an altitude of 5,100 meters (16,730 feet). I kept pressing my camera shutter, but my subjects, grazing only 25 meters away, seemed unconcerned by my presence. Never before had I ever been able to get so close to those long-antlered, heavily fleeced male Tibetan antelopes (Pantholops hodgsonii, 藏羚羊). I was ecstatic. This just might be the closest leisurely encounter ever. With female antelopes, we were able to get no closer than 300 meters. Now these males were indulging us with front-row views. This was a worthy trophy to show for our odyssey, which had taken us 7,000 kilometers (4,350 miles) thus far.

Then, as if annoyed by our intrusion, they slowly strolled away. Wong How Man (黃效文), founder of the Hong Kong-based China Exploration & Research Society, tapped on the accelerator just enough to keep pace.

For this journey, Wong had organized a caravan of seven all-wheel-drive vehicles, including one six wheeler from the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve. Our first destination was a basin in southeastern Xinjiang, between the Qiman Tagh Mountains and the Kunlun Mountains. With an average altitude of 4,500 meters (14,760 feet), the reserve, at 45,000 square kilometers (17,370 square miles), is the third biggest and the oldest reserve in China. Only the Qiangtang Nature Reserve in Tibet and the Ke Ke Xi Li Nature Reserve in Qinghai Province are bigger.

Brown-headed gulls (Larus brunnicephalus), Tibetan wild asses (Equus kiang), Tibetan gazelles (Procapra picticaudata), and wild yaks (Bos gruniens-Linnaeus) in the hundreds greeted us along the way as we drove up the cliffs and down the valleys. The remote isolation of the basin has provided a haven where wildlife can have a chance to breed and prosper in the breathtaking scenery. We were all awed by the animals and the natural beauty. No wonder Wong's China Exploration & Research Society continues to support the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve.

A flagrant disregard for life

Perusing journals written by adventurers in this part of China, one can easily discern that 50 years ago, herds upon herds of Tibetan antelopes roamed the Tibetan Plateau. The nomads there needed lots of stakes to pitch their yak-skin tents. Back then, the stakes that they used were the pointed tips of antlers from Tibetan antelopes. It is my estimate that there were at least a million Tibetan antelopes just half a century ago.

Sadly, it is no longer quite as easy to encounter Tibetan antelopes in those spots. My pessimistic estimate pegs the population in the early 1990s at 40,000.

When I first visited the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve in 1991, I immediately felt that animals in the reserve still faced a daunting challenge to survive threats from human beings. For one thing, the administration was severely understaffed, a fact made all the more apparent by the reserve's vastness. The reserve, operating on a shoestring, did not always have enough money for staff salaries, much less for patrols of the premises to keep illegal activities in check.

There are poachers and gold miners in the reserve. The latter, some operating legally, some illegally, number in the tens of thousands, and they hunt large animals such as yaks for food. However, poachers kill for money. They covet the hides, or more precisely, the fleece thereon, of Tibetan antelopes. The fleece is dubbed "soft gold" for the exorbitant black market prices that it can easily command. It is used illegally to make shahtoosh shawls (see sidebar).

In the summer of 1998, I received a call from Wong. He was in China, and he sounded desperate. "I just left the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve. I saw 706 dead Tibetan antelopes. Poachers butchered them!" In June 2000, two poacher gangs were found to have killed 907 more--the discarded bodies were enough to fill a soccer field. Small wonder that Wong called the poachers names that are unfit to appear here.

"As a former photographer for the National Geographic, I know the profound power of pictures. I swear that I will show for the world to see the beauty of Tibetan antelopes, as well as the skinned carcasses of mother antelopes with fully formed fetuses in their wombs," vowed Wong How Man. His story and photos were published in the September 1998 issue of Rhythms Magazine, the first Chinese-language magazine to report on the massacres. Wong later got on the CNN and Discovery television channels to tell the world about it.

A prelude to protection

Zhang Hui-bin (張會斌), deputy administrator of the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve, is an old friend of mine. He accompanied me into the reserve on my first visit in 1991 and again in 1993. At the reserve headquarters in the city of Korla [population 220,000], Zhang expressed his gratitude to me for getting Wong’s article published in Rhythms, which has brought more attention and resources to the reserve.

By 1993 the reserve had organized a few armed police forays in a forlorn attempt to sweep poachers out of the reserve. Oddly, in early 1993, better armed poachers actually pulled off a reverse sweep. However, with the gradual improvement in official support from Beijing, this kind of embarrassment has not occurred lately.

In late 1998, China's Forest Ministry issued the White Paper on the Protection of Chinese Tibetan Antelopes, calling for international cooperation to protect this endangered species. It was announced by the signatory countries of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES) that it would be illegal to sell or own shahtoosh. Many countries, including the United States, China, and India, have acted to enforce this regulation.

Nevertheless, illegal hunting and selling of antelope fleece continues to be a severe problem. Notwithstanding the fact that Tibetan antelopes are on the endangered species list and are accorded the utmost protection by the law, the black market for the extremely fine, soft hair still persists.

Qu Wen-zhong (區文中), a member of the expedition team, is a successful entrepreneur and an avid fan of wildlife photography. During a recent trip to India, he went to a market posing as an interested buyer for shahtoosh shawls. A vendor told him that if he was really serious, he could leave his cell phone number and someone would be in touch with him soon.

The would-be buyer would then be taken on a zigzag tour around the township--aiming to shake off any tail that police might have put on them--before he and the escort finally arrived at the shahtoosh seller's place for in-depth discussions.

The degree of secrecy, caution, and suspense literally rivals spy novels. Qu said that the going price for a shahtoosh shawl has gone up to US$20,000.

A torturous journey in the highlands

I have to admit that this was a most demanding and tiring trek. The sometimes dull and monotonous, brownish and barren landscape was hypnotic enough, but it was made worse by the 5,000-meter elevation. I struggled to keep my eyes open and ignore the throbbing in my temples.

The journey was dotted with unexpected incidents of one sort or another. From Urumqi, it took our caravan six days just to reach the entrance of the reserve. Soon after we set out, the fuel pump on one of the four-wheel drive vehicles broke down. After a morning spent on a botched attempt to fix it, we left it behind. Like us, our vehicles also seemed to be suffering from high altitude sickness, and maintenance and repair became as important as our daily meals.

We came across the carcass of a yak close to the Kunlun Mountains, near the western edge of the reserve. Dr. William Bleisch, a team member and a biologist, examined the yak's teeth and concluded that it was an old female that most likely had died a natural death last year, putting our minds a bit more at ease that it wasn't killed by a poacher. In such high and desolate surroundings, even carnivorous bald eagles and falcons that loved decayed bodies were nowhere to be seen, leaving the yak's carcass a rare chance to decay naturally.

Scouting for prized scenes

As soon as we rounded a pass, we were greeted by the blue water of a lake, ice still lining its shores. On a pasture to the east of the lake some animals were running.

"We've just sighted a herd of female Tibetan antelopes," we excitedly radioed the caravan behind. Until then, in the back of our minds, we had feared that we might have totally missed the breeding antelopes. We worried that the antelopes might have changed their timetable for arrival at their breeding ground as a result of the omnipresent global warming. Now, we could heave a collective sigh of relief.

Going past Bai Quan Lake and Tu Zhi Lake, we saw Muz Tagh, the highest peak of the eastern Kunlun Mountains, in the distance. We picked a niche on the northern slope of Muz Tagh to pitch our tents. This would be our base camp for the following few days.

Though we hadn't seen female antelopes in large numbers yet, both Dr. Bleisch and Zhang Hui-bin, the deputy administrator of the reserve and a veteran of this region, confirmed that this area was where they had observed large herds of antelopes breed.

Their assertion was backed up by resident experts. After several years of observation, staff scientists on the reserve were sure that this was one of the most important breeding grounds for Tibetan antelopes. They had observed 15,000 antelopes breeding here in the last few summers.

We saw herds of around 20 female antelopes. We did not see many fawns, which stay close to their mothers. They feed mainly in the early mornings and late afternoons; but in winter and spring when food is scarcer, they feed for longer periods of time. This is one reason why they can be seen everywhere even during the day. In summer and fall, when more food is available, they rest during the day near lakes, on riverbanks, or in low-lying areas.

A perplexing choice of breeding grounds

The locations chosen by expecting antelopes for bearing their young baffled us. Lush pastures surrounded the place where they mated. By contrast, all the breeding grounds were wastelands that had some flowers and grass no taller than two centimeters (less than an inch).

Why did pregnant antelopes come here to give birth? Was it the barren landscape that attracted them for one reason or another? Or was it to stay out of the way of their predators? "This altitude is out of the range of wild wolves, bald eagles, and falcons, and it greatly reduces the chances of newborns being hurt or killed by their natural enemies," reasoned Dr. Bleisch.

Standing on the ridge, we became highly visible and scared the antelopes off. Speed is the major guarantee of their survival. Their strong legs propel them to gallop as fast as 70 kilometers (44 miles) per hour. Even full-term pregnant antelopes can dash as well. Herbivorous mammals rarely have this capability.

As humans invade their habitats, the antelopes are forced to adjust their behavior in many ways. The behavioral changes have become more pronounced in recent years. Staff on the reserve told us that they were sure, after tracking Tibetan antelopes for more than ten years, that human activities--illegal gold mining and poaching--have caused profound changes to the animal's behavior. For example, in the early 1990s, female antelopes would let people come as close as ten meters (33 feet) of them without being disturbed. But now, they flee for their lives when a stranger approaches within several hundred meters.

But if they move to highlands to escape predators, why haven't we seen any large herds of pregnant antelopes? We were now in the highlands.

Adding insult to injury

I wondered about the many fresh tire tracks on the ground. Because the reserve's patrol vehicles could hardly make it here once a year, I was pretty sure that many other vehicles had been here just recently.

Sure enough, 20 kilometers (12 miles) west of our base camp, we saw what appeared to be a new open-air mine. My puzzle was solved. But those people were mining gold--with a fully equipped mine--right in one of the most important breeding grounds for the endangered Tibetan antelopes and right under the nose of reserve officials. This mine occupies an area of four mind-boggling square kilometers (1.5 square miles).

Aljin, as in Aljin Mountains, means "gold" in the Uygur language. Gold rushes dated back to as early as the Qing Dynasty. The environmental destruction that accompanied more recent gold mining activities led the State Council of China to launch a crackdown on illegal gold mining in reserves in the provinces of Xinjiang, Qinghai, and Tibet. Consequently, illegal mining has been generally curtailed. However, corruption is still rampant.

Ma, the owner of this mine, is a third-generation gold miner. Through a retired high-level bureaucrat on the reserve's administrative staff, Ma spent nearly one million renminbi (US$127,000) for the permit to mine where we found his operations.

The Division of Land Management of the Xinjiang Provincial Government is charged with issuing mining permits. Sadly, a series of corruption scandals has marred that agency.

When Ma applied for the mining permit, the reserve vehemently objected on the grounds that the proposed mining site was too close to the breeding grounds of Tibetan antelopes. However, the good judgment of the reserve officials was no match for Ma's lobbying efforts and money, which ultimately secured him a mining license. Ma also borrowed passes from two nearby legal mines. Those passes enabled Ma's personnel and heavy equipment to be transported unchallenged within the reserve.

We struck up a conversation with one of Ma's young local miners. The young man proudly told us that he was paid 1,000 renminbi (US$128) a month, and he needed to work only one season in a year at the mine to make more money than he would have earned for a whole year in his hometown.

For the poor people in the region, working in a gold mine seems a reasonable way to improve their financial wellbeing. I cannot argue against their desire to improve their livelihoods. However, I do have a strong disgust for mine owners and corrupt government officials who show a flagrant disregard for the wellbeing and survival of Tibetan antelopes.

Ma's gold mine in the midst of a significant breeding ground for Tibetan antelopes serves as a stark epitome of a new and sad reality: gold mining has replaced poaching as the leading threat to this beautiful creature, the antelope, in the Aljin Mountains Nature Reserve.

Adapting to the new reality

Still searching for a sight of a large herd of pregnant Tibetan antelopes, our caravan had to move further west now that Ma's gold mine had deprived the antelopes of their breeding ground. What had happened to the antelopes?

We moved along the winding bank of the Ugurlilu River, whose headwaters spring from the Muz Tagh Glacier. Recent snow had left the ground soggy--ideal for trapping our vehicles. It became a routine job in our daily search for pregnant antelopes to pull out our stuck vehicles.

On an open pasture at the edge of a huge tongue of glacier on Muz Tagh, we finally saw a herd of more than 200 pregnant Tibetan antelopes. Not surprisingly, they dispersed as soon as they saw us.

The animals moved further westward, where the terrain rendered our vehicles totally useless in trailing them. We had to bid the awesome creatures farewell as they searched for a new place to give birth. I felt a sense of loss as I watched them race out of sight.

Just then, I saw two female antelopes on the ridge of a mountain to the south. They wandered around the area but would not leave. This led me to believe that they had just given birth and hidden their fawns in a safe place.

When facing danger, a mother antelope instinctively hides her newborn fawn if it is still too young to walk. A fawn instinctively lies motionless anyplace its mother has left it. Since the fawn blends well with its surroundings, it's very difficult for a predator to spot the fawn.

After hiding her fawn, the mother emerges somewhere away from the hidden youngster but easily visible to the approaching enemy. This attracts the attention of the predator to the mother antelope and away from the fawn. Only after the danger is gone will the mother return to the hiding place to reunite with her offspring.

A newborn fawn weighs about 2.5 kilograms (5.5 pounds). Upon ingestion of milk from its mother, a fawn can stand up 30 minutes after birth and walk, albeit a bit wobbly, in another half hour. About one month after birth, mothers lead their fawns on a long trek back to their usual habitat.

It took us a while to spot a newborn fawn of about two days old--old enough to dodge potential danger. It moved with speed and agility away from us and onto a steep ridge.

As it disappeared from our sight, we knew well that in about a month, it would be strong enough to follow its mother and others in a large group journey along an age-old route back to their habitat to join the rest of the herd. Perhaps in a few years, this fawn will come back here to perpetuate its species.

I could not help feeling a bit of regret that we had not witnessed the grand scene of thousands of antelopes giving birth. I could only leave it to my imagination to conjure up how that scene might have appeared.

Zhang Hui-bin recalled a valley full of Tibetan antelopes and newborn fawns, still wet, trying unsteadily to stand up from under their mothers. I tried hard to fit his depiction into a jigsaw puzzle in my mind. I also figured in the delight that we had when Zhang and I first saw Tibetan antelopes in 1991. He and I were concerned then that gold mining, poaching, and the substantial increase in the sale of shahtoosh would together herald the extinction of Tibetan antelopes.

Back then, he and I didn't even know where these animals bred. This time, however, we witnessed that they had at least for now dodged the threat of poachers. We saw the antelopes in fairly large herds, and, unfortunately we also identified new crises and challenges lying ahead of these beautiful animals.

For now, it seemed to us that the situation facing the antelopes was an improvement over that of nine years ago.

As one of the mascots for the upcoming 2008 Olympic Games, Tibetan antelopes are appearing in public awareness campaigns throughout China, even along the remote roads connecting this and nearby reserves. Hopefully, the Games will bring substantive benefits for the survival of these beautiful but endangered animals.

I had barely left the reserve when I started missing these beautiful antelopes.

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Shahtoosh: Shawl or Shroud?

Shahtoosh comes from Persian, where ah means "emperor" and oosh is "fleece." A shahtoosh is a shawl, cape, or some other product made from the king of all fleece, especially that of Tibetan antelopes.

Poachers, in violation of law and humanity, kill Tibetan antelopes, even ones on the verge of giving birth, for their fur. All hides head for one and only eventual destination--Kashmir, in northern India--because Kashmir is the only place where raw hides and fleece are commercially processed into various shahtoosh products coveted by wealthy people in the outside world.

Shahtoosh was introduced to Europe in the 17th century, and it has been a fashion item ever since.

A fiber from a Tibetan antelope is about one thousandth centimeter in diameter, or about three-fourths that of a fiber from a Kashmir mountain goat. The extremely thin fiber is a double-edged sword--it makes shahtoosh extremely soft and warm, and it also takes more raw fleece to make one shahtoosh.

It takes the hides, and lives, of three Tibetan antelopes and untold labor to make one shawl for a lady, and five antelopes for a gentleman. The upper echelons of Western societies have taken shahtoosh as a symbol of nobility, elegance, and status. But that doesn't change the fact that many antelopes were sacrificed to satisfy people's vanity.

In order to soothe would-be consumers of shahtoosh, sellers claim that their products were made from wool collected where Tibetan antelopes shed their fur. Behind this smoke screen, Western buyers keep buying shahtoosh. It is true that antelopes shed once a year. But the shed wool would soon be blown away by the wind or else scattered around as the antelopes move about. Nobody obtains antelope wool this way, perhaps because it simply isn't economical. It is much cheaper and more convenient for poachers to simply obtain hides by killing the lovely creatures.

Those in the shahtoosh trade may try to "soften the blow" by telling the world lies like this, but statistics don't lie. Over the last two decades, the bloody hands of poachers have wiped more than 90 percent of Tibetan antelopes out of existence. The population has decreased from more than a million animals to less than 75,000 today, and unfortunately the figure keeps declining.

Poachers ply their trade because the illegal demand for shahtoosh has created a black market so lucrative that the poachers are willing to take on the risk of being caught. They seem to know well that law enforcement in the reserve is stretched very thin, and they can bribe their way out of any trouble if they get caught red-handed.

It seems to me that if consumers knew all the facts about the daunting challenges those beautiful animals face, the consumers would probably stop buying shahtoosh and give Tibetan antelopes a fighting chance for survival.