Day 12 – Song-Gan Highway

After just five kilometers on the new main road north from Galitai, we struck east over the mountain range and then down into the Lawa Valley, where the old road from Songpan toward Gansu ran. This was the road the Reds had wanted to follow, and the one they would fight for two days’ march north of this point. Yang Xiao and I learned about the existence of this ancient path during our crossing of the Grasslands on Long March 2 in 2006, and we had wanted to see it ever since. Traders probably followed this route at least as early as the Tang Dynasty (618-907), when the Chinese empire first began to trade with the Tibetan kingdom established by Songtsen Gambo in the seventh century.

Yang Xiao and I weren’t disappointed. Our team followed the Lawa Valley until close to sunset, when we camped below the ridge that divides it from the Baozuo Valley to the north. We were 12,400 feet above sea level at this point, on a carpet of yellow wildflowers below a sky that, for the first time since Mao’ergai, cleared and filled with stars. Jupiter was still brilliant when I got up at dawn; Dean later said he had woken up in the middle of the night and seen it so bright it had its own halo.

Day 13 – From Lawa to Baozuo Valley

The horses liked this place so much they made a break for the hilltops at dawn. It took Yixi more than half an hour to chase them down.

Just half an hour from our camp, we crossed the final ridge of our journey.

The path between Lawa and Baozuo valleys rises to 13,120 feet above sea level.

On and around the Lawa/Baozuo ridge we happened across several families gathering Fritillaria bulbs, which are sold for around 400 yuan a pound to be used in Chinese traditional medicine. An especially popular application is to steep them in hard liquor, especially in combination with aweto. Our team would soon have a chance to test the restorative properties of this concoction.

It was all downhill from here. The Baozuo River flows off this range, and we simply followed the water for the next 40 kilometers to our final destination.

The Baozuo Valley serves as the winter pasture for the herders of Baozuo, whose yaks were spending the summer over the range on the Ruo’ergai Grassland. Beyond the Fritillaria gatherers, we saw just one person this whole day – and he/she stayed well away from our large party.

While we took a break and a few photos, several of our horses bolted, shaking off their loads and dashing west. Our Tibetan comrades were quite unfazed. Two of them grabbed a couple of more docile animals and gave chase. They had the whole lot back within 20 minutes.

As we descended the valley, the Baozuo River gradually widened. The path criss-crossed it on at least a dozen occasions. At this point, it was still easy to splash across; by late afternoon, it was a foot or more deep and frustrating in the extreme – after taking off boots and socks, wading across, drying feet and putting footwear back on, we would walk 50 yards and find ourselves at yet another crossing as the river twisted back on itself once again.

At dusk, however, the river showed a more friendly face to Gordon, who returned to camp with this fine specimen. Yang Xiao cooked it in hong shao style, creating a sauce from a few left-over fermented black beans.

Day 14 – Baozuo Valley

The white tent belonged to our horse team, who were feeling a lot happier in this valley, which they were satisfied was far enough from Maiwa for safety. They had been terrorized in Galitai by the sudden arrival of a gang of cloaked, knife-wielding Tibetans on motorcycles. Habitually a talkative bunch – especially when complaining about our speed of advance – they stayed very quiet indeed until the motorcycles roared off. They had good reason to be nervous, though: the feud with Maiwa had claimed eight lives and numerous injuries thus far.

On Yang Xiao’s and my one previous foray into the Baozuo Valley, locals had told us that the area was a haven for wildlife, as it is almost completely cut off from the outside. The recent rains had softened the ground so that any passing animal left its tracks quite clearly – in this case another wolf, trotting along the main path in company with its baby. From our camp in the evening, we spotted a deer on the hillside opposite; in the morning, two larger animals appeared on the same hillside. Shaggy and red, with a large patch of white across their neck and shoulders, they were unidentifiable at the time. The best guess was a Sichuan Takin. I visited the Natural History Museum in London yesterday, where, as luck would have it, they had a stuffed Sichuan Takin for me to examine in close-up. It seemed the right shape and general colour, but lacked the white patch. Perhaps its coat changes with the seasons – if any wildlife experts are reading, your suggestions are welcome…

After several days struggling to move more than 15 kilometers – the altitude and frequent bogs slowed us right down – today was an easy stroll down a trail that widened into quite a passable road by lunchtime. We covered 25 kilometers in little more than five hours.

Yang Xiao and I also spotted a little fawn, which trotted across the path about 30 yards in front of us. I was far too slow getting the camera out, so all you get is another picture of wildflowers.

We reached the terminus of our trek in early afternoon. This was the point at which the Red Army fought and won control of the old Songpan-Gansu road. It was one of the most important battles of the Long March, opening the way for Chairman Mao to escape into northwest China and establish a new base of operations. Yet the monument above was only erected in 2006. The Battle of Baozuo was written out of the official histories for decades; when I first retraced Mao’s March with Andy in 2003, we didn’t even know about it. The reasons relate to Mao’s power struggle with Zhang Guotao. Mao and his supporters accused Zhang of trying to split the Party and stage a coup to seize control of the army. A few days after the Battle of Baozuo, Zhang called for the Reds to stop going north and turn back south. Mao accused Zhang of pursuing a “mistaken” line, denounced the idea of going south and took his men on into Gansu. It’s a complex tale, but it ends with Zhang labeled a traitor who “always” wanted to go south, in opposition to the “correct” plan of marching north. And that, in a nutshell, is why the Battle of Baozuo was erased from history – because it was fought by Zhang’s men, specifically to open the road north, before the dispute over the Reds’ route began. Mao was able to go north only thanks to the efforts of Zhang Guotao’s men – and their sacrifice, as hundreds, possibly more than 1,000 were lost in this engagement. Anyone who knows about the Battle of Baozuo, knows that the Maoist history of the Long March is a lie.

From the battle site at Upper Baozuo, we drove to the bottom of the valley and the small town of Qiuji, where we dined with my old friend Pu Hengliang, whom Andy and I first met on our Long March in September 2003. Above is the photo I took that day with Pu and his grandsons Jingjin and Jingniao, then both seven years old.

Yang Xiao and I also stayed with Lao Pu in 2006. All the various Red Armies passed via Qiuji on their way into Gansu. He was so pleased to see us again on this occasion, he broke out his special medicinal liquor, fortified with Fritillaria bulbs, aweto and much else, including ground deer antler. If any of our other team members would like to share their reminiscences of Mr Pu’s potion, I will gladly append them here…

I’ll also fill in the name of Lao Pu’s eldest grandson, just as soon as I get back to Beijing and look it up. Above is the 2009 family photo. I’m looking forward to updating this next time, hopefully in less than three years.

Day 15 – The Road to Gansu

Dr Jocelyn lectures a dwindling audience at the site of the “Baxi Meeting”, the most famous of the spots where Mao and Zhang Guotao’s men argued about whether to go north or south. Gordon looks like he’s had enough Long March history.

We found this marvelous prayer wheel in a picturesque village called Yanong, site of the emergency meeting at which Mao and his people made up their minds to run for it – apparently convinced Zhang Guotao was going to use his part of the army to arrest and/or murder them.

Much of what we saw on this journey was unchanged from 2003. The trail above, however, was the path from Sichuan into Gansu as Andy and I saw it six years ago. The rickety wooden bridge Andy is crossing in this picture has now been replaced by a concrete structure, across which we drove in a 20-seater bus.

Once into Gansu, our first stop was at Jiacuo’s house in the town of Wangzang, where his wife had prepared a feast of epic proportions. The elegant lady in between Dean and me is Jiacuo’s mother.

Just below the town, this ancient bridge spans the White Dragon River, the Bailong Jiang. This is another spot Andy and I walked past without noting in 2003, and because of that we missed Chairman Mao’s route from here to the famous site of Lazikou, where the Reds fought their last battle to break out of the Tibetan country and back into Han China. Mao crossed this very bridge, taking a short cut through the mountain range while many of his soldiers followed the river valley, as did we.

In 1935, Wangzang was a tiny collection of farmhouses dominated by this ancient lamasery, one of the oldest in Gansu. Spying the approach of the Red Army, the monks played safe, preparing food for the soldiers and then fleeing into the hills. Like Mao’ergai, this lamasery was attacked and burned during the Cultural Revolution; however, this and one other of the old halls survived as they were used as grain stores.

Unusually, some of the original artwork in the lamasery also survived. This dragon emblem suggests the lamasery had some kind of special relationship with the imperial government in Beijing.

Day 16 – Lazikou

Our last day on the Long March trail began at Lazikou, where the Reds stormed an impregnable position. Andy Smith took one look at the narrow defile where the local Gansu forces had stationed themselves, and then shook his head sadly. Lazikou is synonymous with Communist courage; it could just as well be a symbol for the decadence and incompetence of the old regime. Above is a reconstruction of the bridge over the river below the defensive gun emplacements. The attacking Reds sheltered under the bridge before retreating and waiting for a group of climbers to launch an assault from above and from the rear – after which the defenders turned tail and ran.

Several remarkable things happened on this morning: Michael overslept, the rain clouds lifted to allow us a fine view of a partial solar eclipse (which was total across central China), and a group of young ladies and gentlemen dressed in Red Army uniforms appeared as we approached the Lazikou memorial.

The young Reds thought we were quite a remarkable sight, too. Above, Lawrence signs one of many autographs.

We discovered this was a traveling song-and-dance troupe dedicated to spreading revolutionary spirit and idealism across China. They had come from Lanzhou, the capital of Gansu Province, and were on the first leg of a Long March tour, on which they planned to visit, perform in, and if possible do some charitable work for all the famous sites along the Long March trail. They were easily persuaded to give us an impromptu concert in the car park of the Lazikou Red Army Museum.

I was taken by this exhibit in the museum, a reproduction of a slogan painted by the Red Army’s propaganda unit in a nearby village. It calls for the overthrow of the Han officials and soldiers who oppress the Hui and Tibetan peoples – a neat illustration of the racial politics of the time, with uncomfortable echoes of contemporary China’s social and political problems.

The museum contains only reproductions, with one exception: this Red Army hand grenade, found in a village in the mountains above Jiacuo’s hometown of Wangzang and acquired by Jiacuo himself in exchange for a packet of cigarettes.

From Lazikou we drove over Minshan to the town of Hadapu, in 2003 possibly the best-preserved old town on the Long March Trail. I was greatly upset by what has happened to it in the meantime. Most of the historic centre has been erased; the old main street – now named Long March Road – is barely recognizable. New, characterless buildings are being constructed along almost its entire length, leading to a vast square in front of a huge Long March museum, which contains even less of interest or significance than the one at Lazikou. Locals claimed the old buildings had been badly damaged by the Sichuan earthquake last year, hence they had to be condemned and replaced. Whether that’s true or not, it’s certain the locals grabbed the opportunity to use reconstruction money to put up new houses. While picturesque, the old houses were in a terrible state inside and were definitely not comfortable dwellings. Yet they surely could have been restored sympathetically, perhaps using the money squandered on the grotesque white elephant at the top of Long March Road. Hadapu wants tourists, but there’s no reason to go there anymore. They took their one and only resource, their unique and lovely old town, and bulldozed it.

Cheer up now: click here for some of the glorious wildflowers from the Long March Trail