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Updated: May 14, 2025
In the morning the sun was out in a cloudless sky but the wind never ceased entirely on the pass even though there was a breathless calm among the trees a few hundred feet below. My wife and I had just returned from inspecting our line of traps about nine o'clock in the morning when the forest suddenly resounded with the "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa" of the gibbons.
As we gained the summit of the ridge we were greeted with a ringing "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa," from the forest five hundred feet below us; they were the calls of gibbons, without a doubt, but strikingly unlike those of the Nam-ting River. We decided to camp at once and, after considerable prospecting, chose a flat place beside the road.
We were sitting on a bed of fragrant pine needles watching for a squirrel which had been chattering in the upper branches of a giant tree, when suddenly the wild call of the monkeys echoed up the mountain-side. They were far away to the left, and we ran toward them, stumbling and slipping on the moss-covered rocks and logs, the "hu-wa," "hu-wa," "hu-wa" sounding louder every moment.
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