Wildlife, Bird watching, Angling, Outdoors, Travel, Camping.

2007-07-26T16:56:00.000-07:00

A leopard cub

Owl in flight!

2007-06-25T22:43:00.001-07:00

a Short-eared Owl being harried by a Drongo. - Rollapadu 14th Jan 2007

Grassland Birds

2007-06-25T22:38:00.000-07:00

The Indian Courser seen in fallow lands and dry open places. A most striking little bird.

The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly In The Plains; But Pours In The Hills Of Nallamalas!!!

2007-06-23T20:31:00.000-07:00

The beauty of Farahabad - Pure Magic. Hazy today........

Clear tomorrow!!!!!

The Eternal verdant hills of Nelliampathy

2007-06-18T04:42:00.000-07:00

NELLIAMPATHY HILLS

Nelliampathy hills in the Western Ghats are an ideal location for watching wildlife. It is an incredible place having a great array and numbers of wildlife and birdlife. I liked viewing the Nilgiri Thar commonly referred to as the Ibex here. They are seen here - as wild goats ought to be – far away silhouetted against the skyline and, panting up a rather steep hill to possibly a hundred yards from the nonchalant goats in a lather of sweat. At Eruvikulam near Munnar, the Thar are tame to the point of being blasé. Here it is not so and the chase after them is indeed thrilling! What with the possibility of putting up a covey of Red spur fowl or Grey jungle fowl, or, suddenly faced by a herd of Gaur that stare at you in utterly wild astonishment. Their soulful eyes wide with all slumber rubbed out.

My forays into the forest for bird watching were always accompanied by a staff from the estate. These guys were knowledgeable but always wondered why one would risk limb and life – especially life - to see some non-descript bird. The nervousness was palpable for they looked with terror and suspicion at anything that moved or rustled. I was to learn later that the cause of concern were the King Cobras, Elephants, Leopards and Tigers in that order. All of them dislike disturbances and they demonstrate their displeasure in a most terrifying manner.

Whatever my claims of experience in wildlife, the staff had orders at the pain of death that I should not be out of their sight even for a moment. They were ordered to keep me away from the furred and scaled tribes. I, in spite of their strict vigil got a glimpse of the Spotted Prince albeit in his very dark, almost midnight black suit.

The birding days passed by without much tension after they found that I was calm while we faced the Panther. I was then led to the nest of a King Cobra – in a Jeep – which looked much like a pile of leaf litter gathered by a gardener in the midst of which was the King Cobra – queen – seeming more like a coil of black electricity cable.

Our journey started from Hyderabad on a hot day in May to visit my in-laws. My wife and I talked of the plans each had made and there was no common ground other than that we were headed for the same place – Kerala; God’s own country – a few days spent in pacifying relatives had me in tears and I tore myself from all that and hurled myself into the lap of the hills south of the Palaghat gap; the eternally verdant hills of Nelliampathy.

A train journey to Trichur – home of the fabled Guruvayoor Temple and its larger than life elephant stables – where my friends eagerly awaited my arrival had gladdened my heart, my entire being. We bundled ourselves into a Jonga – more of a Jalopy – and headed off into the thick unknown after a hurried lunch.

Astounded I was by the calls of animals heard. Tiger at half-past six in the evening – three calls from about three hundred yards away, and we could still feel its presence long after it had presumably left the place. Soon Barking Deer were either barking at the Tiger or calling defiance to other males, I could not tell.

I consider the Barking Deer a great friend in the forest, for he warns me of any dangers ahead. During the rutting season, though when his mind is on other things I leave him alone with his hard won ladylove and look to the monkeys and peafowl that are always around, keeping a sharp lookout for any carnivores. The barking deer were wow-wowing all around at intervals; one though to my left was very persistent. I thought he was having a wordy duel with one of his kind. Soon dispelled was the premise when, with mortal terror in their voice, the Nilgiri Langoor boomed and coughed their alarm to all and sundry that their handsome killer prince – the Leopard - was afoot. All this not quite a hundred yards from the bungalow where I was staying with a ravine about eight feet across and a flimsy wire fence between us. All this enacted around eight o’ clock in the morning.

The very nature of the forest dissuaded me from following the Leopard. Apart from an angry display by the Leopard, I wonder whether it was the black prince – for it was very dark – there was a strong possibility of running into a herd of wild Elephants we could hear some distance away, not to mention the King Cobra whose nest we saw with the female cosily coiled on top, partly hidden by the mound of humus she had collected. Then there were the leeches that could get the better of me, in spite of the waders and the snuff I carried. Snuff is by far the best dodge against leeches, when mixed with oil and rubbed to the uncovered parts, the only objection being that one smells like a cheap, improperly cured, cigar!

The previous evening, the jungle quietened down after the tiger stopped calling, my friends and I armed with searchlights stepped into a very dark forest. We avoided known elephant trails and, on turning a bend, were rewarded in that we spied the diminutive mouse deer, rather like a little piglet staring blue-green eyed into the light. We disturbed a couple of barking deer, lying in the impenetrable bramble, - a very good dodge - to avoid the night stalkers. In a little clearing we saw the Franklin’s Nightjar, or rather identified it by the call. The Mottled Wood Owl and the Jungle Owlet did not appreciate very much the glare of the searchlights in their eyes.

We were following a game trail in the glimmer of starlight and the light of the Moon in one of her not so bright quarters. In another glade, we came upon a herd of large animals. Relieved were we when realised that we had stumbled not onto a herd of Elephants, but that of female Gaur and calves, which suddenly stood up on our abrupt arrival. Startled as we were with searchlights blazing, we gave them a wide berth and then came upon a bull grazing about fifty yards from his temporary harem. He was trailing them and see if he could get lucky and pass on his genes down to the next generation.

Many animals not generally seen by day were about and were quite confiding. I was startled therefore when I heard a shot. I was reassured when I almost tripped on a trip wire. This simple device makes a loud bang when an animal sets it off. It is a debatably effective method of keeping wildlife out of estates, for once exploded; the device needs to be set the next time to be effective. The animals are used to this and after the initial fright, the sambur and barking deer come in and strip the silver oak off its bark while the wild boar are very pleased at having a go at the cassava tubers and other roots, which are a staple for the natives. The little mouse deer, which are very skittish, slips under the trip wire to crop the shoots of various plants.

The prowl by night was very successful. I was thrilled since my homemade leech guard and waders were very effective armour against the slimy bloodsuckers. We all enjoyed the trip thoroughly, and, we were comfortably tired and after a midnight dinner cooked on open red-hot coals, we stopped for the night since it was well past one O’ clock in the morning.

As the grey dawn broke at about five O’ clock in the morning, I was awake to greet it with a steaming cup of black coffee sweetened to excess with brown sugar made from coconut palm toddy. The exuberance of the calls of animals and birds apprised me of the fact that I was not the only one to welcome the newborn day, but that there were others that had survived the perils of the night!

By about half past seven, the steam rose in columns from the forest as apparitions, as if the earth were giving up the ghosts of those animals that had fallen prey to the Tiger and the Leopard and the Jungle Cat. This mist then mingled with the clouds above and covered the area in a blanket of fog. The fog lifted as the forest floor warmed up to the rays of the Sun, and the cloud emptied itself off its bulk as a light drizzle on all. A beautiful rainbow could then be seen which lost itself into the skies above, a stairway to heaven – a bridge for those whose toils and fears were over – conveying them to a land where there shall be terror no more.

We sat through the mist, which had engulfed the little cottage and shared its fleecy nothingness with us. Cold and shivering, and drinking gallons of steaming hot black coffee, barbecue for lunch and dinner with more coffee without milk – for the Tiger carried away the five milch cows - for a whole week in May was for me the ideal way to spend a vacation. Moreover, there were no telephones to disturb, no newspapers screaming the ills of the world, no television showcasing everything in a rectangle, and the icing on the cake; no electricity, for the good old Elephants had uprooted the posts, and the solar panels refusing to charge the batteries was for me panacea. The nightly hiss of the petromax lanterns, the smell of food cooking on an open fire, the bonfire to keep the chill out and a drink in hand is what I needed to charge my inner man for the urban onslaught I knew would come once I left this paradise in the hills.

Of Fur, of Feather and of Scale

2007-06-18T03:24:00.000-07:00

Many are the times when the wild bug bites. The itch too great to resist and this causes many to get out of the urban chaos and curl into the lap of the wild. Excitement is the key word, for, how else can be described this unusual urge to set out on a trip into the wilderness. The drive to some spot that offers a hope of seeing something wild; be they of fur or of feather. Oftentimes it also entails a visit with a rod, reel and line to match strength and cunning with a hidden and sporting adversary with scales; which scales more than the hook, line and sinker that, when presented in a most artistic manner takes it and then makes a dash, while burning furrows in the fingers as the line plays out and the reel sings a merry tune of strain and excitement. The exhilaration as the rod bends from a ramrod to a tapered ‘U’ has to be experienced to believe.

Fur entices more than feather; especially if the furry one is the striped King of beasts, whose calls send a cold shiver down the spine, whose supple grace, regal bearings and prowess are tales of truth and of legends. Closely followed is the spotted Prince, he has not earned his stripes yet, but is very handsome, climbs trees, is very nimble footed and a master at camouflage.

The Lords are the trunked ones, sporting ivory flamboyantly and blow their own trumpets. They love the water and snorkel and gambol in it for hours. They are the gardeners; they prune trees, mow the great lawns and plant new trees and bushes. The Lord-lings, for some time wonder where their noses have gone and find the hose pipes attached to their snouts most annoying.

The power houses are the beautifully curved horned, pitch black, white stockinged, black shod men in black while, the ladies are elegantly dressed in brown leather tights. They are the bulkily graceful fat of these lands who always stare bewildered wide-eyed at the world.

The doe eyed beauties with white dappled fawn coats; their masters similarly liveried, and sporting beautifully curved and polished sabres disguised as branches stand out as jewels in the emerald green glades. The glens are ranged by their somber coloured larger cousins, chocolate brown, walnut tine crowned, regal headed, sure footed, deep bellowers.

The bright eyed bushy tailed red racers, whistling and winking as they gambol and play, their large ears ready to pick up all that is to be heard in their country, eternal nomads, very restless spirits of the forests. Their cousins sing to the Moon, and steal from the King and the Prince; by whose antics most are fooled to the advantage of the howler.

The bone crusher lopes about his business, fore quarters powerful, hind quarters weak, heavy jawed, dirty white, bedraggled, striped coated; an undertaker; but he laughs; for, he who laughs last, laughs best!

The Crested, large taloned, dark backed, spotted chested stooper, the buoyant flier; the downy feathered killer rides the wind in circles with no purpose at hand but still purposeful; who folds into nerve wracking nose dives and scares the wits out of the beholders.

The grandiose fan of the mover and shaker to impress the somber beauties around; dazzling them with Argus eyes and rainbow colours, and, glistening in jewels befitting a queen.

Bejewelled little down-curved billed royal purple scintilla, some also with deep lemon breasts; they sip liquid gold daintily from the fragrant and nubile flowers.

The grandiloquent green flashes mingling with the leaves; ventriloquists, some fruit headed, others necklaced, some hanging upside down, while all kiss and make up with their curvaceous bills.

‘Did you do it?’ and ‘Why did you do it?’ cries the leggy, yellow legged, black and white, brown coated red faced whistle blower; while his pale, yellow faced cousin meekly rejoins ‘Why?’ , ‘Why?’

The mighty massive headed, large scaled King of the waters, sometimes auric, sometimes argentine, live in the fastest gin-clear tumbling waters shot through with a million fine bubbles on the rocks; which as Champagne, go to the head!

The big mouthed, stiff upper lip-less-ed, dour, deep-bodied, crimson fringed, silver ingots wander the waters, sucking the slime and clearing the waters for racy swimmers.

Snake-headed, top-beady-eyed; the black apparitions suddenly shoot up to take a gulp of air, they have the best of both worlds, they drink and breathe at the same time.

The knife edged silver cleavers, hunch backed, lean bellied and extremely flat chested many toothed, small mouthed nippers gambol and flash as they roll and boil the waters in mirth.

Such sights and sounds, of mad rushes and stern moods, of the roarer, of the bellower and of the screamer; the headlong dives and the native song and dance caused to be seen and heard by a bug that bites is the panacea of life to be lived under the watchful eye of Faunus.

I have spoken ought of the creepy crawlies, of boughs and of vines, for I know nought of them, and may not take too kindly if I describe them false.

2007-06-17T05:29:00.000-07:00

A small minivet female on the nest. While watching this nest the male came and brought food for the female which left the nest for a brief while and then settled in as the male left.

2007-06-17T05:26:00.000-07:00

This is the larva of the ant lion. It digs itself a funnel trap and shoots sand particles if its insect victims try to escape.

Andhra Pradesh Forest Academy

2007-06-17T05:13:00.001-07:00

Hoof mark of the Chousingah at the AP Forest Academy, Dulapally, close to Hyderabad.

A most interesting little antelope which is the only one in the world to sport two pairs of horns thus the name. Endemic to India, and dependant on the availablity of water.

Giant Squirrel

2007-06-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

Quite often seen at Farahabad, Srisailem.

Which Grypotyphlops?

2007-06-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

This snake is about 22" or 55 cm long. Is blind. Pink in colour. One cannot overlook the fact that its colour matches closely the red laterite soil from where it was picked up. It has irregular bluish purple patches on it. Tail and head look similar. Tries to bore in with tail.

Any help in its identification would be appreciated.

Short eared owl

2007-03-05T08:44:00.000-08:00

Chicken heart - a welcome change in diet!

2007-03-05T08:40:00.000-08:00

Rescued Short Eared Owl

2007-03-03T02:52:00.000-08:00

TIGER RIVER

TIGERMAN RAJAM

TIGER SCRATCHED!

Nirmal Forests

2007-03-03T02:39:00.000-08:00

CAMPFIRE ON THE TURKAM CHURUVU

WHAT PRICE FOR HONEY!

TOWARD A MEMORABLE FEW DAYS

NAIKOYA HOUSE!
]
THE BUNCH! MORE TO COME!!

Ducks, Birds, Wildlife, Waterfowl

2007-01-06T21:50:00.000-08:00

Wildlife and leopards

2007-01-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

Kondakarla-va

2007-01-05T18:31:00.000-08:00

Destination KONDA KARLA-VA

Cradled in the foothills of the Eastern Ghats is the beautiful lake of Konda Karla-va; and my wanderings took me to this very vibrant lake. Here, I met my friend the forest watcher who is a knowledgeable chap, but alas! He spoke in Telugu; and though I am good at it – though the accent terrible – I could not fathom the names of birds he reeled off. Therefore, with a field guide full of pictures as interpreter and two good pairs of binoculars, we set off on one of the most thrilling bird watching trips I have undertaken so far.

Birding on foot, bi-cycles, motor vehicles and boats are all too familiar. What I had never dreamed was a bird watching trip on a lake seated on an up-turned charpoy (cot made of wood and ropes) that acts as a vice in holding the two Palmyra palm dugouts together. My friend the local birdwatcher, employed with the forest department and I set out on this contraption propelled by two pole wielding, able-bodied fishermen, who rigged this thing together. I was a little worried when I saw that the cone shaped dugouts not tied or nailed, but married together by this rhomboid and inverted charpoy. Moreover, the cause for concern was their divorce in mid-waters over some disagreement, which was a grave possibility.

The biomechanical propellers propelled us noiselessly through the Typha and weeds, and there amongst the reeds we spied the Blue-breasted Banded Rail that quietly stalked the stalks, looking intently, while keeping very still for any frogs, fish or insects that might put in an appearance. The Ruddy Crakes kept flying about; their legs dangling crimson red – seeming more like weeds in which they live – under them. Attention is always arrested by music, and I being no exception; stopped. The Large Reed Warblers were pouring out their liquid song perched atop the grasses and sedges from which we now emerged that lined the lakeshore.

I then saw a very exuberant lot of purple flash in very green, young paddy. The Purple Moorhen were at work, bringing to naught the toils of a farmer with zeal. Not too far from this rabble of smartly liveried rouges in purple vesture, red skull caps, masks and red stockings, was a flock of Whimbrel - the drably clothed plain Janes - heads bowed, probing the mud with their down curved bills – feeling downcast - for whatever they eat, conscious of their fancifully dressed, vociferous and cocky neighbours.

As the rigged contraption moved into the lake, little ducks flew all around us; emerald green with white lace work screaming in a very guttural army sergeants’ voice commanding all their kind to “Fix your Bayonet”; and like an air force of Lilliputs took off from close to a couple of blundering Gullivers on their bird watching expedition. These were the tiny Cotton Teal – the smallest of ducks in India.

Looking into the waters was like looking at the overgrown head of Medusa the Gorgon; tendrils of water plants spiralling up and swaying gently in the currents, belying their strength to snare some unfortunate. The water lilies festooned the surface with their multi-coloured flowers, as if an adornment on her head.

In the distance was a very hazy grey in a trellis of Ipomoea. I looked hard to decipher the mass. A plume raised some movement about, all suddenly bobbing; the branches of the Ipomoea, on closer examination seemed festooned with the same grey fleece. A closer and better look from another angle showed them as the Asian Open-billed Storks. We moved further to see a large flock of swordsmen prodding and probing an unplanted, squelchy plot of land. The Godwits were having a field day picking the worms and crustaceans that lurk under the surface. Little Stints were running in a frenzy and then, as if on cue, took off from a little patch they called runway. Their aerial display kept us from going further and their orderly mad flight had the same effect on their friends in a neighbouring patch. They joined forces and flew formations that would put the best air force to shame.

The gullible terns or were they Gull-billed Terns (?) flew all over, turning and diving into the lake and then, escaping Medusa’s tresses. They were a dainty picture in their white angelic attire as they milled about and showed off - as a white and silver shimmer - in the afternoon sun. The Jacanas, both the Bronze-winged and the Pheasant-tailed were trying to impress the others of their prowess to walk the adornment on Medusa’s head. The afternoon sun showed them off as very glamorous and dainty models walking the ramp. They seemed to know, or, why would they stop in mid-step, raise a wing and stretch a leg and beacon to a crowd of an assortment of life forms. They were big flirts too! The Red Crested Pochards were red in the face with the antics of the Jacanas. They swam with dignity and kept pretty much to themselves; having a proud air about them, moving with other expatriates – the handsome purple-brown crowned, white eye-browed, blue winged - blue blooded Adonis - the Garganey Teal and the Common Teal sporting the mask of Zorro. Then, on the shores, we chanced upon the Ruffs – not roughnecks – and their petite Reeves that were industriously helping a farmer get rid of the little insects and worms undermining his crops. They also, I am sure took some earthworms, but then is not it a bonus and a treat?!

After watching them and many more such dramas which had un-folded before us, we repaired back to where we started; my friend the birdwatcher enjoying the trip as much as I did, having got for the first time an unlimited use of a pair of binoculars and a field guide full of pictures!

NIRMAL On the Godaveri

2007-01-02T20:27:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve saw Dr. Praveen, his daughter Deepti and I head-off at the crack of dawn. Our destination, the little town of Nirmal across the mighty Godavery River and due North of Hyderabad, a comfortable three and a half hour drive from home with tea breaks thrown in.

The previous evening we had Dr. Asad Rahmani, Director of the Bombay Natural History Society – or simply the BNHS – talk to the forum called NATURE QUEST about the demise and disappearance of the various Vultures across the Indian sub-continent. The hand of man dealing a death blow to these birds that are nature’s best Waste Disposal Managers. Diclofenac – the culprit – used by all and sundry to alleviate the various aches and pains and diseases plaguing the Indian Cattle dealing death and destruction to the Vultures of our sub-continent.

We drove as I mulled the situation, for, in the mid eighties these very Vultures now on the brink were cause of great concern to the aviation industry due to bird hits. And today every community mourns their disappearance. The best and by far the most effective waste disposal system is down and needs desperate measures to recover.

The sight of several braces of Grey Partridges brought cheer, for on the first day of Christmas a true love gives a partridge in a pear tree. We saw a lot of birds a-calling, and the tanks we passed by showed up ducks instead of geese. The Red Crested Pochards, the Common Pochards, the Wigeons, the Gadwalls – all ducks – and the Coots and many others were swimming about. In our eagerness to see what wild-winged waterfowl had arrived, we got off while Praveen parked his car further up the road. And as we repaired back to the car we were hit by the appalling stench emanating from the carcass of a buffalo, bringing into sharp focus the lack of Vultures.

Ten minutes later we were with our friends from Hyderabad – all members of the Birdwatchers’ Society of Andhra Pradesh (BSAP). All the birds had finally flocked together. They had arrived the previous day and had a field day at the various spots full of birds. We fortified ourselves with breakfast and tea and coffee. Waheed, the DFO of Nirmal, a kindred soul and co-conspirator with me for over two and a half decades sent his Range Officer Rathode to accompany us to a tank in the Mamda forest range to see what birds could be seen. Arrived, my first reaction was of absolute dismay. Praveen shared the feeling too. Not a bird worth noting in sight, and the forest extremely quiet. Mechanically we put up the scope and scanned the shoreline. A few Common Teal were taking their afternoon kip standing on one leg along with a lone Gadwall. Praveen, Deepti and I headed off into the forest leaving the rest of the flock to decipher whatever birds they could see. We trampled on the fallen Teak leaves that crackled underfoot. It was like walking on a carpet of crisp chips! And we walked into a flurry of activities. The Pygmy Woodpeckers had a touch of the winter Sun. They were chasing each other and then alighting to peck a few holes and then continue their mad rush with much chirping. To add chaos to the confusion the Maratta Woodpeckers and the Grey Tits also winged in and then there were always differences of pinions.

Soon Waheed who had an engagement elsewhere joined us as we repaired back to the Turkam Cheruvu Tank from whence we marched into the forest. The birds seeing an army arrive took to wing and left no trace whatsoever. So back to the tank and over the bund we walked. The causeway and the bund divided two worlds. On the one hand we had the tank and Teak forest and on the other was a very typical micro-climate with tropical evergreen. Waheed gave us a picture of the scheme of things and then we proceeded to an Arjun tree.

This tree was an aviary in itself. There were the pretty Small Minivets, the Ioras, the White-eyes, a Small Blue Kingfisher and hordes of bee eaters – the Blue tailed and the Small Green. And then a little bird flew in. In the shadows we lost it, all one could say was that it was a fly-catcher. But which one was the question. After many false starts and names doing the rounds it was confirmed as the White browed Blue Flycatcher. The excitement had barely died when again Oohs and Aahs brought into light the Verditer Flycatcher. With gnawing hunger finally taking precedence over birding we un-glued ourselves and headed back to the lake shore from where we started. The evergreen patch was a great draw. There were a lot of birds and the Woodpeckers kept us all busy when again a tiny blue bird flew in. Field glasses trained on this disrupter of peace showed him off as a male (what else?) Black-naped Blue Flycatcher.

Without anymore Flycatchers to ambush and arrest our advance we made it to the rendezvous where the Forest Dept. staff under Waheed’s instructions had laid out a sumptuous lunch. Then Waheed declared that we spend the night on the lake bed. And so we repaired back to Nirmal to gather our belongings.

On arrival the camp was set, with food cooking and tents pitched and laid out with mattresses, pillows and blankets to weather the cold – for it was Christmas Eve. With a camp fire without and for some of us liquid fire within we were all aglow, and everybody waxed eloquent – some even in Greek and Latin.

A late night walk through the forest in two batches lugging a monster of a light was great fun and we all came back to welcome Christmas with cake at Midnight. It was definitely not a Silent Night, though a Holy one as we went to sleep lulled by the calls of the wild.

Praveen was the first to awake to welcome the new born day. And slowly others followed. A call came out of the forest: not the braying of Spotted Deer in rut, nor the laugh of the Grey-headed Fish Eagle did I see the previous evening and neither that of the Changeable Hawk-eagle, but something very different. After several perplexing moments the callers came into view – a pair of Stork-billed Kingfishers. We turned to the lake yet again to see a Black-bellied Tern along with the River Terns stooping on fish.

The birders left Praveen, Deepti and me and headed back to that little town, while we went into the forest to see what we could see. A Yellow-throated Sparrow arrested us by its call, and we finally spotted it sitting like a puff of cotton on a lofty twig of a mighty forest giant.

The birders left and Deepti with them, and in the evening Praveen and I drove to Aaloor Tank some distance from Nirmal and saw a lot of Pochards and other waterfowl.

Dinner with Waheed was an eye-opener to the problems faced by the forests and its protectors.

Next mornings saw us drive back and were in town to take on the onslaught we face in our jungle – here called a city. And we promised ourselves to be back, for the forest reminded me of Pench where I met and made many friends some citizens and some denizens. And we hope to keep this promise and not break it like pie-crusts.

Birds, Pelicans, Storks, Lakes.

2006-11-05T02:22:00.000-08:00

UPPALAPADU - BIRDS OF A KIND

Bird watching is a passion, and if one is engrossed in it due to the inclinations of the heart, others are drawn to it by the head to make head and tail of the whole scheme. I straddle them both, uneasily too. So, whether it is in the head or in the heart there is no denying of the fact that birds take a great deal of our time – especially that of leisure. Therefore when Shafaat asked if a trip to Uppalpadu was in order, the heart and the head concurred. This saw a lot of good hearted souls turn their heads Guntur wards beyond which lies the fabled Uppalapadu.

The magic of Uppalapddu lies in its smallness; its simplicity in getting there; and its complexity is to have survived at all. It’s a rather small tank as tanks go, only about four and a half acres in extent with trees crowding in the middle. The trees are crowned with twig platforms that these birds call nests and painted white with their droppings.

It is a simple matter to get to it. Get into any public transport system and say the magic word “UPPALAPADU” and you are transported there almost in a trice.

The complexity lies in that when the call went out to save this tank; as it happens in so many cases when the call went out for help to save this wet land, most didn’t turn up at all, some turned up their noses but a few turned up their sleeves and got to work. But we are not here to discuss the good, the bad and the ugly. We are gathered to witness the wild winged waterfowl that call Uppalapadu their home, - even if they have ruffled the feathers of their featherless human neighbours.

Uppalapadu; a mud and thatch and brick and mortar and tiled little village whose tank is the talk of the town. And for good reason too. For herein are over a couple of thousand Grey Pelicans several hundred Painted Storks and Night Herons, Egrets – some Cattle, some Little, some Median and some Large – rubbing shoulders – or might I say pinions with each other. The White Ibises are there too whose black legs and necks and heads are lost in a tangle of sunlight and shadow and look like apparitions showing only their white bodies. Four Garganey Teal were swimming too in the tank, must have forgotten that they needed to get back somewhere to the Northward.

The Grey Pelicans were all over, some flying, others balancing themselves on astonishingly thin branches, their ponderous bodies atop their stubby webbed feet, while others were doing a parents’ duty diligently of feeding their young. The feeding above invited others to gather under the table – here called a nest – to squabble over sprats that fell over them. The many White Ibises and Painted Storks made it their very lucrative profession with the murderous crows ever watchful and ever thieving!

At that time of our visit – Shafaat Ulla had decided along with co-conspirator Mryuthanjaya Rao (MJR) that the birders needed a taste of Guntur – in April with the moist heat and the hot cuisine so popular to Guntur, and in fact the entire coast. The cuisine was great and with our bellies full, we almost refused to stir out. Ali Font even went so far as to ask Humayun to get pictures of birds – no matter which ones.

We finally un-stuck ourselves and got out into the not so unpleasant outside. MJR and Ramana and a few forest department staff succeeded in hijacking a bus to take us to Uppalapadu. Arrived, we were busy with birding. The pelicans looking more like little aircrafts; MJR and Ramana cajoled the bus driver while Shafaat enticed him with a generous tip. That sealed the pact. At sundown there was the bus to take us back from where we started.

The water body of Uppalapadu is a grandiose place. Several Pelicans were riding the thermals in ever increasing heights and slowly drifted away to yonder sea. The Painted Storks seemed to be going to the River Krishna for their fishing, while the black and white storks with a gap between their bills were flapping about – Openbills I am told.

Yours truly had a pair of binoculars and a scope mounted on an old rifle stock. The people at Uppalapadu were aghast to find a ‘black sheep’ amongst the rest of the flock. Their worries were however laid to rest after a long deco through the ‘gun’.

At Uppalapadu one really does not need a telescope. Any decent binoculars would do admirably well. That is unless one wants to count the spots on the Spot-billed Pelican’s bill which is apparently the other common name for the Grey Pelican. Then for those like me who would rather lug a scope there were several juvenile Night Herons under thick covert and in the Hyacinth masquerading as bitterns!

The breeze changed direction and began wafting from the east towards us. We had taken a strategic post with the Sun to our back giving the best possible light to show the birds by. We then caught scent of what the Uppalapadurens must put up with every day, nay, every hour of their lives. We took our hats off to their gallantry of putting up with such awful smell!

Each one of us – almost thirty strong – felt that this place needed to be saved. Not only the birds; but the people too; and from each other. MJR has done a great deal in bringing the plight of the people and the birds into prominence. For once, here at least man can do without the birds, but it will be a sad place, never mind the stench and the raucous calls of the birds. And it goes to the people of this hamlet to have put up with a lot of apathy to protect these wild-winged waterfowl.

Birders would give an arm and a leg to see these waterfowl. So all may not be lost yet, if the villagers can be trained as guides this could become one of the hotspots when Grey Pelicans are to be considered.

But as for us, we enjoyed our outing, notwithstanding the stench. The graceful glide of the pelican, the lazy flapping of the painted stork, the always downward looking sombre open-bills riding the thermals and the sudden appearance of several tens of egrets of all denominations, the lone Indian Moorhen and a White breasted Waterhen livened things which was followed by a feather collecting expedition with Deepti having collected several.

Panna, Dr. Sharmila’s young son was quite a sport to have braved the trip. The group was as cosmopolitan as could have been. There were software pros, hardware pros, engineers, doctors, an army officer, a banker, housewives, editors, students and businessmen. To cobble such diverse people into one is an art in itself. To have organized such a wonderful trip goes to Shafaat.

Wildlife, Bird watching, Angling, Outdoors, Travel, Camping.

2006-10-31T21:35:00.000-08:00

Tiger Census 1997 Jammaran and Kawal forests of Adilabad.
Saw a lot of wildlife. A wonderful place to see a lot of wildlife of the Indian Sub-continent.

Mosaic art called Pench

2006-10-31T18:57:00.000-08:00

Mosaic art called Pench

Pench; the word conjured up images of Tigers and Leopards in my mind’s eye, this being the heart of Kipling Country. And I was not disappointed either for the first day of my arrival there I got to see a Tigress and her four cubs. I came to know her by her first name Kahnkatti, I did not get her last name but it bothered me not one bit over the next fortnight of my stay there.

Kahnkatti lay a hundred yards or so from her cubs in an open Sun dappled grassy patch while the six month olds were under bramble and watching with tiger curiosity as the people stared wide eyed at them. It was quite a sight for rarely does one get to see four cubs raised to this age, and Kahnkatti did a marvelous job.

Our acquaintance grew over the next couple of days and I smugly thought I knew her ways, but alas! she thrashed them, for she and her little ones melted into the forest. The several hundred pairs of eyes and ears caught neither a flicker nor a rustle to betray her presence. And then one glorious day she strolled across the path not quite twenty feet from our Gypsy!

The forest of Pench is unique, as all forests are in their own individual lay. The large trees, the shrub and bramble especially at ‘Tiger saser’ or is it really Tiger Saucer I never learnt, is a most tigerish area as one can get. The area is crowded with Lantana – a most obnoxious bramble killing the local indigenous flora. But for tigers this is heaven sent; it completely obscures them from their prey and from the people who wish to see them.

A most amazing sight was at the den of Jackals. Six cubs came out of a hole in the ground absolutely unsteady on their wobbly legs. Their antics drew attention, and mother Jackal decided that enough was enough for she removed them beyond the prying eyes of onlookers once all was quiet after the hordes left the sanctuary. Very different indeed from the trusting ways of Queen Kahnkatti, who wanted her cubs to know their neighbours while keeping a measured distance.

Tigers are not the only ones to hold ones’ fancy at Pench. The Red wild Dogs or Dholes are ever scouring the land. Bright eyed bushy tailed, they are forever scampering around and are seen almost every day. Once at a kill which I heard but could not see as it took place in a depression I saw the Dholes chasing crows away from their kill with great flourish.

The Spotted Prince was always around, there were fresh telltale signs but all I got to see was a flick of a tail from behind an outcrop of rocks! The only animal that did not afford me a sighting. May such cunning live long!

The most common of all wildlife are the Chital – those white dappled fawn beauties and their masters similarly liveried and bearing polished and new sabres, some still sheathed in velvet disguised as branches. They rubbed the boles of trees smooth and brayed, a most cacophonic rutting call from so dear a deer. Their barks are eagerly given ear to for they herald in either the Striped King of Beasts or the Spotted Prince. Their larger cousins the Sambur is there too, chocolate brown, walnut tine crowned deep bellowers. Their alarms are quite startling when heard close at hand.

The bulkily graceful fat of the land, the Gaur were there, impeccably dressed, the ladies in chocolate leather tights and white stockings and black horn shoes, while the big boys were well dressed men in black who were always going about their business at a leisurely pace, and one who walked over a six inch diameter-ed sapling to break it like a little twig to forage on its tender crown. Oh! And their head gear is worthy of their regal bearings.

The avian denizens are quite as spectacular. The ever calling Crested Serpent Eagle, the omnipresent White Eyed Buzzard and the Changeable Hawk-eagle are the ever present raptors of these forests. The grandiose fan of the Peacock was always up with Argus eyes to dazzle the somber beauties around; whose raucous cat calls did no justice to the beauty.

The kills of carnivores drew those long necked large hook billed birds. Vultures? Vultures! The River Pench was their meeting grounds as they took their public baths and exchanged notes very vociferously and some arguments broke into fights, presumably of who got the better of what was left. The lone red faced King Vulture with egg shaped white patches on his flanks did not care to argue much. The White Rumped Vultures were harassing their lone larger cousin from the Himalayas, the Eurasian Griffon. Maybe it had thrown its weight at a kill; it got a rough ribbing here. The Long Billed vultures were there too, hissing and making a lot of noise. Some vulture culture; or were they cultured vultures – no pun intended!

The Osprey sat atop the dried tree and then circled over the water after a feed on fish. It then proceeded to wash its feet by dragging them just under water; a most hygienic practice for a bird. The Grey Headed Fish Eagle was always sitting and planning its next move. As we drove in it took off hurriedly and dropped a Murrel (Channa Species) right on the path. By the size of the fish it looked like it weighed over three pounds, maybe close to three and a half, a large fish indeed for a Fish Eagle, that.

Curiosity they say killed the cat. I’ve never come across the said cat thus killed, but I saw a Five Striped Palm Squirrel being done to death. I saw a young Crested Hawk-eagle chase something and then alight on a bough of a forest giant behind an outcrop of rocks. The object of interest came into view in the form of a Squirrel which emerged triumphantly from the rocks and jumped onto the bole of the tree on which sat his mortal enemy. The Eagle caught sight of this as the Squirrel launched itself. By their actions it was clear that they saw each other at the same time. The Squirrel and the Eagle went halfway round the tree and the razor sharp talons met the soft body of the Squirrel and was borne away.

One drizzly morning, the drive through the forest, and Sambur called – ‘Tiger’ said the guide and off we went. And out strode a handsome male. He kept himself just under the ridge, never broke the sky line, and never showed himself as a relief against the horizon, and the foliage behind him looked a part of him in Sunlight and Shadow. He was a picture of self-confidence, raw beauty, and regal bearing, no wonder then the King of Beasts.

That evening as we drove down the rain fell in sheets and much to our discomfort started to hail. We were pelted with white shot from the heavens that were half an inch across. By night it worsened into a massive storm with the diameter growing dramatically to the size of a lime – an inch and a half across. The next morning showed the trail of destruction left behind. Many birds, several monkeys and several Spotted Deer fawns lost limb or life. Losing limb in a forest is as bad as losing life, for we did not see injured animals after two days. Queen Kahnkatti however, had led her charges to safety much to the relief of us all.

The forest quietened, it was a sombre day as we went about our business of watching animals in a most solemn manner. There was no light hearted ribbing, our eyes peeled to see if we could see the many fawns whose antics kept us engrossed over the past several days. The animals too were not so confiding, fearing the very rustle of the leaves as the wind breezed by. Memory they say is short, and a day later there seemed no grief. The forest had returned to its vibrant self, the gambolling whooping Langoors set the mood and the ever cat-calling Peafowl fowl mouthed all and sundry. The fawns – of what were left – came out to frolic. The Chital Stags were braying; the Jackals were scouring the land, while the Red Dogs were looking for some unfortunate to run the race of death with. The leopard flicked his tail and the queen lay as people peered at her from elephant back.

A fortnight over – the first half of March flashed by leaving me with pleasant memories, good friends from across the globe and a long list of birds and animals – and I back home in Hyderabad contemplating my next move to another place like Pench.