CHENNAI: What could possibly come out of a visit to a tiger reserve that ends without an actual sighting? A whole lot, it turns out, when you are in the company of an avid bird watcher who insists on leaving planning to the winds. For any sane traveller, this tale would have started with a simple drive from Chennai to Mudumalai, with perhaps a small bout of car sickness.
But, as you can tell, we are unlike any other and certainly nowhere close to sane. This is why this tale begins with a pit stop at Melmaruvathur lake, a drive to Bengaluru and the briefest of visits to Blossoms Book Store (not the old one, unfortunately. A heart-rending story for another time). It was not till an entire day later that we were properly on the road and headed to the first stop on our Wild Venture — the Ranganathittu Bird Sanctuary.
Of birds, more birds and crocodiles
Perhaps it was the very Indian guide talking about the beauty of the ‘jockfruit’ tree for the benefit of a bus-load of foreigners, or my new-found ability to spot the Eurasian spoonbill with ease even without its quintessential mating-season markings, this seemed like as good a start as any. There is something about the simple familiarity of a spot-billed pelican that is immensely comforting, especially when you are in a boat in a lake that houses crocodiles. And no one else, I repeat, no one else was as worried as I was for their life, even after one crocodile casually grabbed its lunch from mid-air.
For a two-month-old bird watcher who has only ever encountered the common water birds, Ranganathittu was like coming home. The spoonbills still had a yellow patch around its neck (not done with mating yet), the Asian open-billed storks all had younglings, the pelicans were their usual bipolar selves (gracefully gliding one minute and fumbling its landing the next) and the painted storks watched on like semi-grumpy elders, who did not want their clothes getting wet at a kids’ pool party. Cormorants and egrets made their presence felt; so did a stork-billed kingfisher, if only by its adorably creaky call.
But Ranganathittu’s true calling was away from its well-conserved water-based ecosystem. Every bamboo cluster along the walkway seemed to hold secret worlds within its dense overgrowth. It was in one of these unassuming bunches of tall grass that we caught sight of the extremely elusive Indian paradise flycatcher — a small bird with a glossy black head and crest, and a predominantly white body. While the bird might be small, its tail is nearly four times its body size — the two central tail feathers of an adult can be as long as 30 cm (12 in)! We barely had enough time to click a picture for posterity before it disappeared as abruptly as it appeared.
A few sun birds, drongos and a red-vented bulbul later, it was another black and white bird, less fancy this time, that I fell for. The little, plump bird was just another nameless (as yet), plain species, that is, until it opened out its tail feathers, very briefly now and then, to form a perfect fan. I was hooked. After half an hour of leafing through the handy Birds of the Indian Subcontinent, we had a name — white-browed fantail (a ‘duh’ in hindsight). And with that, I had a favourite bird.
I would have been very happy even if we had returned home that very minute, feasting on every blurry picture we had managed to capture of its open tail.Also, did I mention that I successfully, if only retrospectively, identified the Jerdon’s leafbird? And did you know that the bird is named after Thomas C Jerdon, an ornithologist who chronicled several bird species in India? You’re welcome!
About Abhayaranyam
Having gotten our fix for now, we truly set out for Mudumalai. Bypassing Bandipur, we arrived at destination premier: Abhayaranyam. If you've ever had a fantasy of moving to the mountains to live a simple life amidst wild delights and great views, this is the place — only it's a government guest house. If this place were a representative of all things governmental, you would have immense respect for the official body, for here, we encountered some of the best people in the field: a ranger with a passion for dugong conservation, guest house staff who sweated it out in earnest amidst a real ever-present threat from wild animals, a forest range officer who worked all night long to ensure the family of man killed in an elephant attack were awarded the compensation.All this and a great view too. And did I mention the phenomenal, please-don't-stop food?
Tiger, tiger, where art thou?
After a brief respite (aka bathroom break), we were primed to voluntarily go looking for a predator: tiger, leopard, or even a particularly upset bison. We looked and we looked. We took the tourist safari the same evening (considered prime time for sightings) and the exclusive early morning excursion with a forest official the next day. While the first was limited to a well-worn path, the second covered a good three hours and traversed the less-taken route: all for zilch, except for the usual jumbos (one in masth, too!), deer and langurs.
The forest, perhaps as reparation, coughed up a Malabar giant squirrel (it's scarlet fur and bronzed tail lit at sundown) during the evening ride and an Indian pitta (one that graciously let us take a good look before returning to the bushes) the next morning.
While we never caught sight of a big cat, it was all around us everywhere we went. Duh, I hear you say, given that we were in a tiger reserve, but there’s more. Just after we left for the first safari, forest staff encountered a tiger and a leopard a mere half a kilometre from the guest house, just off the main road. Two people in the safari bus that started with us but took a different route chanced upon a leopard. And what’s more, the night at the guest house was spent with an adult tiger/tigress circling the area — just out of sight — and marking its territory!
I had my heart in my mouth when we decided to ‘forest watch’ from the porch of the first-floor room. While I was repeatedly assured that elephants cannot climb up the stairs to reach us, there was a distinct silence about that rule not applying to tigers and leopards. Even as part of me eagerly anticipated a sighting and a bigger part of me wanted the night to end, I quietly sat watching the small jumbo family — what looked to be the father, mother and calf leisurely feasting on a patch of shrubs nearby.
All was quiet until the baby elephant took a fall and gave out a shrieky yell. The sound that followed turned my insides into liquid. No, it was not an outright growl...more like a snort. But there was no mistaking the source, especially after a red-wattled lapwing flew over and alerted the animals around of a predatory presence, we finally had a tiger in our midst.
We were not the only ones shaken; mama and papa elephants huddled around the calf and let out warning trumpets. Somewhere in the vicinity, deer alerted other herds with high-pitched barks. Taking that as our cue, we fled into the room too. And the tiger continued making the noise and moving around. We had no luck locating it, despite our ‘high power’ torch. The rest of the night was spent wondering if the tiger would go for the calf (it didn’t).
Turned out, the elephants had later taken refuge behind our building. While we had been quite safe on the first floor, the forest staff stationed below had a tougher time. The jumbos had come calling (perhaps having smelt food) but luckily they had not been persuaded to break in.
Driving down to reality
Nothing else from the trip matched the adrenaline rush from that night. The brief stop at Black Thunder (upon the insistence of my birding lover) came close — all that sliding-down-head-first-into-shallow-water could also liquefy your insides, it turns out. But the high came crashing down when we realised the theme park housed birds — from ducks (known for migrating long distances) to ostriches (birds born to run free) — in cages and enclosures.
The trip’s end was as long-winded as it began. We took a circuitous route from Mettupalayam to T Nagar via Melmaruvathur. Despite our exhaustion, we managed to grab some plates of guilty-pleasure cheesy wheat pasta before we called it a (pre-dawn) night. But it was not till we sifted through pictures the next day and subjected a few friends to the narration of events past that we realised, tiger or not, we had managed to cover quite a lot in a four-day trip.
All in a name
The Indian paradise flycatcher, till the year 2015, was grouped under the common header of the Asian paradise flycatcher. Blyth’s paradise flycatcher, and the Amur paradise flycatcher were also considered conspecific (of the same species).
An itch they can’t scratch
Almost every sambar deer we encountered in the reserve had this bull’s eye of a wound on its neck. At first sighting, we wondered if it was the mark of a battle with a leopard.
Turns out, the inflictor is far less predatory. With the change in season, the tick population on the deer increases exponentially. The deer, in an effort to rid of the itch, rub themselves against tree trunks. They do it often enough to give themselves a branded wound. What’s more, the jungle mynas continue to pick ticks off the wounded area too.