Wildflowers of Yercaud

I need help in identifying these little beauties that dotted the paths and undergrowth, on the slopes of the Yercaud range. I enjoyed looking for them.

The untrodden areas were covered with these little white stars.

A close-up of the same flower

Common Floss flowers (I think)was also common, especially in the more moist patches, on the banks of streams.

I have no idea what this dramatic spiky ball is!

Little Glories - so small that one could miss them entirely.

Common wood sorrel was everywhere.  This is puliyarai (Tamil) or khatti bhaj (Hindi),
huli soppu (Kannada), is eaten raw and is good for health.

Looks like jasmine doesn't it? Id needed.

Pink rain lilies!

Another unidentified beauty

I found this in more rocky areas.

Jamaican Blue Spikes were always humming with little bees and insects.

Morning Glory, indeed!

Apona Shevaroyensis

April/May 2018

This large brown moth was seen every night at the Yercaud Youreka camp. Attracted by the lights of the dining hall, they would come and sit on the rafters, as also rest on the floor. Unfortunately, the ambient light was poor and I had only my phone camera to depend upon.

The moth was a light brown, with hairy antlers and was around 12-15 cms wingspan.  It was slow and clumsy.

I went through Ryan Brook's amazing collection of moth pictures on Flickr, and have made a tentative guess.

Tentative id is Eupterote geminata

If it is a correct id, then this moth is seen ony in India and Sri Lanka, and was identified by someone called Walker in 1855!!

Update - 2022 - Thanks Sagarika.  Looks like Apona-shevaroyensis.  I will update the id.

Viraali - The Sand Olive or Sticky Hopbush tree

Dodonea angustifolia - An evergreen shrub that grows in rocky outcrops

I was fascinated by the gloss of its leaves. 

I would always find a butterfly or bee hovering around. 

It is used for firewood and for small implements, but is also good as a bee forage and for stabilising and reducing erosion.

A different purple - in the hills of Yercaud

April 2018

The hills were alive
with the colours of the Crepe Myrtle.
Pride of India.

Lagerstroemia

The Jacarandas and Petreas of Yercaud town - a photo post

April 2018

Yercaud town was aflame in purple. Every estate, every street, around the lake, across the valley. Fallen flowers on the road, boughs laden with flowers in eye view....

Petrea

Jacaranda

The moorhen walk - Photos by Mr Ramanan

A bird that I am guilty of ignoring in my search for the winter visitors, the moorhen (Gallinula chloropus) is a striking bird and an interesting one to observe, as it walks on lily pads and forages for food.

The adults get the red "cap".  And yes, both male and female are called moorhen!!

  

Nellikai!

Gnarled branches
jewelled white,
a delicate touch of pink.
Impermanent
Precious.

Coffee flowers

My first experience of the gentle but persistent fragrance of coffee flowers.

Beautiful of course.

My brain was confused.  The aroma memories of coffee so different from that of these blooms.  Delightful!

A week later, they were all gone.  I was glad for these pictures.

Mundapahar and Chidiyatapu - an Andaman photo essay

17th April 2017

Our Andaman explorations continued.  This was our last day at ANET, and we were headed to the southern most tip of south Andaman island, through the wooded forests of Chidiya Tapu and on to the trek off the Munda Pahar beach, to finally arrive at lands end, so to speak

We travelled in our mini bus upto a point where the farmlands gave way to forest, and from here we walked, in order to to spot birds and enjoy the sounds of the forest.

Massive trees like this grabbed my attention

And then I heard the bird before I spotted it.  The Andaman Shama! (Copsychus albiventris)

   

An important message greeted us as we came into the little hamlet of Chidiyatapu where we had breakfast.

The little enclosed cove at the hamlet

 

Peas and paratha - standard island fare,
we were told.

This row of shacks serves hungry tourists like us.  Simple, no fuss affairs.

Entering the Munda Pahar wildlife park and beach

Giant Sea Mahuas - an amazing sight

Yes they were rather massive.

A leaning Calophyllum added drama to the already dramatic setting.

The sands were littered with debris from the ocean, and  I dawdled here before the climb up the Munda Pahar hill. It was a cloudy day, and an Andaman Crested Serpent Eagle circled above.

The walk up was filled with views like this, that we caught whenever there was a gap in the tree cover.

Different depths added different colours to the waters.

We were all sweaty and hot by now

And then we were there!  Lands End.  Not for those with a fear of heights, and we stayed well away from the sheer cliff.  

Photo by Ashish with the Cinque islands in the horizon.  Those islands have a lovely sandy beach - we could see it through our binoculars.  We were told that there was some ill-advised "development" on that beach to host a Thai VIP, which was aborted when it led to quite a storm of bad PR.

A nesting pair of Pacific Reef Egrets occupied rocks on the edge of the cliff! - Photo by Ashish . As we watched them through our binoculars, I marvelled at how they looked so poised while the stiff wind blew across the cliff.

Our walk back down was gecko time, with Sathya of ANET 

Try spot it - beautifully camouflaged.

This better picture by Ashish.  There's a high degree of endemics on the islands, especially of reptiles.

Photo by Pritam - another variety

Photo by Pritam - This beauty was sunning itself.  Common Sun Skink?

Photo by Pritam - another view

Back to the beach and the Sea Mohuas, and some most welcome yelaneer!

Lalchandji and the tigers

Sounds like something out of a Ruskin Bond book.

I looked up the terrain on Google Maps, and it is just as Raza Kazmi describes it  - Pilibhit is a thin horse-shoe-shaped strip of Terai forest bound by tall sugarcane fields on all sides except for the slender forest corridors connecting it to the Shivalik forests of Uttarakhand to its west, Shuklaphanta national park (in Nepal) to its north and Dudhwa tiger reserve to its east.

The Tiger in my Backyard

The lonely life of a forest bungalow guard in UP’s Pilibhit tiger reserve.

Written by Raza Kazmi | Published: January 21, 2018 12:05 am

“Just as dusk begins giving way to the night, I bolt myself inside the rest house. I have my dinner there and stay locked till daybreak. If someone arrives at the main gate at night, he opens the gate himself, I don’t go out. Tigers and leopards regularly enter the compound and there is just one solar light near the kitchen that works. Everything else is engulfed in darkness. Just a few days ago, two tigers came inside the campus and roared for a good two hours while I was holed inside this godforsaken bungalow all alone, waiting for dawn,” says Lalchandji, the chowkidaar at the Mala forest rest house in Uttar Pradesh’s little-known Pilibhit tiger reserve, as he rakes up the dying embers of the small fire we had lit to shield ourselves from the cold.
His caution isn’t without reason. There is a palpable fear among forest staff and locals all across this tiger reserve that has witnessed, perhaps, the worst spate of tiger attacks in India in recent history. More than 20 people have been killed by the striped cats over the past few months, more than one-third of the fatalities being in a 5 km radius of the Mala bungalow. The conflict is primarily fuelled by the unique geography of this tiger reserve. Pilibhit is a thin horse-shoe-shaped strip of Terai forest bound by tall sugarcane fields on all sides except for the slender forest corridors connecting it to the Shivalik forests of Uttarakhand to its west, Shuklaphanta national park (in Nepal) to its north and Dudhwa tiger reserve to its east. The tall sugarcane provides good cover to the big cats as well as their prey, and, consequently, tigers regularly move about in these fields. Villagers must enter as well to tend to their fields and so the stage for tragedy is set. The forest department asks residents to avoid moving about in and around the forest after dark, and to move in large groups if they must.

Lalchandji, however, has no such safety net to fall back on. The ageing veteran stands guard all alone at the bungalow — except for occasional short visits during the day by fellow staff members — because, as he nonchalantly puts it, “Who else will take care of it if not me?” He isn’t a chowkidaar by designation, though. “I am an ardali [orderly]. I got regularised after working nearly three decades on daily wage. I got posted as an ad-hoc chowkidaar here 15 years ago when the last guy died. They have forgotten me here since,” he says with a shrug.
He would have made his peace with this life, but for the the “damn tigers and leopards”. “They won’t leave me in peace even during the day, sometimes. Just a few months ago, three large tigers walked into this fallow field in broad daylight,” he says, pointing towards a small field, barely 15 feet behind me, that was seasonally used to raise nursery crops. “There I was taking a nice bath in the sun when suddenly there were a few peacock calls. The next thing I know, three full grown tigers suddenly walk out of the forest, casually jump over the barbed wire fence and lie down in this field.” His tone betrays a rare hint of excitement. “I was so flustered I couldn’t even get my clothes on! I ran half-naked into the kitchen and bolted the doors. And don’t even get me started on that rascal leopard who climbed up the roof of my quarter!” he scoffs. I try not to laugh at this amusing tirade, but it’s a difficult task: he speaks of them like a grumpy old man expressing his annoyance at street urchins. “They make my life miserable,” he complains, before lapsing into silence. “But, at least, they give me company on lonely days,” he says.
The deer are a big draw for predators in the area. (Photo: Raza Kazmi)Just as he is finishing his story, his phone rings. He squints his eyes, takes out his ancient phone, and then presses the reject button. “Ye ek aur narak bana rakha hai jeevan ko is saale phone ne.” (This damn phone is another object that is making my life hell), he groans. “People from home keep calling, asking me to come for festivals and functions. I have just had three holidays in the last one year. I even spent Diwali alone here. In the silence of the night, I could hear the faint sounds of celebration from Mala village,” he says, his voice plaintive. “This damn phone rang just then, a call from home. I rejected the call…stupid mobile phones,” he mutters.
I ask him why he doesn’t press for leaves. After all, his home is only about 6 km away and his health has steadily declined over the past two years. “Didn’t I tell you already? Who will take care of this place then?” he says and lapses into silence. “But it is going to be over soon. I will be retiring in two months’ time. Then, I will rest for as long as I want. I have some land, maybe I will start farming again,” he says, as a flock of oriental pied hornbills settle on a fig tree for the night.
The glowing red embers of the fire have begun dying. We retire for the night. The next morning, I find him restlessly pacing around the fire he has lit close to the kitchen. I greet him and he lets out a broad smile. “You are sleeping easy here. A leopard walked right past your head in the night!” he says, showing me fresh pugmarks next to the bungalow’s verandah. “Stupid leopard,” he chuckles.

Raza Kazmi is a Jharkhand-based conservationist and a keen student of India’s wildlife history.