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.

The magnificent Rutland Island that needs to be 'saved' from a defence project

16th April 2017

Continued from here.

The MNS group was visiting the Andaman islands and staying at ANET in Wandoor.  Through the efforts of Mr Shankarnarayan, we had obtained permission to visit Rutland Island!  

We set out, if I remember right at around 6am in the morning.  The sun was up, and we travelled in our van along the thinly populated areas, going east first and then south, hugging the coast of the main island.

There was a little hamlet called Manjery, which amused and delighted me, as there is a Manjeri in Kerala that's famous in the family, but I am digressing. After about 45 minutes, through the tree cover, we spied the waters, and what a lovely sight it was!

We were at Pongibalu jetty, from where we were to take an open motorboat to Rutland.

The pictures below do not do justice to the natural beauty we saw.  Clear waters,  colourful fish darting in schools, mangroves at the edge, blue skies and a lovely breeze to counter the sharp April sun.

We were lucky to have with us Manish and Sathya from ANET, along with the forest department guide, to take us through what we saw and experienced.

The views from Pongibalu, to the north

South and west, with Rutland Island in the distance.

Once again, the literally earth-shaking events of the tsunami were in evidence.  On the right is the old jetty which has subsided and gone under water.  (Click on the picture to get a better look)  Rutland island has continuous freshwater, and that is the pipe that brings it to the main island.

Two boat trips were needed to ferry us across, and as we waited for our ride, we watched the fishes dart in and out from under the jetty platform, glinting as they caught the sun at certain angles.  There were a lot of garfish or sea needles, and their long needle-shaped snouts made them easy to spot.

Then there were schools of parrotfish! What colours!  Hard as I tried, I could not manage a picture of them, so fast were they in darting in and out.

The boat returned and we set off.

Rifleman island?

We crossed a tiny island called Rifleman, and rounded the Diligence Straits before we saw the jetty on Rutland Island.  We were going to the one inside the cove, not the more exposed one further east.

Looking out from Rutland Island at the jetty

As we moved in, off the beach we learned that there are no original inhabitants (Jangil tribe) anymore, and there is one small village of settlers, but otherwise the island is basically uninhabited, with no roads as such.

That is all set to change as there is an approved plan to set up some defence installations and missile testing.  Really?  Seriously?  Isn't there any other place they could use?  Any other island?

We stayed on the trail and there were TALL garjan trees (Dipterocarpus alatus or are they turbinatus?) that we
had to crane our necks to see.  Magnificent, thats the only word that came to my mind.
I of course had to see every tall tree, and therefore made very slow progress!  The seeds are
what we used to call "helicopters" as kids, twirling down with gravity.  The tree is in the

"Critically Endangered" list of IUCN, one more reason to leave this island alone.

Most of the Andaman archipelago depend on rainwater for fresh water.  However Rutland Island has freshwater streams running through it, and from one such stream, a huge pipe carries water to the main south Andaman island, as was seen in the picture of the jetty.

Our Forest Guide can be seen standing on on one of the chambers along the pipe way.

He explained to us how the forests of the island were dense and covered with cane, bamboo and lianas and creepers, along with the forest giants, and the mixed forest is healthy and vibrant.

The giant evergreens, were just that.  

There are many Dipterocarps it seems!  

Another Dipteorcarpus variety (I think), this one in seed.

The rattan canes (Calamus longisetus) were everywhere.  Manish showed us the 'hooks' that these climbers have by which they successfully climb over everything!

The sun was high in the sky, and the air was humid.  We were all sweating profusely, even though our path was more or less in the shade of the large trees.

The tree species would require several weeks of visits for me to note and identify properly.  There were endemics like Planchonia andamanicus, Padauk - we saw a large fallen tree, Andaman crepe myrtle - Lagerstroemia hypoleuca, besides Siris, Junglee badam and other familiar trees.

The Evergreen Giants

 

The overgrowth 

Shades of Green 

Emerald Gecko!

We found a bus-stop like rain shelter and all crowded into it, to sit and cool off, when Shubha spotted this brilliant green critter on the tree in front.  Phelsuma Andamanesis (Andaman Island Day Gecko) is found only in the Andamans, and we were privileged to spot it.  (Photo by Ramesh)  Click on the picture to see the beautiful colourations in detail.

It moved in and out of view as it circled the bark in search of  its lunch of insects.

We moved off the trail and settled by a little freshwater pond, where Pritam decided that the only way to cool off was to get right in.  So he strode in, and settled in the middle of the shallow pond, (with a surly look on his face which discouraged any smart comments), with only his hat-covered head out of water.  He did emerge in a little while in a better frame of mind it has to be said!

His mood improved even more when he spotted the Andaman Bulbul and Coucal in the foliage by the pond.  There were orioles too.  Watersides always lead to good bird sightings.

After a picnic lunch, we turned back on the trail to return to the jetty. I think the plan was to traverse the entire length of the island, but given the speed of our progress we made it only half way!

I don't think we quite know all the floral and faunal treasures that Rutland Island holds and yet the GOI wants to come in with this defence project.  Call me naive, a bleeding heart, anti-development or whatever, but this whole project makes no sense to me.

If we could move the neutrino project out of the Western Ghats, why not this as well?

Terns awaited our return at Pongibalu. 

That evening, we strolled back to the Wandoor beach, via the Lohabarrack Sanctuary entrance.  The waters are enclosed by a kind of net, and as the sun goes down, the local police are out with their whistles getting the people off the beaches.  The threat of salt water crocodiles is very real.  

As the skies darkened, we engaged in some black humour as we discussed how inadequate those nets seemed in the face of a large saltie.  

It seems we were not far from the truth, as an attack in November 2017 led to the death of one man on that very same beach.