The little tale of the little Spider Hunter

It is a common notion that in every walk of life there is something for humans to learn. A walk in the wilderness is no different. Every time, there is something new. Something unique. Sometimes surprising. Sometimes strikingly common. 

Recently, I was walking a trail in KMTR known as the ‘Green trail’. The name, originating in the honor of an old primatologist Stephen Green, who was one of the first persons to do ecological studies on Lion Tailed Monkeys and it was his work that helped build a case for protecting the mid elevation evergreen forests of Kakachi. Though, the name does not exist on official records, we use the name. What happened to all the work he did, one does not know. It never was published is what is heard. His legacy is not lost altogether. Some of the trails in this area, one will come across boards which bear alphabets N, S, E and W. These palm sized boards painted in red nailed to trees have stood the test of time of about three decades. They must have served as a route mark for green and his assistants when they were afoot following monkeys in the thick forest. 

the Western route of green near kodayar.

Most of the researchers in KMTR are aware of the green trail. A 2-2.5 km trail that starts from fern house and emerges out not far away from the origin on the main road. The trail can be walked either way and goes through some good undisturbed forests. Crosses three streams and provides ample opportunity to watch wildlife.

Myself and two other colleagues were accompanying our supervisor Dr. Ganesh and we were helping out with Long term Phenology work. Most of the time we spent looking up at the tall trees and noting if they were in flower, fruit, fall etc. It is a pain in the neck that much I can assure!

All through the trail, we noticed fallen leaves. Leaves which were eaten up but for the veins left intact. I had not taken note of this even though; I had certainly seen it before.

The eaten up leaf

 We went on and at a point, the trail narrows down and one has to pass through some saplings and wild cardamom plants. As we did that, we all heard a constant call of the little Spider Hunter. A pretty little bird with a long curved beak. The calls of the bird are often heard near wild cardamom and in the canopy where loranthus grows. They are known to be good pollinators as well. 

an old picture of the bird from nagarahole

We dint pay much attention to it and kept on. Close to the point, we were trying to locate a numbered tree and by chance, we noticed a clump under a sapling having broad leaves. The calls got ever more intense. A closer inspection revealed that there was something like a nest hanging underneath the leaf. I took a picture and it was pretty simple to deduce that it must be nest of the spider hunter.

We moved on, lest the bird should abandon the nest. Done for the evening, we returned the same way and luckily the bird had occupied the nest and flew out on our approach.

The nest was pretty intricate. Though I don’t generally indulge in nest photography, once in a while its good to document things. As one can see in the photo below, the nest is quite complex. The spider hunters are believed to build nests out of cobwebs. Presumably the name was coined when the bird was sighted in search of spiders or rather the cobweb. The nest was made completely of fallen leaves or rather I will say the un-eaten veins of the leaves. Interlinked with each other, the whole set up was linked to the leaf by some sticky material. I am not sure if it’s a cobweb but is certainly a strong material. The nest appeared empty. May be it had eggs inside but we did not check.

the hanging nest on a broad leaved tree whose name I seem to forget!

The fallen leaves, for a common man, seem like wasted resource. In many places, fallen leaves are collected as mulch for farms. Many places, people burn them. Fallen leaves are far from waste! In fact nothing in any sense is a waste! Humans are an exception.

The fallen leaves are potentially food for the million arthropods and microbes that help in recycling the nutrients back to soil. Some other critters like centipedes, beetles etc dwell in this litter. Anything from a skink to a snake is found in these litters. A wonderful leaf litter ecosystem one could easily say!

I had not known that the framework of a leaf could become useful for a bird, that’s hardly the size of the leaf! That’s something new I learn't. I look forward to catching a glimpse of many more mysteries of the forest. The more the time spent in forests, the more mysteries unraveled I would think!

 More on the bird on wiki can be seen here.

Kalliveli-the wetland of eternal bliss

If I were to make a list of disasters in my life, my brief stint at the Pondy University would be one among them. From the start, I hated the place. Maybe it was the sultry weather or the filth strewn roads (outside the white town of course!) or loud jarring music played through cheap Chinese speakers in all busses or it was just the thought of spending over a year in a place with all the above which I seriously did not look forward to. But then, eventually, things started to settle down. University life was mundane (to put it mildly) but, I had other things to keep myself occupied. Bird watching, as always topped the list.

Being a Bangalorean, and on top of it, being a student of the Ecology department, I called upon myself, the luxury to presume that most people would be passionate about natural history and nature itself. How wrong I was! Except for a few, a majority, numbering no less than 25 in the class just happened to take the course because of Environmental Sciences! Some, others joined because they wanted to do a post-graduation! A few in particular, had no foundation in basic ecology what so ever, forget the environment.

I was not new to Pondy Univ. I have had the privilege of working and learning from people who passed out of the Univ. right from the first batch, when ecology was introduced to just about mid 2000’s over a period spanning two decades. From what I understood, life was good. Pondy was nice, the campus was wild and there was a big wetland called Kalliveli, very close to the university campus.

 My roommates in the hostel were also my classmates and Vivek Chandran shared similar interests of mine. He came with the expertise of wetland birds which he gained in  Kole wetland in Trissur,Kerala. I knew wetland birds but was not an expert. With his expertise, we were pretty comfortable to identify most of the birds we encountered. For those who have gone to universities and have seen the world rot, the urge to make the difference is immense. We were no different.  Distraught by the absence of foundation among fellow-to-be-ecologists, we invited them to join us on a bird watching trip to Kalliveli.

On a Sunday morning, armed with binocular, camera, a book, nine of us headed to the wetland by cramming ourselves in an auto. None of us had been there before and had some bit of explaining to the auto driver. The man promised to pick us up when we were finished and dropped us off at a place saying this was it.

I was in for a rude shock. The place looked like a desert. By no means a wetland. This was just after the peak summer. The water was all but gone. The grass had dried up, the ground was parched and the sun was belting down our backs as early as 9 am. We started marching and talking to people and getting to know each other a little. This was meant to be the first field trip of any kind in our class and for a few, this was the first time ever on their own!!

The baked land

 Some kept slipping and tripping over and some could not walk in the dry ground. One gentle lady who has never been in such a dry landscape showed clear signs of having sunstroke! A few hours were spent there and Vivek and myself had some bird watching opportunities in the small tanks dug within the big wetland. Fearing the sunstroke and fore thought of having to carry the lady back, drove us to head back to the university.

That day on, I was clear that we are not taking any one else along with us. I don’t know if Vivek felt the same but did not insist otherwise.  The next trip did not happen for a month. We went to other wetlands. The second trip happened in December 2009. The rains had filled up the tanks and there was water. I was not prepared for the water as I had gone with my dear woodland shoes. Vivek had no problem wading right into the water while I thought a great deal before following suit. The nudge really came from a major shortfall of birding in Kalliveli. The birds are really far away. In small tanks, the birds when disturbed move to another location often close by. But in Kalliveli, the vast expanse of wetland gives the bird an opportunity to fly off and away at ease. We had to resort to crawling on ground, wading on knees in water and what not to try and approach a bird to get a decent look at it. Wading in the water for close to four hours had gotten my feet soggy and crumpled. The shoes were ever heavy and the sun was as bad as it could get. My camera had gone for repair and all that was retained were memories.  

Janurary of 2010. The water had increased. There were more birds because of the winter. We were delighted by the sight of Glossy Ibises, A lone Jackal,  a few ruff’s and black tailed godwits. We had creeped so close to the flock of godwits that we could hear the wisps of air  as the birds took off to the air. This time around, I cleverly wore Hawaii  chappals while wading. This, I realized later was a foolish thing to have done. The chappals got stuck in the clay and made walking with ease impossible. Frustrated, I had walked the tank barefoot and this caused more trouble as thorns went into the feet. That day was very eventful.  Vivek had got a new SLR camera. Mine had not yet returned from repair. He was getting used to photography and we thoroughly enjoyed the birding experience. There were so many things to shoot.  We continued walking and reached waist deep water. Now, the sun was really bad and we were hungry and tired. So, instead of walking back to the bund the way we came, I gave the idea of cutting across the tank t reach our cycles. And so we did. Walking back was not easier than I had thought. The reeds had grown tall to about 6 feet. We were in waist deep water and could not see what or where we were stepping. One thing we knew was the water would get deeper on the west and so we kept to the east but then, it was mid day and soon we did not know which side we were keeping to!. The reeds were tuff and my feet were bruised. There would seem to be a path only to lead to a small deep pool. To go round it, we took detours and eventually we went round in circles for over 2 hours. Finally, we reached a small tank, climbed on top of the bund and located where we were. Still over a kilometer away from the cycles. This time, we had landmarks in the backdrop and headed straight towards it and managed to reach the cycles. We must have been the only two people who got lost in a wetland!

Photo by vivek. Showing the grass in which we got lost!

 We went again and again atleast once a month for the one and half years we stayed in Pondy. Every time we went, there were surprises.Each time, a new bird added to the list. European White Storks, Eurasian Stone Plover, Indian Courser, Pratincole, Grey Headed lapwing, Black Tailed Godwit, Eurasian Curlew, Pintails, Garganey, Water Cock, Plovers, Terns, Pallid Harriers, Pied Harrier, Greater Spotted Eagle, Ruff, Pacific golden plover,  Common teal, Whistling teals, Great reed warbler, and Red necked Falcons were among the distinguished birds that were lifers for me!

Once, we were walking in the vast wetland and a Coast Guard chopper hovered over us. Both of us were in camouflage and were holding cameras. The chopper made another pass over us and we began taking pictures of the chopper! The guy there was also looking at us through Binoculars! Soon after, we saw a Jackal bolt out of the grass and run for its life!

Photo by Vivek

 Another time, we were accosted by a loud mouthed forest department staff. He began yelling at us asking for permits to visit the tank and who we were? He wanted money. He would not ask and I would not give. Instead he tried bullying us around and asking us to talk to the DFO. I pulled out my phone and said give his number. At which he became quiet and let us go, warning us to inform them the next time we visit. That was the last I saw of any human being there. Only other time I saw people was during grass harvest season. The reed/grass which grows in the tank is harvested in cartloads by locals and made into mats and brooms.

Now, I have passed out of the Univ. Life has come to what it was before, peaceful and pleasurable. The madness of Pondy does haunt me at times. But the Kalliveli tank, the cool waters, hot sun, muck and flying beauties haunts me more than ever. Vivek and Myself did visit Kalliveli before parting ways. I do not clearly remember when but vaguely remember it to be an evening of November. We saw a jackal and a few waders in flight. The fading sun turned the entire tank shimmering gold.

We were to do one last trip before parting ways after doing our Masters Dissertation work. Unfortunately, this never happened. When we met again in May, to submit our reports, it was peak summer and there would be no birds in the wetland. The trip got postponed and so far, it has never happened. We defended our dissertations and got results that we passed the MSc. He is back in Kerala and I am back in Bangalore. Kalliveli must be as lively as it was in the past.

Photo by Vivek when a red necked falcon zipped past!

I must confess, if there was one thing I liked and am actually missing in Pondy. It is this wetland. I cannot seem to get enough of it. In all the 20 odd trips we did, we have never reached the other end of this huge wetland and that should give you an idea of its vast nature. The days spent cycling to the tank, walking in the muck, wading in water and getting lost are among the most pleasant things that happened on bird watching trips. The lengths we went to identify the birds, watch them up close and relish the joy until the next month are fresh in my memory. Hoping that  someday, that ‘one last trip’ trip will happen, followed by many more. 

PS: Photos shot  by Hopeland, My junior in the university and the amazing birds he has been seeing pushed me into writing this. He can be found here.

“On the Tea Trail”

Tea, which was to be in use in the North and North-East, has found its home in much of India and especially mountains of the Western Ghats. It is supposed to be the second drunk liquid apart from water! The large scale commercial production of tea began with the arrival of the British East India Company.  I am not aware as to when tea came into the landscape of Kalakad Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve (KMTR), but it surely has a fair ecological-socio-political lineage to it. From what I have heard and seen, the estates in KMTR were established in the fag end of the British era. The then Raja of Singampatti Zamin owned much of what today is KMTR. In a gesture of gratitude for helping him out in a confrontation, he gave away a large part of the forest for establishment of plantations which, later went to the hands of the british and is now in those of the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation. The land was given away on lease for 99 years and it is going to soon expire in 2028. 

I have purposefully kept the history part short as I am not aware of the details and cannot vouch for most of it. But this much should be enough to put things into a perspective of how the forest was given away and how it has come to what it is now.

Those days, as described by many and also in the Tirnulveli gazetteer, the forest was surrounded by lush fields and productive orchards of mango, banana and much of other fruits and vegetables. KMTR, often dubbed as the river sanctuary is home to as much as 14 rivers that take their birth in the wavy folds of the forest clothed mountains. The Singampatti zamin was on the banks of Riven Manimuthar, a major tributary to Tamiraparani and thus, it could support the fertility and prosperity of the region, which has had a lot of historical battles for power, control and riches.

Among the earliest plantations to come up was at “Manjolai”- the Singampatti Zamin gardens in the eastern slopes of the Ghats and close to the River Manimuthar. Manjolai, in colloquial tamil means “Mango Forest” for, many mango trees were and are still found in those forests. The estates were first started here and later around the late 60’s expanded further into Kakachi, Nalmukku, Oothu and Kudrevetti. Apart from those owned by the Singampatti Zamin, there were numerous Cardamom and Tea estates all along the forest. Kanni katti, Sengal theri, Chinna Manjolai, Valayar, etc are among the many estates that were active and were only recently abandoned due to many issues. 

Being a conservation science practitioner, it hurts to see how the forests have been ravaged in the desire to make money. But what strikes me in awe and wonder is the effort that is gone in establishing and managing the estates. Those days must have been dark ages for there was no electricity, no JCB, no GPS and no cellphones. The Zamindars must have been no less the tyrants that British are said to be. All this work must have been done by slaves or as overworked pheasants in a service to the kingdom. The terrain is wavy and arduous and those explorers who managed to go there and find places in the densest of the forests truly deserve appreciation. 

The Kandamparai trail, was something that we walked a couple of days ago and It was one of the trails that were established during the British Raj. This trail of about 20 km was the lifeline to the Manjolai Estate when it was established. The strategically planned route was a well beaten bridle path on which all life in the estate would depend upon. There must have been thousands of cattle and thousands more of people who walked on these trails in the forest to reach the estate and to reach out of it to get rations and sell the tea. The cattle must have been depredated by the many tigers that must have been there. Many might have been man eaters too and unfortunately, there is no Jim Corbett or no Kenneth Anderson who has documented such a thing. Many must have died of diseases, to snake bites and out of exhaustion while laying the trail. 

Moving along the gentle gradient from the plains, it goes along the course of Manimuthar river. The Manimuthar reservoir had not yet come into existence then and there were many bridges and culverts to cross the river along the winding path. There are numerous streams that feed into the Manimuthar while walking along the river and must have been so full of life.

Bogged down by the data collection that we field biologists routinely do, we decided to go out on a hike in the forest. It was a long overdue thing to have done. I was walking with my advisor Dr. Ganesh, who along with Drs Ganesan and Soubadra have practically walked much of KMTR. It is always a large opportunity to learn from their experience of having spent over 2 decades in the forests.  We decided after much debate and thinking on what trail to walk and ended up choosing the Manimuthar Road via Kandamparai to walk as it could be done within a day and we also had the prospect of not having the way at all as it would be covered up by the forest as it was stopped using about 4-5 decades ago. We prepared for an adventurous walk and picked up provisions to cook in case we end up somewhere at night in the absence of the trial. 

Taking the early morning bus to the estate, we got off at Manjolai and began walking at 630 hrs. A few white bellied Treepies and Malabar Parakeets greeted us. Many more black bulbuls and some lorikeets gave us company further. The trail goes through the estate and turns off into the forest and leads to a wide bridled path. We had some difficulty in finding the trail initially but soon after crashing through the forest in the rough direction, we reached the trail and were fairly surprised to find it well used and clear. The forest department, after all, has not been doing anything. They have put in some effort to save this trail and use it for the beats. The clues they had left behind were sachets of jam, beedi, confectionary wrappers and ghutka packs.

The forest was beautiful and nice, the moist deciduous forests are always good for birds and we saw a lot of them. The streams were like the nallahs beautifully described by Kenneth Anderson. The slow flowing streams with stagnant pools of water were surreal. We heard an occasional hornbill clear its throat and the cicadas were constantly buzzing all around. 

There were many ant nests which were much bigger than a football all along the trail. There were occasional moments of adventure when the trail would suddenly disappear and sometimes, the trail went up and down small hillocks which made us wonder if we were on the right track as no cattle cart would ever take such routes. By noon, we had reached a small serene pool in which, much to our amusement, we saw a scuba diving spider. Yes, a spider that goes underwater!

We encountered a lot of young frogs, of bronzed, of cricket frogs and of bi coloured frogs. Some, waiting, to be broken out of the bondage of tadpole stage and some, waiting to grow out into adulthood.  There was enough water for the parched throats to quench their thirst. By noon, we had covered much distance and were quite happy with the pace when one of the members was hit with casualty, albeit a minor one. 

Possibly a compressed ligament in the knee. He was quite in agony to keep pace and we often had to give him a head start so we could catch up with him enroute. This went on for almost the whole walk. 

While walking, we often kept an eye out for evidence- of tigers, leopards or any other creature dead or alive. We found a plenty. A few lizards, some very colorful but noisy cicadas and a beautiful Lantern fly! 

Through the day, we encountered as many as five scats of tigers and leopards. This was quite a number and the highest I have seen in the forests of KMTR. Walking non stop, we had pushed well beyond lunch time and by about 4 in the evening, we came close to the river Manimuthar. This was the place we had decided to have lunch. And we did. Two of the team members took a head start, somehow rock hopped and crossed the river and made some good “Upma”. Gulping down the hot food was not quite comfortable with the parched throats but the tea eased the task, to wash the upma down!

The river hopping was fun. The person with the paining knee was now using a prop stick to walk and it was quite a task on the slippery rocks and the fast flowing water with interspersed deep pools. Some managed to jump past easily while some like myself, needed help in passing on the camera and optics to safety before attempting to cross! Woodland shoes, known for their notorious ability to slip even on footpath stones, I did feel like risking my life doing what others did. Jump from one rock to another! Jump I did, there was not a choice and we had to cross the same river twice!

Continuing to walk, we were greeted by the recent presence of elephants and their doings- broken branches, uprooted trees and peeled off barks. Many bear scats were also evident. We had upped the ante by then and were walking pretty fast, much to the difficulty of the limping colleague… We had to pass through bushes forming tunnels on the road. Dr Ganesh told that most of these places that we walked through have remained the same since he had walked the trail 2 decades ago. The dry forests had quite a slow growth rate indeed!

Having descended over 700m we now reached the point where the river water enter the Manimuthar Dam. From here, we would either have to walk to the road and catch a bus to where our jeep was parked or some of us had to walk down the road and pick up the jeep and get back. Three of us decided to walk along the dam and get the vehicle. This we thought of covering in one hour. Walking in a line of sight mode, we made to the lights at the dam, which looked far away. The dam shore was rocky and full of hard stones making a comfortable walk impossible. To add to the problem, we had to cross a river and a canal to reach the checkpost to pick up the vehicle. What was left of the ancient road was not very great to walk on and the bridge was not at all safe to cross past. We had to walk an extra distance to find a shallow spot to cross and we did, by wading through marsh. It was already dark by then. We flushed a lot of roosting pelicans, plovers and other birds off the ground and managed to walk on, with the lights in sight. 

The last bit seemed endless. We had already walked 16 km by then and this damned checkpost never seemed to come any close! The bus we should have taken came and went, we were having hope on hopes that the other team would get into the bus and save the trouble of going back to pick them up. We tried desperately to call them but could not. The last leg was covered in 2 hours and was a total of 6 km. All this we did without even stopping for a drink of water. The bag seemed heavy as ever, the feet were hurting as bad as ever, the moisture in the shoes made the skin brittle and soft. Any pebble was like walking on upturned nails. But finally we reached the jeep. By about 8 in the night. The other team had not reached and we went to pick them up. We went straight to Chetti Hotel and ate nicely before going back and crashing.

We had covered a little over 20 km that day and had walked for over 19 hours! This seemed phenomenal but this was also due to the photographers and bird watchers that we were. Otherwise, the distance would have been covered in less than 6-7 hours! By walking the trail, we could see new habitats, explore areas and see so much life. Life that was there when the estate was established and life when the legacy had gone. The construction of the dam submerged the road and a much longer road was laid along the crest level and this was motorable. 

The Old abandoned road was underwater all the while and so was its legacy. Fortunately, the trail has been well maintained and used for the famed tiger census and that was how the walk was fun. Some of the trails, many culverts and bridges have still stood the test of time and pressure. It, sometimes is heart wrenching that we are losing this piece of history, but then, evolution is descent with modification and that’s what it is. Some things we retain in the process and some we don’t. 

Thinking like a Wild dog

“A deep chesty bawl echoes from rimrock to rimrock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night. It is an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world. Every living thing (and perhaps many a dead one as well) pays heed to that call. To the deer it is a reminder of the way of all flesh, to the pine a forecast of midnight scuffles and of blood upon the snow, to the coyote a promise of gleanings to come, to the cowman a threat of red ink at the bank, to the hunter a challenge of fang against bullet. Yet behind these obvious and immediate hopes and fears there lies a deeper meaning, known only to the mountain itself. Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.” Aldo Leopold, in his master piece essay- “Thinking like a mountain”.

For those living in the tropics and the forested Western Ghats of India, the deep chesty bawl as described by Leopold, may not be common. Neither is the coyote or the snow. But the deeper meaning, a meaning which only the mountain knows is something that is common. One just has to objectively listen to it. Just like the mountain.

On one of the many evenings, Myself, Preeti- an intern and Chian- the assistant were heading down the roads of Kodayar on the mighty Yamaha. It was about dusk and the sun had almost gone beyond the horizon. The evergreen forests, as one will know, become quite dark and gloomy at dusk. The only sound we could hear was our own bike, a few scimitar babblers settling for the night and a distant temple song in Nalmukh.  We reached Pulisattayedam  (Place where tiger died). It is the name given to an old coupe road, built during dam construction and is named so after a tiger, poisoned/shot in the tea estates came and breathed its last in the forest.

Just as I was about to pull over and park the bike, I saw something bright and rufous creature move past in the corner of my eye. Hit the brakes and stopped right next to the trail leading to the coupe road. I managed to see what I had least expected. A Wild Dog. The Indian Dhole; A creature, in ecological functions, the equivalent of a wolf of the temperate. A tad little smaller but the same power of packs, the same cunning wit and the  halo of fear, respect and hatred shrouding its mystical way of life in the jungles of India.

I killed the engine and jumped off the bike and all three of us hid behind a small bush to see what happens. From what I knew, something was abuzz. The dog was panicky and was determined. It was in splits. Whether to run seeing us, or continue doing what it was doing just as we came. It bolted, into the forest. It seemed someone was waiting for it and it went. Soon, we heard sounds on the other side of road and it did not take long to know there were a few more dogs to cross the road and we intercepted them. Known to defecate in groups and mark territories, the road bore the scat of 4 dogs. 

The forest became silent. A few birds were calling here and there but that was it. The last bus to Kodayar had gone. No other vehicle was to come that night. Except for a few tourist vehicles, who manage to gain entry into the reserve under the name of Kalaignar or Amma or the Forest dept itself!. As we continued our vigil, which must have been five minutes past the sight of the first dog, a dhole reappeared a little distance away from where it ran and peeped on to the road. It had taken a detour and reached the other side of road where we suspected some were left behind.

It checked out something and bolted back from where it came.

We had work to do. The plan was to do some sampling on Pulisattayedam itself. Now I was in a fix. To walk behind the dholes and see what they are up to? To wait on the road for some more time to see what happens? Or to go find someplace else to work and not disturb the dholes, lest they should have made some kill. While I clearing this muddle in the mind, I heard a moaning sorrow filled wail. Not the chesty bawl told by Leopold but more like that of an animal dying. Dying, because it was caught by its throat. Sorrow, possibly because its rump was torn open and the animal was still alive. It was the most painful call I have heard coming from an animal. Be it from beast or human (Not that there is a difference!). The other two with me were listening keenly and they had no difficulty in picking out the call. Roughly, myself and chian could place the point from which it was originating. The tall forest trees were dampening the echo effect and were muffling the otherwise tear triggering wail. A wail of certain death and misery. A wail which is the way of life in the jungles. A wail which can mean many things, which only the forest, and its denizens know and understand.  

I tired desperately to record its call. I did. The wail, is very fait and is hard to make out. Some, on listening to it on the computer, may say I was in delirium and was imagining it. But that’s not it. It was there. It was heard. And something died for sure in singing its last song of sorrow.

(Play video and listen to a wail in the first part of the recording.)

Having heard the call, we decided not to disturb the animal by sampling there. Dholes kill with difficulty and often, their kills are stolen by humans who follow them. So any presence of humans, the chances of the dogs abandoning the kill are high. We went away and sampled there.

The next day, armed with camera trap, a camera and binoculars, we walked the road where the call was heard. We wanted to see what had happened. There were many questions we had. Was there a kill? Did we, by intercepting the dogs previous evening, disturb them and made them abandon a kill? What had they killed? How many dogs were there? Were they still around?

There were signs of struggle all over. The hurried tracks of dogs, the fleeting tracks of either a big Sambar or a small Gaur. It had been cornered, attached and managed to give a slip to the dogs. The dogs, in hot pursuit of sambar, ran into a small marshy stream which very little water. Crossed over and ran into dense vegetation. We followed where the tracks took us. It ended abruptly in a swamp. The swamp was all mushy and sucky. Tracks could no longer be followed. Crest fallen, we returned. Something inside told me that the kill was made and all was well for the dogs. We never located the kill. We walked back to the bike and were surprised to see few more scats. More than what was there the previous evening and fresh ones at that. We had not noticed them when entering in search of the kill. This made our feeling stronger. Dholes must have eaten something to shit so much!

Mornings are pleasant, the weather was beautiful and Rajans hot vadas were calling. We headed to Nalmuukh for a breakfast. At the point where the road intersects into the tea estate is a large hill and a climb. The forest is called 11^th forest. All vehicles struggle to pull up the slope and so did the Yamaha. Spewing burnt oil and coughing smoke. The tea estate begins on both sides of road. On the left was a path next to tea and on the path were 15 wild dogs! Four of them pups. All had a full tummy and were lethargic!. I stopped the engine. The dogs did the same. Some sat down and started seeing us. Managed to grab my camera and took some pictures. The pups panicked. They began yelping. They were running about like the pups of stray mongrels do in cities. For them it was panic, curiosity and the prospect of some fun after a hearty meal.  As quickly as we saw them they all disappeared. Except for 4 which were adults and decided to wait it out. They reclined on a rock. A few more round of photographs were taken and then, I had to leave. Started the bike and all of the dogs trotted into the forest next to tea.

This patch of tea, has regular sightings of dholes, they had a territory. There was also a herd of Gaur with a calf. The gaur was prominent and whole of Nalmukh was aware of it. Could it be possible that the gaur was taken by dogs. By four of them, it was unlikely, but with 10 of them, I did not see a reason why not! Moreover, the place was hardly 200 m from where we heard the death call. It could have, in all possibility be the calf that was taken. After this incident, the gaur herd is broken in bits. I have not seen the calf, not have the planters and pickers in tea. 

Breakfast done, we returned to Kodayar and saw the dogs again! In the same rock where they were resting. This time around, they did not budge. I kept going and reached kodayar. That evening, to being field work, we headed to rajans shop and yet again, saw the dogs in the same place. The pups were frolicking in the bushes and they all ran for cover hearing the bike. The last bus to kodayar was coming and we left, lest the whole bus crowd should stop and see the dhole and disturb them.

That was the last I saw the pack in the 11^th forest. It was in-fact the first time I was seeing 15 dogs in one pack in the wild. It was a sheer joy for me. Especially the part of being “earwitness” to a kill being made. Seeing dogs make a kill is a long shot for many naturalists. Hearing one, beats it all. We three were just there by sheer chance and we could listen to the spectacle of the forest.

The wild dogs, known for their seemingly curel and merciless way of making kills have suffered in the past. I know people who say dholes should be killed. As if it is everyone’s business!.  Just like the Wolves of the US. People thought the dogs were vermin, they kill all the sambar and deer which is there for humans to shoot. The result was that dogs were killed left right and centre. Their numbers did drop drastically. But unlike the temperate, there were tiger and leopard to keep the population of deer under check and humans themselves shot them. So the mountains did not get denuded.  The dhole, unlike the wolf, does not have a chesty bawl. It has a squaky yelp. Just like the urban dogs. Far more cunning and far more cruel that is all. With better understanding and knowledge, we now know how mystical these creatures are. Much more on their way of life is there for anyone to document. The knowledge has a wide chasm waiting to be filled up. And as for Dholes, the life goes on.

Leopold ends his essay by invoking Thoreaus, dictum: “In wilderness is the salvation of the world.” Though I have not fully understood the inner meaning of these words, I can grapple with the essence of it. I do believe that such instances of chancing upon the mysteries of the forest, do help in making man realize that he is only a man. This feeling becomes stronger and evident for which, one has to think like the mountain, like the forest, or like the wild dog.