The N Family

Coorg.

Last year's visit to the Synthesis Homestay made me a new friend, Namratha. Her parents, Naresh and Namita, took such excellent care of us that when she said she was going home for the holidays, I offered to drive her home. And in the process, I invited myself to their estate again.

Since it was the monsoon, I expected it to be raining heavily and constantly for the entire weekend, so I planned to sit in the patio with cups of tea getting my fill of dripping green. As it turned out, the rains stayed away, mostly, and I ended up with a bunch of highlights: Blue bearded bee-eater, what a blue! Pork for every meal. Shield tail snake, Uropeltidae, while walking at night. Crested Serpent Eagle sitting close enough to identify without binoculars. Buff-striped keelback at my feet. Namratha as a guide to the estate.

And then when I got back to town, I learned that Shield-tailed snakes are only found in the Western Ghats! And what I've spent my life calling hammerhead leeches are really terrestrial planaria, or flatworms! There's still so much to learn.

Oh, and the Ns are seriously wonderful hosts!

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Strains On The Kapila

Shishila.

The first little rapid on the Kapila, and 'supplies!', my oar snaps in half, I hit a strainer, my ducky flips over and I get a serious arse-whupping from the rocks. Quite an introduction to kayaking, wouldn't you say? As I was tipped into the racing water, I wondered if I should have stuck to my plan of going hiking. But as quick as the thought came, it was gone and I enjoyed a thrilling swim down the rapid.

With my slightly painfully gained respect for the river, I got back in the ducky with a fresh oar, and spent an exhilarating six hours paddling over rapids, wave-trains and pools back to the 'Stream of Joy', the home-stay where we were put up. We practiced tossing the throw-bag at people body-surfing down one of the larger rapids. Sohan, Manik and Vijay practiced their rolls in the pools between rapids with varying degrees of success. It is amazing how quickly breakfast is digested when one is paddling. The packet of dates and chikki didn't last very long at all.

Sohan managed to get everybody out of bed and eating breakfast by seven the next morning. The local food wasn't doing my stomach any favours, and it was only at the last minute that I decided to run the river again. Naren, Jaggi and Chetan decided not to join us so that they could head back to Bangalore early, but they did come along to the put-in. We caught up with them at the temple where they were feeding the Mahseer that live protected in that stretch of the Kapila. The second run down the river was quicker but not without incident. Just as we approached the largest rapid on the stretch, Sid floated into an overhanging branch which tipped him over. Vijay and Kiran had to scramble to retrieve his boat and paddle. Then while surfing one of the holes a little further downriver, Kiran's paddle broke and he ended up sitting on a rock in the middle of the river with his boat beached on the bank. That same rapid saw Sid's paddle break as well.

Back at the home-stay, we loaded the equipment into Naveen's van so that they would be able to get back to Bangalore before it got too late. Sohan, Kiran, Sid and I then hired a jeep to go the the Neriya river to recce a Class IV rapid. One look at the crashing water, and I knew that I would have to spend a whole lot more time studying rivers and rapids before I would be ready to take the rapid on. On the way back, we stopped at a point that is downstream of the 'Stream of Joy' on the Kapila where there is a waterfall and a gorge. It's a beautiful stretch of the river and one that I probably would not take on even if I had a lifetime of studying rivers behind me!

And in the manner of all birders, I must mention that there are a large number of Stork-billed Kingfishers on the river, apart from the White-breasted and Small Blue. Pied and Grey Wagtails and some variety of Sandpiper. One Malabar Pied Hornbill and two different species of large raptor. Rufous Treepies, Racket-tailed Drongos and Coucals. And Cormorants aplenty. Oh, and two Rat Snakes crossing the road for those more reptilian in interest.

Row, row, row your boat, gently..... Oops! Splash!

One Not-so-rainy Monsoon Weekend

Dandeli.

The long awaited monsoon trip to Dandeli finally happened. The Friday evening traffic did give us a scare but Ajmal knows his way around and after waiting a longish while under a cloud of passing fruit bats, we made it to Yesvantpur well in time for our train to Hubli.

The short walk from the Dandeli bus stop to the Kali Adventure camp passes over the Kali river. Cinnamon Bitterns and Little Herons aplenty roost on the banks and on the little rock islands under the bridge. The surprise of the morning was the huge White-bellied Sea Eagle that flew gracefully over us as it headed upstream. The Brahminy Kite looked so small in comparison. At the camp gate, we spotted a Rufous Woodpecker and a Black Rumped Flameback. When we finally made it to the camp, all of us had neckaches from lugging our bags along while peering through our binoculars.

Malabar Grey Hornbills and Malabar Pied Hornbills argued raucously in the trees above our tents as we washed the unsanitary smell of the Indian Railways from our nasal memories. The rest of the morning was spent walking through the forest department nursery and the forest beyond. An uneventful safari in the Dandeli National Park after lunch resulted in us wondering if there really were any mammals in the forest. We didn't see anything at all! No deer, no bison... nothing for any invisible black panthers to prey on.

Back at camp, darkness came along with calling frogs and glowing worms. The view from our tents was of the paper mill spewing smoke into the orange-hued sky above the trees. The guides told us that no one had been to the Cavala caves since the monsoons began and that there would be leeches and that it was King Cobra breeding season - reasons for us steer clear of the caves - and so we decided that that would be our destination in the morning.

The walk to the Cavala caves starts from the end of one of the safari paths in the Dandeli forest. The intrepid couple that accompanied us on this hike soon found us stopping for every little creature along the forest floor - frogs, spiders, ants, mushrooms, caterpillars, millipedes - each one got its turn in front of our cameras. Suddenly, there was the sound not unlike the rotors of a helicopter accompanied by a loud buzz. I ducked thinking that someone had disturbed a beehive, but the guide grabbed me by the shoulder and pointed into the canopy. Above me, I saw the sunlight shining through the yellow stripe in the wings of a Great Indian Hornbill. And I was left gaping in wonder as it flapped and buzzed its way over the valley to the opposite ridge. And I gaped some more as three more of these huge, beautiful birds that inhabit this patch of forest took off into the distance. Only when they were gone did I realize that I had not even pointed my camera at the hornbills! Oh well, photos in the mind.... photos in the mind....

It took us four hours to make it to the stairs that led down to the caves. The algae on the stairs and the sudden appearance of a steeply diving hornbill resulted in Shreeram landing on his rather substantial backside which in turn resulted in a raft of poor jokes about the invention of chapatis and other such flattened preparations. The ceiling of the cave is covered in thousands of bats (false vampires, perhaps) and while we were examining the bats through our binoculars, Suma spotted a snake up amongst them. On closer examination, it turned to be a Forsten's cat snake in the act of swallowing one of the bats! And from its distended stomach, it looked like the bat was the third in the line. We found one more cat snake coiled in the holes in the limestone ceiling. The walk back to the jeep took just a little more than an hour.

In the evening, we visited Syntheri Rock, a large monolith being slowly worn away by the raging Kali River. The whistling schoolboy, the Malabar Whistling Thrush was hopping on the rocks by the water. The rocks, where they were wet, had little tadpoles with bluish spots heading off to become frogs. The rock face has nesting swifts and the hives of rock bees and fruiting wild banana trees.

The last morning, we visited the Old Magazine House at Ganeshgudi where the guide said we would see many birds, but by the time we got there, the sun was already high in the sky and apart from a Ruby-throated Bulbul and a soaring pair of Crested Serpent Eagles we didn't see much in the way of birds. However, we found a huge Tarantula nest in the mud near one of the huts at the Old Magazine House, but we'd have had to have been there at night to catch a sight of the spider. We did spot a rat snake by the road and Romit saw another one high up on a bamboo.

Back at the camp, we relaxed until it was time to catch the bus to Hubli and the train back to Bangalore. It was a trip with much to remember, the snakes in the bat cave, the Great Indian Hornbills, the White-bellied Sea Eagle, but mainly, it was memorable because of the meeting of so many curious minds.

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Far From The Madding Goa

Goa.

It was almost too late to catch the 9.30pm bus when I finally decided that the twelve hour bus-ride would be worth enduring for three days in sunny Goa. That sentence eventually ended up being truthful in just one aspect - that the bus-ride would be worth it, though even that was a close thing.

For starters, the bus left only at 10.30pm. And, the cyclone Phyan in the Arabian sea clouded up the sun for all but a few minutes of my stay. And, twelve hours... well, the Seabird Travels bus broke down at Ranebennur which is about halfway to Panaji. The conductor then tells me that they would arrange for another bus, but that would take four hours, maybe. The passengers were encouraged to make their own way, and so I did - from Ranebennur to Hubli and then on to Panaji, enduring a massive traffic jam close to Ponda. And so I made it to Panaji at 4.30pm instead of the scheduled 9.45am effectively making my stay two days only. The journey has one magnificent memory for me though - the first rays of the sun, lighting up the cotton clouds from below, hitting the faces of huge fields of blooming yellow sunflower. This sight, somewhere between Ranebennur and Hubli, lit up my entire journey.

Saturday was almost gone by the time I bathed the dust of the road off me so all Abhi and I could fit in was a walk on Miramar beach in the dark. There were hundreds of jellyfish beached on the sand and another unusual anemone-like creature attached to the outside of a discarded shell. We must have looked quite suspicious searching the sand meticulously in the dark with the dim light from my cellphone torch. But then it was time for a dinner of excellent pork balchao at Mum's Kitchen. This mum of mine sure does charge a lot for her cooking!

We woke Jyothika early on Sunday to take us to the Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary on the island of Chorao showing her her first Goan sunrise in the process. The mangrove forest had Abhi and I mesmerised. The habitat is so different from the forests of the western ghats which we'd explored together. There were fiddler crabs duelling in the mud with their single large pincers, mudskippers hopping around with their fins and Little Herons skulking around in the shadows. We saw Greenshanks and Redshanks and Common Sandpipers aplenty. Oh, and the ferry ride to the island is free if you're not taking your car!

Back in Panjim, we explored Fontainhas, the old Latin quarter with brightly coloured bungalows and white churches. Goan sausages and prawn curry for lunch at Panjim Inn. And then we caught the ferry (another free ride!) from near the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa to Divar Island, taking our rental bikes this time. The ride up the wooded hill on the island passed many beautiful homes that I would love to live in. There's a beautiful church, the Church of Our Lady of Compassion, on top of the hill and plenty of birds in the trees. Small Minivets darted through the sky above us as we explored the church grounds. Back on the mainland, we passed the Viceroy's Arch, which, in my head, is the Portuguese equivalent of the Gateway of India and visited the Church of St. Cajetan. I was quite captivated by the inside of this church. The paintings mounted on its walls are magnificent! And, apparently, the dome of this church is modelled on the one in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

Abhi and I spent Monday morning wandering first around Fort Aguada where I saw the Grey Headed Bulbul for the first time, and then around Baga Hill and Baga Creek. There was absolutely no one on Baga Hill apart from some frustratingly evasive birds and a patrolling plainclothes cop who warned us to be careful as there had been many "incidents" there. It's really peaceful up there in the dancing gold grass. Back down the hill and across Baga Creek is the Xavier Retreat House, and once we had walked beyond that, there was one last shack and then just the Arabian Sea washing up against the shore. We sat on a rocky promontory and watched it drizzle on the waves.

Thankfully the ride back to Bangalore wasn't as eventful as the ride to Goa.

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The High Life

Yercaud.

The bird song that woke me on Sunday was a little too loud. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn light and tried to remember where I was. "Ah, yes... the weekend in a tree house!" The bird sang again and I crawled across the creaking floor to the doorway and peered out at the leaves silhouetted against the grey of the morning. Covering myself with a blanket, I sat and listened as the chorus of birds greeted the rising sun.

It was still too dark to distinguish between the birds and the leaves, so I shook off the cobwebs in my head and tiptoed back into the room, washed my face in the alga-green water, grabbed my binoculars and headed down the ladder and out. I'm sure the others were awake but didn't share my feathery obsession.

As I walked through the coffee shrubs to the road, a little Jungle Owlet silently glided out of the leaves and alighted on a twig in front of me. A glance over his shoulder and he was off again. Just past the gate of the estate, an Asian Fairy Bluebird was hunting from his post on the tree by the road. The deep red eyes, in sharp contrast to his blue and black coat, ignored me as I watched him shuttle to and fro across the road.

Up the road I went, towards Pagoda Point (or Pakoda Point, depending on which sign you choose to believe) smiling happily at all I met on the road, stray dogs and humans alike. Anjali had mentioned that she'd seen some woodpeckers near the check dam that we'd walked to the day before, that's where my footsteps turned. A crowd of Jungle Babblers babbled noisily in the clump of trees caught in the turn of the road. Among them, a Brown-fronted Pygmy Woodpecker made his way up the trunk of a silver oak. A pair of Gold-fronted Leafbirds flew from tree to tree near the check dam.

By this time, my stomach was crying out for breakfast, so reluctantly I turned back. A Crested Serpent Eagle sat watching me watching him, and then regally spread his wings a flew over the valley and into the distance. The White-cheeked Barbets sang a loud chorus and the Plum-headed Parakeets screamed along. As I walked through the gate to the estate, I spotted three Greater Flameback Woodpeckers getting breakfast and I was reminded to go get my own.

'Twas quite a morning with Magpie Robins, Scarlet Minivets, Ashy Woodswallows, Coppersmith Barbets and Rufous Treepies added to my list.

After breakfast and a guided hike to the edge of the Shevaroy Hills, we drove down to Yercaud town, found some bicycles and rode some way around the lake. After lunch, we left Glenrock Estates and Yercaud behind and drove back to Bangalore. The tree house stay was too short; high in a banyan tree, it was surprisingly large, easily holding all five of us, though the bamboo partition for the bathroom is not for the shy. Perhaps I'll visit again some day and listen to the Racket-tailed drongos scream outside the window once more. And perhaps I'll pay more attention to the many butterflies that flitted through the trees.

Ten Sunny Days

It was like a scene out of an old sepia tinted movie. Just outside an abandoned railway station, a dust covered traveller steps out of a bus with just a bag on his back. The bus leaves in a cloud of dust, and every face turns around to watch the new arrival. But that's where the movie switches back to colour.

To the people of Kallidaikurichi, a chinese face is a rarity. Rare? I don't think they'd seen one in the flesh until I stepped off the bus. They have, however, seen Jackie Chan in Tamil dubbed movies sitting on mounds of sand in their open air theatres. And so, for ten days, I was Jackie, and expected to teach little kids kung-fu.

But that wasn't why I was in this sun-scorched village in south India. Abhi was looking for someone to help with her survey of waterbirds in the tanks on the border of Kalakkad Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve, and I wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass me by. And so we visited the tanks and counted birds by the hundreds - egrets, herons, storks, moorhens, jacanas and kingfishers. The birds that were the highlight of my stay though were the Cinnamon Bitterns and a Red Collared Dove. And the Ashy Woodswallows chattering animatedly in the Palmyra trees silhouetted by the sunset.

There were Bark Geckos and the Fan-throated Lizards aplenty, and a walk by the canal showed us a few baby Checkered keelbacks.

The heat prevented us from venturing out most of the day, and so I spent a lot of time in the nursery helping Ruthamma with the saplings. It's a joy communicating with someone without words. We spoke sans words about butterflies and trees and slugs and mosquitoes.

It was fascinating to hear the story of the tilted lingam of the 1200 year old Thirupudaimaruthur Temple from one of the priests. The temple is named because the lingam was found in the hollow of an Ashoka tree by the king who built the temple. Legend has it that a sage was coming from a long way for a darshan, and found the river near the temple in spate. Unable to get to the temple, he prayed and the water subsided. When he got there, he found the lingam tilted to one side and he asked god why, and the god replied that he had tilted his head to hear his call. And that's the story of the idol in the temple.

Atree, the organization that was playing host to me, has various programmes to get the local people involved in conservation. One of them is the flying fox census that the kids of the village participate in. And so, one evening we set off to this temple compound with huge trees where the bats roost and waited for them to take off to their feeding grounds and then counted them as they flew by. The kids have been doing this once a month for the last two years for this particular population of 2000-3000 bats.

Ten days went by in a flash washed in sunshine and lemon juice. Ten days of eating breakfast, lunch and dinner off banana leaves with my hands. Ten days of trying not to spoil Jackie Chan's name. Ten days of birds. Ten days of stalking the insects and frogs in the garden with the 105mm. Ten days of stories that would fill volumes!

And then it was time to say goodbye and time to get Ruthamma to smile for the camera.



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Bridges and Tunnels

Yedakumari.

Five years ago, we had trekked along this unused railway track that wound its way through tunnels and over bridges in the Western Ghats from Donigal to Edukumeri. The plan had been to spend the night at the railway station and trek onward to Kukke Subramanya, but exhaustion got the better of a couple of us, and we had hitched a ride back to civilisation and come back to Bangalore. A feeling of incompleteness has nagged me ever since, especially since someone told me that the trek beyond Edukumeri is far more scenic.

And so I set off again with tent and sleeping bag and enthusiastic company. The Mangalore KSRTC bus dropped us at Manjarabad Fort in a chaotic deadlock of vehicles at 5:30 am. It was four kilometres on the tarmac before we found the path onto the tracks. From there, the just past monsoon ensured that the "green route" lived up to its name. The flowering grasses waving in the breeze and screeching Racket-tailed Drongos accompanied us on the eighteen kilometres from there to the station at Edukumeri. The grass seeds attracted many Black-throated Munias. Noticeably missing were the thousands of bats that had lived in the thirty-five tunnels the last time I walked the track - yes, the same ones that had pissed on us - what a waste of the cap I bought to shelter my head from the unwanted conditioning! The butterflies were present in large numbers - Common Bluebottles, Lemon Pansies, Chocolate Pansies, Eggflies, Common Lascars, Common Sailers, Blue Mormons, Southern Birdwings were the ones I could identify. A few goods trains passed languidly by giving us ample time to get out of the way. Just a little before Yedakumari, we decided to cool our heels, literally, in one of the many streams that cross below the tracks. Then, as we picked up our tired bodies to make the final push towards our destination for the day, I spotted a scaly pattern on one of the rocks. The beautiful Malabar Pit Viper made our day, posing unmoving as we took our photographs.

I was surprised to see the station sign saying Yedakumari and not Edukumeri. I tried to translate it into English, and what I got amused me plenty: Yeda Kumari = Mad Maiden. I wonder what it really means though. The blogs had warned us that we would not be allowed to pitch tent at the station, so we hiked on looking for a spot to camp for the night. We had spent twelve hours on our feet when we finally settled down near a stream next to our tent with jam, cheese and bread. I must admit, it wasn't the most comfortable night I've ever spent. The pebbles beneath the tent made my fidgety sleeping quite painful. Still, it was a pretty night with stars peeking through the strangler fig under which we slept.

Scarlet minivets watched as I brushed my teeth in the stream in the morning. The Malabar Whistling Thrushes sang their happy songs and bright Yellow-browed bulbuls picked the fruit from the trees above.

The linesmen on the tracks had given us a target of the 80/400 marker as the spot from which we should turn off the railway line onto the forest path that would take us to Gundiya and a bus back to Bangalore. Armed with this information, which turned out to be 300 metres off, we set off knowing that we would have plenty of time to make our destination over the remaining bridges. To our right, for this entire stretch was a magnificent view of the shola forests of the western ghats. I spent much time wondering if one of the hills was Kumaraparvatha which is said to be the toughest trek in Karnataka. I will find out some day.

With a little difficulty, we found the path down to Gundiya, marked by some helpful soul in the moss with a stick - "GUNDY ->", and down we went. A sweaty, oily, uncouth, vest-clad trekker passed us by and turned around to ask me where I'm from and was extremely disappointed to hear "Bangalore". The group he was walking with made their noisy way past us, destroying many plants along the way. A little further, he turned around and asked if I had a lighter or matches - to light a fire! And then a little further, he came back to say, "Do you have some food? We're all very hungry. We have money but didn't find any shops." What I thought of this intrusion has been censored! Anyway, this caused us to take a detour which led to us getting a few leech bites (just one for me) and a far more interesting walk through the forest down to the town.

The buses to Bangalore were packed and we exhaustedly stood the three hours to Hassan before we got seats.

Here's some information that would have made the trek a little less interesting:

1. Take the 11:15 pm bus heading to Mangalore from Bangalore and request to get off approximately 4 kilometres after Donigal. If the conductor doesn't agree to that, then Donigal/Manjarabad Fort is the place to get off (usually some time between 4:30 am and 5:30 am). It may not be possible to book tickets to Donigal, so Uppinangadi should do.

2. The trains are not a problem. And no one tries to stop you from trekking on the track.

3. Definitely carry a torch. We switched off the torches in the middle of one of the tunnels and I couldn't see my palm 2 inches from my face (and people will tell you that I practically glow in the dark!)

4. You get on the track around the 50/400 marker and Yedamukari is just past the 68km mark. The turn off to Gundiya is at the 80/100 marker just after tunnel no. 35 and just before a bridge.

And so, five years in the doing, it is done.

Till The Rhododendron Turned Into Shrubs

Mcleodganj to Kareri Lake.

Is a perfect holiday the one in which every little thing goes according to plan? Nah! That would be a perfectly boring holiday. Perhaps that's why life throws all these problems at us, to keep us on our toes and alive! Ah, but that's a discussion for another day and another campfire in the mountains.

The fun began when the cab to the Old Delhi Railway Station broke down in Daryaganj in the middle of heavy traffic - living in Bangalore, I do not use that phrase lightly! The thought that I was paying the cabbie (too much, I might add) to push his cab through a stream of honking Delhi cars bounced around in my head. A gleeful autodriver saw me waving ridiculously on the divider and made hay, taking us and our backpacks for a ride to the station. And so, we were on our way.

We got to the Dalai Lama's monastery only to learn that the last of his series of lectures to the public had ended a couple of hours before. Soooo, that's why all those people were headed in the other direction! Oh, but wait, the security guard says, he's giving another talk to a group visiting from Taiwan, so you can sit upstairs and catch a glimpse of him on his way to the prayer hall. And so, we waited with the Buddhist faithful, watching them twirl prayer wheels and murmur prayers inaudibly. We sat for close to an hour on the stairs and all this time, a Tibetan lady bowed towards the prayer hall in a manner akin to doing pushups, stopping only to wipe the sweat off her brow. Faith can move mountains?

From Mcleodganj back to the hotel is a short walk on the hillside, and after my first glimpse of a Nobel prize-winner and lunch, I decided to take this path. Of course, a walk is not worth taking note of unless it pours. The rest of the gang decided to catch a taxi back to the hotel, leaving just Anjali and me to splash through the puddles looking for the way back. The directions said that we would reach a field which we would have to cross to get to Dal Lake and from there, it would be simple. The field turned out to be a school playfield on a very washed-out Sports Day with the viewing galleries filled to the rafters with students and onlookers. Casting aside my stage-fright, I plopped across the field with my trousers rolled up above my knees looking like I was wearing nothing but my newly acquired rain poncho-like-thingy. Oh yes, we even stopped for directions. Dal Lake was duly found and in our relief at being out of the spotlight, we promptly headed up the wrong road. The chinese features did seem to bring more greetings than usual. Anyway, someone pointed us in the correct direction and we were soon back at Dal Lake sipping tea by the roadside watching the kids from the school running the marathon in the pouring rain.

The next day dawned bright and shiny, and forecast of our guide was, "It's good it rained yesterday - now the trek should stay dry." With most of our baggage on pack-mules in true sahib-adventurer style, we set off towards Kareri Village. The first break, after a steep downhill walk, was at Ghera and after a cup of tea we were on our way across the bridge and up the hill accompanied by the constant chirruping of cicadas. Lunch was a welcome break near a small settlement as we crested a ridge. The village kids stopped their games and watched us shyly from a distance.

The climb continued after lunch through rhododendron, oak and pine, with many breaks to look at butterflies and spiders and wildflowers, or at least that was the excuse.

We set up camp a little below Kareri Village by a small stream on a grass field occupied mostly by grazing sheep. The calling birds drew me towards the village, and while the rest of the group washed in the water, I clambered up the hill. Sitting on a boulder, I heard with joy the sound of life without motors. Suddenly, "Thump!" A stone the size of an orange landed in the mud a few feet away. And then a scream, "Yaaaaa!" A boy from the village was chasing the horses off his farm, and had come within a few inches of seeing the inside of my skull. I hastened out from the rocks and made my presence known. As my pulse settled down again, Subhash came up behind me and says, "Sir!" My skin stayed behind while the rest of me leapt into the massive oak trees, before sheepishly creeping back. After carrying our lunch the entire morning, he was headed to his home in the village to get us some firewood and मक्की की रोटी. And so I was invited home and treated to walnuts from the tree outside, introduced to his children and told stories about life in Kareri - the struggle with the black bears, the snow in the winter, the planting of trees for the forest department and school for the kids. Then, supplied, we raced down the hill in the dusk to camp.

We sat by the fire and sang songs for our audience of sheep. After the others had turned in, two boys emerged out of the darkness and asked, with a wink, if I would like some "ककडी" since they were going to get supplies. They grinned and pointed in the direction of one of the farms. I declined, and they disappeared cheerfully back into the dark. I'm sure the cucumber they 'borrowed' tasted a lot sweeter!

The second day was supposed to be a long climb all the way up to Kareri Lake. But after spotting a Crested Pied Kingfisher and a Spotted Forktail, the rains came again, in buckets. The decision was to split the second day trek into two days and camp somewhere halfway up. The sky cleared, and in retrospect, it was very fortunate that we shortened the second day because a couple of us really struggled on the climb. The view was breathtaking.
Himalayan Griffons and Lammergeiers studied us from above as we made our way to our second campsite, wondering if one of us would thoughtfully keel over and provide them with a meal. The tents were set up by the side of a stream with White-capped Water Redstarts and Plumbeous Water Redstarts flitting from boulder to boulder. The Grey Wagtails just wouldn't sit still for the cameras.

The next day, we followed the stream up towards it's source, following the path used by the Gaddi shepherds. The slopes on either side were littered with huge boulders probably deposited there by long-disappeared galciers. Raptors flew overhead thoroughly exposing my lack of skill at identifying them. Pheasants called raucously from the trees on either side.

And suddenly we were part of the idyllic scene that is Kareri Lake. The lake is considered sacred because of the Shiva temple on its shore. The rock-strewn Minkiani Pass rose from the edge of the lake towards a sky of the deepest blue. Sheep grazed on the emerald green banks lit by a sun on the way down. Rosy Pipits shot into the sky from their hiding places as I walked through the rocks at the base of the pass. Past the shepherd huts, the land drops away into a deep valley before rising back up in another ridge. As I watched, the clouds drifted slowly through the valley and climbed up over the lake.

My restless feet led me up the path to the ridge on the right of the valley we'd hiked up. The sun went behind the mountains, and the sky turned a deeper blue. An almost full moon was already in the sky, giving the mist an eerie glow as it curled around the oak trunks. And then I noticed that the shrubs all around were rhododendron. Unexpectedly, this silly dream of mine had come true - from the time I had learnt that rhododendron trees became shrubs at higher altitudes, I had wanted to see this.

A rather heavy shower had me checking my tent for leaks in the wee hours of the morning. My neighbours, being more paranoid than me, packed their bags and got into their raingear in preparation for the collapse of their tent! When we clambered out of our tents to greet the daylight, we saw the hailstones by the tents, and the snow on Minkiani Pass. I wish it had snowed.

And so we said goodbye to Kareri Lake and set off on the long trek back down the mountain, back to where the rhododendron were still trees. Coming down is hard on the knees as we all learnt, and when we finally got to Brrlay, our final camp site, we were all exhausted.

The next day, we hiked back to concrete and glass and bathrooms.

It's more than two weeks now since I unpacked my bag, and there's still so much I remember that hasn't found place in this post. And with my memory, that's saying something! Every time I looked up, there was a spectacular view that burned itself into my memory. Every time I looked in the grass, there was a butterfly, a grasshopper, a flower, something I hadn't seen before. So many birds flitted through the view of my binoculars. The people everywhere greeted us with an honesty that sometimes had me blinking that watery stuff away from my eyes.

And that, I guess, is what will remain.... that bag full of memories.

The Lotus Lake

Shivanasamudra.

Visiting the waterfalls on a holiday is not a good idea unless you get there early enough to beat the crowds. So, I set off at half past five in the pre-dawn and the light drizzle. At a little past six, Anjali was riding pillion and we were on our way.

The ride down Mysore road on a bike in a light rain is exhilarating. It wasn't so much fun for Anjali who was getting a pounding from the rain falling on her face. We were at Lokaruchi nice and early for breakfast, and we then turned off Mysore Road at Maddur towards Malavalli. A few kilometers past Malavalli a signboard directed us left to the Shivanasamudra bluff and Gaganchukki. It is getting close to Ganesh Chaturthi, and there were groups of children on the road asking for donations for their village pandals, adding more obstacles to the ubiquitous potholes.

Gaganchukki and Barachukki are magnificent in the monsoon. The water was white against the rocks. Swallows were flying about in the spray. Brahminy kites soared high over the falls.

A short walk past the 'Entry Prohibited' signboard took us away from the Sunday revellers to a quiet spot upstream. To our delight, we spotted a grey-headed fishing eagle alight on a branch on the other bank of the river. We watched it for a while, until a policeman came and shooed us off.

You can only stare at water falling down a cliff for so long, so we decided to visit Thalakad which was only a short distance away. Unfortunately, that short distance suffers from a certain lack of tarmac. My bike's shock absorbers and our backsides were severely punished on our way to this historical monument. It is surprising that a monument such as this is only approachable through such a pathetic excuse of a road.

The temples at Thalakad have long been studied by students of architecture. Sadly, the finer points of architecture escape me. The intricate carvings on the walls and the pillars do make excellent subject for 'abstracts', or so I was told. The temples are built on a huge sand bank on the Cauvery, and a little past the temple, on the banks of the river, hawkers were selling all sort of wares to the visiting tourists. A pesky little boy insisted on following us around saying that we would need a guide to tell us the history of the place and to save us from getting lost in the sand. When we finally got rid of him, a woman came up to me and told me the whole story of the place in Kannada. At least, I think it was the story of the place. Note to self: Learn Kannada.

Just a little past Thalakad, we turned off the road onto a dirt track that ended at the river. We sat there for some time, enjoying the sounds of the wind in the reeds and the water flowing by.

We'd asked the people at Thalakad if there was a better road back to Bangalore, and they'd replied in the affirmative. However, I suspect their idea of better just means longer, and a sterner test for the shock absorbers. The route is definitely more scenic though and we stopped more than a few times to identify birds we saw flying by. Blue-winged leafbirds and ashy-crowned sparrowlarks were firsts for me.

And then, as we were riding by a lake covered in lotuses, I casually mentioned that it would be great if a pheasant-tailed jacana were to walk by just then. And suddenly, there they were, pheasant-tails waving in the wind. Lots and lots of them! And they are so beautiful. And there were bronze-winged jacanas and watercocks as well. And coots and purple moorhens. I'm sure we'd have seen much more if we'd stayed. Perhaps even the snakes that Anjali had been hoping for.

Is there a word like brunch which describes a full meal at a time between lunch and dinner? Well, we stopped just before Ramanagaram on the way back and had that. There wasn't much else of note on the way back apart from two black-winged kites by the side of the road.

Quite a trip. I did forget to mention that it rained intermittently making the ride quite enjoyable. And yes, that we stopped many many more times to watch baya weavers and common flameback woodpeckers and scaly-bellied munias and rollers. And I am very happy that we didn't have a puncture.

No Black Panther

Dandeli.

It was pouring when we sleepily disembarked from the Ajmer Express at Londa. I could see the taxi drivers' eyes light up when they saw us descend the walkway over the tracks, what with two French women leading the way. With a start like that, the fare bargaining, expectedly, was most unfair. Anyway, after unsuccessfully haggling a bit, we drove off into the monsoon green and to our home for the weekend - two spacious rooms at the Jungle Lodges' Kali River Resort.

The Kali River, the boatman told us, is named after the black appearance of the water. The rains, however, had turned it into the colour of a light coffee. The crocodiles took the opportunity presented by the short break in the rain to drag themselves out of their lethargy by soaking in the cloud filtered sun-rays. Women from the village across the river took the same opportunity to wash clothes down by the river. They've always done this with no fear of the crocodiles because there are fish aplenty in the river.

The driver stopped the jeep suddenly and killed the engine. The silence of the forest is shattered by the shriek of a Crested Serpent Eagle. There he was, perched on a leafless branch looking over our jeep at a ripple in the pond. He shrieked again, gave us one disdainful glare and gracefully soared into the trees. Methinks he was mightily displeased by our interference in his hunt of the rat snake in the pond. The ripple that was the rat snake must have thanked his lucky stars. The other creatures we disturbed that evening were a herd of gaur, a wild boar, a malabar giant squirrel, some spotted deer, a few emerald doves and dozens of peafowl. The forest is clad in its thickest coat at this time of year, so I wasn't surprised at the meagre returns of our safari.

Screeching hornbills woke me up the next morning. Gathering wits and camera, I stumbled out into the grey dawn. Malabar grey hornbills and malabar pied hornbills adorned the higher reaches of the trees, squabbling about what I do not know, but kicking up one helluva ruckus to be sure. The racket-tailed drongos we saw on the morning walk, the noisy ones in any hunting party, seemed courteous and polite after the chaos of the hornbills. They were accompanied on their hunt by common flameback woodpeckers and scarlet minivets. The path we walked through the forest was netted by spider webs, most prominently those of the giant wood spiders. Frogs and grasshoppers leapt out of our clumsy way giving the forest floor a nervous appearance. A rufous woodpecker on a silver oak completed my morning walk.

The rest of the day was then spent trying to fool each other at bluff, and other card games. And then it was time for the bus ride back to Bangalore. Aurelie, Emilie, Manik and Dillu... merci beaucoup!

Bucks and Lakes

Mydenahalli.

I wonder why it's called the brother-in-law's village. There's a story here that needs a teller. Anyway, it's also the place you ask for when you're looking for Krishna Mruga, and no, I am not talking about some mythological rooster. The handwritten directions were augmented with little complaints from an absent cohort, brightening up the rather convoluted journey to the grassland sanctuary of the endangered black bucks.

We spotted them straight away, not too far away from the track; beautiful creatures standing in the grass, bounding across the track, always just out of range of my 200mm lens. I strained my eyes looking for the Indian Courser and the Bengal Florican, but that wasn't to be.

After Dillu was satisfied that his Safari could take anything that the grassland could throw at it, we settled down to a picnic of bread, jam and bananas under some acacias. And then this guy walks up to us and says, "You need permission from Madhugiri." We says, "Oh really! We didn't know. Who are you?" He says, "I am forest." In my head, I says, "Wow! I wonder how many people have met a walking talking forest!" And then the hand reaches out and we pack up, deciding to visit one of the pretty lakes we'd seen along the way instead of lining his greasy palm.

And so, ignoring a bunch of very tempting lakes, we found one at the foot of a rocky hillock which we promptly shimmied up. The world is very photogenic from up there, and the light from the sun setting behind the clouds flattered the people as well. We spent a couple of hours exploring the rocks and waiting for the dusk. It drizzled a bit, making the palm grove glitter in the light of the setting sun. Under a huge boulder, I found a nice sand patch that would have provided us comfortable shelter (Priya would disagree since it was also home to a snake, probably an olive keelback). Someday, I will go back there and camp!

And then it was the not very long, but very frustrating drive home followed by a most excellent dinner at Mangalore Pearl. A trip worth doing again.

Of Clouds and Leeches

Agumbe.

I'm pretty glad Siddharth made it to the bus seconds before we left. So much would have been lost in translation had he missed the bus. Reminder to self - learn Kannada.

I was a little sceptical when Kasturi Akka told me over the phone, in a mixture of Kannada, Hindi and English, that all I had to do to find the house was to ask for where Kasturi stays. But Dodda Mane was exactly that easy to find. Just around the corner from the bus stand, and everyone knows Kasturi Akka.

Stepping into the house is almost like stepping through a window in time. A hundred and ten years, the house has stood; stone, supported on ornate wooden pillars, built in the traditional style of the people of the ghats. In the middle, the courtyard that once had been the place where the head of the village had dispensed his justice was being pounded by the monsoon. We were directed to a large room upstairs with windows that seemed to glow with the emerald green of the rainforest.

After a breakfast of Neer Dosas and too-spicy chutney, we headed off to Jogigundi: "find electric pole 67 and turn right off the road and follow the path. And watch for the leeches." The road wound through the greenest green accompanied by butterflies fluttering whimsically from flower to flower. The rain stopped and started, drizzling sometimes, pouring sometimes. The birds took every pause in the rain to break into song, teasing us by flitting about in the leaves, just out of sight. Frogs, toads and grasshoppers leapt joyfully by the side of the road. The unfortunate ones had been run over by the overnight traffic. We saw a malabar pit viper, a checkered keelback, two caecilians and hundreds of frogs dead on the road.

A little way down the road, Nisha snorted disgustedly at what looked like fruit packing on the side of the road. As she bent over to pick up the litter, her expression changed to wonder. It was the most amazing mushroom any of us had ever seen; a peach-pink lantern on the forest floor. As we walked along we caught little glimpses into what must exist deep within the rainforest; the beautiful purple plant parasite, the yellow succulent flower, the wood-ear mushrooms, the orchids in the trees.

And then we were at electric pole no. 67. The path to the right was there, leading invitingly into the forest. My research before the trip had taught me that insect repellents do keep leeches away, so we smeared some on our feet and stepped in. The first thing to greet us was a bicolored frog, confident in its camouflage sitting on the forest floor. And then there were leeches everywhere. Stopping only to pull the leeches off our ankles we were very quickly at the waterfall. The water falls through large boulders on the side of a wall of rock into a pool from where it continues down to where I know not. We spent an hour exploring the rocks around the waterfall and a little way downstream. On the way back, Rohan and I saw a Malabar Trogon, one of the birds on our wish-list. There were so many birds in that one place that we decided to come back there if we could; electric pole 42.

We slept through the afternoon and then went to the edge of the Someshwar Ghat to watch the sunset. There wasn't a sunset in the way of a traditional sunset, but the view was breathtaking . The clouds looked like they were pouring down the ghats on our right into the valley below. Little clouds between the trees on the forest floor looked like puffs of smoke. And this green and white carpet spread out before us as far as we could see. A bright red crab sat on the rock with us as we watched the light fade behind the clouds.

Undeterred by the lack of a sun in the sunset, we set out early the next morning to see the sunrise. The Jain temple on top of the hill had been built of stones quarried from the rock it stood on. One of the pools that had formed was full of huge bull frogs croaking their hearts out. The clouds swirled around us and the rain beat down heavily. The sun must have risen behind all that. There's an indescribable peace standing on top of that hill in the pouring rain

Nisha and Siddharth went to Sringeri to see the temples there while Rohan and I decided to go back to the electric poles to see if we could spot some birds. And spot some, we did! Racket-tailed drongos, scarlet minivets, pompadour green pigeons, white-bellied treepies, black bulbuls, black headed bulbuls, dark-fronted babblers, malabar parakeets, malabar gray hornbills, hill mynahs were the highlights. There were so many others which we didn't identify because we couldn't keep up with them. I finally saw the malabar whistling thrush which has been teasing me with it's schoolboy whistle through so many forest hikes. And we saw the malabar trogon again! On the way back, we had to take shelter from the rain in a cowshed. The owner of the place saw us standing under the eaves and invited us in. They were a most jolly family, thoroughly amused at our inability to understand a word they said (learn Kannada). On the way back, we were startled by a barking deer and our third malabar giant squirrel. My good deed of the day was to pick up a pill millipede off the road and put it back in the leaf litter.

Lunch was special - mango curry, bamboo shoot curry and a snack made of acacia leaves wrapped around something I can't remember. Rohan's appetite wasn't tickled.

Onaki Abbe was our final destination. The path was a carpet of leeches. We moved swiftly through the forest till the path disappeared in the undergrowth. It was getting dark when we finally turned around. By then, we had surrendered to the leeches and were letting them have their way with us. Back on the road, a truck driver saw the blood on my feet and stopped to tell me to put salt. 'Uppu Illa' I told him and asked for a ride into the village, and so we rode atop a sand truck to the nearest restaurant where I asked for salt and watched as the bloated leeches dropped off my feet. We walked barefoot back to Dodda Mane, stood outside and washed the blood off our feet. Tissue paper served to stop the bleeding. There were so many leeches in Nisha's shoes that she decided to leave them behind.

We said goodbye to Kasturi Akka and headed to the bus stand, just in time to catch the bus back to Bangalore. I broke out in rashes because of my allergy to leech-bites, making me look rather scary, but that subsided halfway back to Bangalore. And I found a last couple of leeches; one on my ankle and one on my arm.

The infection from the leech-bites has gone away now after a heavy dose of antibiotics and the wounds have almost healed. It was quite an adventure, and methinks it's time to plan a trip back there. I still have to visit Onaki Abbe and Barkhana.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

Bandipur and Wayanad.

Labour Day fell conveniently on a Thursday this year. Conveniently, so that we could take Friday off from our labours to make the weekend four days. Add to that the enthusiasm of Anureita because of Priyanka and Martin's visit from Amsterdam, and Bangalore was positively kicking us out of town!

After an incredible number of emails discussing where we should go (and some which had nothing to do with the weekend at all), we settled on a day at Bandipur and two at Wayanad. And so we set off, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, precisely at seven in the morning or thereabouts (read eight thirty). The well-laid road to Mysore flew by below the rumblings of nine hungry stomachs. Lokaruchi could not come soon enough.

Down the Ooty road we went, or so we thought, until we realised that we'd missed the turn towards Bandipur and were almost at Wayanad a day before time. The detour through some village roads in the dust and the heat started murmurs about losing precious holiday hours. The bright eyes had dulled over and the bushy tails were anything but. We finally made it to Tusker Trails at three, in time to swallow lunch, minus the recommended masticating, and to head off for a van safari into the national park. Peacocks and spotted deer were plenty. Bison, elephant and sambhar a little rarer. The Changeable Hawk Eagle and the Crested Serpent Eagle were the raptor representatives.

Back at Tusker Trails after the safari, the more aquatically inclined swam with the toads in the pool. The entertainment followed in the form of Jerry's insistence on a game of dumb charades and word building. And what entertainment it was! By the time I stumbled off to bed with my gut aching from the laughing, almost everyone had backed out of the next morning's safari.

Ben was, to my surprise, the only one awake bright and early for the morning safari. The Asian Paradise Flycatcher and the Indian Roller at close quarters coloured the morning, but the sighting that dwarfed everything else was the leopard sitting on a rock. It looked at us through the dry twigs with these incredible eyes, gracefully got to its feet and stepped off the rock and disappeared. Anureita didn't want to believe that in all the trips we've done together, it was the one time she didn't go on safari that the leopard showed its face. But, hey, life's like that!

And so, with paisa already vasool (for me at least) and two and half days still to go, we headed off to Wayanad and Marmalade Springs. The manager met us on the main road and guided us to a house at the foot of a hill and told us that we would be leaving our vehicles there and continuing in jeeps. Okay, I thought, the road mustn't be too good. But, whoa! even off-road rides would have been less treacherous. The path up to the resort was more a dried up stream-bed than a road, complete with tiny waterfalls and plunge pools! Brilliant fun! The rest of the day was spent in camp chairs surveying the coffee shrubs around us. And, oh yes, the basketball was fun with Kurush and Manik throwing their weight around.

Day three - I completed a climb I started three years ago - from Edakkal caves to the top of the hill. A determined Dileep clambered to the top wiping out the ignominy of the not making it to the top of Chembra peak. The view from the top was breath-taking. Coming down is always harder, but Priya made it look easy. Manik's ankles didn't fare too well though.

The beef fry in Wayanad is to die for.

Martin had never seen a tea estate before, so we decided to go to the foot of Chembra. Driving through the estate we stopped to watch the employees play football, and were invited to join the game. We got back to the Marmalade Springs exhausted.

And then, it was time to drive home. The Malabar Giant Squirrel was probably hit by a vehicle that was just a minute or so ahead of us. The Oriental Honey Buzzard watched me as I picked up the poor creature and put it on the side of the road.

Holidays end too quickly, and with them go the bright eyes and bushy tails.

Elephant Diwali

The elephants came on the eve of Diwali. They weren't greeted with lights as Ram and Sita were greeted by the people of Ayodhya so many aeons ago. Sal and I were sleeping. Tension, our dog alarm, announced their arrival with a volley of loud barks. If he weren't so scared of snakes, maybe I wouldn't have mistaken his excitement for the escape of the cobra from its box (its fangs are still growing back after its encounter with a snake-charmer). Arghh... if only I had looked out of the window instead of into the snake box!

So our guests stopped ten metres short of the room where I was serenading the stars with my snores. They left their calling cards and left - the flattened electric fence, a peepal tree we can't find and elephant dung everywhere. The recently built hide was left intact (perhaps my snoring scared them off!).

We wished they would return. We spent Diwali patrolling the quarry scanning the tree line for the hulking shadows that would signal their return. But they'd moved on.

And so we watched the crackers from our vantage point, cursed the people sending up huge clouds of sulphurous fumes into the already smoggy air, and wished each other a Happy Diwali (neither of us is Hindu). And we wished that the people would give the money that they burned every Diwali to the poor. Yes, there is employment in manufacturing the crackers, but must surviving be so hazardous?

The Grey-headed Mynas (Sturnus Malabaricus Malabaricus) turned up on the owlet tree. The White-throated Fantail Flycatcher (Rhipidura albicollis) has been in our sights for a while. And the skulking Blue-faced Malkoha (Phaenicophaeus viridirostris) has kept me amused with its carnival mask-like face.