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!

Without A Care

Manchinbele Dam.

The setting sun reflected off the water in pink and purple. I leaned back in the gently bobbing kayak and watched the dark specks in the water grow slowly larger, listening to the calming sound of the water lapping against the boat. I was almost afraid to breathe in case my breath disturbed this peaceful world that I had wandered into.

The figures of my friends were still visible as I reluctantly dug my oar into the ripples and headed back to shore. Behind me, a full moon had risen into the sky turning the pink into silver. The grey heron stood motionless in the reeds as I floated on by.

We grilled bacon and sausages, ate feta and tomatoes, laughed and danced. The moon was high in the sky by the time we ran out of stories. The fire was doused, the garbage was collected, and we left, promising to be back another day.

At The Edge

Onake Abbe, Agumbe.

I sat on a rock with my feet dangling dizzyingly high above the dive pool. Beside me, the water rippled around my fingers and dove unhesitating over the edge. The wind gently blew the cool spray back into my face as I looked over the rain-forest far below. Behind me, the path wound through the dense, dark forest of pit vipers and leeches that I hope will deter many a monsoon trekker.

I sat on the rock and dreamed. I dreamed I was an eagle, soaring unbounded over giant trees and crystal streams. And I despaired in my heart for I knew that my being there was a sign that man was at the doorstep.

I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes, I would. If I could, I surely would.

- Simon & Garfunkel (El Condor Pasa)

Holi Colours

From beneath the flowering Persian Lilac (Melia Azedarach) tree, I looked up and saw a sky of the truest blue through the fresh green leaves of spring. White clouds sailed across the blue, silhouetting a pair of crows in shiny black.

The sun went down painting the clouds pink and purple, leaving behind a soft golden glow. Behind the hibiscus, the full moon rose fading from yellow to white, till finally, the world was just different shades of grey.

AWOL Clouds

Skandagiri.

Fashionably late, we piled into Dillu's Safari and, stopping only to pick up supplies enough for an army to march on, we drove to Chikkaballapur and the temple at the base of Kalwarbetta. It took just a couple of hours to follow the moonlit path up to the top of the hill and the remnants one of Tipu Sultan's forts.

It was a quiet night on the hill as we ate our tuna, turkey, chicken, cheese, cucumber and tomato filled sandwiches. With sated belly, I collapsed and let the old light from Orion, Taurus and Cassiopeia impinge on my retina. A couple of hours of stargazing later, I ducked out of the chilly breeze into the tent and pretended that rocks make good mattresses. My snoring soon announced the success of the sandman.

My repose was unkindly intruded upon by a screaming horde of invading Huns. Wait, perhaps they were a troupe of monkeys leaping from rock to rock in the moonlight. Or maybe I had fallen asleep in a fish market. My sleep confused mind struggled with these possibilities and came to the conclusion that I was actually in a stress-induced nightmare. And I slept.

I awoke as the sky turned from black to indigo and scrambled out of the tent. Whoa! The nightmare was still there! Then, with the day, realization dawned. The clouds that were to greet me were AWOL. Instead there was a TV9 crew shooting the loudly chattering crowd of people that had gathered to watch the sun rise.

At least the sun didn't disappoint, and I watched the miracle of day unfold before me.

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.

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!

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.