The moment we crossed over to the other side, our guide picked up a dry stick lying on the ground. Though he did not say why, it was pretty clear that he intended to use it as a scythe. We on the other hand were more concerned for our cameras than our own selves.
As we moved ahead, we saw a large crater on the soft ground, a foot and a half in diameter and half a foot in depth. The guide pointed his stick at it and said ominously, “Elephant walk here last night.” This was early morning, so it was only a few hours before which the foot mark was created. It raised our expectations manifold. Maybe we were going to come face to face with a herd and getting up at an obscene hour was going to be worthwhile after all.
Further ahead, expectedly, the jungle began to get thicker. Early morning light which had created a pleasant atmosphere on the river bank found it hard to make its way through the thick foliage. Stray rays that did the surface made a beautiful pattern of a light beam through darkness.
We shifted along, admiring the myriad patterns that nature had formed. And then suddenly, our guide stopped in his tracks. Our petty small talk ceased in unison as we saw the guide look skywards. He squinted his eyes and then, slowly raised his right hand, pointing at the top of a tree. “Indian langur” he said. Sure enough, perched on top was a black langur. In one swift movement, our entire group reached for their cameras and started clicking away in tandem. Another langur sensed the commotion and came in the forefront to have his picture taken too. The light wasn’t too good and the photographs haven’t turned out too well. But they still serve as a faithful reminder.
But it wasn’t over. The guide pointed at another shadowy figure on another branch. “Giant squirrel” he labeled it. For those of us who only think of the squirrel as a palm sized, squeaky little thing, The Giant Malabar Squirrel comes across as a shocker. Think of it as a full sized mongoose that climbs trees, only bigger. It could easily have passed off as a third langur if the guide hadn’t pointed it out. This time, the wows were more audible and the cameras even more active.
I had mentioned in my earlier post about the knee length socks that we were wearing. Now was when realized how indispensable they were. Our shoes were covered with two to three leaches each. Strict instructions from the guide were to not pluck them with our bare hands but to push them away with sticks and twigs. The trouble was that no sooner would you push one and walk further, that another one would take the earlier one’s place. These leeches are virtually invisible on the forest floor. Neither are they particularly mobile. Yet, with great precision and regularity, they hop onto your moving feet.
We were nearing a water body when the air rang out with a distinctive tok-tok sound. We looked questioningly at our guide and sure enough he gave an eloquent reply. “Hornbill” said he. This was it, I thought. For years I have been watching the hornbill on the logo of the Bombay Natural History Society, but I have never seen one in real life. Not even in captivity. So I, and the rest too, craned the neck upwards and spread out in different directions, trying to envelope the tree from which the sound was emanating. We looked some and we looked some more, but the hornbill was not to be seen. Maybe I’ll blog about it the day I actually see one, but for now, I’ll have to live just with memories of its call.
“Over here, bison, quickly” was the anguished shout from a distance. Our guide had walked up to the water body and was pointing towards the other bank which was obscured from our view. We made a dash in his direction, but were late by seconds as the bison who had come to the lake for a sip had already exited. Second consecutive miss! The Nature Walk wasn’t turning out as expected. There were a few egrets and cormorants on the edge of the water. But having, missed the main show, we were in no mood to click them. This was also a resting point, so we loitered around a bit. To make matters worse, the hornbill could still be heard but sighting was impossible.
And then it happened! Without warning a bison made his way through the woods on the other side and lowered his neck for a drink in full view. Our cameras were already in overdrive when another one followed suit. So now, we had a pair drinking out of the lake for us to capture on memory cards. I do not even remember how many photographs I took. The trouble with these cameras is that you miss out on watching the action with you naked eyes. But one bison stuck around for as long as we would want him to. In fact when he left, he also heralded our exit.
On the way out, the egrets and cormorants suddenly seemed photogenic.
We walked alongside the bank for a while till it was time for us to venture back into the jungle. But before that, there was another sighting we were to chance upon. A family of otters was swimming away from us. Obviously none too happy with our company. I thought they would get close so that I could take a better look, but they had other plans.
After almost two and a half hours after we had left, we reached the same place where we had started out. With the entire day before us, we discussed out plan of action. Having not seen any elephant was a bit of a disappointment, and we were ready for another trip at 3 o’clock called The Clouds Walk. The Bengali couple said there wanted to indulge in some shopping and Kathakali, viewing that is. Riina said she would prefer the outing and we departed with promises to reconvene at the stipulated time.
Cont’d...
