Wild Things

that make my heart swing

It has been nearly an year since I let go my camera gear. However, this is not a commemoration of that nor is it triggered by it. I just needed a couple of lines (no, not what you might perhaps think; it’s not that kind of trip) to fuel this ride where the stops are moving (but of course), quaint, funny, tragic or just plain drab; it’s all up to you how you experience it.

Aha! Cry Wolf!

There was the sun, mellowed by the season. There was us, emboldened by the mild air and the scarcity of our species. There was the land that laid itself bare; dubbed scrubland and fallow land by and for many, treasure-trove for some. There were four of us of the latter ilk trundling along in an open vehicle keeping a watch out for glimpses of this land's quiet promise. One pair of eyes beheld something and the mouth uttered out a halt in urgency and amazement (the eyes and mouth belonged to a dear friend, naturalist, and photographer Shreeram over at Shreeram’s Blog). He cried 'Wolf!' and wolf there was! A lone wolf (Akela? Or McQuade?). Once found across the plains of the country, the Indian Grey Wolf is almost a ghost now. This one that we saw was a female and she was limping a little. We watched her loping with the characteristic grace of the species even if there was a stutter to it. She made it to a watering hole, drank her fill, and quietly but warily gazed at us for a while before sauntering away into the distance. She may have dismissed us from her consciousness but she was etched in ours. As is often the experience in the wilds now, this was filled with poignancy, of near incredulity and amazement at an unlikely sight and dismay that an entire species has been nearly wiped out. There was the wolf. There was us. There is now us...and a memory. I never saw one before nor any after.

(Our particular wolf was later checked by forest officials who found no cause for alarm in her limp.)

Same area, same trip, different day, three of us instead of four. We saw a Short-eared Owl alight on the ground for what we thought was at the end of a hunt. But no, the bird just parked itself smack in the middle of the plain. No kill, only chill. We got down on the ground, big and clumsy reptile mimics. Crawling King Snake was running through my mind; the one by The Doors, not the John Lee Hooker original. I had a hard time not laughing at our moves but pretty soon my mind was all owl as we slowly crawled towards it pausing often to take photographs. The owl was well aware of us but didn't give a hoot to our presence. Yet another animal that ghosted us. We managed to get quite close to it before it took off but not before treating us to the full blast of its derision.

We found later that we were covered in dry, clingy seeds some of whose spines had gone under our skin. Frikkin' annoying pricks!

When we were checking some of each other's photos, Shreeram asked me, "We were all flat on the ground but why is the angle of your photos a bit different from ours?" I said, "Oh well! My tummy put me on higher ground."

A Commotion

Keoladeo Ghana in Bharatpur, Rajasthan is one of the most serene wildlife sanctuaries in India, a wetland designed for one to amble along and lose oneself not just in the beauty of the vast birdlife that it hosts but also the tranquility of the space. And so we were, overdosed on all that good stuff on an afternoon when an unseen yet palpable tension smacked us. Its source revealed itself soon enough. In a large waterbody, an unusual commotion. Silent yet loud in its proclamation of the force of nature. A Great White Pelican was neck deep in water, literally. Just that most of the rest of its body was above water as in its normal float position. We thought it had caught hold of something huge and we had our cameras ready for the moment it would haul up its king-size trophy in triumph.

What we saw instead was a gory, bloody disaster. It turned out that the pelican, a giant among birds, was the catch of a huge watcher in the deep. A massive Indian Softshell Turtle had caught hold of the pelican's gular pouch, that bag-like lower portion of its bill that it uses to swoop up fish into before gobbling them. What followed was a thrashing struggle with water and blood splashing about. The other pelicans watched in troubled silence, unable or unwilling to do anything about it. After a long time, the bird freed itself and took frenzied flight from its place of torment. Freedom carries a price and the toll this bird paid was a chunk of its pouch. Loss of a larger portion would have meant eventual death by starvation but as it is this pelican managed to survive in the days following albeit with great difficulty.

For all its beauty and 'cuteness' as some people keep sighing or screaming, nature is direct, often brutally so. It puts a premium on learning, alertness, and adaptability. The reward is survival; nothing more, nothing less. To paraphrase ace photographer Mark Smith, I'm glad I'm not a pelican.

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We're Only In It for The Money

This article came about from the surprise of first hearing and then seeing a White-throated Kingfisher near our home recently (it's still there). In all these years I hadn’t come across one in this area although it’s quite possible that these birds were once a common sight, even just two or three decades back, before trees fell beyond count and buildings rose. And as I wrote this, I realised I have a lot more stories to tell from my time observing and occasionally taking photographs of wild things. So this is part 1 of who knows how many episodes.

On a different note, I sneak in a music reference or more into almost all my articles here. On this one, I've gone over the top. You can play the game of figuring out which and how many but you don't have to. After all it's just me tooling with you.

Time is money. And that's what you've paid me with to get this far. For that, you have my gratitude!