Uttarkhand Diary -- Birding at a Cantonment Town

Surprisingly -- considering how footloose I am by philosophy and how much of free time I have on my hands -- I haven't been much into the hills and have been just once through the mountains. By hills I refer to the lower reaches of the Himalays and by mountain passes, of course I mean the high-altitude vistas and panoramic spread of Ladakh.

And yes, as many biker friends keep saying to me -- in a joshing, leg-pulling way -- that trip to Ladakh was a lifetime back, what with it being in 2005. You know, in a way that is no farther from the days of the Silk Route than we are from dirt track rallies on Mars.

I was not any more luckier when it comes to getting to the lower reaches of the Himalayas which most of the well traveled folks in Delhi refer to as the hills. Then, a one-day-long (read that as abysmally short and painfully hypenated) trip happened to a river valley a bit after the Kempty Falls (and oh-so-traffucked Mussoorie) this June.

Which is when I realised how wild and still pristine most of Uttarkhand is and how "full" of birds too! I made a promise to that river, that I will come back...and was on the lookout for another (far longer) trip into the hills.

That, thankfully happened mid July and I was technically "off to the hills" for a middling period of time (ten days involving train travel) and to top it all, a guest of the Indian Army too.

I could have pinched myself then, I still pinch myself more than a month after. And speaking of pinching, someone's convolutedly calculative thinking (and a dead-as-a-dodo's-shit data card) ensured that my pocket got pinched big, big, big time.

Prosaics (such as the preceding para and costs incurred apart), it was a stay out of a dream, a stay at a paradise of misty (and lonesome) heights almost six-thousand feet high. In a quaintly old (built in 1908, no less) bungalow that was rumored (by legend) to be directly in line to the flight of the angels to Badrinath.

In a town that probably has more trees (the amazingly deer antlered and lichen covered Baanjs and the equally lichen covered and ramrod straight Devdhars) than it does people, a strict "No Polythene" rule and has moss growing on almost every single embankment and wall.

In a town that reminded me of the quaint bungalows and spooky walks of places around Rourkela like Bondamunda and Birmitrapur where I had traipsed back in my childhood days.

In a town that is the raising area and headquarters to a regiment of some of India's hardiest fighting forces, no... not the Gurkhas, the Garhwalis.

Call me weird but (as I am not a travel blogger) the name of the place will go unmentioned as of now, at least till I chronicle it properly. Meanwhile a bit of a precis / overview of what I did (and hey, no I am not being facetious here, I do hope this precis / overview will help marshal my memory when I get down to chronicling this trip, and yes chronicle it, I will).

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An Officer and a Gentleman

I am self-confessed about the fact that I am scruffy, (mostly unshaven), artless and not too bothered by it, most of the times. Because it really doesn't seem to bother either the birds (or the butterflies) or the words that visit me or whom I need to chase. But then, one doesn't stay with the army (as a guest) and NOT look like an officer and gentleman, no? 

Yes, you guessed it right, I carried a shaving kit and used it daily too. Reminded me of my earliest "ambition" to be a Naval Officer, as I would shave daily (in a quaintly roomy bathroom as big as most bedrooms) and head out to the mess attached to the bungalow for my victuals (and the occasional drink). And need I say that I was treated like royalty, as befits an officer (or at least a gentleman, in my case; one who may have been a bit not that well turned out...).

Made me feel any number of times what most of us who bypass careers in the Armed Forces miss when it comes to access to places such as these, the quality of life and the prestige of being officers and gentlemen.

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Six days and no sight of the Himalayas, clouds, mist and then, rain...

The bungalow where I stayed was wreathed in clouds or mist or some other kind of precipitation for some or the other amount of time daily, starting the very first day. And then (after all -- I had delayed my trip due to "work" -- end July meant rains up in the hills, in fact normally I would have arrived there soaking wet) just when I had perfectly got into the groove of early morning wake-ups and lonesome walks, it started pouring, more or less leading to a washout of two days.

All in all, this also meant that I couldn't get a dekko of the majesty of the Himalayas, neither from the bungalow where I stayed (at the lip of a valley) or other more famous viewpoints all around. But yes, it was a novel joy all the same to see a hint of sunrise on the mountain peaks as early as 5.30 in the morning.

As befits a cantonment town (with a steep, not-much-wider-than-a-jeep road linking it to the plains) this one used to close pretty early. Which is when I had to hike my way up (from the town proper) from the cybercafe (remember that mention of the dysfunctional data card?) back to my lodgings over almost three to four kilometres (or so it seemed to me, if not more) of inclines that seemed thirty and forty-five degrees.

After a day mostly spent afoot birding, mind.

And oh yes, through fog / mist that meant I couldn't see beyond my birding shoes.

I don't smoke these days, have always been fit (though a bit rotund) and am used to long, long walks because of my birding trips, but yes I was dead beat everyday!  

And to think that there are people who run up even more steep inclines as children, day in and day out. No wonder the hill tribes make such tough and indomitable fighters.

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A bird in the bush is worth two in the hand

Well, so I twisted the adage, as you can see.

Thing is there aren't that many birds which come to the hand the moment one gets out a camera and starts shooting. A lot of such "birds" are out of focus or even empty air. All that is of course old hat for me since I am certainly a bit better than an amateur when it comes to bird photography. But then, these were birds of the hills, as swiftly dexterous as the lovely people who live amongst them and as moody and mercurial as its weather. Which meant that I collected more heartbreaks in those six days than I have in all of my birding trips put together.

But yes, there were any number of birds in any number of bushes -- especially Woodpeckers (both lesser and greater), Oriental White-eyes, Minivets, Blue Whistling Thrushes, Blue Tailed Jays (as common as crows down in the plains) Verditer Flycatchers...

Yes, I will chronicle all the sightings (and the heart-breaks) too and very soon, its just that I have gigapixels of birds to shoot before I sleep.

For now, two stories of heartbreak.

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One sighting of a Lammergeier and two of a Himalayan Pied Kingfisher.

The Lammergeier is the dominant raptor for most of this region, which I surprisingly found bereft of Shikras, Kestrels and other smaller raptors (though I did see and photograph Owls more than once). The Lammergeier is also not very easily seen and certainly doesn't speck the skies as do the Black Kites. So, I am still a bit confused as to should I be happy that I saw one or should I kick myself that I lost it somewhere ( and then really lost it) while I managed to get my backpack off and camera out and was fiddling with the controls.  The bird was gliding along unhurriedly, some two or three minutes must have passed, I nearly went apoplectic with excitement, all to no avail.

Oh eFF, yes.

And that was the only sighting I managed, the only one.                    

This was up on the lip of the valley, then while walking besides a river that gurgled along in a carefree way that most of us have long forgotten, cradling my camera (rather the lens) I came across yet another Oriental White-eye doing what Prinias, Tailorbirds and other Warblers do down in the plains.

Emerge from bush in a swish-swoop.

Perch tightly with both legs on some twiggy extremity, as light as a leaf, and dart neck and body girth this side and that, almost precariously and dart up and down in the bush as if searching for something without a search warrant.

Swish-swoop away into another bush.

Which means, unless you can think like a Prinia, Tailor Warbler or other one of these little fellas, there is no way you can aim, focus and shoot them in the less than two minutes window of opportunity that opens for you.

And, mind I have said "yet another" up above. Hence, I was almost goggle eyed and walking as if on black ice expecting another Oriental White-eye to emerge (in this instance from besides the river) and do its vanish into another bush (on the other side of the road, at the hill's side).

It did work, a little fella emerged and I managed to focus on him / her and even fire off a couple of shots. But then, I got distracted.

Because, just below me, a bird bigger than the Pied Kingfishers (I am so used to photographing in the Deccan) flew, in a ponderous and very deliberate straight line over the meandering river. On hindsight, I should have become a Wild West Sheriff (or unbeatable outlaw) turned ninety degrees in a quick swivel, rapidly changed the camera settings and reeled off half a dozen shots.

At the very least.  

But then, I don't know of any Sheriff (or outlaw) who did all that quick swiveling and shooting with something as heavy as a cannon (or Buffalo gun) or a bird lens which is technically not even expected to be used hand-held.

So I did not try any heroics and took no photos of the "bigger than the Pied Kingfisher" bird watching it vanish while the Oriental White-eye did its swish-swoop and disappeared into the haven of some hillside bush.

That then, was the first sighting of the Himalayan Pied Kingfisher. And as with the Lammergeier, I really don't know, should I be happy to have seen it or should I kick myself for missing it?

And yes, I saw the same bird (maybe the same individual) on my walk besides the river on the way back. Only this time I had the 18-55 lens fixed onto the camera for snapping up some vistas that were heart-stoppingly wild, when the setting sun lit up one side of the valley with its golden rays.

Time to carry two cameras?

Time to buy a mule?

Oh well...

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To be continued :-)