From www.ironammonite.com
To get to the forest on the other side ofcourse...
As we drove through BR Hills Nature Reserve we noticed this beautiful chameleon crossing the road. Usually elusive it stood out against the road surface. Chamaeleo zeylanicus is South India's only Chameleon and it was a real privilege to get up close and personal to help it across the road.
Showing posts with label Travelogue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travelogue. Show all posts
9.9.09
VIDEO: Encounter with a Huge Croc - The Water Monster
From www.ironammonite.com
My encounter with a Mugger Crocodile during our 'Chasing the Monsoon' expedition in South India. Our field guide took us a little closer than we had expected!
Directed by Kalyan Varma, Filmed by David Heath, Production Manager: Mandana Dilan.
My encounter with a Mugger Crocodile during our 'Chasing the Monsoon' expedition in South India. Our field guide took us a little closer than we had expected!
Directed by Kalyan Varma, Filmed by David Heath, Production Manager: Mandana Dilan.
17.8.09
VIDEO: The Vine Snake: Agumbe, India
From www.ironammonite.com
We discovered this juvenile vine snake (Ahaetulla nasuta) dangling from a branch whilst tracking King Cobras in Agumbe, India. As you can see they are incredibly well camouflaged and move much like a vine blowing on the wind. They use this incredible camouflage to hide and hunt, swaying back and forth, moving closer and closer to an unsuspecting frog or lizard. They are mildly venomous, and I can understand why a lot of the locals fear them, but there's nothing to worry about from this little chap. Its fangs would barely penetrate my skin, and although their venom is potent enough to knock out a few frogs it wouldn't have much effect on me. When they do attack they often have to chew a bit just to get the venom in! I've seen many pictures of these snakes, often with the limp body of a giant lizard dangling from their mouths, and so I was pretty excited to finally see one in person.
Although relatively harmless it's still a good idea to handle them gently and carefully - like you would any animal. The key is to just let them slide through your hands as if on a branch, and never 'grasp'. I've read that when stressed vine snakes will inflate their bodies, making themselves look larger and more aggressive, and revealing black and white markings which look like a chequers board. The most shocking part of their threat display however, is that they gasp and open their incredibly pink mouths. I'm pleased to say that I didn't see any of this - my experience passed with a mutual understanding of curiosity!
If you're unsure about a snake then the best thing to do is keep your distance and let them get on with doing their snakey things.
We discovered this juvenile vine snake (Ahaetulla nasuta) dangling from a branch whilst tracking King Cobras in Agumbe, India. As you can see they are incredibly well camouflaged and move much like a vine blowing on the wind. They use this incredible camouflage to hide and hunt, swaying back and forth, moving closer and closer to an unsuspecting frog or lizard. They are mildly venomous, and I can understand why a lot of the locals fear them, but there's nothing to worry about from this little chap. Its fangs would barely penetrate my skin, and although their venom is potent enough to knock out a few frogs it wouldn't have much effect on me. When they do attack they often have to chew a bit just to get the venom in! I've seen many pictures of these snakes, often with the limp body of a giant lizard dangling from their mouths, and so I was pretty excited to finally see one in person.
Although relatively harmless it's still a good idea to handle them gently and carefully - like you would any animal. The key is to just let them slide through your hands as if on a branch, and never 'grasp'. I've read that when stressed vine snakes will inflate their bodies, making themselves look larger and more aggressive, and revealing black and white markings which look like a chequers board. The most shocking part of their threat display however, is that they gasp and open their incredibly pink mouths. I'm pleased to say that I didn't see any of this - my experience passed with a mutual understanding of curiosity!
If you're unsure about a snake then the best thing to do is keep your distance and let them get on with doing their snakey things.
25.7.09
Daroji - Kingdom of the Sloth Bear
From www.ironammonite.com
I visited the Daroji Sloth Bear sanctuary in central south India. This 5000 hectre reserve has the highest density of wild sloth bears anywhere on the planet and so you'd think that I'd have a good chance of seeing one.
Arriving in Daroji My mind is immediately transported to the American wild west - it could be the Majave desert of California. Big sky and big landscapes, strewn with huge wind sculptured sandstone blocks. If Star Trek had been produced in India then this would have been the setting for many of Kirks memorable encounters. It was to be the setting of one of mine. Dry desert was certainly a relief from our travels in the monsoon drenched mountains - I was grateful for a bit of rainshadow relief - The mountains themselves blocking the rains from reaching this far east. As we surveyed the vista at the heart of the sanctuary six giant sandstone tors betrayed the location of the sloth bear dens and right in the midst of them was a monolithic sandstone platform - an arena of sorts where the park wardens liberally scatter honey. This attracts bears to the exposed outcrop and in doing so it attracts keen bear watchers to a viewing tower a mile away. It may sound like a controversial thing to do for otherwise 'wild' bears but as the park warden, Mr Ravindranath told me 'This is all for conservation and preservation of the sanctuary and the bears'. The public pay to protect the bears habitat and the bears don't really complain about having honey on tap. Mr Ravindranath wears his military looking uniform with pride and basks in the glory of being a one man operation caretaking this highly regarded reserve. He has local people working for him but with fewer officials he has escaped much of the beurocracy that often clogs projects of such magnitude. As such he seems relaxed and in high spirits talking about his three successful years as boss. 'We have over a 120 bears here' he proudly boasts 'many of which have been rescued from other areas and introduced to the sanctuary'. 'it's a safe haven working closely with the local people to ensure it's
future'.
On the orange sandstone the dark sticky patches of honey glint in the sunshine, a treasure which beckons hungry Sloth Bears to stumble out of the wilderness every afternoon for their Public appearance. We found a convenient bush a few metres from the platform, and parked our jeep behind it. Over the course of a few hours we saw mongoose come and go, peacock and painted spur fowl all eager for their share of the honey. Five-lined squirrels somersaulted between boulders - almost defying gravity in their 'matrix' style moves to get to the goods before anyone else.
Then in the distance we saw a tuft of black hair appear from behind a boulder. The fidgeting squirrels and mongooses paused, looked up and then dissapeared. Bobbing up and down the dark tuft came closer and closer until it waddled into view. Our first sloth bear, a young male and looking hungry for honey. His long soft snout was hard and crinkled to the ground and I could immediately see the resemblance to a pig snorting in a trough. He was completely engrossed in his mission for food. Upon reaching a nice patch of honey you could almost see the satisfaction as he adjusted his posture, sitting almost cross- legged and bent over, to be as intimate as possible with the object of his desire. Now and then he would stand up and mosey across to a new patch of honey. Swaying as he went like a big furry John Wayne - a site befitting of this wild west backdrop. Not a care in the world the bear was completely oblivious to our presence.
Sloth Bears have really poor eye sight and can barely see further than10 metres so as long as we remained still and silent we would be able to observe the bears in all their slobbering glory. We did hide our chocolate however as a quick whiff of that might have caused a stampede. Occassionally our young male surfaced for a breather, raising his nose and opening his mouth like a panting dog. He was tasting the air and I wondered if he could detect the strangers in his midst. If he could then he must have decided that he had more important matters to attend to and chowed back down. While he took a sniff directly in my direction I caught a superb view of his strange dentures. Other than threatening looking canines he has less teeth than a pensioner - missing his upper incisors completely. An adaptation for getting closer to food, especially for getting access to their favourite delicacy - termites. This is also where his vicious looking four-inch claws come to play. Upon discovering a termite mound those claws are the ideal tools for tearing it open. Then all he has to do is shove in his muzzle and suck like a Hoover. The sounds can be heard from hundreds of metres away. He was entertaining us with a range of sounds that I've only ever heard before in a gents loo - and like a gents loo a few more individuals eventually appeared and joined in the chorus.
Now there were four bears greedily feeding just a few metres away from us. Their individual characters were coming to the fore. One particularly large male seemed to really enjoy scratching and rolling on the floor - every now and then he would clumsily back up to a boulder and comically rub his backside on it - reminding me of Balloo in the Jungle book. The smallest of the four bears just wanted to play - probably a bit high on all the sugar. He lumbered over to another feeding bear and unexpectadly pounced on him, bearing his teeth - it could easily be mistaken for aggression but I could see my younger self and my brother in this interaction, and how we used to fight just for the fun of it. When he had finished teasing one bear he quickly switched to another, and it continued for the best part of an hour, by which time the sugar rush had probably worn off and he tuckered down once more.
They really do lull you into a false sense of security - Sloth Bears look so harmless, their expressions so goofy, and yet they are considered more dangerous than Tigers and Elephants. 'When they are cornered they strike back in self defense - using their claws and teeth as weapons' said Sammad of the Sloth Bear rescue centre. 'Most dangerous encounters happen when you suddenly run into one and surprise it - because their eyesight is so poor they don't realise until you're right up close.' Sammad has rescued more than seventy bears in the past ten years. Often he gets a call from a panicked villager who has found a bear rummaging through his house, or has become trapped in barbed wire. On one occassion a confused bear who had found himself in the centre of a village chased a woman into a school - the fast action of one man got the children out and trapped the bear inside where it went bonkers. 'the only imjury on that occasion was a gouge to the mans face. It could have been more serious' he admits 'It was a huge difficult operation to safely rescue him - he's now doing well having been moved to Daroji'. 'This sort of thing was happening more and more' Sammad told me reflecting on 10 years of change 'as farmers encroached onto the bears natural territorytheirs would be problems'. This is why the sanctuary was setup - simpy to give bears somewhere to live in peace.
Most of the sloth bears Sammad has rescued have been from the brutal art of bear dancing - a traditional livelihood which has been practiced in rural india for centuries but which has been illegal since the wildlife protection act of 1972. Yet until very recently during the breeding season bear poachers would wait outside a den for the mother to leave in search of food for her young. They would swoop in, grab and bag the young cubs and sell them for less than 30,000 rupees (about 350 pounds) to Kollanders, the traditional bear dancing community. 'Here they begin a life of pain and discomfort.' Sammad told me, 'After a few months their canines are ripped out, their claws are clipped, males are castrated and a red hot iron is used to pierce their sensitive nuzzle through which a coarse rope is threaded.' it is the pain of pulling on this rope that makes them dance as they are dragged from village to village and made to perform, standing on their hind legs and used as puppets on a string. All the while enduring severe pain and punishment. 'they are severly malnurished and are only given the very poorest food to survive on' says Sammad with a tear in his eye 'when we rescue them they are in really bad shape'.An awareness of the plight of the dancing bears amongst rural people has really helped Sammads mission. 'People might fear the bears but they also value them - they play a part in Hindu mythology and are considered sacred.' According to local lore this is their empire and it is where the king of the Sloth Bears married the daughter of one of the gods.
It's easy to victimise the Kollanders but we should remember that they have been dancing sloth bears for generations - a profession which is passed from father to son. It's a difficult chain to break but rather than criminalise individuals the government now offer them a package of aid to help change to a more respectable livelihood. Thanks to this united effort Sammad is pleased to tell me that 'soon the dancing bear profession will be over for good'.
The rescued bears can never be released into the wild, instead they live out their days in peace at one of the four sloth bear rescue centres. My next visit would be to one of these centres based just outside of Bangalore.
Sent from my iPhone
Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer
I visited the Daroji Sloth Bear sanctuary in central south India. This 5000 hectre reserve has the highest density of wild sloth bears anywhere on the planet and so you'd think that I'd have a good chance of seeing one.
Arriving in Daroji My mind is immediately transported to the American wild west - it could be the Majave desert of California. Big sky and big landscapes, strewn with huge wind sculptured sandstone blocks. If Star Trek had been produced in India then this would have been the setting for many of Kirks memorable encounters. It was to be the setting of one of mine. Dry desert was certainly a relief from our travels in the monsoon drenched mountains - I was grateful for a bit of rainshadow relief - The mountains themselves blocking the rains from reaching this far east. As we surveyed the vista at the heart of the sanctuary six giant sandstone tors betrayed the location of the sloth bear dens and right in the midst of them was a monolithic sandstone platform - an arena of sorts where the park wardens liberally scatter honey. This attracts bears to the exposed outcrop and in doing so it attracts keen bear watchers to a viewing tower a mile away. It may sound like a controversial thing to do for otherwise 'wild' bears but as the park warden, Mr Ravindranath told me 'This is all for conservation and preservation of the sanctuary and the bears'. The public pay to protect the bears habitat and the bears don't really complain about having honey on tap. Mr Ravindranath wears his military looking uniform with pride and basks in the glory of being a one man operation caretaking this highly regarded reserve. He has local people working for him but with fewer officials he has escaped much of the beurocracy that often clogs projects of such magnitude. As such he seems relaxed and in high spirits talking about his three successful years as boss. 'We have over a 120 bears here' he proudly boasts 'many of which have been rescued from other areas and introduced to the sanctuary'. 'it's a safe haven working closely with the local people to ensure it's
future'.
On the orange sandstone the dark sticky patches of honey glint in the sunshine, a treasure which beckons hungry Sloth Bears to stumble out of the wilderness every afternoon for their Public appearance. We found a convenient bush a few metres from the platform, and parked our jeep behind it. Over the course of a few hours we saw mongoose come and go, peacock and painted spur fowl all eager for their share of the honey. Five-lined squirrels somersaulted between boulders - almost defying gravity in their 'matrix' style moves to get to the goods before anyone else.
Ruddy Mongoose grabbing a lick of honey
Then in the distance we saw a tuft of black hair appear from behind a boulder. The fidgeting squirrels and mongooses paused, looked up and then dissapeared. Bobbing up and down the dark tuft came closer and closer until it waddled into view. Our first sloth bear, a young male and looking hungry for honey. His long soft snout was hard and crinkled to the ground and I could immediately see the resemblance to a pig snorting in a trough. He was completely engrossed in his mission for food. Upon reaching a nice patch of honey you could almost see the satisfaction as he adjusted his posture, sitting almost cross- legged and bent over, to be as intimate as possible with the object of his desire. Now and then he would stand up and mosey across to a new patch of honey. Swaying as he went like a big furry John Wayne - a site befitting of this wild west backdrop. Not a care in the world the bear was completely oblivious to our presence.
Sloth Bears have really poor eye sight and can barely see further than10 metres so as long as we remained still and silent we would be able to observe the bears in all their slobbering glory. We did hide our chocolate however as a quick whiff of that might have caused a stampede. Occassionally our young male surfaced for a breather, raising his nose and opening his mouth like a panting dog. He was tasting the air and I wondered if he could detect the strangers in his midst. If he could then he must have decided that he had more important matters to attend to and chowed back down. While he took a sniff directly in my direction I caught a superb view of his strange dentures. Other than threatening looking canines he has less teeth than a pensioner - missing his upper incisors completely. An adaptation for getting closer to food, especially for getting access to their favourite delicacy - termites. This is also where his vicious looking four-inch claws come to play. Upon discovering a termite mound those claws are the ideal tools for tearing it open. Then all he has to do is shove in his muzzle and suck like a Hoover. The sounds can be heard from hundreds of metres away. He was entertaining us with a range of sounds that I've only ever heard before in a gents loo - and like a gents loo a few more individuals eventually appeared and joined in the chorus.
Sloth Bear tasting the air
Now there were four bears greedily feeding just a few metres away from us. Their individual characters were coming to the fore. One particularly large male seemed to really enjoy scratching and rolling on the floor - every now and then he would clumsily back up to a boulder and comically rub his backside on it - reminding me of Balloo in the Jungle book. The smallest of the four bears just wanted to play - probably a bit high on all the sugar. He lumbered over to another feeding bear and unexpectadly pounced on him, bearing his teeth - it could easily be mistaken for aggression but I could see my younger self and my brother in this interaction, and how we used to fight just for the fun of it. When he had finished teasing one bear he quickly switched to another, and it continued for the best part of an hour, by which time the sugar rush had probably worn off and he tuckered down once more.
Sloth bear rubbing his backside against a boulder
They really do lull you into a false sense of security - Sloth Bears look so harmless, their expressions so goofy, and yet they are considered more dangerous than Tigers and Elephants. 'When they are cornered they strike back in self defense - using their claws and teeth as weapons' said Sammad of the Sloth Bear rescue centre. 'Most dangerous encounters happen when you suddenly run into one and surprise it - because their eyesight is so poor they don't realise until you're right up close.' Sammad has rescued more than seventy bears in the past ten years. Often he gets a call from a panicked villager who has found a bear rummaging through his house, or has become trapped in barbed wire. On one occassion a confused bear who had found himself in the centre of a village chased a woman into a school - the fast action of one man got the children out and trapped the bear inside where it went bonkers. 'the only imjury on that occasion was a gouge to the mans face. It could have been more serious' he admits 'It was a huge difficult operation to safely rescue him - he's now doing well having been moved to Daroji'. 'This sort of thing was happening more and more' Sammad told me reflecting on 10 years of change 'as farmers encroached onto the bears natural territorytheirs would be problems'. This is why the sanctuary was setup - simpy to give bears somewhere to live in peace.
Most of the sloth bears Sammad has rescued have been from the brutal art of bear dancing - a traditional livelihood which has been practiced in rural india for centuries but which has been illegal since the wildlife protection act of 1972. Yet until very recently during the breeding season bear poachers would wait outside a den for the mother to leave in search of food for her young. They would swoop in, grab and bag the young cubs and sell them for less than 30,000 rupees (about 350 pounds) to Kollanders, the traditional bear dancing community. 'Here they begin a life of pain and discomfort.' Sammad told me, 'After a few months their canines are ripped out, their claws are clipped, males are castrated and a red hot iron is used to pierce their sensitive nuzzle through which a coarse rope is threaded.' it is the pain of pulling on this rope that makes them dance as they are dragged from village to village and made to perform, standing on their hind legs and used as puppets on a string. All the while enduring severe pain and punishment. 'they are severly malnurished and are only given the very poorest food to survive on' says Sammad with a tear in his eye 'when we rescue them they are in really bad shape'.An awareness of the plight of the dancing bears amongst rural people has really helped Sammads mission. 'People might fear the bears but they also value them - they play a part in Hindu mythology and are considered sacred.' According to local lore this is their empire and it is where the king of the Sloth Bears married the daughter of one of the gods.
It's easy to victimise the Kollanders but we should remember that they have been dancing sloth bears for generations - a profession which is passed from father to son. It's a difficult chain to break but rather than criminalise individuals the government now offer them a package of aid to help change to a more respectable livelihood. Thanks to this united effort Sammad is pleased to tell me that 'soon the dancing bear profession will be over for good'.
The rescued bears can never be released into the wild, instead they live out their days in peace at one of the four sloth bear rescue centres. My next visit would be to one of these centres based just outside of Bangalore.
Sent from my iPhone
Naming the Sloth Bear
From www.ironammonite.com
A battered wooden crate arrived in London for Mr Shaw, it was marked 'Urgent Attention'. Shaw, a gentleman naturalist, excitedly opened the crate and pulled out a thick black shaggy fur - it was slightly damp and smelling of mould. Spreading it on a large oak table in the centre of his crowded study, he ran his hands through the knotted reflecting on it's similarity to the overgrown coat of a dog. Next he came across the animals long soft tubular snout, immediately seeing the resemblance to another peculiar creature from South America which has recently been named as the anteater. But this animal was much larger and it's skin and dentition much different. Like the anteater however Its eyes were tiny and recessed suggesting an animal with poor vision. Shaw already had his suspicions on where to place this creature in the animal classification system but what convinced him so completely were the huge 4inch curved claws protruding from each of it's short limbs. Sloths were already known from South America and this was obviously some sort of giant form - like other sloths it used these inward pointing claws to hang from trees. The year was 1790 and Shaw proudly announced this new species naming it Bradypus pentadactylus - the 5 fingered sloth.
It later transpired that the crate Shaw had recieved originated in India and not South America at all. A mix up which created the curious beginning of the scientific identification of the Indian Honey Bear - The Sloth Bear.
A battered wooden crate arrived in London for Mr Shaw, it was marked 'Urgent Attention'. Shaw, a gentleman naturalist, excitedly opened the crate and pulled out a thick black shaggy fur - it was slightly damp and smelling of mould. Spreading it on a large oak table in the centre of his crowded study, he ran his hands through the knotted reflecting on it's similarity to the overgrown coat of a dog. Next he came across the animals long soft tubular snout, immediately seeing the resemblance to another peculiar creature from South America which has recently been named as the anteater. But this animal was much larger and it's skin and dentition much different. Like the anteater however Its eyes were tiny and recessed suggesting an animal with poor vision. Shaw already had his suspicions on where to place this creature in the animal classification system but what convinced him so completely were the huge 4inch curved claws protruding from each of it's short limbs. Sloths were already known from South America and this was obviously some sort of giant form - like other sloths it used these inward pointing claws to hang from trees. The year was 1790 and Shaw proudly announced this new species naming it Bradypus pentadactylus - the 5 fingered sloth.
It later transpired that the crate Shaw had recieved originated in India and not South America at all. A mix up which created the curious beginning of the scientific identification of the Indian Honey Bear - The Sloth Bear.
19.7.09
Tiger Tracking with Mandanna Dilan
From www.ironammonite.com
He picked a clump of grass and offered it to me for a whiff. 'Tiger pee' he said in his softly Spoken English. I couldn't smell anything but Mandy, as his friends call him, assured me that this was it. 'it must be about a week old' 'if it was fresh you could smell it from here' he said standing back several yards. The 'tyre' prints were, as Mandy explained, a sign of Tiger prowess - 'this was probably a male and this, it's paw mark'. I could now make out the deep sweeping motion of a disturbingly large paw and several gauges where it's claws had sliced through the surface. The Tiger wasn't trying to be descrete or cover up his doings, he was unceremoniously flinging it as far as possible. He was marking his territory. We walked several metres down the track and there was another one, we walked a little further still and Mandy pointed out several deep pug marks leading down the side of the verge.
Then we stumbled upon a pile of scat, tiger faeces,'several weeks old - probably a Samba deer' he said. The Samba had been reduced to a fading clump of gray hair and the scat was a mere shadow of it's former hot and steamy self. I don't think I've ever found cat poo so interesting - certainly not interesting enough to photograph it from every possible angle. This was Tiger country and things were hotting up. This track was obviously a regular latrine, a tiger toilet. I looked out into the dense forest and wondered if some large cat was sitting looking back dying for the loo and wondering what on earth we found so fascinating.
Later that day we returned with our camera traps. Anything warm blooded passing by would be caught in the action, snapped for prosperity. Mandy has camera trapped hundreds of rare mammals. Helping scientists to estimate populations of some of the more elusive forest dwellers. Civets, the shy mouse deer, the tiny slender loris, the small clawed otter, the leopard cat, and the brown mongoose amongst others. He has snapped poachers sneaking through the forests and has helped local officials to identify the culprits. But it's the Tiger that excites him the most. The stripes on a Tiger are like a fingerprint, each unique to the individual. By photographing them Mandy has been able to estimate a population of more than 40 individuals in the BR Hills Reserve and with 50 sighting it's likely that he's seen most of them personally. His eyes light up when he tells me how opening a camera trap in the morning is like tearing open a present on Christmas day. 'I always hope for a Tiger inside but anything is a treat'.
I hope Santa visits in the night.
16th July 2009
Something had triggered the camera alright - maybe something moving too fast to actually be photographed. Whatever it was we had a dozen or so photographs of the other side of the path. And then, finally something... Pale with dark marks. It was a Civet, a real nocturnal dweller and a real privelidge to see. But not a tiger! And as we flicked forward the only other thing we had captured was a mouse. Sadly my dreams of seeing a tiger were over for now. Mandanna showed me the magnificent images he had captured at other times on that same track. Beautiful as they were it just didn't seem to excite me in the same way. At least I can go home happy that I smelt the pee of a Wild Tiger.
15th July 2009
Mandanna climbed out of the jeep sniffed the air along the side of the road, stopped and looked down. To me he had ceased his investigation above what could have been a tyre mark on the verge. To Mandanna however, one of South Indias top Tiger trackers, this was a sure sign that Panthera tigris had passed this way. With a record of over 50 sightings in the past two years I wasn't going to question anything.
He picked a clump of grass and offered it to me for a whiff. 'Tiger pee' he said in his softly Spoken English. I couldn't smell anything but Mandy, as his friends call him, assured me that this was it. 'it must be about a week old' 'if it was fresh you could smell it from here' he said standing back several yards. The 'tyre' prints were, as Mandy explained, a sign of Tiger prowess - 'this was probably a male and this, it's paw mark'. I could now make out the deep sweeping motion of a disturbingly large paw and several gauges where it's claws had sliced through the surface. The Tiger wasn't trying to be descrete or cover up his doings, he was unceremoniously flinging it as far as possible. He was marking his territory. We walked several metres down the track and there was another one, we walked a little further still and Mandy pointed out several deep pug marks leading down the side of the verge.
Then we stumbled upon a pile of scat, tiger faeces,'several weeks old - probably a Samba deer' he said. The Samba had been reduced to a fading clump of gray hair and the scat was a mere shadow of it's former hot and steamy self. I don't think I've ever found cat poo so interesting - certainly not interesting enough to photograph it from every possible angle. This was Tiger country and things were hotting up. This track was obviously a regular latrine, a tiger toilet. I looked out into the dense forest and wondered if some large cat was sitting looking back dying for the loo and wondering what on earth we found so fascinating.
Later that day we returned with our camera traps. Anything warm blooded passing by would be caught in the action, snapped for prosperity. Mandy has camera trapped hundreds of rare mammals. Helping scientists to estimate populations of some of the more elusive forest dwellers. Civets, the shy mouse deer, the tiny slender loris, the small clawed otter, the leopard cat, and the brown mongoose amongst others. He has snapped poachers sneaking through the forests and has helped local officials to identify the culprits. But it's the Tiger that excites him the most. The stripes on a Tiger are like a fingerprint, each unique to the individual. By photographing them Mandy has been able to estimate a population of more than 40 individuals in the BR Hills Reserve and with 50 sighting it's likely that he's seen most of them personally. His eyes light up when he tells me how opening a camera trap in the morning is like tearing open a present on Christmas day. 'I always hope for a Tiger inside but anything is a treat'.
I hope Santa visits in the night.
16th July 2009Excitedly we hurried to the camera trap. I really expected my luck to be in. Afterall here I was with one of the top tiger trackers but as we flicked through the images it was false call after false call.
Something had triggered the camera alright - maybe something moving too fast to actually be photographed. Whatever it was we had a dozen or so photographs of the other side of the path. And then, finally something... Pale with dark marks. It was a Civet, a real nocturnal dweller and a real privelidge to see. But not a tiger! And as we flicked forward the only other thing we had captured was a mouse. Sadly my dreams of seeing a tiger were over for now. Mandanna showed me the magnificent images he had captured at other times on that same track. Beautiful as they were it just didn't seem to excite me in the same way. At least I can go home happy that I smelt the pee of a Wild Tiger.
Images: Camera trap images of Civet Cat and Tiger by Mandanna Dilan.
Watch 'Tiger tracking - Poo, Pee & Pugmarks!' posted March 2009
Watch 'Tiger tracking - Poo, Pee & Pugmarks!' posted March 2009
18.7.09
Tasting Kopi Luwak
From www.ironammonite.com
The only man in India to produce Kopi Luwak coffee is a lean, cheerie gentleman named Ganesh. I paid a visit to his 22 acre organic coffee estate, situated just outside BR Hills wildlife reserve.
Ganesh is sitting comfortably on the porch of his large airy house, staring out at a lush and well manicured garden, when I arrive. He seems very pleased to see me and invites me to join him. After a while exchanging pleasantries about my visit to India, and his trip to the UK several years ago, he turns to me, peering over the rim of his tinted glasses. 'you know I've photographed about 30 species of birds from here' he says with a passion that only avid twitchers seem to posses 'I've looked them all up on Wikipedia'. 'I've seen leopards, had a troop of elephants barge across the lawn and I've even heard Tigers growl somewhere off in the distance'. This is a man in touch with wildlife and one with a sense of humour - I immediately warm to him. He laughs as he goes on to tell me how the Elephants don't bother him anymore 'I've dug a trench all the way around - 40 feet by 40 feet'.
He waves over to his coffee plants in the distance, as neatly arranged as his garden and spreading as far as I could see. 'it's an average size estate' he says 'but I'm no connessiur' 'I do have a fondness for a very special cup though'. He's referring to Kopi Luwak, more commonly known as 'Civet Cat Coffee' - the most expensive coffee in the world. He pours the steamy black liquid into a delicate bone china cup and offers it to me.
Every December his estate is visited by a hoard of tiny palm civets. Small nocturnal mammals which look like a cross between a weasel and a small cat. They've come for the succulent red coffee fruits, selectively picking the ripest and sweetest, wolfing them down during the night. While the damage is minimal many crop producers might go to the extreme to protect their livelihood from such an invasion, yet for Ganesh, a keen Wildlife watcher, it's actually a treat. Since reading an article in National Geographic about the production of Kopi Luwak in Korea he has simply just let the Civets get on with their nocturnal gorging. On occassion he even catches them in the act and just keeps his distance observing them as they stand on their hind legs to reach the best fruit. 'It's only the fruity outer layer that their interested in' He goes on to tell me how the two coffee beans at the core of each fruit are concentrated, cleaned and processed as they pass through the civets digestive tract, eventually being dumped - usually under a coffee plant for Ganesh to find in the morning. 'All I have to do is go around popping the poop into a basket for roasting later.' he says with a grin.
It's not as disgusting as it might sound. The faeces of the Palm Civet actually resembles a healthy snack bar - packed with grain and little else - solid and compact. 'very little mess' he assures me 'although my sister won't touch it with a barge pole' he says with a laugh. What usually takes Ganesh five days of processing is achieved in one night by the Civet. No wonder he likes it. He usually collects about 5 kgs in a season, enough for about 200 cups. This is a considerable amount when you consider that only 450 kgs ever reach the world market per year, almost all from the far east. It's rareity not only brings in a high market rate - £50 a cup in Selfridges, London - but it also brings a torrent of visitors to Ganeshs door. Every one keen to give it a try. He doesn't sell it but he does enjoy the reaction.
Now it's my chance to try this much prized delicacy. Ganesh has noticed that I've been suspiciously swilling the cup in my hands for a while now. 'Go ahead it's the best cup of coffee you'll ever have' he says confidently. 'is it safe' I reply with a nervous smile looking down into the deep dark swirling liquid, he assures me that he's fighting fit after drinking hundreds of cups. I raise the cup to my nose and take a deep whiff. The aroma is sweet, rich, smooth, the usual biterness of coffee has been replaced with a subtle hint of chocolate. It's nothing spectacular but it is pleasant. As he gestures for me to continue I nervously purse me lips over the edge of the bone china and gulp...
After a moment allowing my taste buds to recoil from the expected onslaught I find them being seduced by the flavour. It is, as it smelt - rich and smooth. To me it tastes a bit nutty. As it swirls around my mouth it enchants my palette. I'm being carried away by the flavour. But then it dawns on me...
I realise that the situation has probably heightened my senses to the subtleties of coffee - the fresh air and warm company. It's not necessarily the coffee itself. Much in the way a wine tasting workshop would focus my taste on the fruitiness of various wines, my palette is momentarily fine tuned to Kopi Luwak - no wonder it tastes so good.
It's tempting to try and hype Kopi Luwak, to describe it as a life changing experience. I now realise that if I didn't know of it's peculiar processing, and if I wasn't concentrating and willing it to provide the ultimate taste sensation, Kopi Luwak probably wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. Nether-the-less Ganesh pours me another cup which I gratefully accept.
If anything Civet Cat Coffee has made me aware of a great crime. That of thoughtless chugging. Coffee is a silent friend always by my side but taken for granted. I thank Ganesh for helping to refuel an appreciation for my caffienated sidekick and as I depart his company I make a silent pledge to try and pay attention to my next cup of smooth roast.
Photographs: Civet Scat by Kalyan Varma
Asian Palm Civet: Wikipedia creative commons
The only man in India to produce Kopi Luwak coffee is a lean, cheerie gentleman named Ganesh. I paid a visit to his 22 acre organic coffee estate, situated just outside BR Hills wildlife reserve.
Ganesh is sitting comfortably on the porch of his large airy house, staring out at a lush and well manicured garden, when I arrive. He seems very pleased to see me and invites me to join him. After a while exchanging pleasantries about my visit to India, and his trip to the UK several years ago, he turns to me, peering over the rim of his tinted glasses. 'you know I've photographed about 30 species of birds from here' he says with a passion that only avid twitchers seem to posses 'I've looked them all up on Wikipedia'. 'I've seen leopards, had a troop of elephants barge across the lawn and I've even heard Tigers growl somewhere off in the distance'. This is a man in touch with wildlife and one with a sense of humour - I immediately warm to him. He laughs as he goes on to tell me how the Elephants don't bother him anymore 'I've dug a trench all the way around - 40 feet by 40 feet'.
He waves over to his coffee plants in the distance, as neatly arranged as his garden and spreading as far as I could see. 'it's an average size estate' he says 'but I'm no connessiur' 'I do have a fondness for a very special cup though'. He's referring to Kopi Luwak, more commonly known as 'Civet Cat Coffee' - the most expensive coffee in the world. He pours the steamy black liquid into a delicate bone china cup and offers it to me.
Every December his estate is visited by a hoard of tiny palm civets. Small nocturnal mammals which look like a cross between a weasel and a small cat. They've come for the succulent red coffee fruits, selectively picking the ripest and sweetest, wolfing them down during the night. While the damage is minimal many crop producers might go to the extreme to protect their livelihood from such an invasion, yet for Ganesh, a keen Wildlife watcher, it's actually a treat. Since reading an article in National Geographic about the production of Kopi Luwak in Korea he has simply just let the Civets get on with their nocturnal gorging. On occassion he even catches them in the act and just keeps his distance observing them as they stand on their hind legs to reach the best fruit. 'It's only the fruity outer layer that their interested in' He goes on to tell me how the two coffee beans at the core of each fruit are concentrated, cleaned and processed as they pass through the civets digestive tract, eventually being dumped - usually under a coffee plant for Ganesh to find in the morning. 'All I have to do is go around popping the poop into a basket for roasting later.' he says with a grin.
It's not as disgusting as it might sound. The faeces of the Palm Civet actually resembles a healthy snack bar - packed with grain and little else - solid and compact. 'very little mess' he assures me 'although my sister won't touch it with a barge pole' he says with a laugh. What usually takes Ganesh five days of processing is achieved in one night by the Civet. No wonder he likes it. He usually collects about 5 kgs in a season, enough for about 200 cups. This is a considerable amount when you consider that only 450 kgs ever reach the world market per year, almost all from the far east. It's rareity not only brings in a high market rate - £50 a cup in Selfridges, London - but it also brings a torrent of visitors to Ganeshs door. Every one keen to give it a try. He doesn't sell it but he does enjoy the reaction.
Now it's my chance to try this much prized delicacy. Ganesh has noticed that I've been suspiciously swilling the cup in my hands for a while now. 'Go ahead it's the best cup of coffee you'll ever have' he says confidently. 'is it safe' I reply with a nervous smile looking down into the deep dark swirling liquid, he assures me that he's fighting fit after drinking hundreds of cups. I raise the cup to my nose and take a deep whiff. The aroma is sweet, rich, smooth, the usual biterness of coffee has been replaced with a subtle hint of chocolate. It's nothing spectacular but it is pleasant. As he gestures for me to continue I nervously purse me lips over the edge of the bone china and gulp...
After a moment allowing my taste buds to recoil from the expected onslaught I find them being seduced by the flavour. It is, as it smelt - rich and smooth. To me it tastes a bit nutty. As it swirls around my mouth it enchants my palette. I'm being carried away by the flavour. But then it dawns on me...
I realise that the situation has probably heightened my senses to the subtleties of coffee - the fresh air and warm company. It's not necessarily the coffee itself. Much in the way a wine tasting workshop would focus my taste on the fruitiness of various wines, my palette is momentarily fine tuned to Kopi Luwak - no wonder it tastes so good.
It's tempting to try and hype Kopi Luwak, to describe it as a life changing experience. I now realise that if I didn't know of it's peculiar processing, and if I wasn't concentrating and willing it to provide the ultimate taste sensation, Kopi Luwak probably wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. Nether-the-less Ganesh pours me another cup which I gratefully accept.
If anything Civet Cat Coffee has made me aware of a great crime. That of thoughtless chugging. Coffee is a silent friend always by my side but taken for granted. I thank Ganesh for helping to refuel an appreciation for my caffienated sidekick and as I depart his company I make a silent pledge to try and pay attention to my next cup of smooth roast.
Photographs: Civet Scat by Kalyan Varma
Asian Palm Civet: Wikipedia creative commons
16.7.09
King of the Road: Charged by an Elephant
From www.ironammonite.com
Only a few hours ago, whilst driving through the BR Hills reserve on the search for Tigers we encountered three elephants blocking our route. Two large females and a small calf. It was getting dark and we needed to pass. Rather than startle them we switched off the engine and waited... hopefully they would return to the forest and allow us to pass. But rather than oblige us they slowly moved in our direction, lazily browsing on the vegetation as they came closer and closer. They were either oblivious to our presence or considered us of no threat - we knew that this mutual understanding could all change in the blink of an eye. The tiny calf was sandwiched between the colossal flanks of the two adults and it seemed pretty carefree as it swung its trunk around, occasionally resting its head against the side of one of its guardians. It was a real privilege to see such intimacy. As they exchanged caresses, their trunks touching and stroking each other, they were gentle giants slowly plodding towards us. We were lost in the moment, observing this beautiful scene as these magnificent animals simply went about their daily lives.
It had been almost half an hour of bliss when the largest of the two adults decided that we had pried into her family life a little too much. She moved in front of her calf and looked straight at us, showing the whites of her eyes, we could tell she was a little more than peeved. She was making it perfectly clear that it was we who was blocking her route. It was rapidly getting dark and if we retreated it was 10kms back to camp - along dangerous tracks and narrow cliff edges. My friends Kalyan and Madanna, two very experienced trackers had been close to wild elephants hundreds of times and their instinct was to hold our ground a little longer hoping that they would just move away and bypass us.
Suddenly my blood chilled. The large female made an alert call so loud the forest echoed and my bones shook. Within minutes two more elephants had appeared from within the dense vegetation. She was building an army against us. Several minutes later she called again and three more arrived. We switched the engine on and slowly started reversing. She took this as an opportunity to ensure that there was no misunderstanding as to who was king of the road. She put her large bony head down and charged. My heart stopped. I had seen this hundreds of times in films, but here I was in an Indian forest being charged by a huge elephant. It all played out in slow motion. As my heart sank deeper I could see the elephants head slowly moving up and down with every powerful step. I simply had time to fire of one photo before I froze. She stopped less than a metre short of hitting us, a cloud of dust filled the air - we'd been lucky this time. I could hear a uniform sigh of relief. Kalyan and Mandanna admitted that they had never seen such a tour-de-force of elephant stubbornness. We turned around and drove the long way home, buzzing with adrenalin from our close encounter.
Only a few hours ago, whilst driving through the BR Hills reserve on the search for Tigers we encountered three elephants blocking our route. Two large females and a small calf. It was getting dark and we needed to pass. Rather than startle them we switched off the engine and waited... hopefully they would return to the forest and allow us to pass. But rather than oblige us they slowly moved in our direction, lazily browsing on the vegetation as they came closer and closer. They were either oblivious to our presence or considered us of no threat - we knew that this mutual understanding could all change in the blink of an eye. The tiny calf was sandwiched between the colossal flanks of the two adults and it seemed pretty carefree as it swung its trunk around, occasionally resting its head against the side of one of its guardians. It was a real privilege to see such intimacy. As they exchanged caresses, their trunks touching and stroking each other, they were gentle giants slowly plodding towards us. We were lost in the moment, observing this beautiful scene as these magnificent animals simply went about their daily lives.
It had been almost half an hour of bliss when the largest of the two adults decided that we had pried into her family life a little too much. She moved in front of her calf and looked straight at us, showing the whites of her eyes, we could tell she was a little more than peeved. She was making it perfectly clear that it was we who was blocking her route. It was rapidly getting dark and if we retreated it was 10kms back to camp - along dangerous tracks and narrow cliff edges. My friends Kalyan and Madanna, two very experienced trackers had been close to wild elephants hundreds of times and their instinct was to hold our ground a little longer hoping that they would just move away and bypass us.
Suddenly my blood chilled. The large female made an alert call so loud the forest echoed and my bones shook. Within minutes two more elephants had appeared from within the dense vegetation. She was building an army against us. Several minutes later she called again and three more arrived. We switched the engine on and slowly started reversing. She took this as an opportunity to ensure that there was no misunderstanding as to who was king of the road. She put her large bony head down and charged. My heart stopped. I had seen this hundreds of times in films, but here I was in an Indian forest being charged by a huge elephant. It all played out in slow motion. As my heart sank deeper I could see the elephants head slowly moving up and down with every powerful step. I simply had time to fire of one photo before I froze. She stopped less than a metre short of hitting us, a cloud of dust filled the air - we'd been lucky this time. I could hear a uniform sigh of relief. Kalyan and Mandanna admitted that they had never seen such a tour-de-force of elephant stubbornness. We turned around and drove the long way home, buzzing with adrenalin from our close encounter.
9.7.09
A tea drinker repents
From www.ironammonite.com
Fragmentation of the forest by gargantuan tea estates has had a devastating effect on the Biodiversity of the Western Ghats. What was once a vast forest teeming with the sounds of wildlife is now a silent sea of tea leaves. What little remains of the forest has been isolated as tiny pockets, islands of life clinging on to an uncertain future. At any time they could be devoured by the sprawling beast that surrounds them. Now dont get me wrong, the estates have an ethereal beauty all of their own - aesthetically enchanting to the foreign traveller, their undulations easing the eye across the landscape as mist pulses around them. They support the local economies, provide thousands of jobs and quench an international thirst for tea.
As you drive through the quaint tiny tea villages, and past the armies of tea pickers, you'd be forgiven for thinking that there was still plenty of forest to sustain a healthy wildlife population. But most of the 'islands' you see surrounding the estates are not rich multilayered forest at all, they are homogenous alien tumours of planted Eucalyptus - as silent as the tea estates and planted for one purpose only - to grow fast and be chopped down for fuel. So when you strip it all back all the unique mammals, birds, insects, plants, are left with are tiny ecological prisons, trapping them inside an ever decreasing world. Roads carve them up leaving rare species with the daily task of dodging traffic. Elephants, tigers, gliding squirrels, bison, lion-tailed macaques all once freely roamed. The forest depended on them and they depended on the forest. Now they depend on man.
I met Sridhar & Divya Mudappa, a husband and wife team who have spent the past seven years working with the estate managers, convincing them of their ecological responsibility and turning abandoned land, deemed usless to the plantation, back into lush forest. 'It's no easy task' Sridhar tells me, 'there's not much space to work with, maybe a few hectares here and a few there but it can all make a difference to sustaining the diversity and abundance of wildlife in the area' 'we can spend years convincing a manager, insisting on their support as part of their corporate policy and then we spend years regenerating the land, but in one fell swoop it can all be reversed' 'the estate may be sold to a company with less concern for the wildlife, the trees are felled and all the hard work starts again'.
Shridar & Diya took me to their nursery and showed me row upon row of young saplings, standing neat and tidy like an army ready to do battle. Elsewhere new recruits glistened, giant seeds of all shapes and sizes had been individually planted in narrow black bags, each seed painstakingly collected from roadsides where they would otherwise have been crushed by cars. All the ingredients for a healthy rainforest seemed to be here, pre-ordained veterans.
The onset of the monsoon signals the planting season. The torrents of water blown over from the Indian ocean provide a surge of energy giving the saplings their best possible chance of survival. Now it was my turn to help so I donned my rain gear, pulled up my leech socks and prepared to repent for a lifetime of tea drinking...
As you drive through the quaint tiny tea villages, and past the armies of tea pickers, you'd be forgiven for thinking that there was still plenty of forest to sustain a healthy wildlife population. But most of the 'islands' you see surrounding the estates are not rich multilayered forest at all, they are homogenous alien tumours of planted Eucalyptus - as silent as the tea estates and planted for one purpose only - to grow fast and be chopped down for fuel. So when you strip it all back all the unique mammals, birds, insects, plants, are left with are tiny ecological prisons, trapping them inside an ever decreasing world. Roads carve them up leaving rare species with the daily task of dodging traffic. Elephants, tigers, gliding squirrels, bison, lion-tailed macaques all once freely roamed. The forest depended on them and they depended on the forest. Now they depend on man.
I met Sridhar & Divya Mudappa, a husband and wife team who have spent the past seven years working with the estate managers, convincing them of their ecological responsibility and turning abandoned land, deemed usless to the plantation, back into lush forest. 'It's no easy task' Sridhar tells me, 'there's not much space to work with, maybe a few hectares here and a few there but it can all make a difference to sustaining the diversity and abundance of wildlife in the area' 'we can spend years convincing a manager, insisting on their support as part of their corporate policy and then we spend years regenerating the land, but in one fell swoop it can all be reversed' 'the estate may be sold to a company with less concern for the wildlife, the trees are felled and all the hard work starts again'.
Shridar & Diya took me to their nursery and showed me row upon row of young saplings, standing neat and tidy like an army ready to do battle. Elsewhere new recruits glistened, giant seeds of all shapes and sizes had been individually planted in narrow black bags, each seed painstakingly collected from roadsides where they would otherwise have been crushed by cars. All the ingredients for a healthy rainforest seemed to be here, pre-ordained veterans.
The onset of the monsoon signals the planting season. The torrents of water blown over from the Indian ocean provide a surge of energy giving the saplings their best possible chance of survival. Now it was my turn to help so I donned my rain gear, pulled up my leech socks and prepared to repent for a lifetime of tea drinking...
Mountain to Mountain - Munnar to Valparai
From www.ironammonite.com
Travelling through the Western Ghats you pass by a whole cross section of Indian society - people, culture, religion, as diverse as the wildlife and just as vibrant. Statues of saints stand illuminated by the roadside echoing the deep Christian beliefs that were first brought here by the Portuguese. Ornate, brightly coloured Hindu temples lie at every turning, adorned with effigies of Ganesh and Vishnu. Huge intricately painted trucks greet you with religious quotation as they almost ram you off the road. It gives me a slight sense of ease to think that the last thing I might see are the words 'Allah loves you' or 'Vishnu brings peace'.
Driving from Munnar to Valparai requires a steep descent of 2000 metres, a drive for several hours across the plains, and a rapid ascent to 1600 metres. It's a rollercoaster of a ride carefully maneouvering around the 40 hairpin bends that queze your stomach along the way. A phenomenol view greets your every turn.
As you begin this journey you leave behind the mist and goats of the grasslands, cut through the vast tea estates and sweep through high altitude forest and cascading waterfalls. Then you hit the humid zone of the plains. Here villages are coated with banana leaves, mangoes lie in huge piles by the roadside, and children run by with crude cricket bats. Huge flat fields spread out before you, framed by the distinct sillouhette of the Salihydras - The Western Ghats. From somewhere resembling the Yorkshire Dales you now find yourself in the Carribbean.
On the plains the landscape is much drier, a result of the huge rain shadow cast by the Ghats. Palm tree plantations line your route and the air tastes salty. It reminds me of a tropical beach only we're hundreds of miles from the sea. People seem more relaxed, happier, chilled-out, maybe because the sky isn't pouring buckets. Maybe it's because my Seasonal Anxiety Disorder is alieviated and I'm seeing things with my sunny hat on! It doesn't last long. As we climb higher the Tea estates return to view and the monsoon rain pours it's tears on us like an old friend happy to see us again.
We have arrived in Valparai.
Travelling through the Western Ghats you pass by a whole cross section of Indian society - people, culture, religion, as diverse as the wildlife and just as vibrant. Statues of saints stand illuminated by the roadside echoing the deep Christian beliefs that were first brought here by the Portuguese. Ornate, brightly coloured Hindu temples lie at every turning, adorned with effigies of Ganesh and Vishnu. Huge intricately painted trucks greet you with religious quotation as they almost ram you off the road. It gives me a slight sense of ease to think that the last thing I might see are the words 'Allah loves you' or 'Vishnu brings peace'.
Driving from Munnar to Valparai requires a steep descent of 2000 metres, a drive for several hours across the plains, and a rapid ascent to 1600 metres. It's a rollercoaster of a ride carefully maneouvering around the 40 hairpin bends that queze your stomach along the way. A phenomenol view greets your every turn.
As you begin this journey you leave behind the mist and goats of the grasslands, cut through the vast tea estates and sweep through high altitude forest and cascading waterfalls. Then you hit the humid zone of the plains. Here villages are coated with banana leaves, mangoes lie in huge piles by the roadside, and children run by with crude cricket bats. Huge flat fields spread out before you, framed by the distinct sillouhette of the Salihydras - The Western Ghats. From somewhere resembling the Yorkshire Dales you now find yourself in the Carribbean.
On the plains the landscape is much drier, a result of the huge rain shadow cast by the Ghats. Palm tree plantations line your route and the air tastes salty. It reminds me of a tropical beach only we're hundreds of miles from the sea. People seem more relaxed, happier, chilled-out, maybe because the sky isn't pouring buckets. Maybe it's because my Seasonal Anxiety Disorder is alieviated and I'm seeing things with my sunny hat on! It doesn't last long. As we climb higher the Tea estates return to view and the monsoon rain pours it's tears on us like an old friend happy to see us again.
We have arrived in Valparai.
8.7.09
The Nilgiri Tahr & Tea
From www.ironammonite.com
The High Range Club in Munnar is a remnant of British colonialism. Quintisentially English, from the wooden panels proudly listing sporting achievements to the sign on the door saying "men only" - and the crass willy humour in the gents. A polished wood panelled bar adorned with hunting trophies and leather chairs defines the age when the British claimed this area as their own. You can almost taste the cigar-filled air as moth-bitten Tigers, Bison and Niligri Tahr stare down at you with an eternal look of surprise locked on their faces. Cabinets glint with silver, and guns boastfully shine above a collection of old hunting hats. The photos on the wall could just as easily be from the set of 'Carry on up the Khyber'. It's like discovering a piece of Britain perched atop a mountain in the middle of India, and it rains here almost continuously for 5 months of the year! You can see why the British loved it.
Once a lush forest teeming with elephants and tigers the founders of the High Range Club started the craze for replacing this crucial habitat with mile upon mile of tea plantations. Perfectly manicured, and like a giant green jigsaw the tea bushes are tightly interlocked to use up every possible inch of space leaving no room for wildlife. To me it conjurs up an image of a huge scaley reptile cutting through the landscape.
The tigers and elephants are now all but gone but one prized hunting trophy hangs on, clinging to survival on the rocky precipices and grasslands that lie just a few hundred metres higher in the mountains above Munnar. The Nilgiri Tahr.
The Nilgiri Tahr is a close relative of the sheep and I can honestly say that searching for a sheep in India seems like a rather bizarre thing to do, but tourists come from across the country to catch a glimpse of this national treasure. Thanks to the hunting achievements of the high range club there are now only 3000 left in the wild. It's special place in the hearts of Indians however does not stem from it's rareity but from it's uniqueness as the only goat native to the tropics. Standing in a cold, wet marsh surrounded by mist, the tropics is the last place you'd think you were. The locals warmly refer to them as cloud goats, and you can see why!
A close encounter with a dominant male really made my day. Standing high and proud on a rock, looking like Mufasa from the 'Lion King' as he watched over his entourage of females grazing around me. He seemed pretty content and saw this strange looking European biped as no challenge to his masculinity. Non-the-less he came close to check me out. His large prominant horns making it clear that this was one sheep I wasn't going to mess with!
The High Range Association still exists but it now focusses it's attention on conservation, and the Nilgiri Thar remain safe and protected in Evikulam National Park.
Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer
The High Range Club in Munnar is a remnant of British colonialism. Quintisentially English, from the wooden panels proudly listing sporting achievements to the sign on the door saying "men only" - and the crass willy humour in the gents. A polished wood panelled bar adorned with hunting trophies and leather chairs defines the age when the British claimed this area as their own. You can almost taste the cigar-filled air as moth-bitten Tigers, Bison and Niligri Tahr stare down at you with an eternal look of surprise locked on their faces. Cabinets glint with silver, and guns boastfully shine above a collection of old hunting hats. The photos on the wall could just as easily be from the set of 'Carry on up the Khyber'. It's like discovering a piece of Britain perched atop a mountain in the middle of India, and it rains here almost continuously for 5 months of the year! You can see why the British loved it.
Once a lush forest teeming with elephants and tigers the founders of the High Range Club started the craze for replacing this crucial habitat with mile upon mile of tea plantations. Perfectly manicured, and like a giant green jigsaw the tea bushes are tightly interlocked to use up every possible inch of space leaving no room for wildlife. To me it conjurs up an image of a huge scaley reptile cutting through the landscape.
The tigers and elephants are now all but gone but one prized hunting trophy hangs on, clinging to survival on the rocky precipices and grasslands that lie just a few hundred metres higher in the mountains above Munnar. The Nilgiri Tahr.
A close encounter with a dominant male really made my day. Standing high and proud on a rock, looking like Mufasa from the 'Lion King' as he watched over his entourage of females grazing around me. He seemed pretty content and saw this strange looking European biped as no challenge to his masculinity. Non-the-less he came close to check me out. His large prominant horns making it clear that this was one sheep I wasn't going to mess with!
The High Range Association still exists but it now focusses it's attention on conservation, and the Nilgiri Thar remain safe and protected in Evikulam National Park.
30.6.09
Mangoes & Mayhem in Bangalore
From www.ironammonite.com
Mango sellers cry out on dusty street corners, echoing the same calls that greeted the imperialist British over 100 years ago - their legacy is lived by the armies of children playing cricket amidst the crashing noise of 21st century development. Colonial buildings now crumble, glass and steel palaces rise - a homage to the IT industry and the new empire of Indian call centers. This is Bangalore, or Bengaluru as it is now known. A city rich with the sounds of technology amidst a cocophany of honking horns. Chaos for the foreign traveller. Autorickshaws weave and dodge as cows casually roam, stray dogs sleep lazily by the roadside. Entire families precariously balance on the back of chuttering motor bikes. The roads seem lawless - no lanes, no traffic lights, no warnings. Just wit and a sense of survival to see you through the next junction and to that juicy mango, a reward for your perilous journey.
Mango sellers cry out on dusty street corners, echoing the same calls that greeted the imperialist British over 100 years ago - their legacy is lived by the armies of children playing cricket amidst the crashing noise of 21st century development. Colonial buildings now crumble, glass and steel palaces rise - a homage to the IT industry and the new empire of Indian call centers. This is Bangalore, or Bengaluru as it is now known. A city rich with the sounds of technology amidst a cocophany of honking horns. Chaos for the foreign traveller. Autorickshaws weave and dodge as cows casually roam, stray dogs sleep lazily by the roadside. Entire families precariously balance on the back of chuttering motor bikes. The roads seem lawless - no lanes, no traffic lights, no warnings. Just wit and a sense of survival to see you through the next junction and to that juicy mango, a reward for your perilous journey.
22.6.09
PHOTOGRAPHY: Filming on Yap, Micronesia
From www.ironammonite.com
Filming for the BBC Science series 'How Earth made us' coming to BBC2 in 2010.
Filming for the BBC Science series 'How Earth made us' coming to BBC2 in 2010.
Get the flash player here: http://www.adobe.com/flashplayer
25.6.08
Video Diary: Night watch - will the Geese chicks jump?
From www.ironammonite.com
I stay awake on a cliff top watching a nest of Barnacle Geese... will the chicks jump? Gordon sleeps by his camera waiting to film. We should have plenty of warning but will the night work out how we planned?
I stay awake on a cliff top watching a nest of Barnacle Geese... will the chicks jump? Gordon sleeps by his camera waiting to film. We should have plenty of warning but will the night work out how we planned?
22.6.08
Video Diary: We finally discover Barnacle Geese nests
From www.ironammonite.com
Paul Williams and Lasse Ostevold discover Barnacle Geese nests on a very cold day on Svalbard.
Paul Williams and Lasse Ostevold discover Barnacle Geese nests on a very cold day on Svalbard.
21.6.08
Video Diary: Where has the Barnacle Goose nest gone?
From www.ironammonite.com
The Barnacle Goose nest we found yesterday may not have been a nest afterall!
The Barnacle Goose nest we found yesterday may not have been a nest afterall!
20.6.08
Video Diary: Searching the canyon for Barnacle Geese nests
From www.ironammonite.com
I and Lasse Ostevold search high and low for Barnacle Geese nests in a Svalbard canyon.
I and Lasse Ostevold search high and low for Barnacle Geese nests in a Svalbard canyon.
A view from within looking out from the entrance to the canyon.
19.6.08
Video Diary - Arriving in Noisdalen, Svalbard
From www.ironammonite.com
I arrive in Noisdalen, Sassendalen, Svalbard, on a mission to film Barnacle Geese.
I arrive in Noisdalen, Sassendalen, Svalbard, on a mission to film Barnacle Geese.
17.6.08
Video Diary - Oslo on my way to the Arctic
I am currently in Oslo on my way to Svalbard, in the High Arctic, to film Barnacle Geese. I don't know whether I'll be able to update this blog very much but If I can get a satellite connection I'll be sending video, text and photos back for the BBC website. See below for my most recent video diary.
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