Birding with Ram Gopalakrishnan: February 2017

The plane banked right, then left. Snow clad Khanchendzonga beckoned on the left but my eyes were more fixated on the Himalayan foothills on either side between which our plane weaved as if it were an auto negotiating an over-crowded Chennai street. We were approaching the airport at Paro, Bhutan and I recalled with disquiet that the airport was among the most difficult to negotiate in the world. Gusts of wind that rocked the plane did nothing to ease our minds; anyway a successful landing ensued and we commenced our birding trip in the land of "Gross National Happiness".

Bhutan has several firsts: a country where a monarch abdicated voluntarily to set up a democracy, and where environment preservation is in the forefront. The crystal clear waters of the Pochu river yielded our first major target: the ibisbill, a specialist of such rocky Himalayan rivers. Fading light and the prospect of a 330 am wakeup the next day sent us back to our lodge for a warm bath and dinner. Monals, blood pheasants and tragopans beckoned.

The early morning's sunrays created a flash of iridescent purple by the side of the road as we rounded a corner: shouts of "monal" followed but the charismatic large pheasant hurriedly scurried away before we could get a photo. Pairs of aptly named deep red colored male blood pheasants and plainer grey females were less shy, and we got several frames of this stunner on three occasions, partly compensating for the monal's hurried departure. We had groggily risen at 3 am to make the drive up to Chele-la pass before sunrise and the rising sun regaled us with stunning views of snow clad Mount Jomolhari, the holy (and highest) Bhutanese peak located on the border with China. On the other side of the pass was the town of Haa, the last outpost before Tibet and home to a large Indian military presence, apparently for as long as the last 90 years. Breakfast was at the pass, which at 3988 m was the highest in Bhutan and made us gasp for air and left several of us with headaches. Sandwiches, potato chips (no rules or calorie counting here!) and hot tea helped get over the altitude sickness, but we decided to do our birding on the way down, as descent is the only real antidote.

Rich coniferous forest birding followed: white-winged grosbeaks and a bunch of common mountain finches greeted us, and four species of tits and two species of treecreepers were ticked off. The male collared grosbeak was identified from the almost identical black and yellow grosbeak only by the typically grey headed accompanying female: after all, aren't we all judged by the female company we keep! A pair of rufus-bellied woodpeckers kept calling loudly and actually were photographed mating by Nikhil Bhopale, our group leader.

Soon it was time to leave for the long drive east to Thimphu the capital, for lunch and then on to Punakha. As we crossed Dochu-la pass and headed east, we stopped at the Royal Botanical gardens. A short trail, the Serchu Nature Trail, invited us for an hour of very productive birding. Heard loudly but not seen is the trademark of a cuckoo: a lifer for many of us was the Himalayan cuckoo but the large hawk cuckoo eluded our efforts to track down its maniacal calling. Red tailed minlas and a Eurasian jay were the highlights among the twenty odd other species that we added to our list before heading on to Punakha.

Day 3 was driving day, a strenuous bumpy drive further east to Pele-la pass and then on to Trongsa and Bumthang, on roads made dusty by relaying and widening. Apparently the plan is to two lane and black top the entire road to the eastern border within a year, at a speed unimaginable back in India. The monotony of the drive was broken by sightings of the lesser cuckoo and a pair or crested kingfishers, the largest kingfisher in the subcontinent. The appearance of a pair of yellow-rumped honeyguides near a set of Giant Rock bee nest was the highlight of the morning drive to Pele-la pass.

A mid-morning stroll at Pele-la pass (altitude 3388m) was an idyllic experience in bright sunlight amidst flaming pink and red rhododendrons. A satyr tragopan call got us all excited but we had to settle for excellent photos of the green-tailed sunbird and rufus-vented yuhina. A distinctive warbler with bold black markings on its crown and a yellow eye ring, much like a whiteye, got us all excited. However a subsequent analysis of the photo with two authoritative bird guides still could not pin down its identity: was it Whistler's, green-crowned or grey-crowned (a record for Bhutan)? Voices were raised and vehement opinions were proffered. A truce was called only when we agreed to record it under the old name - golden spectacled warbler - which comprised all three species. Welcome to the world of the crazy bird watcher!

The day droned on in a forgettable amalgam of bumpy, dusty roads and monotonous coniferous forests. We were told by Mincha Wangdi, our Bhutanese host and guide, that we would be taking a detour to visit Tharpaling monastery in the evening, on our way to our night halt at Bumthang. He said we could see monals, blood pheasants and even satyr tragopans there with ease. Some kind of zoo or aviary, we assumed, and dozed off.

We were awakened by a cold blast of wind at the monastery, located at 3625m, but even while we scrambled for our woollens, a monal male and female strolled into view giving us full frame shots in all their iridescent purple finery. As we turned downhill in the fading light, with eyes peeled, the gods smiled again! A handsome male satyr tragopan, all red and spotted with black head and blue neck posed for a full 15 minutes by the roadside to give us shots of a lifetime. The female that followed was the icing on the cake. Somehow the bad roads and sore backs were rapidly forgotten and replaced by broad smiles and high fives.

Next day, the mandatory 330 am rise was followed by a drive in the early morning sun to Shetong-La before reaching the postcard pretty village of Ura. A bright red satyr tragopan paused before scampering off across the road. A monal was glimpsed before it ducked for cover. Not so with the blood pheasants: two separate pairs obligingly pecked insects off the road while our cameras went off like machine guns. The male with blood red throat and black and white markings left us all drooling. And the coup de grace was a flock of brown parrotbills calling loudly and scampering up and down like monkeys on a roadside bush! They say when it rains, it pours. Rather rich birding for a group that didn't use a single call playback throughout our trip. Breakfast after that tasted rather good.

We were just entering the Phrumsengla National Park, named after the 3745 m pass, which was to be our birding destination for the next couple of days. Roadside signs exhorted us to enjoy the tragopan, monal and blood pheasants and even the yellow-rumped honeyguide, which we saw again close to its trademark bees nest habitat. A sign alerted us that we were in one of the best red panda habitats in the word: there are also tigers, leopards and dholes here though sightings of mammals are near impossible due to the rugged terrain and thick evergreen forest. The steep fall in altitude after the pass changes the habitat from rhododendrons and conifers to broad-leaved forest within a short span and explains the rich bio-diversity of this area. Verdant forest and picturesque waterfalls were our constant companions during the drive through the national park. Evening birding in the semi-cultivated area outside the park revealed a dozen or so new species and a troop of capped langurs, one of whom was being mobbed by a group of bronzed drongos. The highlights were the rufus-necked laughingthrush, the striated laughingthrush and the loudly cackling distinctive white-crested laughingthrush. We turned in at dusk for our first break from nonstop birding and travelling at Yongkola, situated on the park fringe on the other side and our home for the next two nights.

The next whole day was to be spent birding at Phrumsengla itself starting at the shockingly late hour of 6 am: we were told that since pheasant sightings were all done with, we could afford to sleep in a bit! The constant pieu-pieu of the great barbet, the plaintive wail of the hill partridge, the ascending maniacal call of the large hawk cuckoo and the ko-ko-ko-ko of the collared owlet was the background symphony on which various soloists were heard: green magpie, beautiful nuthatch, red headed trogon and even the tiny tesia. All were birds one would die to see and not just hear but only the green magpie was sighted from a distance. A magnificent rufous necked hornbill enthralled us for a while before flying off, and a little forktail hopped about near a mountain stream. Grey sided laughingthrushes, a gold-naped finch and a red faced liocichla completed the guard of honor for the morning.

The excitement of seeing a snake on the road had Nikhil Bhopale jumping out of the back window of our vehicle and prompted one of the ladies to replicate his feat, her skills as a yoga teacher coming in handy. It turned out to be a Himalayan keelback, unfortunately badly injured by a prior vehicle. Lifers at Phrumsengla continued in the afternoon: greater rufous-headed parrotbill, a group of yellow breasted greenfinches and a lesser racquet tailed drongo. My lifer list on this trip is up to 30, but it was time to start the two day drive back to Paro the next day.

Glorious morning sunlight bathed Phrumsengla as we started our return with a search for the beautiful nuthatch and the red headed trogon, desperately desired additions to our list. What we got instead was the unmistakable metallic tst-tst-tst of the greater rufous-headed parrotbill, followed by sightings and full frame photos. Then followed that sultan of birds, the sultan tit in all its yellow plumaged finery, in the morning sun. No we didn't see the two we had set out for as we had a strict no call playback policy, but we didn't exactly feel let down by their substitutes.

"A breakfast in hand is worth two birds in the bush" I replied to Nikhil as he said "come on doc, time to move on for more birding". We were at Namling waterfall (means endless tomorrow after the number of times landslides force a rebuilding of the road), enjoying the best breakfast in the world (pooris and bhaji, followed by hot tea) opposite a verdant waterfall. I was in no hurry to move! As the altitude rose and the forest changed from evergreen to coniferous, window birding followed: it's defined as hearing a call or seeing a new species, stopping, jumping out in excitement, seeing and hopefully photographing it and then moving on with a chuckle on your face. Perhaps if we as a society do more window birding and less window shopping, more of us will reach heaven! That is of course, if you don’t overdo the snacks (khakras, banana chips, channa dal, etc) in between each stop. Lifers flowed on the window birding session: red-headed bullfinch, scaly laughingthrush and fire-tailed sunbird whose tail looked like a long red pencil ruler in the bright sunlight. A lunch of noodles and omelettes afterwards never tasted so good!

Our Bhutanese host Mincha Wangdi knew the birding spots like the back of his hand and trotted out a series of delightful one-liners: husband, wife and bachcha (for a family of greenfinches); no, no liocichla's valley is the previous one, this is the green magpie valley; he open the full mouth with the full energy (for a loudly whistling warbler). He was also a fine tenor whose songs on the long drives were naturally inflected by his Buddhist chanting style, and a delightful raconteur who was the source of many a laugh. He had us in splits with his authentic replication of the Malayalam accents of Mr Nayar his former maths school teacher and Mr Kurup his chemistry teacher: you are zimply derrible, I will beed you nizely, yel indo yem indo ezed (l x m x z).

We halted for the night at Trongsa, where morning birding started at the tolerably decent hour of 530 am, and we were promptly rewarded by three lifers: the streak-breasted scimitar-babbler and two laughingthrushes (chestnut-crowned and Bhutan). The satisfaction of seeing so many species without disturbing them or interfering with nesting and breeding by call playback was immense: perhaps Bhutan can take the lead in introducing a national no playback policy for birders as done in parts of Sri Lanka.

It wasn't all milk and honey for us though. The construction of the east -west highway through the country meant that we spent most of our time on bumpy, dusty roads which essentially doubled our driving time and sometimes contributed so the nightmare hour of 330 for wake up followed by check in late at night. While Bhutan is far ahead of most countries in having set aside 60 percent of the country for forest, there is creeping habitat loss to agriculture and development: many of the rare pheasants we saw were outside protected areas. A couple of areas for critically endangered birds such as the black necked crane (Wangdi) and the white bellied heron (Kamichu) have already been destroyed though these iconic birds can still be seen in Pobijikha and Pochu-Punakha respectively. The road widening means it will take a couple of years for the roadside flora and birdlife to recover: no pheasants are being seen in widening areas where they were readily seen formerly.

Still a wonderful week: tragopans, monals, blood pheasants, parrotbills, twelve species of laughingthrushes and glorious scenery will keep my "Gross personal happiness" high for quite a while!

Alpine accentor by Nikhil Bhopale

Ashy bulbul

Bhutan laughingthrush by Hanferd Fernando

Black-faced laughingthrush by Nikhil Bhopale

Blood pheasant (female) by Nikhil Bhopale

Blood pheasant (male) by Nikhil Bhopale

Brown parrotbill by Nikhil Bhopale

Collared grosbeak (female) by Nikhil Bhopale

Collared grosbeak (male) by Nikhil Bhopale

Eurasian magpie by Nikhil Bhopale

Greater rufous-headed parrotbill by Nikhil Bhopale

Himalayan monal (male)

Ibisbill

Lesser racket-tailed drongo by Nikhil Bhopale

Little forktail

Mount Jomolhari

Red-billed chough by Nikhil Bhopale

Rufus sibia

Rufus-breasted accentor

Rufous-vented tit by Nikhil Bhopale

Rufus-vented yuhina

Rusty-flanked treecreeper by Nikhil Bhopale

Satyr tragopan (female) by Nikhil Bhopale

Satyr tragopan (male) by Nikhil Bhopale

Scaly laughingthrush by Nikhil Bhopale

Streak-breasted scimitar babbler by Hanferd Fernando

Streaked spiderhunter

Striated laughingthrush

Sultan tit by Nikhil Bhopale

Verditer flycatcher by Hanferd Fernando

White-winged grosbeak by Nikhil Bhopale

Right around the railway station, the flamingos greet you as you alight: all around the roads out of the city, the water bodies abound with them. Not to mention the black winged stilts, the gulls and the other dozens of the support cast of the wader family. You don't need to strain yourself, crane your neck, trudge on foot or even own a pair of binoculars. No wonder Jamnagar's USP is "effortless birding".

This former princely state, now prominent for its oil refineries, is located on the Gulf of Kutch. The brackish waters and salt pans provide an ideal habitat for flamingoes that breed here; other waders use it as a pit stop on their migratory path to warmer climes. The Marine National Park close by offers a great opportunity to explore sea life from up close during the low tide.

Down curved bill: if bigger it's a curlew, if smaller it's a whimbrel. Up curved fine bill: gotta be an avocet. As wader class got under way, we realised just why Jamnagar is the ideal "starter kit" if you've just started your bird watching career. A short drive to Bedi Bunder on the coast was rewarded by sightings of plovers, sandpipers, terns, gulls, redshanks and other water dwellers: we learnt, not very confidently, how to distinguish between the various sandpiper species. A rare solitary red-necked phalarope, usually a pelagic (found out at sea) bird was sighted bobbing amongst the gulls. What thrilled us most however were some Indian skimmers in flight, with their characteristic longer lower mandible uniquely adapting them to skim the surface of the water to scoop up food. Skimmers are now endangered because their usual habitat, unpolluted rivers with sandbanks such as the Chambal river, is fast vanishing. We later spotted a group of at least 30 birds roosting on a sandbank as sunset approached. A huge black-necked stork, unfortunately another addition to the threatened list, left smiles on our faces as we wound up for the day.

A two hour drive took us to the salt pans of Charakla on the way to the coastal town of Dwarka early the next morning. Our primary aim was to see the rare black-necked grebes, that contrasted with the commoner great crested grebe. As we watched the slender-billed gulls swoop and turn, it turned out that there were gull-billed terns that banked and turned as well among them. Tongue-twister? Generally terns are smaller than gulls, with slender long wings and slender beak but when species among the two swop beak shapes, it does get a bit confusing. The S shaped necks of the greater flamingos, found in groups of dozens provided fantastic photo opportunities. Swarms of cranes dotted the ploughed fields and ponds on the way back: distinguishing demoiselle from common crane was the next lesson for the day. Ducks abounded in the ponds: the butterscotch colored rump of the common teal, as it up-ended, was anything but common and the Eurasian wigeon and spot-billed ducks showed off their colors.

After a deliciously spicy lunch of local Kathiawadi food at Khambalia, we timed our visit to Narara beach, so as to arrive there during the low tide. Protected within the Marine National Park, the ensuing walk through the corals was a delightfully different experience. Sea cucumbers, starfish, ghost and hermit crabs, puffer fish and even a couple of octopuses were encountered with glee! There was of course our primary target species, the regal crab plovers: these striking black and white waders have thick bills adapted to eating crabs and are reliably found in India only in this area. A sighting of the ruddy turnstone, so named after its habit of turning over stones in search of food, rounded off the coral walk.

It's always nice to have a sundowner to get to dinner in a good mood: today it was the lovely Indian courser, found by scouring a vacant ploughed field, its typical habitat.

Next morning, a twenty minute drive took us to the tiny Khijadiya Bird Sanctuary, a unique wetland resulting from man made bunds that prevent saltwater ingress inland. The resultant unique freshwater-saltwater juxtaposition is home to almost 250 species. The interpretation centre at the entrance is of international standards and is easily one of the best in India. Wish they would make passage through such a center essential before you enter or exit any protected area. We saw only common waders and ducks though as lack of rains for the last 3 years had resulted in fewer visitors.

Next up was a visit to Balachadi, a secluded beach to catch up on some exclusively coastal species. We first saw a flock of at least a few hundred crab plovers: perhaps nowhere in the world do they aggregate in such large numbers! A Eurasian oystercatcher, black and white with a red beak, and the great knot were lifers. Jamnagar certainly could do with a Ramsar site and IBA designation, as most of the rarer species such as skimmers and crab plovers abound in the water bodies and beaches outside the sanctuary areas and are therefore vulnerable to habitat loss and environmental degradation.

After lunch, we settled down to a close up relaxed wader tutorial. Right next to the station, flocks of ibises, stilts and flamingos continued to feed just a few metres from us, resulting in some fantastic close up shots. The same group if at least 50 Indian skimmers were still there. Snipe, stint, sandpiper, green shank and ruff were photographed and buttonholed, and the individual species characteristics pinpointed.

The last morning was spent strolling around Lakhota lake, the central landmark of Jamnagar. While kids fed the raucous gulls and pigeons that swooped all over, we left them to gaze at the peacefully scenes on the lake: pelicans, myriad ducks and other waders that peacefully went about their Sunday morning. A large cormorant expertly caught, slowly manoeuvred and then swallowed a huge catfish: we cheered when the fish finally disappeared down its throat.

We felt quite like experts, rather than the timid novices that we were just 48 hours ago. The final bird species count was 132: talk about effortless birding!