Chopta and Tungnath: Himalayan birding havens

When I heard of an upcoming birding trip to Chopta, Uttarkhand, my wife and I signed up at once. A change from my usual annual birding "pilgrimage" to the eastern Himalayas in the northeast, the Western Himalayas promised a different darshan altogether.

Where the Ganges forms: the junction of the Bhagirathi and the Alaknanda at Devprayag

We set off on a chilly November morning from Dehradun airport along the banks of first the Ganges and then the Alaknanda. Reports of recent snowfall at Tungnath made us shiver even more in anticipation. As we crossed Rudraprayag at 900 m, the mixed vegetation started giving way to pine and deodhar trees. The route yielded little other than a black eagle, though our first view of the snow clad Himalayas on a background of bright blue sky made us draw our breath in sharply. We settled down at Mandal for the night after a 10 hour drive. The plan was to spend 4 days at different altitudes (Mandal 1800 m, Chopta 2700 m, Tungnath 3600m and Makkumath 1660 m) to see different species that are adapted to the vegetation and temperature at their level. In the Himalayas, altitudinal migration is common and we hoped the winter cold would drive some of the high altitude specialists such as rosefinches, accentors and snow partridges down into our path.

Day 1 at Mandal:

Bright sunlight on a blue Himalayan sky greeted us the next morning and set the backdrop for some quintessential Himalayan birding at Mandal. Streaked laughingthrushes were everywhere on the ground, akin to common mynas in a city. A speckled piculet drew oohs and aahs. Green backed, black lored and black throated tits showed off their unique features. Dipper fan club followed: that means a bunch of us admiring a brown dipper as it dived and fed on tiny insects in the icy snow melt water, it's waterproof feathers and curved bill perfectly adapted to its unique ecological niche. A mountain hawk eagle, with its characteristic pronounced convex wing trailing edge, perched nearby to show off its crest. The luridly colored scarlet finch lit up the forest like a scarlet beacon while it posed for photos, unconcerned about the gaggle of photographers below. Not for nothing was the variegated laughingthrush named so. The black chinned babbler was cuteness personified, though a tough one to spot. A Kalij pheasant with its long crest (seen only in the western Himalayan hamiltonii subspecies) tolerated our vehicle but not us on foot. The yellow breasted greenfinches glowed bright yellow despite the fading light. Locally grown spinach and eggplant with a chapati-dal meal certainly tasted good afterwards.

Himalayan woodpecker by Sashank Phadke

Male Kalij pheasant by Sashank Phadke: note the crest present only in the Western Himalayan hamiltonii subspecies

Speckled piculet by Sashank Phadke

White throated laughingthrush by Sashank Phadke

Day 2 at Chopta:

A huge flock of Slaty headed parakeets taking off in unison greeted us at daybreak the next day. A grey headed woodpecker joined a large flock of white throated laughingthrushes to forage in a ploughed field. The golden bush robin showed why it was aptly named. After pre-breakfast birding was washed down with parathas and omelettes, we set off on the steep climb to Chopta. A barking deer scampered away nervously and announced our entry into the Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary. A Eurasian jay heralded higher altitudes and a flock of tits (coal, yellow browed, grey headed) were a trailer to what was to follow.The Chopta Green View Resort was our night halt for the next two nights: we were greeted by two lifers. First the Eurasian wren, a nondescript forager around camps with a characteristic short tail sticking out like a periscope, and then the blue capped redstart. The bright sunlight took the edge off the biting cold; we wondered how we would cope once the sun set.

Yellow browed tit by Sashank Phadke

Grey crested tit by Sashank Phadke

Eurasian wren by Sashank Phadke

Chestnut bellied rock thrush by Sashank Phadke

Mistle thrush by Sashank Phadke

We set out for Monal point, an aptly named amphitheater: true theater unfolded serially. Himalayan griffons filled the sky and three golden eagles wheeled overhead and then settled down with the sun glinting off their golden head and necks. Himalayan tahrs watched us warily from atop the impossibly sheer cliff. And then monals! Two handsome males and two females gave us unhurried sightings, the iridescent sheen in bright afternoon sun being almost a give away contrast to the brown slope. Thought we were done? Not really, a pair of yellow throated martens showed up! We celebrated tea that evening with Kolhapuri bhadang, Jaipur chewda, Mumbai sev puri and Chennai murukku: certain confirmation that birders know no borders!

Monal point

Himalayan monal male by Sashank Phadke

Juvenile Himalayan griffon by Sashank Phadke

Day 3 at Tungnath:

Shivering in the shade of the mountain before daybreak, we set off on pony back up the steep 4 km trip to Tungnath, with snow clad Chaukhamba and Kedarnath our constant companions. Trees gave way to rhododendrons which in turn gave way to patches of snow above the tree line. Monals dotted the slopes, much like house hens in a village! A huge flock of Altai accentors took off and landed in unison. Breakfast at the top was followed by photo studio as the sun came out: selfies against the most picturesque Himalayan backdrop imaginable. Ever seen Himalayan tahrs from above, rather than craning your neck from below? We did, from the top (3800m). Lammergeiers banked and wheeled at close range, followed by a Himalayan buzzard.

                         

Snow partridges! The sharp eyes of our local guide Harish Mehtani had spotted them, and a flock of 10 of them let us approach as close as 10 m away! Photos and high fives followed. Another flock of 13 more of these rarely seen birds were again sighted on the way down, likely attracted by the recent snowfall. We felt blessed, and duly offered our darshan and thanks at the ancient Tungnathji temple, though it was closed for the winter. We filled in the rest of the day watching Himalayan griffons at a kill and admiring a maroon oriole as it posed for long. What a day!

Snow partridge by Dr Vaibhav Deshmukh

Snow partridge by Sashank Phadke

Day 4 at Makkumath:

Koklass! The male with a dark metallic green head and crest and the plainer female were our first sightings in the morning. Unlike the monal, this pheasant prefers thick tree cover and is very altitude restricted. As we headed down to Makkumath, a collared owlet glared at us while being mobbed by a bunch of tits. The hill partridges whistled loudly to each other, but did not reveal themselves. A rock bunting looked lovely with its black facial stripes and mauve belly. A Rusty cheeked scimitar babbler was photographed with the sun on it.

Rusty cheeked scimitar-babbler by Sashank Phadke

Male Koklass pheasant by Sashank Phadke

Time to head back, alas. As we took a last photo of Mount Nanda Devi in its snow clad finery, we hoped that the pressures of temple tourism and increasing human encroachment would leave this pheasant paradise intact for generations to come. 

Devkyara: Garden of the Gods

The honking of vehicles at Dehra Dun and typical hill station traffic jams at Mussoorie had left us with frazzled nerves when we checked in at Mori camp on the bank of the river Tons. A hot cup of tea  and clear Himalayan air soothed our nerves: we were greeted by the usual waterside suspects, a plumbeous redstart and a blue whistling-thrush. A crested kingfisher and several red-billed blue magpies promised even better in the five days of trekking to follow.

My wife Meenakshi, daughter Rasika and I were on a five day trek to the remote Obra river valley of the Garhwal Himalayas, and hoped to fit in some birding en route. We started with the obligatory stop to seek blessings at the ancient temple at Mori, with Himalayan vultures lazily circling overhead. Then followed a stop at a stream to inspect a water mill: a spotted forktail and a paradise flycatcher with its long white streamers were bonuses.

The British left behind many impressive things when they left India but the widespread pine forestry practice in the lower and middle Himalayas was not one of them. Much like eucalyptus in South India, this rapidly growing alien absorbs much water and creates an acidic soil which allows few native slower growing species like oak to grow. The resultant monoculture may look pretty but actually is detrimental to the wildlife and birdlife, of which there was little evidence wherever pine stands were.

Our afternoon was filled by the high adrenaline of white water rafting on the river Tons at the surprisingly well organised and equipped outfitters at Mori. The Tons has excellent stretches of white water with levels of difficulty to suit both the beginner and the experienced. It was not easy to identify the lesser fish eagle overhead when you're paddling in frenzied manner and in dire danger of capsizing if you don't pay attention!  The day ended with a prep talk around a bonfire, of the do's and don'ts of Himalayan trekking by our group leader Gaurav Punj, this being the first trek for many in our 14 member group.

Waking up in the Himalayas needs no alarm clock: the profusion of bird calls and early sunrise at 5 am ensures you can't really sleep in. A two hour drive took us to the Supin river: from there on blue sky, white Himalayan rapids and pristine forest were our constant companions as we commenced our trek and forked off upstream along the Obra. Himalayan griffons, about 15 of them, circled overhead and landed on top of a nearby cliff. A brown dipper rode the swift current in search of its meal, while the white-capped water redstart anxiously checked us out. We camped after a 5 km trek at 8800 feet: hot chai and samosas never tasted better.

The 10 km, 3000 foot climb the next day  over rock and streams to the Bewa campsite over about 11 hours was tough! The dense vegetation gave way to juniper and rhododendron, and then glaciers on the montainsides with just scrub above the treeline. A hailstorm left us battered and the slopes treacherous with just the guide's hand to help us ford the landslides, streams and even a glacier. Like a wanderer in a desert who sights an oasis, the sight of our pitched tents at the end seemed truly a blessing from God. The altitude, rough terrain and slippery path had left us with more than just cramping calves and groaning glutes: a couple of us had dehydration and a few were in tears, given the sheer physical and mental stress. Even Rasika, a former National junior level swimmer who could clamber up slopes with ease, found the going tough. My wife Meenakshi who always has had ankle trouble and whose preparation for her first Himalayan trek was light yoga and walks in the neighbourhood, had a bad bout of vomiting and was ready to turn back. That she made it up was entirely a combination of her sheer mental strength and the sturdy guides Ramesh and Surendar who literally hand held her all the way up. Shabaash, good job, super, very nice...were their constant refrains, with "best of luck and thank you" thrown in for good measure!. "Doctor saab, aap tho bhagwan jaise" has been something I've listened to sceptically from patients over the years. On this trip, the guides were truly  "bhagwan jaise" to Meenakshi.   

But the view we awoke to the next morning at the Bewa campsite was amazing! Surrounded by glacier laden mountains on two sides, the north side towered over by the unclimbed snow clad Mount Ranglana, this amphitheater like plateau is near the origin of the Obra river. Northern ravens patrolled the tree-less mountainsides. Rhododendrons bloomed on the plateau. Green grass all over. In the early morning light it a surreal appearance: surely the most picturesque campsite in the world.

While some of us stayed back to rest for a day (same way back next two days!), we set off further up to the mythical Devkyara or Garden of the Gods. A stiff climb of another 2000 feet left us gasping and in dire danger of a heart attack at the high altitude. It was worth it! Just imagine: a grass plateau surrounded by snow clad peaks on three sides. A stream meanders into it and a marsh forms. Bright sunshine and blue sky above. Carpets of wild flowers all around. No wind, just the gentle lull of slowly flowing water. Surely devised by the gods for their own use. We rested there hypnotised for half an hour before commencing the steep descent that left us with quivering quads when we stumbled back to camp. With the rain tumbling down later in the day, a typical pattern in the Himalayas, the rest of the day was spent resting up for the marathon return ahead.

When you have screaming muscles and you're breathing about a 100 times a minute climbing up, it's rather tough to put your mind to birding or focus your binocs on a bird! Spotted and little forktails, Himalayan monals sighted twice in rapid flight downstream, slaty-headed parakeets, Northern ravens at the top, a Kalij pheasant and the congregation of resting Himalayan vultures on a crag were the best sightings among the 30 odds species I recorded on the trek.

Well, make it back we did, thanks to some improved weather, sheer grit on Meenakshi's part and of course the guides. At one point, so jelly-like and numb were her legs that Meenakshi insisted on just being rolled down the valley, rather than walk any more! As we stumbled back into our cars with strained muscles all over, dresses were a couple of sizes looser. So thankful to the gods (and the guides) was Meenakshi that she asked the guides for their favorite deity (Lord Shiva they said) and burst into a melodious devotional song for their benefit. Surely Lord Shiva must have smiled and danced in his garden above?

The Obra Valley trek had been an amazing audience with pristine Himalayan scenery and of course the highlight was the garden of the gods. For me it was a taxing endurance event and to finish it was an incredible high: for Meenakshi it was certainly the toughest thing she had done in several avatars!

Rhododendron

Sunrise at the Bewa campsite

Mount Ranglana towers above the campsite

Bathed in the morning sun

Crossing a glacier

Devkyara view from downstream

Devkyara view from upstream

Just before the usual afternoon showers

Of Tawang and the grandala

Grandala at Mandala, Nikhil? I asked. No, more likely at Sela pass, chuckled Nikhil Bhopale, our group leader. We were on a birding tour to Tawang, tucked away in the northwest corner of Arunachal Pradesh and in the news recently for hosting His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. The grandala, a lovely blue starling-like high altitude dweller had fascinated me for years. Many Buddhists had travelled from afar for their darshan of His Holiness: would I get my darshan of the grandala?

Tawang has the reputation of a mini-Tibet outside Tibet, and is close to the Chinese border. The 1962 war war saw the Chinese forces advance through Tawang all the way to Bomdila, and political analysts say China covets the region, and indeed the entire state of Arunachal, ever since. For us of course, this high altitude area offered a fascinating array of habitats and birds found in few other places in the Himalayas.

Our drive from Guwahati commenced with a pit stop at Deepor Bheel where a black redstart and a great tit broke the monotony of common water birds on show: swamphens, egrets, lesser whistling ducks and herons. A greater and several lesser adjutants circling overhead preceded the stench of a garbage dump, unfortunately the only "habitat" where they can be reliably sighted nowadays. After an overnight halt at Balukphong and a hot cup of roadside tea, we drove north towards the Chinese border along the Kameng river. Overnight rain and overhead mist rendered the evergreen forest even greener, the river flowing on one side and wreathed hornbills crossing majestically overhead. The dull light somehow accentuated the colors: the fairy bluebird, all blue and black, literally lit up the gloom. A stop at a stream threw up the usual suspects, a spotted forktail and white capped water redstart. The yellow-vented warbler with its yellow throat preceded the yellow-bellied warbler: two tongue twisting lifers. A stag party of male orange-bellied leafbirds was gate-crashed by a couple of sultan tits, setting off a stampede among our photographers. When a flock of lesser rufous-headed parrotbills and black-headed shrike-babblers followed, you know it's your kind of day!

We reluctantly re-entered our vehicles, breakfasted on Maggi and omelettes at Sessa and crossed the extensive military installation before Tenga. Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary beckoned temptingly on our left but we held our course north towards Bomdila. As we nodded off after a starchy lunch of noodles and omelettes yet again, we were awakened by a flock of black-faced warblers, a warbler even a novice can identify. Then followed a thrilling retinue of lifers: the impossibly slender-billed scimitar-babbler, the bright red Mrs Gould's sunbird and even the Hume's bush warbler! Tea tasted sweet indeed.

After a night halt at Dirang, we headed to Sela pass. A 3 am start to get there at sunrise rewarded us with ghostly night views of cloud soaked valleys and snow covered ridges as we passed through numerous army outposts. A stop close to the top yielded sightings of the plain-backed thrush, now split into two species. Around a corner a pair of blood pheasants showed off their to-die-for red streakings on a background of snow. The pass, at 4500m, had received heavy unseasonal snow: we barely managed it to the top sliding and slipping over the iced up roads. The snowed-in road, brain numbing altitude, bone chilling cold to -7 degrees Celsius and howling wind sent us scampering into the army cafeteria for hot tea and samosas, while we waited for the roads to open up.

"Grandala" shouted Nikhil, and sprinted off ahead. We huffed and puffed after him in ankle deep snow in the high altitude and there they were: a whole flock of deep navy blue starling sized birds with black wings and tail, circling overhead and even landing by the roadside to allow photos. We were stuck in a "snow" traffic jam, and spent an hour productively feasting our eyes on the grandalas and plain mountain finches.

As we descended below the snow line and stopped for a cup of tea courtesy the Indian Army, a rubbish dump party caught our attention: black-faced laughingthrushes, brown-throated fulvettas and pink-browed, white-browed and dark-breasted rosefinches. Amazing how dumps attract the prettiest of birds. A rufous-breasted accentor, a collared blackbird and a rosy pipit joined the show. A flock of snow pigeons took off in unison and the fire-tailed sunbird danced and danced on a nearby bush, leading to some spectacular photos. Low temperatures and low oxygen levels having been dealt with, low sugar levels were taken care of by lunch at Jang. As we headed on to Tawang, a Darjeeling woodpecker with its yellowish-orange neck patch posed conveniently for photos.

Sela pass in snow has to be the toughest pass I've been through but between the blood pheasants and the grandalas, you would have to say it was worth it!

The next day as we headed west towards Lumla near the Bhutanese border, the birding was rich and back to back. You know it's transitioning into a coniferous zone when the spotted nutcracker and the yellow billed blue magpie put in an appearance. Then followed photo studio: it's defined as light falling on your subject and pin drop silence barring bird calls and the clickety-clack of everything from small auto focus cameras to long lens SLRs going off. The subject was a mixed hunting party: white-browed shrike-babblers, red-tailed minlas, yellow-bellied fantails, white-tailed nuthatches and Blyth's leaf warblers.  A pair of black-throated tits courted unabashed in the open. The ultramarine flycatcher and the large niltava lent their deep blue shades as props.  Bhutan laughingthrushes were seen from up close. A flock of speckled wood pigeons took off in unison. An Asian barred owlet glared at us while Himalayan griffons circled overhead. The bar-throated siva was photographed in bright sunlight. After lunch at Lumla, a prolonged patient wait beside a bush yielded a photo and definite ID of the brown-flanked bush warbler: try it yourself from the bush warbler page in the book!

Like a palace waiting for its prince in exile, Tawang was gaily bedecked with banners and flags with throngs of people waiting in anticipation of the Dalai Lama's arrival. As luck would have it, bad weather meant he would arrive only tomorrow and we took the opportunity to visit the Tawang monastery, the second largest in the world. It was especially done up and in festive mood and we were fortunate enough to get a lovely, long darshan of the Buddha just before it closed for the day.

The next day dawned bright and clear and we were afforded stunning views of snow clad peaks and Tawang town and monastery as we commenced the ascent back to Sela pass. A scan through the river close to the pass for the solitary snipe, a specialist of high altitude rivers and marshes, was unfruitful. The pass without snow was a breeze: was it our minds or our bodies that were acclimatized? We headed to Mandala, a 27 km detour to the west from Dirang. The forests transitioned from coniferous to evergreen and we were greeted by the speckled piculet, one of the tiniest woodpeckers in India. A flock of grey-headed bullfinches drove our photographers into a frenzy. There was enough light for us to appreciate the gravity defying levitation of a Hodgson's treecreeper and the bright yellow and red coloration on a golden-throated barbet before we checked in at the promisingly named Mandala birding lodge.

Located at an altitude of 3000m, the lodge commands a panoramic view of the surrounding hillsides and was tastefully decorated and comfortable. Birding in the coniferous zone the next morning amidst bright red flowering rhododendrons commenced with a to-die-for view of the golden bush robin out in the open. Tits (coal, rufous-vented, grey-crested) truly titillated. Whistler's warbler showed off its spectacles. Yuhinas were dime a dozen. A yellow-rumped honeyguide surprised everyone as its typical honeycomb base was not evident. Then it started raining black-throated parrotbills, a noisy flock suddenly descending on a roadside bamboo clump! And bird call playback was not used even once on the trip, mind you.

Going to one place to see exactly one bird is something one rarely has the luxury for, but the next day we detoured to Sangti Valley (altitude 1500m, about 12 km east of Dirang) to see the long- billed plover that breeds only on shingle banks of larger rivers in West Arunachal. The valley is also known as a wintering ground for the rare black necked crane, but they had already departed for the summer. We spent an anxious hour scanning the shingle banks, before we found and photographed a solitary well camouflaged bird. The relief on Nikhil Bhopale's face was palpable!

Wren-babblers are tiny cryptic inhabitants of the undergrowth which are virtually impossible to see unless you use call playback. So when I spotted a tiny mouse like bird silently scurrying around on the ground near a bush, which turned out on a hurried photo to be the scaly-breasted wren-babbler, I almost danced the jig! As we birded our way south to Bomdila, then Sessa and Balukphong, the customary stop for a customary Maggi lunch at a roadside dhaba with a customary rubbish dump threw up the (by now customary!) sightings at close quarters: this time it was the red-billed leiothrix and grey-sided laughingthrush.  Heard but not seen is the motto of all cuckoos: after hearing its constant maniacal call for the last few days, we finally had good sightings of the large hawk-cuckoo. A black eagle twisted and turned without a single flap in the canopy overhead. Relaxed, detailed sightings of small forest flitters that get etched in your brain for a lifetime are not common: one such for the day was that of the brown-throated fulvetta.  

When you hear a high pitched screech in an evergreen forest, get ready to see the shockingly lurid green magpie: surely a winner in any popular bird pageant. Giving it competition was the miniscule, drab slaty-bellied tesia, rummaging on the ground in the undergrowth, with its own distinctive call. Two difficult to spot charismatic birds with unique calls and appearances. We were quite happy to be the judges and declared them joint winners but we had not reckoned for the red-headed trogon which showed up a short while later!

The area we visited is not wholly a nature's paradise. Tawang town suffers from many of the same ills that plague crowded hill stations all over India. The large army presence contributes its share to ecological degradation in the whole area north of Sela pass, perhaps unavoidable given China's covetous glances at Arunachal Pradesh and the proximity to the border. Despite extensive tree felling, Mandala remains a wonderful high altitude habitat with vast potential as a birding destination and begs formal protection before it is further depredated. Similarly Sangti Valley's endangered black-necked cranes and long-billed plovers need better protection. The dense evergreen forest between Balukphong and Sessa, can well be added to Eaglenest, preventing both unwelcome "projects" and creeping degradation of the habitat. One fears future generations will not enjoy the forest and birding we had on offer unless more areas come under sanctuary status.

For now, head off to Arunachal and enjoy the rich fare on offer!

Shivering at Sela

Grandala by Nikhil Bhopale

Female white-browed shrike-babbler

Male white-browed shrike-babbler

River Kameng

Mandala birding lodge

Black-faced warbler by Nikhil Bhopale

Brownish-flanked bush warbler by Nikhil Bhopale

Golden bush robin by Nikhil Bhopale

Grey-sided laughingthrush by Nikhil Bhopale

Large hawk-cuckoo by Nikhil Bhopale

Long-billed plover by Nikhil Bhopale

Red-billed leiothrix by Nikhil Bhopale

Scaly-breasted wren-babbler by Nikhil Bhopale

Ultramarine flycatcher by Nikhil Bhopale

Greater adjutant

Tawang monastery

Sanctum sanctorum