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Going cuckoo at Galibore

Celebrating a fledgeling foray into birdwatching

“Shussh!” whispers the naturalist, as I rummage in my backpack rather noisily for my binoculars. He points towards a grove of trees and I follow his gaze. I see nothing - just a row of gulmohar trees whose branches are tinged with hues of red. My travel companions, a group of amateur birdwatchers, are clueless as well. It is my first official birdwatching trip with a naturalist and I am learning how to spot birds. I squint through the branches and I see just a pair of mynahs. I look helplessly at my guide and he whispers “three-o-clock “ I have just learnt that the reference to the clock is usually a code to denote the position of a bird on a tree.

I stare again but the bird has already disappeared into a world of leaves. Disappointed, I look aimlessly through my binoculars towards a cluster of coconut trees. I look right into a pair of eyes blinking at me. I gesture rather excitedly at my naturalist and we all peer at the same tree with our binoculars. And looking right back at us, from a hollow in the bark of the tree is a pair of sleepy eyes. “Spotted owlet,” I whisper excitedly and my naturalist gives me an approving look. I have spotted and identified my first bird today – a small stocky owl, with white spots and brown streaks, with bright yellow eyes. I feel on top of the world, experiencing a sense of high at my new found discovery.

The Brown Fish Owl is one of Galibore's famous residents
The Brown Fish Owl is one of Galibore's famous residents

It is early morning and the sun is just rising at Galibore, a small fishing camp located downstream on the banks of the river Cauvery, barely a couple of hours away from Bangalore. A group of anglers have just come in to try their hand at catching the mahseer (or billimeen as it is called in the local language), a fish that weighs more than 45 kilograms and is said to have given many an angler a fight before they catch and release it. We are, however, craning our necks and looking right above us, at the canopy of trees where birds are flitting about.

Before this field trip, the only birds I knew were crows, sparrows, pigeons and mynahs. Although I was fascinated by the avian creatures and their myriad colours and calls, I could barely describe them, let alone identify them. And then I was “initiated” into the world of birds through a naturalist who showed me how to look at birds – by their sizes and shapes, by the curve of their beaks, by the colour of their rumps and by their calls. I discovered a whole new world, which had always been present around us, but invisible to our indifferent eyes.

Back at the camp, my guide draws my attention to the bird that had eluded me a while ago. It has come back to its perch. Looking through my binoculars, I see it this time – a very large bird with a green beak and a prominent eye.

“A blue-faced malkoha,” whispers my guide and I wonder what is so blue about it although it does shimmer in a shade of green. It is one of the largest birds I have seen.

“It’s the eye,” he explains. I see a blue patch around it. I later learn that a bird’s name and the colour attributed to it may not necessarily be synonymous. “A black kite is brown for instance,” says the naturalist adding that oftentimes, a bird is known by its hues – so you have a red-whiskered bulbul, a red-vented bulbul, a grey bulbul, a yellow-throated bulbul, a ruby-throated bulbul among several other species of bulbuls. We set out looking for a few of them.

A view of the Cauvery River, full of Golden Mahseer, in Galibore
A view of the Cauvery River, full of Golden Mahseer, in Galibore

The woods around us explode in a medley of sounds. The birds are active as they exercise their limbs, singing odes to the sun. I learn the basic skills to be a birdwatcher: Patience tops the list. For hours I stare at the same tree, as if I am in deep meditation, looking for movements in the branches or the leaves. A little rustle and I am all eyes, gazing into a world of green, hoping to sight a bird. My friends, who are not into bird-watching, find me either crazy or amusing as I can gaze at nothing for infinity, hoping to get a good sighting. And it is this patience that gifts me a pair of Verditer Flycatchers, their aquamarine coats stand out in the fabric of green. Excited, I follow their flight to another tree to see a Tickell’s Blue Flycatcher, a small bird painted in brilliant hues of blue and orange.

I am alert, patient, excited and relaxed – a bundle of emotions as I learn to spot one bird after another For some birdwatchers it is all about ticking a species off their list; for me, every new discovery amidst the trees gets me high. Colours, calls – they bring out curiosity in me. My senses are heightened as I learn to identify calls as well.

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“There is a difference between a bird’s song and its call,” explains my naturalist. As if on cue, the Puff-throated Babbler, another small bird, begins to sing, its melody luring me into a different world like Keats’ Nightingale.

Leaning against a tree, I let my frayed nerves be soothed by the calls. The sun’s rays filters through the tall trees. And then I see the resident bird of Galibore, a massive brown fish owl, with its prominent ear tufts and bright yellow eyes, staring right into my eyes. It seems a tad unhappy at being roused and does not share the same excitement that I have for its company.

A Hoopoe fans its crest at Galibore
A Hoopoe fans its crest at Galibore

The woods suddenly become silent. As my naturalist says, the birding hours seem to be over. They have retreated into their homes and habitats and it becomes difficult to spot them as the sun’s rays get harsher. I look at my bird book and the list in my hands – about 60 species sighted on my very first outing. But I am craving more. I keep looking around, waiting for one more call, but all I can hear is the rustle of the wind amongst the leaves.

As I plan to leave, a loud call four notes beckons me. It is not a hoot, not a chirp, not a song or a whistle. I stand transfixed. I have not heard that before. I scan the trees with the binoculars and I can see nothing. I gesture to my naturalist and we wait for it again. The bird suddenly becomes silent. We finally decide to leave. Just as I lower the binoculars, it calls again.

“One more bottle,” says the naturalist and I look at him with a weird expression.

“Is that a bird?” I ask.

“No, it’s the call. Listen again - that is what the bird is saying.” I look up and see it camouflaged amongst the leaves – the Indian Cuckoo, a shy bird, conspicuous only by its call. To date I call it the “One More Bottle” Bird.

As the outing ends, I realize that there is an entire world amidst the bushes that I have been blind and deaf to in the last few years. I also learn that a bird can say “One more bottle”, “Brain Fever” or “Did you do it” if you listen carefully to their calls. No wonder people say we birdwatchers are a motley lot who have gone cuckoo!

Getting there

Galibore is about 102 kms from Bangalore. The best way to access it is by road and it takes a little more than two hours to get there via Kanakapura and Sangama. Drive about 10 km from Sangama, where the rivers, Arkavathy and Kaveri meet, and you will reach Galibore Fishing Camp , On the way, you cross Mekedaatu, a cliff that offers you gorgeous views of the rivers and the forests around.

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