They burnt bright this summer
But I hope to never see the same again
Or fight it till either of us perish
There is a lot at stake
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Showing posts with label jungles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jungles. Show all posts
Sunday, August 14, 2016
A Summer of Forest Fires
They burnt bright this summer
But I hope to never see the same again
Or fight it till either of us perish
There is a lot at stake
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Night life in Nainital hills
A lot to see. A lot to do.
Me and bro were madly awake and active in the forests beyond midnight, looking for how life plays out. It is the smaller species that make for the bigger fodder.
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Monday, December 20, 2010
The need for a thousand ears
Words run down the slopes;
A freshwater stream,
split into a thousand.
The thirsty come closer,
or so I wish.
But their thirst is not my affliction,
neither do I tout a permanent riddance.
These words and my visage is transitory -
a stimulant nobody would forever pursue.
Because every thirst is born of a new need,
where every journey leads to a new brook,
and every brook offers a new relief.
These are no ordinary waters.
A freshwater stream,
split into a thousand.
The thirsty come closer,
or so I wish.
But their thirst is not my affliction,
neither do I tout a permanent riddance.
These words and my visage is transitory -
a stimulant nobody would forever pursue.
Because every thirst is born of a new need,
where every journey leads to a new brook,
and every brook offers a new relief.
These are no ordinary waters.
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Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Nightly ghoom (in desperation)
Just returned (close to midnight) fatigued and disappointed after - there's no better way to put this - a failed outing aimed at sighting a tiger/leopard.
Where?...to a nearby ravine (छिनकुआँ, in Gethia itself) that is presently popular for its feline inhabitants that show up now and then, though doing no harm. Last such sighting was just yesterday evening (as the village folks claim). I thought to give it a try late tonight.
We - me and baby brother - set away by 2245, with nothing but a torch at hands. We were there by 2300. The ravine isn't too wide, but in length it extends across the entire mountain, either side of the road. With neither of us having experience about the cattle track that led into it, I found it better if we just sat on one side of the road and wait in anticipation of something. The ravine forces the road to bend inwards sharply, cutting it out of sight from much of the village. There are no houses here, so we were to peace, and dark.
My intention was to listen for the jungle noises - sound gives more information than a single focused beam of light on such occasions. With time and increasing focus, the sounds came by our ears louder and more sustained: sweet serenade of an owl whistling away far atop the mountain, shrill cries of crickets and cicadas from all directions that soon merged with the ambient noise, occasional rustle of the smaller animals or insects, trucks moving up the ribbon-like hill roads. That formed much of the rush. There was a moment of scuffle as something moved in the bushes below, but that turned out only a civet (which, too, only Shiv could manage to locate). We walked back, me feeling like being inside a planetarium - darkness all around with a dazzling nightsky overhead.
The British colonists in 1900s would've called such an outing in search of wildlife as a 'ghoom' (coming from Hindi word घूमना/ghoomna that means roaming about). But theirs were different: they pushed deeper into the forests; they mostly did so during the daytime, or if during the nights then it'd be atop a tree (मचान); either had a support crew at their heels or would come well prepared.
Where?...to a nearby ravine (छिनकुआँ, in Gethia itself) that is presently popular for its feline inhabitants that show up now and then, though doing no harm. Last such sighting was just yesterday evening (as the village folks claim). I thought to give it a try late tonight.
We - me and baby brother - set away by 2245, with nothing but a torch at hands. We were there by 2300. The ravine isn't too wide, but in length it extends across the entire mountain, either side of the road. With neither of us having experience about the cattle track that led into it, I found it better if we just sat on one side of the road and wait in anticipation of something. The ravine forces the road to bend inwards sharply, cutting it out of sight from much of the village. There are no houses here, so we were to peace, and dark.
My intention was to listen for the jungle noises - sound gives more information than a single focused beam of light on such occasions. With time and increasing focus, the sounds came by our ears louder and more sustained: sweet serenade of an owl whistling away far atop the mountain, shrill cries of crickets and cicadas from all directions that soon merged with the ambient noise, occasional rustle of the smaller animals or insects, trucks moving up the ribbon-like hill roads. That formed much of the rush. There was a moment of scuffle as something moved in the bushes below, but that turned out only a civet (which, too, only Shiv could manage to locate). We walked back, me feeling like being inside a planetarium - darkness all around with a dazzling nightsky overhead.
The British colonists in 1900s would've called such an outing in search of wildlife as a 'ghoom' (coming from Hindi word घूमना/ghoomna that means roaming about). But theirs were different: they pushed deeper into the forests; they mostly did so during the daytime, or if during the nights then it'd be atop a tree (मचान); either had a support crew at their heels or would come well prepared.
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Thursday, December 25, 2008
A slice of Corbett country, now online
Finally put the image gallery to a recent trip to parts of Kumaon that you might never hear about online. If not for procrastination, this would've come earlier.
It should be worth more when I'll add some route descriptions and maps as resources. Hard to give a title to this post, but Jim Corbett can be reasonably assumed a binding factor behind the places (and jungles in general). The most obvious binding factor seems Nainital, duh, or Kumaon.
Jo bhi hai, I hope it expresses those 4 meticulously planned, pulse-racing days nicely.
It should be worth more when I'll add some route descriptions and maps as resources. Hard to give a title to this post, but Jim Corbett can be reasonably assumed a binding factor behind the places (and jungles in general). The most obvious binding factor seems Nainital, duh, or Kumaon.
Jo bhi hai, I hope it expresses those 4 meticulously planned, pulse-racing days nicely.
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Sunday, November 02, 2008
Straight from the Scene of Adventure
Writing this sitting in the village of Guniyalekh, 12000ft up in the air, and 30km away from an equipped civilization. Village scenes bring up a romantic image; but this doesn't fall for any of those adjectives. Here it isn't rustic or idyllic, it is WILD. Right now there are at least two man-eating tigers operating in the Kumaon region, and their territory can range over a large area, especially these - both the villages of Padampuri and Kala Agar/Kalagarhi that lie on either side of us accounted for kills in the times of Jim Corbett. It is after dark that I'm writing this; there are only sleeping forests of pine and oak to give company; the stretch of road down the sight lies empty, except for the odd farmer or two awaiting the arrival of a mini-truck to carry their farm produce to the lower regions of Haldwani. We - me and my baby brother - reached here just a little while ago, trekking up our hill in the pale light of tonight's moon; it was great luck that we managed to reach here after setting out as late as 1700 from Bhowali.
It is darker now. Cold out here but not the kind that freezes your bones. It is a rare moment that the heavenly lights - the stars - outnumber the terrestrial ones; here it is so. A mere 6 household lights on this hill and 8 on the hill facing ours put a dull challenge to the millions of stars above; dim lights of Dhari in far distance are optimistic, yet a detachment. The night sky is as clear as can be and drapes around the landscape like a fabric; only in Lansdowne have I seen better. I just caught my first meteor (that I can vividly recall) - a renegade in the form of a white ball streaking through the blackness at almost my eye level. People immediately follow up with fancy wishes, I followed up with the thought of why anybody would do so upon the annihilation of an object that has traveled millions of miles through the space and holds many secrets for the sciences.
Standing outside on the porch was unsettling. The thought of a carnivore lurking in the vicinity eats your head. It's not the scare for me, it's the anticipation that does it, followed by heroic tales spun in the mind while staring into the blackness. Fact remains that this region has dense forests and there is a certified population of carnivore, but a good number of shikaar (ghoral, kakar, wild fowl etc) to keep them disciplined.
The lightbulb count has further reduced to 4. I'll also take to the bed and await sleep after and exhausting day packed with adventure.
It is darker now. Cold out here but not the kind that freezes your bones. It is a rare moment that the heavenly lights - the stars - outnumber the terrestrial ones; here it is so. A mere 6 household lights on this hill and 8 on the hill facing ours put a dull challenge to the millions of stars above; dim lights of Dhari in far distance are optimistic, yet a detachment. The night sky is as clear as can be and drapes around the landscape like a fabric; only in Lansdowne have I seen better. I just caught my first meteor (that I can vividly recall) - a renegade in the form of a white ball streaking through the blackness at almost my eye level. People immediately follow up with fancy wishes, I followed up with the thought of why anybody would do so upon the annihilation of an object that has traveled millions of miles through the space and holds many secrets for the sciences.
Standing outside on the porch was unsettling. The thought of a carnivore lurking in the vicinity eats your head. It's not the scare for me, it's the anticipation that does it, followed by heroic tales spun in the mind while staring into the blackness. Fact remains that this region has dense forests and there is a certified population of carnivore, but a good number of shikaar (ghoral, kakar, wild fowl etc) to keep them disciplined.
The lightbulb count has further reduced to 4. I'll also take to the bed and await sleep after and exhausting day packed with adventure.
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Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sunday, June 01, 2008
A Morning Trek to Kilbury
Last night was a rare one spent in Nainital. It was a good opportunity to explore the forests beyond Nainital - and what a better time than when the first rays of the sun kiss these lands. So with a stomach well fed on Biryani, and a heart dreaming of some luck the next morning, off I went to sleep.
Woke up today, 0540. The plan seemed fading. Not only was it late, but I had morning tea waiting and Shiv was more interested in playing Table Tennis than a walk through the woods. The two of us finally left for table tennis by 0600, but some biting remarks managed to revert Shiv's decision midway. Off, now, we headed towards the slopes of Nainital more populated by Langurs than humans.
I had plans to return back no before we reach Kilbury - a small place beyond the Nainital hills known solely for its floral beauty. Kilbury is about 12km from Nainital (Mallital) by road, the final 9km (starting at Tonk) being void of any human populace (its forests all through). There is a nature trail from Tonk as well, but it promises the same 9km of trek as it goes parallel to the road for a considerable while. The only shortcut that makes a real difference on foot is one which cuts through the town of Nainital to bring you out at Tonk - you save a km or two, but it involves the steepest of climbs I have come across anywhere. Anyways, with promises of a good 20km or so of walk we left. We would go by road, to return back by the nature trail. No baggage; not even water or refreshments.
Once we were past the crowds of Nainital and past Tonk, we were truly in nature's territory. Thick deciduous forests on either side of the road - pine was rare, it was more of Sal. Walking for miles on motorable road without coming across any people sure is something I'd be recalling to my love child(ren). Just langurs and the birds in sight. One could tell how untouched this side of the hill is by their instincts. The Langurs fled away on our approach, huge masses of white/ash hopping between trees. With the urban Langurs, you would expect nothing short of a stand off, where you either end up being chased away or hollering at them, threatening them with any objects within grasp. The sun was out but veiled behind fluffy morning clouds, a mere white dot slowly rising in the sky. After about an hour and forty minutes of walk we reached the Forest Rest House at Kilbury. The place generally doesn't entertain any blokes who show up, but we had a very recent acquaintance in the form of the caretaker of the place. He let us in and offered us some tea as well (prepared on the traditional chulha, not a gas cylinder).
After finishing the tea and a general sortie, we left the place. It was 0800, two hours since we left Nainital. Now we would take the nature trail through dense forest. One - we didn't have any prior idea of the trail, and Two - I had just heard loud barks of a Kakar on the first of the hills that the path would wind through, so was expecting coming across it. The path went parallel to the motor-road for a while, then crossed hills to take its own course. We didn't come across that Kakar, but did come across hill women collecting dry branches in bundles. The path then plunges down, crossing a small stream and then back up. The thick foliage blocks all sunlight and its a rush finding yourself all alone 'out there'. We marched on. No wildlife still, but some very indulgent vistas. The path soon became familiar. The bends and trees and shadows somehow told me I'd been here before. A few minutes into the feeling, and it was confirmed. I did come this far on my previous futile attempt to reach Kilbury on foot, on my (epic) April visit. I could identify the trees and curves now. Soon we joined the trail down from China/Naina Peak and in some time, we were back at Tonk, back to the fringes of Nainital. We finally descended down to Nainital by 0930 - an exhausting outing of three and half hours. Good enough for the day.
Woke up today, 0540. The plan seemed fading. Not only was it late, but I had morning tea waiting and Shiv was more interested in playing Table Tennis than a walk through the woods. The two of us finally left for table tennis by 0600, but some biting remarks managed to revert Shiv's decision midway. Off, now, we headed towards the slopes of Nainital more populated by Langurs than humans.
I had plans to return back no before we reach Kilbury - a small place beyond the Nainital hills known solely for its floral beauty. Kilbury is about 12km from Nainital (Mallital) by road, the final 9km (starting at Tonk) being void of any human populace (its forests all through). There is a nature trail from Tonk as well, but it promises the same 9km of trek as it goes parallel to the road for a considerable while. The only shortcut that makes a real difference on foot is one which cuts through the town of Nainital to bring you out at Tonk - you save a km or two, but it involves the steepest of climbs I have come across anywhere. Anyways, with promises of a good 20km or so of walk we left. We would go by road, to return back by the nature trail. No baggage; not even water or refreshments.
Once we were past the crowds of Nainital and past Tonk, we were truly in nature's territory. Thick deciduous forests on either side of the road - pine was rare, it was more of Sal. Walking for miles on motorable road without coming across any people sure is something I'd be recalling to my love child(ren). Just langurs and the birds in sight. One could tell how untouched this side of the hill is by their instincts. The Langurs fled away on our approach, huge masses of white/ash hopping between trees. With the urban Langurs, you would expect nothing short of a stand off, where you either end up being chased away or hollering at them, threatening them with any objects within grasp. The sun was out but veiled behind fluffy morning clouds, a mere white dot slowly rising in the sky. After about an hour and forty minutes of walk we reached the Forest Rest House at Kilbury. The place generally doesn't entertain any blokes who show up, but we had a very recent acquaintance in the form of the caretaker of the place. He let us in and offered us some tea as well (prepared on the traditional chulha, not a gas cylinder).
After finishing the tea and a general sortie, we left the place. It was 0800, two hours since we left Nainital. Now we would take the nature trail through dense forest. One - we didn't have any prior idea of the trail, and Two - I had just heard loud barks of a Kakar on the first of the hills that the path would wind through, so was expecting coming across it. The path went parallel to the motor-road for a while, then crossed hills to take its own course. We didn't come across that Kakar, but did come across hill women collecting dry branches in bundles. The path then plunges down, crossing a small stream and then back up. The thick foliage blocks all sunlight and its a rush finding yourself all alone 'out there'. We marched on. No wildlife still, but some very indulgent vistas. The path soon became familiar. The bends and trees and shadows somehow told me I'd been here before. A few minutes into the feeling, and it was confirmed. I did come this far on my previous futile attempt to reach Kilbury on foot, on my (epic) April visit. I could identify the trees and curves now. Soon we joined the trail down from China/Naina Peak and in some time, we were back at Tonk, back to the fringes of Nainital. We finally descended down to Nainital by 0930 - an exhausting outing of three and half hours. Good enough for the day.
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