White-Cheeked Barbet

It has been a long time since I blogged last about the spotted deer. "Common animals" is now the refrain from many of my friends who have been to Bannerghatta and back. They're not even impressed by the sight of gaur, sambar and Nilgai. Now it's only the tigers and the lions. Even the bear safari draws only as much as a "ho hum" from many of them.
Bangalore city abounds in birdlife. Months ago, my wife and son spotted a grey tit gracing the tabebuia tree in front of my house. Shikras often visit on short notice leaving us seething since to leave the spot and go for the camera might result in our missing out on some interesting behaviour. For instance, just the other day, I was throwing on my clothes preparatory to leaving for work and a screaming squirrel dived from the staircase to the window adjoining it. The screams attracted my attention and I walked quickly but quietly in the direction of the window only to see a shikra on the staircase watching the squirrel. I was spell bound. The spell was, however, broken by Duke who trotted up to investigate the noise in his domain. In a second, the shikra took off and the squirrel, scolded a few times more and took off for parts unknown. Missed photo opportunity? Perhaps, but then I saw how close a Shikra would get to human habitation in search of its prey.
Most weekends, I pack my camera in my car wherever I'm going. It can be to a friend's house or just down the road to the restaurant. This comes in handy when I see any animal life indulging in natural behaviour.
One such occasion was when I visited my in-laws, family in tow. My wife decided, on the way back, that she had to drop in on her old hair dresser for a "quick cut". My son and I sat in our car mulling over the misfortune of having to sit by the road side when I caught sight of a barbet on the electric cable above my head. Telling Adu to keep an eye on it, I slipped to the back seat of the car to change the lens on my camera and came up with some pictures of barbet behaviour.

This barbet left the electric cable and flew down to a nearby branch which, fortunately for me, was even closer. I first photographed the barbet from inside my car and then slowly began to emerge. This bird paid almost no attention to me and sat there, only occasionally changing position to exasperate me.

I soon found out why. It was waiting for its mate. This barbet.

The very branch on which the first one was sitting turned out to be hollow. I hadn't noticed it at all till the mate came in. The second barbet alighted on the branch from below and began to very thoroughly chisel away the wood around a little hollow. Periodically, it took a breather ostensibly to have a look around and make sure that I was harmless or that I had not overstepped my limits.
It remained very actively employed in either enlarging the opening or in delving deeper into the branch.
At some points, it went in so deep, I wondered if it would manage to get out safely.

I had initially thought that the first barbet was a chauvinist and wasn't participating in the excavating activities of the second one. However, a few minutes of putting my camera down and watching the birds convinced me that barbet number one was also equally involved. Both, in fact, were taking turns at digging out the rotten and dried up wood widening and extending what would be their living quarters for that monsoon season.
Soon, the eggs would be laid and then the young would be hatched. In a few weeks, the young ones would be fledged and would begin exploratory flights before joining the world outside which would ring with the "brrrrrr, butterk, butterk, butterk" call. Come summer, the call is heard in the tree laden avenues that still dot Bangalore city. The circle of life goes on.

Oh! Deer

Chital or spotted deer, in South India, are frequently found in close quarters to human habitation. I remember asking about this peculiar occurrence while all other creatures would stay well away from anything human, spotted deer would be found all around huts in the forest.

On safari in Kabini, I photographed so many spotted deer that I began to get quite fed up with them. Some of them were absolute charmers though. Like this fawn that went on the alert when our jeep stopped quite close to it.

I felt quite thrilled with the results when I previewed this picture for the first time and continue to enjoy it each time. Another that gives me a great deal of pleasure is this picture of a fawn suckling. There's something to be said about the care mammals give their young.

The fawn's tail was wagging so fast that I couldn't freeze it. True, the moment was but fleeting. The doe moved away rather quickly, perhaps because we were watching.
October 2007 saw me at B.R. Hills, where once again, I was treated to the sight of chital quite unafraid of human company. Barely a few feet from the safari jeep, this beautiful stag went on the alert filling us with hope that it had sensed a predator. To our disappointment, it turned out to be a second safari jeep.

The deer, we saw didn't seem to be fazed by the squeals of my fellow travellers some of whom had not seen chital in the wild. For Adu and me it was a rather "ho hum, another deer...".
Turning a corner along the beautiful forest trails often offers several surprises. Like the stag with new velvet on his antlers. In a few days he would rub the irritating velvet off and his polished prongs would have done battle for the doe of his choice.

Could it have been this beautiful lady of the forest?

Lal Bagh on Sunday morning

Water fowl aren't quite my cup of tea but this once I was prepared to make an exception. At the Lal Bagh lake, I was striding along ahead of Trupti, Adu, and Pallavi when I stopped stunned. There in front of me, making its stately way across the water was a Spot-Billed Pelican or the Grey Pelican. (Note: This update was provided by Karthik)It's rather benevolent visage was unmistakable despite the absence of the pouch which meant that it had either digested its catch for the day or hadn't much luck. Not too surprising given that all the fish were below the little bridge where some gentleman was tossing breadcrumbs to them. I'm reasonably sure the pelican preferred to eschew human contact.
That wasn't quite the case with this cormorant which took the opportunity to get the fish. Fish go for bread, cormorant goes for fish, and I go for my camera.

Pallavi was quite thrilled by the whole exercise. While she already loves animals and was at Kabini where she watched tigers gambol around (filling us with envy and knowing it too) she wasn't quite up to bird watching. I had promised to take her birding and so that's how we ended up at Lal Bagh at 6.30 a.m. on Sunday.

We had initially skirted the lake, giving it wide berth and made for the Japanese pond instead. I knew there had to be something there and sure enough we spotted a white-breasted water hen among the lily pads. Oblivious to our presence or preferring to ignore us, the water hen continued to forage despite the gunshot-like clicks from my camera.

I couldn't resist getting one of the lilies in the pond in that early morning light. Most of the other birds had flown home already. There were few flowers and fruits for them to forage and there wouldn't have been much point in their lingering on merely to give us the pleasure of their company.

But this white-cheeked barbet hung around picking up some berries from the tree top enabling me to get at least one picture that I considered decent enough to post.

As to what the berries are, someone else will have to help out with identifying the tree.

UPDATE: Karthik has been kind enough to identify the tree on which the barbet was feasting on the berries. It is a Schefflera actinophylla, commonly known as umbrella tree or octopus tree. The tree is native to Australia, New Guinea and Java.

Keeping in mind the last few posts on Bngbirds begging people to leave the mottled wood owls alone, we moved along a completely different path heading for the main gate and were quite surprised that a live Carnatic music performance was in full swing, speakers and all. I do like music but I'm sure the wood owls wouldn't have appreciated it. Come to think of it, there were very few people around the musicians too. Most early morning walkers and joggers were wending their way around the paths their ears firmly plugged into MP3 players and IPODs or even their mobile phones. It just doesn't make sense for me. Here, in the middle of one of the most beautiful gardens in Bangalore, with Nature speaking volumes, people refuse to stop and listen, smell the roses, watch the grass grow.

One couple sat on a bench in meditation while, high above them on a tree branch, a squirrel had scavenged a plastic bag and was dipping into it with gay abandon. I was only praying that it wouldn't bite off a piece of plastic and swallow it.

Trupti and I couldn't, however, resist dropping in on the spotted owlets at their abode in the hollow of a tree. We watched as the tenant vacated the heart-shaped hollow and stepped out to regally regard its uncouth guests who dared to disturb its slumber. Just behind, another owlet tucked its head under its wing and snoozed, probably in the hope that we would mistake it for a misshapen growth on the tree. That's when we spotted these two beauties backlit by the light filtering in through the leaves.

This pair glared at us and, deciding that we must be some wierd but harmless flotsam of humanity, went back to sleep. After about ten minutes of observing them, we left them and quietly climbed up to the lake where we were rewarded with the vision of the pelicans and this lesser egret.

The murky, shallow water lent this picture a very surreal appearance while the sunlight flashed off the dagger like beak. It wasn't until after I got the picture that I realized what a beauty my prize really was.

Nostalgia

I have always found animals and birds fascinating. In my childhood, I spent a considerable time during summer afternoons carefully watching a small beehive on a lemon tree in my backyard while making highly scientific notes like "top part of hive active, bottom part inactive..." and so on. The internet wasn't there then and there were few reference books (I claim) that helped me understand then that the top part of the hive is always active since that's where the bees that have just returned from their foraging flights to communicate location of food source.
It wasn't until, years later, while reading a National Geographic article about a robot bee that danced to communicate a food source at a pre-specified location that I began to understand that I had actually made an observation.
Somewhere along the way, I discovered Gerald Durrell and read with avid and untiring fascination the hilarious adventures that he had while collecting animals for other zoos and, eventually, his own. It wasn't my dream to own a zoo, but to live in the wild, studying animal behavior and recording previously unknown facets of their lives became an obsession. Fortunately for the animals and unfortunately for me that never materialized. I began studying spiders late and discovered that they could be fascinating too.
Take the signature spider for instance.

This juvenile built her web in my balcony and my wife, my son, and I issued strict instructions to the maid that the web wasn't to be disturbed. We watched as she grew, repaired her web which was frequently subject to depredations of wandering butterflies, dragonflies and sundry larger insects. She grew in size and experience but changed her web's location only once in all the time she was there.
A few weeks later, she encased a few hundred eggs in a cocoon and sat there waiting for them to hatch.
Hatch they did, twice. I did get pictures of the babies as they scrambled about, fully formed and already predatory but ignoring each other, perhaps because they were all the same size. Each baby's abdomen couldn't have been more than a mustard seed in size.
While we were engrossed with the signature spider, a jumping spider made her presence known to us. Gathering it up in my hands I let this fearless individual stalk around on my arm while I focussed and shot this picture one-handed.

The image was cropped to get really close to the spider.
She stalked around and frustrated my attempts at photography quite frequently. My wife held the spider on her finger where she settled down.
Yet another fascinating spider that we found in our balcony was the beautiful ant-mimic spider. This spider looks rather like a large red ant and waves its forelegs in the air rather like the antennae of an ant. It is only by observing it closely that one can figure out that the "antennae" are being used for walking and that this particular "ant" actually has eight legs instead of the regulation six.

This ant-mimic spider was safely ensconced in a web in the leaf. From the size of the pedipalps, this specimen can be differenciated as a male.
When it comes to sheer size, the giant wood spider takes the cake. This is a very colorful spider and is very large measuring as much as three to four inches in length. This picture was taken in B.R. Hills in October last year.

However, when it comes to brilliance in color among the spiders that I have seen, nothing beats the Cosmophasis. I am reliably informed that this spider is commonly found in the Andaman and Nicobar islands. But I found this one at the Kabini Jungle Lodges and Resorts.

It was my son who first spotted it and called me in excitement. He stood watch over it while I fitted my poor man's macro (a 3X magnifying filter) to my 18mm lens and shot the spider. I had also posted this picture on India Nature Watch where someone helped identify it.

Tickell's Blue Flycatcher

Monday was Adu's birthday. He cooled off in Jungle Lodges and Resorts' Bannerughatta property overnight on Sunday and we joined him on Monday.



The searing heat beat down on us relentlesslly squashing our enthusiasm thoroughly. Sweating profusely we set out almost as soon as we arrived to see if there were any birds insane enough to venture out into the mid-morning sun.

The bag was a Tickell's Blue Flycatcher and a solitary White Cheeked Barbet besides the ubiquitous Tickell's Flowerpecker.



The Tickell's Blue Flycatcher, wearing of ever seeing the last of us, decided he might as well sing to us and serenaded us with beautiful, fluting notes. He was soon joined by another male and both proceeded to breakfast on the summer insects. They flitted up and down at ground level baring a lovely golden brown color under their wings and then disappeared into a clump of bamboo. We gave up and went around the bamboo only to find that one of them had emerged on the other side.



The flowerpecker treated us with disdain preferring to turn his back on us while he leapt from limb to limb refusing to remain still for even one moment.

A dull "thok, thok, thok" sound alerted us to a white cheeked barbet that was busy drilling into a tree near our tent. He spotted us before we spotted him and watched us with as much interest as we watched him. Just as we got that little bit closer for a good photograph, he took off and didn't return until we had returned hot and thirsty from our stalking of the flycatcher.

Somewhere in the bushes surrounding the camp, a bulbul coyly sang in carrying notes. We didn't find him though we heard him all the time we were there.



Adu inveigled us out for a walk around the camp after lunch and we dragged ourselves off on his trail. A small quick movement on the ground caught our attention and we found ourselves staring at a young lizard. The bright colours and its posture told us we might be looking at an agama but I could be wrong. Please post a comment if you know what this lizard could be.

UPDATE: For those of you interested, Karthik was kind enough to identify the lizard for me. It turns out to be a Snake Skink (Riiopa punctata).

Kingfisher in the canal

It's been a while since I wrote last. But this morning, an unusual sight (for me anyway) resulted in this post. Nope, sorry, I don't have a picture of this unusual sight.

On the road linking Sarjapur to the Hosur Road, an open sewage canal runs alongside. Several Brahmini kites and paraiah (black) kites populate this place and share space along with mynahs and crows.

A flash sighting of a bird ducking into one of the holes lining the canal caught my attention. It had to be a bird but what kind? The white wing markings caught the sun as the bird ducked out, hovered for a second as though evicted by the landlord and returned into the hole again. That's when I caught sight of the iridiscent blue on the wing. It was a whitebreasted kingfisher.

I wasn't quite sure even at that point. Traffic roared by. Unseeing throngs passed, hurrying off to their work places or waited to catch their buses, trucks hooted and honked, autorickshaws bawled as their tiny engines strove to catch up with the rest of the world speeding by. I was lucky to be at the traffic light. Just as the lights turned green, the kingfisher sped out of the hole in the wall and alighted on the fence in patient repose. A beautiful sight and one missed by many, I'm sure.

I wished I had my camera with me.

On the Bangalore Birds forum, several people have been debating the adaptation of birds to the urban landscape. They were talking about parakeets but here was another adaptor that was using what was immediately available, the drain hole that empties rain water into the sewage canal.

Lal Bagh with Karthik

A mottled wood owl sat on an old, old tree

Looked down on Adu, Deepa, and me

And asked, "what have you come to see?"

Startled by our silent awe, he spread his wings

And said "wait till the Golden Oriole sings"

For then the light will be right

And these crows just might

Leave me alone to roost in peace

Until such time that I please.

This Saturday again, saw us in Lal Bagh, Bangalore's beautiful botanical gardens. Girish had joined us too. An itinerant, Girish is an avid hiker and leans towards conservation so much that he might just fall over one of these days. Deepa, of course, had her car, her partner in crime (read Anush) and her conversation. Lal Bagh held its promise of an exciting morning made so much more exciting by Karthik promising to be there. And he was.

Karthik is a walking encyclopaedia. Trees, bees and whatever else anyone might want to consider. You might want to leave politics out of it.

The parakeets were there in plenty. One of them, a rather tailless male provided momentary amusement but our attention was quickly drawn to the golden oriole that flitted through the branches of the Peepul tree.

I couldn't quite understand why several birds seem to favour the peepul when it had so little to offer. Karthik had an immediate explanation. The flowers of the Peepul, he says, attract a number of insects which provide a feast of sorts for the birds.

For avid and expert birders like Adarsh, Anjali, Nisarg, and Pallavi, it seemed pretty easy to spot green leaf warblers and Tickell's flowerpeckers flitting among the leaves in the nearby bushes. I needed Karthik's help, of course.

Karthik being there helped in more ways than merely birding. The man is simply amazing the way he remembers the names of plants. His knowledge goes beyond merely naming them. He knows exactly how the various animals depend on them.

With such a large group, Karthik, Adarsh, Nisarg, Anjali and another couple, Deepa, Anush, Girish, Adu and me, it was only natural that some splits should occur. Deepa, of course, had to wander off to investigate strange looking trees with even stranger looking fruit. Her logic is that trees stay right there unlike birds.

Mantid young, like all young, are cute. They held the attention of a small group while Karthik pointed out to Pritam, Pallavi, Adu and me how they moved so quickly through the leaves. In fact, he failed to catch any of them. The rest of us were more scared of squishing them. Adu did try - to catch them, not squish them.

Deepa's group, meanwhile, very excitedly called us (on Karthik's cellphone) to tell us that a mottled wood owl had been spotted attempting his morning snooze on the top of a tall tree.

He sat there regally glaring down at us as we had the affrontery to point our noisy cameras and take pictures. Deepa again wandered off, ostensibly in search of some new tree that the authorities had probably planted in secret and found two more mottled wood owls. These were a young sub-adult and an adult. The adult appeared nervous and took off briefly disappearing from sight only to return when we least expected it. The youngster braved it out, preferring to face us and a murder of crows which were probably haggling with it for the best spot on the tree.

There was some more excitement when while examining some hatched eggs stuck on a tree, Karthik conjured up a bug and allowed us to handle it for a while before returning it to its perch on the tree.

Once again, it was the turn of my old friends the spotted owlets and we returned to the Japanese pond to spy on them.

The owlet obliged us by regally acknowledging our presence and condescending to fly out of the hollow in the tree to a nearby perch from where it defecated and returned to its hollow to keep watch over us.

The morning seemed to end all to soon. Deepa's car decided to get into the act to delay our breakfast but she did have a solution. However, that must be another story, told over steaming hot cups of coffee and a breakfast of rice dumplings and coconut sauce. Idli and chutney for the uninitiated.

The ones that were left

There were three pictures that refused to be uploaded when I updated this blog the last time. So I thought I would make a new post out of them.
While initially confused over the identity of this bird (by the length of the beak shown in the book) we have now confirmed that it is a female purple-rumped sunbird. [Thanks to Deponti for getting this bird identified].
This lily and its reflection attracted my attention and I couldn't help marvelling that such a lovely flower needs muck to grow in.
Remember the moorhen from my last post? This is the fellow.

Feathered fiends

Feathered fiends is right. And I'm sure there are hordes of photographers who'll agree with me. Tickell's Flowerpeckers rarely stop moving, sunbirds don't either, Ashy Prinias find the thickest clump of vegetation and only provide tantalizing glimpses. I could go on.
Owls are lovely birds. Owlets even more so. I chanced upon this spotted owlet when out birding at Lal Bagh in Bangalore with Deepa, Anush and Pallavi. It's a distinct pleasure when birding with Deepa. She's a storehouse of knowledge, especially on trees, bees, birds and, people. One can never tire of her conversation.

Deepa had led us past the little pond abutting the lake and down to where the old oaks groan in the wind and there, with a rather professorial look on its face, was this spotted owlet. I had fallen in love with these pint-sized beauties when M.B. Krishna first showed them to me on the Bangalore University campus and years later, after I had acquired my camera, I longed to photograph at least one owl and particularly these little ones. This is my first, decent, owl picture.

Parakeets are a pleasure. Their charm, I think, lies in the fact that they are curious, noisy and beautiful. But nary a second will they wait for the amateur photographer like me. This one peered down at me while I peered up at him. Tit for tat, I should think.

Lesser egrets have yellow feet but as Deepa sagely observed, "how are you going to see their feet?" This bird was hunkered down on a lily pad next to a lotus. Deepa has a better picture on her flickr page where she caught this one lunging for some prey in the water.

Ducks are cute. Ducklings can be absolute charmers. This bedraggled butler looked straight into my lens and seemed to say "Yerrsss? Can I help you?" in such portentious tones that I just had to photograph it. Pallavi was absolutely taken in with them and sat for quite a while watching them while ignoring the rest of us quite efficiently as we scrambled to watch the moorhen's antics in the pond which was filled with lovely lilies. The ducklings scrambled for the water ignoring the moorhen which looked suitably affronted and then stalked away walking comfortably on the lily pads.

Just hanging in there

Yes sir, fair takes my heart away when I see those wee critters just hanging in there. My state these last few weeks. I didn't want to post but there were compensations. I'm not going into my sob stories or for that matter any stories. My heart just missed a few beats when suddenly, out of the blue, I won the third place in a photography contest organized by Pixetra and IIPM. The Amaze photo contest. Of course, the dragon fly wasn't the entry. Perhaps I should have chanced it and sent this one instead but, then again, who knows.
Deponti was there for moral support and does that woman really support. She's like the proverbial pillar when you need one. Don't ask me which proverb and which pillar. I can't for the life of me remember.
So, I'm hanging in there, friend. And foe, just in case de foe remembers to read this and de fine me. Oh! God! I'm losing my mind over puns and pun dits. There I go again.
Sethu, the inspiration behind photography was there too to egg me on to more mischief and Deponti didn't help one bit. She actually contributed along with Anush, her favorite comrade in arms.
Just one final word before I go down. I wasn't expecting it. Every one of the pictures that had been entered had so much class I wondered why I was still sitting there. If it wasn't for the fact that Sudhir Shivram was there to talk about photography, I probably wouldn't have dared to show my face. But there it was. I was a trifle disappointed that Sudhir wasn't talking about his pictures but about the basics of photography and how to buy a camera instead. Not my cup of pilter caapi.

The Photography Club

I'd promised I would be back and here I am. After duly agonizing over what to write, ending up with writer's block (blockheadedness) and generally feeling lazy about doing anything that even remotely resembled work, I decided, I had better get back to writing. At least the blog to start with. Now, I've got some focus.

I recently joined a photography club - Pixetra - which is attached to a camera and photo store. The first workshop I signed up for was a nature photography workshop at Bannerghatta National Park.

Dawn saw me sleepily join nine others in a little van at 6 a.m. and driving off. Early nervousness beset me and I attempted some judiciously decent conversation with my neighbour. Amoghavarsha is a talented nature photographer and naturalist besides a programmer or something of the sort in the IT industry. This workshop was being conducted by him and moderated by Sethu, Pixetra Club's founding father.

Turning off the road at Shivanahalli and climbing into Ragihalli the first stirrings of excitement began to wake us all up. The fog was rising off the forest floor below us and Amogh decided we needed a sunrise to wake us up. Cameras were brought out and I began to understand the principles of underexposure and the neutrals for the first time since I fell in love with the camera.

We reached camp and settled down to a breakfast. The place simply abounded in an explosion of birdsong. Bulbuls flitted among the leaves while a paradise flycatcher managed to give us a tantalizing glimpse of his long tail before disappearing.

We walked along a sunlit path finding innumerable birds and butterflies. Sunlight and shadows made for inspiring compositions and everyone was soon busy clicking away. A plum-headed parakeet refused to allow us the liberty of getting a good picture and made life even more difficult for us by moving across a steep gorge into a tree where we could see him but photographs weren't even worth talking about.

A lizard darted across the sun-baked rocks into the cool of a sheltering one and each of us peered into the opening we could see just to glimpse him. Deciding not to disturb him we returned to our labours - that of taking pictures.

Our guide, Shivu, decided we were too soft and swept us, one and all, into the thorny brush of the forest promising to show us a slender loris. What seemed to be a plunge into the jungle turned out to be a bruising for us. Thorns plucked at our clothes and skin while we sweated through an unrelenting afternoon sun. Suddenly, Shivu stopped and gestured upwards. There, blinking down at us was an adult slender loris. He disdainfully turned his back on us and regally made his way up the tree fromwhere only his fat, furry bottom was visible to us.

Lunch was a lazy, companionable affair with good-natured bantering exchanged across tables. The food wasn't bad. Perhaps, the long walk made us hungry as well.

Amogh was kind enough, along with Sethu, to critique selected four pictures from each of us. While it wasn't quite encouraging, it wasn't discouraging either. It felt good to hear that I could blame my 100-400mm lens for all the bad pictures I had taken. Well, all right, not all, but some of them all right.

I can hardly wait now for the next workshop. Pictures are all on my photoblog here.

Happy New Year to all

I haven't been updating this blog for a while and I beg forgiveness from those who must have dropped in to check until their phenomenal patience petered out.

All I can say at this moment is:

Happy New Year everybody.

Even couch potatoes celebrate New Year's eve.

I'll be back. Soon. I promise.

Goan somewhere?

One of my closest friends got married and has decided to move to the desert to meditate. I got to attend the wedding, dance with the bride and have five star dinner after all. She looked ravishing and I was terrified that my innate talent in dancing would take over and that people would be rolling on the floor either clutching their sides in hysterical laughter or yelling in agony over toes trodden on.

But, this is not about the wedding. This is about Goa. The place is lovely and I can't imagine that my first trip there, way back in 1999 was such a disaster. Let bygones be and let me talk about this trip. I just managed to slip into Goa the day before the wedding. Lots of people slipped in much earlier and were sunning themselves but I hadn't managed to find the time.



Meeting up with friends was such a rush job but in Goa, time waits for you. Montego Bay Resort in Morjim was (by all accounts) brimming with people but there was no one to be seen. The sea chattered away with the sands of the beach and the quiet murmur of the wind caught in the trees were all the sounds that I could hear. The hammock strung between two trees was inviting but I had to rush back to Colva, get dressed and get to the wedding.

That night, I looked towards the sea in the darkness. The white breakers gently snurfing across the beach could just be seen but the sound was drowned out by the roar of the crowd in the bar next door where a party seemed to be in progress. Sighing, I dragged myself to my cottage and dropped into bed. There would be another day, I promise myself. But that's a promise I've been making to myself almost every day. Perhaps this year.... One never knows.

Colors of White

The White Mountains beckoned me seductively as I greedily drank in the view. Fall. Trees ablaze with every shade of green, yellow and red. I didn't think I could take in so much color. Dan parked the car at the bottom of Mt. Pierce and started to change his shoes as I shrugged on my camera backpack and hooked my water bottle into the chest strap.
"These are the easiest of the mountains in the Presidential range," was what Dan had to offer as we started to cross the surface road to reach the hiking trail. One more step into the hiking trail and the world behind us faded completely away. All I could hear were the trees talking to each other.
The early morning frost bit into our faces as we moved further into the trail losing civilization behind us and strode deeper into the sunlit forest. The canopy above us littered with reds and golds of Fall was the most beautiful that I've seen at all.
I felt at peace. Periodically, we would pass others along the trail, some resting from the climb others racing along to move past us and head for the summit. Why, I wondered, couldn't people move slower, take time to watch the grass grow instead of racing headlong to the summit which was just another destination. It had been 9 A.M. when we had started up the trail and now, at 9.30, I started to feel warm enough to take my hat off my head and allow my sweat stained hair to dry off, not that I had enough but it was enough to feel the coolness. Below us, the rocks were cold to the touch as we stumbled occasionally and reached out to steady ourselves.
Dan strode on, feeling neither the cold nor the heat. He'd done this in winter and we were doing it on the perfect day. Occasionally, we stopped to take a breather or a photograph and while we panted, Dan exclaimed over the light and the color, snapping picture after picture in his usual extremely professional way.
Periodically, we'd come across little streams of run off which we would be careful to step across fearing the slip that would send us down, not in a fatal way but fatal to our hike itself. I didn't want the day to end.
I was pleasantly surprised by a pair of Canadian Jays that fluttered up close to us and sat there expectantly surveying us. Dan later said they were probably fed by people who hiked these mountains and were, therefore, fearless. One of them sat in the branches just out of my reach and fixed me with a beady eye as if to say, "so? Where's my birdseed? Or have you some bread crumbs instead".
We didn't have any, so they flew heavily off, perhaps to ambush the next group of hikers.
The forest floor was littered with the hues from the trees above with a leaf falling every minute, shaken by the wind or perhaps even by a staggering body holding on to the tree for support. Here and there red berries hung adding to the color in a green, gold and red existence.
Late morning saw us at the top of Mt. Pierce from where the bald dome of Mt. Eisenhower was clearly visible and behind it, Mt. Washington with the tell tale sign of smoke exiting the chugging Cog Railway that takes the scenic route for lazy travelers who want to take in the Fall scenery without the effort of the climb. Perhaps I shouldn't say that since the Cog Railway is perhaps one good way of seeing all of the Presidential range quickly and without losing sight of the wonder that Nature really is.
We decided to give Eisenhower a miss and press on in a different direcion. A short rest, brunch and a few minutes of looking around at Nature's bounty and we were off.
We stepped down briskly enough and were soon standing at the Mizpah Hut, the log and stone cabin which houses at least 60 people if they want to stay the night in fairly rustic quarters. There're bunk beds and, for entertainment, an old organ along with a little library. Food is served for those who wish to stay overnight and there's all sorts of information about the White Mountains available to say nothing of the wonderful people who live and work at the hut.
I met this very beautiful lady whose accent I couldn't place but whose eyes lit up and her soft, lilting voice sang paens of praise to the almighty mountains. She was delighted to talk about the trails, about the places she'd been and not once did she press anyone to buy anything. I could have stood there and listened to her all day long.
The supplies to the Mizpah hut have to be brought by foot. There are no roads to drive up to the hut and the huts remain open as long as the mountains are open which means that come winter and the huts are closed. Winters are not a good time to be out there anyway. Though there are a few, like Dan, who feel the need to challenge themselves, put on their snow shoes or crampons and tramp on into the wilderness.
We had to leave or be left behind so, on her advice, we went South to Mt. Jackson. We descended some very steep sections of the trail and then ascended some very steep sections. The easiest, Dan had said, and we didn't find them easy at all. And all the while Dan strode on, for all the world seeming as though he was walking on airport tarmac.
This was the steepest I'd done and I hadn't done any hiking in a long, long time. Pulling along to the summit, it really seemed as though I had left all reason behind, but the forest still beckoned. Families of grandparents, parents, kids, and grandkids climbed easily and went up laughing and wondering at the grandeur of the sight before them and we took our time, trailing behind, enraptured by the little flowers, the tiny leaves and the ice slabs in the water which hadn't melted despite the strong sunlight.
Mt. Jackson was spectacular, offering a full 360 degree view of the range around us. We could still see the smoke on the top of Mt. Washington, like some crusty old man was puffing angrily at his pipe while, no doubt, he awaited news of the war. Mt Pierce was there to the left, benign and sobering considering our first climb there. There in the far distance was the Mizpah hut. Had we really climbed that far? I was astonished. My binoculars were out and I examined the surroundings with them, drinking in the view and the quiet.
But we weren't reckoning with our host of the moment - Mt. Jackson. The climb down, begining with the first steps was to provide a precursor to the whole experience, something that I neglected to think about at that time.
Steep drops littered our path and the punishment was beginning to tell on us already. We had to press on. It was 2.30 P.M. and we wanted to get as much of the sunlight as we could so Dan could take us to some of the sights he knew would thrill us.
To cut the, now long story, short we dragged ourselves down to the road where we collapsed while Dan sauntered away "about three-tenths of a mile to where his car was parked so he could drive it down to pick us up. Muscles protesting every move, we launched ourselves into the car from where only a strong crowbar and, perhaps, dynamite might have evicted us till we reached our beds.
PS: I know I keep promising to post pictures but I need a little more time before I can. Perhaps I'll do it this weekend.

Liberteaser!

She was beautiful. It was love at first sight but, sadly, not to last. Sam and I wandered up to her to strike up a conversation but I was struck dumb, grinning stupidly from ear to ear. She stood there all alone, in the afternoon sunshine, swaying gently, a priceless pearl among the aseptic vessels that dotted the Boston Harbor. She was The Liberty Clipper and I was just waiting to board her for a short jaunt in the harbor.

As we boarded her, I walked around on her deck while Sam went below, ostensibly to check out the facilities. I couldn't keep my hands off the ropes, the seats and her woodwork. Thick hawsers held her fast to the jetty but we were soon to be off.

A quick blast on the horn and a motor started up to take us out. We put about and all passengers helped launch her, of course, I pretended to, since I was desperately hauling away at the ropes which were being fed back to me by six others in front of me. As the last man, I was trying to coil them and making a bigger mess of it.

A quick snap told us the sail had caught the wind and was pulling the clipper away, not as fast as we would have her go but fast enough. The skipper kept asking for more wind and asking us to wish for more wind and I couldn't resist telling him to feed everyone bean burritos. I guess he thought I was some kind of a smart aleck. Come to think of it, I might have been a pain.

Then along came this very pretty young woman. Deborah Samson, one of the few women to fight alongside men against the British in the American war for independence. I won't tell you her real name but those who know her will definitely know who she is. It was her last trip aboard the Liberty Clipper and she enthralled us with her narrative of her role in the war.

As we circled the harbor, just staying inside the mouth and catching glimpses of other sail boats (The Roseway was making her stately way across the harbor), Deborah launched into the Boston Tea Party exhorting volunteers to help cast the "British Tea" overboard. Of course, no one was dressed for the part since hostile Indian costumes were in short supply, but she did get two volunteers one of whom obligingly threw the crate overboard.

In case you're concerned that the water has been permanently polluted by the tea, the crate had been carefully tied to the rail of the clipper to keep it coming along until it was pulled up. Talk about oversized tea bags.

What was most enjoyable about it all was the relative calm of the clipper, the light, cool breeze that sprang up as soon as we were off and kept us company till we finally stuttered into port.

That was one of her last trips in Boston for this summer. If you want the Liberty Clipper, she's off at Key West, Florida where she'll join her sister ship, the 80-foot all wood schooner that I would have loved to have sailed on.

Sigh! Triple sigh. But, then, as someone once said, all good things must come to an end.

PS: Pictures will be posted. But I'll take some time to upload the images.

This one's without a picture

I met him at the West Entrance of the North Station in Boston. He was ugly, lame and aggressive. But there was a certain charm in the way he fixed you with his beady eye, neither demanding nor requesting, but knowing that you will give him any scraps that you certainly don't need. His attitude was one that reflected absolute clarity about his position.
I called him Oswald. Why, I don't know. But the name seemed to suit his personality as he limped aobut among his brethren, avidly devouring anything that even remotely pretended to be edible.
Then, a thought struck me and you could knock me down with a feather.
What if Oswald was a female?
You see, I can't tell the difference between a male and female among pigeons.

One miserable morning

It started off by being rather cold, not cold as cold goes in Boston, but cold enough to cause a mild fit of cursing. I set off, camera in hand to Boston's North End. The quest of course was the battleship - The USS Constitution. She was lying to where they had tied her up and was scrubbed to shine like a new penny. Naval personnel of all ranks were gathered in and around her, proudly saluting the flag that hung over her stern and then turning to salute the senior most officer on board that morning.

I stood there mulling that Old Ironsides was home. It must have been that way for a number of sailors who had, aboard her, swabbed the decks and fired off her cannon. The helm was shining. Somehow, squeaky clean wasn't the phrase that leapt to mind when I looked over the line of cannon. One youngster was on board in period costume, most probably a volunteer, she looked too young to be in the Navy but then again what do I know. Her face shone in her earnestness when you asked a question about the ship. She knew her history all right.
The ship's bell was another attraction. I longed to own it and knew enough to be aware of its price in the market. Authentic and definitely not the kind of silverware you're likely to have at your table.
Sadly, my time on board Old Ironsides wasn't enough for me to go below decks along with the tour but, I will, one of these weekends and you can certainly look out for more photographs and perhaps a better write up than this patchy piece of writing.
There is another side to my story of the miserable morning that I enjoyed in Boston but that must wait till I can get around to penning it down.

Like I always say, good couch potatoes know how the story is best kept a mystery till it's time. 

Back in Boston

I'm back in Boston after a hiatus of about two and a half months and enjoying the warm air, getting to sniff the flowers and watching the bees go about their business.
British Airways are wonderful. I must say that. Their service is excellent and efficient though they ask you a question and insist you answer yes or no. Like food for instance. But then again, you don't want to muck up the issue with these people. They're doing a job that would have me tearing what's left of my hair and diving out of the emergency exit at 30,000 feet. One of the stewardesses serving coach was scalded by tea that she was serving and all that I could make out was the wince on her face. Not a sound came out of her. "We've got thick skin," was all that she would say when I commisserated with her.
Security at Heathrow was good. I was under the impression that we'd have to put all our stuff, wallets, jackets, shoes, and all the contents of my little backpack into separate trays before I could pass through the bleeper doorway. They let me leave my camera in the bag but asked me to pull out my laptop. Shoes went into the tray though and I padded through the doorway in my socks. And other clothes.
Bleep! My cellphone caught their attention. It went through the scanner and I was through. That was it. The big burly security men with their guns were everywhere. But it felt secure rather than intimidating. The flight was uneventful. I slept through most of the way. Logan was inviting. Get to bed was the only question on my mind. I slept through the rest of the night as well. Us couch potatoes need our sleep.

Experiences tell...

The Happy Traveler is a blog that records the travels of a family all over the world. Nicely written personal experiences that help in understanding this huge, complex structure that we live in. She recounts experiences that range from the happy to the frustrating and the terrifying.
I read the latest post in which she narrated her family's harassment at the hands of unscrupulous people who deliberately put their lives at stake merely to extort money from those that they see as wealthy.
It was also very interesting to read the comments that were posted. However it isn't just in India that such incidents are known to happen. Unhappily, human nature is one that doesn't change with time-zones and geo-political boundaries. Haven't Americans in Britain been sold the London Bridge? Haven't the gullible in New York been sold the Brooklyn Bridge?
While we sit here and pontificate, isn't it also human greed that leads to such incidents? There must be an effective action for such a reaction. In the case of the Happy Traveler, I am reasonably sure that some wealthy person, on the way to the temple, may have flung a large sum of money at a very real victim. This would have led to an enterprise being created on the spot and the entire village full of people may have got together to scheme on a new means of livelihood. I can imagine that one of the village is elected to fulfil the duties of the victim each time. I cannot for even one moment think of anyone volunteering for the job. But, I digress, the greed of the village is what has led to this scheme of extortion. I can simmer in rage over such an incident but feel completely impotent in the knowledge that nothing can be done.
It's also heart-warming to note that there are good samaritans too, as an earlier post on the Happy Traveler recounts.
I'm now looking forward to reading Alaskan Adventures from Travelin' Tracy. As a couch potato it is imperative that I derive vicarious pleasure from those who take the trouble to travel.

It's been a while...

It seems to me that it's been a long, long time since I wrote my meaningless meanderings. Of course, there's no one looking but on the off chance that someone is, I keep putting in my two bits here.
Flying out of Boston and heading towards a rising sun over an erstwhile empire was hair-raising. That was because the plane I was supposed to be on "was hit by lightning a dozen times" or so the manager of the airlines said. Of course there was this collective gasp and in the middle of all the yelling voices, someone was heard to ask, was anyone hurt? That could have been a caring query or a hopeful statement. I like to think it was the former. Someone should have mentioned that scientifically, the so-called bolt of lightning is really several bolts of lightning so, in reality, it must have been one lightning strike that the plane suffered. Suffered it did, since we were told that the undercarriage had a hole in it, one that the technical expert dismissed as too insignificant to stop the plane. The manager thought otherwise and had the plane grounded till the next day.
Sure, one day late but the destination within reach was the philosophical shrug of the shoulders among many.
Flying into to Heathrow was beautiful. The golden dawn lit up the aircraft's wings and engines so beautifully that it could only be the work of the higher power to give us such a beautiful sight. Alas, what He gives, he also takes away and as the plane descended through the clouds we realized that there is such a thing as being unfair. London was under a thick cloud and the sun barely managed to get the light through.
Dawn gone but the dusk of America remains one of my most loved sights. Remember my last? The picture of the bridge over the freeway to New Jersey? This is another one I got out there. Nature was kind enough to help me with a thick cover along the way but left me a vista of blue mountains - the Adirondacks - looming in the distance. A thing of beauty, a joy for ever.
London was dull but that was because I was stuck in the terminal. I did meet up with a former marine who was going home to Indiana and a lovely woman who was going on to India to meet her husband. We wined and dined together, and exchanged little dos and don'ts of how to cope with things and then she slept all the way.