Arribada!

The coast appeared from under the clouds on the horizon rather abruptly. The waves were but thin white lines on the narrow shore. As the plane descended over the Bay of Bengal, the blue ocean began to get a texture. And just as it began landing in Vizag, I could see sprays spontaneously dotting the deep. All this before I had even arrived in Ganjam, Odisha to witness the mass nesting of olive ridley turtles!

Of the seven surviving species of sea turtles, only two - the olive ridley and the Kemp’s ridley - display this behaviour of thousands of adult females laying eggs in very close proximity and simultaneously. Sea turtles come to land only to lay eggs, the hatchlings of which will swim back into the sea. Males never return to land, but females do every few years, just for a night or two, to nest. With the ridleys, at some sites, the females come ashore in large numbers every season in an event called the ‘arribada’ (Spanish for arrival). In Sanskṛt, that would be Aagaman.

A turtle arriving at dawn

As soon as I arrived that night, I dashed off to the beach. The waves were erupting in bioluminescence, courtesy the light producing microbes riding on them. As we walked toward the main beach, turtles were crawling around in dozens and more were emerging from the sea. Many were frantically looking for spots to dig nests; some were lying around as though defeated from the enormous effort of carrying hundreds of eggs inland (for all I know, it was quiet contemplation). The air was filled with a seaweed-y scent.

Nupur and Murali, researchers at Dakshin Foundation, told me what to look out for with the turtles as we walked. The crowd swelled to the extent that we had to dodge turtles as they scurried by or lay buried, at every step. They were certainly not bothered about walking into one another or anything else. Soon, the beach was full of heavy breathing, busy turtles spraying sand around, some beating down their sealed nests. This had to be the largest gathering of animals that I’d ever seen (except perhaps ants) and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. And yet more kept emerging from the water, shells glistening in the moonlight. Their carapaces loaded with bioluminescent microbes while still wet. Running fingers down their back ignited glowing trails - talk about magic.

Turtle tracks on the beach

The nesting females take their own sweet time finding a spot - barging into several others in the process - and digging a flask shaped nest. As often as they abandon a nest halfway, they manage to dig out a nest already made by another. As a result, eggs in various degrees of squish lie around. These are literally the shape, size and firmness of ping-pong balls – they even bounce! The female turtle gets into an inclined position over her nest and commences laying. They often go into a glazed-eyed, still trance, some eventually buried under sand from neighbouring diggers.

A dozen humans were walking around the beach counting turtles and visually documenting them. Our team was conducting transects in some sectors, counting the number of egg-laying turtles only (not digging, crawling, covering), every hour. Over the next few days, we happily gave up on sound sleep to count turtles all night long. We’d also take shell measurements, and some of us even tracked the egg-laying. It involves making a small window in the nest once the mother settles in and recording the start and end time, counting every egg as she lays it.

Egg laying

In time, the lady finishes laying the clutch and covers it with sand, tamping it down with a meticulous flipper-waving, chest-thumping ritual. The compacted nest is then covered with loose sand, made to look rather uninteresting, and then the turtles return to the water. Although most of the activity is concentrated in the dark hours, turtles were still coming ashore at dawn.

The hatchlings will likely emerge in about 45 days and swim frantically back into the ocean. Not all eggs hatch, and only a few of the hundreds of hatchlings actually make it to the ocean. Many are preyed upon by birds, crabs, dogs and so on. Why the ridleys choose to nest this way and what triggers the simultaneous congregation has not been entirely deciphered yet. What is certain is that for these creatures, the strength is in sheer numbers that swamp their predators. The survival of the handful is the all a consequence of turtle teamwork.

Covering the nest

Magnificent is a small word to describe this phenomenon, but I imagine you get my drift.

Heading back into the ocean

Bloodbath...

Mosquitoes-that menace we live with! Speaking for myself, I am not too troubled by these voracious bloodsuckers. But I've come to realize that I am one of the more fortunate that are not attractive to mosquitoes. People with warm bodies are mosquito magnets even in relatively mosquito free places. It is heart-breaking to experience such folk struggling to survive evenings.

In the recent past, I have had a considerable number of spontaneous evening discussions on this subject. The people involved were mostly urban folk, some travellers from outside of my country. The talks threw up some interesting revelations. However, before we go there, I must admit, such a conversation with rural Indian folk would certainly be an eye opener. Would they be resigned to sharing space with mosquitoes? Would they explain their existence and purpose with folklore and mythology?

 The fundamental question has always been "Why do mosquitoes exist? What purpose do they serve?" Answers, or attempts at the same, were trivial, tragic, but mostly entertaining.

·         One person proposed that mosquitoes were created to help humans progress. They were meant to make us aware of our potential, realize that we must develop; rise from being animals to create clean, safe, comfortable spaces for ourselves.

·         Another believed that they were made to keep us alert of our surroundings, to keep us thinking of everyone's purpose on the planet.

·         One said they're only here to spread diseases. Another said they serve as food for fish and amphibians.

·         Most firmly believe that they do not deserve to exist.

·         One gentle mind suggested that they be genetically modified to not drink human blood, or better still, to not feed on blood at all.

What I enjoy about these conversations is that eventually we get to talk about ecology and population. Mosquitoes, being vectors, do serve the purpose of carrying a plethora of bacteria and viruses; transferring them from one host to another, helping them complete their life cycles and propagate and thrive. Besides, they are food for fishes and lizards and frogs. One simply cannot ignore the role they play - their ecological niche. Then comes the population issue. To me, mosquitoes are just one of the many other things around us that remind us of our responsibility as cohabitants of the planet. Inordinate mosquito breeding occurs in the vicinity of human population, especially unorganized areas. When a neighbourhood is kept clean, well spaced-out and orderly, mosquitoes definitely do not breed with the same intensity as they do otherwise. This is the case with most animals we choose to label as pests. With our livestock and grain hoarding habits, how can we destroy natural habitats and expect animals not to come in search of food and shelter?

Another question that plagued some is: What do bloodsuckers feed on in forests with very few mammals? So some of us did a little thought experiment. My proposal was that bloodsuckers, like most non-herbivores, didn’t need to feed very often, and didn’t live very long as adults anyway. Just as many moths spend most of their lives as caterpillars feeding on leaves, bloodsuckers probably spent most of their lives as larvae (feeding on algae and microbes). How could this be proved? Well, it was fairly simple they said: collect the bloodsuckers from the forest, create forest-like conditions in a laboratory, and then observe them there.

So much for science! All I had to do was google, and then laugh at myself. While I was right about sanguivores not feeding often and mosquitoes not living very long, bloodsuckers do feed as adults, and on a lot other than just blood. Male mosquitoes spend equal amounts of time (about 5 days each) as larvae and adults, while females live for up to a month. Both of them feed on nectar and sugary plant liquids for energy. As we all know, only females need the blood for their eggs (that too, not always). Furthermore, most mosquitoes are not particular about the kind of blood they drink either (cold reptilian or warm mammalian). It’s the protein they crave.

Of course, human endeavours to solve the mosquito problem have been many, and they range from amusing to abusive. Planting herbs, shrubs and trees in the area, spraying the premises with aromatic decoctions; burning incense, neem, chillies; ointments, coils, mats, liquids and buzzers to repel them. Moving on to fumigation of neighbourhoods, light traps, electrocution devices; even going so far as considering spaying of male mosquitoes! For a stoic like me, mosquitoes are a necessary evil we live with, and all those guesses hazarded about why mosquitoes exist are valid. The best we can do is to keep clean and choose our measures sensibly. It is easy to wreak violence on the unaware. But peaceful methods work much better in the longer run.

Here are some interesting links:

·         http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/why-do-mosquitoes-bite-some-people-more-than-others-10255934/?no-ist=

·         https://richarddawkins.net/2014/11/scientists-have-identified-the-gene-that-makes-mosquitoes-crave-human-blood/

·         Fungus Fatal to Mosquito May Aid Global War on Malaria: http://www.nytimes.com/2005/06/10/science/10mosquito.html?_r=0

·         Bloodfeeding! http://research.amnh.org/~siddall/bloodfeed.html

Speaking of bloodsuckers, I cannot help but bring up leeches. The question of what they feed on in the forest was originally intended for those surreptitious creepers. Well, most species are not fussy about their food and often swallow invertebrates (slugs, insects) whole. They feed on blood from amphibians and reptiles as well. Again, it’s the protein that counts. Next time I’m in leech country, aside from the delightful incessantly bleeding bites, I will look out for them preying on invertebrates!

Rainforest!

Research in the rainforest had long been a tantalizing proposition for me. Rumbling down the jeep track on that first foggy morning, I was full of excitement for the days to follow, and sheer joy for being in a rainforest. As luck would have it, Paromita, a sprightly co-volunteer, showed me around the research station. I was awestruck by the beauty of the place, its pools and streams and dense forest. There are two resident Malabar Pit Vipers, countless little geckos and nocturnal visitors – scorpions - that warrant a thorough shoe check every morning. Large Brahminy skinks chase one another, and occasionally little snakes, on the leaf litter. A little white macaque skull sits with an old grey bovine one at the entrance.

ARRS is located on a small erstwhile plantation of areca nut and paddy, surrounded by forest. Kalinga Mane (Kannada for Home of the King Cobra) houses the neat and very comfortable dormitory, kitchen and open dining area. The office is one of the classiest I have seen, with traditional carved columns and doors, and a great view. The adjoining library is compact and cosy and contains a diverse collection of journals, magazines, encyclopaedias, field guides and even fiction. There are three lovely cottages on the premises at strategic locations.

One of the resident Malabar Pit Vipers

My work as a volunteer here was to collect data on dragonflies. We were observing their activity throughout the day at a little pool in the paddy field. This meant that we often heard and saw birds and even the Malabar Giant Squirrel at close quarters! Paromita and I would quietly stalk the species of our interest, swoop down on them with an insect net, gently mark their wingtips with colour codes and release them. We tracked their hunting flights and rather aggressive territorial chases and ended up basking in the sun with them all day. Some very interesting and heartening discussions would ensue during these hours.

Just a casual walk around the place could mean encountering at least a dozen species. Look down and you will find ants (procession ants, jumping ants, golden-backed ants, weaver ants and so on), slugs, snakes, scorpions, tracks and droppings (of boars, cattle, deer, leopards, civets to name a few). Look up in the trees and you will find birds, frogs (bush frogs, gliding frogs, etc), lizards (Calotes and Dracos) and mammals (giant squirrels, gliding squirrels, slender loris, civets). And it is equally important to look straight ahead as there are many spiders of all sizes, shapes and colours (funnel spiders, wood spiders, giant wood spiders, jumping spiders and many more) in their elaborate webs.

Procession ants carrying their 'crabby' prey

Mornings are often begun with the enchanting song of the endemic Malabar Whistling Thrush that likes to perch on the dormitory roof. Woodpeckers are especially active in the mornings, and the reverberations of hollow tree trunks being hammered can deceive one into thinking that these birds are quite large. They are in fact flamboyant little things that deftly maintain minimum visibility despite being right before or above you or swiftly changing trees. The Racket-tailed Drongos are unabashed in their playful banter, sometimes making startlingly complex combinations of screeches and whistles. Yellow-browed Bulbuls, another endemic species abound here, often flocking with different birds to make a collective effort at disturbing and thus seeking out insects. Giant Squirrels can get quite loud and White-bellied Treepies dominate the soundscape with what Joris, another co-volunteer, described as computer game sounds. The Malabar Grey Hornbill takes the cake, though. Its signature cackling calls would always crack us up and reiterate the importance of laughter.

The station is run mainly on solar power. By day, skylights in the traditional tiled roofs allow bright diffused sunlight to bathe the indoors. The bathrooms provide the luxury of hot water, a by-product of cooking. Evenings are illuminated by LED lamps, but more so by conversations over dinner. Some nights we would watch superb documentaries – not only published ones, but also some awesome footage recorded by researchers during the King Cobra Telemetry Project and an ongoing study on Yellow Wattled Lapwings.

Outside the office

Ajay Giri is the resident snake rescuer. He is often summoned even in distant villages when the situation is too tricky or the snake too risky for local rescuers. Witnessing four King Cobra rescues and two Spectacled Cobra rescues left me in wide-eyed wonder! The snakes are found in small tanks and wells, attics, sheds, even in living rooms, on gates, and trees. Ajay records the GPS coordinates, location and time of capture and release as well as the situation of the snake confrontation. The vital statistics of the snake are recorded too! The composed manner in which Ajay handles the snake and the situation is admirable and insightful, and so is the interaction that follows the rescue. The villagers talk to him about all kinds of wildlife, conflict, risks and habitats and he hands out informative leaflets to them. A joint decision is made on where the snake should be relocated and the site owner, often accompanied by neighbours, witnesses the release in a forest in the proximity.

Dhiraj Bhaisare, the research administrator is a treasure trove of knowledge. Walking with him around the area gave us much to appreciate. He showed us India’s smallest (Oriental Grass Jewel) and largest (Southern Birdwing) butterflies, the Hump-nosed Pit Viper we could have either missed or stepped on, and a beautiful Nilgiri Forest Lizard that we may not have otherwise identified, all on one walk. He also has detailed answers to practically all kinds of questions and casually drops thought-provoking questions and ideas around.

Ramprasad Rao is an amphibian and ichthyofauna researcher. He was kind enough to take us to the serene Jogi Gundi falls and the spectacular Onaki Abbe falls. Walking through the forest, he gave us bytes on trees, geckos, frogs, fish and scat, and very convincingly mimicked some bird calls. The Malabar Whistling Thrush began to sing with him! He also took us to the forest to extract a wild bee colony one morning. I was delighted to see him gently cup handfuls of bees out of a tree hollow and into the bee box. After much persuasion on my part and concerned hesitation on his, I finally tried it myself. It was a great feeling, fuzzy buzzing bees all over my hands! He also showed us jumping frogs, torrent frog tadpoles, skittering frogs, and allowed us to record their body measurements for his morphometry project. This awesome threesome is the soul of the research station. Keeping the station well-maintained is a local staff including the cook Nagaraj who never fails to please with hot nutritious and flavourful meals.

View from Onaki Abbe falls

There is a pair of camera traps in the forest, one recording video clips and another taking pictures. Going through the records, we saw many deer, a group of ten wild boars, quite some cattle and of course humans including us captured on camera. One of the mornings, a leopard walked down the path around 11am. At 4pm that day, we went down the very same path; we returned though, and the leopard didn’t. As though that wasn’t thrill enough, we used to go out every single night with torches. Occasionally we’d carry a UV light too, to spot the fluorescent green scorpions emerging from their burrows in the pitch dark night. We spotted frogs, snakes, slugs and the Malabar Gliding Squirrel a couple of times. The Slender Loris was often heard but seldom seen. We were absolutely thrilled to find Sri Lanka Frogmouths with the help of recorded calls. However we couldn’t come up with a suitable study design for them. Either way, we made the most of it by gazing at the tremendously clear star-strewn sky every night.

A monthly phenomenon, the light trap set up by Deepak, JRF at NCBS, is a sight to behold. A simple square cloth enclosure open to sky, it attracts moths of at least 30 different species (yes, I counted) between 9pm and 3am (those are the work hours). The first to arrive are pearly white beauties, some with heavy gold and silver designs adorning their wings. They literally look like jewels. As the night progresses, an array of moths convene on the walls, turning them into works of living biological art. The iridescence, camouflage, patterns, and above all, the astounding variety is awe-inspiring. Naturally, it also is a feast for frogs and lizards. Hawk moths are the group of interest here, and Deepak collects specimens and records every new species encountered to add to the list of moths of the Western Ghats.

A stream in the forest

Fortunate as I am, Romulus Whitaker visited along with Zai and Nikhil Whitaker and Dr. Gowri Mallapur while I was volunteering. Cheerful, charming and very friendly, he spoke to us about our experiences and shared his own. He is widely known and respected for his herpetology and conservation initiatives; I later also found out that he has done a lot more than that! Joris and I undertook a small survey on the habitat occupancy of the grassland around the station. The lapwings had begun to arrive from places within a 100km radius to pair and nest in the grassland. The environment was very charged and I learned a lot of things in my nineteen days at the station. Now I sit with my laptop, sifting through the collected data looking for trends and patterns. This was a life-building experience, and I aspire to return to ARRS and contribute some good research.