Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The King and I: My favourite sightings of the elusive cat

Designed by Manish Mutalik.
 I've never left a national park without seeing a tiger, unless it's one that doesn't host any. I mean, it'd be alarming if I did spot one, say in Gir, yes? That'd cause quite a stir.
I digress. Where was I? Yes, I was showing off. 

I've always always seen the striped cat, and I think it's because I don't go to the park just so I do. Of course, I want to see tigers, I look for them too, but it's more, much more than that. The wilderness is a haven. I miss it when I am away from it, and this may seem infinitely crazy but I feel it misses me too. When I enter a forest, it feels like home, you know?
No? Okay, moving on.

Point is, when you're looking for a tiger, don't miss what's happening around you at that moment. Even if you don't see any, there'll be signs everywhere. Like pugmarks. I saw one in the first 10 minutes in Corbett. Fresh. Giant. Pugmarks. An hour later, we saw claw marks on the barks of trees. Tigers use the barks of trees to sharpen their claws and to leave their scents to ward off other cats. Powerful, long strokes. Definite evidence of their existence. For me, the forest had already delivered.

Having said all this, nothing beats seeing a tiger in its natural environment. It is a life-changing experience even for the most disinterested wildlife viewer. You will not be the same again. I've been lucky to have experienced some of these moments. These are my most memorable ones.

When she hypnotised us from less than 10ft away at Tadoba
(Two days and we've seen a lot of the forest, but no tiger).

It's a late but cloudy morning, around 11am, and the sunlight is just fabulous, bathing the dry, dry grassland of Tadoba in golden light.

And that's when she steps out of the tall grass in front of us.
 
Now, this is the beauty of a tiger experience like this. If you're chasing an alarm call, that's fine. You know it's around and that's why the animals are going bat-crazy. But this way, this unexpected appearance is unparalleled. You're driving for days searching for her, stopping every few hours, listening to the quiet forest for sounds, signs, and nothing. You've started fidgeting, it's hot, you're now in a relaxed stupor, looking at the forest, knowing that your morning safari's almost over, and you're not going to see anything more. And then she just steps out of the grass, so casually, so oblivious. It's really almost outrageous, that behaviour.

She gives us a sidelong glance and saunters across the path and into the dry grassland. "She's making her way to the other side of this meadow," our driver says, stepping on it. "We'll meet her as she gets out." We drive around the meadow and she catches sight of us waiting, pauses and stares. Yes, it's us again. Sorry about all the stalking. I don't know what she's thinking, but she changes direction, and makes directly for us. Directly for us. She doesn't take her eyes off us, and it's like we're hypnotised. We cannot look away, cannot move. She comes closer and closer, and we're mesmerised by her beauty. Her coat is dazzling in the sun, a brilliant orange and black, and she's heartbreakingly graceful, slow yet deliberate. Uff. It isn't until she's around 5ft away that the forest guard tears his eyes away, and says to the driver, "Abbe, peeche le!" The spell's broken, and we reverse, putting regrettably more distance between her and us. She pauses again, with one paw raised elegantly, mid step, follows our progress with those magnificent eyes, turns, and disappears into the foliage. This is the closest I've ever been to an animal this beautiful.

When she hung out with a herd of deer in a pond at Kanha
(This was a rare, rare sighting. Even the drivers and the guides with us were stumped).

We've just started the morning safari at Kanha, and within minutes, our driver pulls over and says, "Tiger." There's a pond some distance away, we're actually at a slight elevation to it. To the right side of the pond, a tigress is cooling herself off on a hot, hot summer afternoon. She's half submerged, her head and upper body leaning lazily on the bank. It's a pose that makes you forget this is a predator and go aww. To the extreme left side of the pond, completely oblivious to the cat, is a herd of sambar. Can you see it? The prey and the predator, chilling together. Now I've seen everything. Even the drivers in the jeeps around us are surprised.

No, but it gets so much weirder. The deer get into the water... deeper, towards the centre of the pond. Now, I've heard that the sambar deer is the tiger's favourite food for its poor eyesight and the wind is probably blowing the cat's scent in the other direction. But this is quite ridiculous. From her apparent disinterest, the guide assumes she's had her fill, but as the deer wade closer, she understandably tenses. She sort of sits up and we can actually see the incredulity in her body language as she squares her shoulders. I can almost see her thought bubble: "Hellooooo, tiger here, you blind bats." "Should I cough or something?" The sambar are now around 10ft away, romping around in the water. We're all frozen in place, much like the big cat. And then, one of the spotted deer on the shore lets out a LOUD alarm call, like a mini trumpet. The rest catch on, and the sambar herd, in great panic, leap and bound out of the pond, splashing around, falling down in terror, all of that. It's quite comical. The air is full of alarm calls, and the tigress, satisfied with this delayed but finally appropriate turn of events, slides back into slumber. 'About time,' she thinks. I agree.

When she roared, Kanha stilled
(This was my first trip to a national park. All those years ago. I didn't see her on that day but this remains a favourite).

We've heard a tigress is making her way up the hill with two cubs. Our driver takes us to the top, where she's sure to cross the mud track to get where she's headed. And then we wait. Half an hour goes by. The forest is noisy, and there's a jeep in front of us waiting as well, with a boy making an obscene amount of noise, despite being shushed by us a million times. While we wait, the driver tells us amazing stories of the jungle (the unlikely partnership between deer and langur, notice you'll never see one without the other; vultures circling over a spot in the sky equals a carcass equals a big cat, etc).

And then, she roars. It is like nothing I have ever heard before. Loud, overpowering, and striking an extremely primal chord in us, it comes from the left, some distance away, and the entire forest stills. I am not exaggerating. The entire forest, so busy just a few seconds ago, is literally stilled into silence. Monkeys stop chattering, birds stop chirping, even the crickets stop singing. You could hear a leaf drop to the forest floor, that is, if the wind hadn't suddenly died. Absolute, frightened silence. "Something must have stopped her progress," the driver whispers. "She's protecting her cubs." The boy in the other jeep lets out a whimper, and I am not proud to confess I feel a ruthless pleasure in his fright. How about a little respect now, noisy boy?

A few minutes later, the forest starts to move again, tentatively, cautiously. A bird here, a monkey there. Alarm calls ring out. The king is on the move. :)

With the one that got away in Corbett
 (This was my niece's first tiger experience in the wild. She, like us, will never see an animal in the zoo the same way again).

The herd's so chilled out, we're sure the drivers are lying to us. A herd of spotted deer is grazing under a tree. This is a good distance away, across a meadow, so it's tough to spot the tiger even if he's there. "He's here," our driver says. "Be patient." It's a family trip, my brother, Vaibhav (equally if not more fanatic about the wild), his wife, Mansi,  5-year-old daughter, Aarya and my mum. We're stuck in a canter, not even a jeep, which means noisy passengers, whom we wanted to feed to the cats.

Anyway, the herd's lazing about, not even standing in the alert way they do when they smell danger. I've seen deer act around a predator, they're alert, they're calling, they're never this unfazed. We wait for half hour. Nothing. The deer's chilling and every jeep in the vicinity is now pointing at random spots saying 'There he is!!" "No, there!" "It's that small mound, see??" And my mum, who keeps insisting she sees it, "There, I see it!" We try to explain that's not a tiger but she's refuses to budge till the photographer in the canter shows her his telelens photo and says, patiently, "Madam, that is a deer." Even then, she looks at me, and says conspiratorially, "He doesn't know, only."

Meanwhile, we wait amidst continuous calls from peacocks. But nothing from the deer. And then, quite bafflingly, the large group of deer on the other side of our cars, where our backs are facing, ups and runs away. At least 50 odd deer leap off to safety. We're stumped. Still not a peep out of the deer where the tiger's supposedly hiding. Has he slunk past our cars while weren't  looking, crossed the road to the other side to terrorise that herd? Not possible. A couple of jeeps drive off to see what's happening there. Our driver refuses. "He's here. Always look at the film crews. If they're still here, the cat's definitely here." So we wait. Another half hour ticks past. Some of the deer start to wander further from the herd, towards the centre of the meadow. The driver sits up. "Now watch." The small group moves closer and closer to a tree and suddenly, one jumps up, gives a frightened yelp and they start to leap away. Leaping gracefully, the herd moves as one to safety. The air is now FULL of alarm calls. Small little trumpets blasting through the forest. We're craning our necks, and he emerges from behind the tree. He's failed. The deer's got away. Now that he's in the open, we wonder how we ever mistook him for deer, or a boulder, or anything else. I mean, look at him. He's unique. and massive. He moves in graceful defeat right past the deer, who're watching him leave, every eye pointed at him. Poor guy.

Aarya has two very good questions (my heart is bursting with pride that she's thought of these).
a) Why did the deer not smell him?
b) Why did he not chase them while he was walking past less than 10ft from them?

a) The tiger is a clever cat. He deliberately hid where the direction of the wind blew his scent away from the deer. Which is why the deer, which were downwind, on the OTHER side of the plains, smelled him first and ran.

b) His advantage is stealth, not speed. He cannot outrun the deer. He knows that. He must have planned this hunt hours ago, from kms away, crouching closer and closer so he can spring on the unsuspecting herd. Once his cover was blown, he didn't bother to hang around. He left so he could find somewhere else and take position for a night hunt.

For all those who're thinking, a blog post about tigers? Ya, little mental I am that way. :)
Happy sighting.

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