Namdapha Diary

Day 1 - Sunday 21st March 2010

Guwahati after a 5 hour long flight from Mumbai via Kolkata. Shared a dilapidated and dirty Maruti Omni with 3 other pan chewing passengers to reach the city centre, 20 kms from the airport. I am a day early as a precautionary measure. Explored the promenade along the Brahmaputra in the evening. Guwahati is arguably the worst state capital. Dusty, filthy, chaotic and noisy. Overpowering stench from open sewers. A slice of Assamese history on the plaques at Sukleshwar Park. Raucous high decibel worship of the lingam at Sukleshwar Temple. Dangerously overcrowded buses. At a deserted bus stop a girl in tight jeans hurled abuses at her lover over the cell phone. I thirsted for cold beer but it was hard to locate a decent watering hole. Guwahati looks 2-3 decades behind our big cities. After a long refreshing shower I was on the road again looking for dinner. And for some inexplicably foolhardy reason stepped into a small overcrowded eatery that promised tasty bites. Acrid smoke from the kitchen burned my eyes. Yellow overheated mustard oil dripped from the Batura. Crashed into bed with an uneasy conscience and a queasy stomach.

Day 2 - Monday 22nd March 2010

Woke up from a surreal dream of a comic train accident. It is bright even before 5. North East has a strong case for a different time zone. The morning tea tasted surprisingly good. Asked for 2 repeats. Lounged lazily on the bed reading and listening to the local FM Radio. Assamese sounds like Bengali but not as sweet. Read all the local news in Eastern Chronicle and Assam Tribune. Gorged on lemon rice and curd to neutralize last night’s dining disaster.

The hotel lobby was our assembling point late afternoon. Couple of familiar faces from previous camps. Broke the ice with strangers. Our group was 25 strong. Luggage haphazardly piled into a shuttle bus that took us to the bus terminal on the city outskirts. Luggage transferred to a Volvo bus with comfortable pushback seats and we were off. As darkness descended I dozed off. Nagaon is the toilet stop. Almost fainted by the overpowering ammonia vapours from the urinal. I pitied the ladies, they had nowhere to go. The bus hurtled along the highway in the darkness. Dinner almost at the stroke of midnight at the famous Kaziranga. Copious quantities of rice with cold watery dal, an insipid sabji and plenty of raw onions.

Day 3 - Tuesday 23rd March 2010

All night the bus made steady progress northeastwards and my eyes opened to a misty and drizzling dawn breaking out over the town of Tinsukia. The air had turned refreshingly cooler. I had slept comfortably. Tinsukia, Margherita, Ledo, Lekhapani and finally the town of Jagun on the border with Arunachal Pradesh. We had covered almost 600 kms in 15 hours. The Assam – Arunachal Pradesh border is actually about 8 kms away from Jagun. We crossed the border in a fleet of assorted SUV’s. Gun toting soldiers in battle fatigues checked our inner line permits at the crossing. Miao, the last outpost of civilized comfort was 45 minutes away from the border. Stocked up on carbohydrates and proteins with poori bhaji and omelettes at the Government run Eco Tourism Guest House at Miao, a quaint town of 8000 residents. Rested and recharged we set off towards the entrance to the Namdapha Reserve Forest about 15 minutes away. On the way the shock absorber of one of the SUV’s snapped and some of us had to trudge along on foot.

We had to pay camera fees at the entrance – Rs 100 for 35 mm still camera and Rs 500 for tele lens and video cameras. The pint sized, chubby faced forest guard pretended not to understand the difference between the two and demanded that we cough up Rs 500 for our SLR cameras without a zoom.  He gave away the devious game with his reluctance to issue receipts for the fees.

With the camera fee issue resolved we entered the reserve forest on foot. It was a 6 km long trek to our camping site at Gibbon’s Land, done at a leisurely pace soaking in the ambience of the rain forest. As we advanced the trees on our right grew taller and denser while the roaring Namdapha River kept us company on the left. The birds proved hard to spot against the heavily overcast sky. Avid birders took out their books and after some passionate debate it was confirmed that the little bird perched on a high slender branch was indeed the Asian Barbed Owlet. I trained my binoculars on the bird and noticed big eyes staring back at me, or was it my imagination? Members of the group covered the 6 km at their own sweet pace. Some used it as an endurance test, others halted every now and then to take pictures. But the light was getting murkier by every minute. When we trotted in to the camping site, the colourful sight of the tents and the aroma of hot meal greeted us. The support staff of half a dozen locals had gone in advance to make all the arrangements.

After the meal tents were allotted. Unpacked and organized our stuff. And short excursions to understand the lay of the land. Before dinner we had formal introductions. And what a heterogeneous group we were! - Divorce lawyer, tax consultant, freelance journalist, cartoonist, software engineers, graphic designer, landscape designer, industrialist, entrepreneurs. Dinner over we had a torchlight walk to look for owls. And on the way back I realized how well our eyes can adapt to pitch darkness. 

Day 4 - Wednesday 24th March 2010

Before I narrate the day’s experiences, let me share an important tip with you. Carry ear plugs along when you go camping; you never know whom you have to share your tent with. If you snore yourself, carry an extra pair; your partner will appreciate your act of kindness.

Last night I shared my tent with 2 others. Besides the snoring another noise kept me awake partially. The rain that had been threatening to come down all day yesterday finally did, not in buckets but in drips. Not for nothing we were in one of the most challenging tropical rain forests of the world. But when the morning tea arrived at the doorstep of our tent sharp at 5 the rain had stopped.

Our group leader had second thoughts to go ahead with the day’s programme – an uphill trek. The overnight rain would have made the path a tad slippery. After much vacillation we got the green signal. We had to put on leech guards first. Leech guards are oversized knee high socks that you wear over the normal socks and the trouser legs and tied below the knee. Our knowledgeable group leader pulled out a box of snuff tobacco and we smeared the smelly brown powder over the shoe laces. Others anointed their arms with insect repellants. The 4.5 km trudge to Moti Jheel began.

The undergrowth got thicker and thicker. It was a wet carpet of red, russet, orange, yellow and green leaves. And that’s where the leeches thrived. Stopping to take a photo meant inviting the blood suckers. They sense our body heat. So the trick is to keep walking and walk fast. And the person who leads the way is the safest. But soon enough I learnt that the undergrowth is not the only route by which leeches can get onto you. As the foliage got denser and closed in on the trail, the leeches could come in from the sides. But actually leeches are pretty harmless creatures. Their sting is painless. And they are not greedy; they fall off after they have had their fill. More often then not you become aware of them only though the bloody mess they leave behind. But the leeches did take their toll. Most of the ladies dropped out, rather too easily I thought.

It really was a mind game. As the trail got steeper and tougher, leeches fell out of my mind. The wonders of the forest filled that vacuum. Orchids. Mushrooms. Myriad shades of green. Awe inspiring trees. Wild flowers. The rain forest is a botanist’s paradise. The dense foliage makes bird spotting next to impossible. Half way into the climb, I began to sweat profusely. It was a very muggy day. I stopped frequently to take photos and also to catch my breath. Reached the destination after 150 minutes. Moti Jheel turned out to be a moss covered pond. The descent along the slippery trail was treacherous; perilously steep at places. Came down in 120 minutes. My shirt was soaked in sweat. The trek to Moti Jheel was more than an endurance test, as someone in the group remarked. It was a fine introduction to the marvels of a rain forest.

We were not done for the day. There was a little gurgling stream close to our camping site and some keen birdwatchers had spotted a slaty backed forktail on a reece yesterday. Late afternoon in fading light we went there and stood with bated breath on the bridge high above the stream. Sure enough we spied the bird as it teased and tormented us by flitting in and out of our view. Such are the pleasures of bird watching. 

Day 5 - Thursday 25th March 2010

After 2 nights of sleeping in tents it was time to pack up and leave Gibbon’s Land. But where were the Gibbons? Heard their call often – oovana oovana oovana ooka ooka ooka. Hoolock Gibbons are the only apes of India and they are found only in these parts. Rainforests do not lend themselves easily for sighting of birds and animals unlike sal forests of Central India. The foliage is extremely dense. The murky light added to the difficulty. Before breakfast we went to the riverside to look for birds among shoulder high reeds. Chats, thrushes and fly catchers. The breakfast was heavy – aloo parathas – for we had a long trek ahead of us. 10 kms to Deban.

The trek from Gibbon’s Land to Deban was long but it was not a difficult terrain. We walked on a kuchha road actually. Namdapha River kept us company on the left and presented superb photo-op stops at every turn. People walked at their own convenient pace and groups formed quickly, either from pacing or common interest. I found myself in a group that carried raisins, almonds and walnuts – good energy food. On the right side the ferns presented an arresting pattern, and the oversized leaves with raindrops on them made a pretty picture. A very faint drizzle stalked us most of the way. It was extremely annoying as I had to repeatedly protect my camera from the moisture.

And then suddenly we saw people. Our first sight of local villagers - strappy lads and rosy cheeked girls with wicker baskets on their back. While the boys smiled for our cameras, the girls covered their faces and tried to scurry away. But some ladies in our group coaxed them to pose. Three fourths of the way into the trek was Anamika Falls. Would be spectacular during the monsoon, but the trickle now was nothing to write home about.

I covered the 10 kms to Deban in 2 ½ hours. Compared to Gibbon’s Land, Deban was civilization. Cottages with attached bathrooms. Had my first bath in 72 hours, braving the very chill water. Water never felt more invigorating on my body. Our luggage and victuals had been transported to Deban in advance. A hot veggie meal was ready and we ate like pigs.

Late evening there was a short walk through another leech infested undergrowth. The trees on both sides soared to astonishing heights. The canopy was thick and light barely filtered through. Suddenly there was a clearing and a splendid vista of the river. Back in the cottage my legs felt like lumps of lead. I wanted to lie down, sleep and dream. 

Day 6 - Friday 26th March 2010

Deban had solar lighting. Also at dinner time yesterday the generator was operated for a couple of hours to charge camera batteries. I had been using the camera sparingly for last 3 days for fear of running out of charge. Today I went ballistic with my camera.

The weather over Arunachal Pradesh was expected to be warm with sporadic showers, but turned out to be wet with sporadic sunshine. During one such burst of sunshine this morning I caught the Paris Peacock on my camera. Paris Peacock is a fairly large and very attractive butterfly with wings that resemble peacock feathers. It was sitting motionless on a hedge for an unusually long time and I was lucky to be able to approach very close and catch the iridescence. Multiple reflection of sunlight from the different layers of a butterfly wing is responsible for the intense colour. I was fortunate to get the right angle. My picture elicited a lot of wows from the group. It made my day actually.

But the quirky weather had other designs on me. There was a hard shower and I got thoroughly drenched. I was ill-prepared for such a rain and my jacket and hat got a nice soaking. Serves me right for not heeding the instructions to carry a raincoat! The dousing disturbed my equilibrium for sometime. It took me awhile to accept nature as she comes. The rain forced us to cut short our stroll in search of butterflies and we returned to the dining hall for early lunch.

While awaiting lunch there was a sudden flurry of activity as somebody spotted a Sultan Tit on a tree in the lawns adjoining the dining hall. People grabbed their cameras and rushed out silently. The bird flitted about and finally perched itself on a low branch and gave us an eyeful of it magnificent yellow crest. My camera did not have the zoom capability required for bird photography and so I had to be content with using my eyes, and storing the handsome image in my consciousness. Unforgettable.

Light appeared to improve in the afternoon and we went to the river threading our way past tall reeds. Traipsed over the pebbles and boulders on the river bed and found a nice spot to park myself and watch the waters froth and foam. The river was only a shadow of what it would be after the monsoon but the current was still palpably swift. The snow fed waters felt ice cold on the feet. As the light began to fade a pair of large black and white birds emerged from nowhere and began to skim up and down along the river. Someone covered it with a 300 mm lens. Over dinner the birds were confirmed as Pied Avocets, their first sighting in Arunachal Pradesh according to those in the know of such things.

Dinner over,  a large garishly red jerry can was placed on the table. It was ‘Apung’, the local rice beer. I volunteered to take the first swig. It tasted similar to sour buttermilk. Had several glasses thereafter but it had no effect! But I was intoxicated by the colours of Paris Peacock.

Day 7 - Saturday 27^th March

All week we had been hoping, some even praying, that there would be at least one full day of sunshine before we left. Maybe the prayers were misdirected, for we woke up this morning to the rumblings of thunder. And then rain came down in buckets for three full hours. The rain proved to be sort of blessing in disguise. Our taps had run dry and we collected the water run-off from the roofs in buckets for our morning chores.

We had planned to cross the river, partly on foot and partly by boat to visit a place called Haldibari. But with rain showing no sign of relenting, that programme was a non-starter. Sullen faces silently ate porridge and poori-bhaji for breakfast. Later when the rain appeared to take a break a bunch of restless people decided to take a stroll towards Anamika Fall. I joined the group more out of boredom. But what a memorable experience it turned out to be!

The Sun came out and so did the butterflies…in full force. Punchinello, Purple Sapphire, Red Helen, Chestnut Tiger, Chocolate Tiger, White Commodore, Dark Judy, Popinjay, Veined Jay. It was a masterclass in butterfly identification and photography. Some would sit quietly for long allowing me time to approach stealthily. Others would flutter around in circles perching only fleetingly. A Common Sailer sat on my shoe, Red Admiral on someone’s shoulder. Shot innumerable pictures. One of the most sought after butterfly was White Dragon Tail, with its hind wings tapering into long tails. This mud puddler would repeatedly sit on the puddles in the road but was hard to focus upon because of poor contrast against the background. Finally when I had thrown up my hands in desperation, one sat down inches from my foot. And high on a branch I caught a fleeting glimpse of a mother and infant pair of Hoolock Gibbon. On the way back the light had improved so much that we could see the snow capped Dapha Bum range gleaming in the horizon. What an amazing turnaround of weather!

The remarkable transformation in weather buoyed us so much so that late in the afternoon we decided to visit the village across the river. Turned out to be a foolhardy move. Firstly we had to wade through a 20 m stretch in knee deep water. It looked deceptively easy, but the moss covered stones and pebbles underfoot were treacherous. Then there was the catamaran that didn’t inspire much confidence. The current was fierce and I don’t think the two boatmen were really in control. Across the river we hurried to the village amidst fading light and gathering clouds. 24 families lived here in wooden huts built on stilts. We were allowed to enter one of them and it was spotlessly clean. Buddhist icons could be spotted on the shelves. A huge quantity of ginger was stockpiled between the floor and the ground. As we rushed back to the river, raindrops started falling. Darkness enveloped us. The wind rose. The boat was considered as unsafe and we crossed the river in a raft wearing life jackets. The current carried the raft diagonally across the river and deposited us on the opposite bank as per its own sweet will. And with the aid of torchlight we found our way back through reeds. It was our last night in the camp and after dinner we huddled around a log fire for song and dance. Mugs of Apung were passed around.