Having resolved to let nothing stop me in making a trip to Silent Valley, it was rather silly of me not to have booked the necessary tickets. After calling up a number of travel agents, pleading with and cajoling them, I finally managed to secure an overnight train to Palakkad. Reaching Palakkad station at 05:45, I proceeded to get a bus to Mannarkad. Mannarkad is a small town, smaller than Palakkad, and it wasn’t too difficult to find the bus to take me to Mukkali. An hour later, after a short climb, I reached the town of Mukkali. ‘Town’ is a rather generous term to apply to the place, the centre consisting of a convenience store, a bus stop and two eateries. The setting was idyllic though, and I sat down in one of the shops for a smoke and a cup of tea.
Refreshed, I set off to find the Forest office. Half a kilometer down one of the roads, was the forest office. Arrangements had already been made, and I was booked into the forest guest house. The Officials there looked upon me with a mixture of consternation and pity, for here I was earnestly pouring my heart out on how I wanted to see the wildlife of this place. Deciding I was harmless after all they told me not to have much hope of seeing anything on the trail. I discovered that I would be allowed only to the place called Sairandhiri, where the forest office is, along with a 60m high Machan. The place was also a mile to the river, and was frequented by tour groups. However having come all this way, I was determined to make it work. I secured the necessary permission to enter the reserve and was assigned a guide. Hiring a jeep from the nearby town centre, we set off along the path to Sairandhiri. On the way In a mixture of Tamil and broken Malayalam, I managed to communicate to the driver and guide that I was really keen on catching a glimpse of a number of creatures, including the Lion-tailed macaque and King cobra. They were still inclined to treat me as a regular camera touting tourist, until I yelled for the jeep to stop, and shot of in pursuit of a rat snake I espied on the corner of the road. Though I missed it, it established my intent with these two. From that moment on, we set out at a snails pace, constantly scanning the surroundings for signs of wildlife.
As we moved further down the track we came upon lumps of steaming elephant dung. From the state of the shrubbery on either side of the road, it was clear that the elephants preferred cross-country trekking to traversing a perfectly good path. However, we did not see elephants, only coming across signs of their passage. A wagtail on the road suddenly flew up from almost beneath the wheels of the jeep… and flew 15 feet down the road awaiting the jeep. As we lumbered nearer, it took off, and repeated this game of ‘chicken’ for about 5 minutes or so, until evidently bored, flew off into the shrubbery.
A little further, the guide, now standing at the back of the jeep, suddenly called a halt, and there in the trees off the road, I saw a solitary male macaque.
Singularly impressive with his mane, he glared at us for disturbing his repose, and moved further into the trees, apparently to sulk. Thanks to an above average zoom on my Nikon D80, and a high resolution, I was able to foil his dastardly attempt at depriving me of a picture. As the trip progressed, I came to realize that he was the most cooperative of the lot. Nilgiri Langurs crashed into the undergrowth as soon as we espied them. The Malabar giant squirrels were no help either, issuing warning ‘chucks’ to all within hearing range before ducking into the densest foliage at hand.The rest of the trip was uneventful, and we reached Sairandhiri only to find the Machan swarming with college students on tour. Exposure to the wild seemed to bring out the beasts in them, and the welkin was split with mindless howls and shrieks. Virtually giving up on catching sight of any animals with the ability to hear, I rushed off to the river before the troupe could follow me, in the vain attempt of finding at least snakes and other aurally challenged forms of wildlife. I had no trouble finding leeches though; they were only too willing to make acquaintance with me. As we reached the river, squeals and shouts informed me of the presence of another lot of college students, dunking each other with water from the river. Giving up all hope of seeing anything larger or less ubiquitous than a leech, my guide and I went a little further upstream where we had a quick lunch, stowing away the plastic, of course. It was beautiful though, and I managed to get some nice shots of the river Kunthi, or kunthipuzha, as she is locally known.
The clouds begin to gather in force, and rather than get the equipment wet, I decided we head back for the day. Hearing about my antics from the guide, the forest officials were a lot more sympathetic to my cause, and assigned one of the foresters to be my guide for the next day. They also advised we take another route, one not usually shown to tourists, for which I was immensely grateful.
Up at the break of dawn the next morning, I wandered around the guest house grounds. A river flows right behind the guest house, and I sat here for about half an hour watching the kingfishers dive into the river. As soon as the office opened, I was ready and set to go. This time the forester accompanied me in the jeep. We took the jeep about a quarter of the way through the trail, the clouds settling into the valley, and a light rain misting the windshield. There, on the side of the path was a rough trail heading right into the valley. The guide informed the driver to pick us up from another point further up the path within a couple of hours, and we were set for the trek.
I got my equipment and with a borrowed umbrella, set out along my guide. Dousing my shoes and feet liberally with salt, paying close attention to the part where shoe met skin, we headed out into the leech infested path. The trail was quite beautiful, and we within ten minutes we came across a river. Walking to a fordable point, I removed my shoes and was quite literally disgusted with what I saw. My shoes were crawling with leeches. A few had already latched onto my calves. Dousing them with salt, I removed my shoes, and there, half a dozen leeches inside my shoes, slowly bloating on my sanguineous offerings. At that moment I lost all revulsion, and couldn’t care less. With that behind me, I was able to appreciate the trail a lot better. The sunlight barely reached the forest floor, filtered by the leafy boughs higher up. As we passed we saw Nilgiri Langurs, and the occasional squirrel.
Numerous frogs crossed our path. I stopped at virtually every tree bole, raking the leaves around the base in search of shield tail snakes. The only thing I saw was a very large millipede, over 20 cms long. The path was not too steep, but years of doing nothing but sitting in office were taking a toll on my reserves, and I had to pause every time we cleared a modest incline. The river cut across our path on two more occasions, and I began to see the wisdom in wearing flip-flops as my guide was. It also made spotting and eliminating leeches a faster process.Finally made it to the end of the trail, and then into the jeep. I eased my aching bitten feet into the vehicle and smoked a quick beedi as we set off back to town. The trip was an eye-opener in many ways. I realized how ill-equipped I was, physically, for even a simple trek as this. I also realized that there were better ways to spend weekends than clubbing or watching TV. Even more importantly the trip served to remind me where my heart lay… In the welcoming embrace of everything Nature has to offer.
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