A Boat ride in Bhadra

The rain pelted the windscreen as we drove on, determined to make it in time for some hot lunch and rest. We were driving down from Jog Falls to a resort by the Bhadra River and were exhausted by the journey that took longer than expected. This was because of a large tree that came crashing down en route, just before our car passed. We thanked Providence and prepared for a long wait until the branches were sawed off and the road cleared. All the while, I alternated between admiring the lush vegetation and cringing at the sight of some enterprising travelers emptying their bursting bladders on either side of the road.

The harrowing journey was far from over. We were nearly there but had one last, and rather unexpected stretch to negotiate. A left here and a right there, and soon we found ourselves on a what resembled a bridge across the Lakkavalli Dam. Nearly 250 meters of brown slush, followed by a steep, muddy incline separated us from the resort. I stared at the mess in disbelief, convinced that our 14-year-old sedan wasn’t up to the challenge. To make matters worse, it started to rain once again, hampering visibility and rendering the task almost impossible.

“Isn’t there another way to get there,?” I asked my husband.

He shook his head and urged me to get moving before the weather changed from bad to worse. I took a deep breath, shifted the stick into first and attempted to drive through the muck.  Every time I pressed the gas pedal, I could feel the car shimmy and slide a couple of inches. Finally, ten minutes, numerous attempts and a very dirty car later, we were on the asphalt, albeit pockmarked road once again, the signs welcoming us to the resort. 

Why in heaven's name did we make travel plans in the monsoon, I don’t know. Although, we did manage to strike Jog Falls off our “must visit” list. I thought that the journey so far was rather adventurous; and how mistaken was I, for the adventure, and a rather unpleasant one was right around the corner.

It was a dull morning, the sky laden with angry, grey clouds when we hopped onto the motorboat for a boat safari. My fear of rivers ( read my blog, The River Rafting Misadventure), coupled with the crabby mood brought on by the depressing weather meant we were off to an inauspicious start. 

Osprey

There were eight other people on the boat, including the boatman and the naturalist, as we sailed down the monstrous Bhadravati river. The water seemed mildly turbulent when we set off and I tried to convince myself that I simply had to get over this fear, and this was a good time to start.

The boat swayed mildly as the wind picked up speed. I looked at the faces of the other occupants, and much to my chagrin, I seemed to be the only one on the brink of a nervous breakdown. The others were enjoying the rise and fall of the boat, and my husband, well, he was busy photographing the River Terns and Ospreys perched on the dead trees. I was too nervous to pick up my camera, sure that I’d drop it into the water.  An uneventful 30 minutes followed and I finally began to relax, even managing to get some good shots of Cormorants and an occasional Oriental Darter.

A little drizzle, followed by strong breeze rendered any attempts to photograph the birds useless. I sat down, hoping the drizzle would slacken. This, of course, was not to be, as it was no longer drizzling. The rain came down in full force, the sheets of cold water painfully jabbing my arm.

The boatman, who figured the downpour would abate in a couple of minutes, started the motor, proceeding at full speed. The vast river assumed the color of lead, the angry, grey waves tossing the boat up and down like a ping pong ball. My nervousness developed into full-blown panic, as I watched the boatman struggling to steer against the howling wind. I observed the anxious expressions around me, including my husband’s.  His grim appearance and quiet demeanor told me all I needed to know. If we didn’t turn around now, we were going to be in a lot of trouble. 

“Splat!” went the boat, as the boatman tried his best to turn around and head back to camp. Battling against the furious winds and torrential rains requires a certain level of skill and composure, something I prayed the boatman possessed. One of the women onboard had her head bowed down either in prayer or in fear, I wasn’t sure. She gripped the steel rod on the sides so tightly her hands seemed to turn grey. Once again, I found myself at the mercy of a river. That’s when I vowed I’d not set foot inside a boat, no matter how calm or serene the water appeared...if we managed to get out of this pickle in one piece first. 

“We’re heading back now due to the sudden change in weather,” announced the naturalist to a rather distressed audience.

“About time,” I heard my husband mumble under his breath.

The boat titled precariously as the motor propelled us forward, engaged in a fierce battle with mother nature. The helplessness of the situation dawned on all of us and I’m certain that we were praying for the same thing at that moment; to feel the ground beneath our feet. I could barely see ahead, so heavy was the downpour so I cannot imagine how the boatman finally managed to maneuver through the choppy waters. Steering deftly, he managed to get the boat, which was dangerously bobbing up and down, to the safety of the shore.

The adrenaline rush ebbed and I found myself shivering violently as my husband helped me get off, the relief apparent on his pasty white face. Some of the guests laughed nervously, while one lady simply threw up as the shock wore off. Needless to say, we were humbled by the fury of nature. 

The nightmare sometimes returns to haunt me, and I find myself slowing down instinctively when I drive over bridges or looking away when the airplane flies over a waterbody.

That said, there’s something that hair-raising situations often do to you. Once they pass and you manage to get out unscathed, you feel absolutely alive! I suppose that’s what drives the adrenaline junkies to lust after danger; the reawakening of the senses and that compulsive desire for adventure.

A hailstorm in BR Hills

The onset of monsoon in Bangalore usually fills me with dread. I shudder at the thought of the waterlogged streets, the craters that are otherwise referred to as potholes, and the murky waters bubbling up from the beneath the sewers, threatening to spread disease all around.

A waterhole filled to the brim

In the jungle though, it’s a different story altogether. The fragrance of the earth following a downpour, the fresh burst of green and the tiny pearls of water that roll down the leaves, the jungle envelopes you in its enchanting spell.

 Of all the reserve jungles in South India, the Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills Tiger Reserve is my favorite place to visit in monsoon. A lofty hill range in Karnataka, this picturesque piece of heaven is a crucial wildlife corridor that connects the Eastern with the Western Ghats. 

One of my most memorable trips to this place was in 2015. We entered the jungle roughly three hours before sunset. The clouds had cleared after a light afternoon drizzle, and the jungle was abuzz with melodious bird songs and the comforting croaking of frogs. The sturdy 4X4, driven by an experienced naturalist, tackled the precarious and slushy terrain with aplomb.

Although we’d not seen anything more than spotted deer and curious langur monkeys, the drive was turning out to be a rather delightful experience. The small pockets of water bodies with the mist rising off the surface and the water dripping down from the leaves added to the heady combination of the high-pitched cicada sounds that seemed to reach a crescendo before dying down. Needless to say, I was enjoying myself thoroughly. 

That said, the best was yet to come. 

Rains in the jungles are unpredictable, and that’s the beauty of it. The clear blue skies give way to dark, angry clouds in a matter of minutes. We experienced this phenomenon as we drove deeper into the jungle, the clouds blocking the sun until the whole area was under the dark shadow of monsoon clouds. We had just enough time to roll down the tarpaulin, as the skies unloaded their fury, the sheets of water coming down hard. The water seemed to hit us from all directions, and we found ourselves partially soaked, despite the tarpaulin, which now flapped helplessly in the wind.

An elephant walks away after a satisfying drink

That’s when it began, the “pok, pok” of hailstones. As if on cue, the ground beneath us rumbled and I was astonished to see a huge mass of grey rush past. 

It was a herd of elephants running pel mel as the hard bits of ice hit their backs. I stuck my face out to get a better view, only to hastily draw it back in after a volley of hailstones smacked my face.

It was a sight to behold. The hailstorm in the jungle, the hum of water as it ran down the hill, and the thundering of the earth as the elephants rushed past. Thrilling as it was, we were grateful not to be in the herd’s way when pandemonium broke loose.

We resumed the safari after the storm subsided and the clouds cleared once more. Our progress, however, was slow despite improved visibility. The rain had loosened the earth in many places, and the soft, red earth, combined with water meant we had a rather slippery and dangerous terrain to negotiate.

We still had an hour’s daylight with us, so the naturalist dexterously drove through the slushy trail, many times revving the 4X4 until squishy clods of earth flew all around, some of it finding its way onto our clothes and arms. Soon, the precarious slopes were behind us, and we found ourselves in a part of the jungle that wasn’t as difficult to drive; or so I thought. I believed I jinxed it with this very thought.

Sturdy as it was, the Bolero met its match when it landed softly into a quagmire. No amount of revving seemed to help. In fact, it only drove one of the rear and front wheels deeper into the earth, while the other wheels rose gradually until our ride was at a comical 30-degree angle. I found myself sliding to one side, and the naturalist thought it was best we disembark, while he figured out a solution; and we needed a solution fast, for dusk was fast approaching and we were in a jungle that housed a fairly large population of wild elephants.

Now that the occupants were off the vehicle, the naturalist wasted no time in dislodging the Bolero, albeit with some difficulty. We were back in business, a relieved lot heading back to camp, thinking of the hot tea and potato fritters that would be doled out shortly.

Sitting by the tent that evening, my husband and I watched the birds as they retired for the day, chirping noisily, flying in large and small flocks. Twilight enveloped the cloudy skies and a light drizzle began. At that moment I leaned towards my husband and whispered, “There’s a scorpion on one of your shoes… must have climbed on during the safari!”