The Pachyderms of Jim Corbett National Park

The journey from paperback editions of various books penned by the legendary hunter-turned-conservationist Edward James Corbett, or Jim Corbett, as h's popularly known, to actually driving through the very place he once walked, was nothing short of exhilarating. During my growing years, I devoured his books, often closing my eyes between chapters to imagine what it must have been like to cover mile after mile, letting the jungle sounds course through his senses.

The matriarch warns us to stay away - Dhikala zone, Corbett National Park

You can imagine then, how it must have felt for someone who’s dreamed of this moment their whole life, to breathe the very air that Corbett once breathed, to drink in the beauty of the varied landscape that was until a short while ago, just a place that existed in my mind. 

I could wax eloquent about the park, and still not do justice to the breathtaking landscape that includes a diversity of flora and fauna.  Perhaps I’ll save this for another time.  Although the vast grasslands, riverine beds, and the towering Sal trees seduced me completely, what blew me over was the sheer density of elephants that roamed these jungles. The pachyderms were everywhere. Almost every turn, every patch in the grasslands had large herds or lone tuskers eating their way through the jungle. What amazes me about elephants, irrespective of the topography or location, is their ability to hide. A creature as large and noisy as the elephant can melt into the vegetation or stay absolutely silent if it wants to. I have encountered this behavior several times, whether it’s the dry, deciduous forests of  Bandipur, the dense, hilly terrain of B R Hills or the diverse jungles of Corbett, the elephant emerges from behind a shrub or the lantana, swiftly and silently, taking you by complete surprise. 

I remember the time when we were following fresh pug marks, our jeep hurtling through the jungle track, when all of a sudden, from around a bend came a loud crash. This happened just as the jeep passed the bend. An extremely annoyed female elephant emerged from the thicket, startling all of us completely, for there wasn't the slightest sound until moments ago. We were even more surprised when she was followed by a small herd of five or six females, including a calf. Of course, we left from there in a hurry, relieved that the matriarch decided to make her presence felt after we’d passed. Had it been a few seconds earlier, the consequences could’ve been disastrous. 

Besides the fact that the herds I spotted in the Dhikala zone of the national park were enormous in number, the other unique trait I noticed was the size of the elephants. Now, before you jump to counter my observation, let me clarify that this is purely a subjective pronouncement. Somehow, the elephants here appeared marginally larger than their South Indian cousins, especially the males. 

Speaking of male elephants or tuskers as they’re popularly referred, I had the opportunity to observe and photograph two large, lone tuskers on different occasions. The first one, a  handsome, albeit full grown male, blocked our path on the Dhikala-Gairal road.  At first, he ignored us, feasting on the succulent leaves from a tree. Then things got interesting when another safari vehicle blocked his path from the opposite direction. I expected him to lose his temper and express his annoyance. Our tusker though, remained calm, composed and in no rush to get anywhere. He continued on his way forward, while we followed slowly. The other vehicle had no choice but to back up as the elephant ambled along, stopping on and off to grab a tasty snack from the infinite jungle pantry. My husband and I clicked away furiously, hoping to somehow get some good headshots. 

“Headshots? Why didn’t you say so before?” ...is what I think the fellow thought, as he stepped into the thicket for the briefest moment, allowing us to pass. Once we drove past, he got back on the jungle track, now following our vehicle as we managed to get some excellent headshots. After a while, I put down the camera and simply gazed at this attention-seeking tusker. I could’ve sworn he enjoyed every minute of it. 

That’s when things changed from interesting to exciting. A tigress, clearly disturbed by the elephant’s presence, emerged from the undergrowth and walked right between our jeep and the elephant! Awestruck by the unexpected appearance of the tigress, I missed the chance to get both animals in one frame. It would’ve made such an excellent picture! Quickly regaining my composure, I did manage to get her on film before she slinked away from her nemesis.

If the Dhikala zone was teeming with herds as large as 40, the Bijrani zone had some formidable tuskers of its own. Considered to be the best zone to spot tigers, after Dhikala of course, this zone has an ethereal beauty that leaves visitors mesmerized. Boasting sky-high Sal trees, small water bodies that run through rather hilly terrain, the Bijrani zone is marked by unexpected curves that hold the promise of something exciting right around the corner. This was where we saw the second tusker. If his Dhikala cousin was large, this was one bulky. His trunk was thick and his beautiful, but deadly, tusks gleamed as he walked, rapidly and purposefully towards our vehicle. I was sure he would charge, for he was in the state of “musth”, a condition where a mature bull has up to 60 times its normal testosterone levels. It’s highly dangerous to approach bull elephants during this time. Their aggression levels rise to a great extent, so much that they attack with the intent to kill. It’s not uncommon for elephants, both wild and tame, in musth to attack and sometimes kill one of their own. 

I noticed the telltale temporal discharge close to its eyes, right in front of the large ears. The determined gait with which it marched towards us and the fact that 4 other safari jeeps blocked our path in front, naturally made me very nervous. The driver left the engine on, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. This one, strangely, didn’t display the typical aggressive behavior of an elephant in musth;  although we weren’t sure what he’d do if he got too close to us. Well, we didn’t wait to find out.

Our naturalist was a man who’d worked with the forest department for nearly 20 years. His experience told him not to take any chances with the formidable battle-tank forging towards the jeeps. Gesturing the other drivers to move ahead, he instructed our driver to step on the gas. Once the jeep was at a safe distance and my adrenaline subsided, I realized how fortunate I was to be able to photograph these intelligent, temperamental creatures in the wild.

Sure, the Jim Corbett National Park’s biggest attraction is its tigers; but the highlight of my trip was the elephant encounters. From the endless herds feeding placidly and the little calves indulging in juvenile games, to the testosterone-charged handsome bulls, the pachyderms of Corbett stole my heart. 

Access'd Ooty

When she came into our lives sometime in the middle of 2010, we had no idea we'd take her on her first vacation so soon. But it just seemed so wrong to leave her behind, all alone, waiting for us to come home. So we took her along, on what turned out to be one of our most memorable trips so far.

I don't suppose you know what I'm talking about. It is our very own, 125 cc, stylish, Suzuki Access. Boasting a 4-stroke engine, and looking resplendent in black, the dealership fella called it the “perfect scooter for city use”. Little did he know that we had other plans for her!

A misty Saturday morning sometime in January 2011, my husband and I found ourselves heading to Ooty. Considering we'd not been married for long, money was a little tight, so this was going to be an overnight trip. A small backpack with a change of clothes and some water, that's pretty much all we needed. I'm going to leave out the mundane details of the Bangalore to Mysore stretch. The heavy traffic, suicidal cows jumping in the middle of the highway at regular intervals, and the innumerable coffee-houses, always make me feel like I've never left the city.

The awfully dull Mysore highway behind us, we crossed Gundlupet without incident. This, I believe, was when the real fun started. Considering we were now officially in the Bandipur Tiger Reserve limits, I really wonder how this narrative would have panned out if we'd had a flat. But we had other things to worry about, such as the forest officer at the Karnataka- Tamil Nadu check-post. He stopped us and stared suspiciously before asking me to take off my helmet.

"Madam, is he forcing you into this lunacy?" he enquired.

I was amused, at the same time touched by his concern. I told him I was fine and a willing participant to what he clearly thought was madness.

"Sir, why are you taking your wife to Ooty on a scooter? There are plenty of buses and cabs. This isn't even a powerful motorcycle!" he exclaimed.

It took some convincing before he bid us adieu, still shaking his head and muttering as we resumed our journey.

Nestled in the foothills of the Nilgiris and melting into the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary on one side and the Nagarhole National Park on the other, these jungles are part of the Nilgiri Bio Reserve. Despite efforts to prevent poaching and protect what remains today of the fauna, I fear that the generation after us will not enjoy the beauty of these beautiful, but rapidly depleting, forests of South India. At the risk of digressing, let me add that Bandipur was once a private hunting reserve for the Maharaja of Mysore, before it was established as a tiger reserve in 1974.

Back to where we were, it was just beyond the 'Safari point' in Bandipur when we came across the first herd of elephants. Elephants, when in a herd, are almost always peaceful and don't molest human beings. It is the lone tusker, especially one in the state of Musth, that you should worry about. Those fellows are best left to themselves. Anyway, coming back to our pachyderm family. They regarded us with mild curiosity and continued munching on the succulent bamboo that grows aplenty in these jungles. I imagined one of the little ones even went “slurp” before licking his lips with satisfaction!

The herd let us pass.

The next challenge came when we reached the 'safari point' at Mudumalai. Here we had the option of either continuing straight towards Masinagudi and taking the Kalhatti road, or turning right towards Gudlur. The Gudlur road is, undoubtedly, the most scenic, with the Moyar river serenely flowing on one side, while Kalhatti (which literally means 'steep ghat') comprises of 36 hairpin bends. Although I had immense faith on our Access, let's face it, negotiating 36 hairpin bends on a scooter is like trying to thread a needle with a rope! The engine would most certainly seize. So the obvious choice, and a wise one, was the Gudlur road. The extra two hours that we took to reach Ooty from the safari point made us realize how sturdy our 'city' scooter was. Pushed to its limit, sometimes by the wide craters on what must have once resembled a road, and sometimes by the buses and larger cars that simply whizzed past with little regard for our humble steed, she was one resilient workhorse.

As for us, well, I'd be lying if I said that we felt like James Bond who somehow managed to get out of diciest situations without a hair out of place. When we reached our destination, an old British Bunglow converted to a B&B, all we wanted was a hot bath, a steaming cup of tea and a warm bed. Before that, however, we had a very curious hotel manager to convince that we'd actually covered nearly 300 kilometers on a Suzuki Access. "Saar, where did you rent this in Ooty?" he enquired, without checking the Karnataka registration.

"It belongs to us," my husband replied.

The flummoxed chap walked out, peered at the registration number and then looked at our exhausted faces.

The "why" was written all over his face. But he restrained himself and showed us to our room.

I can't even begin to describe how tired we were. Our backs ached, our muscles were sore and despite the helmets, dirt covered our faces. But for all it's worth, I know we'll do it all over again.

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: Plenty of options available, depending on your budget. You could either try Kings Cliff if your purse strings aren't too tight, or the likes of Woodberry resorts or I-India if a budget vacation is on your mind.

When to Go: Whenever your heart desires. Ooty is one of those round-the-year destinations. That said, April to June or September to November are considered to be the best times to visit.

What to Do: I'd give the botanical garden and the lake a pass; they're too touristy and crowded for me. Long walks along the winding roads and the train ride to Coonoor should be in your 'to-do' list.

How to Get There: If you're in a car or on a motorcycle, you could either take the Bangalore- Mysore- Gundlupet - Bandipur- Gudlur- Ooty route or the Bangalore- Mysore- Gundlupet - Bandipur- Masinagudi-Kalhatti- Ooty road. Amateur drivers and scooterists are better off taking the Gudlur Road.