I finally made my first birdwatching trip to Kalkere Lake last week, a place surprisingly close to home, barely eleven kilometres, yet one I had never managed to visit. A friend had nudged me to go because a rare and rather elegant traveller, the Red Necked Phalarope, had turned up there. The plan was to go together, but life intervened and I decided to explore the unfamiliar lake on my own.
Kalkere greeted me with unexpected liveliness. Birds everywhere, flocks swirling over the water, waders tracing fine lines in the reflections, the whole lake humming with movement. Midway through the session, I noticed another birdwatcher wrapped oddly in a raincoat despite the clear weather. Only when he came closer did I realise why. The raincoat was concealing his camera. He quietly informed me that photography is prohibited at the lake.
So I turned back toward the gate, but even during that retreat the lake continued to reward me. I still managed a good haul of sightings along the way. At the exit I apologised to the stern looking guards who reminded me not to repeat the mistake. And in my mind I added, I do not intend to, because coming here without a camera is pointless.
Here are the photos from that unexpectedly eventful first visit.
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At six in the morning I was the only one at the lake, and the stillness made the flower lined trail feel even more inviting. Unsure how to begin, I simply took the path in the clockwise direction and let the quiet morning lead me.
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A little further along the trail the lake opened into a shallow stretch of mud and quiet water, and the first birds, a pair of Wood Sandpipers, were already at work.
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A Black Winged Stilt stood nearby with its long pink legs perfectly crossed, as if mirroring my own fingers that were crossed for good luck.
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That good luck arrived almost immediately in the form of a Taiga Flycatcher, sitting calmly on a low branch as if it had been waiting for me.
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At a bend in the trail a pair of Little Egrets drifted down like pieces of white silk, each one landing with the grace of a dancer.
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A little further ahead I found another Black Winged Stilt, this one with its head buried completely under the water. The perfect reflection only added to the comedy of the pose.
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A quick camouflaged glimpse was all this Buttonquail allowed. It stepped out of the scrub for just a moment and then slipped back into the undergrowth as quietly as it had appeared.
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Soon the quiet lake erupted into movement as a large flock of Black Winged Stilts lifted off together. Their long pink legs trailed behind them like brushstrokes in the air.
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After the burst of flight the stilts settled again in a quiet gathering on the far side of the lake.
Not far from the stilts a packed congregation of ducks filled the shallows. They rested, preened, murmured and occasionally shuffled for space.
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The lake was pretty large and every turn opened into another stretch of reeds and water. With so much space for birds to disappear into, I searched for the phalarope in the crowded congregation, scanning every busy patch of water. I had no idea about their behaviour at that point or where they preferred to linger, so I simply looked at anything that moved and hoped the little traveller would reveal itself.
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Two Wood Sandpipers stood in perfect stillness, facing each other as if they were in quiet conversation.
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In the middle of the restless crowd a male Northern Shoveler drifted past with quiet confidence.
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A trio of Garganey ducks glided past in calm formation, the striking male leading the way.
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A Grey Heron stood alone in the shallows, unbothered by the morning bustle around it.
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A female Northern Shoveler paddled by.
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At this point I met the fellow birder wrapped in a raincoat with his camera carefully concealed. He had been at the lake the previous day as well and told me that the phalarope had appeared around one in the afternoon. He was also the one who quietly broke the news about the camera ban. I realised I could not risk having my camera confiscated and waiting until midday was out of the question. So I slowly turned back toward the gate with an excuse ready in my mind that I was a first time visitor who simply did not know.
On the way out I stopped to check the board of dos and donts, hoping I had missed something. There was no mention of a camera ban anywhere. The rules covered everything from loud talking to flower picking, but cameras were not on the list. That only made the situation more puzzling, yet I decided it was wiser not to push my luck.
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A row of Black Drongos lined a graceful arch of branches. Even on the retreat the lake kept giving.
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Three Garganey swam past in perfect synchronous rhythm.
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A sudden burst of motion sent the Northern Shovelers into the air, with a Grey Headed Swamphen rising beneath them in a flash of blue.
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A group of Painted Storks stood resting by the reeds.
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The Wood Sandpipers had no sympathy for my mission. They were busy arguing over prime water hyacinth real estate while I continued scanning for the elusive phalarope.
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The stilts were poetry in slow motion, dipping and pausing and dipping again, their reflections more composed than I felt at that moment.
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Northern Shovelers lifting off together.
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Nearing the gate, I walked past a curtain of yellow blooms as if the lake was offering a quiet farewell.
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At the very last stretch of water, in a silent muddy pool I had almost ignored, the Red Necked Phalarope finally revealed itself. These birds are famous for their unusual feeding method, where they spin in small circles to bring food to the surface. They also spend most of their life out at sea, which makes every sighting on inland lakes feel almost improbable. Watching one here felt like a small miracle.
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Barn Swallows closed the day with their effortless flight.
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At the gate two male guards stopped me and asked what I was carrying. I said someone inside had warned me about a camera ban, so I was heading out. The female guard then triumphantly pointed at the rules board and said I should read it. I did not bother explaining that these rules often exist only in the air and not on the board. I just smiled and walked out.
As I walked out of the gate, I felt the quiet satisfaction that only an unexpected morning can bring. I had gone in search of a single rare visitor and ended up meeting a whole world of birds instead. The phalarope was the highlight, but the lake itself had been the real reward. I know I will return someday, hopefully when the rules are a little clearer and the camera is welcome again.
Let me know what you think of this visit and the birds I saw. I would love to hear your comments.
