Tales from the Treetops

 Last Sunday, I set out for Muthanallur Lake under a blanket of thick clouds. The kind of morning when the light is low, the air is heavy and the lake looks like it would rather go back to sleep.

But nature had other ideas. The quiet was suddenly broken by a burst of territorial drama. A band of Black Drongos launched a full-scale attack on a pair of Mottled Wood Owls, while a group of Indian Grey Hornbills joined the fray or at least got caught in the crossfire.

There was enough wing-flapping and chase sequences to keep the shutter busy, despite the challenging light. Around all this chaos, the usual birds went about their business, and a few bugs made their appearances too.

Here are a few tales from the treetops, just as I saw them.

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The first sighting in the low light. This Mottled Wood Owl, a shy and rarely seen resident here, gave me the same look I give my alarm clock at 5 AM.

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The Black Drongos were fiercely defending their self declared territory which quite confidently is wherever they happen to be perched.

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Wherever the Mottled Wood Owl couple tried to perch, the drongos were quick to evict them with sharp calls and swift dives.

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Not sure what the topic was, but the Indian Grey Hornbills seemed to be holding a serious discussion about it.

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The drongo struck there too. No perch was safe, not even for the hornbills.

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Driven from their perch by wings smaller but fiercer, the hornbills left with grace if not consent.

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I walked this cross section many times for the rest of the morning not always knowing what I was looking for but hoping the treetops would tell me.

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This little Pied Bush Chat had found itself a lookout post and wasn’t giving it up for anyone, not even me sneaking closer in slow motion.

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No drongo chase here just a kingfisher showing off its supersonic dive.

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Perched like a punctuation mark this little zitting cisticola adds a pause to the morning.

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Tucked in a tangle of dry stems, I found these lanterns, tiny heart-shaped pods glowing soft pink in the dull light. Balloon vine, they’re called.

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This male Baya Weaver sat still, looking like someone who’d just finished something important. Maybe the nest had been accepted. Maybe this was the first quiet moment after days of weaving and waiting. His yellow plumage still caught the light, a soft glow of pride in a job well done.

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A Red-whiskered Bulbul sat still among the thorns, expression unreadable.

Maybe it was watching me. Maybe it was watching nothing at all.

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I missed it at first. A Common Grass Dart, still and golden, until someone pointed it out.

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The Pied Paddy Skimmer prefers the paddies, but this one had claimed a quiet corner.

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The nest was indeed accepted.

Now the female Baya Weaver takes over, adding the finishing touches, shaping the interior, making it hers.

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By the time I left, the sky was still grey, but the lake had offered up plenty.

Some stories made it into the camera. Others didn’t.

A Tawny bellied Babbler darted through the scrub, a Cinnamon Bittern vanished into the reeds, and a Red necked Falcon flew past like a secret.

There were more birds than I could follow. But that is half the joy of mornings like these.

Did one of these moments stand out to you?

Drop a comment. I’d love to hear what caught your eye.