The Fantastic Creatures of Coringa Wildlife Sanctuary

The intermittent creaking of the narrow boardwalk, raised several feet above ground, was the only sound in an otherwise still and quiet mid-morning in Coringa Wildlife Sanctuary (CWLS) in Andhra Pradesh. A strange earthy smell, a mixture of mud and forest sap, suffused the air. In the silence, even the slightest rustle felt exaggerated. On both sides of the boardwalk, thick trees with surreal aerial roots formed an opaque curtain, shielding anything else from sight.

Coringa’s mangroves, the second-largest in the country, are located where the Godavari meets the Bay of Bengal. Several hundred species of birds (both native and migratory), as well as animals, fish, and marine creatures thrive in this habitat. While the bird species were surprisingly easy to spot, the animals remained elusive. Moreover, the sporadic rustling in the thickets was both tantalising and frustrating.

Jackal and Hide

While the fishing cat enjoys extraordinary attention at CWLS, and rightfully so, owing to its “Vulnerable” status on IUCN’s Red List of Threatened Species other, equally interesting creatures such as the golden jackal and the smooth-coated otter seem to get short shrift as far as protection goes. Late one evening, I was lucky enough to spot a fishing cat in one of the unmapped little creeks off the Korangi River. And then finally, I thought I caught a fleeting glimpse of an animal with a shiny brown coat — the golden jackal. But it vanished before I could even register its presence. Try as I might, I couldn’t get a proper view of the jackal on repeated visits to the sanctuary, only its eyes shone from a distance at dusk one day, and we saw footprints on other occasions.

Other creatures that occupy the 235-sq-km sanctuary are mongoose, monkeys, jungle cats, scorpions, and a plethora of reptiles such as cobras, spot-tailed pit vipers, cat snakes, and Russell’s vipers among others. The waters of the mangrove forests support estuarine crocodiles and olive Ridley turtles alongside hundreds of varieties of fish, molluscs, crustaceans, and other marine animals.

Floor Fest

At first glance, the mangrove floor looks fairly unremarkable when the tide goes out. The mud is pockmarked, and dotted with plant stubs, saplings, roots, twigs, fallen leaves, and tiny bushes. It looks squelchy enough to seem like quicksand. But as I sat crouched at the edge of the pier and observed the water’s edge, where the forest floor gently sloped into the water, there seemed to be a whole universe in the tiny patch that I could see. From little holes, crabs darted in and out, rarely venturing more than a few inches from their burrows. They were tiny, about one or two inches long, and their behaviour was highly amusing as they flitted around, jumpy and high-strung. They also looked strange: their bodies were a dull brown-black, but most had one claw that was longer, and coloured a bright lemon yellow. Called yellow fiddler crabs, these were a staple of the mangrove forest floor.

The crabs were quick and agile. I sat and watched them scoop up bits of mud, and eject perfectly formed round balls. I was told they extracted the organic matter from the mud, threw out the inedible parts, aerating the forest floor in the process. Their circadian rhythm, I learned, was tied to the tides: They feed on the floor when the tide is out, and rest inside their burrows when the tide is in. When the water approaches, the crabs plug the holes of their slanting burrows with mud, and stay inside until the next low tide.

Closer to the water’s edge, another set of strange creatures caught my attention. The first of these were mudskippers. Found mostly in the intertidal mudflats of mangroves, mudskippers look surreal. They are amphibious fish, with eyes protruding out of the top of their heads.

What makes them unique is that they can breathe both in water and on land, and they use their tails and fins to “walk” on the mudflats. Besides, they also eat, court, and fight on land, and spend most of their lives out of water. They feed mostly on algae and plankton, but also on tiny worms, insects, crustaceans, and other creatures found in the mud.

Hope Springs Eternal

Just off the coast of Kakinada, but within CWLS, is an 18-km long sandbank called Hope Island. It serves as a storm barrier for Kakinada, and has two little villages on it. The island is largely nondescript, except from mid-December to mid-February, when olive Ridley turtles (Lepidochelys olivacea) arrive here to nest.

Considered to be among the smallest of sea turtles, they are named for the olive green colour of their hard shells. They were once abundant, but are now classified as “Vulnerable” on the IUCN’s Red List of Threatened Species due to fast-declining numbers. Olive Ridleys are found in the warm waters of the Indian and Pacific Oceans. In India, they find their way from the Indian Ocean towards the Bay of Bengal during mating season, migrating thousands of kilometres in the process. The biggest gathering is found at Gahirmatha Beach in Odisha further up the coast, and nearly 500 turtles are known to arrive in CWLS towards the end of the year. Females lay up to 150 eggs in nests dug in the soft sand, and six weeks later, the hatchlings make their way to the ocean.

In 2017, alarm bells rang when over 50 bloody turtle carcasses turned up on Hope Island. Mechanised fishing boats were the culprit and sustained efforts have since been made to protect the turtles. Among these, is the use of turtle excluder devices in fishing nets, and erecting fences to provide safe passage for the hatchlings from their nests to the sea.

Jerry in the Tree

Since it was the wrong time of the year for turtle watching, I listened with envy as my companion and guide Srikanth Mannepuri narrated stories of observing and photographing them. “Let me show you something interesting,” he said, as if offering a consolation prize, as we began heading out of the sanctuary. Along the long walkway, he pointed to a common sight: thick nests made with a dense bed of leaves, located high enough in the trees to be just out of human reach. I hadn’t paid much attention to them earlier, assuming they belonged to birds. But quiet observation revealed an astonishing inmate — the rat.

Since the mangrove floor floods periodically, making burrows in the ground is quite impractical, so the rats here have responded with an alternative: treetops nests. It is a great example of how the mangroves’ unique characteristics have led to ingenious adaptations by species dependant on them. I was fascinated by this revelation, and looking back, fascination seemed to be the theme of my encounters at Coringa Wildlife Sanctuary. I can’t remember another place that left me so enthralled.