Some travels are driven by the pursuit of the final destination. Others are fluid, urging you to pause, meander, and savour the surprises your journey might reveal. Plotting the route from Guwahati Airport in Assam to Sela Pass in Arunachal Pradesh on Google Maps tells you the distance is about 438 km or 9 hours and 52 minutes. But, when your travel companions are a naturalist, a leading wildlife photographer, a senior citizen with an unquenchable thirst for adventure, each with a different bird and destination on their wish list, plans can go awry. In December 2023, weeks before our travel, wildlife photographer Dhritiman Mukherjee maps an ambitious route, one that mostly runs along NH13 (173 km and 5 hours of this journey), a Trans-Arunachal Highway that cuts through some of Arunachal Pradesh’s richest habitats, but makes many detours. Mukherjee, his seventy-six-year-old mother Sandhya Mukherjee, bird guide Jerry Rana, and I squeeze into a rattling Mahindra Scorpio with Mohammed Rafi classics on loop and set off. Our journey there will stretch over three days and includes some of Arunachal Pradesh’s richest wild habitats. However, some of our best birding happens on the road.
Our journey takes us through the Nameri foothills in Assam, along the teal Kameng river, over its gurgling tributaries, gradually climbing higher and higher into Arunachal Pradesh to finally take us over the clouds to the frosty alpine forests and snow mountains of the high-altitude Sela Pass. “The road is our transect,” says Mukherjee, referring to a methodology scientists use which involves travelling across a straight line that cuts through a natural landscape through which observations are made. “It’s a teaser of what forests on both ends of the road hold.”
As we climb higher, we drive through a range of habitats, from low-elevation evergreen and riparian forests at about 500 metres to mid-elevation broadleaved temperate forests. Later, we are in coniferous and alpine forests that make way for scrub vegetation along scraggy snow-covered 4,000-metre-high peaks. Every habitat explodes with avian diversity.
As we drive further through Bomdila, a picturesque mountainside town in West Kameng district, several riotous flocks of birds cross the road. At this altitude (1,000-2,000 metres), we see birds from high-altitude regions that have migrated to these lower elevations to escape the harsh winter. “At this elevation, you can spot anywhere between 300-400 species of birds in this season,” says Tarun Menon, a PhD student with the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) who has spent the last three years at Eaglenest Sanctuary, Arunachal Pradesh, for his research work.
Between November and March, several species band together into cacophonous mixed-species flocks. Often, as many as 40-100 birds with nine to ten species whizz past us, chirping, feeding, performing acrobatics midair. (1) The golden-breasted fulvetta is a regular member of these gregarious flocks. They join flocks of similar-sized or slightly larger birds such as babblers, tits, and (2) beautiful sibias (Heterophasia pulchella).
“Two competing theories explain why birds band together in the winter,” says Menon. “First, large flocks provide protection to the birds so they can hunt while staying safe from larger predators. Large numbers mean more eyes and ears to detect predators and prey. Second, food in the winter is scarce. More birds create enough of a riot to scare and flush out more insects lying under tree barks or in the soil than a single bird would. Suddenly, there is more food.”
An absolute stunner among the flock is (1) the brightly coloured chestnut-bellied minla (Actinodura strigula) with a rust-coloured mohawk, many shades of yellow, and cryptic patterns scattered across its body. (2) The red-tailed minla (Minla ignotincta) is also an opportunistic feeder like its yellow-feathered cousin and joins mixed-species flocks in their hunting adventures. Both species are skilled acrobats — often seen scaling thin trunks, circling them, and climbing vertical branches with great ease to forage for insects under tree bark.
The best moments of our adventure, however, are reserved for last. On our final leg of the journey, we reach Sela Pass just before dawn. Wearing multiple layers of clothing, we step out of our car to witness the sun rise behind the snow-covered peaks, turning the skies into a sea of gold.
Sela Pass, a high-altitude mountain pass, lies between the Tawang and West Kameng districts in Arunachal Pradesh at around 4,000 metres. By December, several hundred species of birds from here have migrated to lower elevations. Those that remain are specialists built to brave extreme cold.
While we are watching the snow pigeons, Mukherjee walks into an icy stream. He has travelled this route several times and is familiar with the landscape. “I had seen a solitary snipe in this stream three years ago,” he says as Rana and I follow him. Soon enough, perfectly camouflaged against the rubble, we spot a solitary snipe. It is as still as a rock for several moments until it does a little dance, shaking its booty and probing the soft earth in search of worms and insects with its long bill.
The return journey is a much-awaited recap. Our excitement is replaced with keener observation skills. We stop to look for familiar flocks, paying closer attention to their calls and antics, recognising that the road offers unexpected adventures only if you are willing to park and pause.
About the contributors
Radhika Raj
is a features writer with Roundglass Sustain. When she is not chasing stories, she is busy fantasizing about building a pottery studio in the hills
Dhritiman Mukherjee
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