When Golden Jackals Swim Across the Karli River

9.33 am. I’ve been sitting on a small dinghy, staring patiently at a dog-like creature for 2.5 hours. Each time, it edges cautiously towards the water, dips its front paws in the river and then dashes back to the safety of the mangrove cover. I look over at my father, Hemant Sawant, who is also the photographer on this trip, and catch him in the middle of a lazy yawn. For the past five days, we’ve been chasing a whisper — the swimming jackals of Karli’s mangroves.

In southern Maharashtra’s Sindhudurg district, a short distance from Malvan, Devbag is famous for the estuary where the Karli River joins the Arabian Sea, and just upstream lie the mangrove-lined backwaters of the Karli. Among the scattered islets is Hopkins Island, a small mangrove-covered isle that sits so close to the mainland that locals recall a time when they could walk to it during low tide. While the island is calm by day, the nights are a different story.

Residents living opposite Hopkins Island report eerie howls echoing from the mangroves and glimpses of glowing eyes along its edges. According to them, at dusk and dawn, the golden or common jackals (Canis aureus) that live on the island swim to the mainland in search of food.

Day One

After a gruelling off-road journey from my home in Malvan, we arrived at a point on the mainland opposite Hopkins Island. Knowing that jackals are most active between dusk and dawn, we try to spot them in the evening. We located a small opening on the mainland that provided a clear view of Hopkins. As we parked our vehicle, a sudden movement caught my eye. “Something’s running there! A jackal, a dog...no, definitely a jackal,” I said, alerting my dad. But before he could adjust his camera, the creature vanished. We waited for a while, hoping for more movement, but eventually decided to leave. As we turned on the vehicle’s headlights, we were met with an unexpected sight: a half-drenched jackal stared back at us from the dusty road ahead. The jackal had crossed the river right under our noses. But where and how?

 

Days Two to Four

Though Hopkins Island isn’t particularly large, its dense mangrove thickets make it inaccessible on foot, so our only option was to explore by boat. We contacted Sagar Bavkar, who runs small boat trips in the backwaters and owns the island’s only human settlement, a small homestay. Joined by our local naturalist friend, Darshan Vengurlekar, we planned to circle the island at dusk in Sagar’s small dinghy, hoping to catch sight of some jackal activity. However, our excitement was short-lived; we spent the next three days circling the island repeatedly without spotting even the shadow of a jackal.

Day Five

On our fourth night, during our return boat ride back to the mainland, we were overwhelmed by a foul stench — it was unmistakably the odour of something dead. When we turned on our torches, we spotted scavengers: a mother jackal and her pup on the island, feasting on a carcass. From our location on the boat, it was hard to discern what they were eating, but it was clear they were enjoying their meal.

The next morning, we returned to the site, and since there were no animals around, we docked nearby to get a closer look. We were stunned to see a massive, upturned shell surrounded by scattered eggs — it was the carcass of a pregnant olive ridley turtle. One can only speculate the reasons for the turtle’s death. While the scene was undeniably tragic from the turtle’s perspective, for the jackals, it was a rare and nutritious feast — one they might never encounter again. After all, what are the odds of a large pregnant turtle landing on an island so far upsteam from the ocean? 

Interestingly, we didn’t spot any jackals on the mainland that day. While I can’t say for sure why the jackals might risk crossing the river twice daily, it’s likely that life in the mangroves is challenging for a predator like a jackal. Despite their dominance on the island, relying solely on fish or crabs may not be sustainable in the long term. Perhaps this drives them to the mainland, where they scavenge for discarded food from nearby human settlements. On this occasion, however, they didn’t need to expend any energy swimming or foraging. Instead, they could enjoy the unexpected bounty laid out before them.

Day Six

On our final day, we switched tactics and tried tracking the jackals on the island in the morning. We figured that if they were heading to the mainland around dusk, they were likely returning to the island around dawn. However, despite our best efforts, we didn’t spot a thing, so we started heading back to the mainland. Just as we were about to dock the boat, Darshan spotted a jackal seated on the mainland riverbank, its gaze fixed on Hopkins. Sensing a potential crossing, Sagar urged us to stay a little longer. Since we were on the same bank, we moved a short distance away, anchored, and waited.

Each time the jackal seemed ready to move, a new obstacle emerged. First, a large boat of illegal sand miners positioned themselves to the left. Then, a local sand-mining boat anchored to the right, followed by a fisherman casting his net directly in front of the jackal, leaving it hindered on all sides. Seeking refuge within the mangroves, the jackal observed its surroundings, occasionally stepping out before retreating into the thickets. After nearly 2.5 hours of waiting, the coast was finally clear, and the jackal made its move. 

“Darshan, untie the boat. I think he’s about to cross,” I said hurriedly. We knew that starting the boat’s engine would spook the jackal, so we let the currents guide us forward. Slowly but surely, the jackal dipped its feet into the water and began to swim. All we could see was a tiny bobbing head. It took the jackal just over two minutes to swim across the 300-400-m stretch, but with the high tide working against it, it must have had to exert every ounce of its strength. It was panting when it reached the island. The scene unfolding before us was nothing short of magical, a moment that words can hardly capture. Whether it was the sheer fascination of witnessing such behaviour or the anticipation built by the long wait, it was one of the most breathtaking sights I’ve seen. With one final glance in our direction, the jackal darted into the mangroves.

Though the jackal disappeared, a sense of awe and wonder lingered. In that fleeting moment, we had witnessed something of the legendary resilience and adaptability of these animals. Sailing away, my mind couldn’t shake off concern for Hopkins’ future. While the jackals appeared undisturbed for the moment, the island itself was under constant threat from illegal sand mining. According to Sagar, the once-expansive terrain of the island had gradually been eroded by the constant extraction of sand. With each passing day, Hopkins shrinks, inch by inch. As I cast a final glance at the island, I could only hope it can stand firm in the years to come and remain a sanctuary for the jackals that call it home.