High Altitude Passerines in Uttarakhand

In the cosmic accident of life, each form has a beautifully complex story to tell. Spending time in natural spaces presents invaluable opportunities to see and hear these awe-inspiring stories. Through my time in Uttarakhand, I had the privilege of sharing in the everyday life of many birds. Through the quiet moments we shared, four species of birds have etched their tiny forms in the warmest corners of my mind. The vividly coloured red-billed leiothrix (Leiothrix lutea) showed me colours in combinations I had never imagined, and the gravity-defying bar-tailed treecreeper (Certhia himalayana) demonstrated climbing skills that had me briefly wondering which way was down. A group of chestnut-winged minlas (Actinodura strigulawere) the first birds to greet me as I drove into the fog-enveloped mountains of Munsiyari. The winter wren was always around to keep me company when I stopped at mountain streams for respite on long treks. All four gorgeous little birds belong to the Order Passeriformes (and are called passerines). This group includes “perching birds” — over half of all known bird species. The group’s name originates from the scientific name for the house sparrow Passer domesticus, an ode to the predominantly small-sized birds in this group (with a few exceptions like the thick-billed raven).

Sattal Lake in the Kumaon Hills and its neighbouring forests are incredible spaces to spend quality time with some of Uttarakhand’s winged residents. While it is unfortunate that most of these forest trails were overgrown with Lantana camara, birds like the red-billed leiothrix thrive in it. Nearly all the leiothrix we saw on our explorations flitted between branches inside dense lantana thickets. Flocks of 5-10 birds began coarse, repetitive alarm calls from within the bushes as we got close. When the birds emerged at the edge of one thicket, they paused, perhaps to choose their next shrubby dining destination. In those fleeting seconds of their stillness, looking through my camera felt like peering into a kaleidoscope of yellow, olive, red, and blue. The tiny birds have a striking red beak thick enough to eat small fruits but sufficiently slender to probe for insects and spiders on the branches of plants and shrubs in the forest undergrowth. Their crown is a subtle olive green, the throat is a vibrant yellow, while the slightly forked tail is painted deep blue. The wings have a fiery gradient going from yellow to orange to red, interspersed with lines of black. The colours and patterns on the leiothrix were a dazzling yet comforting presence throughout my time exploring Sattal.

On the trees around Sattal Lake, the methodical foraging routine of the bar-tailed treecreepers presents a different kind of bird-influenced pattern. The tiny birds begin their search close to the base of a tree and effortlessly hop upward in a helix. It is almost as if the bird climbs an invisible spiral staircase around the tree. With four toes stretched across the tree trunk, the treecreeper maintains a grip that would give most professional climbers an inferiority complex. With a firm grip, the treecreeper ascends the tree in a series of small hops. With each upward leap, it digs its sharp and slightly curved beak into crevices on the tree trunk in search of a potential meal — feeding on spiders, insects, and other small invertebrates. Mesmerised by its vertical agility and diligent digging, watching the bar-tailed treecreeper quickly became a cathartic routine. The bird would go from one tree to another, meticulously examining each trunk along the same corkscrew route.

My drive into Munsiyari (in Uttrakhand’s Pithoragarh district) began with roughly 10 metres of visibility thanks to a thick fog that had enveloped the region. During a brief pitstop at the start of Munsiyari, I wondered if these conditions would mean little to no birding over the next few days. Just then, I saw a small flock of chestnut-tailed minlas perched on a rhododendron tree on the side of the road — letting me know that a spell of fog would not stop the region’s birds from getting out and about. Some members of the flock gorged on small insects while a few others kept a watchful eye on me. The tiny birds sport a gorgeous medley of warm colours. In the thick of the fog, the calls of the minlas snatched my attention away from their appearance. Their melodic “chweeps” followed by complex chatter sounded like an entire conversation. Their calls and restlessness reassured me I would see plenty of life despite a vast ocean-like fog.

The beautiful mountainsides of the Munsiyari region are streaked with an abundance of quiet mountain streams surrounded by lush golden grasses and strewn with boulders. As I took breaks on walks to catch my breath and refill my bottle, I met the Eurasian wren (Troglodytes troglodytes), another curious visitor who came to babbling brooks and shrubs in search of food (tiny invertebrates like insects and spiders). It occasionally dipped its head into the stream, looking for small fish. As high as snow-covered Khaliya Top, I watched wrens pick through the snow around frozen streams, searching for their next meal. Aside from keeping me company during bottle refills, one Eurasian wren and I spent 10 minutes sitting beside each other as we watched a VIP convoy of 20+ cars slowly waddle past us at a spot where a mud road met a quiet stream.

All four of these birds are residents of Uttarakhand, and I cannot wait to go back and create more memories with them. Observing a bird is a great way to build an appreciation for it. Carrying your newfound appreciation and going about your day in the company of birds who are also going about their daily lives is a great way to build relationships with the feathered lives that share our homes, streams, and planet.