Sattal is a Paradise for Birders, But What About the Birds?

Even though I love and pay a lot of attention to spiders and other tiny critters, in November 2022, I decided to make birds the primary focus of a trip to Uttarakhand. I travelled to Nainital district, a famous birding destination in northern India. I was excited by the novelty of seeing new birds, rambling around hilly habitats, observing different behaviours, and experiencing fresh perspectives. Local bird guide and naturalist extraordinaire Jagdish, who has a deep-rooted love for his work and the natural world, ensured my time was well-spent. Among the many birds he spoke of passionately during our first meeting was one that held the spotlight in his heart — the chestnut-headed tesia (Cettia castaneocoronata), a small, uniquely coloured bush warbler. Jagdish did such a fantastic job of hyping up this tiny bird that my heart was set on seeing it. Fortunately, we were to spend the next morning around Sattal, where the tesia is spotted this time of year.

On the trail

At 6 am the next day, Jagdish and I were brimming with excitement as we started walking a trail from Sattal toward a popular birding spot called Sattal Studio. Jagdish did his best to describe the tesia’s two-beat chirping call (“chee-leu-chee-wit”) to me, and we kept an eye out for it despite the dense undergrowth. The trail meandered beside a gentle stream until it met another lake surrounded by hills on three sides. On the lake shore, we made our first bird acquaintance of the morning, a plumbeous redstart perched on a fallen log. It gazed pensively at the lake, seemingly waiting for sunlight to awaken its breakfast (insects). An ultramarine flycatcher in the distance also seemed to be waiting for some insect action. Like the redstart and the flycatcher, we were keen on sunlight gracing us and thawing the forest back to life. However, the sun hid behind a thick blanket of near-stationary clouds, only allowing an increasing brightness of diffused white light. Without the warm rays of direct sunlight, perhaps we would not see the bustling action we had hoped for. Despite the uncooperative weather, we remained optimistic about seeing the chestnut-headed tesia.

As we continued down the path, we saw a kalij pheasant (Lophura leucomelanos) carefully descend the hill across us. As it approached the lake shore, it was met by a red-billed blue magpie, the two birds briefly staring at each other before continuing along their respective paths. We followed the kalij pheasant. Roughly 30 minutes later and a few kilometres away from Sattal Studio, the path began to narrow, and we entered a densely vegetated trail that ran parallel to the stream. On this serene mud path, we bumped into a bevy of five kalij pheasants. Jagdish, the birds, and I were all surprised in equal measure. By the time we gathered ourselves and reached for our cameras, the birds had disappeared, skilfully shuffling into the undergrowth. Within minutes, they had made their way across the stream and up a steep hill to the top of the ridge. While Jagdish looked at the pheasants on the opposite ridge, I heard a “chweep” from the lantana shrub behind me. It was a sound I had never heard before, and yet it sounded strangely familiar. About three hours into our walk, I was face-to-face with a small bird with a gorgeous green body, yellowish throat, and spectacular rusty-red head — a chestnut-headed tesia was perched less than two feet away!

I watched the little bird hop around and search for a meal. Its small roundish body and long slender legs blended with the dense network of branches. Its skittish hopping in the dim light made it look like a multi-coloured tennis ball being served around the bush. In the split seconds of being stationary between hops, the tesia appeared to rapidly scan the foliage for food. Chestnut-headed tesias, according to the Birds of the World website, prey “mostly on spiders”. After a generous five seconds, the tesia disappeared into the dense foliage.

Birding hotspot

Sharing a few moments with the tesia was incredible. So was the time spent watching every other bird — a bar-tailed treecreeper stealthily climbing a tree, for instance, is etched firmly in the warmest corners of my mind.

Despite the gloomy weather, we saw nearly 40 species of birds in three hours. The trails near Sattal are fabulous for spending a morning in the company of birds. This explains why at least 15 other groups of birders were on the trail that morning. Most were well-equipped with large telephoto lenses mounted on tripods. At least five groups also had small speakers playing bird calls. With easy access to bird calls, some birders and photographers now use mating calls of specific species (like tesias) to draw them out of the bushes, or play calls of the collared owlet to attract mixed foraging flocks of smaller birds like tits. 

The ethics of call playback

The use of call playbacks has become a controversial issue among birders. One school of thought suggests that the repeated use of call playback adversely affects birds. For instance, males may use up their energy trying to out-sing an electronic speaker, or a female could be left confused hearing a mating call outside the mating season. The use of predator calls can cause unnecessary stress to entire groups of birds. With some of these reasons in mind, the Division Forest Officer at Kedarnath Wildlife Sanctuary, for instance, has banned the use of call playback. A list of guides from Uttarakhand (including Jagdish) have signed a document titled “Ethical Nature Guiding Guidelines for Uttarakhand” that expressly calls for the avoidance of call playback.

The opposing view is that call playback is indispensable for birdwatching, especially for rarer species. Supporters of this view suggest that the use of call playback to access enigmatic bird species easily could foster an appreciation for avifauna, fuel local economies through “avitourism” and promote the conservation of these species. Still others believe there is a middle ground that could see the ethical use of call playbacks.

From my time walking through this excellent trail, the joy of serendipitously meeting the chestnut-headed tesia, a bird I longed to see, was the perfect way to round off my experience of Sattal and its bird life. The idea of luring the bird to take a picture of it because I have contributed to local tourism, in my opinion, dangerously commoditises the bird. Could the “avitourism” space grow without this sense of consumerism? I think the birding community can foster a tourism culture that celebrates birding without call playback. The sighting of enigmatic species can remain, as it has always been, a natural and rare occurrence that takes effort and is arguably more satisfying.