Sunday, February 22, 2015, Thar Oasis Resort & Camp, Rajasthan, India

Today we drove northwest from the Thar Oasis to the village of Khichan and back
(Image courtesy of VENT)
(Click on images to enlarge)

And the reason we drove to Khichan was to see Demoiselle Cranes
(Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

Khichan is a village in the Thar Desert that has somewhat accidentally become an internationally important birding site. This began some years ago when villagers took to putting out grain for the Demoiselle Cranes who were wintering nearby. That attracted more cranes and then even more, until now around 10,000 cranes come to be fed each day during the winter, and they eat something like 900 kilos of millet each day. The villagers have had to build a large walled compound in which to feed the birds. Inevitably, this gathering of cranes has attracted many visitors to the village, who are allowed to watch the spectacle from nearby rooftops. Although visitors may make contributions to help with the food, much of the cost is still borne by the villagers, who revere the cranes. I, too, revere cranes. I can’t help feeling joy whenever I hear or see them, so I’ve been looking forward to this trip to Kichan for a long time. Lee and I saw a few Demoiselle Cranes in July, 2007, when we crossed Siberia and Mongolia on the Trans-Siberian Railway. That route took us through part of the summer range of the Demoiselles. Now and then, as the train zipped along, we glimpsed a pair of them, usually with a couple of half-grown chicks walking safely between their parents. Demoiselles are the smallest of the cranes, only about three feet tall and weighing 4-7 pounds, yet they migrate across the Himalayas to winter in the Indian subcontinent and then fly back across the mountains to breed. You can see their astonishing flight over the Himalayas in this video and one of the hazards they face on that journey in this clip from the BBC.

Dawn at Khichan

Our alarm went off way too early this morning, but we dressed quickly and made our way across the sand to the dining tent in time to grab a couple of cookies before loading into the jeeps in the dark to head to the bus to head to Khichan. In the dark and my sleepiness, my only real impression from the drive was being jarred by the oddity of the fake Mughal cusped arches on the tollbooth we stopped at. It was barely light out when we got to Khichan. We were led from the bus to a rooftop overlooking the large enclosed feeding area, where the grain for the morning feeding had already been spread out in calligraphic swirls. We were greeted gracefully by the man and woman whose home the rooftop belonged to. There were no cranes in the feeding area yet, but the air was full of them. Across the way was another rooftop with people, who turned out to be a National Geographic film crew. A nearby temple was blaring Hare Krishna music into the dawn.

Khichan feeding area ready for the cranes

Cranes building up their courage on the sand dune

Cranes were flying in in waving formations from every direction and settling in three staging areas where they apparently prefer to wait until some brave soul dares to be the first to go over the fence into the feeding area. At first, most of them landed on a golden sand dune half a kilometer away. Gradually, others approached from behind us, landing in an open plaza. As still more flew in, some began landing on a closer sand dune. But none of them had the courage to enter the feeding compound.

View Lee’s clip here to get an idea of what it was like to be standing on that rooftop looking out over the temple:

I’d been surprised that no pigeons had discovered the grain, but they soon did. Then we had the amusing sight of a cat among the pigeons, slinking along trying to sneak up on them with no success at all. Eventually, it was scolded by the householders and left the arena in disgrace. (This was actually the first domestic cat we’ve seen in India.) Soon after, a pair of Ruffs joined the pigeons, which was rather a surprise. (Ruffs are largish shorebirds whose males grow fantastic feather headdresses and neckpieces (“ruffs”) in various colors during breeding season, but the ones we saw today were in the cryptic plumage worn outside breeding season.)

Cat among the Khichan Pigeons

We enjoyed the sunshine as we sat on the rooftop eating the good breakfast that had been packed for us, but we have yet to see a truly blue sky in India. Always, there is haze up high. Up around our observation area, there were many small birds flitting about their business, two of them lifers for Lee and me, the White-eared Bulbuls and a small flock of Indian Silverbills. (Only the lower bill is silver, but that looks quite metallic.) We also enjoyed a pair of Purple Sunbirds (who occupy the hummingbird niche here) working over the flowering bushes at a nearby house. Dion pointed out some really “authentic” (and quite brightly colored) House Sparrows. (That is, these are House Sparrows who live the lifestyle of their ancestors, migrating to here from further north for the winter, rather than, like most of their conspecifics, having become commensal with humans. However, I thought it was a bit suspicious that they were hanging around this house.)

Genuine Migratory House Sparrow (Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

White-eared Bulbul

Indian Silverbill (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

The cranes kept accumulating in their staging areas but not daring to land in the feeding area. They flew around and over us in great masses, seeming to check us out. Our hypothesis was that they were spooked by having people on two of the rooftops. I was able to point out the arrival of the first crane in time for the others to see it land. It was a full adult, but we soon realized that it had an injured foot that wouldn’t support its weight. It hopped about using its wings for balance, obviously hungry enough to overcome its fear of humans. It was soon joined by a juvenile and another adult. I thought at first that these must also be especially hungry birds, but then I realized that they were probably the mate and the offspring of the injured bird. (One of the reasons cranes are so revered in folk cultures around the world is their fidelity to their families.) While skeins of cranes flew all around us and more flew in to land in the staging areas, those three fed in a far corner of the compound for half an hour or so until a child ran by along the fence, which scared them away.

Crippled crane and juvenile (left) feeding

While others circled low

It was amazing to watch the masses of cranes on the nearest sand dune. They formed long lines that moved back and forth along the dune in much the same way that flamingoes move along the water’s edge. And still their numbers increased, as flight after flight came in. They flew lower and lower over the feeding area and lower and lower above us. Ultimately, they began to come down to just outside the fence of the feeding area, where they again paraded back and forth in lines. They were clearly skittish and were easily disturbed when, first a dog and then a cow, walked through their gathering.

Cranes looking over the fence longingly

At last, three hours after we’d arrived, they suddenly began leaping over the fence and flying in from the more distant staging areas. You can feel the frenzy in Lee’s clip here: (If you want to see more, this is a good close-up video of the cranes in one of the staging areas, and this nice slow-motion video will show you the grace with which they land in the feeding area.)

We spent another twenty minutes watching the feeding cranes until their compound was completely filled and the cranes were lined up along the swirls of the grain as though at troughs. It was a glorious sight. When something alarmed them, they all turned in that direction, the black-and-white of their heads making a striking pattern. I particularly enjoyed getting a close look at the males, who are larger and brighter than the females and have quite massive gorgets of black feathers.

Happy cranes

Handsome cranes

We finally left Khichan, reluctantly and much later than we had expected. While we were boarding the bus, skinny little boys gathered around to ask us for pens for their school and toffee for themselves, neither of which we had to give them, unfortunately. The return journey allowed us to see more of the countryside. It was mostly arid, goat-shriveled desert with hard-scrabble farms full of poor people working, as everywhere, terribly hard.

We passed the Indira Gandhi Canal that brings water down from the north to water this desert. Though it has benefitted the people (and the birds) in the short run, it has damaged the environment, and the situation is likely not sustainable. Although irrigation is salting the land up, for now there are very green fields (mostly mustard) in the desert. I had wondered how the irrigation works, since I’d seen no channels, but then I spotted a whole family out in their field lugging their irrigation pipes to a new position.

Indira Gandhi Canal, Rajasthan (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

The bus stopped at one point so we could see a pair of Chestnut-bellied Sandgrouse (which are easily identified by the fact that they have no chestnut on their bellies). I could see them well from my seat, which was good, because (having had a rather nasty episode of arrhythmia while we were on the roof in Khichan) I found myself to be much too wobbly to get out to go for a walk with the others. (Don’t worry, it happens, and thanks go to Pat for sharing her water so I could take the necessary pill.) Lee did go on the walk and reported back that he had seen a Green Bee-eater, Isabelline and Desert Wheatears, and a Greater Short-toed Lark (I love that name), but no Indian Courser, which is the bird we are most hoping for. As the bus continued further, I did spot the Indian Roller that Dion called, a truly lovely lifebird. And we got our first Indian Hare.

Indian Roller (Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

Green Bee-Eater (Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

Great Indian Bustard (Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Well, actually, the Thar Desert bird we’d most like to see is the Great Indian Bustard, but since there are no more than 300 of them left on the planet, that is not likely, alas. (They were not long ago widespread throughout the subcontinent.)

Back at camp, I wanted nothing but sleep. Lee insisted on accompanying me back to our tent before going up to have lunch himself and decided to stay with me rather than going out for the three-hour desert drive that started at 4. Amy returned from that with some excellent photos of exciting birds:

Southern Grey Shrike (Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

White-eyed Buzzard (Image courtesy of Amy Sheldon)

When Lee got back from dinner, he reported that they’d sat outside to watch a local band and dancer for half an hour before going up to do the checklist and eat dinner. I was sorry to hear that the group still hadn’t gotten an Indian Courser, though they did get some very good birds. Our marching orders are to be packed and at breakfast by 7 tomorrow, so I’ve set the alarm for 6. Tomorrow night, we will be on a train! My birds for the day:

Sandhill Crane ice-skating near Princeton (2001)

A few more thoughts on cranes, because they’re on my mind: Humans have long been fascinated by cranes. The Ramayana tells of a female crane crying in grief after her mate is killed by a hunter. The name here for the Demoiselles is derived from the Sanskrit word “kraunch”, which is a cognate for “crane”, derived from the same proto-Indo-European word (though old sources in English more often speak of eating cranes than of eulogizing them). At the Slimbridge Wetland Centre in Gloucestershire (which is trying to reintroduce the Common Crane into Britain), Lee and I once saw a reproduction of an evocative archaeological find, side-by-side fossilized footprints of a crane and a human child imprinted on a British mudbank 7000 years ago. There was also a map of the British placenames (towns, villages, and fields) that incorporate “crane” (in Old English, Old Norse, or Cornish), which demonstrated that cranes must once have been distributed over the eastern half and far south of the island. But cranes were extinct in Britain by the 17th Century. I know of no mention of them in Shakespeare and only one in Chaucer (“The crane, the giant, with his trumpet soun’”). We were in Hungary a decade ago for fall migration of Common Cranes, but the only gathering of cranes we’ve witnessed larger than the one today was along the Platte River in Nebraska during spring migration of Sandhill Cranes, where the birds number in the hundreds of thousands for a few weeks each year. The sound of those multitudes was overwhelming. We have also managed to see a few of the painfully rare Whooping Cranes (in Florida), which leads me to recommend this amazing short video of a pair of Whooping Cranes dancing with a pair of Sandhill Cranes.