<p>Your columnist, having been brought up in Bengal, knew what real monsoon meant. At school he was required to wear gumboots for months on end when the rains set in. Yet, what he witnessed on a visit to Valparai, staying on a tea estate in a planter’s bungalow, was something quite different. Valparai, perched on the Anamalai hills and adjoining the Anamalai National Park, appears to exist inside one continuous cloudburst. For a week it never really stopped raining. The only variation was in the intensity of the downpour. Photography became an act of valor, as the camera was permanently slick with water. But the visit was fascinating, illuminated by encounters with some of the Western Ghats’ rarest creatures. Valparai sits on a mid-elevation plateau about 3,400 feet above sea level in the southern Western Ghats, surrounded by one of India’s most biologically rich landscapes. Anamalai National Park, part of a larger tiger reserve, covers a patchwork of dense evergreen forest, grasslands, reservoirs and deep valleys. Its boundaries merge into tea estates, creating an unusual mix of manicured plantations and primeval rainforest. Rolling hills of emerald green suddenly fall away into ravines thick with towering trees, creepers and waterfalls.</p> <p>Reaching the region requires a three hour trudge from Coimbatore. The road climbs through dusty plains towards the base of the hills and then begins a dramatic ascent. As the air cools and the vegetation grows lush, the landscape undergoes a incredible transformation. By the time the plateau is reached, one finds a world that is cool and mist-laden. In these hills, wildlife roams freely across private and protected land. Gaur, commonly known as Indian bison are perhaps the most conspicuous. These massive bovines, the largest wild cattle in the world, wander through tea estates as if inspecting the planters’ skill. They emerge noiselessly from misty slopes, towering over the bushes, their curved horns giving them a stately bearing. Entire herds graze by estate paths, unbothered by the occasional human visitor who edges past with due humility. Smaller but no less captivating creatures inhabit the canopy. The Malabar giant squirrel, cloaked in flamboyant colours of maroon, cream and rust, bounds from tree to tree with acrobatic precision. It is one of the Western Ghats’ signature species and is often spotted near forest edges where fruiting trees abound. Come nightfall another specialist takes to the air. The Indian giant flying squirrel launches from tall rainforest trunks, spreading a furry membrane that allows it to glide for astonishing distances. For sheer drama, however, nothing matches the great hornbill. These enormous birds, with their yellow and black casques and heavy bills, heave themselves across the sky in slow, powerful wingbeats. The whooshing sound of their wings is unmistakable, a forest signature as distinctive as a tiger’s pugmark. The smaller Malabar grey hornbill, equally charismatic, adds its nasal call to the chorus. The supporting cast is just as intriguing. Lion tailed macaques, among Asia’s most endangered primates, cling to the last remnants of evergreen forest. They move in tight groups in the dark canopy.</p> <p>Conservationists have worked with estate owners and forest officials to build canopy bridges across the main roads, allowing macaques and giant squirrels to cross without descending into traffic. Higher still in the rocky reaches of the Ghats, the sure footed Nilgiri tahr survives in scattered herds. In Valparai the monsoon is not an inconvenience but the architect of life. The hills act as an enormous sponge, soaking and slowly releasing water into the reservoirs and rivers that sustain the plains below. Tea thrives in this moisture rich climate and the forests flourish because the rains rarely rest. After a week of rain your columnist left Valparai with damp shoes and a deep admiration for a region that shelters some of India’s most remarkable species. The experience was a reminder that the Western Ghats, despite decades of encroachment, still retain pockets of extraordinary wildness. And in places like Anamalai, nature continues to stage performances of remarkable grace for those willing to brave the perpetual downpour.</p>
<p>Your columnist, having been brought up in Bengal, knew what real monsoon meant. At school he was required to wear gumboots for months on end when the rains set in. Yet, what he witnessed on a visit to Valparai, staying on a tea estate in a planter’s bungalow, was something quite different. Valparai, perched on the Anamalai hills and adjoining the Anamalai National Park, appears to exist inside one continuous cloudburst. For a week it never really stopped raining. The only variation was in the intensity of the downpour. Photography became an act of valor, as the camera was permanently slick with water. But the visit was fascinating, illuminated by encounters with some of the Western Ghats’ rarest creatures. Valparai sits on a mid-elevation plateau about 3,400 feet above sea level in the southern Western Ghats, surrounded by one of India’s most biologically rich landscapes. Anamalai National Park, part of a larger tiger reserve, covers a patchwork of dense evergreen forest, grasslands, reservoirs and deep valleys. Its boundaries merge into tea estates, creating an unusual mix of manicured plantations and primeval rainforest. Rolling hills of emerald green suddenly fall away into ravines thick with towering trees, creepers and waterfalls.</p> <p>Reaching the region requires a three hour trudge from Coimbatore. The road climbs through dusty plains towards the base of the hills and then begins a dramatic ascent. As the air cools and the vegetation grows lush, the landscape undergoes a incredible transformation. By the time the plateau is reached, one finds a world that is cool and mist-laden. In these hills, wildlife roams freely across private and protected land. Gaur, commonly known as Indian bison are perhaps the most conspicuous. These massive bovines, the largest wild cattle in the world, wander through tea estates as if inspecting the planters’ skill. They emerge noiselessly from misty slopes, towering over the bushes, their curved horns giving them a stately bearing. Entire herds graze by estate paths, unbothered by the occasional human visitor who edges past with due humility. Smaller but no less captivating creatures inhabit the canopy. The Malabar giant squirrel, cloaked in flamboyant colours of maroon, cream and rust, bounds from tree to tree with acrobatic precision. It is one of the Western Ghats’ signature species and is often spotted near forest edges where fruiting trees abound. Come nightfall another specialist takes to the air. The Indian giant flying squirrel launches from tall rainforest trunks, spreading a furry membrane that allows it to glide for astonishing distances. For sheer drama, however, nothing matches the great hornbill. These enormous birds, with their yellow and black casques and heavy bills, heave themselves across the sky in slow, powerful wingbeats. The whooshing sound of their wings is unmistakable, a forest signature as distinctive as a tiger’s pugmark. The smaller Malabar grey hornbill, equally charismatic, adds its nasal call to the chorus. The supporting cast is just as intriguing. Lion tailed macaques, among Asia’s most endangered primates, cling to the last remnants of evergreen forest. They move in tight groups in the dark canopy.</p> <p>Conservationists have worked with estate owners and forest officials to build canopy bridges across the main roads, allowing macaques and giant squirrels to cross without descending into traffic. Higher still in the rocky reaches of the Ghats, the sure footed Nilgiri tahr survives in scattered herds. In Valparai the monsoon is not an inconvenience but the architect of life. The hills act as an enormous sponge, soaking and slowly releasing water into the reservoirs and rivers that sustain the plains below. Tea thrives in this moisture rich climate and the forests flourish because the rains rarely rest. After a week of rain your columnist left Valparai with damp shoes and a deep admiration for a region that shelters some of India’s most remarkable species. The experience was a reminder that the Western Ghats, despite decades of encroachment, still retain pockets of extraordinary wildness. And in places like Anamalai, nature continues to stage performances of remarkable grace for those willing to brave the perpetual downpour.</p>
