Non-aquatic birds and return to Thittawella

by Athula Dissanayake

(Continued from last week)

As I sat, small flocks of Indian crested tree swifts would fly to and fro overhead, uttering loud calls, “keek-ko, keek-ko…” as they hunted their insect prey. During the migrant season flocks of Eastern swallows descended on the tank skimming the surface as they flew gracefully, twisting and turning, while hunting insects. In the large trees bordering the tank I would occasionally catch a glimpse of a pair of the rare and magnificent black-backed yellow woodpecker, the largest of its tribe.

A common kingfisher would dart along the shore, uttering its shrill call. It would perch on a small rock that stood in the water and wait, sometimes bobbing its head and jerking its body and tail excitedly. On spotting a fish it would dive headlong into the water and return to the rock empty handed while uttering a loud “cheek, cheek, cheek” to voice its disappointment. After several attempts it would return to the perch with a silvery fish dangling in its bill, thump it on the rock a few times and then swallow it head first.

Its more terrestrial cousin, the white breasted kingfisher revealed its presence by its loud cascading call from a nearby tree. Largest of its kind, the gorgeous stork-billed kingfisher frequented the trees bordering the nearby stream, where it used to fish in the dappled sunlight.

Activity in daytime

In the morning the birds were active while feeding, walking and flying to different parts of the tank. As the morning wore off all activity gradually dwindled and by midday it came to a stop. As the birds rested in the midday heat, everything was still and quiet, and hardly a bird could be seen as it took shelter among the water plants. A gentle breeze stirred a few ripples in the water and swayed the floating lotus leaves. Occasionally a bird would preen or take a bath by splashing in the water.

A sleepy atmosphere prevailed, enhanced by the constant drone of the cicadas. A gentle popping sound would indicate a surfacing fish or a sudden splash would indicate one jumping out of water to avoid an underwater predator. The silence would at times be rudely broken by the loud ringing calls of a pair of serpent eagles soaring in the heavens on thermal currents.

Towards evening the activity became more pronounced and the teals, coots and jacanas came out into the open to feed. The tranquillity was broken by a chorus of calls emanating from aquatic birds resting among reeds and lotuses. The tank was particularly noisy during the breeding season, when it was full of water and the vegetation luxuriant.

Coots and jacanas were the noisiest of the lot. They could be seen running and chasing rivals and engaging in mock fights.. A pair of white breasted waterhens added to the chorus with their loud call “kapparakata puwak puwak” as they prepared to roost in a clump of bushes at the water’s edge.

As the evening gave way to dusk, the chorus gradually died down and silence reigned once more.

A purple heron, silhouetted against the setting sun, flew to its roosting place. Its rise and fall with each beat of the wings, was a most serene sight as we stood on the bund. It was a peaceful scene after most of the birds retired for the night and creatures of darkness gradually and silently took over.

Night herons, with their attractive white and blue-grey plumage and a ruby-red eye, took up their posts by the water’s edge as they prepared for a stint of night fishing. The silence was interrupted by whistling teal as they circled the tank, uttering their shrill calls before flying off into distant paddy fields for their nightly forage. A red-wattled lapwing would announce its annoyance at the presence of a predator by its piercing call “did you do it”.

Breeding season

All the birds looked their best during the breeding season, particularly the males who wore their bright nuptial plumage, such as the jacanas with jet black bellies and long tails, grebes with chestnut in the neck, cotton teals with glossy green on their backs, and pond herons and egrets with long streamers down the neck. A korawaka or white-breasted waterhen swimming among the lily pads, with its brood of fluffy black chicks, offered a most pleasing sight.

Once I saw a male coot climbing the back of a larger female in attempting to mate. Unable to bear the weight of both of them, the floating vegetation gave way and the couple sank in the water. It was quite a hilarious episode. The affair was promptly abandoned as they went about their different ways. However, I saw them making a successful attempt later in the evening.

15 years later

All things change with time. My two cousins grew up and went their different ways. I entered medical college to engage in a busy career and our visits to the Thittawella tank stopped abruptly. Thittawella receded deep into the past. It was 15 years later that I came to reside in Kurunegala again when I was posted there.

At Kurunegala, I found a partner and friend in Dr. R. Thalgahagoda, Consultant Rheumatologist, who was also interested in wildlife. I wasted no time in organizing a trip to Thittawella tank in an evening and soon found myself seated on a rock close to the bund accompanied by him. As I sat there after so many years, all those memories came flooding back, and it was intensely nostalgic. Birds were still there, and I was able to observe them even more closely with the aid of my new equipment, namely a small telescope. It brought out the beauty of the tank birds more vividly. Thus began phase two of my acquaintance with Thittawella tank.

One day Thal and I were seated as usual on the tank bund, relaxed and leisurely watching the abundant bird life around us. Dusk was approaching and a three-quarter moon rising in the sky above the hills in the east. A flock of whistling teal rose from the tank and flew up into the sky. It was the largest flock of whistling teal I have seen so far. They then kept on flying round and round the tank, calling incessantly for several minutes. As the dusk advanced and the moon rose higher, flooding the tank with a mellow silvery light, they kept on circling and whistling what sounded as sweet music to our ears as we watched them enthralled. That is a spectacle I would never forget.

Uncommon birds

With the aid of the telescope, I spotted one day a pair of birds I had missed in my boyhood. They were Indian waterhens or common moorhen walking on the lotus leaves. It was a beautiful bird, black in colour, with a yellow-tipped bill, a bright red shield on the forehead, and yellow legs. A white line ran along the flank, and the under-tail coverts were also white, contrasting with the glossy black of the rest of the plumage. While walking they frequently jerked the tail up. At times they would get into the water and swim like ducks and it was quite interesting observing their antics.

In the dry season, a considerable part of the tank bed is exposed. During such a time one evening we observed a few birds feeding quietly on the muddy surface, close to some bushes. They had a prominent white ring round the eye, which merged into a short strip just behind. The belly was white, the throat a rich chestnut brown and the back olive brown. They were probing the mud with their longish bills, which were slightly curved downwards.

We watched excitedly as we got our first sighting of an uncommon and rarely seen bird, the painted snipe. It was surprising to see such a shy and skulking bird feeding there out in the open, in full view of us for a long period of time. Meeting the unexpected is one of the joys of bird watching. In contrast to the normal pattern of birds, the female of this species is more distinctive and brighter in colour than the drab male. This is in keeping with their reversed role in domestic affairs as the male is encumbered with the duties of incubation and tending the young.

We also saw a solitary snipe, most probably a pintail snipe, walking along the margin of a puddle probing the mud with its long slender bill. It was quite undisturbed by our presence, and this was again unusual for a shy bird.

One evening, when we were seated on the bund of the tank, we were presented with a rare gem. A small quail-sized, rounded bird appeared from the edge of a reed bed and started walking briskly on its greenish yellow legs on the lotus leaves. It jerked the short tail as it went along. The under parts were barred blackish and white (as in most of its other relatives) and the upper parts were a yellowish brown, speckled and streaked with white. It was very actively catching insects as it walked. At times it darted a couple of feet up into the air, in the manner of a flycatcher, and landed back on the lotus leaves.

We watched it in good light at close range for about half an hour before it disappeared among the reeds. We took down all the details of its plumage and were in no doubt regarding its identity, namely a Baillon’s crake. In his Guide to the birds of Ceylon, G M Henry mentions that ” this small crake has been recorded from Sri Lanka only a few occasions in the last hundred years.” So we were absolutely delighted to have seen such a rare bird. As I stated earlier, one of the great joys of bird watching is that the most unexpected bird may be met with at the most unexpected place.

Another rare sighting we had was a Shahin falcon. It was flying above the tank towards Elephant Rock in the distance, where we later saw it on a number of occasions.

Finale

In 1995, I was transferred to Teaching Hospital at Karapitiya in Galle, while Thal was posted to General Hospital, Kandy. Both my cousins, who initially accompanied me to Thittawella tank, took to hotel business. Prasanna, the elder of the two, when working as an executive in a hotel at Kandalama near Dambulla, was in 1999 drowned along with six others, when a boat in which they were on a joy ride on Kandalama tank capsized. Nagitha now runs his own restaurant in Sydney.