Musings of an ecologist
Aaroha Malagi
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A page for my experiences, opinions, and miscellaneous thoughts.
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A vanishing expanse: An observation from the edge of a grassland
Imagine a verdant landscape, a place with green as far as the eye can see, where the land meets the sky with the intricacy of a tapestry, and the grass stalks wave their arms to the rhythm of the wind. This expanse is the playground of several critters; from dawn to dusk, a procession of fauna can be seen making their way in and out of the green pastures. On a chilly morning in the month of January, I sat under an Indian plum tree (Ziziphus mauritiana) close to the edge of a grassland in Hasanur, looking at one such expanse. The blades of the grass glistened in the morning dew, and all the graminivorous insects like grasshoppers, katydids, and caterpillars made their way on to the grasses to munch away on the moist, succulent blades. Drongos, shrikes, and flycatchers soon followed suit and settled on the near-by branches hoping to flick an inattentive insect. In the adjacent tree thicket, the Indian giant squirrel was traversing the canopy to feast on the grains of giant thorny bamboo (Bambusa bambos), which was mass flowering after 60 years. In the understory, grey jungle fowl were scurrying and clucking away trying to corner worms and insects. The sun was crawling away from the horizon, and the heat of the day was starting to show on my skin. A small pond in the middle of the grassland stood like a little oasis that acted as a stopover for the mammalian herbivores of the forest. A herd of spotted deer (Axis axis) vigilantly made their way to the pond just as the sun rays started beating down on the green pastures. The calves were skirting behind their mothers, and nervously pranced around when they got a little breathing space. The stags were regrowing their antlers for the year, and sported a velvety, soft antler with rotund tips. The herd took turns drinking the water, with a sentinel looking out for predators. Even the constrained movements of my hands when I tried to take a picture evinced a trepid response, but made for a good photo-op, as they all stared at the impostor who was making fidgety movements in the shadows.
Grassland ecosystems are extremely vulnerable to takeover by invasive species, especially so when there are anthropogenic disturbances. For instance, in the grazing lawns of Hasanur, exotic invasive species like Senna spectabilis and Chromolaena odorata are spreading rapidly and are rapidly encroaching the edges of grassland patches. In addition, grasslands and savanna ecosystems do not enjoy any type of protection from the government, and are subject to intense land-use change. A failure to recognize the socio-ecological and conservation value of grasslands has led to the decrement of grassland ecosystems throughout the Indian sub-continent. The peninsular savanna ecosystems have all but vanished; only a few isolated pockets of grasslands remain amidst a matrix of agricultural fields and human settlements. The Jerdon’s Courser has virtually gone extinct, and we are slowly losing other grassland specialists like the Great Indian Bustard, Lesser Florican, Indian Vulture, and a wide assortment of birds of prey.
Like many other grasslands in the country, the grazing lawns of Hasanur double as community grazing grounds for the livestock from the nearby villages. And so, by noon, after their wild comrades took leave of the grassy patches, a procession of country cattle, of varied sizes and colors, slowly made their way to the grazing lawns. Thus, grasslands provide an excellent interface for the reconciliation of human-wildlife interaction. They also play a multifunctional role and provide umpteen ecosystem services in the form of rangeland and fodder for livestock, kindle for firewood, thatch for huts and sheds, and act as a watershed for nearby streams and ponds. The huge free-ranging livestock population in India, immensely benefit from such natural grassland ecosystems. It has, therefore, become imperative to come up with integrative approaches to revive and conserve grassland habitats of the country. Grasslands can act as a non-obstructive barrier between human dominated landscapes and protected areas. Such open habitats at the edge of forests will also have high eco-tourism potential, and a tourism model involving local land owners might result in fewer human-wildlife conflict cases, decrease the animosity of local people against wildlife, and create new livelihood avenues for people living at the edge of protected areas.
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The meadow in green
I saw the clock on my phone turn to 6:00, and the alarm promptly started ringing, I switched it off immediately cursing my circadian rhythm. Hushed sounds were coming from the next room, my companions were awake and getting ready. I begrudgingly slithered out of the sleeping bag and shuffled off to the sink to freshen up. Everybody was up and ready; we checked our field bags to see if everything was where it was supposed to be and made our way to the jeep. The mountain air was thick and fresh, slits of sun rays piercing the sky gave much-needed relief from the biting cold. The driver gleefully greeted us as we crammed into the jeep, our destination was a short ride away but we had to traverse treacherous, narrow mountain roads with the ever-looming threat of landslides; earthmovers parked along the road stood as a testament.
A good day of field-work always starts with a piping cup of hot beverage, and so we headed to the nearest tea stall and ordered black teas all around. The first sip of black tea on a chilly morning is pure bliss, looking at the steam oozing out of the tea and seeing it mix with your heavy breath is a therapeutic experience and one that fills you with zest to start your day. Our field site was a short trek away, so we saddled all the bags and started our ascent. Our unsuspecting lungs were having a hard time coping with the dip in oxygen levels as we breached 3000m, but the otherworldly beauty of the forest made the laboured breathing somewhat bearable. Himalayas after rains is a sight to behold; water crawling, creeping, gushing, rushing, and meandering from every crack, crevice, slit, and boulder; every surface veneered with a carpet of moss and lichen, the trees ornamented with giant sword ferns (Nephrolepis sp.), mixed flocks of birds skipping and hopping faster than our eyes could follow them, and of course the picturesque valleys and daunting peaks, helped us power through the huffing and puffing to reach our destination, an alpine meadow - locally called bhugyal, located at the edge of a steep cliff overlooking the Tunganath mountains.
Our project entailed setting up permanent monitoring stations across different grassland biomes, and we trekked to this meadow to set up one such station. We spent a good half an hour admiring the distant snow-capped mountains and the peculiar Himalayan vegetation, forgetting the purpose of our journey. As the sun began to rise, and with it the mist from the valleys, we knew it was time to start our work. The period following monsoon showers is when most grasses and herbs flower, they complete their entire life cycle in this period of ‘prosperity’ and retreat to the depths of the earth when unfavourable conditions i.e., winter or summer set in; we had come at the right time to exploit this boom of the herb community. The ground looked like a tapestry of multi-coloured blooms, with dots of white, violet, yellow, and blue interspersed in a matrix of tussocks that bore a flower which looked like a flag at full mast. We were tasked with identifying the various species of grasses and herbs that inhabited this meadow, and to collect specimens of this teeming plant assemblage. These alpine meadows are comprised of unique herbaceous communities found in high mountainous regions; they are mostly ephemeral, and act as an important foraging refuge for many mountain ungulates and pheasants. They also serve as an important stop-over for a lot of transhumant pastoral communities in the western Himalayas, and the tussock grasses of the meadow are used as fodder and thatch by the local pahadi (mountain-dwelling) communities. We soon began to lay out carefully measured squares to enumerate the herbaceous species of the meadow, an arduous and time-consuming task; occasionally, some species are hard to identify, and such elusive flora are usually catalogued using photographs and specimens. Identifying species in a community is important not only as a taxonomic exercise but to also examine the intricate relationships they have with their fellow plants, identify the driving factors behind their success or failure, and evaluate the status of their population (which feeds into their protection status). The day was progressing and the hot air was slowly rising from below, and the Himalayan vultures were steadily riding their way up the hot currents, circling and scouting. Like the herbs in these alpine meadows, we had to capitalise on the brief window of sunlight to collect our data; and like most summits across the Himalayas, the afternoon brought in a wave of light and fluffy clouds that enveloped the naked peaks, briefly parting now and then to reveal the backdrop of glistening slopes. The air grew moist with mist, and the mat of flowers retreated, signalling the end of the productive hours of the day. Taking a cue from our floral counterparts, we started to pack up and head back for the day. The occasional dew splattering on our ponchos broke the tranquil silence, and the misty woods beckoned us back for more as we descended the precarious slope, periodically looking back to see whether we had lost sight of the meadow in green.
Bengaluru - namma ooru
As the overcast skies periodically gave away to the dim sun, a fading glisten was seen on the urban sprawl. It was noon still, yet there was a gloom that floated over the lazy tree-lined boulevards. The air was pleasant, with the occasional breeze bringing much relief from the receding summer noon’s. It was undoubtedly the best time of the year. A time of late summer blooms, gusty winds and darkened skies. The streets were bustling with activity; the pavements were lined with push-carts of varied colours and umpteen savouries, from the tongue-tickling chaat to the 99-variety dose’s and the crispy manchurians of assorted veggies interspersed with the fruit vendors with their geometrically stacked sapota’s, musk-melons, oranges and the flower sellers with their baskets of coiled strings of jasmine, marigold, chrysanthemum, all trying to vie the eyes of passing customers. And as one turned a corner, there was a tender coconut vendor sitting amidst a pool of green drupes or a cane juice seller operating his machine which resembled the inner-workings of a tower clock churning out jugs of syrupy nectar. The murmur of the crowd was stirring up slowly and steadily, students poured in from all over, some from the crowded public buses, some on their bikes, and some just thronging on foot. And if you veer from the head-roads and make your way to one of the many arterial roads, you are welcomed by the sight of purple and yellow flowers carpeting the streets while children made merry by playing tag, badminton, gully cricket, or dodgeball. The public park in the corner would be filled with retirees walking salubriously or chatting away in mirth, and mothers eagerly exchanging the daily gossip while their toddlers exuberantly played with the park toys in the sandpit. By standing still and taking in the sounds of the surrounding environs you could hear the barbets calling incessantly from a distant tree, the koel’s crying for attention, the squirrels screeching, and the blades of the coconut trees rustling in the gale. As the evening neared, the overcast skies turned to a tint of sepia, and the simmering heat was relieved by an occasional zephyr. Then the rain started pouring down, first as a drizzle with drops hitting your face infrequently and unearthing a heavenly odour of petrichor, and then slowly picking up fervour as the winds start blowing in with gusto, the crowds of children on the streets, the students slacking away, the retirees and the mothers with their toddlers all started shuffling to take shelter. The vendors hurriedly covered their carts with tarp and the murmur of the crowd was silenced by the incessant drumming of the rain against the asphalt and the rooftops, pedestrians scurried along the road dodging puddles and cursing cars splashing the dingy pool of water. The raindrops shone against the backdrop of the streetlights, and the air was laden with a layer of chilly wetness and a sappy aroma. And so, the April showers took the stage with an air of grandeur, making everyone stop and listen, listen to the sound of nature’s symphony.