UNO

No, this is not about the United Nations Organization, or Ban Ki-moon.
This is a continuation of the previous post, and concerns Uno, the one-tusked male elephant.

It turned out that Uno was in musth.

Musth is a sexually active phase in sexually mature male elephants. I use the phrase, 'sexually mature' instead of just 'mature' because when it comes to elephant ecology, we also talk about social maturity. Although the male Asian Elephants attain sexual maturity at the age of 9-12 years, it is known to take 8-10 more years for them to reach social maturity—an important quality that the females look for in their suitors. So the young bulls subjected to such cruel female choice are known to suffer from SINBAD syndrome: Single Income, No Babe, Absolutely Desperate!

Uno was not a hopeless SINBAD case, for the girls seemed to like him.

One in particular, which I named Gal, was quite flirtatious with him.
She maintained proximity, caressed him, allowed to be caressed, and generally didn't appear difficult.

Here's Uno taking a shower while Gal watches over.

Male elephants in musth can be identified easily by their swollen and moist temporal gland in the headsides. During musth, these glands secrete the excess blood testosterone—the reproductive hormone that drives us, males. This hormone is also secreted with urine, which dribble constantly during the very active phase of musth in elephants. Such sexually active males also possess a strong breath to further advertise their status. These olfactory signals; dominant behaviours such as flapping of ears, to send the scents farther; and auditory signals (some of which are inaudible to us humans); all help in getting the message to the receptive females, and to warn the competition.

I suppose Uno was in either early or late stage of musth. There was no dribbling of urine as it does when madly in love. Uno wasn't aggressive towards the safari jeeps present, at least during our brief observational period. Nor did he appear to be bossy towards other elephants present at the gathering.

Here's a close up of Uno's temporal gland, which looks swollen, and darker. The latter because of those secretions.

The temporal glands need cleaning to regulate flow. This is because the secretions can clog the opening of the glands. In the wild, elephants rub these glands against various objects such as trees. Apart from helping to clear any blockages, such behaviours also help to leave sensory cues within their territories to reach wider audiences.

After that brief shower, it was time for some wallowing.

Mud sticks well on a wet skin, and acts as an agent of sunscreen, insect repellent, and skin conditioner for elephants.

A drink break followed next.

The wallowing stuck some mud to Uno's only tusk, boosting his dominant outlook or his coolness.
And more self mud-slinging went on—a common behaviour among most elephants these days, ahem.

After this, he opted for some snacks in the form of short grass.
First, he uprooted them by kicking the ground with his front legs. Then he rubbed them against one of the forelimbs to get rid of the dirt. He then tolled them into a neat pile before eating. Again, nothing unusual.

However, what followed next was pretty special.
It was a close observation of a tool-using behaviour in a wild Asian Elephant—when Uno used a stick to get a scratch like this.
1.

2.

3.

Pretty smart, eh?
After a while, Gal had a private moment, with her back to Uno and us.
To that, Uno responded like this:

Plenty of eewws followed.
Uno was just checking her out. After all, the female urine contains hormonal cues of its receptivity.
And he seemed to like the cues.

Yeah, baby!

Well, nothing noteworthy followed.
May be she gave a flimsy excuse through her high frequency channels. 
May be they needed us get the hell out.
Hey! May be they needed some Barry White.
No, no—our elephants don't understand English!
May be a mellower Sinhala love song might have worked.

Have a rocking weekend all!

The Gathering

The gathering has started.

In the Sri Lankan wildlife circles, it refers to an annual gathering of wild, Asian Elephants in the Minneiriya , and Kaudulla National Parks in the dry zone. The number of elephants in this aggregation varies from about a hundred or so at the start in May, to around four hundred at its peak—typically in August and September.



The main reason why elephants gather like this is because of the availability of vast areas of nutrient rich grasses in the exposed beds of the massive Minneiriya and Kaudulla tanks ('tanks' is how man-made reservoirs, built during the hey days of island's hydraulic civilization, referred in Sri Lankan English). Both these tanks were constructed by the King Mahasen— the ruler of ancient Lanka from 275-301 A.D. This king was posthumously deified by the Sinhalese in honour of his stupendous works.

Known only to a handful of wildlife enthusiasts earlier, the credit for naming this wildlife spectacle as 'the gathering', popularising it to take it to wider audiences, and making it a viable nature-tourism product worth millions of Rupees to the Sri Lankan economy, goes to Gehan de Silva Wijeyeratne—the Bill Oddie of Sri Lanka—though Gehan's no match to Bill in billingsgate.

I photographed all pictured shared here on 2 July, 2010, while guiding four Aussies from Brisbane on a culture and wildlife tour. After obtaining the permits, we started our safari to Minneiriya National Park in open-topped jeeps at 4.00 p.m., when it was not too hot. We returned to our cosy retreat Chaaya Village, Habarana at 6.30 p.m., rich in some amazing wildlife memories, and I am going to share some of them in several posts.

First, my favourite: two youngsters dashing to the water accompanied by a probable allomother.

And the scene soon turned to this—like elephants in salt and pepper. Sweet.

We observed a one-tusked tusker, which I named Uno. More about him later.

A big Thank You to Dr. Chandanie Wanigatunge for referring her Aussie friends to me!

This post was edited following a helpful correction made by the Elephant Researcher, Manori Gunawardena—a Cynthia Moss in the making in Sri Lanka.

Macro Monday

Meet the fetching adult female Elusive Adjutant Aethriamanta brevipennis brevipennis (Rambur, 1842), another common dragonfly in my yard. I photographed it yesterday near my dragonfly-pond. This dragonfly species is not so elusive as its name suggests. The stick that it is resting was put up by me to lure it in. And would you believe, it accepted my invitation straightaway. It sat on the perch provided, and posed nicely for me, with the new-growth shrubbery below providing just the right backdrop.

I photographed this using my newest toy—Canon EOS 1D Mark IV—fitted with the Canon 100mm f 2.8 Macro USM lens. I did not use any flash. Nor did I use a tripod.

The Macro Monday HQ is at Lisa's Chaos.

Green Skimmer

Here you have a male, Green Skimmer Orthetrum sabina sabina (Drury, 1770).

This is probably the commonest dragonfly in Sri Lanka. I photographed it near my dragonfly-pond, where it is a regular. It was found at midday, and I didn't use any macro flash.

These were fired through my Canon 100mm f 2.8 Macro USM lens.

And it was coupled with my newest toy. Any guesses?

High-octane Bird-photography

I guided a high-octane bird-photography tour from 24 January to 9 February, 2010. It was with Felix Ng, and two trigger-happy lady friends of his, all from Hong Kong.

Plum-headed Parakeet—one of the highlights.

As blogged before, Felix wielded the latest Canon EOS 1D Mark IV camera. He coupled it with Canon EF 500mm f/4L IS USM super telephoto lens. They were mounted on a serious tripod. All these made up his carry-on kit. When the subjects were too close, and likely to stay on—just as any thoughtful bird photographer would do— he pulled out his Canon EF 300mm f2.8 L IS USM telephoto lens for hand-held shots.

They say that one of the features that defines a successful birding tour from an ordinary one is the quality of night birds seen. Well, this being a bird-photography tour, the challenge was more daunting, as seeing and photographing are two entirely different kettles of fish when it comes to night birds. And Felix & co., carried no binoculars—no room for them, anyway.

I think it requires a lot of patience and an equal measure of skill to pull off good shots of night birds in untamed field conditions. In the quest for Sri Lankan specials, a birder has to find two species of owls to make a clean sweep of the 33 endemics. The first is the Serendib Scops Owl—discovered in 2001, with an estimated total population of 200-250 in the wild; plausibly classified as 'endangered' by conservation bodies.

The other owl on the wanted list of endemics is the Chestnut-backed Owlet.

We did well during the first couple of days at Kithulgala, getting photo ticks of most of our targets. After an easy morning's birding, we crossed the Kelani River in a dug-out-canoe to reach the verdant rain forest at Kithulgala in search of our pending targets. I first visited this forest in 1991. It take just an hour and a half to reach there by public transport from my place. As a budding birder, I had done many trips to this 'patch'.

Opting to travel light, I carried no camera with me when I entered the rain forest with Felix & co. Actually, I had an ulterior motive to this—to veer off the main track in a deep penetrative operation—to see whether I can find a Serendib Scops Owl in a daytime roost. Lugging a camera along for such adventures, slows me down.

So, I left my visitors at a bird-rich spot, and made a beeline to a spot that I long suspected would hold a roosting Serendib Scops Owl. Despite previous attempts, I had not found a day roost of this bird at Kithulgala. It was nearing midday. The scorching sun had lulled the bird activity though this was not a hindrance to the job at hand.

First, I penetrated the forward defence line made up of the Bamboo Ochlandra stridula, enduring cuts delivered by their sharp leaf blades, while keeping my radar on other potent dangers. And owls.
Barely two minutes into scanning a targeted area, an elongate dead leaf stuck in a thicket—how the Serendib Scops Owl would appear when it is roosting—caught my attention. After a close inspection through my Swarovski EL 8.5 x 42 binoculars, it turned out to be what it was—a dead leaf.

Moving on, I came near a clump of tree ferns Cyathea sp., and more bamboo with their interiors overrun with vines, holding dead leaves and good promise. Scanning it to find a matching target, I drew a blank, again. A moment later, now about three minutes into searching, a vertical leafy profile in another thicket beckoned me. Surely this must be it, I thought. Upon close inspection, it turned out to be—would you believe—another leaf.

Undeterred, I kept scanning. Now about five minutes into searching, a strikingly rufescent leaf with well-marked dark spots, caught my attention. Closer look, and lo—this time, it turned out to be a Serendib Scops Owl!

In a flash, I noticed second bird, perched on a different branch about a foot away from it—a truly momentous day for mankind!

Soon, I showed them to my visitors. Frame-filling shots, and more jaw-dropping views followed. The gentleman mildly complained that it was "too clOse" though. I left no room for such complaining when I found Chestnut-backed Owlet below, hunting during day time, as glaucidium-owls do. This was at a home garden in Kithulgala.

Chestnut-backed Owlet

We had six different sightings of the Brown Fish Owl at various sites. The best was the one shown below. Arriving at this crime scene at the amazing Yala National Park, we found this Brown Fish Owl looking rather guilty.


Brown Fish Owl

I am no avian forensics expert, but circumstantial evidence suggested to me that this had just arrived at the scene to scavenge on the scraps left by a diurnal predator—something like a Crested Hawk Eagle. I can't be totally sure.

We saw over 230 species of birds during this tour including all 33 endemics. We had 9 out of the 15 resident night birds—didn't try for some. Felix and co., took home over 18,000 photographs of birds among them.

Remember the Black-backed Dwarf Kingfisher that I shared sometime ago?
I bagged it on this tour.

Of Bombu Fruits and Hornbill Love

Coming back after the Kudu tour, I found myself guiding two short tours from 21-23, January—with Brian and Isabel Eady, two keen birders from Suffolk, England. The first was a day excursion to the dry lowlands of Sigiriya to explore the climax forest that envelopes the Sigiriya Rock. The second tour was a 2-day affair, and it took us to the endemic hotspot, Sinharaja ‘World Heritage’ rain forest, in the moist southwestern interior.

During these two coordinated birding raids, we were able to rake in twenty-seven endemic birds, out of the thirty-three currently recognised; plus a tally of over hundred other species of birds. Our hits and misses, thrills and spills, and other juicy details are in a trip report done by Brian.

In the meantime, here are a few highlights from my perspective.

Top birding highlight: A brooding male Sri Lanka Frogmouth in a nest, with a chick bursting out of its rim. In this species, the male attends to looking after the young during the daytime—when the female chills in a cool hideaway not too far.

Top garden bird: An Indian Pitta that I found in my backyard when the Eadys dropped by at my place.

Top spotting: A vocal Chestnut-backed Owlet, about 35m high up in a canopy giant.

Top forest bird: Sri Lanka Scaly Thrush.
I lured it by mimicking its high-pitched contact call, which I have sort of mastered now. This rendition is inaudible for the senior citizens, as is the call of the bird.

Top behavioural observation: An attempted courtship feeding by a pair Sri Lanka Grey Hornbills. This was what happened. No, first, a quick preamble on Hornbill breeding strategy. In hornbills (African Ground Hornbills excepted), the female imprisons herself inside a tree cavity to lay eggs, and to raise chicks, during which period the male delivers food to her and chicks.

In species such as Sri Lanka Grey Hornbill, which engages in cooperate breeding, the male is aided by a team of mostly younger members, which eases his burden. They, in turn, reap in important life lessons—on what it takes to be a real hornbill parent later on in their lives.

Most hornbills use mud to cover the opening of the cavity first. Before the door of the cavity becomes too small—for the female to squeeze into—she enters it, and begins to cover it from inside using regurgitated food and her bodily excretions. Finally, the opening of the nest hole is reduced to a narrow slit, just wide enough for the male to poke its beak to deliver food inside. And for the female to eject her waste material—for better nest-sanitation.

Most females undergo moult during this imprisonment: when she sheds her flight feathers, and grows them newly. Those feathers she loses in turn provide a soft bedding for the young.

The nesthole is broken by the female when the young are ready to fledge. In some species, the female frees herself out, to join the male in feeding the young, as their nutritional needs increase. The chicks in such cases are smart enough to seal the cavity from inside, until they are ready to meet the challenges of the outside world.

Coming back to courtship feeding, it is an important pair-bonding strategy used by the male bird to show his 'quality'—as a genuine breadwinner. For all the sacrifices she has to make in the evolutionary business of give and take, the female does not want to get stuck inside a dingy tree hole with poor facilities, and find that her partner is unable to deliver. For all what we know, she may not even have flight feathers by the time she realises this.

On this occasion, as the male offered a tiny fruit of Bombu Symplocos cochinchinensis, held delicately between his powerful mandibles, the female gave the cold shoulder, and took wing. I sensed her saying, "If you want me, you gotta do more than that."

And probably murmuring to herself, "What a cheapskate!", as she left him looking desponded like this:

I concede that it wasn’t a huge reward.

The Bombu trees at Sinharaja rain forest were bursting with fruit, and were magnets for all types of birds. These included the Sri Lanka Wood Pigeon, a highland endemic that descends to lowland forests such as Sinharaja during peak fruiting times. I also accept that it was not difficult for a female hornbill to reach one of those Bombu trees in fruit to help herself.

But the point is—that tiny Bombu fruit was offered to her with love.

Why o’why didn't she accept it?