halftwo
Wird Batcher
A last-minute hastily-booked family holiday, and possibly our last: Thailand, and a chance of a re-visit to Kaeng Krachan.
The 4X4 was booked, research done. Just a couple of days to settle in and rest at the wonderful Evason in Hua Hin.
Day two and an early morning walk around the hotel had familiarised me again to the common birds, I was raring to get out to the jungle. The lush gardens are a haven for wildlife in the dry mid-winter and Hoopoes were breeding in the eaves of the villas, Green bee-eaters constantly calling, a Yellow bittern a regular to the pond, where Plain prinias and, once, a Kingfisher could be seen. Dusky and Pale-legged leaf warblers and a host of other birds filled the trees and skies. But disaster, unbeknown to me, had already fallen on that warm bright day.
I arrived back at our villa where Green bee-eaters perched and Hoopoes called, Koels and White-vented mynas adding to to sounds, to find Mrs.H in a very bad way.
White in shock and pain, during my brief time away her cancer-ridden ribs had separated from her sternum and she stood, strangely-shaped and rigid, looking as if about to collapse. I knew in a heavy heartbeat that Thailand perhaps had been a wish too far.
An hour later we were on our way to hospital, Mrs.H carefully swaddled in an inflatable stretcher, oxygen mask on; the driver trying to find the smoothest route. Half a day passed while doctors assessed and X-rayed, scanned and monitored. Her breathing laboured and oxygen level low. But we were eventually allowed back to the hotel, whose wonderful staff had accompanied us, and we put her to bed, the extra painkillers easing the torture.
Kaeng Krachan and Spoon-billed sandpipers would have to wait: but would we get home at all? Could we fly?
Well, over the next few days, and another check-up at hospital, and largely due to the extensive care of the hotel staff and all they did for us, Mrs.H improved enough to allow me to think about a brief trip to the jungle. Leaving very early one morning, with my daughter in the role of carer-in-chief, I set off for my one half-day of birding. Destination Pala-U waterfall: nearest part of the same forest of the Kaeng Krachan complex, and accessible without permits.
I arrived in darkness at the unmanned road barrier: lights on, but no-one home. I undid the rope and raised the barrier, closing it again behind me, then drove the last mile to the end. As I did so my headlights picked out a pair of Large-tailed nightjars obligingly sitting on the road: first bird, dawn not yet a glimmer.
Stars crammed the ink of the sky in the cool pre-dawn, then light gathered gradually in the east. Birds began to wake. I made my way to the river - the only access to the jungle, and before proper light. The first bird-wave hit some forty minutes later. Verditer flycatcher, Black-naped monarchs, Grey-headed canary flycatchers, Ochraceous bulbuls and Bar-winged flycatcher shrikes came past. Up in the canopy Black-headed and Black-crested bulbuls, below them Pin-striped tit-babblers. A Blue-eared barbet caught the rising sun and shone.
Down in the dark of the forest a Blue whistling thrush watched. White-rumped shamas sang and showed. A male Siberian blue robin's movements along the shadows of the leaf-stewn ground: tail shivering. A white-browed fantail and a Great iora more conspicuous, while, high up in a fruiting tree several Spangled drongos moved. A Green-billed malkoha slipped into cover, a Crimson sunbird burned in the sun. But down at the river the star of the show.
Suddenly a pair of Slaty-backed forktails flew by and landed close, offering fantastic views: they were to be my only tick of the day: but what a tick!
Further and further up river but not much more to see - though Chinese blue flycatchers were obliging. So a retreat to the roadside clearing and more sedate and safer birding (I had seen no-one else all morning, had had to climb and wade, and had slipped once - fortunately only getting bruised and wet - but I couldn't afford to break a leg).
Down in a more open spot I let the birds come to me. A party of Large woodshrikes hunted and Paradise flycatchers showed. A gorgeous female Raffles' malkoha came out into the light and delighted. A Grey-eyed bulbul fed with the Ochraceous, more Bar-winged flycatcher shrikes, and further into shade, a female Banded kingfisher obliged by perching for a long while close to, sallying to grab insects or lizards from leaves or branches, raising and lowering her head feathers and sleaking her body, to transform her shape.
Dusky langurs trooped by, loud and near, watching me, their pale-spectacled faces peering, long tails hanging.
And, as my time began to run out, and the day grew hot a final performer came to shine in the sun not twenty yards away: Violet cuckoo.
Well the next several days saw small improvements in Mrs.H and we got a fit-to-fly note. Once again the hotel staff accompanied us to the airport and we managed to wangle a flatbed business-class seat for her: our uninsurable trip ended without huge extra costs, and the alms we had given to the local monks and prayers to Buddha? Perhaps they had played their part.
The 4X4 was booked, research done. Just a couple of days to settle in and rest at the wonderful Evason in Hua Hin.
Day two and an early morning walk around the hotel had familiarised me again to the common birds, I was raring to get out to the jungle. The lush gardens are a haven for wildlife in the dry mid-winter and Hoopoes were breeding in the eaves of the villas, Green bee-eaters constantly calling, a Yellow bittern a regular to the pond, where Plain prinias and, once, a Kingfisher could be seen. Dusky and Pale-legged leaf warblers and a host of other birds filled the trees and skies. But disaster, unbeknown to me, had already fallen on that warm bright day.
I arrived back at our villa where Green bee-eaters perched and Hoopoes called, Koels and White-vented mynas adding to to sounds, to find Mrs.H in a very bad way.
White in shock and pain, during my brief time away her cancer-ridden ribs had separated from her sternum and she stood, strangely-shaped and rigid, looking as if about to collapse. I knew in a heavy heartbeat that Thailand perhaps had been a wish too far.
An hour later we were on our way to hospital, Mrs.H carefully swaddled in an inflatable stretcher, oxygen mask on; the driver trying to find the smoothest route. Half a day passed while doctors assessed and X-rayed, scanned and monitored. Her breathing laboured and oxygen level low. But we were eventually allowed back to the hotel, whose wonderful staff had accompanied us, and we put her to bed, the extra painkillers easing the torture.
Kaeng Krachan and Spoon-billed sandpipers would have to wait: but would we get home at all? Could we fly?
Well, over the next few days, and another check-up at hospital, and largely due to the extensive care of the hotel staff and all they did for us, Mrs.H improved enough to allow me to think about a brief trip to the jungle. Leaving very early one morning, with my daughter in the role of carer-in-chief, I set off for my one half-day of birding. Destination Pala-U waterfall: nearest part of the same forest of the Kaeng Krachan complex, and accessible without permits.
I arrived in darkness at the unmanned road barrier: lights on, but no-one home. I undid the rope and raised the barrier, closing it again behind me, then drove the last mile to the end. As I did so my headlights picked out a pair of Large-tailed nightjars obligingly sitting on the road: first bird, dawn not yet a glimmer.
Stars crammed the ink of the sky in the cool pre-dawn, then light gathered gradually in the east. Birds began to wake. I made my way to the river - the only access to the jungle, and before proper light. The first bird-wave hit some forty minutes later. Verditer flycatcher, Black-naped monarchs, Grey-headed canary flycatchers, Ochraceous bulbuls and Bar-winged flycatcher shrikes came past. Up in the canopy Black-headed and Black-crested bulbuls, below them Pin-striped tit-babblers. A Blue-eared barbet caught the rising sun and shone.
Down in the dark of the forest a Blue whistling thrush watched. White-rumped shamas sang and showed. A male Siberian blue robin's movements along the shadows of the leaf-stewn ground: tail shivering. A white-browed fantail and a Great iora more conspicuous, while, high up in a fruiting tree several Spangled drongos moved. A Green-billed malkoha slipped into cover, a Crimson sunbird burned in the sun. But down at the river the star of the show.
Suddenly a pair of Slaty-backed forktails flew by and landed close, offering fantastic views: they were to be my only tick of the day: but what a tick!
Further and further up river but not much more to see - though Chinese blue flycatchers were obliging. So a retreat to the roadside clearing and more sedate and safer birding (I had seen no-one else all morning, had had to climb and wade, and had slipped once - fortunately only getting bruised and wet - but I couldn't afford to break a leg).
Down in a more open spot I let the birds come to me. A party of Large woodshrikes hunted and Paradise flycatchers showed. A gorgeous female Raffles' malkoha came out into the light and delighted. A Grey-eyed bulbul fed with the Ochraceous, more Bar-winged flycatcher shrikes, and further into shade, a female Banded kingfisher obliged by perching for a long while close to, sallying to grab insects or lizards from leaves or branches, raising and lowering her head feathers and sleaking her body, to transform her shape.
Dusky langurs trooped by, loud and near, watching me, their pale-spectacled faces peering, long tails hanging.
And, as my time began to run out, and the day grew hot a final performer came to shine in the sun not twenty yards away: Violet cuckoo.
Well the next several days saw small improvements in Mrs.H and we got a fit-to-fly note. Once again the hotel staff accompanied us to the airport and we managed to wangle a flatbed business-class seat for her: our uninsurable trip ended without huge extra costs, and the alms we had given to the local monks and prayers to Buddha? Perhaps they had played their part.
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