6-Tyger, Tyger

My first tiger was a young female with a sister somewhere else in the park.  I took  some shots of her walking through the forest, but missed some when she was nearer the vehicles.  Mary Ann, who was with me, gave me copies of a couple of her shots.  I think she would have shared all of her shots if I had asked her.

Phil was jealous of my encounter.  He had yet to see a tiger, but the second day he made up for the deficit by watching a five-year old male cooling off in a watering hole.  I had a second row seat to a repeat performance that afternoon.

We both missed the best show on the last day of this mini-shoot.  Some of the photographers saw a tiger family with two 9-month-old tiger cubs—one male and one female.  The young tigress was carrying a dead baby rhesus monkey by the nape of the neck as if it were her cub.  The corpse was not bleeding nor obviously injured, but her play with it had probably been too rough.  Now it was but a doll for a mother-to-be to practice with.

Tiger
by Phil Haffley

Tiger
by Phil Haffley

Tiger
by Phil Haffley

5-Mini Tiger Safari

The gravel roads were so bumpy that my neck and back were jarred almost continuously.  On the second day of this mini-safari, we stopped for few pictures.  I was not sure that I should be doing this type of photography given the physical effort it required of me.  People had to carry my gear for me, push/pull me into and out of jeeps, and strap me down with bungee cords.

Yet, my helpers and I were having fun.  No matter our nationalities, I’ve discovered that people like to help others—and I really do need the help.  Why not make a game of it instead of being embarrassed because a stranger has to push my behind up into a jeep?  Still, I can’t help but wish I were younger and healthier.

Dry leaves fallen from trees made the landscape look like it was autumn, but the afternoon felt like summer (34°C/93°F).  The vehicles kicked up a lot of dust.  I discovered that the same scent I smelled in the forest was in the hand soap in our room.  (I was probably just smelling myself.)

I like the travel aspects of wildlife photography—seeing new places and meeting people.   But I wasn’t making the notes I thought I would for a travel journal.  Rarely did I find the time and energy to write because I was acting like a photographer.  I’m not sure if I want to be a writer or a photographer—or just pretend to be both.  Or, maybe I should just be a travel blogger.  I can’t seem to make up my mind.

And now several weeks later, I can’t remember the type of program we saw that second evening. It was some kind of dance that those of us who were able joined in.  On the last night we heard music from a wedding ceremony.  Happy sounds to soothe an aching body.

Sloth Bear (as seen through dust)
by Phil Haffley

4. Bandhavgarh

A  knock on the door.  A man with a flashlight waited to escort us to the dining hall.  He carried my camera gear.  We walked around a Mehndi painted on the sidewalk.  Cups of hot tea and biscuits awaited us in the dining hall.  A more substantial breakfast would be served mid-morning.

Soon we were off to the parking lot where the 4x4 jeeps were parked.  Who was going with whom?  We were told which photographer we would go with, but not in which of the four vehicles? We knew the first in line would be the first into the park.

Bandhavgarh National Park is set among the Vindhya Hills and consists of 168 square miles of Sal and a mix of bamboo, grasslands, and a complex of deciduous forests. There were 21 different kinds of vines in those woods.  The park is divided in two—two entrances and two series of trails in each section.

I had some bad memories from the trip four years ago because of our struggles with the bureaucracy.  Eight single trails and one-way traffic.  For example, one of our drivers parked his jeep off the road once because he knew no tigers were around there.  He played with his new cell-phone and conversed in Hindi with the guide.  We, who were paying for their services, could take only photos of skinny trees and a langur tail that morning.  Thankfully, some major improvements were made during those four years.  Now after starting out according to plan, we would be free to change trails and reverse direction as needed.

At the control center we picked up our local guides who would change with each trip.  Previously those guides were trash police more than our guides—as if we wildlife photographers would litter any animal’s habitat.  This time, our drivers did most of the guiding with fewer restrictions about where they could go.

Barking Deer, a small deer
by Phil Haffley

3-Déjà Vu

The next morning we were bussed back to the airport for a flight from Delhi to Khajuraho.  Vans then picked us up at that airport for a five hour drive to the Bandhavgarh Jungle Lodge—a time to do nothing more than stare out windows.  When we arrived, we were assigned rooms, settled in, and then met in a separate building for dinner.

I recognized the dining hall.  We had served ourselves at a buffet four years ago.   My husband usually fills my plate and then goes back to fill his own.  This time young men brought bowls around and served each of us.  I wondered why the change.

In the throes of fibro fog and self-consciousness, my imagined reason for the change became my physical limitations.  Maybe that thought was too far-fetched, yet I wouldn’t put it past Mary Ann to make such arrangements.

I remembered the last time we were in India four years ago.  Joe was relaxing in a conversation lounge, and I accused him of the ultimate sin—of teaching me to love photography as much as he did.  That’s why I couldn’t give up and give in to the twin trolls of rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia.  It was Joe’s fault
I was there.  It was his fault that I was there for the second time.

Langur Monkeys
by Phil Haffley

2-Arrival

We arrived in Delhi around 9:30 pm local time, a day early to help us adjust to jetlag.  We were rushed through customs and the airport by the young man who pushed me in a wheelchair.  After we collected our checked-in luggage, a representative from the Radisson Blu met us at the exit.

The Radisson is an upper-crust facility surrounded by a 20-ft security fence.  At the gate, a guard checked our van out, even raised the hood looking for a bomb.  Yes, everywhere seems to have become more dangerous.  A staff member greeted us at the door with praying hands—fingertips up, palms pressed together—and a nod.

We were assigned room 434, and breakfast was a buffet of American and Indian food.  Because of the 10.5-hr difference, I had a problem deciding which pills I should take when.  Did it make any difference?  <Shrug>  I didn’t know.

I practiced with my new camera by shooting pigeons and flowers.  The pictures were nothing to brag about, but I learned which buttons to push.  That afternoon, we meet three fellow photographers (all men) who joined us and the McDonalds.  Joe and Mary Ann were leading these safaris (McDonald Wildlife Photography info@hoothollow.com).

Oriental Magpie Robin
by Phil Haffley