Winter birding in Spiti

“We’re probably not going to see too many birds in the winter in Spiti, but what we may find should be interesting,” aver both S and H when we were planning our trip.

And so it proves to be.

We have gotten away from Jaipur at our usual ETD of 4 am. Made the now familiar pit-stops en-route, and by late evening we have rolled up to Narkanda, beyond Shimla.

A night at 2700 M helps in the acclimatization process because over the next six days in the Spiti valley we will be at elevations of 3700 M and higher. 

Another early start in the pale light of a wintry dawn is enlivened by large flocks of plain mountain finches flitting through leafless trees in an orchard just across the road from the overnight hotel.

In a car full of experienced birders, one should know when to call out anything interesting, or to just keep driving past. Today we are aiming to reach Nako in the Spiti valley and it will be a long drive.

We have tended to ignore any distant birds in order to maintain a driving rhythm.

However, a solitary bird perched at the top of a conifer belting out a loud chorus is just too tempting to ignore. We stop the car to listen and to have a look. It is a white-cheeked nuthatch in full voice. Not quite doing what nuthatches usually do, which is to scuttle up-and-down tree trunks and along branches much like woodpeckers. 

While stretching our legs we soak in another stunning panoramic view of the Greater Himalayas glistening in the distance. Later today we will need to thread our way through this formidable barrier by following the gorge of the Sutlej river through to the Trans-Himalaya. 
As we begin to get back into the car, a symphony of assorted bird calls alerts us to the fact that we are now surrounded by a mixed-hunting-party. It is an early test for us to get the birding juices flowing.

The inevitable tits can quickly be ticked off: spot-winged, great, rufous-vented and black-throated. Also a bar-tailed treecreeper, brown-fronted woodpecker, and some rock buntings.

However, a tiny hyper-active nondescript bundle of feathers is proving rather more difficult for me. The most prominent feature is its bright golden-yellow eyebrow – or so it appears even from a distance of mere yards in the dense foliage of a tree above. And then for a brief moment the jerkily-moving head is caught squarely in focus in the binoculars and I realize that the ‘golden eyebrow’ is actually a single curved line in the middle of the forehead. An auric tilak!

It is a goldcrest. 

When we drive through a  forest of chilgoza pine a small flock of fire-fronted serin bask on sun-drenched rocks by the side of the road.

Chilgoza pine 

I'm reminded of childhood trips to Kashmir and seeing this particular species of pine there.
And of my grandmother who always kept her paandaan and sarota at hand; and if we happened to shell dry-fruits she would pull out an antique nut-cracker. This could tackle assorted sizes of nuts - the smallest slot for a chilgoza pine nut, a larger one for an almond shell, and the largest for a walnut.

After the goldcrest (Gelugpa?) and the fire-fronted serin (Nyingmapa?) - birds with their foreheads daubed in sectarian Buddhist colours, what may we expect next?
Perhaps a long-forgotten ascetic bird species sporting a venerable head-band and singing verses from the ancient Bon religion? 

Early next morning in Nako we find that robin accentors are the house sparrows of the village- their orange breasts little beacons of colour in the icicle-dripping bare bushes and stunted trees thinly lining the narrow lanes. 

As we drive from Nako to Kaza a large flock of Brandt’s mountain finches chitters down on to the pebbly roadside. The finches are not quite so dark as illustrated in the bird-guides, but HSS points out that they are in their paler winter plumage.

We wind our way down to the infamous Malling nullah. This tricky section is notoriously prone to landslides. Once a very large section of this hill succumbed to gravity, closing the highway not for hours, or for days, but for weeks. 

Soon we see the first of the white-winged redstarts. Rather surprisingly, this species would be the commonest of the birds at this time in Spiti. The males outnumber the females, with both sexes visible in large numbers around habitation and in the vicinity of thickets of sea buck-thorn.  

Rosefinches are quite often a relatively confusing family of birds in the Himalayas. There are several species that are difficult to ID if you only happen to see the females. However, we do spot a large- sized male rosefinch which turns out to be a great rosefinch.

A lone Golden Eagle perches high on a rocky crag jutting out over the valley. Eventually it does sally forth, the heavy wings beating at the thin air.

Trackside a sparsely vegetated ravine snaking down to the Spiti river holds a smattering of birds which includes brown accentors. A Tibetan snowcock is flushed, allowing only a brief glimpse.

Most of our birding has been from the road - by stopping the vehicle at likely spots and walking along the track. I have been itching to ramble off-track. An opportunity presents itself when a large covey of chukar scuttle across the snow into a copse of willows. I decide to try and follow them to get a photograph. At first the rocky ground under the surface of the snow is nice and hard, but a shallow ditch is full of glutinous mud, and my boots are immediately covered in the glop. Of the chukar there is only a tantalizing glimpse or two. And then an unfamiliar bird flies up to a perch in the trees. It looks like a female bunting, but which one? I take several photos from different angles, getting the boots further mud-encrusted, but feeling rather pleased that making the ID should now be easy from the photos. When I regain the road, my companions are looking at a perched male bunting which can be easily identified as the black-throated bunting. The bird I have been chasing was obviously the female of the species.
Oh well, better try and get the mud off the boots then, so that I'm allowed back in the vehicle.
A flat stone with a sharp edge takes care of the lug sole, and the mud plastering the sides of the boot is removed, without too much difficulty, by raking it vigorously on the freshly piled snow on the road.
 It is only much later, back in the guesthouse when I take off my boots, that I realize my socks are sodden! Tiny ice crystals had obviously penetrated my new (and supposedly snow-proof) boots when I had tried to clean them of the mud.

Mornings in Kaza we wake to the delight of sunlight pouring through the windows of the guesthouse. The early risers include the corvids - here represented by yellow-billed choughs ...

Crow-like in their utter disdain for anything that doesn't catch their fancy, yet most attentive if there is any chance of grabbing a tidbit when you happen to attract their attention.

On the gently sloping street running between our guesthouse and Kaza monastery young boys amuse themselves on home-made skis.

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Kaza monastery

Tibetan snowfinches in loose flocks hug the jagged surface of the steep hill above the gompa - becoming instantly invisible when they alight on snow-dusted rocks.

Mixed flocks of pigeons wheel round in exuberant flight. Hill pigeons, similar to our familiar rock pigeons, except for a bright white band across the middle of the tail; and snow pigeons, more silvery white than grey, the sun flashing on their hoary breasts and pulsing narrow wings.

The day before we are to depart Spiti we drive up the Pin valley. The Pin river flows almost directly northwards to join the Spiti river. There has been fairly heavy snowfall the night before. A snow-plow has been deployed here earlier today to open the road. We see it en-route, parked safely but seemingly abandoned, beside the track. SS says if the cleared snow which has been piled high on the verges topples onto the road we will get trapped here, since this road is the only entry and exit to and from the valley.
Pin valley has a different character from the Spiti valley. It is a narrow, picturesque valley. The track for the most part is not much higher than the level of the river. The mountains rise steeply on either side, restricting the hours of direct sunlight onto the valley floor. As a result the river is more ice and snow than water. Giant boulders in the river are cast in mantles of white, and overhanging banks of snow completely hide the glittering river in places.

Pin valley

For all the scenic beauty and the wild isolation of the Pin valley we have to admit that the afternoon's birding is rather thin - there are only a few representatives of the bird species that we have already seen in the Spiti valley. When we do turn around for Spiti a solitary white wagtail flies across the river to bid us farewell.

Here are links to earlier blog posts about the same trip ..

http://jaipurbirding.blogspot.com/2017/03/close-encounters-with-snow-leopards-of.html

http://jaipurbirding.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-mountain-monarchs-of-trans-himalaya.html

http://jaipurbirding.blogspot.com/2018/06/an-unexpected-butterfly-and-red-fox.html