The rubythroat and the rest of Hoskote

The migration season is now in full swing, and every lake around Bangalore seems to be hosting its own international conference of winged immigrants. Hoskote has been in the news this week, thanks to the sudden appearance of a rare Himalayan Rubythroat, which created quite a buzz among birdwatchers.

I’ll admit, I was a little hesitant about visiting on a Saturday. A rarity like that is enough to summon half of Bangalore’s birdwatchers, photographers, and tripods. And sure enough, when I reached, the crowd confirmed my fears. So I let the rubythroat rest for a quieter day and turned my attention to the many other beauties the lake had to offer, and they did not disappoint.

A few days later, on Tuesday, I returned to Hoskote. This time the lake had exhaled, the chaos had thinned, and the calmness had returned. In that serene setting, the Himalayan Rubythroat finally showed itself, making the wait absolutely worth it.

Here are the photos from both visits.

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The first bird of the morning greeted me even before I stepped out of the car. A Eurasian Hoopoe was calmly foraging by the roadside, completely unaware of my arrival. I stopped the car as quietly as I could and reached for my camera, but, by the time I was ready, the bird had already sensed the sudden attention. It lifted off and settled on a nearby tree, its crest fully raised as if to say it had caught me in the act. That brief moment of alarm made the sighting even more striking.

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It was a cloudy morning, and the light was muted. The sun peeked out for a moment, and I managed to capture it before it slipped back behind the clouds.

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A Jacobin Cuckoo was sitting deep inside the bushes at first, and I almost missed it. After a few minutes it stepped out into the open and gave me a clear and satisfying shot.

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As soon as I spotted this Common Cuckoo, it took off and landed on a distant branch. It stayed there long enough for a record shot.

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A long tailed shrike also appeared for a moment and then vanished just as quickly, leaving me with this one fleeting shot.

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There was no dearth of black drongos that morning. They seemed to be everywhere, and each one posed as if it owned the place.

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I finally reached the spot where the Himalayan Rubythroat had been reported, and the crowd was enormous. I did not wait for the bird. Instead, I found myself more amused by the sheer number of hopeful sighters gathered there.

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I decided I would return on a weekday, when the rush would be far less. For the moment, my attention was drawn to a calm little pied bushchat perched on a cut tree stump, as if completely unaware of the chaos nearby.

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A small group of rosy starlings huddled together on a branch, enjoying the soft morning light. They looked completely at ease and made for a lovely frame.

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A lone rosy starling sat on a dry perch, showing off its soft peach tones in the gentle light. It looked quite regal all by itself.

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Just as I was about to move on, this rosy starling sprang into the air with its wings fully open, giving me a perfect parting shot.

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At this point, I met a young man with binoculars who was almost half my age. He suggested we walk toward an adjacent water body. On the way, our first sighting was this beautiful Indian roller perched in the soft morning light.

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Perhaps the most endearing sighting of the day was this Indian Spotted Eagle, sitting proudly on a bare branch and soaking in the morning light.

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It sat calmly for a while and then took to the air, giving me a wonderful view of its broad wings as it glided past.

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Farther ahead, it settled again, this time sharing the tree with a black kite. It was a pleasant surprise to see both the eagle and the kite sitting together so peacefully.

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A rose ringed parakeet sat tall on a lone pole. It added a nice splash of colour to the morning.

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A long-tailed shrike balanced on another bare pole, looking alert and slightly puffed up in the cold.

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A pair of tricolored munias were happily munching on the ripe paddy and millet crop. A farmer nearby was drumming on a can to shoo them away, but the munias seemed in no hurry to leave.

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After quite a long walk, we reached a small pond where a lone Asian Openbill was feeding quietly. It was sharing the space with a Red wattled Lapwing, which was patrolling the edges in its usual restless style.

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We sat quietly on the rock, waiting for any bird to show up, and, as if out of pity, two stunning red avadavats arrived and put on a brief but beautiful display.

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A female pied bushchat watched us from the top of a dry pole.

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An Oriental Garden Lizard peeked out from the rocks, pausing just long enough for a couple of frames.

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We checked Google Maps and spotted another waterbody nearby, so, after a short trek through some rough terrain, we finally reached Legumenahalli Lake.

A Pied Kingfisher greeted us at Legumenahalli Lake, hovering and diving with its trademark confidence.

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It skimmed the water with perfect precision, and a moment later it even caught a fish.

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A Jerdons bushlark sat on the wire for a moment.

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An Indian Pond Heron sat on a dark perch, and, for a moment, it had me thinking it was a bittern.

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We were exhausted after the long walk, so when a fellow birder offered us a lift back to Hoskote Lake, we happily hopped in.

Back at Hoskote Lake, we saw a Crested Honey Buzzard circling above us.

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A Shikra perched silently on a bare branch far away.

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That was the last sighting of the day, and I headed back, determined to return on Tuesday to look for the rubythroat.

Came back on Tuesday to find the place empty, except for cows, who clearly had no interest in rare migrants.

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After a brief wait, the Himalayan Rubythroat arrived, looked around, and posed like a seasoned model doing a quick cameo.

After a couple of photos, I quietly left it to its morning and headed home.

It had been a long and rewarding couple of days at Hoskote. Tuesday’s calm morning, the quiet fields, and that brief appearance of the Himalayan rubythroat wrapped up the visit perfectly. Moments like these remind me why birding continues to pull me out of bed before sunrise and why every trip, no matter how familiar the place, writes its own little story.

If you enjoyed the photos and the experience, do leave a comment below. I would love to hear your thoughts.

A Colorful Haul at Saul

A week ago, birding circles were abuzz with the news of a Verditer Flycatcher sighting at Saul Kere. By the time I made my way there, I knew I was late, but hope has its own rhythm. Maybe it would still be around.

When I arrived, the place was already alive with birdwatchers. Cameras stood like sentinels, all pointed toward the trees, every eye searching for that flash of blue. It soon became clear that this would be a game of patience.

The morning unfolded slowly, like a page turning. Pelicans glided gracefully over the water. Herons stood poised in stillness, parakeets chattered from the canopy, and somewhere in the distance, an oriole called, a bright promise in gold that proved just as elusive as the Verditer.

Saul Kere offered a treasure trove of beautiful sightings, each one a quiet reward for those willing to wait.

Time stretched and softened until, at last, the Verditer appeared. Not long after, the oriole too emerged from the foliage, a perfect double reward.

And then, as if to close the story, a crake stepped gently from the reeds, offering one final gift before retreating into the green.

Here are some glimpses from that unforgettable morning.

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The morning mist still lingered over the lake when the pelican drifted into view, silent and regal. Its reflection floated beside it.

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Below the quiet cityscape, the lake mirrored the pale, cloud-softened sky.

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An Indian Pond Heron broke its stillness with a sudden leap, wings flashing white as it caught a fish.

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The sun rose veiled in gold, slipping through clouds like a shy performer waiting for its cue.

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Bathed in the soft glow of dawn, an Oriental Darter perched still over the shimmering gold of the lake.

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A Grey Heron stood tall beside cormorants drying their wings.

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A pair of Spot-billed Ducks stood quietly on the bank, basking in the calm glow of the morning light.

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A colony of Spot-billed Pelicans gathered noisily atop a tree.

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A close-up glimpse of the small fry caught by the Little Egret a second before the gulp.

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Small fries were caught frequently, but these light snacks only teased the Egret's hunger.

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A nearby Indian Pond Heron also enjoyed the rewards of the morning, managing to catch a small snack of its own.

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A flock of juvenile Great Cormorants moved in, their black forms creating a dark, determined flotilla across the pale water, all focused amazingly on the same stuff, like robots following a single command.

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The odd one always breaks the monotony.

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The real story of the day was the gathering of the birdwatchers itself. Lined up along the path, cameras and massive lenses stood like the sentinels I first noted, a collective of patient eyes and eager hearts, united by the simple, beautiful hope of a Verditer Flycatcher sighting.

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The wait for the elusive Verditer lasted hours. During the long wait, other beautiful sightings provided their own rewards. This elegant White-breasted Waterhen stepped gently onto a low branch.

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A Rose-ringed Parakeet flashed past.

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An Ashy Drongo secured its own prize, with decisive catch and gulp after a quick aerial hunt.

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A White-throated Kingfisher appeared, perched like a king on a thorny branch, a striking distraction, but still no Verditer to break the long wait.

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An Indian Palm Squirrel paused its foraging, sitting perfectly still and looking utterly patient, a peaceful contrast to our own restlessness during the long wait.

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Another welcome distraction from the long wait was watching this industrious White-cheeked Barbet. This patient carpenter was busy at work, excavating its nest hole in a dead trunk.

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Even the Barbet had a schedule. Watching the pair take turns was an unexpected source of fascination: about every 15 minutes, the mate would arrive to take over the rigorous excavation duty while the other would go for a well-deserved break.

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A tiny Scaly-breasted Munia (likely a young one, given its subtle markings) took a momentary rest on a tangle of dry vines.

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And then, a flash of gold fulfilled the promise made in the distance. The Black-naped Oriole finally emerged from the dense canopy, a perfect golden reward after the long morning.

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After hours of patient waiting, after all the distractions and beautiful secondary sightings, it happened. There, on a sun-drenched branch, was the legendary flash of color: the Verditer Flycatcher, radiant in brilliant, impossible blue, the quiet, ultimate reward for all who were willing to wait.

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The Verditer Flycatcher takes flight, a fleeting memory of the ultimate reward.

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The Oriole returned, but this time in motion.

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Just as the day's hunt was declared successful and I walked back to the car, the lake offered one last parting image. A majestic Spot-billed Pelican descended, splash-landing with grace.

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As the morning drew to a close, a Ruddy-breasted Crake stepped gently from the reeds, an unexpected encore before the curtain fell on a perfect morning.

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As I left Saul Kere, the sounds of the morning still echoed around the lake, the chatter of parakeets, the splash of pelicans, the soft rustle of reeds. The Verditer had appeared and gone, but what lingered was the quiet joy of the wait, the shared excitement, and the beauty that unfolds when patience meets hope.

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.