A gaur-gantuan encounter in the Sahyadri reserve

It happened on October 13, 2020, that unnerving encounter with one of those forest giants who I thought I had become quite familiar with. It happened in the Sahyadri Tiger Reserve, a little-known reserve in the northernmost frontiers of the Western Ghats.

As part of my work with the Wildlife Conservation Trust (WCT), I have spent thousands of hours trekking through this beautiful landscape over the years. That morning was no different. It would be another usual survey for us. Or so we thought.

We were staying at the Chandel Protection camp — five of us, a motley mix of forest staff and researchers. The morning started with the usual routine. There was a slight nip in the air that morning. Our team broke off into two. Along with forest guard Dynaneshwar Kale and forest watcher Krushna Wadan, I decided to survey an area reaching up to another camp called Siddheswar. It would be an hour’s trek, up a slope, from the spot where we would park our vehicle in the forest.

The walk commenced as planned, and there onwards it was, as I said earlier, ‘the usual’ fare i.e. collecting data on animal signs as we came across fresh signs of gaur, wild pigs, multiple old droppings of dholes, and fresh scrape marks and scat of a leopard! Exciting, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary for me by then. We reached Siddheswar as planned, without event.

Then, once at Siddheswar, on a whim, we decided to continue our trek a bit further to a place called Siddhtek, a small grassy knoll at the crest-line of the mountain from where one can get a bird’s-eye view of the Konkan region. You can imagine the view. I always have thought of such views in the Sahyadri Tiger Reserve as my reward at the end of many an arduous trek.

Oh, and another thing — when you emerge from the thick forests on to Siddhtek knoll, your phone buzzes incessantly! Yes, network coverage — that elusive elixir for all us researchers who spend most of our field stays completely cut off from mobile connectivity. When living in such remote camps inside the forests, the buzz of phone messages gives a long-lasting dopamine high, quite unlike the incessant and instant gratification we’re used to in cities.

So, we walked. About 20 minutes into our ascent to Siddhtek, everyone’s phones started buzzing with messages, an indication that we were nearing the crest-line. However, since we were still on the survey, everyone desisted from viewing their phones. As we would soon find out, this proved to be a very sensible decision. We noted fresh hoof-marks of a gaur leading up along the trail. Since I was leading the walk, I momentarily stopped to look back and whisper to my teammates that we should tread carefully to the hilltop.

And then, it happened! No sooner had I whispered those words and turned back to look forward towards the trail, a huge gaur metamorphosed in front of us, barely 15m away, peering from the dense Karvi bush! In a matter of seconds, even before I could fully register what was happening, this bull charged at us at full throttle. His aim was clear — knock these intruders down! Involuntarily, I screamed to my teammates to jump to the side of the trail. We leaped immediately, almost mindlessly, even as the ground thundered under this gaur’s hooves, almost as if a train engine was hurtling towards us. They say when accidents happen, in that critical moment, time slows down almost like it does in those movies. In that moment, I realised what that felt. Time slowed down, and all I saw was this startled gaur speed past me with its massive horns, barely a few centimetres away from tearing through my flesh. And then, suddenly, that slow motion reel ended and there were sounds of great commotion and crash as the gaur, having missed his target, thankfully, sped away on the trail through the bushes.

My heart was almost bursting through my chest. I remember sitting on my knees to calm myself. The others were in a similar state. We had literally just dodged death, or severe injury, at the very least. No one said a word for a few minutes. Then, and some of you may find this to be strange, we burst into laughter. We were certain the gaur was as spooked as we were. We gathered our wits, took a breather and then forged ahead — after all, the stunning view and the scores of unread messages awaited us!

— The writer heads the Sahyadri Programme at Wildlife Conservation Trust