The Lost Monarch Of Malabar Coast: A Great Hornbill Strays Onto Kochi Shores

A truly amazing and unique spectacle is currently unfolding on the Malabar coast. A Great Hornbill, an endangered species and one of the most majestic birds ever to take wing, has strayed away from its natural habitat of deep forests high up in the Western Ghats. It is now solemnly roosting amongst coconut palms, just a few minutes flying time north of the LNG terminal at Vypeen, Kochi.

This Great Hornbill, a male, was first spotted in Kodungalloor a fortnight ago, not far from the legendary Bhagavathi Temple near the mouth of the Periyar River, associated with Adi Shankaracharya. A week later, it was seen at Cherai Beach on the south side of the Periyar. On 12 August, it decided to grace Kochi with its stunning presence.

According to the local birding community, there is no known record of a Great Hornbill ever straying to the coast before, from its traditional home in the wooded hills. It is clearly lost and unable to make its way back.

This is tragic because Hornbills mate for life, and the male is the main forager for the family. The situation is even worse during the monsoon because chicks hatch in May. Somewhere in the Western Ghats, Hornbill chicks are still young, and a mother is being forced to do double duty in the absence of the father.

The day had begun so quietly. This writer was at his desk, contemplating an article on capital spending on infrastructure in the states of the union, sipping a fine green tea, when the phone rang.

It was Jayadev Menon, one of the senior-most birders in Kerala. “You are not going to believe this,” he shouted excitedly, “but a Great Hornbill was spotted an hour ago in Vypeen!”

Utter disbelief. “No way! A Hornbill on the coast? No way!”

“Way!” shouted Jayadev. “Move it! Move it!”

Ten minutes later, in a quick reaction time that would be the envy of the Parachute Regiment, the Marcos, the Garuds, and the NSG combined, the duo were racing up the Vypeen coast. The lane, masquerading as a road, was teeming with reckless drivers.

The sighting spot was a dense thicket of old trees behind a mosque. Birders began to congregate in silent greetings, peering into the dark canopy for a sight of their prize. A collective gasp rose. There it was, atop a Jackfruit tree, bathed in sunshine. OMG.

The Great Hornbill’s large, bright-yellow casque, a characteristic enlargement of the skull into a cap-like feature, glinted in the daylight. It was faced away, preening. Then it turned its head to present its long, broad, yellowish-orange, down-curved beak in an imposing side profile. Bliss.

It was a surreal sight. The state bird of both Kerala and Arunachal Pradesh, a resident of misty hills and mountainsides, was on the coast, flanked by a pair of Talipot Palms. The frenzied clicks of expensive cameras rose in unison, while underprivileged ones like this writer had to make do with their cell phones.

When everyone had had their fill, it was time for a round of reactions. For Sharath TS, who managed an epic snap of the Great Hornbill taking off from a Coconut tree, it was a mixture of euphoria and worry.

On one hand, he was still reeling from the moment. On the other, he wondered how the male would make it back to his nest. Perhaps the Forest Department would dart it, drug it, and relocate it back to the hills east of Thrissur, its most probable home, said Xavier, another seasoned birder. May it happen soon.

Jayadev had a practical angle. Every year, thousands of avid birders spend thousands of rupees to make two- or three-day trips into the Western Ghats in search of Hornbills during the breeding season. These are rigorous expeditions which often end in disappointment, with the only reward being a dozen leech bites.

Now, here was a Great Hornbill, in the commercial capital of Kerala, presenting itself for a lifetime viewing, without those pernicious leeches and without expenditure.

Young Sandeep had no words. He just kept shaking his head, speechless, struck by the improbable sight. Just then, a gaggle of excited schoolgirls scurried into the thicket. Word had spread that a Vezhambal (Malayalam for Hornbill) had been spotted in their area. “Where? Where?” they asked animatedly, and the party scattered for a sighting.

Afterwards, there was only the quiet ride home, subdued, still struck by incredulity. The car stereo matched the mood perfectly by playing the Pink Floyd classic Comfortably Numb. Apt. And echoed by a prayer, that this Great Hornbill be reunited with his family soon, because no one deserves to pine for their loved ones.