90 minutes with a musk deer in Gurez

COMPARED to habitats in the plains, wildlife across the Himalayas, particularly in the western sections of the mountain range, is known to be less in diversity and numbers. This conforms to the ecological reality that ‘species’ diversity decreases from the lower to higher altitude’. That said, the Himalayan landscape harbours some magnificent fauna, unique to the area and vehemently sought after by wildlife enthusiasts. The sheer hostility of the terrain and harshness of the climate makes wildlife viewing more exciting and adventurous.

My profession has provided me opportunities to explore the Himalayan wildlife across the mountainous regions of Jammu and Kashmir, and Ladakh. I am among the lucky and privileged ones to have sighted and photographed all but a few of the wild mammal species of the region — from the snow leopard, the grey ghost of the trans-Himalayas, to the largest carnivore of the entire Himalayan range, the brown bear, to the most critically endangered of the mountain deer, the Kashmir red deer or Hangul. One species that eluded me for long is the musk deer, an enigmatic creature, which by taxonomic nuances is not even a true deer! It is a smaller antler-less, large-eared ‘deer’, standing 40-50cm at the shoulder, having unequal hind and forelimbs, whose males sport a distinct pair of fang-like canines — all un-deer-like characters!

I did have my chances of sighting the animal on a couple of occasions, first during my student days while surveying in the hills of Ranikhet, Uttar Pradesh (now Uttarakhand), in 1995, and then five years later during my early professional life, in the Overa-Aru Wildlife Sanctuary, near Pahalgam, Kashmir. On both the occasions, it was just a snapshot glimpse, neither long enough to be registered in the brain, nor good enough to be captured in a frame. All these years, I have longed for a more satisfying view of this magical animal. Finally, the opportunity came when I was sent off on an official assignment to Gurez, north Kashmir, this summer.

Flanking the valley on its north-eastern side, Gurez is a picturesque vale surrounded by dense conifer forests of fir, spruce and blue pine, with cliffy peaks towering overhead, supporting patches of birch and juniper. There may not be any officially notified national park or wildlife sanctuary in Gurez, but its forests, home to a variety of bird and animal life, merit its inclusion in the Protected Area map of the country.

After a disappointing rainy morning and forenoon that upset all my plans of watching birds, the sun finally shone in the afternoon, allowing me to venture out with two local guides from Barnai, a small hamlet 16 km south-east of Dawar, the administrative headquarter of Gurez. We crossed a log-bridge on the stream near the village and took a trail into the Chek nullah. The trail soon became steep and led us to a narrow gorge overlooking a road and the stream, running parallel to each other.

On the opposite side, about 90 metres from where I stood with my camera and binoculars, I noticed a rocky cliff that rose almost vertically from the road below. My attention was caught by some protruding rocks and a few crevices, ideal for vultures to perch on and nest. I scanned the cliff with my binoculars, hoping to see a Himalayan vulture or a lammergeier. Suddenly, I noticed movement in one of the crevices which supported a bit of grass. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw a musk deer standing still, holding on firmly to the little ground available under its hooves. The animal was panting with its tongue out as if it had escaped a predator, or was running away on being disturbed by a human. Whatever the reason, it had found the perfect spot to take refuge.

I watched more keenly and could see it was a female, as it lacked the canine tusks, prominent in males. The grey face and throat and greyish brown back with prominent spots confirmed her to be a Kashmir musk deer, a species endemic to the Kashmir Himalayas.

I handed over the binoculars to my companions for them to have a look while I set my camera on one of the rarest subjects it had ever clicked. I took as many pictures as I could, fearing that the animal may vanish as soon as she saw us. But, to my surprise, she remained right there, undeterred by our presence and unaffected by the noise of the traffic on the road beneath. After a few minutes, she stopped panting and made a slow but steady move up the rocky cliff.

She was now on a better perch with greener surroundings and gave a sideways pose for my camera, with the flowering foxtail lily in the background. For the next hour-and-a-half, I remained glued to my binoculars, cherishing every blink of her eye and every flick of her ear. I was finally able to see the animal in a manner that satiated the appetite of the ‘wildlifer’ in me.

— The writer is Wildlife Warden, Department of Wildlife Protection, J&K