Emergency landing

When a rainwater-retaining patch in Akkarai had barely regained its pre-Michaung character, it was subjected to an inspection by black-tailed godwits

Michaung had removed all traces of vegetation in a water-retaining patch in Akkarai by submerging. When the floodwater drained off and the vegetation emerged, avian species accustomed to the turf returned — only a few of them, and that too in unimpressive trickles. A majority of the returnees did not stay back. And there were those rank outsiders — total strangers to the patch as they were not patronising it before Michaung — that were seen making an “emergency landing” and leaving with the same sense of urgency with which they had checked in. In the morning of December 11, a flock of black-tailed godwits — with numbers that lay somewhere between “huge” and “small” — flapped in with a celerity that would make a 100-metre sprinter proud, and after what seemed like a twitter of social calls, took to the air and disappeared into the skies never to be seen again.

They seemed to be headed towards the Muttukadu region. Trying to get the drift of this appearance and disappearance, both orchestrated in the blink of an eye, they probably felt unwelcome from the shrill protests of a flock of black-winged stilts. Or, the patch did not meet their expectations. One would never know which triggered the instant exit.

A regular phenomenon that would hardly reach the eyebrows might in a magical hour raise them to the top of the forehead. Having seen waterways running full not long ago, passersby were drawn to marvelling at the partially exposed “flooring” of the Adyar river during a low-tide hour on December 14. Low tide had set in; and around 3.30 p.m., water levels had plummeted to a point where the river was a sparsely-covered pate with noticeable patches of hairlessness.

The sight of bald earth exposed by receding water had passersby flocking to the pavement of Thiru-Vi-Ka bridge in Adyar. The ebb and flow of the sea is continual, and the river alternates between low and high tide without a pause. However, the timing of the low tide had just been right to turn the river into a subject of curiosity. Thirty minutes past three is comfortably clear of the rush hour for motorists to turn off the ignition for some river-watching.

The low tide had exposed mudflats, one of which was occupied by a small flock of greyheaded lapwings.