In May 2019, we wandered into Shimla’s cool embrace — my first encounter with the mighty Himalayas. The thought of birding amidst whispering pines had kept my heart restless for weeks, and at last, it was time.
On the 13th, we reached Kandhaghat, to the welcoming slopes of Club Mahindra. The air was thin and scented with pine. Even before I could breathe it in fully, a flutter caught my eye — the Himalayan Bulbul, perched proudly in the soft afternoon light. Common, perhaps, to these hills, but to me, a revelation. My heart leapt; the camera rose almost by instinct, and I clicked what felt like a silent thank-you to the mountains. That evening, the sunset spilled gold on the ridges — a quiet benediction to our arrival.
The next dawn, I slipped out before the world was awake. The resort lay wrapped in mist, and the first call I heard belonged to the Streaked Laughing Thrush — another lifer, bold and unbothered by my quiet steps. The golden morning light turned the bird into poetry itself, a gentle gift from nature and her hidden singers.
Club Mahindra Kandhaghat stood not just as a mountain retreat but as a sanctuary of thrill and stillness alike, offering both birdsong and the adrenaline of one of the Himalayas’ longest zip-lines.
That morning’s roster of marvels read like a melody: Streaked Laughing Thrush, Red-billed Blue Magpie (mid-hunt, fierce and beautiful), Slaty-headed Parakeet, Plum-headed Parakeet, Black-chinned Babbler, Asian Paradise Flycatcher, Lesser Yellow-naped Woodpecker, Rosy Minivet, and Black Bulbul.
Content and elated, I wandered toward the resort’s backyard. There — as though the forest itself took notice of my joy — emerged a surprise: the elusive Kalij Pheasant, shining like a gem against the forest floor. And before the thrill could settle, three White-crested Laughing Thrushes burst into view, filling the silence with their laughter.
The mountains had given more than I had hoped — a song, a surprise, and a memory that still feels alive.
Streaked laughingthrush
White crested laughingthrush
Stepping beyond the resort gate, I caught sight of more Slaty-headed Parakeets flitting about, and a few Great Tits dancing in the branches. My camera gear hung heavy, and I must have looked a curious sight — dressed in a military-style outfit yet armed only with a lens. Passersby stared, puzzled, perhaps wondering why this soldier seemed to be chasing birds instead of battles.
I wandered along the road, a few hundred meters lost in search and in thought. My mind drifted into a little daydream — perhaps I might glimpse a Great Barbet. I’d believed they belonged to the forests of West Bengal; every photograph I’d seen on social media said as much. And then, as if my thoughts had ripened into reality, a flash of color swept past me. A Great Barbet landed on a nearby neem tree, its gaze steady and curious. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t believe it was real.
Then joy took over — pure and sudden. I raised my camera and captured its glory, humming a playful twist to a Tamil tune, “Kandupudichen, Kandupudichen, Great Barbet’a Kandupudichen!” The hills echoed with laughter, both mine and nature’s. Along the way, I was blessed again — spotting the Grey Treepie, the Verditer Flycatcher, and the ever-elegant Red-billed Blue Magpie.
Great Barbet
Great Tit
Red billed blue magpie
The next day, our journey carried us onward to Naldhera, a hill station softly cradled by ancient deodars. For a few tranquil days, we let ourselves become part of its pace — letting mountain breezes and silent mornings shape our hours. Each evening, the valleys grew quiet, and each sunrise painted the hills with new possibilities.
The heartbeat of our adventure pulsed strongest in Kufri forest. It was there, amidst emerald shadows and moss-touched stones, that we set out for a walk that felt less like a trek and more like a gentle conversation with nature itself. The air in Kufri was pure, echoing with distant bird calls, the forest floor strewn with pine needles and sun-dappled secrets.
Every step was a promise of discovery, and the forest kept its word. That day brought lifers aplenty: the elusive Grey-winged Blackbird flashed between branches; the Himalayan Woodpecker hammered out a rhythm only the trees could understand; the tiny Coal Tit darted and flitted, a wisp among the foliage. Time lost meaning — we let the mountain silence wash over us, pausing often to soak in the sights, and snapping a few treasured photographs to remember each winged wonder.
We retraced our path as the afternoon faded, making our way back to the familiar calm of Naldhera. There, as if to mark the day's adventure with a final gift, the Rock-bunting appeared — a splash of color against the rocks, unhurried and perfectly at home.
Our Shimla sojourn closed on a happy, grateful note. With hearts full and memories glowing, we bid farewell to the Himalayas, turning southward as we journeyed back to Bangalore. But the spirit of the hills lingered — in songs, in photographs, and in the hush of mountain mornings, promising there would always be more to discover.
Himalayan Woodpecker
Grey winged black bird
