Jacanas on a vanishing lake: A morning in Pilerne

Aquatic vegetation choking the water in the lake

But sadly, what caught your attention immediately was the trash – the ubiquitous beer bottles, cans and discarded snack packets liberally strewn all over the surface, especially at the edges. Also, votive offerings of flowers and garlands. Visitors have also complained of the stench, which luckily this morning seemed missing. Locals are rightly incensed by tourists who happily get drunk on the cheap beer on offer and then discard the bottles wherever they please, but not all the garbage here seemed to be tourist sourced. Apparently, to help the local economy, a small industrial estate was built on top of the hills opposite the lake, and was responsible for a lot of garbage dumping in the area. We are the only species on earth which doesn’t clean up after itself and what pleasure we get in messing up pristine environments, is hard to imagine. But then, I had come here to look for birds, not to look at garbage.

A scan with the binoculars, revealed a pair of bronze-winged jacanas agitatedly chasing each other from one side of the lake to the other, squeaking indignantly. A pond heron melded beautifully with the flora, only revealing itself when it took one stealthy step forwards. Occasionally a pencil slim little cormorant, witch-black would fly across and land with a sploosh. As there seemed to be very little other bird life I concentrated on my jacana pair. They’re stumpy swamp birds, about the size of a hunched-up hen, with bronze green wings, a blue-black head and a very prominent white eyebrow.

The jacana clan are also known as ‘lily trotters’ because of their enormous spidery toes which they spread out on floating leaves as they work their way across the water’s surface picking up aquatic vegetation and insects.

They breed between June and September, so this pair must have just about been done with their family obligations, though I didn’t see any youngsters with them. What’s interesting about the clan is that here it is daddy dear who brings up the brood, he will defend his relatively small ‘territory’ from other gents, but it’s his wife who wears the pants in the family. She will settle him down in a nest (a pad on the floating leaves) to incubate perhaps four eggs, and then go in search of other husbands. And she will ferociously fight with other ladies who have the same idea, her territory being much larger than that of her husband’s.

Jacana chicks fortunately do not need spoon-feeding, but will scuttle under their father’s protective wings if predators turn up. In spite of this, according to one source as many as 84 per cent of the chicks fall prey to predators.

I wondered about the pair on the lake: were they a true pair or two ladies again fighting over territory? Heads lowered they would charge at each other, uttering a high-pitched ‘see-see-seek’ and then one would bluster off and land at the other end of the lake and begin feeding there.

A bronze-winged jacana

Against the dark green forested hills opposite, the ubiquitous Brahminy kites wheeled, looking splendid in their russet and detergent white plumage. They were even more striking when circling in the sky – so clean a blue it took your breath away.

One advantage I realized, when there were so few species to check out, was that you focused properly on the ones that obliged you, and the more time you spend doing that, the more tends to be revealed. Had there been 50 species on that lake that morning all vying for attention and waiting to be ticked off, I don’t think I would have given the jacanas the attention I did. So, I am still wondering whether the birds were having a territorial dispute – over food it had to be – since the breeding season was over (it was now November) and where were their chicks?

At the lake’s edge, in a small patch of clear water that was not blocked off by the aquatic vegetation, you could see a fish circle beneath, fine dining for the big herons no doubt, though there didn’t seem to be any around. Pictures on the net revealed whistling teals on the water, again AWOL this morning, as there were no large enough areas of open water for them.

The place has promise but until cleaned up, will remain an eyesore: ‘Pilerne: The Lake that Wasn’t.’