It began, as many modern passions do, with an Instagram scroll. 2020. Lockdown. The world felt still, but on my phone screen, a flash of white and black, a ribbon of a tail, and the captivating gaze of the Indian Paradise Flycatcher. It was love at first sight, a photographer’s love, mind you, the kind that ignites a burning desire to capture that beauty, that magic, in its most dynamic form. I wanted flight, pure and simple. Little did I know, this seemingly delicate creature was a master of aerial acrobatics, and I was about to embark on a two-year odyssey to freeze its fleeting grace.
Research became my obsession. Every spare moment was spent poring over birding websites, consulting field guides, and tracking sightings. The Paradise Flycatcher, I discovered, is a traveler, a seasonal nomad. They spend their summers in the Himalayan foothills, a haven for breeding, tucked away in dense forests. Come winter, they journey south, spreading their wings across peninsular India and even reaching the shores of Sri Lanka. What a migration, isn’t it?
The Himalayas, tempting as they were, presented a challenge. Thick foliage, the need to protect their nesting sites, and a personal reluctance to disturb their breeding season made it a no-go. Southern India, then, became my focus. Panvel, Maharashtra, in January 2022, was my first attempt. A photography hide, a small waterhole, and the promise of Paradise Flycatchers dipping for a quick bath. It sounded perfect.
The reality, as it often is, was a tad different. The hide was strategic, no doubt. The owner, a savvy birder, had created a reliable water source, attracting the birds like magnets. Four or five would grace the waterhole each evening, taking their ritual dips. But January, I learned, was dew season.
The birds preferred to bathe in the morning dew, only resorting to the waterhole later in the day. I managed a few flight shots, but the background, a jumble of rocks, was a constant distraction. My camera, bless its focus-challenged heart, kept locking onto the rocks instead of the swift-moving birds.
Undeterred, I returned in March. The dew had vanished, and the birds were now dipping in the mornings. I managed a couple more flight shots, but the rock problem persisted. Frustration began to creep in. Back home, I had plenty of perched shots, portraits if you will, but they lacked the dynamism I craved. The hide, with its limitations, was proving to be a hindrance. The confined space, the need to handhold the camera 95% of the time, it wasn’t working. My dream of capturing the Paradise Flycatcher in flight, at eye level, was slipping away.
2023 saw me venturing further. Panvel again, a spot near Pune, and even Kerala, close to my hometown. Perched shots galore, but the flight remained elusive. The hides, I realized, were not my preferred setup. I needed freedom, space to maneuver, to anticipate the bird’s movements.
Then, I heard about Abilash Padmanabhan, a birder from Payyannur, Kerala. His Instagram feed was a revelation – Paradise Flycatchers in flight, sharp, clear, at eye level. I reached out, and Abilash, a true gentleman, shared his knowledge generously. He described the location, a simple waterhole, no hide, just the birds and the open sky. My heart leaped. This was it.
I booked my flights without hesitation. Payyannur was everything I had hoped for. A small waterhole, surrounded by open space, no clutter. The Paradise Flycatchers would perch on low branches, just above the water, dipping and returning, again and again. I lay prone, eye level with the water, my camera clicking away. The birds, seemingly oblivious to my presence, performed their aerial ballet. I filled my memory cards, my heart overflowing with the images I had dreamed of.
The joy was immense. It was the culmination of two years of perseverance, of failed attempts and lessons learned. The Paradise Flycatcher, with its ethereal beauty and swift movements, had finally yielded to my lens. It was a testament to the power of passion, the determination to chase a dream, no matter how challenging.
And, of course, the story doesn’t end there. In January 2025, I found myself back in Payyannur, drawn by the irresistible allure of the Paradise Flycatcher. The memory cards needed refreshing, and so did my soul. The dance of the Paradise Flycatcher, it seems, is a performance I’ll never tire of capturing. It is a reminder that patience, persistence, and a little bit of resourceful planning can lead to the most rewarding photographic experiences. And, isn’t that what wildlife photography is all about?
