Part 1: Arrival in Agumbe & First Encounters
“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”
— Albert Einstein
Arrival at the King’s Throne
It had been a long-cherished dream—one that lingered in the corners of my heart for years—to visit Agumbe, the mystical jewel nestled deep within the Western Ghats. Known for its untamed beauty and profound silence, Agumbe isn’t just a destination; it’s a feeling, a hidden realm where nature still reigns untouched, undisturbed, and magnificent.
This enchanting region is more than just lush green canopies and mist-drenched trails—it is a living museum of biodiversity. Every year, researchers uncover new species here, each one a silent testament to how much we have yet to learn from nature.
As famed ecologist E.O. Wilson once said, "The natural world is the refuge of the spirit... richer even than human imagination."
That richness was what drew me in—the promise of wonder, the call of the wild.
A few months ago, I stumbled upon something that felt like fate: a Herpetology Workshop being organized by the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station (ARRS), under the esteemed Madras Crocodile Bank Trust (MCBT), Chennai. Without a second thought, I registered. The prospect of learning about reptiles, amphibians, and the ecosystem of the Western Ghats from seasoned experts felt like an invitation from the forest itself.
As the day of departure neared, I began coordinating travel plans, hoping to carpool with fellow participants. But life, as always, threw in a twist—last-minute cancellations disrupted my arrangements. Yet, I wasn’t willing to let go of this long-awaited dream. Determined not to let circumstances win, I opted for public transportation—a mode I rarely choose, given its time-consuming nature. But there was no turning back now. Solo driving didn’t feel right either, so I packed light, reluctantly leaving behind much of my camera equipment, and set off with only the essentials and a heart full of anticipation.
En route Bengaluru (1) and a snap at night during a rest stop by KSRTC (2)Ten long hours later, weary but unshaken, I arrived in Agumbe. And in that moment, time seemed to still.
Agumbe. A name that resonates like a legend. I call it “The King’s Throne”, for it is the realm of the majestic King Cobra—the world’s longest venomous snake. There’s an aura here, an ancient energy that greets you even before the people do. As I walked toward the ARRS campus, surrounded by dense canopy and silence, there was no mobile signal. But I had expected that. With offline maps as my guide and a soul eager to disconnect from the digital and reconnect with the elemental, I continued walking.
As I walked along the quiet highway from the bus stand toward the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station, something magical happened - Mist began to wrap itself around the winding road like a secret being whispered by the forest. It was thick, otherworldly—so dense it hid the world beyond a few feet. It felt like stepping into a dream woven from clouds and silence. And in that stillness, I knew I had arrived exactly where I was meant to be. It wasn’t just fog—it was a welcome, a hush, a breath from the rainforest itself.
You can witness that surreal moment in the short video below:
Into the Forest on Foot
I chose to walk to the ARRS field station, deliberately resisting the ease of autos or other vehicles. That’s just how I’ve always preferred to discover a new place—on foot, one step at a time, letting the land reveal itself slowly, intimately. There’s a certain magic in walking through unfamiliar terrain. No vehicle can offer the quiet joy that comes when your feet touch the earth, when you breathe the rhythm of a place rather than race past it.
Entering in to the Forest
The road stretched ahead, quiet and simple. I passed a handful of homes—modest, nestled in greenery—and then came upon an open expanse of land. It felt like a quiet pause in the forest’s narrative. Just then, the distant rumble of an approaching auto broke the stillness. I turned, sensing it was headed in my direction. A quick thought crossed my mind: perhaps it carried other workshop participants. And though their company might have been lovely, I feared what warmth often does—it makes it harder to say no.
Not wanting to be invited or have to politely decline, I turned away from the road, placed my bag gently on the ground, and pretended to be searching for something—a leaf, perhaps, or a trail. The auto passed without slowing, leaving behind only the soft sputter of its fading engine. With a smile, I picked up my bag and continued onward, back on my chosen path—alone, but not lonely.
As I moved forward, several trails branched off into the forest—some to the left, some to the right, each calling to the curious wanderer in me. My heart urged me to explore them. But Agumbe is no ordinary place. I recalled the advice of Rithan, a dear friend and someone who knew these paths well: “Stick to the main road that leads to the station. The forest here is sacred, but not always forgiving.” Trusting his words, I stayed the course, following a narrowing road now lined with deepening shadows and the quiet evidence of occasional vehicle tracks.
Nature around me grew wilder, more primal. I came upon a sign, rusted yet firm in its warning: “No Entry – Someshwar Wildlife Sanctuary – Restricted Area.” But I wasn’t intruding; I was entering as a guest, invited by the silence and blessed by the mist. It felt like Mother Nature herself had parted the veil to welcome me in.
Someshwar Wildlife Sanctuary
All around me, the forest spoke in a language without words:
I heard the songs of birds echoing like ancient hymns… the delicate hum of insects spinning music from the unseen… the gentle gurgle of a hidden stream… the rhythmic kiss of rain on leaves.
I saw mist dancing like a soft spirit through towering trees… snakes weaving quietly across the trail, guardians of this green temple… bright birds flashing like forgotten dreams through the undergrowth… and trees swaying gently, whispering secrets to the wind.
I smelled the deep, damp perfume of the rainforest… the earthy scent of moss-covered roots, the wild aroma of life unfiltered.
Agumbe had already begun to wrap its spirit around me. I felt something unnameable stir in my chest—a deep peace, a strange ecstasy, the kind only nature can bestow.
Just me and Mother Nature
At last, through the silver fog and shadowed green, the main building of the Agumbe Rainforest Research Station appeared. Modest, functional, and quietly rooted in its surroundings—it looked like it belonged to the forest, not imposed upon it.
Inside, I was warmly greeted by Manasi, a cheerful volunteer, and a few fellow participants. As I dropped my bag and slipped off my sandals, I noticed with amusement that the forest had already found me—leech scouts had begun their slow, determined crawl toward their unsuspecting prey. A welcome committee with teeth. 😊
The prey
I was assigned a cozy space in the Draco Cottage, aptly named after the gliding lizard that inhabits these forests. The cottage itself felt like part of the landscape—walls breathing with the moisture of the forest, the air rich with the scent of wet leaves and wood.
The Draco Cottage
After a quick refresh, I stepped into the dining space for a simple yet soul-satisfying breakfast. Each bite tasted better in that serene silence, surrounded by the green embrace of Agumbe.
In that moment, I felt not like a visitor, but like a child returning home.
In front of Draco Cottage
A Forest’s Whisper Before the Session
Before the first session was set to begin, I found myself with something more precious than time— ‘free time’—and I knew exactly how to spend it. With my bag set aside and heart alight, I wandered into the rainforest, craving the quiet thrill of solitary exploration.
I followed the whispers of the woods, venturing down narrow paths in search of creatures that call this place home. Eyes scanning branches, ears tuned to the rustle of leaves, I became part of the forest’s rhythm. Soon enough, I spotted two elegant Racket-tailed Drongos, their long twin streamers slicing through the mist like strokes of ink. And then—like a painter’s gift—a flash of brilliant color: a Malabar Trogon, sitting quietly among the foliage like a secret waiting to be discovered.
Not far from there, I came across a cat snake coiled in graceful stillness. It watched me, unbothered, and I returned the courtesy—leaving it undisturbed, a quiet nod to the ancient etiquette of the wild: observe, but never intrude.
I returned to the main station building, exhilarated but not yet ready to stop. I debated exploring another trail when a few fellow participants—having noticed my earlier foray into the forest—approached me with curiosity and enthusiasm. Three of them joined me, and soon we were led by one of the volunteers, Gowtham, who offered to show us some beautiful spots nestled deeper in the reserve.
As we made our way, the gentle murmur of water reached our ears—soft at first, then increasingly melodic, like a hidden song revealing itself. We followed the sound, and there it was: a stream weaving through the forest like a silver ribbon, glinting in the filtered light, its presence soothing and surreal.
The moment we reached the stream, I felt it—that hush of wonder. The air grew cooler, the drizzle finer, the mist wrapped around us like a lover’s shawl. And the water—oh, the water—moved with a rhythm that touched something old and sacred within me. “In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks,” wrote John Muir. In that moment, I understood exactly what he meant.
The sight was pure magic—a canvas painted with greys, greens, and silvers; with songs instead of brushstrokes.
My body ached to dive in. I examined the stream closely, assessing its depth, the speed and direction of the current. But instinct gently tapped me on the shoulder, reminding me of the presence of leeches, and perhaps even hidden snakes. I hesitated.
While the others stood by the bank, marveling at the serenity, I decided to at least feel the forest’s pulse up close. I stepped into the water—just ankle-deep—but even that was enough. The chill ran up my spine, mingled with joy and reverence. The water was crystal clear, so pure I could see the stones glinting at the bottom. There was no mud, no murk—only transparency and stillness.
For those few moments, time no longer mattered. I stood there, submerged not just in water, but in a memory I knew I’d carry for the rest of my life.
Eventually, I heard voices calling me back—my companions urging me to return. I emerged from my reverie, barefoot and smiling, stepping out of the water like someone waking from a beautiful dream.
We made our way back to the station, the forest now feeling more like an old friend than a stranger. The first session was about to begin—but I had already learned my first lesson from Agumbe:
That sometimes, the best teachings come not from people or lectures, but from the way a stream flows, from the songs of birds, from the silence between the trees.
“As night crept over Agumbe and the mist thickened like a secret, I felt the forest preparing to reveal something ancient and alive. What followed next would change how I heard the world around me.”
(Continue to Part 2: Into the Wild – Frogs, Snakes & Night Trails)