Part 2: Into the Wild – Frogs, Snakes, Night Trails & Nature DRives
Now, the forest begins to reveal its voices after dark—through frogs, snakes, and stories whispered in the wild.
The Rainforest’s Storytellers: Frogs
ARRS Main Building
The first formal session of the workshop was led by Dr. Vineeth, and it turned out to be nothing short of extraordinary. The topic? Frogs. Creatures I had always known, but perhaps never truly seen—not like this.
Until that moment, frogs had been background sounds in monsoon nights, silhouettes on wet leaves, or fleeting glimpses in forest ponds. But through Dr. Vineeth’s words, they came alive—not just as amphibians, but as ancient, intelligent, and deeply complex beings.
It was the first time in my life I truly learned about their intricate life cycles, their nuanced behaviors, their astonishing adaptations. I sat there, completely absorbed, realizing how little we know about these remarkable creatures—creatures that predate humans by hundreds of millions of years, yet are often dismissed, ignored, or even ridiculed.
“We ignore the wisdom of the old,” I thought to myself, “and frogs are the elders of this earth.”
What amazed me most was discovering the diversity of their calls—a rich symphony of communication, not random croaks but carefully evolved sounds with meaning, purpose, and emotion. Dr. Vineeth didn’t just describe them—he mimicked them, his voice echoing through the classroom with uncanny accuracy. With each call, he conjured up a different species, a different behavior, a different survival strategy. It wasn’t just informative—it was theatre, biology, and reverence rolled into one.
His passion was contagious. Each sound he recreated lit a spark of curiosity in me, and perhaps in all of us. I found myself listening more deeply, not just with ears, but with wonder. How had we, as humans, grown so distant from these ancient beings? How had their voices become background noise instead of something to honor?
“They are not just frogs,” I remember him saying, “They are storytellers of the rainforest. You just need to learn how to listen.”
And listen I did.
By the end of the session, I felt a shift inside me. A quiet vow forming. To pay attention. To respect the overlooked. To celebrate the wild intelligence that lives in places we often forget to look.
The herp walk
As night fell over Agumbe, the rainforest transformed.
The chorus of crickets rose like a hymn. The mist grew heavier, and the trees—already towering and sacred—seemed to lean in closer, as if preparing to whisper their secrets to those willing to listen.
That night, we ventured out for herping and a guided night walk through the forest surrounding the ARRS station. And what unfolded felt nothing short of a pilgrimage into the heart of the wild.
Armed with headlamps and curiosity, we moved slowly, our senses heightened, eyes scanning the darkness not with fear, but with reverence. Every rustle in the leaves, every drop of dew on moss, every unexpected glint in the beam of our torches held a story.
We came upon frogs—many of them. Not just sitting passively, but calling, moving, living their lives with rituals as ancient as the forest itself. Watching them, listening to their calls, was a kind of bliss I hadn’t expected. Some croaked in rapid clicks, others pulsed out low, rhythmic notes—it was a symphony of survival, and I stood there in silence, humbled.
During these herping and night walk sessions, the volunteers played a vital role… Not just in helping us identify elusive species hidden in the shadows, but also in ensuring that everyone stayed together, safe and engaged. Their guidance was attentive, and their politeness and friendly demeanor made the experience feel more like a shared adventure than a guided tour.
We spotted Malabar pit vipers in elegant coils, green vine snakes—both juvenile and adult—camouflaged in impossibly slender grace. A cat snake, elusive and mysterious. A wolf snake, with its own distinct presence. Each species carried a quiet nobility in its movement, its patterns—a language of scales and shadows.
We also encountered spiders of curious variety, and one that especially stood out—Cicadas. I was captivated. These tiny creatures, often heard but rarely understood, drew me in with their vivid colors and extraordinary lifecycle. Some spend years hidden underground, emerging only briefly to live, sing, and die. That contrast of ephemeral beauty and evolutionary patience stirred something deep within me.
I began noticing the details—the intricate patterns on frog skin, like natural paintings… the scales of snakes, each one like a work of art… the silent textures of spider webs catching mist… even the glint of beetles beneath the undergrowth. Nature, I realized, was not just functional—it was deliberately beautiful.
“Nature never hurries, yet everything is accomplished.” That quote by Lao Tzu echoed in my mind, perfectly summing up what I was witnessing.
But along with the wonder, came a tinge of sorrow. As I walked beneath the canopy, surrounded by species who have existed for millennia, I felt the weight of human indifference. These creatures, so perfectly adapted, so intelligent, so quietly powerful—are now at risk. Not by predators. But by us.
We build, we burn, we forget.
And yet they continue—to sing, to glow, to survive.
In that moment, a thought planted itself in me, one that’s been growing ever since: What if more people knew? What if more people could feel this? Education. Awareness. Connection. That’s where it begins.
That walk under the rain-drenched forest canopy did more than introduce me to species—it ignited a fire. A desire not just to explore, but to understand. Not just to observe, but to protect.
And perhaps… to teach others to listen to the forest before its voice fades.
A Morning Drive Through Wilderness
Day 2 began with the soft golden light filtering through the misty canopy. Drawn by the forest’s stillness, I stepped out for a morning walk once again. The forest at dawn is a different world—quiet, reverent, and full of hidden life preparing to stir.
A couple of fellow participants were already up and about. We exchanged smiles, shared greetings, and soon found ourselves deep in conversation—discussing vipers, King Cobras, and the delicate balance of this reptilian kingdom. Inspired by the idea of exploring deeper without sacrificing our ankles to the ever-hungry leeches, we decided to venture out by jeep.
One of the participants had brought a Mahindra Thar, a rugged beast perfectly suited for terrain like this. Four of us hopped in, windows rolled down, and hearts wide open to the wild.
The breeze hit our faces as we drove slowly, deliberately, taking in every texture of the landscape—the scent of wet earth, the rustle of branches, the occasional bird call slicing through the still air. We moved gently, eyes peeled for any sign of serpents basking near the trail or slipping into the undergrowth. It wasn’t about reaching somewhere—it was about being present.
We drove along the edge of the forest, where the dense canopy gave way to quiet grasslands—open spaces brushing the sky. The shift in terrain felt symbolic, like standing on the border between the known and the wild.
As the peaceful drive unfolded, someone suggested heading toward the Jogigundi Falls, a hidden gem near Agumbe. Unlike traditional waterfalls that roar down from towering cliffs, Jogigundi flows from a cave, secretive and ancient, nestled within the folds of the Western Ghats.
Located around 4 kilometers from ARRS, the route is motorable for the first three, with the final stretch requiring a short but steep trek through narrow, slippery paths. We decided to drive as far as the jeep could take us. Once the road narrowed and the forest grew tighter, we stopped, turned around, and simply let the silence sink in.
There was a beautiful satisfaction in that moment—no rush, no destination, just the joy of soaking in nature’s unfiltered grace. With that quiet contentment, we returned to the ARRS station, hearts a little fuller, spirits a little lighter.
“The forest had already opened my eyes—but now, it was about to introduce me to its true sovereign. The King was waiting. And with him, a deeper truth about balance, fear, and co-existence.”
(Continue to Part 3: The King Cobra, ARRS, and a Conservation Awakening)