Golden Hour at the Haor

Arriving at the Haor just before sunset, I realize, once again, the magic of Golden Hour. I am standing on a strip of land bisecting a fishpond and surrounded by water. Stillness has descended on the water, the muddy land and the trees, but I still feel a fine breeze on my skin. The autumn sun has decided it is done for the day and is rapidly retreating. A thin layer of mist settles over a patch of reeds growing in the pond. With hardly a bird or animal in sight, my photographic goals are foiled; nonetheless I am glad to be here.

Suddenly the water’s stillness is broken by ripples. A V-shaped wake, moving smoothly over the water, approaches me. When it comes near, I discern a Checkered Keelback, Dhora, that lives on fish. It is a large one, tail extending a long way, and sensing me it quickly disappears underwater. Minutes later: another set of ripples, this time an immature Dhora, not as wary. Coming near the bank it sinks its body while keeping its head above water and sticks out its tongue as a sensor. It bobs its head up and down as if playing hide-and-seek with me.

Hoping for a last meal before nightfall, avian hunters prowl the edges of the pond. A Little Egret tiptoes with deliberate steps scrutinizing the mud for a snack. And I only see the Pond Heron, parked in the mud, because it had moved slightly. It is a patient hunter and stands still. You can tell when it strikes because its grey-brown wings flash a brilliant white.

The rakhal boys get busy bringing home the cows that grazed all day in the Haor’s grassland, shooing them this way and that to keep them in line. There are no buffaloes to be seen. Perhaps they are engaged in their favourite activity, rolling in the mud.

Scattered movement at one corner of a fishpond catches my eye. Coming closer, I find several fishes trawling the water, mouths open with immensely large gapes. It is unclear what the Tilapia are eating. Meanwhile, another part of the pond is covered by Water Striders – insects that rely on surface tension to skate across the water on their thin legs – but the fish seem to be unaware of them.

The cackle of birds is everywhere, yet most remain unseen. In the distance a group of Common Mynas flies to their roost, a Dhol Kolmi bush in the middle of a Beel, and settles down on top of the stems. A flock of Whistling Ducks noisily flies overhead.

The sun, meanwhile, has continued downward and soon Golden Hour is over, leaving a sweet longing in my mind. I wish it had lasted longer.

[“Golden Hour,” as used in photography, means the time periods just before sunset (and after sunrise) when sunrays strike the earth at an angle. Sunlight at this time is softer than mid-day. The golden coloured light can lead to beautiful photographs, but you don’t have to be a photographer to enjoy Golden Hour.]

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