The next time you ignore a drongo...

A birding lesson from the field: Don't pass up a drongo -- or any black bird with a forked tail


Towards the end of our Parambikulam tramway trek, as I dragged my weary feet past a tree on which was perched a dark bird with a telltale fork at the end of of its tail, Beej stopped and whispered, "What is it?"


"Drongo," I muttered dismissively, and walked on.

"Never rule out a bird unless you are sure," Beej growled and started looking at it through his field glasses. I raised my camera and lens, which weighed a ton in my tired arms, and fired a couple of shots desultorily. Realization sank in the same moment as Beej exclaimed, "Drongo-cuckoo!"

Nearly six months later in Dandeli, history repeated itself with a different set of characters. Arun walked past a black, fork-tailed bird on an open perch and I was quick to take note of it, thanks to the ticking off from Beej earlier. It turned out, as it were, to be a Drongo-Cuckoo.


And so, in order to ensure that no birder steps past a Drongo-Cuckoo again, here are some notes from the field:

Note that the black bird on the left shares a profile similar to the bird on the extreme right - each has an "unkempt" tuft of hair above its brow. Both are cuckoos. The bird in the centre, also with a forked tail, is a drongo. In this case, it's a Black Drongo - the white rictal spot is diagnostic.

1) Head: This bird's head was of an odd shape - with a ruffled, unkempt tuft reminiscent of the Common Hawk Cuckoo or Brainfever Bird, to which it is related. 


2) Bill: The beak is small and slender. All drongos have thick, strong bills that end in a slight downward curve. The Drongo-Cuckoo's bill juts out of its head like a nail out of a pin-cushion, with the sharp side outwards.

3) Tail: The tail, on closer examination, shows barred markings on the outer feathers. This might be harder to spot when you view the bird against the light or in well-lit trees. And, anyway, this is the last thing that you will notice.

Two forked tails, and each tells a different story. The barring on the Drongo-Cuckoo's tail sets it apart, while the Drongo has an unmarked fork, though the depth and definition of the fork can vary with the species

And once you are identify a Drongo-Cuckoo correctly, you will never mistake it for a drongo again!

So, which one do you think this is?

Maybe a closer look would help?


Text and photos: Sandeep Somasekharan
Also read: Encounter - Asian Drongo-Cuckoo

Encounter: The Brain Fever bird

As a child, this was one of my three mystery birds (the others were the Red-wattled Lapwing and the Indian Cuckoo). Near Palakkad, in northeastern Kerala, where I spent most of my summer vacations, moonlit nights and rainy afternoons would reverberate with the unending call of this bird. My grandparents told me the bird was crying out: 'Kezhekku edha? Kezhekku edha?' ('Where's the east, where's the east?'). But the bird behind the call remained a mystery. Sometimes, I would run out in the middle of a meal when I heard its call from the mango trees behind my grandfather's house. Usually, I saw nothing but a shadowy shape flitting away, with the call trailing behind it. I was about 14 when I had my first chance encounter with the Brainfever Bird. It had just rained in the afternoon. I was strolling through the newly sown paddy fields looking for Sparrow Larks when I saw a greyish bird flapping weakly above my head. The paddy fields were like a clearing between two groves. The bird took its time covering the distance and entered the grove ahead of me. It was an acacia grove and the only purpose it really served was to provide solitude to clandestine lovers and liquor bootleggers. Of course, the kids were told that it was full of wild boar and therefore dangerous. Alone, with a pair of binoculars, I entered the grove. I didn't come across any clandestine lovers, bootleggers or wild boar. There were no other birds in that grove except some jungle crows and yellow-billed babblers. The calls grew louder and they came from everywhere. There was more than one bird. I followed the calls for about 15 minutes and wandered right to the end of the grove. Then I saw it, clinging to a casuarina tree and calling. This was it - the mystery brainfever bird. And a few hundred feet ahead of it, on another tree, was another individual. And then a third broke into song above my head. The acacia grove was teeming with them. Since, I have seen Common Hawk-Cuckoos (Cuculus varius) very often. They kept me up all night at Auroville, and then again up at Didana in the Garhwal Himalaya. This picture came out of a trip to BR Hills, when Sandy shot the guy as he pretended not to notice. Mimicking a shikra or some such hawk, it had sailed off the canopy and perched on an outlying bough. I could imagine what was on the mind of the sahib who christened this bird as he lay in bed, tormented by malaria and humidity, listening the Common Hawk-cuckoo scream 'Brain fever, brain fever' in febrile crescendo. Its call, performed ad nauseam, can drive the most patient birdwatcher mad. Look at me! Photograph: © Sandeep Somasekharan. Used with permission.