T he only barrier between me and the tusk less rogue is the languid river. Hardly fifty metres wide. On the other side, in the Thattekad forest the rogue elephant is said to enjoy his little game. The mischievous game of hiding, stealthily sneaking and chasing humans has earned him a wicked reputation. My tent at the Hornbill Camp flaps in the sultry night air but the deep and treacherously calm River Periyar is my infallible guard. And at night it is not the tusk less rogue (Mozha) that captures my dreams, but Twitchers* do. Being an amateur bird watcher I am seized by insurmountable anxieties about sharing space with Twitchers. (*A Twitcher is prepared to travel great distances or go to great effort or expense in order to see birds, often just a single bird, that he or she has never seen before so that it can be marked on their list of birds seen (called a “tick” or “lifer”). Hornbill Camp 6 am . I am up and ready but so are the indefatigable Twitchers who have arrived straight