Ghosts of the Konkan Forest: A Decade with the Elusive Dhole
- Gunwant Mahajan
- Sep 29
- 4 min read
Updated: Oct 24
The Wild Dog That Stole My Heart...
Among the many wild mammals I have studied across India, none has fascinated me quite like the Dhole—the Asiatic wild dog (Cuon alpinus). More than just predators, dholes are strategic, social hunters. Their intelligence and coordination allow them to bring down prey many times their size, from sambar deer to the occasional gaur.
My first sighting, back in 2014, was electric: a pack of 7–8 dholes in the Melghat Tiger Reserve, stalking a full-grown sambar. The tension, the strategy, the eerie stillness as some dogs sat watching the chase—every second etched itself into my memory. I never imagined then that dholes would come to define my fieldwork years later, not in the protected wilderness, but in the community-managed forests of the Konkan.
Konkan Calling: A Landscape of Surprises
In July 2015, I joined the Applied Environmental Research Foundation (AERF), taking charge of our field station in Sangameshwar, Ratnagiri district. My focus was on sacred groves and conserved community forests—landscapes mostly unprotected by law and shaped by generations of human use.
Just a couple months into a camera trap survey in Muchari forest, I was stunned to find images of two dholes. How were these wide-ranging carnivores surviving in such a fragmented, human- modified terrain? Old records, including the Ratnagiri Gazetteer, made no mention of dholes in this region. Locals spoke of gaur and sambar migrating post-monsoon, but the wild dog was a ghost—absent from memory and story. Until our cameras proved otherwise.
Face to Face in Kule
April 2017. Navala Devi Sacred Grove. I was surveying near a sacred grove temple when I saw them—three dhole pups, tumbling playfully in a clearing. I barely had time to lift my camera before two darted into a bush where their mother rested. As I crept forward, an adult dhole emerged directly on the trail ahead. He stared. I froze. We were less than 20 feet apart, each assessing the other. The moment passed in silence before he turned and vanished into the forest. Only later did I piece together the pack: two adults, three pups. That brief encounter—unfiltered, raw—left me breathless. In that moment, I was not a researcher, not a human observer—I was simply another presence in the forest.
Residents, Not Visitors.
Sightings remained rare until one monsoon evening in 2018 changed everything.
My colleague Sanjay and I were returning from fieldwork in Sakharpa when a dhole crossed the rain-slick road. Then another. And another. By the end, we had counted seven adults, all moving with purpose. So much for the idea that dholes were seasonal visitors. Trail cameras soon confirmed it—a pack of 13, including pups, moving in broad daylight. These were residents, comfortable and confident in a habitat with no legal protection.
The Forests Talk Back
As the years passed, villagers too began sharing their stories. In Kule, a pack chased a wild boar so close to a restoration site that workers fled. In Tiware and Sayale, our trail cameras captured images of dholes feeding on sambar. Some villagers even spoke of terrified Sambar leaping into courtyards, desperate to escape the hunt. However, eventually killed in nearby open field. By 2025, packs of 15–20 were being reported in Tiware-Nayari, 17–18 in Kule, and 15–17 in Devade-Wadi Adhishti. The forest had spoken. The dholes were here to stay. They have been recorded in 20 villages of Sangameshwar, not only in those located near the Sahyadri Tiger Reserve but also in villages up to 30 kilometers to the west, which is an entirely new phenomenon. This expansion is most likely linked to the increased range of their preferred prey, the sambar.
Connecting the Dots: Corridors for the Wild
In 2017, AERF began exploring the concept of micro-corridors—small yet vital patches of forest. that could connect critical habitats, such as sacred groves. These discussions, led by my director and mentor Jayant Sarnaik, grew into a conservation model rooted in community stewardship. By 2025, more than 5,000 acres of community forest in twelve villages of Sangameshwar are under conservation agreements, with established micro-corridors linking them. These corridors bridge sacred groves, valley slopes, and village-owned forests, creating a living network that supports gaur, sambar, leopard, hornbills, and yes—dholes.
Reflections: Resilience in the Wild
Looking back, the change is staggering. In 2015, dholes were rare shadows. Today, they are confident residents of the Konkan lowlands, especially Sangameshwar—hunting, raising pups, navigating roads, plantations, and sacred groves with uncanny ease.
Their story is one of resilience—not just of the species, but of the landscape itself. These
forests, long overlooked by conservation maps, have revealed themselves as vital, living
ecosystems. But challenges remain. Logging, orchard expansion, and monoculture plantations continue to cause trouble at these edges. The dhole’s future depends on continued collaboration with local communities—the true stewards of this wild Konkan.
The Wild Spirit of Konkan
Each dhole encounter—whether through a lens or just a fleeting stare—has left its mark on me. That brief lock of eyes in Kule, the rain-soaked crossing in Sakharpa, the pups tumbling near a temple—these are moments that transcend science. They remind me why I do this work. The canid is more than a predator. It is a symbol of wild persistence, of the delicate balance between human presence and nature’s quiet tenacity.
To protect the dhole is to protect the soul of Konkan—a land still fiercely, beautifully alive.
-Gunwant