Satsaida Bet is a massive island located in the Gulf of Kachchh in Gujarat. The island is a fascinating biome, enthralling biologists and travelers alike with its diverse life forms and scenes of bountiful biodiversity. At first light, Satsaida Bet seems to belong entirely to the tide, and mudskippers flick across wet sediment; crabs vanish into burrows and coastal birds search the shallows as seawater drains through a maze of creeks. Then another sign appears on the exposed mud: the fresh pugmarks of a golden jackal. For a terrestrial carnivore, an isolated mangrove island appears an unlikely home. Yet repeated sightings during our field surveys in the Gulf of Kachchh suggest that these animals are not occasional visitors. They are regularly using a landscape shaped by salt water, tidal rhythms, fishing activity and limited contact with the mainland.
Our team encountered golden jackals, Canis aureus, mainly during early morning. Fresh tracks recorded after high tide showed movement through the intertidal zone and among mangrove stands. No pack was observed, but the recurrence of animals and pugmarks indicates continuous habitat use. The jackals also seemed familiar with approaching boat engines, suggesting repeated exposure rather than a first encounter with people. These simple observations raise important questions: how did the animals reach the island, what sustains them there, and how has a species associated with scrublands, grasslands and village edges adjusted to a tidal forest?
Mangroves are usually described through the life found in water and mud. They shelter juvenile fish, crabs, molluscs, mudskippers, reptiles and numerous birds. They store carbon, reduce shoreline erosion and soften the force of waves and storms. Terrestrial mammals receive much less attention, although mangrove forests can provide food, refuge and movement corridors. A jackal walking between salt-tolerant trees challenges the convenient separation of land and sea. It shows that a mangrove is not merely a strip of vegetation along the coast, but an ecological meeting ground where marine and terrestrial food webs overlap.
The golden jackal is particularly capable of crossing such boundaries. In India, it occupies forests, dry scrub, grasslands, agricultural areas, wetlands and the margins of settlements. Its strength lies in dietary and behavioural flexibility. Rather than depending on one prey species, it may eat rodents, birds, reptiles, insects, fruit, carrion, livestock remains and so on. In the Indian subcontinent, it inhabits a broad spectrum of ecosystems, particularly arid and semi-arid landscapes, where it typically seeks shelter under dense vegetation and avoids human disturbance. This varied diet allows it to survive in landscapes where resources change sharply between seasons or are altered by human activity.
Satsaida Bet can offer several possible foods. Crabs, molluscs, stranded fish, bird eggs, chicks, small vertebrates and carrion available at different times. Mangrove cover can provide shade and resting sites, while creek margins and exposed mudflats may serve as pathways when the tide retreats. Fishing creates another opportunity. Fishers working around the creeks may sort their catch or discard unwanted fish and aquatic organisms. An observant scavenger can learn the schedules of fishing boats, movements of other vessels, engines and could predict. The jackals’ apparent tolerance of boats may therefore reflect learned association with food rather than simple indifference to human presence.
Comparable behaviour has been described informally from the mangrove creeks near Kandla, where jackals reportedly approach fishing activity and consume discarded catch. Elsewhere in Kachchh, the species is also known for responding to predictable feeding. At Kalo Dungar, people have long offered cooked food to jackals near the Dattatreya temple. The settings are very different, but both illustrate the animal’s ability to recognise recurring resources. Such adaptability helps wildlife persist in human-used environments, yet it can also create dependence, alter natural foraging, concentrate animals near people and increase exposure to waste, disease, vehicles or conflict.
The island’s physical isolation makes the sightings especially intriguing. Tidal creeks surround Satsaida Bet and adjacent channels remain inundated even at low tide. The jackals may have crossed exposed mud during an exceptionally low tide, swum a narrow channel or used temporary connections that are not obvious during routine visits. They may also move between habitat patches more often than observers realise. Without systematic monitoring, however, each explanation remains a hypothesis. Camera traps, repeated track surveys, genetic material from scat and interviews with experienced fishers could reveal the number of individuals present, their period of occupancy and their routes across the coastal landscape.
Dietary analysis would be equally valuable. Scat studies could identify whether the animals rely mainly on natural prey, carrion or fishery waste. Stable-isotope analysis could help distinguish marine-derived food from terrestrial resources consumed over longer periods. Comparing jackal activity with tidal height, season and boat movement would show whether their behaviour follows ecological cycles or human schedules. These approaches could turn an unusual sighting into evidence about how a mesocarnivore navigates a changing interface and whether it influences populations of crabs, birds, rodents or other organisms.
The observations also carry a broader conservation message. Mangrove protection in India rightly emphasises tree cover, fisheries, carbon storage, shoreline stability and disaster-risk reduction. However, counting planted saplings or mapping canopy alone cannot demonstrate that an ecosystem is functioning. The creeks that carry tides, adjoining mudflats, patches of coastal scrub, quiet resting places and connections between habitats are equally important.
Natural history records often begin with something small like a footprint, a brief encounter or a story shared from a boat. Their value lies in revealing questions that formal monitoring has overlooked. The tracks at Satsaida Bet point towards movement, diet, learning, habitat connectivity and the role of terrestrial predators in tidal ecosystems. They also remind researchers to record unexpected species instead of treating them as distractions from planned surveys.
As mangrove restoration expands, monitoring should include mammals alongside vegetation, fish and birds. A healthy mangrove is not simply a stand of trees; it is a network of water, sediment, plants, animals and people connected by tides. The golden jackal moving across Satsaida Bet embodies that connection. Its presence does not yet provide every answer, but it offers a clear invitation to widen our view of coastal biodiversity and conserve mangroves as complete living landscapes rather than narrow green borders drawn along the sea.
Views expressed are the authors’ own and don’t necessarily reflect those of Down To Earth