A Plurality of Ticking Off

For wildlife enthusiasts, the term “Big 5” represents the pinnacle of sightings, the 5 ‘holy grails’ of wildlife watching in a particular place. In Kenya, I was fortunate enough to see the African Big 5: Elephants, Rhinoceros, Buffalo, Lion and leopard. As far as I’m aware, Britain does not have a ‘Big 5, but if it did, it would probably be Red Deer, Wild Boar, Sober Glaswegians, Liberal Democrat MP’s and people who admit to having voted ‘Brexit.’ Well, I have good news! If you have met me, you can tick one of those things off your list (I’ll give you a clue, I’m not a Liberal Democrat MP).

There are many things that one can become “overnight”. Some people become rich “overnight”. Others become beautiful “overnight”. Some people even become a corpse overnight. I woke up one morning in Borneo to discover that I had become a racist bigot overnight. Yes, I admit it, I voted to Leave the European Union, though I have to admit that when I found out, my jaw dropped further then if I had jumped off Donald Trump’s ego on to his IQ. I had been expecting a landslide ‘remain’ result. With wifi as unreliable as an England goalkeeper, I returned to the wonderful world of reactionary band-wagon jumping (also known as social media) the next day to discover that the way that I had engaged in free democracy was ‘incorrect.’ At first, the response was amusing, then sad, then distressing, as people that I consider to be brothers and sisters mocked the poor and uneducated, disrespected and undervalued the elderly and stereotyped well-reasoned voters as xenophobic. As I sat on the veranda at breakfast, the sun rising over the sluggish waters of the Kinabatangan River, sipping on a repulsive glass of what I can only guess was fermented urine, I remembered that one of my friends lives in Wales and that I therefore couldn’t possibly be racist.

Well, now that I’ve ticked you all off, let me tell you about our voyage to tick off the Bornean Big 5!

Day 1

We had returned to Sandakan early the morning after turtle-time. Having spent the night on a remote tropical island, we had now set our sights inland.

Apart from we didn’t, as we began to head back out into the lapis Lazuli encrusted ocean shortly after our referendum orientated lunch. After a slightly confusing 40 minutes of hurtling into the Pacific, we sped past the headland before turning and rudely invading the mouth of the Kinabatangan river like an overenthusiastic dentist. The river writhed in agony, spewing cool saliva at all on board the boat, a pleasant respite from the sun who was doing its best to prepare somebody a tourist-pasta-bake for dinner. As we hurtled upriver there was a sense of anticipation among us all. Our eyes scanned the trees on either sides, our hands were gripped to our cameras like a middle-aged woman watching a period-drama. Except Ethan. Ethan fell asleep.

Suddenly, our guide Brian leapt to his feet, seemingly attacking the rather surprised/bemused looking driver, urging Him to stop.

Proboscis Monkey: √ (This is actually a square root sign, there didn’t seem to be an available tick, don’t worry, we didn’t see any proboscis monkeys divided equally (also, does anyone know what this symbol † is for?))

Crashing through the trees, not far from the river bank, was a small troupe of Proboscis monkeys. With fur the colour of fake-tan and a white patch that makes them look like they’re wearing speedo’s, I thought I was watching the cast of The Only Way is Essex practising for I’m a Celebrity. Despite their extravagant apparel, they were quite difficult to see, their location only given away when one would ungracefully crash from one branch to another. I was delighted. I had been very keen to see proboscis monkeys but I knew that they were highly endangered so to have seen them so soon was a great encouragement.

Like most of the wildlife in Borneo, the Proboscis Monkey has suffered greatly at the hands of human beings, as their natural rainforest habitat has been savagely decimated to make way for palm oil plantations. Nevertheless, much to my surprise, they seemed to be abundant in the Kinabatangan National Park, and we were blessed to have many encounters with these intriguing primates throughout our stay in the rainforest.

The Proboscis monkey is famed (or as famous as you can be without being a Kardashian) for its rather unfortunately-shaped nose, the prominent feature that led to it’s bizarre name. Flopping down its face like a depressed pear who has just been told that his partridge friend wouldn’t be joining him for christmas, it is a conk worthy of it’s own daytime TV show. It is only the alpha males who are fortunate enough to possess such bulbous appendages, but it is just as well, as it’s the only thing that distracts tourists from staring at the males almost perpetual state of arousal, displayed proudly in a very obvious manner. You certainly wouldn’t invite a male proboscis monkey round to meet your mother. Nevertheless, what was perhaps the most endearing thing about these strangely beautiful creatures, was their gormless, yet slightly austere expressions. On one occasion we found one male sitting very close to the river bank, seemingly staring blankly into the distance, as if contemplating his poorly thought out life choices.

“Don’t you think he looks a bit like Roy Hodgson?” suggested Ben prophetically. It certainly did look like a man who had suddenly come to the realisation that Harry Kane should probably never take another corner ever again, for the love of all things English, please dear goodness.

“I wonder if I should put Wooney in goal”

Having left the Proboscis monkeys to their afternoon siesta, we carried on along our aqueous highway. It was not long before the sight of tree branches dancing in an unnaturally jovial way caused us to drift slowly to a halt by the river bank. Crash! A proboscis monkey quite literally fell into view. Not far along, a group of smaller monkeys chattered nervously: long-tailed macaques. We were fixated on the primate bonanza at eye level; our guide, Brian, was not. Something had caught his attention. A nasal honking filtered down through the canopy, alerting us to another performer.

Rhinoceros Hornbill: √

Not quite as exciting as a Rhinoceros (of which there are about 5 left in the whole of Sabah), this was exciting nevertheless. Large, beautiful birds, too big to fit in a microwave but too small to play basketball professionally, their silky black feathers contrasted with their glowing orange bills made them an optical feast for us to gorge ourselves upon. Brian looked like a man who had met Santa Claus for the first time.

“Wow, you guys are so lucky!” he beamed. “These are so difficult to see!”

I’m sure he’s correct, he certainly seemed to know what he was talking about, but the profound impact that this statement was intended to have was punched in the kidneys about 10 seconds later, as another rhinoceros hornbill flew gracefully over our heads. Brian could barely contain himself. The acreage of his smile was large enough to plough seconds later as three more hornbills soared into view, perching just above us. Brian began to excitedly divulge every secret about the rhinoceros hornbill, however, he was rudely interrupted by a flock of approximately 20 other hornbills hurling abuse at each other as they flew just over our heads. I began to worry that the sun would soon be blocked out by rare ornithological treasure: Brian simply reverted to “Wow!” It was certainly the most plentiful rare bird that I have ever encountered.

We arrived at Sukau Eco-Lodge dripping with sweat, but brimming with excitement having been able to tick off 2 of the Bornean ‘Big 5.’ Sukau eco-lodge is world-renowned and within seconds of arriving, I understood why. Beautifully designed, an oxymoronic hybrid of luxurious comfort and rustic adventure, the Lodge oozed class. Our windswept faces were welcomed with ice towels: our parched throats with a sweet, succulent juice that my taste buds couldn’t quite identify. Even our exhausted, deranged smiles were returned with warmth and sanity. The staff were a wonderful, eclectic group of individuals, every one of them selfless in their care for each guest. The atmosphere was a mellow blissful aura, interspersed with frequent adrenaline surges as people returned telling tales of the wildlife they had just witnessed. Over our few days in the lodge, it was lovely to be able to casually chat to the other guests over a candlelit dinner, enveloped in a sarong, perched on the veranda above the river among the plethora of geckoes that danced across the walls. I have been fortunate to stay in many lovely places, but Sukau was definitely one of the most enchanting. Nevertheless, it was the gorgeous location that really took the biscuit and replaced it with a full roast dinner.

Nestled in the middle of the rainforest, perched on the side of the river, Sukau is the doorway to an intricate network of calm creeks and serene lagoons that plaited their way through this pristine, emerald terrain. The Venice of the jungle, these rivers acted as our pathway, like miniature natural canals. At dawn and dusk we were invited to traverse this labyrinthine web of water, giving us intimate encounters with some of the rarest and most beautiful wildlife on the planet. My previous encounter with rainforest, in Laos, had led me to expect little in terms of animal sightings. On the contrary, Borneo rendered me speechless with the abundance of life that was on show. Within minutes, we were feet away from a large army of long-tailed macaques patrolling the riverbank. Only metres away, a smaller group of pig-tailed macaques foraged quite unperturbed by our presence among them. As we continued to meander our way through the forest, we were overwhelmed by the abundance of life that continued to reveal itself. Beautiful kingfishers zigzagged their way across our field of vision, their dazzling blue glow daring us to try to photograph them, almost mocking us as we failed to capture and fossilize their brash flashes. Absorbing the rays, a monitor lizard flopped over a tree trunk like a hung-over student on a Sunday. Or, in fact, any day. Darter’s loomed over the water, willing unknowing fish to drift within spearing distance. Troupes of Proboscis monkeys crashed above us in the canopy. Suddenly, we rounded a bend and beheld… people. Lots of people, tourists like us, crowded around the bank, frantically beckoning us to join their frenzied melee. As we approached we heard a series of thumping crashes, concealed only by the veil of foliage in the way. There was something big in there.

Bornean Pygmy Elephant: √

Pygmy is perhaps an unfair description of the Bornean Elephant. Granted, it is smaller than other Asian Elephants and significantly smaller than the African Elephant, but the grumpy pachyderm that crashed through the undergrowth only metres from the boats was certainly not little. Pygmy had made me imagine a sort-of “Bonsai elephant,” the sort you could hide under your bed or take to school during ‘show & tell.’ It wasn’t. Apart from being far too big, this elephant, a mature male, was fidgety. Ears flapping as if he was intending to fly up into the trees to roost, he swung his trunk through the foliage, like a psychotic gardener that had just been told that the onion he had entered into his village fete’s onion competition had been used to plug a leak on a small rowing boat. Furious, but completely unconcerned by our presence, he marched along the waters edge, trees desperately trying to uproot themselves in order to escape his behemothesque wrath. As he turned and headed back into the dark recesses of the rainforest, we realised how fortunate we were to have seen such a magnificent animal so close. Whilst most tourists come to Borneo to see the orang-utan, it is the Bornean elephant that is one of the most elusive creatures. Despite it’s extreme girth and cantankerous temper, the elephants, though plentiful are able to wander this dark and overcrowded environment with apparent ease and grace. Even just one glimpse was a privilege.

(Ok, a group of tourists saw a herd of 30 elephants the next day, but this is unheard of.)

Embarrassingly, this was the best photograph we got between us...

Day 2

In Britain, primates with red hair are endangered. If they are lucky enough to survive the education system without being poached by bullies, they will probably burst into flames unexpectedly on a mildly sunny day. Nevertheless, in Borneo, red hair, or to be precise, auburn hair, is all the rage, so much so that thousands of tourists pay a lot of money each year visiting Borneo with the expressed intention of seeing these beautiful creatures. I am of course talking about the orang-utan! I had wanted to come to see orang-utans in Borneo since I was little (well, slightly less little then I am now). To have visited Borneo without seeing them would have ben gut wrenching. Most other visitors to Sukau lodge had managed to glimpse these incredible animals the day before, and as we set off on our dawn cruise, I was acutely aware that I may never get a better opportunity to see them in the wild. I was pessimistic. Before setting off to Sukau we had made a brief visit to Sepilok Orang-Utan rehabilitation centre, and we had spectacularly failed to see them in a place where sightings are almost guaranteed. As the sun peeked over the treeline, causing a beautiful golden glow to envelop the early morning mist that drifted gently across the river surface, the riverbank seemed to be alive. It was the most incredible morning. Vain egrets preened themselves on lonely logs that stuck out of the water. A plethora of beautiful birds darted across the water, brilliant flashes of red, green, blue and yellow streaking in and out of view in a flash. Large, ungainly herons, and majestic, authoritative-looking storks bellowed and croaked as they struggled to keep their rotund bodies in the air, carrying out the avian version of staggering. Six species of hornbill, including the apparently common rhinoceros hornbill, cackled in the canopy. Similarly to the day before, macaques and proboscis monkey shook up their arboreal world, taunting us as we frantically attempted to identify the cause of the chaos they created. We sluggishly drifted along our channel, soaking up the beautiful sights, sounds and smells, before our sheltered tunnel of trees unwrapped itself, revealing a beautiful oxbow lake bathed in inviting sunlight. I cannot think of a more beautiful place, a reflection of Eden, hidden deep in the virgin forest of Borneo. But no orang-utans. Despite having enjoyed one of the most beautiful and worship-inducing mornings that I can remember, I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed as we arrived back at Sukau for the afternoon.

But we did find one rare primate that afternoon: A German with a sense of humour! Braving the burn, we spent most of the afternoon in the lodge’s pool, creating lots of noise. Despite the watery commotion that we generated, after a while, a quiet German couple came and began relaxing by the pools edge. We decided to play a game that involved one of us shutting our eyes and attempting to catch the rest of us. When caught, you closed your eyes as well and helped your captor to catch the others. After a few attempts at this- it was surprisingly difficult not to get caught- it was Ben’s turn to start as the captor.

Ben is gifted at many things: rugby, speaking Russian, upsetting local shop keepers by bartering with them, but unfortunately Ben had not been overwhelmingly successful at any of the games we had played on the trip. At snap he was crap, and Dobble was a disaster. His attempt at Kim Jong Uno had been less successful than a North Korean Missile Test. He was about to fall harder.

As he shut his eyes and began to count, a cheeky grin on Alex’s face caught my eye. We didn’t speak, we didn’t need to, we knew exactly what were going to do. I glanced at Ethan. A massive grin appeared as he began to twig what was happening. One by one we slowly eased ourselves out of the pool and tiptoed away. We turned to watch Ben staggering around the pool, eyes clenched shut, his massive arms stretched out before him like an affectionate zombie. Every so often, one of use would slap the top of the water, luring him into our trap. To his credit, he didn’t cheat, he didn’t peek once. Not so much to his credit, this cruel bullying session lasted a lot longer then it should have. Alex quaked as he suppressed laughter. Ethan stuck his hand in his mouth in a desperate attempt to prevent noise escaping. All this time, the German couple sat watching, bemused and intrigued. Slowly, a big grin sprawled itself across the old mans face; a cheeky twinkle glittered in his piercing blue eyes. Maybe laughing at an Englishman was needed after the referendum result? In a final act of unkindness, we tiptoed away from the pool, a last ditch attempt to prevent us from erupting with laughter.

“You should probably open your eyes,” said the old German man with a chuckle. Ben looked around at the very empty pool of water, then at the grinning old man and his wife, confused and embarrassed. Alex, Ethan and I exploded. Despite the fact that our country had effectively given his country a rather rude hand-gesture, we were able to have a good laugh and chat with this man. Who said we couldn’t be friends?

After our cruel shenanigans in the afternoon, we headed back onto the river for our last cruise. The atmosphere was quiet. The sky had clouded over and a few raindrops escaped the oppressive cloud regime, a pathetic fallacy that matched the mood of all of us: unhopeful and ominous. The journey did not start well as we were informed that another group were watching a herd of thirty elephants at the other end of the river. My heart sunk, perhaps it just wasn’t to be. I shouldn’t have been surprised, orang-utans are critically endangered after all. With their habitat ravaged by multinational corporations seeking to assuage the world’s craving for palm oil, small pockets of forest such as Kinabatangan offer much needed refuge. I had been surprised by the number of people who had spotted Orang-utans whilst staying in Sukau, however, this had raised my hopes beyond what was realistic.

In the distance, a couple of boats drifted towards the shore. Brian, who had been scouring the trees with his binoculars, stared at them, confused by their behaviour. He turned and gestured to the driver. We headed off towards them, not particularly quickly, in fact, almost reluctantly. The people were watching something intently, not in an animated fashion, but curious, as if they didn’t quite know what they looking at. Our engine was cut and we drifted towards the bank. Following the intense stare of the people in the other boats, I gazed into the tree tops, contorting my neck to impossible angles in an attempt to see what was arresting their attention. It was incredible: I could see absolutely nothing. I’m pretty sure the others could see absolutely nothing as well. But there was definitely something there, something precious, something worth risking paralysis for. Suddenly an arm appeared. Hairy. Red. Sort of like a Scotsman’s armpit.

Orang-Utan: √

A rush of adrenaline coursed through my body like an exasperated husband running through a shop in a desperate attempt to escape his wife and find somewhere to sit down. All good shops should have a husband seat. (And all good wives should not torture their husbands with clothes-shopping.) Like a husband sat on the husband seat, watching his wife at the counter handing over an outrageous amount of money, my heart was pounding. But unlike the hideous dress that, a husband, sat on the husband seat, watching his wife at the counter handing over an outrageous amount of money, groans at the sight of, this pounding heart was caused by excitement and awe. At the top of the tree sat a beautiful orang-utan, resting contentedly in a newly constructed nest. She delicately plucked a thin branch from in front of her, drawing it into the foliage, presumably a crucial addition to her self-made motel room. Then, slowly and gracefully, she began to descend. Suddenly, there was a crash elsewhere in the tree. She paused. Slowly, but much less gracefully, another shape appeared. Smaller, redder; her young child. Together, this beautiful family unit sauntered down the tree together, before, all of a sudden, they were out of view. A quiet but excitement-fuelled whoop arose from the boats. Even a few high-fives were exchanged. (They’re probably worth more than the pound at the moment.) We had witnessed one of the most endangered, most human-like species on the planet, just a freeze-frame of their quiet and unobtrusive lives.

Interestingly, reflecting our now ecstatic mood, the clouds lifted and the sun began to shine as we turned and drifted up another beautiful creek. I had been surprised that we hadn’t managed to glimpse any crocodiles thus far, as we were told that they were very common in the river. In fact, very few guests at Sukau lodge had managed to see one, despite all the rangers telling us stories of local fishermen being dragged to their deaths by gargantuan 5 metre long leviathans. Having ticked off all the rarer members of the Borneo ‘Big 5’, it would have been rude not to complete the set and I was keen to see one. As we chugged our way through this picturesque canal, sunlight fighting it’s way through the canopy leaving us dappled in flecks of light, I had a revelation. Perhaps it was the excitement of having seen orang-utans, perhaps it was the exquisite beauty of the creation that I was immersed in, but as we drifted through paradise, I began to think deep thoughts, new thoughts. I began to ponder life and it’s meaning in a way that I hadn’t done before. I began to ask questions that just moments before seemed off-limits. And, for once my thinking was clear. Yes, I was prepared to throw Ben into the water as crocodile bait!

Unfortunately, nature had other ideas. Hanging precariously over the water, chattering calmly to one another, sat a large troupe of long-tailed macaques. A ferocious male sat directly above our heads, scowling at us disapprovingly. At eye level, just feet away clung some youngsters playing boisterously with each other.

“Don’t stare at them,” said Brian, “They’ll think you want to fight.”

I looked at the guinea-pig sized scrap of monkey ahead of me.

“You want some?” it taunted me.

It didn’t really.

“Also, put your phones away, otherwise they might steal them,” Brian added to his delightful description of these otherwise innocent looking critters. I began to wonder if I had flown to Liverpool by accident.

It was a pleasure to have such an intimate encounter with these fascinating, clever animals. Having said that, I say similar things when I go and speak to my professors at University. But this time I mean it. At such close quarters we were able to see every glint in their eyes, every twitch of their face, hear every syllable that they uttered. Up so close, it was incredible to see some of their human-like expressions, obviously displaying happiness, annoyance, intrigue and sometimes fear.

“There is almost definitely a crocodile here,” said Brian. I pricked up my ears.

Ben kept making adoring noises, displaying almost paternal affection at the childlike faces of the macaques. In all honesty, I was willing one of them to fall in. Every so often, one would jump slightly further then it anticipated, or land on an unstable branch. Everybody gasped with trepidation. I tried to suppress a cheer, almost praying for a crocodile missile to launch itself out of the water to snatch the careless monkey. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. Blood was not spilled that day.

With one night left in Sukau, Ethan and I were proud crocophiles, desperate to see the legendary monsters that patrolled the river. It was frustrating to know that we had almost certainly passed one at some point, and even more frustrating to know that we had definitely passed over one during one of our long, frequent voyages on the river. Keen to come face to face with a remnant from the days of the dinosaurs, we decided to join the night safari.

The air was thick, humid, and eerie. A distant rumble forewarned us off an impending tempest. And there was not a star in the sky. As the last torch was turned off we realised that we could not see a thing. The blackness of the night was almost tangible, velvety. We could hear the lapping of the water against the side of the boat, but we could see nothing. I’m not an expert in the pursuit of potentially man-eating monsters, but I have it on fairly good authority that being able to see them is quite a good start. It was some relief when a large, searching spotlight was turned on from the back of the boat, a proud sentinel that patrolled the surface water and river bank as if it was looking for something. Probably because it was.

“Their eyes glow red in the dark,” offered Brian, easing my mind greatly.

Apart from rudely exposing some roosting birds, we saw very little. I decided that I could help, and turned on my head-torch. As I swept the light up and down the river bank I realised that I had no idea what I was expecting to see. Then suddenly, just above the surface of the water, something caught my attention, glinting in the weak beam of my torch. It was red. I’m pretty sure I meant to say something sensible like, ” I say old chap, I think there may be something worth investigating over there.” Instead I just splurted “Crocodile there!” People in the boat grabbed their cameras and jostled for position. The man in charge of the spotlight frantically searched to and fro before stopping as it picked up the same red glint returning our stare.

It was the lid of a coca cola bottle.

I’m not quite sure how coca cola had managed to infiltrate the depths of the bornean rainforest but they had. All I know is that something else was glowing red on the river that night: my face.

“Ah, C’mon!” An American friend of ours mocked me. I turned off my torch.

All of a sudden, a strong beam in the distance turned and shone directly at us, blinding us with it’s intensity. It began to flash frantically, a signal. Maybe someone had fallen in! The engine seemed to have a new lease of life and we hurtled towards the light like the American Military towards an oil-rich Middle Eastern country. As we arrived, we were told in hushed tones that there was a crocodile on the bank, people standing in their boats to see this magnificent reptile.

What they didn’t know, is that they too were being watched. Out of sight of us all, something drifted just below the surface of the water. Perhaps it was curious, perhaps it was hungry. We would never have known it was even there had one of the boats not decided to reverse in order to give our boat space, the propeller churning into life. Out of the darkness came a jerked slap and a splash as several stone of reptile flesh whipped itself around and dove into the water, a significant wake following it as it fled into the night. I have no idea how big that crocodile was, I didn’t manage to see it fully or clearly. All I do know is that it had silently snuck up on one of the boats, and they didn’t have a clue.

Saltwater Crocodile: √- ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, we have a winner!

The crocodile on the bank was a relative tiddler, probably no more then 2 metres long. But it represented victory. We had ticked off the Bornean ‘Big 5!’ We arrived back at the lodge just in time before the heavens opened.

We left Sukau early the next morning. As we sped along the river, the wind reconfiguring each of our hairlines, I couldn’t help but feel privileged to have seen such an incredible part of our world. The lodge was beautiful, the landscape divine. The diversity and density of the wildlife had been breathtaking. If there is one thing that I regret about our trip to Borneo, it’s that we didn’t spend longer exploring and investigating this awe-inspiring place.

I would like to also give a special mention to our fantastic guide Brian. He had only been working at Sukau for a few weeks, and yet he was not only phenomenally knowledgeable about the wildlife we were watching, he also had an incredible gift of being able to excite and inspire us, whilst also engaging us with a terrific sense of humour. He seemed to be genuinely passionate about every animal that we encountered, even managing to tempt us to photograph a pigeon at one point, whilst he also ensured that we were looked after in an almost paternal manner. We were blessed to have such a brilliant guide and he made a great impression on us. We however also made an impression on him: He made a promise to refer to all Proboscis monkeys as Roy Hodgson monkeys from now on. I hope he keeps his promise!

As we left, I managed to spot an Orang-utan watching us from the bank, almost bidding us farewell. It could have been our last orang-utan sighting. But it wasn’t!

Unfortunately I developed a Ben-shaped tumour on my head every so-often.