This past summer we decided to make a trek to the remote forests of Malaysian Borneo. Seeing orangutans in the wild was something I wanted to try and do while living in Asia. After much research I determined that Danum Valley in Sabah was going to be the best place to do that. I read that the “rehabilitation centers” aren’t really at all, but instead an opportunity for you to see orangutans fed bananas on wooden platforms, with keepers touching and handling them. Going to pristine jungle to see orangutans ran the risk of maybe not seeing orangutans, but I made peace with this and decided that if I wasn’t going to see the orangutans, at least I would feel content knowing that they were living in untouched, safe and protected rainforest.
Much of the trip was what I had expected from my reading (probably too much reading). I knew about the moisture that might damage your camera gear (it did), the leeches (Borneo is one of the leechiest places), the limited facilities, and that Borneo has the oldest rainforest on earth (30 million years). But what I didn’t expect was just how little of that rainforest would be remaining. I shouldn’t have been as shocked by all the palm oil plantations, but I was. Seeing the tops of palms covering the land from peak to peak was facing a very real, unromantic and seemingly benign reality that only 30% of Borneo’s rainforests remain (Smithsonian Mag).
We flew early in the morning from Kota Kinabalu to Lahad Datu, watching the sun rise over Mount Kinabalu, the highest peak in SE Asia. Once to Lahad Datu I was surprised by the likeness to Turks and Caicos, reminded of the British empire – most noticeably by driving on the left side of the road, but also the flat and barren feeling that you were on the fringe of civilization. This was not natural development. The poverty was obvious – the windows, siding, and parts of homes looked reclaimed. I saw empty, overgrown roads with stray dogs and quiet, seemingly empty concrete homes built as a half-attempt nod to modern development. Every house had large blue cisterns in the back. I noticed no power lines.
Mt. Kinabalu at sunrise
As we neared the road into the conservation area, we passed homesteads and fruit vendors surrounded by palm plantations. They looked dark and barren. Later in the jungle we met a birder who told us that the palm farms only host on average 12 species of birds per acre, whereas primary rainforest may shelter 36 bird species per acre.
Modern development
Coming into the jungle, we passed two checkpoints with guards and security offices. I imagine that they’re to keep an eye on illegal logging and the animal trade, but, it felt like we were on the absolute margins of civilization. It probably isn’t that difficult to slip a bribe here or there to be granted access into the protected area.
As we followed the logging road to the field center I was stunned by the foliage. The trees were upwards of 50 meters, and leaves in the lower canopies seemed as big as my arms. We had entered into a world of the prehistoric. The road turned to gravel and took us up and around mountains and the foliage was so thick that it took me some time to realize that we were hugging rock cliffs on either side of the road, diving in and skirting around valleys. A monkey darted across the road. We passed big piles of scat. I noticed a line of circles lightly pressed into the dust in the shoulder of the road – pygmy elephants. Which, aren’t so pygmy at all. They’re usually 9 ft tall.
Borneo is a land not to be reckoned with, and this is not a trip for the faint of heart. There were geckos crawling trying desperately to get in our room, leeches we couldn’t seem to kill, and dark mold dusted the walls and the box springs of the mattresses. Returning from each of the 3 hikes during the day required a cold shower and a “leech check,” usually resulting in us finding a straggling leech too late – indicated by a trickle of blood on our leg, or neck, or chest.
But in the jungle I felt alive. I could smell the deep, complex smells of the forest – the sweet, the musty, and dank, and the surprisingly fresh pockets of hot air. Absorbed, soaked in this heavy, heaving air, I thought to myself, “This is where I always want to be.” — surrounded by air with such life you feel like it’s another being of its own.
I tried to memorize every detail I could, like the outlines of the trees, the texture of their bark, the complexity of the light.
In the mornings we routinely encountered a troop of macaques; afterward, the red leaf monkeys. They were the most curious primate I’d seen, with their flat alien faces, dotting the trees as they had their morning meal.
As we hiked in our second morning, we were eager to see more primates. And soon enough we heard gibbons calling and watched them dart from tree to tree. Or at least we tried to watch them. Much of watching wildlife really involves just staring through thick jungle and hoping that you’re looking at the right little thing and that it’ll move for confirmation.
Can you spot the mother and baby gibbon?
Wildlife is WILD. It’s not meant to be found. It’s unpredictable and is indifferent to good photos. The entire time during our short few days in the jungle, I just kept thinking about the importance of sustained time in the field – for anything, from photography to development projects to health research. I felt like I was cheating the environment with this short rendezvous before returning back to my modern, conventional human life. So for me these photos quickly became less about getting a National Geographic type shot, and more about documenting my own experience in this other world.
And then we saw an orangutan. He was massive. A big hairy orange beast and piled flesh high in the tree. The remnants of orange fruit in his mouth offered us some comic relief. We got deathly quiet and moved closer, silencing our breath and carefully navigated the slippery leaves below our feet. I was so excited that I wished I didn’t have to worry about where I should place my legs, or the leeches. Our guide Afif motioned to us, guiding me to better camera angles and vantage points. Then he threw his arm out. We heard a large branch fall to the forest floor. He motioned us to get back as the orangutan became noisier and for a moment we thought he was warning us to stay away.
Then we saw this little guy. Afif told us that orangutans are territorial and solitary, and that this big guy would probably attack if only he could navigate the smaller branches and vines. Which, he couldn’t. Everything snapped beneath him. We just watched and listened, mouths gaping, to his guttural warnings. It was surreal to actually see them in the wild. They saw us and knew us but nothing about us actually mattered. I took respite in that.
I felt unsettled leaving the jungle. Once we returned to Lahad Datu I realized I didn’t want to leave. The night before we had done a night walk and heard frogs that sounded like primitive flutes, like of fairies. We used our flashlights to tentatively search out for signs of life. The jungle was a lot quieter than I had expected. Critters had plenty of space, which meant that we only saw them when we chance crossed their paths. Leaving that space and seeing the outside was stressful. This land is not for them in this modern paradigm. Palm plantations run up to the sides of the mountains, over the mountains, some of these are old, deep palm forests with ivy and valleys, sadly attempting to resemble that which they replaced.
Ecotourism itself can feel exploitative. I couldn’t help thinking about the practice of poachers as we tracked wildlife, using spotlights to search for sleepy or nocturnal animals. All I could think about was the people subjected to the brutal jungle (the leeches, the heat, the sweat, the ants, the slippery tree roots) to exploit it, to hate it. For dirty trade.
“Endemic to Borneo” was a common phrase during our trip, which as we learned, meant that these species were unique to Borneo and found only there. This ranged from flowers, to primates, to spiders, fungi, insects, and birds. Some of the tallest trees in the world are found in Danum Valley, soaring up and past 300 feet (National Geographic). They call Danum Valley “Sabah’s Lost World” but many of the species remain threatened by poaching and habitat loss, in particular the Bornean (Eastern Sumatran) rhinoceros. We saw an abandoned rhino breeding sanctuary; apparently the rhino numbers in Borneo are so low that the ones that do still live suffer the consequences of years of in-breeding.
Borneo’s buttressed dipteryx trees (Iain for scale)
Orang nest
Lanternfly
Pill millipede curled up
At the field center we saw the families of those who work there, their longhouses bordering a small river. It was about 9:00am as we emerged from the jungle on our second day, and we could hear banging pots and pans, laughing kids – it was breakfast time. The morning light hit their faces as people came out to say hello to Afif, and wave at us. There were skinny cats, bare floors, screenless windows, and damp laundry outside. Our muddy boots dirties their sidewalks. A woman was sweeping in front of her door.
I left Borneo only wanting to return. I left realizing that I knew nothing about the history of Borneo, of Southeast Asia. Who were these people? What sort of research is happening at the Field Center? (We met 2 young women from York studying the changing levels of greenhouse gases in Danum Valley’s atmosphere.) Just how important is this region for understanding global forces? Is palm oil at all beneficial to the economy? What’s the history of the relationship between humans and orangutans? What’s the right way forward for sustainable development in such a precious ecosystem? Leaving the park we saw a mother and infant orangutan on the side of the road. They remained in unprotected land and were startled by our presence. Afif told us that orangutans who know the harm of humans never forget.
Getting back to Korea I read Heart of Darkness and felt the parallels of being submersed in and utterly submissive to wilderness, and the strange tension of colonial pursuit and exploitation. I then learned that Conrad’s first novel, Almayer’s Folly, is set in Borneo — written after he made several trips there himself in the late 1800s. A reminder that no matter how remote one may feel in the world, someone has already been there and felt the same thing. Nevertheless, Borneo made me feel closer to a bigger narrative that I think more rugged traveling does to you. This was only my first step into southeast Asia, not my last.
How to get there: We visited Danum Valley through Inno Travel, Sabah Holidays for 4 days/3 nights at the end of July. Our inquiry to Shahana was quickly returned. Contact shana@sabahholidays.com. There are lots of resources to read about Sabah, including Veggie Revolution, a lengthy but super informative review on Lonely Planet, and for frank, albeit entertaining insight, Design Think Travel.
Photos were edited using Adobe Lightroom and VSCO’s Film Pack 04. Taken on a Canon 5D Mark II, shot in RAW.