Borneo 2016
Following on from Part 1, Malaysia & Singapore, this is Part 2: Borneo
Arriving in Miri, Jill’s first taste of Asian rental cars was neither Perodua nor Proton, instead we rolled out in ‘style’ with a Toyota Vios – basically a Mercedes compared to our previous efforts. As there was now 3 of us on board we endeavoured to keep the Toyota clean and classy. Inevitably this was not the case, and within a day not one turn in the road went by without waves of empty Mister Potato tubes ebbing and flowing around our feet.
Lambir Hills
A short drive from Miri and we arrived at Lambir Hills National Park, once again tucking into a mound of rice before heading off into the night. As usual, we were told the trails were closed at night (seriously, how are you supposed to see any of the wonders of these places if they want you tucked up in bed by 8pm?), but luckily we were able to find our way to an un-padlocked section and we could begin to make our time in the forest worthwhile.
For me, one of the greatest things about the species diversity in rainforests is that you never know what you’re going to find. On top of this, sometimes when you find something you still don’t know what you’ve found…
After a short ascent we crested a ridge as the most exciting noise in the jungle rang out: the cry of ‘Snake!’ – And there, lying on a mossy log, was a 25cm chequered snake with an unfamiliar look to it. Luckily it was not going anywhere fast and we were able to take photographs whilst swiftly leafing through our field guide to see what we were dealing with. Could it be a reed snake? Wolfy? We just couldn’t tell. We were pretty sure we hadn’t seen anything like this before…
…The reason for this was that this snake had only ever been recorded once (just one single record from Sabah in 1987), making this the second ever known sighting of this species! The shots below are, as I understand, the only photographs of a living specimen of the Bornean spine-jawed snake (Xenophidion acanthognathus).
A short drive from Miri and we arrived at Lambir Hills National Park, once again tucking into a mound of rice before heading off into the night. As usual, we were told the trails were closed at night (seriously, how are you supposed to see any of the wonders of these places if they want you tucked up in bed by 8pm?), but luckily we were able to find our way to an un-padlocked section and we could begin to make our time in the forest worthwhile.
For me, one of the greatest things about the species diversity in rainforests is that you never know what you’re going to find. On top of this, sometimes when you find something you still don’t know what you’ve found…
After a short ascent we crested a ridge as the most exciting noise in the jungle rang out: the cry of ‘Snake!’ – And there, lying on a mossy log, was a 25cm chequered snake with an unfamiliar look to it. Luckily it was not going anywhere fast and we were able to take photographs whilst swiftly leafing through our field guide to see what we were dealing with. Could it be a reed snake? Wolfy? We just couldn’t tell. We were pretty sure we hadn’t seen anything like this before…
…The reason for this was that this snake had only ever been recorded once (just one single record from Sabah in 1987), making this the second ever known sighting of this species! The shots below are, as I understand, the only photographs of a living specimen of the Bornean spine-jawed snake (Xenophidion acanthognathus).
We continued on, passing a slow loris and some interesting inverts until Jill spotted a beautiful Bornean keeled pit-viper (Tropidolaemus subannulatus) by the side of the trail. We then took the Toyota out for a spin but found nothing living, only a freshly killed Coelognathus flavolineatus to end the night on a sour note.
We covered quite a few miles the next day, bumping into a couple of people who hadn’t seen much on their wanders. Actually I tell a lie, one man had seen ‘a big ant’. That’s what happens when you’re only allowed out in daylight…Onwards we walked, disappointed to see discarded water bottles and cans of energy drink tucked away in fallen logs in what was otherwise delightful habitat. And that right there is the reality of it all. So many people have no respect for the environment and see everything as a rubbish dump, so then why should anyone even be allowed to explore these places at all? I’d like to say that was the last of my rants but it’s probably not.
Anyway, we found the viper in the same spot, saw what we think was a small flying squirrel and returned to our lodge to watch a couple of hornbills as the day drew to a close. We also managed to sweet-talk our way into having the padlock removed from the main trail that evening, so it was with particular excitement and anticipation that I then downed my mound of rice.
Anyway, we found the viper in the same spot, saw what we think was a small flying squirrel and returned to our lodge to watch a couple of hornbills as the day drew to a close. We also managed to sweet-talk our way into having the padlock removed from the main trail that evening, so it was with particular excitement and anticipation that I then downed my mound of rice.
After opening the gate to the trail we began walking over a thin wooden bridge, barely making it to the halfway point before the words ‘flying gecko’ were whispered with excitement. As I moved to check out what is surely one of the finest geckos on the planet (Ptychozoon kuhli), I spotted what looked like a distant half-banded bridled snake (Dryocalamus subannulatus) hanging from the bridge a metre behind the gecko. In testament to the awesomeness of flying geckos, we put the snake on standby until we’d snapped a bunch of photos and had a close look at, erm, all its flappy bits.
Then to the snake, and what a position it was in: the exact midpoint of the bridge, on a wooden beam jutting out over a 30ft drop, half wrapped in a dead leaf and almost a herper's nightmare. That is until it slowly moved into the curled dead leaf and I realised this was now within reach of the tongs. I carefully stretched over the handrail and gently grabbed the leaf stalk (or ‘petiole’ if we’re being botanical), slowly lifting the leaf back over and pointing it towards Paul. The snake suddenly leapt out and, luckily, found itself sitting in Paul’s hands. To say I was pleased was an understatement. Having the same species evade us a week ago I honestly thought I’d never see one again, so this was just a treat! To make sure we could get some photos without it feeling the need to make a 30ft leap, we walked to solid ground at the end of the bridge, me leading the way, hands full with rucksacks and camera…Another snake!! I couldn’t believe it, a glimpse of the back half of a stripy snake on the handrail. I recognised this immediately as a Three-banded bridled snake (Dryocalamus tristrigatus), and was able to follow its movements until its head emerged from a hole in the wood and it obligingly continued into my hands. And there we were, barely 10 metres and 10 minutes into our walk, already with a flying gecko and now standing with the full quota of bridled snakes!
We continued to wander alongside the main river and up to a few waterfalls, finding a few frogs, a huge stick insect and a couple of nice tarantulas. Jill then came up with a great spot for our third snake of the night, a half-keeled (or barred) kukri (Oligodon signatus), moving slowly along a log. Unsure whether it was about to flee down one of the cracks in the log, I picked it up and for 20 seconds or so it was a pleasure to hold such a calm and beautiful little snake. Then almost in slow motion, it cranked open its jaws to about 180⁰ and tucked some delightfully sharp teeth into my thumb, illustrating just why they call it a kukri. Paul was then the victim of a few more nibbles as we attempted to take a couple of photos.
Niah
The following day we drove through miles of palm-oil plantation on our way to Niah National Park, an important archaeological site as well as a pretty nice looking slice of habitat home to swiftlets, bats and, as we found out, hundreds of red millipedes making use of the wooden boardwalks. Niah was a bit too busy for my liking, with too many city day-trippers just power-walking around the trails, yapping loudly and pretty much ruining the chance of seeing any decent creatures. To make things worse, some of the people were just devoid of decorum: After standing to the side to allow a family of 5 or 6 to pass, I was appalled to see them stop, block the path and then, children in arms, take out a permanent marker and begin writing their names on the cave wall. “OH COME ON!!” seemed to involuntarily escape my mouth at volume, at which the family looked up at me, smiled and said “Welcome to Malaysia”…
The following day we drove through miles of palm-oil plantation on our way to Niah National Park, an important archaeological site as well as a pretty nice looking slice of habitat home to swiftlets, bats and, as we found out, hundreds of red millipedes making use of the wooden boardwalks. Niah was a bit too busy for my liking, with too many city day-trippers just power-walking around the trails, yapping loudly and pretty much ruining the chance of seeing any decent creatures. To make things worse, some of the people were just devoid of decorum: After standing to the side to allow a family of 5 or 6 to pass, I was appalled to see them stop, block the path and then, children in arms, take out a permanent marker and begin writing their names on the cave wall. “OH COME ON!!” seemed to involuntarily escape my mouth at volume, at which the family looked up at me, smiled and said “Welcome to Malaysia”…
Unfortunately we didn’t do much exploring here as Paul was feeling rough and retired to bed early. Jill and I went to get a mound of rice but the cafeteria was not open, which nobody had mentioned to us when we got there. In fact, if we didn’t have the Toyota we’d have been a bit screwed. So it was these circumstances that meant our night search was indeed a search for food (sugar crackers and jam sandwiches), although we did manage to fit a bit of road cruising in, finding a DOR sunbeam snake (Xenopeltis unicolor) and slamming the brakes to jump out for a krait which actually turned out to be a packet of sweets. 15 minutes later we did exactly the same thing for a crack in the road.
Similajau
I handed over the rest of my super-strength antibiotics (a souvenir from our Sumatra trip) to Paul and just hoped he’d manage 3 hours in a car down the coast to Similajau. Like professional kidnappers we bundled him into the back seat and drove through even more miles of palm-oil plantation, making it to Similajau by mid-afternoon where Jill took her book and wandered off to the beach and I took my hook and wandered off to the mangroves. Paul went to bed.
That night Jill and I had a short road cruise up and down the park entrance road with the clouds eerily lit up orange by the industrial oil-fires of distant Mordor (Bintulu). Other than a pancaked lizard (which I initially mistook for an out-of-place gurnard) and a number of moths resting on the road we found nothing and returned to have a look around the mangroves on foot. As Paul was still under the weather I stopped by at his lodge to tell him he’d not missed anything, and it was at this point that Jill was stopped by park security for driving suspiciously slowly around the car park. Rock and roll.
I handed over the rest of my super-strength antibiotics (a souvenir from our Sumatra trip) to Paul and just hoped he’d manage 3 hours in a car down the coast to Similajau. Like professional kidnappers we bundled him into the back seat and drove through even more miles of palm-oil plantation, making it to Similajau by mid-afternoon where Jill took her book and wandered off to the beach and I took my hook and wandered off to the mangroves. Paul went to bed.
That night Jill and I had a short road cruise up and down the park entrance road with the clouds eerily lit up orange by the industrial oil-fires of distant Mordor (Bintulu). Other than a pancaked lizard (which I initially mistook for an out-of-place gurnard) and a number of moths resting on the road we found nothing and returned to have a look around the mangroves on foot. As Paul was still under the weather I stopped by at his lodge to tell him he’d not missed anything, and it was at this point that Jill was stopped by park security for driving suspiciously slowly around the car park. Rock and roll.
There were a few short boardwalk trails over the main ‘Indiana Jones’ bridge at the park entrance that we decided to check out, although I assume these are all closed at night given that everything seems to be closed at night. There’s also the added thrill of saltwater crocs here, so it’s probably not the place to get your permanent marker out and autograph the crabs. After a bit of a search in the mangroves we turned to head back - and there, disappearing across the mud and leaves under the bridge, was the last 30cm of a Boiga dendrophila tail! Apparently I shouted something to Jill but when she turned to see what was going on I had already left the path and was splodging around under the bridge. After a comical bit of stumbling about in muddy pools with my shiny black and yellow friend, Jill helped me back up onto dry land and there I sat with about 1.5m of dendro in my hands and a big smile on my face. Being only 5 mins from the lodge, Jill was able to jog back and give Paul a knock, allowing him to forget about his ongoing dietary battle with Asia for a quarter of an hour whilst we took some photos of what is arguably Asia’s most delightful looking snake. Ah, Boiga dendrophila, you were certainly worth the wait!
We spent our last day at Similajau strolling about, eating ice cream and watching White-bellied sea-eagles. In the evening we just relaxed, although I did manage to have tug of war with a scorpion at one point. That night the barking of an extremely large and loud forest gecko (Gekko smithii) repeatedly woke us up. It honestly had the voice of a Doberman.
In the morning we re-bundled Paul back into the Toyota and returned to Miri, hoping he’d be fit to make the short flight to Gunung Mulu.
In the morning we re-bundled Paul back into the Toyota and returned to Miri, hoping he’d be fit to make the short flight to Gunung Mulu.
Mulu World Heritage Area
After waiting ‘for the weather to clear’ we stepped out onto the tarmac and boarded our turboprop ready for a short flight to Mulu. The first 15mins was of course over palm-oil plantations, but as we descended, the view from the window was amazing. A rainforest laced with twisting rivers and dotted with large hills and exposed white crags. I can’t imagine how many species call this area home! I also can’t imagine what will be lost if deforestation and ‘development’ continues at its current pace.
As Mulu is heavily geared for tourism it can be quite tricky to do anything independently, but there’s a decent chunk of trails that don’t require a guide, and it was on these that we did most of our wanderings.
At the end of one route is Deer Cave, one of Mulu’s many caves, providing a splendid bat emergence at dusk. After watching said emergence, we waited until darkness had fully taken over before our walk back and were rewarded with another Bornean keeled pit-viper (Tropidolaemus subannulatus).
As Mulu is heavily geared for tourism it can be quite tricky to do anything independently, but there’s a decent chunk of trails that don’t require a guide, and it was on these that we did most of our wanderings.
At the end of one route is Deer Cave, one of Mulu’s many caves, providing a splendid bat emergence at dusk. After watching said emergence, we waited until darkness had fully taken over before our walk back and were rewarded with another Bornean keeled pit-viper (Tropidolaemus subannulatus).
The next day I had a short stroll on my own, enjoying the peace and quiet and managing to photograph skinks that had not been scared away or squashed by Mulu staff riding their motorbikes on the boardwalk. Then, shortly before returning to my bungalow, I encountered a pretty large cobra. Unfortunately, it had seen me before I saw it, as all I glimpsed was a big black snake boating off into a tangle of roots and leaf litter. For most escaping snakes there’s a desire to get after them to try to catch or have a closer look. But this one (although it had disappeared within seconds and I couldn’t have attempted to get close even if I’d wanted to) had a different feel about it that I couldn’t put my finger on, literally and figuratively. Had I just glimpsed a king…?
As I mentioned, Mulu is very touristy and everything is done according the brochure. The staff found it hard to understand that we didn’t want to join in with lots of people on an ‘adventure caving’ trip, but rather we just wanted to be taken to one of the caves to look for cave racers (interestingly enough, one of the caves is called Racer Cave…). Eventually we struck up a deal and the three of us, accompanied by our guide Stan, were whisked away upstream towards Racer Cave just hoping that Mulu could deliver one more snake. We searched the cave entrance and scrambled about inside, slipping around wearing ungainly hardhats and not really being sure how off-piste we were able to venture. It wasn’t looking good until right at the death Stan came up trumps and pointed us towards a Cave racer (Orthriophis taeniurus)! We then did a spot of ‘adventure’ caving of our own as we attempted to climb close enough for a photo and to catch it for a closer look. Thanks once again Stan!
On our final evening Paul and I headed out for one last night walk – and it rained, lots! About three-quarters of the way around a loop, we even began to quicken the pace as our torches were getting a soaking and we couldn’t really see that well. However, when something is 2 metres long with shiny black and yellow rings it becomes easier to spot, and that’s exactly what happened here with our second Boiga dendrophila of the trip - an absolute rain monster!
To think that in the black of the rainforest, in torrential rain, creatures like this are just out there doing their thing. That’s pretty special. And what else is out there in the dark, maybe just a few seconds away from being illuminated by your torchlight?