Cambodia 2015
I was happy to go with the flow in Cambodia, or so I thought. I’d had my week of herping in Sarawak and now I would take up more of a tourist role (and see what opportunistic searching I could do on the way).
Our first stop was Siem Reap, a hot, busy city on the edge of the Angkor Thom complex. With little chance to escape from the crowds at either Siem Reap or the temples, the first couple of days here were not really my cup of tea. Some of the grounds surrounding the temples are home to various bits of wildlife, but aside from skinks and frogs there were no further herps to be found. The extremely hot weather would not have helped either. Back in the city it was nice to see that tokay geckos were out in force, making the evenings a bit more interesting.
Our first stop was Siem Reap, a hot, busy city on the edge of the Angkor Thom complex. With little chance to escape from the crowds at either Siem Reap or the temples, the first couple of days here were not really my cup of tea. Some of the grounds surrounding the temples are home to various bits of wildlife, but aside from skinks and frogs there were no further herps to be found. The extremely hot weather would not have helped either. Back in the city it was nice to see that tokay geckos were out in force, making the evenings a bit more interesting.
From here we travelled to Battambang (well, Jill and I did, Paul decided enough was enough and headed back to the UK), heralded as a city with interesting French-Colonial architecture. On arrival, we immediately headed out of the city to Tarum Cave, home to a fairly sizeable number of Asian wrinkle-lipped bats (Chaerephon plicatus). I wondered if the cave would be approachable in order to search for any snakes awaiting the bat exodus, but given the popularity of the event and a fairly inaccessible cave entrance it turned out I would have to watch from a distance. Arriving just before sunset as the light began to fade, we counted out 13 bats, then this happened;
The following morning we decided to rent kayaks to see what life could be found around the Sangkae River. Hoping, as ever, for some overhanging trees to inspect, I was disappointed to find the river banks were devoid of any real vegetation at all. As a result, there wasn’t much to see save for a few kingfishers passing up and down the river which, it is sad to say, was used as a rubbish tip by the huts and bungalows that backed on to it. Why this part of the river is used as a selling point to visitors I do not know.
The next day we left city life behind and headed to the Koh Kong conservation corridor; a greener, natural area in the southern Cardamom Mountains where I hoped the species count for Cambodia would improve. We clocked up some serious hours in a taxi to Tatai and from there took a short boat ride to Rainbow Lodge, a pricey but well-positioned eco-lodge surrounded by some decent habitat. We were shown to our bungalow which we were happy to share with a number of large tokays (Gekko gecko)…
We had about 30 minutes of daylight remaining, so naturally the boots were quickly donned and we set out to find some routes that could be explored once darkness had descended. We returned for a delightful evening meal (we came to learn that Rainbow Lodge is almost worth it for the food alone!) and to sort our torches and batteries.
That night we spent around 4 hours exploring the grounds of the lodge. Within 20 minutes we had our first oriental vine snake (Ahaetulla prasina). Unfortunately out of reach, this one appeared to be more yellow than any I’d seen previously. Finally off the mark with Cambodian snakes, we continued on into the night. Shortly after, when clambering over some boulders, I spotted a green snake moving over a rock up ahead. As I approached I realised it was an active little pit-viper, much more mobile than any I’d seen before. This, it seems, would turn out to be our first Cardamom Mountains pit-viper (Cryptelytrops cardamomensis) of the trip.
That night we spent around 4 hours exploring the grounds of the lodge. Within 20 minutes we had our first oriental vine snake (Ahaetulla prasina). Unfortunately out of reach, this one appeared to be more yellow than any I’d seen previously. Finally off the mark with Cambodian snakes, we continued on into the night. Shortly after, when clambering over some boulders, I spotted a green snake moving over a rock up ahead. As I approached I realised it was an active little pit-viper, much more mobile than any I’d seen before. This, it seems, would turn out to be our first Cardamom Mountains pit-viper (Cryptelytrops cardamomensis) of the trip.
Onwards we wandered, and once again we spotted the pale lines of a vine snake above our heads. Again frustratingly out of reach, this A.prasina was a monster; surely as close to 2 metres as it can get. Equally interesting was its colouration; largely a pale shade of grey apart from a bright yellow head and neck. This guy really needed to be looked at more closely but as my attempt to retrieve it with a cane of bamboo felt more like trying to paint a ceiling with a wet noodle, I was powerless to stop it surfing over the bamboo canopy and out of sight.
A few feet further along the path Jill nearly walked head-first (is there any other way to walk?) into a large golden orb-weaver that had decided that a head-height web across a path would be ideal for everyone involved. Over the next three days I’d forget it was there every time…
A few feet further along the path Jill nearly walked head-first (is there any other way to walk?) into a large golden orb-weaver that had decided that a head-height web across a path would be ideal for everyone involved. Over the next three days I’d forget it was there every time…
It was a relief when Jill got on the snake-spotting scoreboard, as her first vine snake of the night was close enough for catching and photographs. Hers was a delightful yellow morph awaiting us at the end of a young tree and was nice and cooperative when it came to sitting still for photos.
A fourth A.prasina rested on some even lower bushes towards the end of our night search, and this one must have completed the full spectrum of colours for the species. Even paler than the individual from the previous week in Sarawak, this was pretty much white and lacked any dorsal scale markings.
The next day we headed south towards some mangrove-lined streams with Gee, the resident naturalist from the lodge. Gee has a pretty impressive knowledge of the critters that live in the area and was more than happy to join in my quest for Boiga dendrophila. We put in a few solid hours of kayaking under overhanging trees but once again my search was fruitless. That evening provided no further snakes either, but there was still a number of other creatures of the night to be seen.
We decided to spend our last day at the lodge chilling out. For Jill this meant sitting in the porch of the bungalow with her book, for me it meant a further chunk of hours searching for whatever was out there. Having spent a lot of the morning exploring the grounds of the lodge, I returned to the bungalow to find that just 20 minutes earlier something had caused chaos amongst the resident tokays. The commotion had made Jill look up to see what was going on, only to find a golden tree (or flying) snake (Chrysopelea ornata) staring back at her from a wooden beam under the bungalow roof. To her credit she managed to grab her camera and take a couple of shots as it disappeared into the undergrowth. Naturally I was gutted and spent the next hour or so moping around in disbelief.
We then headed to the main reception area for lunch, where a guest pointed towards the bamboo close to the roof and called out “snake”. Gone before I could get there, it seemed that a C.ornata was doing the rounds. Before my frustrations grew even more, another snake was spotted in the roof at the other side, this time a young pit-viper (C.cardamomensis). The owners wanted it moved away from guests so I wandered the 20 metres or so along the raised boardwalk to the bungalow to get my hook, only for the cries of “snake” to chime up again. Hurrying back along the wooden boardwalk in flip-flops with all the grace of Bambi on ice, I had once again missed the flying snake as it fled the roofing thatch and headed into thick bamboo. As I stood staring into the bamboo wondering how I kept on missing out, yet another viper was spotted barely a metre from the first! Three snakes within minutes, but somehow I’d missed the flying snake every time. Such is life.
After all that excitement (and stress of missing the C.ornata), lunch was most welcome. I kicked off my flip-flops, laid down my hook and took off my sunglasses whilst flicking through some of my photos. Feeling calmer and well-fed, I briefly left the table and wandered back to the bungalow for my water bottle. As I approached the bungalow I glanced down from the boardwalk, and there in the sun, on a patch of bare earth, lay a glistening black coil of snake. I stopped. After a second of disbelief I realised I was looking at a basking Naja siamensis, the Indochinese spitting cobra…
…and there I stood, no camera, no shoes, no sunglasses and no hook.
“Jill, get the camera…and the hook”
At this point I have no idea what I was planning to do with the hook.
“And walk slowly”
As Jill approached, it lifted its head ever so slightly, looked in her direction and flattened its black hood. It began to slowly slip closer towards plant cover and out of my life.
I attempted to video the last few seconds before it disappeared but it’s barely noticeable, even on a large screen. That brief, unexpected encounter has only left me wanting more.
…and there I stood, no camera, no shoes, no sunglasses and no hook.
“Jill, get the camera…and the hook”
At this point I have no idea what I was planning to do with the hook.
“And walk slowly”
As Jill approached, it lifted its head ever so slightly, looked in her direction and flattened its black hood. It began to slowly slip closer towards plant cover and out of my life.
I attempted to video the last few seconds before it disappeared but it’s barely noticeable, even on a large screen. That brief, unexpected encounter has only left me wanting more.
That evening we had our final night exploration of the lodge, finding yet more interesting invertebrates and a final snake species of the day, a painted bronzeback (Dendrelaphis pictus). Regarding these snakes - my camera is not great, or even good. I bought it for some zoom and because I believed it had manual focus. It does not have the latter. As a result, a list of ‘tricky things to focus on’ would contain D.pictus somewhere near the top. I love these snakes but I’ll let someone else attempt the photos next time I find one.
The next morning we left the lodge and aimed for Chi Phat, the location of a well-known ecotourism project. We took a bus from Tatai to Andoung Tuek, where we then wandered to a café sporting a sign for Chi Phat and set about arranging transport up river. Given the options of 2 hours on a boat or a 40-minute bike ride we decided that a tuk-tuk would be better as our time was limited. However, we were slightly surprised when two motorbikes, not a tuk-tuk, showed up to take us up to Chi Phat.
I surveyed both riders and weighed up my options. I looked at the more senior chap who seemed like he’d take the road at a stately pace and thought Jill would be pretty safe with him. I turned to the younger fellow. Wearing a surgical mask that made him look more like a bandit than a learned doctor, I decided that el Bandito probably knew the unpaved road pretty well and that his steel horse* (*probably just a moped really) would be a good one for me to ride on. As Jill had decided to buy a large bottle of water I thought I’d be a gent and carry it for her, so I was holding that in one hand as I casually went to sit on the back of the motorcycle. The moment my cheeks touched the seat Bandito hit the gas and we lurched from the café out into the road. I’m not sure of the exact science, but I’d say my neck stretched to at least 3 metres before my head caught up with my body. We broke the sound barrier along the first 1k of paved road as my sunglasses bounced and fell from my face, so I now gripped a bottle of water and glasses in one hand whilst my other was clasped firmly to the back of the seat. I was on a rocket. I’d like to say that on leaving the main road for the dirt track Bandito slowed down, drove smoothly and didn’t dodge any cattle, but alas this was not the case. At one point I managed to turn around to check that Jill and her rider were close behind, but as nothing on earth moves as fast as Bandito it was wishful thinking; there was nothing behind me but a cloud of dust and miles of unpaved motorbike playground. About 30 minutes later we came to a stop. When Jill eventually turned up I suggested we take the boat next time. 15 minutes later the last of my fingers was prised from the back of the seat.
I surveyed both riders and weighed up my options. I looked at the more senior chap who seemed like he’d take the road at a stately pace and thought Jill would be pretty safe with him. I turned to the younger fellow. Wearing a surgical mask that made him look more like a bandit than a learned doctor, I decided that el Bandito probably knew the unpaved road pretty well and that his steel horse* (*probably just a moped really) would be a good one for me to ride on. As Jill had decided to buy a large bottle of water I thought I’d be a gent and carry it for her, so I was holding that in one hand as I casually went to sit on the back of the motorcycle. The moment my cheeks touched the seat Bandito hit the gas and we lurched from the café out into the road. I’m not sure of the exact science, but I’d say my neck stretched to at least 3 metres before my head caught up with my body. We broke the sound barrier along the first 1k of paved road as my sunglasses bounced and fell from my face, so I now gripped a bottle of water and glasses in one hand whilst my other was clasped firmly to the back of the seat. I was on a rocket. I’d like to say that on leaving the main road for the dirt track Bandito slowed down, drove smoothly and didn’t dodge any cattle, but alas this was not the case. At one point I managed to turn around to check that Jill and her rider were close behind, but as nothing on earth moves as fast as Bandito it was wishful thinking; there was nothing behind me but a cloud of dust and miles of unpaved motorbike playground. About 30 minutes later we came to a stop. When Jill eventually turned up I suggested we take the boat next time. 15 minutes later the last of my fingers was prised from the back of the seat.
Chi Phat didn’t suit my eye from the word go. An area once heavily involved in wildlife smuggling and logging, it seemed that the trees hadn’t returned and neither had the wildlife. Yes, Chi Phat is attracting tourists and generating income through outdoor activities, and I don’t doubt it’s moving in the right direction, but within the immediate surroundings of the community there’s bare earth, grazed fields and all sorts of dogs and farm animals just roaming around. Maybe with a bit more time I could have seen whether the jungle treks further afield led somewhere more promising, but I got the impression from my short stay that other than dawn bird-watching there wasn’t much for a naturalist to appreciate. The ‘tourism’ part is flourishing; the ‘eco’ is missing. As with Battambang earlier in the trip, kayaking without wildlife is not ‘ecotourism’, it’s just kayaking.
We hired mountain bikes and explored the local area, passing a few ponds (again largely isolated in the middle of grazed cattle fields) and some slightly more promising bush-lined trails. It crossed my mind that torches would have made bike-cruising an interesting nocturnal activity here, but as none of the locals I spoke to had ever seen a snake and our bungalow was right next to a waterfall, I decided a safer and more promising option would be to night search around the river.
We hired mountain bikes and explored the local area, passing a few ponds (again largely isolated in the middle of grazed cattle fields) and some slightly more promising bush-lined trails. It crossed my mind that torches would have made bike-cruising an interesting nocturnal activity here, but as none of the locals I spoke to had ever seen a snake and our bungalow was right next to a waterfall, I decided a safer and more promising option would be to night search around the river.
As an impressive storm lit the night sky all around us, we spent our last night around the river about 3km north of the village. We found a few frogs, a scorpion and a lot of mosquitos. As the lightning inched closer and we ran out of areas to search, I resigned to the fact that our holiday was over and that Asian herping would once again be put on hold, but for how long?
In the morning we took a taxi to Phnom Penh airport where an authentic Costa Coffee awaited. As we sat outside in the warm, tropical air a tokay called from the roof somewhere above us. I hope it’s not too long before I hear that sound again.