Before getting to the things on your face, I wanted to congratulate my wonderful sister-in-law, Fiona, for her show opening this week! Her exceptional work is featured in St Kilda, Melbourne, at the Linden Gallery. We wish we could be there to see it, but based on the sneak previews we saw via email, I have no doubt that this is yet another fantastic installation. If you’re in the area, go!
Now, in a land far far away…
We drove past a massive pile of dung. “Very big, very freshing!” said Mr A., our intrepid trekking guide. “Elephant!”
The Asian elephants are amongst the best things to see in Khao Yai National Park, and are just one of dozens of animals, birds and insects you can spot. The park is a 2100 square kilometre marvel, just two hours by bus from Bangkok. I’m writing this on the bus ride back to the city. Julia is listening to one of her favourite new Linny mixes “Alexa the Bee Girl.” We were both amazed by the park, and the incredible diversity of life on our planet.
The park visitor centre reminded me of those I’ve seen in Canada’s national parks – rustic wooden buildings containing panels written about the flora and fauna. Much of the information was very clear, but I wasn’t sure what to make of this sign.
The park itself was the first national park in Thailand, established in 1961. The topography includes deep valleys, thick with bamboo, and hills rising to 1200 metres, blanketed with knotted green forest canopy. There are streams and rivers pitching down steep lush waterfalls, and open grasslands, with grasses so high a machete would not be out of place.
We swayed in the back of a safari-style truck, while Mr A perched on the open tailgate, watching constantly for wildlife. “This is my office,” he gestured across the park. At his urgent call, the truck would jar to a halt, and he would deftly pop off, and prop up his Nikon Monocular “Quick! Fast, come! Hornbill!”
Impossible to see with our untrained eyes, the massive bird was perfectly clear through the monocular. The Great Hornbill’s wingspan is up to two metres. The male has blood red eyes with ink-black pupils. The female has a red ring around her eyeball. They mate for life.
This bird suddenly hopped up and took off, the heavy branch springing like an elastic band under its weight.
A little further up the road was a tiny snake, warming its cold blood on the pavement. Mr A nudged it gently with a small stick. The snake spiked to attention, head up like a cobra. There are cobras and giant pythons in the park but we only saw the one snake that day. Other critters include massive scorpions – we saw a dead one on the road, about 6 inches long. My favourite was the “rolly polly”, a short fat centipede-type creature, which rolls up into a little ball to resemble a brown stone the second it senses danger.
Fluttering between bushes were wispy spider webs. This spider is the Golden Weaver. The little red guy is her husband.
We parked and were told to put on our “leech socks”. These fit over your own socks and pants, and tie at the top just below your knee. We then set off into the forest for a 2 hour trek.
Every few minutes, Mr A would stop, and scan the forest tops with his binoculars. When he spotted something, up went the monocular. He would quickly focus, and tell us to have a look. There were giant black squirrels – about a metre long, which danced through the branches. And many birds of every colour– too skittery to photograph.
The forest itself was alive everywhere. Vines swirling around trees like snakes, butterflies sailing past your nose, caterpillars hanging, millipedes gliding. There were plate-sized “Elephant Ear” leaves curled and rotting. And fig trees, some more than three hundred years old, their roots divided and separated to look like many trees when there was just one.
We stood for a long while under these trees, Mr A. was certain that we were on the verge of spotting something. “Look, gibbons!” We didn’t see them as much as felt them – their deft swinging from the treetops audible over the hum of the cicadas. Leaves and branches dislodged by their travels falling through the canopy, gently dropping through the foliage.
White-Handed Gibbons live throughout the park. They each have a territory of about 1 square kilometre , and travel in families of five or six. They are completely arboreal, which means they never come down to the ground. In the mornings, you can apparently here their song – a mournful call. Mr. A. can perfectly mimic many bird and animal sounds. While we were waiting to spot the gibbons, I heard what I was sure were the animals themselves. Then I noticed Mr A. holding up his cellphone – playing recordings of the gibbons he had captured on earlier visits.
A few more minutes of walking. And again Mr A. stopped, and pointed. This time, we could see without the monocular. Two gibbons were perched on a branch in clear view. One was carefully picking through the others’ fur. A few minutes of this and they would change position, reversing the roles of groomer and groomee.
A third gibbon came along, swung onto their branch, and off again with equal grace. The other two kept working on each other. As this was going on, Julia noticed a big leech on my back. She bent to pick it off. We were learning from the gibbons.
We loved the day in the park. We also saw pig-tailed macaques. These, like squirrels and chipmunks at home are quite tame, and wait at the roadside for tourists to feed them. We swam at the same waterfall where Leonardi DiCaprio (or his body double) jumped off in The Beach.
And just when we thought we had seen it all and were digesting a late lunch, Mr A. drove back to the rest stop. “Come, fast fast fast!!”, he yelled. “Elephant, elephant, elephant!”
We jumped in the truck, and the driver took off, taking the turns and hills at speed. The truck halted at a bend in the road, beside a spot where the trees and foliage had been completely trampled.
And there he was, right in front of us. A male elephant, about 700 kilos, raising his trunk to pick at leaves. He was majestic and beautiful, white tusks jutting into the air. He ambled a little deeper into the forest, and with each step was harder to see. But we listened to his footsteps, and his insistent leaf gathering for several minutes.
As the sounds faded, Mr A bid him adieu. “Thank you elephant, thank you.”
