For anyone who has come to this page looking for a brief "went here, saw this" report, you've come to the wrong place! However just such a version of this trip report is now up on cloudbirders.com, and can be viewed HERE
If after reading this (and the following) posts you have any questions about birds we saw, places we visited or just generally birding in Sabah, feel free to leave a comment and I'll try to get back to you ASAP :)
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February 5th (Friday)
We started earlyish today at six - thankfully for the rest of the trip there are no pre-dawn hikes required, so the 3:30am starts are done. We dragged ourselves out of the incredibly comfortable (after 7 nights in the Mountain Resthouse) beds and started off to see if we could get into the canopy walkway before the annoyingly un-birder-friendly hour of 8am. We couldn’t. Even when the guy came to open it at 7:30 he wouldn’t let us in. Instead we birded along the little corridor of flowering plants on the outside of the butterfly garden, which turned out to be surprisingly productive, with a number of lifers including Buff-rumped Woodpecker, Ruby-cheeked Sunbird, Grey-headed Babblers and a variety of other species. Since the canopy tower still wasn’t open, we decided to go for breakfast.
Ruby-cheeked Sunbird
Breakfast at Poring Hot Springs
The good thing about many places in Malaysia is that they include breakfast with the price of a room, and Sutera is no exception. Pancakes and freshly-squeezed orange juice ensued, as we ticked Green Iora, Black-winged Flycatcher-shrike and Lesser Coucal from our comfortable chairs.
With 8am now past, we walked up to the canopy walkway (RM2.50 each, plus RM5 to take my camera up. Neither of us produced our phones from our pockets in front of the gate-man, as handheld phone-cameras are an additional RM5).
Brandon on the Poring canopy walkway
The canopy walkway turned out to be a bit disappointing. There are three small platforms, built around trees, with walkways slung between them. Not boardwalk walkways, like the canopy walk in Lamington, a simple mesh suspension with a line of single boards laid out on the bottom. Very wobbly, but it felt reasonably safe I suppose. Safe enough to stand on as we watched the rather spectacular Black-and-yellow Broadbills flicking around in the treetops, and a circling Crested Serpent-eagle. There was, however, no sign of our number one target for Poring: Hose’s Broadbill, the most colourful and least-known of all the Green Broadbills, rarer even than Whitehead’s. Confined to the submontane regions, it is recorded very occasionally from Poring (in 2014 Nick Weigner from the young birders group happened across a pair nesting at Lupa Masa (Bahasa for “Forget Time”), a forest resort just outside Poring that we might stay at on the way back. The only semi-reliable place to see them is deep in the mountains of North Sarawak, at sites only the guides for BirdTour Asia know. Still, our luck had been good, so we were keeping an eye out.
Male Raffle's Malkoha foraging in the canopy
Buff-necked Woodpecker
The canopy walkway delivered one last surprise in the form of Spectacled Spiderhunter, a bird I thought we’d have to work hard for in the lowlands, before we decided it was time to leave. We picked up some stuff from our room and hit the Langanan trail. This time was worse than last time simply because I was so tired from the last week of constant hill climbing and descending. I was walking extremely slowly, my legs just too tired to get any speed going. I did finally get onto a pair of Crested Jays, a species I had long wanted to see (they look like Teletubbies, or as though someone stuck a spoon onto their head with their bizarre vertical crests). A Square-tailed Drongo-cuckoo was a nice surprise, and a calling Little Spiderhunter took a while to figure out courtesy of an awkward viewing angle.
Black-and-yellow Broadbill
After about two hours (and an unsuccessful stakeout for the Blue-banded Pittas that Josh found here in 2014) we reached the waterfall and could relax for a little while, watching a brave Grey Wagtail feeding right in beneath the cascade. The trip down was treacherous as always, and was unproductive for birding, with nothing new showing. We still have several submontane targets we have yet to encounter, including a couple of Barbet species, Orange-breasted Trogon and Banded Broadbill, the latter we have heard a couple of times but been unable to pin down. Tomorrow we plan to do the first section of the Langanan trail to try and nail at least the Broadbill, if not also the Trogon, before ordering the biggest possible breakfast and checking out.
Spotlighting around the hot springs this evening yielded no Reddish Scops-owl as hoped, but on the wall of one building we counted an unbelievable 74 Asian House-geckos hunting below the lights. I’ve just now discovered there’s one in our room too. Friendly looking little guy. I have named him George.
Tomorrow will be a big traveling day, as we leave Poring by taxi and head to Ranau. From there we will attempt to catch a bus in the direction of the East Coast major center, Sandakan. We’ll get off before Sandakan at Sepilok Junction, and from there catch another taxi to Sepilok B&B, just a few hundred meters from our birding site for the next three days - the Rainforest Discovery Centre, our first true lowland site, and home to a great many lifers, most notably the Bornean Bristlehead, a bizarre corvid-relative which is one of Borneo’s biggest targets, something of an emblem species for the country.
Despite the heat and humidity, there is a lot to look forward to.
February 6th (Saturday)
Big day today. We got up early and did a bit of early-morning birding on the Langanan trail - only a short walk as we knew we were pressed for time. We didn’t see a whole lot, although I did get two lifers in Moustached Babbler and (finally) Bornean Spiderhunter. We heard Banded Broadbill several times, but were unable to locate it in the canopy foliage from the ground, very frustratingly. It is possible to get them in Sepilok and maybe even Danum Valley, but it’s likely to be more difficult.
The highlight of the morning was not a bird at all, but a tiny lizard - a lizard called Draco volans, but perhaps better known as the Flying Dragon. I was watching a Moustached Babbler flicking through the canopy, when suddenly a bright leaf caught my eye right next to the bird - except it wasn’t a leaf. The tiny dragon had spread out its ‘wings’ (a flattening of the ribs stretches the skin into flaps on either side of the body) in defence against the sudden appearance of the Babbler. Had it not done so, I never would have seen it - as soon as the bird left (seemingly surprised by the Dragon’s display) it pulled its ribs in and simply became another twig in the tree.
One last lifer for the morning was a pair of Rufous-tailed Jungle-flycatchers behind the toilet block at the start of the trail.
A very impressive flower seen along the Langanan trail
We went for breakfast at about 8:45, after which Brandon was determined to head back to the waterfall trail and I was determined to have a shower and pack up. We split up - and although I didn’t regret for a second going back to the room, I was terrified he’d see Hose’s Broadbill or something like that while we were apart. Once showered and almost packed, Brandon reappeared. Thankfully for my sake he had seen little, as a host of scouts had arrived to walk the trail and had scared off most of the birds.
We left Poring and quickly found a local who took us to Ranau for RM40, dropping us right at the bus station. I was still digesting breakfast, but Brandon was hungry so we went for a wander through the town. Ranau is actually quite large for the area and extremely lively, with a great number of people moving around the streets. Brandon, being an uncultured Queenslander, skilfully ignored all the delicious smelling stall-food and made a beeline for KFC. You can’t take some people anywhere.
We returned to the bus station to wait. And wait. And wait. We got there (after Brandon’s lunch) at around 12, and the first bus pulled up at 1:45. Only one seat though, and the driver wouldn’t let us sit on the floor, so we had to pass that one up. I asked the driver and he said the next bus was in an hour. So we waited some more.
At least it wasn't raining
While we waited a local lady, also waiting for the bus, struck up a conversation. She gave me a bit of a panic when she told us that there weren’t likely to be any more buses today. I definitely didn’t want to spend a night in Ranau unplanned, so I asked her if she was sure. She said yes, and eventually she left, probably planning to catch the bus the next day.
I couldn’t see any reason why the previous bus’s driver would lie about there being one in an hour, and a hurried conversation with Josh over Facebook left me in no doubt that if waited, a bus would turn up. At around 3, one did - and this time, the driver was more lenient. There were no spare seats, but there was the space between the back row of seats and the toilet, which harboured two canisters (there was a sign reading “toilet” on one - I tried not to think about it too much). The driver told us that at one of the stops people would be getting off, so we could move to real seats then. We took the deal.
Our seats
We spent the first 1.5 hours of the trip there, and surprisingly, it wasn’t all that bad for comfort. Not a cushioned seat, but not terrible. I’m pretty sure the canister I was sitting on was empty, too. Unlike the Murray’s back home, this bus company had decided that a television up the front of the bus would help while away the hours on the road, and they were mid-way through a movie when we got on. After that finished, they switched to the new Bond movie, Spectre - although they got about half an hour in before deciding to switch it off and move to music instead.
One thing I noticed on the bus ride was the powerlines. None of this “trees too close to wires” nonsense in Malaysia. The fairly low-slung lines take no notice of the foliage, cutting through the middle of trees, bamboo clumps and patches of particularly tall grasses.
When we did eventually get moved to real seats, the ride actually became quite pleasant - or it would have if not for one thing: The scenery. For the first hour we had been driving through lovely submontane forest, before it slowly turned into more lowland farming type country. But after 1.5 hours, it changed to oil palms. Just oil palms. The scale isn’t really obvious until you go over a rise and you can see nothing but palms until the horizon.
In due course we arrived at Sepilok Junction just on dark, and despite my fears of all the taxi drivers going home at dark as they did on Mount Kinabalu, a short walk yielded a very friendly local guy who was happy to drive us a few minutes down the road to our B&B, which is just a few hundred meters from the Rainforest Discovery Centre (RDC), where we will be birding for the next few days.
Tomorrow we get up early and bird around the B&B (in order to take advantage of the free breakfast, since I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning) before heading to the RDC to check out the terrain. Looking forward to it!
February 7th (Sunday)
Last night after I finished writing, our roommate showed up - a Texan (I forget his name) who is traveling around Malaysia for the usual reasons Americans travel - to not be in America anymore, plain and simple. He seemed nice, and unlikely to steal all our stuff when he left in the morning, so I felt alright about leaving my things in the room (though I packed all my electronics away out of sight and carried my money with me just to be safe).
As I wrote yesterday, I hadn’t eaten anything in a bit over 24 hours, so we stuck around the grounds of the B&B for birding in the early morning, finding a number of interesting lowland species, plus a few lifers each, including Greater Coucal, Bornean Black Magpie and Scarlet-backed Flowerpecker. We went for breakfast - I didn’t fancy fried rice that early in the morning, so I went with toast covered in “jam”. Well, if this is the type of jam they eat in America, I can see why they call it jelly. It seemed, in consistency and colour, exactly the same as aeroplane jelly. Didn’t taste too bad though.
Breakfast consumed, we walked down the main road for 400m to the entrance to the Rainforest Discovery Centre (RDC). Sepilok really has three main attractions, around which the whole place is based: The RDC, the Orang-utan rehabilitation centre, and the Sun Bear conservation centre. Both Orangs and Sun Bears can be found wild in the area (Josh and Max found bear footprints on the Sepilok-Laut trail when they were in the area), but Sepilok is one of the few places in Sabah where people can come to see them close up. In a place bordered by endless groves of oil palm, it strikes me as very important that such tourist-sanctuaries exist.
The walk down the road yielded a few new birds - Javan Myna and Chestnut Munia, and when Brandon stopped to wait for a calling Plaintive Cuckoo to show itself (bah, Cuckoos), I wandered further down the road to the RDC carpark. The carpark is full of blooming flowers, and I spent a happy half hour chasing the brilliant Eastern Crimson, Brown-throated and Copper-throated Sunbirds with my camera, finally managing a decent shot of Eastern Crimson (I’ll be back for another go tomorrow!)
As I wrote yesterday, I hadn’t eaten anything in a bit over 24 hours, so we stuck around the grounds of the B&B for birding in the early morning, finding a number of interesting lowland species, plus a few lifers each, including Greater Coucal, Bornean Black Magpie and Scarlet-backed Flowerpecker. We went for breakfast - I didn’t fancy fried rice that early in the morning, so I went with toast covered in “jam”. Well, if this is the type of jam they eat in America, I can see why they call it jelly. It seemed, in consistency and colour, exactly the same as aeroplane jelly. Didn’t taste too bad though.
Breakfast consumed, we walked down the main road for 400m to the entrance to the Rainforest Discovery Centre (RDC). Sepilok really has three main attractions, around which the whole place is based: The RDC, the Orang-utan rehabilitation centre, and the Sun Bear conservation centre. Both Orangs and Sun Bears can be found wild in the area (Josh and Max found bear footprints on the Sepilok-Laut trail when they were in the area), but Sepilok is one of the few places in Sabah where people can come to see them close up. In a place bordered by endless groves of oil palm, it strikes me as very important that such tourist-sanctuaries exist.
The walk down the road yielded a few new birds - Javan Myna and Chestnut Munia, and when Brandon stopped to wait for a calling Plaintive Cuckoo to show itself (bah, Cuckoos), I wandered further down the road to the RDC carpark. The carpark is full of blooming flowers, and I spent a happy half hour chasing the brilliant Eastern Crimson, Brown-throated and Copper-throated Sunbirds with my camera, finally managing a decent shot of Eastern Crimson (I’ll be back for another go tomorrow!)
Eastern Crimson Sunbird
Copper-throated Sunbird in a rare moment of inactivity
Eventually Brandon caught up, Cuckoo ticked, and we entered the reserve. The RDC is an excellently-run place that caters equally to the general public and birders in a fashion that many similar establishments would do well to learn from. The whole place is criss-crossed with trail networks, dotted with information signs about the wildlife, and visitor facilities such as an exhibition hall and small botanical garden (which apparently hosts a variety of Nepenthes pitcher-plants, which I would absolutely love to see - perhaps on the way back). Perhaps most importantly though, Sepilok RDC boasts an enormous 374m canopy walkway. Not a mesh sling with a plank like in Poring, but a fully-functional metal walkway, complete with two towers that rise even higher above the foliage (and two more towers not connected by a walkway), allowing a superb and comfortable view of the forest’s roof. Absolute paradise for birdwatchers.
Canopy walkway at the Sepilok RDC
View from the top of the Bristlehead Tower
Officially the reserve (and the canopy walkway) open at 8am, which isn’t much good for birding. But, much like Mount Kinabalu, there are workarounds for that. Namely walking straight in. Opening and closing hours here are really just indications of when there will be people on the gate - there’s nothing at all stopping you from walking in before or after. Having seen the facilities though, I am more than happy to pay my RM7 if it helps maintain the place, and strongly encourage anyone visiting to do the same. I wish more Australian parks were run like this.
Bird ID board in the Sepilok RDC
We headed up the canopy tower straight away, stumbling across Lesser Green Leafbirds and a calling male Banded Kingfisher (an endemic species which I expected to have to work a lot harder for) before reaching the first tower. We spent a good half hour sitting at the top just keeping an eye out and enjoying the breeze, notable by its absence on the sweltering forest floor. Eventually we got bored, as it was getting towards mid-morning and nothing much was moving around, and continued on towards the second tower.
We never got up the second tower. As we approached, a drawn-out, mournful whistle echoed up to us from the foliage below. Our heads snapped downwards and then to each other. We both knew exactly what that sound was, and exactly what it meant. The sound was the contact call of a Black-and-Crimson Pitta, and it meant we had to get to the ground. Now.
We looked around us, trying to figure out the shortest possible way to the ground. No stairs in sight. A couple of trees looked descendable, but even for Pittas there are limits. At the entrance to the tower there was an old, rusty, enclosed-ladder. We were down the ladder in record time.
Now on the ground, we had to figure out where in the green mass of undergrowth facing us the bird was calling from. Thankfully it was helpfully vocal, and its calls led us down a side-track which crossed between the trail we found ourselves on and the Kingfisher Trail. Once on the Kingfisher, we pinned down the bird to a clump of bamboo just a couple of meters off the path, and sat down to wait it out.
As explanation for our somewhat reckless behaviour - Pittas are among the most sought-after birds in the world. Perhaps even the most highly-prized family. Every species (with the exception of Eared Pitta, I suppose, which is mostly brown) is more stunning than the last, true jewels of the forest floor. Black-and-Crimson is no slouch. Sooty black with purple tinges above, scarlet below, with a trail of feathers leading from behind the eye and a wing patch of such startling blue that it’s hard to believe such a colour could exist. Pittas are worth mild danger. Pittas are worth just about anything.
As proof of this I should also mention that just after joining the Kingfisher trail Brandon picked up the quiet calls of a Trogon, and with much difficulty pulled me away from the calling Pitta to find it in a tree 10m back down the path. It was a Diard’s Trogon (which we have nicknamed the ‘Die Hard’ Trogon), a species which we had both been anxious to catch up with. It is quite possible we won’t see another this trip. As soon as I had a photo of it, I was back off down the path for the Pitta. Even birds like Trogons fall before the allure of Pittas.
It was a long wait. We sat on the path for nearly an hour, the pitta calling on average once every 9 seconds (I had time to calculate that), and us either whistling back in response, or remaining silent and motionless in the hope that the sudden disappearance of the ‘rival bird’ might make the real one hop in for a look.
after an hour and ten, we had had no more than two micro-second flashes of black as the bird moved past to a new position. Definitely not tickable views. An ATV appeared out of nowhere, driving up the trail past us, and the pitta stopped calling. Agh. I was hot, sweaty, my glasses kept fogging up, my muscles were aching from crouching in the leaf litter motionless, and four guys in a quad bike may have just scared off our target. Could this get worse?
The rain started right about then.
I shoved my camera and bag under my legs to give them the smallest bit of protection, remained still, and waited out the rain. It lasted about fifteen minutes, but fifteen minutes of Bornean rain is a very different deal to fifteen minutes of Canberran rain. I swear each droplet here is the size of a golf ball. The rain did bring the bird back though, and for another twenty minutes we whistled at each other, and although I couldn’t see him, he could definitely see me. If I moved to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, he would wait another second or two before the next call. Infuriating.
I’m not really sure how long we waited all up. Eventually I lost patience. Recalling that in The Jewel Hunter Chris Gooddie had often “gone in after” a pitta, I justified that it must work at least sometimes, and gave it a go. We walked off the path towards the birds, trying to sneak as quietly through the leaf litter as possible. We might as well have been elephants. Nevertheless, our change in position brought a tiny alcove in the bamboo into sight, and a movement in the shadows told us we had made the right move. Bins up, and there he was. Worth every single second of the wait. He didn’t give us long to admire him, but it was enough for the tick (not enough for me, I can never get enough of a Pitta). Black-and-Crimson Pitta was on the list, the first of the family I had seen in two years, and hopefully the first of several on this trip.
Victorious, we went for lunch at the RDC cafe - to my delight roti canai was not only on the menu, but on the menu for RM9 less than the Sutera restaurants. When it arrived it became clear why: one roti and a tiny bowl containing the curry sauce and onion. It may not have been impressive to look at, but damn if it wasn’t the best tasting version of that curry I’ve ever had. I think my next six meals are pretty sorted.
It was hot. Very hot. In the 30s, and humidity well over 75%. We sought refuge in the Hornbill Tower, and ended up staying there for most of the afternoon, just relaxing and watching the occasional bird go past - finally some raptors to add to our list with Brahminy Kite, Oriental Honey-buzzard, White-bellied Sea-eagle and Wallace’s Hawk-eagle. We ventured down at about 3:30, and returned to the B&B to pick up a couple of things for our evening’s birding attempt.
The canopy towers give you some height!
Officially, the reserve shuts at 5pm. Unofficially, I thought it looked pretty good for spotlighting. We returned to the reserve just before 5, and hid ourselves away at the top of one of the towers until dark, digging into a packet of pringles each as dinner (“Bird Hard, Bird Healthy” is our motto). Clearly everyone else had similar ideas to me about the reserve's closing time, and we were soon joined by about 15 other people, including a small tour group.
The local wildlife put on a show just as darkness fell, with the Red Giant Flying Squirrels coming out to play - enormous rufous beasts that launch themselves from the top of one tree to halfway down one 30m away, climbing up to the top, and repeating the process. One flew past within just a few meters of the tower, giving us superb views at the animal.
To give a sense of just how big these squirrels are, when the one that flew past the canopy tower landed and climbed to the top of its tree, a pair of Wallace’s Hawk-eagles flew in and landed in the same tree, on the other side of the trunk. Wallace’s are not small raptors, not as big as the Wedge-tailed Eagles we have at home of course, but a large and well-built raptor nonetheless. The squirrel ignored them.
After darkness had fallen, we made our way down the tower and out along the walkway. We spent nearly two hours spotlighting, and although we heard Reddish Scops-owls calling in the distance, and had a pair of Sunda Scops-owls on the ropes very close to the walkway, we were unable to get views of either species. Very frustrating. This could, of course, have something to do with the constant explosions echoing across the forest, produced by the early Chinese New Year festivities taking place.
To give a sense of just how big these squirrels are, when the one that flew past the canopy tower landed and climbed to the top of its tree, a pair of Wallace’s Hawk-eagles flew in and landed in the same tree, on the other side of the trunk. Wallace’s are not small raptors, not as big as the Wedge-tailed Eagles we have at home of course, but a large and well-built raptor nonetheless. The squirrel ignored them.
After darkness had fallen, we made our way down the tower and out along the walkway. We spent nearly two hours spotlighting, and although we heard Reddish Scops-owls calling in the distance, and had a pair of Sunda Scops-owls on the ropes very close to the walkway, we were unable to get views of either species. Very frustrating. This could, of course, have something to do with the constant explosions echoing across the forest, produced by the early Chinese New Year festivities taking place.
We gave up, and went to leave the canopy walk (there are gates, and a sign that says “open 8am-5pm”, but at around 10:30pm and with nobody left in the reserve the gates were wide open), disappointed with our unsuccessful evening. We were almost at the gate when we picked up the orange eye-shine in the trees across from us, and after a bit of moving around to try and get a better position, we had the owner in our sights - a Bornean Slow Loris. Living up to its name, pulling itself at a snail’s pace through the branches in a (probably, to it) desperate attempt to hide from our lights. You can’t be disappointed after seeing a Loris!
February 8th (Monday)
This morning started fairly early - earlier than planned, as Brandon had forgotten we were supposed to get up at 5am, rather than 4:30. He was already up, but I took advantage of my extra half-hour.
When I did get up, we headed straight for the canopy tower. We had only just made it up the Bristlehead tower when we were joined by a guide and two English tourists we had seen last night looking for the flying squirrels. We exchanged nods, but otherwise ignored each other and went about our own things.
After about an hour, we hadn’t seen much. The tower wasn’t really producing many birds (“not unusual,” said Josh when I mentioned it,“until a family of Bristlehead go through!”), although a fruiting tree right by the walkway did produce some Streaked Bulbuls and Greater Green Leafbirds. I happened to be standing near the guide when a raucous call broke the peace of the morning - it sounded very cockatoo-like, except there are no cockatoos here in Sabah. Could it be Bristlehead? I asked the guide. He shook his head no - “Black Hornbill”, he replied. Hardly a Bristlehead, but nonetheless exciting - our second Hornbill species in Borneo, if we could get a look at it! I whistled to Brandon, and after a few minutes of searching, had distant but unmistakable views at a male Asian Black Hornbill, perched at the top of a distant tree.
When I did get up, we headed straight for the canopy tower. We had only just made it up the Bristlehead tower when we were joined by a guide and two English tourists we had seen last night looking for the flying squirrels. We exchanged nods, but otherwise ignored each other and went about our own things.
After about an hour, we hadn’t seen much. The tower wasn’t really producing many birds (“not unusual,” said Josh when I mentioned it,“until a family of Bristlehead go through!”), although a fruiting tree right by the walkway did produce some Streaked Bulbuls and Greater Green Leafbirds. I happened to be standing near the guide when a raucous call broke the peace of the morning - it sounded very cockatoo-like, except there are no cockatoos here in Sabah. Could it be Bristlehead? I asked the guide. He shook his head no - “Black Hornbill”, he replied. Hardly a Bristlehead, but nonetheless exciting - our second Hornbill species in Borneo, if we could get a look at it! I whistled to Brandon, and after a few minutes of searching, had distant but unmistakable views at a male Asian Black Hornbill, perched at the top of a distant tree.
Streaked Bulbul
Black Hornbills are impressive birds, but they have absolutely nothing on the next bird to cross our path. A deep, resounding honking was coming from trees on the other side of the walkway. It was coming closer.
There was a flurry of movement in the distant canopy. The honking got louder. Out of nowhere a massive black shape with a bright orange banana-shaped casque above its beak slid into view, gliding towards us and eventually passing over the walkway not far from us. There is only one bird in the world that looks like that - Rhinoceros Hornbill. I had known Rhinoceros were large, but this thing was huge. Bigger than most eagles. I don’t really know how to describe it in writing, but seeing that bird fly past has to be one of the most striking moments I’ve ever had as a birder, the sheer presence of it, truly king of the forest.
The guide and his charges fled down the walkway in pursuit, to try and see where it had landed. We headed for the tower - we had picked up more honking coming from the same row of trees, and thought perhaps a second bird might be about to fly across to join its mate. When we got up there we could see the second bird, perched in the very top of a distant tree, calling loudly - but it seemed in no hurry to follow its partner. We enjoyed the sight of the magnificent bird silhouetted against the skyline until the calls of the first bird began to approach once more, and we turned around to find him flying right past us at eye-level, coming in to land in a tree close to the tower. He sat there only for a moment before continuing, but I’ll never forget the sight of him.
Rhinoceros Hornbill in flight
The Rhinos flew off (not a sentence you write everyday) and we sat down to take in what we had just seen.
We went to the cafe for breakfast, only to discover that it was closed - obvious as soon as I stopped to think about it, given that today was Chinese New Year. Adding hunger to tiredness and frustration didn’t really work for me, and soon after starting on the Kingfisher trail I gave up and went back to the B&B to cool off and find something to eat. Brandon joined me some time later, having seen Thick-billed and Yellow-eared Spiderhunters, but thankfully nothing too difficult for me to get later.
Today I was finally able to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes - napping - thanks to a sudden and ferocious deluge that lasted well into the afternoon. Welcome to the tropical lowlands, I suppose!
This afternoon was pretty lazy, although we managed to get one important thing done: our washing. The lady at the B&B reception offered to wash our clothes for RM10/kilo, so we jumped at the opportunity to have garments that don’t cling so much. Or smell so bad. 13 days of hard birding in the tropics does have downsides.
We were told it would be ready to pick up in the morning, so tonight we went out spotlighting in shorts and t-shirts, after having liberally applied the no-kidding-around-80%-DEET insect repellent we had brought with us. It seemed to keep the mozzies away. On our way out the door I asked Brandon if he thought we’d be right without a field guide for one evening - yeah, sure, right? We left it in the room. We’d hardly walked 200m when we came across a juvenile Accipiter (sparrowhawk/goshawk). Juvenile Accipiters are notoriously hard to identify, and even worse, most of them are quite rare in Sabah. We took careful mental notes of its features, and walked back to consult the book, eventually deciding on Japanese Sparrowhawk, although enough doubt was left that we decided not to tick it. We left (again), and this time didn’t even get outside the B&B driveway before stopping to look at a Crested Serpent-eagle, perched obligingly across the road.
Last night when we spotlit the canopy walkway, we did it Brandon’s way - keep the torches off as much as possible, only turn them on once the birds have come in to check out the calls we play. It didn’t work well, so tonight we did it my way. We walked the trails with torches on, scanning constantly, stopping every few hundred meters to turn our lights off and play the calls. Tonight though, no owls at all were calling, not even the Sunda Scops that had been so close last night. Nevertheless we picked up a Malay Civet, a cat-like carnivore that we spotted on the ground and watched as it shimmied up a tree and out of sight. Ascending the canopy tower brought us no luck with owls, but we did manage to find a Black Giant Flying Squirrel.
We decided to head back. I was walking along a few meters in front of Brandon, and waltzed right past the highlight of the evening (highlight of the year?) without even noticing. A hiss from Brandon brought me back - I thought I must have somehow walked past an owl, and was wondering how I could have missed it, when I saw what he was pointing his flashlight at. All thoughts of owls vanished. This was infinitely better. There, on the vertical trunk of a large tree not three meters from the walkway, a green triangular shape. A Colugo.
I have never been so excited to see an animal in my life. The Colugo, or Flying Lemur, is unique among mammals. In some respects it is similar to a flying squirrel, in that it can glide using membranes of skin that arc between its front and back legs, but in reality they are nothing alike - I have no idea what the Colugo’s closest relations are, but it’s neither squirrels nor lemurs. The manner of glide also differs from squirrels - the Colugo’s tail is long, but the gliding membrane encloses it to form a third panel. Perhaps it is due to this that the Colugo is such an efficient traveler, able to travel up to 70m in the air, losing barely any height in the process. They are nocturnal, rare, and incredibly hard to see. And here one was, staring at me from just a few meters away.
It seemed in no hurry at all to be going anywhere, so I had ample time to observe this marvelous creature. The head is small, short-haired, its most notable feature the pair of enormous red-brown eyes, set between small rounded ears. The forelimbs are very long, and it used these to anchor itself onto the tree-trunk, while the back legs were folded away somewhere beneath the gliding cape. Sitting on the trunk, the animal is roughly triangular, with the two front arms stretching out and grasping the trunk, the two back legs brought together so that the gliding membrane comes to a point. Colugos are just as at home upside down as right side up (they often roost hanging sloth-like from the underside of a branch), and this one flipped his head back to watch us. It was large, perhaps 50cm, and the whole animal was a moss-green colour, laced with white and dotted with pale grey. I’m aware that the patterns and colours of Colugo are very variable, and I wondered whether, like sloths, they allow algae to grow in their fur to help them camouflage.
We went to the cafe for breakfast, only to discover that it was closed - obvious as soon as I stopped to think about it, given that today was Chinese New Year. Adding hunger to tiredness and frustration didn’t really work for me, and soon after starting on the Kingfisher trail I gave up and went back to the B&B to cool off and find something to eat. Brandon joined me some time later, having seen Thick-billed and Yellow-eared Spiderhunters, but thankfully nothing too difficult for me to get later.
Today I was finally able to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes - napping - thanks to a sudden and ferocious deluge that lasted well into the afternoon. Welcome to the tropical lowlands, I suppose!
This afternoon was pretty lazy, although we managed to get one important thing done: our washing. The lady at the B&B reception offered to wash our clothes for RM10/kilo, so we jumped at the opportunity to have garments that don’t cling so much. Or smell so bad. 13 days of hard birding in the tropics does have downsides.
We were told it would be ready to pick up in the morning, so tonight we went out spotlighting in shorts and t-shirts, after having liberally applied the no-kidding-around-80%-DEET insect repellent we had brought with us. It seemed to keep the mozzies away. On our way out the door I asked Brandon if he thought we’d be right without a field guide for one evening - yeah, sure, right? We left it in the room. We’d hardly walked 200m when we came across a juvenile Accipiter (sparrowhawk/goshawk). Juvenile Accipiters are notoriously hard to identify, and even worse, most of them are quite rare in Sabah. We took careful mental notes of its features, and walked back to consult the book, eventually deciding on Japanese Sparrowhawk, although enough doubt was left that we decided not to tick it. We left (again), and this time didn’t even get outside the B&B driveway before stopping to look at a Crested Serpent-eagle, perched obligingly across the road.
Last night when we spotlit the canopy walkway, we did it Brandon’s way - keep the torches off as much as possible, only turn them on once the birds have come in to check out the calls we play. It didn’t work well, so tonight we did it my way. We walked the trails with torches on, scanning constantly, stopping every few hundred meters to turn our lights off and play the calls. Tonight though, no owls at all were calling, not even the Sunda Scops that had been so close last night. Nevertheless we picked up a Malay Civet, a cat-like carnivore that we spotted on the ground and watched as it shimmied up a tree and out of sight. Ascending the canopy tower brought us no luck with owls, but we did manage to find a Black Giant Flying Squirrel.
We decided to head back. I was walking along a few meters in front of Brandon, and waltzed right past the highlight of the evening (highlight of the year?) without even noticing. A hiss from Brandon brought me back - I thought I must have somehow walked past an owl, and was wondering how I could have missed it, when I saw what he was pointing his flashlight at. All thoughts of owls vanished. This was infinitely better. There, on the vertical trunk of a large tree not three meters from the walkway, a green triangular shape. A Colugo.
I have never been so excited to see an animal in my life. The Colugo, or Flying Lemur, is unique among mammals. In some respects it is similar to a flying squirrel, in that it can glide using membranes of skin that arc between its front and back legs, but in reality they are nothing alike - I have no idea what the Colugo’s closest relations are, but it’s neither squirrels nor lemurs. The manner of glide also differs from squirrels - the Colugo’s tail is long, but the gliding membrane encloses it to form a third panel. Perhaps it is due to this that the Colugo is such an efficient traveler, able to travel up to 70m in the air, losing barely any height in the process. They are nocturnal, rare, and incredibly hard to see. And here one was, staring at me from just a few meters away.
It seemed in no hurry at all to be going anywhere, so I had ample time to observe this marvelous creature. The head is small, short-haired, its most notable feature the pair of enormous red-brown eyes, set between small rounded ears. The forelimbs are very long, and it used these to anchor itself onto the tree-trunk, while the back legs were folded away somewhere beneath the gliding cape. Sitting on the trunk, the animal is roughly triangular, with the two front arms stretching out and grasping the trunk, the two back legs brought together so that the gliding membrane comes to a point. Colugos are just as at home upside down as right side up (they often roost hanging sloth-like from the underside of a branch), and this one flipped his head back to watch us. It was large, perhaps 50cm, and the whole animal was a moss-green colour, laced with white and dotted with pale grey. I’m aware that the patterns and colours of Colugo are very variable, and I wondered whether, like sloths, they allow algae to grow in their fur to help them camouflage.
Colugo, taken through binoculars with my iPhone
I could have stayed to watch him all night, and I really wanted to see him take off, but with much difficulty I tore myself away, knowing that I’d already spent more than an ideal time disturbing his nightly routine - plus he didn’t look like taking off anytime soon (he had sat almost motionless, aside from movements of his head, for nearly 20 minutes). We left him be, and walked back to the B&B in the highest of spirits. Yet another childhood dream fulfilled.
Tomorrow should be an interesting day. We’re going up to the canopy walk at dawn for one last-ditch attempt at Bristlehead, then coming back to collect our clothes and pack our things at around 8:30. At 10, a guy from the Kinabatangan Jungle Camp is meeting us here in Sepilok, and will ferry us (literally, getting there requires a boat) to our lodgings for the next two nights.
February 9th (Tuesday)
Our plans for an early start and birding this morning were thwarted by heavy rain, starting at 6am and continuing until about 9. We lay in for a while, packed what we could, then went to reception and played darts while waiting for our clothes to arrive back from washing. They arrived around 9:30, half an hour before we were due to meet our transport to Kinabatangan Jungle Camp, so I took a hurried shower and packed as quickly as possible. I was just finishing up when the minibus arrived (a rather nice one, though lacking seatbelts - a metal bar running from the front of the bus to the back along the windows was provided to grab onto in moments of instability).
The drive to Sukau was rather pleasant, actually. Traveling in a fairly new minibus with functional air-con is a luxury I suspect we will see little of from here forwards. The downside was the view - endless groves of palm oil for the entire two hour journey, the monotonous vegetation broken only by small towns and military checkpoints.
We arrived in due course, and transferred ourselves and our things from the minibus to a canoe, powered by a 4-stroke outboard. We took off across the surface of the Kinabatangan, wide and brown as milky coffee. Along the way it started to drizzle, and the speed at which we were traveling meant we spent fifteen minutes being stung by rain, unable to see much. It was far from unpleasant though, as the rain was warm (along with the wind). Despite being on an actual river, the temperature and humidity here have so far been far more pleasant than Sepilok or even Poring. I suppose we’ll see if that holds up tomorrow.
We pulled up at the KJC jetty and walked into the camp (‘camp’ in a similar sense to Lamington National Park, it’s really quite posh). The rain had made the wooden bridge and concrete pathways in incredibly slippery, so it was slow going. As we passed the largest of the main buildings, a voice called out to me, and we detoured to meet our guide for the next few days, a charming man by the name of Romzi - Robert Chong’s second in command, and a guide whose praises are sung all around the birding grapevine.
The drive to Sukau was rather pleasant, actually. Traveling in a fairly new minibus with functional air-con is a luxury I suspect we will see little of from here forwards. The downside was the view - endless groves of palm oil for the entire two hour journey, the monotonous vegetation broken only by small towns and military checkpoints.
We arrived in due course, and transferred ourselves and our things from the minibus to a canoe, powered by a 4-stroke outboard. We took off across the surface of the Kinabatangan, wide and brown as milky coffee. Along the way it started to drizzle, and the speed at which we were traveling meant we spent fifteen minutes being stung by rain, unable to see much. It was far from unpleasant though, as the rain was warm (along with the wind). Despite being on an actual river, the temperature and humidity here have so far been far more pleasant than Sepilok or even Poring. I suppose we’ll see if that holds up tomorrow.
We pulled up at the KJC jetty and walked into the camp (‘camp’ in a similar sense to Lamington National Park, it’s really quite posh). The rain had made the wooden bridge and concrete pathways in incredibly slippery, so it was slow going. As we passed the largest of the main buildings, a voice called out to me, and we detoured to meet our guide for the next few days, a charming man by the name of Romzi - Robert Chong’s second in command, and a guide whose praises are sung all around the birding grapevine.
After we had put our things in our room, we returned to the deck of the reception/restaurant building where Romzi gave us an introduction and outlined a basic plan for the next few days. The names of various exciting birds were thrown around - White-crowned Hornbill, Giant Pitta, Bornean Ground-cuckoo, Large Frogmouth and Oriental Bay Owl were all on the list of targets. We were left tour own devices until half past one, when lunch was scheduled. I used the time to unpack and sort out some lists, before sitting down to a simple but delicious serving of sweet-and-sour beef and lemon fish.
Wildlife watching even in the middle of camp was quite interesting. Sizeable Monitor lizards strolled past, a family of Bearded Pigs foraged around the base of some nearby trees, a male Proboscis Monkey dropped in to peer at us curiously, and parties of Long-tailed Macaques were ever-present. With lunch finished, Brandon wandered off down a trail - I declined the offer to join him, as I was wearing flip-flops and the trail was quite muddy. Instead, I sat on the deck, photographing the large tree-skinks working their way up and down the nearby trunks.
A young Bearded Pig
An 'excited' male Proboscis Monkey
One of the camp staff spotted me, and asked what I was taking photos of. “Just lizards,” I replied. “Oh. Did you get any photos of the Orang-utan?”
Uh. What? Orang-utan?? Where!?
He led me back over the bridge, and there at the end, a ginger shape obscured by foliage was rustling around, its presence betrayed by the stones of fruit falling methodically from the sky.
With great excitement we moved around the base of the tree, trying to get a good angle on her. As we did so, the guy explained to me that apparently Orangs are not only regulars in camp, but actually temporarily resident - they build their nests in a tree by the river, and every morning move to this tree to feed on the fruit currently on offer. The female put on an amazing show for us, foraging unconcernedly for some time in full view. It was an amazing thing just to watch. I noticed that I didn’t really get the feeling of being in the company of fellow human, which some people talk about from their encounters with great apes, but there is definitely ‘something’ about watching an Orang-utan. It’s very hard to describe, as it’s just a feeling you get, nothing tangible. It’s definitely a special moment.
Brandon didn’t miss out, in fact when he returned from the trail she was even lower down and in clear view.
Orang-utan
At around 3:30 we left her to her business, and returned to our room to pack up the essential birding bits and pieces for the afternoon’s main event - Romzi guiding us on the first of five river cruises. As we put on our boots he materialised to tells we should bring our torches, as due to the weather he thought we ought to combine the afternoon and night boat trips. We set off at four, and were soon speeding down the Kinabatangan, calling out birds spotted along the riverbank. We turned a corner into a smaller tributary, and the real birding began with a nesting pair of Black-and-Red Broadbills, Violet Cuckoo and Oriental Pied Hornbill. We spent all afternoon drifting up and down that stretch of river, picking up new species every now and then, from the tiny and stunning Blue-eared Kingfishers and Blue-crowned Hanging Parrots to immense Purple Herons and neat Grey-headed Fish-eagles. There was no sign of our major target (White-crowned Hornbill) though, despite playing calls at intervals for some time. Romzi explained that as it was getting towards nesting season, they might not be so responsive.
Birding down a tributary of the Kinabatangan
Blue-eared Kingfisher
White-crowned is very difficult to get away from the river, but since we were having an awesome time just drifting around looking at birds and primates, we weren’t overly fussed by their absence. As darkness fell, we jetted back along the river to a section of the tributary where Romzi said we would try for Large Frogmouth.
Frogmouths in Borneo are very different, both in appearance and behaviour, to Australian ones. While our Tawnies are basically backyard birds, confiding and easy to find, all of the Bornean species are notoriously difficult and rare. Dulit Frogmouth lives only in the mountains of North Sarawak. Bornean, Blyth’s and Gould’s are all unpredictable, with people occasionally stumbling onto a nest or a roosting bird on Mount Kinabalu or in Danum Valley. Large Frogmouth is probably the second-most-targetable (though by no means easy; the vast majority of searchers dip on it), and we had planned to focus our efforts for it in Danum Valley, as a nest had been found somewhere in there during early January. Not that we were expecting anything.
So it was without much confidence that we listened to Romzi play the loud trilling call out across the river.
It took two calls before an answer rang out from the other side of the river. Unbelievable - there was actually a Large Frogmouth here, and we had stumbled onto it almost immediately. A few more calls and a grey shape drifted across the river. Romzi got the spotlight onto it, and there it was. A big pale-brown shape, squatting on a slanted vine. One of Borneo’s finest and rarest, and it hadn’t even taken us five minutes or required a modicum of physical effort.
I mentioned earlier that Bornean Frogmouth species are quite different to ours physically - Large is a very weird looking bird. It is pale fawn on the underside, darkening around the throat and cheeks to more of a coffee-colour. The breast is speckled with white dots and stripes, and the undertail is marked with pale bars. The huge flat beak reaches from ear-covert to ear-covert, above which are the two large eyes, shadowed by sweeping pale-brown eyebrows which poke out to little tufts behind the head. From the back they look remarkably like big dead leaves, dark brown patterned with black.
Large Frogmouth!!
We stared at him, and he stared at us. I asked Romzi if he minded me using flash, and he did me one better, getting the boatman to maneuver the craft so I could step onto the bank to get closer. The bird had now moved to an exposed stump halfway up a tree - perfect views. He sat around until I was finished, and continued to stare balefully at us as we returned to the boat and took to the river once more, awestruck and deeply impressed by the bird and the expertise of our guide in knowing where to look.
The air was heavy and we could feel the rain approaching, but we had time for one more stop before returning to camp - a Buffy Fish-owl was sitting low to the water, and allowed us to pull up right next to him, allowing for superb views.
Back in camp we enjoyed another simple-but-delicious meal, then sauntered off to bed. Tomorrow breakfast is at six - finally, a place that knows how birders work - then the morning boat ride at 6:30, with the intention of tracking down a Bornean Ground Cuckoo. Hopefully our luck holds up.
February 10th (Wednesday)
Henceforth to be known as “The day we saw two Pittas in two minutes”.
But there’s a fair bit to get through before that.
We rose at 5:30, and were waiting on the deck by quarter to six - thankfully the lady took pity on us and brought us breakfast before it was officially supposed to be served (6). Scrambled eggs, toast and peanut butter. KJC is upholding an excellent reputation for ‘simple but delicious’ when it comes to food. No frills, just yum.
Romzi met us at 6:30 and we set off down the river for our first of two morning birding trips. Our target for the morning was singular and singularly difficult - Bornean Ground-cuckoo. All the Ground-cuckoo species (I think there are eight worldwide) are notorious for being hard to spot, and harder to photograph. Coral-billed is probably the easiest. Bornean is among the easiest to get to, in that Sabah is a reasonably easy part of the world to traverse, and people like Robert and Romzi make their living by trying to show people the bird. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to see, though.
But there’s a fair bit to get through before that.
We rose at 5:30, and were waiting on the deck by quarter to six - thankfully the lady took pity on us and brought us breakfast before it was officially supposed to be served (6). Scrambled eggs, toast and peanut butter. KJC is upholding an excellent reputation for ‘simple but delicious’ when it comes to food. No frills, just yum.
Romzi met us at 6:30 and we set off down the river for our first of two morning birding trips. Our target for the morning was singular and singularly difficult - Bornean Ground-cuckoo. All the Ground-cuckoo species (I think there are eight worldwide) are notorious for being hard to spot, and harder to photograph. Coral-billed is probably the easiest. Bornean is among the easiest to get to, in that Sabah is a reasonably easy part of the world to traverse, and people like Robert and Romzi make their living by trying to show people the bird. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to see, though.
The river was misty at that hour of the morning, and as the sun was only just peeking over the tops of the riverside trees, it was actually downright cold. Something I haven’t had much of in the last fortnight. The mist was incredibly beautiful to watch, rising in coils from the brown surface of the water, but unfortunately the speed at which we were traveling made it very difficult for me to appreciate the spectacle, as my own spectacles were constantly being coated in fine droplets of water.
Sunrise on the Kinabatangan
In due course, after spotting a few birds such as Lesser Fish-eagle and Black-and-red Broadbills, we arrived at our destination: The Menanggol River, a tributary of the Kinabatangan, and home to a Ground-cuckoo territory, among other things.
Lesser Fish-eagle
White-chested Babbler
We drifted upriver, ticking off birds as we went - Stork-billed Kingfisher, White-chested Babbler, Hill Myna, and another Lesser Fish-eagle, before cutting the engine and drifting close to the bank to begin playing the Ground-cuckoo call: a loud hoot, followed by a descending gurgle.
Stork-billed Kingfisher
The forest was silent. We spent all morning paddling our way (to minimise our presence in the hope that the cuckoos might pop out) up the river, and floating down it, but to no avail. No cuckoos were around this morning.
That’s not to say it was a boring morning though. Birding the river kept us entertained, and I picked up a number of lifers, including some that I had been relying on the river to produce, as I had no other sites for them. Red-throated Barbets called from the canopy, frustratingly out of sight. Bold-striped Tit-babblers came racing in furiously at whistled imitations of their calls, and a stunning Black-naped Monarch foraged along the water’s edge. At one point, Romzi held up a hand, listened intently for a moment, then said with decisive satisfaction “Pitta”. We strained our ears to pick up the sound, and eventually caught on to the double-yelp of a very distant Hooded Pitta, deep within the mangroves. Playing the call did nothing, sadly, despite Hooded Pitta being quite a territorial species under normal circumstances. And this wasn’t the type of terrain we could get out and chase it in, either. Yesterday afternoon we had seen a 3.5m Estuarine (Saltwater) Crocodile slide silently down the bank of the Kinabatangan as we sailed past it.
The highlights of the morning came close together, about 1km from the Menanggol River’s exit onto the Kinabatangan. A hammering alerted us to the presence of a Woodpecker, and we traced the sound back to a dead tree on the bank. A White-bellied Woodpecker, a huge (second-largest species in Borneo after the massive 50cm Great Slaty) and handsome bird was drilling a nest-hole into the tree. This species is most reliable along the Kinabatangan, although often difficult to find. Two trees over, the real star of the show was waiting for prey to fly past - though it took us a few moments to notice it. White-bellied may be the second-largest Woodpecker, but Bornean Falconet is, by a mile, Borneo’s smallest raptor. A tiny falcon, only a little bigger than a sparrow (think show-canary size), elegantly dressed in a tuxedo-like pattern of black-and-white. Sadly, it appears to have had an accident and spilled coffee down its front, as a beige streak runs from the upper belly to the vent.
Bornean Falconet - 50 grams of rage and hatred
Falconets may be small, but they make up for it in ferocity. This one was swooping out over the river at intervals to tackle butterflies as big as (or, in some cases, bigger than) itself.
We gave up on the cuckoo at about 11am, and left the Menanggol to travel back to camp. About halfway back the boat suddenly swerved into a U-turn, as Romzi had seen something we both had missed - a sextuplet of Storm’s Storks, rare endemics that can now pretty much only be found along the Kinabatangan. Finding six at the same time was a real treat, perched as they were at the very top of a dead tree. Small by stork-standards, and decked out in metallic green, black and white with yellow facial skin and a bright red beak.
Storm's Storks
We ate lunch and retired to our room to wait out the heat of the early afternoon. We had arranged with Romzi to switch our scheduled afternoon boat-trip with a land excursion to Gomantong Caves, which is only about half an hour down the road. Even if the name is unfamiliar, the cave itself probably would be, as it is the favoured location for any David Attenborough film-shoots involving bats. In one of his recent programmes (though I forget which) he was hoisted right up into the cave entrance to do his piece to camera.
We arrived at around 4:00, and set off down the boardwalk through the forest. I had elected to leave my camera in the car, as the man on the gate had wanted RM30, in addition to the RM30 I had just payed for my ticket, to carry it with me. This would prove to be a mistake (although I had no money left over after my own ticket, so it couldn’t be helped).
A little way down the path, we had just finished checking out a brilliant Scarlet-rumped Trogon and were watching a Grey-chested Jungle-flycatcher foraging in the mid-level, when a familiar sound drifted towards us out of the forest - the long, mournful whistle we had spent two hours imitating in Sepilok. Black-and-crimson Pitta.
We quickly stalked back towards it, cuing up the tape as we went. This individual was much more obliging than the Sepilok bird, and after just ten minutes we could see his shape moving behind some bamboo. Romzi played the call one last time, and he hopped out right into the open for us to admire.
Wow. The colours on this bird were unreal. the deep violet of the back, indescribably brilliant red of the belly and shockingly blue shoulder patch glistened in the darkness of the forest floor as though the bird had been freshly painted. And it got better. Deciding the mysterious second bird he had come to look for must be on the other side of the path, he bounced right up onto the boardwalk and sat on the hand-rail for twenty seconds or so, allowing us perfect, 100%-unobstructed views of one of the most dazzling birds I have ever laid eyes on.
No camera, though.
The Black-and-crimson disappeared into the forest on the other side of the boardwalk. We stood up, even the usually-unemotional-when-birding Brandon grinning like an idiot. We had hardly gone twenty steps when Romzi quietly played the call of Hooded Pitta to check it worked, and received a loud response from just off the path. Hardly daring to believe our luck, we crouched down and played the call at a proper volume. The Hooded dropped down out of the undergrowth, stared at us for a second, then bounced away into the forest.
I had had a brilliant view, but Brandon had somehow missed it. We played the call again to try and lure him back out, and this time had a reply from directly behind us. A second Hooded Pitta was standing on a twisting liana, yelping angrily and flipping her wings in and out.
Hooded Pittas may not be quite as breathtaking as Black-and-crimson, but they are still Pittas, so they too are almost unnatural beautiful. Emerald green is the primary colour, with a pitch-black hood and primaries. The wings have large circular white panels in them, and every time the bird flicked its wings the panels would be flashed. Given how bright and attention-grabbing pure white is on the forest floor, I feel it safe to assume that this is some kind of communication technique.
We left the Pittas in peace and finally reached the entrance to the cave (noticing a mother and baby Orang-utan chewing up a Durian on the way). Without hesitating as long as we probably should have to prepare ourselves, we dove inside.
Post-Pitta selfie with Romzi
The first thing you notice is the darkness. Inside the cave, even just a few meters from the massive mouth, it is black. Light does shine through from a large hole in the ceiling, sending a shaft of weak sunlight down to the cave floor, illuminating the monstrous pile of bat guano, like a dune of black sand. The second thing you notice are the cockroaches. Large, active, and very numerous. You quickly try not to notice those.
The limestone of the cave has been weathered into great twists and crannies, and it is in these that birds and bats alike take refuge. The first large crevice in the ceiling is occupied by a colony of Glossy Swiftlets, a very common species throughout Borneo. They choose the sites closest to the entrance, as they rely on their eyes to navigate, and cannot penetrate very far within the cave. As you get further back, more Swiftlet nests of three distinct types start to appear. Some are smooth and black. Others are also black, but draped in pieces of moss and bark. And some are white, pale and translucent. These are the reason people come to the cave, for they are the nests of the Edible-nest Swiftlet, the prime ingredient in bird’s nest soup, and worth far more than their weight in gold. Which is interesting, given that the nest is 100% bird saliva.
The other nests, depending on their appearance, belong to either Black-nest or Glossy-nest Swiftlets. All three species have developed an advantage over the Glossy Swiftlet, and it allows them to nest right within the pitch-black recesses of the cave roof: echo-location. Just like the millions of tiny bats roosting alongside the nests, the Swiftlets can navigate using sound, and do so with such accuracy that they are able to land on the right nest, among a cluster of perhaps twenty only a few millimeters apart.
The reason we had to come to Gomantong - apart from to witness the spectacle that is the cave ecosystem - is that in the field all three Swiftlets are virtually identical, all uniformly dark grey, differing only slightly in size. To be able to tick any of them, it is necessary to see one sitting on its nest. Thankfully Black-nest and Mossy-nest Swiftlets were tending their nests in decent numbers. Edible-nest Swiftlets proved a bit harder, as the bi-annual nest harvest had been conducted only a month or so beforehand. After some searching though, we managed to find one solitary Edible-nest tucked away within a colony of Mossy-nests. We removed ourselves from the cave as quickly as possible.
Once out, we made haste back to the carpark, as twilight was nearly upon us, and we had one last thing we wanted to see before we returned to the camp. In a dead tree across from the carpark is a nest belonging to a pair of Bathawks - falcon-like raptors which specialise in hunting bats as they emerge from their caves at dusk. They hunt using speed, able to accelerate to great speeds and simply smash their way through the clouds of bats like a fighter jet, claws out, grabbing whatever they hit. As the first bats appeared in the sky, and the Bathawk left its nest, Romzi informed us that the nightly feast was sometimes also attended by other raptors - Wallace’s Hawk-eagles, Peregrine Falcons, Oriental Honey-buzzards and Brahminy Kites.
Unfortunately, although we were able to watch the mesmerising scene of hundreds of thousands of bats emerging in great waves from the cave, the hunting action must have been taking place elsewhere this evening. The Bathawk disappeared, and no other raptors were around either.
We returned to camp, and on our arrival, were delighted to finally meet the legendary Robert Chong, he too just arrived back. Tall and brisk, we chatted idly for a few minutes about the birds we’d seen, and made some quick arrangements for our transfer to Lahad Datu tomorrow, before he had to run off and take care of some business.
This evening we spotlit around camp after dinner looking for the supposedly regular Brown Wood-owls - No sign, but I did happen across another pair of Storm’s Storks roosting, and a Lesser Mouse-deer behind our cabin.
Tomorrow we have one more shot at Ground-cuckoo, then return to pack our things, settle our bill and move on to the coastal town of Lahad Datu.
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