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 16th (Tuesday)
Today was a very lazy day - I woke up early as usual, but dozed until about 8:40, since I had nothing better to do. I wanted to be up the Waterfall trail, of course, but with Brandon sick I was obligated to stick around. He slept until about 9.
We spent basically all of today lounging around at either the dining hall or the hostel balcony, escaping the heat and catching up with writing the trip report and updating lists. We're currently sitting on a trip list of 232, and still have a little time left to make it to our target of 300, as long as we make the most of it, and don’t waste any more valuable days like today. Thankfully I don’t think it will happen again, as Brandon improved greatly throughout the day and is nearly back to normal. From now on I’m forcing him to carry my 'LifeStraw', so that if he decides to make stupid choices like drinking from a Malaysian river, at least they won’t impact my birding.
By about 3:00 I was bored of being bored. I had to go do something. I felt that the trails would be fruitless, I didn’t have the energy to go all the way up the waterfall trail, and I didn’t want to go too far - so I chose the entrance road. Brandon stayed behind, and I set off at 3:30 on my own. With memories of the elephant incident, I told Brandon that if I wasn’t back by dark to send a vehicle out to get me.
I was a bit nervous at first, but was soon distracted by the birds. I passed the spot where the elephants had been feeding and there were no fresh traces, so I settled down and began to enjoy myself.
There was plenty to enjoy, too - birds seem to be more active along the road than anywhere else in the afternoon, perhaps because from the road you can see right into the canopy. Yellow-rumped Flowerpeckers, Olive-winged and Grey-cheeked Bulbuls foraged in a fruiting tree on the roadside, Greater Coucals boomed from deep within the bushes, Greater Green Leafbirds flew across and Chestnut-breasted Malkohas skulked about in the taller vine-entangled trees, visible only as black shapes shifting in the shadows, occasionally poking their faces into the outside world to check for danger.
My attention was grabbed early on in my walk by a whooshing sound, like the downdraft of a Hornbill’s wings, but low down and very close. This was soon joined by a cacophony of gurgles and rattles, and a family of Bornean Black Magpies burst through the bushes. Large and long-tailed, they are nothing at all like our Australian Magpies, more like black Malkohas or Treepies. They produce an amazing variety of sounds, so when they’re around there is almost no point listening for other birds as it’s almost impossible to tell what is and isn’t a Magpie.
The Magpies were still moving along the roadside trees when movement in the canopy caught my eye. Two Dark-throated Orioles flew across, but there were other birds up there too - black birds, bouncing around right at the top of a 50m tree. Could these finally be the Bornean Bristleheads I had been looking for for two weeks?
Yes. They could. I raised my bins and stared up at the large black bird, outfitted with bright red head and flanks and a huge crow-like bill, and it stared down at me. Borneo’s signature bird, finally, was in my sights. Four Bristleheads were up there, not appearing to feed, simply socialising and bouncing between the branches. Although I could see four with my naked eye, finding more than one at a time with binoculars was difficult, so it took me a while to work out that two were female, lacking the red flanks, and one was a male. The group flew off before I could pin down the fourth.
Bristlehead tree
The thing that struck me most was the silence. The whole ten minutes I had been watching them none of them had opened their beaks. Everything I knew about Bristleheads said that they are extremely vocal, and you always hear them before you see them. A few minutes after they flew off there was a burst of calls and screeches from the direction they went, but other than that, had they not been moving around I would never have known they were there.
I moved on, my enthusiasm doubled by this success. As I reached the open area near the (empty) Sumatran Rhino facility there was increased bird activity, with more Leafbirds, Rufous-crowned Babblers, Cream-vented Bulbuls, a small party of Raffle’s Malkoha, and five Oriental Dollarbirds engaged in an aerial dispute. Silver-rumped Spinetails hawked over the road, and Black-and-crimson Pittas whistled furtively from the undergrowth. With the heat dissipating and the humidity low, it was turning out to be an excellent afternoon.
I continued on for another kilometer before deciding it was time to turn back. The walk back was fairly quiet, seeing mostly more of the same things, until I once again reached the Rhino facility. Suddenly a grey shape flashed across the road and perched in a small tree a few meters away. I lined it up in my bins and found it was a Grey-and-buff Woodpecker, a handsome species with a very funky crest. What’s more, it was a male, so the front of the crest was crimson, giving it an even more punk-rock appearance. The woodpecker took off, and its departure flushed out my third and final lifer for the afternoon, a Brown Shrike. When I had passed the facility walking up I thought I had seen a Shrike-like shape fly off, but given the activity of Cream-vented Bulbuls in the area had assumed I’d been seeing things. Not so, apparently, and this scarce migrant sat still for a minute to let me take in the finer points of its plumage to distinguish it from Tiger Shrike.
I walked back to the field centre as dusk was falling very pleased with the afternoon and keen for tomorrow’s attempt at Ground-cuckoo. We ate dinner and have since retired to bed for our 5am start tomorrow.
January 17th (Wednesday)
5am starts suck.Nevertheless we were out the door by 5:30 and making our way over the suspension bridge by 20-to, continuing up the dark trail until the observation platform, after which the Tembaling Waterfall trail begins. Pity we didn’t begin it, as we almost immediately took a wrong turn (easy to do in the dark) and walked for five minutes down a different trail until I realised and turned back.
Dawn was starting to colour the sky when we started up the right trail, and after half an hour’s exhausting climb up the steep hillside, we arrived at the ridge-top where we had heard the Ground-cuckoo two days before.
I gazed out at the valleys on either side of the path. It could be anywhere by now. Was there more than one? Was this a normal part of their territory? If we played calls from up here would they even come up the hill to check what’s up? Only one way to find out. We put the speakers on the ground a fair distance away then hid ourselves in the buttress roots of a large tree.
We played the recording a few times, and nothing. Silence from the brightening forest. Just as I was about to go and move the speaker to a new spot, I picked up the very faintest “Cooooourghghh” from deep within the valley. The Cuckoos were still here. Somewhere. The sound seemed to be coming from the other side of the ridge to the last time we heard it, so I hopped over to the other side of the tree to better hide myself, and continued playing the call.
This time, the response seemed to be coming closer, and closer again after my next burst. Ground-cuckoos might be incredibly hard to see, shy, skulking, and generally hard to find in the first place, but there are two things that give humans a hand in seeing one: They call very loudly, and they are very territorial. Playing a call usually elicits a response, even in places like the Kinabatangan where they are taped in on a regular basis. These Ground-cuckoos must be taped very rarely, and so their response was even stronger than normal. Within ten minutes, they were calling at very close range, perhaps twenty meters away on the side of the hill. Out of sight, but undeniably there.
The birds (there were two calling) were on the opposite side of the tree to me, and I figured they hadn’t seen me, which was the only reason they hadn’t already scurried off. They were calling even closer now. At a glacial speed, I stuck my face out, just enough that one eye could see around the trunk.
It was difficult to scan with just my left eye (the worse of my two bad eyes) and no binoculars, but I couldn’t risk any movement being seen by the birds, or they’d spook and our chance would be lost for one or maybe two days. I searched the nearby branches. Leaves. Leaves. Twigs. Leaves. Black thing. Leaves. Wait. Black thing?
I squinted hard at the black shape, which seemed to be twitching, before risking moving my head around so I could use both eyes. There, sitting on an exposed branch perhaps a meter and a half from the ground, was a Bornean Ground-cuckoo. The black movement I had seen was the bird’s tail, which it flicked up and down every few seconds as it stared in the direction of my speaker. I hissed at Brandon to say I had it, and he poked his binoculars around the corner of the root and got a good view as well.
My camera was in my hand, but I knew I’d never be able to lean out far enough to get my lens around the corner without the bird seeing me. As if to prove it, as I shifted position my head shifted minutely and the cuckoo snapped its head round to stare at me for two seconds, then dropped down to the forest floor and disappeared.
I’ve said before that I think Cuckoos are the most boring group of birds out there, and generally speaking I don’t bother hanging around to look for them. Bornean Ground-cuckoo is the one exception I’ve encountered to date. Aside from the rarity factor (chasing rare birds is an exciting prospect for any birder), they don’t fit the cuckoo mould in a variety of ways. For a start they’re huge - 60cm or so, beak to tail. Unlike the majority of Cuckoos they are also quite colourful, with a green back, violet wings, black-striped underparts and a black hood, from which the large eye stares surrounded by green facial skin. Ground-cuckoo nests in the wild have never been described, so it is not known if the species is parasitic. Generally very little is known about their behaviour or habits, only that they sometimes follow foraging mammals such as Sun Bears, Elephants and Bearded Pigs, picking up the insects they turn over.
To indicate just how hard it is to see a Ground-cuckoo (outside of Kinabatangan where they are fairly regular) Phillips notes that 7 years of field research at Gunung Palung and a further 7 years at Sungai Wain in Sarawak turned up 8 and 32 records respectively.
The birds were still calling, and having both seen them, I ducked out from the roots of the tree and began to stalk my way up the path in the hopes of photographing one, noticing as I went that there was now a third bird calling. No such luck - they saw me coming from miles off, and shot across the path and into the undergrowth, continuing to hoot seductively from the bushes, well out of sight. It was lucky I chased them though, for had I not I wouldn’t have seen a lifer. Just as I was giving up on the Cuckoos, a medium-sized chocolate-brown bird with a dark blue tail hopped up on a root nearby, looked me up and down, and disappeared down the hillside. It took me a few minutes of mental searching to find the species, but I finally got there. Siberian Blue Robin, female, a widespread but fairly scarce migrant to much of Northern Borneo. Excellent bird to see, right after the best bird Sabah has to offer!
'Ground Cuckoo Ridge'
Elated, we continued up the path. It was properly light now, so bird activity was good, although frustratingly much of it either flying through or high in the canopy. I’m fairly certain the green flash zipping between the trees was an Asian Green Broadbill, but I can’t tick it on those views. Far above my head two Helmeted Hornbills (Sabah’s largest at 145cm long, and just uplisted to critically endangered due to trapping for trade in their ivory) were calling. Their call starts off with a steady flow of simple hoots, which gradually get faster and louder before cascading into a laughing cackle not unlike a Kookaburra. They are amazingly prehistoric looking birds, and a species I would dearly love to see, but sadly not today. The lower canopy too thick, and there were no gaps through which I could look into the true canopy.
One bird that did show itself, and finally I was carrying a camera for its performance, was Black-and-crimson Pitta. One was whistling from low in the bushes (or so I thought), so I whistled back and we held a conversation for about ten minutes before suddenly the vines started swaying just above eye level, and there he was. Absolutely gorgeous, if only he had sat in better light - at ISO1600 my camera was only achieving 1/25th of a second, which simply doesn’t work when hand-holding a lens with no image stabilisation. I fired off about 200 shots, perhaps 7 of which were sharp. Ah well - when a Pitta puts on a show, it’s good enough just to be there!
Black-and-crimson Pitta
At long last we reached the fruiting tree, stopping only once more to look at a mixed flock of Babblers, and a flying-lizard (of a different species to the one I saw at Poring, this one had a strange black-and-white neck flap which it flicked in and out every few seconds). Sadly it seems in the last few days the birds have mostly cleaned up the fruiting tree, and what little fruit was left was being picked out by birds too small to make out without my scope. Not that I regret leaving my scope at home, considering how heavy my bag is without those extra two kilos.
After some time spent unsuccessfully whistling to try and relocate the Blue-banded Pitta we heard the other day with the Dutch, we headed back down. At one point I turned a corner and was surprised to find a Yellow-throated Marten strolling along the path towards me. I’m not sure he even minded my presence until he got within about 5 meters and suddenly picked up my smell. He sneezed, shot me a disgusted look, and fled in the opposite direction. My shirt could probably use a wash after six days hiking in the valley.
When we finally arrived back at the field centre, two hours later, we were both hot and very sweaty, so we decided to take our daily shower early. I went in wearing both shirt and hat, and both smell marginally better now. I’m trying to have as little washing to do as possible when we get back to Sepilok the day after tomorrow to save money, so I’ve been wearing the same shirt, pants (patterned with bloodstains courtesy of the sneakier leeches) and have only changed socks once since we got here. It’s a good thing I can leave them outside the dorm at night.
This afternoon was fairly quiet - we paid our accommodation and meals fees, finally, after sorting out our uni acceptance letters to prove that we’re students. RM855 each for 7 nights and 7 meals. Far more expensive than I had hoped, but that’s just how it goes. I think I still have enough cash on me to last me until we leave Sabah, but if I get concerned I’ll top up in Ranau when we go back through. We went for a walk down the road, but the showers made me turn back as the constant droplets on my glasses made birding difficult. Brandon kept going for a few hours, but only got one bird up on me (Crimson-winged Woodpecker) so I don’t mind that much.
Tonight I had my first ever go at badminton, and failed miserably to hit the birdie. The racquets are very long and it’s taking me a while to get used to how much reach I’m working with. We were so distracted by this that we missed dinner, although as consolation we did find a Buffy Fish-owl behind the badminton court.
Tomorrow starts at 4:30am. Yay.
February 18th (Thursday)
It wasn’t as bad a start as I was expecting this morning. Shortly after last night’s entry I was lying in bed, thinking about the trail and remembering how many elephant tracks I’d seen that morning, clearly made the night before (by the small amount of water in them). If elephants were going to be active at night, then I didn’t want to be out there at night. If there’s one thing I’m more scared of than elephants in daylight, it’s elephants in the dark. I mumbled this to Brandon and he agreed. We decided on a 5am start instead.
I was barely able to wake myself, but we were soon stumbling up the dimly-lit trail. It’s not a long climb, unlike the Langanan Waterfall trail at Poring, but it’s steep - several sections are outfitted with ropes - and the first 300m is extremely muddy. We reached “Ground-cuckoo Ridge” just as dawn was beginning to break, and made it to our first rest stop about 200m further on with good light. We stopped to break open our packets of peanuts, which for the last seven mornings have been breakfast. As I was crunching a mouthful, a long whistle sailed out of the bushes to the right. Pitta, definitely, but which one? It was shorter than most of the Black-and-crimsons I’ve heard. It also descended very slightly, rather than the usual ascension of B&C. This would have made it an easy Blue-banded Pitta, if not for the pitch, which was about a tone lower than Blue-banded is supposed to be, but right on the mark for B&C. If only to solve the mystery, I stepped out from the buttress roots we were sitting in and began to stalk it.
At that moment, infuriatingly, the clouds broke and rain poured steadily from the sky. The pitta stopped calling, and I was forced to beat a hasty retreat to cover my bag in its rain-jacket. The rain kept up for half an hour, during which time we left the area and continued a bit up the trail, in the vague hope that the rain would eventually let up and the birds would become active again.
The rain did eventually settle down, and the birds did become a bit more active, though not as active as they had been before. A Grey-chested Jungle-flycatcher sang sweetly from a low vine, and a short, surprisingly simple song heralded the presence of a Rufous-tailed Shama, nowhere near as varied or complex as its common cousin the White-crowned Shama, which we have been hearing everywhere since we left Poring. The Shama was a lifer, and it took us fifteen minutes to find it, even though the song was so loud that it was surely within 5m of us at all times. Both of us thought the call was coming from different directions, and every time we moved to try and get closer it would suddenly shift to somewhere else. We were stumped for a while, before I realised there was only one possible solution - I looked straight upwards, and there he was, sitting motionless on a branch 3m up a tree, singing his heart out. The ventriloquism achieved by this species is astounding - I watched him singing, and every few moments he would tilt his head minutely, and the call would be bounced to a completely different part of the forest.
We had a steady trickle of birds all morning, mostly Rufous-crowned Babbler groups with the occasional more interesting bird mixed in, until we reached the vicinity of the fruiting tree, now almost completely devoid of berries. A high-pitched song was echoing through the trees, and I recognised it as Bornean Blue-flycatcher, the only endemic species of Blue-flycatcher and one we were very keen to see. I played the call and immediately a bird flew in - but it wasn’t the Bornean Blue. It was a smaller flycatcher, with a black back and tan front, a long white eyebrow-stripe extending back almost onto the neck. A Rufous-chested Flycatcher, a species I had completely forgotten about, but had no other sites than Danum Valley for. Excellent, but the Bornean Blue was still calling. One more play of the tape and he flew in, a stunning blue-and-orange bird which sat in the open calling for us, before disappearing.
The rest of our morning was spent traipsing up and down the trail in the building heat and gathering humidity, trying to find any new birds that we could, as today was our last chance to bird the waterfall trail. We had a Bornean Banded Pitta calling at quite close range, but just as it seemed to be coming in a party of hikers went past and the bird stopped calling. I searched for an hour (while Brandon went down the steepest part of the hill and got nothing for his troubles) but he never called again.
We left on our two-hour hike back to the field centre, and the only new bird we picked up was a very flighty Cinnamon-rumped Trogon right at the bottom of the trail. Josh and Max missed this species, in fact it was the only Trogon they missed, which makes me a bit smug. So far the only Trogon we’ve missed is Orange-breasted, a submontane species, and we might have another crack at that one on the way back in a few days.
We sat at the dining hall and considered our tally. Danum Valley had been a surprise to me - of the species we’d seen, a large number had been spectacular and/or rare species, like Bornean Ground-cuckoo, Bornean Ground-babbler, Bristlehead, Cinnamon-rumped Trogon, Bornean Blue-flycatcher and Siberian Blue Robin, but in terms of lifers our progress has been slow. Just 34 lifers for me, in one of Sabah’s most bird-rich areas. Also shocking is the number of high-profile target species on our heard-only list, including Helmeted Hornbill, Short-toed Coucal, and most importantly, Blue-banded, Blue-headed and Bornean Banded Pittas. I’m absolutely gutted to have missed all three species, especially Blue-headed which is arguably the most spectacular of Sabah’s pittas (even Josh wrote a paragraph in his trip report about how stunning the male is, which isn’t the sort of thing he normally does), and supposedly easy to come across. I keep finding myself staring regretfully at the field guide page that displays all three, and thinking in “if onlys”. If only there hadn’t been five of us on that ridge looking for Blue-banded. If only I’d gone harder for the Blue-headeds we heard calling on our first trip up the waterfall trail. If only those hikers hadn’t scared off our Banded this afternoon.
Next time.
We went for a walk up the road, but it started raining quite heavily so I turned back. Brandon kept going, and managed to get a few species that would have been lifers for me (including Black Eagle), but I don’t mind too much. I have to come back for Blue-headed Pitta, anyway. They can wait until then.
All my clothes are rolled up (except for the ones still drying from this afternoon’s deluge) as our transport leaves at 8:30 tomorrow morning.
I was barely able to wake myself, but we were soon stumbling up the dimly-lit trail. It’s not a long climb, unlike the Langanan Waterfall trail at Poring, but it’s steep - several sections are outfitted with ropes - and the first 300m is extremely muddy. We reached “Ground-cuckoo Ridge” just as dawn was beginning to break, and made it to our first rest stop about 200m further on with good light. We stopped to break open our packets of peanuts, which for the last seven mornings have been breakfast. As I was crunching a mouthful, a long whistle sailed out of the bushes to the right. Pitta, definitely, but which one? It was shorter than most of the Black-and-crimsons I’ve heard. It also descended very slightly, rather than the usual ascension of B&C. This would have made it an easy Blue-banded Pitta, if not for the pitch, which was about a tone lower than Blue-banded is supposed to be, but right on the mark for B&C. If only to solve the mystery, I stepped out from the buttress roots we were sitting in and began to stalk it.
At that moment, infuriatingly, the clouds broke and rain poured steadily from the sky. The pitta stopped calling, and I was forced to beat a hasty retreat to cover my bag in its rain-jacket. The rain kept up for half an hour, during which time we left the area and continued a bit up the trail, in the vague hope that the rain would eventually let up and the birds would become active again.
The rain did eventually settle down, and the birds did become a bit more active, though not as active as they had been before. A Grey-chested Jungle-flycatcher sang sweetly from a low vine, and a short, surprisingly simple song heralded the presence of a Rufous-tailed Shama, nowhere near as varied or complex as its common cousin the White-crowned Shama, which we have been hearing everywhere since we left Poring. The Shama was a lifer, and it took us fifteen minutes to find it, even though the song was so loud that it was surely within 5m of us at all times. Both of us thought the call was coming from different directions, and every time we moved to try and get closer it would suddenly shift to somewhere else. We were stumped for a while, before I realised there was only one possible solution - I looked straight upwards, and there he was, sitting motionless on a branch 3m up a tree, singing his heart out. The ventriloquism achieved by this species is astounding - I watched him singing, and every few moments he would tilt his head minutely, and the call would be bounced to a completely different part of the forest.
We had a steady trickle of birds all morning, mostly Rufous-crowned Babbler groups with the occasional more interesting bird mixed in, until we reached the vicinity of the fruiting tree, now almost completely devoid of berries. A high-pitched song was echoing through the trees, and I recognised it as Bornean Blue-flycatcher, the only endemic species of Blue-flycatcher and one we were very keen to see. I played the call and immediately a bird flew in - but it wasn’t the Bornean Blue. It was a smaller flycatcher, with a black back and tan front, a long white eyebrow-stripe extending back almost onto the neck. A Rufous-chested Flycatcher, a species I had completely forgotten about, but had no other sites than Danum Valley for. Excellent, but the Bornean Blue was still calling. One more play of the tape and he flew in, a stunning blue-and-orange bird which sat in the open calling for us, before disappearing.
The rest of our morning was spent traipsing up and down the trail in the building heat and gathering humidity, trying to find any new birds that we could, as today was our last chance to bird the waterfall trail. We had a Bornean Banded Pitta calling at quite close range, but just as it seemed to be coming in a party of hikers went past and the bird stopped calling. I searched for an hour (while Brandon went down the steepest part of the hill and got nothing for his troubles) but he never called again.
We left on our two-hour hike back to the field centre, and the only new bird we picked up was a very flighty Cinnamon-rumped Trogon right at the bottom of the trail. Josh and Max missed this species, in fact it was the only Trogon they missed, which makes me a bit smug. So far the only Trogon we’ve missed is Orange-breasted, a submontane species, and we might have another crack at that one on the way back in a few days.
We sat at the dining hall and considered our tally. Danum Valley had been a surprise to me - of the species we’d seen, a large number had been spectacular and/or rare species, like Bornean Ground-cuckoo, Bornean Ground-babbler, Bristlehead, Cinnamon-rumped Trogon, Bornean Blue-flycatcher and Siberian Blue Robin, but in terms of lifers our progress has been slow. Just 34 lifers for me, in one of Sabah’s most bird-rich areas. Also shocking is the number of high-profile target species on our heard-only list, including Helmeted Hornbill, Short-toed Coucal, and most importantly, Blue-banded, Blue-headed and Bornean Banded Pittas. I’m absolutely gutted to have missed all three species, especially Blue-headed which is arguably the most spectacular of Sabah’s pittas (even Josh wrote a paragraph in his trip report about how stunning the male is, which isn’t the sort of thing he normally does), and supposedly easy to come across. I keep finding myself staring regretfully at the field guide page that displays all three, and thinking in “if onlys”. If only there hadn’t been five of us on that ridge looking for Blue-banded. If only I’d gone harder for the Blue-headeds we heard calling on our first trip up the waterfall trail. If only those hikers hadn’t scared off our Banded this afternoon.
Next time.
We went for a walk up the road, but it started raining quite heavily so I turned back. Brandon kept going, and managed to get a few species that would have been lifers for me (including Black Eagle), but I don’t mind too much. I have to come back for Blue-headed Pitta, anyway. They can wait until then.
All my clothes are rolled up (except for the ones still drying from this afternoon’s deluge) as our transport leaves at 8:30 tomorrow morning.
February 19th (Friday)
A travel day. We woke early, packed, and left Danum Valley by 9. It was a long, bumpy ride out, although we did stop for ten minutes to admire a female Orang-utan clambering through the roadside trees. It struck me that this would be the last I would see of this spectacular species for several years, at least. Quite sad, really, as was leaving the DVCA in general. So much there to explore, so much left to be seen. But our time, for now, is up.
Posing for photos at our dorm
We made it back to Lahad Datu around 10:45 and made immediately for the Multi-Bake around the corner, spending up big (to the tune of roughly AUD7) and buying plenty of delicious baked goods for breakfast and the long trip ahead.
It turns out it wasn’t the trip itself that was long, but the wait to undertake it. We had missed the 10am bus to Sandakan, and the next left at 4pm. We left our bags at the bus office (little more than a concrete room on the side of the road) and made our way down the hill, into the centre of town.
We spent the next five hours in the shopping mall near the Silam Dynasty hotel where we stayed 8 nights ago (hard to believe it’s only been a week). We did a little shopping, I picked up three lovely field notebooks at a stationary shop for roughly AUD1.50 each, and Brandon got a powerbank to stop his phone running out of charge quite so often. Other than that, we had nothing to do but wait.
After what felt like an eternity, we made our way back up to the bus stop, only to wait for another forty-five minutes for our bus to arrive. When it did, having made sure three times that it was going past the Sepilok Junction, we made it almost an entire kilometer down the road before it broke. The next half hour was spent standing around, watching them change the two back-left tyres.
We spent the next five hours in the shopping mall near the Silam Dynasty hotel where we stayed 8 nights ago (hard to believe it’s only been a week). We did a little shopping, I picked up three lovely field notebooks at a stationary shop for roughly AUD1.50 each, and Brandon got a powerbank to stop his phone running out of charge quite so often. Other than that, we had nothing to do but wait.
After what felt like an eternity, we made our way back up to the bus stop, only to wait for another forty-five minutes for our bus to arrive. When it did, having made sure three times that it was going past the Sepilok Junction, we made it almost an entire kilometer down the road before it broke. The next half hour was spent standing around, watching them change the two back-left tyres.
Coach of the year 2010"
After another ten minute stop to fill up with petrol, at last we were underway. Dusk soon began to cloud the sky, and by the time we reached Sepilok Junction it was well after dark, approaching 9pm. Thankfully I had been able to phone ahead to the B&B to ask them to send a car to get us, as a taxi would have been impossible to find at such a remote place at that hour. We arrived at the B&B very tired, but glad to have made it back to the friendly lights and comfortable dorm beds.
Tomorrow we bird hard at the Rainforest Discovery Centre before coming back to wash our clothes in the early afternoon. I wore just one shirt/pair of pants throughout Danum to keep the cost of washing down, so they really need a clean. Hopefully they have plenty of stain remover to get the blood out.
Our plan for our remaining time in Sabah is this: Two nights here in Sepilok, two nights at a new and almost completely un-birded place in Poring called Lupa Masa (we’ll take one for the team and scope it out for future birders), then two nights on the mountain and three nights in KK. Then we fly.
To bed now in expectation of yet another early rise. Almost hoping it rains.
February 20th (Saturday)
Well, it didn’t rain, but it was a good day!
The wakeup was annoying as expected, but we were soon out and walking up the Kingfisher trail, which woke me up. I’ve been testing out a new listing app recommended to me by the Dutch, and trying to work out its processes whilst birding and walking a rocky trail keeps you on your toes. We made our way up the Kingfisher trail and climbed up the ladder to the Trogon Tower, from there starting to bird properly along the canopy walkway as the morning rush got underway.
The wakeup was annoying as expected, but we were soon out and walking up the Kingfisher trail, which woke me up. I’ve been testing out a new listing app recommended to me by the Dutch, and trying to work out its processes whilst birding and walking a rocky trail keeps you on your toes. We made our way up the Kingfisher trail and climbed up the ladder to the Trogon Tower, from there starting to bird properly along the canopy walkway as the morning rush got underway.
Enormous leaf on the canopy walkway
It was a very good morning by canopy tower standards - from 8:30 to 9:00 there was a surprising amount of activity, with a handsome pair of Red-bearded Bee-eaters engaged in courtship feeding, Black-winged Flycatcher Shrikes buzzing around, Black Hornbills flying over, a fruiting tree full of Bulbuls (including Buff-vented, a new one for me. It looks identical to Red-eyed and Cream-vented, except it has a white instead of red eye. Bulbuls are boring.), and regular flyovers from interesting species like Blue-crowned Hanging Parrots, Buff-rumped and Orange-backed Woodpeckers, and Green Ioras.
We left the canopy walkway soon after 9, and made our way up the trails to the Broadbill tower, a few hundred meters down the path. Nowhere near as high as the canopy walkway, but high enough to get you into range of some flowering bushes, where we spent half an hour watching Yellow-eared, Thick-billed and Spectacled Spiderhunters and a family of Van Hasselt’s Sunbirds feeding.
We returned to the B&B and gave our Danum clothes to the lady for washing, then sat down for a while. It was getting very hot, bird activity had slowed almost to a standstill, so we took the opportunity to take a break from birding. At around 3:30 we headed out once more and took the longest trail in the RDC in the vain hope of finding a Pitta or two to look at. No Pittas, in fact very few birds at all, but we did score a perched Bathawk, the third time we’ve seen this incredibly cool species.
The Sepilok Giant
We had dinner at the B&B - fish and chips, constantly interrupted by having to push to local kittens off me - before starting out for a spotlighting session along the RDC trails. All was quiet as we walked in, but we soon had a Sunda Scops-owl calling at close range. We ducked off the path, and I soon located him perched low down on a bent stem, looking like an angry ball of cobwebs and moss. We could hear Reddish Scops-owls calling from across the valley, and two hours of searching finally gave us a look at one, calling steadily from just off one of the cross-tracks. Two Scops-owls in one night, when over the last month we’ve dipped on them every time we’ve spotlit! Very pleased. We tried for Oriental Bay-owl, but that was a long shot and we had no response.
Sunda (above) and Reddish Scops-owls, taken through bins with iPhone
I managed one final lifer for the night, bringing the total to ten for the day, with a Large-tailed Nightjar hawking for moths in the RDC carpark before heading back to the B&B and bed.
Tomorrow we have breakfast and a sleep-in at the B&B, then catch as early a bus as possible up to Ranau, then taxi to Poring to meet our guide who will take us to Lupa Masa.
February 21st (Sunday)
We had a sleep in today, all the way until 6:30! What excitement!
I packed what I could, then we went for breakfast at the B&B dining area (/reception/home of the dartboard). Breakfast was pretty fancy this morning - when lots of people are staying there, like last time, they just put out a buffet breakfast type thing. Make your own toast etc. This time, I think, we were the only people staying in the whole place, and as such we got rather special treatment: A plate full of toast, papaya, bananas, butter, jam and a bowl of scrambled eggs. Each. It was great!
We retrieved our laundry, packed, and were taken out to the junction by one of the guys working at the B&B. There were two other backpackers waiting, but thankfully the first bus that came along had room for all of us. Sort of. Not sure where the other two sat, but we got the stairs at the front of the coach. Not terribly uncomfortable, but it was with great pleasure that we jumped out at the turnoff to Poring, four hours later.
We had arranged with Lupa Masa to have someone pick us up from the junction, rather than go all the way to Ranau then back again. In due course she arrived, and we were taken to the restaurant in Poring that is designated as the meeting place for the hike in. After repacking my bag (they allow you to store luggage above the restaurant so I left what I didn’t need behind) and a delicious plate of lemon chicken, we set off on the walk to the camp.
It was an interesting walk, similar to the Langanan Waterfall trail in some respects, but generally much nicer submontane forest. Several creeks to cross, lots of downhill sliding and some uphill struggling. We got to the camp roughly an hour later, and were escorted to our room - a simple wooden building, up off the ground, with a large mattress and mosquito net inside. Everything here is very simple. No electricity, just fire to cook with, candles to see by, and a river to swim in. If you don’t mind the leeches. The buildings are wooden or bamboo constructions, sturdy but not extravagant, with neat gravel and stone paths laid out between them.
It was drizzling all the way in, which opened up to steady rain once we arrived. I spent a fair bit of time just sitting on our little balcony looking out over the forest and river, enjoying the laid-back nature of it all. When it finally stopped, Brandon had already disappeared with his binoculars, so I grabbed mine and headed out too.
I packed what I could, then we went for breakfast at the B&B dining area (/reception/home of the dartboard). Breakfast was pretty fancy this morning - when lots of people are staying there, like last time, they just put out a buffet breakfast type thing. Make your own toast etc. This time, I think, we were the only people staying in the whole place, and as such we got rather special treatment: A plate full of toast, papaya, bananas, butter, jam and a bowl of scrambled eggs. Each. It was great!
We retrieved our laundry, packed, and were taken out to the junction by one of the guys working at the B&B. There were two other backpackers waiting, but thankfully the first bus that came along had room for all of us. Sort of. Not sure where the other two sat, but we got the stairs at the front of the coach. Not terribly uncomfortable, but it was with great pleasure that we jumped out at the turnoff to Poring, four hours later.
We had arranged with Lupa Masa to have someone pick us up from the junction, rather than go all the way to Ranau then back again. In due course she arrived, and we were taken to the restaurant in Poring that is designated as the meeting place for the hike in. After repacking my bag (they allow you to store luggage above the restaurant so I left what I didn’t need behind) and a delicious plate of lemon chicken, we set off on the walk to the camp.
It was an interesting walk, similar to the Langanan Waterfall trail in some respects, but generally much nicer submontane forest. Several creeks to cross, lots of downhill sliding and some uphill struggling. We got to the camp roughly an hour later, and were escorted to our room - a simple wooden building, up off the ground, with a large mattress and mosquito net inside. Everything here is very simple. No electricity, just fire to cook with, candles to see by, and a river to swim in. If you don’t mind the leeches. The buildings are wooden or bamboo constructions, sturdy but not extravagant, with neat gravel and stone paths laid out between them.
It was drizzling all the way in, which opened up to steady rain once we arrived. I spent a fair bit of time just sitting on our little balcony looking out over the forest and river, enjoying the laid-back nature of it all. When it finally stopped, Brandon had already disappeared with his binoculars, so I grabbed mine and headed out too.
Our balcony
I wandered around for a while, finding a Cinnamon-rumped Trogon by the river, before finding a trailhead and starting up it. Luckily it was a loop trail, and it was just on dusk when I made my way out again. I did pick up today’s lifer though - Asian Green Broadbill, a stunning lookalike of Whitehead’s Broadbill, but without the dark streaks through the plumage. I panicked for a moment when I saw it, thinking it might be the legendary Hose’s Broadbill, but nevertheless I am pleased to have finally caught this species. They are not present on Mount Kinabalu, so this was our last chance!
We played some card games before dinner - a home-cooking style affair, rice and stir fried veggies. Surprisingly yummy. There’s a Scottish guy and an American girl staying here at the moment, the American very much not a birder (“bats aren’t considered birds, are they?”) the Scot actually a bird guide. He quizzed me at length about the Ground-cuckoos, then clearly deciding we were alright, told us he’d show us the spot where the Hose’s Broadbills were nesting a few years ago. Old information, but definitely worth checking out.
After dinner we went on a night walk. Didn’t see much, the only bird was a roosting Little Spiderhunter, but we did find a huge gecko and a couple of cool frogs.
Unidentified frog sp. at Lupa Masa
February 22nd (Monday)
Last night was freezing! Quite refreshing, or it would have been if I’d thought to bring a jumper. This morning we got up at 6 or thereabouts, and pretty much just got straight into birding. We went up past the dining area, along the main path until it splits onto the ridge trail and went up that, and tried to find a way across the river to where the path (supposedly) picks up. No luck - the river there is both fast and deep. This all took us some time, as we birded slowly, and by 11 I was ready to head back. Brandon wasn’t quite, so I went back on my own and chilled out on the porch for a bit, before the river’s temptations grew too great. I chucked on some bathers and headed down for a dip.
The water was frigid, and as such I didn’t go all the way in. Just up above my knees, standing half freezing half heated by the sun. It was very pleasant actually, the water in this river is fast-flowing (fast enough to keep the leeches at bay), and crystal clear. Some of the clearest water I’ve seen in a long, long time. Absolutely beautiful. It’s shallow at the point below our cabin, the water rushing over smooth river stones and areas of pebbles, a few big smooth boulders providing patches of slack water where I stood. I even indulged in a bit of natural therapy, as the handsomely black-and-gold-scaled fish swarmed around my feet to pick off what juicy morsels a month in the rainforest could provide them.
After a while I realised it was almost time for lunch, and went off to look for Brandon, in case he’d forgotten about it and was in danger of missing out. Not to worry, he’d beaten me to the dining area, and had already almost finished his plate of fried noodles.
There was a sudden, if brief, burst of activity at about 1pm right next to the dining area. It started with a male Verditer Flycatcher (lifer!) flying in, looking top-notch in shining aqua with a small black facial mask. He was quickly followed by Sooty-capped Babblers, Yellow-rumped Flowerpeckers, and as we followed them round the side of the verandah we realised that one of the fig trees was fruiting, covered in Flowerpeckers (including Plain, a lifer) and Bulbuls, mostly Puff-backed, pecking their way through the tough skin of the abundant fruit to get to the juicy insides.
We went back to our cabin after lunch, and on the way came across an unusual sight - a ball of black and orange fluff, lying on the stone steps. A microbat, no idea which species, standing on its head, in the middle of the path, in broad daylight. What?
The water was frigid, and as such I didn’t go all the way in. Just up above my knees, standing half freezing half heated by the sun. It was very pleasant actually, the water in this river is fast-flowing (fast enough to keep the leeches at bay), and crystal clear. Some of the clearest water I’ve seen in a long, long time. Absolutely beautiful. It’s shallow at the point below our cabin, the water rushing over smooth river stones and areas of pebbles, a few big smooth boulders providing patches of slack water where I stood. I even indulged in a bit of natural therapy, as the handsomely black-and-gold-scaled fish swarmed around my feet to pick off what juicy morsels a month in the rainforest could provide them.
After a while I realised it was almost time for lunch, and went off to look for Brandon, in case he’d forgotten about it and was in danger of missing out. Not to worry, he’d beaten me to the dining area, and had already almost finished his plate of fried noodles.
There was a sudden, if brief, burst of activity at about 1pm right next to the dining area. It started with a male Verditer Flycatcher (lifer!) flying in, looking top-notch in shining aqua with a small black facial mask. He was quickly followed by Sooty-capped Babblers, Yellow-rumped Flowerpeckers, and as we followed them round the side of the verandah we realised that one of the fig trees was fruiting, covered in Flowerpeckers (including Plain, a lifer) and Bulbuls, mostly Puff-backed, pecking their way through the tough skin of the abundant fruit to get to the juicy insides.
We went back to our cabin after lunch, and on the way came across an unusual sight - a ball of black and orange fluff, lying on the stone steps. A microbat, no idea which species, standing on its head, in the middle of the path, in broad daylight. What?
Microbat grounded
Gingerly I picked up a twig and gave it an experimental poke. It wriggled and put its wings out - clearly alive, then. I’ve no idea what it was doing on the ground, but it started to crawl off and we left it be. There was no sign of it later - either it found a tree, or it got eaten.
This afternoon was very slow for birds. We found a place to cross the river and tried birding along the trails on the other side, but nothing was active, it being around 2pm and still hot. As the evening drew in I gave up and returned to the cabin to leaf through the field guide and write some notes. Brandon stayed out until dark, but saw nothing more.
We went to the dining area for dinner, and spent some time as it was being readied just sitting, illuminated only by candlelight. As dinner was served, the arrival of some new guests caused a bit of activity. A tour group of two Americans, two UK, and one Melbournian, along with their guide. Nice to have the company of a good Melbournian drawl, it’s been a while. Their guide caught wind we were birders and decided he would test us - a very easy test, as it turned out, and I was able to answer all his questions immediately off the top of my head.
“How many Hornbills in Sabah?”
“Eight”
“What’s the biggest?” “Helmeted, 145cm including tail extensions”
“What’s the smallest Kingfisher?” “Oriental Dwarf”
“What are three birds endemic to Borneo?” “Ground-cuckoo, Blue-headed Pitta, Blue-banded Pitta”
“Nice. But you forgot to mention-“
“Bristlehead”
The guide was satisfied and his charges very impressed - I do enjoy showing off in front of non-birders. Great fun.
I’m pretty exhausted, and we have a long day tomorrow - bird in the morning, then the hour-long walk back to Poring carting all our stuff, then taxi to Ranau, stop for lunch and banking there, then taxi to Kinabalu Park to see if the Mountain Resthouse has a room for us.
This afternoon was very slow for birds. We found a place to cross the river and tried birding along the trails on the other side, but nothing was active, it being around 2pm and still hot. As the evening drew in I gave up and returned to the cabin to leaf through the field guide and write some notes. Brandon stayed out until dark, but saw nothing more.
We went to the dining area for dinner, and spent some time as it was being readied just sitting, illuminated only by candlelight. As dinner was served, the arrival of some new guests caused a bit of activity. A tour group of two Americans, two UK, and one Melbournian, along with their guide. Nice to have the company of a good Melbournian drawl, it’s been a while. Their guide caught wind we were birders and decided he would test us - a very easy test, as it turned out, and I was able to answer all his questions immediately off the top of my head.
“How many Hornbills in Sabah?”
“Eight”
“What’s the biggest?” “Helmeted, 145cm including tail extensions”
“What’s the smallest Kingfisher?” “Oriental Dwarf”
“What are three birds endemic to Borneo?” “Ground-cuckoo, Blue-headed Pitta, Blue-banded Pitta”
“Nice. But you forgot to mention-“
“Bristlehead”
The guide was satisfied and his charges very impressed - I do enjoy showing off in front of non-birders. Great fun.
I’m pretty exhausted, and we have a long day tomorrow - bird in the morning, then the hour-long walk back to Poring carting all our stuff, then taxi to Ranau, stop for lunch and banking there, then taxi to Kinabalu Park to see if the Mountain Resthouse has a room for us.
February 23rd (Tuesday)
Another cold night last night, but I had the foresight to sleep with all my clothes on, so at least I didn’t wake up every twenty minutes. Even so, it wasn’t the most comfortable I’ve ever been, and I didn’t sleep all that well, getting up at a bit after six not entirely rested. We birded our way along the top of the ridge until breakfast (not super eventful; though I did finally score a Maroon Woodpecker, one of the brighter members of the family that I had been very keen to see!).
We returned for breakfast - porridge with honey - before once again heading out along the ridge to scope out some tall trees. Not literally, sadly, this was one of the situations we’ve encountered where my scope would have been very useful.
We got couple of interesting birds during the latter half of the morning; Maroon-breasted Philentoma flew in and then departed very quickly (too quickly for me to see it tickably, annoyingly), a Crimson-winged Woodpecker worked its way up the side of a tree, and a Bornean Barbet was excavating a nest-hole in the underside of a tree branch. By 9:30 I was ready to set off, and at 10 we made our way out of camp and down the long track back to Poring. We did the walk on our own, and thankfully it was a simple path to follow. A few up and down-hills, a few rickety bamboo bridges to cross, but nothing difficult. Just follow the path straight back from the camp to the banana plantation, then exit the path onto the dusty, rocky road. Walk up this for about 1km until you reach Poring. Simple.
We returned for breakfast - porridge with honey - before once again heading out along the ridge to scope out some tall trees. Not literally, sadly, this was one of the situations we’ve encountered where my scope would have been very useful.
We got couple of interesting birds during the latter half of the morning; Maroon-breasted Philentoma flew in and then departed very quickly (too quickly for me to see it tickably, annoyingly), a Crimson-winged Woodpecker worked its way up the side of a tree, and a Bornean Barbet was excavating a nest-hole in the underside of a tree branch. By 9:30 I was ready to set off, and at 10 we made our way out of camp and down the long track back to Poring. We did the walk on our own, and thankfully it was a simple path to follow. A few up and down-hills, a few rickety bamboo bridges to cross, but nothing difficult. Just follow the path straight back from the camp to the banana plantation, then exit the path onto the dusty, rocky road. Walk up this for about 1km until you reach Poring. Simple.
Staying and birding at Lupa Masa was an interesting experience. There are very few birder reviews of the place, and as such it was an unknown to us going in. Part of the reason we decided to do it was to scope it out for future birders, and with that in mind, I would say that it's worth a visit. Birding was slow at times, and the trail system not terribly extensive, but we did pick up a few species that we otherwise would have missed, primarily Maroon-breasted Philentoma, Verditer Flycatcher, Asian Green Broadbill and Bornean Barbet. If you have time on your trip, it's worth checking out - if the birds don't perform, there's always the fact that it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever been to.
And the chance of a Hose's Broadbill is always tempting!
One of the many waterfalls around Lupa Masa
We arrived sweaty and out-of-breath at the bottom of the long, thin street that is Poring. For some reason which I fail to comprehend, Poring is hotter and more humid than Danum Valley. It’s horrible. I downed a restorative sarsaparilla then collected the bag I had left with the restaurant owners and set off in search of a taxi.
Real taxis are hard to come by in Poring, since it’s such a tiny place, but if you ask the security guard on the gate to the Sutera Lodge, he’ll shout a few questions to the guy at the restaurant across the street, and ten minutes later a grinning local will arrive who’ll happily take you back to Ranau for RM45. It’s an odd system, but it gets the job done. We loaded our stuff into the back of the guy’s ute and set off.
Once back in Ranau we had a couple of things to do - first, lunch. Second, bank, to withdraw enough cash to see us through the rest of the trip. I still had a few hundred ringgit left, probably enough to last me, but I do like to be certain of things when it comes to money. With these essentials off the list, we went and signed up for a share-taxi to Kinabalu Park. We waited for an hour, and eventually someone else turned up to share the cab with us. In an odd coincidence the taxi driver happened to be the same guy who drove us from Kinabalu Park to Poring last time. He dropped us at the Mountain Resthouse and we went up to our new room to drop off our bags.
It feels great to be back on the Mountain - it’s so much cooler here, the air is dry, and generally it feels like it’s possible not only to walk but do so energetically. I’m definitely not suited to the tropical lowlands, but this I find very pleasant. It’s nearly Canberran. Apart from the sprawling garden of flowering tropical plants, bananas, and the geckos.
We went for a walk around park HQ in the afternoon, and almost immediately stumbled across a lifer - a pair of Temminck’s Babblers. It took us a while to figure out what they were, as we had both forgotten that we needed the species, but we got there in the end. Excellent to be able to tick a skulky Babbler without needing to search for it! Continuing, we found a big mixed feeding flock near the lookout, and stood back to sift through it. Bar-winged Flycatcher-shrike was another lifer, but everything else we’d already seen. Not that it wasn’t a pleasure to see them again, familiar faces after a few weeks in the lowlands. Velvet-fronted Nuthatches, Temminck’s Sunbirds, Grey-chinned Minivets and Mountain Tailorbirds led the flock, followed by Yellow-breasted Warblers, Little Pied Flycatchers, Black-capped White-eyes and Mountain Leaf-warblers, the ever-present Chestnut-hooded Laughing-thrushes and Indigo Flycatchers bringing up the rear.
We walked on to the Silau Silau trail and spent some time walking that to reacquaint ourselves with the territory, reveling in the rolling cries of the Bornean Treepies and subtle flashes of grey and chestnut as the Sunda Laughing-thrushes flew past. Arriving back at HQ, we went to have a look at the Pandanus trail in preparation for tomorrow’s stakeout for Everett’s Thrush. We arrived and found our spot quickly, thanks to Arjan’s directions. One thing though - a mist net was slung, furled, pretty much exactly where he said the Thrushes had been. I don’t know how this will affect our chances, but who knows - we might catch one! I’ll see if they’ll let me band with them tomorrow morning, since I have a banding license here in Australia. Should be a fun morning if they do!
We tried to go out spotlighting tonight but found that the fog was heavy, meaning our chances were very low. We came back and enjoyed hot showers instead.
Early start tomorrow, hoping for that Thrush as a lifer for my birthday. Exciting times!
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