The Tiger Sleeps Tonight . . .

At least that’s my theory as to why we didn’t see one our last night in Malaysia. Bob, Jim, and I took a night hike with a local guide and stumbled across a couple fornicating in the jungle.

He was stickin it to her.

Our guide was from the town across the river and well versed in the creatures of the rainforest. At the start of our walk he turned off his headlamp and pointed to a tiny, faintly glowing mushroom. It would have been instantly amazing, but since it was a tiny, faintly glowing mushroom . . . that he pointed to in the dark . . . I couldn’t find it. I squinted into the deep black.

“Sorry, where is it?” I asked.

“There,” answered the guide, apparently pointing again in the correct direction.

“Where?”

The guide turned on his lamp and I found myself facing the wrong direction. He guided my eyes to the correct spot then turned off the light, where I found a tiny green mushroom, and other inhabitants.Spiders crept along trunks and hid under leaf litter, searching for a tasty snack.

(there's more than one spider in this photo)

We hiked for about an hour, haphazardly blinding poor creatures that stumbled upon our path.A small hole gaped from the side of a little hill, so our guide picked up a stick and poked it. Since childhood, my curiosity of what creatures might hide down a hole, under a crevice, or beneath a rock has led me to get bitten, clawed, stabbed, and chased - so I admired our guide’s approach. A few jabs in the dirt pile and an angry scorpion scuttled out. Our guide however, wasn’t satisfied.

“This is just the male. There will be a larger female inside as well.”

But regardless of how much he tried to irritate her, she couldn’t be coaxed out. I was okay with this, picturing the scorpion rustling around her room to find a miniature pistol.We left the ticked off male and climbed up a hide where we spotted a sambar deer grazing in a clearing. Unfortunately the tapirs, rhinos and tigers stayed well away from our headlamps, but we saw enough fanged and clawed creatures to make it a successful night hike.

Beneath the Boughs

A tree grows, weaving leaves through twisted canopy to reach the sun. Its roots pull from the soil, cascading downhill, like many others in the rainforest, to drink from the clear water of the river.

A narrow, wooden canoe threads through the river's winding banks, deftly avoiding gray boulders that breach the surface. The canoe is guided by two Malaysian men. One sits at the bow, using a long paddle to steer the boat from rocky collisions. The other, slightly larger, sits at the back. His eyes focus on the shoulders of the man in front, waiting for the slightest indication to change direction. Humidity swarms before the break of a coming storm. He wipes sweat from his face, then grips the handle of the powerful motor that zips this canoe into the 21st century.

I’m sitting in the middle of the boat, watching the ancient forest fly by, as we head upstream to the cascades of Latah Berkoh. Bob sits in front of me, mesmerized by how close the boat comes to sinking. Behind me, Jim laughs. For the third time in twenty minutes, the man at the bow steps over us to bail water from back.

The motor roars as we push over a stretch of small rapids. It isn’t the quiet, serene river trip we were expecting, but as we've discovered since emerging from our jungle hike this morning, Taman Negara Rainforest Resort has its own take on expectations. We’re staying in a Malaysian style chalet for the night. The high thatch roof, matressed beds, and wobbly fan are a great comfort. But despite being leagues above last night's amenities, the pump shower and flush toilet aren't as refreshing as we had expected. Though I have to say, the leaking toilet does keep your feet nice and cool when you’re in the bathroom.

After we dropped our bags we hired this local boat to take us to Latah Berkoh, a small series of cascades within Sungai Tahan (River Tahan), where we could swim through the hottest part of the day. Our guides pull the boat onto the bank, then Bob, Jim, and I hike fifteen minutes to the entrance of the cascades, where two dozen people sit awkwardly among the rocks.

We slide in, grateful for the cool water, and swim a little way upstream. Birds call in the jungle beyond the shores and I breath in the scent of the forest. There is a slight current, so we swim wide to avoid an unpleasant and rocky journey downstream.As I'm floating about, my tranquility shatters as Jim jumps off a large boulder and cannonballs into the water. Thankfully he doesn't hit any submerged trees or rocks and damage his brain. Or perhaps he does, because as soon as he surfaces he climbs the boulder and jumps again.A storm follows the current, thunder adding its voice to the strength of darkening clouds. We run back to the boat, as thunder and lighting rush to catch us.

In the Jungle, Part 2

The boat sped upstream, drawing its abhorrent sound of motorized technology from the forest. Forgiving the intrusion, birds began to call. Cicadas resumed their chirping, and the rainforest, for the moment, forgot we were there. We stood together, the three of us, glancing from the sparsely detailed map, to the encompassing vegetation. We knew we had to make it to Bumbun Blau that night or risk sleeping in the open jungle, nothing between us and the odd tiger but a $20 mosquito net. Unsure if tigers were repelled by deet, we proceeded on the most promising looking path. How, in the mangled, proudly overgrown jungle did we know we were on the right track? Well, we just followed the large, road-worthy street signs. A seamless mark in nature? I think not. But when weaving along root-blanketed trails you appreciate a bit of reflective direction.

We weren't five feet onto the trail when Jim called out, "Hey is this a leech?" Eagerly Bob and I crowded by Jim's feet to find a skiny, inch-long leech on the ground. It stood vertically like a body-building earthworm, innocently waving its sucker in the air, hoping in its little mind we'd step close enough to latch on. From that point the warning 'leech' was often called, as, alerted by the vibrations of our feet, more parasites began wiggiling for a free ride. Other than the occaional leech call we were fairly quiet, yet the noise of our packs and waterbottles gave us away. An unseen bird or monkey would sound a warning call at our approach, creating a bubble of silence around our steps.

Occasionally we'd come across a train of ants or termites busy foraging or returning from a raid. Their glossy black and red bodies created a bobbing stream along the soil. Not wanting to become another object for them to bite, we took care after we stumbled upon them. Jim made a surprisingly useful observation that they made a popping noise (very much like pop-rocks) when on the move. So now, in our brief travel through the jungle, we had created two warning calls. 'Leech' and 'Pop-rocks.'

Bumbun Blau rested in a small clearing threatened by beautiful trees with little regard to personal space. We found the hide much nicer and firmer of structure than we had expected. Upstairs in the open windowed room were four, sturdy if dusty, wooden bunk platforms. It even had a bathroom, though the ranger back at headquarters had been right; water hadn't flowed to the building in a long time. The toilet was full to the rim with poo....lots of poo. While it made a lush home for the leeches and maggots that sludged happily in its' filth, it wasn't the most welcoming facilities we had seen. But that was ok, we were in the jungle, we weren't expecting the Ritz. But we also weren't expecting a feces and maggot filled toilet.

Judging there was enough light for a bit more exploration we walked further on the trail. I climbed up a fallen tree to see how far a view I could get. Well, I saw about ten feet in front of me so that was pretty good for the forest. On our return to the hide we froze at the sound of a long exhalation. There was an animal probably ten feet off the trail, but we couldn't see it through the leaves. The animal breathed heavily again, with a long, Phhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and a few branches swayed. I was so excited but mildly frustrated we couldn't identify it. I wanted to guess it was an elephant, but felt I couldn't claim that unless I saw it. When the animal became silent we went quietly to the hide, hoping to see something in the clearing beyond. We sat, sweating in the heat,eating oreos (dinner of champions) and watching the clearing silently for fear of Bob's glare each time we crunched a cookie or made the bench scrape the ground.

The sun continued its journey through the canopy, forgetting to leave lingering light as if fearful of its liaison with the night.

Unfortunately no animals wandered into our sights. Tired and extremely stinky, we hung our mosquito nets while wearing headlamps, dodging the bugs that flocked to our eyes. We played cards, listening to the racqerous night symphony and gazing at the hundreds of lime-green fireflies, and spiders that joined us for the night.