Borneo

Wildman of Borneo

Hungry

Like a child, I lay in my bed, listening to the jungle sounds, my eyes and body were heavy, like lead. The jungle sang its songs, until I could bear it no more and like lead went straight down.

The rhythmic sound of the jungle was broken by the pitter patter, yawns and whispers of stirring humans. They were getting ready, as I was, for our Wildman experience.

A thin veil of mist tickled the knees of the giant trees and caressed the tender leaves; a sudden shriek from some jungle bird announced the break of dawn.

Slowly, slowly and deliberately the Wildman eased closer, his movements precise and well rehearsed. The waiting was intense, neither human or Wildman would back down. However, Wildman was hungry and he glided toward the snap, snap, flash, teetee, focus and take.

He did it with grace and utmost finesse. I found myself yanking the hairs on my arms, struggling to believe I was mere meters from a Wildman. The food on his plate was plentiful, varied and no doubt delicious, but, it came with a price which he would be paying for the rest of his life. So, in the shade and safety of his porch the Wildman ate, calmly. When all that remained were peels and seeds he eased back into the dark jungle.

We stayed and relished the jungle and hoped the Wildman would return for an encore, it was not to be and slowly, beads of sweat trickled from our noses and the heat rose up like smoke, sluggishly, amazed and satisfied we headed back for some feeding of our own..

Like true humans, our brief encounter with the Wildman was not enough, the craving for more jungle was unquenchable, we wanted more!

The spitting,splutteringsturdy outboard motor snapped me back to reality, the thick jungle mist and two stroke smoke engulfed us, a truly intoxicating mix.

As we broke through the black crystal waters, I struggled to think of a single word to describe the green, not quite a cammo green, not quite dark green, a kind of brown, black and red green.

As we stepped off the canoe, a symphony of insects sang songs of food, shelter and shade. We snaked slowly into the Kalimantan, the ground was soft and the air was thick, sweat cascaded down my face, it was all so surreal, so HD (high definition).

Everything was exaggerated, magnified, seeds the size of my head, tractor sized centipedes bulldozed their way through the soft squishy ground. I was in trance. We dared not venture to far; God knows what else lay waiting, lurking in the green. We followed our muddy footprints back to our cages and waited for our food, not so different to the Wildman after all…

The blackness of night soon filled the sunny gaps in the jungle, the stifling air dissipated and the cascades of sweat slowed to a mere trickle. The jungle awoke from its long, sticky siesta; this was the moment I had been anticipating all day…

A line of blinking lights crept into the darkness, the soft jungle ground squelching under our Wellingtons, the darkness engulfed all space around us, it filled up like smoke, suffocating and constricting. Our hawk eyed guide was quick, he did not hesitate. He saw things, apparently by some divine intervention. His hands darted into the hollows of trees and muddy holes on the ground, with deadly effectiveness; he caught his prey every time.

Tiny, pinky sized frogs clung to his fingers, their tiny hearts beating wildly through their translucent skins. Scorpions! Big and black like night itself cuddled in his palms, docile, confused and desperate. It was simply amazing, one of those moments that take your breath away. Like satisfied children we all whispered and giggled in our cages, all the while the jungle sang us night time lullabies.

The morning symphony was destroyed by the excited yelps of our hawk eyed guides, Oran u tan in the trees, must get up, very rare… I did not waste a micro second and my feet made a beeline to my muddy Wellies and I darted into the green. Incredibly a family of Wildmen were casually eating their breakfast on the canopy just beyond the camp. We followed them, stumbling on oversized roots, slipping and sliding, dodging spider webs, as they gracefully moved from tree to tree, it was all so dream like….

That dreamlike state was once again shattered by the spitting and spluttering outboard motor. Two stroke smoke filled my nostrils and suddenly in desperation I tried to absorb every last detail, in vain I struggled to absorb every last sensory delight.

Soon, we were out and behind enemy lines, suddenly surrounded by regiments of bleeding palms, all under the control of a certain evil general, General Oil. I glanced back into the disappearing green and was filled with an immense silence and sadness, for I knew it would not be long before it would all be gone…