Long tailed boats and long nosed monkeys

I will once more encourage you to double click on the images, for full size viewing of the photos. 

Without reliable accommodation at every port of call you either need to plan accordingly or be prepared to rough it. I was willing to take it as it came, stopping wherever most convenient to see the best of what Sungai Mahakam had to offer. Heading back downstream was my chance to take it one step at a time, to make side trips, get even more off the beaten track. Tales of plentiful wildlife abound, but you need to follow the smaller tributaries to discover the true gems. Like any major thoroughfare the noise and movement of regular fast moving traffic tends to deter wild animals, if they venture into the open it’s more often under cover of darkness. And so it was with on Sungai Mahakam. Boats ply the navigable river all day every day, the fringe of trees along its banks is pretty much devoid of wildlife. After spending nearly a week travelling along the Mahakam, I’d seen very little. Surprisingly few birds, one small troop of macaques, and a couple of monitor lizards swimming. For a river that winds through a rain forest, that’s abysmal. (Photo: Reflecting on the tranquility of life- Between Muara Pahu and Tanjung Isuy, Kalimantan)

So it was time to strike out, get off the main river and discover the hidden secrets. The kapal biasa had managed to reach Long Bagun, the first stretch of my return journey could be enjoyed sat outside, perched on what I laughingly refer to as the sun deck. There was no choice of departure time, there was only one ferry leaving and it was doubtful any others would make it to Long Bagun until a prolonged rainfall. Our skipper had to be very cautious through shallows, crew members had to pole for depth on many occasions. They were even more conscientious after we scraped along the gravel bottom, the whole boat was juddering, it was a tense moment. Realising we wouldn’t actually sink, as the water was too shallow, any danger would come if the boat tipped over, after running aground. Deciding plenty of warning would come if we ran aground, there wasn’t any cause for panic, which seemed the common opinion amongst fellow passengers. Though I suspect their lack of reaction was more a case of accepting the inevitable. (Photo: Getting in a flap, Cormorant drying its wings - Wetlands, Between Mancong and Sungai Mahakam, Kalimantan)

It was to take eighteen hours reaching Muara Pahu. We sailed at a sedate pace, pretty much allowing the flow of the river to dictate our pace. We stopped to pick up more passengers countless times, at floating cafes, formal village docks and even small rickety hovels. I was actually concerned at the prospect of the ferry docking at one particular place. It looked so fragile and sat so low in the water the gentle waves from the ferry lapped over the doorstep. Life on the river never failed to amuse me, the dynamics on the boat, the antics of the village kids as we passed. I had seen two tour groups up river, but no other independent travellers. I aroused the local’s curiosity, apparently they used to get more independent travellers, after the Bali bombings of 2002 tourism in Indonesia dropped drastically. For this far-flung corner of the nation, it’s never really recovered. In my mind, considering the rate at which they’re decimating the forest, it might never attract people in the same way again. (Photo: Traditional longhouse - Tanjung Isuy, Kalimantan)

It was gone mid-night when they shook me awake, we were approaching Muara Pahu, from where I was heading up a tributary. There is a guesthouse, but being dropped so late it wasn't the best of times to rouse them from sleep. Roughing it was the only reasonable option, so I settled down in a rain shelter. Putting a ring of mosquito coils around me I hoped to ward off the little buggers, the best I could hope for was an hour or so of protection. Then I had a brainwave, and remembered my hammock. Sure it was at the bottom of my pack, but digging it out would be the difference of having some sleep or being ravaged for the best part of the night. The uprights couldn’t have been better positioned, the hammock fitted perfectly. It works well too, the built in mosquito net kept every insect out for the entire night. It amused the locals as well! Despite an ugly and dirty river frontage the village itself was lovely, the whole place was traversed on raised boardwalks. Like most the housing in Dayak areas of Kalimantan they were constructed to be long and thin and made entirely of hardwood. It looked a reasonably wealthy place, with large, well-maintained houses. (Photo: An enormous showpiece, not your average longhouse - Mancong, Kalimantan)

Not that I wanted to hang around, I was considering it but the river was really ugly. Lumber and mining companies had built large commercial docks, constructed of metal latticework pillars and concrete piers. They looked so out of place, too strong a reminder of the area’s commercialisation. Actually the village even had block built public buildings, I’d suddenly arrived back in the modern world and wasn’t too impressed. So asked whether I wanted to hire a ces, the answer was simply yes, where to was secondary in negotiations. Perhaps I jumped at the first chance a bit quick, I’d heard tell the local boatmen were very good for viewing wildlife. And he was, at least for spotting things. Unfortunately he lacked the understanding to cut his engine at the sight of animals, or allow us to drift for a while and maximise the pleasure of watching wildlife. He wasn’t awful, he did drive pretty slow, and reduced speed whenever he saw me raise the camera. Maybe if I hadn’t chartered another boatman only days after I might have assumed that was as good as it gets. (Photo: Patience paid off when I waited for this woodpecker to return - Nr Tanjung Isuy, Kalimantan)

I wasn’t whinging (honest guv'), the trip down the tiny waterway was astonishing. The Mahakam itself was heavily fished, it provided many families with a livelihood. Our tributary couldn’t have been more than ten metres across at its widest point, yet, while they used quite different methods, signs of fishing were plentiful. Wickerwork fish traps were set every ten metres or so, smaller tributaries had gill nets strung across. Other net systems funnelled into a horizontally framed net, which was raised and lowered by a hand operated jib. Weirdest of all, a fishy maze was set, leading the fish into a square enclosure. I assume once finding their way in most fish would lose their bearings and become lost. Supporting a large population of kingfishers is testament to healthy fish stocks, and there were loads. Seeing my first had me excited, after a dozen I merely responded with a smug grin. But the tiny iridescent blue one’s were much rarer, and fantastically beautiful. God were they fast though, I didn’t even try to photo them, preferring to enjoy the brief view they presented. (Photo: The most common bird seen along the small tributaries to the Mahakam, kingfishers - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

I also saw a few macaques and got a quick glance at a proboscis monkey. Sightings were over too quick to fully appreciate, tantalising glimpses were the best I got. But the ride was wonderful. Tortured twisting banyan roots reached painfully up to support wide overhanging canopies, causing weird and wonderful reflections in the still waters. Apart from the gentle puttering of the longtail engine only birdcalls accompanied our passage. Sitting at the prow of the ces scouring the surrounding forest, the sense of hushed expectancy was intense, yet tranquil. When we broke the cover of the forest an enormous expanse of water spread to the far horizon in every direction. Cormorants perched on exposed branches, wings outspread drying on the breeze. We damned near ran one over, it was nearly invisible in the water, only its neck and head broke the surface. Overhead birds spiralled around fishing boats, swooping down to catch accidentally discarded minnows. We powered across the open expanse of water, and all too rapidly arrived at Tanjung Isuy, my destination for the day. (Photo: Fish eagle waiting for lunch, though how it can see through the filthy brown water is beyond me - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

Tanjung Isuy is a quiet backwater, it boasts a traditional longhouse, in its full glory. Guarded by carved sentinals, the whole building is exquisitely decorated. Best of all stays can be arranged in the longhouse itself. Not even a caretaker was in residence, so I wandered round in awe until she appeared. It’s tempting to say it resembled a well cared for museum, but like the Marie Celeste it was left as though unexpectedly vacated, everything seemingly left in place. Inside, the main hall holds countless examples of Dayak weapons and paraphernalia. Head dresses, baskets, weavings, instruments and trophies. There were no shrunken skulls, these aren’t often put on display nowadays. The floors were of rattan, the steps leading to the balcony carved from solid logs, topped by more beautifully carved figures. I actually stayed for three days, I never tired of wandering around, each time I looked I noticed something else. It was against these very peoples, the Indonesian Dayak, that my father fought against in the Malaysia/Indonesia confrontasi of the sixties. It’s interesting to know that headhunting was encouraged by the occupying forces in those days, as long as it was only the opposing side who’s heads were lopped off. (Photo: Giving the evil eye, a guard stork - Muara Ohong, Kalimantan)

It didn’t matter how often I walked around the village, curious locals constantly assailed me, keen to make my acquaintance. Not a single person passed without smiling, calling hello, inevitably asking the same series of questions. They liked my hair (Gimbal in Indonesian), admired my tattoos, appreciated even the simplest of words in exchange. Unfortunately it almost always ended with me apologising for my lack of Indonesian Bahasa, not that they expected much more, they were surprised I spoke any. The kids are lovely, I could keep them occupied indefinitely by taking their photos. Or I could speak English to them and they’d burst into hysterics at my every word. Within the village housing is of good standard, even the floating homes at the water’s edge look well kept. The housing might be decent quality, but the road is appalling. It’s the first village on the river I’ve been where there are four wheeled vehicles, and it shows. Cracked, broken concrete is the best of it, gaping holes and loose cobbles are more usual. My guess is the community can’t afford the expense of building a better road. (Photo: Large, ungainly but rather splendid crested crane, (or is it a heron?) - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

My attempt at hiring a ces to go further afield was scuppered by low river levels again. If I wanted to visit Mancong, a highly recommended longhouse, I had to take a 4WD. True enough, the longhouse there is astonishing, it’s immense. In fact it’s so big I fail to see it as being an original community longhouse. I’d love to have explored further, but it was inundated with people. It was described as a Dayak convention, but absolutely no-one had one scrap of clothing that could be considered traditional. Such a shame, to celebrate your heritage yet totally ignore the very image that represents your roots. I know, it spoils my romantic image, who am I to expect the poor native to remain in antiquated rags? But they’ve discarded all that used to represent who they were. The young guys covering themselves is traditional tattoos have got it right. All the old folks at the convention had caste off their tribal identity. The guy who accompanied me didn’t seem too impressed either, though I noticed he displayed nothing to signify tribal identity! (Photo: On sentry duty, proboscis monkey - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

I didn’t stay, plans change, and mine did so for the best. The Ohong river is renowned for the wildlife, and I’d found a boatman who had a good idea of how wildlife viewing is best done. And he did just that, to perfection if I must say so. Sorni knew the river well, had an eagle eye for wildlife, and a smattering of English, my luck was in! It proved immediately his claims weren’t unfounded, as we eased across the wetland plain he veered to one side, enquiring whether I could see the eagle. Eventually I could, it took me quite a while though. What a beauty it was too. It sat perched on a crossbeam unconcerned, watching us watching him. We grew impatient and left him to it, it was the first of many eagle sightings that day. Out of all the animals we saw they were the least nervous of our presence, allowing us to get up close and personal a number of times. Watching them soar high makes me jealous, but it’s nothing like seeing one glide gracefully down a narrow waterway, leisurely twisting and turning between overhanging branches, so effortlessly. (Photo: No point in panicking, another mature male proboscis monkey - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

Muara Ohong straddles the mouth of the river Ohong, whichever way you approach it’s a couple of hours by boat to anywhere that connects with the outside world. A jumble of floating docks chock off access to the shore, most look dilapidated, many are so waterlogged they struggle to clear the water. Ramshackle huts of tatty bamboo don’t look fit enough to serve as garden sheds, toilets have barely three layers of planking to cover your modesty. First impressions are of poverty, a forlorn people whose livelihood relies solely on the riches in the surrounding waters. Storks occupy dock platforms, they’re domesticated, avian watchdogs against fish thieves. Catches are kept alive in keep nets below the docks, a convenient and cheap method to keep our produce fresh. On closer inspection the docks prove to be no more than working platforms, few people here actually live on the water. A narrow spit of semi-dry land separates the wetlands from the river, a single row of houses sit on pilings, a boardwalk running the length of the village. Yes, it looked a rough and ragged fishing village, but it had a softer side too. Watching the clumps of vegetation floating towards us, while puttering slowly under the arching wooden bridge, gave a sense of serenity, a precursor to the tranquillity of the Ohong River. (Photo: No wonder he had his back turned before, look at the nose on that! - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

No sooner had we left the village, cruising between buoyant mats of waterweed, when we spooked a crested heron (or was it a crane?). Massive wings flapping clumsily, gangly neck sagging, seemingly incapable of supporting its minute head, it took flight. They don’t look well designed for flying, looking awkward and ungainly. Once more kingfishers seemed to flit from every other tree, swooping down towards the water, banking sharply away from us and hiding amongst the thick tree cover. Hornbills flew overhead, calling noisily, warning the forest below of our approach. Sorni proved his worth again, and spotted a troop of macaques were raiding a fruit tree in the distance. He dropped the revs of the engine, and cut it out completely as we drew near. The macaques drew back, but not far, they were cautious but not panicked. We drifted silently past, men and monkeys observing each other. They were a much smaller variety than I was used to, looking more like infants than mature adults. I was assured they were in fact fully grown. (Photo: Beautiful monitor, making a mad dash to escape our clutches. As if I'd try to grab it - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

Again the grotesque twisted trunks of trees created wonderful reflections, with wide spreading canopies, dripping knotted tendrils of seeds, reminiscent of straggly blooms of weeping willow. The scenery alone deserved reverence, but that day was my day, the special one. With my skilled boat handler it seemed certain to go well! As soon as he spotted the slightest hint of animals he’d cut back on the revs, killed the engine and coasted closer. His eyes were keen, the faintest of rustling alerted him. And so we came across our first proboscis monkey, a mature male, with heavy appendage drooping down its face. Their noses really do look like flacid phalluses dangling from between their eyes. Unperturbed he watched us, partially hidden amongst the foliage above, then Sorni pointed again. More, further along, a large troop of them scattered amongst the trees. They were everywhere, crashing from the tops of trees, wandering along the ground, playing games, grazing on seedpods. (Photo: Do drop in! This variety of snake like curling up in the branches overhead - Sungai Ohong, Kalimantan)

What wonderful animals, with unbelievably beautiful coats. Thick pelts of bright chestnut clung to their backs, stopping in a well-defined line, as if hand crafted into an undercut bob. Our presence had disturbed them, they moved away form the riverbank itself, but realising we were no threat they became unconcerned with our presence. I believe the first large male might have been the lookout, observing from his vantage point fifty metres or so downstream of the troop. The longer we stayed the more individual members of the troop grew suspicious and moved further into cover, it was time to leave them in peace. Or should I say time to move on to the next exhibit, because we didn’t have to wait too long. A couple of times all I’d seen of big lizards was the flash of a tail as they dived out of sight. If you were quick you could see them swimming, head held high, across the river. But to see one exposed on the bank was pretty special, they don’t like humans getting close. (Photo: Reflecting nicely on life - Between Jantur and Sungai Mahakam, Kalimantan)

It was big, in the region of two metres or longer, and it was scared. At the sight of us it made a break for it, trying to bulldoze its way through a barrier of nylon fishing net. It couldn’t force its way through, and in a panic legged it along the bank, trying to create some distance before plunging into the water and vanishing into the murky depths. At that point the water wasn’t too deep, we could see the turbulence on the surface, get a good idea of where it was. But they can stay submerged for quite some time, and he was in no hurry to come up. We moved on a

ways, hoping a little distance might encourage it to reappear. Directly above us was a gorgeous yellow and black banded snake, nestled into the crook of an overhanging branch. There seemed no let up of wonderful creatures to see, in many ways I’m glad I left the best to last. The waterways are rich in wildlife, especially the Ohong, but you really need someone who understands your needs, and the behaviour of the wildlife. Otherwise the experience will be sadly limited, what you might spot will be gone in a flash. (Photo: Fisherman checking his nets - Just outside Jantur, Nr Sungai Mahakam, Kalimantan)

Sorni took me on to Muara Muntai that day. Taking me for a spectacular ride across the vast wetland plain, through a maze of tightly turning channels, past a phenomenal number of birds. Eagles wheeled overhead, a whole host of assorted birds flocked on the mudflats, squabbled in the air over titbits, even flew in formation alongside, as though escorting us to our destination. I guess it gave a lasting impression, it needed to as Muara Muntai would present little in the way of natural delights. Sorrowfully it was to be my last stop along the Mahakam, with only a twelve-hour cruise left before reaching Samarinda once more. I could have prolonged it with a trek or two, but I’d no wish to turn up in a village led by a guide, just another rich, mollycoddled tourist brought in to ooh and aah, have a welcome dance organised at an exorbitant price and whisked away again. Travelling independently I’m subjected to direct contact, however brief, however stilted. I don’t believe it compares with guided tours, it’s much more demanding, yet much more rewarding. (Photo: Wonderful wetlands for birdlife - A short ride from Jantur, Nr Sungai Mahakam, Kalimantan)