A close-up look at Sumatra’s orangutans
By Judith Matloff
Published: September 19 2009 00:25 | Last updated: September 19 2009 00:25
 |
| Orangutans at play in the Gunung Leuser national park |
As I stepped down the embankment to the wooden boat that would take us up river, Mr Mistar, our guide, made me pause. “She disappeared,” he said in an ominous tone. I looked up inquiringly, waiting to hear more. “A woman washing clothes. The crocodile ate her.”
With that, we pushed off. I knew the trip to pursue wild orangutans in Sumatra would be tough. Wading thigh-high in swamp was expected, as was the risk of strange diseases. I hadn’t wagered on man-eating reptiles but nothing was going to stop me now. Many years back, I was thrilled to encounter feral gorillas in Rwanda – one even touched my shoulder. And so I jumped when my brother-in-law, an expert on orangutans, offered to arrange access to Asia’s only great ape. I was conscious that, at most, only 6,600 orangutans remain in Sumatra. Scientists warn that this close human cousin might disappear in a decade or two as a result of the destruction of its habitat for palm oil plantations.
The photographer and I travelled for two hours up river to our destination, a research station called Suaq Balimbing in the Kluet swamp, where the animals live unmolested. As we sailed past the pristine forest of gigantic trees, Ellen Meulman, a Dutch researcher, identified hornbills and the rare Storm’s stork. We saw kingfishers while indigenous fishermen paddled by in dugout canoes, their wicker baskets filled with river oysters. Mindful of Mr Mistar’s cautionary tale, I recoiled when something reptilian slithered into the water. Thankfully, it was just a monitor lizard.
Shortly thereafter a shout went out: “Oranghutan”, the local word for “person of the forest”. Everyone looked up. Sure enough, something hairy perched in a Neesia tree. The boatman stopped the motor and we watched the animal nonchalantly munch on the husky fruit.
Thrilled at such an early sighting, we resumed the voyage only to come upon an awful scene. Flames crackled in a clearing where palm seedlings awaited planting. “This was dense vegetation a few months ago,” Meulman said, shocked. “It takes 70,000 years to grow a primary forest.”
Soon we arrived at the camp, which consisted of two wooden cabins and a dozen researchers. A quick dip in the river refreshed us until the photographer emerged with blood streaming from his side. “Leech!” Mr Mistar exclaimed. Over a dinner of rice and fresh catfish, the trackers discussed the various endangered creatures that lived in these parts – sun bears, tigers, clouded leopards.
“Don’t forget the reticulated python,” Mr Mistar added. He held up a dinner plate. “One was this thick. It crushed and ate a man whole.” Meulman changed the subject to orangutans. They only live in Borneo and Sumatra, use tools to eat and fashion umbrellas out of leaves. That, I thought, would be worth seeing.
The next morning we set forth at first light, with leg guards to protect us from leeches. “Wear long sleeves,” Mr Mistar advised. “They fall from trees.” We plunged into the peat swamp, clinging to vines to stay upright as our legs sank deep into the muck. “You’re lucky it’s the dry season,” said Meulman, as the mud reached my hips.
The orangutans had moved deep into the forest to seek fruit and it was slow-going in pursuit. Every now and then the trackers would point to a big nest 30m above. Orangutans are the only great apes that sleep in trees, to avoid feline predators below, and they use nests only once before moving on. These all appeared to be discarded beds.
Six hours and just as many nests later, we still hadn’t spotted an ape and the afternoon heat felt like a steam bath. We turned back for camp.
Days later, eager to get a close look at the apes, we headed for the orangutan sanctuary in Gunung Leuser national park. Eventually we reached Bukit Lawang, a village on the banks of the rushing Bohorok River. We dropped our bags off at the Eco-Lodge run by the local conservation group YEL. The cabins with private baths seemed luxurious after sleeping on the floor at Suaq. With an approving look at the bar serving chilled beer, we headed out for a three-hour hike in the rainforest.
The path began through a rubber plantation before winding steeply uphill. Silence was broken by the whine of a distant chainsaw and the guide’s explanations about the local plants. “Liana vine: heals the liver. Suli stimulates lactation. Pasak bumi cures malaria. Rubber tree – good for family planning!”
Suddenly, we saw a flash of copper fur, then two, 15 metres above. A mother and child hung by their feet like furry laundry. The baby made a smacking noise with its lips to signal fear, and the mum pulled him towards her with one deft hand. They swung from branch to branch.
We stood transfixed until the long call of a male reminded us that others awaited observation at the sanctuary. We headed towards the feeding station, where we were guaranteed a closer encounter. The spot comprised a wooden platform, surrounded by primates from Australia. A sound of crashing through the brush announced the arrival of a 4ft-high orangutan with a tiny baby clinging on like a backpack. The mother pushed past the humans, grabbed a bunch of bananas and stuffed them into her mouth. Surely we should leave these wondrous animals alone, I thought. The mother seemed to ponder the same thing. She trained her intelligent eyes upon us and I imagined her thinking, “What went wrong with evolution?” We stared at each other at a metre’s distance until she disappeared into the thicket.
On the river path back to the lodge, we encountered another pair of orangutans that had commandeered a boat. They playfully swung from its ropes as the owner seethed with frustration. Looking for a new challenge, the apes moved on to tease sunbathers. The male orangutan put on someone’s T-shirt. His lady friend, meanwhile, imitated a woman tanning on a rock.
After a while, they tired of the fun and sauntered back into the forest. I hoped that they would hide there for ever, far from the destructive influence of humans.
Judith Matloff is the author of ‘Home Girl’ (Random House)
Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2009. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from FT.com and redistribute by email or post to the web.
Comments