More than most trips, I felt tremendous trepidation and anxiety before departing. My youngest son experiences autism and I feel a lot of guilt before traveling because my wife, who is already over worked, has even more responsibility taking on all of our son's care needs when I am gone. I worry too, that if I was to get into an accident and don't come home, that my wife would carry this great responsibility of caring for our youngest son alone. Of course it's these very responsibilities that drive me to the jungle, where I walk in utter solitude with only the owls for a few days each year.
April 25th. I work most of the day before Tui runs me up to the MAX light rail. I arrive at the airport to find my flight's a little delayed. Everything works out, and I am able to get to my gate in San Francisco and catch the big night flight to Manila.
April 26th It's a 14 hour flight. I eat some melatonin gummies for the first time. They don't help, there just isn't room to really sleep.
April 27th I arrive in Manila around dawn. There is a heatwave, and the airport's air conditioning churns out warm air that smells of duty free and pork baos. Immigration duties are handled on an app, and my glasses have broken during the flight. The one-armed glasses constantly slip off my sweaty nose. I have a pounding headache and to make matters worse my fucking debit card does not work in the four ATMs I try. I call the bank, and they have the travel alert on file, so there is no clear reason. Fuck, I have hardly any cash and the trip will be pretty messed up without a working Visa. I change some of my precious cash reserves and make my way to my gate.
The mid morning Zamboanga flight is on Cebu Pacific. I caught the very same flight with my friend Shaun in 2010. Just like last time, there are pop quizzes and prizes and the flight attendants hawk nick knacks.
In Zamboanga (the occasionally troubled provincial city in South-Western Mindanao) I meet Jay-Paul. He works for the department of natural resources (DENR) and can get me access to the city's wonderfully large watershed forest. However, it's only noon, so for now he runs me to Casa Maria, where I soon find myself in a small concrete room listening to the thrum of the A/C. Despite the heat wave, I can't face being cooped, and I set out and walk to street. It's noisy, and not that exciting outside, but it's still good to see Filipino people and just feel the place again.
Jay Paul returns for me late in the afternoon, and the sun has already tempered. We drive a big, empty concrete road into the foothills above town. The light is beautiful, and it feels good to see the small farms with bananas trees, chickens and dogs. Little children play on the road, while scrappy teenage boys race their motor scooters ignored by the girls who walk in little flocks holding hands. The little car winds up over the range to a small community called La Paz. The name is aspirational and it hasn't always been peaceful here. Jay-Paul can only talk of terrorists, so it's hard to get the picture. I do remember my last guide telling me that many, many people were killed and buried in this forest. This area is mostly Muslim, and the people here have mostly tolerated living in this most catholic of countries. Occasionally their have been aspirations for independence, and spasms of rebellion. The armed forces of the Philippines sadly is an instrument to maintain the states boundaries, and its challenges are mostly domestic. It has a sad and bloody history of killing it's citizens and has spilled much blood in these bucolic hills.
My target for tonight is the Mindanao boobook. It's not a rare bird, but it has remained elusive to me despite looking for it in PICOP in 2002, here in Zamboanga in 2010 and then again at Mount Apo and in the verdant tablelands near Mt Kitanglad. We wait by a small roadside clearing, surrounded by beautiful primary forest. As soon as the bats start hawking for insects, Jay-Paul plays the call. A minute later a small owl flies into a scrappy roadside tree and we spotlight it! A Mindanao boobook. It's a small, short-tailed Ninox. The bill is large, exposed and greenish yellow. The eyes large and vibrant yellow. The checks have fluffy whiskers. The head is warm brown, with a little white spotting. The chin is whitish and the breast is mostly brown, with a few white feathers, grading to white on the belly with brown streaks. The back and wing coverts are brown, with darker freckling. The flight feathers are brown, with obvious whitish spotting. The song is a lovely, soft, dove-like "wow wow". We eventually see two birds duetting on a large exposed bough and hear a third bird below us.
My other targets are birds I have seen before but wanted another view. Everett's scops owl, is a bird that I have heard, but seen in flight only at Rajah Sikatuna National Park in Bohol. Chocolate boobook, is a bird that I saw in Sablayan Penal Colony in Mindoro. I was happy with the daytime sighting of a silent bird, only to later have Shaun ask me if it could have been a Northern Boobook. I had been uneasy about the identification ever since, and had spent a night hiking Subic Bay in search of a Chocolate boobook.
We decided to start with Everett's scops. The physical environment was challenging, behind the clearing is rocky gully, then a very steep up slope with tall forest. Jay-Paul is able to get a pair of Everett's scops to respond, and slowly they approach, and we are eventually able to get sustained looks of one perched above us. It's a larger scops owl, with huge ears, which are paler on the front, forming a big V-shaped crown atop of the owl's face. The eyes are orange-brown. The collar (under the chin) is pale. The breast is tawny-buff, with dark, cross hatched streaks. The upper parts are warm brown, extensively spotted with darker brown. The song is a series of about three squawks that end in a little growl. Occasionally they make a single, explosive squawk.
Jay Paul hadn't previously seen Chocolate boobook at La Paz, but we decide to try. We drive to a col, and play the song. Immediately a giant scops owl responds with a powerful screech. We then hear a distant chocolate boobook, causing us to briskly walking back to the original site. There we spotlight the owl, singing from an exposed perch. The eye-shine is red but the eyes are actually golden yellow. The head is grayish, and back is chocolate brown. the under parts are white, extensively streaked with chocolate brown. The feet are powerful and yellow. It's a much larger bird than Mindanao boobook, and much long-tailed. It sings a series of 4-7 soft "hoop" notes.
I am thrilled, we have found are targets before the 8pm curfew (for security). We return for the giant scops owl site, but don't hear it again. A little further down the road, we try again and get a single response, but again the owl remains elusive. (I have seen this bird well near Mt Kitanglad).
I can't say asleep on the drive back to Casa Maria, where Jay-Paul drops me off.
April 28th. I wake at 4am, and my mind stubbornly refuses to let me sleep in. Today I travel to Tawi-Tawi for Sulu boobook. The journey there is easy enough. When I arrive, I ask about the forest to the northwest, but am told it's safer to stay closer to town. A little disappointed I settle on Mt Bud Bongao. This is a charismatic peak that rises above the town of Bongao. Bongao is the last town in the Philippines and the first to have a mosque. There are small patches of forest between the dramatic limestone cliffs. I am concerned that there is insufficient forest here to support the owls, or that I will hear them, but will be unable to get close enough to see them due to the extensive rock faces. In the meantime, I have to contend with 1100' of steep steps with my back pack. The site is popular with locals, and everyone say's "hello" and takes selfies with me. (This place is little visited by foreigners). There are some well fed macaques, who follow me up the slope. Tiny baby macaques cling to their moms, while the dads scratch their nuts and harass me for food. I stash my bag near the summit, and then walk out to the most beautiful grassy view point. Sabah is just 40 km away!
View of Bongao from Bud Bongao
I lay low while the other hikers descend back into town. The sun sets quickly.
Soon darkness comes
I get out my gear, and start playing the song of the Sulu boobook. Almost immediately I hear a response and glimpse an owl fly into a thicket. A magpie robin scolds. I play the song again, and the owl perches above me, and I can spotlight it! Like the Mindanao boobook, it's a small, short-tailed owl, with bright yellow eyes. It's similar, but has an obvious white throat, that spreads to a half collar. The overall plumage seems more evenly warm brown, and less mottled. Un-fucking-believable! That was easy. Happy I walk down the long concrete trail, occasionally stepping with a loud crunch on unfortunate giant millipedes. It's a short ride into town. There I enjoy a burger and talking with a local family about their lives here.
April 29th I enjoy a morning walk to the airport. A lot of people call out "hey Joe", a left over from the G.I. Joes, and America's sad experiment with colonialism. I get an offer for a free ride, but the light is beautiful, and it's just too good to be out to miss the walk. I fly out to Manila, and on to there to Jakarta, arriving at midnight.
April 30th From Jakarta I catch a 2am flight to Kupang in Timor, arriving there at first light. I have only slept a couple of hours, so at Kupang airport I find good coffee and orange juice to revive my weary brain. I have a couple of hours to wait, then catch a Wings flight on a turboprop to Alor. Descending over Alor, I see small mountains blanketed in green velvet forest. I walk out of the terminal, and catch the world's slowest mini bus into town. I could have walked faster! The driver has clearly invested more in the sound system than the motor. In town, I stop for lunch, pork satay. This area is mostly Christian, so I can indulge in fine pork meats. I then catch a much faster, quieter mini bus that takes me east along the coast road. We drive past a roadside man, who is smoking and having his morning coffee. The ticket guy on the minibus, hops off the still moving bus, grabs the man's coffee, takes a big gulp, then runs back onto the bus. Everyone laughs. It's such a good joke, and one that in my own country wouldn't fly with it's fuck you buddy masculine hostility. I get off where a small road bisects the island. I buy a few bottles of water at a small store, then hike inland along a narrow broken asphalt road. It's still midday, so I have plenty of time to kill. I pass a small river, and take shade at the creek-side by a stand of tall bamboo. I laze around and sleep a little on a gravel bar, waiting for the sun to ease it's way into the the evening.
Around five, I get going and follow the small road into the hills. I eventually find a patch of forest, with a lovely flat area where I can camp. I hide my bag behind a log and prepare my owling gear. After the luck I had in the Philippines I am feeling confident. At sunset, I get out my gear and start playing the song of the Alor boobook. I follow the small road steeply up hill to the north. There is a lot of motorcycle traffic, and I have do respond to a lot of questions asking "mister what are you doing" and "mister, do you need a ride?"After a couple of hours I reach a col, and I have still not heard an Alor boobook. Foolishly I have only brought a half liter of water. I see a small village store next to a big church. The store is close, but I ask around. The family who runs the store is sitting down for dinner. They ask me in and offer me a plate. I accept, and wolf down a plate of rice, salted fish and veggies, plus several cups of warm water. I thank them multiple times and pay them something, then hit the road again. At my next stop I hear two Alor boobooks. They are calling from below me, on a steep forested slope. I follow them down, but they seem to move away and fall silent. With growing concern I return to the road, and follow it further into the interior of the island, eventually descending to an agricultural heartland. There is little forest by the roadside. I hear about ten boobooks, but they are usually far away, across a valley, or they fall silent after playback. I find an Australian Barn owl, a shockingly small, delicate barn owl, pearly white beneath and mostly dove gray above. This is a new owl for me and a good consolation.
Eventually around midnight, I decide to return, as the habitat has gotten worse, and I decide my best chance is to try the first pair again. It's a hot, weary hike back, and even though I hear several Alor boobooks, I am never able to get them to solicit a sustained response. At one in the morning I reach my bag, and sadly put up my tent. Despite a strong breeze, and bright, bright moon, I sleep soundly.
May 1st. I wake to my alarm at 430am, pack the tent quickly, and head down the road, playing the call of Alor boobook. Alas it's not to be, and around daybreak I reach the coast road and stop trying for the owl.
Soon a guy on a motor bike offers me a ride, and we are flying along the coast road. It's a beautiful ride, we twist and roll our way through the curves next to a blue Pacific gently breaking to our right. At the airport I replenish with coffee and noodles. The Wings flight comes in late. When descending into Kupang, we get a couple of meters from the runway, then with a roar, we lift off and fly around for a vast loop that takes another 15 minutes. I am worried that something is wrong with the little plane, but on the next go it lands without issue.
From the airport I catch a taxi with a shattered windshield to the ferry terminal. It's hot and breezy and I have several hours to wait. I spend my time catching up on food and drinks, and chatting with local people. Late in the afternoon a slow ferry to Rote arrives. It's a sound looking ship, and as soon as I find a seat, I fall fast asleep.
The ship pulls into Rote a couple of hours after dark. Thanks to a navigation app, I discover we have landed very near the owling site, rather than the normal terminal at Baa, far to the south. A local guy offers me a ride to the main road above the harbor. There I say my thanks, and head off on an asphalt road through small farms towards the heart of the island. After a couple of kilometers of walking I have accumulated a small entourage of local people on motor bikes. They ask me the usual questions about what I am doing and if I need help. I let them know, and ask them if they can leave me in peace, something they resolutely ignore. In desperation (because they are too noisy to allow for owling), I slip down a side trail, hoping they will give up. After exploring the side trail, I return to the road, and they resume following me. I try and hide behind a tree, but to my embarrassment they find me there, which just elicits more questions, "sir, what are you doing there". At the edge of the owling area I get about 50 meters ahead of the group, and then lay down in a thicket. I hear them calling for me as they ride slowly past.
Triumphant I emerge from the thicket and start playback for Rote boobook. Of course twenty minutes late I hear the motorbikes return, and have to slip back into the scrub. They are still calling out for me as they go past. After they disappear, I follow the road through some open monsoon forest to a dry creek-bed. The road is washed away here, and beyond the wash out I relax, knowing I am alone. I stash my backpack in pile of sharp limestone. My head-torch catches the eye shine of a group of cows chewing cud. Still, no response from the boobook. The forest eventually opens up, and here I hear a response. I follow the owl through scrub, and spotlight it perched exposed in a small snag. With its wings held open, the whole bird looks like a checkerboard of heavily barred flight and tail feathers. It's a small owl, with a short tail. It has bright yellow eyes, a pale gray bill and gray cheeks. The forehead is extensively spotted white. The chest white, heavily mottled warm brown at the neck, becoming more sparingly mottled towards the vent. The rather weak legs are yellowish. The song is a long series of slightly paired, clucking grunts. After last night's fiasco, it's a massive fucking relief to see this owl.
Happy I retrieve my bag and walk back to the village. There I find some guys playing cards. A couple have stone weights, tied by strings to their ears. They explain, that's what happens when you loose the game. We talk, mostly with Google translate. I ask for a ride to Papela, a fishing village, where I can hopefully charter a boat back to Kupang. (Tomorrow's ferry will arrive too late in Kupang for me to catch my flight). After much consultation a crowd builds to about three dozen folk. Many, many photographs are taken. Eventually an English speaking guy, Tubel, arrives to take me to Papela.
Tubel and I making arrangements to travel to Papela
After a brief downpour, we set out around midnight. It's a beautiful ride along wet country roads under a rising half moon. Mist rises from the wet asphalt, and the air is heavy with the smell of manure and eucalyptus. After 45 minutes we make it to a rather large police station. Three policemen greet us. We talk for a while. We all take photos and then they offer to let me use the village boat at a good price. I am given a corner on the tile floor to sleep. It's now one am, and I am tired, so I sleep easy.
May 2nd. I wake at 5am, and Tubel is already up. We ride down to the harbor. A long slender wooden craft is prepared. The police arrive soon after, and they let me know they have arranged a driver to pick me up the fishing village on the Timor side. I greet the deckhand, he tells me to be ready for big waves. I had been warned by a surflodge on Rote not to attempt this crossing in a local boat. I had also been told that these boats do it all the time. It's breezy at the harbor, but sheltered by a mosaic of limestone islands and the waters are calm.
Tubel and I at the harborWe say goodbye, and I set off with the captain and deckhand out from the harbor.
After crossing a bay, we enter a myriad of channels between a maze of islands. It's beautiful.
View at the start of the boat ride After about an hour, we emerge into the open water. (There is about 15km, between Rote and Timor). The deckhand gives me plastic bags for my backpack and phone, then swaddles me in a giant tarp. Meanwhile the captain puts on a motorcycle helmet to protect from the waves. The helmeted captain, awash with spray, pilots the boat up and over each peak and trough. We climb tall waves, then plunge dramatically to the left as the waves pass and we descend into the abyss of a deep gray trough. And repeat. Water washes over us, and despite the tarp I am soaked. I feel dread. Dread that we will turn around and I will miss my flight, or worse or that we will sink in this merciless gray mess of water. The boat slows, and fights it's way across the straight, the loud smokey motor put puting stubbornly forward. I keep watching Timor, searching the distant land for a sign that we are getting closer. There are no other boats in the channel and it feels lonely out here. After another hour it's clear we are most of the way across, and eventually we catch the waters on the leeward side of Timor. With great relief the boat slows, the prow slides into the soft coral sand. I thank the deckhand and captain. Sure enough, a driver meets me. He doesn't speak English, and we drive in silence to the airport.
I catch a flight to Denpasar, Bali, where I only have an hour to check in and board my next flight, back East again to Labuan Bajo, Flores. When I get to the check-in, I find Citilink has cancelled the flight. Fucking Kiwi.com, the online travel agent that hadn't fucking texted me to let me know. It's too late to catch another flight to Labuan Bajo, so I book one for midday tomorrow.
I decide to make the most of my 20 hours in Bali, and head out the terminal. I catch a cheep Ojek, up to Bedugul in the mountains. The ride is fast, and we spend most of the journey occupying the white line in the middle of the road passing other vehicles. At Bedugul, I get dropped of at Bali Botanical Gardens. This is a well known birding site. There is one report of Oriental Bay Owl, a widespread bird I have never seen. Alas the guard tells me the gardens have closed at 4pm! Not to be thwarted I check into a nearby hotel, then hike around to the side of the gardens though onion fields and barking dogs. I sneak through a side gate after dark and begin my quest for the bay owl. I end up hearing barred eagle owl, but no bay owls. After a couple of hours I head back to the hotel. I am starving, so I eat one meal at a warung of tempeh with sambal, and then try the next stall for chicken feet and noodle soup.
I decide to call it a night, and head out into the park before dawn.
May 3rd. I wake at 330am, and head out through the unguarded main gate. I find a big porcupine, and hear the barred eagle owl again. Still no bay owls. (This is a very rare bird in Bali). Just before dawn a security truck approaches. I bolt and hide in the trees. They spotlight me, and sheepishly I wander over to them. They are cool, but they "fine" me a little money. Then they sneak me out of the park, away from the other guards at the main gate, no doubt, to avoid having to split the proceeds of the "fine" with their colleagues.
I decide to call it quits, and pack up. I hike down to the lake, where I meet a lady driver, called Hani, who offers to run me back to the airport for a reasonable price. I make my flight to Labuan Bajo on Flores without any problems. There I catch an Ojek to a motor rental place. I pick up a Honda Scooby for $6. It's a daunting 3 1/2 hour ride to Ruteng, a mountain town, with Flores Scops owls nearby. The road is tortured and twisting, and the small wheeled bike handles badly on the potholed road. Still I ride the bike hard, determined to get to Ruteng before nightfall.
Tired and dusty I pull into Ruteng a little after 5pm. I check into a surprisingly fancy hotel, then head on out to a gated track that leads several kilometers up into the mountains to service a radio tower. I am following Google maps up the track in the final gasps of daylight. I stop to piss. Fortunately I'd abandoned my helmet at the hotel, and I immediately hear a Flores scops owl when pissing! This is a bird that have been thinking about for almost thirty years, and I am thrilled to hear it. I start playback. I soon glimpse the owl as it flies by, but am unable to secure a view with the flashlight.
I head up the narrow track on foot. I soon elicit a response from a pair of owls. We play cat and mouse in the dense montane forest. I creep through the bamboo and vines searching the underside of the canopy for these two tiny owls. At times, they sound so close, that I can't believe that I am unable to see them. After 30 minutes they fall silent, so I press on up the mountain. I hear a couple of other distant birds, before passing a track-side pair. I set off into the dense forest under low boughs and over rattan vines. Soon enough I spotlight this elusive denizen of the mountain forests. It's a very small rufous scops. The eyes and bill are yellow, the cheeks whiskered. The upper breast is rich rufous and the belly is rufous, barred with soft gray. I am so happy, everything is going to be OK for my trip. It's a magic fucking thing, seeing these tiny wispy forest owls in their mossy homes across the ocean.
I walk quickly back to the bike, then ride the narrow path. It's a joy to have no helmet and feel the forest plants brush my face. I find a noodle house, order soup, and eat it with so much sambal that I sweat and drip in shame.
May 4th. I wake at 330am, and set off in search of Moluccan scops. I have seen this bird in Halmahera, and suspect one day the birds in Nusa Tenggara will be split. It takes me four attempts to get to a site for the owls, thanks to Google fucking up the route. Out in Flores it doesn't distinguish between tracks and roads, nor does it seem to pick up on which roads are gated. Eventually I get there. I walk down a muddy forested lane, though cow shite patties to some paddies. I hear a distant Moluccan scops, but it stops calling before I get close. I also hear a pair of Wallace's scops, I have seen this bird a few kilometers from here in 2003. Just as the sky begins to turn pale blue, I hear another Moluccan scops. I hustle across some rough pastures, and there it is, completely out in the open. Soon it's joined by a mate. They look like classic scops owls, medium sized, with yellow eyes, a dark bill, bold ears, a brownish wash on the chest, streaked dark brown (with cross hatches). Happy, I ride back to the hotel and catch a couple of hours sleep.
After a delicious breakfast I hit the road. It's a challenging ride back to Labuan Bajo. The scooter rental company doesn't ask me about the 300km I put on the scooter in a day. A guy from the shop runs me to the airport. He cuts a shocking image, heavily tattooed, and with a neck scar from ear to ear, that's so thick that it's left his head lopsided. Despite his fearsome appearance he rides like a grandma.
I catch a flight to Surabaya, then another, back East to Lombok, arriving after nightfall. A guy selling SIM cards at the airport arranges a ride for me to my hotel (the Country House). We arrive at 9pm. The nightwatchman man doesn't speak English, so we talk by Google translate. I ask for the owner, who comes down. He tells me that the Rinjani scops owls are usually in the hotel grounds. The nightwatchman and I walk around the garden, and soon I spotlight one in a small tree. It looks like a Moluccan scops, but with even bigger ears. The call however is very different, a much higher pitched "bruup" compared with the Moluccan's low croak. Very nice. I am happy.
While enjoying the owls, the nightwatchman's brother, Dennis arrives. Dennis works as a ranger and guide. I can tell he is a little disappointed that I don't need his services for the owls. Over a beer we get talking about snakes, and soon we agree to go out herping. We follow the creek into Kerandangan National Park. Dennis finds four vipers.
I think these are two color phases of white-lipped green pit viper. This is a rarely deadly, but they bite people a lot (both the hotel owner and the manager have been bitten by them). Despite this, Dennis is fearless about getting a few inches from the snakes with a phone to take pictures. A little after midnight I say goodbye to Dennis and get some sleep.
May 5th. After a good breakfast I catch a cab back to the airport. I WhatsApp Hani (the driver who helped me last time I was in Bali), and she agrees to drive me for the day. I meet Hani just outside the terminal, and we drive back up to Bedugul. It's really rare for me to hang out with women on my owling trips as almost all the guiding/ranger/driving jobs are occupied by men. We arrive at Bali Botanical Gardens early in the afternoon. We arrange to meet up by the entrance at dusk, and I set off through the gardens. The place is full of local families picnicking on the grass. It's noisy, and not exactly prime owling conditions, but still it's nice to see everyone. I find some quieter corners of the park and use playback to try and solicit Javan Owlet. This is an owl I had seen all too briefly at Gunung Gede in Java a few years ago. After three hours I finally get a response, and am able to get good views of this great little owl beneath the canopy.
At dusk Hani drives me over to the next valley to the West. There is a wonderful gated road that I walk down in solitude. I am hoping (not realistically, as its very rare) to find a Oriental Bay owl here. Alas I don't, but I do hear a Sunda Scops and Barred Eagle owl. I return to the car and we head back into town for some Padang food. Hani then runs me back to Denpasar airport. At the terminal I am appalled to find that Kiwi.com has sold me an illegal ticket, and I am forced to buy another. Despite the stress of that and expense, I am just happy to be heading home.
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