Wright now in Cambodia…
Mark Wright, formerly WWF-UK’s conservation science advisor, has gone to work with WWF in Cambodia. Under the fantastic job title of ‘Eastern Plains landscape manager’, he’s leading a 70-strong team protecting one of the largest forest blocks in South-east Asia from increasing threats like illegal logging, poaching and land-grabbing.
We thought it would be fascinating to get regular blog updates from Mark, to help bring to life some of the hands-on fieldwork WWF does every day across the world.
1. A new frontier…
I suppose it’s not surprising but I’m filled as much with apprehension as excitement. The 10 short days between leaving the comfort and security of my Surrey-based job at WWF-UK and flying off to Cambodia - with all its unknowns - has been a whirlwind of packing, catching up with friends and, hardest of all, saying goodbye to our grown-up children.
Without a doubt this is one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced - a new country, a new language (Khmer), leading a team of 70 people with responsibility for protecting an area of forest nearly twice the size of Cornwall.
But this is exactly what I wanted. This was my chance, after nine happy years at WWF-UK, to get closer to the field work - to bring my stamp and energy to a programme and, without trying to sound too trite, to try and make a difference.
So what can I expect in Cambodia? I know I’ll be based in a small town a six-hour drive from the capital, Phnom Penh, and it only recently had its access road tarmacced. With a population of just 6,000 or so people and very little in the way of facilities, it means we’ll have to be pretty self-sufficient for our entertainment, and will have to get used to a much quieter and, in some ways, simpler life.
Having said that, the town does have a busy local market, good electricity and water as well as mobile phone connections and broadband, so it’s hardly remote. But I do get a feeling it’s a sort of frontier town - in the sense that, now the road has been completed, the area is opening up for business and for land speculation.
What this means is that any pressure the forests were already under from agriculture, poaching and illegal timber extraction, which was already considerable, has suddenly increased significantly. Hence the apprehension…
2. First impressions, flooding and future plans
Well, I’m here in Cambodia and already feeling comfortable in the bustle of Phnom Penh. Arriving at almost midnight, I missed the view of the floods that have inundated Cambodia, killing more than 200 people in the process - the flooding is as much a problem here as in neighbouring Thailand, though not as widely reported back home.
Apparently Phnom means ‘hill’ in Khmer, and from the air the capital currently looks almost like a low island surrounded by huge stretches of water. The rainy season is coming to an end but we are still getting daily afternoon downpours that leave the roads ankle-deep.
And the roads are used by everyone - vehicles and pedestrians alike. The pavements are full of parked cars and bikes or food stalls, and it seems every corner is home to the ubiquitous motorbike taxis, all keen to get your business.
But despite the bustle it has a very gentle feel and it’s easy to feel at home. It’s great to walk the 20 minutes from the small hotel to the office and simply enjoy the experience of seeing something new, whether it be the exotic-looking rambutans and dragon fruits on the market stalls or watching sideboards and plate glass being ferried around on a moped.
I am slowly getting my head around what I need for the project work - some of the more mundane finance and administrative stuff but also a sense of what has gone before and the successes (and challenges) the team has had. It makes me even more keen to get up to the field site, find ourselves somewhere to live (very important!) and immerse myself in the work.
I’m already hearing about some potentially very exciting plans. The government is talking of creating an ‘inviolate tiger area’ within the core zone of Mondulkiri Protected Forest, one of the two forest blocks that fall under the WWF project - which, at some stage in the future, will probably mean translocating tigers from elsewhere in the region, once their key species have recovered sufficiently to support a renewed tiger population.
This is definitely something I want to follow up!
3. Markets, downpours and deforestation
It’s a six-hour drive from Phnom Penh to Mondulkiri province, near the Vietnam border, where I’ll be based. We drive through the outskirts of the city, over long new bridges that cross first the Tonle Sap river and then the Mekong itself.
With all the rains the river is now at its most full - brown and plump and threatening to swamp the riverbanks. As we cross on to the huge central Cambodian plain, the extent of the recent flooding becomes clear. Vast unbroken stretches of water with trees and telegraph poles poking out to remind me that, normally, this is dry land.
Very quickly the countryside becomes less populated and the towns and villages tend to be long and thin and hug the roadsides, with all the land behind seemingly turned over to rice. Everywhere people are being busy. Lots of small shops with their wares spilling out onto the street. Market stalls, some on wheels, selling fruit and clothing and household goods and baskets, or fruit drinks that are ladled into clear plastic bags.
The bit between the buildings and road is bustling with motorbikes and pushbikes, handcarts and barrows, groups of schoolchildren in smart white shirts and dogs sniffing around everywhere. We can see trees in the distance but, essentially, any land near the road is being used.
It’s only after we reach halfway that the land begins to rise. We climb slowly through very green, softly rolling hills, now often covered with huge rubber plantations or cassava being grown on an industrial scale.
These two crops are great money-earners and, in one sense, are our greatest competition in trying to protect any further cutting down of the protected forests. Why, people ask, should we keep forests, when we can make so much money if we cut them down? This is a valid question in a country of less than 15 million people where the average income is about £4 a day.
Clouds start banking up and the winds pick up. The sky gradually turns a thick ashen grey, not just above us but all around the car too. When the rain starts, it is so sudden and so torrential that even with the windscreen wipers on super-fast and the headlights on full it is difficult to see more than 20 metres through the sodden air. After 10 minutes it stops as suddenly as it began, leaving behind rain ditches racing with water brightened with the red soil washed from the hillsides.
At last we come around a corner and see Sen Monorom. My new home. It is fantastic to be here at last and I’m really, really looking forward to looking around - but first we’re off to the WWF office to meet my new team...
4. Language and landscape
At long last I’ve got to meet the team. There are about 30 WWF staff and then a further 30-40 government staff seconded to the programme from the Ministry of the Environment and the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries. Everyone has been very warm and welcoming and I think they are pleased to have a new manager in post after quite a long break.
Two practical things strike me straightaway - the first is that many of the field-based staff do not speak English, and so it makes me all the more determined to get a level of fluency in Khmer as quickly as I can.
The second is that, to my untutored ear, many of the names sound very similar - Sivoun, Siphouen, Sokhom, Sopheak, Sakhan, Sovanna - so I know it’s going to take a little while to be able to match names to faces.
The office is a lovely traditional building on one of the many hills overlooking a small lake - a far cry from the UK office in Godalming.
The teams have all described their work to me and it’s clear there are three main strands:
- protection of the two forest blocks through the ranger patrols to prevent illegal logging and poaching
- work with the communities who live around (and sometimes within) the forests
- and research to gather baseline information on the key species and a better understanding of their requirements.
This part of the world is particularly rich in wild cattle species - banteng, gaur and wild buffalo. Another, the kouprey, is Cambodia’s national animal but is now almost certainly extinct.
A forlorn statue of two of these impressive creatures stands on the only roundabout in Sen Monorom, a sad testament to the lack of protection they got, until it was too late.
As recently as the 1950s these eastern plains of Cambodia were so rich in wildlife that they were compared to the savannahs of East Africa. Although the forests still stand, the populations of the remaining species that live in them are a shadow of what thrived only a generation ago.
Quite simply, our job is to try and support their recovery. And with the right input and the support of all concerned - including our generous supporters back home - there is absolutely no reason why this should not be possible.
5. Stunning views and exotic species
At the weekend I took the opportunity to explore the area a little bit. I’m already feeling like I belong here - I have my own bank account, a mobile phone and, best of all, have just agreed a contract for somewhere to stay.
It’s the upstairs of a house with great views over the hills and the landlord and his family live downstairs. It’s a 15-minute downhill walk to the office (probably more going home!) with a small café handily placed halfway for some of the really strong local coffee sweetened with condensed milk. Add copious amounts of ice and it’s wonderful.
I borrowed a bike and cycled the hilly five miles or so to a place they call the Forest Sea. It’s a small ridge from which you can see almost unbroken forest as far as the horizon. The dry forests of the lower Mekong, of which this is part, form the largest continuous tract of dry forest in the whole of mainland Southeast Asia - and this is what the WWF project is helping to protect.
Standing at this viewpoint, which overlooks both of the forest areas where WWF work, you get a real sense of the large scale of what still remains.
Perhaps I’m not as fit as I should be, or the bike isn’t set up properly, or it’s the early morning heat - who knows - but by the time I get back to town I’m already feeling a bit frazzled so gladly give the bike back and spend the rest of the morning wandering around the town.
I have always loved markets, so get drawn there. There are the expected fruit and veg stalls, meat stands selling what is obviously extremely fresh meat, fish stalls with basins of catfish still slithering around, and household goods galore.
What I hadn’t expected was the huge number of mobile phone shops, but this is clearly very good business. I like seeing the locally produced goods, the shiny aluminium watering cans and the dustbins made from recycled tyres.
It’s also my chance to start looking at some of the wildlife. In towns there are mynah birds everywhere and the bulbuls with their small feather crests.
Down by the lake are loads of different dragonflies, some delicate and small but one is huge and goes thundering along the shoreline. Butterflies are all over the place and one was so large I thought it was a small bird when I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye.
For me, many of the plants are unfamiliar - the durian tree with its spiky (and stinking) fruit, and others I still need to learn the names of - but some I do know: mimosas and bananas, hibiscus and avocado…
We are approaching the end of the rainy season so all is looking fresh, green and fertile. Once the rains stop next month and the long dry season develops, it will be interesting to watch just how much the landscape changes.
We’ll see…
6. Honey, stars and tortoise beetles
At last we’re getting out to the field, and will have the chance to see some of the community work. The two protected areas do join up, but a road passes along the join and there are villages and farming on either side. This is partly because the communities pre-date the establishment of these protected areas and partly because this is in line with the planned zoned use of the forest.
This is also the major route linking Sen Monorom to the principal town in the next province - and so, to try and prevent any illegal transportation of timber or wildlife products, there are several checkpoints along the way.
As we bounce along the red dirt road, it’s clear that the forest doesn’t have the rich luxuriance of a tropical rainforest. It’s much more of an open canopy, and so supports a healthy grass and shrub understorey. During the dry season this acts as perfect kindling - which means fire is a regular part of these forests’ annual cycle.
First we stop off at Pouchrey, where WWF is supporting a honey cooperative. The 4,000 litres of wild honey that they harvest during the short three-month season sells at US$5-6 per litre, and represents valuable supplementary income to the 150 families involved. This is well over half the entire community, and is clearly highly appreciated.
Continuing further north, we’re going to spend the night at a community guesthouse outside Dei Ey village. Built along traditional lines, this can sleep eight, and offers visitors a forest experience.
The guest house is maintained by the local Bunong people, who also provide the food and forest guides. This is still very much in its early stages but, if we can market this sufficiently, it will be a useful addition to the current livelihood options of the community.
It gets dark about six each evening and, especially here, I am struck by the utter silence (apart from the frogs in the local pond and the occasional insect). There is also total darkness - there are no streetlights or passing cars - and as a result the night sky has a clarity that we simply don’t see at home. It’s also odd to see familiar constellations at unfamiliar angles - Orion lies on its side here.
In the morning we take a walk through the forest. The trails are overgrown but this will die back by the time the tourist season starts.
We hear more birds than we see, but do get to see some fantastic insects - vibrant caterpillars and startling butterflies and, to my mind, loveliest of all the slightly surreal tortoise beetle. At maybe 1cm across, it lives up to its name by looking just like an iridescent golden tortoise stuck on top of a contact lens.
We circle back to the guesthouse via the village and fields of cassava. The children still find us slightly unusual - and a couple of the younger ones burst into tears! But the community is very welcoming and willing to let us stare and question and enjoy all these things that are so new to us.
The range of food crops drying under the houses, the enormous pottery jars for water storage, the steep stairs leading to the living area, the black pigs rooting around the chicken coop, the slightly jarring mobile phone mast towering over the buildings…
This has been a great introduction for me to one element of the work - and I’m looking forward to learning about the rest.
7. Community forests and an elephant encounter
Coming back to Sen Monorom we have time for a few more stop-offs. The forest is a natural landscape but along the roads it is, quite clearly, a human-influenced one too. This is one reason WWF urges such care in putting in infrastructure. As roads are built or upgraded so people move in, set up farms and small businesses and the boundary with the forest can start to be nibbled away.
The two forests where WWF works are intentionally designated as multi-use. They do have core areas which are meant to be fully protected and no economic activities can take place within them. Outside of these are the buffer areas where communities can still go and collect medicinal plants, honey and so on.
There are also ‘community protected’ areas that have a legal standing. There is now a 12-stage process to go through to get this recognition, including a clear demarcation of the area, an agreed management plan and a mechanism to share benefits.
Basically speaking, in return for good sustainable use of the community forest and its resources, the communities are assured that this forest area will remain theirs and they can use it for their own benefit.
Thing is, the timber resources in these areas are no less valuable than in the wider forest, and so the community is obliged to have their own patrolling system to prevent illegal loggers coming in to take the best of the wood.
We stop and talk to Mr Pan Dan, the head of one of these areas - the Prey Krang Rapuk Community Protected Forest. Their forest block is a substantial 1164 hectares (around 12km2) but is actually 3km from the village, so slightly awkward for them to monitor. But teams go out on a daily basis to keep a check on it.
What is interesting is that, while it does bring some economic returns to the community, these are generally modest. Instead, it appears that an equally important motivation behind wanting a forest is for its heritage and cultural value.
This part of the country has seen enormous change over the past 10 years or so, including new roads and large commercial plantations. Mr Pan Dan is concerned that unless they take action as a community the particular forests they care about will disappear and the next generation will be the poorer for it.
They also have spirit forests where, traditionally, they bury their dead - so the forests become a very real part of their own history.
Being relatively new here, I still get excited about seeing things that you simply don’t see around the WWF office in the UK. Perhaps it’s because it’s the weekend but we’re passed by three motorbikes bristling with an assortment of helium balloons. It’s difficult to see quite what the market is for these - but it must exist.
Then around a corner we come across two domesticated elephants chewing on the roadside shrubs. I’m not sure why elephants bring such universal pleasure - you can’t help but be happy and smile when you stumble across them like this.
Their two mahouts urge them on and steer them with deft pokes of their toes into the softer skin behind their ears, but neither beast nor driver seems in any sort of hurry.
8. A new home, bird spotting and a wild cat
Great news - yesterday we moved into our new home and began to get to know our landlord, who lives downstairs with his family. It is so nice not to have to live out of a suitcase - although the small amount of stuff we shipped from the UK hasn’t quite arrived yet so there's still the feeling of camping out. Eating supper from a cup is quaint but the novelty is going to wear off pretty quickly I’m sure!
But actually, I don’t care too much. Sitting on the verandah and watching a glorious sunset with the resonant double honk call of tokay geckos echoing around, more than makes up for any momentary inconvenience.
The 15-minute walk to the WWF office takes me down a hill, past a lake and up the opposite hill. I’m already on smiling and greetings terms with the stallholders at the roadside, who probably think it’s odd that I’m the only one walking (rather than on a motorbike) but are too polite to say.
It does mean I get the chance to watch out for birds. I've already seen birds that are familiar, but slightly different, to our own - sparrows, crows, pigeons, a kestrel, a jay and some larks. But of course there are also more unusual things like shrikes and the mynah birds hopping noisily on the metal roofs.
Best of all was a group of Little Green bee-eaters - absolutely exquisite birds that flash green through the sky on perfect triangular wings. It's only when they settle or swoop close by that you can pick out the turquoise throat patch and chestnut cap.
Today was also slightly bittersweet. A young leopard cat (a type of small Asian wild cat) was brought in to our office - the story was that it had been found wandering lost and alone on one of the forest tracks, and was put in a cage and brought to us for safekeeping. It's too young to release back into the wild, so the only real course of action is to let it be taken to the zoo in Phnom Penh.
It won’t be picked up for a couple of days so we’re looking after it at home with regular bottle milk feeding. It's almost impossible not to be drawn to it with its doleful eyes and slight helplessness and, although it will be well looked after at the zoo, I think we all wish it could have stayed in the wild.
9. Deep into the Cambodian forest
It seems like I’ve been stuck at my desk for the past two weeks, but now I have the chance to spend three days in the forest.
We’ll head towards the core zone of Mondulkiri Protected Forest, where there’s the ranger headquarters at Mereuch - and somewhere to stay.
The first part of the journey turns out to be one hour by pick-up along the dusty dirt roads, and then a transfer to the back of a motorbike for the next four hours. Nothing I say will really do justice to that bike ride…
The bikes are all carrying two people plus rucksacks, food and other necessities. On my bike, the driver also has a 20-litre container of fuel wedged between his knees. I had hired a motorbike for the past two weekends to go sightseeing round Sen Monorom. They say you never forget how to ride once learned. That’s not quite true! OK so the basics are still there but driving on gravel and through sand definitely needs regular practice and my gap of 20 years is clearly a bit too long.
So I can fully appreciate how skilful the rangers are on their machines. These are lumpy, unpredictable tracks with rocks and tree roots and often only the width of a tyre. Three times we have to get off to wade knee-deep through streams and for long stretches the track disappears altogether under a curtain of grass.
This is the landscape at its lushest and the grass is often as tall as us on the bike. Lean Nhor, who is driving, cranes his head up and is simply following the slight dent in the sea of grass ahead that suggests there may be a track below.
I am used to seeing the forest since I got here but, by and large, only from the road. I now realise what a sorry substitute that is for the real thing. That’s not really forest - that’s just trees and scrubby bushes along a verge, blanketed with the drab ochre dust that passing vehicles leave hanging in the air. If I’m honest, when I first arrived, I was a little disappointed by ‘the forest’ - but now, heading into the heart of the forest, I am captivated.
These Cambodian forests are more like the open canopy woodlands of Europe - less dramatic, less ‘different’ than a rainforest. If you go into a rainforest you’re immediately aware you are in a magical, mystical place where the mad tangle of life is bursting to get out.
Here the landscape certainly seems tamer, less tropical, but the scale of the forest and the sense of being untouched is enchanting.
The forest is seemingly on just two levels - the tree layer and the grass layer. Shrubs and bushes are rare. This means it’s possible to see for a long, long way through the trees, to see the kaleidoscope of different greens, the different textures of the bark. Best of all is when we stop the bikes and there’s the total absence of sound - broken occasionally by the staccato chuckle or watery call of unknown birds.
There is no sign at all, in whatever direction, that there is anyone else in the landscape apart from us. But it also dawns on me that this is an empty landscape - or at least emptier than it should be. In the three days of visiting we catch a glimpse of one muntjac deer and a few langurs but no other large animal, in an environment that’s capable of supporting far higher populations than it does.
This is certainly a result of earlier poaching, which still continues, and, who knows, might also be a legacy of the spate of wars this country has endured in the recent past.
Despite not seeing animals, we do see signs of them. Not long after setting out, one of the rangers spots fresh leopard scat on the trail. It seems to be made up entirely of muntjac hair and is neatly coiled like a skein of brown - if pungent - wool.
The ranger headquarters at Mereuch sits on the Srepok River. One afternoon, after a furious downpour, we hitch a boat ride with a local man who is going to check his fish hooks set earlier in the day. It’s an idyllic 20 minutes downstream with unbroken forest on each bank. Sometimes we need to hug the bank, skirting trees full of the insistent electric whine of cicadas.
I still have no idea how he saw them but one ranger suddenly points out a small group of silver langurs in a sleng tree. It’s only when we circle back around again that I can actually see them - and then only with concentrated peering.
The fruits of the sleng tree are collected by the local people because, as the tree’s Latin name (Strychnos nux-vomica) suggests, this is used to produce strychnine. The doses in these seeds are sufficient to kill other monkeys, so it’s a mystery to me how the langurs can eat them with no ill effect.
One of the main reasons for coming out to Mereuch this time was to check on the state of the waterholes. We’re concerned that some species - and Eld’s deer in particular - are so rare in these forests.
One idea is that, during the dry season, water may become a limiting fact. So, earlier this year, we selected seven of the waterholes and dug them deeper or wider in the hope that they will hold water until the next rains start - unlike many that dry up completely by February or March.
We have to walk to many of these waterholes, and it’s wonderful to spend time, on foot, in this landscape. There is something extraordinarily peaceful about these forests and, being that much quieter than on the motorbike, there is a greater chance of seeing something.
At one waterhole we startle three Sarus cranes, tall graceful birds that flap lazily away when we arrive. For me, though, the highlight was disturbing two giant ibis that heard us long before we reached the waterhole itself and flew low, heavy and black (like something from Harry Potter) across the treetops. The giant ibis is classed as critically endangered, so this really was a special moment.
Too soon we have to head back to Sen Monorom along the tracks that are even more difficult after the rain.
This is the beginning of the dry season and the trees have started dropping their serving-plate-sized leaves. These are already crunchy underfoot but, thanks to their high oil content, they also act as tinder for the regular forest fires that will dominate over the next four months and leave huge swathes of the forest blackened and barren.
It’s all part of the natural cycle, and the rains in April will usher in new growth. But until this happens, I am told, much of the landscape will look desolate and scarred.
10. Sights, sounds and feel of the forest
It gets light here about 5.30am, and today I’m in the forest by 6.30 for a couple of hours’ walk before breakfast.
I love being able to walk, to listen to the waking forest, and today to see the moon, still in the sky through the trees. At walking speed it’s also easier to take in the fine detail - to see, and hear, the different textures that make up this landscape. It’s these textures I want to talk about.
As I leave the road I pass through bamboo thickets, into semi-evergreen forest and finally into the dry forest that makes up the bulk of these protected areas. Some of the tall trees have ghostly white bark that is scooped and scalloped with a soft almost velvety feel. Others are grey and fissured and covered in large flakes that look like 3-D contour maps.
Some of the bushes and low shrubs are armed with sharp spines on their branches and, in some cases even the leaves have spikes on their top surface to deter browsers.
Football-sized ant nests in the branches add further protection. In places, the vines coil tightly like candy canes while strangler figs gently squeeze the life out of their tree hosts.
This is maybe the best time of day for birds, though often you hear them more than you see them. There’s the familiar thudding of woodpeckers, but a huge range of other, often unfamiliar sounds: a sharp plastic wheeze like the horn on a child’s bike, the excited chatter of babblers and laughing thrushes and the distant honk of a hornbill.
Another call is like the tumbling of water, and yet another like the insistent beep of a lorry reversing. Stand still for a few minutes and these calls change as new birds pass through - small flocks of bright green leafbirds, the clattering wing beats of a pigeon or the yellow flash of an oriole.
At speed, passing in a vehicle, this landscape can appear uniform and empty - but if you take the time to stop and look and listen its true character emerges. There is great diversity here - you just have to work a little bit harder to recognise it.
11. Christmas holidays in Cambodia
Our first Christmas in Cambodia - and it's cold. Well, I say cold - I need a jumper, but my colleagues are wrapped up in coats, hats, scarves, even gloves.
To be fair, it's still sunny, but for the past two weeks the winds have picked up with a vengeance - and, I'm told, will keep blowing until around February. It's strongest at night when it sounds like the constant rumble of waves crashing on a beach, but even during the day it's strong enough to rock and flex the wood-framed office building in a slightly disconcerting way.
Apart from anything else the wind is incredibly drying. The air is becoming hazy with dust and lots of people are going down with coughs and sore throats. It's also drying out the land - yesterday I saw my first hill fire as it was fanned across a hillside on the edge of town.
This is a primarily Buddhist country so Christmas is not really celebrated. Having said that, the last time I was in the capital I saw lots of shops were selling fake trees and baubles and lights. One place not only had inflatable snowmen and reindeer but also a Father Christmas that must have been 15 metres high, swaying slightly and looming over the buildings like something out of Ghostbusters.
In Sen Monorom, we found a Christmas tree look-alike to decorate the house. I measured it and it comes in at a slightly under-achieving 39cms high but it does mean it fills up quickly with the home-made angels and, I think, looks rather homely.
We've come to the end of the year and my first three months in Cambodia. I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever about coming here. Certainly there are major challenges, but that's what I was looking for. I'm looking forward to 2012 - only time will tell what it will bring.
Read on to follow Mark's 2012 adventures here...
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