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Boston Globe
21-02-2025
- Boston Globe
Birds, bears, and boats in Borneo
The Kinabatangan region in northeastern Borneo has protected wildlife sanctuaries and wetland areas and is known for its biodiversity with more than 350 species of birds (at least a dozen of which are endemic), pygmy elephants, gibbons, wild boars, sun bears (the world's smallest bears), and clouded leopards. It's essentially where 'Wild Kingdom' meets the rain forest. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up A standard double room in a cabin at the Kinabatangan Wetlands Resort. Rooms have a large bathroom with hot-water shower and a private outdoor shower, air conditioning, and a big window overlooking the jungle. Kari Bodnarchuk You can travel to remote villages along the river, such as Sukau and Abai, by boat (a couple can also be accessed by road). Either prearrange a stay with a local family or book an individual lodge that offers anything from rustic huts with thin mattresses and bug nets (but no doors or windows) to fully enclosed, air-conditioned cabins with hot showers and comfy beds. The last time I traveled through Malaysia — as a young backpacker living on $5 a day — I would have chosen a hut ($100 for three days and two nights). This time, with a bigger budget and my 12-year-old daughter in tow — plus less tolerance for bugs and creepy critters — I chose a cabin ($400 for three days and two nights, including boat tours and food — yummy curries and a lot of fresh fruit). Visitors can stay in small, remote ecolodges on Malaysia's Kinabatangan River and go out for early morning, sunset, and night tours by small motorboat. Kari Bodnarchuk The jumping-off point for many river trips is Sandakan, a coastal city of about 439,000 in northeast Sabah that's just a three-hour flight from Kuala Lumpur on Peninsular Malaysia (flights on Air Asia run as little as $33 each way). Spend a day exploring this walkable city, where you can climb 100 steps — past mango and jackfruit trees — to visit an English teahouse and a colonial villa once owned by American-author Agnes Keith and her British husband (a forest conservationist), enjoy Portuguese tarts at a local bakery, visit the bustling night market, and pause at more somber landmarks to learn about the area's World War II history. Advertisement My daughter and I hopped aboard a 12-seat riverboat in Sandakan — with our guide and two other families — for a 90-minute ride to the Kinabatangan Wetlands Resort ('resort' is used loosely here). We crossed the salty Sandakan Bay and then made our way up the Kinabatangan River, passing through mangrove marshes, by tributaries that led to oxbow lakes, and near small villages where Malaysia's indigenous Orang Sungai live in homes built on stilts ('orang' means people and 'sungai' means river). Eventually, we turned left up a narrow tributary where vegetation formed an arch over the waterway and created an impenetrable wall on either side of us. The boat took us to a quiet and remote corner of a wetland conservation area. Ecolodges located in the mangrove marshes and floodplain areas along Malaysia's Kinabatangan River are built aboveground. Cabins are constructed on stilts and connected by wide boardwalks, such as the one pictured here at the Kinabatangan Wetlands Resort. Kari Bodnarchuk Our lodge, like most in this floodplain region, was built several feet above ground. A wide boardwalk made of Bornean hardwood led from the dock through a mangrove forest to a covered open-air lounge and then to a dining hall where we enjoyed local meals, played darts and ping pong, and met other guests (our group included a British family with three kids between 5 and 11 years old and a San Francisco couple with their 10-month-old baby, but other small groups came and went on river outings throughout the day). The boardwalk looped about three-quarters of a mile through forests of nipa palms, fig trees, and mangroves, connecting individual cabins built on stilts. Each spacious cabin had oversize twin beds, polished wood floors, a giant walk-in shower and a private outdoor shower, and a couch by a big window overlooking the jungle — perfect for spotting wildlife. Advertisement Over the next three days, we went on afternoon, sunrise, and night tours — all by boat. We set off at 6:15 a.m. one morning and spent time quietly drifting downriver and observing wildlife along the way. Nderiy 'Dido' Jor, our guide, spotted the first of two endangered Storm's storks we would see that morning — bright blue birds with reddish-orange beaks that number less than 500 worldwide — plus a flock of little egrets wading along the water's edge, a ruddy kingfisher with its ruby-red beak and orange body, and a white-bellied woodpecker. It's easy to spot tropical birds (such as this purple heron), sambar deer, scorpions, lemurs, monkeys, and other critters while staying at a ecolodge along the Kinabatangan River on the island of Borneo. Kari Bodnarchuk Our daily sightings, in fact, sounded like a birder's checklist: stork-billed kingfisher, black-and-red broadbill, purple heron, little egret, intermediate egret, lesser adjutant (an endangered type of stork), serpent eagle, and so many more. On another outing, we saw silvered leaf monkeys (also called silvery langurs) leaping around the trees, with their long tails and tufts of fur on top of their heads. Nearby, we spotted a harem of proboscis monkeys with their distinctive long noses and orange bodies. These large monkeys — endemic to Borneo — can weigh up to 50 pounds, and we watched in awe as one of the males flung himself through the air from one tree to another, branches bending and leaves fluttering under his weight as he landed. Advertisement A Collett's tree frog, seen on a night walk at the Kinabatangan Wetlands Resort near the village of Abai. The Kinabatangan River is the second-longest river in Malaysia, 350 miles long. Kari Bodnarchuk We set off before sunset for a night tour and, after seeing a crocodile thrash around the water's edge and then disappear, we spotted an adult orangutan in a ficus tree. The kids' initial excitement rocked our little boat and then we all sat, spellbound, and watched the orangutan feast on figs from its perch. The orangutan slowly climbed down the tree, walked a short distance through the bush, and then climbed up another tree, its enormously long arms dangling by its sides and then stretching high up above its head as it ascended. Another small tour boat quietly approached — one of the few times we saw anyone else out on the water. We soon left to find a mangrove tree that had thousands of fireflies twinkling around it, looking like an over-illuminated Christmas tree. Another night, Dido took us on a walking safari through the forest. We felt exposed without the buffer of boat and water between us and the wildlife, but it was a thrill to walk through a dense, chirping and buzzing jungle in the dark looking for nocturnal life. Dido used small lights to illuminate a black-spotted tree frog, giant spiderwebs, and a scorpion (which looked purple under UV light) and to point out bioluminescent mushrooms that glowed green at night. We spotted a large sambar deer with its shaggy brown coat and large antlers and caught a quick glance of a flying lemur overhead, which looked like a flying squirrel with the webbing between its legs. Malaysia's Sabah province has a huge variety of birdlife, including many types of kingfishers, storks, and broadbills, including the black and yellow broadbill pictured here. Kari Bodnarchuk The bugs weren't as bad as we expected in April — we kept legs and arms covered throughout and never needed bug nets — but it helped that we were there during dry season, which runs April through September. Advertisement We headed back to Sandakan on day three, passing by a couple of local villages and by fishermen net casting from small boats. Before traveling to western Sabah to hike Mount Kinabalu, we spent a day exploring the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre and the nearby Borneo Sun Bear Conservation Centre, both in the town of Sepilok, about 15 miles from Sandakan ($2 by bus or $11 by taxi each way). If you didn't see orangutans in the wild — or even if you did — it's worth getting a good look at these fascinating animals up close as they feed, romp around, groom each other, lounge, and swing through the trees. Sun bears, the world's smallest bears, can be seen in the wild around Borneo. They're threatened by poachers and people who capture them and keep them as pets. Kari Bodnarchuk All the orangutans at the center have been orphaned or injured and will be released back into the wild, if possible. The same is true of the bears at the conservation center next door — one of the highlights of our trip. The Borneo Sun Bear Conservation Centre was opened in 2008 by Dr. Wong Siew Te, a Malaysian wildlife biologist and sun bear expert who earned his master's from the University of Montana and then returned to Borneo and made it his life's goal to protect, study, and rehabilitate sun bears (his colleagues call him the 'papa bear of Borneo'). These tropical bears don't hibernate or like the heat, according to Wong, and spend their days foraging for food in the rain forest, trying to stay cool, and sleeping in their nests up in the trees. Most of the center's 44 bears were rescued from captivity as illegal pets or orphaned due to poachers. Each has its own distinct cream-colored patch of fur on its chest. As the world's smallest bear, sun bears grow up to only about 5 feet tall and 150 pounds. You can sit on a bench or hang out on the elevated boardwalk and watch the bears digging for grubs or looking for termites in a rotted-out log. Or, if you're lucky, maybe you'll see one out in the wild — on a river safari or jungle hike through one of the world's oldest rain forests. Kari Bodnarchuk can be reached at . Pitcher plants, such as the one pictured here, are carnivorous plants found throughout Sabah, Malaysia. Kari Bodnarchuk Kari Bodnarchuk can be reached at
Boston Globe
07-02-2025
- Boston Globe
We celebrated 20 years of marriage with a once-in-a-lifetime Antarctic adventure
Antarctica's short ski season runs from roughly late October through November — early summer on the continent — when the sea ice has melted enough to safely access landing areas and before warmer temperatures melt the snow bridges covering glacial crevasses and present other hazards for skiers. Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Enter Email Sign Up In early November, our ship was one of only two vessels on the Antarctic Peninsula. Two more ships arrived later that week, according to the Marine Traffic app (a great resource), but we never saw them. By mid-summer, dozens of cruise ships move around the region like chess pieces, relying on a master schedule to ensure their destinations don't overlap (only a limited number of people can land at sites). Most expedition ships first stop at the South Shetland Islands (considered part of Antarctica) and then spend their time on the Antarctic Peninsula, a narrow finger of land jutting off the continent's northwestern tip, and on islands dotting the peninsula's west coast. For perspective, the Antarctic Peninsula measures about the size of California, while the entire continent is as big as the United States and Mexico combined. Advertisement A snowboarder takes a run down a mellow section of Doumer Island, while looking out toward the peaks on Anvers Island in the Antarctic Peninsula. Antarctica is the size of the United States and Mexico combined, but most cruises stick to the Antarctic Peninsula, which is about the length of California. Kari Bodnarchuk After a wild two-day sail from Ushuaia across the Drake Passage — with 30-foot rolling seas — we entered the Antarctic Convergence, a marine zone encircling the continent that's marked by a dramatic drop in temperature and signals official entry into Antarctica and the Southern Ocean. The ship steered us to Deception Island, a still-active volcanic island with a horseshoe-shaped bay and the remnants of old whaling stations and present-day research stations (nothing more than a couple of small buildings in a vast landscape). Ten of us had come from Australia, New Zealand, the United States, and France to ski on this expedition, and we ranged in age from 20s to mid-70s — mostly intermediate skiers with a few expert skiers and snowboarders in the mix. Our internationally certified mountain guides — all from New Zealand — had more than 80 years of combined guiding experience and included Jane Morris, a pioneering female mountaineer who's led trips in interior Antarctica and worldwide (and even worked at Hidden Valley Camp in Maine years ago). 'Our motto is 'first off, back last' — you can sleep when you get home,' Tarn Pilkington, our lead guide, said to us on the first day — and we all agreed. Our plan at Deception Island: to ski a gentle slope inside this windswept cauldron overlooking Whalers Bay. (The island was reportedly first visited in 1820 by Nathaniel Palmer as part of an American sealing fleet from Stonington, Conn.) Advertisement As we prepared to disembark, I couldn't help but think of early polar explorers such as Douglas Mawson (who wintered over in Antarctica for two years in a row, in unimaginable conditions, having missed his ship by just a few hours after the first winter) and more modern-day adventurers such as Felicity Aston (the first and only woman to ski solo across Antarctica, in 2012, covering more than 1,000 miles). Unlike them, we had handwarmers, expert guides, and a cozy ship to return to each day with movies on demand, a sauna, two restaurant choices, and free WiFi that let us video chat with our kids back home. Still, even for travelers like us, Antarctica proved an adventure. Visitors to Antarctica shouldn't sit, kneel, or put backpacks on the ground, per guidelines released by the IAATO, or International Association of Antarctic Tour Operators. Here, skiers organize gear on top of a disinfected tarp to protect the fragile environment. Kari Bodnarchuk Our guides had urged us to bring our own backcountry ski or snowboard gear — items we would be familiar with and that would fit comfortably — but the ship had a stash of high-end equipment to fill any gaps or in case luggage didn't make it. For each excursion, we needed to bring backcountry skis or a splitboard, climbing skins, poles, a backpack, ice axes, crampons, avalanche gear (including a beacon, shovel, and probe), and a climbing harness so we could rope up together, if needed, in case of crevasses. Before landing at Deception Island, we had to go through a rigorous process of cleaning and decontaminating our gear, as all incoming visitors must do — strict guidelines established by the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO), a voluntary organization that Aurora Expeditions and many other cruise operators have joined. The goal: to prevent the transfer of outside critters and disease to Antarctica. Advertisement We vacuumed all pockets of our outer clothing and backpacks, scrubbed boot soles with stiff brushes, and used tweezers, bent paper clips, and magnifying glasses to remove dirt and debris from mesh and Velcro areas. We also had to dip our boots in a disinfectant solution right before stepping off the ship, and again when we climbed back onboard. After getting dropped off on the black-sand beach (steaming due to the volcanic activity deep underground), we kept our distance from the dozens of gentoo penguins that waddled around the area and prepared for our climb. We needed to be strategic, putting our gear on a disinfected tarp while adjusting clothing layers since we weren't allowed to kneel, sit down, or place a backpack on the ground (we couldn't eat a snack onshore either — such is the commitment to protecting the local ecosystem). Skiers and snowboarders set off for an early morning run one morning, on their way to Doumer Island in Antarctica. Polar scientist Jean-Baptiste Charcot named the island after Paul Doumer, who later became president of France. Kari Bodnarchuk We ran through a quick safety talk and avalanche beacon test next to several massive and rusting metal boiling tanks — a stark reminder of the area's whaling history — and then skinned about 1,200 vertical feet up the open and windswept side of Mount Pond. As we followed each other single file, we could see areas with exposed black and brown volcanic rock and windblown patterns across the hardpacked snow. We removed our climbing skins at the top and took turns zigzagging down the mountain while admiring the snow-dappled cliffs, our ship sitting in the middle of the flooded caldera, and the steaming beach dotted with penguins. Before boarding the inflatable boats, we had to run through one more routine: sitting on the edge of the Zodiac, with legs dangling overboard, while a crew member scrubbed our boots with a big brush to remove pebbles, dirt, seaweed, and penguin poop, to make sure we didn't transfer anything from one landing site to the next. Advertisement That turned out to be our only beach landing of the trip. The rest went something like this: Once our guides had determined a good landing point (conditions vary from year to year), we would take turns climbing out of the Zodiac onto a rock, if available, and then form a human chain to help unload all the gear. Or, as often happened, our Zodiac driver would nose the inflatable boat up to a snow wall — anywhere up to 6 feet tall — and a guide would boot-kick steps into the wall that we would climb to get ashore. No easy task. The final stretch of a ski descent on Hovgaard Island on the Antarctic Peninsula, as skiers descend to the water's edge to wait for Zodiacs that will take them back to the Sylvia Earle ship, pictured in the background, and a hot sauna and meal. Kari Bodnarchuk Our goal was to ski twice a day in different locations, but we soon understood what our expedition leader Florence Kuyper gently reminded us: 'In my experience, Plan A rarely happens on these trips — we usually end up going with Plan B or C.' Sure enough, we had to scrap plans to ski on Nansen Island due to high winds and instead headed to Enterprise Island, which we could access from a more protected cove in Foyn Harbour. Here, we skied up a narrow snow ridge that had a hanging glacier on each side and offered views down into two different harbors, both full of bobbing chunks of sea ice. On the ride back to the ship, the Zodiacs wound around icebergs as big as houses and took us by the partially submerged and rusting Governoren shipwreck. Back in 1915, this Norwegian whaling ship intentionally ran aground after a fire broke out onboard, managing to save the entire crew. It provided a stark contrast of color in a landscape dominated by snow, glaciers, icebergs, and sea ice — and our ship's snorkeling group apparently loved exploring all the marine life now clinging to the wreck. Another day, we had to abort our landing at Selvick Cove, where we had planned to ski up to a snow bowl to see a chinstrap penguin colony. The full-on blizzard conditions and a super tricky landing spot made it too dangerous for us to disembark. 'It's been a great spot in the past,' Kuyper said to us when we returned to the ship. 'The weather changes, ice changes. It's never the same trip twice.' The next day, however, rewarded us with fresh snow, clear skies, and everlasting views — and a green light for Plan A. Our ski crew landed on Hovgaard Island and skinned 1,500 feet up a wide mountainside that offered views in almost all directions — of dark mountains plunging down to the ocean, an expansive ocean full of hundreds of icebergs, and mountainous islands down the Penola Strait. We took turns skiing or snowboarding down the buttery slopes and then did a short second lap, not wanting the day to end. The views from Doumer Island on the Antarctic Peninsula's northwestern coast, in the Palmer Archipelago. This island was first spotted during the Belgian Antarctic expedition of 1897 to 1899, and later named after the future president of France, Paul Doumer. Kari Bodnarchuk Just when I started to think we were a hardy bunch, we got to know the Port Lockroy crew, a group of UK volunteers our ship was transporting to an old British base on Goudier Island. This crew of five planned to spend the summer at Port Lockroy running the southernmost post office in the world, overseeing a museum, and conducting research on a patch of land the size of a soccer pitch that was mostly populated — and therefore controlled — by a local penguin colony. After the ship dropped off the crew, they had to dig out the buildings from under the snow, find the coffee maker, get settled in, and begin their work. With no running water or flush toilets, they would rely on the generosity of passing ships for occasional showers and resupplies. We gave the grateful crew all of our spare coffee and chocolate for their first few days ashore. My favorite ski day took us to Doumer Island where we crossed a gentle glacial plateau for what seemed like hours, each lost in his or her own thoughts (it was too windy to communicate). Billowing snow swirled across the landscape and created a haziness at ground level, while the dramatic peaks of Mount Luigi and the Seven Sisters — sheer mountains on an island in front of us — rose up from the Gerlache Strait. We skinned up toward a massive cornice and then skied back down to the water's edge — careful not to overshoot the final steep drop at the end and plunge into the ocean. We all paused on our trip's final run that afternoon and stood, spell-bound, looking at an otherworldly view in the sky — a halo of light around the sun and accompanying sundogs (or mock suns) created by sunlight hitting ice crystals in the atmosphere and refracting the light into different colors. For me, little could be more thrilling than standing on a mountainside in the coldest, driest, and windiest place on Earth with views of glacial mountains, iceberg-filled seas, and little frozen rainbows in the sky, plus soft snow underfoot, ready to be skied. Kari Bodnarchuk can be reached at . Kari Bodnarchuk can be reached at
