Throwim Way Leg

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Throwim Way Leg Page 19

by Tim Flannery


  Our radiotracking program began with Viare, Kaspar and the hunters working to capture some Tenkile in order to place radio collars on them. I was busy in Australia at this time and could not be with them. To my surprise and relief, Viare achieved this goal successfully within a few weeks. Given the rarity of the species, it had seemed certain that this would take far longer. A spell of good weather (unique during the time of our study) allowed the dogs to work efficiently and Viare placed collars on three individuals. There seemed high hopes of success when we contemplated our three wired Tenkile roaming the forest around Sweipini.

  By now I was back in the Torricellis. Our base camp was situated on the only relatively level piece of ground on the Sweipini track. It was also the last point at which water could be obtained, although this necessitated climbing down a 150-metre near-vertical drop, then lugging the bucket up to the camp. The camp was located at about 1,200 metres elevation, and beyond it the track rose abruptly for 350 metres.

  Our day often began with a descent to the water to wash and brush our teeth, then a climb back up to the camp. Since we were tracking animals that lived beyond the ridge crest, we had to make the ascent to the summit each morning, then climb and drop several hundred metres further before we began our work. We would spend the rest of the day traversing the steep ridges of the range in our attempts to pick up signals. Carrying our receiver and aerial, as well as some supplies, this soon became an arduous routine, as we ascended, on average, approximately 1,000 to 1,500 vertical metres each day.

  It rains or is misty virtually every day at Sweipini. This keeps the vegetation damp, which, combined with the extremely rugged topography, tended to deflect and break up our radio signals. When we tried to approach an animal to get a better fix, we found that it usually fled headlong downslope long before we saw it. This flightiness had doubtless developed because we were dealing with a population of animals which had been heavily hunted. Only the most skittish had survived, for those which stayed where they were when they heard a human approaching—either through curiosity or laziness— ended their days in the stew-pot.

  These problems led to an unacceptable level of disturbance to the animals we were tracking. They appeared to be travelling up to two kilometres in a day. This is highly atypical of tree-kangaroos. We felt that it was simply not ethical to stress the animals to this extent. Furthermore, any data we would collect on home ranges would be meaningless in these circumstances.

  For a while we tried to circumvent these problems by using a technique known as triangulation. Two receivers are used (or two fixes taken) at a distance. This system has the advantage of being able to fix the position of an animal from a distance, thus minimising disturbance. We found this approach unworkable in the Torricelli Mountains, because the jagged topography and wet vegetation broke up and bounced the radio signals to such an extent that we could rarely obtain a reliable reading.

  Throughout the entire time we radiotracked the three Tenkile, we saw a collared animal only once. Over the hour I observed it, the animal sat impassively, occasionally twitching an ear.

  Added to these technical problems were the logistical difficulties of life at the camp. It was almost impossible, for example, to dry anything. For weeks Viare and I went to bed wet and woke up wet. After a month or more, the strenuous activity and poor diet began to affect our immune systems. I became troubled with an ear-infection which made it difficult to hear and sleep.

  Worse, we became prey to tropical ulcers and deep, incredibly painful boils which added further to our misery. The boils are caused by a bacterium which normally inhabits the nasal cavity. You are commonly infected by scratching yourself after shaking hands with someone who has just picked his nose. I began to dread the necessary ritual of shaking hands with everyone upon entering a village.

  These boils tend to creep upwards on the body. One might form near the knee and when it is healed another will appear on the thigh. After that, a boil will develop in the groin—and in this position, these egg-sized, pus-filled buboes can produce immobility and the most dreadful pain. When they have burst they leave a gaping cavity. It is rather unnerving to see metres and metres of disinfectant-soaked bandage disappear into a gaping hole in your body.

  There were, however, compensations to it all. I remember climbing to the ridge crest one morning when a light mist hung in the low forest canopy. The trees were covered with moss—great wisps of it—their gnarled trunks reaching barely seven metres above the ground. One of the tallest plants was a palm which grew only on the ridge tops, its graceful, feathery fronds rising free of the dense, small-leaved canopy. At this season it was heavy with fruit, the great bunches of bright red berries hanging in clusters which seemed to glow in the diffuse light.

  Suddenly I saw a movement. A large black bird with a long tail and beak dashed round the trunk of a palm. A second later I heard its call—a loud blak, blak—and it emerged again into view. It carefully chose one of the ripe red fruit and, breaking it off with its long, curved bill, swallowed it whole. This was the near-mythical (at least to me) male Black Sicklebill Bird of Paradise (Epimachus fastuosus). Flashes of deep blues and reds burst from the iridescence on its feathers. Enchanted, I watched it for long minutes before it flew out over the valley. Its calls could often be heard, coming from near and far, during that palm-fruiting season.

  Events nearer camp also brought variety to our often miserable days. Occasionally a great, metallic blue butterfly would land on my skin, seeking sweat to drink. Or, when I laid my socks out to dry, they would sometimes be surrounded by clouds of smaller yellow butterflies, seeking I know not what. And, following evening rain, a profusion of frogs would appear. Some were tiny, with bright red or yellow thighs. They would climb on the netting of the tent at night, catching insects attracted to the light, and I would watch their silhouettes from my damp sleeping bag before dozing off.

  One night, while spotlighting near the tents, I heard a loud scream. As I lifted my foot, I found a puffed up and very angry ball of a frog which I had inadvertently punched into the mud. It was black and covered in long, fingery papillae. It looked like nothing more than a black, prickly golf ball. I subsequently found another of these bizarre creatures in exactly the same way. They still remain unidentified.

  One evening, while at the very summit of Mt Somoro, I found yet another strange frog. It seemed to be all head with spindly, barred legs. This was a species of Lechriodus or barred frog. It looked as if it could swallow a creature as large as itself.

  Frogs and birds were not our only visitors. One morning Lester Seri (who worked with us on the early expeditions) awoke to find an enormous black, phallic-looking worm in his sleeping bag. Ribald jokes rocked the camp for weeks. Someone ventured that it had probably been attracted there in search of a mate! The worm experts at the Australian Museum, though, were grateful to receive this specimen, and I requested that, if it turned out to be an undescribed species, then it should be named for part of Lester's anatomy. I am yet to hear the result of their researches.

  By night we were frequently visited by Painted and D'Albertis Ringtail Possums (Pseudochirulus forbesi and Pseudochirops albertisii). Kaspar said that our camp was on a ‘rot bilong kapul’ (possum road), and that the animals crossed from one valley to another at this point. One morning a Three-striped Dasyure (Myoictis melas) wandered into camp, giving Viare his first glimpse of the species. This rat-sized marsupial predator is marked with three black stripes which run along the back, but its most conspicuous features are its fiery red rump and head. It is one of the few New Guinea mammals which is active by day.

  And then there was the view.

  On a clear morning, from the crest of the Sweipini ridge, we could see all the way to Sissano Lagoon on the north coast of New Guinea. This view alone provided incentive to remain on the mountain, even though the tree-kangaroo radiotracking was not progressing as it should. Indeed, the difficulties with detecting signals, along with the flightiness of the collared ani
mals, were appearing more and more insurmountable.

  We finally agreed to take a break for a couple of months to rethink our strategy. I returned to Australia and Viare to Port Moresby, where we each talked with experienced radio-trackers who had faced similar problems. Unfortunately our consultations provided no new ideas which might offer success. Nonetheless, we decided to return to the mountains for one last attempt. Our hope was that the animals might have calmed sufficiently in the interim to allow the tracking to proceed without unduly disturbing them. If this failed, we would terminate the program.

  Within a couple of days of arriving at our old camp we once again located the signals from two of our animals. By not approaching too closely, we hoped they would remain settled. So we were delighted when the source of the signals continued to come from one area, even as we drew, cautiously, ever nearer. After a week or so, when the signals were still coming from the same place, we felt we could close in for a look.

  Imagine our dismay when, that morning, Viare found the remains of one of our radiocollared animals. A day or two later we found the bones of a second. The last animal, judging from movement in its transmitting position, appeared to be alive—but was reacting to our presence as badly as before.

  What, we wondered, could have killed our precious Tenkile? After considering all the possibilities, we concluded that the two animals which died had probably been bitten by dogs when they were originally captured for collaring. Viare had seen no bite marks on them and had even given them antibiotics as a precautionary measure on their release. Still, it is possible that their long, dense fur had obscured a bite and that the antibiotics were insufficient to fight off the deep muscle infection which a laceration might introduce.

  I was doubly upset at this catastrophe, for we had posted muzzles to Wilbeitei some months before Viare's first visit, in order to get the dogs used to wearing them while hunting. The muzzles had never arrived, but Viare did not realise this until he reached Lumi to begin searching for animals. Some corrupt postal clerk may well have sealed the fate of our conservation program, if not an entire species.

  Dogs are essential to locate Tenkile. We did not consider the danger of using them great, despite the lack of muzzles, for we had assumed that Tenkile would stay in the tree-tops when they saw a dog, just as other tree-kangaroos do. But now we began to suspect that the dogs often encountered individuals on the ground. These might then be bitten before they could regain the safety of the tree-tops. So, one thing we learned was that Tenkile was more terrestrial than other tree-kangaroos.

  The despair that comes with killing rare animals defies adequate description. It was as if the continuous chill drizzle of Tenkiles habitat stayed with me, deep in my bones, for months after I returned to Australia.

  At the termination of the Tenkile project, Gary and I arranged for Kaspar to visit Sydney. I was recovering from cerebral malaria at this time, so unfortunately could not show him around as much as I would have liked. We had arranged the visit as a token of our appreciation for the enormous assistance he had extended to us. For a man who had never travelled further afield than Wewak, it was an extraordinary experience, though he accepted with great equanimity much of what I thought might astound him.

  On his return Kaspar was given a hero's welcome. The village truck, complete with a Tenkile painted on its door and wreathed in bush leaves, was dispatched to Lumi airport to pick him up. It was particularly pleasing to see him so honoured by his community, for he is a man with great traditional knowledge. Despite their wisdom, such people are sometimes thought of as ‘bush kanakas’ by other Melanesians with greater contact with the outside world.

  Kaspar's joy was short-lived, however, for a few weeks after he returned his wife died. It was clear to everyone in Wilbeitei that some jealous, malicious sorcerer had been at work.

  Descent from the Neon Basin. Ken Aplin and Goilala youths from Kosipe ferry some of our equipment, including the all-important liquid nitrogen cylinder, down a steep slope.

  Anaru on Mt Boobiari, returning from the hunt with two Kuyam (Ground Cuscus).

  The Hindenburg Wall, Ok Tedi area, western Papua New Guinea. The wall, as it is known locally, is one of the natural wonders of the world.

  Kebuge kills a pig for a feast at Yapsiei. Despite being afflicted with elephantiasis, Kebuge walked from Yapsiei to Yominbip in order to construct a helipad for us there.

  This makeshift shelter was erected near Kosipe in 1981 to house myself and a few local men who accompanied me as I laid traps. It was roofed with strips of bark from a Papuacedrus tree which was at least half a millennium old. After it was felled, the tree was left to rot. All day the forest rang with the sound of the axe, as the Goilala cleared land for a new garden.

  Crossing the Yapsiei River by canoe in 1984, I imagine my liquid nitrogen cylinder, my notebooks and myself are about to be dumped into the crocodile-infested waters. Miyanmin canoes lack outriggers and are thus highly unstable. If you are not to overbalance, you must pretend to be a sack of potatoes, which I'm trying hard to do. Photograph by Robert Attenborough.

  Syme, a tree-kangaroo hunter of reknown, wearing a wreath of victory at the close of our 1992 field season. Syme was old, his canines worn to stumps, but his presence seemed to be essential to find Tenkile.

  These large objects, being worn by Olo tribesmen, are tumbuans (spirit masks). The black and red one in front represents the Tenkile ancestor spirit. They were brought out of the haus tambaran to participate in a festival upon completion of our 1992 field season.

  The young men from Bultem village, near Tabubil, are going through male initiation rites. Telefomin, a few days’ walk away, was once the centre for such rituals, but since the arrival of the Baptist mission they have largely ceased there, and now more often take place in Catholic areas such as Bultem.

  Tenkile (Dendrolagus scottae). For three years, the only evidence I had for the existence of this new species of tree-kangaroo was a single claw. In 1988, after scraping together funding to revisit the Torricelli Mountains, I found that the claw was indeed from a rare and previously unknown species, and that a conservation program was necessary to ensure its survival.

  A. D. Hope and Goilala friends outside a Swiss-style chalet at Kosipe.

  This group of Western Dani men walked from Ilaga to Wamena to trade salt.

  Amunsep in his prime, with one of his hunting dogs. In his left hand he holds some hunting charms. With Femsep, a year or two before his death. Photograph by a local man.

  During our weeks trapped at 2Fas we played numerous darts tournaments with the locals. Despite their proficiency with bow and arrow, we usually won at darts.

  Willok's habit of eating tapeworms disgusted the Telefol. He took this one from the gut of a ringtail possum. I was eventually to bear the dubious distinction of having the worm named after me.

  This tiny boy, sitting below Anaru's drum, had been recently orphaned. His distended belly indicates malnutrition, malaria, or both. His skin is covered in grile. Both Don Gardner and I worried over his poor physical condition. I do not know whether he survived.

  The rhythm of life at Yapsiei seems to have remained unaltered for millennia. Each evening the women return to the village, loaded down with children, pigs, firewood and food.

  Peter was chief assistant to Anton, our cook, while we worked on the Tenkile radiotracking program in the Torricelli Mountains. Peter never lacked a smile, even after spending weeks in our sodden jungle camp.

  Did this pig save my life? I bought it as a peace-offering to the people of 3Fas, so that an explosive social situation could be defused. Photograph by a local man.

  Kwiyawagi dandies. These young Lani men beautified themselves with leaves and flowers from the forest during our walk to Kelangurr Cave.

  This Lani man is setting a deadfall trap in forest near Kwiyawagi. Traps such as these catch giant rats, quolls, possums and even wallabies. The noken on his back holds sweet potatoes.

  A vast area of lowland f
orest will eventually be smothered by tailings from the Freeport mine. Here, dying forest along the tailings levee, near Timika, has been clear-felled.

  This transmigrant settlement, bulldozed into the jungles of southern Irian Jaya is, like countless others, laid out with military precision. It is difficult to grow rice here, so the camp inhabitants survive as best they can. Some find work with logging companies, while others trap wildlife for sale. Many make a few rupiah selling fruit and vegetables in town.

  The central square of Kuala Kencana, southern Irian Jaya, in February 1996. The city was newly constructed but not yet inhabited. It has been built where lowland jungle existed only a year or two before. It is expected that a quarter of a million people, mostly non-Irianese, will live here.

  Our camp in the Meren Valley was dwarfed by the vast limestone cliff carved by a glacier 15,000 years ago. Arianus Murip was assaulted by security guards a few hundred metres from here, and left to die in the desolate valley.

  The rumah tuan tannah (house of the earth spirit) discovered by Yonas on the Meren Glacier. I am crouching by the entrance of the ice cave. Photograph by Yonas Tinal.

  The last reminder of an ice age. The Meren Glacier, sitting atop the Carstensz Mountains in central Irian Jaya, is one of a handful of equatorial glaciers remaining on the planet. Global warming is causing it to melt so quickly that it may die before I do.

  Dingiso (Dendrolagus mbaiso). The discovery of this black-and-white ground-living tree-kangaroo in 1994 was the high point of my career as a biologist. The animal is found on the mountain summits of Irian Jaya. The Moni people revere it as an ancestor.

 

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