Hiding in the Malaysian jungle
Exactly a year ago today, we woke up in the middle of Malaysia’s vast Taman Negara national park, miles away from any humans, surrounded by lush tropical jungle. Still in our sleeping bags, we looked around in the wooden hide, high up in the canopy, and all we could see was 12 bunk beds (no mattresses, that’d be a luxury we’d definitely not paid for), our clothes all over the place and some blood on the concrete floor.
18 hours earlier
We’re sitting behind each other in a small motorboat, expertly navigated by a Malaysian guy in the back, his partner sitting in the front, looking at what seems like a huge tropical thunderstorm right ahead of us. And we’re heading straight towards it.
Soon, these guys will drop us off somewhere on the riverbank, and we’ll be left on our own to trek to the animal hide where we’ll spend the night completely alone.
No, this is not Survivor, there are no cameras here. (Apart from our shitty iPhones and our trusty GoPro.)
We came to this jungle with the aim to go ‘off the beaten track’, one of MJ’s mantras for our trip. Taman Negara is Malaysia’s biggest national park. Whilst it’s very popular and there are lots of swanky accommodation options, what we decided to do was spend a night away from civilisation, in one of the observation towers hidden in the jungle. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to see tapirs, gaurs and deer, and if we’re really lucky, we won’t be murdered by a fellow traveller / monkeys / spiders / a rabid and carnivorous tapir. Or who knows what? It’s the bloody jungle, after all!
But first, the boat trip. We’ve reached the centre of the storm and got suitably wet - a great start. Then once the rain stops, we reach our destination. Classic. We’re dropped off at a small jetty where we meet a small group of travellers waiting for a boat to take them back to the village. They tell us they spent the night in a cave, which is exactly what they look like. The Dutch bloke (there’s always a Dutch bloke) points to his feet: first of all, he’s wearing flip flops, an odd choice in the jungle (is he an Aussie in disguise?), but more disturbingly, his fleet are bleeding from what looks like leech bites. At this point they confirm that yes, the forest floor is heaving with leeches. This information shocks me, and me alone - MJ simply nods and reveals that he chose not to share this vital piece of information with me, lest I change my mind and get on the next coach back to civilisation. He knows me so well.
At this point our boat is gone, along with our chance to escape. Always the semi-adventurous travellers, we didn’t arrange a boat transfer back, thinking it’d be a great idea to trek back after a night spent animal watching.
So here we are, stuck in the jungle, soaking wet, millions of leeches waiting to jump on us from left, right and centre. Suddenly the idea of the abandoned hide seems very appealing. We start trekking.
The problem with leeches, well, one of the many problems with leeches, is that they’re tiny. You think you’d spot them from a few metres, or that you’d see the little bastard trying to get onto your skin to have a nibble. But no, they’re tiny, so you can’t see them, so you’ll end up thinking they’re EVERYWHERE. Which is kind of the case. They hang on to the back of leaves, so if you brush a leaf with your shoulder, they’ll latch onto you. They’re also on the jungle floor, waiting for you to step on a leaf - and boom, they’re on your shoelace, then before you know it, they’re INSIDE YOUR SHOE, then by the time you’ve taken off your shoes, they’ve had a lovely 3 course dinner, thanks very much, that was delicious, what’s for pudding?
It’s nearly dark by the time we reach a little clearing with a creepy looking wooden structure on high stilts. It looks exactly like something from a horror movie, but it’s either this or the leeches so up we go. At the top of the stairs, there’s yellow police tape, but no door (it’s been ripped off and put aside) - the place looks like a crime scene cordoned off by the police. Inside it’s totally empty, bar the wooden bunk beds (very uninviting) and a bench by the window. But there’s no time to get cosy anyway, it’s de-leeching time.
We get butt naked (thank the Lord for the complete lack of fellow travellers in the hide) and as suspected, we find leeches all over us: in our armpits, between our toes, holding on to our socks. It’s disgusting. When you tear one off from your skin, the bite mark starts bleeding. When they’re on the floor, they keep twisting and curling, like some worm possessed by an evil spirit. We locate a wooden stick and start killing them one by one. This is when we realise how much blood they managed to suck in: it’s now all over the floor. By the time we think we’re done, it does look like a crime scene - if someone entered now, they’d think we’d gone mental.
All this excitement made us quite hungry so we unpack our humble dinner (think sweet Malaysian bread and tinned curry) and settle down by the observation station to eat. There’s not much to do in the hide, other than stay quiet, wait for it to get dark and hope for wildlife to appear.
The hide is built next to a clearing with a salt lick - this is what will attract all sorts of animals at night. You should hear tapirs scrambling in the bushes, at which point you shine your torch and hope to see something.
It doesn’t help that it started raining again, and the tin roof of the hide acts like a Dolby Surround Sound System - we can’t hear our own voice let us alone some tapir 50 metres away..
Anyway, we’re waiting patiently, and enjoying our solitude. Knowing that there’s literally no human being within at least 10km of us, only the jungle with its animals, should make us feel safe, but we’re in uncharted territory, and we’re definitely not the ones at home here. The jungle is not only massive, but alive and noisy. We can hear monkeys rustling in the canopy around the hide, but we can’t see them. The lack of doors makes me think they can come in any time, and why wouldn’t they? If I was a Malaysian monkey, I’d love some sweet Malaysian bread please. We pack our remaining food away.
Around 11pm, the conditions are finally just right for some wildlife spotting. The rain has stopped, the air smells fresh and humid, and we’re eager to explore the jungle from the relative safety of the hide. We position ourselves next to the long window overlooking the clearing. Torch in hand, we take turns in shining it around in the darkness every minute. The stampede we were envisaging is definitely not happening, although we ‘think’ we see some shiny things on the ground, but they might be spiders, or drops of rain, who knows.
Then, after like an hour of waiting, we suddenly spot a pair of eyes shining in the bushes. They quickly move but then we spot a little animal, hopping over a small bush with an ungraceful but insanely cute motion of its backside. We conclude it was a tapir. Photographic evidence aside, you have to believe us, dear reader. Told you we had shitty iPhones!








