An Expedition Journal

This summer, for the fourth time in 10 years, I traveled to Indonesia. To me, the country and the people are magical-and so was my assignment: to photograph the field research of the Wildlife Conservation Society (formerly the Bronx Zoo) in this island nation. In one month, I traveled to three different areas-Java, Sulawesi and Sumatra-photographing a wealth of endangered wildlife and the work being done to save these creatures: sea turtles, macaques, gibbons, elephants, rare birds and much, much more. Indonesia is a shockingly beautiful nation of 17,000 islands spread across 3,200 miles of tropical oceans; and although wildlife here, as in the rest of the world, is being threatened by the rapid spread of people and modern civilization, it is still a nature photographer's dream. I worked by moonlight on gorgeous, isolated tropical beaches, trekked up mountains right into the clouds, spent hours alone in blinds, waiting for wildlife to appear; and even followed the trail of the elusive tiger deep in the rainforest. I also had a sickening assignment: photographing crime units charged with the impossible task of stemming the tide of animals that are being smuggled, in cruel and horrifying conditions, out of the wild and into markets around the world.

In every location, the Indonesian researchers and scientists were wonderful, and the people I encountered were friendly and open; but in contrast to my earlier trips, when I saw many Americans and tourists, I was almost always the only Caucasian in a world of Asians. Indonesia, the world's fourth most populous nation, has the largest Muslim population in the world; and fears of terrorism seem to have nearly extinguished Western tourism.

I carried my laptop with me; and at every stop, from small hotels in crowded cities to primitive camps in the wild, I recorded my experiences, often in e-mails to friends and family. Here are a few excerpts from those observations.

Aug. 11. Even after 40 hours in transit, I was thrilled to step into the Jakarta Airport, mostly open-air, and inhale the clove and frangipani so typical of Indonesia. I love it! The WCS driver, Pak Nasir, took me straight to Bogor, some 60 miles away, to Dr. Rob Lee's home. Rob is head of WCS-Indonesia and one of my best friends. I could make final plans for the month while resting with him, his wife, Cynthia, and their 18-month-old daughter, Kiera. To her I'm Omah Connie.

Central Java, Karimun Jawa National Park, Aug. 14. We woke at 4:45 this morning, and I felt as much as heard the undulating waves and moans, higher pitched and lower, of the Muslim call to prayer. The incantations to Allah permeate the just-breaking dawn and one's very soul. This is visceral, the sound of emotion, pure, like the incessant winds of the deserts where Islam was born. Forty-five minutes later we were in the fish market buying breakfast-mushy rice, with fish and coconut wrapped in a banana leaf-laughing and teasing with the Javanese market ladies.

Minahasa Province, North Sulawesi, Tangkoko Dua Sudara Nature Reserve, WCS research camp, Aug. 29. Coming into camp last night we stopped in a village with no electricity and virtually no lights except for lanterns and fires. While the men arranged for a boatman to pick us up in the morning, I looked up and was absolutely blown away by the stars. There were a double gazillion, and the Milky Way is, indeed, milky looking. We light-polluted Americans forget how special raw nature is-and wonder-full, truly.

Today Iwan, my keeper and an ornithologist, got a picture of me with two juvenile macaques. I had been photographing the monkeys as they groomed each other about 30 or 40 feet away, when the two curious males came up to study me. They sat on either side of me and just stared. It was a weird feeling, but cool to be so close to wild primates again. Later that night, in the mist nets, we caught two kinds of bats and photographed them. One was called an Asian false vampire bat, and it looked like a vampire with a face only a mother could love.

Gorontalo Province, North Sulawesi, Gunung Ambang Nature Reserve, Aug. 22. We are about 5,000 feet high on the side of one of Sulawesi's many perfect volcanoes. We set two mist nets at dusk, then waited. Yusman, the WCS audio specialist, had recorded the calls of a new species of owl; and four freezing and mosquito-y hours later we caught one in the net. We measured, weighed, photographed and recorded all his vitals, and let him go, all in less than 15 minutes. He's a gorgeous little blond owl with a call that sounds like a cross between a dog bark and a chicken cluck.

The rest of the night was pure misery. I had my own tent so there was no human warmth but what I produced for myself. And it was cold. I wore all my clothes-I mean all-and was wrapped in a very thin, but wool, blanket and lying on a thin rubber mat. My body kept waking me up shivering all over. I don't know how low the temperature got, but my guess would be in the low 40s.

Gorontalo Province, North Sulawesi, Gorontalo to Minahasa Road, Aug. 26-27. Working all night with the Wildlife Crimes Unit was sickening. We stopped dozens of pickups loaded with huge fruit bats and dogs and bush pigs, all legal, and headed for the bush meat markets and the traditional, mostly Chinese market in Minahasa. All the transporters were poor, rough-looking and probably woods or country people. The buyers are rich, fat and greedy. I almost lost it with the first crate of dogs, but then I hardened up. The first load of cats almost did it to me, too, as did a days-old bush pig pushing at a pig carcass which was probably its mother. It, too, went to its doom in Minahasa.

Aug. 28. I flew back over the amazing rainforest and perfect clear water of Sulawesi to Bogor, then to Lampung in south Sumatra.

Bukit Barisan Selatan National Park, Sumatra, Aug. 31. These guys on the Tiger Protection Team are a thoroughly male group, and just entering their house/office was like taking a testosterone bath. Not a criticism. I loved it, and when I showed them some of the panther pictures from my camera traps in the Florida Panther National Wildlife Refuge in Collier County I was in. We compared notes, talked camera trap frustrations-their biggest problem is elephants destroying the cameras-habitat for cats, and so forth. Actually, watching them was like watching the wild male chimps in Africa. They were always aware of each other-what one did, the next reacted to-and each was, in his own way, trying to jump up the hierarchy or at least stay put. My not understanding the language actually helps with a closer attention to the body language.

Way Canguk Research and Training Center, Bukit Barisan Selatan National Park, Sumatra, Sept. 1. I'm back in the land of big butts-tree buttresses, that is-high canopy, dark understory, rather sparse with weedy ginger, and a zillion bugs calling, including chain- saw bugs and alarm-clock bugs. And yes, it's also leech city. Lots of birds, but no hornbills yet. I feel back home. The forest, one enormous living creature, has embraced me, loved me; and I love back. The floor is slippery clay; but the three-hour walk was easy, mostly pretty flat, and only one big thigh-high river to cross.

This is a special place, Sumatra, still quite wild. Unfortunately, Bukit Barisan, a mountain forest along the southwest coast, is already cut by two roads, though they are really just trails; but those roads are the beginning of the end. It's still a rugged piece of paradise, but the same old story holds true: It's being shrunk by logging, some hunting and, mostly, clearing for farming.

The camp is really posh. There are four houses and the mess house, all wood and on stilts, all overlooking the river which is down a quite steep slope. One thing clearly distinguishes it from similar camps in Borneo: the eight elephant skulls mounted around the camp. It's amazing to be putting on wellies with your face in an elephant eye socket.

September 2, 2004. The agilis [a species of gibbons, famous for its haunting calls] didn't sing until almost 10 a.m., after the rain stopped. It rained hard all night, and the tin roof made quite a din. There is nothing as sweet as this song. It's like having other-worldly sopranos singing an aria for half an hour or more, and relaying it around the forest canopy to other families. I'm in heaven. The siamangs, on the other hand, the largest of the lesser apes, sound like small freight trains with attitude. Loud, yes, with more power than finesse.