Archive for the Thailand Category

A (Photographic) Year in Review

Posted in Bird Banding, Birding, Birds, Borneo, California, Chiang Mai, Doi Inthanon, Eastern Washington, Field Work, Fire Ecology, Indonesia, Kao Yai National Park, Malaysia, Natural History, Orangutan, Oregon, Pak Thale, Plants, Road Tripping, Science, Seattle, Southeast Asia, Spoon-billed Sandpiper, Sumatra, Thailand, United States, Washington, Western Forests with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2012 by Brendan McGarry

It’s been a year since I left for an adventure in Southeast Asia. With the extremely tardy completion of a small book I made for those who supported my Kickstarter campaign for the trip, I started feeling like I’d never be on the road again. Modern expectations, the realities of money, and my desire to be a part of a stable community all seemed to be working against me, pulling me down. Yet, instead of dragging myself down the anguished path of the grounded traveler, I decided that some careful reflection was in order.

This year I’ve been a lot of places, there’s no doubt. From the temperate land I call home to the Asian tropics. To the crest of the Sierras and down to the Great Basin. Consciously or subconsciously, mountains played an undeniable role in my explorations. I was in the the shrub steppe of Steens Mountain in Oregon, the forests and alpine of Mt. Lassen in California and Mt. Rainier in Washington, the elfin evergreens of Doi Inthanon in Thailand, eruption scarred Gunung Sibayak in Sumatra, and the ancient oaks and tree ferns of Gunung Kinabalu in Borneo. In my home I wound through the high desert of interior western North America, the temperate rainforest of the Pacific Northwest coast, the snow of the Cascade range, and the mosaic of forests in the Sierra Nevada. Abroad I traipsed the lowland rainforests of Borneo and clambered about the monsoonal forests of Thailand. I drove to the summit of Doi Inthanon, the tallest mountain in Thailand, and hiked halfway up to the tallest mountain in Southeast Asia, Gunung Kinabalu.

I was captivated by small natural wonders in my own backyard (literally) and stood in awe of a bull elephant thousands of miles away. Birds were held, eyes were met with Orangutans. Animal and plant life always figure highly in my explorations, communities shaped by the landscapes I learned in my wend.

That’s the key. My excitement and passion for this world result from a desire to learn. Curiosity rules my spirit, anyone reading Wingtrip will know that.

Below I’ve compiled a long (yet also very punctuated) series of images from my year in the natural world. If you are curious about the stories behind them please ask or follow a few of the links I’ve provided above (unfortunately, through a flaw in the program I upload photos to Flickr with, literally hundreds of the photos in other entries linked to above are not visible right on wingtrip though still on Flickr – when I have time to sit down to this arduous task, it’ll be fixed). There’s so much worth working to save, these images should remind us all of that.

In short, I’ve got nothing to complain about. I hope you enjoy these shots. May you all have a fruitful year of discovery.

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Kao Yai, Final Days

Posted in Birding, Birds, Conservation, Environmentalism, Kao Yai National Park, Natural History, Southeast Asia, Thailand on May 13, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

When the worst of your mishaps in Southeast Asia include unplanned soakings, issues with gravity, or a mild swindling, you’re probably doing pretty well. Unfortunately, my luck was running out. By the time I’d left Malaysia and made the slog to Kao Yai National Park in Thailand, I’d caught a cold and missed two flights. With only a week left on my trip, I can’t say I was too enthusiastic about anything beyond a comfortable bed and a non-squat toilet.

Kao Yai turned me around. Having a few days left simply meant I had some creature comforts on my mind and they temporarily clouded my thoughts. Several good mornings in Kao Yai and I was convinced I could have tacked on an extra month.

As the second largest and oldest park in Thailand this is not a spread to miss. At the southern end of a chain of mountains that extend into the Isaan Region of Northeastern Thailand, the park holds a variety of habitats ranging in elevation from 400 to 1200 meters. Simply put, it has immaculate variety.

A striking aspect in visiting is that the park is only three hours from Bangkok. Glance through agriculture and industry on the outskirts of the city, giggle through a Thai dubbed American film on a government bus, and arrive in Pak Chong, gateway town to the park. You’ll bumble around, looking the part of a slack jawed Farang backpacker for 10 minutes, until you manage to rent a moto. In another 30 minutes you are at the gate to the park, having accidentally passed the guest house where you wanted to stay.

Unlike the vast majority of Thailand, finding a reasonable place to stay was quite the struggle. Kao Yai is a major tourist destination for Thai people and they apparently like luxory. Beyond the gate, it appears they walk around in parking lots perplexed, take some photos of tame Sambar Deer, and drive at hair raising speeds around blind corners where you’ve stopped to watch Ashy Minivets (Pericrocotus divaricatus). I only met one family on any of the many trails and despite being excessively loud (Rhiana Cell Phone ring tones and all), were very friendly. Don’t take that last comment as evidence that I think Americans behave better in our national parks.

On my first morning, after seeing two birds I’d lusted after, the goliath Great Hornbill (Buceros bicornis) and surprisingly quaint Long-tailed Broadbill (Psarisomus dalhousiae), I found myself zooming up a mountainside. White-handed Gibbons (Hylobates lar) were hooting away in the tropical evergreen forest on all sides when, to my surprise, the forest evaporated into hills of burnt umber blanketed in sandy grasslands, glistening with morning dew. I knew there were grasslands, but not like this.

Similarly to North America, native grasslands (or techinically savannah) have been devoured by agriculture and poor fire regimen. Thailand had much less to start with too. Savannah forest like that in the plateau of Kao Yai are likely the worst hit habitat in all of Thailand. This isn’t abundantly clear in the park, as it appears to make up the majority being adjacent to the major roads. Regardless, I felt like I was in Africa.

I knew where the best birding spots were, but I was anxious to get a lay of the land. The highest road, up to a radar station for the Thai military, beckoned. Apparently this switchback road, while largely potholled and washed out, seemingly the perfect birding road, also happened to be a track for sports car enthusiasts. I saw few new birds but I realized too late I’d wasted my time. I also nearly got myself creamed while trying to watch a Moustached Barbet (Megalaima incognita) gobble figs on the slim shoulder.

The lower areas of the park were much better suited to my kind of roaming. The fields themselves, harbored both Indian Muntjac (Muntiacus muntjak) and Sambar, rumored Dhole and Tiger, which I guessed would be largely impossible to spy. Bright-headed Cisticolas (Cisticola exilis), a bird I’d been promised I’d never actually see because they so love to skulk in grass, were emboldened, swollen with testoterone, and readily visible. One even decided to spout its love drunk gurgle from an electrical line above my head. A pair of Wreathed Hornbills (Rhyticeros undulatus) whooshed overhead as I watched the tawny soloist. Thrilled, I sat astride my moto, marking my 8th hornbill species on the trip and the 5th in Thailand.

The best birds however, were deep in the forest and took a painful amount of patience. I took an exploratory hike down one trail, but quickly psyched myself out. In reminiscing on how a habitat goes quiet in the presence of a large predator, I found the forest around me still. While I was likely the culprit, I decided I’d rather not have my parents receive the shredded remains of my tiger mauled body in the mail. Death seemed to be on my mind a lot lately. Possibly because I felt like I’d done well keeping out of bodily harm in places so relaxed on safety.

I relish my solitude in wild places. Yet sometimes a good companion is a godsend. What’s more, I couldn’t think of anyone better than another birder, roughing it on his second visit to Thailand. I made a new friend in a Brit named Graham, who was on a similar path of birding, taking time to enjoy some of the other wild features of the park. The rest of the afternoon was spent solitarily adrift, but we’d spend most of the following day birding. My goal was to wait for evening wildlife at the major salt lick in a observation tower.

Hiking to the tower tracked through breezy, fire managed grasslands bordered with patchy stands of dense dry forest. Barn Swallows and Dusky Woodswallows (Artamus cyanopterus) plied the air, buzzing Plain Prinia (Prinia inornata) and more Cisticolas perched in prominent shrubs. My grand illusions of a bevy of crepuscular megafauna coming out of the woodwork never quite panned out at the observation tower, but I enjoyed the warm evening glow over the savannah.

I’d signed up for a night safari at 7pm, but I didn’t have high expectations as it cost less than $2 US. Heading back in time for a quick bite before the tour, I noticed a number of cars stopping just above a prominent salt lick. Motoring over, a Thai woman in an imposing truck said “Elephant.” and pointed in the direction of a shadowy group of trees. I raised my binoculars in just enough time to see two Asian Elephants slip into the stand, trumpeting in the steely twilight. Although I stood on a paved road, with all my dangling modern accoutrements, I could have been a thousand miles away form the nearest human and alone with the titans.

Thinking myself quite lucky, I motored back in the direction of the food court. As I rounded a corner, I was face to face with a bull elephant.

His bulk backed into an opening in forest, he stood there, nonchalantly stuffing salt into his wrinkly maw. Only 40 meters from him, I was anxious to attend to his mood but he seemed perfectly calm, likely used to the attention next to the road. Two Elephant encounters in one day, this was getting to be unreal. What’s more, I saw him two more times in the next day.

Graham was eating dinner at the same time and I offhandedly relayed my sighting, thinking that he’d likely seen Elephants before. He was astonished and almost immediately took off on foot to try to see the beast himself. Just before rushing off, he mentioned he’d seen Malayan Porcupine (Hystrix brachyura) the night before nearby. Instantaneously, three gigantically quilled rodents lumbered down the isle of tables, only to be chased out by a man on a scooter. What in the world was going on in this place?

The night safari was a simple affair, involving too many blank stares from Sambar, but was worth the money because I did see a few civets. I rushed back to my bed, head swirling with the days adventures and concocting imaginary encounters for the next day. Two near collisions with porcupines thrust me back into the realities of driving at night in the wilderness.

I wanted to get into the park before dawn the next morning. However, the guards were already up at 5 AM and wouldn’t open the gate till 6. I still managed to make it into the park in time to meet Graham on the path to the observation tower. Hornbills were on the move in all directions and we both couldn’t quite believe these birds were aloft over our heads. Great Hornbills are the avian equivalent of noisy diesel engines. Drongos of all sizes behaved uncommonly gregariously, sharing bare perches en mass and looping into the crisp air, sharing it with high flying Dollarbirds. The gibbons should have been out of breath.

This was my last full day in Thailand, my last in fact in Southeast Asia. I didn’t push myself in birding, I simply sat back and enjoyed being there. A few more encounters with the salt loving bull Elephant, a skulk through deeper forest for a Orange-headed Thrush (Zoothera citrina), and a scouring for an absent Coral-billed Ground Cuckoo (Carpococcyx renauldi) filled the day. Graham and I spent the afternoon and evening talking about the politics of birding, the current state of humans and nature, and the subjectivity of experiencing the natural world, all the while watching birds. The day closed with a final bird, a lifer, the harrier-sized Great Eared-nightjar(Eurostopodus macrotis) issuing unavian spurts and planking through the final light.

Even a month later, it’s difficult to fully synthesize what my experiences really meant. To say the least I learned much, have become all the wiser as a result. Having to jet off to Bangkok after two wonderful days out in the wild was jarring. Indian Cuckoos calling sullenly from trees in urban temples seemed impoverished characters, shadows of their country cousins.

I still haven’t stopped talking about it. Thanks.

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Pak Thale and Spoon-billed Sandpipers

Posted in Birding, Birds, Conservation, Current Events, Environmentalism, Migration, Natural History, Pak Thale, Science, Southeast Asia, Spoon-billed Sandpiper, Thailand on February 10, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

Sometimes I question my sanity. Here I was, halfway around the world, standing next to fields of salt. I wasn’t lost, I intended on arriving here at some point. But did I really need to come to Thailand to feel desiccated?

The answer in this case was almost essentially yes. If you are a birder, enjoy shorebirds (by enjoy shorebirds I mean you have a masochistic side), and want to seek out rare birds, the coast south of Bangkok isn’t a bad spot. Among a multitude of species that winter here is the famed Spoon-billed Sandpiper (Eurynorhynchus pygmeus). This is largely what we were after. We had rented scooters and here we were at the Pak Thale Salt Pans 30km from Phetchaburi.

I would love to weave a yarn about how we toiled for hours to see a Spoon-billed. Soiling ourselves with exertion and impromptu romps across the the salt pans. But we didn’t. We’d hardly walked an hour before suddenly there one was.

I was doing the shorebird photographers squat, my butt flirtatiously dusting itself with mud and paying little attention to anything beyond a Common Redshank. I might not have noticed if not for Ryan’s calm, constant tone (a good counterbalance to my fly off the handle gurgling): “There’s a Spoon-billed.” This was one of the rarest birds I’d ever see in my life, probably the only time I might ever see one again (in some ways a sad thing as much exciting). But then another one flew in. They were probably 100 feet away, lit perfectly, and I took 300 photos.

Seeing one was plenty but two was fantastic. People come specifically to see them here and leave only with a silhouette, 1 mile away, and with half feral salt pan dogs hanging from their ankles. To put the numbers in perspective, in Myanmar someone had 18 birds in one spot and this was the biggest collection of this diminutive but strange bird that’s been found in recent years, (in 2009, 63 individuals were recorded for the entire winter in Myanmar)

Spoon-billed Sandpipers breed in extreme Northern Russia. Mature birds apparently spread all about the coasts of Southeast Asia and somewhere down the line people figured out Pak Thale was a good spot to see them regularly. When I say they are critically endangered, I mean that they are probably hovering at around 1000 individuals for the entire world population and could wink out in 20 years or less. With a sedentary species, this is an optimistic number because steps can sometimes be taken to stop further decline (be it saving remaining habitat or creating a breeding program). Spoon-billeds migrate and spread over a great deal of land, most bits of their wintering and stopover habitat is being reclaimed for industry. The added facts that Spoon-billeds are very specialized in where they breed (lagoon spits with low vegetation) and probably never had huge numbers doesn’t help.

In the next two days we say gobs of shorebirds and most of them were new for me. Birds people see somewhat regularly back in the states, like Bar-tailed Godwits to a bird I’d only seen once, when I skipped class to drive to Ocean Shores, a Temminck’s Stint. Some, birders would leave their dearest loved one on their death bed to see, like a Spotted Redshank.

What I find hilarious in all this is that when people typically see these birds, no matter how fascinating, elegant, and darn right tough they are: they are in their basic plumage. Basic as in winter, as in non-breeding, as in duller than shit to the unappreciative eye. People go into debt to see certain shorebirds when they show up in the wrong place in bland form! If ornithologists wanted to choose a flagship group of birds to induce panicked public donations for conservation, I’m sorry, it wouldn’t be even the Spoon-billed Sandpiper.

This is possibly why global warming awareness campaigns use a Polar Bear instead of a Red-necked Stint. Polar Bears are white all year round, have been swimming too much lately, and were in Coca-Cola commercials. Red-necked Stints just run off for half the year and chill on the beach in Thailand, Australia, or anywhere in between (take your pick). If you asked someone if they’d ever seen a Red-necked Stint on the street, you’d get an narrowing of eyes that people reserve for someone publicly soliciting sexual favors. If you asked them about Polar Bears, they’d happily tell you they saw them in a coke commercial in the 90s. To be clear I think it’s deplorable that the Coca-cola company, possibly a major contributor to global warming, has used this poor animal for ads.

But let’s face it, shorebirds are extraordinary. Bar-tailed Godwits are the record holders of the longest distance of sustained migration (between the Yellow Sea and New Zealand non-stops). Many shorebirds (or waders, if you are from anywhere else but ‘Merica) show reverse sexual dimorphism, meaning the female bird runs the show and often is the more colorful, striking plumage. They are little birds that may fly from Siberia to Australia and back again in a year. They deserve your admiration, even if you only know them as those little birds your screaming, naked, offspring chases after on the beach, or you avoid looking at in your bird book because they give you migraines.

What’s more, many are in solid decline. There are huge numbers of reasons. As I mentioned above, changes in the great land up North related to global warming have wrought problems for breeding birds. In the South things like shrimp farms and the ever spreading disease of beach side resorts hold responsibility. Pollution never helps, especially when many heavy industry is situated near significant estuaries, full of tidal mud flats shorebirds require for feeding at both ends and between. The challenges go on and on.

The bottom line for this post was that I came and conquered in Petchaburi Province. Another tick on the list right? Well, that got me the envy of many I know, but I think that’s about where it stops. I’d like people to think about these birds, their struggles of habitat loss at both ends of travel, and maybe do something about it. At least tell your screaming, naked, child as they let it all hang out in pursuit of a flock of startled Sanderlings.

And please, give some real coverage a look if you want more than my inanity on 10,00 birds!

(Quick travel update: I’ve seen 228 life birds so far on this trip, my person list for the trip is at 245.  Quite a few cool mammals, reptiles, and insects.  Internet access was limited and I visited another National Park, Kaen Krachan, between Pak Thale and this posting.  A general collection of the photos thus far here.  Next up? Sumatra!)

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Doi Inthanon National Park

Posted in Birding, Birds, Environmentalism, Natural History, Plants, Science, Southeast Asia, Thailand on February 2, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

Yesterday I stood on top of Thailand. I made the steep trek and it was well worth it. Don’t leap to conclusions though, I rode a motorcycle.

Doi Inthanon is the highest point in Thailand, as well as in most of mainland Southeast Asia east of that pesky Myanmar and its blasted Northern reaches (I really wanted to summit this part of the continent). At 2565 meters (8,415 feet) tall, this hunk of granite batholith is paltry compared to the Himalayan mountains it leads up to, yet it still feels very tall. Height also means it hosts a broad array of bird species and corresponding habitats (yes, yes it’s ecologically diverse, it’s not all about the birds).

Again, a national park it may be, but most of the lower reaches are deforested and well populated with various hilltribes. Constantly while traveling in Southeast Asia you find your Western ideals confronted (while the thought of thousands of people living in a national park year round isn’t too foreign, having them not be people operating trams or cooking french fries is). I sort of relish these revelations; from squat toilets that don’t flush (meaning you have to wash the offending bits down with ladles of water), to realizing that a vehicle rental company is willing, no, thrilled, to hand over a sound, operational motorcycle with no question of my aptitude astride it. I also rather like that staying within the park, I am not restricted to bland tourist restaurants and can venture over to the immoderate world of greasy food stalls in the nearby village. (People talk about returning from Southeast Asia skinner than when they left. This would be easier to imagine if I wasn’t such a frothing glutton).

Back to nature.

The height of the mountain means it is one of the few places that you get true alpine habitats including Thailand’s only sphagnum bog. This surprised me because I associate peat moss with places like Ireland or Northern Europe and archeology more than the tropical species that bounced about the bog. Certainly the temperature was spot on.

Ryan and I rode up the mountain about 8:30 AM, after checking into Mr. Daeng’s Guest House at 500 baht or about $15 US a night (which seems expensive considering we’ve only been in places for 250 baht or less split but isn’t even). Mr. Daeng has been hosting birders here for years with magnificent birds on property. When scoping the spot the evening before, we’d seen Black-throated Sunbirds (Aethopyga saturata) and Chestnut-flanked White-eyes (Zosterops erythropleurus) both quite dapper looking birds.

The ride to the top was actually very chilly. This is the first and possibly last time I’ll likely ware long underwear on the trip. Of course we didn’t make it to the top without stopping for birds. This was largely done at inopportune blind corners with no shoulders. I spied a Great Barbet (Megalaima virens) just as we rounded one such bend and I spied several more new ones from my wobbly perch atop my motorbike. Another stop for Mrs. Gould’s Sunbird (I’m sorry, I’m all for naming birds after women as much as men….but couldn’t it have been Elizabeth’s Sunbird instead of this silly mouthful?) and Eyebrowed Thrush (Turdus obscurus) stymied an early arrival at the top.

Bird activity was at a high when we arrived; there were gobs of birds, the sun was shinning, and I was on top of the world (well Thailand at least). Ashy-throated Warblers (Phylloscopus maculipennis), a specialty up here (one will not find them elsewhere in Thailand except this peak) were all over the place and numerous sightings meant I finally got a decent photograph of a bird!

The boardwalk around the bog was full of life. Hoary clouds whipped overhead for periodic and welcome sun breaks, but lets be honest, I didn’t notice the cold with this much great nature unfolding. Green-tailed and Mrs. Gould’s Sunbirds were dripping off trees, Rufous-winged Fulvetta (Pseudominla castaneceps) clasped to the sides of the trees, and an Orange-flanked Bush Robin (Tarsiger cyanurus) skulked below the walkway. Once I’d taken a second to relax, I began to truly appreciate the rare beauty of this habitat.

We came just in time to see two varieties of Rhododendron blooming, a burst of white and pink against the shaggy mossy environs. An off shade between umber and chartreuse, everything looked so soft, a nice nap crossed my mind. I’d heard it described as stepping into Lord of the Rings but that was an impoverished description. Once I’d spent time on alone, immersed in the landscape, I felt like I was witnessing a world of gnomes and fairies. The avian characters about were not far off from fantasy.

(An aside: I need to say that I am highly envious of the squirrels here at Mr. Daeng’s – they have a veritable playground all about, dashing down vine and pole highways all about my head as I sit writing this.)

I ran into a Thai birder decked out in a ski mask (this was Siberian cold for the Thai) who introduced himself as Pat. He was there for fun but was training to be a guide (I told him I’d plug him back home). He reconfirmed several of my auditory identifications, pointed out the high elevation only Golden-throated Barbet (Megalaima franklinii). Like most people I’ve met and I’ve spoken English with here, he apologized for his poor ability and in turn I admonished him for the apology. My inability to properly speak the mother tongue is embarrassing enough, let alone my Thai, Spanish, French, or Pig Latin. He had rather good English and I wished him luck.

After chatting with Pat, I couldn’t believe my luck with some of the birds. An Orange-flanked Bush Robin was very cooperative, Bar-throated Minla (Chrysominla strigula) acted as if I was not there (so close I couldn’t focus on them), and Ashy-throated Warblers sat still enough for some real bird photos. Up at the food stands, the coffee shop had both Dark-backed Sibia (Heterophasia melanoleuca) and Rufous-crowned Laughingthrush (Garrulax ruficeps) sneaking in for tidbits when the barista wasn’t looking.

Long days of birding end in exhaustion and this was no different. After more time spent at the top, we drifted down into broadleaved evergreen forest to varying degrees of success. New worlds of nature have the spectacular ability of wearing you down and I was ready for a good long rest at the end of the day. And yet I had to sit down and write.

 

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Pai(land)

Posted in Birding, Birds, Chiang Mai, Conservation, Natural History, Plants, Science, Southeast Asia, Thailand on January 29, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

Pai could easily be seen as just another town on the tourist track. It used to be a sleepy town in a valley in Mae Hong Song Province until recently, when a couple Thai movies were filmed here and tourism exploded for the wealthy Thai. Luckily best parts of Pai is the environment of the surrounding hills.

Climbing from Chiang Mai, you find yourself passing through coffee plantations up to vistas that seem another world away from the plains of Bangkok. The apogee of the drive takes you through what would be considered alpine here, the drier sides of the hills home to long-needled pines, this is another place altogether that I fear I won’t get to fully explore.

Pai is approximately 50 miles from the border of Burma. There is no border crossing in this province, they are few and far between with the volatile neighbor. That doesn’t stop illegal animal trading, drug trafficking, and the hill tribe Karen of the region fleeing over the border into a slightly more tolerant Thailand. The modern sense of borders is certainly challenged here, regional consideration of the people and land seems more important than much else.

While it is a quiet place to relax, there has been turbulence in the past. I suspect people have moved through this region much more recently than 800 years ago, yet the first recorded settlement was of the Shan ethnic group of Burmese origin in a place called Bang Wiang Nuea near modern Pai. This land however was seen to be a part of the Lanna Kingdom of Nothern Thailand. Loyal Lanna were expected to migrate to the outer regions to secure them and soon conflict arose, forcing much of the Shan to migrate back North (established families were allowed to stay by the Prince of Lanna). In the late 1800s there was another push to populate the borders to secure Siam from foreign interests of France (via Laos) and England (via Burma) which resulted in further fighting between the Shan and the Lanna. This one burnt the village to the ground in 1869 and the rebuilding resulted in the modern placement of Pai.

Away into the hills here there are many birds and you would never know of the extensive human history nearby. It remains still one of the remaining expanses of intact forest left in Thailand (Thailand may be 12% National Park, Wildlife Area, etc. but the rest is startlingly devoid of habitat). Being the dry season here, hillsides are turning red and yellow. The Dipterocarp trees (I believe the predominant species being Dipterocarpus tuberculatus), deciduous in response to lack of water, tower above the rest of the forest lofting their massive, withering leaves down to earth. In a month fires, natural or otherwise, will begin to stride over the horizon.

With almost a week here we’ve seen a lot of nature. And while this is not “real” Thailand in a cultural sense it’s been a good introduction to getting about and self sufficiency. 110cc mopeds serve as our transport, an ideal freedom, which we will certainly take advantage of in the future. Simple exploration of the weedy fields adjacent to the guest house has revealed many new birds included our first birds of prey, Common Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) and Rufous-winged Buzzard (Butastur liventer). Dazzlingly adorned Wire-tailed Swallows (Hirundo smithii) slip over the soft hills and Indian Rollers (Coracias benghalensis) flash bright blue wings against a dusky gray body. The birds still are spectacularly shy and difficult to photograph. My biggest hope is that in long established National Parks (Khao Yai, is the oldest est. 1962) further south will hold better opportunities.

Waterfalls are all about, pouring out of the hills into the valley. Every one of them has a lattice of PVC pipe running out of them, necessary for the fields all about the lowlands. Water attracts birds, which means we’ve explored several, some you can drive right up to and some taking hours over optimistically placed trails to reach.

Elephants used to live in the wild here but now serve only as tourist attractions and further out for work in the forests. They’ve been an important aspect of culture here for ages both symbolically and in practical means. Scott and I both avoided the topic of riding elephants because we expect the other would find this an overly touristy option. After playing in the river with two forty year olds, I realized that even if this was exploitation (which is a western idea certainly), it certainly provided good contact to build an appreciation for the declining Asiatic Elephant (Elephas maximus).

In terms of bird life, thus far I’ve seen nearly 80 new species of birds. That seems paltry considering the wealth of species here but without extensive knowledge of bird song or guides, I think we’re doing pretty good. Trying to catch glimpses of birds in bamboo undergrowth or high above in back lit flowering Dipterocarps towering over forest, means we inevitably miss things. But if the goal was to arrive and tick off every species, I likely wouldn’t even bother blogging about it and I would likely be a much wealthier person.

Scott, Ryan, and I are parting ways at this point. Scott is headed to India on Tuesday and will stay another day in Pai after we leave tomorrow. Ryan and I plan on getting back to Pai early, renting mopeds, and heading to Doi Inthanon National Park to explore the tallest mountain in Thailand.

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Doi Suthep and the First Steps in Tropical Asian Birding

Posted in Birding, Birds, Chiang Mai, Environmentalism, Natural History, Science, Southeast Asia, Thailand on January 26, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

Culture shock can come in many forms. I’ve been struggling with something people keep repeating here: “they eat all the animals.” Deciphering whether this is Western racism or simple reality is complicated. I do know that the Thai sense of edibility is far more encompassing when compared to American concepts. Compared to Thai food choices, we are simplistic heathens.

Why I bring up food is largely because photographing birds here is more difficult than I imagined. Not only that, but simple observation involves a game of hid and seek. I’ve tried to think of other reasons for being skittish, however large populations of humans have lived here for thousands of years and bird populations learn quickly. Birds tend to be on the tastier side of things, though lacking in much meat. Whatever the reason, the extreme jumpiness of birds here is clear. They are not keen on having us close to them.

We descended a mountain last weekend.

Doi Suthep is a mountain behind Chaing Mai. To the Thai, the major attraction is a temple, named Wat Phrathat Doi Suthep, considered by many a sacred site. According to legend, a white elephant with half a shoulder bone of the Buddha, was released to roam the mountain by the king of the region at the time. Where it collapsed to die was deemed site of the new the temple, apparently established in 1383. It also happened to be an easily accessible site to get into the forest from Chaing Mai.

Traveling as I am, practicing frugality, transport is an important factor in the experiment. The majority of birders who would visit would likely already shelled out to rent a vehicle. As it turned out, not having one probably worked in our favor. While public transportation (a Songthaew, a shared truck taxi) up the hill and to the park headquarters, seemed tedious and expensive, it left us free to hike without concern of returning to the same spot.

Birds, birds, birds! Before we could take baring we’d seen a new avian menagerie. As I mentioned before, none of them were keen to be within a stones throw of us. (I’m not exaggerating for the sake of a story, any empirical evidence either way would be welcome). A stunning Blue-throated Barbet (Megalaima asiatica), a flock of cavorting Scarlet Minivents (Pericrocotus flammeus), Blue Rock Thrush (Monticola solitarius), and a lone Asian Barred Owlet, reminiscent of a large pygmy owl (Glaucidium cuculoides). All of them stunning, novel, and skittish.

Finding the trail we’d seen on a map was a bit of a challenge. As a result a few more species were found and our concept of a National Park was up against it. When asking the shop attendant for directions, we received a punctuated “It’s closed,” yet several minutes later an overly friendly staff person (a common thing in Thailand) recognized lost souls and pointed us in the right direction. Several forks and retracing of steps later, we found ourselves in an increasingly surreal situation.

I’ll willingly admit people in search of birds frequent odd places. Yet I’ve never, until now, met a pair of bird photographers sitting in full camouflage in a rubbish heap. I quickly realized the reason for enduring the mild stench was the cavalcade of flies, attraction enough for birds. These two Thai gentlemen were waiting for Siberian Robins among other species. Knowing all this didn’t set me at ease, especially considering we’d scaled the mountain to find native habitat. Thankfully, slightly down the road the horrors could be forgotten and unique species were found.

Understanding a new environment is difficult enough. Throw in the tropics and you’ve got yourself a handful. Plants, numerous and beautiful as they are, I have reserved learning for times when I can glean from others. Insects can be photographed for inquiry, which I have taken full advantage of thus far. Yet birds remain difficult, so much of recognition is tied to voice and reliance on helpful information in our books (which are surprisingly vague). No massive amount of studying would have prepared us.

Layers upon layers. Lushness filtered by lushness. Even in the supposed dry season, so much was green. As we crept down slope, towards a supposed waterfall, it was surprisingly quiet but this was welcome, Ryan and I had little clue of what much of the bird song was. No matter, that’s the fun part of exploration, seeking to learn!

The waterfall did exist as it turned out. We relaxed with our lunches, watched the spectacular insect life, and hoped to see a few new birds. Two species I’d lusted after appeared amidst the noise of the waterfall– a Black-naped Monarch (Hypothymis azurea) of a clear blue and an unusual non-parasitic cuckoo, a Green-billed Malkoha (Phaenicophaeus tristis). We were raking in a fraction of the species likely present, but being my first excursion into the ubiquitous Broadleaved Evergreen forests of Southeast Asia I was having a blast.

A tip from a couple from Toronto got us on the track down the hill, avoiding backtracking. Doi Suthep National Park is a mere 30 minutes climb from busy Chiang Mai, it seemed yet another exotic world away and coming face to face with two Canadians was surprising. Earlier we’d ran into some guides with their Anglo charges, somehow they seemed like they belonged more. Of all the advice they could have lent us out here in the forest, they wanted us to stay vigilant against the Lady Boys.

Although it heated up as we down climbed, the birds kept coming. While audibly I felt a cretin, visually I was feeling quite proud of myself. Even if I didn’t know exactly what it was, I could still stab in the right direction!

At the bottom of the hill we strolled down a paved road to the main highway. If you haven’t watched birds, you wouldn’t necessarily know that the middle of the day is not ideal for birds. Heat is restrictive and we saw very little before reaching a ride out at 4 PM. A songthaew was caught for a fraction of the price up, food was procured, and a good day in the bush was celebrated.

My travels thus far have gotten me a stone’s throw from the Northern border of Burma (Myanmar) and Thailand. The lovely town of Pai has been good to us thus far and hopefully will continue to do so. New birds, new images, and new stories have most definitely taken place (but I must admit the birds unfortunately are still hard to photograph). Stay tuned!

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Bangkok to Chaing Mai

Posted in Birding, Southeast Asia, Thailand with tags , , , , , , , , on January 21, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

“I wish our common birds were ridiculously colorful.”

Ryan, Scott, and I were eating a “breakfast” of Pad Thai in Chaing Mai, on plastic seats in a street stall facing the river Pai. Opposite a Eurasian Tree Sparrow (Passer montanus) and not far from a rat scrounging for scraps, was a Coppersmith Barbet (Megalaima haemacephala). While not the gaudiest or sought after of barbets in Thailand, the setting was odd. A palate of shades of green, yellow, red, and black it surpassed Washington’s most vivid birds yet here it was mingling with the street riffraff.

In my opinion, when visiting a foreign country, it is absurd to jump into nature without first spending time to see how the people live. Wandering Bangkok for the sake of exploring was magical but after a few days of city grime, the “hey you, where you go?” of the tuk-tuk drivers (a tricycle taxi), and thumping backpacker slums it was time to move on.

Ryan’s first day in Bangkok was also his last for the time being. A simple breakfast of Pad Thai and iced coffee, sufficed and we hit a nearby park to think about our plans for Chaing Mai. Santichaiprakan Park, adjacent to Phra Sumen Fort that guarded the moat to the old city, had a surprising amount of bird life. While Scott read the Thailand guide, Ryan and I couldn’t help but get engrossed in the animals overhead.

We’d already seen Common Myna (Acridotheres tristis) but quickly noticed a White-vented Myna (Acridotheres grandis) gulping down figs along with the other species. Asian Koel (Eudynamys scolopaceus), a large black cuckoo sat veiled by vegetation in the top of a tree, constantly calling back at someone in the park imitating it with a flute. Scarlet-rumped Flowerpeckers (Dicaeum cruentatum), a more common species in Bangkok foraged along with Common Iora (Aegithina tiphia), a single Yellow-browed Warbler (Phylloscopus inornatus), and a lone Asian Pied Starling (Gracupica contra). Some Asian Palm-Swifts (Cypsiurus balasiensis ) bent over the Chao Phraya river. With birds so very different it wasn’t surprising the squirrels overhead, dropping half eaten figs on us, were equally as foreign, piebald rodents.

Although this was only my second day in Thailand and I’d already seen nearly two dozen new species, I was anxious to get further afield and into actual habitat. A 12 hour, overnight bus ride to Chaing Mai with other backpackers was fairly welcome. It is the jumping off point into more forested areas of Thailand, places still with primary forest and much of their original avian fauna (mammals as a rule appear to be heavily hunted and not easily found). Reclining seats and air conditioning meant the trip was bearable certainly.

As we were trundled into Chaing Mai at 6:30AM, we slipped through narrow streets and slid by a morning market. Groggily we stumbled our way to the first reasonable guest house, in a back alley lined with plants (the Thai have a way of making urban places seem pleasant with traipsing vines everywhere). Red-whiskered Bubuls chortling and cavorting through the building tops greeted us as we made our way out to find breakfast at a market.

Transportation for the day was by bike, for less than two dollars each. We visited Wat Phrasing (the most visited temple in Chaing Mai), spoke with two 19 year old Monks for a half an hour (amidst a few shy younger monks who couldn’t get the courage to talk to us), and pedaled off towards Chaing Mai University (the first in the region). Biking was hectically fun in the city and combined with navigation challenges of un-named streets, we took a bit to reach the forested grounds. Apparently it was graduation time for some of the students, some of whom seemed confused by three farang gliding through on aging bicycles.

Birding wasn’t a great option being the middle of the day, but we still managed a few new species. An immature Chinese Pond Heron flew from a man made pond, at a flowering tree Chestnut-tailed Starlings (Sturnia malabarica), Ashy Drongo (Dicrurus leucophaeus), and the surreal Greater Racket-tailed Drongo (Dicrurus paradiseus). Even just a few new species were welcome while we were still acclimatising but I could feel the shrouded mountains behind the university pulling.

Late afternoon food and beer made for a groggy evening and we called in an early night. Tomorrow we head for Doi Suthep National Park, a few kilometers from the city, and will hopefully make a good run of exploring it – birds and all!

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Wingtrip Goes to Southeast Asia Pt. 1

Posted in Birds, Southeast Asia, Thailand with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 18, 2011 by Brendan McGarry

Blogging follows a trend in immediacy. What’s interesting about this, in conjunction with what I intend to initiate with Wingtrip, is the dualism that arises. As fast paced as the natural world can be, careful, exacting observation is absolutely necessary to make satisfactory conclusions. Time is paramount.

My two and a half month long trip seems a good length, yet compared to the expeditions of those I admire, it is slight. With many departures, countless hours slogging through malarial rainforest and slipping over verdant mountains, many natural historians have provided much to our comprehension. Alfred Russel Wallace, a scientist who tiptoed in prepubescent evolutionary theory with Darwin, spent 8 years traveling the archipelagos stretching between the Malayan peninsula and Australia. Emulating the collecting, the explorations, the things he saw, and his amazingly accurate theories will never be a possibility for me. That is a world past yet one highly worth looking back to.

So I embark for the time I have allowed myself, albeit financially deemed, to document in my modern way. It is no less exciting; there’s a chance I’ll photograph or witness something no one else has ever captured in image or word. Maybe that’s an overstatement yet the prospect is beautifully exciting. Possibly people don’t need to know everything about the ecosystems and organisms of Southeast Asia, but as far as I am concerned the more the better.

I write this on a 12 hour flight somewhere over the Seward Peninsula en route to Seoul, South Korea. Then it is another 6 hours to Bangkok where I grab my bag, hop a taxi, and meet my good friend Scott in the pulsing tourist lane of Kao San Road (or KSR) at 12:15 AM Bangkok time (EDIT – I’m here and in good health). The next night, Ryan (a birding friend) arrives and we all jaunt off into the North of Thailand. From there, we’ll see what happens. With luck we’ll have an opportunity to visit some Hornbill Research Group sites and travel to the tallest mountain in Thailand, Doi Inthanon before Ryan’s and my month long visa is up.

The items that I somehow deem necessary to observe wildlife are somewhat ludicrous. The point is to watch birds, monkeys, elephants, insects – whatever I come upon. Somehow I ended up with a backpack full of the minutia of documentation. I’m excited by the uncertainty of having yet to discover what I’ll experience. The first bird (Pigeons!), the first mammal (huge city rats!), the first body of water (Chao Phraya River). I’ve got a camera, a Grinnel Journal (I’ll let you all figure that one out), and a blog raring to go.

So long for now – I would check back in 3 days if you haven’t yet bookmarked or subscribed. Thanks for all your support and if you are someone waiting to see what this is all about before backing the project on Kickstarter, I will convince you of the worth shortly!

(quick note – because of internet issues in Seoul, I couldn’t get this posted until today in Bangkok. A few life birds, cultural delving, and tasty street food were had. More soon)

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