Dodging Elk

September 14, 2006

As we viewed the wildlife of Yellowstone National Park, I reminded my three brothers (Scott, John & Peter) about the dangers of watching bull elk when they are rutting.  By way of illustration, I related the story about watching a large, bull elk attacking an automobile at Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone several years ago.  For no apparent reason, the bull lowered his head and charged a small car.  The heavy antlers bent the door, broke the window and almost hit the passenger inside. 

Watch Out, Here I Come

 

Consequently, as we now approached the same area, we were wary of approaching a large bull elk that was resting on the lawn.  But we wanted a good photo and felt relatively safe inside Scott’s F-150 Ford, extended cab pickup as he drove nearby for a photo.  Scott knew that he could accelerate rapidly and probably outrun the bull if it chose to charge us.  The bull appeared overtly threatening, so we took a few photos and drove about 50 yards away to park -- thinking that we might take a few additional photos from a safe distance.  Other tourists were wandering around the yard and a herd of elk cows and calves grazed peacefully nearby.  As we exited the pickup, we noticed that the bull was now standing and began walking slowly toward a spot behind our pickup.  We began to take photos as the docile-appearing bull walked slowly toward us.  When we decided he was approaching too close to us, it was too late.  If we backed out of our parking place, we would back directly into his path and that might incite his anger.  We opened the doors of the pickup so that we could retreat into the relative safety of the pickup if the bull decided to charge us.   As it passed maybe 20 yards behind the tail of the pickup, we continued taking photographs of the magnificent animal.  

Taking Photos

 

It stopped behind the truck, looked at us, bugled and then turned to saunter toward the driver(s side of the truck.  As this massive animal passed on the driver(s side he loomed large over the truck which now seemed miniature in size and hardly the fortress that we had envisioned.  As he approached, my two brothers (for some unknown reason) had left the potential safety inside their pickup doors and ran around the front of the pickup so that all four of us were now on the passenger side of the truck.  Near the driver’s door, the bull stopped, lifted his head and began to bugle toward his harem or maybe to answer another bull who was bugling in the neighborhood.  He was so close that we could see the mud on his rack and his watery eyes.  

Bellowing Bull

 

His facial expression did not exactly radiate a friendly demeanor.  Suddenly, the bull started trotting toward the front of the truck and we all retreated to the rear of the truck.  The bull, from maybe 10 yards away, turned and faced the right front of the truck and lowered his head in a very threatening posture.  It then turned and faced the pickup with eyes that glowed red (but I might have invented the red-eyed part).  Anyway, when it appeared that he was intent on impaling all four of us on his massive antlers, I ran up and dove into the driver’s seat.  I hesitated to move over to the passenger side because the bull’s antlers were aimed at that location.  But my brother, Scott, loudly encouraged me to vacate his driver's seat so that he could enter the cab and escape those giant antlers too.

Scott, John, Peter and Winfield

 

By then, my brothers, John and Peter, were safely ensconced in the back seat.  As I squeezed over the console between the front bucket seats of the pickup, the bull charged.  As Yogi Berra would say, it was like deja vu all over again.  At a minimum, if this bull hit the front of the pickup, it's antlers would puncture the radiator, knock out the right front headlight, bend the grill and totally shake up the nervous passengers inside.  I waited for the tinkle of broken glass and the crash of crunching metal, but inches short, the bull stopped his attack then calmly turned and walked away toward the harem he had just protected.  All we could do is stare at each other and wonder how we had let this all happen.  What had we done to provoke this bull to take such drastic action?  Had he stalked us from the beginning?  Did we come between him and his harem?  Did the flash of our cameras set him off?  Or maybe he was just bored and wanted to put the fear of God into some Texas boys who once thought of themselves as a rather macho bunch.  

To add insult to injury, a small crowd of tourists, at a safe distance, had watched this scene.  They took photos and great pleasure from our predicament.  (Tourists can be such nasty people!)

Anyway, with the bull at a safe distance, Scott put that pickup in rear drive and then left a little rubber as we put space between ourselves and that psychotic bull.   By now we were all loud with nervous laughter and feeling a little foolish, but very glad that a visit to an auto body shop or the hospital -- was not required.

 

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Montana and Fishing for Birds

Montana and Fishing for Birds

 

Tired from an afternoon of driving our little motorhome in a strong, late-afternoon wind, we were happy to find a country RV Park near Big Timber, Montana.  This park proved to be a jewel!  Situated on the bank of the Boulder River, it was guarded by very large Cottonwood trees that shaded some of the green, freshly-mowed lawn.  A large spring provided sparking clear water for a couple of fish ponds where a fisherman caught a 3-pound trout earlier in the afternoon.  Many smaller trout were also caught.

After a restful nap, Pat and I took a walk around the park to watch the fishermen and fisher kids.  We carried binoculars and a camera – in case we saw any wildlife.  We saw movement in a tree very near the river.  On closer examination, we could see a small bird fluttering and flying is a very small circle.  I could see that it was attached to a string that I first thought was a large spider web.  (Large spiders sometimes eat birds.)  The poor little bird struggled on and on but was obviously very exhausted – and could not escape whatever was holding it to the string.  If left alone, it appeared to be doomed. 

We hailed a couple of park managers who brought a limb cutter.  By standing on their 4-wheel  ATV and reaching up with a long-handled branch trimmer, the very small branch to which the string was attached was clipped.  The little bird, string, and branch fell to the lawn.  I grabbed the little bird gently to keep it from flapping its wings.  With the other hand, I held the bird’s beak.  Then it all became very clear.   A fly fisherman’s hook had penetrated the upper mandible in a way that the bird was not injured, but was unable to escape.  

Earlier, I had seen several small flycatchers flying to and from tree perches along the river as they hunted for flying insect prey.  I tentatively identified them as Western Wood-Pewees.  Our captured specimen appeared to be the same species.

Apparently, while it was hunting for insect prey, our little bird had spied this fisherman’s fly and caught it in its beak – then couldn’t release it.  

It seems likely that this fisherman’s fly had caught on a branch while the fisherman was whipping his line out into the river water.  The fisherman was likely disgusted to lose his favorite fly in the tree.  He probably cut his line to attach another fly so as to continue fishing – maybe unaware of the hazard it posed to insect-eating flycatchers.

Anyway, while I held its beak, the park manager expertly removed the hook.   I opened my hand to release the bird.  It sat on my hand for a few seconds and then flew into a nearby tree.  We all watched as a Goshawk flew into that tree, grabbed our little bird and ripped the flesh from its bones.  Just kidding, just kidding!  No hawk appeared and we all felt that we had made some small contribution to the balance of nature.  The survival of that one small bird is probably of very little consequence, but it felt good to end the torture it must have experienced as it tried to escape that cruel fish hook.

 

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Aunt Mary in Bartlesville

Aunt Mary in Bartlesville

 

1997

A large sign hanging on ropes over the highway as we enter Bartlesville reads: "Centennial Celebration 1897-1997."  Bartlesville and her citizens appear to be in a festive mood and are in the process of celebrating their centennial with special exhibits, special events, and parades.  Vince Gill will perform in the local high school - 29,000 seat stadium - on September 20.  It is amazing what this small city can accomplish with local initiative and Phillips Petroleum dollars.   Our Aunt Mary Hunter wishes that we will extend our visit to take advantage of and join in on this celebration.  We plan to leave in a couple of days - we will see....

Had considered obtaining a WebTV terminal for her to use to receive and send email, but there is no local phone number for web TV.  Consequently when on-line, sending and receiving email or searching the internet, a long-distance phone charge must be paid.  This would probably make WebTV prohibitively expensive and rule out the idea of WebTV for Aunt Mary.  Adding this reason to the fact that Aunt Mary fundamentally does not want WebTV allows me to gracefully give up on the idea of adding Aunt Mary's name to our family email list.  But the heck with it!  If I can't get her stories and comments by email, I'll just come and visit with her more.  

She was at the bottom of the stairs when we arrived.  By swiveling her hip a certain way, she was able to lift her right foot onto the first step.  Her right hand gripped the railing and would not let go instantly upon command.  But, after a little physical and mental discussion with the hand, it released its tight grip and we got big hugs all around.  As instructed by her therapist, she was practicing these step-climbing maneuvers.  With a mischievous grin, she suggested that the "hip swiveling" might catch the eye of the men walking by.  Her walker on wheels stood nearby for support if and when she needed it.  Obviously, the stroke had no perceptible effect on her smile, and the sincerity of her pleasure and affection for us was reflected in her eyes.  Actually, her whole face smiled.  I was struck by the incongruity of the situation.  Here was this amazing woman whose bodily "ears" could just barely hear the commands from her brain, but the brain still functions very well.  Yes, it does not function quite as well as before the stroke.  Like many of us, the words do not come as quickly as before.   Although there is a slowness to remember things, places, and ideas, she does not wallow in self-pity.  She keeps fighting until the word comes and continues her conversation.  Her stories have a very clear introduction, body, and ending that characterize a still-functioning brain that is filled with the memories of a very active life.  There is still a fire that burns in this lady.  She knows that to maintain her independent life-style, she must maintain some mastery over her stroke-injured body, so she continues to fight for control.

Leading into her apartment, she wanted to show us her new electric recliner.  A hand-held controller had an up-arrow and a down-arrow.   The electric motor moaned in response to the down-button and the chair slowly lowered my body into the horizontal position.  But the real value of the recliner was apparent upon pushing the up-button.  The chair does not stop in the normal upright position; it keeps going till it almost forces you into a standing position.  Thus, it serves as an aid to standing.  Mary explained that the couch in her study was so low that after the stroke, it was difficult to lift her body out of it.   David had fixed it by raising it several inches.  Finding a location in her study for the new recliner was a problem.  She wanted it to face the window so she could see the outside world - but the recliner did not fit.  David again came to the rescue.  A mirror from WalMart was placed on the wall away from the window so that even if she was facing away from the window, she could watch birds outside.  She absolutely beams with motherly pride when telling us about how David takes time out from his very busy schedule to come to Bartlesville to help her solve these kind of problems.  

After an afternoon of interesting conversation, we moved outside her apartment and watched the sun set over the pond. "Look!"  she said, "a great blue heron!"  The hummingbirds were quarreling over the feeder, crows were flying west and grackles flying east.  A kid was watching his bobber, hoping to catch that monster bass or crappie in the pond below.

From 2 pm until after 8 pm, Aunt Mary had been animated and showed little evidence of tiring.  I was amazed by her stamina.  But, not wanting to tire her too much, we decided to leave.  We made plans to take her car out for a ride to explore some lakes north of town on Friday.   "You are not going to try to slip out of town are you?" she asked as we were leaving.  I assured that we would definitely "slip out of town", but not tomorrow.  "My car needs to be driven," she says.

"Been there, done that" is currently one of her favorite phrases.  Coming from her mouth, the phrase is really believable.  She has not only seen the world, but has lived in much of it.  But, she said, "There is one country that Rex and I did not visit - can't remember which one it was."  Trying to trigger her memory, I try China? "Nope!"  Russia?  "No, we enjoyed Russia."  India?  Pakistan?  Kenya?  Uruguay?  Eritrea?  Dubai? " No, but we did not visit the North or South Pole."  Then I had a vision of Rex & Mary in a hotel room in Finland or somewhere with maps and bird books spread out all over the bed and desks, trying to figure out where the best birding will be or where to go next.  Mary admits that she was the mover, shaker and motivator of most of their travels.  Rex was happy to let Mary take the lead, but they both thoroughly enjoyed their travels.  During their travels around the world, Rex & Mary kept lists of the birds they identified - the final count was about 1341 species - more than most Professional Ornithologists' ever get.  

When I admit that I am somewhat allergic to hotels, motels, airlines and taxis, Mary proclaims "You are not a real traveller."  Guess not!  Compared to Rex and Mary, Pat and I are gross amateurs.  Instead of traveling to Paris, Pat and I do well to visit Forest City, IA.  Yes, we would like to visit Paris, but how do you get there in a motorhome?

Saturday morning, we gathered our bird books, binoculars, and peanut butter sandwiches, settled down in her Buick and started to visit  some nearby lakes for some birding.  Driving to the local post office to mail a letter, I noticed that the voltmeter was registering negative voltage.  Suspecting that the alternator was malfunctioning, I suggested that we go in our car instead of hers.  She was disappointed because her car stays in the shed too much and needs to be run.  We were able to find a few of the local birds and enjoyed a very nice day of exploring the open, grassy hills of Osage, Co.  She pointed out the RV parks on the lakes; we ate our lunch overlooking a lake and returned mid-afternoon before we were all totally exhausted.

Dining together on Saturday evening, a pained expression appeared on her face when I said that we would be leaving for Kansas in the morning.  She had hoped that we would stay longer.  Feeling a little guilty for spending only 2 days with her, we left on Sunday morning for a relaxed ride to Kansas.  We will spend a few days with Aunt Hazel before we continue on our way to Forest City, IA where the Winnebago factory will repair the floor in our motorhome.  I expect that we will receive a pained expression from her, too, in a few days when we announce that we are leaving. 

 

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Thailand Tentacles In My Soup

Thailand Tentacles in My Soup

 

February 25, 1999

At the Big Blue Cow Restaurant on Nai Yang Beach – part of Phuket Island – I ordered Tom Yam (seafood soup).  I dipped my spoon into the stuff and fished out a long tentacle.  It had little suckers all along – you know, like octopus tentacles, only smaller.  Kinda tasteless protein until added together with some other unidentifiable pieces of protein from the sea, a few really hot chilies, some lemongrass, chunks of ginger, a little coconut milk and maybe whatever else they found lying around loose on the chopping block.  Uhmmm!  Delicious!  All that and Olivia Newton-John singing “Let Me Be There.”

It had been a long day of fairly hard work at having fun.  We spent the previous night at one of the most popular vacation destinations in Southeast Asia – Patong Beach.  It is still near the height of the tourist season, so we were lucky to get a room along the beach.  Tourists were very cosmopolitan, mostly from Germany, but also from Switzerland, Italy, France, England, Australia, the USA and elsewhere.  They lie around the hotel swimming pool, possibly because that is the only place they can go topless.  Nude bathing is illegal on Thai beaches.  The only way I knew that some ladies were topless is because Pat told me.  I did not sneak a single peak.  Honest, I didn’t even look their way.  Well, maybe I did sorta glance their way out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t inhale.

The crescent-shaped beach is surely one of the most beautiful in the world.  But, even in the heat of the afternoon, it is covered with tourists so you can hardly see the white, white sand.  Lots of white skin turning pink and red.  The water is very clear, so this is also one of the top diving destinations in the world.  Collecting and selling coral has been made illegal, but the reefs still suffer considerable damage from anchors and dynamite to kill fish.  However, it still looks like a good place to dive to my inexperienced eye.  A brief swim after our morning jog felt very good.

Phuket Island is also a good place to get my email.  I use my brother Pete’s Internet service provider (Loxinfo) which has a local access number here.  I am running up a large bill obtaining my email because I use Loxinfo to access AOL’s mail via the Internet.  During the working day, it can be very difficult to obtain a line.  (Pete, I promise to pay you back.)  About 5 am is the best time.  There are many email-Internet shops along the beach, so maybe they keep the lines busy.  Anyway, from here it may take 10 to 15 minutes just to log on to AOL’s Netmail service.  Using AOL over the Internet is klutzy because there is no feature for automatically downloading, uploading or saving mail.  Consequently, the process is very slow and I am often online for 45 minutes to an hour just handling email.  However, it still beats the heck out of licking stamps and addressing envelopes.

Before we came to Phuket Island, we made a brief stop at Khao Lak National Park.  A young lady met us at the gate.  When I asked how much the entry fee cost, she replied, “It’s up to you.”  She smiled when I gave her 20 Baht.  I asked her where is the best place to find birds.  She recommended a 3 K trail that wound through the bamboo and strangler fig forest.  It also skirted along the rocky headlands overlooking the blue, picture-perfect Andaman Sea till it reached a small, deserted, secluded beach.  There we hoped to see crab-eating macaques (monkeys) that are often seen there, but all we saw was a hornbill flying overhead and a wagtail.  We did not even see any birds around the small, fresh-water lagoon behind the beach.  Not very good birding, but the large, tropical trees and palms with lianas and rattan vines snaking between the trees made the trek worthwhile.  Pat waded in the gentle surf and I watched fishermen in a long-tailed boat check the net they had strung across the bay by the secluded beach.  It appeared that they caught only a couple of small fish.

Pat proves to be a very interesting person with whom to hike.  She uses her sense of smell more than most.  She also has a good ear for birds.  On the hike to the secluded beach, Pat kept smelling a very fragrant flower and searched to try to find its source.  I thought it might be blooms about 100 feet up in one of the tall, tropical trees till Pat finally found a lower canopy tree covered with white flowers.  She is usually the first to smell something like cooking oil when we are approaching a human habitation or the smell of engine oil from a distant boat.  Unfortunately, she also sometimes smells sewage in places where there should be none.

A drive around Phuket Island is a very interesting exercise.  The west side consists of a series of beaches separated by headlands.  The small, two-lane road winds up several hundred feet over these rocky headlands and then down into the beach areas.  At one high overlook, a fellow had a couple of large, White-bellied Sea Eagles.  For 50 Baht, he covered the talons of a male with coverings and told it to jump.  The eagle obediently jumped up onto my outstretched arm so Pat could take a photo.  Later, at the Gibbon Project, I learned that I had committed an ecological sin by posing with the eagles.  “We should not reward those who capture wildlife and use them to make a living.”  Especially, the fairly rare Sea Eagles.  Gibbons are captured by shooting the mother out of a tree.  If the young survive the fall to the ground, they are kept as pets by bar girls and others to attract tourists.  The Gibbon project takes tame White Footed Gibbons, who have 90% of the same genes as humans, and teach them how to live in the wild so they can be released back into the forest.

A visit to the Butterfly Garden and Aquarium held our attention the longest.  It was a first class operation – especially the butterfly section.  A large, blue, tropical butterfly used my finger as a perch to unroll its long proboscis and stick it down the tube of a tropical flower. 

Yes, Phuket is a very touristy area with lots of shops, bar girls, restaurants, hotels, and sight-seeing.  But it is also a very scenic and interesting place to visit.  I am pleased that we took the time to see the sights and to find some tentacles in my soup.

 

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Thailand On The Road

Thailand On The Road

 

February 18, 1999

We wondered how we would get by in Thailand since we don’t speak the language.  The answer is same as in any other country where we don’t speak the language – universal sign language.  Example: we needed insect repellant and the girl in the small country store spoke no English.  I flapped my “wings,” made a “zzzzzzzz”  sound and poked my arm with my finger.  The girl led us straight to the insect repellants.

We were visiting the Kraeg Krachen National Park – the largest in Thailand, but not the best developed.  It is located in the Thai peninsula adjacent to the unfriendly border of Myanmar (Burma).  Driving into the park from the headquarters and visitor’s center requires about 2 ½ hours on a very rough, gravel road.  Some sections are paved but contain large potholes.  The last hour is very steep and narrow, so traffic is allowed only in one direction every few hours.  Visitors may enter from 5 am till 10 am.  Then from 12 PM till 1 PM autos may exit only.  In our opinion, the drive was worth the cost.  The views of the mountains, forests, and wildlife are spectacular.  At times it is possible to view four or five ridges of mountains, one behind the other.  The most distant ridges are difficult to see because of the humid haze in the air.  The hills and valleys are covered with rainforest.  Lots of bamboos, strangler fig, palms and many other trees.

We met a Thai fellow named Kob at the campground.  He showed us several birds, a bird-nest, a long-tailed black squirrel and a white-eyed macaque.  He obviously knew his wildlife.  He agreed to serve as our wildlife guide for ½ day the next day.  He was to meet us at our bungalow at the park headquarters at 5 am.  We were to provide transportation, lunch for all, and 400 Baut.  We waited until 5:30 am and decided that we had been “stood up.”  The early morning sounds of the rainforest were intriguing.  Practically every bird we saw was a new species for our lifetime bird list.  Among the most spectacular was a flock of Great Hornbills.  Very large birds with large curved bills. The macaques and gibbons (monkey-like critters) howled, the hornbills called, and various other birds whistled or make other kinds of wildlife music to our ears.  It was very exotic stuff!

After a long day of wildlife and driving we were tired and ready for the first bed (soft or otherwise) we could find.  We stayed in bungalow rented by the park on a large lake.  No hot water, bed with bottom sheet and a large cotton towel for a cover.  Bath with cold shower and a squat toilet.  But for the price of $15 per night, who can complain?  Since the drive to a comfortable hotel was hours away, we felt lucky not to be sleeping the car.  Sometimes it seems that we work very hard at goofing off.

 

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Thailand Monkeys

Thailand Monkeys

 

March 5, 1999

Macaques

 

A couple hundred monkeys (long-tailed macaques) live on a hill in the town of Prachaup Khiri Khan (which means town among the mountain chain).  Climbing 411 steps (we know cause we counted them) to the top of the “mountain” leads to a wat that provides a great view of the area.  A long, U-shaped beach ends on both the north and south with large, limestone hills that give the bay a “Rio de Janeiro” appearance.  Anyway, during the climb, we saw most of the 200 monkeys.  Although many were at the street on the bottom waiting for handouts, several mother monkeys with small babies were at the top where they feed on frangipani flowers every evening.  City folks feel an obligation to feed the monkeys rice, bananas, melons, etc. because the hill and surrounding area is owned by the Buddhists.  Killing or capturing the monkeys is not allowed, so there are far too many of monkeys for the amount of native, natural monkey food.  

An old nun sat beside her kiosk, where she sells food to visitors to feed the monkeys.  The monkeys know this kiosk is the source of food, so they try to raid whenever possible.  The nun protects the food from the monkeys with a slingshot.  When they wander too close, the nun pulls back on the rubber part and releases it as if shooting a stone.  The monkeys scatter quickly.  Please understand that these are tame monkeys who are not at all intimidated by humans.  So it is apparent that it is not just the sound of the slingshot that scares them.  The old nun must often really use rocks on the monkeys or the slingshot ruse would not be effective.  Just seemed a little odd that a Buddhist official from this faith, that professes to revere nature, would find it necessary to inflict bodily harm to protect a store of the monkeys’ own food.  Apparently, food does not come free, even from a Buddhist nun.

We watched as a fellow drove by on his motor scooter and dropped a plastic bag full of steamed rice for the monkeys.  A small female dashed at the bag and grabbed a handful before a large, dominant male took possession.  As we walked by, the male bared his large, canine teeth at Pat.  Pat understood the not-so-subtle hint and wasted little time putting some space between herself and the monkey.  In the National Parks, we have been advised not to look at the monkeys directly in the eyes, because this little act may cause a monkey attack.  A large monkey can inflict serious injury on a human.

In a chat with the waiter at a local restaurant, he informed me that the monkeys (he called them lings) sometimes become a menace.  He told of feeding a melon to the monkeys.  One monkey grabbed the melon and carried it to the top of the waiter’s auto, broke the melon on the roof and made a bad, sticky mess. 

Maybe living with monkeys is not such a good idea after all.

 

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Thailand Monkey School

Thailand Monkey School

 

February 23, 1999

It was our first sight of the Andaman Sea and we were lucky.  We found the near-perfect resort on the beach and did not have to pay the rates of the premier tourist sites.  Our bungalow had a view of the beach on two sides because the resort is located on a point of land that sticks out in the sea.  For the price of 1,400 Baht (about $52), we got air conditioning, hot water shower, TV with two Thai stations, clean room with queen bed, beautiful grounds, swimming pool, and one of the most isolated and beautiful white sand beaches we have seen.  The water temperature on the beach was just right  Except for a growing hunger, we might still be there, enjoying that surf.  With my binoculars, I scanned the coast on both sides of the resort and could see little evidence of human habitation – only coconut palms and casuarina trees.  Maybe ½ mile out from the beach is a reef that protects the lagoon and beach from the big waves.  I watched the sunset over the Andaman Sea and felt at peace with the world.

Dinner was served under the casuarina, coconut and rubber trees a few feet from the surf.  From our table, we could hear the sound of small waves hitting the beach and soft music coming from the indoor part of the restaurant.  The Thai flavored, stir-fried vegetables, chicken and cashews and steamed rice was delicious.  Just as I said, “Wow, all this and no mosquitoes,” a few mosquitoes appeared.  We ate a little more quickly than normal and headed back into the mosquito-free bungalow.

We had driven from the east side of the Thai Peninsula, through some of the most spectacular scenery of our two-week trip.  Solid, perpendicular walls of limestone mountains rose about 2000 feet into the air.  In the valleys below the mountains, were farms of rubber trees, palm orchards, coconut plantations and lots of banana trees.  Everything was very green except for the rubber trees that were in the process of shedding their brown and red leaves.  The tops of the mountains were covered with rainforest.  

We stopped along the way at a couple of national parks and took in the amazing scenery.  However, since it was the middle of the day, we saw very few birds.

We had stayed, the night before, at my favorite hotel of the whole trip.  The Wang Tai Hotel is located in the city of Surat Thani on the bank of the Khlong Phum Duong River (just love those names).  For only 1000 Baht ($37), we got a large room with a view of the swimming pool, rapid room service, a touch-tone phone in the room and a local access number to my brother Pete’s Internet service provider.  During the early morning, I could access the ISP, but the remainder of the day it was always busy.  (For some reason America On Line does not provide service in Thailand.)  Because of the excellent service, outstanding restaurant food, and access to the Internet, we stayed there two nights and caught up on email.

We spent some time walking along the docks observing the ferries that take passengers to several popular offshore islands.  We were not particularly impressed with the amenities on the ferries and remember hearing about overloaded ferries sinking in this part of the world -- usually with great loss of human life.  We particularly enjoyed walking through the downtown market area.  We tried to figure out names of the fruits, vegetables, and spices that were found there in profusion.  A “barker” with a loudspeaker was trying to push jars of some ointment that smelled much like Mentholatum.  He offered to rub some on my arm – I refused his generous offer.  He reminded me of the “snake oil salesmen” of the Old West.  Three-wheeled bike taxis and motorbikes mingled with the pedestrians in the crowded area.

One of the highlights of our stay there was a visit to the Monkey School.  A local map showed the precise location of the school.  Supposedly, wild monkeys captured in the forest require about two months to learn how to pick coconuts at this school.  To make it easier for us to find the school, there was a large sign on the edge of town in large English letters – “Monkey School 7 kilometers.”  We set the odometer – at seven kilometers there was no road or monkey school.  We drove around the area for almost an hour and never found the monkey school.  We decided that maybe “monkey school” in Thailand is the same as “April Fools” in the USA.  Henceforth, instead of admitting that we are lost, we can claim that we are searching for a “monkey school.”   

We expect to search for several more “monkey schools” before we leave Thailand.

 

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Thailand Milking the Trees

Thailand Milking the Trees

 

February 28, 1999

 

The crop that dominates the landscape of southern Thailand is rubber trees -- not to be confused with the thick-leaved. rubber plants that grow as ornamentals in pots of American homes.  Rubber constitutes the basis for the rural economy of much of this country.  In the city of Songkhla, at the Institute for Southern Thai Studies, the tools used in rubber production are displayed.  Tribute is paid the economic value of rubber to Thailand at a museum in Trang.  The British introduced the first rubber tree seedlings into Thailand in 1901 from Indonesia and Malaysia.  Ostensibly, the first rubber tree grown in Thailand still lives the town of Kantang, about 14 miles from Trang.  

But it was the explorer Sir Henry Widkham who, in 1876, smuggled 70,000 rubber tree seeds from Brazil and dramatically changed the ecology of Southeast Asia.  Apparently, Brazilian rubber producers wished to maintain a monopoly of rubber production, so they convinced the government to pass an embargo on exporting the seeds or seedlings of the rubber tree. Interestingly, rubber plantations grow better in Southeast Asia than in their home of South America because of a leaf blight disease in South America.

The rubber tree is milked to obtain latex.  A diagonal slash is cut into the bark of the tree and the white, milk-like tree sap drips into a cup.  The latex in these cups is collected, strained, diluted with water and treated with acid to cause rubber particles to clump.  It is then poured into shallow trays where it is left to harden.  Later it is run through a press where it is flattened into sheets, hung on a line to be air -or smoke- cured and then taken to market.  When we first saw a load of these sheets on the back of a motorbike, we thought they must be placemats, bath mats or welcome mats or something for the tourist trade.  Once we realized what we were seeing, we began to see the same mats hanging on lines by country homes along the highway.  Later we stopped at a village to watch the mats being unloaded from motorbikes and a pickup truck and loaded onto larger trucks for shipping.  A very fit young man shouldered a load of these mats, walked up a narrow board into the truck and deposited his load.  

This crop constitutes both an economic boom and an ecological disaster, simultaneously.  The income from rubber production provides a source of income for a large number of Thais.  To suddenly remove this crop from Thailand would likely constitute an economic disaster.  Certainly, the British who introduced this crop to Thailand could not have guessed the environmental impact it would have.  To plant a rubber tree means that a native tree must be removed.  Herein lies the source of the disaster to much of the flora and fauna of Thailand.  To plant rubber trees required the removal of the native, tropical forests on which wildlife depend.  But the wide-scale destruction of forests was slowed considerably when a landslide due to over-logging resulted in the deaths of more than 300 people in what is now Khou Luang National Park  The public was aroused by this disaster and a ban on logging was put into effect in 1989.  However, park rangers find it very difficult to stop the illegal cutting of trees from the National Parks.

But who is to blame for the destruction of the forest – the Thais who grow the trees?  Goodyear or Michelin tire companies?  Or all of us that drive cars that use rubber tires?  Guess we must all share the blame.

 

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Thailand Where Are We?

Hornbill Eating a Rice Ball

Thailand Where Are We?

February 12, 1999

Waking up in a strange bed, I wonder where we are.  “Oh yes, somewhere in Thailand.”  Pat is still asleep, but after this semi-heroic struggle to wake, I turn on the bedside lamp hoping not to wake her.  I slip on my running shorts and T-shirt and remember that my running shoes are still in the trunk of the car.  I try to open the hotel door quietly, but instead, this uncooperative door emits a loud screech.  Pat is now awake!  After a brief disagreement about where to leave the key, I slip out into the cool, but humid predawn air of Khao Yai National Park.  Street lights illuminate the entry road which circles the lake by the hotel.  The “put, put, put” of the omnipresent motor-scooter greets me at the first turn in the driveway.  Between the street lights, it is still a little dark.  I stumble over something – a big pile of elephant dung.  Fortunately, it is well-dried.  Another scooter passes.  Apparently, the hotel workers are coming to work.  

The sky has cleared during the night and a quarter moon shines over Khao Yai mountain range in the east.  It is positioned in the shape of a cup.  Remembering something I heard somewhere: a cup-shaped moon holds water, so it must be the dry season.  Yes, it is the dry season.  Yesterday, as we drove through the rice-growing areas, farmers were busy burning the rice stubble.  Smoke from these burns fills the air at Pattaya, where my brother, Pete and his wife, Anne live.  The monsoon season will begin next month and the burning will cease.

When we arrived yesterday afternoon, we decided that we would get a feel for the park even though we had only a couple of hours before the park closed.  The guard at the gate used maybe his entire English vocabulary when he requested 80 Baht for the entry fee.  He could provide no other information in English.  My entire Thai vocabulary consists of two words -- “suwaddi cop” which means “hello”-- or something like that, so neither of us was prepared for any long conversation.

Although most of the roads in Thailand are in excellent condition, the roads in this park were not.  The potholes in the pavement were so deep that traffic had been driving much of the way on the shoulder of the road.  The danger is those passing cars may both swerve simultaneously to avoid a pothole and have a collision.  Although the driving habits of the Thais seem chaotic, we have not yet seen a single accident.

Although road signs are in the Thai language, many also have an English translation at the bottom.  One announced a waterfall about one kilometer (brother Peter call them klicks) down a steep trail through the heavy rain forest.  We decided that we would have enough time -- so with a new book on the birds of Southeast Asia and binoculars in hand we plunged into the wild unknown.  We could hear birds, frogs, and other assorted animal sounds, but could see nothing.  We got only a little dizzy from looking up at such a steep angle into the tall, tropical Yang trees.  After a while, we finally saw a tree squirrel.  Then Pat said, “Did you hear that!”  

“No,” I replied.

“I think I heard the growl of a tiger,” she said.  We quickly reviewed our defensive strategies should we come face to face with a tiger.  We will stand side by side, as tall as we can and maybe the tiger will decide we are too dangerous to attack.  “Not to worry,” I thought to myself.  If he does attack, he will certainly choose Pat for food instead of me.  She would probably be a much easier prey to subdue and would taste much better than I would anyway.  To our relief (but a little disappointed) we found the source of the tiger noise.  It was a park ranger dipping water from the river with five-gallon buckets balanced on the ends of a shoulder pole.  According to the literature, there really are a few tigers in this park, so Pat’s interpretation of sounds was believable.

As we neared the waterfall, we came upon a fence made of very large cement posts.  Barbed wire encircled each post.  “Must be an elephant fence,” I guessed.  Maybe to keep the wild elephants from falling over the face of the waterfalls, where they would make a rather big mess about 100 feet below.  We climbed down some very steep, wooden steps that wound down to a viewing platform near the base of the waterfall.  A small stream tumbled down the rock face into a large pool below.  During the rainy season, these streams grow into such large rivers that elephants have been known to drown in them, so our guidebook claims.

Later, while walking around the grounds of the resort, a bird with a very exotic, long tail appeared.  It fit the description of the Greater Racket-tail Drongo.  Seems that almost every bird we see is a new species for us.  Then a very common bird of Texas flew by – a barn swallow. 

A sign by the restaurant of the resort where we stayed proclaimed, “No child sex tourism.” 

Later, while taking a noontime siesta under a large tree, Pat woke me.  A group of Thais were observing a large bird -- about the size of an adult chicken -- perched in a tree.  As we approached, the bird flew down and landed on a picnic table to beg for food.  It was obviously a Hornbill with a large, green throat pouch.  It had little appetite for the large, fried fish which occupied the center of the table.  But the fish was surrounded by various fruits and a large dish of white rice.  The bird refused a large mass of sticky rice that it was offered until it was rolled into small, compact balls that was just the right size to be swallowed whole.  It took the ball with the tip of its large, curved bill and deftly threw it back into its throat, where it could be swallowed.  The hornbill was so tame that it could be petted.  Signs in the park request that we not feed the wildlife, but few can see the harm.

Back on the potholed highway, we stopped to observe a long green snake in the middle of the road.  Hearing the sound of an approaching auto, I tried to roll down the electric window and motion the driver to stop.  Too late!  Without slowing, it honked its horn and roared by.  The “blap, blap” sound that the tires made as the BMW ran over the snake, was sickening.  Fearing that we might become the victims of the next BMW, we left the poor snake to be flattened more and more by each passing vehicle.

A side road took us up a very steep, rough climb to an observation point.  Soldiers manned a gate but allowed us to walk over to the edge of the mountain, where we watched a large hawk catch a thermal and circle higher and higher up out of the valley till it was out of sight.  A young soldier came over, apparently to test his English on us.  After the standard, “Where you from?” it was apparent that he understood the word “Texas.”  Then he said, “Beelclingtone.”  I looked at Pat to see if she understood.  She shook her head.  “Beelclingtone,” he repeated over and over.  Then he raised his arms as if firing a rifle and again said, “Beelclingtone.”  Finally, he spelled it out in halting English: “B-I-L-L-C-L-I-N-T-O-N.” 

Then I asked, “Are you saying that Bill Clinton should be shot?”  He nodded his head.  Knowing the difficulty of explaining that an impeachment does not mean Clinton must face a firing squad, we waved goodbye to the smiling Thai and drove back down the mountain. 

At a large, wildlife observation tower, we observed workers digging up the soil at an elephant salt lick.  Thinking that elephants have been able to obtain the minerals from eating this soil throughout their evolution without man’s help, we wondered what was going on.  The answer came back at the trailhead.  Sixteen open sacks with “Zoolite” written on the side, were opened and contained small, bamboo scoops.  The label on the sacks read SiO2, Al2O3, and Fe2O3.  Then several luxury buses arrived, led by a police car with flashing lights.  Well-dressed, elderly, Thai men and women emerged.  Apparently, these were wealthy benefactors of the Khao Yai National Park, who felt that it was important to sprinkle these salts to the red, clay soils at the elephant salt lick.

We try to avoid judging the actions of the Thai people by the standards of American “civilization.”  If they drive a little weird and feel the need to feed salt to wild elephants, that’s OK.  After all, it's their country and their culture.  They get their daily dosages of American culture through MTV, CNN, and the Internet.  Maybe they have learned about free enterprise too well.  Some will do almost anything for money, including selling themselves or their daughters into the business of sex.  

But, maybe there is much we can learn from these gentle, friendly folks.  We will try!

 

With Anne and Peter Sterling in Thailand

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