I had a single goal on my visit to the Lower Kinabatangan River: to see a proboscis monkey (pronounced pro-boe-sis, not pro-bos-kiss).
The first time I saw a photograph of these large, silly-looking beasts, I fell in love with them. With a nose like a… well, flaccid penis, there’s really no other word for it, and long, hairy arms and legs, this primate was awkward, gangly, ugly even.
So I was elated at the thought of finally seeing them in the flesh.
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The Journey to Kinabatangan
All the way from Europe to Kuala Lumpur, then to the island of Borneo and finally to the small town of Sandakan, I kept picturing these red-headed monkeys in my mind, wondering whether I’d feel any kind of kinship because of our mutual hair color.
Eventually, I arrived at the lower Kinabatangan River, Malaysia’s second-longest. For several days I would boat up and down my stretch of river, exploring the wildlife of Southeast Asia’s most naturally diverse region. I’d be tripping all over dozens of proboscis monkeys.
On my first of many sorties through the mangroves edging the river, I marveled at the long-tailed macaques, who stared curiously at us without getting too near, and without running off.
They were plentiful, just like the pigtailed macaque whose wiry short tail gives it its name. Far more curious than their longer-tailed cousins, these little black-topped monkeys were fearless, jumping from log to log and almost into the boat. Any closer and they’d be on my lap.
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Finally a Proboscis Monkey
We cut the motor, drifting silently among the branches and savoring the near-serenity of chattering monkeys, a breeze against the leaves, the lapping of soft waves… I was as far as I could be from everything I knew. Soon a proboscis monkey would slide brightly into view.
A branch snapped and my head jerked up in time to see a reddish blur swing between two trees. At last! But no. Instead, a distant (and endangered) orangutan, and then another, both shy, a blur of fur and arms, visible only because of their size, big eyes mimicking ours so perfectly. I would eventually visit the Sepilok Orangutan Sanctuary – which I hadn’t initially planned on doing – as a direct result of this encounter.
In this region of unparalleled wildlife, I would see a mangrove snake (very close up, right next to my foot in fact), a dola bird (quite rare), oriental pied hornbills, all manner of insects, even a monitor lizard. But no proboscis monkey.
It was the last boat trip of my last day and I had almost given up. This redhead would leave without meeting her colorsake.
“There, over there!” I whipped around so quickly I almost overturned the boat. The other passengers gripped the side as I jumped up and almost took us all overboard.
High in a tree, he sat, his back to us; it was quite obviously a ‘he’ and there was nothing flaccid about the evidence. He munched and he spat, blithely ignoring me, however far I’d come to meet him. His friends, cousins, and mates populated distant trees, their faces reflecting various stages of disdain, disinterest, timidity. As one would balefully look up, another would cast his eyes downward.
Until slowly, almost painfully, certainly shyly, Himself began to turn around. His face first became a profile, then a three-quarter shot, and finally, in splendid full frame, he looked down. Straight at me. I know he did.
He almost waved.
All right. He didn’t almost wave. But he took one long soulful look, as though he knew I’d traveled half the world to see him. Once assured he had accomplished his mission (to be sighted) and I had accomplished mine (to sight him), he was free to go.
Within minutes the tree branches were bare, a reddish hint of shadow all that remained of his regal – and most erect – self.
My trip to Kinabatangan was a success, I had seen my proboscis monkey. And for all I know, he might even have seen me.
By Guest author Leyla Giray Alyanak.
Leyla Giray Alyanak is a former foreign correspondent with a passion for travel and improving people’s lives in developing countries. At 43 she made a major decision to reinvent herself and travel the world solo for six months. She was gone for more than three years. Leyla now works for an international development agency in Geneva and she blogs at Women on the Road.