Padang clings to Sumatra’s western coast on the narrow strip of lowlands below the foothills of the Barisan mountains. Rumour has it that a tsunami triggered by a potential submarine seism west of Sumatra could wipe Padang off the map in a matter of minutes, but the local population seems untroubled by such speculation and goes about its business in a laid-back, Indonesian way. Maybe you need this kind of equanimity when living between potential tsunamis and volcanic eruptions, as so many Indonesians do.
Sumatra (the westernmost island in the Sundas, just below Singapore, and west of Java) became a Muslim kingdom in the 13th century, and everything from the opulent mosques, through the absence of pork and alcohol, to the two and three-year-old girls wearing hijabs demonstrates their religious and cultural preferences. Unlike Malaysia’s more flexible approach, you will see no pigs slumbering beneath the stilt-house steps, nor gaudy beer posters outside bars. The island is clearly poor. There are relatively few cars or private trucks, with motorbikes doing the work of freight and passenger transport, sometimes to a terrifying extent. Our record observation was a family of five on a motorbike, with none of the children being infants! Outside slash-and-burn agriculture, which has sometimes created enough smog to force nearby Singapore’s population indoors, there seems relatively little manual work being done, few smiths, leatherworkers, food preparers, or indeed anything except small warung (shops/ eateries) and wheeled food carts. Here, you make do. If you wear any protection at all on your bike, it’s more likely to be a polyurethane construction hat than a pukka motorcycle helmet. Toiletries and food items are sold in single-use packs, and there don’t seem to be any wet markets or supermarkets. Most people live in lengthy strip villages along the only road joining the towns, backed by fields where the topography permits.
Also, unlike Malaysia and some other Indonesian islands, there are no people of Chinese origin. This means no Chinese shops, restaurants (normally the places that serve beer) nor craftsmen. No whites, no blacks, no obvious South Asians. Sumatra is not a melting pot. Life feels poor, but languid, with no fierce striving energy to get ahead.
Sumatra is the world’s fifth largest island, after Borneo, and it possesses an interesting range of endemic bird species. My Singaporean friend KC and I are here to try to winkle some of these out, including the usual trogon and pittas, but especially the Sumatran Ground-Cuckoo, cousin of the Bornean and the mainland Coral-Billed Cuckoos. Stunning pictures have recently been published of this retiring species, known locally as the Toktor, a name that, as you can imagine, has proliferated a set of witty titles for birding trip reports from the area. We have selected from the wide range of local birding guides, of which there is only one. He is named Dwi and is the son-in-law of the grand old man of Sumatran guiding, Pak Subandi, now in his seventies, who has a homestay facing Gunung Kerinci.
Dwi is going to take us to three sites, one in Danau (Lake) Kaco, then Gunung (Mount) Kerinci and a road-birding site on Tapan Road, within a national park. It’s worth saying at the outset that we are in Indonesia, where hunting and trapping birds is epidemic, and enforcing bird capture and trafficking laws is a long way down the list of government priorities, at least until politicians find some way of extracting personal income from it. Bird cages decorate the upper stories of most of the nicer houses. There are no rangers at the National Parks.
There being no flights from Singapore, we must access Padang from Kuala Lumpur, meaning we begin by heading north to get to our southern destination. Still, it’s better than going to Jakarta, which would involve a long trip east to get to our western destination. Despite having to go through immigration and customs in Malaysia and then re-check in for Padang, we make it there on time, in a smaller plane full of Malaysians and Indonesians. There isn’t much business or leisure activity in Padang to attract jet sets from around Asia.
Installed in an aged MPV, we embark on the seven-and-a-half-hour drive to Kerinci down the one road heading some way inland from the west coast of the island. A flat tyre enlivens the trip following some appalling road erosion, and we also fail to make a pit stop at the only rest area on the route, as it is closed for three days while a wedding is happening. It turns out we are not staying at Pak Subandi’s, as there is another wedding celebration happening just behind his house (perhaps it’s an astrologically auspicious time of the year), and they fear for our hearing, so we are installed in Kerinci’s newest resort, nearer to the base of the volcano. I’m not sure “resort” would have been the word I would have chosen. The facilities include a rock-hard bed, a leaky toilet, a dribbly showerhead, and…that’s it. We are the only guests, at least the only two-legged ones. There is one staff member. Rain thunders on the corrugated iron roof at night and into the morning.
Too early the next morning, we arise and head for the foot of the (squishy) trail. Kerinci is almost 4,000 metres high, which is serious, but we are planning on visiting only the lower slopes (they start at about 1500m) in search of the Sumatran Peacock Pheasant and Salvadori’s Pheasant, (ticks for both of us) and Schneider’s Pitta, (a tick for me). Summiting Kerinci is a target for many Asian climbers and it is a tough two-day round-trip hike, but there are few hikers to be seen during our stay on the volcano. Nevertheless, the trail is well-used and becomes very muddy after rain (such as we have just had). This means we must scan the trail ahead, determining whether the patches of mud are superficial or conceal sinkholes that will drop you to mid-thigh, and then either stroll through them or leap from stone to root to thoughtfully deposited strip of bamboo to avoid being sucked into the depths. This adds to the stress of climbing at what is already 1500 metres of altitude, with predictable effects on my performance. KC is supportive and the distance is short, so we get to a hide after forty minutes or so.
Now it may surprise you to hear that hide birding can be extremely exciting, as the tension mounts while you wait for the birds to appear. However, it’s not so exciting to read about. Suffice it to say that KC and I occupied the hide and eyeballed the available terrain. At the same time, Dwi and his henchman/minion Bambang retired some distance to nap and smoke cigarettes, something they did for large parts of each day. From the hide, we saw a pair of Large Niltavas, a reasonably common large flycatcher that we have seen in other countries, including recently in Northern Thailand.
Then a Shiny Whistling-Thrush showed up. It scored a tick for me and was actually shiny - I think this is a female. This is a Sumatran endemic and represented our first such of the trip. There is another endemic Whistling-Thrush on the mountain, but it’s much higher up.
Not too much longer and one of the stars appeared – the Sumatran Peacock Pheasant. Before the hide, this was a very difficult bird to see properly, as are all PPs, but this one came back several times and was at its ease, giving us great views. Lacking the jewel-like ocelli that adorn most other PPs, the male’s offerings are limited to some snazzy banding and a couple of bright tail feathers. Nevertheless, it is a stunner. Let’s agree there are currently eight species of peacock pheasant (rather than seven…or nine), and then seeing this one means I have four more to go, while KC has only one – on the island of Hainan.
We then spent some more time in the hide, willing a Salvadori’s Pheasant to appear, while Dwi and Bambang went looking for roosting Rajah Scops Owls and Sumatran Frogmouths.
They succeeded in finding the Frogmouth, and it sat at eye height, confident in its camouflage, while we admired it and took some photos. It’s great to be close enough to see the plumage in detail, and Dwi helped by shining a small torch on it to bring up the lighting and reduce the noise. I think this is a female. This species has a relatively short tail for a frogmouth but is generally similar to others in the region. As with most Sumatran endemics, little is known about this bird, as it has not been studied. Its scientific name “poliolophos” means “grey-crested”, but this is not reflected in its vernacular name.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t find the Rajah Scops Owl, although they tried many known roosting sites. Kerinci is known as a good site for the owl, which is not a Sumatran endemic. So, we returned to the hide to await the Salvadori’s Pheasant, which would, no doubt, show up any minute. In the past, there have been other avian visitors to the hide, including pittas and partridges, but not on this occasion. KC and I were not sure the pheasant would show, based on our day’s experience so far, so I went off to another area where Schneider’s Pitta was possible, while KC continued to man the hide (and hide the man).
I went off to the pitta area – Dwi said he had seen the pitta earlier on the trail while going to and fro. I sat on a small, upturned crate with a rather inadequate netting as a sort of apron to act as a hide, and sat and waited for two hours. No pitta either visible or audible. I especially wanted to see this pitta, as it is endemic to Sumatra and is quite hard to find. Compared to the pittas I have seen, which all have fairly bright colours, this one, like the Rusty-Naped and Giant Pittas, is mostly tan-coloured, with some blue on its back. After two hours of waiting, I thought it might make more sense to watch for non-appearing pheasants than non-appearing pittas, and I prepared to head back to the main hide. We hadn’t gone more than twenty paces when Dwi pointed down and said the pitta had just scuttled away. So, it seemed it was in fact coming closer to the feeding station, but slowly. I returned to my crate and looked carefully out in the direction where we had seen the movement. Nothing for a while, then I became aware of someone coming up the trail. A lost hiker? He was carrying a backpack. He looked at me and made eating motions, and I realized he was one of Dwi’s minions and he was bringing us lunch.
Lunch was welcome – it had been a long time since breakfast. He went behind me to where Dwi had set up his smoking/napping comfort station and I turned around to see him unpacking some plastic boxes. Then I turned around to face the feeding station and…there was a pitta crouching there. I couldn’t see and hadn’t seen any movement, but there was definitely a pitta – it was only about three metres away from me.
From then on, for the next twenty minutes, the pitta stayed. It would be motionless for a while, then move and pick up a worm, and then freeze again. Most of the time it spent frozen. It never made a sound. She was a female, which you can tell by the limited amount of blue on her back. Many pittas become habituated to hides and feeding stations and hop about happily, disregarding onlookers. This was not the case here, and I barely moved other than to push my trigger finger on the camera during its stay. She went down the log, then hopped into the leaf litter and explored, then hopped up the other side, a total distance of about two metres. She took twenty minutes to do this.
Then she started moving to the back of the feeding area and disappeared just as KC showed up, having been alerted to the pitta’s presence. He wanted to see the bird as it was a female and he had previously seen only a male, but it was not to be. For the remainder of the afternoon, there would be no evidence of any pittas in the vicinity.
That’s actually normal for Kerinci. Schneider’s Pitta was discovered by Swiss taxidermist Gustav Schneider on Gunung Sibayak in 1897. It was regularly seen, especially in the Kerinci area, where it was said to be common, but declined over the next thirty years, then disappeared between 1936 and 1986 - a FIFTY YEAR absence, when it was heard but not seen on Kerinci by two birders. Then a pair was spotted by a birder in 1988. One reason the bird had not been seen was deforestation, which forced it to higher elevations, so people were looking 2,000 feet too low.
Originally named Pitta schneideri, it has become Hydrornis schneideri, placed in the adjacent pitta genus that contains the “primarily brown” as opposed to colourful, pittas.
Or indeed much else. The SPP visited a couple of times, as did the Shiny Thrush, which we suspected had a nearby nest, as she would fly in, pick up a beakful of worms, then fly off. Around 4:30 pm we threw in the towel and descended back to the “resort” for a cold shower.
Day two dawned, or rather didn’t, as we were up and out in the dark on our way to Danau Kaco to find the Sumatran Ground Cuckoo. What to say about this near-mythical bird? Well, we know it’s more in the pink/magenta palette than the purple/blue palate of the Bornean GC from the pictures. We know it makes a sort of haunted house cackling scream as a call, as we have recordings of it. What we don’t know is what it eats, when or where it nests, what size territories it requires, or anything about its behaviour. You can go on for ages playing calls and hanging out at previous sighting sites, fruitlessly. If you manage to catch a glimpse it will flee while remaining concealed. Then it will come and lounge about on the trail while eyeballing a couple of hikers. Remember it’s called the Toktor? Most of the articles about it are titled “The Toktor is Out”. The reason we have come to Sumatra is because of some recent pictures, which have led us to believe that the bird has become more predictable for viewing. So we saddle up and head into the National Park.
The good news is that you used to have to hike for five hours or so to get to a good site where you wouldn’t see the Cuckoo, now, with improved understanding, we only need to hike for about an hour to achieve the same result. We start on a concrete path, frequented by a couple of Sunda Forktails, who react to us as if we were machete-wielding home invaders, but after a couple of twists in the trail they take shelter on a small tree. What is it about me and Forktails? They’re not supposed to perch in trees! It’s cheating! The Sunda Forktail is not endemic to Sumatra, but like several other birds with the “Sunda” prefix, is found in both Sumatra and Java, but not elsewhere.
Pretty soon the concrete path petered out, and we had to tackle some large mud ponds, mostly by inching across thoughtfully provided bamboo culms that had been laid across the ponds.
Also, there were a couple of small streams to ford with stepping stones or bamboo culms, which we did with all the grace you would expect. Eventually, we turned off the trail and into a small valley with a couple of posing logs positioned and we set up to wait for the Ground Cuckoo. And wait. And wait.
We played the call, but there was no response. However, a Graceful Pitta was calling, so we switched to trying to entice it in. After almost an hour, it flew across in front of us, and after some more time, it came into view. It was very cautious, hiding most of the time, but we did get a couple of clear views and photo opportunities. Second endemic pitta! Strangely, Schneider’s Pitta, together with Giant and Rusty-Naped, are the three largest pittas, and the Graceful is one of the three smallest – about five centimetres smaller. It looks a bit like the Black-Crowned Pitta, with those same antennae, but it’s not actually black, just very deep maroon except for its head. I thought this was a trick of the light, then a trick of my photo editing, but it’s clear from all the published pictures and descriptions of the bird. Its scientific name, pitta venusta, means “lovely”, or “beautiful” pitta.
While we were staking out the gully, a Sumatran Trogon flew in and proceeded to dash about in the canopy, without offering good views or any photo opportunities. This is unusual behaviour for this species, which can often be quite mellow and perch up for significant periods. It counted as a tick, but you couldn’t really say you had seen it properly based on this view. KC went off to another site, and we independently watched and played SG-C calls. Nada.
Dwi was with me, mostly smoking and napping. He claims to sleep only 3-4 hours a night, but like everyone I know who claims not to sleep much, he compensates by napping whenever he is not actually in motion. And the smoking. The team (Dwi, Bambang, the driver) smokes incessantly. During meals, they sit at a different table at some distance from us so they can smoke… with one hand, that is. They use the other to eat with at the same time. Dwi speaks pretty good English but doesn’t always understand quite as well and is generally sleepy and laid back, which seems to be the Sumatran way. We chase a Banded Broadbill around, and then a Sumatran Spangled Drongo - an endemic. No photos of the Drongo though…it finally comes down from the canopy and I am about to take a photo when a squirrel chases it away. Squirrels can be very difficult – they eat the bird bait, imitate bird sounds, rustle in bushes, and then squat on their haunches and munch something in a classic squirrel pose, saying “See? You gotta love me ‘cos I’m cute”. Rats with furry tails IMO.
Dwi mentioned that we should join up with “Kissy” – he had heard me calling KC “KC”, and started by referring to him as “Kitchy”, and had now moved on to “Kissy” – who was busy trying to persuade a hyperactive Eyebrowed Wren Babbler to stay still for a photo. However, a Horsfield’s Babbler showed up on the mossy log and I wanted to stay and get a picture. They’re normally quite shy, and frequent dense cover around the edges of streams (their scientific name means “hedge babbler”), so although we had heard many of them on the way up, we had only seen them at a distance, and mostly in bushes.
Thomas Horsfield was an American doctor from Pennsylvania who took a post as a surgeon on a ship to Java in 1799 at the age of 26. He was attracted by the region and remained in service to the Dutch in Batavia until the East India Company took over. He was a friend of Raffles and helped him with his nature collections. When Java was ceded back to the Dutch, he moved to Sumatra, whence he returned to London in ill health in 1819. He was to live on until 1858, and his continuing friendship with Raffles enabled him to take the post of curator of the East India Company’s museum. He wrote books and papers (one of them with Nicholas Vigors, who just appeared in Part 3 of the NW Thailand blog), served in many prestigious societies, and has species as diverse as bats, tortoises, tarsiers, butterflies and flying geckos named after him, quite apart from the birds.
As we walked back to the car, Dwi noticed a very small snake on the trail. It had some distinctive yellow markings on the back of its neck…and was subsequently identified as a Speckle-Bellied Keelback, which also occurs in Peninsular Malaysia but has not, as yet, been recorded from Singapore.
We also had the opportunity to reflect on our day’s achievements and were concerned that there had been nothing to indicate the presence of Ground-Cuckoos. This was an issue, as we had to decide what to do with the remaining two days of our trip. KC graciously wished to allocate one day to birding Tapan road, which would provide me with further endemics that he had already ticked, so that left us with one day, and where to spend it came down to this calculus: return to Cloud Cuckooland, or return to Gunung Kerinci for Salvadori’s Pheasant…? After all, we had come on this trip for the cuckoo. But KC had been pumping Bambang for information after we had split up and had concluded that there was very little chance of a cuckoo, but some chance of a pheasant. So, we decided to return to Kerinci on Day 4.
At this point we decided that there was already much to celebrate - and the last time KC and I had seen Peacock Pheasants was at Bukit Tinggi in Malaysia, where we had ticked the Mountain Peacock Pheasant. At that time we celebrated with modest amounts of durian, and it turned out that durian was presently on offer in large (immodest) quantities in the central square of Sungai Penuh, the nearest town. Vendors choose an area of pavement, pull up a pickup and unload durian into a pile, then stretch a tarpaulin over some slats as a roof against any rain, and await buyers. We bought. And bought. OK, maybe not the quality of a meticulously genetically selected and cloned Malaysian star, but at approximately 5% of the Singapore price, it was pretty good! We were durian gluttons for half an hour or so, then went on to a quick dinner and early night.
We dedicated the next day would to Tapan Road - watch for the next installment.
Fascinating and as usual totally captivating. Your accounts give the reader a real feel of the environment , food, culture etc as well as the birds. Any notable butterflies or moths in the toilets??Great stuff.