Then on what was to be the very last day of the trip, we heard from a researcher that his team had spotted a pair of helmeted hornbills scoping out potential nest sites in western Borneo. Our hopes weren’t high.Īfter spending a week with a community of Dayak Iban, an indigenous group, we’d learned a lot about the significance of the bird in their culture and why some of their own were turning to poaching. On this trip there was no time for Tim to hang out for hours on end in a blind. We hoped we’d see a helmeted hornbill while we were out in the forest, but we knew this trip was more about documenting the hunting of the bird than actually seeing the bird itself. We had a few more months before the story was to publish, and we were planning one more trip to Indonesian Borneo, a hot spot for helmeted hornbill poaching. After all, we did see some gorgeous rhinoceros hornbills and great hornbills. The hornbill family as a whole is fascinating and beautiful, so we figured we could highlight some of the other species to paint a more complete picture of Southeast Asia’s rain forest ecosystem. If we didn’t have enough photos of the helmeted hornbill.well then, that just showed how elusive and rare they really are, we reasoned. It was great, but it was only part of the story,” Tim said.īack in the office the team began discussions about highlighting other species of hornbills. “The only images I had at that point were at the nest: The female was already inside, and the male was delivering food. There still wasn’t a lot of variety though. The male helmeted hornbill was less shy at this nest, and he was able to get a few more shots. I went to Indonesia to continue my reporting, while Tim went back to the first site to visit the other nest. There’s a lot to watch for, and I was photographing and filming a lot of the time.”Īfter a few days at the fig tree, we had to move on. The helmeted hornbills weren’t cooperative, but there were other birds and monkeys. “I have a pad to sit on, and I can move around and stretch a little bit. He’s gotten pretty good at making himself comfortable. Ten-hour days in a tree don’t seem to phase Tim. But, alas, no helmeted hornbills showed up for some figs. We saw monkeys and giant squirrels, rhinoceros hornbills and great hornbills. We waited as the mist of the night gave way to the humidity of the day. Sitting in the early morning darkness, Tim high above and I on the ground, we heard the night insects quiet down and the screeching day insects start up. We hoped that if we were in place before the sun came up, the helmeted hornbills wouldn’t know we were there. The next morning, and for several mornings after that, we were out at the fig tree by a little after 5 a.m. Thankfully he managed to not get struck by lightning. When fig trees bear fruit, the whole forest menagerie comes to feast, so we had to get there fast to look for hungry helmeted hornbills before the tree was picked clean.Ī huge storm broke just as we arrived, but Tim nevertheless managed to build a blind a hundred feet up in a nearby tree. It was a chance for us to see helmeted hornbills in a different setting. Still, he did show himself a few times, but so briefly that getting National Geographic-worthy shots was a challenge.Īfter several days of watching the nest, we got word that a fig tree was fruiting in nearby Hala Bala Wildlife Sanctuary. He lived up to his Latin name, Buceros vigil-vigilant, as in, no matter how well we hid, he always seemed to know we were there. Maybe he was figuring out whether it was safe to approach. We often heard his maniacal laughter, seeming to mock us, just a few trees over. Once we got to the first nest site, Tim built blinds for us to hide behind, and we sat there for hours at a time, waiting for papa hornbill to bring a meal to his mate and chick.
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