 |
| With poor eyesight, this
banteng couldn't see the photographer clearly. However, it is
trying to use its sense of smell and hearing to figure out
what's going on. |
Story and pictures by VEERAWAT
SRISUK
The banteng once roamed the
forests in many parts of the Kingdom. These days, however, the
only place where you have the chance of spotting these wild cattle
is the western forests, particularly Huay Kha Khaeng Wildlife
Sanctuary, Uthai Thani province. I still remember well the day I
got that rare chance.
It was in the dry season a couple of years ago. As a wildlife
photographer, I wasn't expecting much from the trip since I had
only three days to spend in the sanctuary. But you can't
underestimate the power of luck.
Huay Kha Khaeng is made up of different types of woodlands,
including dry dipterocarp and lowland mixed deciduous forests _
preferred habitats for the banteng. Thanks to strict protection,
such open forests, which can be easily encroached, are still in
pristine condition here. The sanctuary is also home to other
endangered species like the green peafowl, wild water buffalo,
elephant, tiger and gaur, among others.
On a 4x4 vehicle, I travelled with a few other nature lovers along
the dirt road that snakes through Huay Kha Khaeng's wilderness.
Finally we arrived at a dry dipterocarp woodland. The numerous
tracks among the undergrowth on both sides of the road were
evident clues that this area was frequented by large animals.
We divided into two groups. Most people chose to walk to a nearby
salt lick where flocks of birds, as well as deer and mongoose,
often visit. A few, including myself, opted to trek some
kilometres deeper into the wilderness and come back the next day.
Despite the heavy load of the photographic equipment and camping
gear, not to mention the risk of being bitten by disease-carrying
ticks abundant in that area at such a dry time of year, I believed
it would all be worth it if only I caught a glimpse of just one
big mammal.
We followed a forest ranger along a trail that went up and down
mountain slopes. Just before we reached a small salt lick, which
was about halfway to our destination, the ranger suddenly slowed
down. Cautiously, he turned back to us and whispered: ``Banteng.''
We looked in the direction that he was pointing. There, at quite a
distance away, only the head of the animal could be seen through
an opening in the thick vegetation. To get a better view, I took a
look through the camera. The 300mm lens mounted has a
magnification power of six times that of a human eye. I saw that
the banteng was curiously looking at us, too.
The ranger then suggested that I get closer to the banteng to take
a photo. At first I was not sure if he really meant it because
doing so was likely to scare the animal away. Then again, this was
the chance of a lifetime, and I would regret it forever if I
missed it. So I started to assess the possibility.
The hills on which the banteng and our group were standing were
separated by low-lying ground. By sneaking quietly down the slope
I was standing on and up the other, I thought I could get close
enough to take a decent picture of the animal.
However, when I actually made the move, I realised that things
were not as easy as they first seemed. The ground was covered with
dry leaves that kept making noise everytime I stepped on them.
 |
| The big white patch on the
rump is a distinctive physical feature that separates the
banteng from domesticated cow. |
Nevertheless, I kept moving, as quietly as
possible. As I reached the upslope, I heard long snorts and the
sounds of heavy hooves stomping on the ground. The banteng had
sensed my approach, and it wouldn't have been wise to try to get
closer. I looked around and found a boulder not far away which
would conceal my presence.
At this point, there was about 30 metres between me and the
banteng. On my way to the big rock, a dry twig cracked under my
feet and the snorts and stompings from up the hill began again.
Luckily, the animal didn't panic and remained where it was.
As I reached the boulder I found that it was impossible to take
photos from behind it. So I climbed up and sat on top of the rock.
From that vantage point, I found that there wasn't just one
animal, but three. All were females. (Usually, bantengs live in a
family group. The herd is led by the oldest, and most experienced,
female.)
Viewed through the camera, I saw that the animal in front was
looking at me. However, as long as I stayed still and quiet it was
unlikely that they would become alarmed. Their poor eyesight mades
it hard for them to distinguish me from the forest background.
Then, the moment the camera clicked _ despite the fact that it was
a very soft sound _ the bantengs seemed to be fully aware that
there was an intruder. They quickly disappeared into the thick
forest.
Other than their superb sense of hearing, the banteng's sense of
smell is also much better than human smell. Often they can catch
the scent of a tiger and other predator even before they see them.
Unnatural scents of humans _ which come from the soap, shampoo,
powder and other stuff we use _ are even easier for them to
detect.
Scents are chemical signals that can be carried from one place to
another by moving air. Therefore, the banteng's quick sense of
smell is useless if the animal is standing upwind. No doubt, that
was another a reason why I managed to get so close to those three
wild animals.
Experienced hunters are good at figuring out wind direction. They
always approach their targets from downwind. That way, they can
shoot the animals at close range. It is, therefore, not surprising
large mammals like the banteng have been wiped out from most parts
of the country.
I climbed back down from the boulder and rejoined the group. We
moved on to a big salt lick, which was our planned destination.
After a photo blind was quickly built, I positioned myself inside
it while the others left for the campsite about a kilometre away.
It was really my day. After a while, I saw through the peeping
hole a herd of banteng entering the lick.
They walked in a single row. Most were young adults. There was a
calf, too. Other than the small size, it's brown colour was of a
lighter shade than the others, and its horns were only a few
inches long. The calf always hung around an adult female.
I began shooting. And again, despite the fact that the banteng
were 40 metres away, the faint clicks of the camera didn't escape
their quick ears. They stared suspiciously at the photo blind and
decided to leave the area. This is a clear proof of the banteng's
highly effective sense of hearing. Even when they couldn't see or
smell the intruder, their ears helped them figure out that
something was not right.
It's a pity the bantengs' keen senses can't protect them from
threats posed by humans. The species' survival depends on the
strict protection of Huay Kha Khaeng, their final refuge
