Khao Yai National Park
Before the monsoon rains fall and the red earth is washed away, there is always a blast of hot air heralding its imminent arrival, that will break branches and tear giant palm fronds from their bending trunks and send them sailing into the skies. Bamboo forests bow to its savagery, and the older more brittle stems will snap or become uprooted and are left hanging like fishing poles over forest streams and rivers.
And then, as quickly as the micro typhoon had arrived, it is gone. The jungle is still once more, and black clouds drift between the giant tualang trees and the distant howls of gibbons are lost in their branches. And then the storm is here, and the rumble of thunder, which makes the air quiver in your ears like elephants rampaging through the trees towards you, is replaced by a crack that splits your eardrum and lights the sky, as though the biggest male elephant is trumpeting and screaming right behind you. And then you and the remaining day become part of the storm and you need to run for cover, before you are washed away with the soil and the leaves, and lost in the forest……..
We were hoping to see wild elephants at the salt lick, and for the previous hour we had sat on the edge of the tree line on a meandering trail which separated the grasslands from the dark tangle of vines and thorns fencing pathways leading into the jungle. It was a favored location to spot them, but our efforts came to nothing. Rain started to fall heavily, pockmarking the red earth and splatting the oversized leaves above us. Hastily putting away my camera, and with the hot air crackling with static and lightening slicing along the forest edge, I hurried back along the trail to the pickup truck before the storm was directly overhead.
As with many photo trips, the plan hadn’t run smoothly. Over the weekend, I had hoped to see some of Thailand’s wild elephants - which hadn’t happened. I had travelled to many of the elephant viewing areas in Khao Yai, and from dung and fallen trees had only narrowly missed them, but with the weather and darkness closing in, it was time to go.
The landscape had been spectacular, and although no elephants had crossed my path I had seen barking and sambar deer in the grassy clearings in the forest, troops of pig tailed macaques, stealing food from unwary campers then later in the day resting on warm roadways playing with their young and the highlight for me, sighting a number of great hornbills. The size, some over 1 m in length, and iconic status of these forest birds added to the thrill of seeing five of them fly across a grassy clearing and then swoop down into the canopy and out of sight. Unfortunately, there was no time for an attempt at a photo, but the photograph is always secondary to the thrill of seeing something new and as spectacular as these birds – and, as a photographer that fails to secure their shot, it gives me additional reason to return and search again.
The failure to see any elephants had also given me an incentive to travel to other forests in Thailand which are frequented by elephants. And four days later I did just that.
