Tarsiers and macaques in Tangkoko

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Another early departure and flight from Makassar, and we are met at Manado airport in North Sulawesi by Jemy, our driver, who takes us to Tangkoko Lodge, about two hours away. This part of Sulawesi is much more densely forested than where we have been in the south, palm trees abounding and waving in the fairly breezy wind. Also very prominent is a plethora of churches, in various architectural styles, some traditional and some very modern. A lot of new churches are going up too. Jemy is a pentecostalist, and tells us there are many denominations around here.

Tangkoko Lodge is basic. We decide to think of it as a homestay not a hotel. But at least the bed is reasonably comfortable and there are chairs to sit on! We have a couple of hours rest before our walk into the forest/jungle in search of the elusive spectral tarsier. Sara has been very worried abot the prospect of being bitten alive by the dreaded gonones, nasty little biting things that get through your clothing and leave you with bites that itch furiously for days after. However, everyone assures us they are not a problem at the moment due to there being no rain for three days and to the winds. Sara decides to brave it, after spraying deet over pretty much her entire body, as does David, which proves to be the right decision, as she gets no bites at all and David gets just one nasty looking bite on his ankle from who knows what.

Uri, our guide from the lodge, leads us off at a brisk pace into the forest about five minutes walk from the Lodge. We are first on a brick paved track which then becomes a soil and stone track, wide enough for a vehicle. The going is level though the humidity rises sharply once you are into the forest. We veer off the track to walk on the beach which is unexpected but rather nice, not realising we were so close to the sea. Dead coral litters the beach. Soon we turn off the main path and reach a tree which is often home to the tarsiers. Uri shines his flashlight into various crevices and declares there to be no tarsiers. ‘You OK to walk 600 metres?’ he asks. We nod, and he sets off on an even smaller path which climbs steeply uphill. Having thought our walking poles were rather redundant on the wide, flat path, we are now deeply grateful for them as we make our way in the increasing gloom over tree roots and past dangling lianas. It’s tough going and Uri does not let up on the pace, or allow any stops. There is clearly a very limited window in which to find the next tarsier tree. We’re sweating profusely as we march for another half hour, covering distinctly more than 600 metres. The trek is rewarded when we reach a huge fig tree, which has grown up over a host tree and developed numerous thin sinuous trunks that snake around. There is one other guide there with a Dutch girl, and they have found tarsiers. Tarsiers are classed as apes, but they look nothing like them. They are tiny, just four inches tall, with long thin tails, disproportionately huge eyes and ears and tiny prehensile, almost transparent fingers with which they cling to branches. They are nocturnal, so sunset is the time to see them as they emerge from their sleeping trees. The two guides shine their flashlights in, and from time to time illuminate a tarsier. Taking photos is hard, but they are adorable little things to watch. And then suddenly they will leap and they are gone, off to hunt for insects. Uri tells us this is the tree where the BBC Natural History Unit filmed the documentary that showed the tarsiers (we can’t remember which documentary that was). Apparently the Lodge is where they base themselves when they filming in north Sulawesi, sometimes staying for months.

After 20 minutes or so, it’s time to leave. It is now pitch black. Uri has a large flashlight, David dons his head torch and Uri lends Sara a smaller flashlight. The walk back is not fun. We cannot see more than 18 inches ahead of us, and are permanently focused on the where we take our next step, to avoid tripping over or walking into something. It’s still surprisingly hot and humid and we’re so tired. After what seems like an eternity we reach the main path, but it’s still another half hour’s walk back to the lodge. We’ve been out for three hours, and gratefully accept the suggestion that we eat dinner straight away, without even showering. Dinner is simple but tasty, and a cold Bintang beer has never been more welcome. We slump over the table, almost too tired to eat. Bobby, the owner has assessed our condition and tells us that next morning we will go to see the crested black macaques, but not the hornbills as that will be too far for us and up a steep hill. We shower and collapse straight into bed at 830, early even for us.

Next morning the alarm wakes us at 5.10 ready for a 5.30 start. Today’s walk is flatter and goes through slightly more open territory. Once again, we start on a road, move to a wide path, then a small path until finally Uri is creating a route through unbroken vegetation. He could do with a machete but isn’t carrying one. Everything seems to grab at our clothing. After 45 minutes we’re rewarded by the sight of Rambo 2, a pack of 60 or so black crested macaques who are eating and playing. They are hard to photograph, because they are so close to us that we needed our regular rather than our long lenses on the cameras. So much for the guidance to keep at least five metres away. They are curious and come over to within half a metre of us at times to size us up. It’s an extraordinary and wonderful experience to watch these wild creatures so close and while on foot.

Eventually they move away, and Uri hacks through undergrowth to get us to the river as they often come to drink in the morning. We hear them splashing and making lots of noise as they play in the river, but we cannot get to them as the jungle is too dense. We do indeed see them again shortly thereafter, together with three researchers who spend their days following the troupe and recording their behaviours. When you watch this in TV, it sounds like a dream occupation, but our two short forays into the park have helped us understand what a tough and tiring job it actually is. The same goes for being a wildlife filmmaker. It's now to tramp back to the lodge where we are treated to what our itinerary describes as a simple but full breakfast – a fried egg, bread that we can toast and have with butter or peanut butter, and tea.

Jemy returns at 10.00 and drives us to Tomahon, a small town in the Minahasa Highlands, a couple of hours away. We check into our next hotel, the Gardenia Country Inn, which has a huge, beautifully maintained garden. It rather resembles a Raj home in an Indian hill station, with a botanical garden attached. We have a wooden bungalow with a large porch, and thoroughly enjoy the first full afternoon of doing nothing that we’ve had all holiday. Once again, there don’t seem to be many guests staying, in fact none apart from us. Slightly bizarrely, however, the place does a roaring trade in serving lunch and afternoon tea to visiting Chinese tour groups. They behave as they do the world over, taking photos of each other making that stupid reverse V-sign with their selfie sticks, against inconsequential backgrounds, while missing out the most obvious and dramatic backdrop of the active volcano Gunung Lokon. Loud and rude shouts of “Ehh!” can be heard, along with louding hawking up of phlegm. And that's just the women.

By dinner time the Chinese have all gone, the entire dining room to ourselves, staff lined up to greet us. The bullfrogs and cicadas keep up a strangely therapeutic racket in the background. The moon illuminates Gunung Lokon and the cooling breeze blows through. Idyllic!

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