In 1924, Johannes Gottfried Hallier fought the Bornean rainforest. As a botanist, Hallier and his team had come to Indonesia prepared to study the flora. They had been less prepared for the weather. The rain hardly stopped throughout the expedition and the temperature would swell beyond 30⁰C in the daytime, suffocating the European party. In the shadow of Mount Damus, they fought through the thick forest undergrowth. They spent each day trying to evade the thick tree roots that reared up like snakes and the narrow streams that darted through the bush like snakes and the small creatures that would sneak into their tents at night, like snakes. And all the while, the rain beat down upon their heads.
Yet, when they finally emerged from the rainforest, Hallier brought with him a series of drawings of an unusual toad species that they had encountered. A startling and previously undiscovered species. Hallier chose to name it the Bornean rainbow toad.
From monochrome sketch to rainbow toad
Pui Yong Min examined the drawing again. It was aged and actually quite boring. Especially considering what it represented. It depicted a small and slender toad around 5 centimetres in length with narrow limbs, slender fingers and bulbous eyes. It was simple and monochrome and the skin looked not-unlike tree bark. It certainly did not live up to the name of “rainbow toad”. The toad had disappeared 87 years ago, after Hallier left the Bornean rainforest having documented the only ever sighting. Like many wild animals, it seemed destined to live on in a drawing having silently died out in the wilderness. However, Pui did not believe the rainbow toad was extinct. Nor did his Ph.D. supervisor at the University of Malaysia Sarawak, Dr. Indraneil Das. Indeed, the idea that the toad was, even now, simply sat upon a half-dead log or beside some gushing stream somewhere out in that unrestrained wilderness thrilled them both.
Pui looked out at the rainforest. For months, he and his team had spent every evening scrutinising the undergrowth and crawling along tree branches in search of the toad. They had found nothing.
He ran a finger across the drawing and tried very hard to imagine rough skin and bright colour. Then, laying the picture to one side, he instead raised a croissant to his mouth and recoiled as lava-like cheese oozed out onto his hand. Around him, the ordinary sounds of silverware filled the dining room as his colleagues and various guests had breakfast. Occasionally, a waiter would come with orange or apple or pineapple or mango juice. Across the table, Dr. Das was discussing the plan with a few of the other graduate students. Having failed to find any trace of the toad in the forest surrounding the resort, they intended to move further up Mount Penerisan and start over again. Of course, there was some trepidation among the team about leaving the resort behind. But they were scientists. Pui gave up on the croissant, but accepted a mango juice from a waiter perched near their table. As he sipped, he looked out at the rainforest again. The orderly grass of the golf course flowed perfectly outwards for a few hundred meters, whereupon the forest broke over it as if it were a shoreline. Oddly, the dining-room windows (which provided excellent light) reflected the scene within the room, superimposing a facade impossibly white table clothes and straight-backed diners onto the jungle.
Later that morning, the team crossed the golf course and disappeared beneath the trees. For a while, they followed one of the log trails that a golf club had installed. It curved upwards through the trees and then quickly withered away. From there, Dr. Das led the way, hefting a bulbous pack filled with various research and camping supplies. The others stalked behind him, similarly encumbered.
Thick tree trunks guarded the path up the mountain. Long, sloping roots stretched down across the expedition’s path, the ends submerged in the undergrowth which crawled over their feet. Interspersed among the larger ones, were narrow trees that scattered jungle sounds every which way. After a few hours, the rain began. After a few more, it did not stop. At first, it felt refreshing – the hike from 800 to 1100 metres above sea level was hot and tiresome. But after the second day and night spent combing the forest for potential toad habitats; hunching over their notebooks, trying to record various environmental minutiae; cooking in the rain; trying to sleep as it drummed on their tents like finger tips – they grew very tired indeed.
When five days passed without any success, they gave up and returned to the hotel for respite. They took hot showers and had hot breakfasts and then crossed the golf course once more and went back into the jungle and up the mountain.
On one especially wet night, while his colleagues dredged the slippery streams and dived into the thick, wet bush, Pui found himself crawling along a tree branch, when something flashed in the corner of his eye. A flicker of colour and movement amidst the moss that coated the branches. And again. He cautiously rounded a torch upon it. With the light, he picked out a shape some 5 centimetres long. It had bulbous eyes, and a narrow body with gangly limbs hunched against it. At the end of each leg, the splayed and slender fingers sunk into the heavy moss. It was an angular creature, but its outline was broken by tiny bumps that were sprinkled generously across the skin. And the colour – the bright greens and reds and purples that splashed over it. It looked as if it had swum through a bowl of melting ice cream. Pui quietly signalled his colleagues and reached out, trying to slip a hand beneath the Bornean rainbow toad’s rich yellow belly.
Wildlife unfriendly golf
Later that night, Pui fell into a dressing gown and then a bed. They had found three Rainbow toads by the end of the expedition. A female, a male and a juvenile specimen, each hidden among the branches of different trees. These toads were the first of their kind to be seen in 87 years. Pui held a photograph of one next to the monochrome study of Johannes Gottfried Hallier which had defined the supposedly extinct species until now. Both were equally skinny-limbed and liberally-pimpled. And yet it seemed impossible how alive one was when compared to the other. Hallier had collected only two specimens in the 1920’s. Their own expedition had found only three. It was almost impossible to say how many Bornean rainbow toads existed in the wild, whether it was in the Indonesian part of the jungle or here in Malaysia. It was also too soon to tell how much the encroachment of humans had affected the toad. While the Borneo Highlands Resort is marketed as an eco-friendly resort and sits 100 m beneath the elevation of the Rainbow toad’s habitat, having an internationally-known golf course at your doorstep can hardly be a boon to any endangered species.
Beyond the resort, the Bornean rainforest itself is threatened. It faces some of the most intensive logging the world has ever seen. In the Malaysian state of Sarawak, the government had pledged to protect only 8% of its 8.22 million hectares of forest. The rest is intended for agriculture or commercial pursuits, such as logging and palm oil plantations. Even if the toad’s habitat is not completely destroyed, segmenting it to such an astonishing degree will prove equally fatal to the species: spoiling the ecosystem it relies upon, stunting its gene pool and increasing the risk of infectious diseases.
Hopeful, nonetheless
Yet, at dinner that evening, Dr. Das had seemed optimistic. He spoke of the intense vulnerability of amphibians – how, worldwide, 30% of the family’s species were either threatened or already extinct. And yet, with the rediscovery of the Bornean rainbow toad, they had found a sense of hope during troubled times. It was a reminder that nature still can still surprise us, he said. That, for all our efforts, the forests still hold an abundance of secrets. As he spoke, Pui watched the golfers through the polished glass of the dining room. They strode purposefully across the perfect green, swinging their clubs and shouting into the growing darkness. And in the distance, beyond the manicured lawn, the forest sang quietly with the wind and reared up like a wave.
References
- IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. 2017. Ansonia latidisca. http://www.iucnredlist.org/details/54471/0
- Conservation.org. 2011. “Lost” Amphibian Stages Amazing Reappearing Act in Borneo after Eluding Scientists for 87 years. http://www.conservation.org/newsroom/pressreleases/Pages/Lost_mphibian_Stages_Amazing_Reappearing_Act.aspx
- Jeanne Bryner. 2011. 'Lost' Rainbow Toad Rediscovered After 87 Years. http://www.livescience.com/15038-lost-rainbow-toad-rediscovered-borneo.html.
- The New York Times. 2011. After 8 Decades, Tiny Toad Resurfaces in Asia. https://green.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/07/15/after-8-decades-tiny-toad-resurfaces-in-asia/?_r=1.
- BBC.co.uk. 2011. Lost rainbow toad is rediscovered. http://www.bbc.co.uk/nature/14151541.
About the author
Sam Needs is a Welsh writer with a Master’s in Creative Writing from Aberystwyth University. He has worked for the literary magazine New Welsh Review short-listing submissions of poetry and as a social media coordinator. He is currently based in Perth, Australia, where he performs regularly as a poet. He works with the Said Poets Society, a non-profit who help young people to express themselves through storytelling and performance poetry. In 2018 will be serving as a mentor to competitors in the 2nd annual West Australian Youth Slam, and completing work on his first novel.
