In Search of the Tonkin Snub-nosed Langur Monkey

Mountains and lake in Na Hang

View Photos (5) Image © 2000 Bill Hutchins

People are drawn to Vietnam by various forces. Memories, history, art, culture and exotic intrigue are all powerful magnets, but its monkeys and jungles drew me.

Let me explain. You see, ever since I was a small boy, I've been fascinated by jungles. I daydreamed about them, read the classic stories, watched Tarzan on television and at the movies and followed The Phantom in the comic strips.

Just out of college, I spent one month traveling up the Amazon River in Brazil and Peru. I never looked back. For many years I investigated jungles throughout the western and eastern hemispheres but never in Vietnam. Now twenty years later, I found myself enroute to northern Vietnam on a mission to find the very rare and endangered Tonkin Snub-nosed Langur monkey.

I had read an article on an ecotourism company--Top Guides--who offered travelers a chance to accompany a mammologist into the Vietnamese rainforests in search of this rare monkey, in the hope of securing a sustainable, non-exploitative, economic incentive for protecting these scarce animals and their forest haunts.

Believing in the value of such a project and recognizing a golden jungle exploration opportunity, I signed myself up and jumped on a plane for Hanoi.

Dr. Le Xuan Canh is a zoologist at Vietnam's Institute of Ecology and Biological Resources (IEBR) in Hanoi. Born in Vietnam, Canh received his doctorate degree in ecology from the National University of the Soviet Union in Moscow. He is fluent in four languages, expert at camp and field work and is undoubtedly the world's foremost authority on Vietnam's endemic Tonkin snub-nosed langur monkey.

Canh and Vietnamese historical and cultural expert, Dr. Barbara Cohen, greeted us at the airport and then introduced me to the vibrant city of charm and diversity that is Hanoi. I am not usually attracted to cities; it is wilderness that I crave. But I must admit I was smitten by Hanoi. The lakes, bicycles, and cyclos all swirled about me in a dynamic collage of colors, smells and a general atmosphere of intrigue.

I think though that it was the trees, the huge overarching shady columns of green that lined every lane and boulevard that attracted me most. In many ways I found Hanoi to be a sort of pulsing urban forest, but at dinner, listening to Canh spin true stories of actual forests, I knew we had to flee Hanoi to reach the real thing.

At dawn we piled into a four-wheel drive Mekong Star and drove north in a light rain on some very rough roads. Ten hours later we were winding through lush mountains on a narrow muddy track. Our jeep forded a rocky stream and stopped. In a ninety-degree heat, we stepped out into the brook and splashed clear water on our necks and faces, then stood in the flow to further cool our blood.

Twilight fell as we drifted into the little town of Na Hang perched high on a bluff above the Gam River. The moon hung like a ripe orange above a backdrop of spiky limestone mountains that stretched clear to China. We checked into the central guesthouse and began arranging our backpack for the business of tracking monkeys. That night I dreamed about jungles.

By dawn's light I surveyed the surrounding area. A saw-toothed range of karst mountains stood tall and green amid a sea of mist and their legions marched north beyond the horizon. The morning air was cool and Canh and I gathered up a forest guard named Binh, then our jeep bounced along a rocky forest road that snaked through a deep gorge until we reached a ferry crossing on the coffee-colored Nang River.

The ferry captain was a young woman in a large rowboat she powered with her legs. Somehow she could row the boat using her feet in place of hands and her strength was amazing as she carried us across a strong current.

We stepped out onto a steep bank, slung on our own packs and left civilization, as we knew it. Climbing ever higher in the sugarloaf limestone mountains, we were wrapped in an Edenesque scene of bamboo, palms, vines and towering canopy trees. Finally I had reached the Vietnamese primary forests I had seen previously only by my mind's eye and I grinned like a schoolboy as we were enveloped in a panoramic display of jungle life. Everywhere I looked there was some new object of curiosity: a spider web in a perfect spiral, a snake eating a frog in a running stream, blue-tinted ferns, a fur-plumed caterpillar, a long-tailed metallic green lizard leaping from leaf to leaf. There seemed no end to the natural wonders. Canh enjoyed my enthusiasm for the minute splendors of these woods.

The land was alive with the sounds of insects. A cacophony of clicks, whirrs and cheeps filled the air. One species of cicada produced an ear-splitting noise that sounded for all the world like a whirling power saw biting into plywood. Suddenly above the din, we heard a tune, a tinkling gamelan-like melody. Around the bend--we met the band--a big group of belled water buffalo wandering along the edge of a hill tribe's ricefield.

Cresting a ridge we descended to a high basin and into an enchanted village of thatch and wood. A complex series of bamboo pipes dropped out of the hills and carried spring water to respective homes by an ingenious network of suspended waterworks. Children, dogs, ducks and pigs all stopped their activities and gazed at me in wonderment. The village leader, Mr. Tuong, greeted Canh and invited us to spend the night in his family's stilt home. We were treated as warmly as visiting ambassadors from another land as we dined on chicken and cucumbers and prepared to spend the night on their living room floor. Frog songs replaced insect buzzing and blended with the sounds of water running through the bamboo channels to lull us toward slumber.

Just as my eyes closed, neighbors arrived bearing a bowl of wriggling silvery fishes that they had trapped in a nearby creek. Tuong's wife gratefully accepted their gift and promptly poured fresh water over them and placed a plate atop their bowl to keep the cats out and the fish in. This would ensure a fresh breakfast.

The next day we set off into deep forest with a few boys from the village. The trail was tough and twisted. Sometimes we had to climb over huge fallen trees that blocked our way or scramble up slippery waterfalls that dropped down staircase-shaped formations of limestone. Leeches were our constant companions and were one of the few types of wildlife who seemed glad to see us as they waved from leaf tips and approached us in their looping gait whenever we took a break and sat on logs or stones.

We visited a man who lived alone in the wilderness. His only companions were chickens, pigs and a few cats. I scraped leeches from my calves with a sharp knife and threw them to his waiting chickens that squabbled over these tasty prizes. On the wall of this hermit's bamboo and thatch home was tacked the huge outstretched wing of an eagle, a bird he had killed years before. Dr. Canh has tried to educate the minority people who hunt within these forests of the rarity and value of some of the animals found there.

He has distributed flyers and other literature appealing to their sense of national pride, to please spare the lives of the one monkey species found only within Vietnam's borders.

Snub-nosed langurs are prized by hunters for their meat and certain body parts that are used in traditional medicine and as a tonic. Canh has had some success in convincing both village people and government officials that these animals are important. He believes some hunters have voluntarily shied away from killing the rare animals. Due to his successful lobbying, the Ministry of Forestry has declared 21,750-hectares in two non-contiguous areas; the Na Hang Snub-nosed Monkey Forest Nature Reserves, and have also designated a 37,000-hectare buffer zone around the two parcels. These regions serve as habitat for a variety of other rare creatures, including tigers, leopards and Asiatic black bears.

After hiking most of the day we established a tiny tent camp in the interior of one of these preserve areas. Tall trees soared above us and a nearby spring served as a source of drinking water and its lower stream a bath spot.

Canh has spent months in this spot as part of his continuing research on the langur. Each day we would venture off into parts of the forest in search of monkeys.

We walked north until we reached a 300-foot high rock wall that we climb. It was composed of broken, eroded sharp limestone and I carefully chose every handhold and every foothold. I ha to test each grip and watch for snakes, scorpions, stinging caterpillars, bees or wasps. No venomous creatures biting or stinging me while free hand rock climbing! There are no ropes. Sometimes a grip on a tiny tree must hold me high above jagged boulders.

The limestone is savagely sharp and cuts the soles of my shoes. This stuff is flaky. Some of the rocks are balancing on other rocks; some boulders look intact but are actually shattered and come apart like puzzles. We climb higher and higher. We climb past black cave openings and giant vertical cracks in the wall; potential homes for bears or big cats.

I hear water gurgling deep within the rocks. Suddenly we reach the top of the wall. We're within view of the summit, a downright pretty little mountaintop. Stunted trees, mountain laurel, luxuriant mosses, wildflowers, ferns and terrestrial orchids cover the ground. We can see for miles. I scramble up to the very top. Here I find a mossy indentation in the ground. There at the bottom of a three-foot hole, at the top of this 5,000-foot tall jungle mountain is a live scarlet land crab. Its bright red body is contrasted against a lush green background of moss. I'll forever think of this place as the Mountain of the Red Crab.

In 1995, Vietnam became a signatory of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species Treaty (CITIES), and in so doing became legally and ethically bound to preserve endangered species and prohibit their exploitation and trade.

Many of the worst open-air markets have been shut down and endangered creatures have been seized by police and sent to rehabilitation centers in places like Cuc Phong National Park, however enforcement of wildlife laws in Vietnams wild areas remains sporadic and often ineffective. We frequently came across trees felled by timber poachers and sawed into boards right there in the forest.

In one area we found clandestine gold miners working inside the forest reserve in open pits. The deep shafts were left abandoned when the miners hit rock bottom which pose continuing threats to wandering animals as well as hikers like myself. We camped beside the miners and shared their field kitchen and occasionally their food. They graciously offered us black fungi, frogs and minnows they had gathered along a small river and we shared our sack of rice with them. Rather than berate them for desecrating the forest, Canh quizzed them on any sightings of monkeys or other large mammals. He also spoke to them about the need to refrain from killing birds and mammals in the reserve.

One day two of the men took me hiking in the hills in search of limestone caverns. We entered several small caves and ducked beneath fantastic stalactite ceilings as bats whirled about showing obvious displeasure at our disturbing their slumber. Then we arrived at a monstrous cave. It dropped sharply downward like a spiraling pit and resembled the burrow of a giant beast. Cold air poured from its mouth and we slid on our haunches down smooth boulders. The deep shaft was big enough to drop a lorry inside and curved off into darkness. The men and I used a crack for hand and foot holds and lowered ourselves deeper. We descended about 100 feet before the cave leveled off and branched horizontally. Proceeding around some curves we found ourselves surrounded by weird rock formations and dripping waters. Just then my flashlight batteries died. I have never seen space as black as the bottom of that cave. It was a humbling, scary feeling that enveloped me. The men still had their tiny cheap Chinese lights and they took me by the hand and led me over wet stones as we entered a twisting, descending tube--a stone spiral staircase leading toward Earth's center.

This spiral ended in a blank rock wall into which one of the men promptly disappeared--or so it seemed. At the base of the wall, my eyes picked up a black horizontal slot he had slipped through. It was about as tall as a dresser drawer, maybe ten inches of clearance. The second man then slid through, feet first, with the fluidity of smoke through an air duct. I stared into blackness and blinked. I was a head taller than either of these men, and outweighed each by over forty pounds. Was I supposed to ease my bulk through this geologic mailslot? I tried. I lay on my belly and slipped backward into the void until I felt hands pulling on my feet. I kept wriggling until I realized I was stuck! The men kept tugging at my legs and pulled me even more tightly into the cold grasps of the opening. Fear took over as pumped adrenaline caused every blood vessel and muscle in my chest to expand, wedging me securely between the two layers of rock. I tried shouting to the men but we spoke different languages.

My brain raced in the darkness as new worries crept in: earth tremors, abandonment, clumsy rescue attempts involving sledgehammers or worse, dynamite. The men's voices trailed off, as they seemed to leave the area. I trembled in the blackness until I decided that if my body slid into the spot once, I could somehow slide it out. I silently and slowly relaxed all my muscles and struggled to overcome my claustrophobia and exhaled all my breath and clawed at any ripple in the rock floor that would take my fingers. Slowly I dragged myself, inch by inch, until I slipped free of the cave's stony grasp. As I sat gasping in the dark, I saw a glimpse of light. First the head of one of the men reappeared through the slot, and then one after the other in a demonstration of agility, they twisted through the crack.

Although they insisted I should try again, I told them in no uncertain sign language that I would not fit into that underground chamber. Whatever natural treasures it held would never be revealed to me. They seemed to understand and we slowly worked our way back up and out into the welcome light of the now prettier-than-ever jungle. I was never so glad to see the light of day.

That night I laughed as I told Canh about getting stuck in the cavern, but in my heart I knew I had felt real fear down in that hole. I knew--for the time being--that I had lost my nerve for cave explorations. Canh admitted he didn't much like crawling around in caves either, which he now revealed was the reason he had not accompanied us.

But, you may ask, what about the monkeys?

I'd like to say that we found them, but in reality, they found us. We were sitting by the campfire preparing a late afternoon meal of rice when Canh's head jerked to attention. He quickly shushed Binh and me as he clearly heard something we did not. Suddenly he was off, leading me on a quick run through the forest with his eyes glued to the canopy. Not thirty feet from our camp he stopped. Movement caught my eye and I saw dark shapes leaping through branches. Lots of them. About eighty primates moved above us in the treetops. Most were common macaques, but on their heels was a group of perhaps 30 Tonkin snub-nosed langurs.

It was hard to see them in the dim light of late afternoon and I could only pick out silhouettes in the trees. Canh and I raced after the animals as they moved a hundred feet above the jungle floor. They stopped. We found a great vantage point and I stood in awe as Canh pointed out a large male sitting on an exposed branch, eating fresh young leaves.

I raised my binoculars, sat back on my haunches and absorbed the scene. We watched what Canh described as a harem group--a dominant male surrounded by a couple of dozen females, infants and very young males.

It was late in the afternoon and the sun threw its rays sideways, highlighting every branch, leaf and fruit on the trees, as well as the big male monkey. He looked majestic with his white face and chest shining.

A man with a rifle could have easily killed him and put thirty pounds of meat on the table for his protein-hungry family. The monkey sat oblivious to this dire possibility--perched in the treetop bathed in an angelic light. There he is, the last of a dwindling breed, self-assured of his spot in the sun atop this jungle tree at the end of the millenium.

He is unaware of borders, international wildlife treaties, declarations of legal protection, or the explosion of our own population. He has no idea that his fate rests in the hands of billions of supposedly "higher" primates and their actions or inaction. He is unaware of Dr. Canh's struggle to give this region even more legal protection by seeking governmental approval for the Na Hang monkey areas to gain national park status. The bears, tigers and leopards are equally unaware of the protective, but fragile legal umbrella the monkey's presence has helped erect above them. Dr. Canh tells me that there are less than 200 Tonkin snub-nosed langurs left in these forests, the only place on earth they are found.

Will increased ecotourism help save Vietnam's diminishing jungles? Can we, as travelers, assist in the establishment of protective nature reserves and parks? Efforts such as these by Dr. Canh prove that it can be done. If travelers go to Vietnam to see its mountain jungles, pristine beaches, or untamed rivers, Vietnamese people need to know that these are the drawing points. Tourism officials need to realize that travelers' interests reach far beyond city limits.

Hopefully, environmentally based tourism can help assure that creatures such as wild Tonkin snub-nosed langurs retain their place in the sunny treetops of Vietnam's very special natural areas.

Tour arrangements can be made through Top Guides, 1825 San Lorenzo Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94707
e-mail: Top4adven@aol.com

Published on 7/1/98