Jungle Boogie

We return!  Muddy, tired, a bit battered and bruised, and very sad that our three days at "The Gibbon Experience" are over.  This was probably the one stage of our trip we were looking forward to the most.  Upon first reading about it in the Lonely Planet guidebook in the dark depths of winter 2011, we immediately scrambled to the computer to make a reservation and begin counting down the months.

And slowly, the twenty-eighth of November approached as we made our way across Laos to the sleepy border town of Huay Xai, where the rolling hills of Thailand lay a few hundred metres across the Mekong River.  This bottle-neck of a town, where scores of backpackers collect to make the short hop between countries, is home to a small office hidden behind a non-descript wooden door on the towns main thoroughfare, with nothing but a hand painted sign to point the way to one of the highest rated, most raved about attractions in all of Asia.

The project was set up to preserve the habitat of the black crested gibbon - one of the rarest mammals in the world.  Instead of hunting these incredible creatures and the other exotic inhabitants of the jungle (often for use in Chinese herbal medicines) the local poachers are now the guardians of the forest, keeping loggers at bay and leading nervous tourists into the enormous Bokeo Nature Reserve in search of these elusive creatures.  The proceeds of this eco-tourism are reinvested back into the project in the hope that the gibbons might flourish once again.

Now, the first thing to know about the Gibbon Experience is that it is not your average wander into the jungle.  I fear that nothing can really convey the experience we have just had.  Neither words nor pictures will truly express what we have done, but I will try and provide a small snapshot of three days which we will never forget.

...

Crossing a wide rice paddy, the sun scorches the ground around us, filling the air with the thick scent of sweltering leaves and steaming hedgerows, the sickly must of childhood summers in the countryside, clumps of cut grass at the edge of a sizzling playground.  Single file, we march along a narrow track cut into the long grass.  Ahead, the thick, seemingly impenetrable jungle bursts upwards from the ground, drawing the weaving path into darkness.  Steep hills blanketed in heavy, twisted layers of vegetation swoop up towards the sky, blotting out the sun as we approach with interlocked webs of branches and ferns.  Our guide presses on, slipping silently into the undergrowth and leading us into the shadows.  The air becomes damp, heavy and ominous; the dank smell of the forest  hitting us like a face-full of rotting leaves, with unfamiliar hints of flowery perfume reaching us from afar.  As the sky above becomes nothing but a few scratches of light through a ceiling of greenery, the noise of the jungle fills our ears.  Buzzing, chirping, siren-like wailing, rustling and singing - birds, insects and who-knows-what else.  A slick path of cocoa coloured mud, the ground squirms with ants, termites and leeches as we tread deeper, stepping over fallen tree trunks and ducking through dark dens of broken bamboo branches.  The path steepens.  Roots, surfacing through the mud like snakes, act like steps and pull us upward.  The sweat drips from my nose as I gaze down and spot my next foot-hole.  My tee-shirt is saturated.  We climb.  Reaching an initial summit, I stop for water, handing the bottle to Rosie who grins with glee through flushed cheeks.  "We're in the jungle," she says.

The path drops us down towards a shallow creek and we pick our way upstream, hopping from rock to rock before climbing slippery banks to another trail.  Checking the ties which seal my trousers around my boots, I spot a leech inching it's way up my leg, craning in circles, sniffing for a point of entry.  I flick it to the ground before it gets too high.  I check Rosie's back for any which may have fallen from the trees.

The path climbs again and my heart rate quickens with each step, my legs heavy and shaking, the heat sapping my energy and my face glowing.  The trail twists and turns, taking us along narrow ledges with steep drops into nothingness.  A haze of steam hangs in the air, turning whatever sunlight can reach us to misty beams of amber falling in broken shards to the ground.  We pull ourselves up on branches, squeezing out every drop of strength to fight a gravity which drags us down harder than ever, heaving ourselves towards what we know awaits us at the top, peering ahead for daylight and the eventual summit of this endless hill.  

Having hiked for some two hours, a small clearing marks the end of our struggle.  Off to the side, from within a tiny shelter made of dried banana-palm leaves, a second guide appears.  In his hands he carries climbing harnesses.  Seven red faced tourists - seven harnesses.  Having strapped ourselves in, checked our knots and reminded ourselves of the contents of the safety video we watched back in town, we step nervously towards what we know we must do.  And then, one by one, hooking ourselves onto a 600 metre-long high tension stretch of steel cable, we experience what we all came here for.  Zip-lining.

Attaching my safety line first, I lower my roller onto the cable.  Gripping the rubber brake with one hand, I wait nervously for the call of 'okay' from the other end (apparently a wooden platform attached to a tree on the other side of the valley).  My legs wobble slightly and my chest pounds against the straps of my rucksack.  The noise of Rosie's roller stops and the cable falls still in my hand.

'OKAY!' she bellows.

I take a few steps, skipping along the dirt until the harness takes my weight and the ground drops from beneath me.  I tuck my legs up and I'm airborne.  I gather speed, the the wind begins to build, the earth falls completely away into the steamy depths of the forest.  Whizzing along a small tunnel cut through the trees, I spot clear sky ahead.  With a few whips of overhanging branches, I burst out of the forest and into the open air.  I'm flying, I'm actually flying.  The tops of towering trees sway far below me, the ground an unthinkable distance below them.  A wave of emotion barrels over me.  Adrenalin hammers out my exhaustion.  I laugh, gasp and choke simultaneously  and the wind sucks away any sound I manage to make.  Laid out to my left, I can see the entire basin of the forest, immense hills and mountains reaching into the fuzzy distance, narrow pillars of smoke rising into the sky from the hill tribe villages and a sea of fluffy clouds gathering on the horizon.

At times, we were easily 100m from the ground.

I'm quickly plunged back into the awaiting jungle and I spot the platform onto which I must land, with Rosie waiting with a beaming smile beside it.  Squeezing the brake I slow down and the jungle floor rises up to meet me again.  Landing with a satisfying thud, I'm left speechless.  My mouth hangs open as my wobbly hands release me from the cable.  'Okay!' I call, before the next person begins their descent.

Rosie prepares for landing

We cross around seven cables in total, having hiked for three or four hours, before the shadows falling over the valley stretch long and far through the warm glow of the setting sun.  'Now we go to tree-house,' says our guide.  Hooking on to the final cable of day one, we emerge from the forest to find ourselves flying towards our home for the night.  A tree-house of epic proportions clinging to the tallest tree in the area, overlooking the top of the canopy and the wide sweeping valley sweeping westward through the rolling hills.

Yes, as well as creating a staggering network of zip-lines across the park, seven tree-houses were also constructed, each accessed solely by cables.  These veritable jungle mansions, hanging around sixty metres from the ground, are truly the stuff of childhood dreams.  They each have a rain-water shower, a porcelain toilet, electric lights, a sink and space for eight people to sleep - ours even had three floors!.  After we'd zipped one by one in through a 'window' in the living area, we staggered around in amazement at what would be our home for the next two nights.

As well as the incredible venue, the hospitality was excellent (especially considering that we were hours on foot from the nearest village).  Throughout our time in the tree, fresh Lao tea, platters of fruit, steaming meals of rice, meat & vegetables, toast, jam, eggs and cassava chips - all were zipped in to us from a kitchen hidden somewhere in the forest which provided three meals a day plus snacks to seven separate tree houses throughout the complex.  We even saw a gas canister strapped to a bamboo pole whizzing across the valley, held by two guides who whooped with glee as they soared through the sky.

Back to day one.  'See you in the morning,' our guide said before leaping out of the house and disappearing into the oncoming darkness.  The sun sets quickly this close to the equator and pretty soon the light of a full moon was beaming through the misty valley below us like a search lamp, illuminating the forest floor and coating the trees in platinum frosting.  Having devoured our evening meal and shared travelling stories, we all sat in quiet reflection, all of us exhausted and overwhelmed by the day's activities. In the eaves above us, rats began to scurry for food, giant huntsman spiders lurked menacingly, their eyes glistening in the light of our head torches, and flurries of moths descended.  The creatures of the night were coming to life.  With our eyes getting heavier by the minute, four tent-like sheets were strung from the roof beams and their edges sealed tightly around mattresses laid on the floor, protecting us from mosquitoes and the vast array of creepy crawlies which swarmed around us in the darkness.  Despite the noise of the forest's nocturnal inhabitants and the frequent movements and scratching outside our little "tent", we drifted off within minutes and slept a long, deep sleep that only a hard day of physical activity can muster.

We awoke the next morning to the sound of the guide zipping in with tea and breakfast and the gentle patter of rain.  Lifting the side of the tent, we witnessed a tide of mist rolling up the valley in large plumes.  With nothing more than a few struts of wood between this incredible sight and my pillow, I don't think we'll get a room with a view like this for quite a while!

Cold, but well worth it.

Squat a view?

After breakfast, we each donned our harnesses and prepared for the leap of faith we'd been dreading since arriving.  Our exit - a platform, hanging from the side of the house and accessed through a small sprung wooden gate.  Clipping ourselves to the cable and shuffling on our backsides towards the edge, we lowered ourselves out, over a void of nothingness, on to a thin strip of wood on which we sat waiting for the shout of 'all-clear' from the landing platform buried inside the forest on the other side of the valley.

A slight slackness in the cable allowed for a brief moment of free-fall!

This was so, so high!

You now see why we are so sad that it is over.  After eleven hours of hiking over three days, taking in around twenty five cables, two tree houses and one refreshing dunk under a waterfall, we bounced and bobbed back along the single dirt road towards reality, the tyres of the Toyota slipping and spinning in the thick mud and our tired bodies aching for a shower and a soft bed.  It was one of the greatest experiences of my life and thinking about it all brings a lump to my throat...it really was that good.

If you get the chance, we could not recommend The Gibbon Experience enough.  We did the "Waterfall" option which we felt provided a perfect balance between hiking and zipping and allowed us to see more of the jungle (and gave us some well needed exercise!).  Book way in advance (like, several months), pack your walking boots, a sense of adventure and plenty of mosquito repellent.

I should probably mention the gibbons.  Despite the project's name, it's actually quite rare to see them, although on dry mornings (which we did not have) it is apparently possible to hear them singing across the tree-tops.  Although we did not see or hear them, we left feeling happy to have invested in such a worth-while cause while having such an incredible time in return.

The Team (our guides were a lot more fun than they appear here!)