Let’s move back in time to January in Cambodia. The hour is pre-dawn. I’m writing by lantern light outside my tent, which has been provided by the local community of Prey Veng. Here at our campsite, sounds are in transition from the unearthly, resonant songs of the night to those of day. In a distant village, a rooster crows. The cook is pouring water, preparing rice for breakfast. A few soft snores continue from the tent next door.
Light grows in the sky. The dawn chorus ramps up. A distant Great Eared Nightjar calls. Colors are becoming distinct. My mind drifts to yesterday. It was our first day to become acquainted with Nara, the birding guide assigned to us by Sam Veasna Center for Wildlife Conservation. We couldn’t be more pleased!
Yesterday’s drive in was along a maze of single lane roads through dry deciduous forest. These weaving trails aren’t made for cars, but rather for the small “walking tractors” that pull loads of firewood and anything else. Usually people pile on top of the load. The tractors also pull plows through the fields. They are narrower than cars, so using their paths requires high clearance, 4-wheel drive, and an expert driver––which our drivers, Da and Li, certainly are.
The area’s maze has changed since Nara, Da and Li were last here, and at one point we take a wrong turn. (I’m not too concerned, even when the hour grows late––the car seats look to be a much more comfortable place to spend the night than the airplane seats had been on the flight here!)
As can happen, that wrong turn brings one of the great finds of the trip. A family of Great Slaty Woodpeckers undulates through the dry forest, landing not far away, posturing and screeching in excitement. Great Slaties are the world’s largest woodpecker, since the demise of Mexico’s even larger Imperial Woodpecker. Seeing a Great Slaty is one of my fondest wishes for the trip.
Our missed turn also brings other gems: a family of rare Black-headed Woodpeckers, a Changeable Hawk-Eagle, Bengal Bushlarks.
But Nara is growing anxious at the hour, and we retrace our steps, finding the turn we need after consultation with one of the few people we see. Then ensues a race to the river. We don’t reach it before dark, but that’s okay. It isn’t a ford, I learn, but rather a rickety bridge, precariously crossing a ravine.
We drive a couple more hours in the dark. At the end, we are weaving slowly between huge stands of bamboo, squeezing between bamboo and trees with, at times, less than an inch of clearance on either side. The sight of our camp at Prey Veng is welcome indeed.
