At the end of my tour, I am told that the effluent of crushed shells and fat residues from the manufacturing process is flushed into holding ponds, where excess oil settles out, rendering the waste water “safe.” When I ask if this water is then used to irrigate the oil palms, I am met with the kind of patient head shake reserved for children and fools.
“Oh, no. We don’t use that on the plantation.”
Why not?
“Because it still has oils in it, and it wouldn’t be good for the trees.”
Instead, he says, the waste is released into a stream on the flood plain of the Kinabatangan River, a habitat that supports the indigenous Orang Sungai (“river people” in the Malay language), wild orangutans (“forest people”), and the dwindling population of pygmy elephants.
Still sound asleep in the jungle’s dappled light, our elephant stares into the middle distance. A researcher spreads saline gel on her eyes, the size of billiard balls, working it over the lens with his finger. The $4,000 collar — an altered gps unit designed to track shipping containers — is handed to Williams, who makes adjustments. When the ten-kilogram device is finally bolted in place, the team removes the chains and supporting sticks, then stands back to inspect the result.
Stephen Hogg, a photographer and videographer from the wwf, pans back and zooms in with his video camera, pausing to direct the shot while a reporter from Kota Kinabalu, Sabah’s state capital, snaps stills next to Barry Calhoun, a Vancouver-based photographer. They jockey for position in front of the dozing beast. When someone returns with news that the calf has been found sleeping soundly nearby, Williams jogs down the slope to investigate.
I walk back to the stern, where Sipangkui observes her patient. Any moment now, we will retreat and wait for the elephant to wake and find her calf. Once reunited, the family will flee for deeper jungle, beaming back data on habitat use that will allow for better forest management strategies. This is the plan, at least, one that has served well for the ten elephants previously collared. Unfortunately, the plan is interrupted when the elephant suddenly raises her head.
She awakens neither bewildered nor drowsy. There is no stretch or yawn. She comes to all at once and — unable to find her calf — charges the first person she sees. In this elemental moment, it is truly every man for himself, starting with Calhoun.
Burdened with his camera, Calhoun runs down the slope as the elephant gives chase. She trumpets, swings her trunk, and gallops through the trees and brush. Everyone downslope has run for cover, save for two elephant trackers standing on an enormous fallen tree. One holds an air rifle aloft. He fires a loud warning blast, but the photographer continues to lose ground. A second blast issues from the gun, but still the elephant advances. Just before Calhoun reaches the fallen log, the man fires off a third round. This one has the desired effect. The elephant comes to an abrupt halt, then turns and charges back up the slope.
