In search of the disappearing Wildman

Uncle Tan's jungle camp in Borneo.

I came to the shores of the dark isle of Borneo on a quest: to identify the Wildman of Borneo and discover what he did do to deserve such a name.

Every myth contains some grain of truth; you just have to find it. But those grains are often buried in nigh-on impossible places to get to, so it was unsurprising that the Wildman's lair was 15 hours by rickety bus from Kota Kinabalu, the capital city of the Sabah province and gateway to the legendary jungles of Borneo.

They are also traditionally guarded by terrifying monsters, like nightmare crabs a metre long with savagely pointed spines and a poisonous whiptail, or giant snakes that crush and eat you, or crabs that land on your nose and try to eat your boogers, or poisonous insects ...

As we rattled our way out of town, enjoying the bus's distinctive bouquet of stale urine, we got our first sight of the incredible tangle of trees, vines, shrubs and ferns which in this part of the world will grow over everything given a chance. If you went on holiday for a month you'd probably need a machete to get back into your overgrown house.

But fertile jungle land is also excellent for growing more profitable crops. It wasn't long before we left the jungle and our bus was travelling for hour after hour through palm tree plantations cultivated for their oil, which is used in cosmetics, candy bars and fuel. Living chaotic jungle had been ripped out to make way for the perfect rhythms of two-tone palm tree rows.

It felt like I was heading in the wrong direction. Somehow the areas of jungle had become pockets in the palm plantations instead of the other way round. Without a wilderness how could I find a Wildman?

Finally we arrived at a pocket of jungle on the Kinabatangan River and arranged transport to Uncle Tan's jungle camp in the Kinabatangan Valley Bird Sanctuary. Uncle Tan is so eccentric and widely-loved that everyone talks about him as though he's still alive although he died five years ago.

Our guide was to be his nephew, Lan. This seemed quite a coincidence at the time, although later I realised a man known universally as Uncle Tan must have a great many nieces and nephews.

No matter, the camp was a rustic piece of jungle-style paradise. Rough open wooden shacks contained mattresses and mosquito nets and nothing else. Bush pigs ambled around unconcernedly while cheeky macaque monkeys attempted to relieve us of any unattached possessions. Most impressive of all, a friendly 2m monitor lizard ambled through, its great lassoing tongue flicking happily from its jaws. Tranquil bliss.

That is, until the sun went down. That night we trekked out into the jungle and found poisonous swamp frogs, sleeping kingfishers and exceptionally hairy tarantulas ... but no Wildman.

On our return, Jude, in his jandals, stepped over a dreaded poisonous jumping millipede. While admittedly I don't actually know if it really could jump, its two-inch pincers convinced me it was good for a few metres at least, and I do know that the pain of its poison is supposedly beyond comprehension.

Yet Jude was unable to resist the photo-opportunity urge and got well into the theoretical death spring range to gather evidence of his close call with the killerpede.

I've noticed that people will risk everything to get evidence of almost dying. I guess if you can't prove it then it didn't happen.

Adding to my lifetime worst case of crawly-phobia, I was innocently relieving myself before going bed when a giant insect landed on my testicles. I am not ashamed to admit I literally wet myself just prior to punching myself mightily in the nether regions in a desperate bid to get rid of ... what turned out to be a leaf insect.

After that I decided that if I shut my eyes the crawlies would go away and in the morning I'd again be bigger than the bugs. But just as we were dozing off, Lan the guide screamed: "Snake, snake, very big snake!" before disappearing.

Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer my snake calls to be a little more informative and a bit less descriptive. An example could be: "Snake 10m to your left and closing, follow me." As I looked about in terror all I knew was that a snake was coming from somewhere and it was big enough kill me.

Further investigation revealed that less than 20m from our hut the snake was a 6m python. Coiled about a knee height branch it showed no interest in us standing just 2m away.

When it was ready it left, and we let it. Pythons are one of those snakes that crush you to death, leisurely ingest your carcass, and then digest you over a few months.

Still, our crawly phobia was gone; we spent the night dreaming of being hideously squished to death instead.

Bleary eyed and slightly frazzled, the next morning we headed upriver in pursuit of the Wildman. I was in the bow catching up on some bug-free sleep when the call rang out, "Orang-utan!"

In my mind orang-utans are large fluffy orange gorillas that like to hug people and hold hands, so I leapt barefoot from our boat and followed Lan as he chased off after the beast. It was indeed large, fluffy and orange, and it certainly looked cuddly. But it also weighed at least 150kg.

Small warning bells rang in my sleep-deprived head: this thing is twice as big as Sylvester Stallone; seven times stronger than Stallone; because it's three times prettier than Stallone doesn't mean it's any friendlier.

This line of thinking was endorsed when Lan suddenly ran screaming past me back towards the boat. I stood there dumbstruck until an avalanche of huge branches hurled down by the big wild guy in the trees convinced me to run away screaming as well.

Jenny and Jude were in fits of laughter, although I did note they looked conveniently poised to leap back into the boat and row off without me should that be necessary.

Watching the raw strength of the massive and very angry male orang-utan as he effortlessly ripped off branches eight inches in diameter and hurled them at us was awe-inspiring. We stood just out of range while he cavorted angrily about in the top of his tree.

Unlike gorillas, orang-utans don't beat their chests or roar, they make weird kissy noises to show they're angry. But despite the fact he was a very handsome ape I was in no mood to try kissing and making up.

As I watched his antics in the treetops, I realised I had found my quarry. To the indigenous people of Borneo, orang-utan means "People of the Forest". This mighty ape is the Wildman of Borneo.

But triumph at the completion of my quest soon turned to sadness. I was lucky to have seen a full-grown wild orang-utan - of all the staff at the jungle camp only Lan had seen a big leather face before - but I wish I didn't need to be so lucky.

The orang-utans are dying out to make way for the palm rows. Candy bars and cosmetics are more important than mystique and the Wildman's strength is helpless against that.

But for a moment it felt as if he had come to see me personally and scream out his rage at his ravaged world.

Checklist

BORNEO

What to do
The opportunity to be one of the last to see the Wildman cost less than $130. For this we received five boat tours, three guided jungle treks, two nights accommodation, all meals included, and return transport from Kota Kinabalu.

We also got a bruising game of jungle soccer in which a rotund Swedish man soundly beat us all. There is only one rule in jungle soccer; always stamp your feet when retrieving the ball from bushes. In Borneo you never know what a bush hides.

Getting there
Uncle Tan's Jungle Camp is in the Sabah province of Malaysian Borneo. Air Asia sells cheap flights online from Kuala Lumpar and Bangkok to the provincial capital, Kota Kinabalu, and transport can be arranged from there to Sandakan, where the tour starts.

To book
Like most Third World countries it can be complicated to arrange anything once you arrive. The easiest and best way is to book online before you leave at the jungle camp's great website. From the website you will get excellent and quick advice on how to arrange your jungle adventure.