Khao Yai National Park is up there on a podium with some of the world’s greatest parks and what’s more it’s only three hours by car northeast of Bangkok. Jim Algie exited Bangkok’s zoo of human madness to mingle with the wildlife in the jungles of Khao Yai.

Visitors  tell  some wild  stories  about Khao Yai National Park,  like  seeing  jackals  chasing down a deer, like herds of elephants lumbering  down  the  main  road,  like  gibbons performing high-wire  circus acts up  in  the rainforest’s big top and, during a night safari, seeing a Malayan porcupine waddling along the roadside.

Some of these stories, I suspected, had been retouched with each retelling, so they glossed over a simple truth: With a million people visiting Thailand’s biggest and oldest national park each year, even the most bird-brained of creatures should’ve figured out how to elude the tourist herds.

But pulling into the Visitor’s Centre, we saw a sambar deer sauntering through the parking lot. Te good-sized buck didn’t even glance over at the photo-seekers stalking him. Nor did he quicken his pace. I liked that, but it also sent a frightening thought rocketing along my synapses: When animals lose their fear of humans, they can become much more aggressive and dangerous.

On third thought, who wants a tame day at the zoo watching panthers that may as well be paralyzed and lobotomized? “Hey, did you see that? I think he actually breathed.”

The Visitor’s Centre is the place to get your bearings and bone up on the park’s cornucopia of creatures, from Asiatic black bears and the tiny golden cat to Siamese fireback pheasants and bamboo pit vipers. All told, there are some 350 different species of birds and around 78 kinds of mammals living within the boundaries of a park that lays claim to more than 2,000 kilometres of land and squats on corners of four provinces: Prachinburi, Saraburi, Nakhon Nayok and Nakhon Ratchasima. Most overnighters stay near the park entrance in the latter province. Leading up to the gate is an asphalt gauntlet of guesthouses and resorts. The majority offer guided daytrips of the park’s environs.

It’s possible to go without a guide, but you might not see the animals for the gigantic trees  that  cause  kinks  in  the  neck  when you look up at them. So we were lucky to have the hawk-eyed vigilance of Rittichai Kengsungnoen  (nicknamed  the  “Birdman”)  of  Green  Leaf  Tours  and  Guesthouse. As soon as we got out of the covered pickup truck with two rows of seats in  the back, he set up his  telescope and spotted a couple of great hornbills up in
their  nest.  Everyone  took  turns  eavesdropping on  these  large black and yellow birds. Ten our guide aligned our digital cameras with the telescope so they could see eye to eye. The shots were a bit blurry but still sharp enough to impress your Facebook friends.

Into the jungle our group of six wilderness explorers tramped. Te path zigzagged through the moist evergreen forest that grips some 70 percent of the park’s terrain. Under branches, over logs, we trekked. The earth was spongy, the sky spitting raindrops. Only a few minutes later did the Birdman pull his frst magical trick of the day. Poking a branch into an armsized hole in the ground he pulled out a palm-sized scorpion. Then he snatched it up by its
tail, avoiding the stinger. He looked around for volunteers. “Hold out your hand,” he said. All of the trekkers suddenly looked like anxious and fidgety school kids waiting for a polio injection in the nurse’s office. Finally, reluctantly, one of the guys held out his hand. The guide placed the arachnid on his palm. As digital cameras shot out quicksilver flashes, the Birdman wisecracked to everyone’s amusement, “Okay, let’s go.”

After everyone had their turn in the view-finder, he gently placed the scorpion back in its lair. Our guide waved us on. As we walked he called out, “Awk, awk,” to attract some hornbills. Everyone scanned the tree tops. But no one saw anything except for the tree tops.

Then our ears were pierced by a series of whoops. Fearful or angry, it was hard to tell. The hoots and wails went up an octave, turning into a discordant chorus. Then we saw them. Up in the trees, perhaps 50 metres away, a whole family of gibbons was swinging  from branch  to branch  like  trapeze artists. Gibbons hate getting grounded, our guide said. For hydration, they lick the dew  from  leaves. During  the dry  season,  they hang  from branches and scoop water out of streams.

As  soon as we came close,  they hushed up. But  the Birdman trained  the  telescope  on  one  of  the  white-handed  gibbons, allowing us  to eavesdrop on  it picking and eating  fruit. Then it made  a  spectacular  descent,  swinging  arm  over  arm  from branch  to branch, as we  looked on with awe at  the creature’s agility.

Further along the trail, we saw rows of claw marks going up a tree. Both Asiatic black bears and the world’s smallest bear species, the Malayan sun bear, are expert climbers equally adept at raiding bee hives for a taste of honey. Upon hearing this, everyone  looked up. Expecting what? A hairy hulk buzzing with bees clambering down towards us? No, bears are nocturnal, we learned.

So  are many  snakes. Tat’s why  the  brilliant  green  bamboo  pit  viper  sat coiled up on a plant only  inches above  the  trailside, as  if  in a state of suspended animation. Te whole group congregated for a photo shoot, but the tiny reptile paid no attention to us.

“What do snakes like to eat?” asked the Dutchman.
“Oh, Dutch people,” said the guide, snickering.

Within only a few hours and a couple of kilometers, we’d  learned why the park was granted World Heritage Site  status by UNESCO  in 2005. Steven Galster,  the director of operations  for  the NGO Peuan Pa  (Friends of  the Wild) said, in their Bangkok office, “Partly because of the protection system we helped to put in place there and partly because of the park’s own eforts, they’ve gained World Heritage status. They wouldn’t have done that had the park been poached out. It’s rich.”

When the NGO frst began working there in 1999, their surveys estimated that around 500 people were entering the park illegally each day to plunder fora and fauna.

“We  know  those figures have dropped  of,  because  the patrols have  gone up mainly. And they don’t wanna get caught. We’ve seen local traffickers in wildlife and aloe wood, which is a big commodity there, hiring illegal Cambodian  immigrants  to do  the dirty work because  they can’t convince  local Thais to do it anymore,” he said.

With their camera traps, Peuan Pa has snared nocturnal images of “clouded leopards, marble cats, jackals, wild dogs, a few tigers. There’s a good population of elephants, too, at least a hundred,” Steven said.

For any wildlife paparazzi, the biggest star is the Asian elephant. Sometimes you see them at the salt licks where they come for a dose of calcium. Further up  the  trail, our guide pointed out a  smear of mud on a  tree. This meant that there were tuskers nearby, as they like to coat themselves with mud as a natural insect repellent.

Next on the itinerary, we hopped in the pick-up truck for a trip to one of the park’s waterfalls. En route we spied a couple of tiny Eld’s deer, and gangs of macaques  frolicking  in  the  trees. But  the  reddish  salt  licks were barren of beasts.

As the sun dimmed so did our prospects of seeing the world’s largest living land animal in the wild. All of a sudden, our guide slammed the brakes on. In a clearing beside the road stood two guar. The largest species of wild cattle, they resemble water buffalo except their horns are yellow and black. The two herbivores were munching on grass. By the time we scrambled out of the pick-up truck, the guar had made tracks into the bush. But our guide, with a smile on high beam, showed us the perfect photo he’d snapped. “In this park I only see guar maybe three, four times every year.”

Now  it was night. We were driving back  to Khao Yai’s  exit, passing  signs that warned of tigers and king cobras. The wind kept spearing through our billowing T-shirts. Everyone was shivering and exhausted. Then the pick-up slowed. We all stood up and craned our heads out the sides of the truck to see a massive grey elephant lumbering down the road in the opposite direction. It was illuminated by the truck’s headlights.

Watching  it waddle  down  the  road,  our mouths  could’ve  served  as  bug-catchers. But the pachyderm was still out of sight of our flash bulbs. Then it curled  its trunk and  let out a bugle blast. From somewhere  in the forest another elephant trumpeted a reply. The tusker abruptly turned to the right and crashed into the jungle allowing us a glimpse of his profile.

We certainly couldn’t have scripted a more exciting grand finale to a day of wilderness adventures; and it sure whipped a trip to any of those prisons for birds and beasts known as zoos.