Something wild

I'M told there's a man living deep in the Borneo jungle. Years ago he was separated from a school party and his body never found. The tale goes that the spirits of the forest met him and helped him survive. From my mountain-top viewpoint, I look for spirals of smoke coming from the blue-grey distance where passers-by claim to have seen his fires. In this land of thousands upon thousands of miles of impregnable, mangled wildness, nothing can be dismissed.

The whole of Malaysia's huge state of Sarawak, filling the northwest corner of the island of Borneo, is blanketed with some of the world's densest, darkest and most impenetrable jungle. Vast tracts of it have probably been seen only by the strange forest animals that crash through.

In country like this, western cynicism is best left at home. The life of Sarawak's people is surrounded by superstition and a committed belief in magic and spirits.

Miles from civilisation, with the huge roots of millions of trees crawling through the crammed undergrowth and steam pouring through air darkened by the thick woodland canopy, it is difficult not to believe that a spiritual force more powerful than anything humans could pitch against it streams straight through.

Kuching, the state's capital, shows this in stark reality. Looking over the wide muddy river, the grey concrete of five-star hotel blocks, fast-food restaurants and streets of homes makes a pretence that nature has been defeated.

In the distance, the encircling mass of green swallows it completely and stretches unbroken for thousands of square miles; a testament to the futility of humanity's attempts to beat it.

I was here to find that nature was still out of our control.

It was a pilgrimage to a place where people still believe life isn't about selfish, grasping pursuit of individual pleasure and richness; a truism easy to forget in western cities where traffic-packed roads and pollution-puking industry take precedence over ever-nearing environmental disaster.

I had come to the right place.

Half an hour from Kuching, the Tarmac ends. The road stops at Bako village, swallowed wholly by steaming, dark jungle utterly untouched for thousands of years.

From here, we travel by boat, the only way through the vast majority of this state.

We motor beside mangrove forest, across deep blue water. Majestic, oddly-shaped mountains rise grey in the distance. On the banks, deep trenches dragged out of the mud remind us of the crocodiles that hunt the area. Collared kingfishers skirt the banks, sea eagles cruise in the furnace-like thermals high overhead.

A few miles down river is the absolute seclusion of Bako National Park. The narrow jetty leads on to a path through the mangrove to a tiny village of wooden chalets, built in a rough clearing, barely making a dent in the jungle. My forest home is only yards away from the blackness of noise, steam and mystery of primary jungle.

Millions of years of erosion have left these acres of sandstone peninsula covered in dramatic cliffs, rocky headlands and stretches of white beach, breathtaking sea stacks standing off the coast.

Inevitably, the jungle covers it all.

Virtually every type of vegetation found in Borneo can be seen in Bako. The beaches are covered in swamp mangrove, rising to thick jungle dripping in humidity. On the tops, sparser trees crackle in searing heat.

Abu, the Malay guide who has taken a short break from his home, his wife and seven children to guide me through what he calls his favourite place, points out pitcher plants, ingeniously designed with slippery buckets filled with digestive juices and prey tricked into sliding inside the trap.

The rare proboscis monkey, unique to Borneo, is heard crashing through trees, silver-leaf and long-tailed macaques are more common and huge monitor lizards creep through the park.

Borneo is a land of unbelievable extremes. It is hard to imagine anywhere more humid. Any movement ends in clothes soaking in sweat. When the sun shines, the heat is unbelievable. When it rains, it falls in sheets.

And the noise is deafening. Cicadas bawl their 24-hour screaming matches from tree tops, the alien calls of frogs bellow from the swamps and monkeys, wild boars and dozens of unknown creatures smash a way through the dense undergrowth.

At night, the mangroves are lit by the eerie green Christmas tree-like lights of fireflies. Torchlight falls on sea owls hopping between trees and catches the eyes of flying lemurs or tree frogs leaping across paths.

Trails run through the park, leading through swamps, up cliff sides to the highlands, across rough rocks and roots and down to secluded beaches. It's rare to see people any distance from the chalet village - largely because of the strictly controlled and registered admission numbers.

It's far from a luxury holiday. The chalets are basic, the environment rough and harsh, the heat so intense that seeking exposure to sunshine is only done in an effort to dry off the shirt soaking on your back.

But for travellers seeking something different to a beach with bar service in a resort turned into a quaint museum of local life, Borneo is the perfect destination.

It's a place which can't be tamed, which humanity has no control over and which, because of that, must be one of the most fascinating, amazingly wild places left in the world.

Fact file

u Adam Nichols' trip to Bako National Park was organised with Borneo Adventure, which can be contacted on 006082 245175, or at www.borneoadventure.com

u His stay in Kuching was at the Hilton, which can be contacted on 006082 248200, or at www.kuching@hilton.com