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 MALAYBALAY CITY (MindaNews/06 June) – It was a warm May morning, the time a little before noon. The brisk 15-minute walk had made me sweat by the time I arrived at the office, an obscure structure along a desolate road that connects our suburb to the noisier part of Malaybalay City. I gulped two glasses of water after loudly complaining that the weather was growing hotter each day.
But for Yong Ding Li, a Singaporean birdwatcher-illustrator, the temperature was just fine. His friend and compatriot Andrew Tay, agreed. “You have a very nice place,” he quipped as he leaned against a post of a bamboo shed occupying half of the office’s front yard.
While we were taking lunch in the shed, a brownish bird perched on the office’s bamboo fence. “Sparrow,” Ding Li muttered, his instinct as a birder showing even while he was preoccupied with the roasted chicken and fish soup on the table.
Three days before, Ding Li and Andrew had sighted more birds in the forests of Mount Kitanglad Range, Bukidnon province’s most prominent landmark and the second tallest peak in the Philippines. There in a tribal hamlet called Inhandig where the Bukidnon tribe settles, the locals guided them in their exploration inside its mixed habitats of pristine and second-growth lower montane forests. Ding Li returned the favor by teaching some tribal youth how to draw birds with ballpoint pens.
I smiled at the thought that I was yet to pay for the pens and paper that Ding Li and his students used. Images on credit, I mused while taking a look at their sketches of some of the avian species they saw around Inhandig.
For his part, Ding Li was able to record 43 birds some of which he recognized by the calls and notes they made. The list of those he merely heard includes the white-breasted waterhen, yellow-breasted fruit-dove, Philippine hawk-cuckoo, brush cuckoo, white-browed shortwing, and long-tailed bush-warbler.
The last one, Ding Li noted, is a very secretive warbler and always keeps itself hidden under dense foliage. The white-browed shortwing, which is common in Mount Kitanglad’s forested spots, utters blaring musical notes, but is always concealed on the forest floor, he added.
He admitted he was not exactly proficient with the bird calls and thus spent much time trying to find them. He lamented, though, that while this is a habit of many birdwatchers, it can be very disruptive to the birds’ territoriality.
Fortunately, Ding Li actually saw most of the 43 birds he listed in his report. Topping his list is the country’s king of birds, the endangered Philippine Eagle (Pithecophaga jefferyi), or more precisely, a 5-month old eaglet of one. It was the same eaglet I
saw earlier in the same spot, a cliff beside Lalawan River which serves as a natural buffer between a virgin forest and ever-expanding farmlands on the lower slopes. The juvenile predator’s nest is cradled atop a 30-meter tall igem (wild pine). The birdwatcher’s only regret was he did not get to see any parent bird.
He also missed a few key species like the Apo myna, flame-crowned flowerpecker, and Bukidnon woodcock which, as its name suggests, is endemic to the province.
But, overall, the whole trip was rewarding enough. Recording 43 birds in three days, or an average of 14 per day, was no mean feat considering that Ding Li and his students only had time to explore the forests near Inhandig where bird density is relatively low due to habitat degradation. Presumably, they could have seen more species had they gone to other pristine lower montane forests deep inside the mountain range.
Ding Li had only seen about 20 percent of bird species known to exist in Mount Kitanglad. Aware, however, that he did not go there to set a record number of birds seen, he never forgot the more important things a birdwatcher-illustrator like him should do, that is, note the birds’ behavior, habitat, and above all, plumage.
It was, after all, a bird’s bright plumage that initiated this diminutive yet cheerful Singaporean into the world of birdwatching. He recalled that when he was still 12 years old a black-naped oriole, a bird with yellow plumage, flew inside his classroom in
Bukit Batok, his home in Singapore. That started his passion for birds.
The passion eventually led him to birding sojourns in Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines. His first visit to the country was in 2004, in the forests of Bohol, Mount Makiling and Palawan.
His visit to Mindanao this year was arranged by architect Maria Anna Gonzales, a mutual friend who is also a birdwatcher. Aside from Mount Kitanglad, his destinations included Bislig town in Surigao del Sur and Mount Apo in Davao.
Perhaps, it was really Ding Li who asked Anna to invite him to Mindanao, especially Mount Kitanglad. He recalled having read a recent article predicting that the forests in the mountain range would be gone in five years. Somewhat worried over the alarmist
scenario, he told his travel agent to book him a flight to the Philippines. Got to see paradise -- and the birds in it -- before it’s gone, he recalled telling himself as he stuffed his binoculars into his backpack.
To his surprise, however, the article by no means captured the real situation in Mount Kitanglad even if threats to its sustainability do exist. True, portions of the mountain range have been degraded due to agriculture, forest fires during long dry spells, and
logging activities in the years before the government imposed a logging moratorium in the province. Yet the larger part of the range still teems with primary forests, thanks to its status as a protected area and strong support from local inhabitants and officials who appreciate the importance of conserving its resources.
Ding Li’s stay in Inhandig enabled him to witness firsthand how members of the Bukidnon tribe value the forest as a source of their sustenance. The short encounter with them opened his eyes to the link between indigenous culture and the environment. Above
all, he said, he would always remember the warm hospitality of the villagers who welcomed him and Andrew with their wealth of dances, songs and friendship. He mentioned with fondness Bae Inatlawan Adelina Tarino, the soft-spoken baylan (spiritual
leader), and her brother Datu Dumapal Benecio Docenos, a jovial tribal leader who cracks jokes as often as a warbler chirps.
The Singaporean said he would always remember the ritual officiated by Bae Inatlawan. It was his first time to witness such an event, and he was really amazed to learn that indigenous culture has remained intact in this part of the country.
I’d like to think, though, that Ding Li’s ultimate enjoyment while wandering in places like Mount Kitanglad is and will always be the sight of birds flying from one branch to another, from the forest floor to the bough of a tree to the tip of tall grasses on open fields, blending their plumage with the hue of their surroundings, as if to test the
skills and patience of their stalkers.
But for how long will these wonderful winged creatures survive? The doomsday scenario that Ding Li read in an article may be farfetched, at least for the time being. Nobody can predict, however, what future awaits Mount Kitanglad despite its protected status. The
myriad pressures -- especially plantations -- building up around the mountain range give the uncanny feeling that its birds and other natural treasures merely exist on borrowed time.
Images on credit. The phrase was not just a pun after all, I told myself as I watched Ding Li and Andrew board a bus bound for Cagayan de Oro City from where they will proceed to Bislig. (H. Marcos C. Mordeno/MindaNews)
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