Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
For the past decade, Vy had kept watch over this bobwhitesized hermit, known only from a
few hillsides northwest of Ho Chi Minh City. But even if we didn't glimpse a single partridge
after four hours of searching, we had encountered a multitude of vigorous singers—babblers,
barbets, drongos, tailorbirds, flycatchers, orioles, shamas, trogons, and even rare Siamese
fireback pheasants—all survivors of the shock of war.
We had arrived in Vietnam this time on Ho Chi Minh's birthday, May 19. Billboards with
Ho's image were posted around the city renamed in his honor, exhorting the masses to make
new sacrifices for the good of the motherland. The Communist-style message boards stood
in stark contrast to the sights and sounds of roaring capitalism. Alongside the road into town
stood a life-size statue of Colonel Sanders, taller than most of the Ho Chi Minh statues I no-
ticed, welcoming patrons into a packed KFC franchise.
The trajectory of the rebounding economy was quite different from that of wildlife recov-
ery. Reports to David from Cat Tien suggested that, by the new millennium, the number of
Javan rhinos there was still dangerously low. According to local rumor, only four adults re-
mained—all females. We would get a firsthand report from Cat Tien, which was our next
destination after this interlude in Tan Phu.
To crouch motionless in the moist heat and mud seemed more like jungle warfare training
than birding. Ironically, this former combat zone had recently become an important conser-
vation area. Vy's surveys had found the highest recorded density anywhere of orange-necked
partridges here in the forest reserve, and, thanks to his efforts, logging in the area had ceased.
Beyond Vietnam, this shy bird had made international headlines by joining the list of the
world's rarest vertebrates as an Alliance for Zero Extinction species (chapter 1). And this site
was listed as the only place where it was found.
Between the pesky mosquitoes, the dense heat and humidity, the mud, and the leeches, that
day in Tan Phu was about the most uncomfortable I had ever experienced in the field. Yet the
more difficult the terrain became, and as the trail seemed to disappear into the sharp-stemmed
bamboo, the happier Vy seemed. He noticed the mosquitoes preferentially attacking David
and me despite our superstrength US-purchased repellent. “Try this one,” he said, handing us
a Vietnamese knockoff of Avon Skin So Soft that proved amazingly effective. I didn't want
to ask what was in it but was thankful it worked. This part of Vietnam still suffers from a
mosquito-borne cerebral malaria.
By afternoon, after many near observations of the reluctant partridge, our stomachs were
growling for our adopted staple of pho, so we headed back into town. As we walked to the
open-air restaurant, locals stopped to greet Vy. We were traveling with a celebrity, it seemed.
Vy had his own television show for children to nurture their interest in Vietnamese nature; he
knew as well as anyone that the next generation would need passion and dedication to carry
on the work of saving the unique species of the country.
