We  have  decided  to  start  another  part  of  our  website  which  will  keep  us  up  to  date  on  some  of  the  exciting  things  that  our  customers  or  colleagues  have  been  up  to.  This  idea  was  prompted  by  Dave  Morgan's  (My  Feelings  For  Fauna)  trip  to  see  the  Komodo  Dragons. If  you  have  a  great  story, (referably  with  photographs)  that  you  would  like  to  share  with  us - please  feel  free  to  send  us  an  e-mail.

 

Below  is  Dave's  story.

 

 

 

 

"All the wildlife documentaries I have ever seen never tell you just how hot it is in the Lesser Sunda Islands. It is a leaden heat that presses down with a humid cohesion. At times you feel as if you are walking through soup. Cecile pulled her red bandanna down lower onto her forehead.

 

'Whew', she said, 'this is worse than Marloth Park at Christmas!'.

 

I could only nod in response and pressed my sunglasses more firmly onto my face. The sweat was making them slip off and speaking seemed to use too much energy.

 

Such heat whilst being distinctly uncomfortable to Highveld Gautengers like myself and Cecile, is on the other hand an especially salubrious requisite for the animal that we had come to see in the Lesser Sundas. Wedged into the Sunda Strait between the much larger Indonesian islands of Sumbawa and Flores, is the scattered archipelago of the Lesser Sundas, some 250 small brown islands dotted in a sea as blue as a Jay's eye. The best known of these islands being Komodo - home of the largest lizard on earth, the Komodo Dragon. However, Cecile and I weren't to  reach Komodo itself until much later on in the day. The Dragons are actually found on a couple of other islands within the group besides Komodo, and it was on one - Rintja  - that we pressed our clammy way up a boulder strewn dry riverbed.  Being a giant reptile, Komodos revel in the heat.

 

The trees and grasses on Rintja hung with a desiccated exhaustion, brown-hued and dry, completely at odds with what felt like a jungle-like humidity. Around a corner in the water course we came across a small herd of Florean Water Buffalo. Much smaller than their Indian cousins, they stood in the shade of some Tamarind trees and ignored us with a disinterested lethargy. As this was the first time I had seen this particular race of Water Buffalo, I moved closer for a better look.

 

Our guide tapped me on the shoulder.

 

'Komodo', he said simply and gestured at my feet with a stick. Lying completely immobile in the mud, looking as if it were made of mud itself  was a two metre long Komodo. My next two steps would have had me tread on it.

However this rather scruffy -looking lizard certainly did not bear any resemblance to the ferocious and predatory 'land crocodile' description that Steve Irwin gave of these giant monitor lizards. In fact this one seemed to be fast asleep.

 

'Look, there's another one', exclaimed Cecile, pointing to the other side of the river bed, 'and another. . . '

 

Within a few seconds we realised that there were some half a dozen Dragons around us of varying sizes up to about two metres in length. All seemed quite drowsy and apparently loathe to move. We were still taking this in when completely without warning, it started to rain lightly. Within seconds the temperature dropped to quite balmy levels and the rain slicked away our sweat.

 

Our guide indicated that we should continue to move on towards another group of Water Buffalo further up the water course.  Cecile being slightly ahead of me pointed forward.

 

'Look at that one!'.

 

Directly in front of us was yet another Komodo - but this one was different. To begin with he was slightly larger than the others we had seen so far. I felt confident in designating him male on this basis. Male Komodos are larger than females. Also, this particular Komodo was very far from being asleep. Indeed his whole posture was one of being very wide awake. He watched us carefully with flat, black eyes.

 

'This is a bit unnerving', I said, 'Look at his eyes - completely emotionless . . . "' Even though I had spent several years as a professional herpetologist and was quite used to dealing with reptilian impassivity, this was a bit unnerving. Indeed, almost sinister.

 

'I don't like the look of that one', observed Cecile and shamelessly moved behind me. Her movement caused the lizard to slowly flicker a long, whit,  forked tongue. He tasted the air and apparently came to a decision. With slow muscular strides he eased his way down the water course towards us with deliberate, but impersonal intent. 

 

'Hey, what a photo op!', I exclaimed, "Pass the camera!".  Cecile handed over the camera  and moved further back.   I started clicking off photos as the Komodo approached. He paused about 3 metres away from  me and rested his unfathomable black gaze on me. There was something about his posture that was familiar to me. His oddly white tongue slid sinuously out of the groove in his lower jaw, the two prongs flicking the air. Fat globs of ropey,saliva dribbled down the sides of his mouth and I suddenly realised that he was covered in flies. His hide was a cobbled mat of black, grey scales with ridges of dirty, brown, unshed skin flaking along his neck. All up, this was a disappointingly disgusting-looking animal. Other species of monitor lizard within my experience had always been rather neat, almost dapper in their appearance. With that thought, the realization of why his pose looked so familiar to me came  crashing  home home. I had seen Nile Monitor lizards hunting frogs along the Crocodile River doing the same thing. The slow implacable approach, the sudden pause following by a lightening fast rush forward.

 

This Komodo was stalking me!

 

There is a terrifying sense of non-self  when you finally grasp the notion that the animal in front of you cares not one wit about you, your hopes and dreams, your decision to grow your hair or the fact that you are missing your dogs at home. That, in actual fact all you represent to it, is an animated source of protein and sustenance. When that happens, I can assure you, your universe tilts.

 

I hurriedly took two steps backwards, the Komodo took two forward. That was enough for me. I started to move sideways, up the slope out of the watercourse. The Komodo wasn't having any of that and quite suddenly lunged forward. Cecile and I abandoned dignity and scrabbled up the slope, nervous laughter tickling the backs of our throats. Our guide moved forward and with the over-sized forked stick he was carrying, jammed the notch into the lizard's shoulder in an attempt to push it sideways. With a contemptuous flick of his shoulders, the Komodo shrugged the stick off, and apparently having given me up for a bad job, paced past the guide and disappeared among the boulders.

 

Cecile and I returned to our boat at Loh Buaya,  thoughtful of our experience. We went on to Komodo later that day and saw even larger Komodo Dragons there, but somehow they seemed tame and touristy.

 

Hey, if you want to have a good Komodo experience, go to Rintja! You might get lucky and get revved. We did.'

 

Best,

DAVE