What I'll miss most about living in Borneo's rainforests -

One week ago, I landed back in surprisingly sunny England after a month and half spent in the rainforests of Northern Borneo. We were continuing our previous work looking at how macheting vines could be used as a strategy for speeding up the recovery of heavily logged forests.

For me, this trip held particular significance–as I start a PhD in October, it’s probably the last time in a while I will get to spend an extended period in the forests I have truly come to love. For the past three years, I’ve been lucky to make it back to Borneo each summer for stays of up to three months. I’ve met people, done things, seen animals, climbed trees, held birds, caught beetles, had parties, adventures, and otherwise made memories that I know I will cherish forever.

I think I can say that the forests of Danum Valley will always be the ones closest to my heart. They have played such an instrumental role in helping me discover a deep rooted passion for tropical rainforests. Above and beyond any place I have ever visited and will likely ever visit again, these forests are the ones that make me want to commit my life to conservation. Once you see what’s on the cards, what we can lose, how amazingly diverse a single hectare of Bornean jungle truly is, it’s hard to just come home and continue life as normal. It’s completely changed my ambitions, my drive and what makes me most excited and sad.

Here are some of things I will miss most:

Waking up to the howl of gibbons, the cackle of hornbills and the chorus of birds and insects.
The buttress roots of trees so gigantic you feel like you’ve been shrunken to lego size.
Washing in crystal clear rivers after a sweaty morning’s fieldwork.
Knowing it’s six o’clock without having to look at a watch, just because that’s when the six o’clock cicada starts punctually shrieking its song.
Watching orangutans build nests.
Tuning back in to the endless cacophony of wildlife after your ears start blocking it out as white noise. It really is never silent.
Full moons and starry skies through forest canopies .
Playful leeches. (Not really true).
Walking back along a trail, having macheted it open earlier that morning.
The excited feeling I get when I hear a rustle or catch a flash of movement or colour signalling that something amazing is around.
Twirling a torch around in the night to look for eyeshine.
Feeling the wind blow against my face as the pickup snakes down logging roads.
Watching bats skim across the water at dusk to catch fish.
Stumbling across fungi so weird, that they look made up.
Eating forest vegetables and freshly caught fish from the river.
Watching sunsets and sun rises over misty forest.
Washing in sudden downpours.
Closing my eyes after a physically exhausting day in the field.