Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Fiddler crabs were in more abundance than you would find Republicans at a Tea Party meeting. The entire mangrove was swamped (excuse the pun) with them. I honestly hadn’t expected to see any critters, judging from the dismal turnout during our last trip. And I think that the most cynical part of me had doubted that such strange crabs actually existed. The wonders of Photoshop, I think, are pretty well known nowadays. But they turned out to be true enough, although why any crab would want a huge claw is beyond me, as is why females are attracted to large claws. And I haven’t figured out how the fiddler crab balances itself when it crawls. If I were walking around with myself on my arm I don’t think I would have lasted more than three seconds upright.

I think the most disappointing bit of the fauna that we saw were the birds. I talked about migratory birds in last-last week’s presentation, so I was hoping to see a couple of them somewhere in the trees. They might as well have been wearing invisibility cloaks. We did go at the off-peak season, however (the migratory season is from September to March) so I’m hoping the next time I go there we’ll be able to catch more than a snatch of that common kingfisher we saw in the trees.

Aside from the mudskippers, crabs and birds, other animals we saw there were fish and the monitor lizard. Of the fish I don’t have many pictures – in fact I don’t have pictures at all – because they were so hard to see through the murky depths of the water. We did manage to catch some archer fish and also a huge monster of a fish whose name I haven’t yet gleaned.

As for the monitor lizard, one word serves to describe the experience: wow. Most of the class missed the lizard since Mr. Shi tried to touch it and it bounded away, but Rena and I ended up in front and were watching even before it began to move. I almost called it a komodo dragon – it was that huge.

The mangroves were a whole other thing. For once I appreciated how sturdy they were – strong, rooted deeply into the mud. I’d known for a while how mangroves supposedly protect people from tsunamis – let’s just say the people of Pasir Ris have nothing to fear from any major wave coming to Singapore in the near future. They were huge and almost in a way majestic. After my, ah, enlightening experience I went back and did a bit of research. Besides providing protection from various natural disasters (storms, hurricanes, typhoons) mangroves also stabilize and prevent shifting of the coastline. Which is just as well, seeing as Singapore doesn’t need another change in its coastline. Mangroves are also an integral part of the marine communities, seeing as they provide food via a detritus food chain starting from fallen mangrove leaves. They also provide a habitat for animals like prawns, crabs and fish at critical phases of their life cycle by functioning as a feeding ground for the young.

Then I found out how much mangroves we had before this. Sure, we’d all seen pictures of the Singapore map before and after, but the numbers are far more startling. In the 19th century 13% of Singapore was mangrove. Now that number isn’t even close to half. In fact it’s not even one tenth. It’s now 0.5% thanks to land reclamation and stuff that is for the greater good. And the sad thing is that most Singaporeans don’t even appreciate what mangroves do. (I’ll have to admit that before I did the research I was one of them.)

I’ve said this in the previous blog post – that Bukit Timah was tainted by the human visitors – and I’ll say this again for Pasir Ris Park. Although this was worse. There were cans, bottles, even a pink shampoo bottle strewn all over the place. It was as if someone had hosted a ‘have a picnic in your local mangrove’ day.

I guess the most important lesson from this trip would be that mangroves are important. They host the most varied ecosystems in Singapore; protect us from environmental disasters; allow an entire system to exist. Maybe, just maybe, we could do something more to protect and to preserve this. As that old song goes, you don’t miss your water till the well runs dry.

It must have been ten years ago, the last time (and the first, as a matter of fact) I climbed Bukit Timah hill. I don’t recall thinking much – I don’t recall thinking at all, really – back then; it was just a long trek up a longer road, taking pictures of the big rock at the top, and bang, back in the car listening to the Bee Gees and driving home. Nothing was so special about the flora and fauna around me such that it made an impact on my mind

I know with that statement I'm going to have angry ecologists and environmentalists trying to find out where I live, but in my defence I was six at the time. So as the bus pulled out of VJC heading towards that same long road, repatriations were the first thing on my mind,

Well, actually I was wondering when the thing was going to end so I could call my mom. But I digress.

We got off the bus and I went to put my bag in a locker – ‘stuff’ would be the more appropriate word – and placed the key very carefully in my pocket. Then onward and upward we charged, into the valley of not-much-death rode the noble fourteen and all that.

In my view there are three parts to an upward climb: the first where you’re all interested in what’s going on around you, the second when you’re reduced to wondering how you’re ever going to get down again, and the third where you hit the top and after a brief bit of euphoria you sit down and don’t feel like moving for the next couple hundred years. This hike pretty much confirmed that opinion. Before we got up to the South View Hut I was snapping pictures like Charlie Sheen snaps at the world in general.

It was, those first few minutes, magical. No sarcasm intended. Like when you’ve finished some mundane, boring introduction of 1984 and you turn the page and step into a whole new world (not a cue for Disney songs). And for the record, I did read that book.But we really were stepping into a new corner of Singapore, an almost untouched haven of greenery and all things nature, a quiet Amazonic paradise far from the strife and anger and failure of the real world. And it wasn’t one of those fake things that Singapore likes to build and get records (coughfakewaterfallcough) for either. This was the real deal.

For minutes on end we trekked in silence, once in a while stopping to see some oddities that Mr. Shi would point out along the way. Some of us, I think, were much too enraptured by the enchanting beauty of the true world; others were just trying not to talk for fear that various insects would land on them if they so much as uttered a word. A few of the more cautious ones were watching every step they take in case they ended up falling down a rabbit hole and be reduced to playing croquet with flamingos while trying to fend off homicidal Queens.

I’m not going to lie and say I was completely awed by the astounding properties of a forest I never knew Singapore had. It was like that for the first part, but then I began to move to the second part of my hiking mantra: the this-is-too-high-I’m-never-going-to-get-down-again bit. For most part of the trail, then, I was more preoccupied with my limited supply of water, the various ants crawling up my leg and the fact that this was turning into a mini-Mount Bintan.

But we got up all right, in the end, and it was all there the way I remembered it – that big random rock with the words ‘Bukit Timah Summit’ and the height and all that. Some sort of smile actually broke out on my face when I saw that rock. I didn’t say anything, just went to the bench nearby and sat down and drank from my water bottle. After some joking about what a mysterious triangle was doing carved on the rock (please, doesn’t everybody know that the Nula from planet Lionor always leave a triangle wherever they visit?) it was time to go back down again.

I’ll stop short of using the word(s?) ‘eye-opener’, but the trip was certainly meaningful and definitely memorable, if mostly for the way Marcus lay on top of the rock like a sun-bathing seal. It revealed a new side of Singapore, besides the exams and urban life and tall buildings, something tranquil, something almost ‘kampong’, left over from the old days. And it served as a solemn reminder to all how precious little we have left of Earth, and what we aren’t doing to save it.

Along the trail I saw empty plastic bottles. Aluminum cans. Crumpled paper. Empty bunkers. All these little signs of human disturbance, all these extrinsic objects, only made an empathetic point about what we have done to the world, hammered home the point of us biting the hand which has fed us. There was no way I could miss that, no way I could pretend I’m just being stupid and Bukit Timah hill isn’t going to die on us. So to answer the question, I’d change us. To let the flora and fauna flourish once more, to allow the vibrant growth of an environment and biodiversity pulsing with life…we have to stop making the same mistakes we’ve been for the past decades. We have to bring back a little more true, original nature, and put in a little less of our own.