The first thing we learned on arrival in Miri was that you don’t need a jungle t
o start jungle training (the second thing we learned was that it’s possible to rent second hand Speedos from the public swimming pool, although you don’t want to have to). Due to the rather staggered arrival of members of the group, those who’d arrived earlier were rewarded with a trip to Niah Caves and we got our first glimpse of the jungle along with bats, ancient wall paintings and giant spiders.
Once the laggards of the group had finally joined up with us we got a lot of training under our belt (kits) and somehow found time to fit in sessions between almost constant trips to Ming’s Cafe and the Miss Sarawak 2010 preview in Imperial Mall. Somewhat suspiciously perhaps it was only once the models had left that Oz managed to negotiate the plane tickets to Bario and we were on our way.
The plane ride to the remote village of Bario is spectacular with some absolutely stunning views, although judging by Bob’s childlike glee the best view was the one he 
had of the pilots in the cockpit.
Our supplies arrived the following day, having taken the tortuous 16-hour trip by logging road. After a brief period of mourning for the few cans of beer that hadn’t survived the trip Jungle Training continued in earnest. A session in navigation was judged a great success when no-one got lost while pacing in a muddy field, although we were warned sterner challenges would follow once trees got involved. The hospitality of Stuart and Saluma made us reluctant to leave the comfort of Raja Inn, but the jungle was calling.
As we quickly learned to appreciate, there is a world of difference between talking about the jungle and actually stumbling through it in all its wet, hot, biting, stinging glory. The first leech victim (Matt) was duly revered and reviled in a manner which we would remember in later days with wry amusement as we expertly flicked hundreds of the tiny suckers off our boots.
Although Oz and Al played it cool, there was no hiding the fact that the ‘gentle introductory trek’ to JT Camp had been made unexpectedly hardcore by the heavy rains upriver. When you’re already waist deep in water it’s too late to check your notes on river-crossing, but everyone was excited to be putting the theory into practice and putting their jungle boots to the test.
Soaked, sweating and slightly slimy we stumbled ever closer to the much-vaunted JT camp. We couldn’t help but imagine the jungle paradise that awaited, complete - we assumed - with vine swings and all the jungle mod-cons. Al’s laughter as he turned the corner ahead of us was the first clue that we were in for a shock - not just because there were no monkey butlers, but because there was no floor. The rains that had turned paths to rivers had also turned the camp into a tree-studded swimming pool. We briefly considered introducing the dive phase early but on balance decided the jungle had won this round and we’d return to Bario for another bash at a different (and much higher) camp in the morning. Nothing in our jungle training had prepared us for Tom’s rendition of Jerusalem as he attempted to lift our spirits, although in the weeks to come it would slowly become, like leeches and mosquito bites, merely part of the tolerated background irritants of the jungle.
After a further trek the next day we were understandably relieved to find Hornbill camp intact and as dry as things ever are in a rainforest.
We soon got used to the jungle routine and rattled through the rest of Jungle Training with no problems until we were, in theory at least, fire-lighting, animal-trapping, parang-wielding jungle geniuses. It still remained for us to prove ourselves however and the fires of solo night (or, in some cases, the damp piles of wood of solo night) differentiated those that had been listening and those more interested in myriad of jungle bugs and long drop etiquette. Though some of us ate our noodles dry and cold, nobody actually died, so we returned to Bario victorious to celebrate the completion of Jungle Training and the beginning of our conservation project.
You could say that we’d got stuck in and we’d nailed it (Oz’s daily shouts of encouragement).
