The Plantation - Di Morrissey [103]
‘It’s such a shame that the value of places like this is not widely understood,’ said Julie. ‘These mangroves are like living sculptures. The patterns, the interweaving roots, the whole incredible maze is extraordinary.’
‘Everything you see is designed for a purpose; the way a leaf grows vertically to avoid the midday sun, the porous roots, snorkel roots, the way they’ve evolved to survive, that’s its beauty to me,’ said Aidi.
Jan stopped the boat as they reached a mudflat and they leaned over the side of the hull, to watch the strange mudskippers slither and slide through the silky grey mud.
‘Look at those crabs with the bright red, blue and white claws. The way they are waving them about makes them look as though they are bopping to some music we can’t hear,’ said Christopher, and laughed.
‘I wish I knew where they get their energy, I want some,’ agreed Aidi.
‘It must be all the extra oxygen in here,’ said Christopher. ‘Good place to come if you have a hangover!’
Julie couldn’t believe that they’d spent two hours in the mangrove forest. ‘Did you ever think you’d enjoy hanging over the side of a boat for ages, watching fascinating creatures run around in the mud?’ she said to Christopher.
Aidi laughed. ‘The resort didn’t believe people would pay money to come and do this either! But they do. Now I’ll take you round to the limestone karsts, through the caves and then out to the sea eagles.’
In the quiet bay, surrounded by dark distant hills, they bobbed quietly. A small boat filled with other tourists came alongside them, revving its engine. Then, after the engine cut out, several large birds suddenly swooped above them.
Aidi pointed. ‘Those birds are Brahminy kites. Look over there, here come the white-bellied sea eagles.’
It was a magnificent sight. Everyone sat enraptured as the graceful, powerful birds plunged above and around them, scooping up the scraps of chicken that were being thrown overboard from the tour boat.
‘This is so great,’ said Julie. ‘How did this feeding frenzy start?’
‘Ah, that’s a story,’ said Aidi. ‘Some years ago, there was a charcoal factory that was harvesting mangrove trees. They cut down so many trees to make charcoal that the mud islands became unstable. The water got very muddy as a result, and this reduced the fish stocks, so the birds had to find lunch somewhere else. They moved to the airport because the grass was mowed regularly and that exposed ground creatures, which the birds loved. Now birds and planes in a limited space is a sure-fire recipe for disaster. We lost about eighty per cent of the bird population and three aircraft engines. So the charcoal factory was closed and a bird-feeding program was started to attract the birds away from the airport. As you saw, the program has been very successful and now we’re almost back to the original numbers of birds.’
‘We should just leave mother nature alone to sort things out,’ said Julie.
‘Humans can’t help but interfere,’ said Christopher. ‘Aidi, is tourism going to destroy this area?’
‘Unbridled tourism will, but well managed tourism will help the region, not destroy it. You have to give people an alternative source of income by conserving what’s here, not destroying it,’ he answered.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Christopher.
They returned to the beach, and Julie and Christopher thanked Aidi and Jan and made arrangements to meet Aidi later for dinner.
It was a lazy afternoon back at the resort. Julie had a swim and dipped into a book, but found she was putting it aside and stroking the cat that had curled up on the daybed beside her, while she thought about Grandfather Roland’s diary.
Although they all gathered for a sunset drink, everyone had different plans for the evening. Martine, Shane, Carl, Tina and Peter were having drinks with friends of the Stevensons on a huge cruiser at the marina at Telaga Harbour.
‘You two are welcome to come along,’ said Shane.
‘We’re having dinner with Aidi and his family,’ said Christopher. ‘Maybe we can