The writer measuring a new species of tree kangaroo discovered in the jungles of Irian Jaya.
Credit: Tim Flannery
One day in late 1993, I received a telephone call from an employee of a mining company called PT Freeport Indonesia. The distant voice at the end of the crackly line informed me that the call was coming from Tembagapura, Freeport's town, in the heart of Irian Jaya. The man explained that he thought he had discovered a very rare kind of possum known as the great-tailed triok (Dactylopsila megalura). The man had read my book on New Guinea mammals; he was wondering if I would be free to come to Tembagapura to confirm his identification, and to talk to the local community about wildlife.
The Tembagapura area was somewhere I had always wished to visit, but had hardly dared hope to do so, for Tembagapura is not the kind of place one visits without an invitation. Tembagapura was also the source of a tree-kangaroo jawbone I had picked from among the pile of human remains on an earlier Irian Jaya expedition. It still eluded identification. A piece of tree-kangaroo fur I purchased at nearby Kwiyawagi, which had originally been fashioned into a war bonnet, remained similarly mysterious. It was unique among all the tree-kangaroo fur I had seen: being black with a flash of white on the chest.
To top it all off, since leaving Kwiyawagi I had received photographs of a tree-kangaroo joey which had been taken near Tembagapura. They showed a very young animal that was boldly patterned in black and white. It seemed now that a species of tree kangaroo was waiting to be discovered in New Guinea's mountains. Perhaps this visit to Tembagapura would provide the opportunity to gather more evidence.
Built in the 1970s to house the staff of the PT Freeport Indonesia Mining Company, Tembagapura is prettier than your average mining town, largely due to its incomparable location, but also because of its compactness and good planning.
To my dismay, the Amungme people, traditional landowners of the area were, at the time of my visit, largely kept outside the town by a vigorous security force. But through John Cutts, the community-liaison officer at Tembagapura, I was introduced to some local men, foremost among whom was Vedelis Zonggonau, a well-educated Moni man in his 30s.
I took out the field-copy of Mammals of New Guinea and opened it at Doria's tree kangaroo. "Ndomea," Zonggonau said, giving its Moni name. " Naki," the Amungme hunters said.
Next I showed them the photograph I had been sent, of the black and white joey. "Dingiso," Zonggonau said. "Nemenaki," the Amungme chorused.
After some discussion, we formed a plan to explore the high forest above the town, in search of these species. We decided to work in the forest along the road at between 2,500 and 3,000 metres elevation. There was good beech forest growing at this elevation and it looked like prime habitat for tree kangaroos.
The small patch of heath we camped in was very mossy, with orchids and rhododendrons making up most of the ground cover. One particularly spectacular orchid had a white flower, which it produced in abundance. Its spent petals, scattered on the mossy ground, looked like a fall of new snow.
We sent our hunters out each day with dogs in order to locate tree kangaroos, and soon had our first specimen. I was disappointed to discover that it was not the black and white animal I hoped to secure, but belonged to a subspecies of Doria's tree kangaroo. I was nonetheless intrigued to discover this species living so far west of its known range.
Over the next week, we located several other Doria's Tree-kangaroos, but the black and white animal remained elusive. Frustrated, I decided to try again at higher elevation: 3,700 metres. There, scrubby plants grew in dense clusters among the rocks. I was deeply sceptical about the possibility of finding tree kangaroos in this area, for there were not even any trees of a reasonable size for them to climb in. Our hunters, however, insisted that they could be had there, so I deferred to their plan to base ourselves at this bleak spot.
My worst suspicions seemed confirmed when, after three days' hunting, we had failed to locate any sign of tree kangaroos at all.
Then, early one morning, a dog emerged from the mist and approached our camp. It was followed by another, then two men and two women. I introduced myself to the taller of the men. He said that his name was Yonas Tinal, and that he was a Lani man from Ilaga. He owned the two dogs and the women were his wives. The other man he introduced as his friend. He had come to this high forest, he told me, to hunt tree kangaroos.
Despite my increasing misgivings, he seemed confident of success. His dog, named Dingo, was, he told me, a four-million rupiah hunter: it was so good at finding game that Yonas valued each of its canine teeth at a cool million rupiah (about A$700 at that time) apiece. Dingo's companion, Photocopy, was a less able animal and, as his name suggests, resembled a hunting dog more in appearance than action.
After I'd explained to Yonas my desire to obtain a specimen of the black and white tree kangaroo, he continued on his way even higher up the mountain, promising to return with one in a few days.
