LIFE ON THE LINE

摘要

AS THE ASPIRING primatologist dissected dung samples to determine the animals' feeding habits, the buzz of chainsaws and the thwuuuump of falling dipterocarp trees-some of the tallest species in the world, routinely rising more than 200 feet-broke through the great apes' calls. Despite federal protection for the land, loggers illegally, and extensively, felled trees throughout the preserve, which sits on the western coast of Borneo. In fact, some of the local research assistants who helped Webb's team uncover scat were former loggers, including a man named Tadyn (like most natives, he does not use a surname). One day, he came to her with a gaping cut in his hand, surprisingly distraught for someone who had once fought an attacking sun bear-and won. "It wasn't that big of a wound," Webb recalls. "His machete had slipped. But he had terror in his eyes, the most I've ever seen in a person." For locals, a minor injury could be life-threatening. They didn't have access to tetanus shots or antibiotics, and getting to the nearest hospital entailed a day's journey by dugout canoe, followed by another on a motorboat and another in a car. Accessing treatment incurred costs that were astronomical relative to their incomes, so, around Gunung Palung, medical emergencies brought out the chainsaws. Because the protected areas are off-limits to the wide-scale clearing that has created lucrative palm oil plantations across Borneo, villagers often cut and sell the virgin trees. One resident Webb met downed 60 to pay for a relative's cesarean section. As Tadyn told her, "We don't have any other choice."