Fraser’s Hill –

Where I’ve been lately

Glenda Larke — Fri, 28 Jan 2011 01:18:00 +0000

Having finished reading the proofs of “Stormlord’s Exile” (out at end of July or first few days of August), I headed off to work in the mountains at Fraser’s Hill, here:

No, this wasn’t the photo taken during one’s last seconds on Earth as the world is blasted by a nuclear holocaust or a meteor shower, or something equally catastrophic and final.

It’s the photo taken at night with a flash when it’s really, really misty. This was closer to the reality:

The team was there to run a beginning bird watching course for guides and hill resort residents, so three days of mist and rain and wind was not quite the best of conditions. Fortunately the trainees were a great group of people, from guides to students to those in the hotel industry and tourism promotion to government servants.

Fortunately too, some of the birds were wonderfully cooperative:

These are my fellow trainers:

A misty morning after a couple of days of rain – which results in very hungry birds – is a very, very bad time for a moth, and generally fatal if you start flying about. But if you sit still like this one, and don’t budge in the midst of the moth holocaust, you can be surprisingly safe.

Sadly, I don’t think this stick insect was going to make it. Not when it really couldn’t even get its legs to sort out which was up…

More from Fraser’s Hill

Glenda Larke — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 09:46:00 +0000

A banded leaf-monkey (aka White-sided Langur) contemplating the mysteries of life.

A mossy forest trail

The mosque ( loudspeakers of which are, alas, very unpopular with tourists)

And one of the many bungalows dating back to colonial times.

The beauty of the rainforest: Fraser’s Hill

Glenda Larke — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 08:17:00 +0000

There are times when I love my job.

The red flowers are the Lipstick Plant; the last pix are some pitcher plants. Rare now, because most have been illegally removed from the Hill by thoughtless people, only to die in the heat of the lowlands.

A place called The Gap. It breaks my heart…

Glenda Larke — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 09:37:00 +0000

…when folk don’t care about the beautiful. Some of my happiest memories include times when the kids were young and we went to the hill resort of Fraser’s Hill. The first time I was there was in fact before the kids were born: 1969. The only buildings then were ones which dated back to colonial times, for this was the place where the Brits came to get away from the heat and humidity, to play a round of golf and sit around a fire at night and play bridge or backgammon or whatever.

To get to Fraser’s in those days you had to go up and down a one-way road (and in fact nowadays too, because the horrendously expensive and ugly new road remains closed).

Odd hours up, even hours down. And as it was hard to judge just when you’d arrive at the bottom of the one-way road, there was a resthouse there for your comfort. You could stay there – in fact we did, often – and it became a focal point of birders from all around the world. It was called The Gap Resthouse. It ranked up there with places like Martin’s Place in Sri Lanka, or the cafe in Cley in Norfolk.

I loved the place. You could get scones and strawberry jam and tea, or fried mee while you were waiting for the gate to open. You could have a dinner of lamb chops, but you had to get to bed early because they turned of the generator…

The lessor kept the place spotlessly clean – even polishing the brass handles of windows and doors until they shone gold. The brass is all stolen now. Vandals are having a field day, ripping out the fittings and drawing graffiti. Even the cement mixer brought in for the renovations lies abandoned.

Alas, these pictures are The Gap today.

But never mind, with the money they don’t have for the upkeep, or the renovations, they built a hanging bridge to nowhere, which crosses nothing. (The resthouse is on the left of the photo.)

The signs tell it all. When the renovations were due to be completed was 2009, but the actual date has been scrubbed out.

What few people want or enjoy

Glenda Larke — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 15:31:00 +0000

Recently I was up at Fraser’s Hill, with a long time friend who recently came back to Malaysia for a dose of nostalgia.

I love the way the mountains change. How a few minutes can mean a totally different scene. I love the sounds of the forest – the rush of rain as it moves across the valley towards me, bird song and gibbon woops and the squirrels’ chattering indignation, the whoosh of hornbill wings like a steam train going up a hill. I love the way the mists mutes nature, sight and sound.

Fraser’s is over 1000m in altitude, and therefore a lovely cool place in the tropics. All these photos were taken from balcony of the apartment where I stay – thanks to the wonderful generosity of another friend.

Years ago, many decisions were made that came close to spoiling this idyllic hill resort – ruinous development plans such as an extravagant golf course and resort, now closed down because no one came. The people who appreciated the quiet and the nature were beginning to give the place a miss. With their ill-conceived actions, authorities halved the number of kilometres of walking trails, and their passion for slashing the forest edge away from roads and banks as much as possible increased the probability of landslips and decreased the probability of seeing wildlife such as birds.

Birdwatchers still come though, even though it is more difficult to see birds, and the local authories managed to ensue that one of the world’s premier birdwatching accommodations, the famous Gap Resthouse, is pretty much abandoned. You have to have the persistence of a nagging fly, and a knowledge of the Malaysian language, and insider information to crack the code of how to book it – and then when you arrive you have to chase down the key holder like it was buried treasure because they totally ignore your booking and you starve to death because they don’t want to cook.

But the general public doesn’t go to Fraser’s. Too dull, the KLite says. Nothing to do. No shopping, lah. No internet cafes. No clubs. Few restaurants or stalls. No night life. No day life either, if it comes to that. What is there to do?

You see them sometimes, driving around in their cars with the radios on and the windows wound up, hooting every time they come to a corner.

So Fraser’s is tatty and rundown. Locals leave because there is no work.

It’s only an hour or two from the city. You’d think that people would come to recover from the the horrors of KL – from the traffic jams and noise pollution, dirty air and dust and construction, snatch thieves and carjackings and break ins.

Alas, they don’t. They don’t see what I see.