Camping fun in Nature’s embrace

inTO THe FOResT

We meet Khaidil Tahir, a forester attached to the Johor State Forestry Department, South District, near the bridge that is our starting point. Khaidil is gracious enough to join us on his own free time from work, which our group greatly appreciates.

Fadili hands the entry permit over to Khaidil, who then does a quick headcount to tally the number of people listed in the permit. He then briefs everyone on the Do’s and Don’ts while entering the forest reserve.

Afdal is visibly eager to get going. “Yes. Leave only footprints behind. So let’s start making footprints!” he says, stomping his new shiny rubber shoes on the ground.

The gateway to Pelepah Kiri Falls is by walking ankle-deep through a shallow river under a bridge. On both banks of the river are private oil palm plantations. Trekkers who attempt this route usually stick close to the river or even wade through it until they reach a trailhead into the jungle.

It’s easy to get disoriented regarding the location of this trailhead so secure the services of an experienced guide.

“Pelepah Kiri Falls is actually hidden within the Panti Permanent Reserved Forest , a protected area. That’s why entry permits are required,” says Khaidil.

“Some people complain that we’re only implementing the permit system now because it has gained popularity, which is of course untrue. The permit system has been around for years. It’s only that we’ve to enforce it more now since Pelepah Kiri Waterfalls has started getting more visitors,” he adds.

Undeniably, the Forestry Department’s permit system is in place to ensure that protected areas do not exceed its “carrying capacity”, referring to the number of visitors an area can receive without suffering substantial environmental harm.

Half an hour later, our group finally reaches the jungle path that leads to Pelepah Kiri Waterfalls. Further along the path, we come across a large yellow signboard affixed onto a tree. The sign reads “Hutan Simpanan Kekal Panti”, which is Malay for Panti Permanent Forest Reserve. The sign also warns that you need a permit to enter the area. Having secured a permit for a two-day stay, our group continues trekking.

aT THe seCOnD TieR

We reach the campsite around 11am. The campsite is nothing more than a natural clearing near the banks of Pelepah Kiri River, with the remnants of a campfire pit in the middle.

“We’re at the second tier of the falls. We’ll camp here for the night, relax and trek further upstream tomorrow morning,” Fadili suggests. Seeing that it’s a leisurely two-day weekend camping trip, I see no reason to disagree.

Afdal, the camping novice, walks up to me, looking a little concerned. “What do we do when we need to go ...you know, the toilet?” he asks awkwardly. There is, of course, no toilet. We’re inside a Permanent Reserved Forest, not an Amenity or Recreational Forest.

“You find a private spot in the bushes over there and dig a hole,” I answer, handing him my parang, suggesting that he use it as a digging tool. As he walks towards the bushes, I warn him not to wander too far and to stay within earshot.

Khaidil is not camping with us but he nevertheless helps with setting up the tents and clearing the campsite. At this point we discover discarded trash — empty plastic bottles, tin cans and even socks between the tree roots and rocks.

The campsite near the second tier of the Pelepah Kiri Falls.

The forester lets out a sigh, takes out several trash bags from his daypack and starts picking up the trash. Our group joins him in the clean-up. Later, Khaidil leaves with some of the collected trash. I assure him that we will take the rest of the rubbish when we leave tomorrow.

Night has closed in. The surrounding forest is silent and still except for the gentle flow of the Pelepah Kiri river I hear the occupants of the four-man tent beside mine laughing

and bickering; something to do about living space and personal privacy. I am glad that I brought along my own single occupant tent.

As I’m settling in for the night, a familiar sound begins to materialise on my tent’s rainfly. What begins as rhythmic taps on the taut fabric gradually becomes a patter. I’ve always found the sound of rain on a tent calming and the sleep that follows rewarding.

In the darkness of the forest, the sounds of both the nearby river and the rain merge, pro-