I am a bush. Heavily-camouflaged by a sniper’s Ghillie Suit and betrayed only by the scarlet glint of my field binoculars, I cautiously observe our quarry.
A herd of tamaraw – emerging from a billowing field of cogon, not 50 meters away.
“We’re within charging distance,” warns our eagle-eyed tracker, Edgardo Flores. While hot, heavy and earthen-smelling, my leafy Ghillie Suit fools no one, as the buffalo herd stares right at us. Should they attack, Plan A was to scramble up the nearest tree. Plan B was well … we hoped Plan A would do.
Guided by spotters atop nearby Magawang Mountain, we took 30 minutes to approach this herd. Sloth-like, I exchange the binoculars for a telephoto, framing three buffalo forming a skirmish line, preparing to charge. As I click they bolt off, bounding back to the brush with more grace than any carabao can dream of.
I glance back at a smirking Ed. “Next group is behind that ridge. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Along with Ed are Maryo, Rudy and Henry. Our Tamaraw Conservation Programme (TCP) and World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) recon squad has been sneaking up and down the grassy slopes of Occidental Mindoro’s Iglit-Baco Mountain Range for the past two days. Our goal is to photograph the world’s rarest and most endangered buffalo species, the tamaraw (Bubalus mindorensis) – less than 500 of which are thought to remain today.
I slink off my perch and silently follow Ed into the bush, thankful that neither Plan was put to use. Yet.
Spotters atop Mindoro's Mt. Magawang communicating with ground teams. (Gregg Yan / WWF)
Locking Horns with Extinction
As the Philippines’ largest and rarest endemic land animal, the tamaraw is a national icon. Coins and cars, provincial halls and university sports teams all bear its visage.
Differentiated from the larger and more docile carabao (Bubalus bubalis carabanesis), the stocky tamaraw bears distinctive V-shaped horns, a shorter tail and a shaggy coat of chocolate to ebony fur. Adults stand four feet tall and average 300 kilograms – about half as much as a typical carabao.
Except for calving cows, adult tamaraw are mostly solitary. Cornered or threatened, they can be aggressive, chasing their foes for up to a kilometer. Hunters have long claimed to have emptied entire assault rifle clips into charging bulls, to no avail.
During the Pleistocene Epoch some 12,000 years back, tamaraw herds ranged across much of mainland Luzon. Extirpated by migrants, an estimated 10,000 heads remained on the island of Mindoro in the early 1900s.
Sadly, this last population has taken severe blows – ranging from a crippling outbreak of cattle-killing Rinderpest in the 1930s to incessant land clearing and poaching. It is thought that only a few hundred hold out atop the grassy slopes and forest patches of Mts. Iglit, Baco, Aruyan, Bongabong, Calavite and Halcon in Mindoro.
Today the tamaraw is classified by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) as critically endangered – the highest risk rating for any animal species. Four national laws protect it from poaching – Commonwealth Act 73 plus Republic Acts 1086, 7586 and 9147.
“Still some poachers come here to hunt them, mainly for sport,” shares Ed as we trek warily to the next knoll, avoiding tall talahib stands which often conceal wily bulls. “A few years back, we chanced upon a poaching laager. Our rangers recovered a tamaraw hide and assorted parts. Six hunters with tracker dogs snuck into the park at night, armed with M2 carbines, .22 hunting rifles and some homemade 12-gauge shotguns. Examples will be made – we’re now filing for their arrest.”
Under RA 9147 or the Wildlife Act, violators can incur from six to 12 years of imprisonment plus a fine ranging from PHP100,000 (USD2440) to PHP1M (USD24,390).
Having served TCP as a ranger since 1998, Ed leads teams in patrolling core zones of the Iglit-Baco Park, which hosts such endangered (and damned hard to see!) species as the Philippine deer (Rusa marianna), Mindoro warty pig (Sus oliveri) and large Mindoro forest mouse (Apomys gracilirostris). It is also home to the reclusive, forest-dwelling Tawbuid or Batangan tribe, part of eight indigenous groups generally classified as ‘Mangyan’. On our ascent, we encountered a 15-strong group gathering upland rice. As we tried to make contact, they bolted for a nearby grove of banana trees.
“Logging plus kaingin or slash-and-burn farming is also a major concern,” adds Ed, explaining that many groups including the Tawbuid cut down the groves so essential for wildlife to thrive. Researching in Manila before the expedition, the future of the tamaraw seemed bleak – until I met TCP head and Mts. Iglit-Baco Protected Area Superintendent Rodel Boyles in San Jose, Occidental Mindoro.
Tamaraw to Tribesfolk
“What’s the best proof that what we’re doing works?” asked a smiling Boyles at the TCP Headquarters a day before our expedition. “Well the tamaraw are still with us, aren’t they? Community-based education is our drive. Some groups cannot read nor write, so it is our duty to let them know that certain animals are protected by law.”
Since 1979, the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) has been working tirelessly through the TCP to manage and protect tamaraw core habitats, while engaging local communities to partake in conservation efforts. “We make it a point to hire Tawbuid tribesfolk not just as trackers or porters but as actual staff. Their bushcraft and knowledge of terrain make them particularly effective rangers,” he adds.
The superintendent explains that their objective is to augment tamaraw numbers while improving the lives of the indigenous Tawbuid. “Our dream is to turn the park into the Mts. Iglit-Baco Biotic Area – a zone where the influence of modern society cannot replace the traditional practices of indigenous groups. We work not just to conserve the tamaraw – but the Tawbuid’s way of life.”
Population at All-time High
To support these existing TCP and local government initiatives, WWF-Philippines partnered with the Far Eastern University (FEU) for an ambitious goal – to double wild tamaraw numbers from 300 to 600 by 2020.
Dubbed ‘Tams 2’ (Tamaraw Times Two by 2020), the campaign synthesizes satellite-tagging, DNA analysis and other science-based research initiatives with improved park management practices. These upland efforts shall in turn be tied in with WWF’s ongoing work to conserve the rich coasts of Occidental Mindoro in a holistic ‘Ridge-to-Reef’ conservation plan.
With its gold and green tamaraw icon, FEU has since 2005 provided support for a tamaraw management and research-oriented program by participating in annual tamaraw counts each April. FEU has additionally extended health and livelihood services for communities residing in and around the Mts. Iglit-Baco range as part of its ‘Save the Tamaraws’ project.
“Yes, I believe we can double the number of wild tamaraw before 2020,” affirms Boyles. “This April we counted 416 heads – the highest ever posted since we began our annual surveys in 2001. There were many calves and yearlings, a sure sign that the population is breeding. Finally, the count is conducted in a 16,000 hectare portion of a 75,000 hectare park. If we can find 327 heads in this small area – than there should be many more.”
I also got to chat with Dr. Roberto Escalada, TCP’s head veterinarian in the early 1990s. “The Mts. Iglit-Baco core zone is the tamaraw’s main bastion – but there are others. The verdantly-forested slopes of Mt. Halcon and Eagle Pass for one, host tamaraw which are smaller and more elongated than the ones in Iglit-Baco – a possible physiological adaptation to the area’s dense thickets. Atop the chilly slopes of Mt. Aruyan live tamaraw which have extremely shaggy, almost black fur – a possible adaptation to the bitter bite of mountain air. One thing is for sure – more tamaraw survive than we think. But we must never let-up.”
It’s too early to determine if these different tamaraw populations are true subspecies, but knowing they still thrive is a sign that for the tamaraw, hope pulsates.
Local government units have also thrown their full support for tamaraw conservation, exemplified by Occidental Mindoro Governor Josephine Ramirez-Sato’s assistance in the establishment of a research center to study how the tamaraw population can be further increased.
“The tamaraw is Mindoro’s icon. Globally, it is the biodiversity brand that sets Mindoro apart,” says WWF-Philippines President and CEO Joel Palma. “Our engagement will revitalize logged-over mountain habitats. Healthy peaks and forests translate to a better-managed source of water so essential for the vast rice-lands of this island’s western floodplains, while healthy reefs generate vast amounts of protein. Together with FEU, TCP and the DENR, our goal is to bring conservation results to the groups that need them the most. By saving the tamaraw, we save ourselves.”
Tamaraw horns range from 14 to 20 inches and have a distinctive ‘V’ configuration. In contrast, carabao horns have a ‘C’ or half-moon configuration and are much longer. (Gregg Yan / WWF)
Hope Has Horns
Back on the grassy slopes of Magawang Mountain, Ed and I examine fresh tamaraw hoof-prints. I know the tracks are no more than a few minutes old, as they are still filling up with water. I glance at the summit to see if our spotters saw where the animals went – but they are waving frantically.
Ed suddenly stiffens. “Tamaraw coming this way!”
A hundred meters off, obscured by a knoll, are two charging tamaraw.
With a distinctly-Pinoy comic delay, Ed and I lock gazes, shrug – and run like hell for the nearest stand of trees. Plan A was what again?!
As we round the base of a young tibig tree, we look back to find that the chargers had broken off. Amazed that we might just have set a new Olympic sprint record, we start laughing. Shouldering our gear, we trek back to base-camp. Our time here is done.
Now, when I think of tamaraw, I still see those two charging. Not at us (well alright ... at us too), but out of obscurity. Out of extinction. Out to take the field - snorting, proud and full of life.
Example of a Ghillie Suit used by British snipers to blend in with their environment when hunting for targets. Though effective for approaching deer and wild pigs, wily tamaraw were almost never fooled by the suit as they relied heavily on their sense of smell. After three days, the suit itself smelled ... evil. (Henry Timuyog / TCP)