When I was a little girl, my parents brought me out on a boating trip down the Kuala Selangor River. We went on the sampan, a small wooden boat that cruised gently down the stream in the darkest of night. I remember being nervous at the time. The boatman mentioned how the river’s rich with shrimps, which could only mean that there were also crocodiles swimming beneath us. But my worries faded as we drifted further. Surrounding the nearby riverbanks were thousands and thousands of those magical creatures called fireflies, beaming their lights at us. It felt like Christmas in the dark with crickets caroling in the background, and as a child, I was enthralled by such a sight.
I told this story to N and wanted him to experience the same as I had the night we were at Pasir Penampang. He was more than delighted to see those twinkling fireflies. Nighttime would usually be the best hour to view them and by the time we finished dinner, the sun had fully gone down. While the darkness was perfect, the night also bore strong winds that hint at rain. We weren’t so lucky, apparently. There’d be lesser fireflies during rainy nights or even the full moon, we were told. I was secretly dismayed but N just shrugged and bought the tickets. “For the boat ride,” he enthused. “And hopefully a romantic one.” We crossed our fingers and waited for our ride with our lifejackets on.
There was no sampan that fetched us that night. Instead, it was the speedboat I saw earlier at the docks. I was wrong. There was something new about the place. We boarded the boat and it immediately sped off to fetch another family from a nearby jetty at the restaurant. The ride was thrilling, especially with the wind blowing in our hair. The entire river appeared mysterious— the forest by the river looming like chalk hills from the dark and the purplish sky bearing traces of bulbous, dark clouds. This didn’t spell romance. It was exhilarating, which we thought was better. And for once, I’d forgotten about those crocodiles.
The boat slowed down soon after, easing closer toward the riverbank before halting to a stop. We floated in the dark and squinted to see the blinking lights in between those scraggly mangrove trees. Unlike my childhood trip, there were only a handful of fireflies this time. The riverbank was dark throughout with the occasional blink-once-you’ll-miss-it coming from the bioluminescent colony. The days of enthralling fairy-lights were long gone. Possibly the strong wind had to do with such sleepy night for those fireflies but we couldn’t tell. For a good few minutes, only a few greeted us with their enchanting taillights.
Perhaps the boatman could sense that we were disappointed by the utter lack of those fireflies. He made a speedy turn and stopped, yet again, at the edge of the riverbank. And oh boy. We saw many tiny flecks of white creatures perching on the tree branches. This part of the forest is home to the white storks that frequent the river for the abundant fish. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were ghosts!
Many of the birds were sleeping but there were also those which appeared to be relaxing in the wind after a day of catch. Captivating, don’t you think? So we didn’t get much romance from the ride. We didn’t get those blinking fireflies either to charm us. But the colony of storks was certainly a beautiful surprise to end the night with.
