Ahead, a narrow path snaked through primary rainforest, giant buttressed roots rising like gnarled sculpture from the forest floor, carpeted in moss and ferns. I stepped carefully, feeling the soft give of wet leaf litter underfoot, weaving around tangled roots, the air thick with humidity and the earthy smell of the living forest.

The clearing opened: simple wooden benches set behind a rope line, facing an empty feeding platform. But we weren’t alone.

High in the trees, a massive flanged male orangutan watched, waiting. He wasn’t the dominant male here (I could tell by the way he kept glancing around, alert, aware that if the true alpha arrived, his meal might end before it began). But he was big, and his presence already shifted the mood. I watched as he postured, ensuring he’d be the first on the platform when the food arrived.

Closer to the seats, a gibbon perched on a nearby tree — the first and only gibbon I saw on the entire trip, its slender body a flash of quicksilver against the green. He sat there for a very long time, completely ignoring us, as if we were no more remarkable than the trees around him.

Then the researchers appeared, carrying two large baskets. With practiced movements, they poured sweet potatoes, bananas, and other foods onto the platform. And slowly, the forest responded: a mother with her baby clinging to her belly, a lone juvenile swinging in from the side, another mother balancing a toddler on her back. One by one, they came, cautious but drawn by the promise of food.

For me, as a photographer, as an animal lover, it was a moment of pure wonder. I’d just spent two weeks in Sabah, on the Malaysian side of Borneo:  I’d seen orangutans, yes, but never this close, never this open, never this clear. And here I was, behind the rope, heart pounding, lens lifted, utterly alive in the presence of something so wild, so real,  and yet undeniably shaped by human hands. And perhaps what struck me most was how completely the animals ignored us. We were part of the landscape to them, and that, in many ways, felt exactly right.

A few more images...

What is Camp Leakey?

Camp Leakey sits deep within Tanjung Puting National Park, in the dense, swampy forests of Central Borneo, Indonesia. It was founded in 1971 by renowned primatologist Dr. Biruté Galdikas and her then-husband Rod Brindamour, under the mentorship of famed paleoanthropologist Louis Leakey. Part of Leakey’s legacy (along with mentoring Jane Goodall (chimpanzees) and Dian Fossey (gorillas)  was helping launch groundbreaking great ape field research. Camp Leakey became the epicenter for studying wild orangutans.

Originally, Camp Leakey was both a research station and a rehabilitation center. Ex-captive orangutans, often confiscated from the illegal pet trade, were brought here, given veterinary care, and slowly reintroduced to the forest. Over time, many successfully reintegrated, living semi-wild lives.

Today, Camp Leakey remains one of the longest continuous wild orangutan studies in the world, with over 150,000 hours of direct observation logged. Research here spans life histories, mating patterns, habitat use, genetics, cognition, and social interactions. The center has also expanded its research scope to include other species - like proboscis monkeys, gibbons, and leaf-eating monkeys - as well as forest ecology and river health.

However, its role has evolved. Due to forest limitations and orangutan density in this area, Camp Leakey no longer releases rehabilitated orangutans into this specific part of the park. The surrounding habitat can’t support additional individuals without risking territorial stress or food shortages. Instead, the focus here has shifted to long-term stewardship: supporting the orangutans already present, studying them, and protecting their habitat.

The three feeding platforms open to visitors (Tanjung Harapan, Pondok Tanggui, and Camp Leakey itself)  are all part of this broader stewardship and conservation program within Tanjung Puting National Park. Twice a day, staff deliver food, usually bananas and sweet potatoes, to supplement the diets of rehabilitated orangutans and their offspring. Wild orangutans are free to visit as well, since the platforms are open to the surrounding forest. Importantly, visitors are allowed at each feeding platform only once per day, during a set two-hour window, and sightings are never guaranteed — especially when wild fruit is abundant.

For visitors, the experience is carefully managed. Tourists remain behind ropes, and no physical contact is allowed. The orangutans, for their part, typically ignore human observers - a small but important marker of ethical wildlife viewing. Camp Leakey isn’t a zoo, nor is it a “wild” wilderness free of human touch; it’s something more complicated, and in many ways, more honest: a place where human impact and wildlife survival intertwine.

The Ethical Gray Zones of Conservation

Standing behind the rope, watching the orangutans move across the platform, I felt a wave of wonder, but also a quiet undercurrent of unease.

Because while parts of this scene looked wild (the dense forest, the tangled vines, the rustling leaves) other parts clearly weren’t. The wooden feeding platform, the human-delivered baskets of food, the gathered orangutans waiting in an unnatural cluster: none of that was wild at all.

In the true wild, orangutans are solitary creatures. Females typically have only four or five offspring over a lifetime. Here, some have eight or nine, largely because of the proximity to other orangutans - a proximity that, in nature, they would rarely experience. In the wild, mothers and babies aren’t surrounded by other families, juveniles, and flanged males at a communal feeding site. And yet, here they were; drawn by the twice-daily offerings of bananas and sweet potatoes, living in a space shaped, inescapably, by human hands.

But here’s what struck me most:
Despite the human presence, despite the food, the orangutans ignored us. There was no petting, no posing, no eye contact for tourists. The researchers brought the baskets, poured out the food, and stepped away. The orangutans ate, jostled, watched for rivals, raised their babies; and we were simply part of the forest background. That, to me, mattered.

Still, the questions linger.

I found myself wondering: Is the research here still “pure”? After all, they’re studying animals whose behaviors have been altered by decades of rehabilitation and provisioning. What does “wild” even mean in a place like this? And yet - what other option is there?

Because at the heart of it, this isn’t a problem Camp Leakey created. It’s a problem humanity created. Orangutans displaced by deforestation. Adults killed for bushmeat. Babies stolen for the pet trade. Habitat carved into smaller and smaller fragments, until even those that survive can’t disperse safely, form natural ranges, or find enough to eat.

In that light, the real ethical dilemma isn’t should Camp Leakey feed them - it’s when will we stop needing places like Camp Leakey at all?
When will we stop destroying the forests, hunting the animals, and fueling the pet trade that rips baby orangutans from their mothers’ arms?

For me, as a photographer, as a traveler, as an animal lover, I come to these places not just to “get the shot” (though I do love sharing my experiences and images with you)  but to witness. To stand quietly, to observe without interference, to document natural behavior as it unfolds. I believe that’s the least I can offer: to watch with respect, to honor their space, and to carry their stories home.

Three Platforms, Three Stories

Each platform offered its own world, its own rhythm, its own cast of characters.

Camp Leakey:  The most famous of all 

At Camp Leakey, the largest and most famous of the three, I got my first glimpse of a flanged male orangutan in the open. He was up in the trees, watching and waiting;  watching to see if the dominant male would appear and deny him access to the free-flowing food, and waiting for the researchers to come with their full baskets.

While in the Malaysia side of Borneo, I’d been lucky enough to see two males in the true wild - but none of those sightings compared to this. Here, I could see him in all his glory: his huge cheek pads, the sheer mass of his body, and the thick, black, hairless skin that wrapped around his throat like a powerful collar. This was what I’d been hoping for, to see them up close, with time to really enjoy watching, to study every detail without the moment rushing past.

The mood at the platform was layered with tension and awe. Though this male wasn’t the dominant one in the area, he held court at the platform, sitting squarely in the middle of the food. Other orangutans, mothers, juveniles, young males, had to navigate carefully around him, sometimes sneaking bites from the edges. He kept one wary eye on the treetops, alert in case the true alpha arrived, his posture commanding even without conflict.

It was here that I first noticed just how intelligent they were: waiting not for the tourists, but for the researchers; recognizing the baskets, knowing the rhythm of the day. The platform itself felt like a stage, but a stage set in the middle of deep forest, where the wild and the human had learned to coexist in a delicate, uneasy dance.

Pandok Tanggui:  Patience, Monkeys, and Peace

At Pondok Tanggui, the experience began even before the food arrived. A troop of long-tailed macaques scrambled over the wooden boards, searching for scraps, peering into corners, leaping between posts. I’d been told they could be feisty, sometimes tugging at the ears of baby orangutans, provoking squeals and a mother’s swift swat, though I didn’t witness that myself. What struck me was the tolerance here: the flanged male, perched near the edge, allowed the macaques to linger, even as the baskets arrived and the feeding began. Compared to Camp Leakey, Pondok Tanggui felt surprisingly calm.

The dock here was tiny, just big enough for one klotok at a time to drop passengers, then pull away to tie up along the river. We were the first in and the last out, giving me time to linger, to watch how the orangutans moved with both strength and grace. When the gap between trees was too wide, they didn’t hesitate.  They swayed the whole tree closer, rocking it toward the next trunk, reaching, pulling, until they could cross. I marveled at their bodies: slender but powerful, fingers impossibly long, feet as dexterous as hands. Watching them was like watching a masterclass in adaptation.

I couldn’t help smiling at their habits: the way they walked upright, two-legged, when their hands were full, sometimes carrying their food overhead (a behavior that left me wondering why, even when no other animal was nearby). Or how they crammed their mouths with sweet potatoes, grabbing fistfuls like kids at a Thanksgiving buffet. And their babies, oh, the babies. Tiny faces full of expression, clutching to mothers’ bellies or climbing over them like living bridges. Watching them move, seeing how the mothers carried them through the trees, was endlessly fascinating.

Tanjung Harapan:  Rainfall and Raw Beauty

At Tanjung Harapan, the final platform, chaos waited at the dock. Dozens of boats were tied up, forcing us to climb from deck to deck to reach shore. This was the busiest site, closest to the park entrance, and it pulsed with a different energy — more people, more noise, more movement. And yet, once in the forest, all of that fell away.

A flanged male that I had spotted earlier, patiently waiting high in the trees, now invisible through the greenery, let loose a series of high-pitched, wavering calls — woooo, woooo, woooo — some short, some stretched long, echoing through the trees. The sound wasn’t loud, but it carried, a kind of shivering ripple through the forest. I stood frozen, goosebumps prickling my arms, glancing at my guide. “Territory call,” he whispered. It was the first time I’d heard it in real life, and I was fascinated, awed, as if I’d stumbled onto some ancient, secret conversation.

This was also where the rain came. Soft at first, then harder, dappling the canopy, sending droplets cascading down. I watched, enchanted, as orangutans adapted — pulling giant leaves overhead as makeshift umbrellas, one even weaving a day nest with a leafy cover, tucking himself inside. Seeing that moment, not just the finished nest, but the act of making it, felt tender, endearing, and left me wanting to know even more about their lives.

There was something else here, too. More mothers with multiple babies; perhaps coincidence, or just the mix of individuals that day. And a brief, practical intervention from a researcher: handing a flanged male a bundle of bananas to distract him, giving a mother and her baby a chance to slip onto the platform and feed. No contact, no interaction beyond that small management.  A reminder of how delicately human hands and wild lives intersect.

When I left that day, I felt a quiet ache. I didn’t know if I would ever see orangutans again, not like this, not in the wild. They are so much like us, and yet so profoundly not us; strong and fragile, graceful and awkward, familiar and alien. I kept thinking, almost with a laugh, if their fur was white, they could easily pass as Bigfoot. And then, more seriously, I kept thinking how much I wanted their world, their trees, their freedom, their wildness to endure.

Thinking of Visiting Camp Leakey?   Here's What I Wish I Knew

If you’re dreaming of seeing orangutans in the wild, visiting Camp Leakey and the surrounding feeding platforms in Tanjung Puting National Park, Central Borneo, offers one of the best chances for clear, close-up viewing. It’s important to know: the orangutans here are not captive, but they aren’t fully wild either — many are rehabilitated individuals or their offspring, living in an area shaped by decades of human care and research. Other places, like Sabah in Malaysian Borneo, offer opportunities to see truly wild orangutans, but often at much greater distance. (I’ll share more on that in upcoming posts!)

The easiest way to experience this area is by joining a klotok boat tour,  a simple wooden riverboat that drifts along the jungle waterways. Most 3-day, 2-night tours will take you to all three public feeding platforms: Tanjung Harapan, Pondok Tanggui, and Camp Leakey.

There are larger and smaller klotoks, some with cushier furniture, some even with standing fans (which would feel like a blessing in the heat and humidity (I didn't have one.). I booked a small boat, perfect for one or two people, but there were definitely larger ones for families or groups.

A note of hard-earned advice: I know how important a guide’s language skills can be. I didn’t realize that not all guides here speak fluent English. And I didn’t think to ask ahead of time. My guide’s English was limited, which made it hard to ask questions or understand the daily plan. I love learning from local guides about animal behavior, conservation history, and individual orangutans, and I really missed that deeper connection. Once I got to the platforms, I realized many of the other guides spoke excellent English, and I even heard several speaking other languages fluently as well. If you go, don’t hesitate to ask the tour operator in advance about language, it can make a huge difference in your experience.

I chose a 4-day, 3-night tour, wanting extra time.  But, a 3-day, 2-night tour would have been plenty to cover all the highlights. Longer tours (up to 6 days) visit the platforms multiple times, but even as a wildlife photographer, I’m not sure how much I’d recommend that unless you’re very patient and very heat-proof!  (Plus, I did see orangutans at each platform including one flanged male at each location).  There’s downtime, too, sometimes you’re tied up along the river for hours, waiting in the heat, with little to do.

We did spot some wildlife from the boat, a mother orangutan with her two young high in the trees, proboscis monkeys, macaques, and birds, but in my limited experience, these sightings were brief and at a distance. I had much richer boat-based wildlife viewing in Malaysian Borneo with boats that could maneuver much better than the klotoks.

Important to know:

• Sightings at the feeding platforms aren’t guaranteed. When wild fruit is abundant, orangutans often skip the feedings.
• You’ll only be allowed at each platform once per day, during a set time window.
• You’ll be behind ropes, with no physical interaction; just observing, quietly, respectfully.
• Some of the paths are full of water during rainy season and you'll be walking in ankle deep or higher water....or mud...or a combination of both.

I’m not an expert,  just someone sharing my one experience, what I loved, and learned. If you’re drawn to wild places, if you care about seeing animals with respect, this is a journey you’ll never forget.

Leaving the Forest, But Carrying It With Me

As the boat left the dock after my last visit, I found myself staring into the green blur of the forest, wondering if I’d ever see orangutans again. It’s hard to explain the way they stay with you; the way they move, the way they think, the way they look at their young. The way they are so much like us… and yet not like us at all.

They’ve lived in these forests long before us - evolving, adapting, belonging.
We’ve only been here a blink. And yet we’ve done so much damage.

Camp Leakey left me with a swirl of emotions I’m still unraveling. I was in awe. I was grateful. I was unsettled. I was inspired. I wrestled with the ethics. I celebrated the protections. I questioned the long-term impact. But more than anything, I just felt lucky - to have witnessed them at all.

There’s no easy answer to the questions that hang over places like this. But there are small things we can do:

Learn more. Share what we see. Support the people doing the hard, slow work.

And maybe, just maybe, fall a little more in love with the wild things still left.

If this spoke to you, I’d love for you to share it -  because the more people who are aware, the more we can effect change.
Thank you for being here.

Feel free to leave a comment below - I read each and every one of them.

🌿 Want to See More?

Some moments are better shown than described.

From the curious expressions of the babies to the sheer strength of a flanged male in the canopy,  I’ve captured more than I could ever fit into one blog post.

🖼️ Explore the full photo gallery and bonus video clips here → Indonesia trip gallery