STUNG TRENG, Cambodia — At the
tip of a small sandbar jutting into the Mekong, four fishermen unfurl a net,
half an eye on the old man lecturing them. In a gravelly voice, 64-year-old
Meak Phoeurn informs the group that this is a conservation area, that there is
a rare bird nearby and they better stay away from her eggs. He spins around and
points to the rolling dunes and high grass and, in a flash of inspiration,
warns them there are cameras everywhere.
“Be careful, you’re going to be
trapped in the security cameras, ok? You’re going to be in jail, so you better
be careful, you never know.”
Later, laughing at his own
audacity, Phoeurn says the idea came to him after seeing a drone last year.
There are, of course, no security cameras on this wild, uninhabited slip of
land. The trick is just one in an arsenal honed over a decade of figuring
out how, exactly, to save a vanishing bird.
The river tern was once so common
in this part of the Mekong that its eggs could be collected by the basketful.
Today, there are about 60 birds remaining in all of Cambodia. Between January
and April, the river terns lay eggs on the numerous sandbars that appear in the
dry season — directly in front of a string of villages. For about 25 days,
until they hatch, the eggs lie uncovered, directly on the sand. Keeping away
fishermen, children, water buffalo, and rats is no easy task.
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