Over 20 years ago, poachers killed the last wild gibbon in Phuket. These acrobatic primates once filled local forests with their songs, but the march of development, the tourist industry, and the exotic wildlife market have silenced them — along with most of the island's wild animal species and habitat. Today, only one rainforest, Khao Phra Thaew, remains on Phuket. Poachers have branched out to jungles on southern Thailand's mainland to feed consumer demand, much of which is unwitting. The association of exotic tropical destinations with rare wildlife — animals seen only in zoos at home — is a powerful one. Small menageries of animals such as pythons and sea eagles can attract customers to resorts and bungalows. It's easy to understand how a visitor might want to have his picture taken with a cute little monkey or a giant snake. On vacation, normally conscious people often leave their critical faculties at home — they don't stop to appreciate the power their money wields, or its devastating effect on the same animals that attract them in the first place. Accordingly, southern Thailand is a very dangerous place to be wild and exotic. In recent years, however, local activists, foundations, and the Royal Forestry Department have begun organizing to protect the remaining wildlife and to re-introduce many captive animals to their native habitats.

"For animals unfortunate enough to come into contact with humans in Thailand, it's either a death sentence or dungeon internment." So says local Phuket naturalist Professor Stephen Byrd, whose name I have invented at his request. Though his work is illegal under a 1992 Thai law, Byrd has performed over 20 wild animal rehabilitations in the past few years. The law, which forbids the handling of wildlife, has good intentions, but any walk though a tourist area will reveal that enforcement is selective. "If I'm ID'ed," he says, "I could go to jail, even though none of my animals are ever tethered, while bars and bungalows keep them in terrible condition and the police turn a blind eye."

Byrd's most recent success stories include a flying lemur, a brown fish owl, a buzzard and a serpent eagle. In every case, his primary concern is to minimize the animal's contact with humans. The serpent eagle flew off — to another of its kind - in just three days, while the buzzard joined a flock of 8-10 other birds. He returned the fish owl to its nest. Lemurs have a very delicate diet, and none has survived in captivity for more than 4-6 weeks. Professor Byrd turned this one around in 10 hours. "He was a real cute little guy," he says. "It would have been fun to keep him around, but every minute with humans decreases a lemur's chances of survival."

Many cases of rehabilitation take more time. One of his finest patients was a white — bellied sea eagle: "We had Baby for five months. He was 2-3 months away from flying, when I got him. We had to get him ready to fly, teach him to hunt — then he gets sling-shotted by my neighbours — so it took a little while longer until he flew to Dulwich. He's still at their pond today."

From the age of six, when his family's home became the drop site for the Los Angeles County Audubon Society, Professor Byrd has been nursing animals. "We were getting 300 birds a day," he recalls. He would stay up until two in the morning helping baby sparrows and robins wriggle free of their shells." As he grew older, he wore a falconers' glove, and trained hawks and eagles to hunt. On Phuket, Professor Byrd has let local naturalists and conservationists know that he's available to help, so wounded animals often find their way to his home. Still, he doesn't "go out beating the bush. And I never pay. If you pay, you encourage the economy."

Byrd especially enjoys working with raptors — "the world's greatest aviators", including owls, hawks, kites and eagles — but the state of their populations is not good, he says. "There is some awareness in Phang Nga Bay, and they seem to be coming back slowly. But in Phuket, the land-based ones get shot, end up in bars. If there's a white-bellied sea eagle nest here, it's history, man. An exotic animal in southern Thailand is in serious trouble."

The most celebrated wild animal treatment centre in the area is the Gibbon Rehabilitation Project (GRP), at Bang Pae Waterfall, overseen by the Wild Animal Rescue Foundation of Thailand (WAR). Founded in 1990 by Asia Wildlife, the GRP became WAR's research arm in 1994. Many of the gibbons and other animals in WAR's care are recovering pets that grew too large and untamed. WAR's prime objective is to return them to their native habitats, though this is often impossible because of disease, behavioural problems and physical deficiencies that preclude survival without assistance.

In the wild, gibbons sing eerie songs resembling the tunes of a toy plastic trombone, making them relatively easy to locate. Poachers hunt them for meat, medicine, tourism, and the pet trade, stalking families, aiming to shoot mothers, to whom babies cling. Only one in three babies survive the fall, and up to 20 die for each one that makes it to market. The lucky ones get rescued and make it to the rehabilitation centre.

Here, in the jungle beside Bang Pae Waterfall, in Phuket's Khao Phra Thaew Forest, most gibbons reared in captivity meet others of their species for the first time. They enter quarantine, where a veterinarian checks them for diseases such as HIV, hepatitis A and B, and herpes. Next, the animals learn through observation and practice how to be gibbons. Visitors can see them, but only at a safe distance, and only in early phases of recovery. As gibbons progress, staff try to arrange families and move them uphill into larger cages, further minimizing human contact. The final stage before re-introduction is an acclimatization cage suspended 20 metres above the jungle floor.

Currently, the GRP cares for over 60 gibbons. Two families of four have been released — the Hope group in October 2002, and the Arun (meaning "dawn") group in 2003. Hope was the first gibbon born in Khao Phra Thaew Forest in over 25 years.

Sadly, most wild animals in captivity do not enjoy such caring treatment. The Wildlife Research & Breeding Centre, located seven kilometres north of Phang Nga Town, keeps animals, by international standards, in shocking conditions. Set on 1,573 rai of Royal Forestry Department land within a swathe of lowland rain forest, it has the space and potential to effect positive change, but needs to revolutionize its methods. The centre, established nine years ago by the Phang Nga provincial government, was originally designed for birds, but now also houses mammals, including primates. Its main objectives are to 1) conserve rare animals; 2) observe, research and breed animals which may have economic importance; 3) provide a venue for people to learn about wild animals; and 4) conduct special projects, including re-introduction of animals to the wild, farming wild animals, and caring for animals that have been in captivity.

When this writer visited, he found wildlife caged in neglect verging on abuse. The animal pelt nailed to a door in staff housing set the tone. On the lower level, brahminy kites cried in their cramped cells, too small for them to fly anywhere, let alone soar. The serpent eagle flew back and forth between perches at the very top of its cage, back and forth in growing madness. In the same dirt and concrete setting as the others, a great billed heron, a creature of the marshes, constantly poked its long bill out the holes in the wire fencing. Conspicuously absent was any caretaker. Many of the cages were not locked; it was only my fear of getting caught that kept me from opening the doors.

While imprisoned birds are pitiable, it's the large mammals and primates that really get you. The epitome of wretchedness, a masked palm civet lay on a broken log, begging for death, a pile of its own dung nearby, its food and water bowls filthy. A banded langur licked at its cage, its gaunt body and protruding ribs reminiscent of Sarajevo or Auschwitz. On a brick floor beneath a broken table, a binturong, a bear-like animal, cowered. As with most of the cages, the only vegetation was a dead tree branch long devoid of leaves. Another tiny room full of the animal's fur looked suspiciously like a torture chamber.

Saddest of all was the single Malaysian sun bear, confined to a cement pit divided by a concrete wall from a pen with three other bears. He paced back and forth past the small barred window through which he could see his fellows, his long, sloth-like claws clacking on the concrete floor, dramatically illustrating that this was not his natural environment.

Up at the office, I finally found an employee, a young receptionist who showed me around the upper cages, with birds, gibbons and other primates, an area that looked far more humane than down below. The housing is not as similar to natural habitat as at the GRP, but the animals do have room to move around; they look healthy, fine-spirited, and there is plenty of vegetation. When I asked how long they are kept there, she said it depends. "Some are sent to other breeding