Inside Thailand’s peaceful mangrove forests that are being restored by locals

And… breathe. It could be the purified air or the rhythmic soft splish and thunk of oars slicing through the water and landing gently in their cups. Or, possibly, it’s the forest’s innate power. But as our Pok Chun boat weaves through the mangroves surrounding the tiny, Muslim community of Tung Yee Peng, a hypnotic calm descends. Our forest tour has barely started, but I’m already so relaxed that it’s freaky.

Hugging the shoreline, we slip down an ever-widening klong (canal), with the immense mangroves – their waxy verdant foliage gilded in sunlight – leaning out over our heads in search of space. The lowering tide means we’re at eye level with the forest’s root system: a twisted maze sculpted by tides and time, akin to a vast eyrie fashioned from gnarled, skeletal fingers.

Mangrove forests are nature’s ultimate multitaskers. They defend coastlines from tsunamis, provide nursery habitats for countless aquatic species, and sequester up to four times more carbon per acre than mature tropical rainforests. They’re crucial for the planet’s health but disappearing at an astonishing rate. Over the past 60 years, up to 35 per cent of the world’s mangroves have been lost or severely damaged, mainly due to human encroachment.

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Read more: Inside the tiny Thai island working hard to protect the sea life that put it on the map

But now Thailand is flipping the script. Between 1961 and 1996, the country lost over 494,000 acres of mangroves—more than half its forests. More recently, though, stricter conservation laws and mangrove restoration efforts have helped reduce that loss by half.

The Pok Chun is a nautical embodiment of this turnaround. These ancient paddle boats were once commonly used to transport mangrove logs to a charcoal factory’s kilns. But in 1989, the harvesting of natural forests was banned, the factory closed, and the Pok Chun disappeared.

But now these destruction-enablers are back, only this time, they’re part of the 775-acre forest’s revival. That I’m now aboard one, gliding down a murky, matcha-green klong, is mainly due to my guide, Narathon Hongthong. An ex-lumberjack, Narathon has been president of Tung Yee Peng’s award-winning…