19/03/2026
“Agarwood Hunting: Provision, Risk, and the Reality Behind Kalimantan’s Forests”
The tentative conclusion might sound bold: agarwood hunting in Kalimantan is not merely an economic activity—it is a meeting point between hope, risk, and something many still call “provision.”
The main event itself isn’t new. Since the early 2000s, forests across Kalimantan—particularly in Malinau, mentarang and Berau, Kutai, and the interiors of West Kalimantan—have become entry points for agarwood hunters. People like Rahman (not his real name), a former gold miner who changed paths, began entering the forest not to dig for minerals, but to search for something far less visible: dark resin hidden inside Aquilaria trees.
The chronology is quite revealing. At first, agarwood was just another forest product, traded locally without much attention. But as demand from the Middle East—especially markets in Dubai and Doha—increased, prices began to rise. Within a decade, agarwood transformed from an overlooked resource into what many now call “forest gold.” Middlemen appeared, supply chains formed, and suddenly, the forest was no longer just land—it became opportunity.
But what often goes unspoken is how uncertain the process really is. Unlike logging or palm oil cultivation, agarwood cannot be predicted. Not every tree produces resin. In fact, in many cases, dozens of trees must be cut just to find a small amount of valuable material.
Interestingly, this is where the narrative begins to shift. Agarwood hunters don’t just talk about technique—they talk about “feeling” and “luck.” Some claim they can sense which trees might contain resin. Others believe that finding agarwood is simply a matter of destiny.
The question is: is this truly skill—or are we witnessing how humans try to assign meaning to something fundamentally unpredictable?
It feels somewhat unusual when compared to other industries. In modern mining, for example, companies like Freeport rely on advanced geological technology to locate reserves with high precision. In agriculture, corporations such as Wilmar can forecast yields with reasonable accuracy. But in the world of agarwood, even experienced hunters often return empty-handed.
At this point, the comparison becomes telling. Two individuals enter the same forest, with similar tools and experience—yet their outcomes can be entirely different. One may discover high-grade agarwood worth a fortune, while the other finds nothing at all.
This phenomenon is partially supported by modern research. A study published in the Journal of Ethnopharmacology found that agarwood has anti-anxiety and relaxation effects, influencing the central nervous system. Another study in Evidence-Based Complementary and Alternative Medicine reported that agarwood aroma has mild sedative properties, helping improve sleep quality and mental calmness. Additionally, research in Molecules Journal identified active compounds in agarwood with potential anti-inflammatory and antioxidant effects.
So scientifically, there are reasons why agarwood is highly valued. But even that doesn’t fully explain why people are willing to risk so much to find it.
What’s interesting is that, from a microeconomic perspective, agarwood hunting resembles a classic “high-risk, high-reward” system. The initial capital is relatively low—basic tools and supplies for forest expeditions—but the potential return can be extraordinary. A single piece of high-quality agarwood can be worth tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Yet behind that potential lies significant risk. Stories of hunters getting lost, running out of supplies, or never returning from the forest are not uncommon. Add to that land disputes, unclear territorial boundaries, and even criminal risks along distribution routes.
So the next question becomes inevitable: is this system truly sustainable?
Compared to industries like timber or palm oil, which are increasingly regulated through certifications and sustainability frameworks, agarwood hunting still operates in a gray area. There are efforts to cultivate agarwood through inoculation techniques, but many in the market still consider wild agarwood to be the highest grade.
This is where things start to feel contradictory. On one hand, there is growing global awareness about forest conservation. On the other, demand for wild agarwood continues to rise.
Here, speculation begins to take shape. Perhaps the high value of agarwood is not only due to its natural rarity, but also the narrative built around it. The harder it is to obtain, the more valuable it becomes. The more stories circulate about unexpected fortune, the stronger its appeal grows.
And perhaps, without realizing it, that narrative becomes part of the business ecosystem itself.
If we step back, this pattern resembles other commodities that exist between reality and perception—gold, gemstones, even art. Their value is not determined solely by physical properties, but also by story, belief, and exclusivity.
But agarwood carries a unique paradox: it is born from the wound of a tree. Something highly valuable emerges from a process that is, at its core, a form of damage.
And perhaps that is where its deeper appeal lies.
For some, agarwood hunting is purely economic. For others, it is tradition. And for a few, it may be something more—an expression of belief that within the silence of the forest, there is “provision” waiting to be found.
Still, one question remains unresolved: are these hunters truly searching for agarwood… or for something beyond it?
And as long as that question lingers, the story of Kalimantan’s forests and agarwood seems far from finished.
