Springtime Balance

Written at Misool Eco-Resort, Southern Raja Ampat, West Papua, Indonesia

DK rolls around madly while the southeasterly lumpy swell enters full-force into our tight current swept channel we are residing in next to the dive resort. The wet gray cumulus clouds hang low and the rain falls intermittently fluctuating between a light pitter-patter and downright squally dumps. It was like this all night. We didn't sleep much.

It sure feels like spring here in Raja Ampat. But wait, we are south of the equator again now, only at 2 degrees south, but still south. That means it's autumn. The SW monsoon is starting in Indonesia bringing squally wet conditions to this area and strong consistent SE trade winds more south where we are soon headed. We don't mind the rain, but what does suck is having to close all the hatches and portholes on the boat so that we bob around in our sticky humid sweatbox of a cabin. Without some good airflow we can really feel the dense moisture-filled air we reside in. But with all the rain, our water tanks are sure happy.

On these days it's difficult to appreciate our world. Living in the present is absolutely my most difficult piece to learn in this life. There is no doubt about it. I am one of those people that wants to be everywhere at once, always itching for that greener pasture on the horizon, almost never content with what is. Maybe that's a good thing sometimes to keep my mind awake and to keep me always striving for new challenges. But it sure is tricky sometimes when we are living a very fortunate life on a journey that most people will only dream about. Don't get me wrong. I am very appreciative of my life, of where we are at, of being together with Nicole, of choosing this path. But this time of year is one of my most difficult because it's spring/early summer back in the western U.S. and this has always been my time for mountain and desert adventures. Man, this year I sure do miss Yosemite. I miss the connection with my climbing bro, Billy, and our dirt-bagging weeks we would spend getting spanked on the granite walls of the valley. I miss the rawness, the gripping fear of potentially taking a huge fall halfway up El Cap, the relief and wonder at the end of the day sitting on our porta-ledge scraping cold beans into our mouths with freshly torn-up hands. I miss the deep fresh green of a wet El Cap meadows and the mighty Merced River cleansing the forest and bringing the freezing cold alpine water down from the snow-packed high country.

Or cragging in Joshua Tree with a group of compadres. Living simply in Hidden Valley campground, telling stories around the campfire while the coyotes howl in the nearby rocky outcrops. The wildflowers are popping and the cool nights are perfect for sleeping soundly under the stars. Sinking my digits into the jagged cracks of Illusion Dweller or having an all day Wonderland adventure out at the Big Horn Sheep Mating Grotto. And, of course, wrapping up the day with some cold Mexican cervezas at the monkey-like Gunsmoke Traverse until your trashed fingers just can't take the sharp monzonite anymore. Oh, J.Tree...what a special place.

It's springtime and just so hard for me to resist California mountain and desert dreaming...

And, lastly, I miss our people. Our little tribe of friends we connect with, sharing adventures, laughs, and stories. Springtime has always been about creating some form of active outing with a close friend or a whole group of rascals---coming out of the contemplative wintertime and rejuvenating our spirits with some form of outdoor camping gathering. Yes, all of you out there are missed. You know who you are.

But this year we find ourselves in southern Raja Ampat, a true gem of a spot as well. Since leaving Sorong harbor and our whirlwind checkout and reprovision process, we took almost a week to make it to this special little eco-resort/conservation center. It seems we left the slicks of trash behind in the northern Raja Ampat islands thankfully, and island hopping down in this area has only brought more gorgeous limestone rocks, dry, yet seemingly jungly landscapes, and more green nutrient-rich water filled with the most beautiful soft corals, huge schools of reef fish and fusiliers, and some very special little underwater critters we have seen no where else.

The parrots, cockatoos, and sea eagles still fly over our mast and have been joined by the occasional hornbill and kingfisher. This area is a special place and it is no wonder why Andrew and Marit, the managers of this little dive eco-resort, have chosen to set-up shop here and help protect this area from all the illegal fishing that threatens to gobble all the amazing underwater world here up. The resort has an agreement with the village who owns these islands and water around them, to build and run this small resort for so many years, as well as to protect the area from the stealthy long-liners that show up at night in the nearby waters. The resort employs over 40 staff, almost all who come from the villages that own this area, so it truly is a very win/win situation for all. For the local people, for the lucky tourists who get to spend time here, for the managers who get to reside and work here, and for the wildlife and fish that now have a chance.

We, of course, feel lucky that we have chosen and have been allowed to hang here for a while, tying up DK on their mooring and allowing us free run of the place in and out of the water. We have slowed down again, spending time underwater blowing bubbles with the critters, chatting and eating delicious Thai food with Marit and her staff, swimming laps over the shallow coral reefs, taking photos, writing, and putting some new coats of varnish on the cockpit teak. We aren't in much of a hurry right now, so it has been nice to just "be" here for a while.

So we find ourselves in the tropics for another spring, I mean autumn, and the balancing act continues...continuing the work of being awake in our present surroundings, yet still appreciating those special places and people back home that we love and miss dearly as well.

We Got Lucky

We got lucky. We made it in and out of Sorong in 24 hours. We have never succeeded in fueling, checking in and out of a city, hung out with new friends and reprovisioned in one day. Like I said, we got lucky.

Passing rusty dilapidated wrecks, Philippine fishing fleets with outstretched arms, and local dugouts equipped with the familiar "putt putt putt" of a very powerful lawnmower engine we motored into Sorong's outer harbor following our friends' waypoint to the "fuel barge" on Sunday. We passed a village with over a hundred people lining the beach and searched for the rusty black wreck across from the fuel barge that was supposed to be our marker.

A man lingered in the doorway of a very new white vessel with what looked like barrels on deck, so we did a drive by. "Bagi. Solar?" I enquired hopefully. "Solar," (diesel), the man pointed across the shore. We motored to what we thought was the fuel barge. "Solar, hari ini?" Today, I asked hopefully. "Ya, Ya," came the response as more and more young men poured out of the barge onto the deck. The sky over Sorong city darkened as cumulus clouds began to ascend higher and higher yet somehow they never reached the scorching sun above us. Boom, Boom, the thunder roared. Still we were cooking.

Our friends had gone through this routine a couple of weeks ago and warned us it would be a really messy fuel because of their high-pressure hose. But it was cheap at 6000 rupies a liter equaling about $2.40 US a gallon and we needed to top up. So after using our rudimentary Bahasa and consulting with one of the young guys working at the barge we negotiated the price of 6000 rupies a liter, communicated we wanted 270 liters (giving us 5 extra gallons of space for overflow with the high pressure hose), found a small hose fitting to work with our deck fill, got to inspect the amber clean looking diesel and then, finally, fuel. The guys were thoughtful, making sure Gar knew the meter was at zero when they started and they did an excellent job making the connection between huge fuel hose and our tiny one. Within 20 minutes, after 15 guys participated or watched the process, we were fueled without spilling a drop, had photos taken of us by them and the other way around and paid with a receipt to prove it.

Next on the list was where to berth for the night. We called our new friends, Dave and Din on Shakti, a live-aboard boat, hopeful they were in town and wouldn't mind moving, or on a charter and their mooring was free. Again we got lucky. Dave's crew moved Shakti to a steel mooring and we took her oversized plastic one. Visiting Shakti later that afternoon we learned we might have fueled from an illegal fuel barge owned by an illegal logger. Well, there was a police boat side tied to it. I guess that doesn't mean much. OOPS. Even when we try to be conscious maybe we aren't. The extra bonus was that we could hang out with our new friends and also a friend I originally met in Palau years ago who now lives in the Bay.

Monday morning started at dark thirty when we woke with the sickeningly sweet putrid smell of fish mixed with oil flowing past our hull and the loud "putt putt putt" of local boats motoring close by. We rocked in their wakes and dressed for the officials. Gar and I were wearing long pants, shoes and button down shirts for the second time in less than three weeks. This time we got smarter though. We motored super dingy directly in front of the harbormaster's office, swirling past plastic, fish, and coconuts and side tied to an old engineless boat. I wished Gar luck while I sat in the sun guarding the dingy and watching kids playing in the water while waiting for his return.

During the hour I waited for Gar the local kids entertained me. Shanti was the bravest. After about twenty minutes of me smiling and all of them staring at me directly or out of the corner of their eyes she finally approached, sticking her wet belly out and shaking her curly hair so I could see the water clinging to her Papuan curls. "Good morning my friend," she blurted out in English and readied to return to her 6 friends watching from a safe distance. "Good morning my friend", I replied. "What is your name?" "Shanti," she said through sparkling white teeth. And then, just like that, we were friends. She sat next to me or did jumps off the pier always looking back for a thumbs up. The boys got braver and started sidling up beside me and we talked about the tiny dried shrimp that sat beside us getting smaller and smaller in the baking sun. Well, we didn't talk really. They talked in Bahasa Indonesian and I talked in English. It worked though and before long Gar returned.

I knew we were good when Gar strode down the dock smiling with a big thumbs up. He narrowly escaped the all day run around to Immigration, Customs, and Quarantine and to play host to the harbormaster on the boat. This was the third harbormaster he had met in Sorong and he wanted to send Gar to do more paperwork and to see DreamKeeper. Luck was still with us as Gar managed to smile a lot, make jokes, sit relaxed in his office and tell him he was welcome to the boat but it was all the way down the harbor. Instead, the harbormaster signed and stamped our exit papers and were clear to leave without more officialdom.

Only two more things on our list: Fill the gas jerry jug for super dingy and provision. We were doing great, it was only 10:30am. Gar sauntered down the pier to the petrol station and returned within minutes. We said goodbye to my new friends after they helped us untie Super Dingy and we were off to find a pier closer to Saga, the supermarket and DK to drop me off on.

Cruising past large fishing boats packed together like sardines, put put boats, and large ferries we found a dock peeking out of it all that had a ladder leading up from the sea. I hoped I could find Saga and return to the same pier with all of the groceries. You see there is nowhere to safely leave the dingy so I was alone on this mission and my sense of direction isn't my strong point. Walking through thirty men lingering on the dirt side road saying "Bagi," morning to all I almost made it out without conversation until a man stopped me and smiled. We shared morning pleasantries and then I asked him where Saga was, hopeful I might be able to walk. Left right right he motioned with his hand. And I was off.

Navigating over pot holes and bamboo poles, passing a motorcycle shop, beauty salon and shops selling everything made of plastic I was distracted, waving to kids in uniform, who shouted, "good morning mister" or "good morning misses" from across lanes of traffic smiling and waving frantically. At last I made it to the salmon pink building that was home to Saga. Shopping was uneventful except they didn't have eggs. Well chicken eggs. They had spotted brown and beige quail eggs and some pinkish eggs and some big blue eggs but no chicken eggs.

By noon I was calling Gar from the back of my taxi on the VHF. He heard me and asked if I was on the same pier. I don't know who was more surprised that I was, Gar or me. The backup plan was that he would just cruise the waterfront looking at all of the piers. No need. So after getting severely ripped off from the cab, two dollars, with help to lug all 12 bags of groceries out of his van we debated returning to town for eggs.

We decided leaving Sorong was much higher on our list. We b-lined it back to Dreamkeeper and a little after noon we were free from our mooring and headed out the channel with the tide. Goodbye Sorong.

Another First

Written at Pulau Wagmag, Southern Raja Ampat, Indonesia

It was another first. In the last 2 1/2 years cruising on DK we have had a full cornucopia of adventures. But every so often something brand new and randomly exciting happens. Today was one of those days.

But first a little background...Anchored at the northern Raja Ampat island of Wayag, almost everyday was about exploration. The island massif and surrounding mushroom-shaped rocks surfacing from the sea are equally dramatic and beautiful. Sandy beaches line the shores of the reef-encircled small bays and lagoons and the channels are alive with thick nutrient-rich currents that support the tremendous amount of life that exists here. This small area in West Papua, Indonesia, is considered to have the greatest coral reef biodiversity of its size in the world. Even though the secret is out and more and more tourists venture here, mostly on live-aboard dive boats, the reality is that Raja Ampat is still seldom visited and only a select few actually spend the money and time to journey to these islands.

There has been a rather sad downside to this gem of a region. Even though we have been at least 40-120 miles away from any significantly sized city, like Sorong, we have seen more trash in the water and on every beach we have visited than anywhere we been in the Pacific Ocean. Slicks of plastic, foam, steel balls, flip-flops, and all sizes of wood and bamboo are pushed and pulled by the strong currents. Every beach we have walked on is practically covered with rubbish and when we do put our fishing lures out in the open water trying our luck for Spanish mackerel or tuna, we mostly just catch plastic. It's been a full time job just pulling in our lures to remove the pieces of trash we hook, not to mention keeping a sharp lookout that DK doesn't ram into a huge log or scary steel whatever. Some locals say the trash is from the live-aboard dive boats and others have told us they think it is the huge fishing or container ships that are heading to Sorong but don't want to pay to have their trash brought on shore, so these boats just dump it before getting close to the harbor. This is all possible; we really don't know where it comes from or why it is so bad. The happy side to this reality is that it sounds like most of the time there hasn't been this problem with trash, but, unfortunately, while we were visiting trash everywhere was our reality.

Back to the present...Nicole and I took off in Super Dinghy for an around the islands exploration tour in an attempt to find a "shady" beach. Did I mention it is really really hot here at the equator? Zigging and zagging through the coral-studded channels of the inner lagoons we soon found ourselves on the outer reef skimming along the top of a shallow hard coral reef. "There's another turtle," I pointed out, one of probably half a dozen we had already seen that day. But as we got closer we could tell something wasn't right. The turtle was clearly struggling and kept surfacing in the same spot. We slowly approached and could finally see the problem. The turtle was trapped in an old fishing net with it bound tightly around 3 of the turtle's flippers and completely around it's neck. Our hearts dropped. This is what you read about; the thousands of old fishing nets and plastic 6-pack rings that float around aimlessly in the oceans entangling anything that gets in their way. But this situation was our first time actually observing this sad reality.

But now wasn't the time to be sad and introspective. It was time to act. 'Bummer', Nic and I thought. No knife. No mask. And we were miles away from DreamKeeper. I looked at the turtle coming up for air and immediately attempting to dive and swim away unsuccessfully. It was scared and it was really stuck. Then I remembered we "did" have a knife with us. A fishing knife I left yesterday under the dingy seat when I was out hunting for lobster. We almost never keep a knife in the dingy, well we didn't, but we all know now that will change.

I jumped in with the knife and struggled to hold onto the turtle. It was a green sea turtle, fairly large and heavy, possibly 2 1/2 feet in diameter and weighing at least 300 pounds or more. It didn't want anything to do with me. It struggled and kept diving down while I attempted to find some purchase with my bare-feet on the hard coral that I could just barely touch beneath me. I finally got a good hold on the turtle's shell and managed to cut a few pieces of the net off. Then the turtle slipped away again and down it went. My fear was that I would cut only part of the net away and the turtle would take off with some of it still wrapped tightly around it's flippers or neck only t0 be killed by it at a later date.

Nicole was circling in the dingy yelling for me to be careful and not to hurt the turtle or let it get away. She was clearly rattled and was just trying to voice her concerns, but for me, as she well knows, it was better to just tune her out and focus on the situation.

Finally I managed to pull the turtle close to me again and this time I held on tightly to it's shell while doing my best not to drag my "white-man" bare-feet all over the sharp coral my toes were clinging too. Thankfully the turtle was tiring and I was committed this time. I carefully slipped the blade between skin and net and slowly freed each limb. I was nervous about the neck, but as I worked the turtle seemed to relax a bit and eventually I cut the last of its bonds. I released my firm grip and the turtle finned fiercely, dove deep, and was gone. It all happened in only a few minutes.

I bobbed in the water and appreciated the moment.

The trash we had been seeing finally had a more real connection. Of course the net probably wasn't just thrown overboard by a live-aboard dive boat or container ship coming into Sorong, but it was "trash". An old fishing net lost at sea wrapping up everything in its path until it becomes caught on a coral reef, beach, or boat prop. In this case it snagged a turtle.

For whatever reason we came upon this situation, it was a first for us, and thankfully, had a happy ending.

The Four Kings

Written and sent from Uranie Island, North Raja Ampat, Indonesia

Raja Ampat was always one of those mythical places we had only heard reverent stories about. Fittingly, the name is the stuff of legend and means "four kings". It is now well known because of the tremendous species diversity that resides here both above and below the water. Raja Ampat's reefs have been referred to as "a species factory."

Even the rocks are alive in northern Raja Ampat. Jagged sharp limestone islands are undercut by the consistent presence of the sea all around them. Trees cling to whatever soil and rock their roots can find on the seemingly inhospitable earth. As the swell gently rolls in, the rocks breathe, gurgling loudly with the intake of water and hiss violently as it is caught in air pockets and pushed back out.

Under the islands' lips hundreds of fish gather in the nutrient filled water. Currents meet here, bringing with them vast amounts of nutrients. This is why there are hundreds of sweetlips big enough to be on steroids staring at use with pursed lips, while schools of bumphead parrotfish move as an organized unit, gorging on the abundance of coral. Juvenile turtles and sharks patrol the reefs and butterfly fish the size of salad plates lazily meander by.

It because of these currents and this life we chose to visit Kri Island and eco-resort to dive. We motored 40 miles north of Sorong past fishing boats with long arms, through pods of leaping spinner dolphins, maneuvering through boiling currents and whirlpool eddies to arrive in the early afternoon with a current pumping against us at 2.6 knots. We passed back and forth in front of the resort searching for a shallow spot. Yet, we were told to anchor in 35-45 meters (110-135 feet) 250 meters off the resort, really deep for us. We debated trying it or abandoning our diving plans for Kri. We searched for anything shallower and found nothing.

So we committed and dropped all 280 feet of our chain attached our 300 foot piece of mega braid line and let 100 feet of that out and waited. The current was racing past DK's hull and I stared wide-eyed finger on the line hoping she would hold while Gar backed down on her hard. We'd never anchored this deep before or in current this strong. She held. The anchor jumped a few times against the bottom and then stuck, the line quaked as the sea rushed by if it was mirroring my own nervousness.

We stayed and swung for four days back and forth on our anchor in front of the channel leading to the resort where we were welcome to make our new home. Diving three times a day and eating scrumptious meals in between at Kri eco-resort we returned to DK only after dinner and the tide would allow us to escape from the channel we parked super dingy in. Did I mention how lucky we are.

If you look carefully through the nutrient rich water there are wonderfully beautiful and startlingly ugly creatures that make Raja Ampat home. Nudibranchs of every size, color, and pattern imaginable can be found on sand flats, in the arms of branching Acropora coral, and under the edges of rocks. I saw a baby pink scorpion fish the size of my thumb and we have seen three species of pygmy sea horses, stealthily camouflaged in sea fans. Mantas appear literally out of the blue like phantom angels. Walls are plastered with corals, tunicates, sponges, fans, and sea whips with colors and patterns so wild they would make Dr Seuss grin.

Leaving Kri we headed north back across the equator and to the islands that first called to us up in Wayag. The surface of the water glows in an otherworldly aqua green and quickly changes to midnight blue as we search for anchorages beside the deep craggy islands. A sea eagle has just stretched her white wings and landed in a snag above us while red parrots pass by squack squaking until they find a good spot to roost. Small birds tweet tweet tweet in the mornings and evenings and something whack whak whaks early in twilight of morning.

We spend our days getting up early to sand and varnish DK's weathered teak and try unsuccessfully to hide from the heat of midday. In the afternoons, at high tide we slip into the sea to search for whatever she is willing to reveal. Swimming through a sea of mirrors, schools of thousands of silver blue sardines and fusiliers we see blue spotted rays munching on critters hidden under the fine white sand. Spanish Mackerel, barracuda and giant trevally make elusive quick passes hinting at what lives deeper in the channels. After hours in this other world we return to Dream Keeper water logged.

At dusk the rain starts. It is not a normal rain as no none hits our deck but one that bubbles up from the sea. A constant gentle pitter patter of rain drops begins reliably at dusk and continues into the night even when the sky is cloudless and sparkling with the stars of the southern cross, Orion and the dipper. Fish really are everywhere in Raja Ampat; the rain comes from them feeding on the surface.

But all is not well with the Four Kings. While there is incredible species diversity here and it has been recognized by some big NGO's and the Indonesian government as a marine hotspot well worth protecting it is not immune to human impacts. Thick trails of trash ride in on the currents and a nickel mine is planned on one of the northern islands. Illegal logging threatens to choke the reefs and gas and oil prospectors visit the region searching for liquid gold. Let alone the pressures from local subsistence fisherman cyanide and blasting the reef and international fishing fleets that threaten to leave this kingdom destroyed and empty.

With hope to be recognized as a World Heritage site and efforts being made to protect the 3,500 square miles of newly formed marine protected areas we hope the crown jewel can be defended and will remain sacred so that Raja Ampat will not only be remembered in myths.