By Any Means: His Brand New Adventure From Wicklow to Wollongong (39 page)

‘That sounds comforting,’ I said.

Russ didn’t reply because at that moment we hit a big wave and he took most of it full in the face.

The argument seemed to die away quickly enough and Andy returned to his seat, the same relatively unflustered look on his face. We sped across the open sea again for a while but then the propeller snagged for a second time. Fucking hell, I thought - here we go again. It was the left-hand engine this time and the mechanic had to hang over the back with a torch while Andy put the thing into reverse. In open water, in the dark, on a boat with no lights, in shark-infested seas. By any means, Charley, I told myself; by any bloody means.

We got going again and kept the speed down this time. Andy picked out the glow of a lighthouse and knew immediately where we were. Keeping the lighthouse on our left we motored on until finally we saw more lights dotted along what must be the shore ahead. Andy brought the boat round in a circle, explaining that we had to come in from the north to make sure we avoided a line of rocks that would tear the bottom out.

There was no marina, no jetty; he just drove the big boat onto the beach and we jumped out. Land at last. It had been fun but with the engine dying it had played havoc with the old nerves and we still had another eight days at sea to come.

There are no cars on the Gili Islands. Walking up the beach with our gear we found a horse and cart taxi.

‘It’s like a
songthaew
, only without an engine,’ Russ said.

‘At least we got here,’ I told him. ‘From Bali to Gili by two hundred and one horsepower.’

The narrow, dusty street where our hotel was situated was heaving all night long, so we decided to have a night out on the tiles. There was music everywhere and tourists were flocking in from the other islands. I was still up with the dawn, mind you, taking a swim in the sea while many revellers were drunkenly making their way back to their hotels.

Considering the amount of Jack Daniel’s and coke Russ put away he was in surprisingly good form, as was Mungo. We wandered the length of the narrow road looking for a horse and cart to take us to where we were supposed to meet the speedboat. Without cars, and with most of the tourists now in bed, there was a real peacefulness to the place. The bars looked very different in the daytime with their open-air tables and thatched shelters; the sea dotted with dive boats and the ragged outline of islands across the bay.

We’d arranged to meet Andy at eight, but having trawled up and down the road in the back of a horse cart, there was still no sign of him. He finally appeared at nine o’clock, by which time the three of us were flapping around like parrots. Andy was very apologetic; he’d had to go miles to get fuel and it wasn’t just a case of pulling up at a petrol station. He had to fill jerricans and find someone on a moped to ferry them.

We sailed east for nine hours to reach Bima, and I loved every minute of it. The humidity that had made Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia so tough had dissipated, leaving a much drier heat, far easier to deal with. As we travelled further east the scenery began to change. The islands became more arid and barren, with fewer trees and hardly any jungle.

We crossed the water without incident, Andy and the mechanic doing a fantastic job. The sea finally settled into a breezy but gentle chop; the engines kept going and we didn’t hit anything. We passed fishing boats and dive boats, and one old guy paddling a surfboard with a pair of oversized flip-flops. Skirting the southern lip of the Flores Sea, we skimmed across bay after bay, passing golden beaches, and others made of black volcanic rock or pure coral.

It was working out, I thought, smiling to myself. This was the most awkward part of the expedition in terms of locating transport, and it was actually working out. Nine hours after we’d set off we rolled into the harbour at Bima, knackered and hot and covered in dried salt from the constant spray. From here we hoped to catch the
phinisi
. There were one or two in the harbour - one particularly spectacular one with a white hull and dark wooden wheelhouse. It was the
Bidadari
, our boat, and it looked absolutely fabulous. Andy took us alongside where a tall, blond-haired American was leaning on the rail.

‘Are you expecting us?’ I yelled.

‘I think so,’ he grinned. ‘I’m Nick, by the way.’

It was a superb-looking boat, completely refurbished, with twin masts, and a dining room, salon and cabins below. Nick showed us the ‘speedies’, as he called them: a couple of dive boats upturned in the bows. Above was a sun deck where one of the crew was facing Mecca in prayer. After an open speedboat all the way from Bali, this was pretty luxurious.

I spotted another
phinisi
across the bay: an old, skeletal wreck resting on a sandbar. You could really see the shape though, the castle-like quarters at the stern and the upturned prow. Even old and falling apart there was a kind of elegance about it. Boats in that condition are often taken to Bali and refurbished. For about £250,000 you can buy one pretty much to your own spec. Made completely of wood, they’re ultra-seaworthy and fitted with diesel engines so you can take them wherever you want.

It was now Tuesday night, and we needed to reach Flores to catch the two p.m. ferry on Thursday. We were planning to steam out to Komodo this evening and see if we could see the dragons tomorrow. The idea was that Andy would stay on Bima tonight and bring the speedboat to Komodo or Rinca the next day to meet us. Then he’d take us on to Flores, though, given his trouble this morning, he was a little concerned about refuelling and he was looking less than sure about the whole situation - he didn’t know Bima very well. Even if he refilled the jerricans tomorrow, he would use most of it reaching Komodo, and wasn’t sure where he’d get any more.

‘Hang on a minute,’ Russ said. ‘Is there any way this boat can tow the speedboat?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Nick said, slapping at a stray mosquito, ‘but you’ll have to ask the captain.’

Once we had the captain’s agreement, the crew attached the speedboat to a tyre, then fastened two ropes from that to the stern. And with that we were under way; next stop the Komodo dragons.

25

Dragon’s Breath

Komodo was stunning: golden white sands set in a turquoise sea, and 2 July was another glorious morning. We’d been steaming along at a gentle six knots and I’d slept very well. I doubted the same could be said for Andy and the poor mechanic, mind you, who must have been slapped around in the speedboat towed along behind. They were such good guys and they’d worked so hard. On deck at six-thirty I’d given them an encouraging wave but they just grinned impassively, smoking cigarettes. We had decided it would be easier on them if we went back to Bima to get the ferry instead of trying to get to Flores. At full chat we could do it in a couple of hours and when they dropped us off they’d be that bit closer to home.

We headed to Rinca, a little way south from Komodo. The island is part of a World Heritage Site and the local people have learned how to coexist with the huge lizards. The dragons mainly eat carrion, but can hunt if they need to. Their main prey is buffalo. Their bite causes an infection, so when they attack their prey they usually have to follow it around for a couple of days afterwards until the toxins take. The dragon’s saliva contains up to sixty different types of bacteria. With swift medical care an adult human might survive, but not a child, so the locals have to be careful. Only last year a young boy had died from septicaemia.

Tying up to a wooden jetty we were greeted by signs forbidding camp fires and guns. As we climbed the path that circled the base of a rocky slope I realised this was another of those stop-and-pinch-yourself moments. Komodo dragons - incredible. I felt like David Attenborough.

‘Actually, I think he might be coming out here,’ Nick said. ‘Someone from the BBC is coming anyway.’ He pointed across the rocks to where half a dozen macaque monkeys were watching us. ‘Those little guys use their tails to fish for crabs, apparently.’

‘They do what?’ I stared at them, amazed.

‘They dangle their tails in the water to attract crabs. The crab grabs the tail with its pincers then the monkey whips it out of the water and eats it.’

‘With melted butter and a glass of Sancerre, I hope?’ I was laughing. ‘How did they work out how to do that?’

‘I have no idea, but it’s the only place in the world where macaques do it and the BBC is going to try and catch it on film.’

Close to the village we saw a couple of baby dragons soaking up the sun. They were about two or three feet long and grey coloured with massive heads and long curling claws. When they’re young they can climb trees, but as they get older they use their claws for fighting and tearing the flesh of their prey.

It was incredibly hot and the landscape had a stark beauty that felt somehow prehistoric. We walked along a dry river bed littered with fallen leaves and exposed roots curled like snakes at the bases of ancient trees. There was a silence here that smacked of predators.

We crossed short stretches of swamp, the jungle rank with rancid water and the smell of dragon shit. Gradually the trees thinned out and we climbed a hill to discover another world, a high, barren plateau, the only vegetation a handful of palm trees.

We saw plenty of macaques and the odd buffalo but no sign of any adult dragons. Apparently July and August was mating season and most of them were probably off in the bush somewhere trying to get it on. Probably best not to interrupt that, come to think of it. We came across some old nests, though; great holes scraped in the ground where the female would lay up to thirty eggs that took nine months to hatch.

Nothing hunts these creatures - they’re top of the food chain. It’s amazing to think no westerner knew they were here until 1910. It’s easy to see how the beasts got their name, though: the adults are colossal. The largest wild one ever seen was over ten feet long and weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. Their tail is as long as their body and they use it to balance on their hind legs. They are also incredibly powerful, with over sixty serrated teeth. I tried to imagine coming across one in the wild, back when no one knew they existed. With their forked tongue, scaly skin and massive claws, it’s no wonder they were referred to as dragons.

We walked for a couple of kilometres but still couldn’t find any adults so we went back to the village. Lo and behold there was a big male lying between the cafe and the toilet block. Completely unconcerned by us, he got to his feet, flicked his tongue and took off with an ambling overarm gait. They are truly awesome creatures - they can live for fifty years and run at twenty miles an hour if they need to. They can also leap about fifteen feet, so getting close really isn’t a good idea.

It was a strange sensation, being around them - almost like travelling back in time. I thought that if I lived here I’d feel perpetually hunted. The villagers build their homes on stilts and at night the ladders are pulled up.

After our walk round the island Russ and I set off for a dive in the RIB. Poor Mungo couldn’t join us. He was capable enough, but ten years ago he’d suffered a spontaneous pneumothorax and couldn’t take the risk. Pneumothorax was one technical term etched for ever into the ‘Charley Book of Everything’ - it means a collapsed lung. It had happened to Olly just as Ewan and I were about to leave on Long Way Down. I felt for Mungo, this was one of those places you just have to dive, and the last bit of R&R before the long haul to Darwin.

We’d just witnessed something of a prehistoric world and now we were in another world again. Descending about fifteen metres, I gazed the length of a reef that seemed to go on and on - a forest of weaving, waving colours like hundreds of heads of hair billowing in a breeze. I’d never dived anywhere like this: perfect visibility, perfect conditions. I glimpsed puffer fish, sea turtles and moray eels, and angel fish that at first glance seemed to be part of the coral. Great shoals swam up to investigate - fantastic.

Russ paused to check his air and somehow managed to let go of the camera. It was wrapped in a partially inflated airbag and instead of sinking it rose all the way to the surface. He didn’t realise at first and spent some time looking for it among the coral, hoping that it hadn’t gone to the bottom. It was only when he glanced up that he could see it floating close to the boat. All at once a hand reached out from above and grabbed it.

‘There’s a crack in it,’ he told me as we climbed aboard once again. ‘Moisture in the lens. It’s a real shame, I doubt we’ll get anything from it.’

‘Regular Jacques Cousteau, aren’t you, mate,’ I said. ‘Never mind.’

Back on the
phinisi
we grabbed something to eat and thanked Nick and the crew before returning to the speedboat for a mad dash back to Bima, where we hoped to catch the ferry and hook up with Anne, who was already on board.

We passed the ferry just as it was approaching the dock. Back on land we joined the massive crowd waiting behind a pair of iron gates. There were so many people; it was as if all of Bima had descended - not only passengers carrying cases and boxes, bags and bundles, but curious onlookers. There were kids selling cans of a cold drink called Pocari Sweat, women kneeling on rugs offering everything from red beans to marrows and cucumbers. It was chaos: the only thing I’d experienced that was even vaguely similar had been in Aswan with Ewan, waiting for the ferry to take us the length of Lake Nasser. Everyone was crowding around us asking what we were doing and where we were going; there were so many people that for the first time we were a little concerned about our gear. Finally the blue gates opened and we were pushed and jostled, people elbowing and shoving, almost bundling us over as the entire throng swarmed for the gangplank. It would have been easy to feel a bit panicked or threatened even, but I just told myself to roll with it. The arrival of the boat was clearly a big deal on Bima.