The boat was standing still, our speed at full throttle and full sails was 10 knots and it just wasn’t enough to push forward against the current.  The captain fought it for a few minutes before smiling and conceding that we would not be making it to our intended dive spot today.  Our boat was a 30 year old Bouganise (sp?) pirate ship modified slightly from its original purpose now to be hauling people.  For the last 3 days our boat had been making its way east cruising at a slow but persistent clip. 

Night and day we moved along, blessed with calm waters, toward the Flores Sea and the islands of Komodo National Park.  The trip had been broken up a bit with some morning dives and a swim in a lake cupped by a volcano poking up out of the sea.

 I started to get a sense of the scale, the distance, and the remoteness of Indonesia’s far flung islands as the captain pointed out our location on the remains of a beat-up old map.   We had been moving east day and night for 3 days now and the distance covered on the map was shockingly small, less than the length of my little finger.  The span of the entire map was more than the width of my outstretched arms. I was beginning to grasp the scope of Indonesia’s sprawling sweep across the ocean.   The archipelago stretched more than 5,000km, a distance wider than the United States.  At last official count there were some 17,500 islands in this span and the threat of new ones erupting out of the ocean was always a very real possibility.

It was mid afternoon now and we had turned south from our easterly course to sail in to the Islands of Komodo National Park.  Our captain had been preparing us each day leading up to our arrival that the waters of Komodo were “funny waters, many tricks”. Soon there was a new sound completing with the drone of the engine and the hiss of the breeze, it was a coming from the sides of the boat near the waterline.  All 7 passengers awoke from their hammocks, or put down their books and scrambled to the sides of the boat to see what was causing this noise. The sound was not unlike a stream rushing down a mountainside across rocks and boulders, but it couldn’t be, not here in the middle of the ocean.  Peering over the sides of the boat all on board watched the water surface as it churned around us doing many things at once.   To one side was an up well producing a glassy surface of cold water forced up from the deep below, behind a few small standing waves tearing around chaotically as the currents and breeze fought each other.

To our port side was a swirling whirlpool beginning to collect the leaves, logs, and debris of the water’s surface.  It was here that we had come to stand still, or forward progress halted despite the work of the engine and sails.

 After giving us a few moments to marvel at the ocean’s surface the captain gave a smile and turned us to a 45 degree angle out of the current.  The ocean saw fit to jerk the bow around a full 180 degrees as effortlessly as a finger might force the hands of a clock.   We picked up speed quickly as the current now came from the stern and added to our speed.   Cruising along we reached the lea side of a nearby island, only to find the current there having its way with us again.  One moment we would be in a slack ebb, free to make forward progress, the next minute we would hit a whirlpool which would yank the boat around 45 degrees in a split second.  We watched form our deck perch, scanning the surface of the blue expanse before us.  All around us the sea was throwing a fit under the surface and our captain had been teaching us, through a mixture of Indonesian and sign language, how to read it.  Up wells, down currents, cross cuts, rip currents, standing waves, whirpools, it was a montage of different motions on the dark water’s surface.  The scene made slightly menacing in contrast to the beautiful bright sunny day above.  The Flores Sea in the Komodo region specifically was known for its unpredictable and fierce currents. Swimmers, divers, and small boats be warned, one could easily find themselves being pushed swiftly to Australia, 3 weeks south across a no man’s land of ocean and creatures. 

The Flores Sea was exerting its force that day as masses of water forced its way between islands, over and around submarine peaks, warm water surging up and cold water surging down.  Vortexes were forming below the surface, much the way a tornado might in the air I imagined.  Our boat bobbed along occasionally getting a side swipe, or making a loud smack as the bow hit the water coming down a wave, everyone stood on deck holding tight for balance but watching the turbulence all around.  A boat our size was in no immediate danger from these forces, and our confidence in the captain had us all peering over the edge, but maintaining a rather a tense grip on something.  No one wanted to experience this spectacle from in the water.

 I couldn’t help think how different this whole scene would be if it wasn’t such a beautiful dry afternoon.  What if the atmosphere and the ocean had decided to battle it out this day?  A tropical storm in this region would be truly something fierce I was certain. I quietly admitted to myself that it probably was best that I had not chartered my own boat to sail amidst these Islands.  The quiet, ever smiling crew made no great show of their skill, feeling no need to boast of the crucial experience that had been acquired during their life at sea in Indonesia.  I was humbled; knowing my own limited experience sailing around the calm waters of Southern California was about the equivalent of a Disney ride compared to what these guys had been through in their lives.  I stared off to the south now scanning the waters in front of Komodo Island which was growing larger out of the water as we approached.  I was lost in awe of the ocean, but I reminded myself to bring a cold beer to the captain when we anchored.

This was our arrival, our entre to the dragon inhabited islands of Komodo.  In the next days we would go ashore and walk among these scavenging beasts.  Somehow it seemed only fittings that the waters surrounding these reptile kings would be full of turmoil and mysterious forces, daring the foolhardy and inexperienced to reach them.
.
.

See my full photo galleries of Indonesia

Indonesia – Snapshots

Indonesia Gallery – Pete Niesen Photography