Indonesia is known as the “ring of fire” because it comprises thousands of islands in the most active volcanic area on the planet. This volcanic activity accounts for the extraordinary fertility of its soils which sustains the world fourth largest population in a comparatively compact area. Just off the western tip of Java is the volcano responsible for the two biggest bangs in recorded history, namely Krakatau. Nearby is the remote island reserve of Ujung Kulon, the last haunt of the Javan Rhino.
This reserve is on the extreme Western tip of Java and can only be reached by chartered vessel.
It is the last stronghold of the Javan Rhino and approximately sixty are thought to still lurk there. Banteng, rusa deer, wild boar and jungle fowl also feature. My chances of photographing the rare rhino in a one week visit were remote-a National Geographic team camped there for a year before being rewarded by a sighting. But I am an optimist and in September 1989 I visited the reserve accompanied by a boatman, cook and guide. The jungle stream that the rhino had once been sited from was low but still navigable. So the guides dutifully lugged a small canoe onto the quiescent waters and we embarked on our little cruise.
We encountered a monitor lizard
and some of the 250 species of birds found in the reserve. Until joined by a Dutch tour group we were the only visitors in the reserve.
The reserve is heavily wooded but its not the impenetrable rainforest often found in equatorial climes. The terrain is undulating and well established walking tracks make it easy to get around. The shores have some of the softest sand I have ever encountered. Until joined by a Dutch tour group we were the only visitors in the reserve. It really did feel like that mythical desert island of one’s childhood dreams. So although the photographic pickings were modest I was sorry to leave.
As usual I had timed my visit for the end of the dry season and on the day scheduled for our departure the winds were strong and the seas high. But our vessel was a sturdy speedboat with two outboard motors and was needed back at the base. But soon after setting off the high waves disabled one and then both engines. This greatly increased our instability in the choppy seas. I was lacing up my life jackets when the boatman calmly inquired whether I could swim. We were several miles from shore so the issue seemed academic. I was ruefully recalling that my elder brother had drowned on a camping trip when one of the outboards was successfully restarted. We finally limped into a little fishing village. The locals were fascinated by the sight of their first Westerner. They had marvellous glowing eyes and I wanted to photograph them. But my guide cautioned that they were animists and would cast an evil hex on me if I took shots. I did not argue.
Copyright Mark Berthold 2006
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