Borneo Pulp by John Francis Kinsella
Guess who I met on the flight?’ asked Jenny.
‘No idea.’
‘Guess?’ she said playfully.
‘Don’t play games, tell me,’ he was more interested in her closeness than play the guessing game.
‘All right then, I met Lars Ohlsson,’ she said laughing and disentangling herself from his arms.
‘Lars!’ he replied with interest. ‘How is the old bugger? What’s he come down for?’
‘He’ll tell you, he’s here, I said we’ll met him in the bar after he’s checked in, I hope you’ve got nothing on for the weekend?’
‘The weekend?’ he said slightly puzzled. ‘It’s a holiday here, at least it’s a long weekend. Tuesday is Merdeka day, you know - Independence Day - most offices are also closed on Monday.’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘All right, let’s go over to the bar and see if Lars is there.’
They walked arm in arm to the bar, at the opposite end of the huge lobby of the Borobudur Hotel, past the check in area, and the lounge where businessmen seated in armchairs talked of their projects and hopes.
Lars was there sipping a beer, he had a slightly weary look on his tanned face; it was lined with the wrinkles of a lifetime in the sun. As always he looked rumpled and somewhat scruffy, he was a typical bachelor, living most of his life out of suitcases. Ennis often thought that Ohlsson cultivated his look, his worn safari suit, the heavy iron wood walking stick and his old desert boots.
He supposed that was Ohlsson’s idea of what a botanist should look like; he had to admit that he looked the part, even if it was a little bit Edwardian.
‘Why hello John!’ exclaimed Ohlsson in his Swedish accent, that reminded Ennis of Cardiff mixed with Melbourne. He swung off his bar stool and held out his hand. ‘Nice to see you.’
It seemed that it wasn’t his first drink of the day, no doubt he had been taking advantage of the drinks on the flight in from Kuala Lumpur, an old Scandinavian tradition thought Ennis.
‘Sit down, let me offer you a beer.’
‘Nice to see you Lars.’
‘Here, let’s sit down over by the window.’ he said pointing over to the corner, where through the smoked glass window they could see the magnificent gardens of the hotel. They took a seat and Ohlsson called the waitress-a charming Indonesian girl in traditional costume-he ordered three beers.
‘So, did Jenny tell you about my little expedition?’
‘No,’ he said slowly looking at Jenny.
‘I tried to tell him but you know what he’s like he never listens to anybody,’ she said with a wicked smile.
‘Okay! Okay!’ said Ennis lifting his eyes to the ceiling.
‘Never mind, I’ll tell you, an old friend of mine, Neil Whitman, he was a pilot with Qantas before he retired early, forty eight not bad eh! Well he’s got a boat, a sailing boat, two masts, twenty five meters. He’s over at Carita beach at the moment, you know its almost facing Krakatau on the Sunda Straits, opposite the south coast of Sumatra. There’s also three young English guys, geologists, they’ll join us for the trip to Krakatau, they want to say they’ve been there.’
‘I’ve never been there but I’ve heard about it. There’s a kind of beach hotel there, I’ve heard it’s a bit basic, a few people have been out there for weekends.’
‘I don’t know what the beach place is like, but that doesn’t matter, the reason it interests me is scientific. I’ve never been to the volcano and it’s a reference for botanists.’
‘Botanists?’
‘Yes, I’ll tell you about that later, but the question is, would you like to join me on this little expedition, well leave from Jakarta tomorrow afternoon, its about two hundred kilometres, four hours by car. We’ll stay at the beach hotel overnight and leave at dawn on Saturday for Krakatau on Neil’s boat. We plan to camp on the beach, using the boat as a base and come back on Tuesday evening, we should be in Jakarta about midnight.’
‘Sounds great!’
‘So you agree?’
‘Sure.’
‘Excellent, let’s have another beer,’ he made a sign to the waitress who took his order with a dazzling smile.
‘Tell me about Krakatau then.’
‘Well it’s a long story but an interesting one,’ he sipped his beer and lit his pipe as Ennis settled back comfortably in his chair.
‘I think you know about the volcano?’
Ennis nodded
The Krakatau Beach Hotel was exactly as Ennis had suspected, its apparent lack of certain comforts was not an understatement. It was run by a German, Gert Sachs who catered mainly for the young hippy style of tourist, travelling on a lean budget. The accommodation consisted of simple timber framed bungalows, with platted palm leaf roofs and poor plumbing.
It was not exactly the Club Med; it was tatty and disappointing, not quite the way Ennis had hoped to spend the weekend.
Ohlsson chatted with Gert Sachs at the reception, who in spite of the obvious handicaps of his hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, he told Lars that the Australian, Neil Whitman, had gone out to pick up last minute provisions with his girl friend, he expected them back at any time.
‘Neil has booked you rooms in our hotel,’ said Sachs with pleasure and self-satisfaction. ‘You can fill in these cards then I’ll show you to the rooms, this evening I have arranged a special dinner for you all in the hotel restaurant.’
They checked in and Sachs accompanied them to their bungalows along a boardwalk over the sand, their bags carried by a young Indonesian. Sachs opened the door and once inside Ennis saw that it was even more rudimentary than he had imagined, the description hotel was exaggerated, however, it was reasonable clean and the wooden floor was well swept, though a stale odour of damp hung in the air of their bathroom.
They had more than a fair share of insects of every kind, not to mention suspect smells that wafted in from time to time, depending on the drift of the wind.
‘So, I suppose that you will want to relax and take a shower. I’ll see you later,’ Sachs said with a slightly embarrassed smile as he bowed his way out of the room.
‘Well we’ve seen worse,’ Ennis exclaimed to Jenny putting his arms around her waist and kissing her on her nose.
‘Don’t start complaining now, this is a scientific expedition,’ she replied.
‘Shit, that’s what it’s called then, I’d had other ideas for our weekend,’ he replied pulling her very close to him.
‘You’d better take advantage of our bed here then, because for the next few days we’ll be really roughing it. Here take a shower and cool off!’ she said pulling herself free and looked into the bathroom; it was an Indonesian version, with a tub of water and a large plastic jug for douching.
Ennis was half asleep; the irregular crash of the waves on the beach had disturbed him. The air in the bungalow was stifling and, in spite of its open structure it seemed to have retained the heat of the day. The bed was hard and his head felt sore and heavy from too much beer. His irregular sleep that was in no little way the fault of Neil Whitman, who seemed to have a remarkable capacity to drink and talk, encouraged by Ohlsson and the geologists.
None of that seemed to have disturbed Jenny, whose only movement was her quiet rhythmic breathing.
He vaguely heard a gentle but persistent knocking and made a numb effort to put his thoughts, he looked at his watch, it was 5.30, the knocking seemed to be coming from the bungalow door.
‘Okay! Okay!’ He answered as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, he paused and held his head in his hands for a long moment, then he gentle shook Jenny.
‘Time to get up.’
He felt his way to the bathroom and switching on the light he remembered it would be a cold shower.
‘Oh God, that’s all I need now,’ he thought.
The knocking on the door started again.
What the fuck do they want now, he thought, he felt queasy and as the knockin
g continued softly and more urgently he went to the door and opened it.
A young man holding a breakfast tray stood in the half-light.
‘Selemat pagi tuan, makan pagi.’
‘Oh! Selemat pagi,’ he returned the greeting and made way as the young man entered and placed the tray on a low table and then bowed out.
In the meantime Jenny had slipped out of bed and was already in the bathroom.
Ennis resigned himself to pouring the thick coffee tubruk into one of the large glasses set on the tray; he sipped it and added two lumps of sugar.
Sachs then appeared at the door looking a little haggard.
‘Hello there,’ he said with a weak smile, ‘quite a night.’
There was a slight cool breeze that wafted through the open door, giving some relief to Ennis, who stood holding the towel around his waist and his coffee in the other hand.
‘How’s the weather?’
‘A very light morning breeze, but the sea seems to be very smooth.’
Ennis stepped out onto the veranda, there was something strange about the early morning in the tropics, dawn was just breaking and the sea was like glass. He could see the Fidji anchored about fifty meters off the shore and he could make out a barely discernible movement as it moved to and fro with the lazy draw of the small waves, which seemed to have the consistency of thin oil.
‘Yeah, it doesn’t look too bad.’
The fresh air acted like a miracle, clearing the heaviness from his head, though he still felt like he needed a couple of hours more sleep.
‘Selemat Pagi Bak!’ A soft musical voice said and he felt the warmth of Jenny as she slid her arms around his waist.
‘So, they’re getting the last things on board and you’ll be ready to leave in about half an hour or so,’ said Sachs, politely turning and taking his leave.
Ennis showered, then they threw their affairs into their bags and strolled barefoot down the beach towards the Fidji anchored about twenty metres offshore, where a couple of the boys from the hotel were loading a small inflatable dingy fitted with an outboard that bobbed gently with the movement of the sea.
‘How’re yuh doing?’ Neil Whitman’s voice boomed out raucously.
Ennis looked up and saw Whitman standing on the prow of the Fidji, full of life.
‘Where’s that drunk Ohlsson?’ he shouted.
‘Probably still sleeping, I suppose,’ called back Ennis.
‘You’d better get your arses over here quick, were not waiting about all day,’ laughed Whitman over the side.
They waded into the sea towards the dingy, threw their bags in and then clumsily scramble over the side, as a lone wave lifted it high in the water and the boys struggled to hold the it steady. One of them lithely slipped into the dingy and with a deft movement started the outboard and turned towards the Fidji.
Whitman stowed their bags and offered them mugs of hot coffee. They stood a little unsteadily, familiarising themselves with surroundings on the deck of the Fidji. Ennis looked around admiringly, he had not really looked very closely at the boat the previous evening as they had caroused at the beach bar, and its vague outline had been barely perceptible in the dim lights of the hotel.
It was a thirty metre ketch; its two masts towered above the deck. Through the long windows, set into the side of the raised cabin he saw that the Fidji was comfortably fitted out with spacious living quarters. Ennis was not much of a sailor and apart from the occasional weekend invitation boats were not his thing.
The beach now moved gently and they had a clear view of the coast beyond, it rose in a series of fairly steep hills covered with thick vegetation and trees. The bungalows of the hotel looked bleached by the sun, there was not much movement apart from the small group at the spot where the dingy had returned and beached.
‘Where the hell is that old sod Ohlsson?’ said Whitman belching loudly. Ennis laughed, noting the can of beer that had appeared in Whitman’s hand.
‘Six in the morning and you’re already on the beer.’
‘You’re wrong there pal,’ he said laughing, ‘I haven’t left off since last night!’
On the beach they could now make out a bedraggled figure trailing a bag, whilst one of the boys was trying to indicate the direction, pointing towards the boat.
‘Looks like Lars,’ said Mel, Whitman’s girlfriend, who appeared at the helm looking fresh and healthy, a real Australian beauty.
Ennis could not help looking back at Neil, he was very tall but he had one helluva gut, he thought, a witness to his heavy contribution to the Australian Brewers Group. He supposed Mel must at least think the boat was appealing. Lars had told them that she had been a hostess with Qantas when the two of them decided that they had seen enough of airports and civilisation
Krakatau is a small volcanic island in the middle of the Sunda Straits between Java and Sumatra. Today it is commonly called Anak Krakatau; in Indonesian it means baby Krakatau. It was torn from the womb of the volcano Perbuatan on the 26 August 1883 in a gigantic explosion that ripped the island apart. The explosion was heard as far away as Sri Lanka and Australia, the volcano split in two and the caldera collapsed and sank into the sea.
Originally the island was about nine kilometres long, five wide, and the volcano and was believed to be extinct. It rose to over eight hundred metres and the whole island was covered with luxuriant vegetation.
It had begun erupting in May of that same year and the activity gradually increased until it reached its terrible climax on 26 and 27 August, when the final eruption occurred.
‘Maybe you don’t know John, but the re-colonisation of the island of Krakatau, by trees and plants, is considered to be one of the most spectacular examples on record. Its original vegetation was entriely destroyed by the great eruption of 1883,’ Ohlsson told him.
He had commenced one of his professorial lectures, which he launched into from time to time on unsuspecting victims. However, on this occasion Ennis felt that he would enjoy it, as he looked at the edge of the otherwise taught sails that flapped from time to time as the wind turned and the Fidji rose and fell on the waves.
‘Yes, I’m familiar with the great disaster when the volcano erupted, I think about 36,000 people killed by the eruption and the huge tidal wave that it set off.’
‘Yes, well, what the object of my trip is to see for myself this re-colonisation. It’s been the subject of an enormous volume of scientific literature. Another reason is that the subject has unfortunately become one of those endless disputes that exist in the scientific world, because of the many conflicting theories held by the botanists.’
‘You should know Lars you’re one of them.’
Ohlsson continued, ignoring the jibe. ‘The big question is whether or not any of original vegetation on the island survived the eruption.’
‘It seems unlikely that anything survived, after what I’ve read of the eruption, it was perhaps the biggest explosion in human history.’
‘Maybe, and the early visitors to the island believed that it was the case, but in 1929 a botanist named Backer put forward his theory that questioned this assumption, he said that at least some of the original flora could have survived, such as roots or seeds and perhaps spores, in shelters or in the soil, on parts of the island which were not explored until years after the eruption. Whether the destruction of the fauna had been complete was questioned by other scientists.’
‘What was it like before the eruption?’
‘We know nothing about the nature and composition of the vegetation and there is no reason to, it was totally without interest until the eruption, but no doubt it was tropical rainforest similar to that in nearby Sumatra.’
‘That’s logical.’
Ennis looked back towards the coast, which was now just a line on the horizon, there was a steady wind, not enough to break the waves but it produced a fairly heavy swell.
‘Bordering the shore before the eruption, there
were certainly the typical kinds of littoral plant communities you could expect, higher up on the mountain different types of rainforest would have been found, probably what we call Submontane and Montane rainforests.
‘The island literally collapsed as a result of the eruption and the peak split in two, although its highest point still remained. The surviving parts of Krakatau were covered with pumice stone and ash to an average depth of thirty meters and a new area of almost five square kilometres was added to the southern coast.
Ennis whistled, ‘Thirty meters of ash, that’s a lot of ash.’
‘Yes, it certainly is, during the period of volcanic activity the bulk of the vegetation was destroyed. As I said, until recently all investigators agreed that after the eruption the island was completely devoid of all life, and any plants or animals found there after the eruption must have been carried there by the sea or by the wind.
‘The vegetation of two adjacent islets, Verlaten Island and Lang Island, was destroyed at the same time. On Sebesi Island, which is about twenty kilometres from Krakatau, the vegetation was also very seriously damaged, but not completely destroyed.’
‘What happened after the eruption?’
‘After 1883, there was no further major volcanic activity. Heavy tropical rains soon cut deep gullies in the layers of ash and pumice the covered the island and as they did they uncovered the seeds of plants which had lain dormant under the ash.’
‘Did anybody visit the island after the eruption?’
‘Yes, there was a fellow called E.Cotteau who visited Krakatau in May 1884, he found that it was still a barren volcanic desert, the only living thing he saw was a spider, which was probably carried there by the wind.’
Whitaker took it in turns at the helm with Mel, who took the opportunity of a pause to get out a pannier of sandwiches that the hotel had prepared and several bottles of cold beer; it was after ten and the sea air had stimulated their appetites. As they ate and drank watching the seabirds that followed them as Lars Ohlsson continued his story.
‘When the botanist Treub arrived in June 1886, there was already quite a lot of vegetation growing. He described the difference between the flora that he found on the beach and that which he found in the interior of the island.’
‘Isn’t that normal, I mean the seeds and plants brought by the sea will grow on the beach.’
‘That’s right, on the beach he found several species of flowering plants, in addition he found the seeds of a number of other species. These were nearly all the kind of species that are commonly found on recently emerged coral islands and that are common in these tropical regions.
Beyond the beach the most common plants were ferns. The flowering plants he found were scattered and far less numerous than the ferns. Treub was not able to go very far into the interior of the island and did not go back until many years later.’
‘What did he find then?’
‘When he went back in 1897, the vegetation had gained a lot of ground.’
‘That’s facinating, but what’s your interest or what’s the general interest in this specific case.’
‘It’s easy John, I and other botanists, who are concerned about the state of nature in this part of the world, are seriously worried about natures capacity to reconstitute itself after catastrophic events.’
‘Catastrophic events, what’s that got to do with today.’
‘You’re not getting the message,’ he said with a certain emotion in his voice, ‘you’re missing the point, we are at this moment living in perhaps the most disastrous epoch in man’s history. Don’t you see what you people, what industry is doing to the forest, forty five percent of the mangroves have disappeared in this country in the space of a few years, and that wasn’t done by shifting cultivation, they were and still are the biggest by far in Asia. But at this rate, by the end of the century all that will remain will probably be a few miserable kilometres of natural parks.’
Always getting the blame, thought Ennis.
‘We want to know if nature can reconstitute itself and under what conditions. A century ago there was a vast reserve of seeds, plants, insects and animals to re-colonise areas like Krakatau, and today I ask you what would happen.’
Ennis shrugged his shoulders.
‘What will happen in the Philippines after the eruption of Pinatubo?’
Ennis did not reply, suddenly there was a loud but dull explosion, they all turned to the western horizon, where they saw a vertical jet of white smoke in the sky rising above the grey blue form of an island, it was Krakatau.
‘What the hell was that?’ shouted Whitman.
‘The volcano!’ said Ohlsson in a nonchalant fashion.
‘The volcano, you didn’t tell me the fuckin this was still alive! Jesus Christ man!’
‘Don’t worry, they’re only small eruptions.’
There was another crack and streamers of white smoke arched slowly through the distant sky.
‘What about my bloody boat,’ screamed Whitman.
‘Dont worry, I tell you its nothing,’ he said looking to the three English specialists for support.
The bearded one replied, ‘No he’s right, it’s really nothing, there probably won’t be anything more now for a few days.’
Whitman was not reassured; taking a beer from the icebox he sat down by one of the winches and looked worriedly towards the horizon.
‘How far are we away now?’ said Ennis trying to change the subject.
‘About six or seven miles I’d say, about an hour at this rate, if we don’t get hit by a fuckin ball of fire,’ Whitman said testily.
‘Don’t fret you old bastard,’ said Ohlsson trying to smooth him.
‘Really Lars, nobody told me that that dammed thing was still active.’
‘Don’t worry Neil, nobody’s been killed there for over a hundred years.’
‘Well I don’t want to be the first, and I don’t want any of that shit falling on my boat.’
They all laughed relaxing a little bit after the initial surprise.
‘What’s it throwing up anyway?’ said Ennis to Ken Hawkins the geologist.
‘Well it’s mostly pumice and stuff like that, nothing really big, more noise and smoke than danger,’ he said with a serious expression, telling them that it was his expert opinion.
‘I hope you boys are right,’ said Whitaker.
Anak Krakatau was a smoking grey cone of cinders and pumice that rose out of the sea, flanked by dense green vegetation at its base. They anchored about twenty metres offshore. Whitaker lowered the yachts inflatable dingy into the smooth water. Lars clambered over the side followed by Mely. They paddle the dingy to the beach, which was not composed of sand as it had appeared from the distance, but fine white pumice.
Ennis dived into the water from the deck of the Fidji and swam to the shore, Hawkins followed him. The water was silky smooth and very warm. The lumps of pumice stone that floated about astonished Ennis. They miraculously bobbed around on the gentle swell.
Their idea was to explore the island with the boat serving as their base over the two days they planned to remain. After an hour they had assembled their material necessary for the investigation on the beach. The island was small, in reality it was the rim of what had remained of the crater but it was growing slowly day-by-day, already reaching a height of three hundred metres.
Hawkins and his two friends had planned to climb to the summit of cone and invited Ennis together with Jenny to join them. He estimated a couple of hours or so would be sufficient. They intended to take temperatures and measure the concentrations of carbonic and sulphuric gases. Ohlsson told them that he would explore the lower levels to study the vegetation and collect specimens.
The going was easy to start with, but as they progressed the angle became steeper. Hawkins pointed the way ahead, avoiding the blowholes, where hot sulphurous gases escaped from the volcano. He tested the ground as he progressed making sure it was solid, explaining that dangerous c
avities existed below the sometimes-fragile surface.
As they advanced the ground became less stable, it was composed of loose cinders and ash, two steps forward then sliding one step back. The temperature of the ground had increased, because of the heat from the volcano and also the sun. They panted heavily and pressed on. Ennis looked behind; the beach seemed to lie far below the steep slope. He felt uneasy thinking of the eruption that they had seen just a few hours earlier.
Jenny was oblivious to any dangers and pushed on with Hawkins as Ennis fell back. When they arrived at the summit, it was a disappointment for Ennis, an anticlimax, the other side of the slope fell away some fifty metres before rising again to a much steeper cone, the real volcano. It had been hidden by the secondary and smaller cone that they had just climbed. Ennis had enough and made his way back down. Hawkins pushed on with Jenny; they were tiny forms, like insects, as they continued their climb to the top on what appeared to be an almost vertical slope.
It was almost dark when they returned to the beach, where Whitaker had set up a barbecue and a camp table for dinner. After plunging into the warm sea to refresh themselves, they settled down with beer and ice that had been brought from the Fidji. Jenny talked excitedly about her exploit as the geologists described what they had seen to Ohlsson.
They talked late into the night, before settling down to sleep under the stars the filled the tropical sky. Ennis was soon sleeping deeply, in spite of the nagging worry of the dangers and uncertainties of an eruption that had pursued him that evening.
VISITORS
‘No idea.’
‘Guess?’ she said playfully.
‘Don’t play games, tell me,’ he was more interested in her closeness than play the guessing game.
‘All right then, I met Lars Ohlsson,’ she said laughing and disentangling herself from his arms.
‘Lars!’ he replied with interest. ‘How is the old bugger? What’s he come down for?’
‘He’ll tell you, he’s here, I said we’ll met him in the bar after he’s checked in, I hope you’ve got nothing on for the weekend?’
‘The weekend?’ he said slightly puzzled. ‘It’s a holiday here, at least it’s a long weekend. Tuesday is Merdeka day, you know - Independence Day - most offices are also closed on Monday.’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘All right, let’s go over to the bar and see if Lars is there.’
They walked arm in arm to the bar, at the opposite end of the huge lobby of the Borobudur Hotel, past the check in area, and the lounge where businessmen seated in armchairs talked of their projects and hopes.
Lars was there sipping a beer, he had a slightly weary look on his tanned face; it was lined with the wrinkles of a lifetime in the sun. As always he looked rumpled and somewhat scruffy, he was a typical bachelor, living most of his life out of suitcases. Ennis often thought that Ohlsson cultivated his look, his worn safari suit, the heavy iron wood walking stick and his old desert boots.
He supposed that was Ohlsson’s idea of what a botanist should look like; he had to admit that he looked the part, even if it was a little bit Edwardian.
‘Why hello John!’ exclaimed Ohlsson in his Swedish accent, that reminded Ennis of Cardiff mixed with Melbourne. He swung off his bar stool and held out his hand. ‘Nice to see you.’
It seemed that it wasn’t his first drink of the day, no doubt he had been taking advantage of the drinks on the flight in from Kuala Lumpur, an old Scandinavian tradition thought Ennis.
‘Sit down, let me offer you a beer.’
‘Nice to see you Lars.’
‘Here, let’s sit down over by the window.’ he said pointing over to the corner, where through the smoked glass window they could see the magnificent gardens of the hotel. They took a seat and Ohlsson called the waitress-a charming Indonesian girl in traditional costume-he ordered three beers.
‘So, did Jenny tell you about my little expedition?’
‘No,’ he said slowly looking at Jenny.
‘I tried to tell him but you know what he’s like he never listens to anybody,’ she said with a wicked smile.
‘Okay! Okay!’ said Ennis lifting his eyes to the ceiling.
‘Never mind, I’ll tell you, an old friend of mine, Neil Whitman, he was a pilot with Qantas before he retired early, forty eight not bad eh! Well he’s got a boat, a sailing boat, two masts, twenty five meters. He’s over at Carita beach at the moment, you know its almost facing Krakatau on the Sunda Straits, opposite the south coast of Sumatra. There’s also three young English guys, geologists, they’ll join us for the trip to Krakatau, they want to say they’ve been there.’
‘I’ve never been there but I’ve heard about it. There’s a kind of beach hotel there, I’ve heard it’s a bit basic, a few people have been out there for weekends.’
‘I don’t know what the beach place is like, but that doesn’t matter, the reason it interests me is scientific. I’ve never been to the volcano and it’s a reference for botanists.’
‘Botanists?’
‘Yes, I’ll tell you about that later, but the question is, would you like to join me on this little expedition, well leave from Jakarta tomorrow afternoon, its about two hundred kilometres, four hours by car. We’ll stay at the beach hotel overnight and leave at dawn on Saturday for Krakatau on Neil’s boat. We plan to camp on the beach, using the boat as a base and come back on Tuesday evening, we should be in Jakarta about midnight.’
‘Sounds great!’
‘So you agree?’
‘Sure.’
‘Excellent, let’s have another beer,’ he made a sign to the waitress who took his order with a dazzling smile.
‘Tell me about Krakatau then.’
‘Well it’s a long story but an interesting one,’ he sipped his beer and lit his pipe as Ennis settled back comfortably in his chair.
‘I think you know about the volcano?’
Ennis nodded
The Krakatau Beach Hotel was exactly as Ennis had suspected, its apparent lack of certain comforts was not an understatement. It was run by a German, Gert Sachs who catered mainly for the young hippy style of tourist, travelling on a lean budget. The accommodation consisted of simple timber framed bungalows, with platted palm leaf roofs and poor plumbing.
It was not exactly the Club Med; it was tatty and disappointing, not quite the way Ennis had hoped to spend the weekend.
Ohlsson chatted with Gert Sachs at the reception, who in spite of the obvious handicaps of his hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, he told Lars that the Australian, Neil Whitman, had gone out to pick up last minute provisions with his girl friend, he expected them back at any time.
‘Neil has booked you rooms in our hotel,’ said Sachs with pleasure and self-satisfaction. ‘You can fill in these cards then I’ll show you to the rooms, this evening I have arranged a special dinner for you all in the hotel restaurant.’
They checked in and Sachs accompanied them to their bungalows along a boardwalk over the sand, their bags carried by a young Indonesian. Sachs opened the door and once inside Ennis saw that it was even more rudimentary than he had imagined, the description hotel was exaggerated, however, it was reasonable clean and the wooden floor was well swept, though a stale odour of damp hung in the air of their bathroom.
They had more than a fair share of insects of every kind, not to mention suspect smells that wafted in from time to time, depending on the drift of the wind.
‘So, I suppose that you will want to relax and take a shower. I’ll see you later,’ Sachs said with a slightly embarrassed smile as he bowed his way out of the room.
‘Well we’ve seen worse,’ Ennis exclaimed to Jenny putting his arms around her waist and kissing her on her nose.
‘Don’t start complaining now, this is a scientific expedition,’ she replied.
‘Shit, that’s what it’s called then, I’d had other ideas for our weekend,’ he replied pulling her very close to him.
‘You’d better take advantage of our bed here then, because for the next few days we’ll be really roughing it. Here take a shower and cool off!’ she said pulling herself free and looked into the bathroom; it was an Indonesian version, with a tub of water and a large plastic jug for douching.
Ennis was half asleep; the irregular crash of the waves on the beach had disturbed him. The air in the bungalow was stifling and, in spite of its open structure it seemed to have retained the heat of the day. The bed was hard and his head felt sore and heavy from too much beer. His irregular sleep that was in no little way the fault of Neil Whitman, who seemed to have a remarkable capacity to drink and talk, encouraged by Ohlsson and the geologists.
None of that seemed to have disturbed Jenny, whose only movement was her quiet rhythmic breathing.
He vaguely heard a gentle but persistent knocking and made a numb effort to put his thoughts, he looked at his watch, it was 5.30, the knocking seemed to be coming from the bungalow door.
‘Okay! Okay!’ He answered as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, he paused and held his head in his hands for a long moment, then he gentle shook Jenny.
‘Time to get up.’
He felt his way to the bathroom and switching on the light he remembered it would be a cold shower.
‘Oh God, that’s all I need now,’ he thought.
The knocking on the door started again.
What the fuck do they want now, he thought, he felt queasy and as the knockin
A young man holding a breakfast tray stood in the half-light.
‘Selemat pagi tuan, makan pagi.’
‘Oh! Selemat pagi,’ he returned the greeting and made way as the young man entered and placed the tray on a low table and then bowed out.
In the meantime Jenny had slipped out of bed and was already in the bathroom.
Ennis resigned himself to pouring the thick coffee tubruk into one of the large glasses set on the tray; he sipped it and added two lumps of sugar.
Sachs then appeared at the door looking a little haggard.
‘Hello there,’ he said with a weak smile, ‘quite a night.’
There was a slight cool breeze that wafted through the open door, giving some relief to Ennis, who stood holding the towel around his waist and his coffee in the other hand.
‘How’s the weather?’
‘A very light morning breeze, but the sea seems to be very smooth.’
Ennis stepped out onto the veranda, there was something strange about the early morning in the tropics, dawn was just breaking and the sea was like glass. He could see the Fidji anchored about fifty meters off the shore and he could make out a barely discernible movement as it moved to and fro with the lazy draw of the small waves, which seemed to have the consistency of thin oil.
‘Yeah, it doesn’t look too bad.’
The fresh air acted like a miracle, clearing the heaviness from his head, though he still felt like he needed a couple of hours more sleep.
‘Selemat Pagi Bak!’ A soft musical voice said and he felt the warmth of Jenny as she slid her arms around his waist.
‘So, they’re getting the last things on board and you’ll be ready to leave in about half an hour or so,’ said Sachs, politely turning and taking his leave.
Ennis showered, then they threw their affairs into their bags and strolled barefoot down the beach towards the Fidji anchored about twenty metres offshore, where a couple of the boys from the hotel were loading a small inflatable dingy fitted with an outboard that bobbed gently with the movement of the sea.
‘How’re yuh doing?’ Neil Whitman’s voice boomed out raucously.
Ennis looked up and saw Whitman standing on the prow of the Fidji, full of life.
‘Where’s that drunk Ohlsson?’ he shouted.
‘Probably still sleeping, I suppose,’ called back Ennis.
‘You’d better get your arses over here quick, were not waiting about all day,’ laughed Whitman over the side.
They waded into the sea towards the dingy, threw their bags in and then clumsily scramble over the side, as a lone wave lifted it high in the water and the boys struggled to hold the it steady. One of them lithely slipped into the dingy and with a deft movement started the outboard and turned towards the Fidji.
Whitman stowed their bags and offered them mugs of hot coffee. They stood a little unsteadily, familiarising themselves with surroundings on the deck of the Fidji. Ennis looked around admiringly, he had not really looked very closely at the boat the previous evening as they had caroused at the beach bar, and its vague outline had been barely perceptible in the dim lights of the hotel.
It was a thirty metre ketch; its two masts towered above the deck. Through the long windows, set into the side of the raised cabin he saw that the Fidji was comfortably fitted out with spacious living quarters. Ennis was not much of a sailor and apart from the occasional weekend invitation boats were not his thing.
The beach now moved gently and they had a clear view of the coast beyond, it rose in a series of fairly steep hills covered with thick vegetation and trees. The bungalows of the hotel looked bleached by the sun, there was not much movement apart from the small group at the spot where the dingy had returned and beached.
‘Where the hell is that old sod Ohlsson?’ said Whitman belching loudly. Ennis laughed, noting the can of beer that had appeared in Whitman’s hand.
‘Six in the morning and you’re already on the beer.’
‘You’re wrong there pal,’ he said laughing, ‘I haven’t left off since last night!’
On the beach they could now make out a bedraggled figure trailing a bag, whilst one of the boys was trying to indicate the direction, pointing towards the boat.
‘Looks like Lars,’ said Mel, Whitman’s girlfriend, who appeared at the helm looking fresh and healthy, a real Australian beauty.
Ennis could not help looking back at Neil, he was very tall but he had one helluva gut, he thought, a witness to his heavy contribution to the Australian Brewers Group. He supposed Mel must at least think the boat was appealing. Lars had told them that she had been a hostess with Qantas when the two of them decided that they had seen enough of airports and civilisation
Krakatau is a small volcanic island in the middle of the Sunda Straits between Java and Sumatra. Today it is commonly called Anak Krakatau; in Indonesian it means baby Krakatau. It was torn from the womb of the volcano Perbuatan on the 26 August 1883 in a gigantic explosion that ripped the island apart. The explosion was heard as far away as Sri Lanka and Australia, the volcano split in two and the caldera collapsed and sank into the sea.
Originally the island was about nine kilometres long, five wide, and the volcano and was believed to be extinct. It rose to over eight hundred metres and the whole island was covered with luxuriant vegetation.
It had begun erupting in May of that same year and the activity gradually increased until it reached its terrible climax on 26 and 27 August, when the final eruption occurred.
‘Maybe you don’t know John, but the re-colonisation of the island of Krakatau, by trees and plants, is considered to be one of the most spectacular examples on record. Its original vegetation was entriely destroyed by the great eruption of 1883,’ Ohlsson told him.
He had commenced one of his professorial lectures, which he launched into from time to time on unsuspecting victims. However, on this occasion Ennis felt that he would enjoy it, as he looked at the edge of the otherwise taught sails that flapped from time to time as the wind turned and the Fidji rose and fell on the waves.
‘Yes, I’m familiar with the great disaster when the volcano erupted, I think about 36,000 people killed by the eruption and the huge tidal wave that it set off.’
‘Yes, well, what the object of my trip is to see for myself this re-colonisation. It’s been the subject of an enormous volume of scientific literature. Another reason is that the subject has unfortunately become one of those endless disputes that exist in the scientific world, because of the many conflicting theories held by the botanists.’
‘You should know Lars you’re one of them.’
Ohlsson continued, ignoring the jibe. ‘The big question is whether or not any of original vegetation on the island survived the eruption.’
‘It seems unlikely that anything survived, after what I’ve read of the eruption, it was perhaps the biggest explosion in human history.’
‘Maybe, and the early visitors to the island believed that it was the case, but in 1929 a botanist named Backer put forward his theory that questioned this assumption, he said that at least some of the original flora could have survived, such as roots or seeds and perhaps spores, in shelters or in the soil, on parts of the island which were not explored until years after the eruption. Whether the destruction of the fauna had been complete was questioned by other scientists.’
‘What was it like before the eruption?’
‘We know nothing about the nature and composition of the vegetation and there is no reason to, it was totally without interest until the eruption, but no doubt it was tropical rainforest similar to that in nearby Sumatra.’
‘That’s logical.’
Ennis looked back towards the coast, which was now just a line on the horizon, there was a steady wind, not enough to break the waves but it produced a fairly heavy swell.
‘Bordering the shore before the eruption, there
‘The island literally collapsed as a result of the eruption and the peak split in two, although its highest point still remained. The surviving parts of Krakatau were covered with pumice stone and ash to an average depth of thirty meters and a new area of almost five square kilometres was added to the southern coast.
Ennis whistled, ‘Thirty meters of ash, that’s a lot of ash.’
‘Yes, it certainly is, during the period of volcanic activity the bulk of the vegetation was destroyed. As I said, until recently all investigators agreed that after the eruption the island was completely devoid of all life, and any plants or animals found there after the eruption must have been carried there by the sea or by the wind.
‘The vegetation of two adjacent islets, Verlaten Island and Lang Island, was destroyed at the same time. On Sebesi Island, which is about twenty kilometres from Krakatau, the vegetation was also very seriously damaged, but not completely destroyed.’
‘What happened after the eruption?’
‘After 1883, there was no further major volcanic activity. Heavy tropical rains soon cut deep gullies in the layers of ash and pumice the covered the island and as they did they uncovered the seeds of plants which had lain dormant under the ash.’
‘Did anybody visit the island after the eruption?’
‘Yes, there was a fellow called E.Cotteau who visited Krakatau in May 1884, he found that it was still a barren volcanic desert, the only living thing he saw was a spider, which was probably carried there by the wind.’
Whitaker took it in turns at the helm with Mel, who took the opportunity of a pause to get out a pannier of sandwiches that the hotel had prepared and several bottles of cold beer; it was after ten and the sea air had stimulated their appetites. As they ate and drank watching the seabirds that followed them as Lars Ohlsson continued his story.
‘When the botanist Treub arrived in June 1886, there was already quite a lot of vegetation growing. He described the difference between the flora that he found on the beach and that which he found in the interior of the island.’
‘Isn’t that normal, I mean the seeds and plants brought by the sea will grow on the beach.’
‘That’s right, on the beach he found several species of flowering plants, in addition he found the seeds of a number of other species. These were nearly all the kind of species that are commonly found on recently emerged coral islands and that are common in these tropical regions.
Beyond the beach the most common plants were ferns. The flowering plants he found were scattered and far less numerous than the ferns. Treub was not able to go very far into the interior of the island and did not go back until many years later.’
‘What did he find then?’
‘When he went back in 1897, the vegetation had gained a lot of ground.’
‘That’s facinating, but what’s your interest or what’s the general interest in this specific case.’
‘It’s easy John, I and other botanists, who are concerned about the state of nature in this part of the world, are seriously worried about natures capacity to reconstitute itself after catastrophic events.’
‘Catastrophic events, what’s that got to do with today.’
‘You’re not getting the message,’ he said with a certain emotion in his voice, ‘you’re missing the point, we are at this moment living in perhaps the most disastrous epoch in man’s history. Don’t you see what you people, what industry is doing to the forest, forty five percent of the mangroves have disappeared in this country in the space of a few years, and that wasn’t done by shifting cultivation, they were and still are the biggest by far in Asia. But at this rate, by the end of the century all that will remain will probably be a few miserable kilometres of natural parks.’
Always getting the blame, thought Ennis.
‘We want to know if nature can reconstitute itself and under what conditions. A century ago there was a vast reserve of seeds, plants, insects and animals to re-colonise areas like Krakatau, and today I ask you what would happen.’
Ennis shrugged his shoulders.
‘What will happen in the Philippines after the eruption of Pinatubo?’
Ennis did not reply, suddenly there was a loud but dull explosion, they all turned to the western horizon, where they saw a vertical jet of white smoke in the sky rising above the grey blue form of an island, it was Krakatau.
‘What the hell was that?’ shouted Whitman.
‘The volcano!’ said Ohlsson in a nonchalant fashion.
‘The volcano, you didn’t tell me the fuckin this was still alive! Jesus Christ man!’
‘Don’t worry, they’re only small eruptions.’
There was another crack and streamers of white smoke arched slowly through the distant sky.
‘What about my bloody boat,’ screamed Whitman.
‘Dont worry, I tell you its nothing,’ he said looking to the three English specialists for support.
The bearded one replied, ‘No he’s right, it’s really nothing, there probably won’t be anything more now for a few days.’
Whitman was not reassured; taking a beer from the icebox he sat down by one of the winches and looked worriedly towards the horizon.
‘How far are we away now?’ said Ennis trying to change the subject.
‘About six or seven miles I’d say, about an hour at this rate, if we don’t get hit by a fuckin ball of fire,’ Whitman said testily.
‘Don’t fret you old bastard,’ said Ohlsson trying to smooth him.
‘Really Lars, nobody told me that that dammed thing was still active.’
‘Don’t worry Neil, nobody’s been killed there for over a hundred years.’
‘Well I don’t want to be the first, and I don’t want any of that shit falling on my boat.’
They all laughed relaxing a little bit after the initial surprise.
‘What’s it throwing up anyway?’ said Ennis to Ken Hawkins the geologist.
‘Well it’s mostly pumice and stuff like that, nothing really big, more noise and smoke than danger,’ he said with a serious expression, telling them that it was his expert opinion.
‘I hope you boys are right,’ said Whitaker.
Anak Krakatau was a smoking grey cone of cinders and pumice that rose out of the sea, flanked by dense green vegetation at its base. They anchored about twenty metres offshore. Whitaker lowered the yachts inflatable dingy into the smooth water. Lars clambered over the side followed by Mely. They paddle the dingy to the beach, which was not composed of sand as it had appeared from the distance, but fine white pumice.
Ennis dived into the water from the deck of the Fidji and swam to the shore, Hawkins followed him. The water was silky smooth and very warm. The lumps of pumice stone that floated about astonished Ennis. They miraculously bobbed around on the gentle swell.
Their idea was to explore the island with the boat serving as their base over the two days they planned to remain. After an hour they had assembled their material necessary for the investigation on the beach. The island was small, in reality it was the rim of what had remained of the crater but it was growing slowly day-by-day, already reaching a height of three hundred metres.
Hawkins and his two friends had planned to climb to the summit of cone and invited Ennis together with Jenny to join them. He estimated a couple of hours or so would be sufficient. They intended to take temperatures and measure the concentrations of carbonic and sulphuric gases. Ohlsson told them that he would explore the lower levels to study the vegetation and collect specimens.
The going was easy to start with, but as they progressed the angle became steeper. Hawkins pointed the way ahead, avoiding the blowholes, where hot sulphurous gases escaped from the volcano. He tested the ground as he progressed making sure it was solid, explaining that dangerous c
As they advanced the ground became less stable, it was composed of loose cinders and ash, two steps forward then sliding one step back. The temperature of the ground had increased, because of the heat from the volcano and also the sun. They panted heavily and pressed on. Ennis looked behind; the beach seemed to lie far below the steep slope. He felt uneasy thinking of the eruption that they had seen just a few hours earlier.
Jenny was oblivious to any dangers and pushed on with Hawkins as Ennis fell back. When they arrived at the summit, it was a disappointment for Ennis, an anticlimax, the other side of the slope fell away some fifty metres before rising again to a much steeper cone, the real volcano. It had been hidden by the secondary and smaller cone that they had just climbed. Ennis had enough and made his way back down. Hawkins pushed on with Jenny; they were tiny forms, like insects, as they continued their climb to the top on what appeared to be an almost vertical slope.
It was almost dark when they returned to the beach, where Whitaker had set up a barbecue and a camp table for dinner. After plunging into the warm sea to refresh themselves, they settled down with beer and ice that had been brought from the Fidji. Jenny talked excitedly about her exploit as the geologists described what they had seen to Ohlsson.
They talked late into the night, before settling down to sleep under the stars the filled the tropical sky. Ennis was soon sleeping deeply, in spite of the nagging worry of the dangers and uncertainties of an eruption that had pursued him that evening.
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