It’s just after 3.00 am when a voice outside my cabin door calls softly, telling me that it’s time to go.
I make my way gingerly up the internal staircase from below deck in pitch darkness, careful not to wake the other guests on board the Katherina, a 100-foot Penesi sailing ship, moored off the island of Gam in the tropical waters of Raja Ampat in West Papua.
Our ever-vigilant purser, Frans, welcomes me on deck with a cup of coffee and gives me detailed instructions as to what will happen over the next two to three hours. I try to take it all in, but am somewhat distracted by the night sky, which is peppered with a billion brilliant stars.
The guttural sound of an outboard engine breaks the silence, and out of the darkness emerges Simon, my Papuan guide, standing sentinel-like at the rear of a longboat; his brilliantly white teeth, framed by a massive smile clearly visible in the predawn light.
Taking my seat at the front of the longboat, mere inches above the waterline, we speed away from the Katharina and into the night. Strapped to my head is a cumbersome headlamp, its globe protruding from my forehead, making me look like some prehistoric deep-water fish.
Within seconds, I am enveloped in a swarm of tiny insects performing a form of ritual Hari Kiri by flying directly into the lamp’s globe and, by design, my face. Simon advises me to keep my mouth closed, all too late as several dozens to make their way down my throat!
If that wasn’t enough, the swarming flying creatures attract hordes of bats swooping like fighter jets scooping up the insects mid-flight.
Not for the first time this morning, I begin to question my motives for this expedition.
Now, let’s be clear here, I am not exactly a keen ornithologist; in fact, I really don’t have much interest in birds whatsoever.
What I do have is a fascination with the writings of Albert Russell Wallace, the eminent 19th-century explorer who spent many years exploring this part of the Indonesian archipelago. During his time here, he chronicled the exploits of one of the most wondrous creatures to have ever taken flight, the aptly named Bird of Paradise.
To actually see the Bird of Paradise entails an intrepid journey which involves swatting away not only the insects but ducking under the hordes of swooping bats.
Finally, the longboat weaves its way into a shallow inlet, some three miles into the jungle. The floor of the inlet is studded with giant stands of coral lurking just below the surface, which is why I cannot switch off the pesky headlamp, as it brings the coral into glorious relief.
Suddenly several large fish, attracted by the light, are flying past my head, leaping six to eight feet into the air before falling back into the water on the other side of the boat.
Some mistime their jump and land in the boat and begin to thrash around at my feet.
Simon is delighted, “Breakfast,” he calls out!
We are now surrounded by thick jungle, the air thick as treacle, and the temperature and humidity reminiscent of a Swedish sauna. By now, the only thing keeping me going is Wallace’s eloquent words describing the elusive Bird of Paradise;
“Their wings rise vertically over its back, its head bent low and stretched out. Its rear plumage then rises and expands until it forms two magnificent golden fans, striped with deep red at the base before fading to light brown at the tips. The whole bird is then enveloped in a curtain of plumage offset by its bright yellow head and emerald green throat. This creature, when seen like this, really does deserve its name as it must be ranked as one of the most beautiful and wondrous of all living things.”
Seriously. How could I resist!
At a rickety jetty are two more guides to help me up the near vertical slope to the ‘dancing trees’ where the birds gather as the sun rises.
The path is alive with iridescent beetles, giant moths and impossibly beautiful butterflies. The soaring trees and giant ferns are interspersed with towering fan palms, sprouting from the rich undergrowth are festooned with multi-coloured orchids.
Seashells cling to the sides of tree trunks of the trees, transported there by industrious hermit crabs who had dragged their dwellings several miles inland from the ocean.
At last, we reach the summit, and Simon squats down, places his fingers across his nose and emits a strange raucous call, “wank, wank, tok, tok, tok tok,” and, from deep in the valley, there is an answering call.
The birds are coming!
First, I see the males arrive, five of them, each emitting a call that is remarkably similar to the common crow. They begin to dance as one, fibrillating their tails and bobbing their heads up and down in unison, their feathers aloft, like wildflowers caught in a shaft of sunlight.
The rather drab and altogether unimposing hens sit in a line on a branch and show complete disinterest in the dandies strutting their stuff below. Being outnumbered seven to one, they can have the pick of the bunch!
One of the hens has chosen her ‘dancing partner’ while the other males behave like jilted lovers, showing off and strutting around the amorous pair.
The other females, not having found anything to their liking, fly off into the jungle.
It’s a mesmerising performance.
In some ways, perhaps, it would have been a blessing if these fabulous creatures had not been ‘discovered’ and brought to the attention of the West by the likes of Wallace, for once the ‘outside world’ became aware of their beauty, it created a virtual industry.
Everyone wanted a piece of the bird, dead or alive!
Chinese mariners travelled to the islands of Raja Ampat and the southern Aru Islands in search of these mythical creatures, where the Arunese tribes. sensing a burgeoning market, began to capture and kill these beautiful creatures, selling their skins (replete with feathers) by weight, minus their legs.
Europeans actually named them, “paradiscea cepoda’ or the ‘footless bird of paradise.
As the sun rises over the tops of the trees, the show is over, and the performers as one are on their way, leaving me feeling blessed to have actually seen them.
As I make my way downwards towards the ocean, I am reminded once again that the world is indeed an amazing place.
Photographs copyright Paul v Walters & E.J.lenahan
Paul v Walters is the author of several novels and an anthology of short stories. His latest offering, RITUAL, was recently launched at the International Ubud Writers and Readers Festival.
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