It was 8pm and the full moon offered us just enough natural light. We weren’t able to trek these parts without the guidance of the three locals traveling with us: Tumi Ben, Clement Baki and Henri Meke. Hugging the coastline, we were moving slowly, each one of us playing a part in the quiet search.
Tumi was driving the boat, as he’d been navigating these waters for over 30 years. Henry and Clement were standing at the stern of the boat, each with a single-beam headlamp scanning the shoreline. Marla and Adam were on deck with their cameras and then there was me, drinking it all in providing little to no value.
Clement and Tumi’s ability to spot wildlife was unlike anything we’d ever seen. That made sense, as these seasoned locals have spent their careers working on Tetepare: the largest deserted island in the Solomons. With no one on the island but us, coupled with harsh weather having blocked out the sunlight for nearly five weeks now, the entire experience was downright eerie. And what exactly were we in search of on this desolate island with its dreary weather? Well, saltwater crocodiles—on their hunt, of course!
After reading The Last Wild Island, by John Read, we became fascinated by Tepatare. Read is an Australian ecologist who advocated for the protection of this island from the logging industry. Loggers have done substantial damage to the region, tearing the Solomons apart island by island. And we really wanted to understand what John meant when he coined it, “the last wild.” The island was abandoned in the early 19th century for reasons that remain a mystery. Although stories suggest that factors like headhunting, disease, or even spiritual beliefs might have played a role.
Tumi told us stories of a gigantic male spirit who is known to hop around the nearby islands, taking single, epic strides to move around the Solomons. There was also a tiny female spirit that favors staying on Tetepare, playing tricks on those who dare to venture here. From the moment I heard about her, I vehemently proclaimed my interest in seeking out this female spirit. The wise, kind and extremely knowledgeable Tumi told me it was best not to go looking for her. After all, if she wanted to, she would find me.
He told us a story about a scientist who was posted here doing field research—as that’s the type who’d visit this place. He went for his standard 30-minute run in the jungle that he did every day. On one occasion, he didn’t return on time. As this is a field station, there are always rangers on duty. Knowing the island the way they do, they had an idea of where he might be. So off they went searching.
They found him in a state of shock—nearly catatonic, shivering under a tree, with no memory of what happened. He had somehow traveled nearly 30 kilometers (18 miles) away from their home base. Traveling this distance in the short time he was gone was an impossible feat. Yet the guides knew where to go because this wasn’t the first time this had happened. The tree by which our guides had found the scientist was in fact the location that the tiny spirit leaves people when she’s done playing her tricks.
Earlier that week, we had been on a few day and night jungle walks to observe the only creatures that call this place home. From run-ins with colossal coconut crabs, to spotting countless blue beach kingfishers, we were having an incredible amount of luck. Not just on land, there was luck out at sea as well. We saw dugongs, green turtles, eagle rays and clams that were bigger than my entire body. Yet, still no luck with the salties.
It wasn’t until about 9pm, the night where I was providing no value, when crocs of all sizes started launching from the black sand beaches into the water. Circling our banana boat that felt like it could sink at any moment, the only thing safe about this was being near our beloved guides, maneuvering the situation flawlessly. We couldn’t afford one wrong move, as we were surrounded by salties in every direction. Notorious for their mercilessness, a fall into the croc water could very well mean the end was nigh for that poor soul.
Another mission of ours on Tetepare was to conduct sea surveys at sites that had never been dove before. We would report back on our marine findings and document the state of each reef we saw. With the weather being far from ideal each day, we were up against extreme currents, heavy waves, torrential rain and ripping winds—the typical joys of many uncharted dive sites! Hence, the word “uncharted.” Any chance we got to make the plunge where we wouldn’t get absolutely crushed by weather, we took it.
The problems first started with marine life and ended with our gear malfunctioning. Not something you want happening in waters like this. Most of the sites we were to explore were extremely close to shore, which meant we were that much closer to where the salties like to spend their time. Because of this, we had our guides on the top deck looking out for crocs, while Marla and I were underwater on consistent, and possibly somewhat extreme, ultra high alert.
On one of our dives, we were seeing erratic behavior from reef sharks. Sharks typically display specific body language and behaviors when they are considering an aggressive move—which I had never seen in the wild ever, even after tons of shark dives. Sudden changes in swimming patterns, hunched backs, pectoral fins pointing down, rapid eye movement, speeding up near us and making tight, arched turns—these were the types of signs that were coming our way. It was unsettling, to say the least.
On another dive, we noticed Marla’s regulator malfunctioning. Her primary mouthpiece fell right out into her hands underwater, causing us to end the dive early. Next, my regulator started experiencing similar issues. On the last day of scuba diving, Marla’s BCD wouldn’t deflate. Helping her at the surface, my mask that had been with me since the beginning of my diving career was lost to the depths. Tumi said that he didn’t think it was a coincidence that all of these things were happening in the same area the tiny spirit dropped the scientist—and many others before him.
Slipping and sliding in mud on our way up to our bamboo bungalows overlooking the rugged sea, monitor lizards that looked like dinosaurs blocked our path. Purple swamphens grazed and insects of all shapes and sizes clinged to our bodies. Showering the creepy-crawling feeling off in cold rainwater humbled us each day, leaving us fully appreciating life’s simplest things. When connecting to more than two bars of 3G data, washing clothes in a machine and not with your hands in a small bucket, actually looking at yourself in a mirror and even wearing makeup all become luxuries, you know you’ve been in the wild for awhile.
Parting ways with our guides was painful. You get quite close when you’re the only people on an island that’s 20 square kilometers (46 square miles) in size. Not wanting to push our luck more with a trickster spirit watching, we followed the signs and made our way back to Munda island—which felt like an epicenter compared to where we had been when it was certainly far from that.
We put our wetsuits and masks back on as we entered the banana boat, ready to brave the wild ocean passage that would take us back to civilization. Surprisingly, the spirit made the crossing somewhat tolerable given the horrific conditions that were right in front of us. It seemed like her way of applauding the fact that we had survived her tricks and her animal friends. She’d offered us tranquil passage for finally leaving her island when we were told to.
To be continued …
The rich text element allows you to create and format headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, images, and video all in one place instead of having to add and format them individually. Just double-click and easily create content.
A rich text element can be used with static or dynamic content. For static content, just drop it into any page and begin editing. For dynamic content, add a rich text field to any collection and then connect a rich text element to that field in the settings panel. Voila!
Headings, paragraphs, blockquotes, figures, images, and figure captions can all be styled after a class is added to the rich text element using the "When inside of" nested selector system.
