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Krakatoa's child smokes with magic fire in belly
TOM ALLARD
February 27, 2010
''Anak Krakatau merokok. Ayo! (The child of Krakatoa is smoking. Let's Go!),'' exclaims Dede as he pulls his runabout ashore near our bungalow at Carita, the Sundanese town where my family is staying for a quiet weekend away from Jakarta.
I had met Dede, a genial middle-aged fisherman, the evening before, moments after we had arrived at the modest resort. As a procession of kite-sellers, fruit vendors and masseuses spruiked their services, he had come up with an intriguing proposition.
What about a trip to see Anak Krakatau? He'd bring some snorkelling gear and a packed lunch.
I was a little apprehensive. The cataclysmic eruption of Krakatoa in 1883 that generated gigantic tsunamis and killed 35,000 people has become legend, the very name a byword for nature's fury.
The local papers had reported in the previous few weeks that the new volcano - Anak Krakatau - that emerged from the sea 40 years after that disaster was in a particularly feisty mood, hurling debris hundreds of metres into the air.
Hadn't an exclusion zone been set up around the volcano? No, Dede assured me, it had been lifted.
He had fished the area all his life, he said. Besides, he had a friend who issued the permits to visit the volcano. One could be arranged overnight.
I never saw the permit - although I was charged for it. But I was certainly glad to have succumbed to Dede's persuasion.
As the boat approached Anak Krakatau, the atmosphere was eerie. The smoke of the seasonal forest fires drifting from Sumatra made visibility poor and, before we even sighted the volcano, we heard it: a deep, otherworldly rumble. Then, out of the haze, materialised the cone of Anak Krakatau. Within minutes, thick grey ash billowed out of its caldera into the sky.
But it was the sound that really got to me. An almighty boom, like a giant cannon fired from the bowels of the earth, sending a shudder through the otherwise calm sea.
The child of Krakatoa was, indeed, smoking. And he had quite a habit - every 15 minutes or so.
Sometimes it gently puffed dust and ash. Then it spewed powerful plumes, tumbling large boulders down its steep slopes.
Even at mid-morning the pinkish hues of the lava and glowing rocks could be discerned. At night the rocks and lava glow deep red.
The beauty of a daytime sojourn is that you can visit the volcano even as it rocks and roils. Its caldera tilts to the west, so the island's eastern edge is relatively protected. A thick grove of casuarina trees on the otherwise lunar landscape is testament to its relative safety.
The shoreline is pitch black, a mix of ash and sand with brilliant, bleached white chunks of pumice everywhere. The water is a remarkable inky turquoise.
Sinking into the fine sand as the water laps over your body is sublime. As the kids frolic in the shallows, the tropical bliss is broken every so often as the ground shakes with another load expelled from the volcano.
Nearby is Rakata, the island that is the only remnant of the original Krakatoa. It is about 800 metres high. One side is sheared off, the edge of the huge caldera that erupted so monstrously in 1883 that it was heard in Perth.
The snorkelling is excellent. Even so, it is hard to concentrate on the tropical fish and coral. Anak Krakatau is simmering in the distance, ready to blow again. You don't want to miss another spectacular eruption.
At lunch on the beach at Rakata, we are visited by a biawak, a huge swimming monitor lizard. His long body pokes out of the trees looking for scraps of food before scurrying away. The whole day we see only two other boats at this extraordinary place, even though it is a holiday long weekend. On the journey back, a pod of dolphins play in the wake of the boat.
That night, we toast Anak Krakatau with Bintang beer, barbecued fish and firecrackers. Magic.
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