PAPUA NEW GUINEA
EXPEDITION
AN UNMOTORISED CROSSING
18th May 2014
Week 10: The Fly River,
Kiunga to Obo
Mozzies, blisters and crocs are just some of the factors that our recent spate of fixers have given us, as they have waved goodbye after only a score of hours. If we were superstitious, we might recall the lateness of our Kiungan companion as an omen for the struggles we have come to face with finding and retaining our single employee, ever since. In the past week we have had a much higher turnaround in than expected. One man paddled with us for only 12 hours, leaving as he did not know anyone in the next village, and another lasted just 180 minutes on the river before complaining of a stomach ache.
Their decisions to leave are not entirely unjustified, and we ourselves are uncertain about the next stretch of the river. Although the stories of the Papuan boy eaten by a crocodile this week have not yet become local gossip, the presence of the mythical beasts is mentioned time and time again. With this in mind we have decided to abandon our night time drifts in favour of daylight, and although we are yet to see a croc ourselves, barring the hatchlings kept in cages along our route, we are certain that local knowledge is to be listened to, and daylight progress is safer than navigating the camouflaged perils under a moonlit sky.
Dangers and staffing problems aside, we continue to meet interesting and hospitable Papuan people along The Fly. Many have shared with us stories of local legend, including a seven headed-octopus which will be recounted in footage on our return to the UK. Although the end date seems tantalisingly close to us now, we must not get ahead of ourselves. We are currently at river mile 218, Obo Station, and there is still a good distance to cover before Daru.
Still, our more consistent access to phone signal, ability to send photos halfway across the world and chances to enjoy deep fried chicken for dinner are happy reminders that we are moving ever closer to our goal. We will set out for Daru (via ‘Sembuka’ and Strut Island) tomorrow, Monday 19th May, and with the current rate of progress are potentially under two weeks from reaching our holy grail of Daru.
We have now raised more than £1,700 for Childfund, edging towards our aim of £10,000. We are very grateful for all the donations received so far, and the time spent out here has really highlighted to us the impact that Childfund can have.
Richard Johnson
[blog called in via AST Satellite Comms
With our tourist visas extended for another 30 days courtesy of Brunel, we begin to allow ourselves to hope that we may indeed reach Daru, the end point of Stage 3.
Our first day on The Fly started early, as we rose at dawn to tackle the river in our newly created catamaran. A couple of hours later, we remained in Kiunga, still waiting for our local navigator to join us. When he finally awoke, it became quickly apparent that he was still decidedly drunk, and we needed to find a new guide, quickly.
After our tepid start the first couple of days of paddling went well, and despite blistered hands we covered good distance, largely due to a network of shortcuts across the bends of the river, allowing us to lazily ricochet between the Indonesian and Papuan territories.
These shortcuts led us through numerous riverside communities where our novel boat garnered looks of much disdain. The continuous ‘tutting’ of the villagers of the Fly led us to christen our boat Tut-Tut. Tut-Tut, although a sturdy vessel, has already slimly avoided being downed by a cataclysmic downpour, rescued by a hasty bail out – an exercise which earned us chicken for dinner; though the killing and preparing of said chicken was quite an exercise in itself. The past week has given us more time on water than land, our longest voyage being 40 hours, and both physically and mentally exhausting. The river demands our constant attention and need for organisation. The ability to remain focused becomes difficult when in the 39th consecutive hour of drifting. Whilst not visually stimulating, the river is not without its own dangers.
Mosquitos have been a constant nuisance. At precisely 18:35 each evening they descend, dancing to the scent of our blood, flickering through the torchlight. Our only guaranteed form of protection is to don our waterproofs, creating Gortex armour against the onslaught, particularly during night drifts. Nevertheless, these little biters are nothing compared to the larger creatures, lurking in the murky depths below us, and we are under no illusions about the limits of our boat. We will soon have to adapt our structure and paddling schedule to accommodate a 100 mile stretch of increasingly boisterous, salt-water crocodile infested waters.