Rhino River
We sat in a dark car. Driving through the early-morning fog and smog of Jakarta in a steady stream of old lorries. The air is hardly breathable. A reality on the ground that you can guess when flying over the island of Java. Home to 145 million people its population density makes it hard to imagine that until recently, and even today, Java is not only an explosion of culture and colors but also to natural mysteries and enchanted, wild places where until recently, Tigers roamed. This is where we are headed this morning.
We sat in a dark car, driving through the early-morning fog and smog of Jakarta in a steady stream of old lorries. The air is hardly breathable, a reality on the ground that you can guess when flying over the island of Java. Home to 145 million people, its population density makes it hard to imagine that until recently, and even today, Java is not only an explosion of culture and colors but also home to natural mysteries and enchanted, wild places where, until recently, tigers roamed. This is where we are headed this morning.
After many hours heading west, to Ujung Kulon, the “End of the West” to be precise, the landscape changes. The rice paddies become ever more interspersed with patches of forest, and volcanoes rise in the east. When we reach the coast, the vibe changes as well. Suddenly everything feels less busy and instead richer in sound and smell. We stop several times for Kopi, fish-filled banana leaves, and the typical Padang buffet to make up for the missed breakfast. We pass through coconut-lined shrimp farms in what feels like a harmonious mélange of a broad variety of food production, still dotted with mangroves and against the backdrop of forested hills. Around noon, we reach the end of the road. Literally. It is time to meet our captain and crew and board the ship taking us on an adventure we have long been dreaming of: to see the rarest mammal in the world up close in its natural habitat. Ujung Kulon is the last place where this is still possible.
While we make our way across the bay of Paraja, we pass the unique Bateng, bamboo fishing platforms anchored to the sea floor. With mist rising from the ocean, gray blending into gray, it feels like the whole planet is just that: water with delicate human structures balancing on top of it. This serene scene is quickly cut by a shark fin piercing the surface. A second later, the white-dotted back fin of a giant whale shark emerges right next to our boat, its shape a dark backdrop against the deep ocean. I am awestruck. I had spent many trips trying to see and swim with these magnificent creatures. Now that I just need to grab my snorkel and jump, we are too surprised, and while our boat speeds past the shark, he too descends into the depth of the bay, leaving this adventure for another day.
In the late afternoon, we reach our destination and home for the coming days: a small river mouth right next to a mangrove forest and a patch of open savannah. We set up camp, collect some dry wood, and get a fire going before E. and I head out to explore the savannah. We are immediately surrounded by flocks of bee-eaters, colorful pigeons, and green fowls carelessly picking for food, and a giant water monitor is basking in the sun. But what is this? In the far distance, right on the edge of the forest, I see a large mammal walking through the brushes. Hardly visible, my heart starts pounding. Finally, we get a good look: A herd of Javan Bantengs is skittishly assessing us with their beautiful eyes. Ujung Kulon is one of the last strongholds of this gentle-looking species of cattle in Java, and we climb a deteriorating watchtower to view the sun setting over the savannah. As we sit by the bonfire, the distant lights of civilization, let alone the hustle and bustle of Jakarta, seem worlds away and as our eyes close after a day of welcomed wild surprises, a leopard roars in the distance, and we can't wait to embark deeper into the rainforest.
The alarm goes off at 4:45 AM the next morning. After the obligatory coffee, we jump into a small canoe and head up the river through mangroves, spiky palms, and later magnificent lowland rainforest in search of the Javan rhino that frequents it for a bath in the early morning. The river lies still in the dark. In the cone of our headlights, the red reflection from the eyes of a large enough to be fear-inducing saltwater crocodile appears as we head deeper into the forest. As the sun rises, macaques and even the endangered Javan Surili accompany our journey. Pythons can be found resting above the waterline. Giant squirrels make their way through the canopy. We find tracks on the riverbank. With every gentle push of the paddle, the tension rises as the rhino is potentially waiting around the corner. But this is not our lucky day. As we slowly make our way downriver, the rising sun illuminates the turquoise waters and shines light on colorful pufferfish, tiny transparent shrimp, and other critters while it warms up the earth, engulfing us in a perfume sweet of decay and blooming flowers.
This is going to be the plan for the next few days: Rise early to travel upriver, get some sleep, freshen up in the absence of facilities, and in the presence of saltwater crocodiles, this is done rather quickly, and we embark to explore other sites of the national park by boat before turning in at night after scanning the nearby mangroves for insects and reptiles and watching the same snake hunt for fish in the stream every night. The fact that you can find such an untouched piece of nature on one of the world's most densely populated islands is due to the nearby volcano of Krakatoa. Its eruption in 1883 devastated the peninsula and covered it in a thick layer of ash. The fact that Ujung Kulon was never really repopulated made it this stronghold for the last remnants of Javan lowland rainforest and its almost lost diversity of species. Traveling along the coast of Ujung Kulon, we see evidence that Krakatoa still plays a role in shaping this landscape. As recently as 2018, an eruption of Krakatoa claimed the lives of many as tsunamis devastated the coastline of Western Java and Sumatra. The skeletons of former forest giants, hundreds of meters inland, fell victim to the salty waters and remind us that to date, Ujung Kulon is still a wild place and traveling there is far from comfortable. While we snorkel untouched reefs and walk along deserted beaches, every landing becomes an adventure due to the high surf and lack of facilities. But the rewards are many. We explore clear forest streams, dropping down to the ocean over small terraces, the air is full of butterflies, and the rivers teeming with shrimp. Ujung Kulon is of seemingly otherworldly beauty, often so pristine that it is hard to imagine that this was once abundant along the coasts of Java.
The days pass by, and the enchanting nature surrounding us makes us forget the time. The daily search along the river has become a slow meditation, for hours at a time quietly sitting, listening, watching. There is not much more that we can do, but as the time comes to head upriver one last time, I am still more tense than the days before. Seeing this magical creature in this environment has been a childhood dream of mine, and today is probably the best shot at it for many years, likely forever. Yet we have come to the right place, and now it is up to the rhino to show itself. Or not. As we turn a corner, adrenaline shoots up as we see a cloudy patch of brown water. Something big was just stirring things up here. A few meters ahead, through the misty morning air, my short-sighted eyes make out a big shape in the river ahead of us. This is it. I am overcome with joy and grab E.'s hand, grateful to be sharing this wonderful moment.
Our guide, Epoy, and the ranger accompanying us seem excited as well - or so it seems. Almost like a fata morgana, as we paddle closer, the giant creature is nowhere to be found. For the next five minutes, I am simply quiet, hoping for the rhino to emerge once more, yet just overcome by emotions. As time passes, I work hard to forget everything I know about rhinoceroses, and by the end of this mental exercise, I have turned them into basically semi-aquatic mammals on the brink of taking the evolutionary jump to becoming whales with horns, necessitated by their continued loss of habitat on land. After five minutes, it dawns on me that the rhino is not holding its breath, and I dare to ask and confirm this outstanding event with the rest of our company. The laughter of everyone and the crushing of my spirits rock the boat as we establish that the shape was indeed a large crocodile and not the easy-to-mistake rhino I wanted to see so badly. Yet, we tense up quickly again. The muddy waters return, and there is a crackling in the forest nearby. As we turn the corner, we see fresh tracks leading out into the forest. We quickly jump on land; this could really be it. We find fresh markings, still wet and damp in the morning air. The rhino had to be close. We slowly follow the tracks, careful not to disturb any wildlife. After a few turns through the thick undergrowth, we reach the river again. It has disappeared into the jungle. As we glide downriver one last time, taking in the untamed beauty of Ujung Kulon and slowly moving towards the ocean, I already plot my return. Until next time.