ANAK KRAKATAU

Now obviously the thought of finally seeing my first and favourite volcano filled me with joy, but a two hour boat ride from West Java into the Sunda Straight still stood in my way, like a vast expanse of oceanic water, which is precisely what it is. My metaphor is similie. We careered through the jade green water for a little over half that time when Anak Krakatau slowly revealed herself through the mist with Rakata in the foreground to the left. As we neared I regressed in age with excitement, drumming the side of the boat with my palms and whooping.


Her perfect form loomed above us as we moved closer.






















There were eruptions three days before according to the fishy boatmen. We dropped anchor, and waited… and waited… and smoked… and drank coffee… and waited.


Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch.

Oh well, lets go climb it…





We passed the monstrous lapilli rock formations (one of which I Christened “The Eagle” because from a certain angle it looked like Sam the Eagle from The Muppet Show) and made shore.



We left the boat and yelled to the pilot “Yo Homie, smell ya later” and as my lily-white feet contrasted with the black volcanic sand, I looked at my kingdom, I was finally there, sitting on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air.

I was actually standing on Anak Krakatau.

My dream come true.

Leaving Sirkip on the shore and sporting nothing sensible (as, I hadn’t bought hiking boots in Singapore ‘cos in their infinite wisdom, my bank had cancelled my card as I showed up in three countries in the space of 9 hours) we began to climb my first stratovolcano in canvas Converse All Stars.

Stopping three times for breath and water, we made as far as we were allowed; the ridge of the 1927 crater.
Sitting looking up at the crater I knew there was some kind of important mission that I must accomplish. Something about a golden ring and a mountain… or something or other. I forget.




After the loss of the observation station to lava bombs in November and surveying some week-old lava bombs and their craters Doni and I sat on the basalt rock, chatting about a business idea. Gandalf arrived. I recalled the words “Keep it safe and keep it secret” Thorin sang about gold and time passed. Ah-ha! One ring to rule them… erm, what was that mission Goddamnit? And why was it so important to me and all hobbits everywhere? Grrrr. Time passed. More time passed….

And then, tick, tick, tick , tick… Booom!

Suddenly she erupted. And we were standing only a few hundred metres away from the vent. With the words of Wilfred Owen reverberating round my mind “The Gas. The Gas. Quick boys, an ecstasy of fumbling” I scrambled in my pockets for what I was told I would need should she erupt… my new Sony Cybershot digital camera and that first second of panic was replaced with awe.




Thousands of cubic metres of ash, dust, rock, steam, smoke, pummice and noxious gas spewed hundreds of feet into the baby-blue sky, from our position blocking out the sun. There was no real danger, the wind was easterly so the grey-black cloud which started its life as a belch in the belly of the earth would blow the opposite direction. Furthermore, the shape and positioning of the crater ensured that no 200 mile an hour, 1200 degree celcius pyroclastic flow (a boiling cloud of steam, gas and rock that devours everything in its path, like Vesuvius did to Pompeii’s residents in AD 79) could come close.



I was so glad that she erupted while I was there, one of the most awesome sights I’ve ever seen.