Raja Ampat, Indonesia: Little-known spot is heaven on earth
Raja Ampat is often described as the world’s most remote tropical paradise.
Here’s an unlikely story: I’m nursing a wound from a run-in with a black-tipped reef shark.
The lightning-fast creature, swimming in the same shallow waters I was wading through, rammed my leg head-on before swimming off in pursuit of something tastier. The blue-green bruise remains.
Fret not. This is the only shark injury anyone is likely to sustain here in Raja Ampat, a vast archipelago of about 1500 islands in Indonesia’s far-flung West Papua. Black-tipped reef sharks – easily recognised by the tortoise shell-coloured triangle on their dorsal fin, have the similarly malevolent look of a great white shark (with rows of razor-shark teeth to boot). But as my guide said before we set out for the day “don’t worry, they’re like puppies”.
She was right. The shark’s diminutive size (they’re no longer than one metre) and apparent nonchalance around humans helped diffuse my trepidation about swimming in a known shark habitat. Snorkelling above them as they dart around disturbing schools of fish is an experience of a lifetime.
Slight trepidation from the swimmers. Picture: Penny Watson
My finned friends aren’t the only marine creatures that are familiar in these parts. Raja Ampat (meaning Four Kings, a reference to the archipelago’s four main islands) is often described as the world’s most remote tropical paradise. It’s also the richest place on the planet for tropical marine biodiversity. The combination of converging tropical currents and history of intense geological activity have brought about habitat growth not seen anywhere else.
Included in the mix are 1700 species of reef fish, 700 mollusc species and 75 per cent of the planet’s entire 800-strong catalogue of hard coral species, not to mention a fantasia of whales, dolphins, orcas, turtles and manta rays.
It’s easy enough to believe. Whether you choose to snorkel or scuba dive (I did both), a submersion in Raja Ampat’s warm waters feels like dropping into a crowded aquarium where hundreds of fish, big and small, spotted and striped, are busy getting on with their fishy business.
Underwater paradise - Raja Ampat. Picture: David Anstee
Schools of giant trevally swing in and around jetty pylons, tiny neon-lit blue fish duck through the coral wonderland, big-mouthed sweet lips bob around like they’re waiting for something to happen.
A spadefish makes a game of swimming close to my mask, just out of vision so that when I turn my head it eyeballs me like it had something to say.
Huge schools of silvery grey fish split in spectacular synchronicity when intersected by a shark or a snorkeller, before reuniting in identical formation. Parrot fish tootle around on their own looking pretty, miniature zebra fish pop against the muted coral formations, clown fish keep house.
Big old turtles disappear into the distance, so that you wonder if the vision is a trick of the eye. Sting rays appear like magic out of the sandy bottom before shimmying off in fright. On the ocean floor, giant clams – purple with big curvy lips, are big enough to swallow unsuspecting snorkelers whole. If they had pearls, they’d be the size of basketballs.
Craggy islands and Tiffany-blue water - Raja Ampat - Pic Penny Watson
At manta ray ‘cleaning stations’ both reef mantas and ocean mantas, as big as king bed sheets, circle and spin in the water like kites in the air. I see two or three, but it is the end of season. There are reports of divers seeing dozens at a time.
Above water, Raja Ampat is similarly dazzling. Indonesia’s beautiful phinisi sailboats, still built by hand from ironwood on the Indonesian island of Sulawesi, are the liveaboard boats of choice. Ours, the 12-berth, 32-metre Nataraja, cuts a fine figure cruising these waters. The gem-like scattering of craggy islands, particularly beautiful up north around Blue Lagoon, are top-heavy with tropical greenery and rimmed in an eye-watering Tiffany blue.
Cruising in paradise - Raja Ampat. Picture: Penny Watson
From the upper deck of the Nataraja, I reap rewards keeping an eye on the water. Flying fish are a constant, superfast and other-worldly in their ability to flash-mob across the surface of the water before disappearing.
Dolphins race our vessel, dipping in and out the waves with ease (and departing before there’s time to grab my camera). Dugongs, one of the rarer sightings, rise to the surface every four or five minutes, spouting water.
With bino’s in hand, I remain on the lookout for sperm whales. They’re here too apparently, and in this earthly paradise, abundant with life, I’m a good chance to see them.
This writer was supported by Fabrice Abbey Travel.