I woke early (05:30) just to make sure that my kit was packed and to try to grab a quick breakfast before the scheduled 7 a.m. Pick up from the hotel. Just before 7, I ate a very quick breakfast of mie goreng (fried noodles). I asked if I could have a couple of fried eggs with toast and was told that yes, of course this was possible, but that I would have to pay extra. I was starting to hate the fact that tourists are ripped off at every opportunity. Of course I recognise that income from tourism is very important in Indonesia and Papua (as in other developing countries), but I detest the fact that every single person here sees tourists as being awash with cash. I'm happy to bring some small income into developing, remote communities, but having already paid 505,000 rupiah for my room ($60!) I would have expected that a couple of fried eggs would not go amiss!
Outside the hotel, the vehicle was already waiting with my Indonesian driver and I was pleased to see it was in good condition. I wasn't sure what state the road would be in but was glad that at least the first part of my 'budget' trip would be trouble-free. At 07:20, I texted the local agent to ask where he was. During my previous expedition in Indonesia, I had experienced the phenomenon known locally as 'rubber time' so I wasn't too upset to learn that the guide was still buying food etc - the agent finally turned up at 07:45 with the guide/cook and 2 porters, one of whom looked about 100 years old. The arrangement was that there would be 3 porters; the 3rd porter was planned to be an acquaintance of the old porter (I assume a friend from the local old folks' home?) but he hadn't shown up so instead we left the old dude and jumped in the car to find a friend of the guide/cook who lived near the local market. It didn't take him long to agree to earn a bit of spending money and after a quick stop to buy torch batteries we sped off West on the road into the mountains.
Initially, the road was in good condition and was passable by 2WD. We drove past smallholdings and schools that, although traditionally built, were in good order and the Indonesian flag was prominently displayed. After about 15 minutes of driving out of Wamena, we stopped at an Army checkpoint; despite my concerns about being denied access, the soldier manning the checkpoint was happy with my Surat Jalan and my permit from the Forestry Office and we were allowed to proceed. By now, the driver, his friend and the guide and porters must already have smoked about 5 cigarettes each – lung disease rates in Indonesia in general and Papua in particular must be among the highest in the world.
The road surface soon became much rougher and although it was a graded road, it would have been impossible for a 2WD vehicle to progress. Luckily it was dry, otherwise it would have been very difficult even for a 4WD vehicle to ascend. As we climbed up the winding road into the mountains, we passed small groups of Papuans walking either towards or out of Wamena. There were several small settlements hidden by the vegetation, but which were identifiable by the breaks in vegetation that allowed villagers access. There were several small logging camps by the roadside, where a few Papuans brandishing chainsaws were busy sawing logs into planks. It was clear that most of the forest around Wamena had already been denuded and it really felt like I was travelling through a frontier. Papua feels like it's on the brink of something big, either for better or worse. So far, the only traditional dress I had seen was an old man in Wamena selling tourist trinkets – every other person was wearing Western clothes in different gaudy combinations. The missionaries had obviously done their work well and not for the first time, I questioned whether this kind of development actually helped the local community. I do believe in creating opportunities for people to access basic human needs like healthcare and education and to earn income to 'improve' their lives. However, doing so on the basis that they accept God is, in my view, clearly wrong. Forcing Western ideals of culture and society on a group of people reduces cultural diversity, which makes the world a less interesting place.
Rant over. We stopped at a viewpoint where the forest opened up and there was an incredible vista across the broad, flat Baliem Valley, where I stopped to take a few photos. It felt really exciting to know I was the only white person making my way through this frontier and into an area that was really off-limits to tourists. The fact that I was going with a ragtag bunch of Papuans gave it more of an edge. The reality was that no Indonesian official knew I was headed so if someone decided that I should disappear then only my daily contact with Iain Mackay, who knew my co-ordinates and plans in details, could help get me out.
After about an hour and a half of progress up into the mountains, I started to get good views of the Snow Mountains to the south. This far into the mountains, there were no real forestry operations. In actual fact, we were now deep into the Lorentz National Park, hence why I had to apply for a forestry permit to access Lake Habbema. Officially, deforestation is illegal in this Park, which is a World Heritage Site that stretches for over 150 kilometers (km), from the central cordillera mountains in the north to the Arafura Sea in the south.
In the distance, I caught my first glimpse of Lake Habbema, which sits in a broad alpine valley. To be honest, it was a bit disappointing, but that's not surprising when you consider that I'm from Scotland, which boasts many incredibly beautiful lochs. I think the fact that the landscape was scarred by the white sand of the road (which soon splits and runs all the way to either Timika or Tiom) spoiled my impression.
We soon stopped on the road when the guide was happy that we were at the right spot. Of course, we were in the wrong spot and as the vehicle sped off back to Wamena I had a sinking feeling that things might not go as smoothly as planned. I had agreed with the agent that I would send him a message from my satellite phone to let him know the day before we needed a pickup. The 'guide' (Wameak, which means Little Pig in Dani) and one of the porters headed West down the road to find the path, whicle the other porter headed East. My agent had assured me that the guide, who was in actual fact a cook, had been to Trikora many times before. Lying bugger.
Meanwhile, I sat down on my pack and waited while they hooted and hollered at each other from a distance before they decided the porter to the East had found a suitable path. As I trudged slowly uphill in the morning sun, I found myself breathing quite heavily. Habbema sits at an altitude of 3,400m and the effect of the lower oxygen pressure on my physiology was obvious. I was also carrying my big pack (around 20 kgs) because I wanted to build up a base of mountain fitness on this first leg of the expedition, having had precious little chance to train while working in Sudan. One thing I was not wearing at this point, however, was suncream, which I was later to regret.
We trudged slowly down the steep slope that ran south from the lake to a broad, boggy plain. To the south was a scrubby forest, beyond which were a series of rocky ridges ridges, and beyond those ridges Puncak Trikora was shrouded in cloud. The porters pace was initially slow. Two of them wore flipflops and the third walked barefoot. The flipflops were discarded whenever we crossed really slippery ground, to be replaced by...er.....nothing – they preferred to go barefoot and as I followed in their footsteps I could see that the big toe was slightly splayed compared to my own foot, which helped balance on e.g. tree roots. We seemed to be heading slightly to the West of Puncak Trikora, which seemed strange to me, and Wameak seemed unsure of himself but obviously didn't want to lose face so early in the trip. So we continued to walk in the same direction and I already started to lose my faith in his guiding abilities and judgement.
After a while, we reached the forest at the other side of the plain and started to ascend through the shrubby trees. There were visible footprints so it was obvious that people used this route, however it was clearly heading too far West. At this point Wameak decided that we had veered slightly off course and decided to change direction. We had been heading up into the mountains to a village called Brumu, which was under rebel OPM control. The Free Papua Movement (Indonesian: Organisasi Papua Merdeka, abbreviated OPM) is an indigenous organisation established in 1965 to promote self-determination and secession of West Papua from the Republic of Indonesia. The movement is outlawed in Indonesia, and raising the Morning Star flag and speaking in support of OPM goals are outlawed.
Wameak also decided that the forest was too thick to walk through (it wasn't), so instead we walked back the way we had come for half an hour and then spent an other hour walking East to meet the actual path that we should have taken all along. It was really infuriating to know that I had been under the equatorial sun for an hour and a half for no reason, and that I had used up energy walking with a heavy pack to boot. Once we hit the right path it was easy to follow up through the forest and about halfway up a shallow slope we hit a heathery open area with many tree stumps – in the centre of this area was a raised, flat, grassy mound with a traditional A-frame shelter built from branches with space for a small tent adjacent. We had reached Wakikama (3,301m).We had walked for 4.5 hours and arrived at camp at 3 p.m.
As I pitched my wee GoLite tent above the shelter, the porters collected wood for the cooking fire (hence the many tree stumps). I had brought with me from the UK a selection of freeze-dried meals, which only required me to simply add boiling water to the pouch, stir, and then wait for 10 minutes. My food included a selection of breakfasts and main meals and I had only requested Wameak to provide me with some lunch. Once the fire was going, my water had been boiled and I was tucking into my bland, rehydrated food, Wameka unveiled his wok with a flourish and in no time at all was cooking up freshly boiled and egg-fried rice and noodles with garlic, sardines and cabbage. It smelled and looked amazing, but I stubbornly refused to eat it as I chewed down hard on my stodgy foil-packed dinner. In that one moment of extreme clarity, I knew that Wameak's true calling was as a cook and not as a guide, and I resolved to only eat his freshly cooked food from them on, starting with breakfast the next morning. I also resolved to ignore every navigational decision he made henceforth.
I made one huge mistake while we were having dinner and while the porters smoked another 20 cigarettes each. I had brought with me into the shelter my new Montane softshell, which was one of the items that Paul Cosgrove from Montane had very generously donated. Wameak stared at it with his beady eyes and then asked if he could borrow it as it would be very cold at night. As a humanitarian aid worker I had no choice but to accede to this request. I said goodbye to this shiny new bit of kit with a heavy heart. I retired to my tent and had the first opportunity to test my satcomms in the field. I set up my laptop and BGAN in my one-man tent and was able to check emails and update the expedition facebook page. Simply amazing!
I settled down in my waterproof goosedown sleeping bag and waited to drift off with the sound of the porters jabbering away in the background. Two hours later, when they finally shut up, I was also able to grab some sleep, but woke up cold in the middle of the night. I had to add some layers – 3,400m, whether in the tropics or not, is not a warm place to be once the sun drops below the horizon.
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