I bumped into Rowan again, and we headed outside. Already, tiny spits of rain were appearing on the concrete. Kal was there, sitting on the steps. We greeted him once more.

“How did you guys go out there?” he asked.

“It was great!” Rowan and I replied.

“I would be interested to see your pictures.” Remarked Kal.

I produced my camera and switched it on. Digital cameras really are fantastic, you can see exactly what you photographed without waiting for development. I flicked through photos of the Kamoro.

“Show me something I have not seen.” Said Kal.

I eventually got to the lizards and insects from the forest. Kal showed some interest in these.

“You probably have some new species there. That area is hardly explored. Nobody has put much work into the lizards of the area.”

The raindrops increasing in size and frequency forced me to put the camera away.

Jo emerged and asked Rowan and I if we were to be cycling to the golf course. We were both happy to. Jo gave us the keys to two bicycles in the rack in the carpark. Unlocking them, our gear went to Jeffrey (who also received a tip for driving us around) and we rode off. I tried to keep my Akubra hat on, but I was going too fast. I held it to my chest as the heavens opened and the rain came belting down. As Jo instructed, we took the second right hand turn and followed the road through the jungle to the golf course entrance. Kal, Jeffrey and Jo had already overtaken us and were waiting.

The golf course was built with no expenses spared. The entrance was fully undercover with a walkway leading to the foyer. At each side of the walkway were two saucer-sized sandpits, each had the “Sheraton Hotels” logo stamped in the sand within. The foyer itself was roomy enough. To the right was a toilet block that must have cost a fortune. Each sink was a large copper bowl, the walls made of fossil-bearing rock. To the left was the bar and dining area. Right ahead was the course itself. Rowan and I walked out to the back with Jo and Kal, where there was a set of chairs and a view of the course. Rain was cascading from the roof with a roar by now. We sat back, each holding a Gin and Tonic and discussed the journey so far. A smoking hot bowl of peanuts arrived on the table. Normally I wouldn’t eat them, but I was hungry. My attention was distracted by a Southeast Asian Toad (Bufo melanostictus,) which I quickly photographed, and the wing of a large moth which was lying on the pavement. A short while later we were off again. Jeffrey, who had been waiting in the foyer took Kal away, while we left the bicycles and took a lift back to the clinic in an ISOS (medical) vehicle.

While we waited for the ISOS car that was to take us to the highlands, I killed time by photographing the forest and statues in the rain.

Eventually the car came and we loaded our gear into it. Markus, another Indonesian dentist, was to accompany us on this trip. Rowan had the front seat, with Jo, while I sat in the back with Markus. We headed off up the mining road. Jo told us it would be a pretty windy trip, as the road rode a large ridge to Tembagapura. In the fading light we crossed over the Iwaka River, carrying its grey tailings and soon arrived at Mile 50 checkpoint. The guards stepped out from the building and demanded our ID cards, which Jo had. They swiped them through a weatherproof computer, which made a loud “beep” each time a card was approved. Soon, all cards were checked and we started the climb. Rowan and I were then given our cards to look after. The cards when swiped record the time. If a driver arrives at the Tembagapura checkpoint in less than 45 minutes, they are assumed to have sped, and get penalty points. There was no danger of speeding here, I thought. By now it was fully dark. The road swerved left and right. I lurched around in the back, riding sideways and confined with the luggage and the hot, steamy air. I have never been carsick, but the banana bread came very close to exiting the way it went in.

Soon enough we were at Tembagapura. The guards checked our ID again. We had climbed from less than 100m to around 3200m in less than 50 minutes!

            A friend of Jo’s had offered us use of his apartment. Space is very limited here due to the extreme terrain, so just about everyone lives in apartments. We offloaded our equipment and wished the driver well. We were to be on the top floor- no easy walk with the gear all the way up by stairs!

            When we unpacked, I stopped to have a look over town- not that much was visible. Tembagapura is in a cloud forest, most of the time there is a thick mist over town. I could see lights below pricking holes in the fog, but nothing in detail. It was cold and very damp. We had no time to admire views, we had to be at the Lupa Lelah, or the “Loop” as the ex-pats call it. The walk there took only around five minutes over cold, damp, crunchy gravel paths. The Lupa Lelah is a restaurant where the executives, advisors and doctors eat. It was wonderfully set out with painted murals on the walls and large buffets in a corner. We sat down with some friends of Jo’s: Zed, an Australian ex-pat and his Fiancé Unique. We ordered our meals and sat back to chat. While chatting to Zed, who had a razor-sharp sense of humour, a man in the background came to our attention. He looked like a waiter, with a cloth at the ready. He moved from table to table, smiling at the diners and asking questions, dripping with politeness and a slight lisp. He made his way towards us. Rowan and I must have both thought of the name “Hans” because when he came over and Jo introduced him as Hans, we both nearly choked on stifled laughter due to the coincidence of it all. Hans, as it turned out was from Switzerland and had moved to West Papua and become the manager of the Lupa Lelah. Despite his small stature and gentle, teddy-bear like manner- he proved himself to be a rather formidable restaurateur, as we discovered later.

            Dinner went on well into the night- Rowan and Zed in particular got along very well. They spoke well into the night of investments, property and all sorts of other things that go right over my head. We were the last in the Lupa Lelah. The staff hinted that we should leave by turning lights off and shuffling about. Soon we were out. Zed offered us a lift around town for a look. It was nearly midnight as we drove the Landcruiser up and over the very steep, always wet gravel streets of Tembagapura. Soon it was time to get back for some rest.

* * * *

Early in the morning I leapt out of bed and half ran, half walked down to the helipad. Jo had told me that if I was there at around six AM I may be able to hitch a ride on a chopper. What an opportunity! I had tried to wake Rowan but he looked dead. So it was me on my own. On my right was a stream flowing hard and fast. Glossy Swiftlets banked and turned at high speed, their glossy blue backs shining even in the overcast light. I reached the helipad as one helicopter took off. I approached the hangar door and an Indonesian man directed me to the hangar itself. An Indonesian pilot walked over and asked me what I wanted. I asked politely for a spare seat, if one was available.

“Do you have payload, or have to go anywhere?” He asked.

“No, I was wondering if you had a spare seat so I could see this place from the air.” I replied

“I am sorry, but we are full today. We must fly immediately before the clouds block the view. We won’t be flying tomorrow, either. All aircraft are grounded during Independence Day.”

I thanked him, he nodded and smiled. A little let down, I walked back knowing that that was my only chance to fly over the mountains. I had promised my brother Andrew, back in Australia that I would try to get a flight.

I arrived back at the apartment and woke Rowan from his apparent dead state.

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast. I tried to get on a helicopter but no luck.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He asked.

“I tried, but you mumbled and then rolled over as if dead.”

“Well, I mumble in my sleep, next time shake me a bit harder, so I definitely wake up.”

I was thinking more of a number 13 boot…

This was to be our first experience with the Flamboyant, the place the miners eat before work. We walked down the hill to the building. It looked like every other building there- concrete sides and a military green roof. We walked to the side and into the door. A guard was waiting next to a computer with a card-reader. The card was to be inserted into the reader where it was scanned with a laser. First Rowan’s card then mine were checked, each beeped as “Access Granted” appeared on the screen. We walked over to the hot food section where cooks were serving rice, sausages, eggs, fish, and deep fried foods. We loaded up our plates and feasted. Cordials were also available, as were fresh fruits and bread. Not bad at all. After quickly eating, I suggested that we go and explore.

I had to photograph every animal and interesting plant we could find. First, we walked up to the top of Tembagapura. A stream entered the town. This would have to be prime real estate for animal hunting. It was flanked by cloud forest with a carpet of moss. Just upstream, somebody’s house backed onto the stream; obviously they didn’t care as all of their household rubbish had been thrown into the stream. It was piled up to the back door like a small mountain. Nature was calling urgently. I just had to go all of the sudden. Rowan stayed behind playing in the stream while I climbed up a small waterfall and found a secluded spot. Tim Flannery in Throwim Way Leg had described moss as the perfect toilet paper- obviously not this stuff. Sure it was soft but I didn’t realise at the time that bits, well… large amounts of moss stay behind, rolling about and twisting as one walks. Next time I’ll be sure to be more careful.

That didn’t stop me looking for frogs; I turned over every decent rock I saw, until one had a funny looking pebble under it. It was a small frog, about 4cm long and the same colour as the rocks around it. The frog was as fat as it was long. I reached down to catch it, and it did a handstand, vanishing in between the rocks below. I excavated at lease a cubic metre or rocks but no sign of the little frog. It was a Microhylid of sorts- like basically all of the frogs this high up.

I gave up, and Rowan and I walked around the town. I wanted to check out another stream to the west, only a few minutes walk away. On the way we stopped and I looked through a fence, over a road and into the forest on the other side. A Monarch of sorts (Arses sp) fluttered past, landed on a branch before vanishing into the cloud forest. Its stark black and white plumage complimented its Shakespearean frill. Honeyeaters fed from trees behind me. I could not get a clean shot with the camera, so I left them. Rowan and I continued. A Papuan and Indonesian approached us, they were security guards asking what we were doing. Because of the imminent danger of attacks from the hills by the Resistance Movement (OPM,) security is very tight. I showed them pictures of lizards and frogs. They were a little curious, but very friendly. They wished us well and we walked to the stream. White Landcruisers and blue four wheel drive trucks converted into buses drove past. We walked upstream on a dirt road. Cigar flowers grew prolifically along the road, as did a variety of heaths and other shrubs; many were in flower. Perched on a rock was a stately pink orchid, similar to the Spathoglottis species we had seen near the Iwaka River. It too was from the Spathoglottis group but slightly different. I photographed it. Meanwhile Rowan had found a variety of colourful beetles, which also had their portrait taken with my camera. One tiny iridescent blue-green specimen was chewing away at fungus/cyanobacteria growths on the wet rocks.

Shortly after, we descended into the stream and lifted over rocks. After a while I noticed something was amiss. There was no life in this stream. Not even weeds or insects. Nothing at all. We stepped back and noticed that right up to the high water mark there was a film of brown sludge, I don’t know what it was but that discovery ended the search.

We walked down to the supermarket, on the way photographing Swiftlets and orchids. I spotted a pair of birds feeding on a cigar flower. One was dull brown with a smudge of red on the forehead and the other was black with a red head and tail. At first I thought they were sunbirds, as they acted like the sunbirds I know from Australia- they were the same size and shape too. They were actually honeyeaters, from the same Myzomela group as the Scarlet Honeyeater in Australia. I could not get a photo of these as they were too crafty. We photographed orchids growing on the trees too. One, Aglossorhynca sp was dull and green but had the most amazing, sweet perfume.

We were scheduled to meet with Colin Tilbury- a reptile fanatic from South Africa who is a doctor working for ISOS in Tembagapura. We were late and had missed him. Jo was not happy. My fault entirely. We doubted we would ever meet Colin at this stage, so we went to the supermarket. It’s a strange thing to have to put a card into a reader to get access to a supermarket, especially while heavily armed guards are watching your every move. I suppose shoplifting is not normal here.

Jo was in the supermarket building with the Howlands (our sponsors) and a few others. Colin was there too, ordering lunch from a diner. I sat down with Colin. He was a fit, middle aged man with a respectable grey beard. His South African accent was very noticeable. He was also razor sharp as I discovered, he obviously didn’t miss a beat. During the conversation we discussed our plans. As it turned out, we were to be heading out with Colin on the Zaagham Walk to see the waterfall, and hopefully find some animals. I thanked Colin and went shopping quickly at the supermarket. Rowan had already gone back to the apartment.

I returned to the apartment and spent the rest of the day sorting images and typing. Rowan was content watching DVDs from the shelf.

That evening, we were to go to the Lupa Lelah for dinner. It was set up for Independence Day the following day. Two polystyrene cutouts had been made by the resident artist. The first was an Indonesian man performing a victory dance of sorts surrounded by flames. Behind him was the number 19. The next was a Papuan man with pig tusks in his nose, holding a spear and shield. He just stood there in the picture with flames surrounding him and the number 74 behind him. Round tables were set up to accommodate large numbers of guests. We sat at a table and spoke to a few people. Andrew Fields was there. He’s an American geologist in his mid twenties. Going by the conversation, it looked like we were going for a walk with him on Sunday. Another man, David Gaffey sat opposite me. Jo introduced him as “The mad fisherman.” Gaffey had a moustache and a shaved head. A “top bloke” as we say in Australia, we spoke of fishing on the Saturday to come.

“We got 80 barra last week down in the lowlands!” He exclaimed.

“Wow, so what else is there?” I enquired.”

“Fingermark, tripletail, Archers. I’ve been fishing for Black Bass now for years but only caught three. We’ll have a good day regardless.” He said.

I thanked Gaffey very much and we continued dinner. And what a dinner it was. An enormous buffet had been organised by the ever-polite Hans. A vast selection of meats, salads, desserts; the variety of food was phenomenal. In the next room, Papuans were jumping up and down celebrating something. Eventually dinner was over and I could eat no more. Colin offered to give us a lift back. On the way out the door we saw movement in the water feature. Two Southeast Asian Toads were swimming about. Colin could not bring himself to kill them, so he picked them up and put them in a cloth reptile bag. He looked at them and exclaimed:

“I can’t kill them, it’s not their fault for being toads. I’ll let them go with their friends in the lowlands.”

He was right. Killing them won’t affect the species- it will only create vacancies for more to fill. He asked:

“Do you know how to tell the difference between a male and female toad?”

I didn’t know. I do know that the males of many frogs have distinctive pads on the tops of their “hands” to grip females with, and often a discoloured throat where the bubble-like vocal sac is. But I did not know much specifically about toads. Colin said:

“Get your fingers and give the toad a gentle squeeze on the hips through the bag. Males will automatically give a warning call to say they are a male and cannot be mated with by another amorous male.”

Sure enough, one made a squawk sound when pressed. You learn something new every day.