DEADLY RAIN...

       Whenever I see a news report of volcanic eruptions anywhere, I relive vivid memories of the terror my (now ex-) husband, Paul, and I suffered in 1979 in Indonesia, although it would seem our experience was mild in comparison to most reported eruptions.  That weekend in August promised to be an adventure; we had no idea just how close to death we would come.

Along with three other Australian expatriates living in Jakarta, we signed up for a trip to Krakatoa, west of Java (the film title is wrong) in the Sundah Strait, arranged by the Diplomatic Club.  There were groups from all over the world on the tour, including Canada, France, Britain, USA, Germany and elsewhere and we were all eager to get a close look at the famous volcano.

Krakatau, as it is known in Indonesia, erupted in August 1883 after 200 years of slumber, killing approximately 36,000 people.  It was a blast that “shook the world”, sending shock waves around the world more than seven times and debris 80km into the atmosphere, blotting out the sun.  Pumice stone rained on Alice Springs.  We intrepid adventurers couldn’t help but feel a tingle of excitement as we drew closer to our destination.

From the beach at Cerita on the western shore of Java, our departure point, we had seen a plume of smoke marking the spot and as the boat drew closer, were treated to a remarkable sight.  The force of the 1883 eruption had split the crater into several small islands and in the middle was the crater now known as “Anak Krakatau” (Child of Krakatau).  As our boat circled the island, we jostled for position, cameras clicking madly trying to get the best possible shots of the eruptions. A French vulcanologist in our party told us that the volcano became active around August every year.

The crater island itself was breathtaking.  Everything was black and shades of grey.  Even the water surrounding the island appeared black because of the thick layer of ash below.  One small stand of straggly pines on a peninsular furthest from the crater offered the only colour in this inhospitable landscape.  Sulphur fumes reached us on the breeze but were not overpowering.  Soon the boat had beached and we were swimming in the “black sea” then eating our lunch, preparing for the trek up for a better view of the “show”.

A high ridge that had probably been the crater rim some years ago circled the active crater.  Each eruption sent fiery projectiles hurtling into the valley formed between the crater and the ridge.  After watching for a while, we realised there was a small eruption every five minutes or so for a period of half an hour or so, then a larger outburst before the cycle started again.

Groups started forging their way to the top of the ridge to watch Mother Nature’s fireworks.  Impatient to be off, Paul started without me accompanying two other Australians, Annette and Steve.  Annette’s husband, Gary and I found the water too inviting and decided to prolong our swim, promising to join them shortly, maybe.  We watched our mates follow a shorter path to the top of the ridge than the rest of the group, and seeing that the climb didn’t look too strenuous after all, we set off after them.

A spectacular view of the spewing crater was our reward as we joined our partners.  After watching the show for a while, we took turns have our photographs taken, capturing an eruption as a splendid backdrop in each snap shot. 

We were waiting for the big explosion when an almighty roar from the crater sent us scurrying back down the slope, running for our lives.  The large eruption we had been expecting was far stronger than any we had previously witnessed and we could see it was about to fire rocks over the ridge and down the slope we had just climbed.  Someone yelled, “Run!” and we turned and ran as one, trying desperately to get to the beach and safety.

I remember concentrating on pumping my arms and legs as hard as I could and being amazed that I was keeping pace with Steve who was renowned for his running prowess.  I can still remember the sound of the rocks whizzing through the air and the noise of one particularly large one landing with a loud “Whump!” beside my left leg.  I know I was terrified and the feeling of relief when I realised the deadly rain had stopped, was unforgettable.  We stopped short of the beach to recoup and count our blessings.

The Canadians in an approaching group told us that we had looked like we were reenacting a scene from a war movie, running frantically, zigzagging and ducking enemy bombs.  I doubt our nervous laughter fooled anyone.  The French vulcanologists told us we should have faced the eruption, stood our ground and dodged any rocks that came our way.  Easy, if you know how, we supposed.

How all five of us managed to avoid being hit by one of those deadly missiles is anyone’s guess.  Volcanic rock when flung from the crater is so hot that even a tiny piece would have burnt a hole through our bodies.  A larger piece could have sheared off limbs.  Death would have been almost certain in that unfriendly place so far from adequate medical assistance.  Despite our shock at such a close call, we all put on brave faces, making light of our torrid time.  We were pleased when it was time to leave for the mainland.

The voyage back was probably the worst boat trip Paul and I had ever endured because of an extremely uncomfortable journey in mountainous seas caused by an approaching storm.  We looked back towards the island and in the darkness, enjoyed one of Nature’s best pyrotechnic displays.  The extraordinary sight of brilliant, red lava slowing boiling from the crater was a vision we will remember for the rest of our lives.

We didn’t succumb to the effects of seasickness felt by most of our fellow passengers, arriving back on Java with our lunch intact.  Ironically, I found I would feel sick later whenever I tried to talk about our experience.  The thought of being so close to death was hard to come to terms with.  I used to dream about the noise of that big rock landing near my leg and it was many months before I felt comfortable discussing the trip at all.

Later, we discovered that the boat owners had broken the law by allowing us to land on the island.  Boats were not allowed within two kilometres of the smoking volcano.  Even so, we have no regrets about that trip now, and consider it an unforgettable part of our life tapestry. 

NB: Since posting this story, only last month in December 2018 tremors from the volcano during an eruption caused a tsunami which hit Java (and Southern Sumatra), killing more than 420 people. It was reported that the volcano partially collapsed during an eruption. The area is still on high alert due to more tremors.

©SMG 2008 – Originally published in Take 5 magazine #28.