Pulau Kapas Adventure Oct. ‘72

During our lengthy hitch-hiking adventure along the east coast of Malaysia and Thailand, Penny and I longed for a Robinson Crusoe experience on a remote tropical island. When we arrived in the fishing village of Marang, we decided the time was right. A short distance from the village lay the uninhabited island of Pulau Kapas.

On the evening of our arrival in Marang, we walked around the foreshore and primitive docks in search of a fisherman willing to transport us out to the island. One fisherman agreed and after settling on a charter fee, time and meeting place, we parted company and set about purchasing a week’s provisions from the market before retiring to our lodging for the night.

Next morning we arrived at our rendezvous site to discover that our charter skipper wanted to back out of the deal we had made and refused to take us. Our limited knowledge of the Malay language prevented us from understanding the reason for his change of heart, something we would soon discover the hard way.

Undeterred, we wandered among the fisherman in search of someone else to deliver us to Pulau Kapas and eventually found a cheerful skipper willing to ferry us to our dreamed of ‘desert island’. The vessel was a double ended open boat about 20 feet long with an inboard motor amidships. The skipper and crew were friendly and hospitable and welcomed us aboard along with our backpacks and provisions.

We chugged out to sea over a gently rolling swell, eventually arriving at a sandy beach on the south west side of the island. Two burly crewmen jumped over the side into the surf and insisted on carrying us and our bags ashore pig-a-back style. We walked up the golden sand and one of our crew effortlessly scaled a coconut palm and cut down several bunches of coconuts to add to our provisions.  

Because of the low surf running on the beach, the fishermen were keen to depart before their heavy boat touched bottom. With a cheery wave they chugged away, leaving us alone on the beach. We could vaguely see the low lying mainland coast to the west, but to all intents and purposes we were now marooned on our very own desert island.

Scouting the beach for a place to set up camp, we discovered a sea cave which looked like an ideal place to live out our Crusoe experience. We took our backpacks into the back of the cave and proceeded to set out our ground sheet and sleeping bags. At that stage the tide was low and the sand in the back of the cave was dry and comfortable.

 Entrance to our Pulau Kapas sea cave.

On that first idyllic afternoon, we wandered the deserted beach, drank fresh coconut milk and marvelled at our good fortune.  By mid afternoon, the wind began to pick up, ominous black clouds rolled over the southern horizon, and the temperature dropped dramatically. Rain arrived in the late afternoon, driving us into the welcome shelter of our sea cave. A camp fire in the mouth of the cave proved to be a bad idea. The rising wind blew the smoke into the back of the cave, mingling with the smell of rotting seaweed  to create a rather unpleasant odour.

As we settled into our sleeping bags, still high and dry at the back of the cave, we noted that the tide was still rising inexorably towards us. With no knowledge of the tide cycle in the region, we had no idea what the night ahead might hold in store for us.

By 1.00 am, large waves were reaching for our dry beds and we realized we had no choice but to venture out into the fury of the storm, for fear of being trapped and drowned in our increasingly dangerous cave. Tiny flash lights in hand (it would be years before we had the luxury of head lamps for our adventuring) we quickly stuffed our belongings into our back packs and I led the way out of the cave. By this time the waves were thigh high and the sand in the floor of the cave churned with each step. Had we waited much longer, our exit might have been extremely challenging.

Once clear of the cave mouth, we plunged into the jungle at the height of the storm.

The reason for our first skipper’s reluctance to bring us to the island steadily dawned on us.  We were caught up in the fury of the first tropical monsoon storm of the season.

At this stage in our travels we didn’t have a tent, just a heavy gauge black plastic sheet. On the rare occasion that we had to sleep in the open, we would rig the plastic as either a ground sheet or a tarp, depending on conditions.

The wind was so violent, the jungle so tangled and the ground so rough that we struggled to rig the tarp over a ridge rope strung between two trees. Eventually we had a crude shelter flogging wildly in the wind and pummelled by the rain. We clung together, cold wet and miserable, until the dawn light finally broke through. It was one of the longest nights of our lives.

The rain let up a bit at dawn, allowing us to pack up our tarp and struggle out of our jungle camp. Back on the beach, we eventually found a trail leading to higher ground, so off we went in search of a better camp site. After a relatively short hike we were thrilled to discover a beautiful tiny traditional cottage constructed of bamboo frames and palm frond roof and walls.

As the only people crazy enough to occupy Pulau Kapas during the first onslaught of the monsoon season, we happily settled into our new-found story-book cottage, spreading our drenched gear to dry. We soon had our tiny “chuffer” stove cooking up a fine breakfast.

Around noon we watched from our dandy covered lookout deck as a traditional open fishing boat arrived in the bay below and proceeded to drop anchor. That morning we had noted a large rocky reef exposed at low tide, right beneath the anchorage these fellows had chosen, so we hiked down the bush trail to the beach to warn them of the danger.

When we arrived on the beach we discovered three fishermen rather the worse for wear. They were all lightly dressed and shivering. One was an older man and the other two were probably in their teens. They had obviously struggled to weather the same storm as us. One of the younger fellows had severe rope burns on his arms and hands, possibly from handling their anchor line during the storm.

We invited them to join us in our new-found cottage so that Nurse Penny could tend to their wounds and we could warm them up with hot tea and rice. Thus began a delightful afternoon interaction without a single word of each other’s language. We were all obliged to communicate strictly with sign language and grunts, interspersed with much laughter.

After ointment and bandages had been applied and our guests had warmed up and satisfied their appetites, I set about attempting to warn them that they had anchored right above a dangerous rocky reef, and that they should move their boat before the next low tide or risk serious damage. We eventually got the message through and they reluctantly left our cozy cottage and headed back to sea in search of a safer anchorage.

With the passing of the first monsoon storm of the season, we enjoyed an afternoon hike to the east side of the island before returning to our cottage for the night. The next day our fisherman/charter boat operator returned to the island to check on our well being and we decided that in the face of further stormy weather on the horizon we would end our desert island experience and head back to the mainland.

There is an interesting sequel to the story. The memory of our failure to heed our first charter skipper’s reluctance to take us to Pulau Kapas served us well months later during our Everest Base Camp Trek. Following the stiff ascent on the first day of our trek, we arrived in a high altitude village and sought out a private home to spend the night. This was the first of twenty plus days when we would arrange accommodation in private homes at the moment if our arrival in a village.

On this first occasion, the owners allowed us to set up camp on their front porch. Beneath  the roof over the front entrance were two raised benches, each the size of a narrow 8’ bunk, with just enough space to store our backpacks and roll out our sleeping bags. As was typical in rural Nepal, the front door led to an animal shelter in the lower level, while the family lived up stairs.

We settled in for the night, protected from the wind, and later from the snow. By the next morning it was snowing quite heavily and our host advised us in rather strong terms that we should remain on his porch for another day and night rather than venturing off onto the snowy trail. Having learned from our Pulau Kapas adventure that it is wise to listen to the advice of the locals, particularly relating to the weather, we settled in for an unscheduled rest day on day two of our three week trek, drinking tea, playing chess, and watching the snow drift all around us.

By the following day the weather cleared and we were able to set off once again, delighting in the large swaths of pink snow beneath the huge rhododendron trees, caused by the dye from the petals that had fallen in the snow during the storm. We were to learn via the grape vine that day that several locals had lost their life on a couple of the high passes, caught out in the wild weather and freezing temperatures that our host had warned us about.

Thus our Palau Kapas adventure became part of our family folk law, serving as a constant reminder to heed the advice of local people when travelling in unfamiliar places.