Indonesia Blog Part Two: Krakatoa (1st October 2012)

Lava flowing into the sea

I really should have consulted a map. But I'll blame the guidebooks all the same. They all say that Krakatoa Island lies just off the Western coast of Java. They give the impression that it is really very close. You can easily charter a boat, they say. Some guidebooks imply that you can see Krakatoa from the holiday town of Carita. Well, let me correct them. You can't. Krakatoa is thirty five miles from the coast of Java which is almost like crossing the English Channel twice. You need to hire a power-boat with a deafeningly noisy engine, and you have to pound remorselessly for two hours across rough seas to reach it.

But when you get there ... it's amazing.

Here are the facts. Krakatoa Island blew itself apart on 27th August 1883 in a volcanic explosion that was thirteen thousand times more powerful than the bomb at Hiroshima. The explosion threw more than five cubic miles of rock and ash into the atmosphere, and it made a bang that was heard five thousand miles away. Most of the island was destroyed. But in 1927 a new island volcano appeared above the waterline. They called it 'Anakrakatoa' - or 'the son of Krakatoa.' And since the 1950s this island has been growing in height by nearly 20 feet a year. It is already half a mile high.

Heavy fall of ash on the slopes 

A lava bomb

A lava bomb

A lava flow 1 week old

We left Carita in our power-boat at 5am. The waves are calmer at this time of day. So we saw the sunrise over Java. The first sight of Krakatoa was a distant plume of smoke and steam and a menacing cone emerging from the sea mists like a grey cloaked demon. There had been a massive eruption just a week before our visit. As we drew closer we could see its impact. The slopes of the volcano were burning with a thousand fires - the remnants of bushes and trees that had been consumed. Huge new lava flows ran all the way down the mountain to the sea. This was a very active volcano indeed. 

One small coastal strip of the island survives. It has been colonised by trees and shrubs, and there is now a permanent ranger station there. We waded ashore and gave our details to the ranger. 'If you feel any activity,' he told us, 'run like mad back to your boat.' He pointed to his own boat. 'We'll already be gone,' he said.

It was a very hot day. As we walked clear of the woodland and started up the slope it was clear that we could never climb this mountain - even if it was only eighty years old. A deep layer of new, soft, ash made every footstep tortuously difficult - like trying to climb a mound of icing sugar. Our guide pointed out a debris field of lava bombs. None of these had been here a week ago. They had rained down along with the ash and a grainy layer of pumice just days before. We came across a lava bomb as big as a washing machine. It was still hot to the touch.

We tried to climb, but not only was the terrain impossible, the smell of sulphur was starting to choke us. Sue's eyes were streaming. We turned back and had a surreal breakfast back at the ranger station. Then we walked a mile or so along the black beach to a fresh lava-flow. It felt like standing close to a smouldering bonfire.

I've noticed that they don't use the name 'Anakrakatoa' quite so much any more. I can see why. This isn't the son of Krakatoa. This is Krakatoa. It is back from the dead and planning its next big number. We may not be around when that happens, but it will happen, and nothing we can do will ever stop it. You can sense the volcano summoning up all its subterranean energies, and those energies are colossal. And when it comes you might even hear it where you are.

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