IN SEARCH OF THE BIRDS-OF-PARADISE WORDS & PHOTOS Paul V. Walters Just after 3am, a voice outside my cabin door calls softly, telling me that it’s time to go. I make my way gingerly up from below decks in pitch darkness, careful not to wake the other guests on board the Katherina, a 100- foot Phinisi sailing ship moored off the island of Gam in the tropical waters of Raja Ampat in West Papua. Our purser, Frans, welcomes me on deck with a cup of coffee and provides detailed instructions about what will happen over the next two-to-three hours. I try to take it all in but am somewhat distracted by the night sky which, given the absence of any external light, is peppered with a billion brilliant stars. The guttural sound of an outboard engine breaks the silence, and out of the darkness appears Simon, my Papuan guide, standing at the rear of a longboat like a sentinel. Only his brilliantly white teeth, framed by a massive smile, can be seen in the pre-dawn darkness. After taking my seat at the front of the longboat, mere inches above the water, we speed away from the the safety of Katharina and into the night. Strapped to my head is a cumbersome headlamp; its powerful globe protrudes from my forehead and makes me look like some prehistoric deep-water fish. Within seconds of turning the light on, I am enveloped in a swarm of tiny insects performing a kind of harikiri by flying at speed directly into the lamp’s globe and, by design, my face. Simon advises me to keep my mouth closed, but it’s too late. Several dozen are already down my throat. If that wasn’t enough, the swarming flying creatures attract hordes of bats swooping like fighter jets as they catch the insects mid-flight. Not for the first time this morning I begin to question my motives for this expedition. Now, let's be clear, I am not a keen ornithologist; in fact, I really don’t have much interest in birds whatsoever. What I do have is a fascination with the writings of Albert Russell Wallace, the eminent 19th century explorer who spent years traveling this part of the Indonesian archipelago. During his time here, he chronicled the exploits of some of the most wondrous creatures to have taken flight, the aptly named birds-of- paradise. To see birds-of-paradise entails an intrepid journey, as I am now discovering. The longboat weaves its way into a shallow inlet that will take us about three miles into the jungle. The floor of the inlet is studded with giant corals that lurk just below the surface of the water. My pesky headlamp creates a beautiful halo of illumination showing the corals in all their glorious splendor. Large fish, attracted by the headlamp, are flying past my head as they leap to a height of perhaps six to eight feet before splashing back down on the other side of the boat. Some mistime their jump and land in the boat and begin to thrash around at my feet. Simon is delighted: “Breakfast,” he says. By now, we are surrounded by dense jungle with air thick as treacle. The temperature and humidity are reminiscent of a Swedish sauna. At this stage, the only thing keeping me going are Wallace’s eloquent words describing the elusive bird-of-paradise thus: “Its wings rise vertically over its back; its head bent low and stretched out. Its rear plumage then rises up and expands until it forms two magnificent golden fans, striped with deep red at the base before fading to light brown at the tips. The whole bird is then enveloped in this curtain of plumage, offset by its bright yellow head and emerald green throat. This creature, when seen like this, really does deserve its name as it must be ranked as one of the most beautiful and wondrous of all living things.” How could I resist! We arrive at a rickety jetty where two more barefooted Papuan guides are waiting to help me up the vertical slope, where the birds will come to the ‘dancing trees’ as the sun rises. The path cuts vertically through a wonder of iridescent beetles, giant moths and butterflies. Soaring trees and giant ferns, interspersed with towering fan palms, sprout from the rich undergrowth of the forest floor. I feel like a lowly ant as I ease my way through the sprawling roots of these giant trees festooned with multi-colored orchids. I was astonished to see sea shells clinging to the sides of the trunks, transported there by industrious hermit crabs who dragged their dwelling several miles inland from the ocean. At last we reach the summit and Simon squats down, places his fingers across his nose and emits a strange raucous call, “wank, wank, tok, tok, tok, tok” and, lo and behold, from deep in the valley, there is an answering call. The birds are coming! MERCEDES-BENZ PARRAMATTA 26 DESTINATION