For the first time since my journey here began, the wind has started to blow. The fruit bats, common evening companions above our oceanside hut, are jittery and noisy. More than the customary discarded fruit pits land on our thatched roof, and a general tension builds. I hear Gary and Beth stirring in the adjacent hut, and soon we all arrive simultaneously on our seaside porch. The equatorial sky is ablaze with unfamiliar star patterns and the sea is, for the first time in a week, a bit rough. After some obligatory gathering of windblown garments and possessions, I notice a strange but beautiful sight.

. . . I notice a strange but beautiful sight. Along the seawall -- a severe and direct drop-off beginning no more than 10 meters from the pier and shoreline, extending outward in front of us and surrounding the entire (tiny) island -- a glow appears to exist. . . . Eventually we determine that the beautiful aura is in fact phosphorescent plankton, breaking apart and glittering dramatically as it is pushed by the rising waves against the vertical seawall.

Along the seawall -- a severe and direct drop-off beginning no more than 10 meters from the pier and shoreline, extending outward in front of us and surrounding the entire (tiny) island -- a glow appears to exist. I comment that there must be divers out there, whose lights create this glow; but quickly jettison this theory, since it's 3 A.M. and the sea appears too rough for comfortable night diving. Still, there remains an almost phosphorescent illumination, which becomes more prevalent as time passes and the stormy weather prevails. Eventually we determine that the beautiful aura is in fact phosphorescent plankton, breaking apart and glittering dramatically as it is pushed by the rising waves against the vertical seawall. This effect is so luminous that I comment to Gary that one could probably dive without lights under these circumstances. The event is a spectral ending to our time on Malaysia's only oceanic island, the magnificent diminutive speck of tropical paradise know as Pulau Sipadan.

My tour to this place directly began only a few days ago but, to be sure, my journey here began long ago. My first recollection spans back almost a year previous, when floating with my good friend Gary down the majestic Salmon River in central Idaho. I had a rudimentary knowledge of scuba diving, and had challenged him to get certified (a type of formal scuba training) so we might enjoy this endeavor together. I remember stating pompously at the time:

"If you and Beth (his wife) get certified, I'll come visit you in Malaysia, and we'll travel to and dive Cousteau's 'micro-paradise,' Sipadan Island."

I'd really never heard previously of this obscure spot off the East coast of Borneo, although in some dark and recessed location of my subconscious I suppose I'd felt some need to visit a place like this; I had only recently read Cousteau's uncompromised recommendation of this remote location.

Jacques Cousteau, in fact, has been one of my few lifelong heroes. As a child I watched his television specials with unparalleled wonder and have throughout my life consumed his books with excitement and vigor. I have always respected and passionately agreed with his environmental positions on various matters. As such then, essentially if he suggests that a particular dive site is the "best in the world," who am I to argue? With this simple set of parameters, coupled with the wintertime reception of Gary's challenging "We're certified, it's your call!" e-mail, we were off on the adventure.

It's late afternoon, and the huge jetliner is just a tiny shadow over the great expanse of Utah's Canyonlands, and then invisible against the powerful backdrop of the Grand Canyon. For me these are friendly and familiar places, but when we re-board (after some quick communiqués homeward) and start the long journey to Asia, things become less comfortable. The coach seats are tiny, even for my slight frame, and I start to wonder when the pilot announces that we are passing over the Aleutian Islands and Bering Strait. I had assumed we'd be going directly across the Pacific to Southeast Asia, not flying some roundabout polar route. Perhaps we had to dodge some storms? No matter. I'm engaged in a robust conversation with a modern-day Cambodian couple, going home as newlyweds to tour the old country, visit some ancient ruins and hang with his parents. Little do they imagine that within three weeks (the length of my stay in this exotic location) Cambodia will witness a coup ousting his father (apparently an important cog in the now previous administration) and forcing this handsome young couple and entire extended family back to America. Even with this interesting sidelight, the flight drags on interminably. A fuel stop in Taipei promises to cut the tedium but is, in fact, a false hope. After witnessing this place, I think I'd consider swimming back to the mainland.

I arrive in Kuala Lumpur, the vertical modern capital city of Malaysia. My friends pick me up at the airport, and we tour (and I recover) for a few days. We are then off on our scuba adventure. The first leg is by aircraft over the South China Sea (a somber place from my perspective). This segment is followed by more air and ground travel until we reach the tiny outpost of Semporna, a last frontier on the already remote island of Borneo. Our two hour boat trip into the Celebes (Sulawesi) Sea to Sipadan passes the island of Mabul, perhaps the southernmost Asian island whose coral reefs have been devastated by the practice of cyanide and blast fishing. These vile (and continuing)! practices involve the use of poison or dynamite issued to the sea; after "activation" of these materials and methods, the dead or stunned fish float to the surface for easy collection.

Passing Mabul, our goal is in sight! A tense anticipation seeps from the dozen or so travelers, including myself, on this launch. It seems incredible that this dream of mine is about to begin; we are at the edge of forever, truly entering a place of magic. I actively wonder what fantastic experiences and surprises await us. Slowing to "land" on the beach, I spot the "Drop-Off," the world-renowned Sipadan underwater seawall just meters from the shore. We pass over it with great excitement. Essentially the front half of the boat is beached; concurrently, the back half floats in over 1000 meters of water. THIS is amazing! Friendly folks (including an interesting-looking short but stout man carving some objects from what appear to be common erasers) greet us at the beach. This is the highly respected staff of Borneo Divers, our hosts for the adventure.

After some nominal unloading and instruction, we don our scuba units and walk into the ocean. Upon entering, we check equipment, "lay back" and "attach" our fins. My first sight downward is toward the edge, dead ahead. Amazingly, the initial creature I see in these exotic waters is the otherwise rare Lionfish. And what a sight he is, moving up and back from the "Drop-Off" to the two-meter deep sand shoal immediately adjacent to it -- all the time deliberately displaying the colorful but poisonous barbs that protrude from his 20-centimeter body. Adorned with these fan like barbs, and floating almost aimlessly, he appears like a multicolored pinwheel against the coral-laden sea. As we slowly descend from the sand into the deep, an odd feeling of extreme familiarity and calmness seems to prevail, at least in me.

Amazingly, the initial creature I see in these exotic waters is the otherwise rare Lionfish. And what a sight he is, moving up and back from the "Drop-Off" to the two-meter deep sand shoal immediately adjacent to it -- all the time deliberately displaying the colorful but poisonous barbs that protrude from his 20-centimeter body.

I feel as if I have come home; and almost as if this place -- this remote island speck in the middle of nowhere -- somehow exists in that deeply private space where lifelong personal journeys begin and end. Is this realization part of the reason I seek out such exotic locations? Perhaps this phenomena is merely representative of the curiosity that is so prevalent in my psyche, or is there possibly something missing in my life? I've felt at times that all this searching must be for a yet unknown purpose, and although I have gone to great lengths toward this potential conclusion, it seems that I have not yet discovered what I am looking for. Gary taps my shoulder and visually chastises me, as we are already falling behind the rest of the group. Too much dreaming!

I check my depth, air and buddy. All seem OK as we inch effortlessly down and along the wall. Then something extraordinary occurs. A large sea turtle (later we learn that this first one, and a high percentage of the literally dozens we see over a week's time are Green Turtles, or Chelonia mydas) swims through us and into a "resting" cavity on the wall. All of us are amazed by the close proximity of this encounter; we will continually be amazed as the week progresses -- as we all observe many turtles (both the above-mentioned Greens as well as the coral-eating Hawksbills) -- swimming, sleeping, eating, mating and even coming ashore at night to lay eggs. Before surfacing, and after some additional extraordinary sightings, we inch by a large cave, and the divemaster warns us of the dangers of entering. This is the island's famous "Turtle Cavern" where, within it's complex catacombs, skeletons of many sea turtles have been discovered. It is said that aging turtles often return here to die. All legend aside, truly Sipadan is a place where sea turtles come; their journeys starting and ending at this maritime epicenter, their lives beginning with the epic "baby turtles struggling to the sea" scene, their mating and egg-laying culminating a long an arduous early life at sea and their lives perhaps sometimes ending appropriately in the "Turtle Cavern." And at the center of the great sea turtles' island odyssey is an exceptional human, that interesting man carving turtle "stamps" out of common erasers, Wayne (Pedroso), the Turtle Man of Sipadan Island.

All legend aside, truly Sipadan is a place where sea turtles come; their journeys starting and ending at this maritime epicenter, their lives beginning with the epic "baby turtles struggling to the sea" scene, their mating and egg-laying culminating a long an arduous early life at sea and their lives perhaps sometimes ending appropriately in the "Turtle Cavern." And at the center of the great sea turtles' island odyssey is an exceptional human, that interesting man carving turtle "stamps" out of common erasers, Wayne (Pedroso), the Turtle Man of Sipadan Island.

A small, nondescript backboard off the main dining room and bar (a comfortable open-air affair -- wonderfully overlooking the sea) reads:

"Turtle Walks -- Jungle Walks -- Wayne [the Turtle Man]
Sign-up below -- Turtle Walks begin at 7 P.M."

After the considerable excitement surrounding the wildlife sightings of today (sharks were also encountered, but to me the turtles somehow defined the magic), how could I deny myself this treat. What exactly, however, is a turtle walk; especially at night? (In the tropics, specifically so close to the equator -- five degrees north latitude -- it gets dark everyday, year-round by perhaps 6:30 P. M., so these turtle walks are in total darkness.) I wonder what we'll see? What, indeed!

Wayne comes up to each signed-in participant while at dinner -- quietly, almost secretively, noting that it is time. We leave noiselessly and follow his quick pace though the cook and worker's quarters; they are all relaxing after a service-filled day, and greet Wayne with much respect. We walk away from the artificially lit areas, and out onto the deserted beach landscape. Wayne has noted previously to all guests that hiking along the beach unescorted alone at night is strictly forbidden, issuing only "the turtles, of course" as his reasoning for such a strict regulation. "No talking" he curtly states, "and no flashlights on either." Somehow there is no question that all will obey; it's almost as if we have now entered "his" island, Wayne's domain. I can't help thinking that all the silence is very peaceful and appropriate, and there is little need for light, as long as care is taken while treading over the large roots issued from the jungle trees located near shore. When walking in the water (albeit quietly ), we observe with wonder the phosphorescent plankton breaking up in the small waves caressing our bare feet.

Suddenly, Wayne dictates that we stop, and a strange splashing noise becomes obvious. We sit motionless in total silence, and listen further as the splashing becomes a sort of grunting, a set of sounds apparently exhibiting some sort of struggle or difficulty. Our eyes have become accustomed to the darkness, and the landscape has become visible, even under a moonless night far from any real civilization. Then the reality becomes obvious. This is a giant adult turtle coming ashore to lay eggs. We are witnessing here the great matriarch of the ocean; grunting, struggling, scraping and scratching on the unnatural environment of land -- coming ashore to lay her eggs -- to continue the species; she's coming ashore, just as her ancestors have done for truly a hundred million years -- she's coming ashore 3 meters from us, and being escorted in by Wayne the Turtle Man -- we are the privileged few that by some circumstance in our personal journeys have chosen to share this spot with her for this moment, for this time. I look up in the sky -- the blazingly clear tropical sky -- and for the first time in my life, there below the central Milky Way galaxy "explosion" in Sagittarius, I see the Southern Cross. Truly, the cosmic dance meets the oceanic rhythm. The equatorial heavens meet the ancient processes of the living planet. Having been attached to the sky since my earliest recollection, and now to somehow be placed here under these circumstances -- I know now that I have finally arrived home.

Then the reality becomes obvious. This is a giant adult turtle coming ashore to lay eggs. We are witnessing here the great matriarch of the ocean; grunting, struggling, scraping and scratching on the unnatural environment of land -- coming ashore to lay her eggs -- to continue the species; she's coming ashore, just as her ancestors have done for truly a hundred million years -- she's coming ashore 3 meters from us, and being escorted in by Wayne the Turtle Man . . .

After some time (perhaps an hour) of total silence and peace, she is ready to lay her eggs. She commences, and Wayne then suggests that it's OK to come and look. Once sea turtles begin laying, Wayne definitively professes, they are unbothered by humans. If disturbed coming ashore, however, they will return to the sea and abort the eggs for the current year. They cannot be annoyed in any way until the process begins. She lays for perhaps fifteen minutes -- Wayne says "She's done" and sure enough, one egg later, she covers the half-meter cavity with her back flippers. Wayne "helps" (I find this curious, but have come to agree with it), and we retreat back to our huts.

The next day, we learn the whole story behind Wayne and the turtles. Wayne either marks the nests if they are located in "camp" (3 month gestation) or more often collects the eggs, digging new "identical" nests in a locked open-air area on the other side of the island. He monitors the births and releases the babies, generally in private, to the sea. The reasoning here is that Indonesian fisherman come to Sipadan to collect and sell these eggs. Without Wayne, I have no doubt that Green and Hawksbill turtles in this area of the world would probably go extinct, as their nesting grounds (Sipadan and just a precious few other islands sprinkled throughout Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines [where blast fishing was invented!] are so few and far between.) Wayne's complete and selfless dedication to these unique and ancient species is beyond compare; he is a modern-day hero, this man who tirelessly patrols the beaches of Pulau Sipadan all night, every night, all year, every year, to ensure the viability of these magnificent sea turtles.

And the newborns know just what to do -- like magic they all (100-plus of them) aim up to the glistening sea, and crawl into their life, confidently starting their journey on the shores of this tiny seamount in the Celebes Sea. They enter the water, their miniature heads dwarfed by the endless ocean. Some (a small minority) will survive, and will return after perhaps 20 years to mate and begin the process again. They, like awestruck humans on this tropical paradise, may by then have realized a part of their journey, and will have returned home.

Wayne comes up to me at dinner. "It's time," he whispers. Dusk on Pulau Sipadan, the last night here for me. Wayne has a plastic bucket in hand -- I sneak a look. Inside is one hatching of a Green turtle who came ashore some months previous -- Wayne quickly moves to the shoreline and unceremoniously dumps the five centimeter long babies on the sand. They scratch and scrape, just as their mother did coming ashore. But there are no human predators here, just admirers. And the newborns know just what to do -- like magic they all (100-plus of them) aim up to the glistening sea, and crawl into their life, confidently starting their journey on the shores of this tiny seamount in the Celebes Sea. They enter the water, their miniature heads dwarfed by the endless ocean.

Some (a small minority) will survive, and will return after perhaps 20 years to mate and begin the process again. They, like awestruck humans on this tropical paradise, may by then have realized a part of their journey, and will have returned home.



Copyright Willis Greiner, 1997. All rights reserved.