Outer Edge Magazine

Beyond the news stories and nature documentaries, there’s a whole other side to Christmas Island in the (very) north of Australia. And it’s more lively than a million marching crustaceans… STORY Jan Villalon UNCREDITED IMAGES: Tanya Detto

Let’s get one thing clear – there’s more to Christmas Island than swarming red crabs and boat people.

  One of the most remote corners of Australia, the majority of land here remains untouched and forms a national park that is home to a vast array of unusual species that would make David Attenborough drool. In fact, the deep breathing British filmmaker and animal expert has dribbled here before – he once said that witnessing the Christmas Island red crab migration was one of his 10 greatest wildlife experiences.

  No surprise then, that this tiny island – located closer to Indonesia than mainland Australia – is sometimes called the Galapagos of the Indian Ocean.

  Okay, so the island has enough freaky fauna for Sir Dave to think all his Christmases had come at once…but what if crab spotting isn’t your thing, and you’re looking for a more adventurous experience – is there anything to actually do? Outer Edge sent me to find out.

  And find out I did. With bells on.

  Essentially the tip of an extinct volcano, generations of erosion and volcanic activity on Christmas Island has left its interior carved up like Swiss cheese, forming a myriad network of caves just begging to be explored. Combine this with the fact that some of the most pristine, bountiful diving is only a literal stone’s throw away, and you’ve got one hell of a playground – usually all to yourself. Robinson Crusoe could hardly have done better himself.

THUNDERCLIFF CAVE
Most people living on Christmas Island that didn’t arrive in a leaky boat are there working for some capacity in connection to the detention centre. Others, like the Chinese and Malay communities, are here for the financial opportunities the detention system-based economy provides. And then there are people like Simon Prince, who simply loves to dive and to share all that his beloved island has to offer.

  “I’m out here every day and I never get bored of it,” he grins as we speed out on his little boat, the aptly named Fastwater, heading to a dive site at Thundercliff Cave. It’s just one of the hollowed out networks that dimple the coast, but with access limited to boats and fin power, it’s a strictly divers-only affair.

  “You just wait, I’m going to blow your mind with this dive,” Simon declares, strapping on his BCD.

image: Justin Gilligan
 
With the air tank already threatening to pull me to the bottom, I roll backwards into the ocean. When the bubbles clear and I upright myself, I’m able to peer down into the vast blue depths. The visibility stuns me – it’s as though I’m standing on top of a three-storey building on a sunny day, looking at the streets below. But instead of people and cars, the hustle and bustle here is caused by a colourful menagerie of fish, coral and anemone.

  In the distance, the mouth to Thundercliffe Cave gapes for air above the water just enough for a single person to swim through. But with the incoming waves threatening to bash any hopeful spelunker into the rocky cliffs surrounding the opening, an attempt to enter at the surface would be silly. So we descend, making our way toward the dark opening of the cavern, passing through the large coral garden decorating its doorstep.

image: Justin Gilligan
 
Following Simon’s lead, we emerge into the pitch-blackness of the cavern, our torches zigzagging patterns of light overhead and into the water around us. We take care to keep our heads low from potentially piercing stalactites from above, listening to the menacing roar of the waves crashing outside, echoing within the vast walls of the cave.

  After navigating the 20 or so metres through the narrow corridor, we emerge into a much larger second cavern, and it’s at this point we’re able to emerge from the water, shed our bulky diving equipment and do a bit of exploring on terra firma. Freshwater stalactites drip overhead, and we climb over the smooth, slippery boulders to investigate the reaches of the cave, careful to avoid damaging the fragile environment.

  “Watch out for the light-coloured ones,” Simon says, pointing to a smooth white lump on the cave floor. “Those are newly forming stalagmites.”

  Simon then directs our attention to a shallow pool of water in the distance, which is apparently the home to a rare and unusual species of bioluminescent shrimp. If the cave is completely dark, he says, maybe we can get a glimpse of them. We obediently turn off our torches and wait for our eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a few moments, a faint glow twinkles from across the cave.

  After a few more minutes of investigating the interior, Simon suggests we go back into the water to search for more fish.

  “I was sure there would be more shrimp,” he says. “In the last year, it seems like they’ve been disappearing.”

  Apparently the presence of other species in the ocean has fluctuated as well. “Usually there are whole schools of batfish outside,” he says. Unfortunately we don’t see them.

  But this is an adventure at the mercy of nature’s whim, and perhaps our luck was just bad. Only a week prior to our dive, Simon and his team spotted a couple of whale sharks swimming just offshore. In September, this is highly unusual (the season usually lasts from December to April).

  After gearing back up and sinking back into the cool water, we make our way back through the cave, torches illuminating the dark corridor. The mouth of the cave makes a dramatic sight – a shock of electric blue light framed by the pitch black silhouette of the cave, punctuated by a passing school of fish. The scene couldn’t have been more perfectly composed.

  We continue to explore the coral gardens outside the cave, never venturing too far out to sea. Off the coast of the island lies the Sunda trench, one of the deepest parts of the world. A mere 50 meters out to sea, the shelf drops hundreds of meters into a vast blue abyss.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Simon poking at a small crevasse in the outside wall of the cave. He beckons me nearer, pointing to the small hole. Inside is an electric clam, emitting neon blue lightning pulses. He also points at an unusually large puffer fish two metres below. Despite their slightly comedic appearance, puffers are football-faced killers…but only if you try and eat them. They are the second-most poisonous vertebrate in the world, but this one is slow and deflated – I learn later that expanding its body is an overwhelmingly strenuous process, so much so that the puffers can only inflate themselves so many times before dying.

  Simon leads us further down along the shore toward a second cave: Thunderdome. While it’s possible to emerge into a pocket hole, it’s not nearly adventurous as Thundercliff, but with the shape of the cave forcing you to dive deeper before swimming back up toward the peak of the cavern, it’s easy for a diver to get stuck somewhere near the ceiling…like I did.

  Back in the safety of our boat, I watched the waves collide with the shoreline. Christmas Island doesn’t have much in the way of beaches, and what small strips of sand do exist are often hard to get to, due to the natural park that restricts access. However, there are alternative pathways leading from the interior of the island out to the sea…

DANIEL ROUX CAVE
Named after a young Swiss boy who once lived on the island, Daniel Roux Cave was discovered in 1960 by a fisherman from the other side. It’s possible to enter from one side and pop out of the other side straight into the ocean, however, the idea of hauling diving gear down into the caves seems a little impractical for this journey.

  It’s late in the afternoon when I meet Braydon Moloney, who works for the parks, and two of his co-workers, Tanya and Claire. We’re trying to make it down to the caves during low tide, to give us optimum time to explore Lower Daniel Roux without getting trapped down below.

  As we trek through the rainforest towards the cave, avoiding the many sharp limestone pinnacles that cross the trail, Christmas Islands’ infamous red crabs scurry past, clearing away from our path. One robber crab I see is roughly the size of a rugby ball. I excitedly point this out to Tanya, but, as someone who spends all day surrounded by these crustaceans in the parks, she is not impressed.

  “Oh, that’s a normal-sized robber,” she chuckles. (A quick Google search later showed me crabs that had grown to the size of a small dog. Silly tourist!)

  Though Daniel Roux is technically one cave, there are two entrances to get to each section, the upper and the lower. First we head into the upper cave, which is easily accessible after a quick scramble up and over the sharp karst pinnacles. The entrance is marked with large, slippery boulders, and inside the air is filled with that familiar musty stench of guano. What I mistake to be a gigantic rock is actually a six metre-high pile of soft, steaming bat crap.

  Further into the cave, we enter a chamber marked by large, rippling patterns of limestone, with hundreds of stalactites falling from the ceiling like a haphazard chandelier. The walls of the cave, which glitter with small grains of crystal, are cool to the touch, which is refreshing given how hot it actually is in here.

  At another end we climb a rope leading up to a ledge, stopping at one section of the cave that appears to be the final chamber. But appearances are deceiving, as all good spelunkers know. Braydon points to one side, at a hole perhaps 40 centimetres wide.

  “That there is what we call the birth canal,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. Chucking his bag to the side, he climbs up the ledge to the hole, shimmying his lanky body through the narrow opening. He has to remove his helmet in order to fit through.

  I’m next to squeeze through the hole. Fortunately, at 158cm, I’m able to pass through the birth canal with little effort. I’m unlikely to win many basketball trophies, but being small can come in handy sometimes.

  Joining Braydon, I shine my torch into the chamber, which like the others is embellished with elaborate limestone formations and an impressive array of stalactites. I ask him if the cave goes any further.

  “Yeah, there are sections of the cave that go on from here,” he replies. “There are a lot of bits that haven’t really been explored yet down below too.”

  Mindful of the time, we decide to make our way toward the lower cave before it gets too late. As we emerge from the cave the afternoon sun begins to sink into the horizon. We’re trying to time our descent into Lower Daniel Roux with the low tide, and if we don’t want to be up to our ears in water, we’ve got to hurry.

  Ducking under the chain-linked fence, marked with a large sign reading “DANGER-  KEEP OUT,” we begin the long slog down into the lower cave. The descent is an 80-metre climb, down a series of rickety ladders bolted into the rock, sinking deep into the abyss. Here it’s important to constantly have three points of contact on the ladder, and to call out to others to let them know where you are. Too much weight, and the ladders may well crumble. Tourists have fallen here, and since I forgot to take out insurance on this trip, I’m not eager to join their ranks.
  After what seems like an age, I reach the floor of the cave, my knees aching from the effort. When all four of us have gathered at the base of the ladders, we leave our bags on an adjacent rock and cautiously lower ourselves into the water. It’s refreshing after our trek through the hot, humid caves, but we’ve got to remain alert. The passages can be narrow, and there are more than a few sharp edges to watch out for. I’m glad I’m wearing a helmet.

  Braydon leads us through the labyrinthine corridors, guided by a single string that has been left as a guide. At some points, the cave floor drops out from beneath our feet – for much of the time, I swing from one hand hold to the next, using the underwater ledges as footholds.

  With our lights and voices bouncing off the walls, the cave doesn’t seem nearly as eerie as I’m certain it otherwise would be. As we venture deeper into the twisting pathways of the lower cave, I can hear the sounds of the ocean getting closer and louder.

  “We’re at about sea level now,” Braydon says, striding over a lone stalagmite. “If we continue out further, we can probably get to the sea.”

  We reach a wider chamber, and the other end of the cave sounds like it’s just around the corner. Here, I can really feel the ebb and flow of the tide, pushing and pulling us along as the waves made their advances. Though Braydon assures us it’s not yet high tide, it’s still alarming to see the water levels rise and fall so rapidly.

  “We call this the washing machine,” Braydon grins. Then, turning around, he reaches into his bag and pulls out a mask and snorkel, quickly pulling them on before ducking into the water below for a quick swim. After a few moments, he emerges.

  “Can’t see the opening,” he pants. Then, noting the rising level of the water, he pauses. “What time is it now?”

  Tanya checks her watch. “It’s about seven.”

  “Um, maybe we should go.”

  Perhaps it’s the hunger or the fear of being caught in high tide, but we make the trip back to the entrance of Lower Daniel Roux in record time. Even our climb up the ladders is surprisingly quick.

  When we emerge it’s well past dark. The cool air is a welcome change from the stuffiness of the cave. My clothes are muddy, I smell like bat shit and sweat, mozzies have apparently decided I’m a walking dinner banquet, and I’m all out of water. But I don’t mind.

CHRISTMAS PRESENT AND CHRISTMAS YET TO COME…

Inhabitants of Christmas Island are clearly uncomfortable with their home being seen as a place of detention, and it’s easy to see why. Tourism has dropped as visitors arriving to work increase. The population of the detention centre is almost double that of the rest of the entire island. On the news, it appears as though they’re cast in the roll of Australia’s most unwelcoming doorman. Want to come in? Not in those shoes mate. 

  And yet the welcome adventure-seeking visitors will receive is a warm one, and not just because of the tropical climate. Christmas Island has a lot to offer – you’ve just got to be willing to venture deeper in to find it.

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