The Last Paradise: A Visit to Raja Ampat
By Seafolk Sailing
Raja Ampat. The place of our childhood dreams. The “Last Paradise.” One of the most protected marine parks in the world. This was what we’d pictured when we bought the boat—the kind of place we’d dreamed of exploring. It was the first destination we had our hearts set on after leaving Australia. And after a fair share of boat dramas and life lessons, a gruelling 12-month refit and a fair too many sea trials, we were finally on our way.
Getting here wasn’t easy. We’d just spent nine long weeks stuck in Tual, Indonesia. The list of repairs seemed endless: replacing a gearbox, sorting out alignment issues, installing a water-maker, and fine-tuning our electrical system. You name it, we probably dealt with it. When we finally pulled anchor and set our course for Raja Ampat, we thought the hard work was behind us. But nope. Mother Nature decided to throw one last curveball: welcome to the doldrums, baby.
For 250 nautical miles, we were a motorboat pretending to be a sailboat. The ocean served up floating trees big enough to puncture a hull, unlit fishing platforms smack in our path, and squalls that had us soaked and dodging 35-knot gusts for generally half an hour at a time to only leave us with again, no wind and all the humidity we could bare. But as the karst islands of Raja Ampat started to rise on the horizon, we forgot all of it. This was what we’d been waiting and working so hard for.
And let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint. Those jagged karst cliffs covered in lush green jungle and coconut palms, surrounded by the clearest water we’ve ever seen—it was like something out of a movie. Beneath the surface, we knew there would be vibrant coral, massive schools of fish, and marine life we’d only dreamed about.
But as we made our way in during the early hours of the morning, something felt… off. At 4 a.m., with an electrical storm lighting up the sky that had been following us and seemingly hovering right above with strikes hitting the sea all around us since sunset the previous evening, we expected peace and stillness. Instead, we saw fishing boat lights. Everywhere. In one of the most protected marine parks in the world? Sadly, yes. Local villages are allowed to fish to feed their families—fair enough—but we quickly realized a lot of it wasn’t for survival. Regulations are in place, but enforcement? Not so much.
And then the sun came up. The storm cleared, and suddenly, Raja Ampat showed us her best side. The cliffs were glowing a deep grey against a bright blue sky, and the greenery on top seemed almost too perfect to be real. Hornbills flapped their massive wings in the distance (they sound like a tarp being whipped through the air—it’s wild), while frigatebirds glided high above, scouting for breakfast. And the water… crystal clear, with just a bit of plastic here and there to remind us that even paradise isn’t untouched.
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