October 2012    Download the Entire Issue (PDF)

Vol. 27, No. 10   What's this?

Walindi Plantation and MV FeBrina, PNG

machetes, bare butts and cannibals are part of the package

from the October, 2012 issue of Undercurrent  

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Dear Fellow Diver:

Max Benjamin, the "First Father" of Papua New Guinea diving, purchased a cocoa plantation at Kimbe Bay in 1969, which he segued into an 800-acre palm oil plantation and a first-class dive resort. Alan Raabe came along later, and the two bought the liveaboard FeBrina (Fe = iron, Brina = salt water) in 1991 for Raabe to skipper. They put in moorings to avoid reef damage, and traveled to remote areas to administer inoculations. A preschool was built and another is in the works; water from Walindi's wells is shared via pipes to nearby folks.

Knowing Undercurrent readers' glowing reports of the diving and facilities, I signed up for 45 hours of doorto- door travel, totaling 11,000 flight miles. Flying from Port Moresby into Hoskins, West New Britain, I was struck by the dense greenery covering the mountains, and a volcano spewing smoke. As the terrain leveled, large chunks of the jungle had been replaced by neat rows of palm oil trees, refineries and holding tanks. On the drive to Walindi Resort, we passed houses on stilts with no running water, and ladies carrying loads on their heads or selling a few items they had grown. A newsworthy tidbit came on the radio. There had been an arrest of 29 cannibal cult members in the Highlands, eight of them women, for eating raw human brains and making soup from their victims' penises. I asked the driver, a local, if it were true or a hoax. "Oh, yes, very true," was his reply. "Popular some places." Michael Rockefeller met a similar fate, they say, in the 60s.

At Walindi, the welcoming hostess cautioned us not to go barefoot. Getting betel nut spit on your feet is a common way of spreading tuberculosis (the deep-red toothy smiles of the locals spoke of the nut's popularity). And to avoid malaria, it's wise to wear bug spray and cover up in the late afternoons (and of course, be on a malaria prophylaxis).

After a good sleep in a large, lovely bungalow, the night air filled with the calls of birds and frogs, I was ready to dive. When I arrived at the dock at 8 a.m, my gear was set up and off we went. A four-foot chop for the first three days made the hour-long trip to sites jarring in the 21-foot, outboard- powered, aluminum boat. But what reefs! On the first dive, at Joelle's, a dizzying variety of tropical fish slowly swam about the seamount, as did schools of barracuda, big-eye trevally and surgeonfish. Off by themselves were red-tooth and clown triggers. Clarks, spinecheek and pink anemonefish hid among waving anemone tentacles. I gave a wide berth to a patch of Corallimorpharia, whose toxic sticky substance can penetrate a wetsuit and burn like fire....