The Well at the World's End: One Man's Epic Cross-Continental Quest for the Fountain of Youth by A. J. Mackinnon

Author:A. J. Mackinnon [Mackinnon, A. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Adventurers & Explorers, Personal Memoirs, Travel, Asia, Southeast, East, China, Australia & Oceania
ISBN: 9781510702134
Google: 8EdkCwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Skyhorse
Published: 2016-01-26T23:47:49.440813+00:00

Chapter 12

And the wild beasts of the islands shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces.

—ISAIAH, Ch. 13, v. 22

On old maps, cartographers would write across wild uninhabited areas the words Here Be Dragons. Nonsense, of course, unless you find yourself sailing along the stretch of water surrounding the islands of Komodo and neighbouring Rinca, in which case it happens to be the literal truth.

We were in Rinca and in a quandary. We were due to sail across to Komodo tomorrow, and a couple on another boat, Arietta, had invited me to join them for the crossing. They had a huge collection of classical music aboard and wanted to share some of it with me. The problem was that the strait between Rinca and Komodo is legendary for its ferocity, and Skip and Brenda would need all the help they could get. I was longing to get off Moonshine for a while (I kept stubbing my toes on the atmosphere aboard) but I realised that if Skip said no, then that was it. However, to my great delight, Skip said yes, and I went to bed that night looking forward to a day aboard Arietta and a musical passage. Vivaldi’s Crossing to Komodo for keyboard and two violins. Brilliant!

On the next morning Mark and Laraine put on the Vivaldi as we set sail into the wild straits. Here several seas meet, the Java Sea, the Flores Sea and the Indian Ocean, swashing together between barren conical islands of grey-yellow grass. The meeting forms giant whirlpools; even with the engine driving at full and the sails straining, Arietta was swept up in a giddying waltz for several turns before she was released to glide onwards, patting her hair and smoothing her petticoats in outrage at the impropriety. No sooner had we escaped the whirlpools than we ran straight over the other oddity of these waters: a four-foot drop in the sea level. This is a giant step in the water level, not caused as far as I could see by any underwater ledge or reef, but sitting there in mid-sea, defying all those stuffy textbooks that say that water always finds its own level. Down we bumped and the worst was over.

We radioed behind to see how Moonshine was faring, but Skip and Brenda were having some engine problems so hadn’t started yet. However, just before we went out of radio range, the message came that they had got it fixed and were on their way, and would meet us a little later on Komodo.

Once arrived, we decided to waste no time in hunting out the famous dragons. We anchored in a sheltered bay three miles from the main village, zoomed around the coast in a Zodiac and met up with a guide, Ari. He pointed out the tall stockade of wooden logs that surrounded the village and the masses of limestone rocks on the cemetery graves, precautions to stop the dragons disturbing the living and the dead.

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