Leapin’ Lizards!

The rickety old diesel launch chugged and sputtered its way through the cobalt blue sea toward a palm-lined beach backed by rugged mountain pinnacles burnished gold in the afternoon sun. Save for a small fishing village, the only token of human presence to be seen was the long, wooden dock toward which our grubby group of 15 assorted “eco-adventure” travelers was slowly making its watery way.

Receding into the island-dotted waters behind us was the Scandinavian surplus ferry that we had boarded shortly after dawn in the ramshackle port of Sape on neighboring Sumbawa.

Arriving here about six hours later was certainly the fulfillment of a fantasy of sorts. But what we had all come our separate ways to see conjured up images more appropriate to H.G. Wells’ sinister “Island of Doctor Moreau.”

Ahead of us was the small (9 by 22 miles) island of Komodo (pronounced kuh-MO-doe), home of the world’s largest lizard, the notorious “Komodo dragon.” The island is a national park that encompasses adjacent Rinca Island, also a dragon habitat.

Just getting to Komodo was achievement enough to stir a palpable excitement in our group as we neared the shore. It had taken me, my wife and my sister-in-law 30 hours by plane, bemo (minibus) and ferry to travel the 300 miles from Bali, the civilized world’s conception of paradise, to Komodo, the naturalist’s conception of the forest primeval. The trek last April involved a miserable overnight stay in a dank, buggy hotel in Sape to be sure we’d catch the early morning ferry.

Not that Komodo is a particularly comfortable place to stay. The only choice is the camp run by the Department of Forestry’s park service. There we would each pay 15,000 rupiah ($2) to spend the night on a mattress on the floor in a Malay-style wood-and-thatch cabin.

But it wasn’t the arduousness of the journey or the primitive conditions that concerned us; it was the thought that all our effort might be for naught.

Until 1994, a dragon sighting was just about guaranteed thanks to a policy that required arriving visitors to bring their own “dragon bait”--a live goat. As tourists looked on in horrified delight from a viewing platform overlooking a wooded ravine, the goat was duly dispatched, to the immense satisfaction of the half-dozen dragons teeming below.

That practice had been abandoned, not out of concern for the goats but because the pampered predators were in danger of losing their ability to fend for themselves.

Our fears proved to be groundless, for within 10 seconds of setting foot on the island, we saw our first Komodo dragon--or, more accurately, the hind parts of one of the scaly, dark brown behemoths as it lumbered off into the underbrush. Over the course of the next 24 hours, we would see roughly two dozen of Komodo’s 2,000 resident dragons, and not all of them would be fleeting glimpses.

And thanks to the English-speaking guides and a small exhibit hall, we would learn quite a bit about the fascinating and generally misunderstood creatures.

For starters, they aren’t dragons, nor are they the last of the dinosaurs. They are monitor lizards, the largest of the species; mature males can reach 10 feet in length and weigh 300 pounds.

And despite their popular name, they are not limited to Komodo but can be found on several smaller nearby islands and the western part of neighboring Flores Island.

Zoologists believe that the dragons are the descendants of an extinct Australian species that swam to these dry, isolated islands and then prospered, thanks to the treacherous offshore currents that kept them separated from both predators and competitors. Eventually, however, man came along.

Sometime in the 16th century, a storm forced a party of pearl fishers to seek refuge on the island. Their horrifying tales of flesh-eating monsters persuaded the authorities that Komodo would be an ideal site for a penal colony. (Europeans--Portuguese, English and Dutch in succession--had colonized the islands by then.) Five hundred years later, the fishing village of Kampung Komodo is populated by their descendants, who, not surprisingly, have built their houses on stilts well out over the water.

It wasn’t until 1911 that the West received its first documented dragon sighting, from the pen of Dutch naturalist J.K.H. Van Steyn. Maj. P.A. Ouwens, the curator of the Botanical Gardens at Bogor, near Jakarta, sailed out to verify Van Steyn’s account and brought back two skinned specimens. In a rare example of early environmentalism, the Dutch colonial governor placed the entire island under protection in 1912. In 1980 the Indonesian government upgraded it to a national park. In 1991 it was declared a World Heritage Site.

We barely had time to drop off our bags before assembling at the ranger station for the 4 p.m. guided hike. This would take us to the celebrated ravine, where an adult dragon or two usually can be found reposing in the sylvan shade. As Mein, our guide, led us through the coastal scrub forest, he related the facts of lizard life:

Each summer, female dragons (which are outnumbered by males, 3.4 to 1) lay 15 to 30 eggs in holes dug in the earth. When they hatch nine months later, the babies high-tail it up the nearest tree, as there is a family tendency toward cannibalism. For the next five years the young will stay out of harm’s way, surviving on an arboreal diet of geckos, insects and birds. By the time they are too heavy to remain aloft, they are generally able to hold their own.

Though the dragons’ short legs give them surprising speed over short distances, their bulk makes them no match for the deer, goats, wild pigs and occasional water buffalo that constitute their regular diet. And so they hide along trails, emerging suddenly to cripple their prey with swipes from their powerful tails, slashes from their sharp claws or bites from their forceful jaws. When the wounded animal eventually collapses, the dragons move in for the kill.

As predicted, an obliging elder was waiting in the ravine, apparently with no other ambition in life but to pose for oohing and aahing tourists. Assured by Mein that this was clearly a well-fed specimen, we began inching closer. A particularly daring Swedish woman eventually crept within 6 feet (with her back turned, no less!) before Mein cautioned against any further encroachment. Bored, or perhaps disappointed, the dragon plodded away in its distinctive ungainly manner, moving its two left feet in unison and then its two right feet in that exaggerated, muscle-bound gait commonly associated with cartoon bulldogs.

Concerned that we had overcompensated for our initial dragon phobia, Mein related the grisly but true tale of the 84-year-old Swiss man who lagged behind his group in 1974 and never was seen again. The initial search party found nothing, but several weeks later his camera and glasses were discovered well off the trail. Although it is generally accepted that he was eaten by dragons, there is no consensus as to whether he was killed by them.

Needless to say, there were no stragglers when we arrived bunched en masse back at the ranger station.

Mein’s lesson was timely, for awaiting us back at the park compound was a detachment of “domesticated” dragons, attracted by the organic garbage that the kitchen staff routinely pitches onto the open lawn.

After a few photos of these listless lizards, we were the ones to walk away.

Hot and sweaty from the hike and the dry, still air, we headed down to the lagoon for a soothing dip. There, accompanied by a trio of timorous Timor deer, we watched the afternoon become evening against the backdrop of a line of glowing orange thunderheads.

Refreshed and impressed, we returned to our cabin, where we were only minimally concerned to see that a teenage dragon had taken up residence underneath.

By then we were more or less inured to the conspicuous presence of the half-dozen resident dragons. Sidestepping yet another one, we ambled down to the camp’s combination restaurant/social hall for some uninspired nasi goreng (fried rice), which we had with surprisingly cold, if somewhat expensive, Bintang beer.

Since no one is allowed outside the compound without a guide, there is not much to do in the evening other than sit around writing “You won’t believe this, but . . .” postcards as you catch sight of yet another 200-pound carnivorous lizard sauntering by. Our perspective certainly had changed in the five hours since we had come ashore.

With the park generator operating only between the hours of 6 and 10 p.m., there is a real incentive to be back in your cabin before lights out.

From our porch afterward, we could pick out the shapes of deer and wild pigs foraging in the shadowy undergrowth. For them, safety lay in the darkness, for like most cold-blooded reptiles, the Komodo dragon is active only during daylight hours.

Mein came knocking shortly before dawn to rouse us for the five-mile trek to the top of 1,765-foot Gunung Ara, Komodo’s highest point. As we bushwhacked our way through the thick savanna that characterizes the island’s higher inland elevations, we had several harrowing close encounters with one of Komodo’s small, scary residents, the 5-inch black orb spider. Unlike the dragons, the spiders bite (though their bite is not poisonous), and you don’t see them till you tangle in their webs strung across the trail.

But the panoramic view from the top more than compensated for the trials of the ascent. Beyond the softly illuminated, verdant folds of Komodo spreading out in front of us, the Flores Sea shimmered timelessly in the early morning sun. From atop individual hilltop vantage points, a half dozen dragons scanned the landscape for signs of movement--the undisputed lords of all they surveyed.

Another refreshing dip in the lagoon, a belated breakfast, and we rejoined the others waiting at the dock to re-board the rickety old diesel launch that would take us out to meet the ferry to Labuanbajo on nearby Flores Island.

Once again the ferry was running late, leaving us to ride out a line of squalls that blew in suddenly from the south, and allowing us to soak up some lingering last views of Komodo as the gray-white mists swirled about its strangely alluring, primordial peaks.

Wet, but not the least bit dampened in spirits, we clambered up the ladder while the next group of eco-travelers stepped aside, nervously awaiting their turn to spend 24 hours among the dragons.

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

GUIDEBOOK

The Long Road to Komodo

Getting there: Connecting service (one plane change) is available from L.A. to Denpasar, Bali, on China, Cathay Pacific, Singapore, EVA and Malaysian airlines. Round-trip fares start at $999. Air Merpati flies twice a week from Denpasar to Sumbawa Island ($135 round trip) and Labuanbajo, on Flores Island ($298).

Ferries ($2) operate daily except Fridays between Labuanbajo and Sape on Sumbawa. From Sape, the trip takes five to seven hours; from Labuanbajo, three.

Four-hour, $10 private day trips to Komodo can be arranged in Labuanbajo, as well as overnight trips to Rinca Island, where the Indonesia Department of Forestry operates a primitive tourist camp.

For those who prefer a little more comfort, many tour operators in Bali offer two- to six-day cruises that include a stop at Komodo; prices range between $50 and $500.

When to go: Avoid June through August, when two-thirds of Komodo’s annual 25,000 visitors descend, and rainy December and January.

Where to stay: The only option is the six cabins operated by the Department of Forestry, where a mattress on the floor in a room for two to four people is $2 per night. Space is first come, first served, favoring those who arrive on the earlier ferry from Labuanbajo over those arriving from Sape, but room will be found for all comers, if only in the dining hall.

For more information: Indonesian Consulate General, 3457 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90010; telephone (213) 383-5126, fax (213) 487- 3971, Internet https://www .tourismindonesia.com.