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The Second Trip To Rabaul. Part 2.

published in Sportdiving Magazine

publishied in Our Way - Airlines PNG in-flight magazine

published in Tanked Up

The intact and much photographed Mitsubishi A6 M2 Zero fighter lying flush to the sand in 30m, some 500m off the volcanic beach along the Kokopo road is a real winner, as was the pilot who allegedly swam ashore and walked away. And there’s not many shore dives where you can fin out with the mantra, “Erupting volcano on your right going out... Erupting volcano on your left coming in...”

The day gets crazier still on the drive home. As we round a bend, a few raskols get to their feet, and within seconds over a dozen more, many carrying big sticks, seep out from the tree line, and spill onto the road. Stephen looks resigned, (I’m perversely thrilled), although it’s basically a friendly local ‘toll’ - a few kina coins to appreciate the ‘road works’ they’ve voluntarily done on the potholes.

There’s no implication that the big sticks are there to smash your windscreen or kneecaps if you don’t cough up, but as we drive on there’s no suggestion that the raskols are going to fill in the several hundred other potholes either. But Stephen’s mum has been driving the roads of Rabaul for years, and never had a problem. Even when she’s broken down, there’s always been someone on hand to help out.

“My mum had a flat tyre, and although she had a spare, she had no jack. No problem. They got more men, and physically lifted the car and changed the wheel for her!”

It’s at this point we run out of fuel. Stephen looks sheepish. He’s got two thousand kina worth of frozen meat, dive kit, a guest, and a boat boy in the van. And no signal on his mobile. But I’m having a whale of a time. Today I’ve already shaken hands with a landowner, who, as a child, met the invading Admiral Yamamoto, eaten fast food at ‘Big Rooster’, seen their competition, the bizzarely titled ‘Zero Rooster’, lost a fight with a chocolate ice cream, and been held up. I’m sorry, but you just won’t get this in a dive brochure.

I spend a day out of the water taking Kabiara’s excellent land tour with local guide Augustine. Our first stop is to the rim of the giant crater that forms the harbour to visit the volcanic observatory off Tunnel Hill Road. The view is spectacular, and you can fully appreciate the grey ash ‘map’ of what once was the town. The observatory monitors all the volcanoes in the area, and although the on duty volcanologist shows me data to prove that Tavurvur’s activity is subsiding since the 2006 eruption, she still looks pretty lively to me.

Built in 1933, The Rabaul Club was occupied by the Japanese Navy during the war until Allied bombing raids forced them to shelter underground. The club was rebuilt after the surrender, and again after the devastation of the 1994 eruption, so today it is one of the few buildings that remain standing, and houses a small museum. There are elaborate masks worn by the Baining men for their ritual fire dance ceremonies, together with many photographs and artefacts from the war. The tail fin of a Zero fighter is the centrepiece exhibit.

We cross the road to enter Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto’s bunker. Here you can still see maps of the war zone etched onto the wall and ceiling, although much of the bunker is now inaccessible due to the build up of ash which has reduced corridors to little more than a crawl space. Whilst the bunker may have served him well, Yamamoto was eventually killed in an air ambush by US P-38G Lightnings, en route from Rabaul to the island off Ballale, near Bourgainville on 18th April 1943.

The small road bridge that linked Matupit island to the peninsular is still there; you can clearly see the capping stones that lined the sides. However the ash fall has been so prolific that the landscape is now level with the top of the bridge on either side. The Catholic Mission is at the heart of this stoic community, who live in traditional huts and endure the ash on a daily basis. Now I really appreciate the noise from Tavurvur. I can see rocks being spat out from the crater.

Local kids clamber aboard our Hilux, thrilled to get a ride, however brief, and mug up for photographs. I even have a reunion with Rosemary Martin, who I met whilst walking the remains of the Lakunai airstrip during my last visit. I brought some photographs I took that day, in the hope that I might meet her again. Rosemary says she will try to reunite these faces of yesteryear with the faces of today.

We break for lunch under the gazebo in the manicured grounds in front of the Japanese barge tunnels, set just off Karavia Bay. The tunnels were originally linked by rail tracks to other military installations, and although the tracks no longer survive, the rusting barges lie nose to tail, deep into the cavernous vault, along with a resident bat population. A staircase leads to a gallery and a torch comes in handy.

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The East New Britain Historical & Cultural Centre on the way to Kokopo is well worth a visit, the grounds outside jam-packed with war relics, and the two storey museum home to cultural artefacts, a comprehensive shell collection, and an extremely generous portrait of Yamamoto, where the conquering Admiral bears a striking resemblance to Clark Gable.

We still have time to fit in a round of golf on the immaculately maintained course just down the road from Kabaira. Dive guide Lloyd turns out to be a very steady player, whilst Stephen seems content to drive the ball as far as possible. Our supply of golf balls is soon whittled down to one, and we take it in turns to stand in for the missing pins on the greens. Thankfully a couple of intrepid young caddies improve our game, finding new balls in the undergrowth, in return for a soda in the clubhouse afterwards. It’s all great fun.

And now the dive I really came back to do. I wouldn’t say I was excited, but I kicked off the morning by trying to put my 3mm wet suit on back to front, much to the crew’s amusement.

The Main Event is the second dive of the day. First up is George’s wreck. Mystery surrounds the Japanese freighter and suspected minelayer to this day. She was named after George Tyers, the first European to dive her, and lies on a slope at approximately forty degrees. Without identification she has to be appreciated for what she is; an idyllic aquarium wreck, and being outside the harbour there’s the added bonus of good visibility in spite of the plant detritus that floats on the surface in the small cove in which she lies.

The bow is at approximately 10m, and the stern at 60m. The skeletal deck, winches and railings are festooned with a wide variety of soft corals. The aft hold at 45m contains half a dozen steel floats, some intact. Think ‘Alien’. The scene where the egg hatches?

We zig-zag back up over the wreck towards the forecastle, where Lloyd tells me there’s a puffer fish of frankly ludicrous proportions. And he’s not wrong. Peering inwards, there’s a creature the size of Sir Harry Secombe. It’s a terrific dive.

The boys take the boat round to a nondescript piece of coastline and moor up using landmarks of a single stumpy palm and a couple of protruding rocks. Unlike the harbour, you’d never guess what’s down there.

It’s utterly beautiful. A virtually intact upright Mitsubishi F1 M2 bi-plane at 28m. The machine gun behind the rear cockpit has been souvenired, and the main float under the fuselage is slightly askew, but otherwise it’s sunken treasure. It’s like when Airfix used to sell model kits in bags and you discovered a rarity in some musty toy shop in a foreign corner like Aberystwyth.

The criss-cross wires between the wings are sprayed and flecked with soft coral and crinoids. Indeed under torch light or the strobe, the plane is decorated with the most incredible paint job. Fin up the sediment in front of the propellors, then hang back, and she could be flying through the clouds again.

Sunken bi-planes are like dragon eggs, although there’s another in PNG, off Kavieng, New Ireland, but it lies twisted and broken like a fossilised archaeopteryx. The Rabaul bi-plane, sunk at it’s mooring, is a one off, and a real underscore for the wreck diver’s portfolio.

Stephen wants to show me his reef dives and the critters that live there. He says they’re really something special, and I’m sure they are, but my time is up, and sadly I have to leave. He’ll get the opportunity next time, because Rabaul’s a magical place, Kabaira feels like home, and I’m definitely coming back.

 


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Or see their website
www.diveadventures.com.au

For more details on Kabaira, see their web site at www.kabairadive.com.pg