“The problem is that you were born 100 years too late!” It’s a familiar refrain for those of us who once considered ourselves the last of the “classic” explorers. Bringing us new landscapes, Mary Kingsley and Dr. We’re talking about people in the Livingstone mould.
And yes, it’s true that old-school immersive travelers like these are indeed dying out. Freya Stark and Wilfred Thesiger are no longer with us, while Ranulph Fiennes has been stuck on polar treks for years (and whatever you say about polar trekkers, they’re more athletes than explorers these days). Yes, John Blashford-Snell is still there, now in his 80s, searching in one bush or another, but apart from me… in terms of being off the grid for months on end, that’s about it. There are people who have adventures—inspiring, perhaps, but discovering little other than what lies within themselves—and there are a few experienced people, like Rosie Stancer and Pen Hadow, who usefully assist hydrologists, psychologists, arachnologists, and other scientists.
But let it be the courage of “Generation Z” who still have the courage to face danger and challenge, because – in the age of Google Maps, we are in a rush to assume that the surface of our planet has already been mapped – we’re looking at all the pieces.
I went into one of these recently. A long time ago, as a impetuous 24-year-old, I traveled alone to West Papua and in the unmapped jungles I came across an isolated group called the Obini. Obini decided not to kill me and instead introduced me to a world completely undocumented by my species. And now, coming back forty years later, I wanted to know what had happened to these people who had shown so much kindness.
The problem is that, like all these places, they are remote for a reason – and it’s not just leeches and death vipers. Last February, New Zealand pilot Phillip Mehrtens was kidnapped by a rebel movement not far away – he is still being held as I write – and the rebels were said to be looking for a second foreign kidnapper. I would be a perfect target while searching for Obini there.
I decided there was only one chance. I could charter a small plane and approach from a remote airstrip called Yaniruma, on the far side of the freedom fighters. I would have to travel at high speed to reduce the risk of alerting them. I also needed the help of the Korowai, a traditional community who would not wait for my arrival because they had no radio connection. It also seemed unlikely that the Korowai people would be wildly enthusiastic about running for two weeks in a region completely foreign to them.
The pilot hurriedly dropped me on the runway and suddenly disappeared; He left me there in the heat and humidity with a pile of supplies and my translator Sadrak, who was chain-smoking. The Korowai gathered around him.
Fortunately, they turned out to be a hospitable bunch. At least that was until Sadrak stopped handing out cigarettes and instead took pictures of the Obinis, who were always seen holding bows and arrows. “Are these people warriors?” someone asked, stepping back. “As we once were?”
I could see what you meant. You only had to look at Korowai’s old houses, built high in the trees as a defensive strategy. It looks like you’ve climbed a jagged pole that could be cut down at the first sign of attack.
But now a young man named Oich-e spoke. “You are very old, thin and tall,” he said with commendable honesty. “Unfortunately, without our help, you will die soon.”
Oich-e, along with our four friends, took us into the trees, and as we walked I thought about the generosity of these locals; How I had survived through the years by relying solely on them and traveling with a spirit of vulnerability (unlike some of my Victorian ancestors).
We came to Korowai settlements many times and were offered fruit, fish and sago to sustain us. Then I would bring out the photographs of Obini and there would be looks of horror, but not even the slightest sign of recognition. We met a man named Jakob on the 10th day of our journey, relying on Korowai’s knowledge of the forest and my experience navigating with a compass through the endless bushes. The fearsome Obini noticed that the clay used to decorate the war shields was of a redder hue. This clay would be found five days further west. We were getting closer.
But now we were getting tired; We were stung by bees and torn by thorns. And I had long been accustomed to eating raw sago worms, which were big and writhing and not exactly my favorite. Moreover, the bridges that Oich-e has helpfully created over various streams once proved adequate and indeed sufficient for someone of my height (I am 6ft 4in).
Despite this, we continued on our way. Until one day, suddenly, we were all sitting on the forest floor. Somehow, without saying a word, we knew it was over.
My search was unsuccessful. But I wandered all over a vast forest in search of the elusive Obini, and perhaps came across something better: an appreciation of how much there is here waiting to be discovered. I was 64 years old, but there was still so much to discover.
Wonderful undiscovered places of the planet
There are many places that are not hindered by our concepts of “civilization”. The following are not resorts. Telegram readers should always follow the FCO’s advice; “no go” is the basis for these recommendations.
Giant sinkholes of the Guiana Shield
Guyana/Venezuela/Brazil
Some of them could not even be reached, let alone researched, due to the dense forests and confusing rocky outcroppings that obscured them. Even once you’ve made your way over, you’ll need a rope to get down the dizzying sides of your target. I once climbed Mount Roraima, which is also one of the many isolated, misty “Lost World” plateaus that typify the region, and at the time, even in 1983, I thought this magnificent view would remain “lost” for a long time. And so it was proven.
Hindenburg Wall
Papua New Guinea
Rather than a “wall”, it is a large karst area consisting of cliffs, valleys and caves. First visited by outsiders 100 years ago (a patrolman named Leo Austen finally reached the southern tip in 1922), the area lies in the heart of New Guinea’s central mountains. While the wall is prohibitive enough, earthquakes and heavy rains frequently cause landslides, further hindering the ambitions of locals and foreigners alike. This hideaway is a treasure house of hitherto little-studied habitats.
Kabobo Massif
Eastern Congo
Like much of the region, the massif remained inaccessible to outsiders for many years due to conflict. The 60-mile-long Kabobo mountain range is located in the easternmost part of the Democratic Republic of the Congo; Additional protection from visitors is the proximity of an international border (with Tanzania) as well as the almost 420-mile-long Lake Tanganyika, which guards Kabobo’s eastern flank. The result is a long expanse of montane forest that is one of Africa’s biological hotspots.
Gangkhar Puensum Mountain and its surroundings
Bhutan-China border region
The mountain itself has the highest unclimbed peak on the planet and, like most major peaks in Bhutan, is considered sacred and forbidden. But it is not just moral concerns that keep the upper regions unexplored. Bhutan’s northern border, which is approximately 300 miles long, is shared with China and disputed in some parts by China; Therefore, not only impenetrable mountain peaks, but also a very long and wide strip of untouched glacial valleys are still waiting to be discovered.