Had Chao Mai National Park: Crowded Paradise
I was already aching at the prospect of returning to bustling Bangkok and—all too soon—head for home, so signing up for the daytrip had been a good idea.
“Which island is it going to?,” I asked when I signed the receipt. I was surprised that the agent hadn’t discussed the various options with me.
“Four island,” she said. “Muk Island, Kradan Island, Chueak and Ma Island. Everything.”
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I’d booked via the Pakbara Speedboat Club, but we weren’t in a speedboat. We boarded a bobbing pink-and-green tourist boat, one of many that dot the waters of the Had Chao Mai National Park. However, unlike most, ours wasn’t packed. There were fewer than two dozen people on board, including the cheerful pink-shirted attendants.
I couldn’t fault the service, even if they made us wear fluorescent orange life jackets. Perhaps there was a way that I could ‘lose’ mine.
When we cast off I found a place next to the bridge, watching for dolphins without success. The Professor had told me that the Thai word for dolphin is ‘roma’. “Think of Rome,” he said.
Before long we reached our first stop. It looked like nothing much, but then I remembered the guidebook and the posters on the wall at my local in Trang. This must be the famous Morakot Cave on Ko Muk.
Morakot…Morakot…
The word would not leave me alone until I Googled it and found that it is the name of the deadly typhoon that devastated Taiwan in 2009. In Thai it means ’emerald’.
Morakot Cave is truly magnificent, even if it has a reputation of people piddling in it. It comes complete with a ‘The Beach’ swim through a pitch-dark cave (albeit with our heads above water) and its own miniature rainforest with trees growing parallel to the rock wall.
But first we had to get there. I could not believe my eyes when people dropped from the boat one-by-one, complete with their life vests, bobbing on the aquamarine waves like brightly coloured goslings.
The guides lined them up along a rope and the entire group goose-stepped underwater towards the black cliff mouth which swallowed them up.
I was bobbing to one side, camera at the ready. I don’t need a lifejacket to keep afloat; my blubber will suffice. The attendants did not object when I and a German couple ditched the vests and jumped in with our masks and snorkles.
But I have to admit that it was scary in the cave. We were immersed in complete darkness, aside from flashes ghosting across the craggy walls when one or the other guide briefly flicked on his pocket lamp. The first of the two guides towed the line along with his life ring while his colleague swam to one side, pushing a seabag that contained cameras, towels and—it would turn out—several rolls of toilet paper, and directing us unruly free-swimmers past the protruding rocks.
It grew hotter and the air appeared to be denser as the darkness closed in. I felt a creeping claustrophobia and stuck my head underwater to calm my breathing. I don’t think that cave diving is for me.
After what seemed longer than necessary to cross the eighty-metre-long cave, we finally swam towards the light.
Seeing the cave made me glad that I had come on this trip. It was fitting that it has been made accessible to almost everyone, whether they can swim or not.
On the way to Ko Kradan I saw seagrass floating on the water. It wasn’t the species that dugongs commonly feed on, but it’s not inconceivable that there should be dugongs here. However, there are many boats. It’s clear that this national park is managed mainly for recreational use.
It’s something that I had to accept, and I admit that I had guilty fun watching people feeding the fish that whizzed around us as we snorkelled above the shallow reef.
Of course, feeding the wildlife is wrong but let’s face it: the snorkelling sites around Hat Chao Mai National Park have turned into open-air exhibits during the dry season. It’s some consolation that at least some of the islands are off-limits.
Lunch on these trips is never much to write home about, so I’d had a full American breakfast that morning—only to be presented with a buffet that included fruit, fresh seafood, fried chicken, various vegetable dishes and salad. It looked a bit rough-and-ready when heaped onto the plate, but it was some of the tastiest food I’d had in Thailand; which might have something to do with the fact that these tours are popular with Thais taking a break away from Bangkok. Even the dangerous-looking chicken was crisp and succulent.
Lunch was followed by a jelly drink that—when the sun shone into the cup—looked exactly like tadpole soup. Not bad, if a little…strange.
We spent the rest of the afternoon island-hopping. By the time we reached Chueak and Ma Island and moored about 300 metres on from the site where we’d just stopped, I felt snorkelled out. My memory card was full, my battery almost empty and by the time we emerged from what I can only describe as Fish Rock, coffee and cake awaited us.
These guys believe in delivering value for money. It’s politically incorrect and I wouldn’t do this every day, but—I have to confess—I loved it.
Tags: SE Asia, Travel, Tag Index
Denni