Vietnam's Bay of Dragons

The weather was cold and it started to rain. January temperatures were supposed to average around 75 degrees, but it was more like 50. Piling on all our clothes, we stayed inside for the duration of the boat ride.

Arriving at our new area, we were eager to get back on the water again. Lowering our kayaks overboard and loading them with supplies made the cold, gloomy weather bearable. We waved good-bye to Tam and crew and once again set off on our own. The bay had an eerie feeling to it; we had seen no one on the way out from Ha Long city, and there was definitely no one around these parts. Paddling kept us warm, and with so many inlets and caves to explore, we kept on the move. One cave in particular had us buzzing: a large opening gave way to a black hole that looked endless. Digging out our headlamps, we paddled into the mouth and slowly made our way toward the back. The roof was approximately 10 feet high, and it felt like we had entered into a lair. The cave twisted back into the limestone mountain and stalactites glimmered as the light from our headlamps reflected off them. It appeared to be the perfect resting place for a weary dragon. At the back of the cave, we were able to land on a small sandbar. We turned off our lights and the blackness swallowed us whole. No one said a word.

Continuing our search for good places to climb, we spied a promising overhanging wall. Paddling closer, we saw that it had perfect pockets in its face. Despite the weather, Matt was stoked to climb it. The water was calm, making for easy access. Annie dropped Matt off at the base of the overhanging wall, leaving him to work out his sequence of moves. He made short work of the problem, raced up the steep rock, and jumped from its top. I joined Matt for his second climb up the wall and to get some photos.

We were both high on the rock when BOOM, a huge explosion echoed across the bay. “What the hell was that?” Matt shouted. To our surprise, a small palm-thatched fishing boat puttered around the corner. We tucked into the rock, our hearts in our throats. Below, Annie quickly paddled into a small inlet out of sight of the new arrivals. BOOM, another explosion. Directly in front of us the water shot 60 feet into the air. Matt and I realized that we were witnessing dynamite fishing. As it is everywhere else in the world, the practice is is illegal here, and we didn’t want to be discovered. It seemed that some locals had also taken advantage of the lack of people during the Tet festival. The fishermen soon moved on, unaware of our presence. Moving on ourselves, we paddled a good distance in the opposite direction, exploring areas unknown to tourists. Dense jungle flourished on massive cliff walls, and floating villages constructed of old barrels and wooden platforms bobbed in sheltered inlets. Families aboard small junks stared in disbelief as we paddled by. We spent days exploring. Our arms burned from both the climbing and paddling. Unfortunately, the weather stayed gray and cold.

We spent days at sea, living aboard Floatzilla. We ran out of drinking water and tired of our freeze-dried food. We were glad when Tam returned, and it felt great to step back onto solid ground when we stopped for some well-deserved rest and to restock our supplies. We made plans with our captain to head out for one last trip the next day, but Annie opted to sit this one out. The weather wasn’t improving, and she’d had enough.