Life in a Volcano: Gunung Batur, Bali

There are a multitude of picturesque areas in Bali and, many spectacular. One of these beautiful areas is around Gunung Batur in the north-east mountains. Bali’s most sacred mountain, it stands 1,800 metres above sea-level and is still an active volcano.

In its shadow, the shimmering waters of the crater lake, Danau Batur. Fresh mountain springs spew crystal clear water into the pristine lake from high above on the slopes of Gunung Batur.

My journey took me through the now cosmopolitan village of Ubud situated in the lush green interior of the island at the base of the mountains. It was then a steep climb up to the peaks of the mountain range. Here, there is a T-Junction. To the left is the tourist town of Kintamani, and to the right, a step descent into the bowels of the crate passing through sparse forests, huge rock formations, and the occasional patch of rich green lush jungle. As you descend the switchback road, the lake becomes bigger and bigger until eventually there in front of you is this massive crystal shimmering body of water.

Standing at the bottom was surreal. “Hey, I’m actually inside a volcano!”. I first faced Gunung Batur and then slowly looked around. The crater walls, massive in height and rugged, were the domain of jet-black wild goats who managed to navigate and cling to the rough face. Many small villages were visible from where I stood at Kedisan, a small village situated at the southern end.

It is here orange trees flourish beside cabbages and corn as well as peanut shrubs in the rich volcanic soil. And, it was from here my sojourn on Lake Batur began. During the late afternoon an eerie cloud of mist rolls off the top of the mountain and creeps across the lake. The afternoon light was fading, and after some negotiations with the locals, I found myself in a dugout canoe being paddled around the edge of the lake near the crater walls that disappeared into the clear depths.

Danau Batur has an abundant source of fish called Ikan Kapur and they have become a staple in the diet of the villagers who fish these waters daily. The boat creased the stillness of the ice-cold lake and it was a strange feeling being stuck there in a dugout canoe. The locals in their primitive canoes cast their nets into the depths, others set line-netting using empty plastic bottles for flotation. As we passed by the ancient village of Trunyan, dusk signalled our return to shore. A cool breeze blew across the water and I was glad of the jacket I brought. And, as the sun finally disappeared behind the crater walls, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.