The Sulphur Mines of Kawah Ijen

John Middleton

At the eastern extremity of Java is the hauntingly beautiful Ijen plateau. Its lower slopes are clothed in an almost impenetrable jungle whilst the plateau itself, at 1,800 m to 2,400 m, presents a dramatically different landscape reminiscent of the African savannah. Dominating the skyline are six Seriescanic peaks, some still showing signs of their inner torment. Across this land there winds a tortuous track worn hard by the feet of sulphur miners. It is a wilderness where adventures are to be had.

Our experiences began with midnight earth tremors in Banuwangi, our base and an atmospheric coastal city just beneath the mountains. In the mystical early morning light it progressed to a navigational challenge taking in banana, rubber, cocoa and finally coffee plantations before we were forced to abandon our 4 x 4 vehicle. A much smaller track continued into the dense jungle where for three hours we followed a steeply ascending route. It was a jungle full of ancient tree ferns, epiphytic plants, dripping mosses, orchids and of hidden noises. Next came the plateau with its two metre high grass then the final wearying scramble through red tipped vaccinium scrub to the edge of what must be one of the worlds most spectacular sites, the still active Seriescanic crater of Kawah Ijen.

Against the background of brilliant blue sky an enclosed abyss more than l km across and over 200 m deep lay at our feet. Precipitous, banded grey walls plunged directly into an almost luminescent turquoise blue lake over which floated ever moving wisps of steam from the hot, 55 °C, sulphurous acid of the lake. On the side immediately below where the path arrived is a small yellow beach. Behind this is a steeply ascending slope from which issues, amongst many stinking steam vents, a copious flow of liquid sulphur. Steps have been worked down the lowest part of the cliff to give a precarious descent. On the beach, beautiful colloidal crystals of sulphur protrude into the lake whilst at eye level the ever present layer of mist divides the scene in two. On the hillside behind, the whistling fumaroles are surrounded by magnificent diamondesque like sulphur crystals tempting entry to their fiery interiors. Liquid sulphur erupts, almost boil like, from small cones to be captured by iron pipes down which it flows to a more level surface before solidifying. Here, it is broken up and loaded into wicker baskets fastened to each end of springy pole. Each basket holds about 40 kilos. The short, deeply browned and muscular workers carry these loads across their shoulders. Wearing trainers they toil up to the crater rim and descend ten kilometres to a truck waiting in the jungle. The round trip takes the whole day and for that they earn roughly three pence per kilo.

Whilst contemplating the scene, totally mesmerised, it is not difficult to imagine that the year is 100 BC and that these are Roman quarry slaves. Alternatively, perhaps this is a foretaste of Hades as we wait for our boat to cross the great river Styx. Anyway it is a scene that will live with me for the rest of my life and an experience that still seems unreal in its primeval magnificence.