In the wilds of Indonesian Papua, an expedition by sea and land reveals how one small-group adventure-travel operator is bringing responsible tourism to the archipelago’s eastern frontier.

Photographs by Matt Dutile

Harvesting sago palm for starch; whale sharks feeding beneath a bagan fishing platform. — *Left to right:* Harvesting sago palm for starch; whale sharks feeding beneath a *bagan* fishing platform.

There are too many whale sharks!” I hear myself splutter excitedly through my snorkel. Five of the colossal fish fill my field of vision, then a sixth, its sinuous form gliding directly beneath my flippers. Hovering upright in the water, their spotted bodies stretching from three to 10 meters, they appear like great underwater dragons, mouths agape as they vacuum in vast volumes of seawater and chunks of baitfish tossed from the bagan—a wooden fishing platform—floating overhead. As I frame up the scene with my camera, a seventh cruises past just a meter or two to my left, blocking the shot with a gargantuan fin.

It never crossed my mind that I would have to contend with photobombing whale sharks on this trip. There’s a first for everything, I suppose. What isn’t crowding my frame is other people: no rush of boats descending on the feeding frenzy, no tourists jostling with GoPros on selfie sticks, no accidental flipper to the face. Just the silent grace of the moment to myself with these gentle giants.

I have the Si Datu Bua to thank for that. The 40-meter vessel is one of two traditional phinisi-style wooden sailing boats operated by Bali-based yacht charter company Silolona Sojourns, known for its immersive journeys across the Indonesian archipelago. This voyage is taking me across Cenderawasih Bay, a vast bight along the northern shores of the Indonesian half of New Guinea (the eastern side being the nation of Papua New Guinea). Separated from the better-known—and more touristed—islands of Raja Ampat by the Bird’s Head Peninsula, it feels a world apart: a realm of empty white-sand beaches, cascading coral walls, and, most of all, the constellation of whale sharks all around me.

“Cenderawasih Bay has a different rhythm,” says dive master Goris Atawuwur as we climb aboard the bagan for a quick respite—and to meet the Papuan fisherman chumming the waters for us. He’s been working with Silolona Sojourns for over 30 years, bringing an encyclopedic knowledge of Indonesia’s dive sites to each voyage. “The whale sharks are an incredible experience, but it’s the quiet, remote beauty here that hooks you.”

The Si Datu Bua under full sail in Cenderawasih Bay; a young tribal member with a bamboo bow and arrows. — *Left to right:* The *Si Datu Bua* under full sail in Cenderawasih Bay; a young tribal member with a bamboo bow and arrows.

Luxuries aboard Si Datu Bua include tasty food and cozy cabins.

Our four-day sailing is no regular guest cruise. It’s the first leg of an advance expedition that will take us deep into the trackless jungle of Central Papua, a province that extends from Cenderawasih Bay toward the island’s mountainous interior. In preparation for a small group of paying guests who will follow in the days ahead, we’re here to set up camp and make contact with an indigenous tribe that inhabits the area. Also on board are Silolona Sojourns’ director, Tresno Seery, and his partner Sarah Seery, who leads the company’s creative direction and guest experience. On land, we’ll link up with our American trip leader and Papua expert, Kelly Woolford.

Back on the Si Datu Bua, ravenous from four hours of snorkeling among the whale sharks, I tear into another terrific meal prepared by the boat’s Balinese chef, Ketut Kusumawardana. Today the highlight is fish tortellini with pumpkin puree and orange foam, topped by a crisp parmesan tuile. Over the last three days, other standouts have included lobster thermidor, sweet corn soup with crab croquettes, and dadar gulung (sweet coconut pancakes) served with a scoop of turmeric-and-orange ice cream. Well-considered service and a high level of detail are the hallmarks of a Silolona Sojourns adventure.

The company was founded more than two decades ago by the late Patti Seery, an American anthropologist who relocated to Indonesia in the 1980s. Captivated by the iconic black sails of phinisi cargo ships, she decided to launch one of her own after a family cruise. Working with the Konjo boatbuilders of South Sulawesi, she hand-built her first vessel, Silolona, in 2004. Eight years later, her son Tresno, a naval architect, collaborated with the same shipwrights to create Si Datu Bua, whose name means “Beloved Princess.”

With two tall masts and a suit of crimson sails rigged fore-and-aft, the boat from the outside is a traditional phinisi. Inside, however, it has all the comforts and attention to aesthetics of a private yacht. My cabin—one of three belowdecks—is lined in reclaimed teak from an old Dutch warehouse and filled with cultural artifacts from across Indonesia. Straw hats, a leather toiletry bag, and turndown gifts like an Asmat wood carving are there for my enjoyment, and to take home at the end of the trip.

Our days have swung between adventure and ease—snorkeling over teeming reefs or kayaking around isolated islets, and later plopping onto a lounger to watch the mist curl through the verdant landscape. In all this time, we haven’t seen a single other tourist vessel. On the last evening aboard, the crew sets up a barbecue on the beach of a tiny island, grilling skewers of meat, seafood, and vegetables over a driftwood fire. I watch the fiery sunset fade into night. Beyond the lights of the Si Datu Bua, columns of rain sweep across the bay like great watery curtains. Tomorrow, we head into the jungle.

Central Papuan wilderness; a forest pondok, or rain shelter. — *Left to right:* Central Papuan wilderness; a forest *pondok*, or rain shelter.

A smiling man with a crop of dirty-blond hair pulled into a short ponytail waves to us from the roof of a fiberglass boat the following morning. It’s Woolford, freshly arrived with provisions for our excursion. Joining him on board, we’re soon cutting through the brackish shallows at the mouth of a river that flows into Cenderawasih Bay. Far beyond any cell phone signal, this will be our conduit into the dense interior of northern Papua.

First, we’ll spend a night at a riverside village, securing a last round of supplies and assembling the team of 25 Papuans who will be our translators, cooks, porters, fishermen, and camp builders for the weeklong expedition ahead. Everyone here knows Woolford. They draw out the syllables of his first name in greeting, accompanied by handshakes and betel-stained grins. The Seerys and I may play second fiddle, but we’re a welcome novelty, with plenty of requests for selfies as we move from house to house. Only half a dozen tourists make it to this remote community each year.

At the home of one of the team leaders, Ansek, roll call is taken, stacks of rupiah notes change hands, and everyone sets about final preparations. Some haul the foam mattresses, pillows, tarps, and tents that will form the guest camp; others fill big blue barrels with gasoline, or gather sacks of rice and fresh produce for family-style meals. There’s a clear familiarity to it all. Woolford has been staging expeditions at this village—whose name I’ve been asked not to reveal—for more than 15 years, usually for groups of just two to three people.

*Left to right:* Cooked sago palm starch is an indigenous staple food; village kids jumping from a riverside jetty.

A native of Missouri, Woolford began exploring the South Pacific shortly after college, before finding his way to Pakistan, India, and Nepal. Lured by images he had seen of New Guinea’s endless wilderness, he soon began exploring the island, going out on surveys with Papuans in the highlands around Wamena.

“Papua is a place you can truly explore,” he explains the following morning as he oversees the loading of our convoy of small riverboats. “The world has gotten a lot smaller, and so much more accessible. This is still the frontier.”

We power up the river at a brisk clip. Though the water level is high at this time of year, Ansek stands firm at the stern of the lead boat, directing those behind us away from sandbanks with sweeping gestures. Woolford notes they once made this trip in a single-engine canoe—and woe to you if that engine failed.

The journey upriver takes several hours, carrying us far from any settlement. The jungle is raw and untouched—alive in a way few other places on this planet still are. Great colonies of fruit bats hang from vine-choked trees along the riverbank, while the whooshing wingbeats of hornbills and the screech of parrots announce the birds’ presence long before they pass overhead.

Diverting up a tributary, we wind through swampy channels until we reach our campsite, the same spot used on a Silolona expedition two years earlier. The tedious chore of clearing the tangled underbrush had been done then, though some of the crew set about raking leaves and removing stray debris. While the women in our party build the fire and kitchen area for our evening meal, a group of men vanishes into the forest. Before long we hear the roar of a chainsaw as they begin cutting down a jabon tree to make planks and poles for the camp. This is no random felling: the tree, a fast-growing species, was chosen after the lumberjacks inspected it for any wildlife. (When the guest trip that follows ours concludes, virtually every provision from camp will be distributed among the Papuan team—every plank and nail repurposed for their homes.)

The expedition’s base camp; the Si Datu Bua’s stern. — *Left to right:* The expedition’s base camp; the *Si Datu Bua*’s stern.

Over the next few days, I marvel as the site springs to life. First comes a timber platform for our tents, sheltered by tarps to keep out the rain, followed by a larger one for the Papuan team. Next comes a kitchen and dining table, then a camp toilet cheekily dubbed the kantor, meaning “office” in Indonesian. By the end, there’s a small dock, raised walkways over the mud, and decorations of palm fronds and flowers. It’s a compact homestead for the guests and crew arriving after us.

The time soon comes for us to make contact with one of the two forest-dwelling clans that lives in this area. Hundreds of indigenous groups inhabit Indonesian Papua, and while the anthropological literature on many of them is sparse, I learn that the people we are about to meet live semi-nomadically—harvesting sago palm, foraging for fruits and grubs, and hunting wild boar, cassowary, and other fauna. A week earlier, Woolford, who has been leading expeditions into this jungle since 2009, dispatched one of his Papuan crew upriver to let the clan know we planned to visit and to ensure we had their permission. This encounter is on their land, and always on their terms.

The meeting takes place not far from camp, in a clearing where the clan has built two pondok—rain shelters with raised bamboo floors and palm-thatched roofs used for hunting and foraging trips. Comprising an extended family of 15 people, they are shy at first, eyes downcast, but appreciative of the provisions of rice and tools we bring.

*Left to right:* Under the forest canopy; Siko, the patriarch of a family group encountered by the Silolona team.

The group warmed to us in the days that followed. We are greeted with smiles the next time we visit their clearing, and the children are clearly at ease, juggling fruit from our camp and playing cat’s cradle with palm twine. They lead us into the forest to demonstrate their traditional practices. One morning it’s how to set snares and build hides for hunting boar with bow and arrow; another, the delicate process of peeling and pounding the tree bark they wear as clothing. Most incredible is the harvesting of the sago palm. Using a bamboo tool called a golo, they pulp the trunk and press the fibrous mash down tubes of palm heart with water from a nearby stream, slowly filtering a thick paste from the mixture. Cooked in leaves over the fire, it produces a white powder not unlike an extra-starchy tapioca flour. I find it utterly delicious, and their amusement at my enthusiasm means each return brings more generous handfuls.

In the afternoons they visit our camp for tea and biscuits. Sharing food becomes its own unspoken ritual, and trust grows easily around it. They readily accept our offerings, familiar with these staples from previous guest visits. Sliced pineapple, however, is met with suspicion—tasted tentatively, set aside, then revisited minutes later for another careful nibble. A few pull faces and abandon the fruit altogether, declaring it simply too sweet. The family brings objects of interest for us as well, including iridescent blue beetles and twine necklaces adorned with fiery red flowers.

“These trips are not for everyone, and it needs to be done in a responsible way,” Tresno says over the campfire one evening. “We try to bring guests who will be mindful of the intimate cultural experience and treat it with the respect it deserves.”

On our departure, with the camp now fully ready for the soon-to-arrive guests, one of the tribal leaders gifts Tresno a bow and a dozen arrows of bamboo, bone, and serrated wood edges. Another bearded patriarch, Siko, who has known Woolford for years, leaves us with a final thought. “We are happy that you have come to see us, and happy to share our customs with you,” he says through a translator, with a soft handshake and a piercingly direct gaze.

Few places in the world deliver such untouched natural and cultural experiences as Papua. As we motor back downriver to Cenderawasih Bay and the Si Datu Bua, I reflect on the effort and care that go into creating an adventure this rare, excited for the guests who will follow.

The Si Datu Bua at anchor in the southern reaches of Cenderawasih Bay. — The *Si Datu Bua* at anchor in the southern reaches of Cenderawasih Bay.

Silolona Sojourns offers private charters across Indonesia aboard Silolona and Si Datu Bua, with prices starting from US$12,500 per day.

This article originally appeared in the March/May 2026 print issue of DestinAsian magazine (“Off the Map”). Buy a single issue or subscribe here.

A Papuan Odyssey with Silolona Sojourns