Sunlight, Coral and the Plastic Tide

 Years ago, when we first began cruising, a dear friend, Elissa, asked whether we encountered much plastic during our passages. At the time, I confidently told her, “No.”

Recently, I messaged her again: I’ve found the plastic. It’s in Indonesia.

We first began seeing noticeable amounts as we approached land on our passage toward Indonesia. The closer we drew to shore, the more debris appeared, bottles, fragments, the occasional unidentifiable object drifting past. Some of it wrapped briefly around the prop. That particular vibration always tightens the shoulders. Plastic in the prop is never good. Fortunately, we knew the drill. A quick shift to neutral, a short wait, and it either it is dislodged, or Bob heads into the water to cut away the offending object. (Thank you, Bob)

We officially checked in at Tual, a small town in eastern Indonesia. The harbor where we went ashore was not subtly littered. It was an almost solid covering of plastic across the surface. It was disgusting. There’s no gentler word that fits. The water moved, but the plastic moved with it, an entire top layer shifting lazily in the tide. We hoped that we could navigate through the waters without something getting caught in the dinghy prop.

Heading north from Tual into open ocean, we continued to encounter plastic regularly. Not constant, but frequent enough that it became part of the watch routine: squint at the horizon, scan for fishing boats, scan for debris.

Eventually we entered Raja Ampat, often called the crown jewel of Indonesia’s marine biodiversity. This remote archipelago in the far east of the country is famous for staggering marine life and dramatic limestone formations rising straight from turquoise water. Our first stop was Misool. And it was every bit as extraordinary as promised.

The water was impossibly clear. Sunlight streamed down in bright shafts, illuminating coral gardens below. Brightly colored fish flickered in and out of the light, blues and yellows and shining neons, moving through reef structures that looked beautifully intricate. Rock formations rose around us in sculpted curves and hidden lagoons. When the tide was slack, it felt untouched.

And then the tide turned.

When the water moved in, it often carried plastic with it. Not always. But often enough. Paradise, with a chip bag drifting by.

Further north in Raja Ampat, we anchored off a stunning sand spit. Two days were everything you hope for: long snorkels, free-diving in warm water so clear it felt like flying, coral glowing beneath us in the filtered afternoon light. On the third day, the tide shifted again.

This time it brought a heavy wave of debris. Chip bags. Flip flops. Toothbrushes. Plastic wrappers. Jugs. Cups. Bags. The list went on. It wasn’t a piece here or there; it was a steady stream floating past. We cut the snorkel short. There’s only so much enthusiasm one can muster while swimming through yesterday’s packaging.

No one else was around to collect it. The volume was overwhelming, far beyond what anyone on a small boat could meaningfully address in a few hours. So we watched it move through and waited for the tide to change again.

Plastic is woven into daily life here. In the supermarkets, fruits and vegetables are individually wrapped. Then placed in another bag to be weighed. Then, unless you bring your own bags, which we do, they are placed in yet another at checkout. Bottled water is everywhere: plain, mineral, large, small. Single-serving cups with attached plastic straws are especially popular. Convenience, neatly sealed in a land of small volcanic crags covered in jungle with little or no flat lands. So many people, living by the shores, surviving on so little, and everything they don't get from the sea is double wrapped in plastic. 

I usually return to Rhapsody after each snorkel or dive with a collection of plastics that I have removed from the reef

It reminds me of the nursery rhyme:

There once was a girl, who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good she was very, very good,

But when she was bad she was horrid.

That feels like this place.

When the water is clear, it is crystal clear, a luminous blue stretching in every direction. When the tide brings plastic, it becomes an ugly, drifting mess. Both are true. Both exist here, often within the same day, sometimes within the same hour.

The tide goes out and the water turns brilliant again, as if nothing had happened. The coral remains spectacular. The fish remain impossibly bright. The limestone cliffs still rise like sculptures from the sea.

Fortunately there are people trying to do something about it in their own corners of the country. Ali collects plastic every day.

Ali is turning the collected waste plastic into pavers.

But now, when I think back to that early cruising conversation years ago, I know the answer is more complicated. The ocean is still breathtakingly beautiful.

And it is carrying our trash.