On our third day in Railay, we finally got to do what we had come to Railay to do – rock climb! I’ve dreamed of rock climbing in Thailand for a long time, and seen many videos and pictures of great climbers scaling high up magnificent limestone cliffs, or dangling by one arm on a stalactite with crystal blue waters below. This is a location that rock climbers dream of visiting, and Caitlin and I are so lucky to have been able to ascend these rock walls towards the blue Thai sky.
Early in the morning our climbing group met with a local man named Tom, who was to be our captain and guide. The group consisted of the brothers from England named Mannix and Dexter, the friends from Italy named Eugene and Yakapo, and Kai from Germany. We all had rock climbing shoes provided for us, and had to try a few on the get the right size. Caitlin and I particularly struggled to find the correct fit. Asking Tom why he did not have more sizes that would work for us, he shrugged and apologized, explaining that not many women come on his tour.
Tom’s sailboat was moored off the shore of the East Beach. Four at a time, we shuttled to the boat in a small dinghy, nearly sinking it under our weight. Not a breeze to be found, the sails were left down and we set off under the power of the boat’s motor. The boat ride to our climbing destination took roughly one hour and it was a very pleasant trip. The warm morning sun shone down on us, crystallising the visibility of the water, and exposing islands not only close by, but also many kilometres away.
Yakapo shouted, snapping me out of a sun-induced trance, "Look!" he pointed to the water, "There are jellyfish everywhere!" Sure enough, every few seconds a large, pink jellyfish would bob into view just below the surface of the water. A sense of hesitation and fear spread through our group, because we were going deep-water soloing (rock climbing without a harness and rope above the water. When you fall, you fall into the water) and would be spending the whole day in the sea. Thankfully, Tom assured us that there would be no jellyfish near the cliffs.
We soon arrived at our destination and anchored the boat. It was a small island with a large cliff face suitable for climbing. The plan was for us to climb up the easiest route (5 meters up from the water’s surface) one at a time to a ledge. From the ledge we would jump down into the water below. There were three more routes to attempt after the first, each progressively taller and more difficult than the last. There was chalk on a ledge at the bottom of our route so we could "chalk up" before our climb (to dry our wet hands and provide a better grip). The first route was quite easy. I climbed up as though ascending a ladder, and leapt into the water below. The only unsettling part was the waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff. The cliff jumping Caitlin and I have done in the past has been over fresh water (at our cottage), where the biggest water surface disturbances are glorified "waves" drifting in from boats driving around the lake. Below me now were waves close to a meter tall, which exploded against the limestone into pitiful fragmented pieces of their former state.
The second route was more difficult, and I was the first to attempt it. I reached the ledge that marked that top, and stood looking 10 meters down. "Okay, this is a lot higher then last time" I called down to my friends bobbing in the water below. "It’s a lot scarier," I said, my eyes transfixed on the base of the cliff as it reduced the powerful waves into water droplets. Adrenaline rushing through me, a hurdled myself into open space, hoping I too would not be reduced against the cliff upon hitting the water. Caitlin ascended next, and leapt into the water after my assurances that she would be fine.
The next route was special because near the top we would reach a stalactite that we had to climb over to reach the ledge at the top. Since this route was more difficult than the last, it proved too challenging for most of our group. In fact, only Caitlin and I were able to reach the ledge and jump back into the water. Tom was proud of us, and I think he thought it was funny that only the girls could complete the route (although if this was true, he kept this thought to himself).
Caitlin and I were the only people in our group to attempt the final route, as the guys were not able to reach the top of the easier third route. This route also featured a stalactite, and the ledge we were aiming for was much higher up. I attempted the route first, and struggled more with this one than the pervious three. I went from the wall to the stalactite, and worked my way up and across it, towards the next hold on the wall above. At that point, I got stuck. Unable to determine how to reach the next handhold and still hang on, my muscles slowly weakened. Suddenly, mid-move my arms gave out. If I had been climbing with equipment (which I normally do), this would be the point where the rope would catch me, absorbing my momentum and slowly bouncing me to a halt. With no rope, there was no catch. Unprepared for the fall, a disorienting blur of cliff flashed past me. Blind to anything else but the rock in front of me, I hoped that upon slipping I had pushed off far enough from the wall for a safe fall into the water. Before I knew it, I plunged into the water and surfaced in one piece. Caitlin was also unable to complete the route, and got stuck at the same point I did.
Unexpectedly, it began to rain on us. We bobbed in the waves, large droplets pelting us. The rain was shockingly cold and fresh on our faces in contrast to the warm saline water our bodies were submerged in. Since the rain meant no climbing, we swan to a small inlet beach just around the corner. We explored a cave near the shore, and bouldered (rock climbing shorter routes just off the ground on boulders). The bouldering was fun because when we fell (only a meter or 2) we fell into the soft white sand of the beach, which was so soft it felt like collapsing into a vat of flour.
We were the only people on the entire island, and being on the unspoilt beach provided a sense of secrecy and seclusion. I looked out across the water, its surface pockmarked and turbulent from the rain, and had a sense of the vastness of this planet. How many other islands are void of human existence
Our forearms were so tired from climbing, that the group decided it was time to move on. Caitlin and I attempted the hard route once more, got stuck and the same point, and gave up. Back on the sailboat we had lunch and tea. Sweet sticky rice in a banana leaf, potato cakes, and yummy bananas were on the menu. We ate up and chatted and soon arrived at our next stop. We anchored off the shore of Chicken Island (another small and deserted place) and snorkelled until it was nearly dark.
As the sun began to set, we all hurried to the beach for a good view. The sky was cast a fiery pink. As the sun slowly descended towards the horizon, the water burned, twining the brilliance of the sky. We all played in the sand, jumping and cartwheeling, snapping pictures and laughing. Gradually, as if in quicksand, the sun slipped below the horizon line. Fleetingly, a sliver of light was left and then no more.
We boated back to Railay in the dark. Tom served us the local Singha beer and taught us some Thai phrases. Part way home, the sailboat lights were switched off and we all stood at the stern of the boat and stared into the water. In the wake, glimmered the phosphorescence of the phytoplankton. Like stars dancing in the waves, the phytoplankton shone. I stared, imagining them to be fireflies of the sea.
Before we knew it, our adventure was over and we were back at Railay. Tired from our day of activity, Caitlin and I ate dinner with Mannix and Dexter and decided to go to bed early. Mannix and Dex told us they were planning on heading to Koh Phi Phi the next day, and wondered if we wanted to go with them. Caitlin and I looked at each other, shrugged, and laughed. Why not
?? How many other beaches lay empty, with each grain of sand untouched, no footprints breaking the invariable surface of the shore?
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