Climbing Mount Rendova

In all the places we've been in the world and all the experiences we've had, climbing Mount Rendova to the B24 plane crash site of Michael's Uncle Brent in WWII is probably the most unbelievably adventurous, if not most treacherous, thing we've ever done. I don't think either of us can quite believe we actually did it.

We took a one-hour boat ride from Titiru Eco Lodge (owned by Kilo and Esther) to the base of the mount where we were to start our hike. There are no motor vehicles on Rendova — everything is on footpaths through the jungle or by boat. Kilo has an 18ft old fibreglass outboard motor boat painted red, which they call the Red Devil, that most people would probably have second thoughts about getting into. We tried not to notice the cracks that squirted water as we hit the waves.

We'd planned to leave by 8, but it was raining, so we delayed half an hour. It didn't stop, so we proceeded. At the base we were greeted by children running out to the banks — like something out of National Geographic. Still raining, we rested until it eased, talking with the guides, one of whose grandfather had helped retrieve the bodies from the plane. We waited until 10 for the rain to abate but decided to start, needing to be back before dark.

Through the jungle we went. Kilo told us, "I will take care of Michael and Esther will take care of Susan." He and Michael had been communicating for a year about this journey to the crash site, and when we arrived he said adamantly, "I WILL get you there!" He knew how important this was to Michael.

Unless you were there it's hard to explain the nature of the terrain — roots, trunks, rocks and vines every step of the way. After about a quarter mile we reached a small stream with a 4" plank across it; we tightrope-walked across with a guide holding our hands on either side. A little further came another stream with no plank, so we waded through. A quarter mile on we came to what looked like a mighty rushing river — I was sure this was it. Kilo and the guides assessed the situation, took it in stride, and slowly we inched our way in with guides on each side holding firmly onto our arms. Is this really happening?

On we continued through the bush, the rain still pouring as we navigated slippery leaves and mud. Early in the journey the guide had cut us heavy walking sticks with his machete. Michael kept one hand on Kilo's shoulder and his walking stick in the other. Esther and I stuck together, holding onto each other when necessary.

We finally reached an old logging road of red clay that looked easier going — it continued to pour, though Kilo said the overcast sky and breeze were probably better than baking in the sun. Small rivers ran down the road with the rain, turning into small gorges, and up and down we went with little sense of how far we'd come or how much further there was. At several points I wondered whether we'd be able to go on. We stopped for lunch on rocks and logs, eating bread and fresh fruit they'd brought along, with plenty of water.

Eventually the guide said only about two more kilometres — the end was in sight. That end meant climbing an almost vertical hill of mud and vines to where the crash was. With help from the guide and Esther, I was able to climb it. They cut down vines and tied them tree to tree to help Michael pull himself up — so we became Tarzan and Jane. It took us five hours total to get there.

It was a very powerful moment when we reached the top and saw the crash site — huge sections of the plane strewn across the mountain. We took some photos, treacherous as it was to navigate around, and spent time there while Michael got to say goodbye, hopefully finding some closure over the death of the uncle who died before he was born.

Then the descent. I asked Kilo if a helicopter would be coming to get us — it only took about three and a half hours to get down. Esther and I were mostly ahead of Michael and Kilo; she told me, "you are a very strong woman." As I looked up the mountain and saw Michael coming down with his walking stick and his hand on Kilo's shoulder, I thought of Moses coming down the mountain.

This will surely be an experience etched in our memories. Michael said afterwards he felt a huge load lifted off his shoulders. There are so many other wonderful things we did at Titiru — but I'll save that for another time.

— Susan and Michael Clemmer, 2020 (travelled to Titiru Eco Lodge, Solomon Islands)