HANGING AROUND IN HA LONG BAY

A deep water soloing adventure in Vietnam

By Matt Maddaloni

Photos by Paul Bride

Keeping my toes pointed I can get my shoe rubber to grip the hole in the ceiling of the half-submerged ocean cave. Looking like a bat hanging upside down I take most of my weight off my arms and get somewhat of a rest. The powerful climbing moves that got me here scared the wits out of me for fear of falling, back first, onto the shelf three feet below the waves. Now safe above deeper water I look upside down at the stalactite ahead. Low gurgles from the swell bubble up and down the walls and I can hear Paul’s camera snapping silhouette photos from a kayak drifting just inside the entrance. Time to move... Swinging onto my arms I throw my feet completely around so that I can hook another hole with my toes. Facing feet first out the cave I switch from pocket to pocket until I’ve wormed my way around my legs and onto the stalactite. Another rest...

Annie calls out, her voice amplified by the far reaches of the limestone cave, “You’re getting pretty high you know!”

My legs now securely wrapped around the ancient drip I offer a reason to my lunacy, “I want to finish this climb at that ledge. It’s only 50 feet above the water, the hardest moves look just ahead.” Looking out the cave I can see that the black and gold striped ceiling forms an apex where a tangled mess of vines hangs like I could jump out and swing from it.

Janet and Annie are on ‘Floatzilla’, a contraption composed of kayaks and tents moving together on the sea. “Send it!” they yell.

Leaving the safety of the stalactite I pull from hold to hold to a long stretch of nothing. Pumped, my forearms swelling with blood, I swing back to the stalactite and brace my back against it with my feet on the wall.

Paul puts his camera down for a brief second, “Come on Matt! The water’s deep dude, you got it.”

Breathing hard from the effort I can smell the black dusky film smeared on my shoulders from the long undisturbed rock. As my pulse slows I’m able to hear the support from my friends and see that the deep aqua green water looks inviting. Go for it… The hold is too far to reach for my short frame so I toss my hand at it, feet popping off the wall. Hitting the hold my hand flexes into an instinctual grip. My swinging feet arch out behind me but I’m able to hold on and pull them back into the wall. Crack! All too quickly my concentration leaps from holding on to swinging my arms wildly. I peel away from the wall and my confidence disappears as the rock hold breaks off. I turn myself around to meet the oncoming water and I’m given only a brief second to pull my arms in and straighten my legs before I plunge below the waves.

Back in Canada, Paul Bride, his wife Janet, Annie Roy and I, all climbers, planned an expedition to deep water solo in northern Vietnam for the month of January. Deep water soloing, a relatively new sport, involves climbing on overhanging rock without a rope above deep water in case one falls. Our hope was to climb new routes while living cheap and freely on three kayaks among Ha Long Bay’s 3000 overhanging limestone islands, perfect for deep water soloing. Our portable design for our live-aboard boat contained two 14-foot inflatable kayaks held apart using paddles with climbing cots called ‘portaledges’ and tents laid in between. Throw an anchor down in a protected bay and Voila! Sleeps four and costs nothing.

Arriving in Bai Chay, or Ha Long City, on January 12th we discover that climbing and kayaking is restricted due to Communist control of the country even though the potential for new routes is endless. Regular tours are offered to take one through the mazes of jungle covered rock islands and ocean caves called ‘grottos’. Asking around it seems no one will risk the chance of getting arrested to help us explore outside the tour lanes. Apparently police boats and officials dressed as fishermen patrol Ha Long Bay constantly. Unconvinced, we decide to jump on a regular tour to see for ourselves the workings of the bay.

Ha Long Bay World Heritage Park is about 60 kilometers in diameter and with a top speed of 10 km/hour most boats don’t venture too far in one day. A boatman agrees to take us to a secluded island where we can climb in peace as long as we agree to stay at a hotel on Cat Ba Island resort. Along the way we pass a huge arch of stone hanging above the ocean and pull into the bay beside it. We are surprised that the first rock we pick has a route on it among countless unclimbed islands. Using our kayaks to get close enough to step onto the rock we climb two new routes in less than 15 minutes. I’m left wondering how much time and effort went into bolting the one line for roped climbers, unclimbable now due to the bolts rusting away.

Knowing full well the threat of getting caught by the authorities the next day sees us directly below the nose of two huge black battleships equipped with anti aircraft guns mounted menacingly on deck. We discuss the possibility that our boatmen are trying to scare us into needing their cunning services. Feeling very intimidated, Paul hides his camera for fear of confiscation as we all crawl deeper into the boat.

Getting back to Bai Chay, our boatman tempts us to a drink with his friends nearby. A bit of a clown his charisma is contagious so we agree, ready to party after the first successes of the trip. An alley with nothing but small plastic seats and a large keg greets us. Five beers later the ladies depart much to the dismay of our drunken friends but Paul and I are just getting started with the dried squid and draft beer. We talk about the workings of Vietnam and the wars fought and discover our friend has had his share of time in the navy. His loyal cousin next to him does not understand a word of English but patiently nods to our conversations. Not accepting money for the many beers I slip a 100,000 Dong note, about 7 USD and enough to pay for two kegs, into our new friend’s cigarette pack and stumble home.

Occupied by the French until the 1950’s, Vietnam was left with a large influence in architecture and language. Fluent in French, Annie meets a similar-speaking restaurant owner who introduces us to a boatman who has more pull with the police. He has an aversion to letting us be dropped off but offers for us to live directly on his boat as a compromise. This gives us another step towards our goal to get beyond the tour lanes to the far reaches of the park and live on our own without support.

Arriving at our first destination our boat breaks down just as we drop the anchor. Calling a second boat on his cell phone our boatman explains the location of this nameless island among countless others. Part of our hired crew take out one of our kayaks and paddles into the strait in an attempt to flag down the boat. They give up around nightfall and return embarrassed, relieved that we are unconcerned and feeding off the new adventure.

As part of the price we are offered a dinner meal. Most of our party selects a vegetarian’s diet after seeing four fly covered grimy fish on the galley table. For the first time while visiting a country in Southern Asia I have not contracted any of the endless ailments that have plagued me in the past and I’m motivated to explore the cuisine. I sink my teeth into a heated fish and directly into a sack of eggs. My friends turn green as I graphically describe the inside grit of this bottom-feeding denizen of the deep. Offered seafood the next night I get served another one of the fish that have been desiccating on the galley table from the night before and force myself to eat most of it in respect. By the fourth night I can’t even taste the final member of the now famous four, moving organs and scales around my plate in an attempt to hide my distaste.

Preparing for bed we set up Floatzilla for the first time and try to explain to the confused crew that this is home. Laughter all-round is heard as we bumble about the boats tying down straps and pitching tents inches above the sea. Annie, sick with the flu, stays with me aboard the boat and rats and cockroaches scurry around our bedroll. Paul and Janet hunker down aboard Floatzilla, strapped to the side of the now powerless Vietnamese craft.

Morning brings water as smooth as glass to Ha Long Bay and our captain and his shipmate are nowhere to be seen. The old man of the crew, coughing throughout the night with a common Vietnamese condition, helps me paddle one of the kayaks and we sluggishly tow the broken boat out into the strait. We spot our friends on the horizon paddling back with frantic uncoordinated strokes against a heaving sea as our rescue vessel comes into view. Our floating cradle of humanity grows twice the size as they rope both boats together and we continue on as is for three days of climbing.

“We need to figure out how to get these guys to let us stay out here on our own," Paul mentions back in our hotel room after our last boat trip.

“We should use ‘Tet’ to our advantage, Vietnam’s New Year celebrations,” I interject. “Since every boatman, fisherman and government worker are home during the holidays, no one will be about the bay to bother us.”

Janet adds, “Maybe we could get them to drop us off on a beach for a couple of days. They might feel better about us hiding on an island instead of drifting about on bright yellow boats attracting attention.”

“I’ll go ask the restaurant owner to convince the boatman.” Annie, confident in her French connection, takes off down the street and we continue rolling over the problem. An hour later she returns, “The boatman will pick us up tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. I explained how money was not an issue and that we have come here on a specific mission to do this. We have to succeed.”

“What did he say to that?” exclaims Janet.

“I don’t think he quite understood but the money was there and he knows it will be quiet out on the water during Tet.”

On January 21st Vietnams New Year has come and Tet is shaping up to be a swinger as we leave the boisterous city. As a contrast Ha Long Bay is gravely vacant and the water is perfectly flat from lack of wind. Finally alone and free to do as we please we look around for a suitable base of operations. Discovering a huge cave on a beach we are excited to find twenty or more previously bolted climbs that make for good warm ups to our deep water soloing. That night we pitch our tents on the sandy beach but are rudely awaken to the rising surf at our feet. Moving to the deep interior of the cavern we scale the dark walls to hang our climbing cots or ‘portaledges’ from stalactites, to guard us from the highest of tides.

Fortunately, the new day brings sunshine for the first time in more than a week. Janet has headed south to visit a friend leaving Paul, Annie and I to paddle out across the morning silence. Paul sets himself up for photos high on a gold streaked wall while I work on a new route along the lip of a gapping cave with stalactites running along its edge like a row of teeth. Focused on my climbing the earth suddenly shakes with a kaboom, boom, boom, boom! An ear-splitting explosion slams into the islands around us and we flatten ourselves to the wall believing the top half of the island must have broken away. Having not seen any boats for two days we see a fishing vessel with a huge net draped from its bow puttering into view. Annie hides by paddling her boat under the undercut wall as the mysterious apparition heads towards us. Stopping for a brief moment, it suddenly picks up speed and a huge plume of spray leaps from the ocean with another thundering blast. “They’re using Tet to get away with dynamite fishing!” yells Paul. “Man that’s so illegal I’m sure they would kill us if they knew we were watching!” The boat does several passes over the devastated vicinity collecting stunned fish and departs behind another island much to our relief.

Obsessed to see this adventure to the end we continue to challenge the unknown to reach our goal. So far we have achieved the ability to use an island for a base, hiding deep inside it’s interior, afraid to be seen or heard for fear of being revealed as who we really are: alone and vulnerable innocents to the possibilities of pirates, corrupt police and a chaotic force of this under-developed country. Paul and I make a pact that on our next excursion we will hide no more, living on Floatzilla out in the open without fear of what we may encounter. Buying a ten pound rebar anchor in Bai Chay’s market we head back to our all-important restaurant to negotiate what will be our grand finale to this adventure. Our boatman infected by our enthusiasm, now trusts us enough to know we will not attract undo attention and permits our request of going out alone. Annie leaves us to our mission and waves farewell from the peeling blue and white painted deck of the Vietnamese tour boat as we paddle to another steep wall on a distant island.

Our first night alone we anchor in a sheltered bay. In the darkness several boats motor past and around midnight a black shape anchors nearby. Keeping our headlamps off we whisper to each other in hopes of staying concealed by the night. At 2:00 pm a spotlight flashes into the open door of the tent and Paul and I are immediately awake. We try not to move but the light persists in a searching manner. Finally I flash my headlamp back as a gesture of acknowledgment and the light turns off. Hoping it’s a curious fisherman wondering what on earth our unusual yellow thing is we try to fall asleep.

“Paul. You see that stalactite 45 feet directly overhead? I wonder if I can reach it.”

“I’ve seen you pull off some incredible climbing this trip Matt but this is just not possible.”

We have passed under a 50-foot diameter entrance to the largest cave we’ve seen yet. The cathedral-like dome ceiling sweeps 200 feet overhead. As I nearly fall while trying to reach my limestone target a fisherman in a tar covered basket masquerading as a dingy drifts under me. Paul motions him to move away quickly but he laughs at our silly foreign antics, blind to the danger that I pose above. The boat moving away I continue my delicate balancing act with the rock and soon I’m horizontal to the stalactite. Carefully reaching out to the suspended pillar I knock on it with my fist before latching on with all my weight, all too aware that it might suddenly snap off the ceiling and take me to the ocean floor. Another first ascent completed I jump off and plummet into the ocean.

 

Evening brings choppy water, rotating us around our anchor while we try to set up Floatzilla. Wet and exhausted Paul and I collapse into the tent and enjoy a cup of well-earned green tea.

“Well, here we are. Our last night and we finally got what we came for,” Paul mused.

“And what is that exactly?” I ask.

“Everything! Stormy days, the rare ray of sunshine, black battleships, awesome climbing, all the good and the bad and here we are floating on the sea in Ha Long Bay.”

“Oh, you mean having an adventure. Well, let’s drink to that!”