This comes in a little late.
I went for a boating trip to Pulau Hantu - Ghost Island - last Friday. Despite the ominous-sounding name, this little, unassuming isle is a far cry from anything out of Far Cry. Or perhaps even from a scary folk tale. I’ve read somewhere that Pulau Hantu is technically made up of two small islands occasionally joined at low tide by a small strip of land, sort of like a still-undecided pair of Siamese twins, but in any case, I didn’t stray from the more popular island: the one with a toilet. And a jetty which is practically unutilized apart from casual fishing.
Pulau Hantu is somewhat a favourite among nature-loving Singaporeans - yes, all four of them. It supposedly has beautiful coral reefs despite its close proximity to large-scale industrial projects, including, I believe, a major oil refinery. These reefs, though, probably involve some scuba-diving to view. They are otherwise hidden in the perpetually murky water off the shallow part of the lagoon, way beyond the shore. There is, however, a nice, (mostly) unpolluted beach which is easily accessible (and near the shelter and toilet).
The beach, if you care to stand still in the scorching sun for about five minutes or so, is noticeably infested with millions of tiny fiddler crabs…
… which are almost impossible to capture clearly using a Sigma 70-300mm APO DG set to macro mode. My brain was getting deep-fried by the sun’s rays, which, apart from giving me a massive headache which led to a satisfying peaceful long nap on a hammock, made me forget that I should have decreased the aperture size for increased depth-of-field and crispness. I forgot to adjust the ISO down from the 400 at which it was previously set, too. That damn hot sun washed out the photos and was the reason for inaccurate auto colour balance as well, though I didn’t notice until reviewing much later, back in Singapore. Ah, never mind about my photographical missteps.
The photos didn’t turn out too bad. I saw grossly misshapen coconut trees, mutilated by the elements. Yet, one has to admire their drive for life.
Of course, people are interesting, too, as always.
I swear this creepy-crawlie was absolutely the largest jumping spider I’ve ever encountered! Which is quite a feat, because I used to catch whatever I could find of their genus. Blame the ‘I Am A Young Entomologist’ set of activities we had to do in primary school for piquing my interest in the field. It was seriously big. But, then again, so were its prey: the fat, juicy flies. Utterly disgusting.
The seawater, despite acting as a blinding mirror for that horrid afternoon sun, managed to come out quite photogenic with its watercolour swirls.
Alas, it was time to leave, due to a very gloomy stormcloud looming just ahead. I couldn’t help but notice this enormous danger sign as we were speeding away, which was very apt for such an allegedly haunted area. What I didn’t notice, though, was that bird striking a dramatic pose perched under the signboard. To think I was wishing to capture a unique (note to self: Mr Connor wrote ‘avoid this word’ in the English commentary) moment by pure chance myself, after having seen that accidental photo of a seascape with a flying fish vaulting past, captured forever in its euphoria. I think it was in an issue of the National Geographic. Well, I got my moment - definitely not as impressive, but marvelous nonetheless. It is to me, at least.
