Crooked Compass’s Mich Trembath joined luxury expedition motor-yacht Paspaley Pearl on its inaugural Sepik Traditions and Island Mysteries cruise in November 2025. Here, she shares her memories of this extraordinary journey.
The Sepik River has loomed large in my imagination for many years – conjuring images of secretive initiation rites, crocodile scarification, and a culture so fascinating that witnessing it can feel like stepping back in time. Papua New Guinea’s longest river is a vast, sinuous waterway stretching more than 1,100 kilometres. It flows through two provinces in Papua New Guinea – East Sepik & Sandaun (formerly West Sepik) – with a small section even snaking into Indonesia’s Papua province. Scattered through this wild landscape of waterways, floodplains and dense rainforest are an estimated 100-plus villages. Exact numbers are unknown as many communities sit beyond the reach of formal mapping.
So, when the chance came to join an expedition to the Sepik River and North Coast of Papua New Guinea aboard the luxury expedition motor-yacht Paspaley Pearl, I jumped at it. With a maximum of 30 guests, Paspaley Pearl was launching three brand-new itineraries in Papua New Guinea – but the course mapped on Sepik Traditions and Island Mysteries was by far the most remote and rarely visited of the three. I was thrilled to know we’d be visiting communities that hadn’t seen outsiders for years and reaching locations that are incredibly hard to access as a traveller any other way.
We got our first glimpse of Paspaley Pearl through the windows of our vehicle as we approached Madang port, looking picture perfect against the blue-sky backdrop. The boarding process was blissfully fast, and we were greeted onboard with champagne, cold towels, and a smiling crew who made us feel instantly at home. Our group was absolutely buzzing as we roamed around the ship, discovering her different facilities and marvelling that she would be our home for the next 10 nights.

Between sunset drinks and dinner, we had our first briefing from the Expedition Team about the next day’s itinerary – our journey into the Sepik River. Our Expedition Leader Joel let us know that, in many ways, our time in the Sepik was an unknown. The crew had an intended course in mind, and had tracked it two weeks prior, but the river is changeable, its conditions shifting quickly; what was possible one week might not be the next, and nature would be our guide. The Paspaley Pearl is beautifully small by expedition cruising standards, allowing for a wonderfully intimate group size. Yet in a seasonal river that can run shallow in places – its channels constantly reshaped by rain, flood and sediment – even this ship needed to tread carefully.

The next morning, sunrise revealed the progress we’d made as we motored north towards the mouth of the Sepik from the Bismarck Sea. Our smiling stewards greeted each guest by name as they emerged from their cabin or wandered in from other parts of the ship – lured by the breakfast being served: fresh, colourful, and full of the type of tempting choices that would define our culinary experience over the course of the trip.

The water was shifting noticeably – the churning surface heavy and chaotic, thick with fast-moving organic debris and suspended sediment. Behind us, the volcanic island of Manam marked the skyline. Our anticipation grew as we leaned against the railings, watching the river entrance draw closer. The unknown only added to our excitement as we angled into the river’s mouth and began motoring upstream, finally in the clutches of the iconic Sepik River.

Safety came first. Briefings, demonstrations, and lifejackets – comfortable ones that inflated like a piece of yellow popcorn on contact with salt water. Comfortable enough, as it turned out a few days later, for one overly eager snorkeller to forget he was wearing it and jump into the ocean, instantly bursting into the “Corn of Shame” with a wild pop that left everyone in hysterics.
Then we were ready. We boarded the zodiacs and headed off to visit our first Sepik community: Kopar Village. As we approached the deep, muddy bank, we could see an entry arch had been erected – palm fronds woven together, with two young guardians standing on either side. Their bodies were decorated with mud, flowers, feathers and shells, and they looked nervous but excited, smiling shyly at us as we beamed back at them. Dangling from their arms were strings of croton – square, vividly coloured leaves strung together as part of the village welcome, ready to be placed over our heads as we passed through the archway one by one.

Our expedition team had explained that every community we would visit would be marked by an important welcome such as this, often followed by a sing-sing or cultural performance of equal significance. In many Melanesian communities, including those we encountered along the Sepik, arriving as a group unannounced would have been deeply disrespectful. A proper welcome is essential, and without time to prepare, a community can be placed in a position of shame. These encounters follow established protocols and navigating them requires care and extensive local knowledge.
To support this, one of the exceptional Paspaley Pearl crew was Wesley, a Papua New Guinean local with deep experience in fostering respectful relationships with local communities. Weeks earlier, our expedition guides, accompanied by Wesley, had travelled ahead to these villages, meeting with chiefs and community representatives and seeking permission for our visit. Now, two weeks later, our crew were greeted like old friends, with hugs and laughter, and everything was ready for us.

Like many Sepik communities, the crocodile holds deep spiritual significance – associated with ancestry, strength, and the river itself. Evidence of this connection is often visible in carving, ceremony, and traditional performances. In this village, however, all references to crocodiles had recently been set aside. Just weeks earlier, a woman from the village had been killed by a crocodile while fishing. Although crocodile numbers are far lower than they once were, they remain an ever-present reality along the Sepik, and a danger to those whose lives depend on the water. Her husband had tried to save her but was unable to, our village representative explained. In the weeks that followed, the community entered a period of mourning, and all crocodile imagery was temporarily removed.
After several incredible performances by the men of the village, we were told that for their final dance the village had chosen to share something deeply personal – a mourning ceremony in honour of the woman who had lost her life. It was rarely performed for outsiders, and we felt profoundly privileged to be there. It was sorrowful and joyful at once, and its haunting rhythm held us completely still.

If our expedition was a movie, the Sepik River itself would have been a main character. Serpentine and alive with drifting mats of water hyacinth, it was a wonder to explore by zodiac – wild, unpredictable, and deeply enjoyable. Its shores changed constantly: sometimes nothing but flat grassland, other times dense jungle. Thatched roofs of stilted wooden houses would emerge from the canopy. Children yelled hello from high in a tree’s branches. A woman smiled as she held up a small shark she had caught, offering it for us to see. The occasional overloaded motorised canoe would roar past, the occupants waving and calling out as they went. We’d stop every so often to pull cold drinks and snacks from the well-stocked eskies, soaking in our surroundings while our expedition guides radioed back to the ship to check in.

Most exciting were what our guides referred to as barats: narrow water corridors that cut across from one sweeping S-bend of the river to another, saving crucial time when moving between different parts of the river. These channels are largely natural, formed by floodwater and time, though some are clearly maintained or kept open, allowing access to a completely different environment.
Once you turn into one, the noise drops away. The roar of the main river is replaced by silence, broken only by the hum of the zodiac motor and the voices of your group, and you realise just how loud the churning water of the Sepik had been. A dense canopy closes overhead. Mangroves and spiky palm fronds crowd the banks, seeming to beg to puncture the inflatable tubes of your zodiac. You become acutely aware of how far into the interior you feel you are travelling, and at each fork in the channel, you wonder if the expedition guide skillfully navigating your zodiac has chosen the right path (spoiler alert: they have).
Everything around feels inhospitable. Logs drift past that look unnervingly like crocodile heads. Sharp leaves jut from the water’s edge, and thick funnels of spider webs hang from the trees. Yet you are cocooned in this enclosed world, which is also incredibly peaceful and beautiful.

On one long journey, we turned into a barat we had travelled down an hour or two earlier, only to find a large tree had toppled in the meantime, obstructing the channel. Masses of water hyacinth, logs and debris had built up behind it like a dam, blocking our way back to the ship. A lone man stood balanced on the fallen tree, chopping steadily with an axe while his canoe bobbed nearby. He had clearly been there for some time, and when he finally cut through, we cheered with excitement as the channel cleared, debris surging onward and allowing us to do the same. It was exciting and nerve-racking all at once – a complete adventure.
We returned to the ship feeling like true explorers, exhilarated by the contrast of the hot shower, delicious lunch, and ice-cold beverage that was waiting for us in the comfort and security of our floating home.

On our third day in the Sepik, we departed early by zodiac for the Murik Lakes – a network of shallow lagoons around 30 nautical miles (55km) from where we had left the ship. Although the lakes sit close to an ocean entrance, we learned that this route can be dangerous in rough conditions. Instead, we took the scenic route, threading through a network of barats to reach our destination – the village of Karau. This village, we learned, was the childhood home of Sir Michael Somare, Papua New Guinea’s first Prime Minister after independence. Somare – often referred to as Papa blo kantri, the “Father of the Nation” – credited his humble upbringing in Karau as a formative influence on the person he became.
As we slipped out from beneath the jungle canopy of a narrow channel into the open water of Murik Lakes, the world changed. The surface of the water was a mirror, and the whole area had a dreamlike stillness. Our zodiacs slowed so as not to disturb a fisherman, and three children waved from a canoe. We passed one village, then another, then a third – stilted houses clustered together, some hovering over water. Some seemed almost empty, and we soon learned why. Whole villages had travelled to Karau to join in the huge sing-sing that we were about to experience. It was an occasion for celebration.

After a magnificent welcome, we walked through the village to a wide-open clearing scattered with coconut trees, with the beach and ocean visible at its edge. Everywhere we looked, groups of men, women and children were waiting to begin, with at least three different villages represented, and hundreds of people gathered. Colourful grass skirts, painted headpieces, and bodies decorated with shells and feathers surrounded us. Around the perimeter, small demonstration stations offered glimpses of daily life: bilum weaving, wood carving, and even a mud-crab demonstration – a shallow pit dug well away from the water, full of mud and hidden crabs, where we were shown how mud-crabs are extracted from the mud and tied securely. I was humbled by the effort the community had gone to, to share their lives with us.

Then the music began, and everything else fell away. Three large groups performed simultaneously, close enough that their songs and rhythms spilled into one another – each group from a different village, each with its own energy and style. The sound became layered: drums, voices rising and falling, different melodies and chants spilling into one another until it felt like the music was washing over me from every direction. All ages were represented, with the less mobile leaning on their younger family members for support as they joined the performance.

Our guides explained that in this region, music and dance hold such value that they can be traded between communities, with the rights passing from one group to another in exchange for needed goods. I watched in joy as in one group, two lines of women interlocked their arms to perform a song about childbirth. As they danced, sang and undulated, a young, laughing boy was bumped from one end of the chute to the other, emerging headfirst and triumphant.

Then, without warning, the weather turned. The blue sky darkened suddenly, and a strong wind tore through the clearing, sending coconuts, leaves and branches crashing around us. There were screams as people scattered – more excitement than fear – and our expedition guides shepherded us back to the village. The rain arrived soon after, and we were ushered up wooden ladder-like steps into a long, stilted house that was mostly empty inside. Built for this climate, the house let air circulate and light enter, while keeping the rain at bay. Through the gaps in the slatted floor, I could see the lake moving below.
Cosy in our refuge, we had time to talk with some of the community. Jenny, who had brought us inside, smiled and said, “We are already thinking of what we can do better when you come back next year.” And the house protecting us from the storm? We were to discover that it was where Sir Michael Somare lived as a child. What an honour.

When it was time to leave the Sepik, we charted north to Sandaun Province, where we would visit several island communities, before tracking back towards Madang, visiting more locations on the way. As we continued on our journey, the communities we visited became noticeably more connected to the outside world – more technology, more obvious schools, and in some cases, churches. Island communities were fascinating and a very different type of isolation, shaped by a relationship with water, and remarkable seafaring skills. Among the places we encountered were islands that were completely cut off from the mainland for six months of the year due to treacherous ocean conditions, with the other six months spent stockpiling food and supplies to get them through. We visited schools where kids canoed in each morning from other parts of the island, and saw surf breaks full of teenagers riding homemade boards with incredible skill.
Each community offered its own distinct welcome and sing-sing performances, so no matter how many villages we visited, there was always something unexpected. At Walis Island, we were met out on the water by a flotilla of elaborately decorated canoes, their occupants singing to a steady drumbeat. On the shoreline, what looked like hundreds of people had gathered, and we soon realised the song was a dialogue with those waiting on land – a ceremonial exchange that determined whether we would be received. Once it was established that we came in friendship, we were guided safely through the reef and welcomed ashore.

Walis Island also brought an unexpected surprise: a megaphone, that was used to corral hundreds of performers on a beach, and was then passed around to each of us so that we could introduce ourselves in front of a huge crowd, teenagers sitting atop the thatched roofs of surrounding huts to get a better view. A wonderful lady in our group had lived in PNG as a child, and brought the house down as she gave a prolonged introduction in Tok Pisin.

At Watam Village, the boats that came to meet us were equally striking: crowded with men, women and children, alive with song and the deep, rhythmic beat of kundu drums.

At Awar Village in Hansa Bay, three villages lived side by side — a community that had previously lived on a volcanic island and was forced to relocate after it erupted. We were led through the villages by a procession of dancers, and each time we prepared to cross the invisible boundary into the next village, we were ceremonially handed over to a new group of singers and dancers who took up the welcome and carried us forward. When it was time to take our seats for the sing-sing, tiny children approached to place flower necklaces over our heads.

The performances we witnessed were also full of surprises. At Ali Island, the whole crowd screamed with laughter and joy throughout the performances, with the kids especially enjoying watching their Mums, Dads, aunties and uncles performing. One particularly memorable performance was a lullaby about a tired snail on sand, a chain of women crawling as they sung, with one dropping off the end each time a verse ended, much to the screaming delight of the kids. At another, men in wings performed a dance about a seagull finding food for its young. The inventiveness – and intimacy – of these performances was incredible: stories rooted so deeply in place that they needed the landscape around them to make sense. They were the kind of performances you simply couldn’t imagine staged at a larger festival. It was magical, and endlessly fascinating.

However, what was even more incredible was the time that we got to spend with the communities once the performances had finished. There was always plenty of time to explore the villages with eager village representatives, or to have a group of laughing children show you around their classroom. Time to play improvised games, or swim with the kids in the shallows, all laughter and splashing. A chance to learn about the amazing lives the people live – alongside the more sobering realities many face every day: safety concerns, limited medical supplies, and the effects of logging and environmental change. In each community, we gifted supplies and took note of what could be valuable to include on next year’s expedition.

There were so many moments to connect, and when it was time to leave, we would often have whole villages standing on the shore to farewell our zodiacs, waving goodbye until we were out of sight. So much of the experience felt completely surreal, and I will treasure the warmth and generosity shared with us by the communities who welcomed us so openly.

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