This journey began with unease. Something felt different compared to similar expeditions I had joined before. Unlike a typical adventure where teammates already know one another, this one was launched with little familiarity among us.
Still, it wasn’t as if we were complete strangers. Word had it that the group would be filled with seasoned outdoor experts. Our mission was clear: to explore the potential of whitewater rafting as a tourism attraction in Kapuas Hulu, West Kalimantan.
This wasn’t the first attempt of its kind. Decades earlier, Rully, a member of the University of Indonesia’s student mountaineering club, had run the Sun Rapids in the upper Kapuas. In 2007, WWF Indonesia also reported plans to conduct a survey and provide training for local residents.
Even Lody Korua from Arus Liar—this time joining as a participant—had traversed the upper Kapuas back in 1993, after completing a trip down the Mahakam River. But that time, he didn’t ride an inflatable raft. He used local wooden boats instead.
“Things are very different now,” Lody said, his eyes clouded with memory as he searched along the riverbanks between Putussibau and Nanga Bungan.
Thankfully, a few cups of palm toddy lightened the mood and brought us back to the spirit of adventure. With the skilled hands of our boatmen, the engines roared against the current, carrying us upstream toward the Kapuas headwaters.
Our stop for the night was Nanga Bungan, a small village at the confluence of the Bungan and Kapuas rivers. The community here is mostly descended from the Dayak Punan Hoovongan, known for their farming and foraging skills. Yet unlike many other Dayak groups, they have no longhouses, nor the iconic tattoos one might expect.
That absence of tradition stirred mixed feelings among the team. “It feels like some of the Dayak spirit is missing,” said Hendricus Mutter from Wanadri, one of Indonesia’s leading mountaineering and jungle experts.
Still, the night had been warm, filled with traditional dances and a dinner prepared by the villagers.
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The Sun Borneo Rapids
The next day, after resting in Nanga Bungan, the team reached our main target: the Sun Rapids—one of the largest and most formidable in the Kapuas headwaters.
The journey from Nanga Bungan took nearly three hours upstream. Along the way, we hauled and pushed our wooden boats, each carrying inflatable rafts, kayaks, and riverboards. At times, the boats were too weak against the current, forcing us to edge along the banks and scout the rapids like seasoned river runners.
Three major rapids awaited us: Sun, Pulas, and Eight. The Sun Rapids now raged before us, its torrent funneled into a single chute between two massive boulders. A wrong line would mean disaster. Strike the right-hand rock and the boat could be trapped beneath it. Hit the left and the raft would flip without question.
Abo, a skipper from Arus Sakti who now works on Bengkulu’s Ae Manna River, studied the flow carefully. Alongside him was Komar. Together they took charge of the first raft to attempt the run.
“There’s a nasty back-current before the drop—it pushes the raft too far to the right,” Komar warned, pointing at the jagged rock on the rapid’s edge.
Kiki Murdyatmoko, our expedition leader, joined the first run. He later admitted his heart raced as the raft tilted dangerously toward the rocks. In his mind, he pictured the boat wedged against the stone, smashed by the pounding water.
Yet, against all odds, the first raft emerged successfully, though for a moment it seemed to vanish completely under the cascade.
The victory sparked confidence among the locals. Five more runs followed, each time carrying two villagers who hoped to build rafting tourism here in the future.
Sawang, one of the locals who tried the run, was thrilled. “Years ago, I nearly drowned after being swept into the Sun Rapids. Since then, I promised myself never to mess with the river again. But this… this was different,” he said with a smile.
Not everyone attempted the descent. The kayak and riverboard teams backed out, deeming the Sun Rapids too dangerous. “We’ll return with a proper kayak rescue team,” explained Mamal, one of the kayakers.
Despite the risks, the expedition proved one thing: the upper Kapuas has the potential to become a prime whitewater destination. With its wild scenery, powerful rapids, and welcoming communities, the river could offer far more value as an adventure tourism hub than through logging and forest destruction. (Sulung Prasetyo)
