About Red Whale I
I remember the chill of the deck bench under my thighs at 7:00 AM, the engine vibration already humming through the hull as we pulled away from Labuan Bajo. Red Whale I didn’t feel like a luxury yacht — it wasn’t meant to. But that open sundeck with its 8-metre mat? We claimed our patches early, backpacks shoved against the railing, watching the lights of town shrink behind us. The twin Suzuki 250HP engines pushed us fast across choppy grey water, the kind that makes you clutch your water bottle and squint.
By mid-morning, we’d reached Manta Point. The guide pointed to shadows circling below, and within minutes, half the group were in the water, snorkels cutting ripples as mantas glided just beneath. No cages, no platforms — just cold current and silent giants. We surfaced shivering but wide-eyed, passing thermoses of sweet ginger tea handed up from the crew below. The toilet, basic but clean with proper flush and running water, was a relief after an hour in the open sun.
We motored next to Pink Beach, arriving just after noon. The sand wasn’t neon, but streaked rose-gold where foraminifera had crushed into grains. We swam in short bursts, the current tugging strong near the northern cove, then retreated to the sundeck for packed lunches — rice, fried chicken, papaya slices wrapped in foil. A few people napped sprawled on the mat, shoes kicked to the side, while others chatted with the local crew in broken English and hand gestures.
Padar Island came later, though we didn’t climb the full viewpoint. Instead, we anchored off a quiet cove to the west and kayaked ashore on a white-sand crescent with no footprints. The afternoon light turned the hills burnt orange. One guy brought a drone and filmed Red Whale I from above, a red speck against indigo sea. Back onboard, someone passed around wet wipes and the smell of sunscreen mixed with diesel fumes from the re-fired engines.
On the return leg, we stopped at Kanawa Island. The coral wasn’t pristine, but parrotfish and clownfish darted in the shallows. I floated above a patch of blue starfish, ears submerged, listening to bubbles and distant laughter. As Labuan Bajo reappeared on the horizon, the crew handed out cold towels and the captain killed speed, letting us drift in silence for the last five minutes. It wasn’t plush, but it was real — 13 strangers, one cabin for crew or storage, and a boat that moved like it meant business.
