December 26, 2015 — It is late when Neemiya and his 2 adventure companions arrive in sight of Lukun, this perched village in Una territory in the Jayawijaya mountains, in Indonesian Papua. Mount Yamin and its 4,581 meters dominates the deep gorges with tumultuous torrents; on clear days, fresh traces of snow can be glimpsed. Neemiya is tired, he is cold, but at Lukun he knows he can count on a guesthouse and some sweet potatoes. The hospitality of his clan brothers, the Balyo, is legendary.

Lukun is the last stronghold of Una territory in the mountains, a true eagle's nest before plunging inexorably along the torrents toward Kopka territory, the Eilanden River plain and the mysterious Korowai, Kombai and Kowoyap. There he knows that after several days of exhausting trekking he will be able to trade his stone axes and adzes (the pride of the Una people) for sago, rattan, and one of the most important instruments of Papuan peoples—the bow and arrows.

Village of Larye. 300 inhabitants, the Yowa and Dibah (communal houses) are perched like mushrooms on a thin ridge of clayey earth with cliffs of more than 300 meters all around. Neemiya Balyo represents the young generation of these last stone carvers of Western Papua, indeed of the entire world.

Two clans share this inherited power from the ancestors: the Balyo clan and the Malyo clan. Neemiya Balyo learned everything from his father, the great Dimane Balyo, a man with 8 wives and infinite knowledge. And with Ngis Malyo, Eba Deyal, Kirip Kirip Malyo, they descend daily down the steep terrain to reach the Hei River in search of stones that a discerning eye—belonging to these masters—can judge, knowing the night has been good, that the spirits have gathered beneath the great Manmandala tree, that the ancestors near the enormous Gulungbun rock have offered their students these basalt blocks to craft the stone axes that are worth more than gold and silver in these regions.

With several polished stones and adzes, one can pride oneself here at Larye on purchasing the most beautiful women and the fattest pigs, which considerably increases the power and prestige of the master carver in the eyes of the entire clan.

Simmering conflicts, often under the pretext of stolen pigs, trees, sweet potatoes, or women, still plague the Una mountains, and the stone adze plays an important role in them.

Neemiya is with his father Dimane at the edge of the Heiye. The Heiya (stone axes) are found along the clear water. Both examine a rock, study its shape, size, texture. He selects another nearby as Dimane's expert eye has detected a promising vein in the stone. The rock must be roughed out, its insides opened. It is either split with other rocks of harder texture, or the fire method is used, as is the case here because the rock is too large. Heating the rock will take 1 to 2 hours before the stone whitens and cracks. If the rock resists, they restart the fire in the cracks until it shatters.

All day long Neemiya, his father, and clan members (women are forbidden) have carved the stone, roughed it out to bring back about ten pieces to the village, all neatly wrapped in pandanus leaves and carried in a noken. The climb is terrible; they must cross an old, swaying vine bridge and Dimane is no longer in his youth—his son helps him. Upon reaching the village, thunder rumbles in the mountains, over there toward the dreaded "Orange Pass" at nearly 4,000 meters, where French explorer Pierre Gaisseau's 1960 expedition left some porters dead from the cold.

Neemiya and the others are quickly surrounded by a crowd of naked children, runny-nosed, while the women remain in the background for fear of insults. The polishing begins; the hewn stone becomes polished, and before us 10,000 years of history unfolds. Only the sound of two stones striking resonates through the village, and the last master carvers of all Papua are here before me, gathered in this small village of Larye. The youngest have already ventured into the forest to search for the famous Telye wood, hard wood that will serve as handles for the adzes.

This tradition of Heime stone carving serves as a genuine commerce, an exchange of goods with other tribes east and west of Una territory. To the west, polished stones are exchanged with the Nalca people, who handle trade in the important villages of Kosarek and Angguruk for pigs, nokens (vegetable fiber sacks), and sometimes women.

To the east, trade extends to Oksibil and across the Papua New Guinea border; to the south with the Momina, Brazza, Citak, and Korowai tribes in exchange for sago, salt, rattan, bows, and arrows.

Neemiya and 2 of his friends have known for some time that it will be their turn to descend toward the lowland territories, to the land of heat and malaria. A long journey of nearly 8 days if the weather cooperates, and full of adventure. Neemiya still listens to the words of the elders, those who in the past have made the journey more than 10 times, risking their lives against cannibals, mosquitoes, swollen torrents, cold, heat, hunger. He is ready, Neemiya; he knows that when he returns home to Larye, a young woman will be promised to him, he will be considered a hero, a fearless man. Secretly, before departure, he will meditate in a rock crevice beneath the village before the remains of his ancestors' bones, asking them to help him through this new ordeal.

This morning, in the village of Lukun, Neemiya wakes in good spirits; the sun is brilliant, and his dream from the night before showed him returning to the village triumphant. He is ready to descend to the land of the "naked men," those who live in the trees.

A long journey through the forest, days under rain and the muggy heat of the lowlands, monotonous plains without relief—the green hell, for unlike the Una mountains, there is no panorama, and Neemiya has the "blues." The 3 men must pass through the inhospitable small town of Seradala, follow the Eilanden River on its eastern side to avoid the surprise of encountering the formidable "kowoyap," finally arriving at the meeting place fixed for countless generations by the ancestors.

They are there, men from another world. They frighten Neemiya a little because they are taller, naked, their genitals hidden by a simple tree leaf, bows and arrows, and long pandanus spines planted horizontally through their noses. The exchange will only happen the next day because the "korowai batu" are very suspicious and bellicose at the slightest sign. They ask for tobacco, and what little Neemiya has in his noken is shared. Lodging for the night is up there, at the very top of the tall trees of the primary forest, a "rumah tinggih" more than 35 meters high.

Perplexed, Neemiya wonders—will he and his 2 companions go to the summit? Perhaps it's a trap, and besides, for his needs… and if he has to descend at night, it's dangerous with all those crawling creatures. Neemiya remembers the advice of his uncle, the sage Amtan, who when he had to sleep in the trees always carried a talisman with him—a carved tibia bone. Placed under the head, a man risked nothing.

I have been with them for nearly 3 weeks, have run through mountains and deep valleys for even longer, starting from Wamena, on foot. I have crossed Dani, Wali, Yale, Yali, Manggona, Eipo, and Una territories, passed through the fantastic Orange Pass at 4,000 meters and more with impressive drops and gorges; landscapes of rare beauty—dwarf palms, black orchids, limestone cliffs, spongy valleys and waterfalls. I slept in rock crevices in cold and rain, mist, breaking ice to collect water in early morning, slept in smoky huts with fleas. Before arriving at Larye like a "zombie" from another world, accompanied by only one porter from the Eipomeik village. A great adventure!

Neemiya trusts me entirely; we have known each other for several years, and he knows I am familiar with Korowai territory, having spent long days at Mabul, Dajjiaw, Yapupla Atas, and during local clan festivals, I have been close to the "korowai batu" and "kowoyap," the cannibals of the upper Eilanden. I am somewhat at home at Bilantop; Domai the chief has a son who disappeared, and during a TV reconnaissance by helicopter in 1997, I had brought him news of Wombai, whom I had met some time earlier near the MAF Protestant mission in Jayapura. (How had he, the forest child who could perfectly imitate the sound of every bird in his jungle, gotten there?)

5 tree houses quite close to one another in a small clearing, which is a record. The lowest at 15 meters high, the highest at 35-40 meters perched at the branch tops. A precarious ladder leads to the summit using a nearby tree and zigzagging for better balance. Precarious and dangerous for those with vertigo, but the Korowai have contempt for the void, or at least have tamed it—proof being Domai's youngest son, 6 years old, who climbs up and down the high house alone. I imagine my own son at that age descending this way…

Domai lives naked like the others, his genitals hidden by a delicately fastened tree leaf against his lower belly. He killed a man 3 years ago over a dispute about his wife's theft; she has since died, having fallen from the top of a tree house when the worm-eaten wooden ladder gave way under her weight.

He welcomes us with a perceptible smile as he recognizes me but wonders what I'm doing with the Unas. Tobacco is offered, and my companions are adopted even though none of us speak the same language. After a good night's rest and waking to the sound of birds, the exchange takes place. Meanwhile, other people have arrived at the tree house, from who knows where; one bears large, long sago palm spines planted in his nose, giving him a "savage" appearance, and he constantly turns his back to us. Domai says: "kowoyap!"

The women look at us with sheer terror, the children hide behind their parents. Neemiya, Kol, and his brother Sirep are uneasy at this moment. Another clan, other customs, and here they are nothing, strangers like me.

Exchange of stone axes for rattan and bows, my tobacco too; everything was quick for once (I am too used to these palavers that last hours where each one pretends to be upset and then accepts anyway)—few words exchanged, but halfway between peace and war is this exchange of goods, proof that in Indonesian Papua still live men and women at the antipodes of our daily realities, yet where commerce reigns.

Neemiya tells me he wants to return immediately to the mountain and asks me to accompany him. I am too exhausted from running through jungles; hours of walking through mud on unstable terrain have worn down my willpower. My legs are sore, my back is "broken," and I need much rest. I do not feel strong enough to climb back to 2,500 meters and a week of trekking, not counting the rains. They will leave without me.

I stayed 4 days in Domai's clan at Bilantop, fished and tasted river shrimp with sago flour, attempted to hunt with a bow with some young clan members, bathed with the children in crystalline water, and left promising to bring Domai's son, who had gone seeking another adventure, back once and for all. With Yaniroma only 3 days' trek away, the journey was rather "cool," and I waited patiently for the missionary plane for a return to Jayapura.

Unas, Brazzas, Korowai—people from another world, another planet. The white patches on missionaries' maps attest that there are still peoples about whom we know nothing, that primitive men devote themselves to animistic worship with boundless passion as at the very beginning of creation.

From snowy mountains to the Casuarina coast, there in Indonesian Papua adventure is as beautiful as nowhere else in this world.

Based on texts by Thierry Robinet, adventurer & guide in Indonésie since 1977.

Charlène Nomadays — An early-hour SEO writer at Nomadays who became content manager and head of the communications team, Charlène has accompanied the adventure from its beginnings with passion and loyalty. After spending seven years in Asia—from China to Thailand, passing through Mongolia and South Korea—she has made travel a way of being in the world. A lover of words, nature, and human encounters, she strives to convey in her texts a sensitive, committed, and responsible vision of tourism. For her, each article is a bridge between curiosity, respect, and wonder.