You earn this beach through a twenty-minute hike down a root-crossed trail that starts near the park headquarters. Sweat will soak through your shirt before you hear the surf, and you'll need to watch for the bent sapling that marks where the path forks—go left or you'll end up at the rocky headland. When you finally push through the last curtain of vegetation, the beach appears suddenly: a crescent maybe two hundred meters across, backed entirely by unbroken forest.
“The national park designation means no development will ever interrupt the sight of primary rainforest meeting open ocean.”
Credit: UnsplashCrashing wave at sunset on the shoreline
The sand holds more organic matter than typical tourist beaches—you'll see leaf litter, seedpods, the occasional coconut still in its husk. Monitor lizards longer than your arm patrol the wrack line at low tide, their forked tongues testing the air. The water runs deeper here than neighboring beaches, the seafloor dropping away sharply just beyond where the waves break, and you can see schools of needlefish holding station in the shore break, silver flashes in the green water.
Above you, the canopy erupts with sound throughout the day. Macaques crash through the upper branches, sending leaves spiraling down onto the sand. Late afternoon often brings the guttural call of hornbills—you'll spot them if you're patient, those ridiculous casqued bills bobbing as they feed on figs. As sunset nears, the ranger station at the trailhead starts closing down, and you'll need to hike out before the path becomes invisible in the darkness.
