The notion of a lost world, a place all but untouched by Western influence, typically belongs in a Michael Crichton novel, but in the deep mountainous terrain that stands tall and wild through west Santo, we discovered that such places do exist.

Having summitted Mt Tabwemasana (highest mountain in Vanuatu) in 2009, we gained valuable insight into how remote and untravelled much of west Santo remained, and hatched a 2010 plan to traverse the island south to north through the network of tiny villages that dot the jungle interior.

With the help of local friend and tourism operator, Mayumi Green, a team of guides was put together, and a team of adventurers recruited from our own sporting world.

August was chosen as the best month, well away from the wet season rains that would make mountain travel dangerous if not impossible. Two routes were chosen, both with the same outcome??.a final spill into Big Bay in the north at the point where the River Jordan opens it?s mouth to the sea.

Vehicle travel moved the team from Luganville to the coastal village of Ipayato before commencing an immediate and relentless climb to our first camp at Uleipo. Frisbee and frivolity filled the day in the company of local kids, kava drinking and the opportunity to taste sample local cat became our evening delight. The local medicine man shared his sorcerous home and remedies with the team.

We parted company with village life the next morning, entering a lush green world full of spiders, leeches, and butterflies. Oversized geckos demonstrated their bite power, and slithering serpents wound their way through the low vegetation. Water became an issue as the mountain streams became less accessible but our guides improvised brilliantly and carried many litres inside plugged tubes of bamboo.

Across two days we climbed steep and hard, entering a colder windswept mountain terrain, pretty orchids hiding in the shadows. A high camp was carved in the forest as the mercury settled on 13C before bedtime. Cold for Vanuatu.

And as is the way with tropical mountains, the skies cleared next morning to a blazing blue-green panorama of jungle vegetation and distant ocean. We sat above the thin white clouds atop Lairiri (Santo Peak), a full 1.7 vertical kilometres above our sea level departure point. The apex of our journey.

Our camera crew worked hard on the surprisingly open and exposed summit ridge before plunging deep into the jungle again. Steep descents tested our balance and the structural integrity of knees and ankles, our guides meanwhile made everything look easy.

A trumpeting conch shell announced our impending arrival to the village below. A handful of thatched huts in a stunning amphitheatre of peaks was Pili Pili, our next camp.

A baking sun warmed and burnt our backs as tents were built. Confrontational cows roamed amongst us, as we awaited the arrival of the pipe-smoking chief. The opportunity to wash and dry was well accepted by the team in this most beautiful of places. A menacing looking spider emerged from the flames of our cooking fire, and the chief smoked his pipe.

Nakinakinai filled us with anticipation. We hoped to meet the village chief, a last full survivor of the true pygmy tribe that once roamed these mountains. Inter-village marriages had changed the physical dynamic of the local people, but the chief remained truly tiny in stature, but imposing in personality and build. He happily participated in photos.

Incredibly, the afternoon in Nakinakinai was full of improvised cricket and high-class volleyball, we as guests of honour, allowed no rest! The girls of the village were talented and intimidating on the court and we were happy when sunset closed the game for the day. Local singing carried on into the night and started early the next day with a church day looming on our departure.

We journeyed on through narrow ravines and jungle trails and captured a handsome green lizard, Nakariakara our destination. After days of sunshine, the invading cirrus clouds signalled a change in our meteorological fortunes. After walking barefoot through the day on soft earth, and star-gazing into the night, the rains came, and came again, and again.

Fatigue had engulfed the team and our guide had hurt his ankle. We had little option but to rest for a day and night, perhaps more if the weather failed to clear. Books and boredom took some small toll as the rain continued, but medical attention to village kids, school and mat-weaving classes, and photographic forays into the grey gloom helped pass the time.

Scraggy stratus clouds hugged the wild valleys and hills around us but the weather had cleared somewhat, allowing safe passage to Vavuro. A spectacular waterfall environment was home to colourful butterflies, enthusiastic leeches, and an unknown biting creature.

Vavuro appeared as an open paddock full of farm animals and fallen apples. We feasted briefly on fresh fruit, stepping carefully through endless piles of dung. The fast flowing river teemed with small fish and our guides showed us how to spear them with modest success. So much fun and so much beauty below the waterline, with small risk of being washed out to sea in the raging torrent.

Fireflies tucked us into bed after best-ever kava and local cigarettes, and the 7.5 quake that rocked Vila woke us through the night, either side of persistent showers.

With the river at our backs, we flowed freely toward Ankoro. The mountain rains had filled the river to menacing levels with greater intensity than we anticipated, so with some haste we pushed hard through towering gorges, our packs muled across multiple crossings by strong young local men while we struggled to swim or stumble through the current. We marvelled again at their poise, dexterity, and balance.

Overwhelming scenery finally gave way to civilisation and the front lawn of an Australian family working in Santo. Comfortable surrounds and home-made apple crumble were ample reward for a torrid and wildly beautiful day.

Arrangements were made at Ankoro road-head for vehicle transport to coastal Matantas, with time running short, and the inclination to walk more days all but lost.

Emerging from a sleepless night full of maddening rooster calls, we finally spilled onto the black beach of Big Bay, our traverse complete. The River Jordan trickles out of the mountains that had been our home for many days, its mouth doggedly positioned a few kilometres down the beach.

With guides and friends we ran and walked our way to the point where the river and sea become one, our epic journey complete.