The Pink Beaches of Komodo
- Chetana B P
- 22 hours ago
- 4 min read
A nature essay about rediscovering childlike curiosity in Komodo National Park through the science and wonder behind its pink beaches.
I was well into my thirties when I learned that sand can be pink. Not because it scatters the light of the setting sun, but because the sand is pigmented pink. This revelation came last year when a group of friends and I visited the Komodo National Park. On a beach on Padar Island, we stepped onto sand that was unmistakably baby pink.
I remember getting off the boat, jumping into the shallow water, and seeing it — the pinkness. It glistened in the midday sun and deepened into a dazzling red with every fresh wave that washed ashore. Once on the beach, I picked up a handful of sand and saw hundreds of reddish-pink specks mixed among white and brown grains, probably calcium carbonate and silica. Each handful looked exquisite, like a collection of precious gemstones. I was mesmerized and mystified.
Why was this beach pink? What gave it this colour? How did it get here?
I wasn’t always this observant and inquisitive. As a child, I always thoroughly enjoyed the beach, especially the sand - to walk and run on, to play and fall in, to burrow and dig into. Looking back now, I am not sure that in all the time I spent on beaches as a child I ever stopped to wonder about the sand, to truly look at it and notice it? It was only much later in life that I began to pause, to notice, to ask questions, and to reacquaint myself with the world around me, one I had taken for granted.
Fast forward to a sunny afternoon in August 2025. I found myself standing with both feet buried in pink sand. This was a puzzle I thoroughly enjoyed trying to piece together.
On the boat ride into Komodo, our guide briefed us about the beach and explained that the source of its pink hue was coral fragments washed in from nearby shallow reefs. I tried to revisit my knowledge of corals and think of species with pink skeletons that were abundant enough for their dead chips and flakes to tint entire beaches. My mind drew a blank.
I wandered along the beach on Padar Island, searching for chunks of pink coral that might help me identify it. Before long, I found myself at the entrance to a tourist shack and was greeted by a wonderful installation: several large pieces of vivid pink coral stacked one on top of the other.
Each piece was larger than my hand. They resembled a cluster of delicate but rigid pink tubes superglued together into a small three-dimensional boulder. In that moment, I imagine my eyes widened and my face lit up with glee, shock, and in slow-motion, like Flash in the movie Zootopia.
Skeletons of organ pipe coral kept on display on Pink Beach. Photos: Karan Bhatia
I was looking at a coral I had only read about in books and never seen in person. It belongs to a group so rare that it is listed as Near Threatened on the IUCN Red List and granted the highest level of protection under Schedule I of India’s Wildlife Protection Act, alongside tigers and elephants.
I was looking at — drum roll — organ pipe coral, Tubipora musica.
Organ pipe coral has been harvested and traded around the world for centuries to make curios, ornaments, and jewellery. Rampant and unsustainable collection has reduced their populations worldwide, making the possession and trade of these corals, including dead skeletons, illegal.
In the days following our visit to the pink beach, I was determined to find live organ pipe coral during our snorkelling trips in Komodo. It was a heartwarmingly challenging task, searching for one specific species in a sea of extremely healthy coral on a densely populated and living reef. I was not used to this, having mostly dived in reefs ravaged by bleaching.
Our first encounter left me teary-eyed. It was a small colony of organ pipe coral that looked like a bouquet of flowers or raised hands at a concert, waving at me.
The coral is named for its long, tubular skeletons, but those structures are only visible when the coral is dead or uprooted. When alive, what you see are elegant, eight-tentacled polyps actively feeding on plankton and organic matter drifting through the water. Soon, I swam past many organ pipe corals, swaying in the currents. It was an honour to be in their presence.
Back on dry land, my questions sent me down a rabbit hole of learning. The biology of organ pipe coral, I discovered, is full of fascinating paradoxes.
Organ pipes are octocorals, which means they are classified as soft corals, yet they possess hard calcium carbonate skeletons. Coral skeletons are typically white because of the calcium, but these are a deep pinkish-red. Most corals derive their colour from pigmented microscopic algae called zooxanthellae, that live within their tissues. Organ pipe corals, however, infuse their skeletons with carotenoids obtained from ingesting phytoplankton that produce these pigments. For this reason, they remain pink long after the coral animals themselves are gone.
We witnessed countless extraordinary things while exploring Indonesia last year, but I have to say that diving deep into the mystery of the pink sand was especially exhilarating!
You never know where, or how far, a moment of curiosity and wonder might take you. This is something I am learning from the children I interact with during nature walks and from the way they explore the world around them. I hope to move through life like an adult with childlike wonder, because the unknown now thrills me.
Grains of sand from coralline and volcanic beaches from Indonesia and the Andaman Islands magnified 100-200 times. Photos : Sarah A and Chetana
About the Author
Chetana is a wildlife biologist, ocean explorer and educator. Dogs love her almost as much as she loves them.
That pink!
Beautiful