Big whales, big waves, and big respect to Aitutaki culture… South Pacific Adventure, part 6

(For new readers: if you’re just discovering this blog and you would like to read about my South Pacific travels from the beginning, you can click on this link to go to the first chapter:  Travels in the Cook Islands.)

Humpback whale tail flukes at ocean surface, off the coast of Aitutaki

I’d got the hang of riding one of Matriki’s sturdy (albeit basic) bicycles, so on a hot and sunny Monday morning I ventured all the way to O’otu at the Aitutaki’s northeastern edge. I was tempted by the prospect of snorkeling in the gorgeous lagoon, but it was a sweltering day for cycling… And it turned out that visibility in the sandy waters at O’otu was limited at best. As if in sympathy with the murky visibility, the viewfinder of my underwater camera suddenly started to look a little foggy too… Before the camera gave up the ghost and stopped working.

Frantic efforts to revive the wretched gadget with freshwater rinsing, drying it, and then packing it in uncooked rice were totally unsuccessful. I contemplated spending the rest of my South Pacific travels unable to take photographs, which plunged me into a pit of despondency… My trip of a lifetime, and I wouldn’t be able to record any more of the amazing nature and landscapes and adventures I was encountering. (I know: first world problems, please don’t despise me.)

As I was sunk in angst, salvation came in the form of Trevor appearing at my beach hut to announce that he was heading out on a whale-spotting boat trip with a few of the Matriki guests that afternon, and did I want to come along? I stiffened my wobbly lip and replied in the affirmative, carpe-ing the diem as I realised for the umpteenth time that here I was in a gorgeous paradise with friendly folks and amazing wildlife, and a broken camera wasn’t the end of the world.

Spotting a humpback whale's tailflukes on the horizon: thar she blows!

It’s only when we puttered out on Trevor’s little boat through Arutanga harbour and the reef passage into the open sea that the vastness of the South Pacific really hit me. As soon as you get outside the coral reef’s sheltering embrace, the ocean floor rapidly falls away to thousands of metres deep. My trip around the lagoon and motu with Puna a few days previously had been in sheltered shallow turquoise waters of five to ten metres: now we were bobbing over a Pacific swell, over midnight blue depths of over a thousand fathoms. Aitutaki dwindled and disappeared into the horizon, until all around us was nothing but ocean.

Trevor told us to keep our gaze trained on the surrounding seascape, to try to spot the spurt of exhaled breath or flick of tail flukes that would signal that humpback whales were in our vicinty. Although I’d heard reports from locals of occasional whale sightings offshore in the past few weeks, I was prepared for the disappointment of a no-show. Minutes stretched into nearly an hour with no sightings except a flying fish (local name māroro) Cheilopogon antoncichi – which was exciting enough to cheer me up!

Suddenly Nick, the thirteen year-old son of Kiwi tourists Tanya and Alex, shouted that he’d spotted something: Trevor affirmed the sighting and put the boat on a heading towards the far blue distance. And within half a minute all of us on the boat could see it too: the flick of a mighty tail as a whale dived towards the deeps.

Pair of humpback whales underwater

As soon as we were at a cautious but close enough distance, Trevor killed the boat engine and there was a frenzied flurry amongst some of us on board to scramble into mask and fins and slip over the side into the sea. As soon as I submerged into the water I could see two sub-adult humpbacks and a calf, gliding through the infinite blue sea-space with slow undulations of their tailfins. I was overwhelmed: feelings of awe, joy, nervousness, wonder. Swimming with humpbacks hadn’t been on my South Pacific wishlist yet here I was, sharing this underwater world with three massive marine kin.

Known locally as to‘orā, the humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) is an uncommon migrant species which in 2008 was downlisted from ‘Vulnerable’ to ‘Least concern’ in conservation status by the IUCN. Estimated global population is 80,000 whales (just under two-thirds of the 125,000 humpbacks thought to have existed before commercial whaling began). The whales I was watching in the waters off Aitutaki weren’t feeding: they were living off body fat accumulated in their summer harvest of krill and small fish in the frigid but fertile waters of Antarctica. The calf with them would still be suckling milk and learning how to swim. As I hung below the surface of the Pacific I could hear the songs of the males, squeaks and whoops and long hoots that echoed through the aquamarine depths. (You can listen to them too in these two short film clips, recorded by German tourist Frank and kindly shared with me afterwards: a whale singing and two whales swimming and singing.) Only the male whales sing: and the whale songs here at Aitutaki are different to those sung at Tonga or elsewhere.

Two days after my magical visitation with the humpback whales I had another wonderful gift of a day. It began with Trevor and Tracey generously lending me a digital camera for my Punarei Aitutaki Cultural Tour; which then meant that I could take photos to record all the amazing things shared by local historian, archaeologist and champion of Aitutaki traditional culture, Ngaa (full name Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki).

Me with Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki, known as Ngaa: Aitutaki's superhero of traditional culture.

I liked Ngaa from the moment I met him, with his infectious enthusiasm, warm smile and determination to honour the rich heritage of his island’s history and people. Astonishingly, in the Cook Islands school history curriculum there is nothing about Cook Islands Maori culture, with the only history taught starting in the post-colonial era. Ngaa himself is working largely without support, to preserve and promote traditional Aitutaki culture. In a nation where the Christian church is central to most people’s lives and also to political and civic society, celebrating traditional culture is often seen as pagan, anti-Christian and wrong. Ngaa told me that sometimes he felt lonely in his work… But he knows he was born to do it.

Making woven palm leaf bowls at Punarei on Aitutaki, under Ngaa's guidance.

The day’s experience was hands-on, with Ngaa teaching us to make cooking mats and food bowls from woven coconut leaves; and how to cook our lunch in an umu (earth oven, with leaf-wrapped food cooked on fire-heated stones). On his family land at Punarei, Ngaa has recreated traditional Aitutaki houses with their steep pitched roofs (more cyclone-proof than modern dwellings).

The settlement of Polynesia and the Cook Islands is an evolving archaeological science, but it’s thought that from 1500 BC onwards the Lapita (early ancestors of Maori and Polynesians) travelled east and south from Papua New Guinea to populate what is now known as Polynesia. Over millenia the eastward migration continued, until the first peoples are believed to have settled on Aitutaki around 800-900 AD. Ngaa related how there are now twelve tribes on the island, with twelve sacred sites. Their history was kept alive by oral tradition, with women being the storytellers (possibly because the men were warriors who often died young).

When white Christian missionaries arrived on Aitutaki in the early 1800s they brought conveniences such as iron tools, sugar and kerosene… But they also forbade and devalued local culture, knowledge and traditions, systematically dismantling Aitutaki life. The colonisers carried infectious diseases with them such as leprosy and measles, to which the local people had little or no resistance.

Traditional Aitutaki house with steeply-pitched roof

When these white Christian missionaries arrived in the Cook Islands, they regarded tiki – wood or stone carvings in humanoid form – as pagan idols, to be removed or destroyed. On other islands many were burned, but by chance a white trader saw the potential to make a quick profit and sold many Aitutaki tiki to collectors overseas. Thirty-one tiki figures were taken from Aitutaki in the 1820s, ending up in European collections. Ngaa has carved tiki inspired by these original Aitutaki pieces, which he has managed to track down in museums all over the world.

Tiki figure carved by Ngaa, at Punarei on Aitutaki.

When I met Ngaa in autumn 2015 he had just returned from visiting museums in Munich, Barcelona and Cambridge to view these Aitutakian artefacts… Including tiki such as the tattooed female figure of a high-ranking founding ancestor of Aitutaki, which was displayed in the ‘Treasures Of Oceania’ exhibition in the Royal Academy in London in 2018.

It was obvious that having seen these artefacts from his own culture meant a great deal to Ngaa: but when I asked him if he wanted them to be returned to the Cook Islands he sadly replied that there seemed to be little political will to bring such cultural treasures home and conserve them properly. All the more impressive that Ngaa and his family (such as mother, pictured below teaching us how to weave the palm-leaf roofing used on huts) are doing such important and vital work, bringing their culture and history alive and passing on its creativity, strength and stories to the next generation.

Despite a lack of official support, Ngaa is working hard to bring Aitutaki’s history and culture to the schoolchildren and young people of the island, as well as sharing it with visiting tourists. He hopes to continue excavating local sites, researching artefacts taken into private collections, and collecting and singing the ancient chants and songs that form the oral history of his people. (There were at least three hundred chants, for everything from harvesting and cooking to gardening and hunting.) The language spoken on Aitutaki is unique, as on other islands: there are 15 different island languages in this South Pacific nation. I learned a few phrases: Po’ pongi (Good morning, “sun rise”); Ae’ i au (Good afternoon, “sun dimming”); and Pae’ ae koe (How are you).

I found Ngaa’s knowledge fascinating, his intentions inspiring, and his passion infectious. As someone who works in oral tradition (leading community choir singing) and outdoor teaching with children and young folks, my heart really warmed to him. I hope that his work continues to develop successfully, and his mission to keep his people’s culture alive flourishes. And if you want to support his work, he will shortly be publishing a book about Aitutaki’s history (working title: Food For Flame), which I will include a link for here as soon as it becomes available.

Ngaakaara Kita Taria Pureariki sharing his knowledge of the traditional uses of local plants, at Punarei on Aitutaki

Back at Matriki that evening I celebrated my lovely day by joining Trevor and Tracey and some other tourist visitors for a shared meal on the beach. The conversation took an unexpected turn, when someone mentioned that there was a tsunami warning for the South Pacific region, after a big earthquake that day in Chile. Tracey confirmed she’d received several email tsunami alerts, though to put it in context Trevor told us they receive one every few weeks on average. In the resort next door the guests had apparently been freaking out and had to be reassured by the resort manager going round to calm things down… But at Matriki there was a pretty laid-back attitude, with discussion of a possible six-foot wave arriving between midnight and 1.00 AM (to put this in context, Tracey did point out that this would mean the beach huts would be in the sea!).

Tiger the cat relaxing on the beach at Matriki, Aitutaki

Conversation turned to folkloric natural signs of impending tsunami: the sea drawing back, banana tree shoots bending over, crabs heading inland or climbing up trees. Suddenly we all got very interested in knowing where the Matriki cats were; but it turned out that Tuxi was perched contentedly on a chair, Bubbles was sat on the beach gazing out to sea, and Marmalade was fast asleep in a flowerbed. Finding this weirdly reassuring, we all agreed to adjourn to bed. Tracey said that if any of us heard anything (i.e. the roar of an approaching tsunami) to yell and alert everybody else and then head straight to the house: from where she and Trevor would put us in the pick-up and drive to a high point (the Piraki viewpoint).

It felt surreal to be going to bed, with the knowledge that a tsunami was possibly rolling across the Pacific Ocean towards us. In our dinner table conversation we’d all studiously avoided mentioning the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004, which killed an estimated 228,000 people in countries around the Indian Ocean… But I’m pretty sure that more than one of us was thinking about it. All those ‘Tsunami Evacuation Route’ signs I’d seen on Rarotonga didn’t seem funny any more.

Sunset on the beach at Matriki, Aitutaki

As so often happens in times of stress, my sensible head switched itself on: I filled my backpack with essentials, ready to be grabbed should I need to evacuate in a hurry. Obvious stuff like water, snacks, first aid kit, medicines, lighter, penknife, headtorch, mobile phone, passport and wallet all went in… Plus my journal, a carved stone heart, and a copy of Peace Is Every Step by Thich Nhat Hanh. I curled up in bed dressed for action and lay there in the dark listening intently to the sound of the sea breaking on the reef, and wondering if the waves sounded like they were getting bigger. But the human mind is good at accommodating what it can’t do anything about: I trusted in the good folks of Matriki and my preparations, sent a metta prayer out into the universe, and fell asleep…

…And woke the next morning to a beach undisturbed by giant waves, where the cats rolled in the warm sand and stalked fish in the shallows. My last full day on Aitutaki, which I commemorated by going for a farewell snorkel in the lagoon to say goodbye to all the little fishies and corals. As evening fell I watched another glorious sunset, before going to watch a resort Island Night from the beach nearby. Lots of drumming and singing and fire staff dancing, completely inauthentic (most of the this entertainment style is imported from Hawaii) but lots of enthusiasm. I enjoyed it, but found myself thinking of Ngaa and his mission to keep the authentic culture of his people on Aitutaki alive.

I know that I would be leaving Aitutaki the following morning, to continue on my travels to the smaller island of Atiu… And I wondered if I would ever return to this beautiful, complex, diverse place; to its warm, friendly, proud, intelligent people. I hope that the future for Aitutaki holds safe and sustainable lives, not so dependent on tourist cash; safety from cyclone and tsunami and climate change; and deep connection with the rich legacy of their past and their culture. Kia manuia!

Sun setting into the South Pacific ocean, Aitutaki

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Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 7:

Ancient coral cliffs and dodgy landings; swimming in caves and spotting birds that live in the dark: exploring Atiu, wild little gem of the Cook Islands.

Up a stolen mountain, and under the ocean… South Pacific Adventure, part 5

Matriki’s motto, ‘Just casual’, applies to everyone who stays here… Even Matriki’s cats! Marmalade (pictured above) especially liked a regular snooze on the porch of my beach hut, giving an excellent example of how to kick back and chill out tropical-style.

Eleven days into my South Pacific travels and with three weeks to go, time felt like it was passing far too quickly. I was beginning to settle into Aitutaki’s laid-back atmosphere: wandering along the beach or swimming in the turquoise sea to cool off in the midday heat; enjoying the marine life of the coral reef; talking with other tourists and local folks about Aitutaki culture, wildlife and history.

I was learning a lot about the ways in which Cook Islanders use natural resources, such as plants. At dusk if I walked along the beach, the sand along the treeline was scattered with the fallen blooms of beach hibiscus (Hibiscus tiliaceus), called ‘Au or String Tree in local parlance. Strips of this tree’s inner bark are soaked in the lagoon for three weeks before being dried for twenty-four hours in the sun: these prepared fibre strips (called kiri’au) are then bleached or dyed and made into the so-called ‘grass skirts’ and leggings used as dance costumes for performances on Island Nights.

The sustainable use of local resources is important on an island where even things such as soil and fresh water are in limited supply and many consumables are imported. Talking over lunch at Tauono’s (a local organic gardening project with a cafe) with a Kiwi traveller called Tim, I learned that the huge container ship that visits Aitutaki regularly to bring in supplies cannot enter the harbour at Arutanga – the ship being simply too big to pass through the channel in the reef. Instead a cargo barge chugs out to the ship and brings in containers of goods, at a cost of $3,500 per trip! Small wonder then that even simple groceries like bread, cheese and tinned goods are expensive to buy on Aitutaki.

Expensive or not, I needed some basic supplies: so I set out on the two-mile walk along Aitutaki’s main road from Matriki to the downtown metropolis of Arutanga. I’d only been walking ten minutes when with typical Cook Islands generosity a friendly local offered me a ride there in his pick-up. I pottered about in Arutanga shopping for essentials (bread, cheese, fresh veg, beer) before strolling back home to Matriki. As there was virtually no traffic and I’m insatiably nosy curious about my surroundings, I enjoyed my walk, taking in the sights… Including a big mama pig and her brood of tiny wee piglets snuffling about at the side of the road.

Pigs are an important domestic animal in the Cook Islands: along with chickens you see them almost everywhere, usually roaming semi-free range. Typically they’re big and furry and more like wild boar than the blobby farm-pigs we’re more familiar with in the UK. Think Were-pig and you’re in the right area. I felt inclined to treat them with respect and give them plenty of space, especially big mamas like this one. (Her spotty little piglets were über cute, though!)

While I was in an exploring mood, I decided to go for a walk northwards and inland, to climb up Aitutaki’s highest point: the hill called Maunga Pu . At 124 metres high it wasn’t exactly Alpine, but I felt like stretching my legs and getting a bit of an overview of the landscape. Maungu Pu means “top of the mountain”: Cook Islands legend tells of how the hill was actually the summit of a high mountain called Maru on Rarotonga, which Aitutaki warriors stole and brought back to their own island!

The route to the top of Maunga Pu was easy to find and follow, starting out as a decent road that led through groves of pawpaw trees (Asimina triloba, or vīnītā). I’d already eaten plenty of pawpaw fruits since arriving in the Cook Islands: they’re creamy and sweetly-scented when ripe (similar to a mango), and work well in salads and desserts… But eating too many can have a laxative effect!

As I walked higher up the track became rougher and the views greener. As soon as you get into Aitutaki’s interior you realise how undeveloped it is. The coastal fringes are dotted with resorts and tourist accommodation, but inland is pretty much left to the locals. There’s some farming and a few access roads; two or three water tanks and some hamlets and scattered houses; and the island’s other high viewpoint, Piraki lookout.

Trevor and Tracey (Matriki’s resident caretakers and hosts) had told me that there had been a bush fire up on Maunga Pu not so long ago, so I wasn’t surprised to see signs of burned palm trees and blackened ground as I climbed higher up the path. Vegetation dried by fierce tropical sun mean that a fire can get hold quickly, and strong winds on this exposed island can sweep flames over a large area.

Luckily a lot of local plant species are evolved to survive in tough conditions, so most things appeared to be growing back.

Reaching the (slightly singed) heights meant that I was able to get stunning views over the whole of Aitutaki. Looking eastwards towards O’otu, the contrast between the shallow turquoise waters of the island’s coral lagoon and the Prussian blue of the deep Pacific Ocean beyond was striking

Looking south I could see Vaipae wharf on the island’s east coast, and in the distance the motu of Aitutaki’s lagoon where I’d travelled by boat with Puna only a couple of days earlier. Standing atop Maunga Pu you really get a sense of how small Aitutaki is… and how breathtakingly beautiful. These small islands in the South Pacific are absolute gems, and it’s small wonder that tourists come here for a taste of paradise.

Being tiny and relatively low-lying, however – and with the majority of their population living on or near the shoreline – the Cook Islands are incredibly vulnerable to climate change. The coral reefs are being bleached by increased UV radiation and all marine life is adversely affected by water pollution and ocean acidification. Tropical cyclones are becoming more violent, which when coupled with rising sea levels could produce potentially catastrophic flooding and loss of life.

Small wonder then that local communities are getting organised to take action and campaign for policy changes to halt climate change. Grassroots networks like 350 Pacific are working with communities across 15 Pacific Island nations to highlight the vulnerabilities of these countries, while using their strength and resilience – along with local networks and partner organisations – to challenge politicians and corporate interests. Kia manuia!

Looking westwards I could see out over the coral lagoon, narrower on this side of Aitutaki. When swimming offshore at Matriki and Vaikoa I was very focused on the marine life in the shallow waters, and didn’t tend to venture near the reef’s seaward edge. There can be tricky currents there and locals warn tourists against getting too close: but looking down on Amuri’s coast I got a tantalising view of the wide blue South Pacific beyond the reef.

On Maunga Pu’s summit there is a nice folksy piece of local history, in the form of an inscribed concrete marker celebrating a Boys’ Brigade Battalion camp up there in the early 1970s. I suspect that camping up on top of the hill must have been on the breezy side.

After sitting for a while on the summit to enjoy the gorgeous views and fresh breeze, I descended along the track and headed homewards to Matriki. Along the way a few plants caught my eye, including the Tahitian Gardenia (Gardenia taitensis, or tiare Māori). This ubiquitous and lovely flower is synonymous with the South Pacific, being used as a garden shrub and for scenting soap and coconut oil… yet it’s non-native to the Cook Islands. Ironically, it’s not native to Tahiti either – the plant was introduced there too, from its native range of Vanuatu, Tonga and Samoa.

I also spotted another showy non-native that I saw in several places on my travels: the bright orange flowers of the African Tulip Tree (Spathodea campanulata). The local name for it is kō‘ī‘ī, which means “to squirt” – apparently the buds can be used to squirt water!

The tropical climate of Aitutaki means that plants flourish, which can be problematic if the plants in question are non-native invasive species like the tulip tree. Tackling these troublesome invaders is another environmental headache for local communities, with little funding available for remedial measures such as biological control.

On the plus side though, nature can swiftly cover up what man has discarded: I found a rotting jeep that was being slowly carpeted with moss and ferns. Give it a few years, and it’ll probably be rusting down and buried under a flourishing green tide.

After a day of exploring on foot, the siren call of the warm tropical sea drew me back to my ideal beach bum life: snorkelling, sunbathing and strolling. The southwesterly winds which had blown in at the end of my lagoon tour with Puna a few days ago had raised a swell, stirring up the lagoon’s sandy bottom and making poor visibility for taking photographs. But the following day after my walk up Maunga Pu the weather had calmed, so I donned mask and snorkel and rash vest (to protect my healing sunburned back) and went to hang out with my fishy friends.

As soon as I waded into the shallows I was surrounded by teeming schools of tiddlers darting between the coral and around my legs, like green pullers Chromis viridis (local name katoti), pictured above.

In amongst the green pullers were their katoti cousins humbug damselfish (Dascyllus aruanus), stroppy little black-and-white striped fish who often came close enough to nibble investigatively at my skin.

I saw an incredible variety of colourful butterflyfish (called taputapu by locals) on my snorkeling explorations around the reef. There were many different species, such as this redfin butterflyfish (Chaetodon lunulatus), pictured above…

…Bennett’s butterflyfish, Chaetodon bennetti

…Racoon butterflyfish, Chaetodon lunula

…And threadfin butterflyfish (Chaetodon auriga). The somewhat homely creature lying on the sandy bottom in this photo is a sea cucumber (Holothuroidea).

Known locally as rori – and as bêche-de-mer in French Polynesia – these cousins of the sea urchin can be found lying all over the sea bottom. Some tourists gripe about their presence, but without the sea cucumbers Aitutaki’s sands would not be as clean as they are: the rori feed by slowly ingesting the sediments of the sea bottom, sifting through it for organic matter. They are basically biological hoovers – and are also exported as food to Asian markets.

Snorkelling around coral bommies in the shallow water was like being on an underwater treasure hunt. Every new nook yielded some different marine creature to be amazed by, like this cute little yellow boxfish (Ostracion cubicus, or moamoa po’aki).

As the little boxfish disappeared the next stylish reef inhabitants that swam into view were a pair of smartly polka-dotted honeycomb toby or spotted pufferfish (Canthigaster janthinoptera, or ‘ue ‘ue).

What’s amazing about this undersea world is that so many species forsake camouflage as a survival strategy and blazon forth in every hue of the rainbow. This lemon peel angelfish (Centropyge flavissima or katoti) sported such lurid blue eye-shadow that I named it ‘Barbara Cartland fish’.

Swimming around another block of coral, I found a floral Maori wrasse (Cheilinus clorourus or kōpiropiro), displaying the amazing cryptic colouration that helps it to blend into the mosaic of bright coral and shadowy crevasses of its undersea environment.

An even more striking camouflage outfit is sported by the honeycomb grouper (Epinephulus merra or taraoa), which I spotted lurking on the sea floor under the edge of a large coral bommie. The pattern of hexagonal spots on this handsome fish make it look like a creature designed by CGI. I love finding mathematical patterns in nature, for me it’s a constant reminder that science and ecology and art are all interlinked.

Much smaller but even more eye-catching were the little blue devil damselfish (Chrysiptera cyanea), which like the green pullers were everywhere in the shallows, darting in and out of the cover of seaweed or coral outcrops. These electric blue tiddlers were smaller than my thumb, but what they lack in size they make up for in attitude: they’re fiercely territorial and often darted out to chase me away if I got too close to their home turf.

The reef is obviously a challenging place to live, with plenty of predators (not to mention human hunters). Fight, flight or hide are the strategies its inhabitants can select, but luckily I didn’t encounter anything which chose the first option. Most fish kept a watchful eye on me and when I came too close for comfort either zipped away into the blue or disappeared into nooks and crannies in the coral (like these clearfin and bloodspot squirrelfish, Neoniphon argenteus and N. sammara, or kūkū).

Of course, fight, flight or hide isn’t an option for all the reef’s creatures. Hard corals such as this lesser brain coral (Leptoria phrygia) are free-swimming in their larval stage, but once they settle on the seabed and develop into a polyp and eventually a colony, their destiny is fixed: at the mercy of sea currents, waves and storms, pollution, temperatures and pH. The calcium carbonate walls which each coral polyp fortifies itself within – and which form the beautiful and fragile sculptures that make up coral reefs – will dissolve if the pH of the ocean around them falls too low and grows acid.

A study published in Science magazine in 2018 predicts that ocean acidification (largely caused by increased amounts of carbon dioxide dissolving into our oceans, as a result of climate change) will reach a point by 2080 when coral reefs are dissolving faster than they can rebuild themselves. This is on top of warmer ocean temperatures causing coral bleaching, when corals expel the algae living symbiotically in their tissues. Bleached corals lose their brilliant colours and are functionally ‘sick’: not only does a bleached reef look a sad sight, but the coral will probably be unable to reproduce and will eventually die if sea temperatures do not reduce back to tolerable levels.

Wildlife like this pink Acropora digitifera coral and plants such as spiny-leaf seaweed (Turbinaria ornata or rimu taratara) not only create gorgeous places to snorkel round and explore, they are vital wildlife ecosystems in our planetary environment. They provide ecosystem services to humans too: sources of food for local people, and protective physical barriers around low-lying islands against cyclones and flooding. Some of the scuba divers whom I met while staying on Aitutaki spoke of how the coral reef around the island looked to them to be suffering from bleaching, as well as from physical damage caused by tourists and boat anchors. It made me feel doubly privileged – and careful of my impact – while snorkeling around these underwater treasure-troves.

The vivid blue starfish (Linckia laevigata or ‘etū-tai) creeping slowly over the brain coral was doing it no harm; its larger cousin the crown-of-thorns starfish (Acanthaster planci or taramea) is a different matter. I found these spiky behemoths several times when I was out snorkelling: they feed on the coral polyps, digesting their living tissues and leaving the white calcium skeleton structure behind. A single crown-of-thorns can consume up to six square metres (sixty-five square feet) of living coral in a year.

They are native predators and as such can actually promote structural and species diversity in coral reefs; but if they’re present in great numbers (a so-called ‘crown-of-thorns plague’) they can cause widespread destruction to a coral reef habitat. For that reason, many divers and fishermen dislike them and will kill them on sight. One recommended method I was told about is to chop the starfish up with a big knife or machete. As these beasties are well-armed with poisonous spines which will break off in your flesh, I didn’t feel remotely tempted to try it. The asterosaponin toxins which the spines contain cause stinging, swelling, bleeding and nausea: definitely a marine creature to be given a respectful distance.

One fish which I was ridiculously excited to find (and when I get ridiculously excited when snorkeling I make noises like a baby whale with ADHD) was the fabulous Moorish idol (Zanclus cornutus or rere’au). This beauty was gliding around the coral like a piece of fine ceramic art, but put on an impressive turn of speed when I tried to get closer for a photo. I’m not someone who gets excited by celebrities, but remembering this fish as Gill in Finding Nemo, I stalked it for ten minutes until it finally got tired of my adoration and huffed off with a flick of its elegant long dorsal fin.

I could probably have spent most of my stay on Aitutaki in the sea, captivated by the ever-changing artistry of the marine world. As mentioned earlier in this blog, when I was a kid I was enamoured by the TV cartoon Marine Boy, the first ever Japanese colour anime to be shown on UK television. Basically I wanted to be Marine Boy: I coveted his red wetsuit, his oxy-gum (which when chewed enabled him to breathe underwater), his dolphin sidekick and his mermaid friend (whose modesty was always miraculously concealed by strategically-draped hair). My obsession with this cartoon knew no bounds: I was once hauled out of the bottom of a swimming pool by a lifeguard, whilst sitting underwater attempting to breathe as if I had oxy-gum.

I never magically gained the ability to breathe like a fish, but the clunky yet charming animated undersea world of Marine Boy permeated my psyche and remains there to this day. When I’m swimming in the sea (or traveling across it on a boat) I am probably the happiest I ever get.

I stayed snorkeling in the lagoon till evening sank the sun into the sea. When I walked out onto the still-warm sand of Matriki’s beach, the ocean had become a great calm mirror, holding onto the sky’s fading light. For another day’s stay on this beautiful South Pacific island, I gave thanks. Meitaki atupaka.

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 6:

Camera disaster; swimming with humpback whales; learning about Aitutaki’s history; and how we survived a tsunami warning.

…And if you’d like to read about my South Pacific travels from the beginning, go to the first chapter:  Travels in the Cook Islands.


Coral lagoons, beer o’clock and church on Sunday… South Pacific Adventure, part 3

Avana mooring, Muri lagoon, Rarotonga

I had just two more days on Rarotonga before I moved on to my next island destination, so I made the most of my time by doing some more exploring on foot and in the sea. Just up the road north from Aremango is the small harbour of Avana, with The Mooring Café which serves awesome fish sandwiches and fresh fruit smoothies. On the way back to Aremango I bought some oranges and postcards, then wrote my cards to folks back home whilst sitting in my little garden courtyard, watching small lizards skittering about on the fence and decking and climbing from leaf to leaf, tongues flickering in and out. That left some of the evening for hammock time, watching moths fluttering about the plants, while listening to cicadas and the occasional shrill whine of a mosquito.

Aremango beach, looking to Taakoka motu, Rarotonga

The next day the weather had turned a bit unpredictable: clouds and light rain alternating with the blue skies and tropical temperatures of before. But I was determined to explore the coral lagoon and reef near Aremango, and once you’re in the sea it doesn’t really matter if it’s raining. Just offshore is the small volcanic islet or motu Taaoka: ‘taoka’ means ‘treasure’ in Maori, so this motu could be translated as ‘Treasure Island’!

Picasso triggerfish swimming in lagoon, the Cook Islands

The real treasure of the lagoon is to be found beneath the waves, of course. Despite the more choppy weather stirring up the sand and visibility not being as good as it was a couple of days ago, I’m soon face down taking my new mask and snorkel for their maiden voyage, bobbing around coral outcrops and bubbling “Oooh!” and “Aahhh!” at every new tropical marine creature I encounter. White, yellow and black threadfin butterfly fish; gaudy fat-lipped Picasso triggerfish; silver and black-striped convict surgeonfish; and of course millions of warty brown sea cucumbers littering the ocean floor, patiently sucking in and filtering food particles from the sand and excreting it in pristine whiteness.

Taaoka motu, Rarotonga

Closer to Taaoka the currents get interesting: I’m reminded of the warnings I’ve read about how dangerous it can be to swim near a reef pass (opening or gap in the reef), where water flows in from and out to the open ocean. Later on I discover that two tourists died last year swimming near Avaavaroa Passage a little further southwest. I’m not wearing fins, just reef shoes, so my ability to swim well in currents is limited: at low tide it’s shallow enough to stand in places between the shore and the motu, but the currents still pull me about. I’m determined to reach the motu though, and I finally clamber ashore.

Taaoka motu shoreline, Rarotonga

With a pale sandy beach strewn with lava rocks and leaning palm trees, Taaoka feels satisfyingly like somewhere you might get stranded. I alternate between whistling the theme from Robinson Crusoe and Desert Island Discs, as I clamber over boulders and peer into the motu’s small scrub-covered interior.

View from Taaoka motu to Rarotonga

You wouldn’t have to survive for very long if you were washed up on Taaoka, unless you were a non-swimmer: Muri’s main shore is a short swim (or wade at low tide) away. It was a satisfying exploration though; and the reef fish were bigger and more numerous out by the motu than they were close in by the main shore. I stepped back into the sea and snorkelled until my fingers went wrinkled, incidentally managing to give my back a stonking dose of sunburn (one of the not-unusual hazards of snorkelling). I should’ve known better and worn a rash vest, but I was lulled into a false sense of security by the patchy cloud and relatively cooler temperatures. The moral of this story is: the Tropics are the Tropics, and tropical sun is not to be trifled with. Cover up or suffer the consequences!

Flight from Rarotonga to Aitutaki

The next day dawned sunny and saw me catching a plane from Rarotonga airport to my next destination: Aitutaki, the northernmost of the Cook Islands Southern Group. Aitutaki had a reputation as something of a tropical paradise, and can be reached by a 45-minute flight from Raro. You can even day-trip Aitutaki if you wish, flying over in the morning and returning in the evening: but I had planned to spend a whole fortnight there. I liked the sound of the island: less developed for tourism than Raro, a simpler and slower pace of life, and plenty of good coral reefs and lagoon to snorkel in. Not to mention it was further north… so even warmer!

Flying in to Aitutaki

As the little twin-prop aircraft made its approach to Aitutaki, I got a glimpse of the island’s famed turquoise-blue lagoon. Once on the ground I was met by the family who I would be staying with for my first week on Aitutaki, at Vaikoa Units on Tamanu Beach: Terangi and Junior Tamati and their teenaged son Joel, who took me in their pick-up back to Vaikoa. It was a very short journey, as Aitutaki is not a big island: just over four and a half miles (seven and a half kilometres) in length. You can trace my journey from the airport to Vaikoa on the map below (the lower of the two red dots on the island’s northwestern coast).

After unloading my rucksack Terangi then kindly ferried me on the back of her scooter down to the nearest food shop to buy some essentials like bread and cheese: on returning to the little garden unit which I was staying in, it was to find finger bananas and passion fruit freshly-picked by Mama (Terangi’s mother) in a bowl on the table. Plenty of drinking water too: rainwater stored in butts, which I could boil and then chill in my fridge!My room at Vaikoa, Aitutaki

I liked my room at Vaikoa: a nice big comfy double bed, a clean shower and loo, a little kitchenette with a cooker and fridge and table for meals, and a nice through breeze if desired (with mosquito coils burning to discourage the biting critters).

Chickens at Vaikoa, Aitutaki

Inevitably when I opened my kitchen door there were chickens outside, poised to eagerly investigate any edible scraps I might want to fling in their direction. As on Rarotonga, chickens are endemic on Aitutaki: happily scuffling about everywhere, wary of humans but susceptible to being lured with coconut. I tried a spot of chicken whispering, but this proved less successful. Coconut appears to be the secret of chicken friendship.

Vaikoa beach, Aitutaki

My priority after getting the basics of food and water sorted was of course to investigate the beach, a mere 30-second stroll away. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful: bright white sand, coconut palms and blue blue water. I sat down and gazed at it and almost burst into tears at how lovely it all was. Which may sound lame but I was starting to feel slightly overwhelmed by how incredibly fortunate I felt to be halfway around the world sitting on this utterly gorgeous tropical island.

Beer o'clock at Vaikoa, Aitutaki

Fortunately before I actually started blubbing I was hailed from the deck of a nearby beach house, and invited to take part in the important traditional ritual of Beer O’Clock by friendly Kiwi traveller Martin. As we sipped two cold ones and kept the mossies at bay, he regaled me with tales of his visits to Vaikoa (he’s been visiting and staying with Mama, Terangi, Junior and Joel for years). Back in New Zealand he volunteers on a bird conservation project at Pukaha Mount Bruce National Wildlife Centre. Like everyone I’d met so far on my travels, Martin was warm and sociable and happy to share tips about exploring the island. Before I left the UK I had a few people express concern and even discouragement about my plan to travel alone: but what I actually found was that travelling alone means that the people you meet tend to open up to you and take you under their wing.

Vaikoa lagoon, Aitutaki

The next morning I was back at the beach after breakfast. Vaikoa means ‘clear water’, and by wading only a few steps into the warm sea I was surrounded by corals and sea cucumbers and darting little fish.

Blue devil damselfish and humbug damsels in Vaikoa lagoon, Aitutaki

Bright Blue devil damselfish and black-and-white striped humbug damselfish drifted in small shoals around the coral, flitting away when I got too close. Wrasse and triggerfish and inevitable herds of sea cucumbers, long-spined sea urchins which I swam past carefully. I was still a little wary of this undersea world, having read my copy of The Snorkeller’s Guide To The Coral Reef carefully, especially the sections about the multitude of venomous life which can be found in coral reefs. There seem to be an awful lot of sea creatures which can bite, sting, puncture and otherwise mangle you: there are even corals which can make you sting and burn if you’re unlucky enough to brush up against them. Not to mention that treading on or knocking against corals is likely to damage the corals themselves… So a rule of thumb whilst snorkelling coral reefs is look, don’t touch.

Brain coral, Vaikoa lagoon, Aitutaki

Looking is fabulous though. I grew up on TV programmes like The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau, with the voyages on their boat Calypso to explore the wonders of tropical oceans. I was also an avid fan of the children’s Japanese TV anime Marine Boy (Kaitei Shōnen Marin), spending quite a lot of time sitting on the bottom of our local swimming pool longing for the ability to breathe underwater conferred upon the eponymous hero by chewing his ‘oxy-gum’… So to be floating about in the Pacific actually looking at a coral reef was definitely a dream come true.

All this swimming gave me an appetite, which Martin helped me remedy that evening by ferrying me on the back of a scooter to the nearby Puffy’s eatery, where we ate some of the best fish and chips and salad I’m ever likely to enjoy in this lifetime. The fish was buttery and succulent and moreover went by the name of wahoo, which has to be the funkiest fish title on a menu ever. I felt as though I was in a Dr Seuss book.
“I went for a snorkel and saw fish quite a few:
And later I ate one, it was called Wahoo.”

Mama in her Sunday best, Vaikoa, Aitutaki

The next day was Sunday and Mama had arranged to take me off to church with her and Martin. I was keen to go because I’d read great things about the singing that happens in Cook Islands church congregations… Plus I was genuinely curious as to what the Christian faith meant to the locals. Mama turned up bright and early at my door in her Sunday best, and brought a hat for me to wear too.

Me ready for church, Vaikoa, Aitutaki

Feeling a little like Pollyanna I held onto my hat as Mama drove us on her scooter into Arutanga, to the CICC (Cook Islands Christian Church).Aitutaki CICC, Arutanga

Built in 1828 (and carefully restored in 2010 by locals), the CICC is the oldest Christian church in the Cook Islands. It stands near the centre of Arutanga, Aitutaki’s main village and administrative centre (it has a bank, a post office, a harbour, and a couple of stores). More metaphorically speaking, the church also stands at the centre of island life: from speaking with Mama and other locals, I gathered that the church plays a large part in most people’s lives, and has a big influence locally.

No Sunday flights sign, Aitutaki

The devoutness of some of the locals is evidenced by roadside signs denouncing the flying in of tourists to the island on Sundays: apparently Sunday flights are even sometimes picketed by locals on arrival. Coming from a largely non-religious family background, I had no particular stance on this, other than feeling the locals should have the ultimate say over what happens on their island. Organised religion is really not my thing: if I feel inclined to do stuff on a Sunday, I wouldn’t let dogma deter me. But when in Rome etc… I’m respectful of local culture, so if Aitutakians would like visiting tourists to observe their sabbath then maybe that’s what we should be doing.

Inside Aitutaki CICC

Inside the church was shady and peaceful, with light falling through the mellow stained glass and a slight breeze blowing through the open windows. Usually tourists have to sit towards the back, but I was privileged to sit with Mama and Martin in the area reserved for locals from the Amuri area of the island (people sit in church according to what part of the island they hail from). The church soon filled up and the lengthy service began, with singing that was haunting and lovely in equal parts. Cook Islands Maori is rich in vowel sounds and not easy to follow or learn: Martin shared a Maori hymn book with me and I took my cue from Mama as to what harmonies I should be singing, but sometimes I just listened. Many of the hymns had a call and response pattern, with the song flowing back and forth between women and men, rising up to the white-painted ceiling with its ancient ship’s anchor.Aitutaki family graves

Although there was a cemetery at the church most Cook Islanders usually bury their dead on family land, often close to their homes. Family graves are tended lovingly and carefully, much like the gardens themselves. Some people might find this morbid but I actually thought it was a touching custom: keeping those who’d gone close by, rather than exiling them to some fenced-off graveyard.

After many hymns and a long sermon in Maori (during which I was entertained by watching local youngsters play pranks on each other, fidgeting about on the pews) it was time to head back out into the sunshine. Mama stayed to talk with friends and relatives, but Martin and I had other plans: a Sunday afternoon scooter ride round the island, to see some of the local sights. After a quick detour back to Vaikoa to change out of my church frock and into some shorts, we set off. I wasn’t sure whether the prohibition on Sunday flights also applied to scooter rides, but as many locals were still motoring about, it seemed unlikely. Suitably attired in yet another hat and carrying my camera, we hit the open road.

Me and big fig tree at Vaipeka, Aitutaki

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 4:

Clams fit for a king; how to say thank you on Aitutaki; coconut cookery school; and a taste of paradise. The end of my stay at Vaikoa… and moving to Matriki!

…And if you’d like to read about my South Pacific travels from the beginning, go to the first chapter:  Travels in the Cook Islands.