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.


Happy as a clam… South Pacific Adventure, part 4

Meitaki atupaka: thank you very muchThe sun smiled on Martin and myself as we headed off on our Sunday-afternoon scooter tour of Aitutaki. We passed very few other people on our circuit of the island: Sunday is very much a day of rest here, so apart from the odd local going fishing everyone seemed to be either in church or relaxing with family at home.

Examples of sea shells, Aitutaki Marine Research Centre

 

Our first port of call was the Aitutaki Marine Research Centre at the northern tip of the island. This sounds impressive, although once you get there it’s basically some big round tanks full of seawater under a netting canopy, which are full of native clams Tridacna maxima (called pāua in Cook Islands Maori).

Tridacna maxima clams in breeding tank

Aka the ‘small giant clam’, these pāua have been classified as a conservation-dependent species; which basically means that they will probably be wiped out by over-collecting and pollution, unless their long term future is safeguarded by active conservation measures. On Aitutaki, this takes the form of cultivating baby clams in these tanks, on square slabs on concrete. Once the clams are big enough, these slabs are taken out to sea and placed in a ‘clam nursery’ in the island’s lagoon.

Baby paua clams in nursery tank

These clams do not rival their bigger cousins, the introduced species of giant clam Tridacna gigas, also found in the surrounding ocean: typically pāua grow to a maximum size of 20 centimetres. But they have traditionally been a much-prized food source to locals, and lately have also become the target of the aquarium trade, because of their gorgeously-coloured and patterned mantles. This amazing colouration is caused by the presence of tiny single-celled algae in the clam’s mantle – plants which produce food by photosynthesis, supplementing the clam’s filter feeding process.

Pāua were once abundant in the reefs and lagoons of the Cook Islands. Nowadays, if you want to find these little clams offshore around the more populated and tourist-visited islands such as Rarotonga and Aitutaki you have to look very hard. I did discover one whilst swimming off the beach at Vaikoa (see photo below)… But when I reported this back to Mama she said that she and her family would go fishing for the pāua if they knew it was there! Mama originally came to Aitutaki from Kiribati (a group of Pacific islands which were a UK colony until 1979). Her husband chose the land at Vaikoa and taught her to fish, because he said he wanted her to be able to survive in old age from being able to find her own food. I sympathise with this: as ever, it’s the complicated issue of the needs of local people being balanced against the ability of the local ecosystem to tolerate the demands being placed upon it. As a wildlife conservationist I was firmly in the little clam’s corner, but I think local people should be involved in decision-making about how marine ecosystems are managed and used; and they should also be paid to carry out the conservation work to preserve these beautiful creatures.

Wild paua clam in Aitutaki lagoon

After seeing the clams we continued our tour: via Vaipeka to view the ginormous fig tree that spans across the road (see my photo at the end of the last chapter of this blog); past Neibaa’s grocery store (the only one on the island which stays open on Sundays); and on down to Vaipae wharf, where Martin sets out for his lagoon fishing trips with local friend Itu.

Vaipae shore with reef heron, Aitutaki

This eastern shore of the mainland of Aitutaki is very different to the western side where I was staying at Vaikoa. A mud and sand beach stretches out shallowly into the lagoon, looking across towards the islets that fringe it and the island’s popular northeastern-most finger of land, O’otu. In Cook islands Maori, o’otu means “to burn” or “to cook”: I wondered wryly if all the tourists sunbathing on the gorgeous white sand lagoon beaches there knew that. Martin commented that he rarely goes to that part of Aitutaki, because it harbours legions of mosquitoes. (The insects breed in the little pools of water trapped in the leaves of pandanus trees Pandanus arapepe, which grow in that part of the island.)

Thank you sign at Vaipae, Aitutaki

A sign on some trees at Vaipae gave me the chance to have another local language lesson. Meitaki is Cook Islands generic Maori for “Thank you”, but each island has its own language variant for “Thank you very much”: here in Aitutaki it is meitaki atupaka. I loved the sound of Maori and did my best to learn a few phrases beyond the ubiquitous kia orana (“May you live long”, the Cook Islands equivalent to “Hi there, cool to see ya”)… But it’s definitely a language that takes time and much practice to acquire. I’m of the opinion that if you travel in other people’s home countries it’s both respectful and fun to try to communicate with the locals at least a little in their own language. Whether I actually make myself understood or just make them laugh isn’t really a big deal.

Mangrove fiddler crab (Uca crassipes) at Vaipae, Aitutaki

All over the beach at Vaipae there were little tracks and spherical balls of sand, interspersed with small round holes tunneling down into the ground. These it turned out had been made by Narrow-fronted fiddler crabs (Uca tetragonon), local name koro’iti. The males of this characterful little crab species sport a garish large pink claw which they flourish to impress their lady-crab friends. Allegedly. Personally I think any male waving something that flamboyantly pink around might be secretly getting in touch with his own feminine side, which can only be a good thing.

Sunset at Vaikoa, Aitutaki

We concluded our clockwise island scooter tour by swinging by Tautu wharf and back through Arutanga and past Ziona Tapu church, on so onward back home to Vaikoa… Where Mama kindly greeted us with a cup of tea and some banana cake, to celebrate Father’s Day, for Martin! Later we made sure we also observed the important ritual of Beer O’Clock on Martin’s beach hut verandah, where a typically stunning sunset put the finishing touch on what had been a wonderful Sunday.

Coconut husking at Vaikoa, Aitutaki

After my day of rest, it was high time I did something useful: so on the following day Martin gave me a lesson in the art of coconut husking and making coconut cream. Firstly, you find a ripe coconut (or ariki). This is never difficult as they are lying on the ground all over the place, and no-one minds if you help yourself to one. Next, you use a metal or wooden spike that’s firmly fixed in the ground to prise off the coconut’s hairy brown husk.

Draining coconut milk

Once husked, you pierce the coconut through two or three of its eyes (using that otherwise pointless sharp poky tool thing on your trusty Swiss army knife), and upend it over a glass to drain out the coconut’s sweet fruity water. Drink this yummy juice (with or without the addition of rum).

Opening a coconut, Cook Islands style

Take a machete that Crocodile Dundee would approve of, and very carefully use the back of it (i.e. the blunt edge) to strike the coconut smartly on its equator. A few hits like this, rotating the coconut between each blow, will crack it more or less neatly in half.

Homemade coconut grater

The next bit of hi-tech you’ll need is a coconut grater: traditionally they are made from sea shell, but this recycled door hinge screwed onto a bit of plank does the job.

Grating coconut, at Vaikoa

Grate the coconut’s flesh from the shell, starting at the coconut’s top outer edge, then working your way gradually round and into the shell until you’re nearly down to the husk (when you’re done you can ingratiate yourself with the local chickens by giving the husk to them to feast on). Collect the grated coconut flesh in a clean cloth placed below.

Freshly-grated coconut

Once you’ve filled your clean cloth with grated coconut, you simply twist it up to squeeze out the coconut cream.

Squeezing freshly-grated coconut to make coconut cream

Coconut cream is yummy and unctuous and all things good. It goes beautifully with banana, pawpaw, pineapple, mango or other tropical fruits; or added to curries and stews. The leftover grated coconut is nice with your breakfast cereal – or in jam sandwiches!

Puna's boat, lagoon trip, Aitutaki

Sadly Martin left Aitutaki the following morning (although with the typical generosity of everyone I met while travelling, he insisted on leaving all his leftover food provisions with me). I serenaded him on his way with a traditional Celtic blessing song; then after breakfast it was time to head off on a long-anticipated lagoon trip.

I joined six other tourists (five Kiwis and a German lady) on the funky little Aitutaki Adventures boat, whose skipper is Puna: an enthusiastic and upbeat local whose knowledge of Aitutaki and its marine wildlife is excellent.

The blue lagoon... Aitutaki, looking towards Maina

Travelling in a boat at sea always gives me a buzz, so I was already feeling uplifted as we headed out from Tautu wharf into the lagoon… But once we got a little way out to sea I was pretty much blubbing over how beautiful the lagoon was. Imagine the bluest thing you’ve ever seen, then times that by a thousand. Absolutely stunning.

Giant trevally, Aitutaki lagoon

Puna motored out to close by the motu named Maina, where we jumped over the side of the boat for our first bit of lagoon snorkelling. Our first marine wildlife encounter was with a giant trevally (Caranx ignobilis), a fish that was approximately as long as me. It swam around the boat and those of us snorkelling in the water for quite some time, occasionally eyeing us in a manner that suggested it was assessing our edibility. This seemed only fair: many of these magnificent fish are caught by tourists and end up as someone’s dinner. Giant clams (Tridacna gigas), Aitutaki lagoonBeing large was a bit of a theme here: I also swam over some giant clams (the non-native species, Tridacna gigas), which were similarly gargantuan. The ones in the photo above were around a metre across. These mighty molluscs have an average lifespan of 100 years; and like their smaller cousins are vulnerable to overexploitation by humans for food and the aquarium trade.

Sandbar in Aitutaki lagoon, looking towards One Foot Island

Right next to Maina is a beautiful sandbar which has been named (rather unoriginally) ‘Honeymoon Island’ by tourists. Its pink-white sand and turquoise sea are stunning to look at though.Black noddies, Maina sandbar, Aitutaki

It’s not just fish that use the lagoon: we saw turtles as we travelled out from the mainland, and here on the sandbank many birds use it and Maina as a refuge. I walked past a couple of ngōio, black noddies (Anous minutus) who seemed pretty unruffled by a handful of trespassing tourists. This motu is also home to the rare Red-tailed tropicbird or tavake (Phaethon rubricauda), and we saw a few of these flying with terns.A real desert isalnd: Maini, Aitutaki lagoon

Beautiful though Aitutaki lagoon is, you realise as soon as you visit these little motu up close what a difficult environment it is for wildlife to survive in. The sand was almost too hot to walk on barefoot; there is no fresh water (other than rainfall), and tropical storms can whip the sea over these low-lying islands and snap off coconut palms.Marooned on a sandbar, Aitutaki lagoon

No Pacific ocean voyage though would be complete without being marooned on a desert island… So before Puna headed further across the lagoon he left those of us who were up for the challenge on a sandbar: from there we walked and waded through the shallow warm lagoon waters to Tapuaeta’i (One Foot Island), our lunch time stop.Tapuaeta'i (One Foot Island), Aitutaki

Tapuaeta’i is the motu that all tourist lagoon trips go to (and you can even get a foot-shaped stamp in your passport there), but Puna’s trips in his small boat mean you get a bit of space to yourself. You also get a mouth-wateringly delicious lunch, which was waiting for us on a nice secluded and shady deck. I unashamedly gorged myself: four kinds of salads; pawpaw; fried aubergine, onion, pumpkin and courgette; savoury rice with carrots and beans; and grilled mahi mahi fish (dorado, Coryphaena hippurus) which literally melted in my mouth. I should also mention that before this paradisical feast, there were fresh bananas and watermelons and doughnuts served out to us on the boat after we’d been snorkelling… Presumably in case we grew faint from hunger before our sumptuous lunch! And all washed down with Puna’s chilled ‘fruit squash’ made from fresh lemons, a glorious citrusy zingy hit.Puna of Aitutaki Adventures... A top geezer

After lunch Puna entertained us by relating stories of the time the TV series Survivor! was being filmed on Aitutaki’s lagoon motu in 2006. The TV crew took over all accommodation on the island for three months, created a new channel at Tautu wharf, and generally made a good impression on the locals. Puna got a chopper ride over Aitutaki’s lagoon which he loved, and spent a lot of time with the series producer, who was very interested in local history and culture.

Puna himself is a cool dude. He spent five years working up on the island of Manihiki in the northern group of the Cook Islands. Manihiki, also known as ‘island of pearls’, is over eight hundred miles north of Rarotonga: about as remote as you can get in the South Pacific. Puna said five years was as long as he could cope with living there, working on the pearl trade. Most of the technicians there are Japanese, some from as young twelve years old learning the delicate science of seeding pearls in oysters. This craft is passed on within families and not shared with outsiders. Apparently these Japanese pearl technicians can tell what type of pearl an oyster will produce simply by looking at its shell – i.e. black, green, white, gold… Manihiki pearls are often black or green.Small wrasse species, Aitutaki lagoon

After we’d digested lunch Puna took us in the boat to another area of the lagoon to get a last bit of snorkelling in, before the dark rain clouds which a north-westerly wind had fetched on the horizon reached us. All kinds of brightly-coloured fish darted about over the coral: wrasse, butterfly fish, the inevitable Picasso triggerfish and humbug damsels, and the electric blue starfish that were a common coral reef denizen here.

Giant moray eel (Gymnothorax javanicus), Aitutaki lagoon

Another creature caught my eye, lurking under the edge of one of the coral bommies we were snorkelling around. I swam down for a closer look, then put on the brakes: it was a giant moray eel (Gymnothorax javanicus). Torn between wanting to ogle this amazing predatory fish up close, and vaguely remembering that moray eels are reputed to be somewhat grumpy, I hovered a couple of feet from it… Whereupon it slowly turned its head and gazed steadily at me like a malignant marine sock puppet. Unlike a sock puppet however it appeared to be armed with a mouthful of stubby sharp fangs. I considered my options, and decided to give the moray some space. Subsequent research confirmed that I made the right decision: the giant moray grows to three metres long, and most definitely does not fall into the cuddly sock puppet category. (Wikipedia helpfully comments, “This species may be hazardous to people… It has been implicated in provoked and unprovoked attacks on scuba divers.”)Coconut and tea time, looking west from Vaikoa (Aitutaki)

Surviving unscathed from my moray encounter, I returned to the boat… and Puna delivered us all safely back to the mainland. The threatening clouds dispersed and I was able to enjoy another lovely evening back at Vaikoa, watching the sun slide into the sea.

All good things must come to an end: and sadly it was time to move on from Vaikoa, with the lovely Mama, Junior, Terangi and Joel. I packed up my bags and walked the short distance northwards along the road, to my next temporary home: Matriki Beach Huts.Matriki Beach Huts motto: just casual!

I’d found Matriki’s website while researching lower-budget places to stay on Aitutaki, and immediately liked the sound of it: and from the moment I walked along the sandy drive I knew I was going to have a great time there. The accommodation is basic but stunningly located right on the beach: wooden beach huts with funky painted murals and little verandahs looking out over the beachfront.Beach hut mural, Matriki (Aitutaki)

I’d booked a week’s stay in the ‘Beach Hut’, which was as Robinson Crusoe as it sounds. Well kitted out (fridge, cooker, mosquito-netted comfy bed, electric lights, outdoor shower) and cosy, it was just what I’d hoped for: a basic (i.e. affordable) but stunningly-situated little shed by the sea. Not being a fan of luxury resorts (or being able to afford them either), I’d chosen to stay at Matriki because of all the nice things previous travellers said about it… And they were absolutely right.

Matriki beach hut, Aitutaki

I wasn’t the only guest at Matriki: there are two other beachfront huts (and also an option to stay in a self-contained garden unit attached to the house), but everyone has a bit of space. If you wanted to hang out with folks and barbecue or share food on the big picnic table that was an option… Or you could just chill on your deck and gaze at the sunset. I sat on my deck for a while and just drank in the view. Not for the first time, I felt incredibly fortunate and full of gratitude to be in such a beautiful place.View from the deck of the Beach Hut, Matriki (Aitutaki)

Matriki was quiet and peaceful, my first evening there. I spent the afternoon snorkelling, then had a (sun-warmed!) outdoor shower, before wandering along the beach. I didn’t pass a single soul: just a reef heron picking its long-legged way along the sea’s edge. The ever-present soft roar of surf against Aitutaki’s fringing reef underscored other sounds: mynah birds chirping and squawking; a gecko ticking; a cockerel crowing; a riffle of small fishes hurling themselves airborne as they were chased into the shallows by something bigger. I could just see the surf breaking on the reef, a rolling line of white forever uncurling on the coral’s encircling edge… And beyond, the wild indigo blue of the Pacific.

The sand still felt warm at sunset, giving softly under my feet. Scents of sea and bonfire smoke and evening cooking drifted past: frying onions, mosquito coils, something sweet. As the sun sank into low cloud it found a chink and lit up a golden path on the sea, which the heron followed as it fished in the shallows. Just eight more days, to enjoy Aitutaki.

Reef heron at sunset, Amuri beach (Matriki, Aitutaki)

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 5:

Cat therapy; climbing the hill that was once a mountain;
and how a Japanese anime made me an underwater geek.

…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.

Travels in the Cook Islands… South Pacific Adventure, part 1

View of Rarotonga from Taaoka motu

In September 2015 I went on an awfully big adventure. I flew halfway around the world, to go traveling for five weeks in the South Pacific. As I had never been traveling before, this was something of a departure from my normal routine, to say the least.

In the months before I set off, an oft-repeated question directed at me by curious folks was, “Why the South Pacific?” My answers varied depending on the mood I was in, but usually comprised some or all of the following: (1) good snorkelling, (2) friendly and safe for a lone woman traveller, (3) desert islands, palm trees, sunshine, lagoons, coral reefs… And (4) as a child I got more than slightly obsessed with the South Pacific as a result of reading three books: Let’s See If The World Is Round (Hakon Mielche), South Sea Adventure (Willard Price), and The Kon-Tiki Expedition (Thor Heyerdahl).

From my childhood reading (blissfully oblivious of the rampant colonialism in all three books) I received the impression that the South Pacific was a magical and exciting place, teeming with wildlife, populated by quirky and amiable locals, and rich in natural beauty and ancient culture. Here was a place where you could swim with sharks, lie under palm trees listening to ukulele music beneath the stars, see stunning lagoons and coral reefs, and live a simple life in a tropical paradise.

So: off to the South Pacific I went. And for the next few installments of this blog, I will be recounting my traveller’s tales. For the record (spoiler alert), my expectations were exceeded. Coral reefs and lagoons are indeed heart-stoppingly beautiful. I inadvertently swam with sharks several times, as well as with humpback whales and manta rays. There was a lot of ukulele music but don’t ever lie under a coconut palm to listen to it unless you’re wearing a suit of armour. And the South Pacific may look like paradise, but living there requires hard work, ingenuity, strong community and – in the face of climate change and seismic unpredictability – large amounts of luck.

First South Pacific sunrise, from the plane to Rarotonga

To get to the South Pacific from the UK requires a very long plane journey, whether you fly east via Singapore, or west via Los Angeles. I opted for the latter, with a purgatorial six-hour layover in LA airport. US immigration officials have had their sense of humour surgically removed, and the queues were epic. Quite why our American cousins think anyone is desperately keen to sneak into their gun- and God-infested country is anyone’s guess, but Uncle Sam’s guardians were scrupulous in grilling every sleep-deprived traveller over the minutiae of their journey plans. I caused them no small consternation by wearing glasses, as in my passport photo I don’t have them on. Once we’d established that I was actually me (by the simple act of removing my glasses), I was allowed through to a deserted chilly air-conditioned barn of a boarding gate waiting area. I curled up on the carpet with my back against a wall and cat-napped for a few hours, lulled by announcements at regular intervals inviting US servicemen and their families to make full use of the exclusive airport facilities for serving personnel.

I’d opted for a direct flight to Rarotonga in the Cook Islands, rather than going via New Zealand, so twenty-six hours after I’d left the UK I was seeing my first South Pacific sunrise from the window of my plane. It looked very beautiful. And once my plane had landed at Rarotonga airport and I’d been ferried by minibus taxi with a bunch of other bleary-eyed travellers to Aremango Guesthouse where I was staying, I lost no time in going exploring. First project: catch the island bus into Avarua, the main town on Rarotonga, to buy some food.Rarotonga map by Bron Smith

Rarotonga, like many South Pacific islands, has a mountainous (volcanic) interior, fringed by coral reef and lagoon. The only flat bits of land are largely along the coast, so the Ara Tapu (main road) runs all the way round the edge of the island (as does the older Ara Metua, which runs just inland of the Ara Tapu). As the road goes in a circle, this means there are only two bus routes to keep track of: clockwise and anticlockwise. The whole circumference is only twenty miles, so you can trundle round it in an hour or so on the bus (or less if you go by car or scooter). The buses are battered but comfy old single deckers that appear to have made in China, if the interior is anything to go by.

Rarotonga bus, anti-clockwise routeThe bus drivers are an entertaining bunch: my personal favourite was Mr Hopeless, who keeps a running commentary going for the entire journey about landmarks, local politics, tourists and his family and neighbours. When he runs out of things to say, he sings. I feel all British bus drivers should be sent on sabbaticals to Rarotonga, where they will learn from Mr Hopeless that keeping your passengers entertained is far more important than sticking slavishly to a timetable.

The beach at Aremango guesthouse in Rarotonga, looking out into the lagoonBy the time I’d returned back from Avarua with the basics (bread, cheese, tea and beer) it was afternoon and time to investigate the beach. A hundred yard walk through some gardens and there I was: standing on coral sands, looking out over a turquoise lagoon. It was warm and there was the sound of surf breaking on the reef; and despite acute sleep deprivation, I suddenly felt intensely blessed to be there. Halfway around the world from where I lived, in the South Pacific at last.

Rarotonga, south Muri, looking out towards Taaoka motu

I explored westwards along the beach, past the little motu (islet) called Taaoka, which lies just offshore. Aremango is on south Muri beach, an area of Rarotonga popular with visitors. So popular in fact that sewerage run-off into the sea from tourist accommodation is causing environmental problems, with increased nitrogen levels resulting in algal blooms hazardous to marine life and human health. The problem has been acknowledged and some measures (e.g. improving septic tank sewer systems) have been put into place, but much more work still needs to be done.

Environmental improvement in Muri lagoon, Rarotonga

On my first day there I was unaware of this issue, and you certainly couldn’t tell from looking at the lagoon that there was a problem. But a couple of days later I found the information display pictured above, and it was a timely reminder that those of us who are wealthy enough to travel and holiday in other people’s countries are responsible for the impact our stay has there, whether that be on the local environment, the economy or the culture. Flying over ten thousand miles to the Cook Islands is no small carbon footprint, so I was keen to stay in simple accommodation and to explore and enjoy the islands by as environmentally-friendly means as possible… Which on Rarotonga meant getting about by three of my favourite methods: bus, cycle and on foot.

As well as trying to address the sewerage pollution issue, there are other initiatives being enforced on Rarotonga to conserve the environment and wildlife. One of these is the designation of ra’ui: a ban on fishing or harvesting foods either in a specific area, or of a specific animal or plant species.

Ra'ui, Muri beach, RarotongaRa’ui (or rāhui) are a traditional part of Maori culture, whereby a tapu (spiritual edict or prohibition) is placed restricting use of or access to a place, e.g. for gathering food. In the Cook Islands the ra’ui concept was revived in the late 1990s, to protect the island’s lagoon habitat. The Aronga Mana (traditional tribal councils) have placed ra’ui on several areas around Rarotonga’s lagoon. These ra’ui are not enforced through legal channels but instead rely on respect for traditional authority, with infringement dealt with by “rebuke and community pressure”.

The other initiative that seeks to protect the marine environment in Rarotonga and elsewhere in the Cook Islands is the designation of a Marine Park. Although it was formally announced as policy by Cook Islands Prime Minister Henry Puna in 2013, the Marae Moana marine park has yet to be set up. As ever, funding and fishing interests are in the mix… Hopefully these won’t prove insurmountable obstacles for this project, because the lagoon surrounding Rarotonga certainly deserves protection of the highest standard and is a beautiful and diverse environment… As my photo below of threadfin butterfly fish, taken whilst snorkelling, shows.

Threadfin butterfly fish, Rarotonga lagoon

As well as the occasional ra’ui notice, there were other signs repeated at regular intervals along the Ara Tapu that certainly caught my notice. You know you’re in a interesting part of the world when roadside signs inform you not of speed limits or dual carriageways, but instead tell you which way to run in the event of a tsunami. This disconcerted me at first, but the rather jolly signs are reassuring in a low-tech sort of way. The knowledge that you’re in a place where seismic activity occasionally means that very big waves come ashore is a bit worrying… But no need to panic, there is a plan to cope with this: i.e. run fairly smartly up the nearest hill that presents itself. Which given that Rarotonga just inland of the Ara Tapu is all hill, doesn’t prove too difficult. Raro-pic09

Whether or not I needed to make use of a tsunami evacuation route during my five weeks of travelling in the South Pacific will be revealed in a later chapter of this blog. In the meantime, I knew that I needed a good night’s kip because tomorrow I was going to be up early to head out on a cycle tour to explore Rarotonga’s interior. I had reached the end of my first day in the South Pacific: happy, hallucinating slightly from lack of sleep, stuffed with bread and cheese and beer and bananas, I fell asleep to the sound of the island’s three billion chickens serenading the sunset. Sweet dreams.

Cycling off the beaten track, with Rarotonga Eco Tours

Coming up next time, in South Pacific Adventure part 2:

Off-road cycling; bush medicine and plant First Aid; everything you ever wanted to know about coconuts; and why building a hotel on cursed land is not a good idea, even if you’re the Mafia. Plus chickens. Lot of chickens.