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

Posted on January 27, 2021 by Becca

(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.

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.

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

Posted on January 17, 2016 by Becca

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.

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, 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.

The 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.

By 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.

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.

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 (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.

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.

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.

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.

Rowanleaf

Writing, Singing & Teaching About The World

Tag Archives: tsunami

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

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