It has been a busy and productive three days! Hérvé and I are getting along famously, his house is a very comfortable place and I’m rather smitten with the village of Tiputa. There is a school in the village that serves the northern Tuamotu region, which means there are a lot of young people around. Right around the corner from the Mairie (municipal offices) and next to the school is the sports center, a roofed structure used for volleyball and footsal. For the uninitiated, footsal is a variant of soccer adapted for indoor play on smaller fields and with five players, popular enough around the world to have its own world cup. The local league is busy and I go watch a couple of highly entertaining games. There are stands, and these games are definitely events in Tiputa, complete with outdoor concession offerings and vocal audience participation.I am getting the hang of spear fishing - we’ve been going out every day since I got here. Or so I though before today, before Hérvé announced we were going to fish the incoming current right at the mouth of the pass. Now, he didn’t mean the peak current but the period of slack water between the tides and the hour immediately following it – this gives me some comfort and indicates he is not totally crazy, as the lagoon of Rangiroa is huge and not a place I want to get swept out to either. Ok, so I’m willing to try, as this is something that is completely normal to these folks (ie. return from fishing is expected as a matter of course), and I don’t want to appear a complete wuss.
We go to the entry spot well ahead of time, as he wants to introduce me to his uncle and a friend, both by his description fishermen and artisans. I am curious, and get even more so as we approach a low thatched hut overlooking the mouth of the pass. Emanating from within is the sound of a duet between a didgeridoo and a nose flute, and as we duck in to the hut my eyes take in the sight of this magnificent rasta guy sitting on a low stool by a pile of woodchips blowing into his didgeridoo. The sound of the nose flute comes from another corner where another sagely looking man is totally engrossed in producing the notes. Eventually they notice us and a round of welcomes ensues. My few words of Tahitian create a favorable impression, and with Hérvé’s help I tell them about myself. They respond with an invitation to join them the next day for some fishing with a net right in front of the hut. It appears that the lunar cycle is right for fishing for a certain kind of parrotfish on the shallow reef and that these gentlemen are the only ones using a net on the shallow reef in Tiputa at the present. I am grateful for the opportunity.
At this point I should probably explain a bit about the terrain. The crest of the reef on the seaward side rings the island some 50-100 meters distant. Between the shallow crest (out of the water during low tide) and the island is a very shallow back reef environment that is a distinct habitat from the steep slope of the fore reef. Only about a meter or so deep, the back reef receives a continuous and massive flow of water from the swell that breaks over the reef crest and spills landward. This water must go someplace, and those places are mostly the shallow breaks between the motus. At the pass, the reef crest rounds the corners of the islands forming the pass and runs for a bit toward the center of the atoll, parallel to the pass. At about a third of the way in the reef closes in with the island, and at this point all the water piling in due to the surf up front spills into the pass. It is this back reef environment as it curves into the pass that we’ll fish tomorrow. Today Hérvé and I are going to fish the outer edge of the reef.
Ok, so I’m a bit nervous as we enter the water. Hérvé guides our progress across the back reef to the edge where several things are happening. Though we are a bit inside the pass, some of the surf still gets in and you don’t really want to be surprised by it. Another thing is that the back reef water is starting to spill into the pass. And then there is the fact that we are standing at the edge of the vertical fore reef slope. Hérvé pauses here in the waist-deep water, observes the current for some 5 minutes while I hang on as the occasional swell breaks around us. He pronounces things to be OK, we quickly pull on our fins and masks and fall forward into the blue.
If you have ever observed a front loading washing machine in action and wondered how it would feel to be inside – well I’ve got some insight. The water pouring into the pass from the back reef makes it necessary to keep swimming toward the reef crest. Get too close, and the occasional swell picks you up for a frothy ride right to the top of the reef crest. There are a lot of small air bubbles continually churned in at the top limiting visibility, so I keep losing sight of Hérvé. Eventually I figure it out, and just try to stay below the surface where the incoming ocean water is completely clear and the visibility is great. I am towing the tub, and since this is the sharkiest of the places in the pass, try to stick as close as I can to Hérvé to minimize his need to swim around with bleeding, speared fish.
He does his usual – with minimum fuss glides gracefully down the steep edge, peeks around the ledges, lies on top of them in wait. And, needless to say, brings home the bacon. Paihere, Tapatai, Naenae and Honae (different species of Jacks) start piling into the box, and eventually I manage to relax and get busy with my camera. The visibility is phenomenal, and I follow Hérvé as far down as I can. There are fish aplenty here. I’m attracted to large schools of Manini and Aupapa that seem rather indifferent to my presence. It is not a great place for photography, though, as keeping station without a lot of swimming is impossible, and swimming makes the camera move a lot. So eventually I just observe, observe Hérvé spear and the almost magical appearance of the sharks in the immediate aftermath. Today the only loss is to a very aggressive and large Oiri (Triggerfish) that manages to take three big bites out of the back of a large Tapatai as Hérvé surfaces towing it behind him at a shark-safe distance.
After an hour or so we head back toward our launching spot. However, conditions have changed with the speeding current and we have to let it carry us some 300 meters further down the pass to get out of the water. Not a problem, as Hérvé guides to his sister’s house on the water where we clean the fish and ourselves. He also demonstrates an interesting technique in fish cleaning on couple of small Naenae: first you gut the fish, then pull the skin off. After skinning, make a number of cuts (to the bone) both laterally and vertically on both sides. What is created is a fish ready for some lime juice, a bit of salt and perhaps some miti ha’arii (coconut milk) for a quick poisson cru on the run. Good stuff, too! At this point the afternoon has progressed to around 4:00 and we walk (ok, I stagger…) back to Hérvé’s house. All the young guys I see around are remarkably fit, and I am developing a keen understanding of exactly why this is. I’m looking forward to tomorrow and perhaps a bit more passive perch from which to observe the proceedings.
Ok, so I’m a bit nervous as we enter the water. Hérvé guides our progress across the back reef to the edge where several things are happening. Though we are a bit inside the pass, some of the surf still gets in and you don’t really want to be surprised by it. Another thing is that the back reef water is starting to spill into the pass. And then there is the fact that we are standing at the edge of the vertical fore reef slope. Hérvé pauses here in the waist-deep water, observes the current for some 5 minutes while I hang on as the occasional swell breaks around us. He pronounces things to be OK, we quickly pull on our fins and masks and fall forward into the blue.
If you have ever observed a front loading washing machine in action and wondered how it would feel to be inside – well I’ve got some insight. The water pouring into the pass from the back reef makes it necessary to keep swimming toward the reef crest. Get too close, and the occasional swell picks you up for a frothy ride right to the top of the reef crest. There are a lot of small air bubbles continually churned in at the top limiting visibility, so I keep losing sight of Hérvé. Eventually I figure it out, and just try to stay below the surface where the incoming ocean water is completely clear and the visibility is great. I am towing the tub, and since this is the sharkiest of the places in the pass, try to stick as close as I can to Hérvé to minimize his need to swim around with bleeding, speared fish.
He does his usual – with minimum fuss glides gracefully down the steep edge, peeks around the ledges, lies on top of them in wait. And, needless to say, brings home the bacon. Paihere, Tapatai, Naenae and Honae (different species of Jacks) start piling into the box, and eventually I manage to relax and get busy with my camera. The visibility is phenomenal, and I follow Hérvé as far down as I can. There are fish aplenty here. I’m attracted to large schools of Manini and Aupapa that seem rather indifferent to my presence. It is not a great place for photography, though, as keeping station without a lot of swimming is impossible, and swimming makes the camera move a lot. So eventually I just observe, observe Hérvé spear and the almost magical appearance of the sharks in the immediate aftermath. Today the only loss is to a very aggressive and large Oiri (Triggerfish) that manages to take three big bites out of the back of a large Tapatai as Hérvé surfaces towing it behind him at a shark-safe distance.
After an hour or so we head back toward our launching spot. However, conditions have changed with the speeding current and we have to let it carry us some 300 meters further down the pass to get out of the water. Not a problem, as Hérvé guides to his sister’s house on the water where we clean the fish and ourselves. He also demonstrates an interesting technique in fish cleaning on couple of small Naenae: first you gut the fish, then pull the skin off. After skinning, make a number of cuts (to the bone) both laterally and vertically on both sides. What is created is a fish ready for some lime juice, a bit of salt and perhaps some miti ha’arii (coconut milk) for a quick poisson cru on the run. Good stuff, too! At this point the afternoon has progressed to around 4:00 and we walk (ok, I stagger…) back to Hérvé’s house. All the young guys I see around are remarkably fit, and I am developing a keen understanding of exactly why this is. I’m looking forward to tomorrow and perhaps a bit more passive perch from which to observe the proceedings.
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