A couple of busy days have kept me from writing, but today a series of very impressive squalls with lots of lightning and torrential tropical rain are keeping me indoors. The rain started last night, and this morning there are deep puddles of standing water around the village. Some dramatic lightning strikes around the house shook things up, and the cisterns filled and overflowed. When it rains the Paumotu are happy, because that is their main water supply. There are wells, but the water in them is brackish and not really used unless the need is dire indeed.
I realize I have been writing a whole lot about spear fishing, and it is time to shift gears. Still, I have continued to accompany Hérvé daily for his fishing, as it really is part of food shopping here. He is also traveling to Papeete on Sunday to see his kids there, and is busy stashing fish in the freezer to bring with him for the clan. He certainly isn’t alone in that behavior; a lot of people bring a cooler as part of their luggage check-in at Air Tahiti and all of them are full of fish. The same coolers make the return trip full of meat and veggies, so there is this constant stream of food in and out of the islands that bypasses the commercial sector entirely. Family ties are incredibly important here, and this is one of the forms by which the family members look after each other. I should add that the family notion extends far beyond the parent/child units, and includes brothers, nieces, cousins etc. Indeed the term cousin is used in a very liberal way here, nobody makes a distinction between your aunt's daughter and a second cousin thrice removed. Family is family.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I spent a day with Hérvé’s uncle Aniki (pictured above) and his friend Florest gill netting on the shallow reef. The site is the shallow backreef I described in a previous post (Feb. 9th) adjacent to their beach hut at the mouth of the pass. The neighboring picture shows the pass with Tiputa to the left, and you can see the shallow reef as the gray zone between the white surf at the reef crest and the shoreline. (Aniki's house is just above and to the right of the big breaking swell nearest the pass, the first building off the road coming around the large coconut walk (or grove) toward the pass from the right). We meet them at 0630 at the hut where they are just finishing folding the nylon monofilament net for the morning’s set.
[The Tiputa Pass]
A few more words about Aniki and Florest (pictured at left) should be said here. Both gents look like they were sculpted from the roots of the earth. They are probably in their late 50’s but in a way seem completely ageless; powerfully built men with faces that look perpetually serene. Aniki in particular would blend right in with the Rasta community in Jamaica. Having spent quite a bit time there and having met some of the bredren (brethren in Patois) under similar circumstances, the big differences are language and the cap; religious Rastas keep their hair covered. Oh yes, and the similarity extends to smoking the herb (Rasta word), as there is clearly some serious paka (Hawaiian term for the same) being combusted in the hut. Not that this is a rare thing in Polynesia - paka is really wide spread.Aniki and Florest both work with wood and coconut fibers to produce sculpture and jewelry, this in addition to fishing. Oh yes, and they make the didgeridoos and flutes around the place, primarily for their own use in the hut. At times they seem to retreat in almost a trance as they are harmonizing together and something else beyond and out of reach for us uninitiated. Though the language barrier keeps us from talking about much beyond fishing, they seem, I dunno, kind of sagely.
Setting the net is simple enough. Finding a big piece of rock next to the coral rubble beach, Aniki strides through the thigh-deep water toward the reef crest and 2 meter tall surf, ducking down at times to tuck the net behind some particular rock. The back reef resembles a swiftly flowing river because of all the water the surf is spilling over the reef. I follow him, struggling for balance while leaning into the current and searching for a footing. As the net approaches the reef crest and the strongest current, Aniki changes course and lays down the last 15 meters almost parallel to the reef. The operation is over in just a few minutes, and we repair to shore to wait. It is a good time to talk, and I record an interview with Aniki about his methods of fishing and the changes he has witnessed in the years past. Interestingly, though, he echoes other statements I’ve heard that the fish in the pass aren’t as numerous as they once were. The fishing in the shallow reef by net he says to be just as good as it ever was.
Every once in a while Aniki wades into the water some 40 meters upstream of the net and slowly walks toward the net while tossing rock around him. As they are chased into the net, I can see the sleek forms of fish dart from around rocks and shoot downstream toward the net. It is clear that they perceive the net, as most of them change course to swim parallel to it in the swiftly flowing water. Not all are as lucky, and every time Aniki goes on his fish herding missions he walks back along the net to check it. By the way, I should add that he walks barefoot. I repeat, he walks barefoot! For those of you who have explored shallow reef environments and coral rock and rubble shores, this will probably produce mental images of bloodied, mangled toes and lacerated soles, subsequent inevitable infection, gangrene, double amputation and a life hobbling about on crutches. Aniki, however, is unperturbed by such visions, and I refrain myself from asking to inspect the steel reinforcements that surely must be there. Then again, for a guy sculpted from the roots of the earth this must be completely normal.
So we spend the morning chatting, throwing rocks and inspecting the net. At around 10:00 Florest fetches a couple of coconuts, Aniki slices up a fish for some poisson cru with lime and a baguette materializes from someplace – cuisine maison for these guys. Oh, and Aniki takes a long pull on a bottle full of… fafaru. Characteristically, he offers it to me with a twinkle in his eye, but I simply don’t have the constitution to accept.
The morning isn’t exactly a bust, but the catch is not overwhelming. There is a single gorgeous surgeonfish (Ume) that Aniki carries back to the shore - in his mouth – for my viewing pleasure. I take some pictures and we return the fish to the water. Otherwise, the catch is some dozen parrotfish and mullets. The net comes up around 11:00 and Hérvé and I head out to do some spear fishing for the afternoon, intent on returning in the evening for the night set of the net.We’re back at half past seven, and walk to this nice looking house a stone’s throw from the hut. This, I’m told, is Aniki’s house. Ok, so this is new information I try to square with the previous image I had. This is not the first time I find myself wondering exactly how is it that some of the people make their living around here. But I digress; there is a thread here that runs through the culture, the economy and the politics of modern Polynesia that warrants its own future entry on this blog.
Right, so on the patio Aniki and Florest are finishing folding the net, and we follow them on the dark beach. This time the net is set (with the help of a flashlight) some three hundred meters further away from the pass, and we sit down on the beach to wait. The moon rises early and full over the tall surf in magnificent orange before brightening to the silver glow that whitens the coral rubble beach and makes the breaking surf sparkle. I wade into the water and stand transfixed by the moment; the surf, the warm wind, the water and the sky combine and the island feels suspended somehow, immersed in these elements in a way that seems almost mystical. As I soak it all in, Aniki resumes his routine of checking the net, and this time the fish come in much more quickly. Nae nae (a small jack), vete (goatfish) and anae (mullet) make up the most of the catch. Aniki calls an end to fishing after about two hours and some twenty fish. You take what you need, you can come back when the need arises. He gives us half a dozen fish that Hérvé later shares with the family next door. We say our goodbyes, and make our way back to Hérvé’s house. It being now several hours past sunset, we quickly retire. Falling asleep I can hear the surf above the rustling of the coconut palms outside my open window.
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