As someone who has spent a considerable amount of time in small boats, I have accumulated a fair amount of good advice on the topic of boats and outboards. Most of this advice was passed on to me during the early years by people with much experience, advice that seemed worth hanging on to and putting to practice. It has been an often painful experience (at times quite literally so) riding in said small boats in Polynesia and witness the near-total absence of such boating sages, judging from the operating protocols followed here. I muse on these things as Teri is whipping the 16-foot Boston Whaler copy toward the Manihi pass over the choppy seas in the lagoon. The 50 hp outboard is wailing at full throttle. My seat on the boat, long since torn off its fastenings by this abuse, is bouncing in the air together with my behind, and I have a hard time figuring out whether the boat might mercifully delaminate and sink before my liver and kidneys have completed trading places.
It seems ever thus. You shove off the dock and the throttle opens to full. This is despite the fact that a) the boats are worn to bits way before their time, b) said boats are the basis for the livelihood for the operators, and c) gas costs $6.24 per gallon. Throttling back some 20% would save your boat, a bundle of fuel, and get you there just a teensy bit later. I don’t think this lecture will work with Teri, however, and, given that attempting to speak would just lead to tongue injury under the present conditions anyway, I just shut up and hang on.
What comes to the rescue is the fact that even tuna can’t keep up with this pace, and soon after we go through the pass to the open sea Teri slows down to start fishing. It is five o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve come to learn about fishing outside the reef in Manihi. I’ve put together most of the story studying Teri’s gear as he loads it in the boat; a couple of large plastic spools holding thick monofilament, two small buoys and a bucket of assorted lures. The lures are a combination of a steel plug with a rubber squid-looking skirt trailing a pair of large hooks and thoroughly modern plastic affairs that look like a small fish. In a fit of irony I spot one of these made by a Finnish company called Rapala and relate this to Teri, who is convinced that Rapala is some big Pacific game fish instead of the last name of some guy in the far reaches of the Great Frozen North.
It seems ever thus. You shove off the dock and the throttle opens to full. This is despite the fact that a) the boats are worn to bits way before their time, b) said boats are the basis for the livelihood for the operators, and c) gas costs $6.24 per gallon. Throttling back some 20% would save your boat, a bundle of fuel, and get you there just a teensy bit later. I don’t think this lecture will work with Teri, however, and, given that attempting to speak would just lead to tongue injury under the present conditions anyway, I just shut up and hang on.
What comes to the rescue is the fact that even tuna can’t keep up with this pace, and soon after we go through the pass to the open sea Teri slows down to start fishing. It is five o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve come to learn about fishing outside the reef in Manihi. I’ve put together most of the story studying Teri’s gear as he loads it in the boat; a couple of large plastic spools holding thick monofilament, two small buoys and a bucket of assorted lures. The lures are a combination of a steel plug with a rubber squid-looking skirt trailing a pair of large hooks and thoroughly modern plastic affairs that look like a small fish. In a fit of irony I spot one of these made by a Finnish company called Rapala and relate this to Teri, who is convinced that Rapala is some big Pacific game fish instead of the last name of some guy in the far reaches of the Great Frozen North.
Trolling is trolling, though, and anyone who fishes recreationally in the coastal US waters for tuna knows how to do this. Bring the boat up to about 8 knots of speed, put out the lure and some 100’ of line and hope for the best. One big difference, though. This boat does not bristle with thousands of dollars worth of rods, reels, outriggers or beer can holders. Instead, Teri slips a loop of the monofilament around a finger with the reel at his feet and one of the buoys at the ready just in case he should catch something so big he just can’t hold on. In that case you quickly tie the monofilament to the buoy, heave it all overboard and let the fish fight the buoy until it is tired and ready to be reeled in. Oh, and there is no “fighting chair”.
So we troll. Teri looks around for birds, finds a couple of feeding flocks and heads toward them. Alas, it is a quiet day, and there is nothing to do but to enjoy the colors of the approaching sunset as we splash around in the 2-meter swell. A couple of lure changes doesn’t improve our luck and, when the light has failed, Teri packs it in and I brace for the return trip to camp.
How old is the practice of trolling in Polynesia I have to wonder. The big thing is the speed, you see – troll too slow and the fast moving tuna won’t confuse your lure for something tasty. And as much as I admire the paddling prowess of the modern Tahitian guys, I have a hard time seeing them keeping up 6+ knots for long periods of time. Maybe. I will endeavor to find out, particularly as some ancient hooks I’ve seen at Harvard’s Peabody Museum look an awfully lot like something you might use for trolling.
With this outing my stay in Manihi comes to a close. Before the fishing expedition I take one last walk to town, hail a passing boat and cross to the other side of the pass. I follow the road toward the airport, taking leisurely side tours alternately to the ocean and lagoon sides of the narrow motu. The landscape is dominated by a huge coconut walk that stretches on for some three miles on the lagoon side of the road. I wander on the grounds of a couple of large closed and abandoned pearl farms on the lagoon side, realizing that the mountain of plastic crap left behind in and out of the water must be huge indeed!
My walk terminates at the luxury resort right next to the airport, and I indulge in a couple of hours of swimming, lounging, and a nice, crisp poolside G&T. This is the other side of the fence, so to speak, and looks every bit the tropical paradise seen in Polynesia travel brochures. I am left scratching my head, though, wondering exactly what do the visitors do in Manihi (at about $ 400 per night) after the eat/sleep/swim/sunbathe options have been exhausted?
This morning I strike camp, say goodbyes and am chased to the airport by another pretty vicious squall that luckily allows me to reach the airport before unleashing the torrent. Now it is Papeete for a night in a hotel, and off to Tubuai the next afternoon. I must admit I am looking forward to a real bed with real sheets, and plan to eat a whole mountain of fruit for breakfast! I’m also looking forward to a different social interaction, the difference between visiting with Maohi and Popaa now being clearly defined in my mind. I am very grateful to my host, and am enchanted by his island. He is realizing his vision of the deserted island getaway, but I am here looking for the people!
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