Circumnavigation by Sea Kayak of Tangaroa
The Maohi tempole, Marae Taputapuatea glows beneath the sun on the island of Raiatea.
On the third day of our journey we approached the island’s southeast tip, where tropical rain forest grew right down to the edge of the lagoon. We had moved in closer to the island, hoping to spot a place to spend the night, when we saw an old stone wall ahead. We had come to Marae Taputapuatea, the largest and most important of the prehistoric Maohi stone temples. This was the marae from which all the great journeys throughout the South Pacific began, the epicenter of the widespread Polynesian religion and culture. Seafaring colonists paddled here from as far away as New Zealand and Indonesia to receive blessings and mana, the supernatural power and strength upon which the Maohi relied. In ancient times, travelers were expected to take a ceremonial stone from Raiatea and place it in the marae they would build in the new land they sought. Taputapuatea was originally dedicated to the creator god, Taaroa, but in the 13th century, the fearsome Oro, god of war, gained ascendancy there. Human sacrifice and cannibalism were practiced, much to the horror of early European visitors. Michael and I arose early the next morning and walked down the beach toward the temple grounds just as the sun was rising. We entered a soccer-field-sized courtyard of polished cobblestones. At its center stood a massive obelisk of volcanic rock, and it was easy to envision hapless captives being dragged to the monolith for sacrifice. Our visit to Taputapuatea had a strange, lingering effect on everyone, and it was a quieter group that resumed paddling along the shoreline of Raiatea.
Later that day we rounded Point Tauere, on the southwest corner of Raiatea, and continued along the island’s mountainous west coast. A range of jagged peaks stood between us and the trade winds. Numerous waterfalls cascaded down steep, verdant slopes. At day’s end, the great equatorial sun appeared to sink into a crimson sea.
Late the next afternoon, we happened upon a classic south sea island vision of paradise. A cathedral grove of palm trees towered above the lagoon from a little spit of land protruding out from the main island. A rare sandy beach, a place to slide our heavily loaded kayaks up above the tide line with relative ease, beckoned invitingly. We landed and made camp.
Michael chuckled when one of the numerous land crabs scuttling around camp stole a potato chip. A moment later, a rat dashed out of the jungle and snatched the prize away from the crab. A pecking order obviously existed in the rain forest, with the prize going to the bigger and stronger rat. Everyone lingered on the beach after dinner, gazing up at the southern sky. Orion appeared tumbled on his side, like a vanquished warrior. The mystical Southern Cross, and other constellations not visible in the northern hemisphere, twinkled down at us. No wind disturbed the mirrored surface of the lagoon that reflected the countless stars.
The next morning, Michael and I split off from our companions to investigate two distant motus. The fisherman from the pension had assured us that because these islands were situated near Passe Rautoanu, the snorkeling would be magnifique. We approached the first of the mini isles through a labyrinth of rainbow-hued coral formations populated by schools of iridescent green and magenta fish. Michael lost no time pulling on his fins and mask and splashing over the side of his kayak into the colorful universe below.
Tahaa, known primarily for vanilla farming and pearl diving, is only rarely visited by tourists. Leo’s charts revealed several deep and inviting bays that stretched far back into the mountains along its southern coast.
I decided to paddle toward the farther island, where waves broke along the shore. Surf was an unusual sight in the lagoon, but there it was, rolling in through the break in the barrier reef. I recalled the fisherman’s warning about the passes, where tidal currents surged through narrow channels like a whitewater river. I resisted the temptation to paddle out into the surf zone alone.
Instead, I changed direction and approached the leeward side of the motu. There, I discovered a coral sand beach covered with big seashells, something we hadn’t seen in the inner lagoon. Although the waves were much reduced in size from the outside, they wrapped around the island and broke gently on shore. By turning parallel to the beach and allowing the shore break to bring me sideways up onto the sand, I snatched some football-sized shells without even getting out of my kayak.
After a while my reverie was interrupted by a now familiar cry: “Wasa Nui!” Michael, having spotted me playing at the edge of the surf zone, paddled over to join the fun. Cautiously, we proceeded around to the seaward side of the motu, where five- to six-foot waves rolled in from the sea and broke offshore. “Tsunami Ranger time!” I said. Even with our fully loaded boats, we managed to catch a few waves, a pleasant diversion after days of flatwater paddling. The next morning we reached the northern end of Raiatea, pointed like a Maohi spear at the smaller Ile Tahaa, three kilometers to the north. Tahaa, known primarily for vanilla farming and pearl diving, is only rarely visited by tourists. Leo’s charts revealed several deep and inviting bays that stretched far back into the mountains along its southern coast.
No one thought it was necessary to secure the gear on our decks or establish a game plan before setting off across the open water between the two islands. Perhaps we had grown complacent from days of paddling in the protected lagoon. Turning our backs on square-topped Mont Tapioi, we set off for Tahaa, leaving Raiatea behind.
On the third day of our journey we approached the island’s southeast tip, where tropical rain forest grew right down to the edge of the lagoon. We had moved in closer to the island, hoping to spot a place to spend the night, when we saw an old stone wall ahead. We had come to Marae Taputapuatea, the largest and most important of the prehistoric Maohi stone temples. This was the marae from which all the great journeys throughout the South Pacific began, the epicenter of the widespread Polynesian religion and culture. Seafaring colonists paddled here from as far away as New Zealand and Indonesia to receive blessings and mana, the supernatural power and strength upon which the Maohi relied. In ancient times, travelers were expected to take a ceremonial stone from Raiatea and place it in the marae they would build in the new land they sought. Taputapuatea was originally dedicated to the creator god, Taaroa, but in the 13th century, the fearsome Oro, god of war, gained ascendancy there. Human sacrifice and cannibalism were practiced, much to the horror of early European visitors. Michael and I arose early the next morning and walked down the beach toward the temple grounds just as the sun was rising. We entered a soccer-field-sized courtyard of polished cobblestones. At its center stood a massive obelisk of volcanic rock, and it was easy to envision hapless captives being dragged to the monolith for sacrifice. Our visit to Taputapuatea had a strange, lingering effect on everyone, and it was a quieter group that resumed paddling along the shoreline of Raiatea.
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