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Aug. 28-Sept. 5: Mopelia Atoll, Society Island Group
Last stop in French Polynesia
Population: 10 (down from 100 after the '98
cyclone)
Area: 4 square kilometers
Latitude: 16?50' South Longitude:
154? West
STORY TOOLS 
More from Other NewsOn August 28, we left Maupiti behind and set off for Mopelia Atoll, 100 miles to the west. There was only a light breeze, but the night was beautifully clear and balmy, with the first quarter moon setting into the sea before us. Majestic swells, large but widely spaced, lifted us high, and lowered us gently back down. As far as we could see, the ocean glimmered, deep and tranquil. For motoring, the conditions were ideal.
Twenty hours later, we had spotted Mopelia Atoll and were keeping a sharp eye out for the pass. It was tiny, and we were nearly on top of it before we spotted it. Evidently, currents in the pass are tricky and unpredictable, ranging from two to eight knots. So far, no one has been able to determine a pattern. Adverse weather conditions render the pass untenable, but on this day, conditions were benign. We approached cautiously, and made it in without incident. The current seemed to be running at about four knots. The three-cylinder, 40 HP Yanmar engine we put in two years ago-up from our old two-cylinder 25 HP Volvo-just purred us on in there.
Well, what do you know? We knew that our friends Enno and Monica on 'Auweia' had made it through the pass before us, that 'Nin' was a bit behind us, and that there might be another boat or two, but there were eight boats anchored in the corner of the lagoon. As soon as we arrived, friends from two boats dinghied over to say hello. They were off to the beach, and took Max and Gina with them on their exploration. They came back hours later, sandy and happy, full of news about the beach critters, and bearing heart of palm. The locals at the far end of the lagoon had given permission to cut down some palm trees, as they were overgrown and needed thinning.
That evening, we all got together for a beach barbeque, featuring fresh shark. Mike on 'Nin' had caught it in the pass, and we barbequed it in several different sauces. We also had fresh heart of palm salad, and a variety of other dishes, potluck style. The main entertainment that night was the hermit crabs. These fellows were awesome! We have never seen any so big or so bright. They clambered about, hauling shells up to five inches in diameter, their vivid red bodies making a sharp contrast to the white sand and green trees. Their fearsome claws belied their timid nature. Once we realized how shy they were, we picked them up easily, set them down in the sand, and watched their slow rush back to the protection of the palm groves.
The only downside to the evening was revealed the next morning, when Lisa awoke to find a large, bubbling group of blisters on the back of her thigh, and a matching group on the back of her calf, as though some highly acidic creature had been crushed there. We went to visit 'Sleopmouch,' where a number of dinghies were gathered. Nobody knew what it might be, although one of the locals later suspected a poisonous centipede, and recommended careful treatment until it healed. It was a bit spooky at the time.
While there, we met Kalami, one of the few who had decided to return to the atoll after the devastation of the 1998 cyclone. He lives at the south end of the atoll, with his wife Sophie, and their toddler, Tetianuie. They make their living fishing, and supplying fresh lobster to buyers from Papeete. Every month, a vessel comes to collect the lobsters, which are stored live in large, submerged cages in the lagoon.
Kalami is highly hospitable, and had just been delivering fresh
terns' eggs to delighted cruisers in the bay. The eggs were small,
spotted, but very rich, and we baked the best cake we have ever baked
with them. Kalami had collected them from the motu near the pass. We
paid a visit to it before we left, and found that it was covered with
birds and eggs. There were thousands of eggs, and thousands of birds.
As we approached, an advance guard of birds dove at our heads, stopping
short by several feet. We moved cautiously forward, taking care not to
touch anything, and not to step on any eggs. As we moved through the
area, the birds left their eggs, then resettled upon them once we had
passed. There were no nests at all, just birds and eggs on bare ground.
We also saw boobies and frigate birds there. Max commented in his
journal, "There were millions of chicks, and so many birds that you
couldn't see the sky."
Late in the morning, we were back at the pass again, this time with
Monica and Enno of "Auweia," and Kalami. Kalami had kindly offered to
take us out in his launch to dive the wreck of the 'Seeadler', a German
World War sailing raider wrecked in 1917 while attempting the pass.
We're not sure of the story of Count von Luckner and his exploits, but
one version is that the 'Seeadler' had been damaged by a pursuing
warship, and hoped to gain refuge in Mopelia. Instead, it hit the reef
that borders the pass, and was abandoned. Most of the crew made it
through the pass to shore, but the captain and a select bunch took the
ship's lifeboat and hightailed it out of there before the pursuing
vessel reached them. They made it to Fiji, where they captured another
vessel, and resumed their attacks on French and British shipping. The
wreck is widely scattered on the reef, in depths of 10 to 30 feet. In
the clear water, we could see the great canon, anchors, anchor winch,
both steam engines, boilers, and large sections of hull plating almost
completely overgrown by reef. The 'Seeadler' had come so close to the
pass, yet been unable to make it through.
That evening, we were once again underwater, this time for a night
dive to catch lobsters. We had moved down to the south anchorage,
Kalami's home base, along with 'Auweia.' Max and Gina stayed aboard
with Monica, while Lisa, Brian and Enno went to the southernmost
perimeter with Kalami to dive for lobsters. The night was black,
moonless, and windy-too windy to be outside the atoll. We could hear
the big breakers pounding on the reef. The idea was that the lobsters
would climb up through the reef into the protected lagoon to feed under
cover of darkness. They would be everywhere. We would paralyze them
with our lights, dive down into the shallow water, and snatch them up.
Lobsters barbequed, lobsters in cream sauce, lobsters al diablo: we
were so excited.
Alas, we saw not a one, but still the night was an adventure. It was
our first night dive, and like many firsts, we will never forget it.
Everything was changed by the absence of daylight. The colors of the
coral were more subdued, but glimmered and flashed in the artificial
light of our torches. Fish bold by day were skittish by night, and
darted into the coral at the first sign of light or movement. Our
shadows were dark, spooky, startling, and we tried to keep them behind
us to avoid alerting the invisible lobsters. Even Kalami, who had gone
off on his own, did not see a single flash of feeler or tail, so we
suspect that they were all dining elsewhere that night. Out of the
water, the wind was cold. We used strong lights to maneuver our way
through the coral heads. Once we were clear, Kalami hit the throttle
and we blasted across the lagoon. We were wet, cold, and lobsterless,
but felt privileged to have made the attempt.
The next day, we hiked the beach area, and then spent a very special evening ashore. Kalami and his wife had invited everyone to come in for dinner. Most of the boats from the north anchorage moved to the south end, and we had crew from 11 different boats -- about 35 people -- in attendance. As is customary, we all brought our own plates, utensils, glasses and drinks, plus a creation to share. Our contribution was tern egg chocolate cake. It was a potluck, except that Kalami had said they would provide the seafood. The seafood turned out to be fresh lobster, which was scattered upon the table as though it were confetti.
We all gathered round, said a prayer, and commenced with the feast. The lobsters had all been split and barbequed, and there were one or two for each person. Kalami must have raided his export stash. It may be that cruisers used to eat out of cans, but these days it seems there is a superb cook on every vessel, with a well-stocked galley from which to create. Simple beach barbeques can outdo the finest restaurants. We had a marvelous meal, followed by music and singing.
We spent a few more days at Mopelia, waiting, as usual, for a good weather window. We wanted wind, but not too much of it, for the 425-mile dash to Rarotonga. We left in the middle of the afternoon, with a good southeast breeze that lasted 12 hours. Then the wind died, and we motored the rest of the way, another 60 hours, to Rarotonga. We were looking forward to the big city after so many weeks in remote places. We had heard that the shopping was excellent, and that prices would be very low compared to French Polynesia. We also wanted to meet the Cook Islanders and spend some time exploring their island. Almost four months had passed since we entered French Polynesia, and were ready for a change.
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