Rangiroa
Rangiroa – The very name conjures images of languidly-swaying palms over white-sand beaches, friendly Polynesians selling black pearls, world famous swift-moving drift dives amid bevies of reef sharks and schooling pelagic fish, and a lagoon that seemingly stretches as wide as the ocean itself. Rangiroa’s aquamarine lagoon (1,020 square-km) is actually large enough that the island of Tahiti would fit inside it. It is not however the biggest in the South Pacific as many brochures claim. Ontong Java in the Solomon Islands encloses 1,400 square-km of lagoon. And Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands encloses a whopping 2,174 square-km of lagoon, making it the world’s biggest atoll. The name Rangiroa fittingly means “extended sky,” a moniker referencing its standing as the largest atoll in eastern Polynesia, and the fact that if one is lounging on any of the atoll’s interior beaches one can not see to the other side of the atoll.
In the early hours another brilliant sunrise, swollen with clouds and color, opened our day. Who could know what the future hours climatically hold, but the moment was steeped in tropical idealism. Before us were the outer motus of Rangiroa, verdant coconut-covered strips of coralline substrate. Between them were small, natural gaps in the reef. Most were too narrow to allow the passage of a ship. However, Rangiroa has two passes on its northeast side large enough to allow a vessel of our size to slip into its inner harbor. The National Geographic Endeavour was geared straight down the gullet of the more southerly of the two, Tiputa pass, a natural narrow entrance to the great atoll’s lagoon. The passage was choked with sizeable standing waves, a result of the impressive volume and speed of water moving through it, and our vessel was subjected to a significant crosswind. However, our captain negotiated the transit without incident or even a modicum of drama – a skilled piece of seamanship. Once inside we dropped anchor and made way to Tiputa, one of the atoll’s larger towns. Our Zodiacs were greeted by a local seaside string band, which unleashed a few easy, South Seas chords. From here we perused the makeshift kiosks for home-spun crafts, visited the local churches, or strolled along the lazy streets.
Our day, indeed our trip through French Polynesia, concluded with an expeditionary stop to the north side of Motu Nuhi Nuhi. It may have been our last snorkeling adventure, but it was definitely one of the most memorable. The fishes penchant for immediately swimming up to any and all of us who entered the water was a fairly clear indicator that they were used to free handouts. Numerous fish species, including schools of some pelagic fish, as well as an abundance of individual numbers of any and almost all species seen, lent this location an ichthyologic perspective not yet encountered on our voyage. The coral bommies were simply teeming with fish. Our time here was an evolution of slow and awed undersea discovery, a fitting conclusion to our South Pacific odyssey.
Rangiroa – The very name conjures images of languidly-swaying palms over white-sand beaches, friendly Polynesians selling black pearls, world famous swift-moving drift dives amid bevies of reef sharks and schooling pelagic fish, and a lagoon that seemingly stretches as wide as the ocean itself. Rangiroa’s aquamarine lagoon (1,020 square-km) is actually large enough that the island of Tahiti would fit inside it. It is not however the biggest in the South Pacific as many brochures claim. Ontong Java in the Solomon Islands encloses 1,400 square-km of lagoon. And Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands encloses a whopping 2,174 square-km of lagoon, making it the world’s biggest atoll. The name Rangiroa fittingly means “extended sky,” a moniker referencing its standing as the largest atoll in eastern Polynesia, and the fact that if one is lounging on any of the atoll’s interior beaches one can not see to the other side of the atoll.
In the early hours another brilliant sunrise, swollen with clouds and color, opened our day. Who could know what the future hours climatically hold, but the moment was steeped in tropical idealism. Before us were the outer motus of Rangiroa, verdant coconut-covered strips of coralline substrate. Between them were small, natural gaps in the reef. Most were too narrow to allow the passage of a ship. However, Rangiroa has two passes on its northeast side large enough to allow a vessel of our size to slip into its inner harbor. The National Geographic Endeavour was geared straight down the gullet of the more southerly of the two, Tiputa pass, a natural narrow entrance to the great atoll’s lagoon. The passage was choked with sizeable standing waves, a result of the impressive volume and speed of water moving through it, and our vessel was subjected to a significant crosswind. However, our captain negotiated the transit without incident or even a modicum of drama – a skilled piece of seamanship. Once inside we dropped anchor and made way to Tiputa, one of the atoll’s larger towns. Our Zodiacs were greeted by a local seaside string band, which unleashed a few easy, South Seas chords. From here we perused the makeshift kiosks for home-spun crafts, visited the local churches, or strolled along the lazy streets.
Our day, indeed our trip through French Polynesia, concluded with an expeditionary stop to the north side of Motu Nuhi Nuhi. It may have been our last snorkeling adventure, but it was definitely one of the most memorable. The fishes penchant for immediately swimming up to any and all of us who entered the water was a fairly clear indicator that they were used to free handouts. Numerous fish species, including schools of some pelagic fish, as well as an abundance of individual numbers of any and almost all species seen, lent this location an ichthyologic perspective not yet encountered on our voyage. The coral bommies were simply teeming with fish. Our time here was an evolution of slow and awed undersea discovery, a fitting conclusion to our South Pacific odyssey.
