Niue
By the time the sun had lit up our morning, the National Geographic Endeavour was squarely off the western coast of Niue, one of the largest upthrust coral atolls in the world, and one of the smallest nations. It is a makatea, a raised coral island whose initial great construction was the work of tiny coral polyps, but whose re-raising above the waves was the result of ancient, slow-moving, geologic forces. Thusly, it has few beaches and no rivers, but many caves, chasms, ravines, and gullies around the coast. There’s a fringing reef around much of the island, but no lagoon. The island’s limestone is a sharp and difficult terrain to traverse. It is also quite porous, causing rainfall to simply disappear on contact. At various points around the island, fresh water can be seen percolating into the sea. Although there is no permanent surface water, the island has a huge water lens. Any snorkeler or diver will pass through this near the sea’s edge.
Before the call to breakfast, Expedition Leader Tim Soper announced over the public address system that there was a whale in front of our vessel’s bow. We wasted little time in slinging binoculars around our necks, arming ourselves with photographic equipment, and charging to the ship’s forward viewing areas. A lone humpback whale held us transfixed for roughly half an hour diving and surfacing, throwing its flukes high in the air and performing a series of spectacular acrobatic maneuvers. It slapped its long pectoral flippers repeatedly upon the water’s surface, rolled its massive frame a few times, and concluded with a series of breaches. Breaking the surface in momentous fashion by launching the forward portion of its thirty-ton, blubbery body well above the water line, it came down with splashes reminiscent of the detonations of depth charges. Breakfast would just have to wait or be skipped altogether. This was a display to behold.
Before the sun had risen high enough to scorch the brilliantly clear day, we were standing ashore on Niue’s largest pier, just abreast of the island’s principle town, Alofi. Niue has much to offer, though our choices of activities were of a curiously diverse array. A few of us opted for a chance to swing a few clubs along the fairways of Niue’s nine and only links. The greens were fairly obvious, though the fairways appeared to merge almost seamlessly with the native low-lying, grassy foliage. A few of us opted for birding with onboard naturalist Art Cooley. A hike into the island’s interior revealed not only a tropical habitat for birds, but for numerous insect and plant species as well. It was as much a natural history trek as it was a birding excursion. Most of us, however, chose to engage in some sort of water-born activity, for the waters around Niue are a world-class, crystal-clear realm, hosting a menagerie of marine life.
All snorkeling excursions were preceded by a visit to the local Noni (the Polynesian name for the Indian Mulberry plant) factory. Noni juice is the island’s principle export. This fruit from the Morinda Citrifolia plant is pressed and stored for a few months before being and bottled and shipped as a tonic for “whatever may ail you.” Its health benefits are still the subject of scientific inquiry, but the locals swear by it as a virtual panacea that boosts the immune system and helps stem the tide of any infection. The plantation, one of the largest in the South Pacific, boasts over 100 acres of Noni trees. We all entered the processing plant with some trepidation. Even outside the main doors the unpleasant odor of fermenting Noni hit the olfactory sense with the force and cutting bite of a hatchet. The smell was akin to that of rotting, moldy cheese. The bravest of us even sampled some Noni juice. Most of us moved with some haste for our date with the underwater world.
Outside the pretty little bay at Avatele on Niue’s southwest coast there are several popular dive and snorkel sites, including The Ridges and Snake Gully. The latter was our goal. From the boat ramp at Avatele we snorkeled out to Snake Gully for an encounter with black-and-gray striped katuali, sea kraits. They are highly venomous but utterly docile by nature and therefore, hardly a danger. Against cave-riddled and coral-covered subsurface topography, they moved gracefully through the water, propelling themselves with their vertically-flattened tails in fluid, languid S-motions. They would occasionally swim to the surface for a few breaths of air before descending again to the depths of our vision. Our time with them was a study in new understandings about these remarkable yet generally misunderstood aquatic creatures, and an exercise in overcoming misplaced fears.
By the time the sun had lit up our morning, the National Geographic Endeavour was squarely off the western coast of Niue, one of the largest upthrust coral atolls in the world, and one of the smallest nations. It is a makatea, a raised coral island whose initial great construction was the work of tiny coral polyps, but whose re-raising above the waves was the result of ancient, slow-moving, geologic forces. Thusly, it has few beaches and no rivers, but many caves, chasms, ravines, and gullies around the coast. There’s a fringing reef around much of the island, but no lagoon. The island’s limestone is a sharp and difficult terrain to traverse. It is also quite porous, causing rainfall to simply disappear on contact. At various points around the island, fresh water can be seen percolating into the sea. Although there is no permanent surface water, the island has a huge water lens. Any snorkeler or diver will pass through this near the sea’s edge.
Before the call to breakfast, Expedition Leader Tim Soper announced over the public address system that there was a whale in front of our vessel’s bow. We wasted little time in slinging binoculars around our necks, arming ourselves with photographic equipment, and charging to the ship’s forward viewing areas. A lone humpback whale held us transfixed for roughly half an hour diving and surfacing, throwing its flukes high in the air and performing a series of spectacular acrobatic maneuvers. It slapped its long pectoral flippers repeatedly upon the water’s surface, rolled its massive frame a few times, and concluded with a series of breaches. Breaking the surface in momentous fashion by launching the forward portion of its thirty-ton, blubbery body well above the water line, it came down with splashes reminiscent of the detonations of depth charges. Breakfast would just have to wait or be skipped altogether. This was a display to behold.
Before the sun had risen high enough to scorch the brilliantly clear day, we were standing ashore on Niue’s largest pier, just abreast of the island’s principle town, Alofi. Niue has much to offer, though our choices of activities were of a curiously diverse array. A few of us opted for a chance to swing a few clubs along the fairways of Niue’s nine and only links. The greens were fairly obvious, though the fairways appeared to merge almost seamlessly with the native low-lying, grassy foliage. A few of us opted for birding with onboard naturalist Art Cooley. A hike into the island’s interior revealed not only a tropical habitat for birds, but for numerous insect and plant species as well. It was as much a natural history trek as it was a birding excursion. Most of us, however, chose to engage in some sort of water-born activity, for the waters around Niue are a world-class, crystal-clear realm, hosting a menagerie of marine life.
All snorkeling excursions were preceded by a visit to the local Noni (the Polynesian name for the Indian Mulberry plant) factory. Noni juice is the island’s principle export. This fruit from the Morinda Citrifolia plant is pressed and stored for a few months before being and bottled and shipped as a tonic for “whatever may ail you.” Its health benefits are still the subject of scientific inquiry, but the locals swear by it as a virtual panacea that boosts the immune system and helps stem the tide of any infection. The plantation, one of the largest in the South Pacific, boasts over 100 acres of Noni trees. We all entered the processing plant with some trepidation. Even outside the main doors the unpleasant odor of fermenting Noni hit the olfactory sense with the force and cutting bite of a hatchet. The smell was akin to that of rotting, moldy cheese. The bravest of us even sampled some Noni juice. Most of us moved with some haste for our date with the underwater world.
Outside the pretty little bay at Avatele on Niue’s southwest coast there are several popular dive and snorkel sites, including The Ridges and Snake Gully. The latter was our goal. From the boat ramp at Avatele we snorkeled out to Snake Gully for an encounter with black-and-gray striped katuali, sea kraits. They are highly venomous but utterly docile by nature and therefore, hardly a danger. Against cave-riddled and coral-covered subsurface topography, they moved gracefully through the water, propelling themselves with their vertically-flattened tails in fluid, languid S-motions. They would occasionally swim to the surface for a few breaths of air before descending again to the depths of our vision. Our time with them was a study in new understandings about these remarkable yet generally misunderstood aquatic creatures, and an exercise in overcoming misplaced fears.
