Aitu Island
During the night the National Geographic Endeavour beat a westerly course through a steady stream of rolling swells – long-period, perfectly-humped, and swollen with power. In the morning the swells still streamed forward, timed like baseballs from a pitching machine – rounded and cadenced. A tropical sky, heavy with nimbus and stratus clouds, and shot through with strands of blue, was lit up by the rising sun. It was a breathtaking palette, a textbook South Seas sunrise, accented by the silhouettes of a few of the taller coconut palms and Cassurina trees on Aitu Island.
Our vessel, in waters too deep to anchor, drifted just a few cables off Atiu’s northwest shore. The National Geographic Endeavour’s fleet of Zodiacs was deployed to bridge the short gap to the island. All of these rubber crafts entered the island’s breakwater, Taunganui Harbor, through commands relayed by naturalist Brent Houston, acting as “air traffic controller” from his perch above the landing site. The prevailing swells hammered the concrete wall’s exterior with impressive force, often spilling over into the harbor in mini Niagara-like cascades of seawater.
Our first experience of the Cook Islands would be picked up through the sense of sound. Fair maidens, clad in brightly-colored sarongs, sounded the bellows of the Triton trumpet shell from strategic points along the small harbor. Next came the rapid beating of wood drums, a traditional island welcome. After landing upon a concrete slipway, we passed a modern incarnation of the ancient island warrior, who barked an age-old island challenge, a vestige of Aitu’s colorful and bloody history. The Aituans were the greatest warriors of the Cook Islands and specialized in creating havoc on all their neighboring islands. Having run the one-man gauntlet, we boarded local trucks for excursions through Aitu time, history, and nostalgia.
Aitu Island is the third-largest of the Cook Islands. It is a makatea, a raised plateau of ancient coralline limestone. Unlike all the other islands in the Cooks, including Mangaia with its similar geography, the villages on Aitu are not on the coast. The five villages are close together in the hilly center of the island. Prior to the introduction of Christianity, the people lived spread out around the lowlands where taro is grown. When the missionaries persuaded the people to come upland and move the original settlements together, they effectively created a single village. The island’s administrative center and the Cook Islands Christian Church (CICC) form the hub, and the villages radiate out from this focal point on five roads, like the five arms of a sea star.
All vehicles - a few vans and some open-air trucks with rudimentary wooden benches - departed the landing area, and fanned out into individual paths of discovery. Our aims and expectations this morning were diverse. However, Aitu is aptly suited to meet the varying tropical interests of a group as large as ours. The island has an enormous amount to offer visitors – there are some fine beaches, superb scenery, ancient marae (pre-European religious meeting grounds), and the makatea is riddled with limestone caves, some of which were used as ancient burial sites and are now home to scores of endemic Aituan swiftlets. Aitu’s traditional name is ‘Enua Manu,’ which can be translated to ‘Land of Birds’ or ‘Land of Insects’ – so named, one legend relates, because nothing but birds and insects lived there when it was first discovered. One historical highlight was a short visit to the site where Capt. James Cook, credited with European discovery of Aitu, landed on April 3, 1777. Following our excusions, all vehicles marshaled in the late morning at Aitu Villas, a beautiful compound of A-frame chalets, trimmed gardens, and an open-air restaurant made from local materials, owned and operated by our local tour coordinator. Aituans performed traditional songs and dances, while we sampled an array of local fare, including taro, cooked taro leaves, and purple sweet potatoes.
During lunch the National Geographic Endeavour repositioned to Takutea Island. Clearly visible from Aitu, the small sandy cay of Takutea is only 6m above sea level at its highest point and has an area of just 1.2km. James Cook visited Takutea in 1777, shortly after he left Aitu, and paused to gather food for the livestock on his ship. Today Takutea is unpopulated and rarely visited, except for a yearly expedition from Atiu to gather coconuts and by the occasional fisherman who seldom steps ashore. Many seabirds, including frigates, tropicbirds, and red-footed boobies nest on the island. To protect these breeding birds, Takutea was set up as a wildlife sanctuary in the 1950s by the Aituan chiefs on behalf of the people of Aitu.
From a distance it was clear that the island’s reef was awash in sizeable breakers, the end result of the prevailing large and potent swells. The island has no natural or man-made channel to its beaches. The Zodiac drivers would have to rely on deft handling, seasoned seamanship, and cautionary, yet speedy, well-timed approaches to land safely on the edge of the reef flat. To this end our vessel had enlisted the aid of a half-dozen or so strapping Aituans to catch and turn the Zodiacs. Their knowledge and strength was greatly needed and much appreciated. The landing coupled with a rite-of-passage jaunt across a hundred meters or so of reef, was our passport to an unspoiled tropical isle.
Seabirds circled the island in profusion. Seabirds in such numbers had not yet been encountered on our voyage, and were unlikely to be again. Ashore we broke into exploration groups. Some of us beach-combed the fractured shoreline, while others struck off on a bush-whacking trek across the island. It was in the island’s center that nesting red-footed boobies were encountered in the trees, while harassing frigates whirled overhead. A few red-tailed tropicbirds nested quietly on the ground under some low bushes. The cross-island hike ended on the far shore. From here, and around its southern reaches, the large rollers ended their travels and died spectacularly against Takutea’s fringing reef, expelling their energy as glorious rolling tubes. Offshore winds held them up and steepened their faces. Any surfer would have drooled at the chance to ride one; they were almost perfect. This afternoon it wasn’t just the faces of the waves that showed flawlessly, it was the naked expression and textbook execution of a raw expedition stop that sent us back to the mother ship grinning widely.
During the night the National Geographic Endeavour beat a westerly course through a steady stream of rolling swells – long-period, perfectly-humped, and swollen with power. In the morning the swells still streamed forward, timed like baseballs from a pitching machine – rounded and cadenced. A tropical sky, heavy with nimbus and stratus clouds, and shot through with strands of blue, was lit up by the rising sun. It was a breathtaking palette, a textbook South Seas sunrise, accented by the silhouettes of a few of the taller coconut palms and Cassurina trees on Aitu Island.
Our vessel, in waters too deep to anchor, drifted just a few cables off Atiu’s northwest shore. The National Geographic Endeavour’s fleet of Zodiacs was deployed to bridge the short gap to the island. All of these rubber crafts entered the island’s breakwater, Taunganui Harbor, through commands relayed by naturalist Brent Houston, acting as “air traffic controller” from his perch above the landing site. The prevailing swells hammered the concrete wall’s exterior with impressive force, often spilling over into the harbor in mini Niagara-like cascades of seawater.
Our first experience of the Cook Islands would be picked up through the sense of sound. Fair maidens, clad in brightly-colored sarongs, sounded the bellows of the Triton trumpet shell from strategic points along the small harbor. Next came the rapid beating of wood drums, a traditional island welcome. After landing upon a concrete slipway, we passed a modern incarnation of the ancient island warrior, who barked an age-old island challenge, a vestige of Aitu’s colorful and bloody history. The Aituans were the greatest warriors of the Cook Islands and specialized in creating havoc on all their neighboring islands. Having run the one-man gauntlet, we boarded local trucks for excursions through Aitu time, history, and nostalgia.
Aitu Island is the third-largest of the Cook Islands. It is a makatea, a raised plateau of ancient coralline limestone. Unlike all the other islands in the Cooks, including Mangaia with its similar geography, the villages on Aitu are not on the coast. The five villages are close together in the hilly center of the island. Prior to the introduction of Christianity, the people lived spread out around the lowlands where taro is grown. When the missionaries persuaded the people to come upland and move the original settlements together, they effectively created a single village. The island’s administrative center and the Cook Islands Christian Church (CICC) form the hub, and the villages radiate out from this focal point on five roads, like the five arms of a sea star.
All vehicles - a few vans and some open-air trucks with rudimentary wooden benches - departed the landing area, and fanned out into individual paths of discovery. Our aims and expectations this morning were diverse. However, Aitu is aptly suited to meet the varying tropical interests of a group as large as ours. The island has an enormous amount to offer visitors – there are some fine beaches, superb scenery, ancient marae (pre-European religious meeting grounds), and the makatea is riddled with limestone caves, some of which were used as ancient burial sites and are now home to scores of endemic Aituan swiftlets. Aitu’s traditional name is ‘Enua Manu,’ which can be translated to ‘Land of Birds’ or ‘Land of Insects’ – so named, one legend relates, because nothing but birds and insects lived there when it was first discovered. One historical highlight was a short visit to the site where Capt. James Cook, credited with European discovery of Aitu, landed on April 3, 1777. Following our excusions, all vehicles marshaled in the late morning at Aitu Villas, a beautiful compound of A-frame chalets, trimmed gardens, and an open-air restaurant made from local materials, owned and operated by our local tour coordinator. Aituans performed traditional songs and dances, while we sampled an array of local fare, including taro, cooked taro leaves, and purple sweet potatoes.
During lunch the National Geographic Endeavour repositioned to Takutea Island. Clearly visible from Aitu, the small sandy cay of Takutea is only 6m above sea level at its highest point and has an area of just 1.2km. James Cook visited Takutea in 1777, shortly after he left Aitu, and paused to gather food for the livestock on his ship. Today Takutea is unpopulated and rarely visited, except for a yearly expedition from Atiu to gather coconuts and by the occasional fisherman who seldom steps ashore. Many seabirds, including frigates, tropicbirds, and red-footed boobies nest on the island. To protect these breeding birds, Takutea was set up as a wildlife sanctuary in the 1950s by the Aituan chiefs on behalf of the people of Aitu.
From a distance it was clear that the island’s reef was awash in sizeable breakers, the end result of the prevailing large and potent swells. The island has no natural or man-made channel to its beaches. The Zodiac drivers would have to rely on deft handling, seasoned seamanship, and cautionary, yet speedy, well-timed approaches to land safely on the edge of the reef flat. To this end our vessel had enlisted the aid of a half-dozen or so strapping Aituans to catch and turn the Zodiacs. Their knowledge and strength was greatly needed and much appreciated. The landing coupled with a rite-of-passage jaunt across a hundred meters or so of reef, was our passport to an unspoiled tropical isle.
Seabirds circled the island in profusion. Seabirds in such numbers had not yet been encountered on our voyage, and were unlikely to be again. Ashore we broke into exploration groups. Some of us beach-combed the fractured shoreline, while others struck off on a bush-whacking trek across the island. It was in the island’s center that nesting red-footed boobies were encountered in the trees, while harassing frigates whirled overhead. A few red-tailed tropicbirds nested quietly on the ground under some low bushes. The cross-island hike ended on the far shore. From here, and around its southern reaches, the large rollers ended their travels and died spectacularly against Takutea’s fringing reef, expelling their energy as glorious rolling tubes. Offshore winds held them up and steepened their faces. Any surfer would have drooled at the chance to ride one; they were almost perfect. This afternoon it wasn’t just the faces of the waves that showed flawlessly, it was the naked expression and textbook execution of a raw expedition stop that sent us back to the mother ship grinning widely.
