WEEK 2
THEN CAME WIND AND RAIN…..
The hoopla of Thursday’s wedding was readily dampened – blown and washed away really – by 72 hours of weather induced by a deep barometric depression throughout the region of the Kingdom.
No one was using the “C” word, however there was wind aplenty to cause an amount of localised damage and rain enough to more than likely keep Australia drought-free for the next couple of years.
My activities over Friday and Saturday were consigned to some computer-based entertainment and a measure of good reading.
SUNDAY IN TONGA #2
The local forecasts had the bottom of the bad weather blowing south by Sunday.
Signs of clear skies and a near-full moon Saturday evening lent more promise than ever to Sunday’s prospects.
Come the morn, it was not quite to be with another quiver of gusty rainstorms doing their worst.
Plan B was Church because you can do this no matter what the weather girl says.
All village churches in ‘Eua were open for business as I rode a lift with Taki into town and set down for some fire, brimstone and a load of heavenly singing.
This particular choir I found to be somewhat top-heavy, insofar as double the number of female to male members created more of a high-end sound from the female upper registers, although fine, fine singing nonetheless.
Singing is such a powerful cultural experience in Tonga and throughout the South Pacific region.
I would suggest that many professional choirs elsewhere in the world would be shadowed by the sheer power and sound that these people are capable of.
Along with their Christian faith, these cornerstones of Tongan culture come to life each Sunday in the most natural and extraordinary of ways – it is a rare privilege to experience it and the Tongans are most proud to share it with the rare visitor that is interested in participating.
‘EUA NATIONAL PARK
By Church’s end, it may just have been the last of the rain.
A quick run back to base and with sunlight looking to bathe the immediate future, there was not a moment to waste.
Clothes changed and pack packed, I was away despite weather to the near north looking likely to do anything.
A 2 km stroll along the coral scattered western beach strip and a terminus at the town jetty later, I tacked uphill towards the east and followed the signage that would eventually lead me to ‘Eua National Park.
It was heavy going - intense humidity working itself against me like an atmospheric treadmill – up the hill I went and my shirt was altering colour and texture more rapidly than I could have waged.
Still, the scenery was splendid as I waved to many a passing local either on foot or on the back of a cruising lorry.
I even gained a guide nearby the village of Pangai, as a local woman opted to walk and talk a small distance with me along my way, despite the protestations of her infant son as she disappeared down the road with this strange “Palangi”.
(“Palangi” is the Tongan expression for a white person – I don’t believe it to be impudence – more of a jest, as young children yell out “Palangi!!” as you stride on past….)
Falelotu (Church) on the hill
My guide released me soon enough with adequate directions and a sincere warning to take high care on the slippery paths I was likely to encounter within the National Park.
Caves and deep sinkholes abound in the confines of ‘Eua National Park and the warning I received was not simply a mild matter of courtesy.
Even in good conditions, things can be treacherous, so after 3 days of sub-cyclonic weather, it was not a time for flippancy.
My plan of attack was as good as my map, the distance to be covered (including the afternoon’s return walk) and the more obvious contingency of wet and boggy tracks.
This wasn’t even accounting for the constant cups of sweat that were more likely than ever to pour out of me as I plunged deeper into the heart of the rainforest.
The tracks certainly didn’t disappoint as I veered left off the main road and onto the largely inundated 4-wheel-drive ruts that were to lead me to the Holy Grail.
300 metres along the way I took my first ankle-deep mud plunge – numerous more were to follow but back to the subject.
Hapa Pools, Heke Stream and “Big ‘Ovava” were the 3 main targets it had to be decided.
This would occupy me for a round trip in the National Park of vaguely 5 km, which in poor conditions was plenty.
At certain points the track forked, with no particular counsel as to which direction to take.
My best guide at such times was the sound of running water, which if I were to be aiming for “pools” and a “stream” seemed to make perfect sense.
And so it happened, my little plan worked and a gush soon became a torrent as the Hapa Pool appeared before me.
My fantasy of taking a cooling naked dip in the midst of this lush rainforest was quickly annulled – the “pool” being not more than a smallish basin of filthy stormwater runoff.
Time for a rest and drink at least and working a plot for the next section.
Heke Stream and Big ‘Ovava were close by and easily within 15 minutes if maps were accurate.
The track worsened again as I inched across the lichen covered causeway that contains Hapa Pool.
Uphill and ever softening, there was nothing to be gained by proceeding along this path much farther.
A relief it was as the “Big ‘Ovava” jumped into my periphery at just the right moment.
“Big ‘Ovava” is a gigantic and prehistoric banyan tree – hundreds and likely thousands of years old – several exist within ‘Eua National Park.
This old beast is rooted deep within a massive sinkhole that leads into a 40 million year old cave – probably one of the oldest in the South Pacific.
Geologists and botanists from afar have been attracted to these important sites and probably with good reason.
As risky as it was, I climbed or rather slid my way to the base of the giant banyan.
This was not only the best vantage of the sinkhole and cave but also of the incredible root system of the tree.
Covered from head to foot in mud, sweat and glory it sure felt good to be alive down there.
The adventure had briefly overtaken me and it was mission accomplished for the moment.
THEN CAME WIND AND RAIN…..
The hoopla of Thursday’s wedding was readily dampened – blown and washed away really – by 72 hours of weather induced by a deep barometric depression throughout the region of the Kingdom.
No one was using the “C” word, however there was wind aplenty to cause an amount of localised damage and rain enough to more than likely keep Australia drought-free for the next couple of years.
My activities over Friday and Saturday were consigned to some computer-based entertainment and a measure of good reading.
SUNDAY IN TONGA #2
The local forecasts had the bottom of the bad weather blowing south by Sunday.
Signs of clear skies and a near-full moon Saturday evening lent more promise than ever to Sunday’s prospects.
Come the morn, it was not quite to be with another quiver of gusty rainstorms doing their worst.
Plan B was Church because you can do this no matter what the weather girl says.
All village churches in ‘Eua were open for business as I rode a lift with Taki into town and set down for some fire, brimstone and a load of heavenly singing.
This particular choir I found to be somewhat top-heavy, insofar as double the number of female to male members created more of a high-end sound from the female upper registers, although fine, fine singing nonetheless.
Singing is such a powerful cultural experience in Tonga and throughout the South Pacific region.
I would suggest that many professional choirs elsewhere in the world would be shadowed by the sheer power and sound that these people are capable of.
Along with their Christian faith, these cornerstones of Tongan culture come to life each Sunday in the most natural and extraordinary of ways – it is a rare privilege to experience it and the Tongans are most proud to share it with the rare visitor that is interested in participating.
‘EUA NATIONAL PARK
By Church’s end, it may just have been the last of the rain.
A quick run back to base and with sunlight looking to bathe the immediate future, there was not a moment to waste.
Clothes changed and pack packed, I was away despite weather to the near north looking likely to do anything.
A 2 km stroll along the coral scattered western beach strip and a terminus at the town jetty later, I tacked uphill towards the east and followed the signage that would eventually lead me to ‘Eua National Park.
It was heavy going - intense humidity working itself against me like an atmospheric treadmill – up the hill I went and my shirt was altering colour and texture more rapidly than I could have waged.
Still, the scenery was splendid as I waved to many a passing local either on foot or on the back of a cruising lorry.
I even gained a guide nearby the village of Pangai, as a local woman opted to walk and talk a small distance with me along my way, despite the protestations of her infant son as she disappeared down the road with this strange “Palangi”.
(“Palangi” is the Tongan expression for a white person – I don’t believe it to be impudence – more of a jest, as young children yell out “Palangi!!” as you stride on past….)
Falelotu (Church) on the hill
My guide released me soon enough with adequate directions and a sincere warning to take high care on the slippery paths I was likely to encounter within the National Park.
Caves and deep sinkholes abound in the confines of ‘Eua National Park and the warning I received was not simply a mild matter of courtesy.
Even in good conditions, things can be treacherous, so after 3 days of sub-cyclonic weather, it was not a time for flippancy.
My plan of attack was as good as my map, the distance to be covered (including the afternoon’s return walk) and the more obvious contingency of wet and boggy tracks.
This wasn’t even accounting for the constant cups of sweat that were more likely than ever to pour out of me as I plunged deeper into the heart of the rainforest.
The tracks certainly didn’t disappoint as I veered left off the main road and onto the largely inundated 4-wheel-drive ruts that were to lead me to the Holy Grail.
300 metres along the way I took my first ankle-deep mud plunge – numerous more were to follow but back to the subject.
Hapa Pools, Heke Stream and “Big ‘Ovava” were the 3 main targets it had to be decided.
This would occupy me for a round trip in the National Park of vaguely 5 km, which in poor conditions was plenty.
At certain points the track forked, with no particular counsel as to which direction to take.
My best guide at such times was the sound of running water, which if I were to be aiming for “pools” and a “stream” seemed to make perfect sense.
And so it happened, my little plan worked and a gush soon became a torrent as the Hapa Pool appeared before me.
My fantasy of taking a cooling naked dip in the midst of this lush rainforest was quickly annulled – the “pool” being not more than a smallish basin of filthy stormwater runoff.
Time for a rest and drink at least and working a plot for the next section.
Heke Stream and Big ‘Ovava were close by and easily within 15 minutes if maps were accurate.
The track worsened again as I inched across the lichen covered causeway that contains Hapa Pool.
Uphill and ever softening, there was nothing to be gained by proceeding along this path much farther.
A relief it was as the “Big ‘Ovava” jumped into my periphery at just the right moment.
“Big ‘Ovava” is a gigantic and prehistoric banyan tree – hundreds and likely thousands of years old – several exist within ‘Eua National Park.
This old beast is rooted deep within a massive sinkhole that leads into a 40 million year old cave – probably one of the oldest in the South Pacific.
Geologists and botanists from afar have been attracted to these important sites and probably with good reason.
As risky as it was, I climbed or rather slid my way to the base of the giant banyan.
This was not only the best vantage of the sinkhole and cave but also of the incredible root system of the tree.
Covered from head to foot in mud, sweat and glory it sure felt good to be alive down there.
The adventure had briefly overtaken me and it was mission accomplished for the moment.
Big 'Ovava
The return trip at least afforded me the advantage of knowing where I was likely to end up ankle deep in thick slush, so I largely averted this.
Winding my way more directly back down the hill in the deepening afternoon, onto what was no better than a 3 km goat track, but at least with the gentle assistance of some kindly locals.
One young lad in particular followed me along for about a kilometre to ensure I was correctly heading back “to sea”.
I arrived back down “at sea” a little further south than planned, then having to drag my tired and muddy legs a little farther through the thick coastal scrub and onto the even more demanding loose and corally sand.
High tide relegated me to stripping down and wading up to another kilometre in waist deep water, trying not to slice my feet clean up on the equally corally basin.
Rounding the second nearest point, my adventure was almost over, as I came upon the familiar Tufuvai Beach.
My fading body longed the crystal blue waters but I at least took a moment to de-robe appropriately before the plunge.
Tufuvai swell
PARADISE IS HERE
Once upon a time, I am trying to imagine that the whole of Planet Earth was like ‘Eua’s eastern ridge.
It probably wasn’t because there were always deserts and mountains and rivers and various other miracles of wonder.
Fast forward to 2009 A.D however and all I can imagine is that ‘Eua is a microcosm of what has been lost.
Monday was my day to explore the eastern extremity of the National Park, the designated Lauua and Lokopu lookouts.
The rain was back, though it wasn’t as if the tracks had dried out from the last lot.
I was afforded a drop off from Hideaway staff well into the park, where the trudge commenced at the MAF nursery junction.
The first 2 km of Rooney Rd led directly uphill into increasingly heavy rain which did at least have a cooling effect.
Rooney Rd at some point converted to an onwards track named Lote Rd - 50 metres of this determined nothing greater than a narrow, overgrown quagmire, so Plan B it was.
A right turn was the only real option here, which was clearly a better track although where it led was plain guesswork, particularly without a map.
My vague but determined plan today was to attend these lookouts if per chance I was able to locate them.
As the path (still in fair condition) continually veered away from the direction I knew I needed to be taking, my dreams were fading just gradually.
Now in full bushman mode, I decided to jump on the next left and follow it to wherever it may lead.
This track was also good as it led through some thick, cooling plantation forest to somewhere at the very least.
A kilometre or so of this proceeded towards another overgrown clearing, but now more importantly, some relevant signage.
To the left: Lokopu Lookout 100m.
To the right: Lauua Lookout 500m.
I temporarily subdued my glee as I hooked right and I had to be nearly there.
The subsequent lookout directions bend the track left, disappearing all and everything deep into the rainforest – a damp and mysterious light permanently surrounds all that survives within.
A constructed timber platform then comes into view, the only evidence of human activity anywhere, as glaring slivers of sunlight force their way between the narrowest of gaps in the canopy.
My immediate shock of nearly slipping like a bar of soap on the lower steps of the platform, was long made redundant as I stepped up proper onto the platform and another world of ancient bygone eras now lay over 300 metres beneath me.
This platform literally lurches out and over some of the most magnificent, unspoiled virgin rainforest and coastline surely anywhere in the world.
Birds of paradise glide effortlessly above the canopy day in and out and I cannot be anything but envious of the quality of their existence.
I am notoriously difficult please, but this is just awesome.
The dramatic positioning of the platform absolutely enhances the experience – it is the closest one may ever be to feeling like God in heaven.
My only concern was the layers of low cloud, clinging to the upper reaches of the ridge like a persistent rash, bringing with it bursts of drizzle and a cold wind.
Lauua LookoutThe minor discomfort was totally worth it, although my discontent about the mist was confirmed as I made way around to the equally other-worldly Lokopu lookout.
My initial glimpses of the splendour were quickly thwarted as the cloud really started rolling in.
A complete white-out was imminent and despite hanging about some, I had to take the gas and realise that this was it.
I continued a satisfied young man, sludging my way through at least another hours’ worth of forest and eventually out the other side.
By the time I reached the village of Ha’atu’a, I might as well have had a lift waiting for me, as a local picked me up and on we drove.
He was a friendly fellow with only a select collection of English vocabulary managing to at least find out where I was “living” and “which is my island”, before running out of petrol about 2 km down the way.
I was back on the goat track soon enough and straight down “to sea” for another well earned bathe at Tufuvai.
FANGATAVE CAVES
After an action-packed and largely memorable week, Tuesday arrived as my final day on ‘Eua and the activity of choice was the guided walk of the Fangatave Caves and a visit to its eponymously named beach.
19-year-old Sefo was my guide for the day and away we went.
Hideaway staffer Lema delivered us 15 km’s along more flooded goat tracks and through ‘Eua’s only northern village, Houma.
The track continues out the northern end of Houma and immediately through the middle of the Queen of Tonga’s personal pine and coffee plantation - something to tell the grandkids this one…..
Only a short stretch of overgrown former pumpkin plantation then lies between the Queen’s stuff and our drop-off point for the caves.
Some semi-steep and largely grass-covered switchbacks lead immediately downward, via Kahana Spring - the New Zealand-sponsored water supply for the village of Houma.
A short burst of plantation forest leads out onto yet another 300 metre-plus ridge, directly overlooking the superb Fangatave Beach.
The King’s cows commonly graze on this strip of real estate and it has not been uncommon for some to disappear over the edge.
Sefo tells the tale of a young calf plopping over on one of his tours and freefalling into the rainforest below.
Fangatave vistaThe limestone ridge is sheer and dramatic – millions of years old and divoted with huge holes of erosion that appear as though some pre-historic mammoth has emerged from the sea, removing massive chunks for dinner as he or she has seen fit.
I was soon to learn however that ogling these dramatic vistas was but the easy part of today’s action.
Relative humidity was already closer to 100 than 50 and we were on a mission to the Caves.
Lakufa'anga cliff
Sefo led the way as we began to drop, close to the ridge’s northernmost point and I was now in little doubt as to the degree of difficulty and treachery that lay ahead.
The track down to the caves is very steep and exceptionally dangerous in many parts.
Sharp limestone gnashes from every direction and with conditions of the rainforest being inherently moist and slippery, it is no place for the insipid.
A heavy slip could easily result in death, or at very least a life-changing injury along this path - even in good conditions and with so much wet weather in preceding days, a track of maximum slipperiness was ours to be enjoyed.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), my guide Sefo, like most Tongans, has been climbing coconut trees from a very young age, so I committed myself not to be perturbed by his ability to seemingly glide across the worst of it, something like a monkey.
His patience and my extreme caution seemed to be working well for the time being.
A regular thought that established itself as I overcame one challenging and dangerous section after another was that there would be no way anyone would be allowed to take on this hike under controlled conditions in Australia.
It certainly wouldn’t stop people trying, however it highlighted to me a possible advantage of Australia being such an over-regulated country.
Anyway, I was quickly learning why rock-climbing never really sold itself as activity I may be interested in embracing.
I have previously known people who have dreamed of meeting their end by falling off the largest rock imaginable but I can now confirm that this is seriously not something in my agenda.
I’m not good with heights; however the level of this climb is such that it is well possible that one could survive if something were to go wrong.
And it was this that was getting to me the most.
Over an hour later and some serious adrenalin moments later, we were down on glorious Fangatave Beach with Sefo up a coconut tree plucking some fresh green ones for lunch.
The young green ones are those full of juice; one simply cracks it open and drinks.
Mature brown coconuts can also be cracked but savoured more for the “meat” inside.
After my educational coconut respite, it was out for a quick snorkel on the near reef before a more detailed exploration of some of the caves we had passed through on the way down.
These are “growing” limestone caves – tens of millions of years old and still under formation at the base of ‘Eua’s sheer eastern cliffs.
Absolutely beautiful in their essence, but not accessible to the mainstream tourist crowd; they are to be experienced equally for the time and effort that it takes to get there.
I took the challenge and was well rewarded.
Sefo (guide) + sweatboy V - Fangatave caves
PRODIGAL PALANGI
I have returned to the capital Nuku’alofa for a few days of rest and preparation for the next section of the expedition.
Nuku’alofa I have recently heard referred to rather unkindly as “the armpit of Tonga”, however it is all in one’s perspective.
It is a place where there are supplies (even though somewhat limited) and some additional activities until my flight to the Ha’apai archipelago this Saturday.
Next report from here.
Slow boat from 'Eua
Too many puppies
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