|
were in paradise.
Michael and I rose early to walk inland over miles of red dirt roads. The countryside was a patchwork of pineapple fields and papaya plantations. We stopped at a creek for refreshment, and then wandered about a shadowy stone marae quadrangle on which, in ancient times, human sacrifices were made. A supple red horse was tethered beneath a great knob of a mountain. Visions of loveliness flooded my senses. Moorea was Paul Gaugin's home. He has imprinted the red horse, the red road and this landscape of moody hills, golden sun and purple shadows in our minds. He exaggerated but little. All those colors are there and the shapes of his fantastic mountains were no exaggeration at all!
The next morning on our tandem bicycle, we rode in the chill of the shadow cast by the great volcanic peaks that encircle Cook's Bay, past the dilapidated century-old planter's homes, once wealthy from vanilla, now tumbled into disrepair. We halted in front of an empty, faded French colonial hotel. Picked out in yellow, white and blue like an especially decorated wedding cake, it dripped with wildly imaginative fret and lath work of a style adopted from the rich planter's villa's of a century earlier. We continued out into the glare by the glittering shores of the lagoon, to weave past other cyclists, motor scooters and small cars carrying island folk to work. The natives smiled and served, but stayed apart, holding their the culture close. Moorea has a magic, which is wholesome combination of primal mountains and verdant farmland with tourism on its fringes. It was an island, in which people can both live and love and be inspired.
Huahini
Thursday, 26th September
Our next landfall, lay well over the horizon at 75 miles distance. To arrive in good morning light at Huahini, we set off at 5:00 PM. From Moorea's coastline, now fallen into deep purple shadow, wisps of smoke wafted from deeply obscured valleys. Outside the lagoon a lovely schooner sailed past languidly. A hazy puffs that I took to be from breaking reefs had me puzzled, until the flukes of a Right Whale rose high into the air in his classic signature.
Sea Quest surging ahead on a reach, giving us 5 knots under just mizzen and genoa. Although at dawn, dark squalls banked the eastern horizon, and other squalls swept past, patterning us with brief rain, the skies cleared as the sun rose higher. Huahini is volcanic, like all of French Polynesia's high islands, but her aspect is generally lower, her hills more rounded and friendly. The mountain's foundation has sunk so far that her landmass is now divided into two islands, Huahini Nui and Huahini Iti. The reef lies on average of one mile from shore, but extends about one and a half miles southwest from Pt. Tiva, where we caught a vigorous and magnificently colored mahi-mahi, the first decent fish on our line since leaving New Zealand three months ago.
At noon we reached the main passage. From high in the rigging Michael could see miles of bright lagoon through which a channel wandered. On its seaward side extensive shallow sandy banks shone a dazzling turquoise in the sunlight. The channel was well marked with red and green topped poles.
|
|
