Warren & Lesley in Hapatoni
Spires over Hakahetau Bay
Mistress Anchored at Hana Tefau
MC (& green bananas) leaving Ua Pou
Landfall at Ua Pou
Hapatoni Warrior
Hapatoni Kids
Hapatoni Ancient Pathway
Our final few days in the Marquesas provided us with some interesting insights into both the modern and ancient lives of these lovely people.
A night of straining on the anchor chain in Tahuata’s Hana Moe Noa Bay with wind gusts of up to 30 knots barreling down the island’s leeward slopes, made it a simple decision to bail out after daylight and work our way south down the coast. We managed to find shelter under the towering cliffs of Hana Tefau anchoring only 100 metres from the rock-strewn shore. The bay was home to a pod of incredibly small dolphins who despite joining in the water, showed little interest in our approach.
The bay adjoining to the south is called Hapatoni, a small sweeping rocky bay that is fringed by an ancient Marquesan village whose current 100 inhabitants live amongst the remnants and ruins of impressive volcanic stonework - paths, walls and foundations, all constructed by their forefathers. With drizzling rain as our companion we meandered along an ancient pathway, curious by its design, wide enough for modern cars and yet made at a time when bare feet were the only transport. Stonewalls bordering the pathway doubled as both seawall and retaining walls for the village homes. Huge gnarly trees hundreds of years old, flanked the pathway while younger trees sprouted between them, seemingly adolescents amongst their respected elders. An impressive stone walled church built to withstand natures strongest hurricane, reinforced the missionary influence amongst these islands and the ongoing role the Church plays in the residents daily lives. The village was quiet with residents busy inside their homes, weaving and carving, traditions of their culture past, now readying to trade for much needed cash with passengers from the ‘Aranui’, the coastal freighter/passenger ship that ply’s these islands. As we made our way back to our anchored dinghy young children emerged running rings around us in the mud, laughing at our attempts at French while eager to impress us with their limited English. Our glimpse through this window of village life, both current and past, served as a gentle reminder of how very different our home and work lives are in comparison. While we sail away to explore new wonders and islands eventually returning to the comfort and safety of our homes, they continue to do exactly what they have done for hundreds of years, live in balance with the land and the sea at the mercy of the whims of nature be it bountiful or destructive.
With the atolls of the Tuamotus beckoning us over the southwest horizon, we decided to make the island of Ua Pou our last Marquesan stop. First light after an overnight sail brought the magnificent soaring spires of the island into view. These gravity defying vertical basaltic structures must be one of the most striking geological formations on the planet. Regrettably not once during our brief visit did we manage to see all of the spires cloud free; however, the enticement of such a view keeps one constantly gazing skyward towards the shrouded peaks.
We dropped anchored in the protection of Hakahetau Bay on the northwest corner of the island in the company of a few other yachts. A visit by two waterborne Gendarmes resulted in the necessity for us to complete some additional paperwork and a visit to their offices at Hakahau Bay, a few miles around the northern coast. After spending a couple of hours on another unsuccessful expedition looking for a local waterfall we headed north to Hakahau, the capital of the island.
Our visit in Hakahau was incredibly brief, but long enough to witness a very special day. Leaving Millsy and Lloyd aboard on anchor watch, Charlie paddled off to he head of the bay to join the local lads for a surf, while Warren, Lesley and I rowed towards a grey sandy beach only 100 meters from Mistress’s stern. Let me try and paint the picture that greeted us.
Our ears were filled with the sound of children’s laughter as they launched seaward from the seemingly dizzy heights of the concrete pier. A young family relaxing in the sand, enjoying the shade of a flowering vibrant red hibiscus, waved and smiled at our clumsy ‘bonjour’. We clambered over the seawall onto the beachside road, completely devoid of any moving vehicle or person. As we ambled along the waterfront we gazed down into the local canoe club, a thatched pole structure, built upon the sand. Voices singing in unison to the strum of guitars floated from the shade of the thatch. Parents were relaxing around tables enjoying their favorite Hinano while the kids played in the water. Conscious of not intruding we didn’t linger, but in someway were envious of their seemingly carefree afternoon. A mattress lying in the back of a Toyota Hilux parked on the sand served as a portable cushion for another family who also smiled at our hello. Looking along the bay we could see a dozen local surfers doing what surfers do best - happily waiting for the next perfect wave. Our path took us left away from the beach and we passed a low-lying house virtually hidden by the shade of a fragrant flowering tropical garden. The mouthwatering smell of their barbeque and laughter of loving family and friends drifted our way……….
And so it carried on. Everywhere we looked we were seemingly greeted with the very same sight, that of family and friends doing what they should be doing, simply relaxing and enjoying each other and the day. And what day was it? Not a religious holiday, nor a national holiday…..no it was a simply a day that occurs on a regular basis, in fact it is so popular it happens once a week and yet once again in our fast moving commercial world we seem to forget all about this day and why it should be so special….…it was of course Sunday.
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