Jonah and the Whale

by Catherine Holloway

Rugby and religion reign supreme down here. At least, that's in the places where following football is not officially classed as worship already. I'm talking about the much romanticised South Pacific islands of Fiji and Tonga and Rugby is the particular brand of football played so proudly in these parts. This is a where every home in even the most remote villages displays a poster of the local "footie legend", Jonah Lomu, the way a picture of the Queen of England once adorned every mantelpiece in the colonies. The Pope? Well, he rarely rates a mention nowadays.

Merely hours before the year's crucial Rugby match between Fiji and Tonga, I ponder my precarious position. I'm on board NAI'A, Fiji's luxury live-aboard diving vessel, which boasts a formidable Fijian crew. But in our wide search for humpback whales, we've anchored directly off a village in a region of Tonga famous for its sizeable young men. Now, witnessing these islanders play Rugby immediately dispels any travel brochure theory about tropical folk being a gentle, languid, peace-loving bunch. These are people totally in touch with their warrior heritage. All I can do is thank God the missionaries triumphed over cannibalism.

Water both links and separates the neighbouring nations of Fiji and Tonga. The exiled and adventurous risked all migrating on these waters. Wars were fought, skills and materials were traded and sustenance was harvested from the sea between them. Little has changed. Sprayed alongside each other in the richest corner of the Pacific Ocean, their many islands are as similar to one another as they are alien - historically, geographically and culturally. But, nowhere are these inconsistencies and ironies more obvious than below the water's surface.

Picture Nomuka'iki, a tiny coral atoll and prison island in Tonga. One man guards one prisoner - not because he is the country's only criminal but because the prison transport ship lays wrecked and rusting on the reef just metres from the shore. Anchored here for the evening is Adix, a lavish 216-foot three-masted schooner whose anonymous philanthropic owners have spared no expense circumnavigating the globe. The English hostess steals ashore after dusk with eggs, milk, bread and a frozen rabbit for the prisoner. He's probably never seen a rabbit before, let alone barbecued one. The scene seems bizarre yet completely familiar. It reminds me of an old island proverb: "The coral waxes, the palm grows, but man departs."

Europeans had relatively little impact on these resilient and resourceful people. The skill with which Fijians and Tongans have adapted to modern life is perhaps less impressive than their commitment to the old ways. Fiji largely escaped attention from explorers lusting for an undiscovered Australia and it's hoped-for mineral wealth. The widely rumoured Fijian capacity for violence and taste for flesh kept others at bay. Tonga is one of the few nations never to be ruled by a Western power, unless you count the enormous missionary influence, and operates even now as a Polynesian Kingdom. Their long isolation has served them well - culturally that is. In both countries, ancient ceremony and custom are still highly respected and practiced routinely. And communal subsistence village life continues for the bulk of the population outside the main towns. Most villages are still today accessed by water. Shelter, flooring and clothing is still made from dried and woven plants. Meals consist of fish still caught from carved wooden canoes and vegetables grown by women toiling by hand in small "gardens". Men still gather around the "grog" bowl nightly to talk and drink kava and women still perform formal dance and song rituals to mark significant occasions. For all the development, progress, education and industry inflicted on these islands, the people remain characteristically relaxed and inclined to postpone any vigorous or demanding task - a tropical tendency called "malua". Don't mistake this complacent manner for unfriendliness. It just takes less valuable energy to nod subtly and raise an eyebrow than to wave and shout hello.

But how wrong it is to assume all South Pacific islands are the same! Fiji and Tonga are worlds apart. Fijians are mostly Melanesian (recognized as darker with coarse tightly curled hair) while Tongans are unmistakably Polynesian (fairer and taller with straight hair). Fiji, in fact, was a migratory frontier with Melanesians streaming from the west and Polynesians from the east. Modern Fijians are a complex mix of Melanesian and Polynesian strains. Warring Fijians crafted vicious weapons and built strongholds in mountain crags and mangrove swamps while wandering Tongans developed keen sailing skills and conquered distant coral atolls throughout the Pacific to form the triangle of Polynesia (meaning many islands) within Hawaii, Easter Island and New Zealand. Fiji's hardwood forests provided huge trees for the great double canoes the Fijians became famous for building. These canoes increased trading and communication with Tonga and, ironically, later carried the waves of Tongan warriors who won control of much of eastern Fiji. Feared and revered, Tongan warriors turned into sharks to cross the seas and then became human again to fight on land - as legend has it.

Today, Fiji sits on the main Pacific sea and air route and, thanks to sugar and tourism, is, economically, the region's strongest and most developed nation. Yet its people continue to value their heritage and traditions faithfully in daily life. NAI'A's chef, Manasa, comes from Ra, a noble region from which many other Fijian tribes stemmed. As a mark of respect for that place, other crew members whose forefathers came from Ra call him Matagali, meaning having the same ancestral God, instead of using his given name. At every anchorage, we as visitors (from other parts of Fiji and the world) must present a "sevu -sevu" to the chief - a gift with which permission to stay is sought. The gift is usually a "waqa", the root of the yagona plant which produces the narcotic drink usually called kava. The presentation is solemn and formalised. Chiefs lower their eyes and listen carefully to the deliberately chosen words, the pitch, speed and rhythm of the speaker's trained voice before clapping cupped hands to accept and welcome the newcomers. Kava may well be the drug of this nation and others in the South Pacific, but the ritual surrounding its use is most dignified. Fijians (mostly men) gather daily in work, family or village groups to drink communally from the kava bowl or "tanoa", discuss the day, debate local issues and sing. Just listening to the artful weave of Fijian voices ringing out proud and loud into a balmy tropical evening is a mind trip, let alone succumbing to the gentle sedating effects of what is affectionately termed "grog". Wherever you are in Fiji you'll hear the clanging sound of the dried pepper root being crushed under a heavy steel pipe - it's like church bells bidding the Lord's flock to prayer. The powder is then mixed with water and poured into the tanoa before being passed in coconut shell cups to each of the takers. Traditionally, the root was chewed up by women before being diluted - a laborious method, but the chemical reaction that occurs during mastication produces a far more potent mixture. All important occasions, including welcoming guests, are marked with a formal kava ceremony. Fijians love to watch foreigners wince over their first taste but enjoy it even more if you chug a bowl empty without dribbling like an amateur and still manage a satisfied grin afterwards. "Maca", the party will cheer as they cup their hands and clap three times to show their appreciation. Experiencing and following Fijian ceremony earns you respect and them pride.

Tonga's charm is its naiveté. The people and the natural environment seem to be held up in time. And without major industry, save the recent butternut pumpkin boom that bought many Tongans cars and VCRs, small-scale tourism has become the biggest dollar earner. But as one resort owner boded, "If you think things are slow in Fiji, just remember Tonga is about 30 years behind!" The capital, Nuku'alofa, is the kind of place where you can lose someone after lunch and be sure to bump into them before dark - they can't go far. The Royal Palace is perched proudly on the waterfront right in town. The crown prince is easily found lunching in the Nuku'alofa Club and the police close off the main street behind the palace during the King's regular bicycle riding sessions. In recent years he, Tui Taufa'ahou Tupou IV, has personally led a major public fitness campaign to combat not only his own obesity (he was 300 lbs) but also that of the great majority of his subjects. His habit of wearing a motor bike helmet and ski goggles when flying has earned him much attention during airport arrivals and departures. Yet he commands absolute respect, displayed at street level by the wrap-around woven matting, "ta'ovalas", Tongan's wear over their clothes. Don't be surprised to see so much black clothing, as Tongans mourn the death of (far extended) family members for many months! Don't be shocked to find many transvestite Tongans, either. Called Fakaleiti, these men are dangerously promiscuous in a country yet to suffer the effects of the AIDS virus. In Polynesian custom, families without enough girls will raise a male child as if he were female. He dresses as a girl and does girlsí chores as well as dancing the female roles in the hypnotically beautiful traditional Tongan dances. Upon reaching adulthood, many take their place as men in the community, but not all.

Fijians fervently discuss politics (especially the two military coups of 1987) while Tongans devotedly quote passages from the Bible. In Fiji, the struggle for power is between the native islanders and Indians who came after colonisation in the 1870s as indentured labourers to work the sugar cane fields and now constitute half the population. In Tonga, the Wesleyan, Mormon and Seventh Day Adventist churches challenge one another for devotees. A traditional council of chiefs today advises and heavily influences a democratic parliament in egalitarian Fiji. But in feudal Tonga, the King owns all the land and "commoners" cannot ever rise to nobility. Recently, he was unrelenting in his mission to stop his daughter marrying outside nobility.

Fiji and Tonga are close geographically but in many ways they are realms apart underwater. To the navigator they are the world's most treacherous mazes, but to divers and biologists, both places are a heavenly array of growing coral reefs. Fringing and barrier reefs occur throughout the region but while Fiji is famed for it's luxuriant soft corals and vibrant fish life, Tonga's main attractions are clear turquoise water, mostly unexplored, and the lonely Antarctic humpback whale tribe that mate and calve here. Lonely in that they were hunted more heavily and more recently than the planet's other tribes. And lonely in that their total population numbers only a few hundred and their future remains tentative. NAI'A's live-aboard diving expeditions link Fiji and Tonga. The ship takes divers to Fiji's most remote, rich and exciting reefs for most of the year. In Winter (July/August) she doubles as a scientific research and passenger vessel to find, observe, identify and record humpback whales around Tonga's Hapa'ai Group of islands.

The diving scene in Fiji is well-organised and extremely varied. Almost every resort offers SCUBA services and there are many specialist diving operators on the main islands and smaller offshore destinations as well as a few top-class live-aboard dive boats. The western side is characteristically warm and sunny with clear and fairly shallow sites easily accessible from day boats crewed often by experienced and competent local guides, divemasters and instructors. Beqa Lagoon, Vatulele and Kadavu Island in the south of the main island Viti Levu are well-known for their lush coral bommies and equally lush rainforested islands. The south-eastern side of Vanua Levu and around the garden island of Taveuni boasts excellent soft coral diving, especially along the current fed barrier reefs and channels. But, as with almost all destinations, the further afield you go, the better the diving. And the only way to experience the magnificent variety of terrains and conditions Fiji has to offer is to live at sea and change your location every day. NAI'A was designed precisely for that purpose - to reach the finest places in complete comfort. NAI'A's usual itinerary takes in several reefs and islands that, by no accident, lie in a row along a wide deep channel of water between Viti and Vanua Levu through which the prevailing south-east trade winds boost the flushing of nutrients and clean ocean water. Out here the reefs support not only spectacular soft coral growth teeming with tiny bright reef fish, but also rarely seen nudibranchs, shells, shrimps and anemones and bizarre creatures such as such as harlequin and hairy ghost pipefish, deep-water blue ribbon eels and decorated dartfish. In lagoon passages wild currents carry clean sea and schooling predators - barracuda, big-eye jack, snapper, mackerel and sharks. At the islands of Gau, a resident group of grey reef sharks cruise among divers while hammerheads and manta rays are usually spotted, sometimes staying close and offering divers their most breathtaking experiences.

In contrast, Tonga's coral reefs are quieter - as is the local diving industry. Yet, Tonga was the first South Pacific nation to set aside marine reserves. Two of the 10 sites where collecting and some fishing is prohibited are giant clam farms. The half a dozen land-based scuba diving operators are located around the main island of Tongatapu and in the northern Vava'u group. Only a fraction of the country's 170 islands and many more submerged reefs have been explored - fewer than 40 islands are inhabited! The Niua and Ha'apai Groups are truly frontier territory making virtually every dive exploratory. Most of the islands are low coral atolls, although there are several active volcanic islands and the main landmasses boast extremely fertile soil. Ha'apai's Kau Island is a volcanic cone reaching 1109m out of the sea and the neighbouring Tofua, the site of the Bounty mutiny, is an active, spewing volcano. Tonga is experiencing the earth's fastest shift at 10 cm in the direction of Samoa each year! Vava'u is an idyllic vision of brilliant blue water surrounding shallow fringing reefs and high island peaks. Some dramatic coastal caves below the surface harbour white tip sharks, lobster and schooling fish - others form interesting dive sites by their shape alone. Mariner's Cave at Nuapapu, a giant bubble cave that materialises about 10 feet under and tunnelling 20 feet into a submerged ledge of coral, is a fascinating diversion - especially if you believe the romantic tale of a love-struck young chief who captured and hid his princess inside the cave to save her from execution by the tyrant king, winning her heart in the process. Other unique sites in Vava'u include Gorgonia Valley which is exactly what the name implies - layer upon layer of giant sea fans growing upright from an undersea gully. Before you leave the stunning fjord-like harbour, Port of Refuge, at Neiafu, visit the Clan McWilliam wreck - a 300 foot long copra trader that caught fire and never made it to port. The astounding visibility (in winter 150ft is not uncommon) may mean the concentration of life on the reef is less than in Fiji. But the view it opens up of the rising and falling seascape, sweeping detail of hard coral gardens, towering pinnacles and gaping tempting caverns is a spectacular alternative.

The exhilaration of witnessing the power of a breaching humpback whale and the grace of it gently gliding inches from its kin is the reason many lovers of the sea are beginning to travel to tiny Tonga. The tribe of humpbacks that mate and calve here migrate from their feeding grounds in Antarctica, along the New Zealand coast, arriving from July and staying until September/October. The Tonga tribe are even more special than other groups of humpbacks as they number so few and are understood so little. Until commercial whaling - and more recently large-scale illegal whaling from Soviet ships - devastated the species so effectively, southern ocean humpbacks wintered in Fiji and were seen in groups as late as the 1960s. Hunted until 1979 for their oil, meat and bone, scientists now pursue them for knowledge - theirs and ours. While ordinary folk vie for a few precious shared moments with these giants in their own giant realm. NAI'A's expeditions to Tonga run as passenger supported humpback whale research trips with the opportunity to scuba dive also. The aim is to learn about and enjoy the whales as they seek warmth and shelter among these splendid tropical islands and reefs - in much the same way we do.

For sports fans, the Rugby match was a close one. Tonga won the game but Fiji took home the tournament trophy with top points overall. War was averted. Sunday is the Sabbath after all.

A FATAL SHORE

Beche de mer, or sea cucumber is a much sought after delicacy throughout South East Asia. Stocks of the animal have been severely depleted in Asia's waters, but still occur in abundance on the reefs of South Pacific islands such as Fiji. Beche de mer traders travel to Fijian villages asking local fishermen to harvest the animals in return for payment for the amount they can gather. Traders bring with them diving equipment, usually compressors and hookah gear, and sometimes a boat that enables the divers to reach deeper waters, stay for longer periods of time, collect greater numbers of beche de mer and earn more money than they ever could by simply free diving. The gift may seem a generous and business-wise gesture but it comes with a hidden high price. What these traders fail to give is training to cope with the rigours of breathing compressed air, education about the effects of nitrogen and the need for decompression and tools to maintain the equipment safely. Without depth gauges and timers, diver have no idea how long they stay down or how deep they go. A common yet terrifying dive profile reads, "hose length more than 100 feet, bottom time about two hours". The result: Fiji's hyperbaric chamber is in almost constant use treating sick beche de mer divers.

But it doesn't always work. The villagers, if they recognise their ailments to be diving related, often need to travel long distances to the chamber, journeys that can take several days. In Fiji, the use of compressors for diving is illegal. Often sick divers will avoid seeking help for fear of alerting authorities to the village industry that is otherwise lucrative. Many young men are dying - some despite treatment, some before they reach doctors and some before they even reach the surface. Many more are permanently incapacitated, perhaps suffering mysterious flu-like symptoms, perhaps paralysed, but no longer able to work proudly and provide for their families.

The really frightening fact is that untrained beche de mer divers are being treated in Fiji just because they can be. The issue is at least being addressed there. Fiji has a well-organised diving industry, a relatively aware government, good nationwide communication and a recompression chamber. What of the more remote islands where seeking any medical help, let alone hyperbaric treatment, is out of the question? Out there, fatigue, injury, paralysis and death are just daily risks in a modern world where money, not health, means survival.

The Last Lonely Tribe

She weighed about 30 tonnes and stretched as many feet long in front of us - escape was not an option. She was so close, the roaring gusts of her breath sent a spray of wet sticky mucous into our faces. She was no monstrous pirate though, simply a curious and playful humpback whale. Neither were we victims. Mere humans, so struck with awe we must have seemed to her more like over-excited children or lunatics set adrift at sea. Circling NAI'A closely, spyhopping at the bow and taunting the swimmers into deeper water, she trapped the ship, the captains unable to move or manoeuvre in any direction for fear of injuring the immense mammal. In Hawaii, humpback whale watchers call this "mugging". She stayed with NAI'A for several hours, tumbling and turning and eyeing-off we lunatics - splashing and diving and squealing with glee through our snorkels. This whale fulfilled many people's dreams that day. What she felt about us we'll probably never know. There's no doubt though, that she sought our attention, as much as we had hoped for hers.

We came aboard NAI'A to Tonga's remote Ha'apai island group to find humpback whales (Megaptera novaeanglidae) , to gather photographs identifying individuals, to record their song, to observe their behaviour in breeding and calving grounds and to know that even this most endangered tribe of Antarctic humpbacks - so diminished by hunters and criminals - is holding on. Despite enormous public opposition worldwide, a new era in commercial whaling looms ominously close. We carried with us working scientists and volunteer assistants from Auckland University where a long-term study of the Tonga tribe was begun in earnest three years ago. We came also for the journey of a lifetime - a luxury live-aboard cruise among truly untouched atolls and dives on genuinely unexplored coral reefs. And we came maybe, just maybe, for the chance to swim alongside an inimitable humpback whale.

We got everything we hoped for and more! Every day we spotted whales, sometimes many more than was possible to keep track of. We saw mothers with new born calves wildly breaching and tail slapping then peacefully nursing and resting - the calves offered up to the surface air on their mothersí rostrum like a gift lifted to God. We saw charging pods of males battling violently for dominance and putting to rest the old cliché about these animals being "gentle giants". We saw some pairs and many lone whales, some singing probably to impress and seduce a nearby mate, some wandering aimlessly over shoals and others clearly with a destination and a deadline. Sometimes the whales continued without paying us any mind, sometimes they chose to avoid us and a sometimes they surfaced right next to NAI'A, first checking out the vessel and the vibrating hum of its engine, then allowing the game and ready to slowly slip into the same sea and swim together in endless blue. Each night still I fall asleep with the image of two humpback whales gliding synchronously beneath me into shafts of converging sunlight, using only their massive pectoral fins to steer, then rolling over in slow-motion with a mutual sweep of those "wings" exposing brilliant white bellies and bulbous probing eyes staring right at me.

I've told myself over and over that to learn the truth about how these animals live, I can't afford to romanticise them or see something mythical and magical in every simple move they make. But it's impossible not to hoot and yell at the sight of a 40 tonne whale lifting its entire body clear of the water and crashing down again with a thunderous splash that lasts almost a minute. I'm only human after all. The humpback whale is a creature of astounding size, grace and character - not to mention environmental significance. But our luck in finding them does not answer the real question: In a tribe so few in number and so sparsely scattered, how do they find each other?

On our way back to Fiji, more than 50 miles out into open sea and far from where these whales are "supposed" to be, a single humpback lay still on the surface, facing the sunset as we were and bobbing underneath only briefly when NAI'A passed just 50 yards away. The sight of this lonely whale, perhaps even lost, reduced me to tears. Our empathy for whales, I believe, matches the understanding we lack. Perhaps the humpback whale's desperate search for a mate and tentative grip on survival illuminates our own solitary nature and our own mortality. Perhaps humankind is the lonely one - craving the company of something grander, more intelligent and sensitive than ourselves.

Late one afternoon, NAI'A was anchored off a stunning island. Villagers were fishing from dugout canoes, scuba divers were being ferried back and forth to a nearby reef, scientists scanned the surrounding water for whale song, vacationers read novels in the fading sunlight while the aroma of an almost ready dinner wafted onto the deck. About 200 yards off NAI'A's starboard side, a humpback mother and newborn calf - the same pair we had followed carefully and observed since midday and one of three mother and calf pairs we had watched that day - remained milling unaffected by our presence. This, for me, was as thrilling as any close encounter. To see whales without having to search. To watch them from a modest distance doing whatever comes naturally, unconcerned by our separate activities. To know these are not the last humpback whales we'll ever see in Tonga. This is the way it should be.