Tsunami Watch Passed

Following the Solomon Islands earthquake, I hustled home, only to get stuck in traffic on the coast road, as work crews were trying to clear a landslide and debris that had partially covered the road during the heavy rains of the previous day. After a 45 minute delay I got through the bottleneck and made my way home, to where Sara had been spending her sick day.

We had about an hour and a half before the waves were supposed to hit American Samoa, so we packed the car with water, canned goods and other essentials. Then we made plans to meet a few friends at the hotel/restaurant/bar higher up in the Tafuna Plain.

Right as we pulled into the parking lot we got the news that the tsunami watch had been cancelled, as the waves were only 3-feet high when they passed through New Caledonia. Still we decided to use the evening at the hotel and celebrate our friend's birthday, as we were already there. So after three hours of slow service and enduring a menu that was out of most things we could eat; we'd celebrated a birthday dinner with as much use caution as we could given during the hours the tsunami would have purportedly struck.

The key is not letting ourselves ignore these disaster warnings. We don't want to get in a boy who cried wolf situation and get in trouble when one does strike our island hard.

Tsunami Watch

Living on a small Pacific Island is not without its dangers. In September 2009 a large tsunami struck Tutuila and cause some widespread damage.

Looks like we're on a tsunami watch and possibly in the path of another large wave following a 8.0 earthquake in the Solomon Islands.

The tsunami would reportedly get here in about two to three hours, let's see if the tsunami alert system is functioning this time.

Also, I should probably get to higher ground...

Pirate Party

Our boat, under construction in Nick's front yard.

 Last week an email came through the Dissociates mailing list saying that Saturday was a special occasion. In honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, a Pirate Party was going to be held out on Coconut Point. This wasn't going to be a stand around and drink in costume affair, it's one where you were expected to show up and build a boat to sail around Coconut point to an island in the neighboring lagoon and back. Not to be denied the opportunity to build a watercraft and paddle it around, I showed up at my friend Nick's house early and we began constructing our vessel. We bagged two of the Coast Guard kayaks and lashed them together, we built platforms for sitting on out of surf boards and an old shipping pallet and soon were ready to roll. We hoped to have time to build a mast for a sail or a coconut launcher for boarding actions, but ran out of nails prior to either of those ideas coming to life. We did manage to construct a solid raft that eliminated the play that I worried would doom any on the water momentum.

The crew getting ready to undertake our voyage.

Next we recruited a crew. Picking up two able-bodied men, Jorge and Zach to man the paddles. With our compliment of sailors in place we set about getting our boat in the water. Carrying the boat down to the launch point we were still a little concerned about the stability, but we tightened up our lashings and got the SS Sea Bitch on the water and provisioned ourselves for the voyage. Jorge had the foresight to bring a large patio umbrella to the party. We skeptically added that to the boat's supplies. With as brezzy it was that afternoon, I didn't believe that we'd be able to open it or hold on to it when open, but we had the room, so what the hell.

Jorge paddling.

Our first leg of the voyage we were moving perpendicular to the wind heading eastward along the shore of Coconut point. The current was with us and we made good time and even managed to enjoy a beer while we made our way to the end of the Point and our turn northwards into the Pala Lagoon. The boat paddled smoothly and we ended up passing a few of the kayakers who showed up to witness the spectacle. Once we got the boat turned to the north, we decided it was time to try and use the umbrella as a sail. I stowed my paddled and pulled out the massive wooden umbrella and set about opening it up.

Our umbrella sail in action. 

With the sail unferruled we quickly caught the wind and plunged towards our next destination, Coconut Island in the Pala Lagoon. It's a tiny clump of dirt in the middle of stagnant lagoon. It's defining feature is a single palm tree that is struggling to hold onto one edge of the island. Sara's previously kayaked out to it, but made the mistake of going at low tide, so the approach to the island was through knee deep mud, dragging the kayak behind. Thankfully, this voyage was at high tide and it was smooth sailing the whole way in. Turns out our home-made catamaran was an excellent downwind sailing ship. We flew towards the island with little more than a some rudder work by Jorge in the rear of the boat.

Party on Coconut Island. 

 Once we reach out destination it was time to tie up and enjoy some grog in true pirate fashion. We passed around beers from our cooler and relaxed on the tiny piece of land in the middle of the Pala. We waited for the fleet of kayakers and aspiring pirates to float their way in to the island. Slowly, the armada started pulling up to the island and tying onto our boat. Which may not have been the best idea, as we were only tied onto an inch in diameter branch on a dessicated little shrub.

Having some refreshment on the deck of our boat.

The other pirates paddle their way in.

Nick enjoying a Corona.

The after party.

Eventually most of the other people on the water made their way to the little island. As land to stand on started to be at a premium, some of us resorted to hanging out and watching the sunset from our boats. The sun started to dip its way past the horizon, but we still had a few stragglers left to make it to the island.

The last boat in was optimistically built out of a solar panel with an electric motor attached. The cloud cover and the lateness in the day conspired to force them to paddle the whole way. They made it to the Island with the pirate flag flying and half a bottle of rum. Excellent work on their part.


















The next leg in the journey was to get back to Coconut point. We launched from Coconut Island and tried out our umbrella sail, this time running east, perpendicular to the wind. Turns out our little catamaran tracks well without a dagger board. We were able to catch the wind and track true going across the wind. This made our trip back to Coconut point an easy stroll compared to the rest of the fleet that was stuck paddling their way back through the early evening light.

Once we were back to land, we broke down our boats and carried them back to the yards we got the parts from. To finish off the evening we had Tutuila's most popular cover band, Three Leg Dog playing on a balcony and enjoyed some beers at Kelly and Alden's place at Coconut Point. Piracy won this event.

Vatia Tide Pools and Tisa's

Sundays are a dead day in Samoan society. Few stores are open and most people spend their day in church or sharing a massive umu meal with their family. I really don't have much of an issue with this, only that the Samoans use it as a excuse to close down their beaches and not allow any swimming or activities near villages. Thus, non-church-goers and non-binge-eaters like Sara and I end up trying to to plan activities at some of the few spots that remain open on Sundays. Luckily for us, there's a large portion of the palagi community that's in the same boat, so when one of our friends suggested the Vaitia Tide Pools, Sara and I jumped at the opportunity to get out and go to one of the few swimming areas that's not close to a village.

We and some friends from paddling rallied up in the late morning at the house of another married lawyer couple and headed out. Sara and I got to see the island in style - we rode in the back of our friends' pickup truck in beach chairs, which is the true Samoan way to get around the island.

There's really no better way to see and feel the mass of the rainforest-covered volcanic peaks than from a truck bed. Though my hat kept trying to fly off, it was a blast. It makes me want to have a pickup truck just for transporting our eventual visitors.

I'd been down to the tide pools previously, after a long hike in the National Park. It's a beautiful spot that looks out on the Cocks Comb rock formation on Vaitia Bay. This time I also had the benefit of bringing a camera (and my lovely wife).

The hike down to the tide pools from the National Park fale isn't long. It's a little steep and rocky, but there are a few interesting archaeological sites along the route. The Park Service has some good signs explaining their finds from a dig five years ago, and if you take some side trails you can see a few artifacts that have been allowed to remain in place.

The trail down also offers some some great views of Pola Islannd (the Cock's Comb). Every few weeks I need to remind myself that I live in one of the most beautiful and dramatic island landscapes around. Too often I get mired in the suburbs-lite feel of the Tafuna Plain. I need weekend trips like this to balance out the trash and traffic of the south side of the island.

The wind was blowing pretty hard once we reached the rocks above the tide pools. This was driving some large swells. Even at low tide, the pools were getting refreshed on a pretty regular basis. We set up camp on the rocks and a few people walked down to the pools and snorkeled around the largest pool. I worked up a little courage and did a dramatic entrance by taking the plunge into the water from the overlooking rocks. I also coached one of the other attorneys from my office into making the jump. It's a little spooky since the landing area is narrow and the footing up top can be a little slick when it is wet.

Another member of our party lost his wedding ring in the pool. A frantic snorkel search was commenced, but the wave action that was feeding the pools turned out to be a little too much and the ring became a permanent resident.

Sara, still a little gun shy after her last tide pools experience, opted out of the swimming. Turns out, she might have been on to something. Soon after the low tide, the waves picked up. They were regularly crashing over the rocks and aerating the tide pool. These occasional surges were dramatic and shoved those of us swimming in the pools around, but didn't cause too many problems. The real danger was that the waves were crashing over the only exit point for the tide pools. As a result, each person needed to use some spotters from the high ground, since they couldn't see the waves coming when they were in position to climb out. I made it up without issue, but a few of our group did get caught in some waves upon exiting the pools. Not being able to offer assistance against the crashing walls of water or the slippery, sharp rocks, I did the next best thing, I captured it on video.

After the pounding, cut short our trip to the tide pools, we decided we needed another activity to fill the remainder of the afternoon. With few places being open, we opted for the palagi standby of Tisa's Barefoot Bar. Something about Vailimas, banana fries and Pina Coladas on the beach do an amazing job of patching up bruises to the body. Just another weekend in paradise.

Manu'a Flag Day Morning Paddle

Sara and I have been keeping up with our paddling group. We've been making a regular effort to go every Monday, Wednesday and Friday after work for the past three weeks. This last Friday was Manu'a Flag Day, so we had the day off from work. This led to our paddling group's decision to do a morning paddle, since most of us were planning on playing some sloshball in the afternoon.

One nice thing about the morning paddle was the pace was a little more leisurely than normal, as we weren't racing to get our trip up and back down the harbor in before darkness closes in. The extra time allowed us to take a longer route and stop for a little longer between legs. This let Sara and I have some down time to snap some photos.

The morning trip was also interesting, since the harbor as more alive with activity than it usually is in the evening. Instead of being just a few outriggers and the harbor patrol boats on the water, we were dodging fishing boats coming into port, large ships moving from the repair docks to the port and boats of all sorts heading in to the fueling station. Being a tiny, slow, man-powered canoe darting between these hulking commercial vessels, all of which (we hope) will adhere to a specific, on-the-water right of way system is like a gigantic game of chicken. Spending your days on land sometimes makes you forget how much of life on the island revolves around the things that come to the territory from the sea.

Paddling's been a good workout. It's a test of strength, endurance, technique and a zen like

quality to repeat the same series of motions hundreds of times. Every time out I feel I improve a little bit and find a new part on my body to get sore. Hopefully if I stick with it I'll start to resemble some of the Samoans who we go with, they are walls of muscle.

The hardest part of paddling is moving the boats to and from the water. The outrigger canoes are approximately 40 feet long fiberglass hulls, with the ama outrigger arm off to one side, which all-together weigh close to 400 pounds. The crew of the boat needs to flip the boat over in the water, without allowing it to fill with water and then carry the boat across a lava rock and coral covered beach, up to the lawn where the boats are stored on. After an hour paddling around the bay, this can be a difficult move, depending on how many people are there to assist with the carrying. In the end, it's worth the opportunity to get out on the water and get some physical activity in.

Sliding Rock, at High Tide

In the aftermath of the fa'afaine pageant we went to, we made plans with an Aussie couple that we've been hanging out with to go to Sliding Rock. I'd been to Sliding Rock my first weekend on island, but Sara had yet to be. The place has a reputation for being many people's favorite spot in American Samoa, and deservedly so.

We started off the trip with a lunch at our house. We were shooting to get to Sliding Rock a little before what Ben, our Australian marine biologist, told us would be low tide. During lunch some of our neighbors dropped by. We ended up inviting them to join our expedition. So off we went to Sliding Rock.

Sara quickly pointed out that she had never been west from our house. Since work and the major villages and shops are to the east of us, we'd never yet gone towards that end of the island from our place. Time to open up another horizon. We got to Sliding Rock and parked up the coast, to avoid paying for parking.

We opted to hike to the tide pools along the shore, instead of taking the path through the forest. It was a bit of a scramble up and down the lava cliffs.

What really made it worth it was beach combing for seashells with a marine biologist on our walk out. He was able to pick out five times the shells my untrained eyes could. What had been previously just pretty shells to me were now being identified by genus and species for us. That alone was worth the trip.

As we were making the walk out, Ben started to pay more attention to the large waves rolling in. He was also a bit worried that the tide was not anywhere near low. Too late to do much about it.

The highlight of Sliding Rock is a series of tide pools, that are protected by a large wall of lava rock, which will occasionally let larger waves surge through to feed to pools. When we arrived there there were a number of Samoans wading and hanging out. We parked ourselves on some rocks near the cliffs that lead up to the forest and started to unpack our things. Sara and Aussie Sarah took it upon themselves to hop into some smaller pools that were a little downstream of the main tide pools. While they were relaxing and enjoying the smaller pools, Ben and I were unpacking and getting our stuff situated for an afternoon of hanging out. And then, disaster struck.

Ben and I were in the perfect spot to see it all unfold. A large wave came rushing through the saddle in the outer rock wall that holds most of the ocean out of the tide pools. It inundated the closer tide pool and overflowed into the second pool. The next wave in the set was larger. It too blew through the gap in the breakwater, since the first pool was still swollen full from the first wave, the wave carried straight threw to the second pool. A Samoan standing on the rock partition between the pools stood there like a deer in the headlights. The wave came through that spot at 4 feet high. He was washed down the rock slope on his butt into the second tide pool, which was filled with lounging his friends. The surge from the second wave overflowed the second pool.

The third wave in the series was even larger. It overflowed both pools and pushed everyone in them floating down through the series of tide pools, where the Sara(h)s were soaking. Ben and I looked on from our dry vantage point. There was nothing we could do to help our respective partners as they were being washed towards the pounding surf and lava-rock cliffs that would meet them at the end of the tide pools.

Both girls were swept up in the wave. Sara was carried to the next pool down before she could use her feet to dig into the lava-rock. When the water receded, Ben and I stood came over to survey the damage. Sara and Sarah were both scraped up after getting caught in the waves. They both had been dragged over a fair amount of lava rock.

They fared better than the Samoans. We talked with them after everything settled following the waves. Several of them had large cuts and scrapes that were dripping blood onto the rocks we convened on. They quickly packed up and headed out to clean their wounds.

We stayed, despite the injuries and ended up camping out a high rock outcropping that was above where the waves could reach. After looking at the water, it was nearing high tide. Our intrepid marine scientist got it wrong. Must be because those Southern Hemisphere types have it all upside-down. Since anything more than quick dips in the pool was not in the cards, we did some sunning on the rocks and hung out. One of our later arriving neighbors hauled a cooler of beer and some dominoes out to the rocks and we made an afternoon of it.

Just another afternoon in paradise.

Outrigger Paddling

Sara and I have been looking for an activity that will suit us both since we arrived on island. I've been doing some hiking, but since Sara's leg is still in need of some repair, it's not ideal for both of us. Thus we decided to give the outrigger paddling group a try. One of the other attorneys in our office is involved with a group that gets out on Pago Harbor every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. There's also a more casual group that dips their paddles on Tuesdays and Thursday, but we've never been the types to back down from a challenge. Today was our first try at staying upright in the water.

We showed up at the appointed time and place after work. Most of the boats were already making runs along the west bank of the harbor. There were a number of children and youth groups that were taking their turns with the outrigger canoes. We knew one of the parents who was there watching her son's paddling. After the usual chit chat the kids started to come in and the adult group started to congregate around the boats.

I realized that this group was serious when everyone in attendance had their own paddle. Each one was custom made in Tahiti, with certain lengths, bends of the shaft and blade sizes depending on the paddlers size, ability and strength. I felt a little out of place grabbing one of the extra ones left over from the kid's practice.

We hoisted the boats from their resting place on shore and carried the ones we were taking out over to the beach and divided the fifteen of us into three boats. With a few moments of instruction Sara and I were hopping into the third and fourth seat of our canoe and we started paddling off toward the channel marker at the mouth of the harbor.

The rhythm of paddling is 14 strokes on one side, then the number one or two paddler calls "hut." One more stroke on that side, then the rear paddler calls "ho" and everyone switches sides and punches out another fifteen strokes, rinse, repeat. As a first time paddler, this means I had enough time to get my hand hold right, match the cadence of the other paddlers, iron out my stroke technique and then I had to switch sides and figure it all out again. The key is staying in time with your lead paddlers and not taking strokes that are too long, as all your power is at the beginning of your paddle stroke. If anyone is out of cadence you can feel the canoe noticeably deaden in the water and the momentum is quickly lost.

We paddled south into the waves that were rolling into the mouth of the harbor. Nothing was breaking, but there were moments between the crests where you were digging deep to get the blade of the paddle into the ocean. We paddled out to the marker buoy, called a halt to our efforts and let ourselves drift for a moment.

There's easily no better place to view a small volcanic island than from a mile off the shore. We were greeted to a view of the sun setting behind the peaks that line Pago Harbor. That's a view I need to get a little more often.

We got a few moments to admire paradise and recommenced our paddling. Our rear paddler barked out corrections and coaching advice to Sara and I as we started our return trip back into the harbor. On the return paddle our lack of experience and stamina started to make itself apparent. I thought I'd paced myself well for the return trip, until I realized that we weren't angling towards the beach we started at, we were heading down the middle of the harbor, right past the beach we started at. Damn, there went the energy reserves I thought I'd rationed out for the journey.

Instead we continued our paddle past the port and the Canadian Naval vessel that's moored there on to the channel marker near the end of the harbor. Once around that buoy we got another breather. At this point my back was aching, my brow was dripping sweat into my eyes, my beard was soaked with salt spray and I was struggling to keep up with the paddling cadence. Determined to keep up, I resolved to finish out the final leg as best I could.

Thankfully the final leg was the shortest, but the wind was against us. We just need to go half the length of the harbor and loop around the breaking waves that were over one of the reefs. Going into the wind we lengthened out strokes and tried to maintain a consistent rhythm. With the end in sight, we coasted into shore. My back and shoulders were aching, but it was well worth the effort.

All that was left was to carry the boats back to the field where they are stored and rinse ourselves off. A little tired and woozy, Sara and I made it back without earning too much distain from out boat mates. Turns out we did over five miles paddling. Depending on how sore we are tomorrow, were looking to do it again soon.

Airport Beach with Waves!

Sara and I took the opportunity to walk out to Airport Beach. It's a short hike from our house in Fogagogo/Freddy's Beach. Our house is just off the end of the fence line for the runway for the Pago airport. Our destination was a beach that is hemmed in by the airport's fence and to reach it you need to walk along the narrow strip of land between the barbwire tipped fence and the ocean. As we walked out to the start of the trail, we were escorted to the trail by Brownie, our adopted dog. He did a pretty effective job of keeping the mangier local dogs from coming anywhere near us, looks like Brownie's earning his keep.

The first part of the trail is a covered in trash. The Samoans have a different tolerance for litter and garbage. It's sad to see people throw every piece of trash on the ground, especially, since the island is such a naturally beautiful place. The Samoans haven't quite adapted to the consumerist culture their colonial overlords have thrust on them. They don't have enough trash service and trashcans and use it as an excuse to toss their trash as they finish with it. The smaller and more remote villages aren't plagued with this problem, but near the heart of the wannabe suburbs of the Tafuna Plain, it's pretty egregious. The hike out contains plenty reminders of the local's convenience-over-aesthetic-beauty set of priorities.

The walk out is pretty spectacular. The lava cliffs are cool on their own. But today the coast was getting smashed with some large waves. It made the cliffs that line the hike out come alive as the waves slammed the cliffs sending sea spray flying as the waves beat themselves to their end into the island. Sara and I were sprayed several times and had some great up close views of how rugged and wild the South Pacific can be.

The coast on the way out to Airport Beach is riddled with old lava tubes called avas. They really course across the entire island, but they rarely are seen except when excavating or at their ends, such as here, where they end into the sea. The result of all these tubes are some spans, caves, bridges and blowholes that riddle the cliffs and make them come alive when the waves pound is, as they were yesterday.

Here is a wide blowhole, that would surge out a blast of salt and mist every time a large wave struck it's opening. The gust of air it generated was forceful enough to blow my hat off, when I was up close to it. Thankfully, I was wearing my neck strap so the hat continues to protect me from the equatorial sun.

I also managed to find a buoy for a fishing net from Tahiti (it said on the outside) that had washed up on the cliffs. This is one piece of detritus that's coming home with me to decorate our little backyard.

There were also some spots where the waves would come crashing over the cliffs. There was no shortage of dramatic moments on the way out to the beach. For a short hike, it held a ton of interest and some great moments. On the way out, I recall thinking that the waves our little shore was getting pounded with may have been building up force and inertia all the way from Antarctica's shore, since there's not any land mass between us and there heading south.

Eventually, to reach the reef protected lagoon that is Airport Beach, our path cut us through some tall brush. With no terrestrial poisonous snakes on the island, cutting through vegetation like this is not very perilous, the biggest annoyance is the spider webs that will build up if the path does not see much use. The best approach is usually to walk with your hand in front of your face. Thereby letting it take all the webs instead of your nose.

There's not much legacy left from the US Navy's half century of staffing Tutuila. These World War II pillboxes are some of the remnants of that time. They dot the coast throughout the island, though I don't believe they saw any action during the war in the Pacific. They stand today as a reminder of one of the eras that this little community in the middle of nowhere has experienced.

The beach was pretty great yesterday. The waves that were battering the cliffs on our walk out, were breaking themselves on the shallow reef that was a long way off shore from Airport Beach. From the beach we could see waves that looked to be 20 or 30 foot rollers crash down upon themselves while we were floating in a salty, warm-water bath, with only the slightest hint of waves lapping up against the coral sand. Pretty idyllic.

Airport beach is known for its snorkeling, we didn't bring our gear, but the swimming was plenty for us. One of our neighbors bought a Hawaiian sling for spearfishing, he was cruising the reef looking for his first catch. The fish ended up winning the day and he came back from his first day without a catch.

Looks like he'll need to content himself with some beach hangouts instead. Just try not to be blinded by my pasty, mainland complexion.

Sara and I continued to build our collection of seashells and ocean treasures, a few of the almost good enough pieces found another life as a little coral forest next to our towels as were dried off.

On our way back to the house, we walked along the graded land directly underneath the airport's fence. Not as exciting, but a quicker route. Once we reached the road we encountered a car full of Samoans on their way out from a wedding. They stopped the car, rolled down their windows and offered us lollipops. Not a bad way to end our little trip to spot that's a 40 minute walk from our backdoor.

Sliding Rock

I managed to take another little trip today. Sunday started off slowly, the residents of American Samoa are very religious. The missionaries started coming to the islands 140 years ago and were particularly effective at converting the natives. As a result churches hold a huge sway with the local population. Most residents of AmSam spend Sundays in church, all of Sunday in church. No businesses are open and there is little to do in any of the towns or villages besides eat and pray (at the church).

Not being much of a church goer myself, I spent most of Sunday reading, cleaning the house and prepping food for the rest of the week. After wrapping up those tasks I took a little initiative and swam a few turns in our modest and semi-clean pool. Our noted risk taker from yesterday found me there and suggested an outing to Sliding Rock. With nothing pending for the rest of the afternoon, I accepted the offer.

We hopped into a car with the risk taker, his son and two guys. Along the drive out we gathered another vehicle of people and headed out to Sliding Rock. The second car was filled with three generations of a family, the grandparents were visiting the island, the adults worked here and their three children were all along to the Sliding Rock trip.

The locals who live nearby charge $5 for parking right at the site, so we drive a quarter of a mile further down the road and parked at a turnoff. There were two options to hike to Sliding Rock scramble along the rocky shore or hike through the forest, we opted for the forest. The hike took us through a Samoan family graveyard and past two fales under construction. A short scramble down steep slope and were we at Sliding Rock.

Our destination was a series of tide pools that are normally calm at low tide. There is a large series of rocks that protect the pools from most waves, with a small opening that allows an occasional wave to break and the runoff to feed the pools. Today wasn’t a typical low tide. The waves again were coming in with 15 foot swells. Instead of the occasional waves feeding the pools most waves were breaking through the opening, keeping most people out of the closer to the ocean, larger pool. Placing my backpack and shirt on a high spot, I opted to take a few jumps in the big pool. After a quick dip, I got out to explore the rock wall that was on the ocean side of the tide pools.

The rock was mostly soaked and looking out to the ocean you could see large waves rolling in from the south. They would frequently crash against the natural sea wall with enough force to splash through to the first tide pool. Occasionally ones would come in with enough fury to splash some water into the second, further inland tide pool where the majority of the group was wading around.

Our risk taking leader opted to jump off the cliff on the ocean side. He had to wait a long while to find the right lull to climb back in on the rocks. Showing I learned something from my trip yesterday, I opted to play spotter to this adventure rather than make myself a full participant.

Once we made it back to the tide pools there was some good relaxing hangouts. I moved my stuff to higher ground due to the pounding waves I had spied from the ocean-side, rock wall. Soon enough we did start to get waves that were crashing through inundating the big, close pool and splashing over into the pool where everyone was. A few people’s things got caught in the tidal wash and a small amount of panic ensued. Once the kids were spooked people packed up real fast and our trip was over a little sooner than I would have liked, but I did get to experience another great spot. Next time I just need to make sure the waves and tide aren’t going to be a deal breaker.

Fagatele Bay

After almost a week of being on Tutuila and most of my time being spent in the office, I finally managed to jump in the Pacific. Though it wasn’t without its trials. I woke early Saturday morning and gave Sara a call to see how her last day of firm life for the foreseeable future went. After reading a few chapters in the book I brought, one of my neighbors stopped in to suggest I go to the gym with him. Needing a workout and lacking a plan for the morning I jumped at the chance to get out. Turns out the gym is free and is run by a native Samoan who makes his living as a professional MMA fighter on the mainland. He then uses his income to support a gym he trains at and spreads the gospel of sanctioned violence to his homeland. Needless to say it was unlike any gym I have seen before.

It was an old auto-repair garage that had been updated with a few stacks of weights and large mats for sparring. Turns out my neighbor was coming to the gym to teach a jujitsu class. Never having participated in jujitsu and being the only person besides a professional fighter, who won his last fight in 23 seconds, and the instructor at the gym at 8 in the morning I gamely decided to try it out. Turns out long gangly guys are not ideally adapted to rolling around on the floor and applying choke holds. Though it was a good work out and I managed to fit in some weightlifting after being shown the finer points of an arm lock and guard. Being off of lifting for a few months, my arms were jello by the end of the workout.

My neighbor then suggested some snorkeling to clean up. Desperate to get out and see some beaches I agreed with the condition that I get to eat breakfast. After eating we picked up a two other guys who were up for some aquatic adventures at our housing complex and headed out Fagatele Bay National Marine Sanctuary. The hike in started at a gate where we asked the Samoan family living there if we could cross their land to access a jeep track that led to a path down to the Bay. The husband (who suffers from some fierce elephantitis) said yes, and the wife berated him in Samoan. We figure we better get moving before she convinced him that letting us bypass the gate with a 40 feet jaunt across their front yard was a bad idea.

The jeep track ran down a ridge that looked over Fagatele Bay to the west and Larsen Bay to the east. It was a serene stroll through a coconut forest. After about a mile the trail to the Fagatele branched off. It was a steep dirt track that cut down the slope to one of the few beaches in the Marine Reserve. A native family was making their journey up the trail as we were descending. They warned us the waves were large and hinted that we would be disappointed by what we would find at the beach. Not to be deterred, we continued down the steep trail towards the Marine Reserve access beach.

The trail was steep, rocky in spots, eroded dirt in other areas and littered with coconuts shells in various states of sprouting and decay. Careful attention had to be paid to foot placement and slips did occur. My flip-flops survived, but there were a number of broken and cast off sandals along the route. I made a mental note to bring heavier duty footwear next time I took this way.

The beach was tiny at high tide, surrounded by rock cliffs on three sides and the ocean on the fourth with only a wooden staircase to access the sheer hillside above. The bay was pretty spectacular, the waves were crashing against the lava rock cliffs that line almost every other point in the bay. The cliffs reflected the incoming wave, making echoes of as the bounces the reverberated back and forth. Actually, the waves were huge and breaking very close to shore, even making the beach we were on disappear underneath the break’s runout. After diving on the coast of Northern California for years, I thought I had been in some big surf, but these tall mid-Pacific waves were out to prove that notion wrong.

On this small patch of sand we undertook donning our fins and masks and made our way out into the shallows. It was then I realized this beach was right up on a reef, a shallow reef. A reef that was getting pounded by 15 foot breakers for a few hundred yards out. Not wanting to get caught in the waves, I put my arms and legs to work and sprinted to deeper water. The big waves I encountered on my way out were big, but I was able to see them coming and dive under them, letting the mountains of water pass harmlessly over me. After 5 waves I was hyperventilating and regretting the extra sets of lifting I did with my arms and shoulders at the gym that morning. It wasn’t until I kicked and pulled myself into deeper water that the waves reduced to swells that I was given a moment to relax. A long float later in the water made murky with the detritus stirred up by the waves and some time spent observing the aquatic life of the reserve I contemplated the swim back into shore with the wave intensity seemingly increasing in the shallows.

Our fearless leader, who I was now remembering a few other coworkers called a risk taker, opined that the best way back was to figure out a break in the sets of waves and then make a dash back in and hope the next set doesn’t roll in. One of the smarter members of our expedition opted to try a different beach ono the other side of the bay with a less intense break and make the overland route back to our gear. Nearing the point of exhaustion I didn’t think I could muster the swim and barefoot rock scramble back across the Bay. After watching my fellow newbie begin his swim in and get lost behind the swells I was worried.

The trip leader went next picking his spot during a lull and suddenly I was alone, bobbing in a bay with huge waves breaking on a sharp, shallow coral reef between me and dry land. Mustering up what little strength my arms had left, I watched a large set pass by and then launched myself towards shore. I surfed one smaller wave through the first the first 20 yards of quickly shallowing reef, still 100 to go. The rip current from my benefactor wave started to pull me backwards. I looked down through my mask and could see myself being pulled away from shore. Turning, the next breaker was upon me. The only option was to turn and dive through the avalanche of water. I spun, again and returned to my effort to get myself ashore without chunks of the reef imbedded in my skin or worse. I also realized that my gaming of the waves had pulled me off target. Instead of heading towards our small beach, I was pointed towards the rock wall that hemmed in that little tract of sand.

Adjusting my course back towards our beach I began to fight the current. As an experience abalone diver and beach goer, I know on some intellectual level that fighting a strong current is only a way to exhaust yourself and make your chances of reaching shore dwindle. However, this really didn’t register until I fought the crosscurrent for the amplitude of another wave. Seeing my destination draw further away as the current swept me to the rocky and steep portion of the bay triggered the memories on fighting currents from some dark corner of my brain.

I changed course and started making for a rocky shelf that I could see between the waves that were breaking against it and lazily washing over it. I pulled with all the strength my arms had and managed to catch a rock on the shelf just as a wave surged me up to the outcropping. Thankfully, Spencer had given me an older pair of warm water diving gloves the day before I departed. These saved my fingers from scraped up, my left leg was less lucky and ended up worse for wear from being dragged over the sharp lava rock. Scrambling up the rock I pulled my mask from my face and my fins from my feet and assessed what the next step in my improvised exit strategy would be.

The rock platform that I washed up on had cliff that looked unscalable looming over it, especially considering the noodles my arms had become during my odessey in from the edge of the reef. Another, lower bench of rock was in the direction I need to go to make it back to our starting beach. The waves would crash over the bench, but it would empty of water quickly and have a few moments before the next wall of water came through. Judging this way the best alternative, I timed my jump down, scrambled in the lull between the waves and managed to pull myself up to the next, taller bench along the shoreline. This rock outcropping was high enough to be out of the waves’ reach. Finally securing a moment of peace I leaned against the cliff wall and made sure my wounds were not going to be the end of me.

My current perch had a tree growing out of some fissures in the rock. With a long drop down to the water in the direction I need to go, the foliage was my best route out. I used what little strength I could recover in my arms to shimmy up the tree and reach a spot I could hike over to the staircase down to the beach.

Making my way there, only one of the four people I started this swim with was waiting for me, it was our noted guide/risk taker. The other two were nowhere to be seen. After a long wait the guy who chose the other side of the bay as his exit point came trotting up, much to the joy of his puppy. My other newbie coworker was still MIA. Our searching eyes could not locate him anywhere in the water. We started to gather our gear and contemplate the hike to a spot were a phone call to rescuers could be made. Close to the time we finished changing and packing our gear, our missing snorkeler came stumbling out of the woods.

He had gotten pulled further down the bay by the same currents that had taken me and had to scramble across more lava than I care to contemplate. Our party reestablished, we made the long steep hike out.

A rinse in the pool at our housing complex revived me. I washed my gear out and realized that my rash-guard had not made it back into my bag. I went and check the truck we took and it wasn’t there either. Damn, I knew where it was already, hanging on the tree watching over Fagatele Bay.

A shower later I had recovered some of my senses. At least enough sense to make a trip to the gas station to ensure I could make it out and back the dirt road that led to the trailhead. I was driving the bumpy dirt road back to the trailhead. Another successful negotiation with the native family dwelling at the start of the trail and I was headed back down the same track again.

The second trip allowed me to take a little more time to appreciate the views from the ridge. The bays on both sides looked spectacular from up high. The steep green slopes jut straight up from the water. It’s a place unlike anywhere else I’ve been.

Back down at the beach, the tide had gone out and the breaks were no longer swamping my sandals. Dangling from the tree I’d placed it on hours ago was my rash guard, waiting for its owner to claim it.

The trek up was trying, but not bad. Reaching the car I realized another trail led off to Larsen Bay. Having some daylight left and not knowing when the next time I’d be this far out, I opted to do a little exploring. I veered down the single track trail that cut down the slope to the next bay east. It was another path cut into the slope, but I did remember to change into my Chacos from the second trip and the more secure sandals were up to all the trail had to throw at us.

The Larsen Bay trail saw much less traffic than the route to Fagatele. Spiderwebs were frequently catching my face and arms. Tearing my way through I made the hike down to the bay. I was greeted with a beach made up of large, broken coral. I will definitely need to bring some swim or dive gear here next time and see if the water is any less treacherous here.

Back at home I rewarded myself with a Stienlager, treated my wounds with a rubbing alcohol/hydrogen peroxide/neosporin regime and took some time to appreciate surviving the day and the “Rapture” that billboards proclaimed would happen today.