The South Pacific: Rapa Iti, Austral Islands, French Polynesia – Not just some old bird

If you are going to start something, you might as well aim high. We are not ‘birders’, but have found ourselves on a ship full of them! The aim of our chief bird man on this voyage was to visit Rapa Iti to see one of the rarest birds in the world.  We have never seen the furore, as 60 people rushed for the opportunity to view a bird on a mulberry tree. 

But let’s hold on to that thought while I introduce the island. Rapa is the southernmost inhabited island of French Polynesia and is often referred to as Rapa ‘Iti’ (meaning small). This is to distinguish it from another Rapa island, being Rapa ‘Nui’ (meaning big), which is more familiarly known as Easter Island. To get here we sailed 300 nautical miles from yesterday’s Raivavae, and a total of 700 nautical miles from Tahiti  – the equivalent of about 800 land miles.

Just like Raivavae, the island is volcanic, fortunately now extinct. An aerial view shows the island is a ‘C’ shape and rather like a curled king prawn, caused by the right, or east, side of the volcano having been breached by the sea. The land comprises many peaks and precipitous cliffs, and inland travel is difficult which is why we stayed near the coastline, although that too involved a strenuous hill walk. There are just two villages, the small but main one being Ahurei, and the few roads that exist lay around that breached east side.

First reports of European sightings were in 1791 by George Vancouver of the Royal Navy – yes he who has today many areas named after him. Several reports followed of passing ships encountering mainly hostile residents and it was not until the 1800s that visitors seemed to land, namely the London Missionary Society.

At around that time the population was thought to be at least 2,000, but huge numbers died – with visitors, came disease including smallpox. Many of the people lived in fortresses, which some consider reflected feuding within the island and only diminished with the diminishing population. The remains of at least 28 fortresses can still be seen, although as they are on ridge tops we did not venture that high. Today the population is estimated to be 515 people living nearer the sea and its access to cultivated land. 

The indigenous Eastern Polynesian language of Old Rapa is no longer dominant, being largely spoken by the elders. Instead Reo Rapa is used, being a mix of Tahitian and Old Rapa. Some also speak English which brings us back nicely to our visit.

Upon arrival there was much jollity. At the quay side (this was a rare dry landing for us) island women were smiling and singing and placed hand-woven garlands around our necks. These were made of flowers and strong, shiny, slippery green leaves. Our ears began to ring with the extremely loud banging of drums from some of the island’s men.

We were then invited to sit while the master of ceremonies welcomed us to watch the islanders sing. They are known particularly for their religious singing. There was also a couple acting and shouting at each other in turn – it was just a pity we had no idea what they were saying!

Then came a speech from the Mayor who was passionate in his words, saying: “Thank you for coming to this horizon of ours. In the name of the population of Rapa we welcome you. It takes many days to reach our land, the furthest south of the French Polynesian Islands, and the first time your ship has ever visited. We want to make your visit as pleasurable as possible.”

And that is just what they did. As traditional dancing finished we were invited to take a nature walk. This pleased the ‘birders’ no end who had been eagerly anticipating an extremely rare visit to this island. 

They were on the lookout for just one bird, the endemic and critically endangered Rapa fruit dove, a colourful green, blue-grey, and rose-purple bird with a bright pink crown. There are estimated to be just 120-160 Rapa fruit doves on this one and only island, and their numbers are declining. 

But what were the chances of seeing some? We hiked a little inland as islanders told us of their lives and facilities. Unlike some other islands they did not have a runway for aeroplanes – the land was just not flat enough – and they told us they did not want one. We saw lots of fruit growing including guava and were invited to eat mulberries from the trees which were plump and tasty.

We all then veered off along a track and our leading land bird expert rush ahead. He ran back to us with hushed voice. The fruit dove had been seen. Sixty hushed ‘birders’ rushed into the bushes. Some scrambled hurriedly down a sharp decline to get a view of this little treasure. Being at the back of the scramble I stretched and weaved to get a glimpse, but had no idea what I should be looking for. 

The clicking of cameras was intense: still shots from super long camouflaged lenses, with ‘amateurs’ and the ill-prepared using their phones. And then the ‘scope’ came into play! If you are a true ‘birder’ there will be no time to mess with that lengthy word ‘telescope’. I retreated to the scope. Ah, that’s what I should be looking for. As the melee subsided I crept over to the mulberry tree, and there it was sitting bewildered looking at us and no doubt wonder what all the fuss was about.

It perched for a considerable time, and then disappeared. It had made many people happy. We walked back to the village speaking to our excited leading land bird man as we went. He told us this sighting had increased his lifetime bird sightings to 9,600. We were mighty pleased seeing what it meant to him and 60 others. We then told him of our count, explaining we had never been ‘birders’. “Ours is… umm one, unless you count some pigeons and sparrows,” we said. Well everybody has to start somewhere!

We then headed back, but the islanders had not finished with us. We viewed bread baking in a community-shared oven – they all lend a hand – and craft making. Then taro root came into play. The islanders had a huge wooden press in which they squeezed taro root to make a fermented drink from the juice. The press was so large and heavy that it took six men to manoeuvre it. “I think it’s possibly over-engineered,” I heard one guest say.

Then some of the women showed us how they prepare taro in a similar way to dough, which involved much kneading and hitting with a brick, yes, seriously. One needs strong wrists for this process, which are built up with this activity from the age of 11. Singing is carried out while doing this which sets the pace for the banging with the basalt rock bricks. This was once carried out at the river banks. We were also told that this dough was being prepared today (a Saturday) as everyone would be at church on Sunday.

All parts of the taro are used including the corm, stems and leaves. The corm is a nutritious, life-sustaining, staple on many of the islands and can be white, pink or purple inside. It is fast-growing, producing up to three crops a year and has a variety of uses, including a paste-like substance, and a dough. It can be rather bland so flavourings such as coconut milk may be added.

But it was then time to leave our new friends, who had clearly delighted in our visit as much as we had delighted in their efforts and company. Another brilliant day had come to an end.

Copyright: Words and photographs Sue Barnard 2022