Wildlife of Niue Island
The snakes were the first thing that I noticed as we approached Niue Island. Brightly striped, slippery and eager little buggers, nosy and curious, probably completely harmless and cute if I got to know them better. However, while anchored in Niue harbor, I spent more than a few waking hours pondering the possibilities of a snake finding his way up the through-hull fittings and into my bed.
Niue’s infamous snakes
Another gem in the South Pacific
When not preoccupied with sea snakes, I marveled at the island’s topography. Niue is one of the world’s largest emerged coral atolls, a saucer-shaped island formed from the basement of an isolated volcanic cone. From afar, Niue looks like a bluish pancake cloud, barely skimming the surface of the horizon and stretching in either direction until the ends taper and disappear into the ocean. Upon closer inspection, its massive and absolutely breathtaking – 64 kilometers in circumference and completely encircled by gorgeous, golden geological barriers. The limestone reef and towering cliffs are nature’s way of both protecting the island from the direct effects of the sea and perfecting the serene, postcard oasis that we travelers love so much.
Arrival in Niue
The name ‘Niue’ translates as Behold! The coconut!, a native’s proclamation that the rocky surface could sustain the coconut tree, thereby making the land worth inhabiting. Indeed, there were loads of palm trees blanketing the land, so the revelation apparently rings true. However, in January 2004, Niue was tormented by Cyclone Heta, an ultimately devastating hurricane that caused extensive damage and killed two people. The 250-kilometer winds wiped out most of Alofi, the tiny town that serves at the capital of Niue and claims home to most of Niue’s citizens. From our mooring point off the pier, we witnessed the leveled palms, the ruined houses, the toppled and flattened downtown domain. It’s amazing what wind and weather can do when the god’s are enraged. Nature is truly a daunting phenomenon.
Speaking of weather…here’s another story for you eager armchair readers.
Enroute to Niue
Fact: When it storms in the Pacific Ocean and you’re marooned on a floating piece of wood (AKA Yacht Queequeg), you and all of your belongings, including every article of clothing, all previously dry bedding, and your highly prized stock of miscellaneous reading material, will get sodden with rain and sea water. I don’t know how – some outlandish thing that the big wig scientists call condensation I guess. Water was simply everywhere. No matter how well I hid my only warm jumper or how many plastic bags I wrapped around my new Canon camera, in the end, it was all waterlogged. I should have taken a hint from Paddington the Bear…a yellow slicker and rain hat is all that is needed on the high seas.
How did this all come about you ask?
It all started on day three out of Palmerston. We hoped the sunny, windless day would end in a brilliant sunset. Having finished dinner, we were mingling in the cockpit, sipping tea and waiting for the fabled green flash. Greeted with this mythical exhibition we were not. Instead, angry green clouds gathered menacingly on the horizon. Yes, they were green, raging Incredible Hulk type of green. In a matter of minutes, these green crusaders rushed our way as we scrambled about and secured lines, sails and rigging. Before we managed to haul in the entire jib, 70 mph winds ripped through the strong sail cloth and tore the remaining bit to shreds. Joe, Wes, and I were all pulling on the sheet to no avail – – nothing could match the brute strength of a roaring wind. We secured it as best as possible and rushed around to tie the bouncing dinghy before it also blew away.
Bringing down the foresail
Wind hit from all directions and we traveled in circles, heading back east from where we came. Cold rain was driving down, up, sideways, and diagonally as we struggled to navigate a safe course. Since it was too dangerous to go forward and secure the torn foot of the sail, our torn jib just flapped about, tearing a little more. Waves crashed over the top of our cabin and hatches burst open, flooding the galley. What was annoyingly damp before quickly became sodden. Turmoil, turbulence and tipsy-turvy disarray. A sailor in her element….
Eventually, the wind died down and Queequeg managed the high seas for the remainder of the evening. We were no longer heading along our westerly course, bound for Niue. Instead, the winds were leading us east, back to Palmerston. If that wasn’t enough to make someone cranky, the sky wasn’t just gray. It was black…and cold…and the seas were rough. Nobody could eat or cook or do much of anything while we waited for our watches to come around. Even walking around the cabin took the stability and balance of a gold medal gymnast. I think we all came out of the storm with a fair share of bumps and bruises….and a few kilos thinner too. Even mashed potatoes and saltines were unappealing.
On watch during the storm
As it always does, the rain stopped., the wind switched around and our frowns turned upside down. Everything was hung outside to dry – sheets, towels, clothes, bedding, mattresses, books, pillows, navigation charts, ect……and we laid in the sun, soaking up the rays. Land was only a few days away and we had plenty of packaged carbohydrates to sustain me till then!
Alofi harbor was completely empty. We were only the second boat to visit since the beginning of the hurricane season and the yacht club was still in the process of installing moorings. High cliffs encircled QQ on three sides and dark blue sea stretched infinitely behind us. Waves foamed, gurgled and frothed as they battled against yellow rock, white meeting gold in a struggle for power, a jaw dropping melody at it’s finest. Aside from the sea snakes slithering along the hulls, it was a perfect spot.
Hanging out at the Niue Yacht Club
Nuie was a laid back, refreshing stop on our slow sail eastward. It was quiet and many of the shops had yet to open for the ‘tourist’ season, several weeks down the road. Handshakes, welcoming smiles, gifts of shell necklaces and free rides around the island were common. Niue wasn’t the ideal port to stock up on supplies or fresh produce but the local fisherman were quite talented and their catch was much appreciated, especially the fish and chips at Matavai Resort. The famous, guide-book popularized ice cream ‘Nazi’ soon became our best friend. He had sixteen flavors, including the much desired Hokey Pokey, coconut, coffee, and strawberry, all favorites of the QQ crew. Lexi collected three-fold for her hard work and pampering care during the storm and we experimented with triple-scoop of mismatched flavors.
Coastline of Niue
Our few days on Niue sped by and we bid farewell to our friends of Niue. American and Western Samoa, our next ports of call, were just a hop, skip and jump away. As we sailed out of Alofi, a small pod of dolphins gathered on our bow to wish us farewell. Jumping and diving, they carried us until the tip of the island and then departed with a flip of their fins, back to a fairy-tale life under the sea.
