Last Trip to See the Nesting Birds on Suwarrow

September 26, 2009
John calls us on the VHF; We make for Bird Island, one of seven islands; Onward to Motu Turau, Motu Eight, for lunch and a walk about; Snorkeling in a torrential downpour; Days that follow

John calls us on the VHF

The VHF crackled at 8:00 AM Saturday morning, September 26.

“This is Suwarrow Base calling the fleet at anchor. If you want to go out to Seven Islands to see the nesting Boobies and Frigates, picnic on Motu Turau--Motu Eight, and snorkel on the reefs, be at the dock at 11:30 AM. Bring your dinghy and lunch. This is the last excursion of the season.” John informed us.

We hurry to get ready and take Liz in our dinghy for the ride over. She is a British-New Zealander off a new Benateau 50, Antipodes II and is a retired pediatrician.

We make for Bird Island, one of seven motus

Into the wind. Take on the spray. Protect my Nikon camera. Round Anchorage Islet, round the reefs, cross the pass and pull our dinghy up on the flat dead reefs of Bird Islet, the first of Seven motus. The trees are scarce and scrubby looking. Blown virtually bare on the windward side. John gathers the excursion party in a circle for a message to the children, who are excited for discovery.

“Children please do not run in this area, or disturb the nests. Know that if you come too close to newly-hatched chicklets, the mother will discard them.”

He asks us all to respect the area. He does not come to these islands often so as not to disturb the birds. So this is his special gift to us today.

The Boobies on Suwarrow are Red Footed, Masked, and Brown and the Frigates are of the Great variety.

Did you know Frigate Birds neither walk well nor swim? How amazing is that. They deep dive for fish and to some degree are parasitic on Boobies and Tropicbirds, but for the most part obtain their food by honest endeavour. Female adults have white areas on their breasts and male adults have a scarlet throat pouch that inflates to balloon-like proportions during courtship rituals. Their feathers change colour as they develop.

The straggly party progresses toward the nesting area. I see hundreds of birds take to the skies as we approach. There are some nesting Boobies in a tree on the aside, looking unperturbed as just two or three of us stop to watch, intrigued.


Hundreds of birds take to the skies as our straggly party progresses onto their nesting area.


Nesting Booby birds seem absolutely unperturbed as we gaze up at them.


Beautiful Masked Boobies fly overhead.

We follow the excursion party and John. What we see is awe inspiring: Frigate Birds of various degrees of development. Snow white fluffy babies close to their mothers, newly hatched chicks that look like large pinkish-white spiders, some without their mothers. All look at us curiously, in an almost comical way, except for the newly hatched who are concentrating on merely trying to get a footing in life. Wobble, wobble.

“Who are these tall gangly creatures walking on our Seven Islands?" Their expressions seem to say. They gawk at us. Or some chicks crawl under the bellies of their mothers feeling our presence and seeking protection.

Pictures tell the story. Imagine the sound of the waves breaking continuously on these far flung reefs and feathers blowing in the wind. Perhaps imagine the whaling vessel Gem, of long ago, crashed up on the reef carrying her barrels of whale oil and bone.


Frigate chicks keep each other company as they stare at us onlookers. How comical and precious they are.


This little Frigate chick seems to be calling for its Mum. Hey Mum where are you? Come quick I’m all alone!


Excuse me? I beg your pardon? Can I have some privacy this juvenile Frigate Bird seems to insinuate?


Juvenile Frigate Birds in conference.


A Juvenile Frigate Bird with a saucy little cotton ball chick with perfect deportment.


Hello! Are my feathers becoming enough for you?


Juvenile Frigates with a precious, curious chickadee. See their hooked beaks.


Who is going to sit on this vulnerable egg? Hurry up and come!


A newly hatched Frigate Bird. Looks a bit like big white a spider.


All the attention is getting to me, so I think I’ll go under for cover the Frigate chick seems to say.


Here is Dad with his scarlet pouch not extended. Looks like he is on a nest too.


Look as much as you want. I am safe under the wings of my Mum.


Great Frigate Birds in flight showing off their magnificent wing span.


Three dinghies and the Tinny await us at anchor.

Onward to Motu Turau ,Motu Eight, for lunch and a walk about

The three dinghies and the Tinny await us at anchor on the far side of the reef. Onward to Motu Turau. We ride across turquoise waters, zig zagging around the odd coral heads.

We’ve lost John, who went ahead in his Tinny with the German family of four. He is out of sight. Two dinghies are behind us: Americans and Australians. We scan the horizon.

“There they are, on the beach of Motu Turau.” I say. Tucked in amongst the shady palm trees. We pull our dinghy up and tie it to a tree.


The dinghy parking lot. We tie ours to a tree.

Lunch on the coral beach in the shade of palms is the order of the day. It tastes scrumptious, though just a morsel of Tuna and crackers and refried beans and chips plus almonds and the wonderful Tahiti water, which is fast running out.

We share a little of what we have with John’s family. They boys relish what we offer. I want to lie down for a nap, and barely do when Russ asks if I want to walk around the motu. Everyone is up and on their way. I drag myself away from peaceful retire. No rest for the wicked.


Look hard to find the cluster of people at lunch. Can’t find them? Look to the base of the palm

Young Jack from the Oz boat, La Barca, has found feathers for his cap and his sister, Amy, is cooling off in the shallows. The children walk barefoot on the coral. I walk with Veronica who has eyes like an owl. She points out whale bones, coconut crabs tucked into the roots of a palm, the different birds, some of which are well camouflaged: Marked and Brown Booby’s.


Young Jack of the SV La Barca has picked up bird feathers for his cap. Sweet.


Amy of the SV La Barca cools herself in the shallow water.


The children walk barefoot on the coral beach. John in the red shorts up front leads the way.


Whale bones. Perhaps a dead whale washed up in a storm. What a great and noble mammal.


Don’t let this coconut crab get to your toes. They are protected so cannot be eaten.

“If they are purple, they eat coconuts. If they are orange, they eat Pandanus nuts.

See the Brown Booby and her chick? See the Marked Booby, male, female, and chick?” Veronica points out. I creep up and photograph so many birds. I point my lens to the skies, trying to catch them in flight. A whirling Dervish with a camera.


See the Brown Booby bird and her chick?


Male and female Masked Booby birds and their chick. They share the care taking.


A Brown Booby in flight. Its wing span is just as impressive as the Great Frigate Bird.


Beautiful Masked Boobies fly gracefully overhead.

Storm clouds gather and I stop to photograph the brew on the horizon. Oh how magnificent: coral beach with pink tone, turquoise waters, and gunmetal skies. Spray from faraway waves, ever breaking on the reefs.


A coral beach with pinkish tones, turquoise waters, and a storm brewing on the horizon.


Anchorage Islet in the distance, where Zulu is anchored waiting for our safe return and in the distance to the right are specks of Seven Islands.


Another perspective of Anchorage Islet in the far, far distance. The storm is at hand.

Snorkeling in a torrential downpour

The storm clouds gather and into the dinghies we get. Veronica floats in the water. Any public school in America would have “canceled the excursion because of inclement weather”. Not John, the Cook Islander. Smile. Not the crew in the Oz dinghy or the two American dinghies following suit.


What a magnificent sight in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a national park with a storm about to rip the skies apart.

The rain comes pelting down as the skies virtually rip apart. Huge, cold drops bounce off our bodies. We are utterly drenched beyond recognition. Russ gets cold as he has lost a lot of weight. He wishes he brought his wet suit.

We come to a large reef that falls away into a deep chasm. Into the warm water we dive. Reprieve from the cold rain. The kids are like fish themselves. Oh how I wish I could name all the beautiful fish we see on this live, brilliant reef. The colours are so vivid, the fish so intricately designed as if from the palette of a master artist. At least I can say I saw about six of the largest turquoise parrot fish I’ve ever seen, a few black-tipped reef sharks, various butterfly and trigger fish, and coral trout etc. I do not want to get out. I feel protected under water.

But Russ is getting cold. I heave myself into the dinghy getting a face lift off the bottom as I land. Russ and I virtually drag Liz aboard like a sack of potatoes. We leave while all are still snorkeling and wave to one of John’s children to let them know we are going back to Zulu. I wring Russ’ shirt out so he can put it on just to have it get wet again on his body, but it is some protection. I’m thinking of a cup of piping hot Earl Grey tea with a ginger snap biscuit.

“Which way do we go”? Russ says. We can barely see anything the rain beats down so hard. There is Anchorage Islet and the Mercury outboard starts up, moves forward, and creates a good wake. Then it starts coughing and sputtering.

After the dinghy turned upside down in a storm in Moorea, Russ cross-threaded one of the spark plugs by accident. He could not get it repaired in Papeete, so just screwed it all the way in, the wrong way. One more headache to deal with.

“If that engine dies we’ll get washed out to the reefs.” I say.

“No we will battle our way to safety.” Liz responds. She is, I guess, in her seventies and very, very English . She articulates each word with perfect enunciation and great emphasis so that clarity will never be in question. Her long, light cotton pants in which she snorkeled cling to her legs and her blue eyes sparkle mischievously. She could double as Churchill’s sister. Stiff upper lip. I say old chap! Tough as a bulldog. Bright as a spark.

The sun comes out! We are near Anchorage Islet. There are the masts of the 6 boats at anchor. The only boats anchored in this 100-acre atoll. How absolutely exclusive: Spica from Germany, Valiam and La Barca from Australia, Antipodes II from NZ, Auspice and Carina and Zulu from the USA.

“When you are finished with tea, come over for a glass of wine and a book swap.” Liz gives the invitation as we near her boat.

On board Zulu, we find a hatch had blown open in the wind and all our bedding is soaked. So hang out the sheets and put the pillows on deck. Dry off. Pour a piping cup of tea to warm our chilled innards. Scrape together some crackers and cheese and motor off to Antipodes II, the 50ft Beneteau.

On board is a transformed Liz in an Indian skirt and turquoise top smiling wide, her husband John, brother Will, and friend Ian. We enjoy some Tahitian box red and cheese and crackers.

John bought this beautiful 50-ft Beneteau in Italy. Enjoyed the Mediterranean, then sailed across the Atlantic through the Panama to the Galapagos and on to French Polynesia. This is their last sailing trip. They will sail tomorrow to Tonga and on to New Zealand in November. What a trip. And what a beautiful boat.

We talk about the wisdom of going straight to NZ or to take the advice of every Australian we have talked to, who say: “Look mate, if you go direct expect to get clobbered! Go to Vanuatu or New Caledonia, then Bundaberg and harbor hop down to Sydney and make a dash for NZ. You’ll come out the better for it.”

“Just got to choose a good 5-day window of weather from Tonga, make a go for it, and take what is served up the last 3 days. Could be a gale, could be a breeze, but you’ll be headed into it.” John says in his nonchalant NZ accent. Salty, to say the least. It sounds like a piece of cake with three strong men aboard.

I ponder the decision still to make. Getting clobbered is not on my list. But going to Oz first is that much more sailing and I need a rest.

We swap books: I give Liz Carl Safina’s Song for the Blue Ocean. I get Murdered in Samarkand (a British Ambassador’s controversial defiance of tyranny in the war on terror); The Water In Between (a journey at sea well deserving in a place alongside Peter Matthiessen’s The Snow Leopard and Paul Theroux’s The Happy Isles of Oceania says the review); and Snow (a controversial novel evoking the spiritual fragility of the non-Western world and its ambivalence about the godless West). Hmmm. When will I get time to read all the books I have between sailing, cooking, batting fruit flies, writing, photography, and swimming with the fish. Between simply living at sea.

The sun is setting. We wave goodbye. I try to catch the green flash on film, but it is quicker than the “eye” of the lens. I sit on deck awhile taking stock of this day of all days: exhilarating, wondrous, satisfying, awesome, silencing, uplifting, incredible, a gift. A day of all daysin the life of Russ and Marilyn.


I try to catch the green flash, but it is quicker than the “eye” of the lens. This ends a day of all days in the life of Russ and Marilyn.

Days that follow

Days that follow on Suwarrow were days of laughter and of introspection and of satisfaction.


Veronica and I do a jig after I succeed at weaving a belt and a head band. Yay! I passed the class.


Tine and Vanni are intrigued by their new found gecko friend.


This was my place of introspection, under the Pandanus tree on the windward side of the island. I would write my journal and letters here.


The extraordinary view from my place of introspection under the Pandanus tree. So many thoughts and feelings evoked.


A last excursion to find out what that big shape was on the reef. A whale? No just a washed up tree from distant shores.


A last swim with Veronica and Vani. Reach for the skies the water is so inviting. Mother and son.


Last dinghy ride back from the reefs across these magnificent waters to Anchorage Islet where Zulu rests.


Sharks took Russ fish as he cleaned it on the reefs on the windward side of Anchorage Islet! See there are two black-tipped and one gray shark. Think I’ll skip swimming.


Russ tries on a coconut crab claw for nose size. Smile. John and Veronica shared a crab with us. They are allowed to take a coconut crab now and again to bring some variety to their diet of fish and breadfruit.


Our last supper on Suwarrow. We share the ½ coconut crab with the French: Ivan, Lucy, and Frederique off SV Djanet from Tahiti. I bring French bread toastettes and cream cheese, and Frederique serves homemade mustard. Ivan waits for the scrumptious moment to begin.