Makatea, Tuamotu Archipelago, French Polynesia
The day broke bright and sunny, swaddling the National Geographic Endeavour in a blanket of South Pacific warmth. Our vessel coasted upon a field of mildly-undulating cobalt blue. En route to the western reaches of the Tuamotu Archipelago, we were beating a path through seemingly endless ocean. From horizon to horizon nothing stood on stage save for sea and sky. This was the realm of blue water. Denizens of the deep and aerial wind-gliders are all that inhabit such reaches. These waters are spare in planktonic biomass, and as such, liquid crystal in appearance.
The island of Makatea, the only high island in the Tuamotus, still lay some four hours to the east as breakfast was being served. Gerald McCormack brought the Lindbald Expedition educational program to the forefront with a presentation on island types and formation in the South Pacific. Unlike the Atlantic Ocean, spare in island numbers and distribution, the Pacific Ocean is rich with islands. Their origins, present state of development, topographical characteristics, and biodiversity are defined by their birth and evolution. The factors contributing to their differences are varied, and extend to disciplines ranging from geology and biology to that grand conductor of stage settings, climatology.
Soames Summerhays followed with a presentation on Coral Reefs. Corals, or more specifically coral polyps, tiny and seemingly insignificant organisms taken individually, are the master biological architects on Planet Earth. Human beings, endowed with an unrivalled intellectual prowess, have created no monuments to rival the scope and volume of the coral reef. Humans construct on a rule of time measured in months, years, or even decades. The coral reef timeline is measured in centuries, millennia, and eons. The resulting scale of development is difficult to fathom, but the prodigious products of such engineering were indeed one of the great points of our collective interest.
By noon, Makatea was well within eyeshot. Through the clear distance, on the horizon where the blue of ocean met the blue of sky, a small verdant-covered plateau loomed – a lonely patch in a seemingly-endless sea. As our vessel closed the gap, a few seabirds – terns, boobies and frigatebirds showed up to escort or vessel the final miles.
Makatea is a bean shaped plateau with 80m-high cliffs forming its outer edge. These cliffs used to be a barrier reef and the plateau was once the basin of a lagoon, where vast amounts of phosphate accumulated. The island had been created long ago by the slow but constant deposition of calcium carbonate by tiny coral polyps. After sinking beneath the waves the atoll may have emerged as an indirect consequence of the uplifting of Tahiti. Consequently, the island is both ancient and reborn.
After lunch, Zodiacs ferried the intrepid to the decrepit but impressive pier remains of the island’s former phosphate industry. From there they struck off on a cross-island hike along one of the island’s primitive roads. The road rose steeply at first, and then leveled off in a long and occasionally-winding swath, the land along its sides strewn with the decaying vestiges of a bygone era. Eventually the road stretched to cliffs on the island’s far side, where it suddenly dropped down towards a limestone grotto. The water at its bottom was clear and sweet, the result of filtration through small channels in the limestone rock. During the walk it was clear that the island was essentially devoid of humans, save for the small town of Moumu on the island’s west side, a small enclave of humanity beating a just-measurable pulse of island life. It was no large stretch as to why the island would probably never be a hotbed of South Pacific tourism or boast a large population. Makatea has no sparkling white-sand beaches, just rugged reef flats and mighty vertical cliffs. And its interior topography, limestone scoured and pocked by the erosive forces of water and tannic acids from decaying vegetation, is as nonnegotiable and treacherous as any on Earth – virtually impenetrable. The island currently boasts roughly fifty inhabitants. It was hard to imagine that the island was once covered in mining installations with more than 1000 workers, but for 50 years Makatea made French Polynesia an industrial center.
The presence of phosphate was noted at the end of the 19th century, and a company was created in 1908 to exploit the deposit. Infrastructure appeared from nowhere: industrial equipment (including a rail network for moving product), houses, schools, shops, places of worship, and even a cinema. The island exploded with the economic energy of a gold rush town. Until the 1950s labor came largely from Asia. With 3071 inhabitants in 1962, Makatea was the most populated island in the Tuamotus. Makatea phosphate became the core of the French Polynesian economy. In 1960, a record year, 400,000 tons of phosphate were extracted. Exports were mainly to Japan, New Zealand, and Australia. By 1966, when the reserves were depleted, nearly 11 million tons of phosphate had been torn form the island. In the space of a few weeks, the workers packed everything up and Vaitepaua, the island’s social and administrative heart, became a ghost town.
Not all of us chose to strike out on a hot afternoon across the island. Most of us opted to snorkel in the clear waters off the island’s western shore. Visibility was over 100ft. The reef was healthy and vibrant with impressive coral coverage, and teeming with scores of reef fish. Green and hawksbill sea turtles swam gracefully near the reef edge, while a few white-tip reef sharks leanly moved through the shallows. After snorkeling, many of us chose to set foot on the island for posterity and an abbreviated look of this unique South Pacific locale. A few short nature walks were offered to view seabirds, shorebirds, hopefully catch a glimpse of one of the island’s avian endemics, or further our knowledge of tropical plants.
As evening loomed a few locals who live in the village of Moumu came to say goodbye, their eyes brightened and their smiles widened by the prospect of future tourism to their island. They presently make their living from copra production and the sale of coconut crabs to passing tuna boats. However, the National Geographic Endeavour’s season had given them some hope for new economic possibilities. Returning to our vessel the sun abruptly slipped beneath the waves, a blanket of saturated Technicolor charged with ripening shades of red, flamingo, and burnt orange sweeping our day into night.
The day broke bright and sunny, swaddling the National Geographic Endeavour in a blanket of South Pacific warmth. Our vessel coasted upon a field of mildly-undulating cobalt blue. En route to the western reaches of the Tuamotu Archipelago, we were beating a path through seemingly endless ocean. From horizon to horizon nothing stood on stage save for sea and sky. This was the realm of blue water. Denizens of the deep and aerial wind-gliders are all that inhabit such reaches. These waters are spare in planktonic biomass, and as such, liquid crystal in appearance.
The island of Makatea, the only high island in the Tuamotus, still lay some four hours to the east as breakfast was being served. Gerald McCormack brought the Lindbald Expedition educational program to the forefront with a presentation on island types and formation in the South Pacific. Unlike the Atlantic Ocean, spare in island numbers and distribution, the Pacific Ocean is rich with islands. Their origins, present state of development, topographical characteristics, and biodiversity are defined by their birth and evolution. The factors contributing to their differences are varied, and extend to disciplines ranging from geology and biology to that grand conductor of stage settings, climatology.
Soames Summerhays followed with a presentation on Coral Reefs. Corals, or more specifically coral polyps, tiny and seemingly insignificant organisms taken individually, are the master biological architects on Planet Earth. Human beings, endowed with an unrivalled intellectual prowess, have created no monuments to rival the scope and volume of the coral reef. Humans construct on a rule of time measured in months, years, or even decades. The coral reef timeline is measured in centuries, millennia, and eons. The resulting scale of development is difficult to fathom, but the prodigious products of such engineering were indeed one of the great points of our collective interest.
By noon, Makatea was well within eyeshot. Through the clear distance, on the horizon where the blue of ocean met the blue of sky, a small verdant-covered plateau loomed – a lonely patch in a seemingly-endless sea. As our vessel closed the gap, a few seabirds – terns, boobies and frigatebirds showed up to escort or vessel the final miles.
Makatea is a bean shaped plateau with 80m-high cliffs forming its outer edge. These cliffs used to be a barrier reef and the plateau was once the basin of a lagoon, where vast amounts of phosphate accumulated. The island had been created long ago by the slow but constant deposition of calcium carbonate by tiny coral polyps. After sinking beneath the waves the atoll may have emerged as an indirect consequence of the uplifting of Tahiti. Consequently, the island is both ancient and reborn.
After lunch, Zodiacs ferried the intrepid to the decrepit but impressive pier remains of the island’s former phosphate industry. From there they struck off on a cross-island hike along one of the island’s primitive roads. The road rose steeply at first, and then leveled off in a long and occasionally-winding swath, the land along its sides strewn with the decaying vestiges of a bygone era. Eventually the road stretched to cliffs on the island’s far side, where it suddenly dropped down towards a limestone grotto. The water at its bottom was clear and sweet, the result of filtration through small channels in the limestone rock. During the walk it was clear that the island was essentially devoid of humans, save for the small town of Moumu on the island’s west side, a small enclave of humanity beating a just-measurable pulse of island life. It was no large stretch as to why the island would probably never be a hotbed of South Pacific tourism or boast a large population. Makatea has no sparkling white-sand beaches, just rugged reef flats and mighty vertical cliffs. And its interior topography, limestone scoured and pocked by the erosive forces of water and tannic acids from decaying vegetation, is as nonnegotiable and treacherous as any on Earth – virtually impenetrable. The island currently boasts roughly fifty inhabitants. It was hard to imagine that the island was once covered in mining installations with more than 1000 workers, but for 50 years Makatea made French Polynesia an industrial center.
The presence of phosphate was noted at the end of the 19th century, and a company was created in 1908 to exploit the deposit. Infrastructure appeared from nowhere: industrial equipment (including a rail network for moving product), houses, schools, shops, places of worship, and even a cinema. The island exploded with the economic energy of a gold rush town. Until the 1950s labor came largely from Asia. With 3071 inhabitants in 1962, Makatea was the most populated island in the Tuamotus. Makatea phosphate became the core of the French Polynesian economy. In 1960, a record year, 400,000 tons of phosphate were extracted. Exports were mainly to Japan, New Zealand, and Australia. By 1966, when the reserves were depleted, nearly 11 million tons of phosphate had been torn form the island. In the space of a few weeks, the workers packed everything up and Vaitepaua, the island’s social and administrative heart, became a ghost town.
Not all of us chose to strike out on a hot afternoon across the island. Most of us opted to snorkel in the clear waters off the island’s western shore. Visibility was over 100ft. The reef was healthy and vibrant with impressive coral coverage, and teeming with scores of reef fish. Green and hawksbill sea turtles swam gracefully near the reef edge, while a few white-tip reef sharks leanly moved through the shallows. After snorkeling, many of us chose to set foot on the island for posterity and an abbreviated look of this unique South Pacific locale. A few short nature walks were offered to view seabirds, shorebirds, hopefully catch a glimpse of one of the island’s avian endemics, or further our knowledge of tropical plants.
As evening loomed a few locals who live in the village of Moumu came to say goodbye, their eyes brightened and their smiles widened by the prospect of future tourism to their island. They presently make their living from copra production and the sale of coconut crabs to passing tuna boats. However, the National Geographic Endeavour’s season had given them some hope for new economic possibilities. Returning to our vessel the sun abruptly slipped beneath the waves, a blanket of saturated Technicolor charged with ripening shades of red, flamingo, and burnt orange sweeping our day into night.
