After a particularly stressful political campaign season in 1988, I fulfilled a life-long dream and flew to French Polynesia for three weeks. I scheduled myself to spend time on three islands in the South Pacific chain: Raiatea, Bora Bora, and Moorea. In fact, I visited 6 islands, including the big island of Tahiti. At my first stop, I met up with two Frenchmen, and we became instant friends (a year later we met up in Paris for a great visit). It turns out we were going to the same islands on the same days and staying at the same hotels (which are all huts on or near the beach). Part two of our journey took us to Bora Bora, a fantastically beautiful island, highlighted by two giant 2,400 foot peaks that shoot straight up in the sky. They are remnants of an ancient volcano.
Like most of the French Polynesian islands, Bora Bora is encircled by reefs that take the brunt of the crashing ocean surf leaving the waters around the island as calm and warm as a bath. In the case of Bora Bora, there is only one passage through the reef to get to the island. There are also several small islands (called Motus) that surround the island. In fact the airport is on a motu and after you land, you boat over to the main island.
Anyway, on our second day on Bora Bora, myself and my two French friends signed up for a tour that would take us all the way around the island. When we arrived on the dock early the next morning, we met our Polynesian guide and discovered we were the only three on the tour that day. So, he told us he was taking us on a special tour that would take all day and show us things that he would never do for ordinary tourists. And just prior to departing, he went a got a mysterious covered bucket that he put in the back of the boat.
It turned into a fantastic day as we completely circled the island on our trip, stopping at many fascinating places. I could write several blogs about all the things we did.
But, in the middle of the day, our guide turned out boat west toward the opening in the reef. Keep in mind that he spoke mostly French to my two companions, so much of the time I was in the dark as to what we were doing.
When we got to the reef opening, we were about a mile offshore. We could feel the swales of the ocean. Our guide stopped the boat and threw an anchor overboard. He then reached for that mysterious bucket he had put on board at the last minute.
He opened the lid and it was obvious that he had brought a full bucket of grisly, ugly, smelly chum. He began ladling it over the side. Within minutes, we were surrounded by sharks. The water in French Polynesia is so crystal clear that you can see a long way down...and trust me, there were a whole cadre of reef sharks.
Then, to our amazement, our guide got out a rope, made a lasso and dipped it in chum. He then lowered it in the water and waited for a shark to swim through it. Then, as a shark started to go through...bang...he pulled the lasso tight and yanked the shark into the boat. He did this a few times so we dumb tourists could take our pictures. Then he would always remove the rope from the shark and toss it back into the ocean.
It was all very exciting, if not a little nerve wracking. That boat got a lot smaller when the sharks were on board. But, what a day! I managed to convey to our guide that his bosses were not paying him enough.
This second picture is a scan of a photograph I took that day and it is sadly fading away. I recovered what I could, but I only have a few photos left of this great adventure to the South Pacific. I did get a great photo of the sharks surrounding the boat, but, alas it is long gone.
French Polynesia was all I expected and much more. It is a paradise as I had long believed it was.
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