Matta lifted her head out of the water. “Wesawaysing” she said through her snorkel.
“I know”. I kicked my fins, floating on my back, basking in the hot afternoon sun. Although I couldn’t understand the words, I got the gist from the tone of her voice.
She spat out her snorkel, kicking to stay upright in the water. “It’s amazing!”, she said again. “It’s like a completely different underwater world”. She stuck her head down again, gazing at the corals below, at the fish teeming around her floating legs. Under her, a bright yellow butterflyfish swam back towards the reef, and she quickly stuck her snorkel back in so that she could swim off and chase it.
It was late afternoon. We had just arrived at Navadra Island in the Mamanucas, an island group west of Viti Levu in Fiji. Matta and had jumped in straight after anchoring to go for a snorkel while the others went to the beach after daring Adam to catch a goat with his bare hands to supplement our dwindling protein resources. We had caught a Spanish Mackerel a couple of days earlier but hadn’t cooked it because we weren’t completely certain it was safe to eat. They have ciguetera in Fiji, and as much as the locals said they thought it was safe, they had asked an awful lot of questions about where exactly we caught it, and how big it was, casting some doubt in our minds.
Completely at ease in the water, Matta had taken to the snorkelling the first time Adam took her in. She was amazed to be floating in an aquarium, delighted by the colourful corals, the curious fish coming up to check on her and the bright blue seastars littering the sandy bottom between the coral outcrops. Every spot we anchored in she wanted to snorkel, and now we were on our way up north to the Yasawas group of islands, to Manta Reef, to introduce her to some really big fish.
We had picked up Adam and Kristi and their children Matta and Marvin one early morning in Vuda Marina on Viti Levu. They had flown in from the States where they had spent the last six weeks visiting family. Despite the jetlag, the kids had been straight into boat life, Matta bouncing on the trampoline whilst Marvin stood singing, turning an imaginary steering wheel at the bow to drive the boat expertly for hours on end. When he fell and bumped his head, he rushed back to the bow after a quick cuddle with Kristi, sweeping the tears off his cheek as he ran, shouting “I have to go finish my song, Mom”.
In the warm afternoon on Vanua Levu, Matta and I continued to swim for a while before eventually climbing back out onto the boat. David was standing on deck, binoculars aimed at a super yacht that had entered the bay half an hour earlier.
“I think they’ve run aground”, he said. “Look, they’re trying to pull it out with their launch”.
It did look like it. Huge and shiny, the yacht was swaying wildly as the waves were throwing it this way and that on the reef. The motor launch was going as hard as it could, engines fully revved, but the yacht was not budging from atop the reef.
“That yacht is stuck”, Adam said as he, Kristi, Matias, Lukie and Marvin approached in the dinghy. “We’ve been watching it, it’s definitely run aground”.
“I know”, David said, “let’s go see if they need any help”. He climbed into the dinghy as the sandy kids scrambled out, stepping over the reef shoes and sandals scattered over the bottom of the boat.
They set off and we watched them head over. At this stage the towing rope had been attached to the mast and the launch was going full power to the side, trying to pull the yacht over just enough for the keel to get off the reef.
“It’s got to be nerve-wracking”, said Kristi.
“Yeah”, I said. “Imagine if the owner is not on board, if the crew are just hanging out in Fiji, waiting for a weather window to return the boat to New Zealand. And then they have to make that phone call”.
“Oh boy”, she said. “I think it’s getting clear, look”.
The launch had pulled the yacht over 45 degrees, the mast edging closer and closer towards the water when it suddenly lurched and righted itself, reversing full power off the reef.
Kristi and I cheered, imagining the damage below water and the bill to repair it, happy that it wasn’t us that had run aground.
Fiji’s 340 or so islands are surrounded by coral reefs, many lurking just below the surface of the water, ready to pounce on skippers caught unaware. There are charts for the area, but many of the reefs are uncharted and the waters are famous for wrecking ships. We can only sail during the day, when the sun is high enough in the sky for us to see reefs, and even then we have to stand on the bow, peering ahead wearing polaroid glasses to ensure that we spot any shallow water in front of the boat.
Keeping watch is not bad, though, as it helps us spot wildlife. On our travels with the Daniels we had two pods of dolphins come ride our bow waves, to the great delight of the children who were hanging over the bow, whooping as the dolphins surfaced half a metre away from their faces. One encounter was on a windless day and Adam, Matta and I jumped in the water, hoping for a play, but the dolphins kept their distance and eventually dived down, out of reach.
We had better luck with the manta rays, who appear regularly at the aptly named Manta Reef Pass. The enormous rays come at high tide to filter feed in the current of the pass, and on our first morning there, we turned up alongside hundreds of tourists from the two nearby resorts. The water was a bit manic, full of snorkellers with selfie sticks, 20 or so people per manta ray, manically thrashing after the graceful giants as they turned and dove to escape the crowds. But the kids loved it and Matta was incredibly excited to swim just above such huge creatures.
We went again on the afternoon high tide and had them all to ourselves, four massive rays gliding around us in the fading light, one of them at least 4 m across, its mouth a gaping hole leading into a seemingly hollow interior. The following morning the Daniels and David went again, Matta squealing with delight as the huge creatures turned and twisted all around her.
Later that day we pulled anchor to head back to Nadi to drop off the Daniels, and on our way out of the bay a lone manta ray feeding in the other pass raised one fin to wave us goodbye.
“Bye bye”, shouted Marvin, “bye bye manta ray”.
A day later he was waving goodbye to us after a week on the boat. It had been a great week, full of the delightful company of good friends for us and the kids alike, incredible sunshine, beautiful snorkelling, great kitesurfing, exciting marine life and one good fish caught just in time for a last fish supper. Bye bye Marvin, we’ll see you in New Zealand when we get back!
SV Bob The Cat 