Tricked out kayaks Hitting the water - Wavelength Paddling Magazine

International destinations
they only end up with a small amount and
ruined land.” Most of the money goes to
the people who broker the deals.
By now the lagoon is like a lacquered
surface, and in the distance is a small island,
Matikuri, on which sits an eco-lodge, the
place where we’re staying tonight. This
is a good location from which to access
the Bapita Passage, a narrow system of
waterways and a great place to kayak.
Bapita immediately swallows you into its
mangrove belly; the smell here is pungent:
I imagine this is what it must have smelt
like back in headhunting times, when
freshly severed heads were left for a month
or two to decompose. Once the skin was
eaten away or peeling off, the brains were
emptied and the skulls buried.
On entering the passage, the water turns
into a sheet of shimmering emerald. Stripy
fish dart past my paddle as we approach
an isolated village. Fishermen are out in
numbers catching food for tomorrow’s
Sabbath feast. A teenage girl sings in one
of the huts and for a fleeting moment our
eyes meet. They twinkle with longing, and
as I paddle past she sings louder. Eventually
her voice is lost to the mangroves, replaced
by a strange birdcall that hoots like an
owl before sounding like it’s coughing up
phlegm.
We pass underneath a logging bridge.
The Australian navy bombed this part of
Bapita to create a shortcut through the
passage. This meant locals no longer had to
haul their canoes over mudflats.
The passage opens out and cliffs of
mauve, grey and gold curve over my head,
along with overhanging trees. Beneath
our kayaks is a sinkhole where divers can
descend 28 meters before a horizontal cave
traverses 20 meters horizontally. There
the ceiling ends and the cave widens into
a canyon which holds the remains of a
battered American barge.
Another good diving spot near Matikuri
(roughly a two-hour paddle) is Hele Bar.
Here, on the edge of a reef that plummets
40 meters, lies another wreck: that of a
35-meter Japanese tuna fishing boat, Taiyo,
which ran aground on its maiden voyage.
The captain was drunk and decided to
take a shortcut instead of sailing around
Above: Heavy clouds give a welcome respite
from the South Pacific sun. Inset: Raba and
the author pose together.
the passage. A failed salvage operation has
rendered the Taiyo completely vertical.
Near this wreck is a small island, and
by the time Aerum and I reach it my
sunburned hands feel like they’re covered
with hot embers.
Aerum points vaguely to where the
wreck should be, and I wade in with my
snorkel. The path to the edge of the reef
is convoluted: the water is shallow and
if I try to swim over the needle coral I’ll
end up scraping the skin off my stomach.
Instead I follow a series of troughs until the
reef ends and murky blue water stretches
18 WAVELENGTH MAGAZINE WINTER 2010