Reef Tragedy

What Happened to a Fijian Turtle- Hunter

By Kai Vata

A GRIM story of the sea, of disappear ance and death, comes to us in Fiji, to remind us who regard tortoise shell as a not-particularly-interesting article of commerce—and personal adorn ment—that the search for even this humble article can be, and often is, fraught with grave peril.

On Saturday, September 14, two boats, each manned by three Fijians, left their Ba River village of Votua to go turtle fishing on the huge coral reefs off Natauarau. a few miles down the coast to the south-west. In one boat were Samuela Nawai, Turaga Ni Koro, of Votua, his son Ulaiasi, and big Joni.

They made their way far out, to a less frequented area, hoping to find there the lordly parrot-billed turtle, their “Vonu ni Taku,” which alone among turtles is blessed (or cursed) with that valuable overcoat known as tortoise-shell. Their ill-fated destination was a huge cavern ous hole in the reef, some 12 miles off shore —a gigantic, crater-like pit of blue water in the midst of shallows, where the bottom lies full 24 fathoms deep. It is a spot where, to the imaginative mind, unnamed horrors lurk, but which to the phlegmatic “Bulas” was just a jolly good place for Vonu.

AND their luck was in. At about 2 p.m. a regular old grandfather Taku incautiously eased his 200 lb. bulk to the sparkling surface nearby, doubt less with the intention of basking a while in the warm sunshine, whilst his age-old

enemies, the sharks, were lying doggo in the reef-caverns below.

Little basking he did! The excited but wily hunters paddled their craft softly to within striking distance. Then, Wham!—and the heavy, steel-lined spear went home, and down went the sorely wounded Taku, seeking sanctuary in his narrow reef-holes.

But the firmly-embedded 12-foot spear denied him entry. Twice he rose to the surface for air, but each time sounded before the vigilant Fijians could get to him, leaving a crimson trail to mark his going—and to serve as a clamorous “Action Stations!” to those ferocious sea monsters, the sharks, to which the scent of turtle-blood is a maddening urge to kill.

A THIRD time he rose, this time close to the boat, and obviously weak; and, as he sounded again, into the water and down after him dived Ulaiasi, brave, foolhardy youth who truthfully bbasted that he feared no shark.

The pale soles of his feet flashed briefly as he swam down, then vanished, and that brief flashing was a courageous boy’s farewell to life. He was never seen again.

For the first minute or so his father and friend waited expectantly. But their expectancy rapidly changed to fear, and then to a sickening anxiety as they peered frantically into the suddenly inimical blue depths, ejaculating ques tions which neither dared answer. Thev urgently hailed the other boat, more in the common human craving for com panion shin and sympathy in disaster than with any hope of succour, for they , now knew with a dreadful certainty that Ulaiasi was beyond all human aid.

No sign disturbed the blue depths nor marred the sparkling beauty of the sur face, but after a short time the thick shafted turtle-spear floated slowly to the surface, mute testimony to the swift and savage destruction that had overtaken both pursuer and pursued.

The grief-stricken father and his friends hovered over the spot until dark, reluctant to leave lest by some miracle the lost boy’s body should reappear.

Then, as hope and daylight faded.

Samuela sent the other boat back to Votua with the sad tidings, whilst he and Joni went to Na Tawarau to report the tragedy.

The next day, with eight boats and a big launch, the vain and pitiful search was resumed, but the sea held its secret —and holds it still.