Lessons from Cyclone Mal
Words Tim McGlone Imagery Ben McNamara
Lessons from Cyclone Mal
Words Tim McGlone
Our captain, Siko, drops the anchor in a seemingly random spot, and waits.
Our captain, Siko, docks the boat
in a seemingly random spot, and waits.
I can see nothing on the horizon except a rugged island covered in dense tropical forest, a moat of rocks confirming my feeling that no-one could possibly live here.
And then, after ten minutes of waiting, a man appears from nowhere, holding what looks to be a large tree root. He wades the 50 metres out to the boat, wind roaring, the water up to his waist, carefully holding the root aloft as if it were his first-born.
He reaches the boat and hands the kava root to Siko. There’s handshakes, laughs, and a happiness which seems to come so easily, before we’re on our way again, leaving the mystery man to wade back home. If there’s one thing you can’t do without in a cyclone in Fiji, it’s kava.
Uber Kava.
One week earlier...
The soft glow from my iPhone is the only light in my bure on Ono Island; a remote, surreally beautiful outcrop south of mainland Fiji.
It’s a weather app I’m looking at, and it doesn’t look good. I’ve just arrived and there's a mass of grey clouds and an array of lightning strikes, and that weird symbol that means there’s going to be a lot of wind. There’s a lot of those symbols. This is our first run-in with Cyclone Mal (why are they always middle aged?).
Flights from the mainland land at Kadavu, and from there its a two hour boat ride to Oneta.
This could be a story where I tell you how I joyously sipped cocktails out of coconuts poolside, enjoying the sun, mild humidity and beauty of the South Pacific. But the fact is: when you’re travelling, bad weather can happen anywhere, at any time. I’d like to vouch for Ono Island as one of the world’s best places to be during both, sunny and inclement weather, both of which were to be had on this trip.
Oneta Resort can only be accessed by boat, after an incredibly attractive 30-minute flight from Nadi on Fijis main island, to Kadavu, a slightly larger island directly west of Ono. Oneta’s five thatched-roof bures and two villas are the only accommodation on the island – catering to a maximum of 20 guests.
On the first morning I walk barefoot down a wooden walkway from my hilltop bure, which is high enough to overlook the lagoon over palm trees, to find breakfast already served at a long table full of guests introducing themselves, and chatting about the day ahead. Hardly a shoe among them.
Smiling is a big part of Jonani's approach to life. And he's damn good at it, too.
Manager Richard spent his early years in the village of Waivunia near Savusavu, Fiji, and he sits with us for a chin-wag. He fosters an old-school communal feel at Oneta, where guests play chess and drink beers, snorkel, dive and fish together, and even talk to each other. There’s no awkward politeness here, it feels like a Christmas lunch every time you sit down for a meal. It gives the place an indelible quality; one that you certainly won’t find at the mega-resorts.
Over fresh fruit, banana pancakes and coffee, it is announced that the weather will not force a change to the day's plans.
I get on a boat and the first stop is at the nearby Manta Ray cleaning station. The ocean’s most elegant creatures hover here for a while every day from May until November for their daily clean. It gives snorkellers and divers the perfect opportunity to get a proper, extended gawk at these majestic creatures. At breakfast we're told it is not the right season for Manta Rays, so the expectations of seeing them on this morning's swim are dulled.
Tiny islands seem to pop up everywhere on a boat ride.
But lo and behold, as soon as we're in the water, we find several rays, long, black and sleek, swimming gently in the ocean. They mingle with us, or us with them, for some time as smaller wrasse fish feed on the bacteria and small parasites that can infest the skin and gills of the rays. I am taken aback when they swim away; several nonchalant paddles of their wings generating a surprising amount of speed underwater, and they are gone in a moment.
We bob about different sites along the Great Astrolabe Reef, the fourth largest barrier reef in the world, stretching out at just over 100km in length. It is a breathtaking maze of fish, coral and colour. A day snorkelling reveals incredible soft coral drop-offs, caves and pinnacles, and a reef which feels more untamed than any this writer has encountered before. Not far away, the Naqoro Passage is a famous section which draws experienced divers from around the world.
Chasing rays - of both the sun and manta varieties.
A day snorkelling reveals incredible soft coral drop-offs, caves and pinnacles, and a reef which feels more untamed than any this writer has encountered before.
The period just after dusk - anywhere in Fiji - is stunning.
That night we watch as our man Samu, who looks every bit the rugby player he says he is, morphs into a chef, building the Fijian lovo – a kind of underground oven that uses stones from a river or ocean as hot coals. We’re told stones from the ocean explode less, so we use those for the lovo, the Fijian version of the New Zealand hangi; a traditional mode of cooking used for feasts, especially on Sundays.
Samu's gigantic hands wrap pork, lamb and fish in banana leaves, to retain their moisture, and buries them in the 'earths oven' alongside an array of local vegetables. The whole lot is then covered with more leaves, palm fronds and grass to trap the heat and allow the food to cook to perfection. After about two hours (Fijian time), the mound is satisfyingly dismantled and voila, dinner is served!
The days continue like this, but the weather steadily deteriorates. News filters through that Cyclone Mal is hitting tomorrow, and has intensified into a category three (out of five). That seems quite a lot. We decide to go kayaking.
We smartly elect to paddle with the wind. The accomplishment of navigating half the island is arguably somewhat lessened by the fact that we were paddling with a fierce cyclone at our backs.
Palm trees grow freely across the island.
We’re with Tamarillo Active Travel’s Apisai, Laisiasa and brothers Waisake and Saimoni, and their laughs bely the hecticness of the the situation. In a competitive field, these are some of the funniest blokes in Fiji. We paddle from Oneta around the northern side of the island, to the cave at Vouwa beach, and sit and eat a well-earned lunch.
When you’re traveling, bad weather can happen anywhere, at any time.
Had we attempted Tamarillo’s premier paddle across the Ono channel and down the East Coast of Kadavu, it is very likely we would have ended up in a much more distant section of the South Pacific Ocean.
After kayaking we go fishing, which is the other thing you’re not supposed to do right before a cyclone, but the fertile waters around here are famous for marlin, shark, tuna, giant trevally and snapper, all itching to be caught.
En route to the local village.
The boat rocks viciously from side to side but it adds to the theatre; Cylone Fishing is a sport I would take up in a heartbeat, but only with Siko, an experienced seafarer. Not only is he a skilled captain, but he grew up on these waters specifically, and knows the channels and depths inside out. The waters test him out today, and he’s well and truly up to the task.
Fishing expert Sim shows me the ropes, demonstrating how to cast with the rod, before handing it to me. On that same cast, I get a bite and reel in a good-sized red snapper, which turns out to be the only thing anyone catches all day. Does this count as my fish, or Sim’s? Vigorous debate occurs and no-one is on my side. The pictures say otherwise.
HIT PLAY. GO ON.
Our flight returns whence it came, without us on it due to poor landing conditions. This is when we make the emergency kava stop. UberKava.
The Oneta team take the necessary precautions, laughing as they board the place up, laughing as they let us know the plans. Despite the potential seriousness of the situation, laughter is the best approach.
While the weather rages, my friend Ben and I sit and drink beer, and play chess. I read my book while the wind bends the palm trees on 45-degree angles and I'm amazed at their flexibility and strength.
Singing, smiling and laughing: no shortage of any of these on Ono Island.
At night we drink kava with the staff and other locals, and, a little light headed, I am amazed at the impossibly sweet voices of these huge Fijian men, and the beautiful smiles on the women. Everyone is laughing again, showing a different kind of strength to the palm trees on their 45-degree angle, but no less impressive.
Cyclone Mal huffs and puffs, but in the end no-one's house is blown down, as the cyclone largely spends itself out at sea.
On our last day, we are bathed in sunlight. I climb a leaning tree and survey Ono Island, and see it for what it is; a paradise. And truth be told, it’s been a paradise all week.
get in the know If visiting a traditional village, offer the village headman an introductory gift, and do not wear a hat, as it can be considered an insult.
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