In a food stall, we meet Mark, a "papalangi" (white man) wearing native dress. He has his own small island here and invites us to drop by and use the mooring in front of his little pier. A couple of days latter, we sail up to do just that. The setting is beyond dreamlike and the channel running by is a highway for humpback whales that return to Tonga each winter. Jean and I paddle a sea kayak out to find them.
Bobbing in the violet blue water we are surrounded by darting tuna and diving birds attempting to devour a huge ball of baitfish that are themselves, desperately trying to hide under our boat. A great show … but no whales. As the sun climbs hotter, we drop into the water to view the best reef diving I can remember. Arrays of coral species unknown to us, with some individuals big enough to rate a note on the map.
We hoist anchor, leave Mark's and move to a place called "Blue Lagoon". It is truly blue, but also a bit rolly - so no worries, off to another anchorage a few miles downwind, an island called Hunga. It is a dead volcano with a very narrow cut thru the rim to access it's flooded 2-mile wide caldera. It offers perfect protection from any weather in any direction - and stunning views of forest above, and coral below. A pod of porpoise loiters at the entrance. I swim over to play, but they are busy jumping high out of the water, seemingly just for the fun of it - while waiting for the cut's tidal current to deliver their sushi dinners.
Flying foxes flap their leathery bat-wings toward another tree full of ripe fruit. Jungle birdcalls echo off rock and water. A green turtle surfaces and looks over at our intrusion. Then the nightly choir of crickets kicks off and another star-studded show begins. Looking aloft, the stars are mostly unfamiliar, and those I know are moving backwards across this southern sky. But the comforting anchor light is lit atop our mast - and our beautiful world spins on, mindless of me - but not me of her.
- Star struck Stew
