Trip 40 — Niue and Dogojima Walks

Niue day 5: Liku to Tamakautoga
Wednesday, 21 February 2024

Today: 25353 steps/20.65 km/12.83 mi/3h 46m
(including approach from hotel 31512 steps/25.86 km/16.07 mi/4h 38m)
Total: 70303 steps/56.89 km/35.35 mi/10h 35m
(including extras ~102619 steps/~83.71 km/~52.01 mi/~15h 20m)

I was ready to leave at 8:30, but the rain was stubborn. It finally passed at 9:15, and Panapa saw me off as he returned from a motorcycle ride.

Mary had given me the lowdown on the dogs of Niue. There's no veterinarian on the island, but a couple of times a year a group called the Rock Vets arrives to provide services. They also desex a lot of the animals. But they weren't able to come for a few years due to the pandemic, so the dogs multiplied and, contrary to what I thought, there are a lot of feral dogs. The Rock Vets have since resumed their visits and have desexed many of the dogs, but that impact on the population won't be felt for a couple of years.

I'd been told several times about a group of dogs at the southernmost house in Lakepa. One of them had nipped Trini. I didn't see them on the way to or from Liku yesterday, but I noticed animals in the road on the way out today, and I went on high alert. Pretty much anything moving near houses, or anything small left on a porch — a pair of sandals, a rug — got me to wave my stick and clench my heart.

But these were just chickens.

In Liku, I ran into a man named Poi whom I had met yesterday. Like Panapa, he had almost 70 years of knowledge and self-confidence.

"Where are you going today?"

"Scenic Matavai," I said. Everyone knows the Scenic Matavai Resort, between Avatele and Alofi in the southwest. It's near the airport and where I planned to spend my last two nights on Niue.

"Where's your hat?"

"I don't have one, but I wouldn't need it today," I said, gesturing at the overcast sky. "It's lovely weather for walking." A little hot and humid, but I couldn't complain.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you," he said, just as Panapa had, and he wished me well.

A woman called out from a porch. "Are you the one from New York? Walking around the island?"

"I am!"

"Have a good walk!"

Two people were tending a grave just off the road. Many of the graves were well cared for, with polished stones, sparkling letters, and fresh flowers.

"Where are you walking to?"

"Scenic Matavai."

"Long walk!"

"About four hours." That didn't include a couple of lengthy excursions.

"You're crazy!"

"It's OK to be crazy! In a good way."

"In a good way."

Few vehicles used the road south of Liku; anyone going to Alofi would use the road across the island. But one car did come by. It was Barry and Trini.

"It looks like you'll have good weather from here on out," Barry said.

"What's your plan today?" I asked.

"We're going to Hakupu to have lunch with some friends," he said. "We're having people at our place tonight, but they don't like to drive after dark, so we're going to their place."

"OK. Perhaps I'll see you on the road later."

"Or if not, at the airport on Friday." We'll be on the same flight back to Auckland.

Between Liku and Hakupu are about 10 kilometers during which the road passes through the Huvalu Forest Conservation Area, a project of the two villages. The forest became denser until it almost formed a canopy over the road, subduing the light and augmenting the birdsong, chicken calls, and drips of collected rain. A fallen tree blocked half of the road. Bees hummed from clusters of bee houses, and from the forest itself, a constant drone somewhere between middle C and the B just below it. Occasionally a slither of a lizard or a rustle of a crab added a percussive effect.

Apart from the lush forest itself, there were three detours to be made, the first two only a few steps off the road. The Hikulagi Sculpture Park contained a few art pieces made from scrap metal and other discarded items, gently protesting the excessive industrialization and deterioration of our planet. (One piece was partly enclosed and made a good shelter when the rain resumed.)

The Laufoli Umu Pit, the story goes, is the place where the lauded warrior Laufoli took his own life. Having returned victorious from a match in Tonga, he learned that his brother had been killed. Not wanting to avenge his brother's death or give his enemies the satisfaction of killing him, he performed a war dance and jumped into the umu, or earth oven, that he had built for the occasion.

The Togo Chasm was a long detour, though not nearly as long as the 45 minutes each way suggested at the entrance. For ten minutes I walked along a dense and damp forest track. It came up to a clearing, where it became a narrow but solid path among fractured coral. Along the sides and into the distance, all the way to the ocean, were giant pointed limestone towers reminiscent of those at the Tsingy de Bemaraha National Park in Madagascar.

At the end of this trail, eight minutes out of the forest, was a 27-rung ladder down to a sandy beach with coconut palms and boulders. Reading about the ladder, and hearing two people comment that it was slippery after the rain, initially inclined me to skip it. But it did not look so dangerous in the moment; it was quite sturdy, and I left my bag at the top and took my time descending. (In Barry's time, of course, there was just a rope, and you had to rappel.)

I could hear the ocean's roar, but it was blocked by the cliffs. The sudden appearance of sand — Niue has very little of it — and palms seemed to take me back to Aruba. I picked along the sand and boulders for a few minutes and then climbed back up the ladder, counting the rungs out loud.

At the top, I could see the ocean more clearly. The waves crashed against the cliffs and seemed to come halfway up them. Was this Niue, or Africa, or the Caribbean?

"I'm just in awe of the earth," I said aloud. I was alone.

I returned to the road and continued for 40 minutes to the village of Hakupu. Of Niue's 14 villages, Hakupu is the second most populated, but I saw only one person, leaving home in his truck, and one sleepy dog, who didn't notice or at least didn't regard me.

I had one more detour to make, near the village of Vaiea. Twenty minutes down a bush track were the overgrown remains — even reading the signboard involved stamping through waist-high vegetation — of Fatiau Tuai. There had once been a village here, but when a disease came through, it was abandoned and rebuilt to the northeast as the modern village of Vaiea. All I could make out were a gravestone, a water tank, and the remains of a street and perhaps a church foundation. There were numerous bees here, too, low to the ground among the scrub. They didn't bother me, but this was clearly their domain and I didn't want to disturb them by tramping all over the brush.

It had become a hot day, still overcast. I sat on the platform near the gravestone and had some water. I never got around to having lunch — I'd eaten the remains of Beryl's cucumber earlier — but I wasn't hungry. I was tired, however. Today wasn't one of my longest walks — only about 30 kilometers including Togo Chasm and Fatiau Tuai — but maybe the heat was affecting me more than I expected.

When I got back to the road, I was opposite the Vaiea Farm, where noni fruits are grown. I sat on their fence for a few minutes and of course that's when the workers came back on their truck. They waved but didn't ask what I was doing there.

Less than an hour to go. Midway between Vaiea and the Scenic Matavai Resort was the village of Avatele, on the west coast. Its white church seemed especially long, and its green especially wide. The green was the site of three dog attacks on people between July 2022 and June 2023. While all of those dogs were put down, I was wary of going through the village.

But only three dogs saw me, and they didn't approach. Perhaps they respected the stick. Today was by far my longest walking day on the ring road, but I had the least trouble with dogs. The only two that barked at me and approached were at a construction site, and they stopped when I made contact with the workers.

I arrived at the Scenic Matavai Resort in time for an uga demonstration, with someone showing off a 2.5-kilogram, 35-year-old coconut crab (they often live to age 60). John, the burger maker, had said that I could catch one by throwing a towel over it. But Barry said it was imperative to grab the animal from behind and twist the legs back.

Those pincers are strong. The teacher at the demonstration said that a coconut crab, when pursued by a dog, will lie on its back and then pinch the dog's face when the dog gets too close. The dog might get rid of it by whacking it against something hard, such as a rock.

So instead of a stick, maybe I just need a trained coconut crab. But perhaps I've gotten the hang of walking around here.

Go on to Niue day 6