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VOLUME 4, ISSUE 4.
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1. Espiritu Santo’s unyielding wilderness is spellbinding but its true beauty shines from its people.

2. Villagers believe a legen-
dary gigantic fish inhabits
the river and is responsible
for a couple of villagers
deaths. This eel (about
medium size) which was
taken by a spear is enough
to make you want to walk on water.

3. A fish dangles from Peta’s mouth as he and Kara draw a bead on passing fish.

4. Peta with a pig which fell
to one of his arrows as he
taught me his people’s
primitive hunting techniques.
His bow and arrows are
fashioned from traditional materials.

5. The author fully anointed
by a village woman minutes before he underwent his initiation ritual.

 


Peta moved smoothly and silently, with the poise and grace of a heron. His actions were as fluid as the silky water which parted as the gently flowing current lapped at his waist. A fish rose and broke the river’s surface sending a wave of circles towards us as it fed on the smorgasbord of insects falling from the overhanging canopy of the jungle. As the first shards of light pierced the predawn darkness the sky momentarily painted the underbellies of cloud, with an orange hue. It created the perfect backdrop, I felt priviledged being immersed in such a beautiful setting. A wild fowl crowed from the matted weave of the jungle as it heralded the start of a new day. Peta crouched lower to the water as we slowly felt our way along the rocky bottom with our bare feet and stopped midstream. For several minutes we froze and stood like statues with our bows at the ready while we patiently waited. Peta motioned with his eyes to the fish that lazily swam towards us. His muscles flexed and twitched beneath his ebony skin as he drew a bead and his bow reached full draw. The arrow sliced through the water and violently twitched from side to side as it hit the shimmering silver belly of the white mullet. The fish ceased struggling when Peta’s teeth clamped down on the back of its neck then tore open its belly. The intestines floated away as he washed the blood off of the rest of the offal. He then mumbled thanks to his god and the fish for providing us with its flesh.
“Tavua you kai kai (eat)” he said as he offered me the heart and roe. After the fire roasted rat I’d eaten for dinner the night before, raw fish gut was going to make a welcome change to my diet. I swallowed them whole and scooped up a handful of water to wash away their bloody after-taste.
At four thousand and ten square kilometers in size Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu’s largest island is an untouched jewel of the pacific. It’s highlands are home to a tribe who call themselves the people of the sky. Due to their geographical isolation the ways of the outside world are alien and of no consequence to these primitive peoples. I’d previously trekked across the island‘s rugged mountainous spine and made contact with them. Being totally at ease with their primeval ways led to a strange turn of events. Due to the belief that their spirit turns white when they die the chief declared I was the reincarnation of his dead grandfather’s spirit as I shared the same mannerisms as his dead relative. He christened me Tavua (TA means man, VUA from the jungle) and asked me to return in a years time for a full initiation into the tribe. These selfless people shared such an affinity with each other and the environment that I relished the opportunity to get a true insight into humanities, heritage and their untainted way of life.
A few weeks before I underwent my initiation ritual several millennia of inherited learning were gifted to me as I was taught how to reap the bounty from the goldmine of natural resources the jungle offers. A pig, wild fowl, pigeons, flying foxes and a rat fell prey to our arrows as I learned how to turn what we consider an alien environment into home.
After having nailed plenty of game in the jungle it was time to get my feet wet and indulge in some ancient angling techniques. These people are expert conservationists. They have to be to ensure their continued existence. Fishing with a net is forbidden, this tribal law enforces the rivers are kept well stocked with fish. Most villages prefer bow over the spear and line which they are allowed to use.
Bows are carved from a carefully chosen limb of the nichibo tree. The villagers make the bow sting by rolling the dried inner bark of the banyon tree up and down their thighs. This is kept supple by rubbing it across sap which bleeds from the moure tree. Arrows are made from dried wild cane and traditionally tipped with black palm though a few villagers are now using wire. A newly fashioned bow is deemed useless unless it secures a kill with its first shot. Only when a kill is guaranteed will a hunter send an arrow into flight. The blood of the animal is rubbed into a small notch cut in the bow in the belief the slain animals spirit will enter the weapon and give it rapee (power).
With no glare on the water from the tropical sun, early morning is the best time to see and shoot fish. Standing in deep water and stalking the banks and shallows are the preferred ways of hunting. I left Peta to it (once I got past the taste, bloodied fish heart and roe was ok but once was enough) and joined Kara as he hunted the shallows. Our movements were painstakingly slow as we crept up on fish as they fed in the weed close to the shore. As soon as the mullet saw us they would dart into the safety of the cover of the bank. It took us ten minutes to cover ten meters as we honed in on an unsuspecting mullet as Kara added another fish to our tally.
Both black and white mullet, eel and smaller fish called the naroti inhabit the waters. When we sighted a deep pool about one hundred meters away Peta motioned for me to get out of the water. The villagers are fearful of a legendary gigantic fish which has supposedly attacked and killed a few fishermen over the years. From Peta’s description the man eater sounded like a shark which may have travelled upriver from the ocean. With twelve fish between us after a couple of hours shooting it was time to leave the water anyway.
We soon had a fire blazing and stuffed green bamboo with fillets and plugged off the open end of the bamboo with a wad of leaves. I wrapped a couple of fish in damp navenua leaves while Peta went and gathered some breadfruit. Everything was roasted in the red hot coals once the fire had burned down. My taste buds went into a frenzy when the succulent fish slid down my throat. It tasted great but to me this was more than breakfast. I’d added another string to my bow by gaining credibility as a worthy initiate by showing that I could help provide for the village. When I underwent my initiation it was an incredible experience to cross the gigantic cultural divide from my complex modern world to the people of the sky’s primitive realm. By learning their hunting techniques with the most basic of implements and weapons I learned how to live and enjoy a free lifestyle amongst beautiful people who get to call Espiritu Santo’s unyielding wilderness home.


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