French Polynesia

Take a dive on the wild side

A story of giant humpheads and other marine creatures with weird names. Set in paradise.

I’m surrounded by sharks. Hundreds of them.

From where I’m hovering on the reef wall of Fakarava’s North Passe, there’s a screen of sharks in front of me and a bunch more swimming through clouds of reef fish behind me. It’s magnificent.

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These are grey reef sharks—the friendly kind, not the 1975 Jaws kind—and they gather in a huge shiver (that’s what you call a group of sharks, FYI) in this channel every morning on the incoming tide. Along with half of the reef fish in the South Pacific, apparently.

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The number and the diversity of species here is just staggering. Not to mention the water clarity. My view in each direction is at least 50 metres, making this underwater coral landscape one of the most spectacular I’ve seen.

It’s also one of the most healthy in the South Pacific. Home to more species than you can imagine—from damsels and butterfly fish to Moorish idols, angel fish, big eyes and wrasse. There are huge schools of snapper, and thousands of unicorn fish darting like butterflies between sharks. The gang’s all here, in numbers.

To put it in perspective—on an average dive at our homegrown Great Barrier Reef you can expect to see one giant humphead wrasse (sometimes called Napoleon or Maori wrasse, or nicknamed something like ‘Barry’) at each popular dive site. Here, I can see at least six giant humphead wrasse, each measuring around a metre in length.

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Pack ya bags, Tahiti is calling

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On the Great Barrier Reef, you might see one or two odd-looking (and very shy) trumpet fish hiding under a table coral. Here, a dozen of them are darting around me. And then there’s the cardinal fish, a shy little red fish with large eyes that are usually found hiding in groups of 10 or 12 under overhangs or in small caves. Here, they congregate in the thousands, forming a thick red blanket over the reef.

In a gully called Ali Baba, there are so many cardinal fish that I can barely see my dive dive buddy through the school. Every now and then a shark will part the red sea, cruising through, before it closes again in its wake.

After watching this spectacle for a while, my buddy and I give in to the incoming current and fly through the gullies at high speed. When we surface, we’re already impatient to take the plunge again.

This is just one of several once-in-a-lifetime marine encounters I’ve been lucky enough to experience while here in French Polynesia. I’ve spent most of my time on Fakarava and Rangiroa, two islands in the Tuamotu Archipelago, roughly an hour’s flight from the main island of Tahiti.

French Polynesia, also known as the Islands of Tahiti, has long held its reputation for being a luxurious, romantic destination. And it’s not hard to see why, with its picture-perfect bungalows poised over crystal clear waters.

But there’s another, wilder side to these islands. Beneath the waves, you can find some of the most exciting marine encounters in the world. Topside, you can by-pass the 5-Star bungalows for a more down-to-earth style holiday. A mix of small resorts, pensions and home stays offer communal tables and home-cooked meals; a place to eat and share your diving adventures with the other guests.

My first leap into French Polynesia’s big blue is on the coral atoll of Rangiroa, a thin circle of islands surrounding an enormous lagoon. In the morning we dive on the incoming current, drifting slowly through Tiputa Passe, weaving through clouds of purple anthias, schools of butterfly fish, snapper, cardinal fish and humphead wrasse. Along the way we spy white tip and black tip reef sharks, grey reef sharks and—below us at depth—two great hammerhead sharks. An exhilarating sight.

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In the afternoon, we spend time on the outer reef. As the tide goes out, waves form in the channel, making it a bumpy ride for us but great fun for the bottlenose dolphins who leap through the surf. The dolphins follow us for most of the dive. They circle us, dance with us and, as we’re distracted by some colourful wonder on the reef itself, we’re buzzed by them several times.

Before the infamous shark dive at Fakarava, I take a trip out to the atoll’s famous Blue Lagoon, situated on the far side of Rangiroa’s vast lagoon. We stop for a snorkel at the (aptly named) Aquarium, then paddle in the palm-fringed turquoise pool. Soon, we’re joined by a group of baby black tip reef sharks who circle us in their dozens. The memorable marine encounters just keep coming.

My final dive on Fakarava provides yet another. As we head out, I ask if we’re likely to see any sharks on the afternoon’s dive. The answer is “no, but maybe some mantas”.

There’s little to no current on the outer reef, but the water is alive with schools of reef fish. There are even a few grey reef sharks (much to our surprise) and then—the marine pièce de résistance—we see the two manta rays.

As they approach, we flatten ourselves on the reef top to watch. They dance and swirl above us for 10 minutes or more, coming so close I have to duck to avoid contact. It’s a fitting end to a magical week of marine encounters. Now I just need to figure out how to move here permanently.