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american
American Samoa presents
a potent mixture of junglefringed delight and the
slightly ad-hoc charm of a
place only beginning to
realise its own beauty.
F
idyll
rom the ocean, several kilometres offshore, a
25-knot-wind-driven swell hid Tutuila’s coastal
fringe of human habitation, and pitched the
38ft Bonavista II about. Above the craggy, fluid
peaks of the Pacific, the craggier peaks of American
Samoa’s largest island climbed – verdant and green
­– to a cumulus toupee. Islands the size of Tutuila, 30km
long and never more than six wide, sometimes seem
insignificant in the midst of that much water, and in
some ways the land itself is: American Samoa looks
outward, and the ocean that surrounds it lies, in many
ways, at its centre.
From the bridge, Russ Cox, who runs Pago Pago
Marine Charters, manoeuvred the boat with a captain’s
logic, searching the skies for the exact configuration
of sea birds that signified fish below. On the deck,
Sam Fuamatu readied the six 80lb lines for a bite, reeling
them in when they became tangled, and unhooking the
hot-pink lures which hide a fearsome hook among their
fronds. They look, to the uninitiated, like some medieval
flagellation device.
The boat’s rocking produced a meditative kind of
lethargy. But it was soon broken. In the middle of some
contemplation a line started to rattle, I was thrust into
one of two game chairs, and soon settled into the
rhythm: pulling back on the rod, then reeling in furiously
as I lowered it. Before long, I caught my first glimpse of
the electric-blue flash of a dolphin fish within the more
sedate azure of the ocean. That the fish still shone so
brightly, I was told, meant it still had plenty of fight, and
sure enough, I still had work to do before it had been
gaffed and laid down flapping on the deck, the formerly
exotic yellow of its underside now faded and dirty.
Over the next hour or two, I added three more to the
hold, every time bringing Cox down from the bridge.
He has the easy nature of a man who makes a living
by indulging a passion, and still maintains a vibrant
enthusiasm for something he’s done thousands of times
before (“Love it! Love it!” he exclaimed on one occasion).
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Less famous than its neighbour as a tourist destination, American Samoa contains just as many natural delights.
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stay
Originally from Tauranga, Cox has lived in American
Samoa for the past six years, and, having lived elsewhere
in the Pacific, says the territory has the most abundant
fishing he has experienced – wahoo, dog tooth tuna, marlin,
and dolphin fish all live here in large numbers. After taking
our share of the latter we headed in. I sat on the bridge as
the harbour crept closer, the latest of several celebratory
Coors Lights encased in a foam beer holder. The wind had
dropped, and as we got close the harbour’s influence began
to calm the ocean’s roll.
English author Somerset Maugham visited American
Samoa in 1916 and set one of his most famous short stories,
“Rain”, here. “It was,” he wrote in that story, “a great landlocked harbour, big enough to hold a fleet of battleships;
and all around it rose, high and steep, the green hills.” That
harbour is all that remains of the volcanic crater that spewed
forth the land now crouching around it protectively, like a
crab’s claws. It’s the island’s defining feature and the site of
its capital city, Pago Pago, which lies at its most acute point,
completely hidden from the open ocean.
One of the finest in the South Pacific, Pago Pago harbour
was used as a refuelling station for French, British, German,
and American vessels during the 19th century. Following the
Tripartite Convention, which partitioned the Samoan islands
between America and Germany in 1899, the existing coaling
station was converted into an American naval base. And
then, just over 30 years after Maugham wrote that sentence,
during the turmoil of WWII, Pago Pago was indeed awash
with military vessels.
Pearl Harbour highlighted the South Pacific’s vulnerability
to Japanese aggression, and soon after American Marines
descended on Tutuila. It became a major base, a training
ground of sorts, through which 20,000 Marines passed
before going on, acclimatised and battle ready, to meet
the Japanese elsewhere in the Pacific. Only once did that
meeting take place on Tutuila: on January 11, 1942, a
Japanese submarine fired shells at the American naval station
from the north of the island, over the mountainous spine,
managing little damage other than destroying a shop owned
“I sat on the bridge as
the harbour crept
closer. The wind had
dropped, and as we
got close the harbour’s
influence began to
calm the ocean’s roll.“
by one of the few residents of
Japanese descent.
Opposite the capital, on the
harbour’s east, the land rises
to Mount Pioa, nicknamed the
“Rainmaker” for its habit of trapping
rain and dumping it periodically on
the harbour. “If you can’t see the
Rainmaker,” Cox said, sharing a piece of island wisdom, “it’s
raining. If you can, it will.”
The previous day, with guide Rory West of North Shore
Tours, I had explored the island to the east and north of Pago
Pago. It was a Sunday, and the roads were quiet; most of
the traffic consisted of buses and utes ferrying parishioners
to and from church. We drove out of Pago, as locals call it,
the air conditioner taking its first bite out of my perspiration,
and skirted the harbour, passing the two tuna canneries that
constitute American Samoa’s largest industry. The roads are
rough, full of potholes, and generally make the island’s 25mph
speed limit seem like the apotheosis of optimism, even for the
SUVs and pickups everywhere.
The Rainmaker looms above the landscape and, having
left the last vestiges of Pago behind, we headed high into
its lap. The Doors were playing on the radio, courtesy, West
explained, of “some old hippies” who operate a weekend-only
underground radio station. At Afono Pass, we stopped to look
down on the harbour, then headed for the northern shore,
a sizable wedge of which constitutes a section of American
Samoa’s National Park.
West knows the National Park intimately, and in fact lives
in it (pointing vaguely to some area “up there” when asked
to specify), and walking through it with him is an enlightening
experience. North Shore Tours grew out of another of West’s
businesses, Polynesian Herbs, which sources and supplies
traditional herbs for medicinal use. More than 500 species
densely coexist in the rainforest, and over the 32 years he has
lived in American Samoa it seems West has learned to identify
every single one; our conversation was full of detours as he
reached overhead to grab a leaf known to alleviate tumours,
From left: Fishing with Pago Pago Marine Charters; a traditional Samoan dancer; a humpback whale; the western section of Tutuila is a
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airnewzealand.co.nz

KiaOra
Tradewinds Hotel
is American Samoa’s newest
and biggest hotel. It’s located
conveniently close to the airport,
and the friendly staff are committed
to helping you make the most of
your American Samoa experience.
tradewinds.as
You’ll need to pass through Apia on
your way to Pago Pago, and there is
no better place to stay than Aggie
Grey’s Lagoon, Beach Resort &
Spa. Right on a pristine white-sand
beach, it is the perfect way to begin
a Samoan holiday. aggiegreys.com
DO
Explore the island with the
incredibly knowledgeable Rory West
of North Shore Tours. West offers
a range of activities including reef
walks and boat tours, but prefers
to keep it flexible to suit the fitness
and inclination of the customer.
polynesianherbs.angelfire.com
Pago Pago Marine Charters is
your best bet for a bit of fishing.
Staff make even beginners
feel like experienced anglers.
pagopagomarinecharters.com
Hire a car and explore the island
west of Pago Pago – sleepy hamlets
hug the coves; beautiful, historic
churches are everywhere.
EAT
With a focus on Samoan
seafood, everything served at Tisa’s
Barefoot Bar is fresh, including,
potentially, the lobster you catch on
a snorkelling tour. tisasbarefootbar.com
Goat Island Café on the harbour’s
edge, is an ideal spot to enjoy fresh
fish, a few beers, and an ocean
breeze. sadieshotels.com
The Equator Restaurant at
Tradewinds serves a mix of Samoan
and Western fare. There is a real
focus on fresh fish – they’ll even
cook up your bounty from a day
fishing for the freshest possible
meal. tradewinds.as
good place to find your own private beach.
airnewzealand.co.nz

KiaOra
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travel
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customer’s shoulder. The tattooist sat
cross-legged, beside him a crumpled
pack of cigarettes and a little bowl of
black ink into which he would dip his
tattooist’s comb momentarily, before
bringing it back to the customer’s
shoulder. With a series of swift, precise
taps with his free hand he would leave
the latest marks of a large, intricate design. An assistant wiped
off excess ink with a cloth, and his partner again lowered the
comb to the bowl.
It was the kind of charmingly incidental attraction I had come
to expect of American Samoa; tourism here is in its infancy, and
everything seems an offshoot of something else. Even Pago
Pago Marine Charters grew out of another business, Industrial
Gases, and I spent the last night of my stay outside a workshop
on the premises those businesses share, drinking beer with Cox
and his colleagues. The sun had sunk, but the air was still balmy
and close, with a hint of the ocean. A ute pulled up and its driver
got out to pick up some fish, exchanged for the promise of a
box of beer to come later. “You see why I live here?” Cox had
asked me some time earlier. On the drive back to the hotel, with
a bag of dolphin-fish fillets on my lap, the Pacific stretching off
endlessly into the dark, it was the only thing I could see.
story James Borrowdale
Contact americansamoa.travel
Air New Zealand
operates direct
flights from
Auckland to
Apia, with ongoing
connections to
Pago Pago.
From left: A blue-crowned lorikeet; a man clambers up a tree in search of coconuts; Futi Rock.
36
airnewzealand.co.nz

KiaOra
american samoa
Photographs Corbis, Getty Images
or another for stomach ache. Crab-punctured coconuts littered
the ground, and the sun threw its canopy-dappled light on the
forest floor.
We came to the trees’ edge and looked down on waves
frothily terminating against the cliff face, filling a rock pool.
To the east the lines of the reef, the waters’ edge, the beach,
and the jungle’s hem stretched out around coves, as if the
island was charting its own contours on a topographical map.
To the west lay the sliver of Pola Island, just offshore. “There’s
something about nature that releases the inner child,” West
told me. “It rubs off on you.”
Pola Island rises ­– narrow, spiny, dorsal – 128m straight out
of the water, like the fin of some enormous but infinitely static
primordial beast whose mass lurks just under the surface.
“Pola” translates as “long table full of food”, so named for the
birds – roddies, frigate birds, brown boobies – that nest here,
and the ample fishing that surrounds it. It’s a short walk north
of the tranquil Vatia Bay, but here the ocean was rough; a
menacing undertow audibly dragged rocks along the sea floor,
and wild currents swilled the small breach between Pola and
the mainland. Young men used to make the climb up these
formidable cliffs to demonstrate their bravery.
The majority of Tutuila’s coastline is far more sedate. We
headed east, along the main coastal highway, every bend
revealing a reef-fringed beach. Above a perfect example,
Alega Beach, perches Tisa’s Barefoot Bar, cut into the jungle,
almost completely invisible from the road. It is run by Tisa and
her partner, another Kiwi expat, who introduced himself as
Candyman (journalistic enquiry engendered nothing further
than this reply, given with a smile: “First name Candy. Second
name Man.”)
The bar is built of recycled materials and is completely
open to the air. As we sat on the porch, my beer sweating as
much as I was, a black-tipped shark played in the shallows
– Candyman said they had been watching and feeding the
family for eight years. It scattered shyly when anyone got
close. Beyond the reef, the water drops off to alarming depths,
alarmingly fast – in season, whales breach just 50m from where
you sit.
Behind a screen a tattooist practised his art on a horizontal
“Pola Island rises ­–
narrow, spiny, dorsal –
128m straight out of the
water, like the fin of some
enormous but infinitely
static primordial
beast..”