National Parks

Bats, Foggy Heights, and a Soaking Wet Finale

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Monday, September 14, greeted us with, yet again, drenching rain and it never let up for most of the day. So much for snorkeling, beach combing, or any other activity that we might have an expectation of staying dry. What to do? We decided to make the best of it and drive around the southern and western parts of Tutuila, venturing out of the car when the weather – and our enthusiasm – permitted.

What better way to start this journey than visiting BATS! So we stopped in Nu’uuli at a roosting site for the white-nape fruit bat, sometimes called the flying fox. They are among the largest bats in the world and seeing them gathered at their daytime roost was a different way to begin our soggy excursion. The bats seemed perfectly content with the weather. I on the other hand was a bit skeptical.

I was not sure what possessed us to continue uphill to the villages of Pava’ia’i and Aoloua. but upward we went. Aoloau, nicknamed “Fog Village” is the highest village on Tutuila and on a clear day, its elevation offers sweeping views across the island. It definitely, on this day earned, its nickname and we decidedly had front row seats to the islands shroud of fog. There we were practically on top of Tutuila, with nary a view and hence no photo to show for it.

Driving the island this day left me focusing on impressions of this US territory which are quite different from the mainland United States.

Churches, Chickens and Other American Samoan Observations

One thing that is impossible to miss while driving through American Samoa is the prominence of churches. Nearly every village has at least one , and many have several large whitewashed and pastel or bright colored buildings, often topped with tall steeples. They definitely stand out amongst the modest home and often seemed outsized in comparison to their surroundings, including one we irreverently joked about looking like a cruise ship.

Their prominence reflects the central role of Christianity in fa’a Samoa, the Samoan way of life. Churches are more than a place to worship on Sunday mornings, but important centers for community life, identity and gathering. They are every bit as much of the landscape as the mountains and the sea. On the Sunday morning we traversed the island , there was a striking observation: men and women dressed all in white making their way to church. Wearing one’s Sunday best is taken seriously and this tradition definitely added a sense of occasion and dignity on a day devoted to faith, family, and community.

Another feature of village life, which I had mentioned in an earlier entry, was the astonishing number of chickens. Hens, roosters, and fluffy little chicks wander freely along roadsides, through yards and wherever their chicken instincts lead them (as do the dogs). They pay no mind to traffic laws. We would call them free-ranging chickens and in American Samoa they are a familiar part of life. Families keep them for eggs and meat, while the fowl forage for much of their own food. Why build elaborate chick coops when the birds are quite capable of finding their own dinner. I would imagine our back-yard cooped up chickens would be quite envious.

As I mentioned previously dogs enjoy this same freedom — either belonging to a household or available for adoption by a passing tourist. My Bernadette is so soft of heart and was prone to providing a few with their next meal.

So with dogs and chickens wandering about I began to notice another adaptation. Large platforms, often five feet off the ground , where household garbage was stored until collection. Elevated garbage made sense when the local four legged and feather scavengers are free to investigate whatever they pleased. It also struck me that this arrangement would probably not pass muster in most of the deed restricted neighborhoods whereI have lived. My homeowners association would have required a committee meeting before approving the backyard chicken coupe, never mind the garbage platform.

Then there were the tombs.

At first I was puzzled by the concrete burial structures sitting right in front yards, sometimes just steps from the front porch. Some were simple slabs , others were tiled, perhaps topped with little roofs, or decorated with crosses. Some were so elaborate they rivaled the grandeur of the churches. I learned that family burials on ancestral land are a long standing Samoan tradition with land closely tied to extended family. Burying loved ones at home keeps them close to the generations that follow. These tombs are not treated as places to hide away and avoid.

It is such a striking difference from the way Americans in the USA approach to death, separating cemeteries from places we live. I found the custom both touching and fascinating. I also decided for the time being, I wasn’t ready to campaign for a similar arrangement. But perhaps since Tasia was with me to witness this practice she might be open to placing my tomb in the front yard since I live with her (or at least a big memorial with my ashes.)

Following the Coast to the End of the Road.

Eventually we returned to the coastal highway and continued northward to Fagamalo, at the end of the road. Along the way we drove through Leone, one of Tutuila’s larger communities and visited the Leone Healing Garden memorial which was built to honor the victims of the devastating September 29, 2009 Samoa earthquake and tsunami. Signs along most roads marking tsunami hazard zone were a recurring reminder that this beautiful coastline is also extremely vulnerable to the power of the Pacific ocean.

We had a classic photo opportunity when passing Cape Taputapu, where a small, palm-topped sea stack caught my eye and is a signature land-mark of the area. I think Tasia was hooked by the look.

We stopped to admire Amanave, a village nestled along the coast. Even with fog trying its best to conceal the scenery, it was enchanting to see. The road wound along the shoreline, dipping into small bays, climbed across a ridge to Poloa and from there it rose steeply and twisted sharply to the roads end. The scenery was spectacular even in the rain and yet again Tasia’s driving skills were tested to the max.

At Fagamalo we explored the beach and as has happened on other outings, we were soon adopted by a local dog. Our adopt-a-dog-by-the-hour definitely was hoping that his companionship, supervision and guidance would be rewarded with some scraps from our lunch. Bernadette tipped him well.

A Legend, a Wild Sea, and a Wave Delivered Shower

After retracing our route towards Pago Pago, we stopped at Vaitogi to visit the site associated with the Samoan Legend of the turtle and the shark. The story tells of a mother and daughter fleeing famine, that leapt into the sea and were transformed into a turtle and a shark. According to local tradition. villages sing to call the pair, and this site preserves the story.

Whatever one makes of the story, the setting certainly seemed suited to one. The sea was wild and dramatic. Waves rushes in from the open ocean and slammed against the black volcanic shelf, exploding into white spray, before cascading back over the rocks. Jagged lava formations with slick green algae, framed the churning turquoise waters beautifully. The contrast between the dark volcanic rock, the vivid sea, and the white foam was mesmerizing.

We stood at the viewing deck built over the rocky shoreline, watching the waves gather strength and crash against the coast . The force of the water was impressive and it’s occasional well-times splash reminded me that the ocean was not solely a spectator sport. Then one wave sent a wall of spray over the rocks and straight onto me. Yet again, I got a complimentary wave-delivered shower.

After a couple of stops for gas and snacks, we landed back at Sadie’s. It was mid-afternoon and Tasia and Bernadette headed out to the beach and pool for a swim. I went down and to take on the role of bystander. That was however a short lived adventure and you can probably guess what derailed the plans. After a day of seemingly endless rain, swimming in the rain had no appeal. They abandoned the pool in search of something dry which , as it turned was becoming quite an elusive commodity.

The Final Drip

By the time we returned to our room, we were ready to call it a day. Unfortunately our accommodations had developed an additional water feature. We discovered that the rain was now dripping through the ceiling onto one of the beds. Fortunately the ice-bucket was available for a new and currently a more practical purpose: catching the drips. It was our final night at Sadie’s and we had little inclination to pack everything up and move rooms. Tasia simply relocated to the other bed while the ice bucket stood sentry, content with its new job. After a day of relentless rain, foggy mountaintops, and ocean spray, we had apparently not yet met our daily water quota. The hotel was definitely helping us meet it.

There was gear to organize, laundry to be done, bags to repack. Feeling weary, we decided to skip dinner at the Goat Island Cafe and use up the remaining lunch supplies instead . This meal in a room with a leaky ceiling was not a remarkable culinary experience but I had food, a dry half- of-a-bed, and an ice bucket that I trusted would continue to earn its keep. The next day we would be leaving American Samoa and head to the independent nation of Samoa. Our time on Tutuila was drawing to a close. We were ready for a change of islands, and perhaps a ceiling that kept the rain where it belonged.

Rainforest, Rusty Ladder, and a Tuna Named Charlie

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On Sunday, September 13, we set out to explore the National Park of American Samoa and headed south on Route 5 out of Pago Pago toward Fagasa Bay. Along the way, we passed the trailhead for Mount Montafeo. One look was all it took and I knew this was not to be our hike for the day. An old rusty ladder served as the trailhead starting point. On this rainy foggy day, that trail was definitely not calling my name. All I could think was that you (and anybody else) are not supposed go up here! I am adventurous to be sure but ignoring the obvious sign of a decaying and rusting ladder is quite another.

We continued toward Fagasa Bay, known as “the Forbidden Bay.” Although fog partly obscured the view, I was struck by the bays half-moon shape, framed by steep forested cliffs that plunge dramatically towards the water. Heading back toward Pago Pago, we stopped to admire the harbor surrounded by volcanic peaks, draped in fog and dense foliage. We even spotted the bay that Sadie’s by the Sea is on. There was also the obligatory stop at an official entrance sign for the National Park of Samoa. No park visit is complete without the photographic proof that we were actually there.

Next up was the Lower Sauma Trail which “plunged” us into dense rain forest. The trail was wet, muddy, and slippery beneath a carpet of rain soaked leaves. Mother Nature, with what I suspect was some assistance from the trail builders, had provided an obstacle course of flat slick stones, some decorated with patches of moss to make them even more treacherous. Hidden between the stone steps were plenty of exposed roots, just waiting to catch my wary foot. Tasia was sure-footed, with Bernadette and I not so confident that we’d arrived unscathed. Every step presented an opportunity for a face plant or a butt plant. She and I proceeded cautiously doing our best to remain upright. The return climb was steep and by the time we were finished we were thoroughly drenched. Still, perhaps, would it have been a disappointment to visit a tropical rainforest and not get rained on? In that department we were getting our money’s worth.

The question was whether the lovely views were worth the risk of navigating such a slippery trail. In the end I decided they were, sort of that is. It was a worthwhile adventure but on this foggy rainy day, they were not post card perfect. The real reward of this hike wasn’t the scenery as the challenge itself. The scenery was nice but finishing the hike without landing on my face or with a bruised backside was the achievement I celebrated the most. I think Bernadette would agree heartily with me.

We then continued east to the Pola Island Trail at the end of the road in Vatia Village. Happily this trail was wide, flat, and mercifully easy, leading us to a rugged, rocky beach. What a payoff this time for so little effort. Rising dramatically from the surf was a massive jungle topped sea stack, a striking feature of the island’s volcanic coastline. The beach was covered with rounded cobblestones, backed by large palm fronds. The whole scene felt gloriously wild and untamed. There was no soft sand beach made for a leisurely stroll or casual beach combing. Collecting shells, or even walking comfortably, was not in the cards.

I settle for a lumpy unforgiving seat on the rocky shore and took in the view. The best way to appreciate this wild place was to stop moving before it gave me another opportunity to fall down.

Feeling quite satisfied with our exploration of the park, we headed back to Pago Pago. But first we had to make one final tourist stop to pose with Charlie the Tuna, the familiar mascot who statue stands outside the StarKist Tuna Cannery in the village of Atu’u on the north shore of Pago Pago Harbor. The tuna industry makes a significant contribution to American Samoa’s economy so Charlie represents more than a convenient photo opportunity. Finally we returned to Sadie’s for a quiet afternoon.

The relentless rain showed no signs of letting up and the prospect of venturing out yet again to get soaked held little appeal. Even trying my first adventure snorkeling held no interest for me. It was a laid back afternoon and we opted for another meal at the Goat Island Cafe. Fish tacos! After all we had spent the day dodging slippery stones, lurking roots, and the many hazards of the rainforest and beaches in the rain. We had earned a little rest and a dry seat.

The 63rd Park and the Almost Trespass

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Our first full day in American Samoa was devoted to getting the lay of the land, taking care of a few practical necessities, and most importantly officially visiting the National Park of American Samoa office. Since it was Friday and the office would be closed for the week-end, we knew we need to make that our first stop.

By 9:00 a.m., we had picked up our rental car and were on our way. Many people finish visiting all 63 national parks at American Samoa since it is the most distant, takes more planning, and is one of the hardest to reach (though Gates of the Arctic and Kobuk Valley in Alaska are only accessible through a fly in as there are no roads). When I mentioned to the park ranger that this was my 63rd and final national park, I was unexpectedly presented with a certificate commemorating the accomplishment. Visiting all 63 parks has been a years long dream and finally, after all those miles, hikes, planes, ferries, rental cars and questionable camping decisions, here I was on the island of Tutuila holding a certificate that said I had finally done it. What a great way to begin the day.

With that milestone officially recorded, we turned our attention to some considerably less glamorous necessities. We headed back toward the airport in search of a grocery store. We wanted to stock up on breakfast and lunch supplies as well as explore SIM cards for our iPhones.

The first stop was Blue Sky to get an electronic e-SIM for my phone since I needed to be able to use the iPhone when out and about and unable to depend on wi-fi. As with most cell phone stores, we walked it and immediately found ourselves at the back of a long line of customers. Fortunately the line moved surprisingly quickly . Then the next challenge: What plan? How much data? I had no idea what I was doing or what I needed but knew I needed a minimal plan. I had to trust the staff not to over-sell me. I gratefully emerged with a working phone and not a depleted checking account.

We stopped at the TSM grocery. As I have discovered in other countries, grocery shopping is rarely quite the same experience as it is in the Untied States. In the United States we have become accustomed to supermarkets where an entire aisle might be devoted to cereal, another salad dressing and approximately 47 varieties of cheese simply because we might want some variety. This was not that kind of grocery store. For example I was looking for lunch meat and cheese for sandwiches and quickly found that my options were limited. Tucked away in the corner of a refrigerated shelf unit, there were exactly two choices of lunch meat: chopped ham and baloney. And for cheese, I could choose between one block of cheddar or the individually wrapped slices of what I think of as “fake cheese” – the kind made from a blend of cheeses, termed American, and containing enough additives to make you wonder if it qualifies as cheese.

I had not eaten baloney and fake cheese in years and I wasn’t ready to revive that chapter of my culinary preferences. So I went with the chopped ham and block of cheddar. It wasn’t exactly the deli counter at Trader Joe’s but I would survive. We also stocked up on peanut butter, bread, oatmeal, apples, and fresh fruit so we could make our own breakfasts and picnic lunches and avoid having to dash out someplace for food every time we got hungry.

After lunch it was time to get into the water. Tasia decided snorkeling was a great idea. My vision was different. So while Tasia snorkeled, Bernadette and I dipped into the ocean and later moved onto the pool. I allowed myself to get wet without having to look at anything underwater.

Later in the day we walked into town to explore the waterfront. Pago Pago Harbor immediately caught my attention and I was struck by the massive number of shipping containers stacked along the waterfront. They seemed out of place against the lush mountains and blue waters. But it is a working port and it’s a vital supply link since American Samoa is remote and depends heavily on goods brought in from overseas. This deep harbor is well suited to host large vessels to transport the containers after which the cargo is distributed around the islands.

But what really caught my eye as I wandered about town were the busses. They were unlike any busses I had ever sees — brightly painted and wonderfully individual. These family owned busses (not by a transit agency), often locally built, are called “aiga” busses and carry people around the harbor and to villages throughout the island. They all seem to have their own personality and from what I hear there are no fixed schedules, cost about a dollar, and are replete with loud music and crowds. I had sorely wanted to ride one but time ran out.

The government buildings added another layer of interest. There is a significant concentration of governmental and historic buildings, including the Governor’s Mansion. We spotted a long driveway leading up to what appeared to be the mansion. There was a cinder block building off to the side with a NO TRESPASSING sign but it didn’t appear to be any other indication that the driveway was off limits or that sign was for the driveway. So naturally I wanted to investigate. We made our way farther and farther up the driveway in the heat of the afternoon wondering if this might actually be open to the public. As we approached the top a security guard appeared and informed us that NO, the area was not open to the public and yes, we needed to turn around.

We had a laugh. Somewhere along the way I had concluded that, since the sign indicating this was the government mansion was the same as other’s indicating historical attractions open to the public, this perhaps too might have tours, as it too is an historical building. Though it wasn’t an open-house attraction, we had gotten a nice look at the surrounds and sometimes a little harmless trespassing makes for a good story.

We wound up the day with dinner at the Goat Island Cafe at Sadie’s. It was time to start treating ourselves to to some of Samoa’s local seafood. Wahoo was my choice of the evening and a delicious way to end our first full day on Tutuila.

Arrived Exhausted, Woke Up in Paradise

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This trip had a special significance for me: visiting the National Park of American Samoa would complete my goal of visiting all 63 U.S. national parks. That milestone was the underlying reason for the journey and reaching this final park would not simply add another destination to the list. It would complete a long running quest that has taken me across the country and into so many truly remarkable places.

Our adventure began in Portland where we spent the night at the Radisson near the airport rather than risk an early morning drive to the airport from Salem ( where we would be picking up my youngest daughter Bernadette) for our 10:00 a.m. flight to American Samoa, with a plane change in Hawaii. Before we could even leave Portland, a before photo was clearly necessary. True to form my oldest daughter Tasia was already full of adventure and had no intention of waiting until we reached an actual beach to get in character. So for the photo, she donned her snorkel and mask. So , with Tasia ready for the South Pacific before we even left Oregon, our trip officially began.

The flights to American Samoa were surprisingly uneventful. We whiled away the nearly 12 hours of flight time with movies, reading, and eating very poor quality airplane food. One of the biggest challenges in this tech savvy family was keeping all of our watches, iPads, and iPhones charged. The three hour layover in Honolulu went quickly and soon we were on the final leg of the trip to American Samoa.

We arrived in American Samoa around 9:00PM. and that is when the real adventure began. Retrieving our luggage turned out to be a chaotic and surprisingly challenging affair. It was a madhouse. Many of the passengers arriving from Honolulu were native Samoans, and it appeared that a trip to Honolulu involved stocking up on products either for their own use or to sell back home. Everyone seemed to be waiting for multiple items such as enormous tubs (the favorite was a black tub with a yellow lid) , assorted packages and boxes. The luggage carts multiplied, the waiting area became completely jam-packed, and the bags emerged from the conveyor at what seemed to be a snails pace. We stood in the rear watching the mountain of luggage slowly make its way into the terminal wondering when our bags would finally appear. At last our meager little duffles emerged from the chaos. Compared with some of the enormous tubs and multiple suitcases, our luggage looked almost embarrassingly modest.

Of course, before we headed off to our hotels we still had to make it through immigration. Since unlike most of the others at the conveyor belt we were only waiting for one item each and managed to be amongst the first to go through the entry process, which went quickly and smoothly. Once on the other side we were met by the driver from Sadie’s by the Sea Hotel who loaded us into the hotel’s transportation van. We settled ourselves in and waited…and waited…and waited for the other passengers to arrive.

The drive from the airport didn’t initially give me much of an impression of what this tropical island would be like. The first part felt surprisingly industrial and somewhat run down , not at all like the lush pacific setting I had been expecting! Eventually however we reached the bay, and the scenery began to change. I was particularly puzzled by a row of dead tree trunks painted white stretching along the bay, each bearing a tattered small American flag. I have not been able to discern what that was about and have filed it away as one of the mysteries of American Samoa.

By the time we pulled into Sadie’s it was 11:30 PM. In searching for lodgings I found few lodging options as tourism is a very small part of the economy because of federal cabotage laws and the strong emphasis on Samoan cultures and the preference for slow, community centered development over resort style growth. This was a big part of the appeal for us and if we wanted to be located on the water there were scant options.

Our best choice for lodging was Sadie’s by the Sea. I knew Sadie’s was a quaint old motel from the online photos but it appeared to have been given a make over. The decor reminded me of the mid-century tropical motels on US 41 in Florida, with retro touches, sage green accents, creamy walls, wood-fluted panels and well worn carpet. It was surprisingly cozy. However no amount of decorating could completely disguise the fact that Sadie’s had been around for a while. It was definitely lived-in and well worn but somehow that became part of its charm. If I had to describe it, I’d use word like quirky, comfortable, tropical, and full of character and personality though it certainly wasn’t luxury and pretentious was definitely not going to be one of its problems. By the time I crawled into bed and turned out the light it was 2:00am.

I woke up about 6:00am the following morning — our first on Tutuila and stepped out onto the balcony. From the balcony, I experienced the soft early light of morning. Above the harbor clouds in shades of blue, gray and gold drifted across the sky. Beyond was a row of rugged peaks which appeared to be rising dramatically from the water. Palm trees were swaying around the pool. The bay shimmered with the first hint of sunrise. This was a pretty spectacular welcome.

After all the planning, packing and long journey from Medford OR I was feeling wonderfully happy. We actually had finally made it. Though still travel weary I stood there knowing that many adventures of hiking and snorkeling awaited and the trip was finally beginning