Kayaking in Muri Lagoon

Muri Lagoon, the most popular tourist destination in the Cooks, is located on Rarotonga’s southeast corner. The lagoon itself is wide and sandy, with calm, clear water maybe chest-high on average, and sheltered by four off-shore islands: three deserted atolls, and one rugged little volcano.

Muri Beach is a strip that bustles with shops, cafes, swank restaurants, resorts, and water sports rentals. The beach is cluttered with sunbathing tourists on deck chairs, umbrellas, kayaks, menus, and now and again, tables set with cutlery, chairs in the sand. Children in expensive miniature wetsuits play in the water, and far out, there are paddle-boats, glass-bottomed charter boats, stand-up paddle-boarders, kayakers, and snorkelers. In low tide, some folks put their bags on their heads and walk from island to island.

We decide to explore the Lagoon one sunny day, and board the anticlockwise bus with throngs of other brightly-clothed tourists. I've invested in a straw hat and sarong, so I fit in more now. The bus roars along the oceanside, through bright patches of sun and under cool shadow, allowing glimpses of turquoise water through the foliage on our right-hand side.

At one point, a group of little schoolchildren get on, wearing formal uniforms and carrying book satchels. The driver warns them to behave. Once they've settled into their seats, they begin to sing loudly together about Jesus, and then giggle between verses. I figure they are maybe eight years old. It surprises me when I know some of the lyrics from my own Christian childhood; John nudges me when I sing along under my breath, so I stop.

It is maybe noon when we arrive at the Lagoon. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect day: there is not a cloud in the sky, no wind, and the water is a clear, inviting blue.

John wants to go kayaking, but I've had the odd trying experience on those (see Paihia and The North, October 2010), so I insist on sharing a double. That way, John can steer, and I can take in the scenery. Good deal.

The kayak rental costs $20 for three hours, which we're happy with. We load all of our supplies (towels, sun hat, backpack containing water, camera and sunscreen) into the middle of the kayak; I get in first, and John pushes us off.

Kaying is way easier with John. I have to admit, he really seems to know what he's doing. All I do is paddle (I think I'm helping), and from the back of the boat, he manages to steer easily in any direction we fancy.

Maybe it helps that the water is completely calm.

Our first stop is the little volcano. We park our kayak and explore our own private deserted island - which turns out to host a couple of young dogs. They ignore our attempts to make friends, and seem completely distracted by their task, or game: digging. Maybe they are digging out crabs, or shellfish, we're not sure. Sometimes they stop to eat something crunchy. 

We spend the rest of the day exploring the other three atolls, and at one point, we discover a shipwreck out near the break. I am having the most fun I've ever had on the water. It's so clear and calm that you can see right through it, to the light-spangled bottom, blue starfish, swimming shapes, and coral reef. 

When we get hungry, we pull our boat out of the water to look around the main beach and have lunch. I have this weird craving for diet coke. The water around us looks so good, it makes me surprisingly thirsty.

We still have about an hour left with the kayak, though - it's only two o'clock - so we head back out onto the water. This time, when we head towards our deserted volcano, I see something. Something green - lime green, bright green - something big - something fast. No, wait - there are three of them.

John sees them too. We try to chase them with the boat, but they are much too fast, so instead, we beach the kayak, don snorkel gear, and wade out into the clear blue waves. 

As I wade out, I notice that the sand is littered with sea slugs. I avoid stepping on them, but I'm reminded of the mess that Canadian geese make on school fields. Same distasteful shape. They're everywhere.

As soon as I'm able, I dip my head underwater and swim out. The place is absolutely bursting with fish, and apparently they're used to being fed by tourists. They have a particular interest in my hands.

The angelfish, triggerfish, moorish idols and clownfish are pretty, but I have my sights set on whatever it was out there that's fast and green. I swim out quite a ways before I finally catch a glimpse: it's an enormous parrotfish, its scales flashing in the sun, green compared to the water. It takes one look at me and it's gone in a flash, but there are other, smaller cousins hanging out nearby, munching on coral.

My mask leaks water pretty badly, and I realize we've been underwater for awhile. By the time we're back to the island, we only have fifteen minutes to get back to the beach, and now that the tide's going out, the current will be more of a problem.

Luckily, I have John.

We head back to the hostel in time for a pot-luck dinner. We make curry to share and then stuff ourselves sick with salads, Spanish omelets, traditional Polynesian fare, and lots of dessert. Our last day in paradise is just days away.