On the map, the area looked like a mass of unbroken green, transected only by the ridge line. No roads, paths, Pizza Hut, Disco music- only wilderness. My brief encounters with the largest section of virgin rain forest on the island, had been camping in sandy coves during kayak trips and an unsuccessful boar hunting trip on the edge of one of the valleys. In modern times only wild boar roamed this section of the island, yet in traditional society, footpaths dotted the landscape and people used to walk between villages. The retracing of ancient footpaths, just a sea kayaking along the abandoned northern coast provides a time machine into the olden ways. Where roads and sport utility vehicles had not carved up the soporific coastline.
The Swedish radiologist & I followed a small toe-path through the back of the village, as the skies opened up. We huddled under a thicket, and discussed the educational television project that had been instituted in the 1960's here. Within 3 years of its inception, the subsistence farming dropped significantly, progress on the move. As the mist lifted off our shoulders, we continued the trek. After backtracking a time or two, we came to a taro field next to a corrugate shelter. The swede, being on-call from the hospital received a call from the emergency room. Head CT needed to be read as soon as possible, unfortunately being in one of the more remote regions of the island without a vehicle, mobility was limited. Luckily another Scandinavian radiologist was at home and accepted the job as we continued our quest.
We walked to the edge of the scorched taro plantation, and found a pig trail behind some bushes. Taro, aka steroid of the pacific, provided much needed complex carbohydrates in the past, now it secures American Samoa's title as the most obese nation in the world at 93.5%. When the novice hiker is walking in the woods, they feel alienated by their surroundings, things can seem almost threatening. After spending some time in nature, you begin to realize how interconnected things are and your senses become heightened. One of these aspects is following animal tracks or in this case a pig track. The low shrubbery concealed all but a glimpse of the well-trodden soil below, but without question provided a reliable track if you looked close enough.
We maintained an elevation of 350m with westward direction, discussing the importance of The Swede's compass and altimeter. Without these aides, the bush would become disorienting, as the ridge line twist and turns gaining and losing altitude. We did not here the ocean during the course of the trek, only the rushing sounds from clear mountain streams as they navigated the divide. If there is one thing besides taro and bananas that Samoa has in abundance, its water. The only sign of the elusive boar was a few tracks in mud pits along the spine of the dragon. Occasionally, losing the trail we stumbled on many artifacts of traditional society, stones from foundations and some type of rounded bowl carved from solid rock.
Except for a colony of flying foxes, occasional birds such as the kingfisher, we were alone with the mountain. After six hours of rappelling down steep hillsides, rock climbing cliff faces, and maintaining our western bearing, the concept of darkness entered the play. With only a headlamp and some peanuts, spending a night with the mosquitoes in the forest seemed like good possibility. Hence, we decided to enter the veins of the mountain, and follow the river system south to civilization. This proved very difficult, as the streams became rivers, and the rivers ultimately waterfalls. Being a microscopic organism would have been a great way to run the rapids, but unfortunately being a human, it was overtly awkward and dangerous. Luckily, rivers change their direction over years, leaving a lower grade on one side for coming down the mountain.
We had descended over 200 meters, yet knew at some point the small waterfalls would become a miniature Niagara falls, we had too much elevation. As the slopes of the water system became steeper and the flow of the water increased, we knew that spending a night in the green maze was all but inevitable. This prospect would eventually require us to re-climb the mountain, as there was no suitable level ground to sleep horizontally. Just when the situation looked dire, i noticed a lone banana plant to my right. I had not seen a banana plant along the entire trek, and as we pulled ourselves over the ledge- the mother lode- a plantation and sounds of the sea crashing along the shoreline. We had reached the end of the island, and had stumbled onto taro fields interspersed with old army surplus tents. A few Samoans where constructing a small house, and looked no more surprised to see us then had we been one of the chickens strutting around.
A "Malo" greeting was exchanged and they pointed us in the direction of the road. I asked why they were living in tents so far up in the mountains. They explained that that the tsunami had destroyed their village and they were afraid to live along the coast. They had been squatting in the hills for almost 2 months and planned to rebuild there settlement here. In order not to intrude, we thanked them for there help and proceeded down the path. We had not heard of people living in the mountains after the disaster. The path was well constructed with a slight grade, providing a wonderful descent to sea level. The Swede & i joked about what good fortune it was to encounter the camp, which had been the best route all day, no tracking skills required.
As we descended to the road, we marveled at how camouflaged the trail was and what great effort was needed to climb the 1/2 mile trail to their homes. Only, a tsunami could make a Samoan leave his idyllic seaside village and coerce them live in the hills. We wondered how many other tents were in the mountains, people reconstructing their lives after so much loss. A truck appeared from around the bend and we hopped in the back. We guzzled a cold beer and beamed at the adventure, which seemed almost choreographed, as if pulled by marionette strings.
We ended the afternoon at the local Filipino pizza shop, finishing every last slice from a large hand tossed vegetarian. The emergency room paged The Swede again, this time his presence was mandatory. We parted ways covered in dirt, smelling like wet dogs, and completely content. The map stated we had walked only 10 miles, but like many things in life- if you take the road less traveled, the experience cannot be quantified.
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