Every harbor and bay where an outrigger canoe passed us, Robin said she really wanted to try that. She tried to inquire at the Va’aka Club on Ua Pou, but there was no-one around. So on Tuesday, when we biked past a sign on the road that read “Initiation Au Va’a” with stenciled pictures of outrigger canoes, I stopped to get a picture of the sign and phone numbers. Tuesday evening, I tried calling the number and let it ring ten times with no answer. I composed an email in French to the email address on the sign and sent it.

No response even by Wednesday afternoon (yesterday). But on our bike ride back from Avatoru, we went down the lane where the sign was and shouted Bonjour by the racked outriggers and cluttered clubhouse. And barking dogs. No response, but the neighbor said something that sounded to me like “il est en haut” so naturally I looked up to the roof of the building. Then I realized they must be out on the water.

Not to be deterred, I tried the phone number again when we got back to the boat. This time there was an answer, and after some back and forth, and calling back “a dix- neuf heurs trent “ we set up an appointment for ten this morning.

For us that meant we could sleep in! After a passion fruit and yogurt breakfast we paddled into shore against the stiff wind, hopped on our bikes, and arrived at the Va’a Club right at ten am. There was a woman at the clubhouse, who informed us that “Jean-Pierre” was not there, but we could sit down in the thatched shelter and wait.

So we waited by the brilliant blue waters of the atoll lagoon. Soon, a young man paddled in on a single outrigger canoe, hoisted it on his shoulder and gingerly carried it across the coral below the tideline to the coral above. He introduced himself as Opura, and started right in to the lesson. He asked about our prior paddling experience. Jean Pierre arrived and brought paddles, then left.

Opura went through the strokes and the side switch routines, and before we knew it we were launching into the wind-waves in a triple Va’a, with me in the bow, Robin in the middle, and Opura in the stern.

The va’as are very light, slim, and long, and seemingly fragile. As they rely on the outrigger instead of hull form for stability, they have very little wetted surface to slow you down. So three paddlers made swift progress against the wind and waves.

Opura asked if we would like to surf. Of course! So we turned downwind and, on command, all made the swift short accelerating strokes Opura had showed us. In a motion familiar from kayak surfing on the Hudson, I watched the fine bow of the canoe dig into the trough of the wave ahead of us, then lift into a surf in a shower of spray,

Bow paddling was a thrilling place to be for the wave rides! We surfed downwind several times, and when Opura asked “Encore?” we shouted “bien sur” and we paddled back upwind to do it again three or four times.

Back at the paddle club, I asked Opura about the Va’a races next week during the festival. He said there would be fifty boats competing in each class, and that the race course takes them out Tiputa Pass, along the ocean coast, back in through Avatoru Pass and back up the lagoon, with all of the swift currents and breaking waves that involved. I asked Opura if he was the champion of the island, and he responded, modestly, that he was one of a few champions. Three. I asked him what his name, Opura, meant in Polynesian. He smiled gamely, pointed to a small coconut palm, and said “petit coco.”

Opura’s colleague Miri told us that because we rode our bikes and did not require a car pickup, they were giving us a break on the price for the lesson.

After our outrigger lessons, we biked up to Avatoru again, bought a picnic baguette and Roquefort at the magasin, and biked to the end of the road on the ocean to kill a little time until the Pearly Boutique opened back up after lunch.

At the Pearly boutique, we asked to see the tray of “pearls imparfaits” and the jolly Frenchman at the register said, Ah, you have been here already.
We picked out two almost but not quite round, blue-black pearls, and had each one strung, while we waited, on a leather string to make matching souvenir necklaces. One for each of us, imperfect pearls to commemorate forty years of marriage. And from ten feet you can’t even tell.