Link to published article: Underwater Oasis
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have begun our descent. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until we are parked at the gate.” The excitement was mounting. We were bound for a mid-Pacific holiday typical of most sun-seekers, with little on the agenda but to dip our toes in crystal-clear water and watch a dusky sun set on an aquatic horizon, rum punch in hand, and we were almost there.
There was one problem: Our destination was entirely submerged under a foot of water. There would be no shimmering black tarmac to provide safe landing or receiving gate for our pilot to taxi up to. There were no baggage handlers to reunite us with our possessions nor steward to wish us on our merry way. To get to our chosen holiday spot, a plane wouldn’t cut it as our mode of transportation. There was only one way in and one way out, and that was by sea. I would have to be pilot, crew and passenger combined to reach my port of call.
Regardless of these obstacles, I was determined to get there. Very few patches of submerged land hold the reputation of Minerva Reef. For South Pacific cruisers, it is the perfect break in a 1,200 mile passage between New Zealand and Tonga. The novelty of setting anchor in the middle of the ocean and watching the seas roll by as your boat remains in a fixed position was something I wanted to experience. There wouldn’t be anything to do but rest and relax in a still pond inside a rolling sea. A day or two would be all we would need before continuing the voyage onward, or so I believed.
Minerva Reef is the modern day Atlantis, if you stretch the facts a little. Its history could almost be the script for Timaeu, if it wasn’t for the fact that Plato’s dialogues occurred over 2,000 years before the events that unfolded on Minerva to draw the parallel. Cut to 1972 and bring forward the libertarian character, Michael Oliver, an American millionaire who decided that Minerva was the perfect location to establish his own sovereign nation. Following Socrates’ ideals, Oliver wanted to create an ideologically structured society, though this could arguably sit within the framework of a self-serving ideology. There was, however, a small kink in his plan. Laws relating to disputed territories state that land cannot be claimed unless it is a foot above sea level at high tide; this was not the case for either North or South Minerva. To claim it, he would have to build it.
The plan Oliver devised was bold. He would take the six-mile wide atoll, dredge its neighbour and fill the inner lagoon until a flat pan of land arose from the sea. A flag was erected, a president elected and money for the Republic of Minvera coined. King Taufa’ahau Tupou IV, Tonga’s monarch at the time, had no interest in forfeiting their access to a territory that had been established fishing grounds for generations. The problem was, Tonga had never laid a claim to it and therefore had no legal rights. Until this point, Minerva was not on the main trade routes and the prevailing winds were unpredictable. The only traffic the atolls received were the unfortunate ships that got blown off course by storms. In fact, it is only due to the reliability of GPS that mariners have recently made Minerva a destination of choice rather than one of disaster. The scattered metal bones of deceased ships are reminders of the hazards of these submerged atolls. Prior to laying a claim, no one had interest in laying a claim. Within five months of its creation, King Taufa’ahau Tupou IV dispatched 90 prisoners to tear down all man-made structures and disperse its 42 inhabitants. The Republic was no more.
All efforts to raise the atoll from the sea only resulted in its ultimate return to the sea. It was the destruction of Atlantis, or so it appeared. One peek below the surface and it is evident that the fabled lost city exists. The termination of human habitation on the atoll is exactly what saved it. As a result of ending life above the water, life below the surface was allowed to flourish. Thick walls of hard coral protect a soft limestone core, and the graceful, swaying arms of soft coral reach up towards the light cast down from above. Swirling and dancing around these graceful technicolored tentacles is the seemingly endless gridlock of marine life that surrounds them: Crustaceans, osteichthyes, selachimorpha and testudines, each resident and migratory group as Greek-sounding as the Grecian fable itself.
When the opportunity came for us to sail to Minerva, we chose Plato’s version of Atlantis over Oliver’s Republic: Rather than raising the land to create a village above the sea, we chose to drop down into a city beneath the surface. We shared the reef with six other cruisers, all of us running around filling our days with aquatic activity and our nights in shared stories and laughter. What would we do the following day? The options were plentiful. Should we stay in our current spot close to the pass so we could dive at dawn and avoid a longer dingy ride to the outer reef? Should we move across the lagoon to the navigation light erected by the Tongan navy to claim Minerva as their own, demolished in 2010 by the Fijian navy, repaired by the Tongan navy and destroyed again by the Fiji navy in 2011 to be replaced by Tonga to reassert claim to the atoll one more. The ping pong between the two countries is dizzying, but the dispute has done no more harm to the island than the defamation of a single steel structure. Should we move to the northeast corner of the lagoon where the rusted wrecks of past ships provide a sanctuary for the lobster that hide within them, and rich hunting grounds for us? A meal as easy to pluck as a tin off the grocery shelf; dinner would be a feast that night. The entire lagoon was a relatively flat plateau of fine, white sand at a depth of 10-20 meters which provided good holding for yachts throughout. We moved because of wind or desire, changing our location to suit the activities of the day. Prior to our visit, I assumed an indistinctive sameness of Minerva, a featureless place where the only change to our scene would be reflected in the movement of the arms of our clock and the transit of the sun around the earth. None in the group expected more than a short stop that, at most, provided a quiet mid-ocean reprieve to store up on sleep before resuming our passage. This notion couldn’t have been further from the truth.
When I imagined my pitstop in Minerva, I expected a silent, remote beauty above water. I didn’t expect to be so exhilarated and consumed by all the splendour beneath. All I wanted of my time in Minerva was to slip below the surface and watch the throng of finned and gilled tenants race by me, caught up in their own slipstream of hyperactivity. This aquatic metropolis was more densely-populated and multifarious than Tokyo or Mumbai combined. Pacing the walls with us was a heathy population of shark: Grey, lemon, whitetip and even the fear-inducing tiger. Turtles rose to the surface for a breath of air as we descended down the reef, a small shoal of squid performing synchronised movements an arms-length away and octopus cautiously receding into their holes as we poked our heads into cracks in the reef. Leave us on Atlantis much longer, and we’d sprout our own gills.
When we needed a rest from diving the outer reef, we’d pop the tanks off and snorkel around the inner lagoon. The scattered metal ribcages of wrecks provide hides-holes for resting reef shark, crammed nose-to-tail in an effort to seek a coveted spot in their own mini-sanctuary. When the tide pulled out, we had the opportunity to go for a walk on the top of the reef, a two-hour window to put foot on land. We would send relaxed schools of brightly-coloured parrotfish lying side-up in small pockets of inch-deep pools into a flurry of panic, franticly peddling fins sending them into bumping disorganised chaos as they swam furiously in sideways circles. The gaping mouths of giant clam would snap their hinged shell shut, sucking in their vibrant blue, green, purple and orange lips as we cast our shadows down on their rocky holding. In the distance, the small black tip of a fin would zip erratically through the surface of the water, the juvenile shark it belonged to hunting in the tidal traps. Occasionally, we would catch sight of the tip of an olive-green flipper or the flip of a charcoal fin as turtle or ray bolted from lagoon to deep water. Even on an exposed, barren surface, Minerva was teaming with life.
Our short layover quickly turned into an impromptu settlement, the modern-day version of Oliver’s ocean community finally realised amongst mariners. The atoll is completely uninhabited without any formal jurisdiction or official process to follow, so entry to Minerva is as simple as showing up. There are no immigration or customs officials on site, so there is no one to issue a visa or dictate the number of days you can stay. You choose, or the weather will choose for you. As the reef is submerged or exposed depending on the tide, your comfort ebbs and flows with the change in this cycle. In calm weather, high tide becomes a gentle, swaying roll. Sit inside Minerva in a storm, however, and you’ll be holding onto handrails to keep yourself upright. That said, holding tight in this isolated landing may be preferable to taking a beating under sail, so mind the weather and tuck in before the storm hits and Minerva stands up to its reputation as a mid-ocean haven.
As the weeks rolled on, recognition of an error in planning hit all of us in staggered waves: We’d provisioned for a fast passage rather than a long holiday. Had I known, I would have hit Costco with a thousand dollars in my pocket and spent it all on food. Now that rations were running low, I was kicking myself. Why leave if not forced, and the only thing forcing us were cupboards that were thinning out. Begrudgingly, it was time to roll out. We did so with our heads turned backwards, looking towards nothing but an open ocean with a few bobbing masts marking the spot of the vibrant wonderland we were leaving behind.
I could never imagine someone pitching the idea of heading to such a remote location to spend my hard-won holiday time. “This this the final boarding call for Flight 680 to Nowhere. Please proceed to Gate 23.” Yet after several weeks on a submerged atoll I can think of few places that I rank as highly. There are a few qualifiers, however, for anyone looking to do the same: You have to like boats, as there is no other way to get there; you have to like water, as it will surround you for the duration of your stay; and you have to like wet, as all the magic of Minerva lays under the surface. I’d heard from so many other cruisers that I should drop into Minerva on the way past, but no one told me to pack my bags and stay awhile. Let me change the rhetoric. If you are transiting an ocean and a submerged atoll lays in your path, take this advice: Stop, and Stay.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of myself and the flight crew, I would like to welcome you aboard Navis Ōceanus flight 680 bound for Minerva Reef. It will be a bumpy ride and a bumpier landing, so please fasten your seatbelt at this time and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartment. I hope you enjoy your flight.” While your flight attendant can’t guarantee an enjoyable in-transit experience, one thing I can promise: You will love your destination.
Atea 