Dec. 3t, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
62 3 
Shooting the Apolima Passage. 
If you can picture in imagination the spectacle of the 
camel threading the eye of the needle with the speed of 
the swiftest of all express trains, you may get some idea 
of what it looks like to pass from the ocean into the 
still lagoon of Apolima, the most beautiful island in 
Samoa, and by long odds the most picturesque of all 
spots chosen for human habitation anywhere in' the wide 
world. If you can imagine the feelings of the same camel 
as he finds himself shot at the needle's eye at the rate 
of a mile a minute, and suddenly makes the discovery 
that the eye has in it a cast on which he is in deadly 
danger of being hurled, you may then know how it feels 
to shoot the narrow and tortuous pass through bristling 
coral jaws which is the only access to Apolima. 
Apolima is- worth the seeing. To have missed it is to 
be blind to one of the natural wonders of the world. It 
stands alone in a class alone. Apolima is a case of 
false pretenses. About midway between the two larger 
islands it rises from abysmal depths in the strait which 
parts Upolu and Savaii. Its nearest neighbor, the level 
island of Manono, lies within a guarding ring of coral, 
its beach is a continuous strip of glistening sand inviting 
the voyager to land and stroll at will through the vistas 
of forest and plantation. About Apolima the diminutive 
industry of the coral has reared no massive breakwater, 
the ocean rolls in an unbroken sweep against smooth and 
shining cliffs, which offer not so much as a cranny into 
which a finger might 
cling. At the bottom is 
the wild tumult of the 
sea, thence rises the 
precipice unrelieved by 
even so much as a cling- 
ing fern, then over the 
summit of the cliffs high 
in air a glimpse of wav- 
ing tops of trees as a 
sign that this island of 
the straits is not the 
desolate crag it appears 
from sea. One may 
make the circuit, the 
diameter of the whole 
island is scarcely more 
than a mile, and no- 
where is there anything 
to be seen but the fown- 
ing wall of volcanic 
rock, black and red, 
everywhere beaten by 
thundering waves. 
There is but one excep- 
tion, there is a single 
opening in the outer 
wall, one peep-hole 
frames a most charming 
picture of tropical lux- 
uriance, one narrow gap 
entices the voyager to 
risk the jagged perils 
which beset the path, 
and to enter in to en- 
joy the wonderful scene 
which meets his gaze. 
The island clearly be- 
gan its existence as a 
volcanic cone thrust up 
through the sea in some 
great commotion of the 
mighty powers under 
the rind of the earth. 
When it was an active 
vent of the internal fires 
cannot now be estimat- 
ed, but in the obscurity 
of a Samoan legend 
there is a statement that 
it was not always in these straits. So far as it is pos- 
sible to read its history in the exposed rock faces, the 
volcano could not have been at work very long before 
its final catastrophe, which quite spoiled it as a volcano, 
but transformed it into a marvelous home, such as no- 
where else houses man. From the rock walls can be 
seen what happened. The small volcano, newly ex- 
truded from the sea, was probably resting after its first 
activity, a cone containing a lake of fire not much above 
sea level. Through some seam, which opened as the 
walls of the crater cracked in cooling, the ocean found 
its way inward. A sudden puff of steam, the flight of a 
mass of rock through the air, boundless hissing and 
explosion, and the water had put out the fire forever, 
and left the cooling island like a bowl with a piece 
broken out of one side. That seems to be the explana- 
tion of the events which produced the island, for after 
the first wonder of the novel place passes off the ques- 
tion is sure to arise as to what did it all. 
The gateway to Apolima is broken out of its northern 
wall. A dangerous cluster of rocks about 200ft. seaward 
shows where the lava flowed out from the riven crater 
and the shattered fragments of the wall found an off- 
shore lodgment. Between the cliffs, as measured at the 
sea level, the whole gap is not 300ft. wide, the slope 
upward to the summit level of the broken wall is very 
steep, and at that high level the gap is probably not more 
than twice as wide as at tide level. When one passes 
inshore of the outlying ledge of rocks, the beauty of 
Apolima springs suddenly on the sight, so suddenly as 
to seem almost an illusion. Then one recognizes the fit- 
ness of the name which the Samoans have given to the 
island, for Apolima- means "the hollow of the hand," and 
carries with it the idea of protection, a place of refuge. 
The prontise extended by the treetops peering over 
the bare outer walls of rock is fulfilled in the richest meas- 
ure as soon as the view of the interior breaks upon 
the sight. The inner face of the crater wall is almost as 
steep and bluff as the seaward aspect, but it would never 
be suspected under the mantle of living green with which 
ferns, bushes and even trees have clothed it, clinging to 
every spot in which the disintegrating lava has made a 
pocket of fertile soil. Walled in by this amphitheater, the 
bottom of the crater is a tiny plain, covered with vegeta- 
tion, stretching down to the waters of a wee lagoon just 
within* the dangerous gateway to the island. Beneath 
the waving leaves of the cocoanuts is seen a small ham- 
let of a dozen or fifteen houses, for the accommodation 
of as many families, for the restricted territory will af- 
ford support for no more. Outside their gateway the 
ocean is forever in turmoil, yet there is never a ripple on 
the placid surface of their little lagoon. The fury of 
the gale may beat on their outer walls, they do not even 
know that there is a tempest, for the wind can neither 
enter nor dip down into their calm atmosphere. They 
live in unbroken peace, while the baffled gale passes 
harmlessly overhead, 500ft. away. In centuries of con- 
stant bickerings, the fleets of war canoes have swept across 
their straits and past their very doors, yet Apolima is 
still a maiden fortress. The dozen spears they muster 
have proved enough to hold off every enemy who has 
attempted entrance in the brief and uncertain periods 
when entrance is possible, for at other times the sea locks 
the place against all comers and against all goers. 
To visit Apolima one must employ the usual vehicle 
of Samoan travel, an open tow boat. In these small and 
open craft the trader and the tourist alike put out upon 
the very ocean itself for trips from place to place on 
each island, and for the more venturesome voyage across 
the straits to other islands of the archipelago. Exposed to 
the sun and the frequent downpours of the rain, thrown 
about by -the heaving of the sea, and not infrequently 
deluged with the crest of some lopping wave, such voyag- 
ing can never be comfortable. It is safe enough, how- 
APOLIMA PASSAGE. 
ever, for the Samoans are good boatmen even though 
they do have the terrifying custom of steering as close 
as possible to the combing edge of the huge breakers 
which sweep like resistless cavalry charges upon the 
reefs or crags of the shore. When you go to windward 
your reliance is on the strength of the boatmen who tug 
at the oars for incessant hours without wearying. To 
leeward you have the swifter and more comfortable voy- 
age with a scrap of sail. That's all of the sense of direc- 
tion you need in the islands. For all practical purposes 
the compass is not needed. The four cardinal points 
are windward and leeward, seaward and inland ; this 
simple equivalent of boxing the compass is contained in 
the Samoan jingle, which your boatmen will insist on 
your learning, 
"Gagaifo, 
"Gaga'e, 
"Gauta, 
"Gatai." 
Still, if you have your boat and a good crew, and keep 
the little verse steadily in mind, not even then are you 
at all 1 sure of seeing Apolima when you set out to see 
it. The first part of the voyage is all plain sailing. From 
Apia you run down to west and leeward in the still 
lagoon of shallow water inside the barrier reef. You 
must make your start when it is close to high water, for 
the lagoon is shallow. Just back of Mulinu'u Point, 
where the Government sits all day and wonders what it 
is there for, there is a broad sand bank. A few miles 
further along is a sad tangle of rocks, and to get j>ast 
these difficulties the tidevrnust be high. But once past the 
rocks of Faleula, the lagoon is a fair way, and there is 
nothing to check the swift run before the wind down to 
Mulifanua, the end of 'the Island of Upolu. In every 
small bay, which open& on the sight as you go whizzing 
from one headland to the next, a Samoan town is to be 
seen under the groves of cocoanuts which fringe the 
glittering beach. Almost at the end of the island are the 
clustered structures of the largest of the German planta- 
tions. Just past this station the channel setting close in 
shore gives opportunity to see the ruins of some mam- 
moth erections of stone and earth, of which the history 
has been lost in the mists of Samoan tradition. Here 
the lagoon widens out to include the Island of Manono, 
for which the boat must head on its way out. Here 
one must halt to ask of the people as to the chance of 
entering the sister islet, which lies a few miles outside 
the still waters of the lagoon. Generally they can tell in 
Manono by the look of the sea breaking on a certain 
portion of their reef whether the Apolima pass is prac- 
ticable. If their judgment is adverse you halt at Manono 
and wait for a better opportunity. They can always tell 
you surely if the pass is impracticable. They are by no 
means so certain when it may be run. As to that you 
have to take your chances. 
After leaving Manono you are quite at sea; there is no 
reef to still the stretch of water, the angle at which 
Savaii and Upolu lie with respect to one another creates 
a sort of funnel to direct the sea into the ten-mile slrair 
and to magnify the waves. Here you must take your 
chances on adjusting the physical system to the peculiar 
combination of squirm and wriggle which is the motion 
of a small boat perched, on the crest of the high sea 
waves, varied only by dizzy slides down water-sloped 
and painful climbing up shifting hills. After some two 
miles of this sort of sailing you draw close alongside the 
rocky outer walls of Apolima, and the boat boys feel 
happy to be able to skirt the sea-beaten cliffs right in 
the highest swell of the outer line of breakers. Their 
choice in this matter is responsible for the intimate ac- 
quaintance you gain of the rock conformation of the 
outer face of the island. In a dull sort of despair you 
try to pick out the one particular spot on which you are 
about to be dashed in water-torn pieces. While you are 
making this round you 
are sorry you came, it 
really seems scarcely 
worth the while to un- 
dergo the discomfort of 
coming so far only to be 
broken and drowned on 
a face of rock which no- 
where offers even a 
crack in which the fin- 
gers might take a last 
hold on life. A little 
more of the circuit and 
you see the outlying bar- 
rier of the gate of the 
island and a slim path 
of watery tumult be- 
tween the surf ashore 
and the surf just a little 
way out in the sea. In- 
to this tumult you steer 
in a state of mental des- 
peration as to which you 
are very honest in the 
confession that you 
really wish you had been 
content to trust to the 
pictures of the place. All 
at once the gateway 
opens in plain sight be- 
fore you; you can feast 
your eyes on the marvel- 
ous beauty of such a 
landscape as is to be. 
found nowhere else in 
the world, you pluck up 
courage and are now as 
anxious to get in and see 
more as but a moment 
ago you were wishing 
you were well out of it. 
Despite your access of 
courage, the most diffi- 
cult part lies before you. 
Up to this you have been 
in discomfort, now you 
will have to take your 
chances of a very real 
danger. There is plen- 
ty of time to consider all 
the details of the peril, and the more those details are 
looked upon the more distinct do they become in every 
item of frowning rock and gnashing tusk of coral. The 
first thing is to find the one spot in the whirl between the 
open gateway of the passage and the smother of surf 
on the reef outside, in which the boat can be kept still. 
There you must wait the leisurely movements of the vil- 
lagers of the island, who will make signals as to whether 
it is possible to come in, a matter which it is almost imr 
possible to determine from the outside aspect of the pas- 
sage. If their signals are favorable, they will launch 
their canoes and cross their own duck pond of a lagoon 
to take positions on the rocky jaws of their island's gate- 
way, to be in a position to give help, for there is always a 
bright prospect that help will be needed. There is pre- 
sented a sharp contrast. Outside the gate your crew are 
rowing with long, steady strokes, merely to keep the boat 
in one place, in a smooth eddy of foam and whirling suds 
within a wild jabble of waves; as you are lifted from 
the depths high into air you look down upon the canoes 
on the lagoon within moving as smoothly as paper boats 
of children in a tub of water. 
Between the tumult and the peace is a narrow and a 
crooked passage between the rocks, through which you 
must make your way. It can be done only on the last 
two hours of the flood tide ; even then it is always dan- 
gerous, from outside it seems an impossibility. As each 
wave recedes it lays bare the whole stretch of the rocky 
barrier, and discloses the twists of the narrow passage 
between lagoon and raging sea. This barrier is only 50ft. 
across, that is, from the sea to the still waters beyond. 
When the wave recedes the channel is seen to be no more 
than 8 or 10ft. wide, and partially blocked in places by 
coral formations. Through this lane, where there is not 
room for oars, it is necessary to run with the utmost pre- 
cision of fine steering, and the crew will seldom entrust that 
part of the operation to any white man unless they have 
learned that he is skilled in the quick handling of small 
boats. Only a few white women have ventured to shoot 
the passage, and certainly none has been allowed to handle 
the rudder at the critical moment, for the lives of all de- 
pend on the man at the helm. As the pass is far too nar- 
row for oars, and as they would anyway be useless in the 
magnificent velocity of the wave stream, the sea is relied 
on to furnish the motive power. The boat is kept in the 
