Hunting for Palolo

Twice a year, in the Spring (Fall up there in the states), just following the full moon, there is a momentous occasion here in Samoa: the palolo rising. Palolo are actually the reproductive sections of worms that live within the coral just offshore of the islands. On only these two nights, for a period of time just before sunrise that lasts maybe an hour, the coral is apparently attempting to spawn and all of these tiny blue slightly wormy things rise to the surface of the water and spread across it. At the appearance of the sun, we’ve been told, the palolo “melt,” or disappear. I’m not sure if this is true and has some scientific explanation or if it is a myth, but at any rate it leaves a narrow window of an hour or so in which these small elusive creatures are exposed to the world at large. For reasons under-appreciated by myself, palolo are a highly prized delicacy to the Samoan people, and are worth significantly more than their weight in tala (the local currency). As I stated previously, they are worms. Very tiny worms (maybe a centimeter in length and a millimeter or less in diameter). And they’re blue. They are usually wadded up into a fist-sized ball which sells for an exorbitant amount of money and served as a treat of honor. I must say that I abstained at my opportunity to taste them the first time that I was in the village. I have heard that they taste like... salt water. Unless you rinse them out after catching them with fresh water. Then I hear they taste like... water. At any rate, Samoans get very excited about them and the nights of the palolo rising are a HUGE deal here, so needless to say we were all excited at least by proxy about this momentous event occurring during our training time in the village. The trainers arranged for our entire group to go out with the men of our village to spend the night at the beach and join in the palolo hunt. We all met at 10 pm and drove out to the beach where we spent a beautiful night hanging out in open fale’s (traditional Samoan houses, in this case more like a raised floor with a thatched roof) on the beach, staring at the stars, and enjoying the peace. At about 4 in the morning we all picked up the nets our families had so lovingly made for us and started wading into the water. We had been told that we were supposed to dress up for the palolo in order to attract them to us, so some were bedecked in full puletasi’s as they waded into the water. We walked out maybe 200 meters over relatively shallow coral. (Let me take this opportunity to state that coral is not easy to walk on in the dark. Not to mention that as a diver who is trained NEVER to touch the coral, I had to go against all my moral stances to tromp through it murdering precious living creatures in my wake. But it was all in the spirit of experiencing the fa’aSamoa, so we were down for whatever that brought with it.) We then stood out on the coral for the next hour or so scooping our nets through the water pretending to be attempting to catch palolo, of which I personally saw none. The main focus of at least my personal energy was to brace myself against the waves that kept coming and trying incredibly persistently to knock me over into the coral. I tried. I swear I tried. Do the palolo really exist? As a group of fourteen, let’s just say the total for the night- 7 palolo. Not quite enough to coat the fingernail on my pinky. Maybe we just weren’t dressed nicely enough. Who knows. When I returned home my family asked me where my palolo were, as they had eagerly been anticipating reaping the fruits of my labor. I hung my head in shame and had to tell them “leai sa’u palolo” (direct translation: “no my palolo”, basically meaning “I don’t have any palolo. I failed ya”). Fortunately they were amused at my ineptitude as a Samoan fisherman. So no palolo for Mari. Won’t quit my day job. But it was a great experience, and I must say one of the funnier nights of my life. Next year I think I just might stay at home and sleep :)