Vili Tupai stands on the edge of Andersons Bay Inlet looking for Fe’e, the God of War, who tastes delicious slow-roasted in coconut milk.
It is midnight, the blurred line between days, merging yesterday and tomorrow into a single now.
Last night, Mr Tupai, of South Dunedin, was here with a friend. They caught four octopuses, a rare cornucopia.
"It was over there," he says, gesturing with his flashlight towards the Portobello Rd causeway.
"Three medium size and one big one."
They were savoured and consumed. Tomorrow he hopes to do the same. So, now, he is back crabbing along the bank or clambering down it, eyes and torchlight scanning the dark and muddy seabed for rust-coloured flesh and tentacles.
The practice of octopus fishing has changed from that employed back in the Islands. Myth-laden lures have been replaced by aluminium poles topped with large curved hooks. So, too, has the meaning of their prey. Once a powerful deity, Fe’e, the octopus, is now grabbed at the base of its head and thrown in a freezer, ready for the next festive occasion. But an echo of both, practice and attitude, endures.
Nele Tili grew up in Taufusi village, Apia, the capital of Samoa, where fe’e has been an object of sacred reverence and epicurean desire for millennia. But her first octopus fishing excursion was not until the spring of three years ago.
"In 2013, I came down here one day with him and his sister ... There was one swimming around over near the island there," she says pointing about 20m offshore.
"I said, ‘Who’s going to get it?’ but he was in his good clothes because we had been to the hospital for an appointment, so I said ‘I’ll try’, but I was scared.
"So, he clapped and the octopus started coming closer. I climbed down the rocks. He said I had to grab the back of its neck. I tried, but it sank down. There was a branch of a tree and I used that to hold it up, then I grabbed it and threw it up on the bank. That was the first time, and I liked it."
It was the beginning of an almost daily practice for Mrs Tili. During 2014 and 2015, she caught about 50 octopus each year. It has been less frequent this year because of time spent caring for her ill late husband during his final days. The best fishing is before or after low tide on a calm day, when it is easier to spot and land octopuses. That can mean being here at 5am or 10pm, or any time in between.
"Then you just have to get them with the hook," Mrs Tili says.
"It’s only hard if they are stuck on a rock. Then you have to get down and try to get them off."
The captured octopus is put in a plastic bag and plopped into a bucket with a lid.
They will try to escape, she says.
"The other day, I was driving home and I stopped at a shop ... I didn’t realise I hadn’t put the lid on tight ... When I came out, there were three octopuses all stuck on the inside of the back window. I had a hard job trying to get them off."
It is no surprise Mrs Tili’s catch attempted a jail-break. Octopuses are curious animals with a level of intelligence similar to that of a clever dog, marine scientist Dr Jean McKinnon says.
And because they have no bones, they can squeeze their entire body through very small gaps.
In 2008, at the New Zealand Marine Studies Centre, on Otago Peninsula, an octopus intent on finding a mate broke out of his large tank. Sid the Octopus was on the run for five days before being found. He later garnered media attention when he was released around Valentine’s Day to pursue his search for love.
• Octopuses live for only two years and are "terminal spawners", Dr McKinnon, of the University of Otago, says.
"The male dies quite soon after breeding, but the female will guard the den for up to 80 days without feeding.
"She lays her eggs so they hang like bunches of grapes from the roof of the den. She will spend the 80 days ... blowing oxygenated water over them, keeping them clean and keeping away predators. They really are very devoted. Then she will die towards the end of that brooding period."
Otago Harbour’s main species of octopus is Macroctopus maorum. It is New Zealand’s largest species of inshore octopus, growing to a span of up to 2m.
As top predators, excepting hook-wielding humans, there is some evidence that octopuses accumulate biotoxins.
"Ones caught in the outer harbour, I wouldn’t be concerned about," Dr McKinnon says.
"But in the Steamer Basin and Andy Bay Inlet you get a lot of run-off from the road, so, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons [mostly from vehicle exhaust] and there’s likely to be zinc as well from galvanized iron roofing.
"If you were eating it as a primary protein source I would be a bit concerned."
Dr McKinnon has another worry too.
"They won’t catch the juveniles because they are planktonic; they are very tiny, perhaps half the size of your little fingernail when they hatch out.
"But the concern for sustainability will be if people are harvesting the adults in large numbers. Because, if they are catching a pre-spawn population, then you are losing those breeders."
Murray Pridham, who is the Otago fisheries compliance manager for the Ministry of Primary Industries, says he does not know of any problems.
"There are no specific bag limits, no size restrictions and no methods restrictions for taking octopuses," Mr Pridham says.
"They fall into the category of crustacea, for which there is a bag limit of no more than 50 per person per day. I can only assume there are no sustainability issues from a fisheries management point of view."
In recent years, fisheries staff have been contacted by members of the public whose suspicions have been raised by seeing people with torches moving around the inlet at night.
"We are aware of that fishing activity there over a number of years ... We have never found any issues as a result of those calls."
Accompanying Mrs Tili at the inlet today is her nephew Michael Cordtz (16). He is manning the hook. The first time Michael tasted octopus was two years ago, when his cousin cooked one for a family gathering.
"I’ve liked it ever since," Michael says.
Asked what octopus tastes like, his aunt replies with a laugh, "Just yummy". Michael nods and adds that the flesh is chewy.
From harbour to plate, there are a few steps, Mrs Tili explains.
She washes the live octopus, puts it in a bag and then into the freezer. Others kill their catch as soon as it is hauled out of the water.
Baked in an oven roasting dish, an octopus will shrink and give up some of its juices, Mrs Tili says.
She does not have exact times, preferring to watch until the octopus has browned before removing it, discarding the juices and dicing the flesh into bite-sized cubes. The pieces go back into the dish with coconut cream, onion, salt and pepper as well as a bit of flour to help the sauce thicken. When taste tests prove sauce and meat are perfect, it is time to eat.
Mrs Tili’s family gets to enjoy the fruits of her labour regularly. For most Samoans, however, octopus is only on the menu at special gatherings such as birthdays, weddings and church events.
On the first Sunday of the month, the city’s Catholic Samoans congregate for a Samoan-language mass followed by a shared lunch. Taro, fish, corned beef, chop suey, bananas ... each family brings something. More often than not, Mrs Tili’s offering is octopus in coconut milk.
• At one time, Fe’e was the object of worship, not the meal after it. In pre-colonial Samoa, Fe’e was one of the most powerful gods in the pantheon, the God of War.
Adherents would call on him before battle, with the words:
Le fe’e e, fa’afofoga mai ia, (O Fe’e listen,)
O a’u o Fale, o le e tulai atu nei, (I am Fale, who stands before you,)
Le Fe’e, aumai ou mumu fua, (O Fe’e, give us your red flaming rage,)
Se’i tau, ai le taua nei. (With which to fight this battle.)
According to myth, Fe’e could transform from octopus to human. This deity had come from Fiji, the oral historians said, and had settled at Vaimauga, about 10km inland from Apia. This is the site of an ancient stone building, known locally as the Fale o le Fe’e, and widely believed to be a temple to the octopus god.
Fe’e was not the patron god of all pre-Christian Samoa, but was still held in high esteem. Each year, representatives from throughout the island nation would gather at Vaimauga for two weeks of celebrations held in his honour.
Another legend explained why octopuses were caught using a lure of a particular design.
One day, the story goes, an owl, a snail and a rat went to sea in a canoe. The canoe began to sink. The owl flew away, the snail sank with the vessel, and the rat began swimming for shore. Rat spied an octopus and asked for a ride. The Fe’e obliged, transporting the rat to safety on his head. When he leapt off on to the sand, Rat told Fe’e he had left him a gift. Fe’e was enraged to discover Rat had left droppings on his head. Ever since, Fe’e has tried to catch and kill Rat whenever he sees him. This is why octopus lures are made of a rat-sized shell complete with fibrous tail.
Vavao Fetui (71) is a research assistant in the Pacific studies department, at the University of Auckland. As a boy growing up in Samoa, the story of Fe’e and Rat was a children’s song he knew well. He also recalls seeing his grandfather’s rat-like octopus lure hanging in the family home after the old man’s early morning fishing expeditions. The lure would be towed behind the canoe and then gathered in, drawing the rat-hating fe’e after it. The fisherman would also slap his paddle on the side of the wooden canoe to entice the curious octopus close enough to catch, a technique still employed by Mrs Tili when she spies an octopus in the shallow waters of the inlet and begins hitting the rocks with her aluminium pole.
The Samoan word for "myth" has a special meaning, unlocking understanding of a particular view of the world. Myth, tala o le vavau, literally means "story from the vavau". Vavau comes from "faavavau", meaning forever into the future. Past, present and future in one endless stream.
Time, place and even belief have changed dramatically. But there remains a linking thread. Fe’e is still recognised as a clever creature who must be lured to be caught. He is no longer the god of war but still retains a revered place, transformed from deity to delicacy, once invoked for violence, now a sought-after cornerstone of communal celebration.
