THE MIRACLE OF THE MARQUESAS

In this remote French Polynesian archipelago, the volcanic peaks are jagged and foreboding, the surf pounds ferociously, and the trade winds never stop howlingall qualities that, for Peter Heller, make it irresistible

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The dog was carrying a whole baguette crosswise in his teeth. He trotted off the beach at the head of the cove, through a scrim of palms, maneuvering it between a red flowering hibiscus and a beached outrigger canoe. We followed. The dog passed a low tin-roofed house, one of only six dwellings in this roadless, remote island valley. He skirted two shirtless young men untethering a horse from a breadfruit tree. Ink covered their chests and arms in black patterns that looked like manta rays and birds. The dog went on, jauntily carrying his baguette, passing a grapefruit tree that shaded a telephone booth. Labeled "Téléphone" and containing a coin-operated pay phone, the steel-and-glass cabin looked wildly out of place in this setting. But we were in the Marquesas, where I was learning not to be too surprised by anything.

The Polynesian name for the Marquesas is Te Fenua 'Enata, the Land of Men. This volcanic archipelago of 12 islands is located 900 miles northeast of Tahiti and 2,340 miles from anywhere else. Only six islands are populated. They are so remote that they were one of the last places on earth to be colonized. They are so rugged that before the French brought baguettes and téléphones, each of their many distinct, walled-in valleys had its own tribe. The island my wife, Kim, and I were on was Nuku Hiva, the largest in the chain. We planned to spend three nights here, then move on to the smaller islands of 'Ua Pou and Hiva Oa. This morning we had taken a boat in rough seas to get to the Hakaui Valley, where we hoped to hike up to a waterfall called Vaipō.