I’m nervous, and a little bit shy as I carry my gear up to the truck. There’s a spot open in the cab next to the driver, but I hear voices calling, “Come, Mia! Come on here!”. Hands reach out from the back of the truck. I laugh as they pull me in and tuck me onto the bench. The message is clear: you are one of us. You are welcome here.

The truck bounces away from the rafting warehouse, and the guides begin to chat, first in broken English, then sliding back into their native tongue until someone remembers me, the visiting American guide, and shouts, “English, English!” as we all laugh. Our route to the put-in is circuitous; we stop periodically and pick up guides from one bus stop or another.

The road eventually turns to dirt, dust swirling up and partially obscuring my view of the thick jungle around us. One of the guides explains that the area we are passing through is being logged, clear-cut style. I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am. He tells a story that feels worldwide, that could take place anywhere, I just didn’t know it was happening here. Natural resource extraction is pursued fervently, the quick cash from logging and mining overshadowing the long-term economic gains of recreation. We stop by the outskirts of a small village to pick up the rafts. A group of children gather, touching the boats and play-fighting with the guides. I don’t understand their relationship yet, but it’s clearly a fond one.

We’re not in famed whitewater destinations Costa Rica, Africa or Chile. Instead, I’m on my way to a little-known gem, the so-called “River of Eden.” Otherwise known as the Navua, Fiji’s only commercially river.

Fiji is deservingly known for its spectacular coastline, unending beaches framed by blue-on-blue water. But the heart of Fiji is in its people, who are incredibly kind and welcoming. While the beaches are not to be missed, the interior of Fiji provides insight into the true character of Fiji. Or as Head Guide Moses would say, “the real Fiji.” It’s a step away from the classic tourist route, not only an adventure but a viewport into how a lot of Fijians actually live.

The story of rafting on the Navua begins in 1997. Nate and Kelly Bricker, from the University of Utah’s Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism, identified the Navua as a critical area to protect. They had a vision of a rafting company, Rivers Fiji, with a purpose and intention beyond just boating. They knew their plan would fail without collaboration with the locals, so they began by working with the mataqali, the landowning clans in the Navua gorge. George Wendt, the late founder of OARS, saw the importance of the project and became critical in providing equipment, training, and other resources.

In 2000, the dream of Rivers Fiji became official. They established the Upper Navua Conservation Area (UNCA), Fiji’s first-ever lease of land for conservation. It is the only place in the world where a river company is the sole protector of a primary water drainage, the Upper Navua being Fiji’s third largest freshwater drainage. The project protects 10.5 miles of river corridor from natural resource extraction and development.

That first day on the Navua, I paddle an inflatable kayak alongside the rafts, chatting and playing with the guides. Amidst the sheer black walls of the gorge, they teach me about how special and sacred the river corridor is. It’s almost dreamlike, with cascading hues of black and brown and green coalescing as droplets from innumerable waterfalls patter on the river’s surface.

The Navua harbors the last known population of Fiji’s native sago palm, likely the only left in the country. Rare bats roost in a cave above the rapid Moce Falls, and endangered birds, iguanas, and boas live in the unperturbed habitat. A new species of freshwater fish was discovered in the Upper Navua, whose likeness is celebrated on the Fijian $10 bill. Moses, who grew up in this jungle and who has worked with River’s Fiji since the company’s inception, tells me, “It’s been 19 years [now 24] since we conserved this area, and we are just now seeing the boars and birds and snakes back.”

As I get to know the guides, stealing paddles from their guests and starting water fights, I learn that all of them are local to the area protected by the UNCA. At least one representative from each mataqali is employed by Rivers Fiji, whether as guides, managers, drivers or porters. Their involvement was critical to the long-term sustainability of the project. Although the shift from resource extraction to tourism is common along the coastal regions of Fiji, it was formerly unheard of within the interior.

The mataqali were quick to understand the cultural and economic value in conserving the river corridor, which was heavily impacted by logging, mining and a dam threat. The clans are compensated in different forms for the recreational use of the river corridor. Part of the cost of a river trip goes directly to the mataqali, as well as some of the conservation lease fees. A Rivers Fiji Guide School trains local guides, who, in turn, take local youth on educational river trips. Involvement and investment from the next generation are critical; the relationship between the guides and children a joyful mentorship.

I’m fortunate to be on the river for a specialty trip, arranged for a large group of guests. Although every trip includes a tasty lunch, this trip has a traditional Fijian lovo—a celebratory feast cooked in an underground oven. A few guides rafted down the day before, parking their boats on a riverfront beach for the night. They began the lovo preparation by digging a pit in the sand, filling it with sticks gathered from the beach. Once the sticks were lit and burning, they piled rocks on top, building the fire until the rocks are red hot. They wrapped whole chicken and fish in banana leaves, along with cassava and coconut milk wrapped in taro leaves. Everything went into the pit, which was then covered by sand to cook overnight.

I help the guides set the table. Pulling back the steaming leaves, my mouth waters and my eyes glaze over. We step back to let the guests eat first. One of the guides produces a tin can of what looks like cat food. In my best attempt at good nature, I try some of their favorite treat, laughing as I try not to spit it out. Fortunately, there is plenty of lovo, and I savor the woody, rich texture of cassava paired with the light, flaky fish.

We leave the beach, running a bit more whitewater before coming out onto a calmer, more open stretch of river. We float past rural villages, many of which can only be accessed by beautiful, long wooden or metal boats. Rivers Fiji has sought to bring services to the remote interior villages, including organizing medical teams, clean water engineers, and educational opportunities. Moses tells me how the work done within the UNCA prompted the area to become Fiji’s first Ramsar site, a UNESCO-founded designation recognizing wetland sites of international importance.

I stay at Rivers Fiji for a week and a half, living with Kasi, the river manager, and his family in Pacific Harbor. The chilled-out pace of Fiji is exorbitantly slow for a Westerner, but I do my best to settle into it. River trips go out every few days, and I kayak alongside. Once, I take the wrong line and have a big swim in the rapid above the put-in, giggling afterwards with the guide who watched. We form a water-fight alliance where I thieve from and heckle the clients with no repercussions. The guides shout, “She’s pregnant!! Don’t hurt her, she’s pregnant!!” anytime a guest tries to retaliate. I don’t know how the joke came about, but it makes me throw back my head and laugh every time.

On my last night, back at the office, the guides present me with a Rivers Fiji t-shirt. I press my hands to my heart and cry a little, saying, “Really?” as I accept the shirt. Its a touching offer of belonging, remembrance, and a thank you for coming here. For paddling their river, learning what I could of their lives.

We sit on the floor of the office, shoulder to shoulder, and fall into easy conversation. One minute, it’s light and laughing; the next, someone shares a heartfelt story. Learning I’m the first female guide they’ve met is an unexpected shock. One of the women who works in the office tells me she secretly wanted to guide, but didn’t know women could—she thought she wasn’t strong enough. It makes me that much more grateful that they instantly welcomed me, never questioning my ability or strength.

I run my hands through the old carpet, reflecting. From my first moment at Rivers Fiji, the guides claimed me as one of their own. The most impactful parts of my time in Fiji were the small moments like these. Sitting with the guides and telling stories, the sentiment of shared experiences surmounting any language barriers. In welcoming me so unconditionally they had shown me the heart of Fiji, in all its great warmth and capacity. Rivers Fiji is about so much more than rafting or saving a river. It’s about these people, who chose to conserve their homeland and to share it with strangers. I think about what Moses said, about how this place is the real Fiji, and I can’t help but agree.

***

Guest contributor Mia Clyatt is a professional river guide and freelance writer. She is an advocate for wilderness and loves to play in the high country, be it skiing, hunting, mountain biking, or dirtbiking. Her writing centers around the outdoors, travel, and sustainability. You can usually find her out on the mountain or the river, wearing lots of glitter. Learn more at www.miaclyatt.com