Riding twin currents in Fakarava
Hundreds of gray reef sharks circle me, their fins slicing through crystal-clear currents. Rock-hard corals cloak the reef below, which teems with darting schools of fish, while the open blue beckons with the promise of endless adventure.
This is Fakarava — a remote atoll in French Polynesia that feels more like a gateway to another world than a dive destination. Nestled in the remote Tuamotu Archipelago, this UNESCO biosphere reserve is where discriminating divers come to leave the ordinary behind. Beneath its turquoise waters lie endless coral gardens, schools of fish moving as in liquid choreography, and sharks — hundreds of them — patrolling the currents with primal grace.
Its two iconic passes, Garuae in the north and Tumakohua in the south, are natural channels carved between the lagoon and ocean. These corridors slice through the reef, and an unimaginable amount of water churns through their walls every day. An awe-inspiring aggregation of gray reef sharks turns the water in Tumakohua into a swirling frenzy of fins and muscle — a spectacle that will leave your pulse racing. Garuae delivers the exhilaration of drift diving at its finest, sweeping you over coral-studded landscapes and through vast schools of shimmering fish.
Together, these sites capture the heart of what makes Fakarava extraordinary. It’s not just about marine life — it’s the sheer thrill of immersion, how the ocean commands your respect, and the unforgettable encounters that redefine what it means to explore. For visitors ready to take the plunge, Fakarava is an invitation to dive headfirst into ocean adventure.
The Shark Spectacle
You don’t just plunge into Fakarava’s southern pass. Tumakohua instantly transports you into untamed splendor. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel alive and where the ocean’s power is absolute, making you just another visitor in its kingdom. From the moment I dropped in, I knew it wouldn’t be just another dive.
It started with a comedy of errors as I fumbled to deflate my BCD and failed a negative entry. But once I was under, none of that mattered. Below me stretched a reef so alive and endless that it felt like a seascape pulled from a dream. My dive guide apologized for the murky conditions, although I had guessed the visibility at about 150 feet (46 meters). “How much better can it be?” I asked myself as we gently drifted along above undulating fields of coral.
The first sharks appeared almost immediately. Small reef sharks weaved through the water like knife blades. One, then two, and then more until I stopped counting. By the time I hit the heart of the pass, they were everywhere — above and below me and to my sides. I was amid a swirling mass of sleek bodies with their gray fins slicing the water. This was the famed Wall of Sharks — a living, breathing vortex of cartilage and gills — and I was in the middle of it.
The scad soon arrived. Hundreds of shimmering fish moved like a silver river ahead of me, their synchronized dance hypnotic in the filtered sunlight. Sharks shot through them, parting the school as if they owned the place, which they do. I couldn’t stop staring. I forgot the current, my breathing, and the camera in my hand. For several minutes I was a guest at the greatest show on Earth.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, a Napoleon wrasse cruised in. It was massive, with colors so vivid they felt unreal. It circled me, slowly and deliberately, like a gunslinger eyeing me before a duel. The sharks ignored it — it was too big for them to bother — but for me it was an unexpected star in an already jaw-dropping cast.
As I set my reef hook into the rocky substrate to hold against the current, I found myself face-to-face with a shark. It hovered 10 feet (3 m) away and was perfectly still despite the rushing water. Meanwhile I was a mess — shimmying, shifting, and trying to stay put under the judgmental eyes of my new buoyancy icon.
This site is all about timing. Everything depends on the tides, and divers should not take the currents lightly. Our dive guide, Yannis Saint Pe, is a 30-year veteran of these waters. He explained during our predive briefing on our liveaboard how the incoming tide brings clear water and more sharks. While the sharks may be the iconic draw, the passes also offer eagle rays, turtles, and large schools of snappers. You dive with the current, not against it, stopping to marvel at the aggregations along the way. It’s not a place for unskilled divers, but with the right guide it’s magic.
Above the waterline, you can catch your breath at Tetamanu Village. It was once the main settlement on the atoll but is now a quiet hub for divers. The village’s coral-built church and simple bungalows feel like stepping back in time. Given its proximity to South Pass, staying here isn’t just practical — it’s grounding and a reminder that Fakarava isn’t just a dive site. It’s a place with a history and a soul.
After my final dive I surfaced with an overwhelming sense of awe. Tumakohua not only shows you the ocean but also reveals a complex ecosystem. More than predators, sharks are the lifeblood of this place and reminders of a balance we’re lucky to witness. Every drift through that pass felt like a privilege, and every encounter was a gift.
One notable gift the pass didn’t deliver during my November trip was the famed grouper spawning, which occurs between June and July, transforming the South Pass into the stage for one of the ocean’s most extraordinary events. Thousands of camouflage groupers gather here, turning the pass into a teeming, underwater metropolis. In perfect sync with the full moon, female groupers release millions of eggs while the males flood the water with sperm in a breathtaking dance of survival that fuels the next generation. It’s not just a grouper story though. Sharks and barracudas show up for the feast, creating a frenzied snapshot of the food chain in action.
That’s the kind of untamed nature I won’t miss next time, although it requires some planning. Film crews and savvy underwater photographers understand the extraordinary nature of the event and the narrow window of time the grouper spawn peaks, so it can be difficult to find open accommodations during that time.
Fakarava’s South Pass doesn’t coddle you. It doesn’t hand you easy thrills or tidy narratives. It throws you into the deep and asks you to keep up. And when you do, it rewards you with something unforgettable — a taste of the wild, untamed beauty that still exists if you know where to look.
The Thrill of the Drift
Diving Garuae,the North Passof Fakarava, is also not for the faint of heart and may require advanced skills. You can dive it at slack tide, but the pace slows way down. The current incoming from the ocean initiates a relentless ride where the ocean’s full power is on display.
This pass is the largest in French Polynesia, a massive channel carved between the lagoon and open sea, and it feels like nature’s expressway. The currents here don’t just carry you — they take control, dragging you through a kaleidoscope of marine life and reefscapes that defy imagination.
We had already seen the peaceful side of the lagoon at Pufana, a tranquil coral head just below the surface often used as a checkout dive. We snorkeled it in the evening on our first day, freediving above white sands among fleeting reef sharks and thick clouds of reef fish, including slingjaw wrasses, titan triggerfish, and humbug damselfish in the day’s fading light.
After that, it was time to amp up the experience. Before the dive, Yannis gave us a briefing that was equal parts preparation and warning. “Stay close to someone with a safety sausage,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. The currents in Garuae are strong and capable of yanking divers into the blue abyss if you dive when they’re outgoing. We’re diving on an incoming current (the only safe option on this site), but downcurrents can pull you over the reef’s edge if you’re not careful. It’s clear that this is a dive where you need to keep your wits about you.
The descent was immediate, with a negative entry straight into the action. The current gripped me as soon as I hit the water, pushing me toward the reef. The world below unfolded in breathtaking detail: Sharks hovered near the drop-off, framed by schools of fish that moved like shimmering rivers. Coral gardens stretched out beneath us, dotted with pale blue starfish that seemed to glow against the reef’s rugged terrain.
I anchored myself to the reef at 90 feet (27 m), holding tight against the current’s insistent pull. Sharks again dominated my view. A wall of gray reef sharks stretched down the slope, their sleek bodies slicing through the water with effortless grace in a mesmerizing tableau of control. Schools of smaller fish flitted around, their colors flashing like sparks against the blue.
The reef itself was alive, a bustling metropolis of marine life. But it was the scale of it all that struck me most. Looking out over the drop-off, I felt small, even insignificant, in the face of such vastness. At one point the sharks darted suddenly in unison, shifting toward the open water. Whatever caused it, perhaps a larger predator, remained invisible, adding another layer of mystery to an already awe-striking experience.
When Yannis signaled it was time to release, the real thrill began. Letting go of the reef was like stepping onto an underwater roller coaster. The current took hold, hurling us forward at breakneck speed. It wasn’t just drift diving; it was flying. The reef blurred below, its coral formations and starfish zipping past like scenery in a high-speed chase. To preserve our air, we had to zip past 500 Shark Pit, a writhing mass of cartilage dipping down in the middle of the pass. Missing that sight is yet another reason to return.
The current propelled us for nearly a mile through Garuae’s underwater wonderland. Schools of jackfish darted alongside us, their movements perfectly synchronized, while the occasional Napoleon wrasse appeared like a dignified spectator to our wild ride. Every twist and turn revealed something new and extraordinary. The rush was intoxicating — the kind of thrill that leaves you buzzing long after you surface.
When we finally emerged, the surface world felt still and quiet in comparison. Garuae had shown us its full power as a place where the ocean sets the rules and humans are mere visitors. It’s not a dive for everyone. It demands respect, skill, and a willingness to surrender to the elements. But for divers willing to take the plunge, the North Pass offers more than a dive. It’s an adventure and a memory that will stay with you long after the salt has dried on your skin.
Picking Your Pass
It’s possible to dive both passes on one trip as I did. Land-based operators offer dives at both sites, but the boat ride between the passes is more than an hour. You’ll likely spend more time diving the one near you: the North Pass if you stay in Fakarava and the South Pass if you’re staying at Tetamanu Village. Be intentional about booking lodging or trips with operators that will give you the most access to whichever pass excites you most.
The following are some key considerations to keep in mind when deciding which pass to book.
Shark encounters: Sharks are a defining feature of both passes, but their presence differs. The South Pass boasts dense aggregations of gray reef sharks, which often gather by the hundreds during incoming tides. Sharks dominate the environment, creating a breathtaking spectacle of movement and energy. The North Pass offers fewer sharks but still delivers thrilling moments. Divers can encounter these apex predators against the backdrop of larger schools of fish, with their movements blending into the expansive underwater scenery.
Currents and conditions: The South Pass offers a relatively steady inflow, allowing divers to pause and observe the marine life at close range. It’s ideal for those who want to linger in the moment and soak in the action. In the North Pass the currents are powerful and fast-moving, transforming the dive into an exhilarating drift. The
North Pass demands more technical skill and confidence from divers.
Visibility and topography: Visibility and underwater landscapes also vary between the two passes. The North Pass is known for its wide-open vistas and crystal-clear water, often allowing divers to see the ripples on the ocean’s surface from 90 feet (27 m) below. In contrast, the South Pass’s channel narrows into a vibrant kaleidoscope of life, where the density of sharks and fish often becomes the focus, limiting the perceived scale of the environment.
Each pass offers its own kind of exhilaration. The South Pass overwhelms with its raw energy and the sheer number of sharks, leaving divers awestruck. The North Pass inspires a sense of freedom and adventure as divers ride its powerful currents through vast underwater terrains.
Both experiences challenge and reward divers, showcasing Fakarava’s unmatched ability to deliver a duality of beauty and excitement in one breathtaking destination.
Comment plonger ici ?
Pour s'y rendre : Fly to Fa’a’ā International Airport (PPT) in Tahiti, and take a domestic transfer to Fakarava Airport (FAV). There is one flight a day between the islands with a flight time of one hour and 10 minutes. French is the official language, but English is widely spoken.
Conditions : The average water temperature ranges from 79°F to 84°F (21°C to 29°C). A 3 mm wetsuit is sufficient for most divers. Fakarava is diveable year-round. The best time to visit is during the mild, dry season from May to October. The rainy season is from November to April. Some of the best times to see specific marine life include July to September for mantas, January through March for hammerheads, June to July for groupers, and September through October for humpback whales.
Dive information: Dive operators and lodging are available around both the north and south ends, and liveaboards offer custom itineraries or multiple options for sampling both passes. Divers should have advanced open-water and drift diver certifications. Bring a surface marker buoy on every dive.
En savoir plus
Find more to love about Fakarava in this bonus photo gallery and video.
© Alert Diver – Q2 2025