Things to Do in Kiribati in September

Kiritimati, also known as Christmas Island, is arguably the finest bonefishing destination on the planet, and September's conditions make a strong case for being the best month to fish it. The trade winds hold steady enough to push bonefish into the shallower flats where you can sight-cast to them. But not so hard that the lagoon surface turns opaque. You will be wading across coral flats in knee-deep water that is warm enough to feel like bathwater, scanning for the silver-grey shadows of bonefish tailing in the sand. The flats stretch for kilometres in every direction from the main settlement of London, and the fish here tend to run larger than what you will find in the Caribbean or Seychelles. September's lower rainfall keeps the lagoon clarity high, which matters enormously when your entire technique depends on spotting fish before they spot you. Most fishing is catch-and-release. The etiquette among the small community of visiting anglers is serious about conservation. Expect long days on the water, starting at first light around 6 AM when the flats are coolest and the fish most active, breaking through the midday heat, and often returning for an evening session as shadows lengthen across the lagoon.

At low tide on South Tarawa, the lagoon side of the atoll exposes a reef flat that stretches hundreds of metres from shore, and walking it in September is one of the most quietly extraordinary things you can do in the Pacific. The coral is alive underfoot, rough-textured and sharp enough that reef shoes are non-negotiable. But the tide pools are full of sea cucumbers, hermit crabs, small reef fish in neon colours, and occasionally the dark shape of a juvenile blacktip shark sliding through a channel no wider than your arm. The water is blood-warm and clear. Once the tide starts coming back in, the snorkeling along the reef edge from Betio toward Bairiki reveals hard coral gardens that have recovered well in recent years, with parrotfish, surgeonfish, and the occasional hawksbill turtle visible in 3 to 5 metres (10 to 16 feet) of water. September's reduced rainfall means less sediment washing off the land, so visibility on the reef tends to be noticeably better than during the wet months. The catch is the sun. With no shade on the reef flat and a UV index that peaks at 14 on Christmas Island, you will burn badly if you are not covered up, even on overcast mornings.

The Battle of Tarawa in November 1943 was one of the bloodiest engagements in the Pacific War, and on the small island of Betio the evidence is still everywhere, seventy-plus years later. Japanese concrete bunkers with walls over a metre (3.3 feet) thick sit between houses and along the shore, their gun slits still facing the lagoon approach where US Marines waded ashore under devastating fire. Rusted anti-aircraft guns point at empty sky. A Japanese tank sits half-buried near the old airstrip, and at low tide the remains of American amphibious tractors emerge from the reef flat where they were knocked out trying to cross the shallow lagoon. September's dry weather and lower humidity make walking the battlefield circuit considerably more comfortable than in the wet months, and the low tide windows expose wreckage on the reef that is submerged the rest of the day. The emotional weight is real. Betio is densely populated now, with I-Kiribati families living among and around the fortifications, children playing on the bunkers, laundry drying over gun emplacements. No formal museum exists, though the small memorial near the causeway marks the landing beaches. You will need a local to explain what you are looking at. Nothing is signposted.

Kiritimati supports one of the largest seabird populations in the Pacific, with millions of birds across dozens of species nesting on the atoll's interior islets and along its vast, uninhabited coastline. September falls outside the peak breeding season for most species, but red-footed boobies, great frigatebirds, and sooty terns are present in enormous numbers year-round, and the colonies on the islets inside Kiritimati's lagoon are spectacular in scale and noise. The sound hits you before the smell does: a constant, layered shrieking that carries across the water as you approach by boat, and then the ammonia-sharp guano scent that tells you the colony is close. Frigatebirds with two-metre (6.5-foot) wingspans soar overhead in thermals, and the boobies are remarkably unbothered by human presence, perching within arm's reach on low shrubs and watching you with the mildly offended expression that seems to be their default. The flat, treeless landscape of the islets means the bird colonies are visible from a distance, spread across the coral rubble in dense, noisy congregations. September's dry conditions make the boat crossings to the islets smoother and the landing spots less muddy.

The maneaba, the open-sided thatched meeting house that sits at the centre of every I-Kiribati village, is the single most important structure in Kiribati, and spending time in one tells you more about the country than any other experience. The architecture itself is striking: a massive pandanus-thatch roof supported by coconut-palm pillars, open on all sides to catch the trade winds, with a coral-gravel floor where every family has a designated sitting place determined by ancestral rank. The cool under the roof on a September afternoon, when the air outside shimmers at 31 degrees Celsius (87 degrees Fahrenheit), is palpable. If you are invited to a community gathering, a botaki, you will likely see traditional dance: I-Kiribati dance is angular and percussive, nothing like the hip-swaying Polynesian style most visitors expect, with stamping feet, sharp arm movements that mimic frigatebirds, and chanted songs that can go on for hours. The offering of te karewe, fresh coconut toddy collected that morning by a toddy cutter who scaled a palm at dawn, is customary. The sap is sweet, slightly fizzy, and tastes like nothing you have encountered before, somewhere between young coconut water and a mild cider. September's pleasant weather means more outdoor community events, and the drier evenings make the walk back from a maneaba gathering considerably more comfortable.