The traps are laid and equipment set – now all we need do is await our prey. In the midnight jungle, sightless twittering birds swoop above us and the shrieks of monkeys echo into the night. But the hunters are listening for a very different sound – the tell-tale clatter of crab claws scuttling over rock. And rather than nets or cages, islander Robert Skew and his son have stocked their bags with bicycle inner tubes ready to bind up the supremely strong claws of their catch.

The Cooks Islands are one of the last places on earth where you can still find our prey, coconut crabs – beings of almost mythological status among the locals. These prized delicacies have become a rare find on the larger islands of Rarotonga and Aitutaki, but on the lesser-known Atiu, whose unique rocky structure ensures hundreds of hidey holes, there are plenty of crabs safe from hunters.

For this reason the wily creatures are even harder to seize and bagging one for the pot is a high accolade indeed – something of a specialist sport for many of the locals. As the name suggests, this species of crab feeds on coconuts, although it’s still something of a mystery as to how they prise them open. Coconut crabs are the largest kind of arthropod in the world. They can grow to over a metre in length, or to give a more average example, a usual sized crab would fit comfortably over a dustbin.

But despite their size, they’re notoriously well hidden. The trick is to look for evidence of butchered husks during the daytime, in the hope of identifying a crab’s territory, and then slice open a small section of coconut to set as a trap for over a week or more.

“The crabs can smell the open coconut and they’ll come out at night to find it” confirms Robert. “But it’s not easy to catch them. They’re clever and they’ll scuttle back into the holes in the rock before you can grab hold of them. And if you do get them it’s a hell of a job to bind up the claws. It takes a full grown man 20 minutes and he’s sweating buckets by the end of it.”

Even success isn’t necessarily long-lasting. One night Robert’s son managed to snare a particular prime specimen, bound it up and threw it in his backpack. But halfway through the dark jungle trek home he felt an awful kind of pressure on his shoulder. The crab had cut loose, and he was lucky not to sever a tendon.

Back in the streaming daylight of the paradisal Cooks, it’s hard to imagine the midnight hunters tracking their enormous prey. And with the archetypal Polynesian views of white sand, coral reefs and blue seas, it’s tempting to view this select group of remote islands as a typical holiday destination. Unlike similar holiday spots, however, the Cooks have managed to keep a unique hold on their own culture, with a government system which still affords hereditary chiefs a place, and a decided equality among the locals.

So although scenic idylls might see the typical lazy lifestyle of a tropical destination, a special breed of island magic means culture galore for those willing to hunt for it.

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For more on the Cook Islands, see www.cookislands.travel