PAULNACHE
PRESENTS
JOHN WALSH
SAILING WITH THE ANCESTORS
8–31 JANUARY 2021

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Sailing with the Tahitians and the Ancestors

”Thank you to the orchestrators of Tuia 250.

You transformed what was conceived as a commemoration of Captain Cook’s endeavours for an empire drunk on expansion, into a huge event celebrating our collective voyaging traditions, histories and aspirations for an equal and righteous future.

When I received the call in June to apply for a position on the Tahitian waka Fa’afaite for the 10-day leg from Kororareka, the Bay of Islands, to Meretoto and Picton, all my considerations tipped toward declining. “You’re too old dad”, “The West Coast is too dangerous”, and my surgeon has been wanting to replace my knees for years. But that pull back to the deep was strong. I have surfed, worked on coastal fishing boats and spent a year in the southern ocean on a deep sea Japanese trawler. What sealed it was the prospect of voyaging as our ancestors did to get here.

Muster was at Te Rawhiti Marae, Bay of Islands where Fa’afaite and the waka Ngahiraka Mai Tawhiti had been hosted to prepare for their next leg. I had more questions than knowledge of voyaging waka but some friends had said things like “I hope they give you a rest from paddling. That’s a long way,” or – “You’re going to be fit from all that paddling.” I could see visions in their eyes of all sorts of horrors. Laughable but, with our voyaging heritage, that level of ignorance is very sad. So partly for you my friends, I’ll tell my story.

“You’ll love the Tahitians, Hone,” Hera said. “They’re cool, happy people, laid back and great sailors.”

The crew were 14 strong – half female, half male – including we three visitors (trainees). We sat in a circle for introductions, protocols and safety. We would be split into three watches (groups) of four and be on duty for four-hour shifts with eight hours off but on standby for the first four in case we were needed.

After lunch and farewells, we boarded Fa’afaite. With all that anticipation and anxiety I quickly scanned the waka, it was immediately clear this was a strong, well-built and loved vessel – 22 metres long, two masts with a huge open deck and a small hut for cooking, a control centre and a toilet all sitting on twin sealed hulls that housed everything.

We sailed north into the night, to Te Reinga. My watch was from 10pm to 2am so I hauled into my bunk. It was in the sharp end, I was on the seaward side. Ben, another trainee, was opposite – his bunk a shoulder-width away. Your bunk, personal space was the size of a spacious coffin. Not a great image to contemplate but the size works. You draw a towel across a line for privacy. From my :me on the Banshu Maru No.8, I knew I’d come to love this space. Below the bunks are food storage bins.

The gentle ripple of water turns to thuds and crashes as we hit open, rough sea and soon I am roused for our watch. Just back from our bunks is an area large enough for one person to change into wet weather gear – heavy gear that seals you in your thermals, then gumboots, head lamp, lifejacket – the thin type that explodes when you pull the cord, which also has a lash you clip to rigging in severe weather. Above this space is a hatch.

On deck our watch captain India is on the hoe – the huge steering paddle, eight or nine metres long, cutting its course below. India exudes more than confidence and reassurance. She is ecstatic at being back at sea. Manaakitanga at the different marae where they have been hosted has been expectedly wonderful with tail-to-tail powhiri and mountainous feasts. It is what always happens but is opposite to sailing life where you eat less and lock into the moods of the Gods: Tangaroa of the moana, Tawhitimatea of the weather; Ranginui of the heavens, and sweet Marama, the moon. They seem more close and pertinent when you are at sea and especially at night. The gods and waka constantly present challenges that you respond to without prejudice, fear or doubt, dependent of course on your experience and skill. Instructions are in French/Tahitian; trainee instructions, in English.

We took turns on the hoe. You stand beside it on the back deck and lean into it to turn. There is a heavy rope anchored to the deck on either side of the hoe with enough slack to wind around the end of the paddle 5-6 times. In rough conditions, it is the rope that is holding it. You make adjustments by slackening the rope and letting the coils roll. It takes a bit to master this. It takes a bit also to get used to pointing the steering paddle in the opposite direction to where you want to go. And where you want to go is a wonderland that the ancestors attuned themselves to and committed to song, stories, karakia, art and gardening – everything in fact, everything being connected.

To determine and hold a course, especially at night when it is more magical and evocative, you find numerous points you can keep in line – stars if there is no cloud, the angle the wind hits the sails, land features, swell directions, and current and colour changes. Then there are the stories of smelling islands before seeing them; noting fish, animal, bird and plant life that are constantly changing. We got a sense of this as trainees but for the crew they have a school they can attend to learn this knowledge gathered from throughout the voyaging Pacific communities.

When I asked India about the origins of Fa’afaite, she told me this story. I’ll retell it to the best of my memory:

Fa’afaite is 10 years old. About 15 years ago, there was a big Pacific yacht race that took several days and ended in Hawaii?? – a big international event with the most competitive yachts around at the time. The race finished, the winner received the cup, the fleet was all moored in the marina and everyone was in the yacht club toasting the event. But they kept noticing that crowds of island peoples were still milling on the wharf. Eventually, at dusk, a lone waka came in across the finish line and the crowd went wild. A wealthy German man was intrigued and went down to investigate. He became fascinated with the Pacific voyaging tradition and that this waka had entered and completed the race with minimal resources and with traditional navigation and technology. It must have been inspiring as it led to him funding the manufacture of seven waka based on traditional design but with contemporary materials. These waka were placed throughout the Pacific to help maintain and strengthen the voyaging tradition. Fa’afaite was the first built and was donated to the people of Tahi:. The Tahi:an Voyaging Society was built around Fa’afaite.

Rounding Cape Reinga was slow against the weather and we were out deep – a good :me to settle in and fight off seasickness. When we turned south, we had half a day of nice weather, then a storm swept in behind us. Now we were sailing and under Western sails as Polynesian sails are ineffectual in these conditions. The reason for this is that they have a boom attached to the bottom of the mast that falls open at the top in a v shape to catch tropical winds. They can’t be reefed (made smaller). They’re either open or shut so in rough conditions they are tied up.

The storm was building and in my bunk I began jolting and levitating as waves crashed into us and we burst over peaks and dove into troughs. I still had :me to sleep but needed to go to the toilet – which was at the front of the hut on deck with a door facing forward, a great view on a calm day. I wore thermals and put my heavy-weather coat and life jacket on, thinking I’d make a quick dash, and up I went. As I sealed the hatch, a wave crashed over so I was half-drenched immediately, but pushed on lunging for rails. I opened the little door and a sheet of water hit me as we speared into another wave. It threw me into the wharepaku and shut the door – wet through now but that was helpful. The ceiling is low so to get in and out of your gear you plant your head into a corner. All that meditation and yoga you’ve been toying with is put to the test here. But this isn’t the end of it, etiquette requires that you refill the flushing bucket so after the next jolt I opened the door and crabbed over to the rail. The ocean is lurching from three metres down to a metre above the rail as I toss the bucket. When I hauled the full bucket on board, I looked back to see the duty watch glaring at me – or was it the weather. Titaua, the skipper was giving me the cut-throat sign and waving me back, but I was only one step away from being a complete idiot so carried on.

The god of the wharepaku is a minor god but he was on Fa’afaite and he was mischief. I wasn’t the only one he messed with.

With the hatch closed above me I had to dry off, stow my wet gear, get dry gear ready for my watch, warm up and sleep because a hard, four-hour watch wet and cold would be no fun.

When I got up on deck, warm and dry in full kit, we were in the thick of the storm. Huge seas coming from the nor-west, but pitching and colliding. Our watch captain India was in the middle of the deck beaming defiantly, joyous, laughing and singing, and invoking Tawhirimatea to come and play. We were here to play. This is an enduring image and transports me to the ancestors who as India said trusted their waka and their crew and were good for the challenge they had set themselves. I learned later that from the beginning the women wanted to be there as equals. And they were. Each watch had a female captain, the navigator is female and they held these positions because they were competent, capable, rounded people.

The sails were reefed with a small jib up to keep us with the wind. We were geared back to ride the storm – all the way to the Marlborough Sounds. It was a beautiful night, the wind and rain coming in squalls with corridors of clear sky. The full moon in the east would glow as it emerged from the last squall throwing silver shimmers across black waves. The sky was charcoal with an orange tinge from the Australian fires. As the moon reached the edge of the clouds it created great taniwha staring down at us. Then the next time you looked up it had morphed into a souring bird alighting onto …Homer Simpson – what? Anyway, there are many images to play with.

I watched for some :me before feeling confident enough to relieve Maui at the hoe. He was basically sitting on it with a tender below it. A tender is a big balloon buoy used to separate and protect the waka from a wharf at tie-up. He had the paddle bound tight with its rope like a bucking bronco, holding the slack rope taut with his other hand to control any sudden movement. Huge waves came up from behind and for a moment we would be surfing un:l they overtook us. We clocked 17 knots that night. Someone said they had reached 28 knots in a previous storm. Our four-hour watch went quickly. It wasn’t frightening (probably because of the adrenalin), it was exhilarating, inspirational. The waka was fantastic, she didn’t creak or groan she just stood up and flew like a storm petrel and the crew were right with her. Storm petrels, sooty shearwaters and an albatross criss-crossed our path all the way. In the black of the night, we could still make them out.

During our next watch, we were rounding D’Urville Island and heading into the shelter of the Sounds. The heart of our adventure, that amazing sail was over and we were advised to hide in the Sounds for a week until the rest of the flotilla arrived and we could make a spectacle for the celebrations.

Now it was a different experience, 14 people on a boat hiding for a week while the storm whistled around us. Adrenalin still pinging, everyone’s recall was the same but different and the retelling soon settles into that personal bank of experiences. We were all busting for a shower, a decent bed and space. And just one beer, Teva and I would joke while holding up 3,4,5 fingers.

The celebrations at Meretoto Ship’s Cove and Picton were great. Someone else can tell those stories, that would give the whole Tuia 250 picture.

The day afterwards, I was at Turangawaewae Marae in Ngaruawahia attending a gathering of indigenous artists from the Pacific rim. I had missed the first half while at sea. People were interested in my adventure but soon wandered off. Adventures are for the adventurers.

As I was being shown around the different workshops under way, on the walls of the room where the weavers were working were a series of prints from the original paintings by Hawaiian artist Herb Kane (1926-2011). Herb was a principal figure in the renaissance of Hawaiian culture. These prints were of his accurately depicted voyaging waka, set in tropical waters. They were beautiful, magnificent, quietly hovering in this hive of indigenous art-making and I was back at sea with the ancestors. So I began painting my experience.

Written account by John Walsh © 2019

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