Helen Raine writes about the legendary Hōkūle’a, a double-hulled canoe that uses ancient Hawaiian navigation techniques thanks to the Sidereal Star Compass.
These days, we take navigation for granted; GPS has made it child’s play. But when the ancient Polynesians set out on the voyage of exploration that led them to the then uninhabited islands of Hawaii, modern technology was hundreds of years away. Yet they not only discovered a land they couldn’t have known existed, but went back and forth over thousands of nautical miles, bringing people, plants and goods with them when they came.
For decades, arguments raged about how they did it. Hawaiian artist Herb Kane changed all that when, in conjunction with the Hawaiian community, he built a double-hulled sailing canoe similar to the ones that his ancestors used. The Hōkūle’a has been sailing the Pacific and demonstrating the ingenious system of navigation that the Polynesians used ever since. On the way, it has sparked a resurgence of interest in Hawaiian culture that has been nothing short of a revolution for a people who felt on the verge of ‘cultural extinction’.
At the beginning, the odds were stacked against Kane and his colleagues. He got the voyaging canoe built, but due to the cultural erosion that the Hawaiian people were facing, there was no-one left who knew how to navigate in the traditional way. Eventually, Kane’s team found Mau Piailug, a navigator from a small Micronesian island. He agreed to guide Hōkūle’a on her maiden voyage to Tahiti.
The navigation system that Mau and the ancient Polynesians used relies not on instruments, but on observations of the stars, the sun, the ocean swells, and other signs from nature (such as migrating birds) for clues to direction and the location of a vessel at sea.
Mau’s mind contained something precious – the Sidereal Star Compass. It’s a mental construct rather than a physical one like a western compass. The Polynesian Voyaging Society explains that the visual horizon is divided into 32 houses, a house being a bearing on the horizon where a celestial body resides. Each of the 32 houses is separated by 11.25˚ of arc for a complete circle of 360˚.
In 1976, the voyaging canoe Hōkūle’a travelled from Hawaii to Tahiti using only this system. When it arrived at the beach in Pape‘ete Harbor, more than 17,000 people were there, over half the island’s population, celebrating the success.
This physical and metaphorical journey has not been without its trials and tribulations however. In 1978, Hōkūle’a capsized in rough seas on the way to Tahiti. Eddie Aikau, a crewmember, left on a surfboard to get help. Kiki Hugho, who was on the boat, told the Polynesian Voyaging Society: “We were hours away from losing people. Hypothermia, exposure, exhaustion. When he paddled away, I really thought he was going to make it and we weren’t.” The crew was eventually rescued but Eddie was never found. The devastated team tried to use the disaster to spur them on and fulfill Eddie’s dream of finding islands the way his ancestors did.
In 1976, the voyaging canoe Hōkūle’a travelled from Hawaii to Tahiti using only this system
Mau returned to Hawai’i to train Nainoa Thompson in 1979 and one year later, Nainoa replicated Mau’s 1976 voyage and also navigated Hōkūle’a from Tahiti back to Hawai’i, something that had not been done in over 600 years.
The 19m by 6m Hōkūle’a has now sailed over 140,000 nautical miles across the Pacific and is on the move again, with her sister ship, Hikianalia (made in New Zealand; the Maoris have strong links to the Hawaiians). This new voyage has taken in 47,000 nautical miles, 85 ports, and 26 countries. At each port, the crew reached out to local people to talk about the values of mlama honua (caring for Island Earth).
The journey will continue into 2017 with a new generation of navigators stepping in to guide Hōkūle’a as she circumnavigates the globe. The boat is scheduled to be in the Mediterranean by 2017 and the current sail plan includes the Azores and Rome. It’s an incredible feat for a boat that started out as a dream to rescue a lost people.
Embracing native Hawaiian values
Steve Soltysik was a crew member and educator on the latest New Zealand leg. Here, he talks about his experience aboard this emblematic vessel.
How did you first get involved?
I first started working with the Hōkūle’a in 1996. I had been teaching maritime education for a few years and was asked to participate in a crew training in Honolulu. I went on to crew during three trips between Kauai to Oahu, and also sailed on two sister canoes.
What modern technology is aboard?
The Hōkūle’a has solar panels to keep the batteries of the emergency radio charged and also to power the navigational lights, which are a legal requirement. However, there is no GPS, no magnetic compass and no paper charts.
How does it feel to be navigating solely with ancient techniques?
I knew that the navigator was using the stars, the wind, the swell and other natural phenomenon rather than GPS, but that was his responsibility. My job on the latest trip was to be a watch captain, responsible for carrying out the Captain’s directions in terms of trimming the sails and working with the dock lines. That was a big step up for me and gave me plenty to think about, without worrying about navigation.
How does it feel to sail the canoe compared to average sailing boats?
Hōkūle’a is a double hulled voyaging canoe, like a catamaran. It’s wonderfully stable. It doesn’t keel over like a mono hull; if you set your coffee down on a table, it won’t slide off. Another big difference is that the canoe has a very large steering sweep (around 5m long), which is labour intensive to use. It can take up to four people to handle it in very rough conditions. It can be dangerous if gets out of control. Sometimes, the sweep can be entirely out of water and the captain steers and balances the canoe out by trimming the sails and adjusting the position of crewmembers.
What are the biggest challenges to sailing this kind of traditional boat?
Exposure to the weather, especially spray and wind, is the biggest problem; there’s very little shelter aboard.