The voyage of building an outrigger canoe: Harvesting a canoe log . . . or plywood

Part 1: Introduction and author bio

You may be surprised to learn—as I was—that most of the Hawaiian gods associated with canoe building are forest gods. It makes sense when you think about it. The canoe is a product of the forest, involving many different plant materials, that then takes you out on the sea. In his excellent book The Hawaiian Canoe (Editions Limited, 1981), Tommy Holmes identifies about 20 different gods and goddesses of the canoe. Most of them are forms of Kū, god of the upper forest (among other things), where the tree would come from. Some gods are specific to certain parts of the canoe (like the seat braces), and some for the dangerous task of getting the roughed-out log down from the heights (Holmes, p. 31).

Building a canoe was undertaken by a kahuna kālai wa‘a, a canoe-carving expert. The word kahuna refers to experts in all the arts and sciences. This kahuna would make offerings and pray before letting his dreams tell him whether it was auspicious to go into the forest in search of a tree. If the signs were positive, he and his team would provision themselves for the journey up into the mountains, sometimes simply to find and mark a tree for later, other times to fell the tree.

The tree of choice in the Hawaiian Islands is known as the koa (Acacia koa). In Holmes’s description: “The islands were blessed with extensive forests of what would come to be called koa, trees of extraordinary size that were found nowhere else in the world. These trees would provide wood of remarkable durability out of which the Hawaiian would shape his canoes.”

Left: A stand of young koa trees on the island of Hawai‘i. Above: Koa puts out small compound leaves at first, then the larger sickle-shaped leaves common to many acacia species. In Hawai‛i, you can tell you’re looking at koa when you see both on the same tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the time of Cook’s visit in 1779, Lt. Charles Clerke reported: “Some of our Explorers in the woods measured a tree 19 feet in girth and rising very proportionably [sic] in its bulk to a great height, nor did this far, if at all, exceed in stateliness many of its neighbours; we never before met with this kind of wood” (Holmes, p. 17). 

Holmes goes on to point out that there was considerable difference among koa stands and even from one tree to the next, and that canoe builders had terms (he lists 21) for different types the builders identified (Holmes, p. 23). Other woods used for canoes included wiliwili, kukui (candlenut), and ‘ulu (breadfruit). Softer and lighter than koa, these were used mostly for small “play” or training canoes, and for women's canoes. Lighter woods were considered more vulnerable to the occasional shark attack. A lot of other woods and plant products are used in making the canoe, and I will get to those in time. 

Now the prime koa forests were located between around 4000 and 6000 feet elevation, and Hawaiians lived pretty much at sea level. So it was a journey of at least five miles, and perhaps as far as 25 miles, to get the tree. And in pre–Captain Cook times, there were no draft animals to pull the log, so it was all human labor. On lava rock. With bare feet.

A female volcano 'elepaio, today the most common subspecies of Hawaiian 'elepaio. Photo by Eike Wulfmeyer, Keauhou Bird Conservation Center (KBCC), Volcano, Hawaii. Used with permission.
 

Once an apparently suitable tree was found, it was up to the goddess Lea, in the form of an ‘elepaio bird (Chasiempis sandwichensis), to indicate the soundness of the log. Martha Beckwith, in her book Hawaiian Mythology, writes: "When a canoe was to be built, a priest would go to the forest, select a tree, and pray to the gods of the woods to bless it, then wait for an ʻelepaio bird to alight on its trunk. If it merely ran up and down, the trunk was sound; but where it stopped to pick at the bark, that spot was sure to be found rotten and the builder would run a risk in making use of the trunk" (Beckwith, p. 91). 

If the tree passed the bird test, then offerings were made at the base of the tree to the gods, with prayers, a small black pig, coconut, red fish, and ‘awa (piper methysticum), a ceremonial beverage more commonly known as kava or kavakava. For a bigger and more important canoe for a noted chief, a human sacrifice might be deemed necessary. Then the kahuna kālai wa‘a would make one last prayer to his personal guardian spirit (‘aumakua) before making the first blow with his adze. In another post I’ll talk about the stone tools used. For now, suffice it to say that it could take days to cut the tree down.

No such elaborate effort or ritual in my case, though I am careful to be respectful and speak kindly to my materials. For the Melanesia canoe, I harvested two 4-by-8-foot sheets of quarter-inch marine plywood from the folks at Chesapeake Light Craft in Annapolis, Maryland. The guys there have been wonderfully helpful in giving me tips and information. No bird was involved. I just tied the sheets to the roof of a Subaru Forester and hoped the wind didn’t rip them in half as I zoomed home up the highway. The 60-mile, round-trip journey took about two hours all together. I didn’t pack any provisions.

Two 4-by-8-foot sheets of marine plywood will substitute for a koa tree. 

This plywood is mighty thin stuff. It’s made from okoumé or gaboon (Aucoumea klaineana), a tree grown sustainably in Gabon, Africa, and known for its tall, straight trunks. Here is a picture of my “canoe log.” You will see that the two sheets are laid end to end. This makes for the 16-foot length of the canoe. I have already marked where to cut, but that story comes in the next post.

I’m glad to have this material available and hope that the okoumé farms in Africa truly do not come at the cost of native ecosystems. Unfortunately for Hawai‘i, the great stands of koa trees were largely destroyed by human activity, introduced cattle, and introduced pests. Finding a koa log large enough and of good enough quality to carve a big canoe these days is almost impossible, though smaller koa canoes are being made.

I have no elaborate ritual, but before we start carving, let me give thanks to the trees who provided this wood, to the land that supported them while they grew, and to the people who tended them. 

Next: Roughing out the hull

—Douglas Herman, NMAI 

The voyage of building an outrigger canoe

The settling of the remote Hawaiian Islands over 1,000 years ago is one of the great feats of human adventure. Ancestors of today’s Hawaiians crossed thousands of miles of open ocean to find and settle tiny dots of land in the middle of a sea that covers a third of the planet. In double-hulled canoes, they navigated back and forth across long distances using sophisticated knowledge of the sea and the stars.

This story has captivated me since I arrived in the Hawaiian Islands in 1984 to attend graduate school. Only eight years earlier, the replica voyaging canoe Hōkūle‘a had been built and successfully sailed from Hawai‘i to Tahiti, some 3,000 miles to the south, using traditional navigation. The navigator was Pius Mau Piailug from the Micronesian island of Satawal, one of the few places where such knowledge still endures. This momentous event and its impact on the Hawaiian community have been wonderfully documented in Na‘alehu Anthony’s film Papa Mau. When I arrived in 1984, the excitement was still fresh. The Hōkūle‘a had taken on new challenges, and the revival of Pacific Island voyaging was underway.

Now, three decades later, I’m working on an exhibition that focuses on the canoe both as a central object of Hawaiian culture and as a metaphor for how to live on this finite Earth. As part of the research for that project, I've interviewed a handful of contemporary Hawaiian canoe builders and about a dozen people involved with the Hōkūle‘a and other voyaging canoes, including the late Herb Kane, a founder of the Polynesian Voyaging Society. To comprehend the enormous task of building a voyaging canoe, I've interviewed stone toolmakers, including adze makers, cordage and fiber experts, botanists, wood carvers, and others. It would take an entire village perhaps a year to build and outfit a large voyaging canoe back in the old days. Since there was no usable metal on most Pacific islands, it is often said that this was “Stone Age technology,” but that belies the incredible sophistication involved.

Well, talking to experts is one thing, but doing is another. In order to cement my expertise for this exhibition, and transform rote knowledge into actual experience, I’ve undertaken to build my own canoe. I’m a reasonably handy person but not a trained carpenter, so if I can do it, then anyone who can read directions and manage some tools can do it, too. I’d like to take you on my journey of building this canoe, and along the way, share with you some of the knowledge I’ve learned regarding traditional Hawaiian canoe building and all its related arts. 

The goal: To build an outrigger canoe using modern materials, but closely following the design of traditional Melanesian boats. Photo courtesy of James Wharram Designs. Used with permission.

There are many sets of plans available for building your own outrigger canoe. I chose the Melanesia design by James Wharram. This has got to be the easiest and least expensive place to start. The plans themselves cost £120 (a little more than $185); I got the sailing and paddling version. Now, I would much rather be making the Ulua, an 18-foot Hawaiian-style canoe designed by Gary Dierking, but that is both far more challenging and more expensive. Maybe for my next project . . . .

The Melanesia canoe will be 16 feet long—the same length as an ordinary American-style canoe. It weighs at most 110 pounds and is easy to lift. Almost the entire thing is made from two sheets of quarter-inch plywood. That’s right: I’m not cutting down a tree and carving it out. I’m also using other modern materials and modern tools, but as I go, I want to talk about traditional tools and techniques. The Melanesia uses what’s called the stitch-and-glue technique, which Wharram himself credits to Pacific Islanders.

So, come with me on this voyage, and let’s see if we can build a canoe.

Next: Harvesting a canoe log . . . or plywood.

—Douglas Herman, NMAI 

Doug Herman is senior geographer at the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian. A PhD graduate of the University of Hawaii Department of Geography, Doug created the indigenous-geography education project Pacific Worlds, working with communities in Hawai‘i and Micronesia to document their place-based cultural heritage. Since 2009 he has been doing research for the exhibition, Aloha ʻĀina: Hawai‘i, the Canoe and the World. That project explores how the values of the voyaging canoe translate into how to live on small, isolated islands, with lessons for how all of us may live sustainably on Island Earth. His small exhibition on the rise and fall of the Hawaiian Kingdom is scheduled to open at the museum in Washington, D.C., in 2015. 

PART 2: Q&A with Native Hawaiian Surfer & Craftsman Tom "Pōhaku” Stone

Native Hawaiian surfer Tom "Pōhaku” Stone rides the waves near his home in Hawai`i. From May 20 through 25, Stone—an artist-in-residence at NMAI in Washington—will carve a traditional Hawaiian surfboard and sled in the museum's Potomac Atrium. Photo courtesy of the artist.

 

For this year's celebration of Native Hawaiian art, history, and culture, the museum welcomes Tom “Pōhaku” Stone, a Native Hawaiian carver from O`ahu, Hawai`i, as an artist-in-residence from Sunday, May 20, through Friday, May 25. Stone will spend the week in the museum's Potomac Atrium demonstrating his skills as he carves a traditional Hawaiian surfboard (papahe´enalu) and lashes together a traditional Hawaiian sled (papaholua).

In the second part of a two-part Q&A, Stone talks about what it was like growing up in Hawai`i, how he first became intersted in traditional Hawaiian sports and crafts, and what it takes to make a great longboard.

Tell me about Hawaiian sledding. I've read that you used to barrel down grassy hills as a child before you even knew about the cultural history of he´e holua. How did you first learn about it?

I originally was taught how to slide downhill on tī leaves, which is the first step to learning to ride the actual sled. You would take a stalk of tī leaves and sit on it to slide down a 50 to 70 percent slope on dirt or mud. It was just a cultural practice that we grew up with because it was taught to us at a young age. I believe the intention was to prepare us to commit to the downhill.

Stone holds a traditional hōlua sled. Photo courtesy of the artist. 

Can you tell me about how the ancient sport was used to honor Hawaiian gods? How did the tradition come to an end? When was it revived?

Hōlua sledding and the slide constructed (with a few exceptions) was built off of cliff faces or steep hardened lava slopes, which is the physical representation of Pele the volcano goddess. We usually performed this sport to honor her, showing all that we are willing to sacrifice ourselves; this was also a way for a great Ali'i Nui to show that he was a chief who would sacrifice his life for the people, which also applied to the warriors. When the conversion process from our traditional worshipping to Christianity occurred following the death of Kamehameha I in 1819, the slides and accompanying heiau (areas of worship) were some of the first structures to be dismantled under missionary supervision. Based on my research, this was due to various factors: 1) worshipping female gods went against the white male Christian beliefs; 2) [missionaries] needed to break the connection to the religious system; 3) as the Natives were in cultural collapse due to our great dying from foreign disease, we were looking for a god that would kleep us alive and at the time we believed what the missionaries were preaching.

The art of hōlua was resurrected in 1994 through my efforts to revive our knowledge and connection to this ancient sport that spanned the high islands of the Pacific and to reconnect us to our religion—the of honoring our 400,000 gods for giving us life over 30,000 years.

Stone lashes together a traditional Hōlua. Photo courtesy of the artist.

How is a basic sled built?

The papahōlua is constructed in three parts and reflects the image of a living person who is offering up a sacrifice, which is usually the riders themselves. The three parts are:

The runners (kama`a loa, or "long shoes"), which I draw freehand. The front section that I call the "hand of offerings" is meant to present the offering, and the body extends back as a person prostrating himself. A runner measures in average 12 feet in length by 2 to 4 inches in height by 1 inch in wide.

Then you have the crosspieces (`iako), similar to the outrigger canoe boom when lashing a double-hull canoe support together. The number of these pieces used to lash the runners together is dependent on their length; runners can reach up to 20 feet long.

The last is the handrails (pale), rounded and lashed together with bamboo ('ohe), which provides flexibility to the papahōlua.

The injuries I have are just what happens when you ride hōlua, but what keeps me doing it is my kūleana or responsibility to keep this cultural practice that strengthened our mind, body, and spirit alive. Practices such as this are what keeps us strong when facing the unknown, keeps us connected to who we are as ocean people, to see ourselves as living people with an intact culture rather than be assimilated.

How did you get into teaching? What is the hardest part? What’s your favorite part?

My dedication to passing on the knowledge of our kūpuna [grandparents]; bridging the gap between student and teacher, for students to understand the significance of past, present, and future; the living knowledge and history of my native world and knowing that it is alive with every breath I take.

What is your advice for young Hawaiians who want to reconnect with their culture? What are the new challenges for this younger generation in doing so?

Live for the future but embrace the old ways as your guide, and carry on the traditions that today impact the world. We are a people the world embraces and wishes to know who we are.

How long does it take to carve a surfboard? A sled? What is the oldest Hawaiian sled in existence?

It takes me when I am fully committed to one surfboard, five days from raw material to finish; for the sled it takes a total of 32 hours approximately. The oldest sled known to me is in the Bishop Museum. It belonged to Kanemuna (a great Ali'i Wahine, woman chief) from Ho`okena, Hawai`i Island. The name of this sled is Lonoikamakahiki.

Come meet Stone in person during his artist-in-residency through Friday, May 25, or join him and other Hawaiian artists at this year's annual Celebrate Hawai`i festival on Saturday and Sunday, May 26 & 27, 2012.

For the full schedule of events, visit the museum's website.

To read Part 1 of our Q&A, click here.

PART 1: Q&A with Native Hawaiian Surfer & Craftsman Tom "Pōhaku” Stone

Surfer Tom "Pōhaku” Stone carries one of his own creations near his home in Hawaii. Photo courtesy of the artist. 

For this year's celebration of Native Hawaiian art, history and culture, the museum welcomes Tom “Pōhaku” Stone, a Native Hawaiian carver from O`ahu, Hawai`i, as an artist-in-residence from Sunday, May 20, through Friday, May 25. Stone will spend the week in the museum's Potomac Atrium creating a traditional Hawaiian surfboard (papahe´enalu) and sled (papaholua) in front of visitors.

In the first of a two-part Q&A, Stone talks about traditional Hawaiian culture and what it takes to make a great surfboard. 

Tell me about growing up in Hawai`i. What are some of your earliest childhood memories? 

The earliest is living and growing up on the beaches of Kahana Bay, Waimanalo, Waikīkī, Kailua, where I learned the ways of the ocean, to fish and surf. I had an opportunity to surf with [Olympic swimmer and legendary surfer] Duke [Kahanamoku], Blue, Steamboat, and the other beachboys of the time. I had the chance to ride those great wood boards they had then. My dad carved the first board I owned. I had time to live with my grandfather, who told a lot of stories about leaping off of cliffs and sliding down the mountainsides on tī leaves and hōlua sleds. I also grew up in a remote area of the Big Island in a place called Hawi on my great-uncle's ranch. I lived everywhere throughout Hawai`i, learning our cultural traditions.

What are some of the most common misconceptions you come across about Hawai`i and its indigenous culture? 

That we as Hawaiians are not alive anymore; that surfing is the sport of kings only; that women did not participate in traditional Native Hawaiian sports such as surfing and hōlua sledding.

What can you tell me about the history of surfing? When did it become popular?

I know for a fact that surfing is uniquely Hawaiian, and that surfing (standing on a craft made specifically for the purpose) as we know it began in Hawai'i and no other place in the world. Hawai`i is the only place in the world where the artifacts are found that connect us to this ancient sport, the Hawaiian people, or Kanaka Maoli, as we are properly referred to.

Surfing would become popular when Alexander Hume Ford, along with the annexationists (individuals who conspired to take our nation with the help of the U.S.) needed to sell a tourist destination. Surfing was the most attractive cultural activity that called out to affluent foreigners who were seeking adventure and the experience of going native, which would become world-renowned during the 1920s. Duke would become in essence the "Hawaiian poster" surfer. Duke shared his ocean knowledge with anyone who wished to learn, including myself as a young boy.

Stone poses with a collection of boards near his home. Photo courtesy of the artist. 

What stories do you remember hearing as a child? Do you now tell the same stories? 

The great feats of surfing, paddling across the channels between the islands, the great leaps of faith from high cliffs, learning to fly like the birds, hōlua; I still tell the stories, but now I also include my experiences as a means of keeping our history and culture alive for generations to come.

Tell me about the “Pohaku” in your name. What does it mean? Where did it come from? Why the quotes?

Pōhaku is the Hawaiian word for "stone" or "rock," but in the deeper meaning Pōhaku means "Master of Darkness," which comes from a Hawaiian concept of someone who is given the responsibility to preserve life, and where that life originates from—the darkness itself.

For our family, we would hānai, or adopt, this name in the early 1860s, when all Native Hawaiian children born after 1860 were required to have an English surname. This was a law initiated by white American business and missionary men who had now dominated our Hawaiian government. A man named Samuel Stone arrived in Hawai`i during this time, and my family hosted him in our home. Alomalie, our great ancestor, would eventually have a son who would be named Samuel Stone—not because Samuel Stone actually fathered this boy, but because it gave my family the opportunity to abide by the laws of our Kingdom and adopt the name Stone. Our actual name is Mahihelelima, who was the last great Kohala Ali`inui of Hana, Maui as well.

When did you first learn to surf? What was it like? What made you want to continue? 

I was four years old when I can first remember riding a wave with the wind coming at me and the water splashing off of the sides. I was six years old when I paddled out to Waikīkī, caught my first wave on a giant board that belonged to [Hawaiian wrestler] Curtis Laukea. At eight, I carried one of the great wood boards to the water and surfed at Canoes, a famous spot at Waikīkī. Riding a wave has never changed for me. It is that glide across the face of the wave as it takes you on a ride that is one-on-one with you and the mana, or energy, of the ocean.

Stone works on a traditional Hawaiian surfboard (papahe’enalu). Photo courtesy of the artist. 

How did you first learn to carve boards? Can you tell me about the history behind the tradition?

My dad actually carved me a board from wood, and I was fortunate to watch him go through the entire process, so I would have to say that it was my dad who taught me the traditional art of surfboard carving. There were others like Duke, Blue, Steamboat, Rabbit who I would get to watch, and my grandfather (tūtū kahanu), who would tell me stories about the old time and places. Like all other cultural practices of my people, this was what all people know how to make since we all would surf and play in the ocean. But there were individuals who are masters at the art of surfboard-making and riding a wave on all types of boards crafted for the art of wave-riding. It would be these individuals who would make surfboards for the Ali`i Nui (chief).

What are the basic steps of carving a board? What makes a board more successful than others?

The real basic step is how you bless the wood so the spirit of the actual tree that provides the piece remains alive while it goes through its rebirth. Preparing it means that the wood might be buried in a lo`i kalo, buried in sand, or submersed in the ocean—for years depending on the size—to remove the sap and place in it other natural elements that would stabalize the wood to keep it from twisting or cracking, and perhaps to change its color. The board would then go through a slow drying process while it was worked on, which could take years using stone implements. This, in the end, is what traditionally makes one board more successful then another.

Meet Stone in person during his artist-in-residency, or join him and other Hawaiian artists at this year's annual Celebrate Hawai`i festival on Saturday and Sunday, May 26 & 27, 2012.

For the full schedule of events, visit our website.

To read Part 2 of our Q&A, click here.

Re-Thinking Hawai'i: A Virtual Tour with Carl F. K. Pao

On May 19th, the museum and Transformer Gallery opened This IS Hawai‛i, a two-site exhibition exploring what it means to be Native Hawaiian in the 21st century. The exhibition includes a satirical piece—The Post-Historic Museum of the Possible Aboriginal Hawaiian, created by Hawaiian artist and high school teacher Carl F. K. Pao—that examines the status of indigenous Hawaiians and their relationship with museums and the field of archaeology.

As part of the opening, Pao led a gallery talk in his role as “acting director” of The Post-Historic Museum. The tongue-in-cheek presentation prompted both laughter and confusion, especially when Pao described one of the so-called artifacts (a Weber grill in a glass case) as a “ceremonial container.” Below are video excerpts of his talk:

Pao, introducing the scholarly question of how a “possible aboriginal Hawaiian” could have obtained a weapon (a.k.a. garden hoe) that was “made in China:”

 

Describing a set of barbecue tools and the notion of “human sacrifice:”  

 

Taking one final question from the audience, Pao breaks out of his role as acting director and explains what inspired the work—witnessing a crisis of identity among his indigenous Hawaiian high school students—and why he adopted such a “ridiculous approach” to a serious issue:

 

The two sections of This IS Hawai‘i are on view at the National Museum of the American Indian through July 4 and the Transformer Gallery in Washington, D.C., through June 25.