The lively gathering of the second leg crew of the World Wide Voyage at Gates Theater on Saturday September 13th, was a way to say mahalo to family, friends and the Waimea community. The message from the crew was all about connections, legacy and aloha. Dubbed “The Fantastic Voyage”, Pwo navigator and Captain Chadd Onohi Paishon observed, “…it quickly became apparent to us that we were two canoes connected by the ocean, that we were all traveling together as one.” Or as crew member John Kruz put it, “We killed it.” For the next two hours crew members shared their own legacies and connections through stories, chants, and multi-media entertainment. A sense of many faceted connections was the spirit that guided this multi-generational microcosm from Tahiti through the Cook Islands to Pago Pago, Samoa. Before sharing the first of three photo journeys, Kaimana Bacarse observed, “We called this the “Fantastic Voyage” and it really was. It really changed the lives of every single one that was on the wa`a. Now we're here to share the story that really hit us in the na`au. So we're going to start off telling the story of the islands that we went to in the way that our kūpuna would normally do it,” with a chant.

      The story chant of the “Fantastic Voyage” will be added on to the chant relating the voyages of Hōkūle`a, an important protocol. The crew found out just how important when they were approaching Mo`orea. Bacarse relates, “We went north, around the island and had a beautiful amazingly easy sail.  We get to Mo`orea. Everything's beautiful [but] we come through the pass as strangers because we did not announce our arrival.  The winds picked up and it started smoking. We came around into the bay  We were able to tuck in and it got us thinking, but we didn't think enough at that time because when we went around to go to the pier, the winds came again, really, really strong. But then we realized that the wind was there, the weather was like that because the kūpuna of that land did not know the kūpuna we brought with us.”
      The crew was a special blend of original and first time voyagers, creating a flow of knowledge and experience and a sense of unbroken continuity. “We did what Maui did. We connected a lei of islands. We strung together a lei of islands from French Polynesia to the Cook Islands to Samoa. For these are the highways of our ancestors and what's connecting our generations. The beauty of this voyage for many was that transference of knowledge. That transference of mana (spirit), that sharing of aloha between generations,” Bacarse said.

Sailing west, back through the Pacific is to experience origins and cultural history, but the crew experienced a chicken skin connection with a piece of Hōkūle`a history when they arrived at Taha`a. Original Hōkūle`a crew member John Kruz shares, “We pulled into Taha`a and it was in the afternoon and so we were throwing the lines out and everybody stopped for a moment because the guy that caught the line, here was a young guy the spitting image of Eddie Aikau. When we left he came out on a small boat, on the back and he gave me the shaka sign. It was a touching moment for me because I was on that crew in 1978 when we lost Eddie.”

Voyaging connects the navigator and crew with the natural world in both tangible and intangible ways. To navigate and survive the navigator has to read the physical signs of the oceanic world, but there are times when it is the intangible spiritual connections that bring the canoe into port. Cesi Hao, apprentice navigator was fortunate to experience this. “Earlier in the morning at the end of our trip, I saw Manu'a, our target island.  I could see it looked like a grey cloud but I could tell it wasn't because it had a sharp cut off. It looked like a cone. So I looked over at Tua [Pittman] and he said, 'Keep it in your mind because as soon as the sun gets higher, you're going to lose it.' So I held on to it but as I was trying to capture where it was, this huge squall comes from behind, takes out the sun. By the time we were going to arrive it was complete cloud cover, pouring rain and I looked at Tua and I said, 'I 'm lost. I don't know where I am.’ And he said, 'Now's the time to throw everything you know out. Whatever you know, what you see throw it out. You feel your way home.' We don't just go off of the physical things around our environment.  You rely upon akua and you rely upon your ancestors to guide you. Because in that moment when you have nothing else left they're what's going to pull you through.” Hikianalia with her GPS was going a different direction and was soon lost from sight in a squall, but Hao had to ignore the visual evidence and call out to other guidance to select the correct one of three squalls. “It was almost like picking a lucky door. Which door is that island behind? So I looked and I said, 'I feel that it's this squall here.' and the island was waiting for them on the other side of the squall. “That's from having nothing else. No stars, hiding from the sun. Not even the wind can tell you. You follow your na'au. You follow the voice of the ancestors.”

Voyaging is a way of life that perpetuates the aloha spirit and inspires meaningful connections across the Pacific and in the next three years across the planet. But the voyagers all know that they wouldn’t be standing on the deck of the canoe without their community crew. Chadd Paishon sums it up, “We had a fantastic voyage and the voyage continues and there's still more legs ahead. For each of us that stands on the deck of the canoe, there's at least a hundred people standing behind and beside us. When we were on the voyage there was this overwhelming feeling that we needed to come home and share with our community what we did with our gift of aloha.” It was a noisy talk story session with the youngest crew flowing in front of the stage and at times, tsunami like up on the stage. But at the closing, rather than being considered a distraction, they were acknowledged by Pomai Bertelmann with, “This is what we do this for.”

When Papa Mau, who came to Hawaii from Satawal in the west Pacific, guided the Hōkūleʽa on her first voyage to Tahiti, the ancestors had his back; he was navigating in unfamiliar waters, yet his trust in the knowledge of his ancestors never waivered. All successful voyages, whether on water or land, are guided through a connection to forces we cannot control, but that we can connect with.  When we reach out for the ancestors, we also reach back to find the wisdom to navigate our own seas.  
    “He waʽa he moku, he moku he waʽa.” There is no experience more powerful than being on a vessel in the middle of the ocean and realizing that control is an illusion and that the way forward lies in connection; connection to the elements, to the vessel and to the ʽohana gathered on the deck. The voyaging canoes provided a spark that ignited practitioners to action and they continue to be a metaphor and a floating classroom for the re-connection with cultural values and practices that sustained the ancestors. 

      This year kites have taken flight at Waimea Middle School and Kanu o ka ʽĀina. Like the waʽa, the kite has ancient origins and like the waʽa symbolizes the return to the traditional practices and wisdom that have served humankind’s existence on earth.  About two years ago, Pomai Bertelmann, seeming to channel the ancient spirits, drew the image of a kite as part of a design she was creating; it caused a spark that inspired her brother Kealiʽi, Pua Case and other members of the ʽohana waʽa to research the kite. According to Hawaiian spiritual beliefs, there are three kite forms: in the water, it is the sting ray; on top of the water the sail of the canoe and above the ocean the kite soars up to the inverted dome of the sky to navigate through the stars. 
     They also discovered that kites have made appearances in Hawaiian historical events;  Pua Case, citing the kite flying protest organized by Kauikeaouli (King Kamehameha III) on seeing the erosion of traditional Hawaiian practices, commented, “I was not aware of the kite as a symbol of protest until we began to revive it.  It’s active, but not intrusive or aggressive.  I don’t agree with this, so I will fly a kite.” Kealiʽi expanded on that manaʽo and described another dimension to Kauikeaouli’s kite flying demonstration,
I think that when they flew kites in mass, and there is one moʽolelo that says I think there were over 200, that they were flying it as a symbol of their commitment to certain traditions and things that were important to them. So when we started teaching the kite making for this time now as part of the voyage of the Hokuleʽa, we started teaching it, as a recommitment and a symbol of our continuation of the voyaging traditions now but also for our community to show their support for the voyage, when the canoe leaves in June.  

This year Kealiʽi Bertelmann created a very special kite for the annual untitled piece project at Waimea Middle School, where the artist brings in the piece and then the students get the opportunity to name it. Kealiʽi describes his kite, which was named Poʽai Pili Aloha (circle of unbroken love):
The reason I did the kite as a circle or the lupe lā is because I wanted to make sure, it was a way to honor Kanehoalani, the god of the sun.  Kanehoalani, in some geneaologies is the father of Pele.  The mother in that geneaology is Kaikahinaliʽi. It has to do with their function in the environment. That genealogy has to do with the sun and how the sun affects the earth at certain times. So that’s how I explained it to the kids. So it’s dyed, the base color is yellow; I dyed it with olena. There’s red stripes…. that’s the lava flows of Pele and acknowledging her father and her connection to Kanehoalani.  Some of the symbols represent my family. Seven iwa birds that represent my seven nieces and nephews. There’s black lines that look like they don’t have a beginning and an end. I did that on purpose because that represents genealogies and for Hawaiians, we actually trace our genealogies, not just back to people, but to the gods.  

  And those gods are alive in the mysterious forces around us as they always have been. Before humans ventured out into the Pacific, before kites, before sails, there was the wind, an invisible presence of swirling change.  Did early humans stand on the western edge of the Pacific and gaze at the sky, observing bird flight and the lift of the updrafts? Or perhaps they were caught in a storm, watching as trees fell and shelters were lifted.  Would it be any wonder that early humans would have seen that power as a spiritual presence.  
     Kites were used by early voyagers to read their world and make contact with the beyond. The great power of human intelligence rests in observation, to really sense the objects and processes of their world as ideas and make unique connections between them.  In this sense, the kite became the first sail, eventually evolving into a way of capturing the wind and pushing voyagers out onto an ocean, untouched by human contrivances. 
     We can no longer venture out on an untouched ocean, but it makes the voyage of Hōkūleʽa  that much more poignant. When Hōkūleʽa departs for her worldwide sail, there will be a quiver of kites waving her off, soaring aloft and inviting the power and protection of the ancestors to sustain and guide the voyagers along their journey.  The image of the kite being drawn up into the ocean of planets and stars by cosmic winds is a portal to timelessness and hope.

By Jan Wizinowich

Like a dreamscape, Hikianalia glides on the horizon this early Sunday morning, the only color in an ancient pearl landscape. The one partly furled sail and the swift movement of the wa’a brings us back to local time with the realization that it is the solar powered motors and not the wind that is propelling the wa’a westward to come about on a broad
southeast reach into port to clear customs.  Hikianalia, the latest addition to the 'ohana waʽa, has just made her maiden voyage from Aotearoa, where she was constructed, to Tahiti and from Tahiti to Hilo. The hulls, fiberglass covered  foam, with sweeping lines are a thing of beauty as well as providing swift  sailing with the teak deck lending another kind of practical beauty.  Slated to be the escort for Hokuleʽa on her world voyage, which is scheduled for now to depart in June, Hikianalia is outfitted with 8 solar panels and 3 motors, making her the ideal escort craft. 

The waʽa comes about for her broad reach just off Honoliʽi,  which is carpeted with surfers who may have gotten a glimpse of the ghostly  visage in between rides, while we all wait at a Keaukaha Beach Park, just east of the Matson compound.  The shoreline here is a jetty of ancient volcanic stones rooted in places by ironwood trees and stumps. The stones are of Kamehameha proportions, but were  probably placed by manmade contraptions. I stand on the tail of this sinuous formation that extends out into Hilo Bay like a rectangular, angling snake.  A lone fisherman stands on the wall, clutching his throw net, watching for the right moment. This shore, formed from ancient lava flows and reef, must have looked very different before human hands began rearranging it.  The  village hale set back from a shore with Pele at their backs and Kanaloa and potential tsunami at its front,  was probably inhabited by ʽohana who were both calm and mobile.

Preparations are underway for a feast to welcome the crew while Aunty Deedee Bertelmann and Aunty Patty Soloman talk story and make lei.  Ray and others arrange large pans of delectable food along a square of4 long tables. A small cluster of people watch from the jetty as Hikianalia makes her way into the port; the shoreline is stacked with containers, lined with hotels and busy with the regular activities of Sunday morning Hilo. Seated on the shore, we wait along with Hilo’s waʽa Hokualakaʽi who awaits her sister  waʽa. 

Kolomona Shintari and Bruce Blankenfeld are ferried off round the pier into port in a small zodiac.  Meanwhile, Matson grinds to life for the work day to replace the warehouse roof.  I’m treated to stories of these waters by two young companions who sit with me on the shore:  Lurking tiger sharks, favorite eating fish and techniques for cooking and eating fish eyeballs.  Another  keiki tosses handfuls of small rocks into the water to scare the fish as he eats  a spam musubi and is greatly amused to discover that the “fish” was only a  stick. 

Finally we see the masts moving behind the port pier. As the waʽa rounds the pier from customs, Pua Case brings the pahu and is  surrounded by welcoming ʽohana from Waimea and her two daughters.  Pua’s husband, Kalani stands on the right in a small cluster of trees, pu in hand, ready to signal welcome. The Keaukaha ʽOhana stands in preparation, kīhei draped and tied above the shoulder. As Hikianalia enters the small bay,  Pua sounds the pahu. The pu is sounded from the deck of Hokualakaʽi and from  Kalani onshore. 

Watching as three of the crew churn the water with the giant size steering paddle, one can almost imagine a majestic spirit gazing down in amusement. The paddle is pushed and pulled in rhythmic elliptical  movements to turn the canoe astern to the shore, and a child nearby  comments,  “There’s solar panels on  that boat”; such awareness. Indeed one would think that the waʽa was an  enchanted vessel powered by magic, the motors run so quietly.  Once the waʽa is turned there is still much to do, requiring a  “try wait” attitude; there is a pensive quietude in the crowd that has gathered,  as all concentrate on reaching out with piko energy, just as ancient voyagers  traveling across the vast Pacific were tethered to shore by those who waited for  their return.  But now the waʽa is  safely in port and the crew is anchoring her with tangible tethers extended out  in four directions and tied to sturdy ironwood trees.  The deck is set to rights and the crew gathers in a circle with Captain  Bob Perkins, meditating on their journey and giving thanks to nā Akua. Clapping  three times, the crew clusters, facing the shore, beginning a series of  exchanged chants. The crew chants and many onshore join in. Next Chadd Paishon calls out across the water, requesting permission with the crew adding their  voices. This is followed by a series of questions and requests from the  crew,  answered by many voices  onshore.  “Aloha e”, begin the  Keaukaha ʽOhana and Pua turns to them, her already radiant face is enveloped in  a sudden glow of sunlight.

When Keaukaha  moves back, the crew do a haka to honor  Hikianalia’s Atearoa origins. This is answered by the Waimea ʽOhana, led by Pua
and including: her daughters, Kealiʽi Bertelmann, Keala Kehuanui, Kala Akima,  Pomai Bertelmann and Patty Soloman.   The  previous night, Hawane and Kealiʽi Bertelmann were working their magic out under
the stars, on stage at the Kawaihae Canoe Club. “No hana hou. 
Hawane your mom is here and she says you got to go to Hilo to greet
Hikianalia; she coming in the morning.” But they did manage a touching hana hou,  which was a song written by Hawane for Pua on her 50th birthday, joined onstage by Pua doing a  graceful hula. In the morning, although Pua and herʽohana had driven from Waimea  the previous night, arriving around midnight, their faces are alight with sheer joy.

 E o!! is called  out in gratitude as the first of the crew, Chadd and two others, touch  shore. Chadd stands before the  gathering, and is approached in quiet respect, gathering each person in his
all-encompassing embrace. Kealiʽi  and Pualani approach with their two keiki, Kumano clinging to his Uncle Chadd in amazement, a powerful memory being sealed in his heart.  Rod Floro, teacher from Keaau and waʽa  crew, brings his son to be touched with aloha, followed by Pomai Bertelmann and old friend and cultural practitioner Keoni Aweau Turalde, who had spotted the  waʽa from his lanai. 

by Jan Wizinowich

“It’s no mistake that we’re all gathered in this room tonight”, observed captain and navigator Chadd Paishon to the large gathering that had come to the call of the canoe on October 25 at Kanu O Ka ʽAina in Waimea.The ancient songlines followed by the Pacific Islander’s ancestors to these shores, later forgotten, were heard again, beginning a timely renaissance of traditional voyaging and Hawaiian Culture. “He waʽa he moku, he moku he wa’a”*, Chadd’s  elegant words  penetrate to the heart of life on our planet.  The wisdom of the voyagers offers a way forward.   

The voyaging canoes are a reawakening of the old songlines, knowing without words, heard in the stillness between breaths, the shout and pulse of the wind as it creates an atlas of clouds and dances the water’s surface hinting at the primal powers shifting  below. Songlines, which are, “…the equivalent of maps of experience… combine mythology with family and clan history”**, are drawing     listeners from all Pacific cultures to embark on the journey that follows from the heart, to engage with the wisdom of the ancestors. Hōkūleʽa was a contemporary starting point but her voyages have, in retracing the paths of the ancestors, awakened the songlines for others. “Every day there is at least one canoe on the water in the Pacific,” observes Chadd. 

It’s April 2012 and there are a group of maritime students from Japan with their Kauaʽi Community College teacher Dennis Chun, getting hands on sailing experience with the Makali’i crew, using smaller training canoes contributed by Hualalai Bertlemann.  I’m sitting with Pomai Bertelmann and Kyoko Ikeda as Dennis and the students lash down the waʽa for the day. Located just north of Pelekane Bay, the small dock in front of the YMCA sailing program compound is next to the Hale Makaliʽi.  When they’re finished it’s all in the water, including Dennis, who soon joins us. The 2007 Hōkūleʽa voyage to Japan was the songline that connected Japan with the island of Kauaʽi and Dennis Chun’s traditional voyaging course at Kauaʽi Community College (KCC). But the voyaging connection with Japan goes back further to Tiger Esperi.  Pomai Bertelmann explains, “Tiger started out on Hōkūleʽa and moved to Waimea and helped with the building of Makaliʽi. He was the one who founded Nā Kalei Waʽa, but after a while, 1998, Tiger moved to Japan.  He lived in Japan for a while and in moving to Japan he actually was taken care of by the community of Shichirigahama and Kamakura. And while he was there he was writing for one of the magazines there and really being inspired by the people; he was really inspired at that time to build a vessel. Tiger passed away 4 or 5 years ago. It was right before the voyage in 2007.” 

One special connection was made between Tiger and Tora Mosai, a professor at one of the universities. Dennis explains: “They actually hit it off, connected. He teaches, well he used to teach at a university where some of the students that are here attended. He did extensive research on maritime conditions around the world. He was so inspired by Hōkūleʽa. Even before Hōkūleʽa he did research on Polynesian Voyages. Some of his research was in Japan, the early era of the discovery of Japan, ancient names and mythologies and what he’s finding is a lot of connections in Polynesia with Japan in those early years. What he was finding is that there seems to be more contact and more communication, more interchange than modern people believe. We think insular, little spheres, but you know there’s the larger sphere of the whole ocean…they (Tiger and Mosai) inspired the rest of the community about building a vessel.” 

The inter-institutional arrangement of Japanese Maritime Colleges and Kauaʽi Community College, came about through some serendipitous connections between Dennis, Kyoko and Tomoki Oku.  Dennis had gotten to know Kyoko through preparations for the 2007 voyage. “When they were planning the sail to Japan she was part of a team of East-West Center students, grad students I should say, who were charged with developing the educational program for the voyage from Hawaii, to Satawal on to Okinawa with Alingano Maisu. Kyoko, “…was kind of a rebellious student, right? When she graduated from high school, she decided she was going to get as far away as she could and ended up in Connecticut, Connecticut College and majored in psychology and English as a second language.  And then she began training, professional training as a translator. She ended up at the East-West Center; that’s how she got involved with Hōkūleʽa.  Kyoko was asked, because she was part of the team that developed the ed materials and because she was from Japan, to help translate.”  

Dennis came aboard Hōkūleʽa in Japan on the 2007 voyage, where he also met up with Tomoki Oku and Kazu Nishimura, the pilots the Japanese government provided as a guide to the unfamiliar waters.  Tomo, who was on faculty at one of the maritime colleges, was completely astounded by Hōkūleʽa.  “So he came on, it was a job you know, the government was paying him.  But then he got on Hoku and he was like wow, non- instrument. He knew instruments upside down backwards, celestial navigation upside down backwards, but without instruments and then the whole cultural side of it, the background, the basis, the foundation of maritime traditions, it was like wow, heavy yeah.  Both of them, Kazu as well as Tomo were just awed by the whole thing, really got involved and it became more than just a job. ‘We’re going to take care of you in Japan and we want to learn from you guys too.’”

At the heart of voyaging is old knowledge that lives in the unconscious mind and allows navigators to connect with the tangible world through intangible means. Tomo got a glimmer of  this while on a training sail to Kauaʽi from Oʽahu. “So he came on and mid-channel we was talking story, it started raining, pouring, no can see the stars and he goes, ‘How can you tell where you going?’ [I told him], you got to feel the waves. In the middle of the rain, he kind of threw it out, ‘Hey, what if I bring students? Would you guys be open to do something with maritime students?’  You know, local style, yeah sure come. These guys when they say something, they serious, they going to find a way to do it.” 

With the realization that Dennis taught college students, Tomo started thinking about an institution to institution arrangement. When they returned to Oʽahu, Tomo flew back to Japan on a separate flight from Dennis who was headed to Kamakura, Japan. “I call ahead and ask Kyoko if she can translate for me when I go to Kamakura to do this talk over there.  She’s at the airport waiting for me, Tomo comes in and Tomo’s black cause he was sailing with us, we were all dark. She sees the back of Tomo wearing a Hōkūleʽa shirt and, ‘Oh, that must be Dennis’, so she goes, gets closer and then, ‘Oh, that’s not Dennis. How come he’s got a Hōkūleʽa shirt and he’s carrying a dry bag and the flight just came from Hawaii?’ So she was talking to Tomo and he was saying yeah, I was just sailing to Kauaʽi on Hōkūleʽa.  And she says, ‘You know this guy Dennis?’ And he says, ‘Yeah, he was my captain, he’s on the next flight.’ I get off the plane and the two of them’s over there and we kind of re-unite.” 

Dennis was scheduled to give a lecture, “Kamakura was trying to build this canoe; they asked me to come to talk about what are the challenges to building a canoe from a grass roots standpoint.  Cause we’re (Kauaʽi) building our canoe and it’s 10 years in the making.  I can tell you all the challenges, a long process, so I talk about that. What is the focus? You got to have a good reason. What’s your foundations? You got to have committed people, some financial income, it’s always a struggle.” 

Tomo quickly decided to seize this opportunity, “He lives in Toyama, on the whole other side of the island. So he rushes home, drives back to Kamakura and he sits in, listens to the lecture and he stays over night with us and we end up talking story, the three of us (Tomo, Kyoko, Dennis) until 3:00 in the morning and in that time, the three of us develop this concept, this idea, even a curriculum you might say on integrating Polynesian wayfinding into Japanese maritime curriculum on navigation and decide to move forward and try to develop an international agreement.  I flew back to my college after that, he goes back, Kyoko’s like the go-between.  Kyoko’s kind of like the glue in a sense; she’s the one keeping us grounded. She knows from the English as a second language standpoint, what are some of the pitfalls, what are some of the ways to get these kids to open up, get them to work to increase their own language abilities.” 

In record time, this dynamic triumvirate had a formal agreement.“Within 9 months we had an international agreement signed, we have exchanges, we have the president coming over, meeting us, seeing our campus. Real formal people, they coming in a suit and tie and I’m in jeans and a t-shirt.  You know I got to wear an aloha shirt, I got to wear shoes, you know, I don’t have nice pants.  But it’s cool and they invite us to go there to see their place and that’s within 9 months.  March, we got this program and then the students come over. Then the second year all of a sudden, we’re bringing in all the other 4 maritime colleges.  I go back to Japan again, cause I got to go visit all these maritime colleges, promote the program, explain to them.  The first year (2009) I tell Pomai and Nohe can these guys come, we no more canoe but I like to take them out. I want a cultural experience for them, but really down home.  It’s growing, it’s still growing and it’s only 3 years, but very positive on all sides.”

Dennis’ journey to the canoe and his present position as kahuna waʽa was one of discovery that began with the kapakahi experiences that were part of the 60’s and Vietnam eras. “My path has been very nontraditional, still is very nontraditional. I’ve always been a rebellious person.  I have empathy when I run into those kinds of students because I used to be like that. I was fortunate in that, though I was rebellious, my parents still loved me and still supported me. No matter they thought that was a dumb thing to do.” Dennis was at school in Chicago for a year during the height of protest movements that emerged in the 60’s and continued on into the 70’s. “It was an eye opener.  What is this Black Panther movement going on, SDS, Grant park, the Democratic Party national convention and protests?”

All these experiences gave Dennis a wider view of his home. “It opened my eyes more too when I came back; so oh, what’s going on here? Then you got into Kalama Valley, Save Our Surf, Waiʽahole-Waikane Valley. Where are Native Hawaiians? Who makes decisions on land, who makes decisions on economy, on development? And then getting involved in the Hawaiian movement here, music, language and Hōkūleʽa. That whole thing it gave me the latitude to flow with whatever was going on and just learn. Just absorb.”

The voyaging efforts of Hōkūleʽa became a focal point for reweaving the breech in the fabric of Hawaiian culture and for reclaiming what had been lost. “I’d say the major reason I came back was while I was on the mainland, I always got asked questions and I didn’t know the answers, right? How could I be knowledgeable in things, Hawaiian things that I didn’t know, like language or music or cultural practices? When I came back the primary thing was I wanted to learn language and I liked music; music that was my thing. The only place you could learn Hawaiian was here; they didn’t teach it any place else. 

“So now I wanted to learn something, I had a purpose right?  I started off at Kapiolani Community College when it was behind McKinley H.S. Of course I couldn’t get into U.H. because I flunked out. First year I went to Kapiolani and the second year I went concurrently to Kapiolani and Manoa.  And I didn’t have a car; all I had was a 10 speed bike.  I’d go Kapiolani by McKinley and I’d ride all the way up to Manoa and go to my classes, come back and I actually had a student job at Kapiolani so I had to come back to Kapiolani and work.  It was good, it was hard, but it was my choice and so it became valuable to me. I did a bachelor’s in Hawaiian studies; it took me 10 years cause I was always working.”

While at the University of Hawaii, Dennis became involved with Hōkūleʽa. “Ben Finney was one of my professors and he used to talk about it. They were building it and they had already constructed the hulls and they were going through the finishing things at Kualoa. And he said, ‘You guys come down, we can always use the help.’ So one weekend, me and this other Hawaiian guy went down and we were just walking on the beach and all of a sudden we turn on the side and we see these 2 bows sticking out from the hau bush.  Ben Finney was there and he saw us and walked down and he walked us around the canoe. Then he said, ‘You guys want to come sail with us?’ and I thought, you going to put this in the water? And he said, ‘No, no. I have my smaller canoe, Naleihia, that I was kind of running a test on’, sail designs and stuff. So we spent the rest of the day sailing Kaneohe Bay on that thing and I was like, oh this is fun.  So we went down a half a dozen times helped tie on the hale and do little lashing things. Met some of the other people, names you know but the first time you meeting, it’s like wow, you’re just like in awe already. We were there at the launching, that was chicken skin.  Then the core was there and you just kind of back away, you just observe; I just kind of kept track of them.”

Hōkūleʽa was also an inspiration for the development of a nontraditional, experiential approach to learning and teaching; in Hawaiian, aʽo is the word used for both learning and teaching and Dennis embraces that philosophy. “Connecting to students, making things relevant to students, always looking at how I can do it better.  How can I make it interesting, how can I make it relevant, how can I connect to these students? The community college is a teaching institution.”

Dennis works to stimulate students to develop a broad, informed view of the world. “My whole thing in education is I want them to be able to make good judgments base on values; based on what they feel is important, not just themselves but in the larger society.  So I’m in Hawaiian studies right? But my Hawaiian studies isn’t just like a regular history course (memorizing dates).  I’m talking about how come this is the way it is now?  Why did that happen? And let’s look at it. We talk about aloha ʽaina or malama ʽaina, this whole quote, unquote catch words, like sustainability.  O.K. what is sustainability? So we go back and talk about ʽaina, land; we talk about how do Hawaiians understand or their mythology or their philosophy on how things came to be. 

“Then you bring it to today and you say now: Why do you think Hawaiians are upset at development or upset at not having land? Why is it important? Can all live in apartments, can all live in condominiums.  Do we need the land? Why is it so important, why does it always come up? And then you start getting them to think deeper. Then you get them to realize that eh, maybe because they are connected to the land, they are descended from the land, they are offspring. 

If the Hawaiian understands that his relation to the land is that he is the youngest sibling of this whole geneaology and all of this is his kupuna, his grandparents, then you cut up your grandparents, you sell this, you sell that, you trade that.  Do you do that to your grandparents? How does that make you feel?   

“The latest big one (issue) actually involved the whole state, what was it 3 years ago, 4 years ago? The ferry thing (super-ferry). We talked about that in class. What are your thoughts about that? At first, oh yeah, yeah, sounds good. I can go Honolulu, I can go buy Costco, cause we didn’t have Costco at the time or Home Depot and these kind of things right? Well o.k. that’s good.  Think about it the other way now, people going to be coming over here.  What do you think about that? Oh yeah, my cousin guys can come and I say o.k. What about bringing over 600 cars at one time? With 800 people, whatever the numbers was. And they began thinking about it. Well then think about this: What about guys come go hunt? What about guys come and go fish, what about guys come and go gather, who governs all that? How did the Hawaiians in the old days manage resources?  Then looking at contemporary society from a sustainability-Hawaiian perspective: How do you manage it? How do you mitigate some of these kinds of things? I said, you know what, you guys go to the public hearings, read the newspapers, do the research and you guys make up your minds. Whatever happens now, is what you guys are going to end up with in the future.  And you know they stood and they did something about it. So I was really proud of that. That’s what education is.”

What the voyaging canoes have shown us is that life is a continuous voyage of learning that really no longer has as much to do with moving forward as it has to do with circling back and reclaiming the wisdom to sustain this planet for future generations.  Hawaii and the islands of the Pacific stand as a last bastion against the rampant, accelerated materialism that has plagued human existence for millennia. It takes an island to build and sustain a canoe and it takes a canoe to build and sustain an island. It takes individuals such as Tiger, the Bertelmann ʽOhana, Dennis, Kyoko, Tora, Kazu, Tomo and all the members of the canoe ʽohana who hold a vision and come together with lokahi to find a way forward that will sustain everyone with Aloha.  

*The canoe is the island, the island is the canoe.
**Source:  http://www.navaching.com/hawkeen/sline.html 

By Jan Wizinowich

My son Wynton and I spent the day witnessing the preparation and re-launch of Makaliʽi.  Although intellectually, I’m asking myself why we were spending the whole day watching this slow process, in my heart, it was what Makaliʽi commanded, presence and mindfulness. Whether on the ocean or in drydock, the waʽa  is about presence and mindfulness.  

The crew are making final preparations, all locked together by their strong desire and the knowledge that the waʽa demands the blending of hearts, hands and minds. Even before the waʽa is in the water, the crew is tightening their inner control, every move a conscious one. Like aikido masters, they are firmly grounded yet always aware of the potential energies surrounding them.  The constantly swirling, gusting punch of the winds remind them  that the only control they have is their own center of gravity, so that they can work amidst the possible chaos that awaits them, and maintain the balance of survival.

The keiki and teachers from Aha Punanaleo ʽo Waimea Pre-school arrive and gather beside the waʽa.  “Isn’t the wind blowing in the wrong direction?” asks one of the teachers. Perhaps they too are getting a glimpse into the nature of a world without apparent boundaries, borders, laws or rules.  How many of these young ones will venture out into this world of their ancestors?   

There is a procession to the finger pier where the Makaliʽi will be launched using a crane.  The truck pulls the flatbed where the waʽa rests uneasily and is led by Kealiʽi, who along with his wife Pua, anchored the drydock effort and Sonny acting as pilots.  Just behind three exuberant youth frolic, running up to hitch a ride, then falling away to continue their dance of delight.  Behind them is a pilgrimage and like many pilgrims, they are led by their hopes for the future and a need to reconnect with the past. For the Hawaiian culture, it all began with the waʽa.  The winds are alternating between cooing caresses and angry jackhammer blows, offended that this plaything of theirs is being kept from them still, wanting to sweep it away into the sea. 

Indeed, out of her element, she looks hulking and in deep contrast to the graceful sweeping mountains that are ka makani’s plaything, a slide down which the wind flies,  picking up speed and colliding with great joy and exuberance to land another blow to the waʽa.  As she weaves her way through the commercial pier, she takes on a look of grace, passing brightly colored containers that possibly hold the detritus of what we think of as necessary to our lives. With the exception of a few yachts, the harbor and peer no longer hold a sense of excitement, the potential for adventure. It is disguised as a small undistinguished village of oversized building blocks stacked in various arrays.  In contrast, the Makaliʽi is a bird, among the rocks and poised for flight. 

Now poised on the peer and undergoing more preparations, we all gather as if before an altar of worship, to lend our own spirit energies to the efforts.  A circle of life is created with the keiki watching patiently and playfully, while the crew, some of whom grew out of Punanaleo, steadily complete the remaining tasks.  The mast is lifted by the crane and stepped into the heiau, trailing many lines like a maypole, with one or two crew members poised at each end.  Each adding their own tension to a line, they wait for the call to tighten or loosen that will make the mast come true.  Laulima. 

The watchers are called on to bring water, add weight to a line. Kaleihinano, Punanaleo teacher gazes at her beautiful son and daughter, who are self-assured members of the crew.  Then finally the keiki have to leave, but rather than break the connections, they seal it with chant.  Stepping forward in a respectful line, they call out.  The crew pauses in stilled respect and when the keiki have finished, they give an answering chant, the lead voice being passed between crew members.  

Throughout this process, the two captains present, Shorty Bertelmann and Chadd Paishon, observe from the shadows cast by the dock warehouses, letting the young crew find their way and test what they have learned from these wise men. They are witnesses of a different sort.  By the time that Makaliʽi is finally lifted into the water, my son and I are the only two witnesses left on the peer.  Hulo, hulo!  Kealiʽi makes the call and soon a boat will come to tow her back to her home berth, this time in the water though and soon to be a frolicking interface between humans and the winds.

By Jan Wizinowich

Trust in the knowledge of the ancestors, which is what Papa Mau had that made it possible for him to guide Hokulea to Tahiti through waters unknown to him. That is an important lesson available to anyone who is open to it. This was the case for Gail Loofbourrow,  a labor and delivery nurse, who experienced the power of aumakua during a difficult birth, “Even if I do not understand a word or belief at the moment I need to respect what I hear and know that it is true. This has led to a wonderful journey toward a greater understanding of those who were here first and set an example of true aloha in the way they live their lives.”  We did not arrive to this moment alone, through our own efforts, but through the grace of those who traveled before us.   When the Polynesian voyaging canoes embark on their journey of circumnavigation, they will really be traveling backwards at the same time as they are moving forward--back across the centuries when voyagers found their way here, but also forward to show the path of survival and human sustainability. They are an example of what can be accomplished by returning to and living the traditional values of Aloha: 

A: Ahonui---Patience, perseverance

L: Lokahi---Harmony, agreement

O: ʽOhana---Working together for a common goal. 

H:  Haʽahaʽa---Humility

A: Akahai---Grace, gentleness

The Makaliʽi, this island’s voyaging canoe, was built because a core group of people, led by Clay Bertelmann and the Bertelmann ʽOhana, persevered with quiet patience.  With ego on hold, a hana nui attitude and an atmosphere of harmony focused on a common goal the Makaliʽi was born.  Even in the face of their amazing accomplishment, the extended canoe ʽohana maintains an attitude of humility and grace.  Aloha continues to work miracles every Saturday as many hands work together to ready Makaliʽi for her next big voyage, with every volunteer, no matter how humble their contribution, being acknowledged with appreciation.  

It has been suggested that the impetus for the original voyaging canoe was an insufficiency of resources and that the island worked together to create a vessel that would journey to find a place for the people to thrive and grow.  Their journey, the first of many, was successful and Hawaii was born.  The first Polynesians here made use of the abundant resources to flourish and maintain a life that was grounded in sustainability practices, while at the same time European culture was making its way from the East.  Unlike the finite world of island living, the vast North American continent with seemingly vast resources did not require conservation practices.  These two worlds met in Hawaii and now we are seeing the results of a mindset of endless resources to be exploited. 

The sustainable practices of the first Hawaiians are being slowly reclaimed as we prepare to face water and food shortages that threaten our survival. “He waʽa he moku,  he moku he waʽa,” (The canoe is an island and the island is the canoe) are words at the core of master navigator, Chadd Paishon’s philosophy.  The voyaging canoes are both metaphor and a practical lesson in sustainability, as well as perpetuating the wisdom of Aloha.  In that spirit, Hokulea will be making a statewide voyage to connect with island communities that are engaging in quiet, steady efforts towards sustainability and an island world based in and blessed with Aloha. Mahalo ke Akua 

By Jan Wizinowich

Monday morning, January 15, following Sunday’s ceremony, a gathering of friends and family to release the canoes, Mahukona is quiet and peaceful.  The day is clear with light Northeast winds fussing the water beyond the shadow of the island.  On a small grassy knoll, oriented Southwest, is a ring of stones that form a navigational heiau providing guidance to voyagers past and present.  Beyond, whales breach and sound as if in invitation to the voyagers to share their ocean highway.  When the conditions are right and the captains and navigators concur, Maisu, Hokulea and their escort yachts will begin their journey to Papa Mau.

The canoe, Maisu is the latest effort in an odyssey to reestablish traditional ocean voyaging using the art and science of wayfinding practiced by the ancient Polynesians. The inception of the Polynesian Voyaging Society in 1973, began the process of reconnecting with the lost art of wayfinding practiced more than 800 years ago by Polynesian voyagers.  Hokule’a’s first voyage in 1976, navigated by master navigator Mau Piailug, provided the inspiration for the building of canoes throughout Polynesia, the training of successive generations of navigators and many historic voyages.  But none of this would have been possible without Mau’s generous gift of the knowledge of traditional navigation. The ocean voyagers of Hawaii wanted to give something back to Mau and to the younger generations in Micronesia; Maisu was the result.

According to Maisu’s navigator, Chadd Paishon, “The idea of the canoe was to help him help his people. Every canoe is born for a specific purpose and every voyage has a theme.” The name Maisu derives from a Satawalese word for breadfruit that falls to the ground during a high wind and feeds all the people.  Mau’s mission is to help his people  not be dependent on western contrivances such as motors and gasoline. “Mau thinks it’s crazy that so many people are buying motors when they don’t even have gas.” (Paishon)

Planning for Maisu began in 2001 when Mau met with several members of the Hawaii Voyaging community. Maisu, a Big Island grassroots effort, coordinated by Na Kalai Wa’a Moku O Hawaii (The Canoe Builders of the District of Hawaii) began its life  on Oahu, where the friends of Hokule’a and Hawai’iloa constructed the twin hulls. Young Brothers then shipped the hulls without charge, from O’ahu to Kawaihae, in September 2003, where the majority of the work to build the canoe began.  This involved a core group of people headed by the late master navigator, Clay and his brother Shorty, as well as Steve Garrett (master boat builder) and scores of volunteers who gave what they could.  “Clay’s daughter Pomai Bertelmann of Nā Kalai Wa’a Moku O Hawai’i pointed out ‘we had people from New Zealand, Argentina, South Africa, Japan, Hawai’i, California, we had people from all over the world working on this canoe. We couldn’t have asked for more.’” (Malama Hawaii News)

Rather than being constructed from blueprints, the design evolved based on the purpose and available materials.  Weaving all the factors together, Maisu evolved in what seemed to be a dialogue between the spirit of the canoe and her builders.  

First they looked at Makali’i to evaluate what worked about the design and what didn’t work. “We also had to look at the waters where Mau lives. The traditional Micronesian canoe has a much sharper hull because they need to sail more to the windward. But Hawaiian sailing canoes have much more rounded hulls because there is much more of a lee drift.” (Paishon) This means there is a drift to the west, which in Hokule’a’s case would have caused the canoe to miss Tahiti, a few degrees longitude east of Hawaii. However, because Mau’s plan is to teach as many people as he can while his health permits, he requested a large Hawaiian voyaging canoe to accommodate larger groups.

The mast and the sails, however, needed to work for the wind conditions it would encounter in the various Micronesian island groups. “Normal windspeed in Micronesia is 5-10 knots, which means they need to use very large sails and need taller masts to support them.” (Paishon) Recent sea trials in much windier Hawaiian waters have sent Maisu flying, proving the effectiveness of the rigging.

The electrical system also had to be designed to work in Micronesian waters. This was designed and installed by Robert Harbison, who was at the recent launching of Maisu. Pointing out a sealed metal rectangular box about 1’x3’x2’, securely attached to the deck, he explained that it contained the electrical system that will be used to charge and power any onboard electronics such as radios. A self-contained modular system perfect for the Micronesian islands, as it can be shipped back to Hawaii for repairs or replacement parts.

Maisu is comprised of two 57 foot hulls, the top sections of which are painted yellow and the bottom sections black. Launched on Dec. 16th at Kawaihae Harbor, captained by Shorty Bertelmann,  Maisu will soon begin her maiden voyage. The first leg of the voyage, crewed by five Micronesians and one Maori and seven Hawaiians,  will take Maisu to Majuro in the Marshal Islands, where there will be a crew rotation. From there Maisu sails to Ponape and Truk, in the Truk Islands, continuing to exchange crew members along the way.  The final destination in the Carolines includes stops on Pulap, Satawal (Mau’s home island), Woleai, Ulithi and Yap.

Mau returned to Satawal last June, but is in regular contact with Chadd.  Although, due to failing health, Mau has limited time to carry out his mission,  “… every navigator has a backup plan.” His son, Sesario, has decided to carry on Mau’s work and  Mau also feels secure in the knowledge that, “…he has planted the seed in Hawaii.” The voyage has come full circle.  The breadfruit that came to Hawaii and fed the travelers who found their way through the mysterious ocean forces will, through Mau’s gift of wayfinding, return to the source.  
 
The crew still needs tickets for their return flights from Micronesia.  Donations can be made to:  Attention Maisu Crew Airfares / Kalai Wa’a Moku O Hawaii/
 
**Name given by Pua Kanaka’ole

By Jan Wizinowich

Hoku’lea’s 1976 voyage to Tahiti inspired a renaissance of Hawaiian Culture that continues to gather strength like a tsunami sweeping the Pacific.  The wa’a or canoe is at the center of that wave, a source of freedom, discovery and sustenance, forming a link to the  ancient wisdom born from a knowledge of and deep connection to the natural world. The whole process of building a canoe is a unifying one that connects the forest to the ocean and requires that people pull together. Finding the right tree, following the protocol for cutting and preparing it, working together to bring it on its first journey from forest to the ocean shore, the canoe emerges.  The canoe builder has ancient knowledge that allows him to enter into a dialogue with the spirit waiting within the log to take shape. The ‘ohana becomes attuned to that voice and is drawn into the anticipation of discovery, like waiting for the birth of a child. 

The recent arrival of seven voyaging canoes from the South Pacific, (see: http://pvs.kcc.hawaii.edu), highlights this increasing reconnection with ancient knowledge and wisdom and a new solidarity between Pacific Islanders. This tremendous effort was made possible through many smaller efforts, just as the renaissance of Hawaiian Culture has come about through the efforts of many individuals joining their energies to perpetuate a path that will sustain future generations. 

One such small, but significant effort at Hawaii Academy of Arts and Sciences (HAAS) in Pahoa, has reached completion this year.  Arriving at HAAS to meet Kimo Peleiholani-Blankenfeld , the canoe builder, we walk through the rain to the back of the school where the canoe rests under an open sided work area. Beyond, there is an expansive school garden, lush with food. Kimo and his wife, Mahealani arrive with big aloha smiles, offering a grounded, clear-eyed presence.

The story of this canoe began in New Zealand, the point of origination of 8 rare New Zealand or Kauri pine seedlings planted at the state arboretum in Hilo and also the point of origin of one of the seven recently arrived voyaging canoes. The source of the log for the canoe is owed to the serendipitous aloha forces always at work here.  Just as characters can sometimes be in search of an author, a very special log was in search of a canoe builder.   “Three years ago just before I started this they had a storm and one of the trees fell over and they said it was termite eaten…. so they had this one guy cut all the trees down and the last one they cut down was this one, didn’t have termites.  And just so happened they had something for Obama, a rally in Hilo and Steve went, Hirakami he’s the head master of the school.  When he went he met the guy who cut em down, that’s his good friend. So they was talking and by the time they left there he told him that they had this log sitting over there and he told him that if he wanted they were going to donate it to the school and he called me the next day and he asked me if I wanted to work the canoe. I said, "Sure!” 

Kimo’s canoe building life began on O’ahu, but was soon to take him all over the Pacific and the Hawaiian Islands. Kimo and his five siblings grew up in Honolulu, “Right there on the ocean in Kulio’o. So we always surfing, paddling canoe from 9 year-old, 10 year-old.”  His early experience with canoe building was with master builder, Wright Bowman. “I knew Mr. Bowman from when I was 9 or 10. He was always a canoe builder from when I was a small kid.” Then at the age of 15 Kimo met his destiny when Puaniho Tauotaha entered his life.  “I learned to make canoes from my hanai father from Tahiti. From when I was 15 I started working. From then on I just chucked it all in and worked on canoes.” This began an odyssey throughout the Hawaiian Islands and Tahiti.  “From then on I traveled all around the Islands with him and Tahiti building canoes...He told me he built over three or four hundred canoes.”

In the case of the HAAS canoe the log came to Kimo, but the building process usually  begins in the forest. “When looking in the forest for a canoe log, “My father told me, ‘When you pick the canoe [log] in the forest and we’re standing up where the sun hits every day from the morning.  In reality this side is like the hardest side already because it’s being baked everyday, everyday. He would make an X on the tree so when it fell down you would know exactly which side we going to use.” After the log is found and cut,“… we would work em up in the valley or wherever we found them in the mountains.  Carve em pretty much for a couple of days and then drag em out with the family, then trailer them home and work on em inside the canoe shed.”

Ancient knowledge handed down through the generations was closely guarded. Kimo was the only person outside the ‘ohana to which Tauotaha passed on canoe building knowledge.  “He didn’t teach anybody outside of his family besides me for building canoes.  Lot of times we would be working and people would come around to see how he was doing stuff, he’d stop working and we’d just sit there and talk story until they left. Then we go back to work.”

In the Hawaiian Islands, Kimo and Puaniho built racing canoes for various island clubs. “Mostly we did all racing canoes in Hawaii. Kauai, Lanai, up on the Big Island, we did for Kaupua, Hui Nalu in Honolulu. We did canoes up for Kalapana. Then we went to Maui.  So pretty much all the islands we touched and went around.” 

The project on Maui proved to be a bit more challenging. “The one in Maui was an old canoe John Lake built in the 30’s.  By the time we went over there in the 80’s it was in disrepair. Had only like the bottom part of the canoe.  Everything else was all rotten and we went and built it back up from scratch. It only looked like one feed trough when we started. From there we finished it just like this to the end and they’re racing it today for Maui for the Hawaiian Canoe Club.” The challenge was patching together the sides and the bottom. “All glues, just glue. We got one patching machine. I swear one side had about 200 patches.  But when we finished was all good. The manu (the piece that covers the front and back of the canoe) for the canoe, the front and back manu comes from Kalapana, from the log we used to build the canoe for Kalapana. We brought em over there and we put em on. Was nice.”

Kimo moved to Kalapana about 30 years ago when he was twenty and married into the Peleiholani family, whose residence in Kalapana traces back to the early 1800’s when Chief Peleiholani moved the ‘ohana from O’ahu.  Kimo and Mahealani have seven children, six girls and one boy and they are all involved with the canoe. “Everyone from baby all the way up work on the canoe.”

Because the log was already in place, Kimo’s first task was to examine it to decide which side would be the bottom. After the bottom of the canoe is identified, a sort of sculpting process begins. “The first thing we did was the top. We cut off the top. And then we drew the lines for the sides. Then as soon as we got the lines for the side that was the second thing to come off. Once we got the sides off we tip it on the side and we did the bottom to get the shape we wanted.  We shaped the bottom with hand planers, electric planers.”

 There is a protocol for the order in which the work is done. “We do the outside first then we do the inside.  Because we got to finish the outside first cause if you take the inside, could make it too thin.  You got to get the whole shape done on the outside, then once you finish the whole shape you go in and jam the inside.” This is done using a chain saw; several grooves are cut along the log and then an adze is used to finish carving it out. Getting the inside shaped right takes experience and is done, “Pretty much by feel…… So mostly, when we working on the inside, when we finished, usually we come down to one inch, maybe ¾ inch. Pretty much from tapping on the bottom of the hull you can see dust or whatever jumping on the inside.  I knew this thing would be light so I left if thick. Leaving it thick makes the boat more strong. I swear maybe two guys can lift it.”

After the shaping, the manu are constructed and fitted on the canoe. Then the iako (the arms that reach out from the side) and the ama (the piece that is held by the iako) is attached. “The ama and the iako are made out of hao. Even in Tahiti the ama is made out of hao.” At various stages there is much sanding and finishing to be done, for which Kimo was assisted by HAAS students. “The group that was helping me was working the fish ponds in Kapoho and they working the fish ponds in Keokaha. The days they weren’t traveling back and forth they were coming and helping me work on the canoe.”

Kimo wanted the canoe to be one solid piece so he had to work with the dimensions of the log. It’s “not actually a racing canoe. It was short yeah.  Usually for a racing canoe it’s 45 feet long. This one is 32 feet [so] I only made it for 5 man.” That way the paddlers have room and will avoid hitting each other and there will be room for an extra paddle. “Number 5 has room for seating and then they can put an extra steering paddle in back. Cause usually if the paddle breaks the steersman has an extra paddle in back or either that or he gonna take the one in front of him.  Somebody got to steer.  If they’re racing or doing long distance they got extra paddles one on each of the iako.”

However it is possible to lengthen a canoe by setting another piece in the center, which is perhaps becoming more necessary with the dwindling supply of canoe logs of sufficient length. “One of the canoes we did [in Honolulu] we had to add on another 9 feet.  We took it to Mr. Bowman. He was the master canoe builder in Hawaii.  We learned from him plenty.  We went to him and took the template from one of the canoes we built in Honolulu.  We took it up to his house and he figured out all the designs, all the cuts. He cut it out for us one night and we went in the morning and glued it all together. Next we went back, took the whole piece to the canoe we was working on. We set it right next to the canoe and it was exactly the same shape. The canoe is now at “...the Hui Nalu Canoe Club, that’s one of the fastest boats they got over there.”

The name for the HAAS canoe, Hana Ka Naia (working dolphin), seemed to be a whisper from the canoe itself and the magic surrounding its creation.  “You just talk to the tutus and talk to the spirits.  I just asked my tutus and that name came to me. I went to talk to Steve and I said, ‘Hey Steve, when I finished the manu, I’m going to put the iwa birds on the back and on the front manu I’m going to put a couple dolphins.’ Every time you’re on the ocean in boats, dolphins are always in front and if you look in the sky you always got the iwa above.”

The vital tradition of the canoe is being kept alive and growing throughout the Pacific, through the efforts of people like Kimo who give of themselves to the keiki, the ‘aina and the Akua, whose presence preserves and protects the culture that connects all the islands of the Pacific. “I’ve been doing other things for awhile but first was the canoes. I want to get back to the canoe.  I want to try and make a project and go to the schools and teach all the kids how to build them. If they want to learn our culture, that’s our culture, was based on the canoe. How we came to Hawaii was the canoe.  For our whole culture the canoe was the first.”  

By Jan Wizinowich

Kala Thomas, like the young kalo, has been nourished by strong Hawaiian traditions, as well as unique educational experiences. The culmination of those experiences has been the opportunity to work on the latest sailing canoe, Alingano Maisu. Stepping from the shadows of the work-shed used to construct Maisu, I am greeted by a shy and self-contained young man. We drive to the south end of Kawaihae Harbor, where Maisu peacefully awaits her first voyage. 
 
Finding a place in the shade, we sit and “talk story”. Like a canoe being pushed along by subtle ocean currents, eventually finding harbor, Kala has made his way to this place. After finishing eighth grade at Waimea School, Kala was home-schooled for two years, which involved extracurricular activities. Living in view of Mauna Kea, he’d been curious about Keck and what went on at the observatory, so Keck was his first choice. His offer to volunteer was soon turned into a job offer, working in the automotive shop with Bart McDonald a few hours each morning. He maintained this job throughout his high school career. 

During the second year of his home-schooling he became involved in a marine studies program called Kula Nai’a with Dr. Jan Östman-Lind and his wife Ania Driscoll-Lind that involved a combination of class-work and field studies. The students learned strategies for collecting data such as the use of a theotilite to measure the off-shore location of whales, and did counts of certain types of fish in various coastal areas. 

The summer following his sophomore year, Kala was selected with a group of 10 other students from Hawaii and 6 students from Alaska to participate in a program at Oregon State University called B.E.S.T. (Bridging Excellence in Science and Tradition). While doing more science field activities, he also got a taste of the native culture of the Pacific Northwest, as well as the chance to interact with people his own age. “Because I had been home-schooled, I hadn’t had a chance to be with people my own age. So for me the program was really good.”

 His need to be with a peer group led Kala to join Kanu O’ Ka Aina, a Hawaiian charter school established in 2000. There, he experienced learning in an o’hana, and traditional agricultural techniques while completing the classes needed for graduation, learning photography and videography. There were four different project groups and Kala was chosen to farm at Pu’u Pa Lehu. “When we got there, there was just a grove of eucalyptus trees. We cleared the land and grew taro, sweet potatoes, sugar cane, and bananas.” He worked with Kumu Nalei Kahakalau, to learn traditional methods of growing food. 

Kala was especially fascinated with the symbol of the taro plant. “Taro is a major component of the Hawaiian Culture. The taro plant has shoots on the side called oha, which is the root for the word ‘ohana. Also there can be successive generations on one plant. I found that interesting.” They also grew varieties of sugar cane whose origins could be traced back to ancient Hawaiians.

Rather than do performing arts, Kala was given the opportunity to learn both still and video photography. He was provided with the equipment through which he was able to learn a skill while at the same time providing Kanu with documentation of their program.

 The summer before 12th grade, Kala got the opportunity to again broaden his cultural and academic horizons by going to New Mexico with the Earth Watch program. “This was a really good project. The first day they took us to the Natural History Museum. I was amazed when I found out that the desert was at one time an ocean.” There was a dual focus of astrophysics and local native cultures. They visited Bandelier Monument and viewed the village sites of such ancient peoples as the Anasasi . The astronomy program involved students in finding specific objects and recording the time and position of that object. “I thought it was interesting but too much math.” The students were also able to visit the radio telescope array and actually got to climb up to the control room and stand on the edge of the dish.

 While all these experiences provided Kala with a broad foundation of knowledge and experiences, at his heart was the canoe. “Canoes and me are a long story. When I was growing up, I’m always seeing canoes. They were always in my awareness.” Kala was in 2nd and 3rd grades when the Hokule’a was being built. The students learned about the construction of the canoe and the history of voyaging canoes. When the Hokule’a embarked on her first voyage the students tracked and recorded its route. The intent of the voyage was to pass on the old knowledge to the next generation and so was named Na Mamo (“For the Children”). 

Kala was able to witness the building of the next canoe, Hawai’ loa, through visits to the Bishop Museum during different stages of construction. “There were huge logs and then every time we visited, they had changed shape. I have a vivid memory of walking under the two hulls. I was so small and looking up I could see the cross pieces with all the lines hanging down.” It wasn’t until Hawaii Loa returned from its voyage, that Kala got a look at the finished canoe. “I really wanted to get involved, but I just didn’t know how.” 

While in 7th grade at Waimea School, Kala got an opportunity to participate in the construction of a 16 foot training canoe, Hoku Li’i Li’i. One of the crew members of the Makali’i supervising the building of the canoe was Chadd Paishon (see Maisu article). The students were given classroom instruction on the parts and structure of the canoe and worked doing sanding and other tasks. While he was unable to complete the whole project it gave Kala another line to the canoe. 

After graduating from Kanu O Ka Aina and completing two video projects he’d been hired to do, Kala enrolled at H.C.C. in Hilo. In the summer he also took a forestry class at U.H. Hilo. He really liked the class, even though it was a 400 level class and he didn’t understand some aspects of it. However he did grasp the tangible aspects of forestry. It made sense following closely to his experience of traditional farming while at Kanu. They went out into the native forests, visiting upcountry Pa’auilo, Pu’u Wa’a Wa’a, and Hakalau wildlife refuge. It became clear to him that “…a forest is not just trees, but an entire ecosystem. Just because there are trees, it doesn’t mean there is a forest.”

While attending classes at H.C.C., Kala heard about Maisu through his friend Keili’i Bertelmann, who is the son of navigator Clay Bertelmann. “I thought about it a lot and I decided I wanted to be involved. So when the hulls came there was a blessing and I made a commitment then in front of the group.” While Kala was waiting for construction to start, he attended Hawaiian Studies classes and dreamt of the canoe. “I would be sitting in class and look down at my notebook and the page would be covered with pictures of canoes.” 

The Hawaiian Studies classes were interesting enough to break through his canoe dreams though. Studying myths and legends gave him a deeper understanding of the history and the ancient culture of the Hawaiians. And of course there were navigation stories to add to his knowledge of seafaring. His teachers were inspiring because, “The old practices are in use with them. They didn’t just teach about them they really live it.” 

When construction began in earnest Kala got the opportunity to live the life of the canoe builder. “We lived together, worked together. Eat, sleep and build canoe.” At first Kala was a little worried. “I don’t think I really understood the meaning of the commitment I made. There were times when I wasn’t sure I could do it. I’m not really a woodworker and I felt kind of stupid. But I got comfort because I was around people who had more experience. I may not know what I’m doing, but others do and you can ask them and they’ll help you.” 

Then one day Papa Mau decided it was time for Kala to learn navigation. “He’d use rocks to show the navigational stars. Then he’d say: ‘Memorize that and come back and I’ll teach you some more.’” And on it went from March until Papa Mau’s departure in June. This pinnacle experience has changed him in many ways, but mostly Kala is more patient with himself and other people. “I found strength I didn’t know I had.” 

The kalo has been nourished and cultivated and now it is time to give back. Kala has been doing this with his involvement in the Makali’i education program. Through this program, where students sail aboard the Makali’i for a week at a time, he shares his knowledge and experience. He tries to impart to the students what he has learned from his teachers,that sailing is about living and working as a family. “It builds character and teaches you to follow through with commitments and then you gain confidence. You don’t just learn stuff and spit it out, you have to live it everyday. Aloha ka kahi.” 

The next phase is the voyage. “We’re all feeling a little sad now that the building is done. It’s taken so long and the commitment was so strong that I feel a little lost.” Although that feeling didn’t last for long; when all was completed except final preparations, Kala had the opportunity to go to O’ahu to teach Hawaiian studies.

Kala’s hard work and commitment paid off when his dream of sailing to his teacher, Papa Mau, came true.  He was able to sail on the last leg of the journey and was present on Alingano Maisu when she arrived on Satawal.  It was a lifetime, unforgettable experience and hopefully the first of many more blue water sails for Kala.