South seas voyage: the Marquesas Islands and beyond
Tom Eshelman’s Research Notebook
Voyages of discovery are at the heart of the Kona Diaries story. All the characters in our story are “in motion” one way or another; searching for connection and horizons larger than those offered by the received wisdom of the 1930’s and 40’s. One of the most remarkable adventures in ‘The Diaries’ follows the field research saga of Hawaiian anthropologist Moke (sounds like “Smokey”) Kealoha on his quest to confirm the origins of the ancient Hawaiians. Moke is driven both by science and by legend. First his curiosity is captivated by an ancient family heirloom’a portion of a carved stone said to be more than one thousand years old. Inspired by this clue, plus stories passed from generation to generation on the Big Island of Hawaii, he pieces together a trail of evidence, all pointing south to the ‘lost’ Marquesas Islands. To confirm his theory that the original Hawaiians migrated from the far away Marquesa’s (40 years before the astounding Hawaii-Tahiti voyage of the doubled hulled canoe Hokule’a) he makes plans to travel to the remote Marquesas archipelago. There he will search for proof of the great migration among the island people who are distant relatives of his own Hawaiian ancestors.
To capture a sense of the location and spirit of Moke’s story my wife Mary Stewart and I set out to follow his journey to some of the most remote and beautiful islands in the world. Our goal was to make our way to the South Pacific to talk to people and retrace Moke’s steps. I was lucky to have some great guides along the way—teachers who helped us understand the cultural sophistication and dynamism behind the great Polynesian migrations. My partner Mary Stewart with her amazing knack for spotting crucial details was an invaluable asset every step of the way.
Off to the Marquesas
In the time of Kona Diaries, back in the 1930’s, just getting to the Marquesas was an incredible challenge. Populations on the islands were small, and the people had been decimated by successive waves of foreign diseases. Economies were marginal at best. Inter-island traders and mission boats sailed only infrequently to the isolated, sparsely populated ports of these rugged and lovely island worlds. Fortunately, getting lost in the South Pacific is relatively straightforward in the 21st century.
We set out for the Marquesas via Tahiti from our home in North Carolina on January 26, 2006, overnighting in Los Angeles. The next day we boarded a new Air Tahiti Nui Airbus 340—a sparkling-clean and fastidiously well-maintained aircraft. To our surprise it was a nearly effortless journey. The Air Tahiti Nui cabin attendants were super friendly and really seemed to enjoy their jobs. With this kind of service, the eight and a half hour flight was over in no time and soon we found ourselves warmly welcomed at the Faa’a airport in Papeete, Tahiti.
Heidi Baumgartner, guide and travel consultant extraordinaire, met us and escorted us to the Intercontinental Hotel, undeterred by an impressive and persistent torrential rainstorm. The next day—still raining—we set out on a wet but instructive tour the island of Tahiti. As we headed back to the hotel that evening it was still raining. Very early next morning we packed up and caught a ride to the airport to catch a plane to the island of Nuku Hiva. We took off in an Air Tahiti turboprop through the never-ending rain: just three hours later we standing on a sunny airfield carved into the side of this formidable and stunningly beautiful island.
I was mindful that the place where we’d landed would have been completely impenetrable in the Kona Diaries time frame of the mid 1930’s. Even now, echoes of the impassable Nuku Hiva landscape of Moke Kealoha’s time persist. To get to the other side of the island, we traveled in a carefully organized caravan of tough 4-wheel drive trucks. The first three quarters of the trip took us over a rough snaking road—inching across deep gullies and running cautiously along the ridges of vaulting hills. We climbed for about an hour and then started downward towards the opposite coast, still bumping along on the primitive road. At last we reached a plateau—ranching country in contemporary Nuku Hiva—where we stopped at last for lunch (beef and a chicken shish kabob plus salad, and—thank goodness—cold beer.) After lunch, a fairly good paved road took us down from the Taovii plateau to the sea. On our decent we stopped at a turnout to photograph the impressive views of Taiohao Bay and village. This older village most likely would be the only bay where our adventurous character Moke could have arrived at Nuku Hiva in 1936. It would also have been the place from which he departed for Hiva Oa. Mary Stewart and I began taking photographs in earnest, aiming to capture the shifting light and intense beauty of this key destination in Kona Diaries.
Spirit of Oceanus
From our spectacular roadside perch, high above the bay, we spotted the “Spirit of Oceanus”—the boat that would be our home for the next week. Thirty minutes later we were dockside, preparing to get on board. As we waited, several local families wandered down to the landing to take in the sunset. For a long moment we drank in the contrast between the dramatic location and the everyday familiarity of these friendly people, so at ease in each other’s company.
Heading up the gangplank we were surprised to encounter strict airport-style security procedures. Even though there were only ninety passengers on this boat we had to deposit our passports, get IDs and “swipe cards”. Such is South Seas travel in 2006. At last an attendant escorted us to our cabin and without much delay I found myself back on deck with my camera enjoying the awe inspiring evening views. Later we had our first meal in the ship’s small dining room. Over dinner we met several couples who had also come from the Carolinas—a welcome opportunity talk about the triumphant basketball season back home, though not unexpected, since one of the sponsors of the trip was Duke Alumni Association.
Unfortunately I couldn’t eat much of our first meal onboard. I’d been feeling queasy from the moment we got on the ship despite the ‘scopolamine’ patch I’d slapped on to prevent seasickness. This was more than a little worrying since we were still at the dock, not yet out in the big waves of the open Pacific. I dragged myself around for awhile until at some point my wife gave me a considered “physician heal thyself” look. As often is the case the power of suggestion worked the charm. By the time the “Spirit of Oceanus” departed Nuku Hiva and began bobbing toward Hiva Oa I was feeling a whole lot better.
In the afternoon of the second day the boat anchored in Taaoa Bay of Hiva Oa. That afternoon we received instructions on traveling in the Zodiacs. We learned how to use our life jackets, how to get off and on, and promised to memorize the strict rules about obeying the instructions of the crew. It seemed fairly obvious until we hit our first “dry landing” and had to clamber out of the little inflatable craft as it rose and fell in the surf three to four feet against the island’s dock.
Our first journey took us to the village of Puamau where some of the descendants of Paul Gauguin still live. We visited the Oipona me’ae temple and here saw “Takaii”, the renowned eight-foot stone statue. I was excited by the vague resemblance to the wooden tikis of Hawaii. With a little imagination you could visualize the style evolving over 1000 years or so. At this village some incredibly agile local young people demonstrated openly erotic traditional dances for us. It would be impossible not to envy the supple sensuality of these young men and women. And if some of our fellow travelers really were yearning to jump ship at this point, you couldn’t blame them.
The legendary post impressionist painter Paul Gauguin spent the last days of his life on island of Hiva Oa, burning his images of sensual innocence and mystery into the world’s consciousness. For Gauguin, it was the ends of the earth’the last refuge of humanity uncorrupted by civilization. As all visitors to this island must, we visited the painter’s grave in Calvary Cemetery, which overlooks the village of Atuona. Interestingly, the great Belgian singer and poet Jacques Brel is also buried here. Again, we took many photographs of a landscape that still seems far from the ordinary world. However if civilization is inescapable one might as well enjoy it: we headed back to the boat and the comfort of a long relaxing shower. Later we joined Dr. Church and his wife onboard for an interesting discussion over dinner. I turned in early, dreaming of Gauguin's brooding images of paradise lost, and of our next destination.
Sailing overnight, we approached the southern Marquesan island of Fatu Hiva—a sparsely inhabited outpost with a total population of only about 650. We anchored off of Omoa in the morning and after breakfast went ashore—another Zodiac landing. We walked into town and past the school that had been severely damaged by local tsunami in 1999—an event triggered by a huge landslide about 3 miles south of the town. Further on we came into the village where were greeted warmly by the local people who demonstrated their artistry weaving tapa—Polynesia’s traditional bark textiles—and showed us examples of their craftwork. Once again we were treated to dancing—this time by the school children.
Later we traveled deep into Omoa Valley where we sat down and talked over an authentic local meal—a welcoming feast as it turned out. Alongside delicious staples like breadfruit, taro and sweet potato we were offered coconut meat and fresh cooked fish as well as raw fish, perfectly marinated in coconut milk, lime juice and onion—all that plus tender pork and octopus. The very abundance of the feast highlighted what must have been the crucial issue for the Marquesans who migrated to Hawaii in ancient times: arable land. On this precipitously mountainous island, like Nuku Hiva and Hiva Oa, there’s not much flat land between the ocean and the steep cliffs. Coconut trees rise majestically from greatly sloping landscape of green and rock. Today, copra from these trees is a major export for people from all the Marquesas. The Copra trade was a factor in events on the islands 70 years ago too and plays a small part in our story. But of course a civilization needs more than coconut trees to thrive. In the afternoon we road the Zodiacs back to our ship for the very short trip north to the village of Hanavave.
The boat anchored in the Bay of Virgins, where we jumped into the inflatables and headed for shore. On the way, we learned that Bay of the Virgins was not the original name of this place. The story we heard was that because of the distinctly phallic shape of the large pointed rocks at the entrance to Hanavave, the original name was “Bay of the Penises”. When the missionaries arrived they demanded the name change—a change which ironically maintained the erotic motif. Whatever the name, the Bay is utterly breathtaking—truly one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. The village sits placidly, inches from the sea, while behind it a backdrop of verdant, tooth-shaped mountain shards rises straight up into the soft, shifting clouds. I marveled at the way that the coconut trees could grow on such steep ridges of rock. Still, it’s very clear that this rugged landscape could never have supported a very large population. Again we notice how lack of land must have been a major factor prompting the Marquesans to undertake the hazardous migration to Hawaii back in the distant past. At that time the population was many times what it is today so the pressure on resources must have been intense.
The people who live on Fatu Hiva today—especially the children—are a total delight. We walked back a good distance into the valley marveling at how these hardy individuals lived. Of course, the modern world is here too—as evidenced by the conspicuous electrical line snaking across the mountain from Omoa. Reluctantly we left Hanavave, climbing slowly into the Zodiacs and pointing them back to our ship.
Sailing South to the Tuamotos
The next day, Feb.1, was spent at sea as we headed south to the Tuamotos. Erosion over millions of years and also sinking have left only a little of the original islands above sea level, surrounded by reefs. Today a visitor will discover extraordinary jewel-like atolls ringed by emerald seas.
On the morning of Feb 2, we arrived off the Tuamoto atoll of Raroia. The famous Kon Tiki raft (constructed and piloted by Thor Heyerdahl to ‘prove’ his theory of a South American migration to Polynesia) washed up on this atoll in 1947. Making anchorage involved some adventure, so everyone was on deck as our boat entered the lagoon. Happily, our captain demonstrated impressive skill guiding our ship between giant towers of coral. The “Spirit of Oceanus” managed to avoid the fate of the Kon Tiki, anchoring safely. Many of the 126 inhabitants of the atoll were there to greet us. The people of Raroia had flower leis for us when we got off of the Zodiacs and we were graciously welcomed with a dance performance.
At the atoll we met all the school children. The tour operators brought a box of supplies to the school and the kids really seemed to appreciate the gesture. Some of villagers demonstrated their culture and artistry through various skills, and had no trouble getting us to participate. Later, walking across the atoll we were struck by how low the land is—so vulnerable to disaster. The atoll’s situation gets worse with each year of global climate change, as ocean levels rise. Along with us on this trek was Dr. Orrin Pilkey. He was the Professor of Geology at Duke University and the Director for the Study of Developed Studies and has tremendous insight the challenges confronting human settlement in places like the Tuamotos. During our visit though, the sea was benign, the color of the water magnificent and inviting.
On Raroia we were introduced to a women named Mary Ann who was eight years old in 1947. She related how that year she found a strange box in the lagoon—a box that contained food and other things. Mary Ann’s father—a responsible figure who had been the Mayor of the atoll, cautioned her against touching the contents of the box. But later that day her father climbed a coconut tree alerted by distant smoke. He organized a search party to go out to investigate, and found the owners of the mysterious box: a bunch of shipwrecked white men whose raft had stranded on a reef. Naturally, Mary Ann’s tale got me thinking about the “lost” years of Moke in Kona Diaries. Could he too have been shipwrecked in such a place?
That afternoon we took the Zodiac out to the boat and enjoyed a wonderful relaxed shipboard dinner with our new friends. Next morning we set sail to arrive at the atoll of Takapoto the following, February 3.
Here on Takapoto we had an easy landing. Once on shore we were greeted by villagers who danced for us and encouraged us to join them. Everywhere we go we are spoiled by lavish attention. Here children met us and a pretty little girl read us a greeting in English. We also got a chance to sample tasty local foods. When my wife, Mary Stewart, inquired about swimming a young woman offered to escort us across the atoll. On the way we passed a large container packed with huge coconut crabs, which we were assured, made excellent eating. Nearby was a large pile of neatly stacked coconuts that would be eventually processed for copra, one of the main exports from the atoll. Finally we came upon a lagoon with fantastically green and aqua water. We were concerned because this area was right in front of well-kept house but our companion assured us, “Do not worry, this is my house.” Out in the lagoon, we could see people farming Tahitian black pearls—a growing industry. After swimming in the unimaginably lovely waters of the lagoon and absorbing the near magical color we crossed the atoll back to the boat, savoring another delicious hour in paradise.
As we walked I was thinking about how difficult any ancient west to east migration from these atolls would be given that there were no trees other than coconut trees. It was apparent that one would have to have a variety of plants and animals on board to provision the long distance ocean-going canoe migration to Hawaii. While the more diverse environment of the Marquesas could provide both trees to build the canoes and food for the journey, migration from the Tuamotos would have been a hungry and desperate enterprise.
Back on the boat, we cleaned up and enjoyed a lecture. During our trip through the Marquesas and the Tuomotos we were fortunate to have several lecturers including Dr. Orrin Pilkey from Duke, and his daughter, Linda Pilkey Jarvis (an expert on oil spills) plus an anthropologist from Stanford, and an astrophysicist from the American Museum of Natural History. It was terrific to have these lively minds kindling our curiosity about the profound issues confronting this unique and astonishingly diverse part of the world.
That night I turned in early, rising to catch the dawn at sea. As we approached Fakarava, the second largest atoll in the Tuamotos, I noted a number of five feet long black tipped sharks swimming slowly among the coral pillars. Apparently these are harmless creatures (especially, I was thinking if a guy keeps both feet planted on the boat.) Perhaps we were a little more careful to hold on to the Zodiac as we made for a very gentle wet landing. There are about 650 people on this atoll and quite a few were at the landing to greet and entertain us. This time we brought lunch ashore and shared it with everyone. In return young men of the atoll played music for us the whole time we were there. Once again the spontaneous friendliness of the people made our all too brief time here completely memorable. As a Hawaiian I couldn’t help noticing the similarities to the easy laidback friendliness here and that of the Hawaiian people.
On Fakarava people displayed beautiful native crafts, some of which were for sale. Tahitian pearls are now being used in local jewelry designs. Our Dr. Pilkey was a hit with the children, passing out pens that he’d brought with him from Duke. Who knows—he may have inspired some future scholar to make their way across the seas to study in the Carolinas.
Fakarava is a larger atoll with more people and infrastructure a little more systematic and organized. Houses here are better constructed too. All the same, postmodern life mixes with island ways. One clue? As on the other atolls there always seems to be room for more TV dish antennas. It’s terrible to imagine the delightful people of Fakarava absorbing the same blood-stained news images we see back in Raleigh. What must they think of the people who live beyond their lovely islands?
We left Fakarava, steaming overnight toward Tahiti, where Mary Stewart and I would catch a plane to head on to Rapa Nui. The next morning we got up early to drink in a glorious Tahitian sunrise as we approached Papeete.
Mythical Moorea
We arrived at the dock in Papeete shortly after breakfast, and made our way to catch a ferry over to the island of Moorea—visible in the distance. From Papeete it’s only an hour-long ride to one of the world’s most beguiling destinations. Moorea is a magnificent paradise of lush green sharply angled mountains and fantastically lovely bays. Though a few luxurious tourist resorts are located on Moorea, overall development and land ownership on the island have been tightly controlled. Word is that these rigorous land ownership policies have succeeded in keeping most of the land in hands of the people who live here. We were able to speak at length with several native elders and later to enjoy the privilege of sharing a true Tahitian feast. Moorea is the kind of place you never want to leave, but unfortunately we had a plane to catch. Reluctantly, we tore ourselves away, ending this memorable day with a ferry ride back to Papeete. We got back to our hotel in time to grab a few hours sleep before heading for Faa’a airport—destination Rapa-Nui: the fabled Easter Island.
The Journey to Rapa-Nui / Easter Island
Who hasn’t dreamed of seeing the massive and mysterious ‘moai’ sculptures of Rapa-Nui first hand? These giant stone statues haunt the world’s imagination all the more because the culture that created them vanished without leaving a written record. The huge impassive monolithic figures created between the years A.D. 400 and 1650 are a major archeological treasure. Yet few places are further off the beaten path than Rapa-Nui/ Easter Island.
Turns out that getting to this remote island—over 2000 miles from the nearest population centre—is still a test of patience. Our check-in at the Lan Chile desk seemed to take forever but finally we got onboard the 767 and soon were airborne, bound for Rapa-Nui. This was just before midnight Feb 5. After five hours the plane landed on the impressively long Easter Island runway. At 2900 meters in length the runway might seem a bit excessive for an island that gets only about 15,000 visitors a year. The reason for the oversized airstrip? The facility was designed as an alternate landing site for the space shuttle. For ordinary travelers though, runway length has its disadvantages. It took an hour for the plane to get to the terminal due to a malfunctioning thruster. Once at the terminal we spent another long 90 minutes standing in line in the relentless sun waiting to go through customs. At last we made it to the Hotel Hangaroa where we got a chance to rest a little and catch our breath before contacting our local guides.
Claudio Cristino and his wife, Patricia Vargas Casanova’our guides to the island—are both archaeologists and both on the faculty of the University of Chile. Claudio and Patricia were delightful company and incredibly generous in sharing their knowledge of the Island’s history with us.
We visited the nearby Ahu Tahai in Hanga Roa. This is one of the oldest statues on Easter Island, a haunting and solitary monument. Adjacent to Ahu Tahai is Ahu Vai Uri, a unique grouping in that each of the statues is distinctly different from the others—perhaps a deliberate reflection on individuality. Until recently these statues lay toppled, seemingly forgotten by time. Today the massive moai have been re-erected, standing witness again in a solemn procession facing away from the sea. Archeologists believe they have unraveled a good part of the statues’ story too. It’s a cautionary tale that speaks directly to our own times—a stark warning of the dangers of obsession with status and power leading to resource misuse, ecological decline and ultimately social collapse. Even with our guides there to help us understand what happened, we couldn’t help wishing these great statues could speak for themselves to tell us about the fate of their makers.
Once forested, Rapa-Nui is thought to have been left stripped bare of trees by the moai builders. Still the island can be hauntingly beautiful. In the field adjacent to the Tahai ceremonial complex we saw wild and semi-wild horses—just a few of the hundreds of horses roaming the island. The sight of a solitary bareback rider galloping unbound across these fields burned into my memory like a vision of one of life’s less taken roads. Today the population of Rapa-Nui has recovered considerably, reaching a level of 4000 inhabitants (still far from it’s pre-contact peak.) About one half of current inhabitants are said to have some Polynesian ancestry. Many other residents on the Island came here from Chile.
During our time on the Rapa-Nui Claudio and Patricia took us to many of the great historical sites dotting the island. We visited the Rano Raraku quarry where all of the moai were carved. Like a time capsule left behind by a lost culture, the quarry reveals statues in various stages of completion, abandoned by their vanished makers. Some of the moai are partially buried. One cannot help but wonder how these huge statues—some weighing in at 80 tons and more—were transported across the island, without machines. Claudio has a theory as to how the gigantic moai were moved over land and raised—a theory the world knows of through the Nova TV series exploring Rapa-Nui.
What happened to the people who built these extraordinary sculptures? The current consensus is that natural and human resources were squandered in the competitive production of the statues, as groups on the island vied for statue supremacy. Trees were cut to use as rollers, moving the statues into place. Once the trees were gone, replacing the fishing canoes the islanders depended on became impossible and a key food source was lost. Also without trees to hold soil and moisture in place the island’s soils quickly eroded. The result was a rapid decrease in the population from about an estimated 9000—15,000 in the early 1500s to less than 4000 when the Dutch first landed here in 1722. As a result of introduced diseases and ruthless slave trading the population was further decimated—driven down to only about 120 souls by 1887. Today, the once heavily forested hills remain barren. And archeologists have unearthed considerable evidence that man made environmental decline led to subsequent social conflict. In the aftermath of environmental collapse, statues may have been toppled by competing tribes. As food became scarce, the record also hints that some people may have resorted to cannibalism to survive.
Our explorations took us to the quarry from which the red stone “top knots” for the moai were shaped. These were transported to the moai to be placed on the great sculpted rock heads, like hats or crowns—perhaps as a sign of royalty. The journey to the Ahu Tangariki was most impressive. Here, under the direction of Claudio, fifteen moai were raised to the upright position. Already scattered they were further dispersed by the massive 1960 tsunami—the same wave that slammed into the town of Hilo, Hawaii. During our short stay on the island we examined scores of toppled and broken statues plus other evidence of the past including remnants of stone chicken houses and caves.
At Anakena Beach (one of the few sandy beaches on the island) there are several very well preserved Ahus. The sculptures were discovered in superb condition because they had been buried in sand for many decades. One of the statues had been raised using ancient methods in a Thor Heyerdahl project.
The last site that we visited was Orongo and the adjacent crater of Rano Kao. Up until the late 1880’s the villagers of Orongo were practicing the Birdman culture. It’s thought that this cult’s rituals determined leadership on the island in the period after the moai builder’s decline. The culture emphasized unique rites and exhibitions of great strength and skill. Today only well built stone houses and petroglyph rock carvings remain.
Rapa-Nui is the wild card in Polynesian settlement of the Pacific and a sobering monument to the fragility of human culture. It’s impossible not to be moved by the audacious courage of the original settlers of this place—almost certainly Polynesian canoe voyagers from the Marquesas—and the tragic fate of the civilization they founded. We headed back to our hotel and enjoyed one last meal in this extraordinary place, trying to decode the meaning of what we’d seen. But the reflective mood inspired by Rapa-Nui stayed with us throughout our Lan Chile flight back to Tahiti and the much longer flight back to North Carolina.
Polynesian migrants from the Marquesas could choose one of two perilous long voyages, heading either to the east to reach Rapa-Nui or to the north, to make landing on the Islands of Hawaii. For whatever reason, Moke’s ancestors made the decision to travel north—the choice which has endured. Had they stayed on Nuku Hiva or Hiva Oa it may have been impossible to sustain a quality living that would produce future generations. Had they gone to Rapa-Nui it is virtually certain that none of their descendents would be alive today. Our character Moke’s quest for physical and historical evidence linking his Marquesan ancestors to Hawaii is part of a great awakening—a celebration of the remarkable courage, skill and good fortune of the first Hawaiians.
