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A CANOE STORY

Written by Kawika Rambler

Hilo Bay Keaukaha Canoe Club. 2009  

I had just returned.  It was after a full life mixed with joy, obstacles, and hard work.  I felt the weight of the years.  Guess it’s like that for everybody.  Sooner or later you come to realize you can’t run from yourself, so you slow down and stop to look around.  Time was my silent teacher.  I was just thinking, sitting on the edge of my bed when I realized the drum of heavy rain pounding on the metal roof had suddenly stopped.  Lifting my deep gaze off the floor, a sliver of sunlight pierced through a narrow slit between the boards.  A bit startled, I stood up to stretch my stiff torso a few times rotating back and forth.  Turning my neck I noticed the old canoe paddle leaning in the corner.   It must have liked that corner.  I thought to myself after 20 years.  Reaching over, I grabbed it, ending its long wait.  Sitting back down on the bed I lay the paddle across my knees. 

Memories I thought forgotten brought a rare smile to my face.  I went through the motions of pulling my faithful paddle through an imaginary ocean.  My senses carried me back in time.  It was late afternoon.  Being summer the sun still hung in the sky reluctant to travel westward, the day would continue.  I decided to get out and share company with my aging sun.  Hilo Bay I decided, the Crescent Bay.  Largest bay in Hawaii.  This is where Kamehameha the Great came to build and ready his Koa canoes to carry warriors great distances of open Ocean, the rough channels between islands.  One by one each of the Hawaiian Islands (except Kauai) relinquished to Kamehameha’s canoe borne armies.  I had once paddled these authentic Hawaiian Outrigger Canoes, as did my ancestors.  As did my ocean brothers and now, do my sons. 

The Bay’s tranquil water is always comforting, especially this time of day.  The sun had hid behind the mountain already. The soft light colored this huge canvas with an array of warm colors.  The Mountain seemed bigger than life.  So big it blocked the western horizon.  At its feet the Crescent Bay opened her wide arms holding its beloved waters close.  This was my favorite time of day I thought, but I wasn’t sure.  I fancy early mornings too.  Walking on the sand with paddle in hand, I came to a place I remembered.  A group of young men gathered around yellow outrigger canoes.  I stood off to the side listening to their busy chatter and thought about how old I felt. 

A man appeared.  He was definitely in charge and made quick business of getting these young men in order.  In no time five canoes were lifted and slid into the bay.  The chatter had stopped.  Each canoe pointed towards the horizon ready with six men each, except for one that only had five.  The man who I thought was the leader was sitting in front of the boat missing a paddler.  He called, “You like go?”  Surprised, I pointed to myself then looked around, there was no one.  “Yeah we go,” he yelled again.  I ran down and jumped into the 5^th seat. 

“Paddles Up! Huki!”  The paddles sliced through the flat water.  Five yellow canoes plied their way smoothly and quietly out into the bay.  The fading sunlight reflected off the surfacing blades.  The flash made the paddles look alive.  Sitting in the fifth seat just forward of the steersman I watched each paddle travel through its arc like a breath.  IN OUT, then again, like the one before.  My mind began to wander like an undisciplined child not paying attention.  My first thought was how lucky I felt to be in this canoe with these true watermen, their leader up front setting the pace.  I felt the hull lifting, gaining momentum.  The water, with that evening texture of shadows and light, slipped by so quickly.  It reminded me of a Laysan albatross skimming the sea’s surface but never quite touching.  Was I the eye of the albatross?  Would we all take flight to rise and bank away leaving the island behind?

Next, my eyes fell upon the chiseled brown backs in front of me.  Powerful muscle and skin glistened with the sweat of their labor. The leader called the command to change sides.  My blade hit the gunnels as I fumbled the change over.  It broke the silence.  I knew everybody heard.  Embarrassed I immediately focused back to the task at hand.  One eye zeroed in on the paddle blades in front of me.  I could see the stroker’s blade clearly.  I tried my best to fall into his rhythm.  Surprisingly it wasn’t hard.  His motion was liquid, a beating heart.  It was natural.  It was coming back to me.  I hadn’t lost it completely, I can hang with the guys, but how long I wondered.  A steady even relaxed pace brought us to the training field, a place in the bay with navigational buoys spread a mile or so apart.  The canoes came to rest side by side almost touching.  The leader stood up in the canoe surveying his men.  He was a tall man with lean muscular limbs and a commanding presence.  Everyone was quiet.  He called out instructions and reminded us of our purpose and who we were.  We were the best.  The man definitely had expectations.  Satisfied he sat down.  Scattered cries from up and down the line were heard only by our ears.  I could feel the readiness, the boats tugged the reins.  “TWENTY MIDDLE POWER”, the command was loud and clear.  “Paddles up! Huki!”  The five canoes with 30 men advanced, a small army marching on water.  Twenty minutes of 50% power was the first hard run heading towards a distant green buoy.  The armada was moving.  I was surprised by the speed six paddlers working together generate.  It was faster than I could ever remember.  I was able to keep up and just focused on the blade in front.  Timing and rhythm was the key.  Three or four one-man outriggers skirted the perimeter herding the group and keeping them online.  They were the scouts, the eyes and ears for the approaching regiment of 30 warriors.  Twenty minutes is a long time.  We covered some water.  The steersman with a watch called the boats to a halt.  The canoes slowly coasted to a stop regrouping and forming a new line.  I was breathing hard.  I could hear deep breathing all around, the crews were warmed up.  The leader shouted out his observations calling out names.  Heads nodded.  Everyone was paying attention.  The leader was in his element, leading by example, and earning the respect of all.  During the short break light banter, jiving, and laughing shot back and forth between the crews.  They were having fun.  It was good to see. 

“HARD TEN!”: HUKI!”  And what a charge!  A trail of white water.  The blur of paddles digging into the dark water was a sight to behold.  The canoes leaped forward, cutting lines into the Bay’s surface.  I was in disbelief!  A 40 foot 400 lb. outrigger canoe was skimming and running like it was feather light.  The long sleek crafts surged past one another, the young island men pulled with strength and precision.  I couldn’t help but think what it must have been like in earlier times. This ancient tradition we were blessed to repeat on the same sea with the same spirit.  We were the past, the present, and the future.  This is what it’s all about.   I was here.  Emotions rose from deep within, a strange, mix of joy, pain, excitement, and gratitude. 

The leader’s voice cracked like a whip.   “Reach ‘um out boys, reach ‘um out!”.  “Keep you heads up! Don’t drop “um!”  “It ain’t going to cut it like that boys!” “Come on!” “You want it?” “Then go get it!” “Bring it baby! Bring it!” “GO, GO, GO!!!” The men responded stepping up to another level; arms, paddles, water, spray, wind, the sound of strained breathing. The change calls created a magical moment.  The crews were coaxed by their steersmen, keeping us all together, one paddle, one mind, one soul.  I could hear in his voice that he took responsibility for the boats and it‘s men.   We were flying, five 40 foot spears hurling straight to the mark.  I am gasping for air trying to keep up with these well trained athletes.  The steersman egged me on.  Time was called, the boats coasted to a stop, the paddlers were either bent forward or back sucking in oxygen.  My chest was burning and my arms ached.  The leader gave his approval.  More chatter erupted; I looked around and got the nod from a couple of the boys.  It was late; the last light of day lingered low and behind the mountain. Car headlights crossed each other in the distance and the town glowed in the dark.  We were headed in; it was so peaceful.  My mind and body felt content the shore grew closer.

Darkness was upon us.  The paddlers and canoes were just silhouettes I could see white teeth flashing here and there.  The distant light of the town and the rising moon cast a faint final glimmer upon us.  The last sublet brush stroke to the vanishing canvas.  One at a time each Hawaiian outrigger canoe, was hoisted and place in their saddles to rest, till asked upon again.  The sound of low voices from the faceless forms swelled and settled as their ghostly figures formed a large circle.  It was timeless.  Who were these beings?  Great warriors? Wise men?  Yes, I thought, all these but even more, they were our native sons, brothers, fathers and husbands. They were of the earth, the ocean and the heavens.  “Kanaka O Ke Kai.”  This belonged to them and to everyone who came with humility and respect.  Not one man from here or anywhere, nor any man from any age could ever make claim to the great miracle we stood upon.