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We feature each week Nicholas Reid's reviews and comments on new and recent books.
“PATHWAY OF THE BIRDS” by
Andrew Crowe (Bateman publishers,
$NZ49:99 – simultaneously published by University of Hawai’i Press); “TO THE
MOUNTAINS” selected by Laurence Fearnley and Paul Hersey (Otago University
Press, $NZ45)
Andrew
Crowe’s Pathway of the Birds is subtitled
“The voyaging achievements of Maori and their Polynesian ancestors”. It deals
with the first exploration and colonisation of East Polynesia in the relatively
brief period – only two or three hundred years - after c.1000AD. As the blurb
says, this means the exploration of approximately 28 million square miles of
ocean. In a large-page and glossy format, the book includes many maps, diagrams
and information “break-ins”; and it boasts over 350 photographs. The appeal is
as much visual as literary.
Although
it has been jointly published with the University of Hawai’i Press, much of its
material is aimed at New Zealanders. This is not only because New Zealand was,
in effect, the terminal point in the great age of Polynesian discovery. It is
also because Andrew Crowe frequently uses New Zealand as a point of reference
when explaining phenomena elsewhere in the Pacific. For example, to give us a
sense of scale, he will often compare the size of a remote Pacific island with
an island off the New Zealand coast (“a little bigger than Great Barrier
Island” – that sort of thing). He is also at pains to show how often place
names used by New Zealand Maori also appear as place names in islands thousands
of miles away.
In
his author’s note, Crowe advises us that
Pathway of the Birds is “not the work of an academic, but the sincere
effort of a science writer to summarise in an accessible way what is currently
known about this largely neglected epoch of world history.” He draws upon a
formidable bibliography. When he proposes likely routes taken by Polynesian
explorers, or the order in which they settled various islands, his evidence is
based on archaeology, linguistics, botany, zoology, meteorology, DNA testing,
carbon-dating and what can now be known of ancient navigational skills. Justifiably
there is, towards the end of the book, a brief note refuting the various crank
theories that have been proposed to deny Polynesians the credit for their feats
of exploration.
The
first thing he has to refute, however, is the once-respectable “drift theory”
that was most plausibly proposed by Andrew Sharp in the 1960s. Crowe calls his
introduction “Chance or Skill?” and makes it clear that Pathway
of the Birds will show that Polynesian deep-ocean voyages were both
deliberate and planned. They were not the result of Polynesian vessels being
blown to islands randomly by storms, or drifting randomly on currents. Indeed
it is clear that voyages of discovery were deliberately undertaken against
the prevailing trade winds, so that those winds would provide easier return
passage to the voyage’s starting point. The book will therefore focus on all the
evidence for two-way voyages of settlement and hence the ability of the first
Polynesian discoverers of any island or archipelago to return to their island
of origin, report their discovery and recruit other settlers.
Of
course this is not a book about all the Polynesian settlement of the
Pacific. Only in the very last chapter (Chapter 14) does Crowe consider the
primal origins of all the Polynesian peoples (probably in South-East Asia) and
the earlier Polynesian settlement of the West Pacific. He concentrates on the
burst of discovery in the East Pacific, early in the 2nd millennium
AD, that took Polynesians as far north
as Hawaii and as far south as New Zealand. As for the structure of most
chapters in the book, Crowe explains: “As
we come to each island we will investigate the origins of its ‘first peoples’,
and why it is almost certain that explorers made a return journey to report
back on the island before any preparations were made to settle it. In each case
this is followed by an assessment of the capability and motives of the
inhabitants to maintain interarchipelago contact – at least in the early years
of settlement.” (p.15)
Interestingly,
when Crowe refers to Polynesian explorers, he favours the term “wayfinders”
over “navigators” as the latter term assumes use of modern navigational
equipment.
Thus
to the fourteen chapters that make up the bulk of Pathway of the Birds. We are taken through the South East Pacific
(Easter Island, Pitcairn Island et al); the North Pacific (Hawaiian and Line
Islands); the Central Pacific (Maquesas, Tuamotu Archipelago; Society Islands;
Rarotonga and the Cooks); and the South Pacific (mainly New Zealand, but also
the Kermadecs) – before those final musings on the origins of all Polynesians.
I
have to admit that I lingered long over Chapter 1 on Rapa Nui (Easter Island),
largely because of the pungent style in which Crowe refutes Thor Heyerdahl’s
notion (which hasn’t been believed by any real ethnographers for many years)
that Easter Island was originally inhabited by superior stone-carving Peruvians
before barbarous Polynesians came along and destroyed them. More surprisingly,
though, Crowe also refutes Jared Diamond’s more recent theory, in his
bestselling book Collapse, that
Polynesians wrecked the island ecologically by over-population and hence the
destruction of all the island’s trees. Crowe offers far more plausible, and
evidence-based, theories for the island’s depopulation, eventual isolation from
the rest of Polynesia, and the reason Easter Islanders lost the skills of deep-water
sailing. Also (pace Heyerdahl) Crowe has no doubt that the kumara was introduced
to Pacific islands from South America, but not by South Americans. It was taken
from South America by Polynesians, who subsequently took it across the Pacific.
So
as not to give you an overlong plodding summary of each chapter, I will be
briefer about what follows. Chapters 2, 3 and 4
speak of the dim possibility that Pitcairn, the Austral Islands and others
could have been the fabled Maori “Hawaiki” – that is, the jumping-off point for
the Polynesian exploration of the East Pacific. However, they are not likely
contenders. Hawaii was probably settled from the Maquesas (those daunting
volcanic summits with no lagoons) and the Society Islands between c.940 and
c.1130 AD. It is unlikely that Hawaii was the Maori Hawaiki either, but there
seem to have been strong Hawaiian cultural connections with New Zealand via the
Society Islands.
In
Chapters 5 and 6, using the tiny and scattered islands of the Tuamotu
Archipelago as an example, Crowe explores in detail traditional Polynesian “wayfinding”
– the use of zenith stars to determine
latitude; of horizon stars to steer by; of wind direction, the sea’s swell, the
form and colour of clouds; and of landfinding birds. Very significant, though,
was the ability to pinpoint the location of a tiny island by “expanding the
target”. Wayfinders would make a mind-map of perils to avoid in aiming for a
particular island, such as nearby reefs or submerged atolls, so that they were,
in practice, steering for a wider reach of ocean that their (small) intended
destination.
Chapter
7 refers to the Society Islands (including Tahiti) as “One Hawaiki Among Many” – like most of the
East Pacific, they were settled c.1000AD. But again there is the problem of why
their inhabitants lost the art of deep-sea sailing after c.1450AD. Among many possible
explanations are mega-tsunami, changed climate, prevailing winds and loss of
resources. Chapters 8 and 9 bring us closer to New Zealand with detailed
plotting of affinities in language and fauna between New Zealand and Rarotonga
and the Cook Islands. As for the Kermadecs, his examination of these isalnds
gives Crowe the occasion to rebuke some Europeans who conflate Polynesian
voyages of discovery with later Polynesian voyages of exile, in which
Polynesians were fleeing from tribal warfare and the like. This is also where
Crowe notes the huge convergence of seabirds onto the Kermadecs, giving
credence to Maori oral traditions of finding their way across the seas by
following the paths of migrating birds.
And
so to New Zealand in Chapters 10, 11 and 12 in which Crowe broaches the subject
of planned Polynesian settlement of New Zealand and questions of how deep-sea
Polynesian voyagers would preserve provisions and fresh water. One chapter he
calls “Adapting to a Cool Land”, emphasising that New Zealand would have been
the coldest place that Polynesians ever colonised. He considers how far south
Maori could cultivate and also how feasible return voyages to point of origin from
New Zealand would have been. Like many other Pacific peoples, New Zealand Maori
had lost the art of long-distance ocean voyaging long before Europeans appeared
on the scene.
I
have treated this book as a catalogue and have thereby probably misrepresented
it. I have to emphasise that in making his case, Crowe spends much time on
flora and fauna and their dispersal as evidence for how Polynesian people
migrated across the ocean. This means that many pages are concerned with the
botanical details of trees, flowers, bushes and edible crops; and many are
concerned with the zoological and ornithological details of birds and
domesticated animals. What this meant was that I spent a number of hours
wool-gathering as I looked at all the colourful illustrations of these things,
not to mention all the dramatic shots of islands seen either at sea-level or
from the air.
One
warning. I think this book might best be read as a work of reference – an
excellent place to settle disputes about early Pacific history, and to find out
the particulars of any one island’s culture. Read straight through, as I read
it, is to be overwhlemed by the information.
It
is a great popularisation of the best and latest information on the subject
nevertheless. Every library and school should have a copy.
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Laurence
Fearnley’s and Paul Hersey’s anthology To
the Mountains is subtitled “A collection of New Zealand alpine writing”. It
is a very solid hardback of over 350 closely-printed pages, and it considerately
contains a ribbon bookmark, inviting us to browse it. Verily, I believe this is
the best way to enjoy it, as is the case with most anthologies.
Each
of the two anthologists writes an introduction. The novelist Laurence Fearnley’s
long-time interest in mountaineering is well known. She helped her
mountaineering friend Lydia Bradey write her autobiography Going Up Is Easy, which is reviewed elsewhere on this blog (and
also extracted in this anthology).
Fearnley’s
introduction is called “A Writing Climber: An introduction to New Zealand
alpine literature” and it declares “As a
recreational activity, mountaineering exists on the continuum from alpine
tramping through to advanced technical ice-climbing.” (p.9) Fearnley says
that for the purposes of this book, mountaineering is defined broadly as an
activity requiring the use of hands (including hands holding equipment). She makes
it clear To the Mountains will
consist of varied responses to mountains. It is definitely not a compendium of
New Zealand’s most famous mountaineers or of this country’s most startling
climbs. The aim to be representative of the whole activity of climbing. She notes
how, in late 19th and early 20th centuries, there was an
emphasis on discovery and on the first ascents of peaks; and alpine writing was
often overlaid with Romantic descriptive flourishes. Later a more laconic and
technical style became the norm – but all the while, the great majority of
those who recorded alpine exploits were middle class. Only later did more working-class
climbers get to share their experiences publicly. At one point, Fearnley gives a
handy compendium of the “types” who often emerge through written accounts of
mountaineering in New Zealand: “the
team-member, the laconic outsider, the masculine jack of all trades, the
emancipated and empowered feminist, or the introspective ‘spiritual’
mountaineer” (p.14) She also explains that the selections made for To the Mountains are not all by
mountaineers and she reflects on the way mountains can often turn climbers into
writers and writers into climbers. As well as personal memories of events,
selections will include poetry and works of fiction. Fearnley’s introduction
is, in effect, a setting-out of the anthology’s contents and purpose.
A
different approach is found in Paul Hersey’s introduction “Mountains with
Words”. It is an existential and very personal approach. Hersey says “I have always been drawn to the aesthetics
of high places and the potential of climbing routes upon them.” (p.19) He
is concened with the personal experience – mentally preparing oneself for a
climb, facing the reality of the death of others, and trying to recollect in
words the experience once it is over.
So
to the book’s contents. They are not arranged chronologically but thematically.
79 extracts are set out in into four parts, each of which is somewhat
cryptically titled. I will not fall into the trap of attempting to name-check
every selection, but will mention just some that I found interesting as I made
my way through the book.
The
first section is headed “Approach” and consists mainly of general reminiscences
of the experience of climbing in New Zealand; or memories of childhood
perceptions of climbing or being an apprentice climber ; and historical
accounts of climbing. This includes the Rev. Richard Taylor doing 19th
century bushwhacking; W.Scott Gilkinson on the toil and techniques of
“swagging” or carrying a pack; Forrestina Ross on provisioning a hike up a
glacier; Sara Knox’s rather wistful poem about being a little girl and not
joining the boys climbing; Steve Hart reflecting that freedom is the chief
value of climbing – and much else.
The
section called “Climb” is mainly tales of specific climbs or specific peaks
conquered, often taking the climbers well outside New Zealand. Thus James
Cowan’s tale (couched very much in the language of his own day) of pre-Pakeha
Maori climbers in the Alps; for an historian, the fascination of Bill Whelen’s
account of replicating [in 1988] the first-ever climb of a New Zealand peak by
Europeans - namely the ascent of Mt Sparrman in Fiordland by some of Captain
Cook’s crew; J.R.Dennistoun’s report on being the first to climb Mitre Peak in
1910; a long selection by Bob McKerrow on Maori mountaineers of South Westland;
Freda du Faur having a freezing time traversing Mount Sefton in 1913; Edmund
Hillary writing from Everest Base Camp; and Karen McNeill being part of the
first party of women to climb a peak in Alaska.
As
for “Epic”, it comprises those skin-of-your-teeth stories of perilous climbs,
fatalities and near fatalies in the face of avalanche and mishap. Carol Diamond
Christie and David Baguley caught out by Ruapehu when it exploded in 1995;
Caoilinn Hughes’ prose poem about an avalanche; J.Walton’s truly wrenching story of trying to
move a dying man out from under a boulder, when a rock avalanche destroyed an
alpine hut; Graeme Dingle’s long and detailed account of the effects of an
avalanche; and an extract from Brian Wilkins’ Among Secret Beauties, which was reviewed on this blog four years
ago.
Finally,
in the “Reflection” section, there are most
often the afterthoughts, the general considerations of life after climbing or
of the significance of climbing itself. I am loath to pick out favourites here
– the tone of many is elegaic to the point of melancholy – but I will mention
Jonathan Scott trying to make sense of his father Harry Scott’s death in a
mountaineering accident.
I
have, of course, named only a very small proportion of this volume’s contents.
It is a good bedside book, a browser, and an excellent and very readable anthology.
I
should add that To the Mountains concludes
with a good section of mini-biographies of each writer who is represented.
