Something New

 REMINDER - "REID"S READER" NOW APPEARS FORTNIGHTLY RATHER THAN WEEKLY. 

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 2^nd 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 19^th and early 20^th 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 19^th 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.