Time and Mind:
The Journal of
Archaeology,
Consciousness
and Culture
Polynesian Navigation
and Te Lapa—
“The Flashing”
Volume 5—Issue 2
July 2012
pp. 135–174
Marianne George
DOI:
10.2752/175169712X13294910382900
Reprints available directly
from the publishers
Photocopying permitted by
licence only
© Berg 2012
Marianne George has a PhD in cultural anthropology
(University of Virginia, 1988), and about 80,000 nautical miles
of remote, blue-water sailing. David Schneider and Victor and
Edith Turner were her main anthropological mentors. Since
1988 George’s main affiliation has been the Pacific Traditions
Society, a nonprofit organization with educational purpose.
[email protected]
Abstract
The author discusses the importance of information about
ancient Polynesian voyaging methods in the context of
the last few decades of Pacific research. The teachings
and demonstrations of a Polynesian navigator, the late
Koloso K. Kaveia, are presented as they explain some
of the mysteries of an oceanic light phenomenon called
te lapa. The author describes her own experiences and
observations of te lapa, and outlines what Kaveia revealed
about characteristics of te lapa, how to use te lapa in
navigation, and how Kaveia learned to use it growing up
in a family descended from the Polynesian voyaging hero,
Lata. Kaveia’s systematic understanding of Polynesian
navigation (Te Nohoanga Te Matangi) is introduced to the
literature. Various scientific facts and theories about
bioluminescence and electromagnetic phenomena are
noted for the study of te lapa, as are possible limitations
of modern technology, or lack of practical access to it. A
theme throughout is the importance of experiential skills
for the perception of te lapa, and the rarity of researchers
who have seen or used it.
Keywords: Polynesian, navigation, voyaging, wind compass,
Taumako, swell patterns, te lapa
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
136 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Pacific Voyaging Research and
Polynesian Navigators
The late Dr David H. Lewis, explorer and
circumnavigator, extensively surveyed
maritime and Pacific literature before setting
sail for nine months of research with elderly
navigators of nine Pacific archipelagos during
1968–70. In his book We, the Navigators: The
Ancient Art of Pacific Landfinding in the Pacific
(1994 [1972]), Lewis described the accuracy
and scientific sensibility of non-instrumental
navigation methods that were explained
and demonstrated to him by traditional
navigators. We, the Navigators laid to rest
several centuries of European popular and
academic belief that Pacific islanders got
to their islands unintentionally, by drifting
and devoid of reliable navigational methods
(Sharp 1957).
The late Basil Tevake was an eminent
Polynesian navigator and the “informant”
from whom David Lewis learned the most
(Lewis, 1993, personal communication).
Tevake died in 1971. At the end of We,
the Navigators Lewis lamented, “An era
of Polynesian voyaging has closed with his
passing” (1994 [1972]: 309). Unfortunately
it was widely and erroneously accepted that
Tevake had been the last Polynesian navigator
who was worthy to teach others about the
old methods.1
Lewis’ research was a sketchy patchwork
of data, gathered during a handful of voyages,
a few near-shore day and night sails, and
dozens of interviews with navigators from
various traditions. Since 1970 prehistorians,
archaeologists, botanists, and linguists have
established that Austronesians moved out
from Asia to populate islands across half the
globe from Madagascar to Tonga 3,000–6,000
years ago, and that Polynesians navigated
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Marianne George
the Pacific from as far west as the Solomon
Islands to as far east as South America
during the last millennium and a half. Various
voyages of “revival” and “reconstruction”
demonstrated that non-instrument
navigation in outrigged and double-hulled
canoes could cross some of the longest and/
or most difficult seaways in the Pacific (Lewis
1994 [1972]: 90–9; Finney 2006a: 139–42,
2006b: 290–333). The accomplishment of
these voyages, and extensive publication
on continuous voyaging research led by
anthropologist Ben Finney (summarized in
Finney 2006a, 2006b; 2008, Finney and Low
2006) nailed the coffin on any doubters that
ancient Polynesians deliberately colonized the
Pacific.
Yet, because of a perceived lack of
suitable Stone Age craft and traditionally
trained Polynesian navigators who might
demonstrate their methods, the modern
reconstruction voyagers used modern
materials and methods. Their aim was to get
to sea in a safe and timely fashion aboard a
performance-accurate craft. Against many
odds they achieved that aim and set in
motion a renaissance of voyaging activity
throughout the Pacific (Finney 2006b:
290–333).
Today there are still many unanswered
questions about the ancient arts. To my
knowledge the only Polynesian voyaging
canoes made of completely Stone Age
design, materials, and methods are those
made at Taumako (George 1999). As for
descriptions of Stone Age methods of
navigation, We, the Navigators remains the
academic “bible.”2
Beginning in the mid–1970s, Pacific
cultural revivalists and academic researchers
undertook to make non-instrumental
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 137
voyages on the long seaways that could only
have been undertaken deliberately by early
voyagers. They soon had to come to terms
with modern economic requirements and
safety issues. In the case of the Polynesian
Voyaging Society of Hawaii, they determined
to build a double-hulled canoe and get
to sea expeditiously. They used what
little design information they had about
Polynesian vessels—much of it from the
artwork of European explorers—to make
reconstructions of ancient craft using
modern materials such as epoxy, fiberglass,
nylon, Dacron, metal fasteners, and the use
of power tools. Their primary goal was to
prove that a double-hulled canoe and noninstrument navigation could get them from
Hawaii to Tahiti. They named their vessel
“Hokule’a.”
The Voyages of Hokule’a
The first voyage of Hokule’a was navigated
by Micronesian navigator Mau Piailug, using
the Micronesian star compass navigation he
learned from navigators on Satawal. After
that voyage Piailug refused to participate
further until his heart was touched by
the efforts of a young Hawaiian university
student to devise a non-instrument
navigation system. Nainoa Thompson worked
with astronomer Will Kyselka at the Bishop
Planetarium. They created a system of
astronomically based navigation that was
used in subsequent voyages of Hokule’a
and various canoe projects that have been
fostered by the Polynesian Voyage Society.
Piailug eventually responded to Thompson’s
request to come teach him navigation and
seagoing. Yet it is basically Thompson’s
system, inspired and improved by the
teachings of Mau Piailug, that has been used
at sea and is taught to student navigators of
the Polynesian Voyaging Society to this day
(Finney and Low 2006: 188–96).
Besides some differences in the
astronomical system, there are a number of
ways in which the voyages of the Polynesian
Voyaging Society have had to differ from the
ancient methods. They were not funded
to spend decades trying to learn how to
use many of the traditional materials and
methods of their ancestors. Nor did they
know that there was any Polynesian navigator
alive and willing to teach them fully traditional
methods. The modern reconstruction
voyagers relied, and rely, on modern sources
of weather and oceanographic data and
predictions. As in modern European
navigation methods weather is treated as
a separate discipline from navigation. The
new voyagers have also been committed
to keeping to the schedules required by
participants who have jobs and families back
home in Hawaii. So they have extensively
towed the canoes to stay on schedule, as
well as barged canoes home from distant
venues such as Japan. Safety concerns were
and are met with satellite tracking equipment
and the constant presence of modern escort
vessels. For all these and other reasons each
voyage of Hokule’a cost millions of dollars.
This cash-intensive operating style could
hardly be adopted by the vast majority of
islanders people who might want to use
“simpler” ancient technology today. But the
modern voyages were completely successful
in proving that modern instruments are not
required for accurate navigation, and doublehulled canoes are capable of crossing some
of the longest and most upwind sea routes
of the ancient Polynesians. Their work ended
any argument that the Pacific was colonized
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
138 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
by accident. Ironically, the door was still open
during these last few decades for someone
to learn about ancient technology from a
competent Polynesian navigator, Te Aliki
Koloso Kahia Kaveia of Taumako.
Marianne George
in what he described as their system of
navigation. Te lapa is the subject of this
article, and what Kaveia shared about te lapa
shapes the content that follows.
Seeing Lights at Sea
First Meeting with Kaveia
In 1993, Lewis and I sailed to the Santa
Cruz Islands on my gaff cutter en route to
Australia. Lewis’ intention was to visit his
uncle’s grave there and say goodbye to any
of his friends or relatives who might still be
alive. When we arrived we were surprised
to learn that there was still a navigator who
wished to share his knowledge about Stone
Age methods of navigation with a new
generation. At the time we visited Kaveia
at his home in Taumako, he was almost
totally blind, but based on the pattern of
shadows and light in the sky he pointed out
a succession of ten main navigational stars
as they rose through the night, and, based
on feeling the swells moving under my boat
he named and described the patterns of
swell refraction and reflection in the open
sea. Subsequently Kaveia received cataract
surgeries, gifted by well-wishers in Hawaii,
and during our inter-island voyages together
he was better able to direct my attention to
the phenomena known as te lapa—the light
flashes that emanate from land.3
Use of te lapa is usually only done within
about 120 miles from shore. So, strictly
speaking, it may be regarded as a piloting
method rather than a navigational method.
But since most Santa Cruz Islands, and most
Pacific islands, are located within 100 or so
miles of each other, te lapa is a method that
Kaveia used frequently. Kaveia believed that
the phenomenon of te lapa was related to
other phenomena that Polynesians used
Time and Mind
There is much confusion and speculation
about just what lights people might see
when they are at sea. It is thus fair to ask if
someone who is studying anything to do
with an oceanic light does or does not have
both training and experience in distinguishing
one type of light phenomenon from another.
Some oceanic lights are well known and
documented, and many of these have very
credible scientific explanations. This is not
the case with te lapa. Since David Lewis’
laconic reporting in We, the Navigators, no
significant new information about te lapa
has been added to the literature. Nor have
any who question the existence or utility
of te lapa actually seen the phenomenon
themselves, much less seen it used (Feinberg
2011: 57–69).
Before I saw te lapa, and observed its
use in navigation, I saw a lot of other oceanic
lights of the scientifically explained variety.
For many years when I have discussed te
lapa with those who have not seen it, the
conversation has almost always necessitated
clarifying the differences between te lapa
and other types of light phenomena. People
who do not spend a lot of time at sea,
particularly in remote locations, usually
do not see te lapa. But they do see a
lot of lights that they are unfamiliar with.
Therefore, I will begin by stating what sorts
of oceanic lights I, and others, have seen at
sea that are not te lapa.
As a graduate student in 1979–80, 1981,
and 1985, I spent a total of twenty-one
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Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 139
months doing field research in New Ireland,
Papua New Guinea, studying the meaning
of rituals performed by the Barok people
(George 1985, 1988, 1994, 1995a, 1995b,
1998, 1999). There was not much voyaging
interest or memory, as such, among the
people living there at that time. But I did
ultimately come to understand that the social
system that lay behind Barok rituals and
protocols was one that would have been
appropriate for their Austronesian ancestors,
who, according to the archaeological finds of
the 1985 Lapita Homeland Project, migrated
eastward into the Pacific at the astounding
rate of about 150 kilometers per generation
(Irwin 1992: 39; Kirch 2000: 96). There I
first saw several incidences of ball lightning
making its way from island to islet, and
many multicolored lights streaking, or more
moderately cruising, over the sky on long
trajectories at what seemed like low altitudes
along the island. Most seemed destined
to land in the ocean, but some looked like
they could crash on New Ireland. My Barok
neighbors showed me some burned glossy
black rock areas, presumably tektites, where
they witnessed two of them (perhaps
meteorites) falling to earth.
During the 1970s I cruised and raced
sailboats on the Atlantic seaboard of North
America and delivered boats to Caribbean
destinations. I was already very familiar
with a lot of lights one sees at sea—
bioluminescence and luminescence that
appear in the glowing wake of a vessel in
both inland seas and offshore, St Elmo’s fire
in the rigging, the eye-catching movement of
shooting stars, satellites, comets, the “green
flash” and strange lights and colors that occur
at sunset and at other times when the sun’s
rays are occluded, and the many colorful
lights one sees in the vicinity of military firing
ranges and exercise zones, as well as the
multitude of official and unofficial navigation
lights and fishing and military buoys that now
clog our waterways and the deep blue ocean
worldwide.
In island Papua New Guinea I
became familiar with large patches of
bioluminescence that sometimes blink on
and off with the rhythm of a diesel engine,
and that sometimes form circles and
radiating wheels of light. I wondered if this
bioluminescence was limited to the Western
and Southwest Pacific/Indonesian seas
because of the profusion of life forms there
in contrast with the sparse selection that are
present in the Central and Eastern Pacific.
During later voyages I wintered-over in
a small vessel frozen in the sea-ice of the
Rauer Islands of the Antarctic south of India
(Lewis and George 1988). We had five
weeks during which the sun did not come
over the horizon, and five weeks with the
sun always over the horizon. During the long
polar night the light from celestial bodies and
reflections on the sea-ice were our main light
sources as we man-hauled sleds on the seaice during eleven months of the year. In polar
regions the majority of the day and night can
be twilight, which supports deeply sensitive
and colorful vision.
During 1987–9, I captained a schooner
that searched for and found lost hunters
throughout the Soviet and Alaskan sides
of the north Bering Sea and Arctic Ocean
polynyas. We also transported Siberian Yupik
people to Chukotka to visit their relatives
for the first time since 1948. David Lewis,
Roger Antoghame, and I wintered-over with
Siberian Yupik of St Lawrence Island, and
then with their relatives and with reindeer
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
140 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
herders in Chukotka (Lewis and George
1993). I was Principal Investigator of three
summer camps conducted with elders of
St Lawrence Island and visiting scientists
(George and Lewis 1991, n.d.). During
this period of documenting migration and
voyaging traditions of those people, I became
familiar with ice mirages and mirroring of
light between ice and sky and other unusual
visual effects, including rainbows, glories, and
crepuscular rays.
In high latitudes I watched sundogs,
moondogs, the light of ice that is reflected
in clouds (“ice blink”), as well as the
northern and southern aurorae. I learned
that the asterisms (patterns of stars) one
uses for navigation in the Arctic sky change
completely four times during the year. I
watched the long shadows and rainbow
fractured lights, colors, and mirages that
occur frequently above 60° of latitude as
the long, low arc of the sun remains visible
twenty-four hours a day or stays below the
horizon for twenty-four hours a day.
When I returned to the tropics in 1991 I
became more familiar with the counterpart
of ice blink—i.e. the emerald to turquoise
color of reefs and lagoons reflected in the
clouds, what European mariners call the
“loom” of an island or reef in the clouds
(Lewis 1994 [1972]: 222).
For most of my life I have Iived on or near
active volcanoes, areas subject to tectonic
movements, as well as in coastal areas
subject to tsunamis. Until recently I assumed
that weird cloud and lighting effects, such as
shimmering sheets of rainbow colors and
electrical discharges seemingly unrelated to
cloud formations, were normal atmospheric
events for coastal life. Now I have come to
understand that “earthquake lights” are real
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Marianne George
phenomena with distinct causation, and they
are most likely what I have seen many times
(Findani 2010: 967–78).
From 1993 to 2008 I made three
round-trip voyages between Hawaii and
the far Southwest Pacific—first to visit
with, and then to respond to the request
of the Paramount Chief of Taumako for
assistance with an educational project he
envisioned. During the fifteen-year research
project I made twenty-five voyages under
the direction of Te Aliki Kaveia, or with him
navigating. All but one of these voyages were
made on my gaff cutter, Gryphon (see us on
deck of Gryphon in Figure 1). On several
occasions during these voyages he showed
me te lapa. After first having it pointed
Fig 1 The author and Kaveia on her yacht
Gryphon in 1997. Photo: H.M. Wyeth.
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 141
out to me by David Lewis and Kaveia I
saw it several other times during voyages
throughout the Pacific.
Kaveia also explained to me about the
strange lights that I had seen many times in
that region and also in other tropical oceans,
but never understood what they might mean
for a mariner. These he called Te Akua—
“the devil lights.” [Ed. interestingly, strange
spherical lights seen in Gabon, West Africa,
are considered to be Aku, devils.] Kaveia
distinguished between the green, blue, red,
orange, yellow, and white lights that arc out
of the ocean or fall into it, and those which
track away from the island toward the deep
sea and those that track from the deep sea
towards the island. Kaveia stated that these
lights are harbingers of good or bad weather
and favorable or unfavorable sea conditions
for fishing and travel, and so were probably
unrelated to te lapa.
A Polynesian Master Navigator,
Heir of Lata, and Mentor
The late Te Aliki (Chief) Koloso Kahia Kaveia
was a preeminent Polynesian navigator,
born on the small high island of Taumako
in the Santa Cruz group of the Southeast
Solomons. Kaveia remembered being about
six years old when he, his father, and thirtyfive other Taumako survived the great illness
that killed over 2,000 Taumako. At about
nine years old in 1921, anticipating that the
British would be coming to control their
island more closely, Kaveia’s father sent him
on a voyaging canoe to stay with his sister on
Pileni in the Outer Reef Islands. Soon Kaveia
began to make voyages in the entry-level
crew position of “bailout boy.” His precocity
at sea earned him the job of steersman
when he was still a youth. Kaveia voyaged
to and fro in the Santa Cruz group on Pileni
canoes for about seventeen years.
Kaveia explained that under British rule
voyaging was difficult and commonly resulted
in confiscation of the canoes. He said that
laws against, and opposition to, voyaging
from government and church resulted in
the numbers of voyaging canoes decreasing
from over 200 in 1920 to a handful in 1960.
But some of the voyaging crews soldiered
on. Kaveia told about sailing to Vanikoro in
1935 and being present during a meeting of
the chiefs from all Santa Cruz Islands. They
discussed the growing incidence of plantation
labor and cash economy under British rule.
Because of the increasing lack of voyaging
canoe traffic the island people were finding
it too difficult to acquire their own (sewn
sections and rolls of) traditional red feather
money to pay each other for everyday needs
such as foods (see Davenport 1962: 94–104
for discussion of the sources, creation, and
uses of red feather money). It was also too
difficult to acquire British currency to pay for
European clothing and education. The chiefs
decided that henceforth British currency
would be used to pay for all but the most
important of payments. Red feather money
was reserved for use only for bride price and
acquisition of voyaging canoes.
Kaveia married at the age of twentysix and returned home to Taumako.
He then studied navigation with his
father and apprenticed in the building of
voyaging canoes. But the hostilities of the
Second World War increased the already
considerable risk of having one’s canoe
confiscated. Interest in, and capability of
acquiring, voyaging canoes dropped steadily.
For several years during the Second World
War, Te Aliki Kaveia was foreman of the
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
142 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
rebuilding, and first mate of a sailing scow
that traded in timber and sea products
between Santa Cruz Isles and Port Vila,
Vanuatu, throughout the Second World War.
Kaveia took advantage of his ability to move
between islands to provide the Polynesian
communities with news, cloth, sugar, and
tobacco.
After the Second World War Kaveia
managed the first trade store on Taumako,
and was increasingly called upon by the
community to negotiate with European
traders and Australian officials. When
Australian officials required there be one
overall leader—a Paramount Chief—of
Taumako, the community voted Kaveia to
the post, which he held for over forty years.
Kaveia raised fourteen children, thirteen
of them adopted. In 1968–9 he was the
steersman for the voyage from Nifiloli to
Taumako (via Santa Cruz) on David Lewis’s
gaff cutter with Basil Tevake as navigator.
In 1974 Kaveia was called upon to sail his
te puke voyaging canoe to Santa Cruz for
review by the Duke of Edinburgh. In 1979–
80 Kaveia led his community in the building
of a forty-two-foot te puke ordered by
the Solomon Islands Museum to represent
the country at the Pacific Arts Festival in
Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. Their
voyage from Taumako to Vela LaVela was the
only one that used completely traditional
navigation methods.
Kaveia navigated the vessel to Honiara
as required, and there was delayed for some
weeks by government officials. They were
released to depart for Port Moresby when
the trade wind season was ending. The night
of the day they sailed from Honiara they
weathered a violent storm that sank at least
two big government vessels. Kaveia and his
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Marianne George
crew reached Vela LaVela at the far western
border of the Solomon Islands before
cyclone season calms and westerly storm
winds terminated the voyage. They were
regional heroes, but they never received
the payments promised to them by the
government, who confiscated their canoe
and then left it on the seaside in Honiara to
be destroyed in a cyclone.
Voyaging made Kaveia a cosmopolitan
man, who understood more languages and
had more outside contacts than others
from his region as well as with colonial
overlords and government officials. His range
of voyaging, from Vela LaVela to Port Vila,
surpassed that of even Basil Tevake.
In 1993, David Lewis and I completed
a five-month visit to the Santa Cruz group
by accepting the invitation of Te Aliki Kaveia
to spend ten days with him at Taumako.
This was when he began to teach us about
traditional Polynesian methods of building
and navigation of voyaging canoes.
On the first day he told us the story of
Lata, who he presented as his direct ancestor
since both Lata and Kaveia were born and
raised in the kainga (traditional land division)
of Kahula on the east-southeast, windward
area of Taumako. Kaveia explained, “Lata
is, according to Polynesian oral tradition,
the first person to build and sail a voyaging
canoe … and everything that Polynesians
know about voyaging was passed down to
them by Lata.”
Each day Kaveia took us to see sights
all around Taumako Island where we could
observe evidence of Lata’s activities when he
was alive there. We saw where all the steps
of making and sailing a voyaging canoe were
done at Taumako. Kaveia showed us the wind
positions of the model Lata used to navigate,
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Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 143
Fig 2 Kaveia captaining a small training vessel of the type called Te Alo Lili in 2008. Photo: author.
and how they correlated with a succession
of celestial bodies we watched through one
night. For nine days Kaveia made it perfectly
clear that he and his community were the
heirs of Lata’s voyaging knowledge, and
that included everything they know about
navigation.
On the tenth day Kaveia asked for help
to realize his dream of teaching Polynesian
youth their heritage, and in 1996 I returned
to work with him toward that goal. With
the help of collaborators from Hawaii we
started the Vaka Taumako Project (www.
vaka.org), which continued until 2009, the
year Kaveia died. Figure 2, a photo taken
in June 2008, shows Kaveia instructing his
students aboard a type of vessel called
“Te Alo Lili.” The voyaging canoes built
by the Vaka Taumako Project made two
voyages and several day sails during this
time, and my own gaff cutter and another
sailboat made many voyages with Kaveia
as navigator or following his specific sailing
instructions.4
Kaveia’s Teachings about the
“Polynesian Navigation System”
Kaveia made great effort to convey his
knowledge of the ancient ways to a new
generation. Regarding navigation, he was
emphatic that the methods he used
comprised a system, and not just a suite of
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
144 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
unrelated tools. In fact, while David Lewis
and I were at his home in Taumako, and just
after we spent a day and a half going through
a copy of Lewis’ We, the Navigators with
him, Kaveia pointedly asked David “Would
you like to know the Polynesian navigation
system?”
David was at first stunned, and then
eventually he sputtered out “Yes! Please tell
me what that is!” Kaveia giggled at length
to cover his own, and everyone else’s,
embarrassment. Then he smiled gently and
said “The Polynesian Navigation System is
what we call Te Nohoanga Te Matangi.”
During the next fifteen years, whenever
I was with him, Kaveia explained and
demonstrated that “system” to me so that I
could help him to document it. He navigated
during three voyages on my sailboat. He
gave sailing directions (according to Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi) to me for twentytwo other voyages I made in the Santa Cruz
Islands during this time. Kaveia checked and
approved all the information presented
here.
Between 1993 and 2008, the words “Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi” were translated to me
many times by Kaveia himself as we spoke
in Melanesian Pidgin, or later on in Solomon
Islands Pidgin, and even in rudimentary
Taumako language and English. It was also
translated by various of Kaveia’s chosen
translators—starting with Walter Natei in
1993, then Mostyn Vane of Taumako, and
then Walter Nubao of Taumako—as the
“wind (position) system” of navigation.
The first four individual words or
morphemes may be translated literally as
“te”—a singular article like the English word
“the,” and “noho”—which translates literally
as “seat,” “chair” or “life/live” (Naess and
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Marianne George
Hovdhaugen 2007: 444–5). More loosely,
“noho” may be translated as “abode,”
“position,” or “place.” The word “anga” is a
participial marker similar to the English “ing”
which could refer to “noho,” and thus turn
the meaning “sit” or “position” into “sitting” or
“positioning” (Naess and Hovdhaugen 2007:
444–5). Thus, the combination of “noho”
and “anga” may alternately be translated
as “positioning.” The final word “matangi”
means “wind.”
According to translations by Vane in
1999 and Nubao in 2005, the meaning of
“nohoanga” includes the idea of “system,”
“model,” or “pattern” because there is some
human concept or creativity having to do
with the “seats” or “positions.”
The meaning of this phrase, according
to Kaveia, as translated by Mostyn Vane and
Walter Nubao, includes the idea that this
“wind pattern” has been humanly “worked”
or “made” (anga). That is, it is not a name
for the winds themselves, but for the seats
or positions that people use relative to the
winds. As such this wind pattern is a tool
that is systematically arranged or designed
for interrelating the positions (www.vaka.org;
George n.d.). The articles for both Nohoanga
and for Matangi are singular—“te” rather
than the plural “nga”—which indicates that
each of these words is regarded as one
unit rather than as a bunch of unrelated
seats or a bunch of wind or winds. The
type of “matangi” is described or clarified by
“nohoanga” which is a created or designed
dwelling/positioning/seating array, rather than
just a seat or chair. Altogether, these words
as a phrase may be translated a bit more
loosely as “the Abodes of Wind model,” “the
Wind Positioning Pattern,” “the Wind Position
Model,” or “The Wind Bearing System.”
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 145
Another plausible translation could be “The
Living Model of Wind.”
Kaveia explained (www.vaka.org) that the
number of positions or seats for the wind
in Te Nohoanga Te Matangi are ultimately
thirty-two, and that they are positioned
around the horizon of the viewer who is
located anywhere on an island or an ocean.
The positions are organized in opposite pairs
(opposite each other around the horizon)
and the four pairs that make up the primary
eight positions are often referred to as a sort
of basic orientation grid. So this wind-related
design or pattern of positioning or “seating”
is what is observed by a viewer who is
looking at the horizon around herself. As
such it is a system or model that the viewer
uses. It is also a “cognitive artifact”—a mental
tool or instrument that facilitates attention to
and interrelation of matters relevant to some
problem (Hutchins 1995 [1965])—in this
case navigation.
In Figure 3 the observer is on the canoe
in the center of the diagram, and looks out
to the horizon, where thirty-two named
positions are arrayed in equidistance from
one another. The eight primary positions
comprise four pairs of opposites. The four
pairs are Te Alunga–Te Hakahiu, Te Tonga–Te
Tokelau, Te Ulu–Te Palapu, and Te Laki–Te
Tokelau Tu. It is important to understand that
the position at the top of the circle named
Te Alunga does not represent north. I have
placed it in the same position that north
would be in if this was a figure representing
or overlapping compass headings. The
English translation of Te Alunga is “pillow,”
which is something that holds up one’s head
when one is reclining. So, in that sense at
least, Te Alunga is associated with the head
of the thirty-two named positions in Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi. Te Alunga is also the
signature position from which the trade
winds blow early in the trade wind season.
Fig 3 Te Nohoanga Te
Matangi—the thirty-two
named positions and four pairs.
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
146 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Sometime in early June there are usually light
to moderate trade winds blowing from Te
Alunga as the major voyaging season begins
in the Santa Cruz Islands.
It is not traditional in the Santa Cruz
Islands to draw representations of Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi. The diagrams
shown in Figures 3–7, created as computer
graphics by Daniel Jackson, were originally
hand drawn by the author. Each one was
examined and approved for accuracy by
Kaveia every year from 1999 until 2007, and
all six chiefs of Vaeakau (Outer Reefs) in
2002 for the purpose of educating a new
generation of traditional voyagers. These
were created after the manner of so-called
“wind compasses” in the literature of the
Pacific and maritime history (e.g. Lewis 1972:
113–16; Akimichi 1980; Finney and Low
2006: 162–4). But in this literature there has
been little scholarly work on the meaning or
purpose of these images. Kaveia’s detailed
Marianne George
and layered explanations of Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi would be best represented with
three-dimensional and animated images
illustrating the various correlations, scales, and
behaviors of this complex system of planning
and navigation (George n.d.). But for our
purposes here two-dimensional diagrams
after the manner of those in the literature
will suffice.5
The navigator is located on the canoe in
the middle of these diagrams (Figures 4–7),
and looks outward at the thirty-two named
positions that are equidistantly arrayed
around the surrounding horizon. A wind that
blows at the navigator from any direction
will align with one, or locate between two, of
these thirty-two positions.
In Figure 4 the trade wind season (Te
Ngatae) occurs when the eye of the wind is
positioned between Te Tokelau Tu and Te Ulu,
and this occurs primarily between the June
solstice and the September equinox. The
Fig 4 Te Nohoanga Te Matangi
showing calendrics and seasons.
Time and Mind
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 147
cyclone season (Te Angeho) occurs when the
eye of the wind is positioned are between Te
Laki and Te Palapu, and this occurs primarily
between the December solstice and the
March equinox. The winds are variable
and weak when positioned between Te Ulu
and Te Laki, and between Te Palapu and Te
Tokelau Tu, which occurs primarily between
the March equinox and the June solstice and
between the September equinox and the
December solstice.
The navigator uses this model for
correlating wind (which may blow from,
or “abide in,” thirty-two named positions
around the horizon), with stars, seasons,
etc., and with behavior patterns of the
wind, stars, seasons, etc. In this correlation
of thirty-two named positions with other
phenomena—such as seasons (trade wind
and cyclone), calendrics (equinoxes and
solstices), inter-island routes, the usefulness of
certain asterisms for navigation (astronomical
positions and usefulness of celestial bodies
for navigation), and the rising and setting
positions of the sun. In this way one might
argue that it is what aeronautical navigators
call a “trip planner.” Te Nohoanga Te Matangi
as a trip planner is vehicle-centered within
the layout of the thirty-two named positions
around the horizon.
A Complex and Redundant System
The various types and levels of information
that are correlated in Te Nohoanga Te
Matangi are used to both plan the voyage
and to navigate to the chosen destination.
Seasons, weather, calendrics, positions in the
sky of celestial bodies that are not visible, and
when they rise and set relative to each other,
sunset and sunrise positions, voyaging routes,
etc., are not separated out from the process
of navigation. In Te Nohoanga Te Matangi they
all have a deciding role in both planning and
navigation of a voyage.
The system is redundant and selfcorrecting. Having alternative and interrelated
ways to navigate makes the task very much
safer and more practical than the singularly
astronomical or satellite-based methods
that comprise modern navigation. Sextant
navigation requires being able to see celestial
bodies; hence, no see, no position. In the
case of Global Positioning Systems (GPS),
if the power fails, or if the satellite stops
working, then there will be no position. But
with Te Nohoanga Te Matangi, if one cannot
see any stars, the swell patterns are sufficient
for successful navigation on many routes. If
one cannot sail to an island during the main
trade wind or cyclone season, then there
are other brief periods of “special winds”
that one can sail on. If one is far away from
home, or at an unknown island, if one can
see where the sun rises or sets then one is
oriented to all positions around the horizon.
If one knows the voyaging route one wants
to follow then one knows which of the
thirty-two positions around the horizon one
must have the wind coming from in order
to safely make the voyage. If the wind comes
suddenly out of the northeast as a weather
front, then one knows which succession of
thirty-two positions the wind will come from
before it settles down to a position that one
may trust to sail on. If the position of the
eye of the wind changes, then one can know
this because it will have shifted vis-a-vis the
celestial bodies, or the swell patterns. And
if nothing else in Te Nohoanga Te Matangi is
working then one can still see te lapa. It is
both part of the system and a redundant, or
backup, method of navigation.
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148 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Marianne George
Fig 5 Te Nohoanga Te Matangi
showing strong, weak, and
special winds.
Te Alunga
Te Tokelau Tu Alunga
Te Alunga Tonga
Stron
ges
tW
ind
s
Mali
no
Te Ulu Tonga
21
September 21
d
in
gD
ro
Te Tokelau Hakahiu
ng
li n o
1
ind
ur
St
r2
be
gw
Te Tokelau
Va
k
aH
aip
e ce
es
ula
m be
Te Ulu Laki
Te Laki
r
t W
inds
Ma
m
ce
De
i
Ve
on
l s tr
Vak a
S p e cia
Te Tokelau Palapu
Te Ulu
Strong winds Sept. 19-23
nd
No
t St
rong
Winds
March 21
Strong winds March 19-23
Fin
ea
Te Palapu
Te Tonga
ne
Ju
Te Tokelau Tu Palapu
Fine and
Not
Stro
ng
Wi
nd
s
Te Tokelau Tu
Te Hakahiu Laki
Te Hakahiu
Strong winds come from the positions
shaded light gray in Figure 5. The strongest
winds come from the positions shaded
darker gray. Weak winds come from the
positions shaded light gray. Special winds,
that do not occur every year, come from
the positions shaded two shades of gray that
are intermediate between the darkest and
lightest.
The asterisms shown in Figure 6 are
useful for navigation when the wind is
coming from the positions marked for
each. For example, when the wind comes
from the arc shown between Te Alunga
Tonga and Te Hakahiu Laki then Salo is
useful for navigation. This is not a diagram
depicting the wind positions in which the
asterisms are necessarily visible in the sky/
above the horizon. For example, when the
wind comes from both the arc between Te
Tokelau Tu and Te Palapu, and from the arc
between Te Palapu and Te Alunga, then Hetu
Mdavo (Pleiades) are useful for navigation.
NB: Hetu Mdavo is useful when the wind
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comes from two arcs, which overlap slightly.
The small arc named “The Return of Hetu
Mdavo,” and the overlap that the arc of The
Return of Hetu Mdavo has with the arc of
Hetu Mdavo comprise positions that are
not visible to an observer on earth, because
Hetu Mdavo is located below the horizon
(when the wind is in those wind positions).
So we see that even when it is not visible
Hetu Mdavo (the Pleiades star group) is
useful in navigation according to Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi. This is in stark contrast to how
celestial bodies are used in European-derived
navigation. In celestial navigation, if you
cannot see a star then you do not use it in
navigation, whereas Taumako practitioners of
Te Nohoanga Te Matangi actually use unseen
celestial bodies to navigate by. How this
works will be elaborated in George (n.d.).
Various elements of Te Nohoanga Te
Matangi are complementary—such as wind
and swells, seasonal phenomena and celestial
events, swell patterns, bird and sea animal
behaviors, and the routes between islands
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 149
Fig 6 Te Nohoanga Te Matangi
showing asterisms useful for
navigation.
that one would sail to. Given the varied
and constantly changing conditions that
one encounters at sea, especially if one is
exploring new routes or looking for land, or
even fishing offshore in a new direction, it
is beneficial to have alternative navigational
tools that can be used to check on the
veracity of methods that one has already
used. It is also a great advantage to have a
navigation system that takes into account,
and is indeed based upon, weather and sea
conditions, as well as calendrics and routes,
and how these all link up with the positions
of asterisms.
The routes shown in Figure 7 may and
should be safely undertaken when the wind
is coming from the associated positions.
Te Lapa and Te Nohoanga Te
Matangi
It is not clear if te lapa is a phenomenon
that can be correlated with the other
phenomena of Te Nohoanga Te Matangi. The
other phenomena are organized according
to their correlation with the thirty-two wind
positions as if Te Nohoanga Te Matangi were
a sort of slide rule for organizing complex
information. Te lapa seems to be singularly
useful no matter what positions the wind and
other phenomena are sitting in. We need
to understand more about te lapa to know
how it correlates with the other elements of
Te Nohoanga Te Matangi.
Until now Te Nohoanga Te Matangi and te
lapa have been two of the more mysterious
concepts of Polynesian navigation. While
Te Nohoanga Te Matangi was described
by Kaveia as a conceptual and integrative
system, or a systematic tool, te lapa was
described by Kaveia and other Taumako as a
real phenomenon that is used as a tool that
can stand on its own.
Te Lapa as a Primary or Auxiliary
Wayfinding Tool
Until now I have been using the word
navigation in a broad, inclusive sense. But
it should be noted that te lapa is a natural
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
150 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
ako
um
Ta
eefs
to R
Taum
ako
to
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Fig 7 Te Nohoanga Te Matangi
showing routes in Southeast
Solomon Isles.
Nd
en
i
phenomenon rather than a mental model
or system. The methods of using te lapa in
wayfinding would be navigational in nature
if they were used in the open sea without
reference to land. But if te lapa is used for
wayfinding relatively close to shore and/or
using land signs, then it would be defined as
piloting.
If one is already using Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi to navigate, then one knows
the route, the course relative to islands
or swell patterns effected by islands, the
useful asterisms (and thus “starpaths”), and
the seasonal and calendric realities that
correlate with the rest. If one is only using
stars or only using swell patterns, or using
any combination of these, and if conditions
are such that these are perfectly adequate,
then te lapa is auxiliary. But te lapa may also
be used to the exclusion of any other tool of
navigation or piloting. Indeed, some Vaeakau
sailors and fishermen/women today use te
lapa more than any other method. But, if one
Marianne George
is “lost” or disoriented by bad weather, or if
one is navigating to a new destination, then
one may see te lapa from a direction that
one did know was landward. In that case one
may realize that one is headed in the wrong
direction and may use te lapa to reorient to
the desired route. One the other hand one
may discover the existence of an island or
reef one did not previously know about. The
newly discovered land may turn out to be
located en route to the intended landfall or
it may provide the main means of navigation
or piloting to a new destination. Te lapa may
be useful as a primary or as an auxiliary tool
depending on one’s purpose or situation.
Unlike Te Nohoanga Te Matangi, te lapa is
not a system but a named phenomenon that
several Polynesian navigators, and even some
Micronesian and Melanesian wayfinders, have
gone on record as knowing about and using.
These include Tevake and Bongi of the Santa
Cruz Islands, Abera of Nikunau, Ve’etutu
of Tonga, as well as Kaveia and several other
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 151
very elderly or deceased men and women
who voyaged extensively in the Santa Cruz
Islands, and numerous younger people who
now fish and occasionally have taken line of
sight or drift voyages. The list also includes
at least two outsiders (David Lewis and
myself) who have seen it and had Polynesian
navigators who saw the same thing at the
same time agree with the identification.
Other Polynesian navigators have stated that
they are not familiar with te lapa or its use—
including Teeta of Micronesia and various
Anutan and Tikopian navigators who were
interviewed by David Lewis.
Flashes Like Lightning
The Polynesian words te lapa may be
translated into English as “the flashing” or
“something that flashes.” Te lapa is probably
the same phenomenon as the one called
te mata on Nikunau, and ulo aetahi, “Glory
of the Seas” (Lewis 1994 [1972]: 255). Dr
Emil Wolfgramm (personal communication)
transcribed these latter words as “ulo a’e
tahi” in Tongan and said that other Tongan
words to describe the same phenomena are
“te tapa”—which translates to English as “to
burst forth with light.”
The light flashes of te lapa move. In that
way te lapa is like the oval leaves on the
olapa tree [Cheirodendron trigynum (Gaud)],
an endemic species of the ginseng family
(Araliaceae), that Kumu Hula Roselle Bailey
and Te Aliki Kaveia pointed out to me when
we were in Hawaii. They noted that one’s
eyes are drawn to the light side of the leaves
as they flap back and forth, “dancing” in
the slightest wind. Bailey pointed out that
Hawaiians are aware that the leaves of olapa
move in the smallest trace of wind when
no other leaves are moving. In the context
of navigation, te lapa is a lightning-like flash
of light that may be observed by ocean
wayfinders. The characteristic that defines
te lapa from other flashes of light in the
ocean is that it emanates from land. Thus,
the observant sailor who understands that it
emanates from land can follow the direction
of the flash in order to find the land that is
its source.
David Lewis reported that the te lapa he
saw looked like:
Streaks, flashes, and momentarily glowing
plaques of light, all well beneath the surface.
Exactly like lightning, it flickers and darts and
is in constant motion. It occurs a good deal
deeper down than common luminescence,
at anything from a foot or two to more
than a fathom. (1994 [1972]: 254)
He also used the translation of te lapa as
“underwater lightning,” and reported that
he saw it twice whilst sailing with Santa
Cruz navigator Basil Tevake in 1968–9. Lewis
further stated that:
Te lapa (is) dynamic, transient, and deep
in the water, is in all these respects quite
distinct from ordinary phosphorescence
… Common phosphorescence is most
profuse within a mile or so of reefs and
coasts, whereas te lapa does not begin
until … miles offshore. (1994 [1972]: 254)
It is the former to which Harold Gatty
(1943) refers when he says, “At night,
increasing luminescence, due to organisms
in the water, constitutes a warning that you
are approaching a reef or shore line” (Lewis
1994 [1972]: 254). But Kaveia stated to me
very firmly and repeatedly that te lapa is “not
underwater” but rather “It travels in bolts, like
lightning, on the surface of the ocean.” He
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152 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
pointed this out to me repeatedly, and what
I saw did indeed look like bolts of light on
the surface of the ocean. However, before I
met Kaveia, I looked for te lapa with Lewis’
guidance and did see it a couple of times.
What I saw with Lewis seemed to be below
the surface, which is where he was directing
my attention. But it appeared to me to be
very close to the surface on those occasions.
So, I wonder if there is some part of te lapa
that is sometimes submarine, or whether it is
on the surface sometimes and submarine at
others.
Kaveia was adamant that if there was
some light below the surface it was not
te lapa because te lapa is solely useful for
navigation and any other lights in the ocean
are not te lapa. I wondered if perhaps Lewis
had seen “near reef ” or “on the reef ” te lapa
and confused a surface light with submarine
luminescence from reef creatures. But Kaveia
rejected this proposition; indeed, I once
observed him use te lapa that was only one
mile from the deep reef and one and a half
miles from the fringing reef when we were
approaching Taumako (see below).
Lewis noted that Abera’s discussion of
te mata also defines the difference between
te lapa and phosphorescence as being a
matter of directional versus non-directional
light. Various fishermen at Taumako stated
that they see and use te lapa both near
offshore of their reefs and right on the
reefs at night. Kaveia and various fishermen
and fisherwomen I talked with agreed
that all te lapa is very directional and not
to be confused with phosphorescence or
bioluminescence that is not coming straight
from the direction of land to seaward.
This latter bioluminescence could possibly
be confused with caustic refractions of
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Marianne George
bioluminescence that occur on the reef
and do not articulate directly to seaward.
Caustic refractions are the moving lights that
one sees in swimming pools and shallow,
light sandy-bottomed ocean, river, or lake
waters. Caustics occur as light penetrates the
surface of water and converges as a result of
lensing on the uneven (wavy) surface of the
water. The lensing causes refraction as the
light changes angles because it moves from
one medium into another. Caustics are the
convergences of light that has been refracted
by lensing. But caustic phenomena have only
been observed by scientists to articulate
relatively short distances, not miles, and not
particularly from land or reef to seaward, or
from land to land over miles of sea.
The navigator Ve’etutu of Tonga
also distinguished clearly between the
meaninglessness of phosphorescence on the
surface of the water and the “deep down
flashes of light [that] show the way land
is” (Lewis 1994 [1972]: 255–6). Lewis also
reported that “Abera of Nikunau asserted
(in a possibly related phenomenon) that on
calm, cloudless days, when the sun was nearly
overhead … you peer(ed) down into the
sea and observ(ed) the sun’s rays. Some rays
would be long and some short. The shorter
rays point(ed) toward the invisible land”
(Lewis 1994 [1972]: 255–6).
Visible in the Dark
Kaveia and all others agree that te lapa is
easiest to see on dark nights and when
clouds block the moonlight. Yet, I observed
that on the brightest of full moon nights
in 1998, Kaveia and the crew of the Vaka
Taumako used te lapa to confirm their
course en route to Nifiloli from Taumako.
They saw the te lapa when only a few
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Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 153
strands of cloud occasionally strayed across
the moon causing a slight diminution in the
otherwise extremely bright moonlight. They
were motivated to do this when I myself
(sailing nearby in my gaff cutter) yelled over
to them repeatedly to question their course,
as it seemed to me that they were heading
too far upwind and might miss the Reef
Islands entirely! I later learned that they had
been intentionally slowing down their vessel.
Their purpose in doing this was to wait for
me to catch up, because my gaff cutter was
not able to maintain the speed and tracking
that the te puke could with the wind closehauled. Badgered by my concerned inquiries
being shouted from my boat to the canoe,
Kaveia used the exercise as a teaching
moment for the less experienced crew
members, and showed them that the te lapa
emanating from the Reef Islands confirmed
that they were heading in the right direction.
Color
Te lapa is generally described by Kaveia
and other Taumako/Vaeakau voyagers as
white and lightning-like. I saw it white or
magnesium-white colored, like lightning.
Once I saw it as slightly yellowish and
wondered if the green appearance of the
shallow sea (usually it is deep blue offshore)
had influenced the appearance of the color.
Straight Lines Directly from Land
or Reef
According to Kaveia, the lightning-like te lapa
bolts are straight lines. Kaveia compared
them to the bolts of light that come from a
torch or flashlight if one could turn it on and
off extremely rapidly. It appears as a straight
line of light that can be seen for an instant
before it stops as the flashlight is turned off
again. Lewis described te lapa as “streaks”
and “streaking,” “flickering” and ”flickers,”
“flashes” and “flashing,” “darts” and darting,”
“streams” and “bolts” (1994 [1972]: 253–5).
But Lewis did not say that te lapa appeared
jagged, like lightning. His description of te
lapa as like lightning was a translation which
describes its instantaneous and directional
appearance. My eyes could see that there
was a beginning and end of the line of light
bolts coming toward me. It happens so
fast—in just a fraction of a second—that it
is not easy to see or describe. But what I
have seen confirms Kaveia’s assertion that
the bolts are instantaneous, straight in form,
and that they emanate straight from land. In
Figure 8 the image is meant to portray that
stop-action moment when a bolt of te lapa
approaches a vessel.
In 1998, while showing me te lapa from
Santa Cruz, Vanikoro, and Taumako while
en route between Santa Cruz Island and
Taumako, Kaveia said to me, “So it is like the
islands are sending these bolts of light lines
out, and if we look for them when we are
at sea then many times we can see them
and know the exact direction toward the
island(s).”6
Patterns
Lewis and others have stated that they
have seen “plaques” or patterns of te lapa.
I saw patterns with Lewis and I have seen
patterns myself that could be described
as plaques, which could have been te lapa.
But I had no confirmation from Kaveia or
other knowledgeable navigators that what
we saw were actually te lapa.7 I wonder
if these plaque-like patterns might come
from multiple sources of te lapa occurring
simultaneously from an arc of sources at
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154 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Fig 8 Altered photo depicting te lapa viewed
from a vaka (voyaging canoe). Photo: author;
alterations: D. Jackson.
the same distance, or from islands that have
smaller islands in front of them.
Visible Range at Various Distances
from Land
One of the characteristics of te lapa that
has been described in the literature is
the distance from land at which it may be
observed. David Lewis stated that “It is best
seen in the ‘middle sea,’ 80–100 miles out.”
The farthest from shore that I saw Kaveia
observe te lapa, and saw it myself, was in
1999, over 100 miles from Taumako on a line
to Vanikoro. Yet Kaveia revealed that he used
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Marianne George
it at greater distances when he recounted
how he navigated from Taumako to Vela
LaVela (see map, Figure 9). He had planned
to sail directly from Santa Cruz Island to
Papua New Guinea via Rennell and Bellona
Islands. But the Solomon Islands government
authorities had required that Kaveia sail to
Honiara before sailing on to Vela LaVela.
So his navigational task was to sail north of
Makira and through the “slot” between the
big islands of the Solomons chain. The canoe
departed Santa Cruz Island at about 5 pm
and was making 10 knots in a fair wind on
the first night of sailing. Sometime around
midnight Kaveia saw te lapa coming from
Malaita, at least 150 miles to the northwest,
and from Rennell and Bellona at least 200
miles to the southwest. Obviously, the
capability of sensing the direction to land
from such great distances is an awesome
piloting tool—one that far exceeds the range
of ship-based radar.8
The nearest to shore that I saw anyone
observe te lapa was two miles from
Taumako (see map of Southeast Solomon
Islands, Figure 10). Kaveia and I were rapidly
approaching the north end of Taumako in
my sailboat one squally night; the wind was
20 knots from the southeast and gusting from
the south, and the main swell was crossing
us from the southeast and wrapping around.
We were surfing at 6–7 knots toward the
island, but I did not want to douse the sails
prematurely and miss the island. I thought we
were 3–4 miles from the island (Captain’s
Log, Gryphon, 2002: 224). Suddenly Kaveia
became very concerned as to how close we
might be to the reef and whether we might
be headed to the left of the island between
Taumako and the small island that is two
miles to the north of it. My supposition was
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 155
Fig 9 Map of the Solomon Islands from Vela LaVela to Duff Islands.
that te lapa would not be visible, and the
swell pattern would not be a big help so
close in and near the leeward end of the
island. I went below to get the GPS to check
our position. When I returned to the cockpit
Kaveia was leaning outboard facing the ocean
on the island side of the boat and stared
intently. I then got a position that showed us
two miles off the island. But GPS readings
can be wrong. And until 2000, the charts on
which one would plot GPS positions were
often four to five miles off in the Santa Cruz
Islands. So neither of us was satisfied. Kaveia
kept staring tensely into the dark for ten
minutes until he suddenly laughed and said
“Yes, we are still heading for Taumako and
no need to down the sails … we are not
too close yet.” I asked him what he saw and
how he knew. He replied, “I saw te lapa.” I
tried to see it briefly, but was unable to in the
short moments I had to look for it when sails
needed tending. We were a mile from the
deep reef and half a mile off the fringing reef.
When I asked for confirmation that he saw te
lapa so close to land Kaveia explained to me
that it could be seen this close to land or reef
but usually there was no need to try to see
it when a vessel was so close because usually
one can see the island or feel the swell
patterns more clearly. Thus, he argued that
it was not that te lapa did not occur near
shore, but rather that it was not commonly
used for navigation near shore. The normal
usefulness of te lapa, for a navigator, is when a
vessel is out of sight of land.
Variations in Te Lapa Appearances
Lewis wrote that Basil Tevake and Bongi told
him that there were three types of te lapa—
the “near land lapa,” the “reef lapa,” and the
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156 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Marianne George
Fig 10 Map of the Southeast Solomon Islands including north of Vanuatu. Credit: Anna Illman.
“distant land lapa”—and that “Te lapa near
the reef is infrequent and scanty,” thus hard
to see. Lewis reported that: “The motion of
te lapa was shorter and slower more than 20
miles offshore.” Furthermore, Lewis stated
that “10 to 20 miles from the reef and closer
te lapa takes on a rapid to-and-fro jerking
character” (1994 [1972]: 253). Deep sea te
lapa has a quicker and longer movement,
and is most frequent and clear. Yet, there
are exceptions, such as the te lapa “of reefs
(such as Reef Islands which are composed
of mostly reefs and less than half islands) is
slower moving than that from islands the
same distance away” (1994 [1972]: 253).
I have seen these three types of te lapa,
but I did not use them solely for navigation
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without the guidance of Kaveia, because I
have not seen enough of it to be familiar
with any one sighting to be sure that it was
coming from one island in the foreground
rather than another thirty miles behind or
behind and to the side of it. I have found
that maritime skills and the confidence to
use them are best realized as a result of
experience and supervised practice.
Unique for Each Island
Kaveia explained that the te lapa we
see from each island has its own unique
signature—some brighter, wider, longer or
shorter flashes, more or less frequent flashes,
more or less energetic, jerky, etc. Navigators
in training have to be able to distinguish
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 157
which te lapa comes from which islands.
Kaveia explained that to sharpen their ability
to distinguish te lapa from one island from
that of other islands, their teachers would
bring them to a place in the ocean that was
near to Vanikoro. There they could see te
lapa from every island in the Santa Cruz
Islands simultaneously. Was Kaveia simply
talking about the fact that if one were
located within ten miles of Vanikoro, one
would see the near-reef te lapa for Vanikoro,
the ten-to-twenty-mile away te lapa for
Utupua, the more than twenty mile away
te lapa for Taumako, and the more than
eighty mile away te lapa for Tikopia? Or is
there more that is truly unique about the
appearance of te lapa for each and every
island? Only a sea trial to this site under good
viewing conditions is likely to answer this
question.
Accomplished navigators take their
students to show them te lapa coming
from every island in the Santa Cruz group
(see white dotted lines) simultaneously.
In Figure 11 the white lines between the
canoe and the islands are made from unique
combinations of dots and dashes. The unique
visual characteristics of te lapa can be seen
Fig 11 Vessel located where unique appearances of te lapa from various islands can be seen
simultaneously.
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158 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Marianne George
emanating from various islands to a canoe
situated in their midst. Four swells commonly
observed in this area and in the Pacific in
general are depicted as the long, gently
curving lines from northwest (northern
hemisphere storm swell), southwest
(southern hemisphere storm swell), east and/
or southeast (southern hemisphere trade
swell), and northeast (northern hemisphere
trade swell).
that as the angle changes one can be aware
of the changing direction to known islands
and can assess whether one is making good
progress toward the destination island. Kaveia
also pointed out that in this way one can also
know which options one has should there be
an emergent need to change destinations—
such as a storm wind that prevents one from
continuing toward the destination island.
Angles Relative to the Vessel
Te Aliki Kaveia gave instructions for viewing
te lapa as follows:
Kaveia himself learned how to use te lapa
in a multi-leveled way. Kaveia stated that any
cadet learning traditional navigation should
learn by sailing various routes, seeing and
feeling the swells, viewing the asterisms,
experiencing the seasons, etc., and should
then extrapolate from those experiences for
traveling to other islands. The examples that
Kaveia gave for application of Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi were mostly in the Santa Cruz
group, but when questioned further by
myself, Kaveia stated that he believed that
the use of te lapa and other methods of Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi are applicable to any
other location on the globe. Unfortunately
Kaveia and I never went to sea while we
were in Hawaii, Fiji, or Australia. But he did
state that he was certain that he would see
it and use it in the same way in those places
(author’s field notes, 1998).
Kaveia was taught (and directed me)
to watch for te lapa whenever sailing on a
route to the chosen destination. Kaveia said
that when one sees it one should notice
the angle of the direction of any te lapa
stream to one’s own vessel. That angle will
change as one proceeds en route. In modern
maritime terms, as the bearing changes the
angle changes. What Kaveia explained is
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How to See Te Lapa
To see te lapa coming at you from an
island stare at where you expect it to
come from—or stare at various positions
around the horizon methodically to see
if any lapa is visible coming from any
position around the horizon. Sometimes
it comes very frequently. But sometimes
you must wait a long time, and sometimes
you may not see it for an hour, or most
of the night, before you will see it.9 You
must pay attention and keep staring in the
right place to see it come from that place.
So if you do not see it in one place you
must look in another place. It is the angle
at which te lapa comes to your vessel that
determines where it is that you direct your
gaze. Your eyes must be open, staring, and
you must give it your attention for you to
see it. I notice that many people do not
look long enough or with full attention, and
so they miss it. (Author’s field notes, 2002)
In the course of the Vaka Taumako Project,
Kaveia often expressed concern that
the young people get some supervised
experience at sea. He believed that the
best way to become aware of and learn
how to use such experiential phenomena
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Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 159
as te lapa is to receive seagoing guidance,
and to practice doing it with supervision
over a considerable period of time. Kaveia’s
personal history was typical of what we
know of other Pacific navigators such as Basil
Tevake of Santa Cruz Islands, and Hipour
of Puluwat. They learned their skills over
perhaps twenty years of training and practice
at sea. Seeing and feeling swell patterns and
seeing te lapa is not something that one can
really expect to do in a few days or weeks or
even months of looking. To be frustrated if
one does not see it in a matter of hours or
nights of trying to, or to doubt its existence
based on not having seen it, is to disregard
the value the kind of sea-time and mentoring
that accrued to Kaveia and other Pacific
navigators of his stature.
David Lewis explained clearly and
modestly that his own abilities to observe
what Tevake and other Pacific navigators
tried to show him were very dim. Despite
his many years of seagoing and multiple
circumnavigations using sextant and other
modern methods, Lewis was a slow learner
when it came to seeing what Tevake was
seeing. Lewis required sustained and patient
tutoring to learn to see te lapa and swell
patterns, for example, which are basic to
the skills of Pacific navigators such as Tevake.
Clearly, it took all of Lewis’ foundation
in building sea-time to prepare him to
understand what a few Pacific navigators
were doing, seeing, and feeling, during
relatively brief voyages he made with them.
Keep in mind that normally Taumako/
Vaeakau people undertook voyages to
downwind destinations. So if one were
looking for te lapa from islands somewhere
ahead of the beam (side) of the vessel, then
the seas would not usually be hitting the hull
in the direction of one’s gaze. Rather, the seas
would generally be following and therefore
the viewer would be looking at a rather
calm surface appearance. The choppiness of
the sea surface in the presence of a strong
current can make te lapa less obviously
visible. It is also possible that extremely
confused swell patterns with their refractions
and reflections, and confused wave patterns
or currents, or some combination of all of
them, can make it difficult to see te lapa.
I cannot confirm that from my limited
personal experience. Kaveia was not sure
either.
Slow and Low Viewing Platform
Similarly, when a vessel is moving slowly—
under 5 or 6 knots—it may be easier to
see te lapa than when a vessel is moving
faster, because when a vessel is moving faster
there is usually more turbulence, either from
more wind or from pounding on the waves
as a motor vessel tends to do. In any case,
seeing the ocean surface speed past tends to
distract the eyes from productive focus. Te
lapa is easier to see from a low deck—within
a meter or two of the sea surface—rather
than from the 3–9 m high deck of a ship.
Kaveia had no trouble seeing te lapa from a
yacht at a height of 2 m, but did not see it
much from the deck of a government ship
that was 4 m or more above the ocean.
Kaveia’s Theory about Te Lapa and
Te Hoko Hua (Swells)
In the literature of Pacific wayfinding, swell
patterns have been reported and researched
to some extent, but te lapa and Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi have remained very mysterious.
Kaveia believed that there are systematic
relationships between te lapa and swell
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160 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
patterns, winds, and other elements of Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi. Kaveia was tentative
about exactly what all the relationships were.
But Kaveia was very clear about many things
about te lapa that either contradicted Lewis’
report, clarified it, or elaborated upon it.
Perhaps we can best understand his meaning
if we consider what is known by scientists,
as well as what Kaveia taught about swell
patterns.
Waves and swells are caused by seismic
disturbance, gravitational pull of the sun and
moon, currents, etc., but most are caused
by the surface of the ocean being driven by
strong winds. Swells travel great distances.
When swells encounter islands they bounce
back from (reflect) or wrap around or
between (refract) islands in various patterns.
Kaveia taught that Te Hoko Hua—ocean
swells and waves—form patterns in the open
ocean as they articulate around and between
obstacles such as land forms and currents.
Te Hoko Hua Loa are ocean swells. It is also
the common term for the dominant easterly
to southeasterly, or trade wind, swell in and
around the Santa Cruz Islands. Te Hoko Hua
Iki are waves on top of the swells, and these
are caused by local winds, including diurnal
offshore and onshore winds. Te Poroporo are
short, steep swells that reflect from land.
In my six voyages with Kaveia and
nineteen other voyages under his direction,
and with debriefing after the voyages, we
often discussed the easterly trade wind
and westerly cyclone swells, as well as the
southwest and northwest storm swells that
come from a great distance. At any time in
the Santa Cruz Islands we could both easily
see and feel at least three of these swells.
Often we could see and feel all four. But
there are often swell patterns from strong
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Marianne George
winds and storms that occur out of the
context of trade winds or high latitudes, such
as parts of the ocean where there is a lot
of warming such as around Tonga and Fiji,
and as a result of hurricanes and cyclones
that sometimes track for thousands of miles
across the Pacific. Also, local wave patterns
can be seen and felt.
Being able to accurately see, feel, and
effectively identify and steer by ocean
swells usually results from decades of blue
water sea-time as well as from tutoring
by experienced blue water sailors, such as
David Lewis and Te Aliki Kaveia. It should
be understood that one defining feature of
master voyagers in any culture is the ability
to effectively recognize, orient by, and steer
by swells. It is easy to see why these skills
might best be sharpened by voyaging in
many parts of many oceans, and, one could
argue, in many types of ocean-going vessels.
Certain of the four most common Pacific
swells are dominant during certain seasons
and at certain latitudes and regions of the
open ocean, and when there are shallows
and land masses there are transformations
in the swell lines. If the land masses are big
enough they can block entirely the presence
of certain swells—as is the case of continents
between oceans.
Kaveia explained and demonstrated to
me a number of refraction and reflection
patterns of Te Hoko Hua (swells)—see
Figures 12–15. Similar diagrams have been
published in the literature (Lewis 1994
[1972]: 208–11; Finney and Low 2006:
173–9).
Elliptical Swell Pattern
A young Taumako boarding student and 200
other people were with Kaveia on board
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161 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Fig 12 Pattern of swell refracting around an island.
Fig 13 Pattern of swell reflecting from an island.
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162 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
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Fig 14 Swell refracting around and downswell of two islands.
Fig 15 Patterns of refraction from opposing trade wind and cyclone swells around an island.
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 163
a government vessel that lost power and
wallowed in zero visibility conditions en
route from Taumako to Nifiloli in 2005. After
three days of drifting the vessel’s captain had
no idea where they were. The people asked
Kaveia if they had drifted past Nifiloli yet,
because if they were past Nifiloli it could be
weeks before they would reach an island and
they had no more water. They were relieved
to hear Kaveia tell them definitively “No, we
are not past Nifiloli.” The engine came to life
again and the ship continued on its planned
route, with the boy going on to school and
Kaveia going to Lata and then returning to
Taumako on the next ship. The next year the
boy returned from school and asked Kaveia
to explain how he had known. Kaveia made a
drawing in the sand (Figure 16).
This swell pattern has not yet been
described in the literature. Kaveia’s drawing is
interpreted here as a two-part diagram. The
first diagram depicts two opposite swells,
which are the easterly trade wind swell
(Te Hoko Hua Te Ngatae) and the westerly
cyclone swell (Te Hoko Hua Te Angeho). Note
Fig 16 Kaveia drawing a pattern of swell refraction
between Taumako and Nifiloli. Photo: author.
that the swells wrap around the islands and a
sort of standing swell forms as the refractions
from both opposing swells come together
into an elliptical shape. This standing swell is
perceptible to a trained navigator. The rolling
motion for the passengers when a vessel
sails diagonally over such a swell is what
makes a lot of people seasick. In Figure 17
the elliptical shape of standing swells formed
by combination of swells from opposite
directions refract from two islands that are
located upswell and downswell of each other.
Also depicted in Figure 17 are the reflected
swells from each of the islands.
The two opposing swells wrap around
Taumako and Nifiloli forming; (1) convex arcs
of what might be termed standing swell on
either side of what would be a direct line
between the two islands, and (2) reflecting
swells that are perceptible almost all the way
from one island to the other if a vessel is
located within the lenticular standing shape
of the two arcs that are the standing swells.
Figure 18 depicts the lines that Kaveia drew
in the sand showing the swell patterns and
correct, incorrect, and corrected course lines
of a vessel en route from Taumako to Nifiloli.
Kaveia explained that when a vessel is en
route from Taumako to Nifiloli, if it continues
along the direct route the navigator will
experience the lurching forward feeling of
front-on collisions with the steep and short
reflected swells of Te Hoko Hua Te Ngatae
as they reflect back from Nifiloli (Figure 18).
However, if the vessel goes off-course (on
the dotted lines) to the right or the left of
the direct route, then it will eventually go far
enough to encounter the elliptical standing
swell. As the vessel floats over this swell at
an angle the navigator and passengers will
experience a rolling of the vessel as one end
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164 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
Marianne George
Fig 17 Opposing swell
refraction patterns around two
islands located upswells and
downswell of each other.
and side of it goes up and over the swell,
followed by the other end and other side
of it (note the curved tracks an off-course
vessel might take). Kaveia explained that,
even in the 150-foot-long and over 100-ton
vessel on which they traveled, he was certain
that they had never rolled over any such
refraction feature as the joined swells of Te
Hoko Hua that are known by navigators to
exist between Taumako and Nifiloli.
Lenses and Nodes
In 1996 and 1999, and when I questioned
him again about it in 2002 and 2006, Kaveia
explained that he had the idea that “Along
the top of the line of each swell is a curved
Fig 18 Diagram of Kaveia’s
sand drawing of pattern of
incorrect and corrected course
lines from Taumako to Nifiloli
using reflected swells and
lenticular standing swell “fence.”
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 165
hump shape—something like an eyeglass
lens—and perhaps somehow light travels or
is visible to us on the surface of this shape.”
Furthermore, he said that “When lines of
swells cross each other there is a connection
point or node, and the surface of that
intersection of swell lines is raised up even
higher than the tops of each of the individual
swell lines.” He observed that “There are
curved tops of swell lines and there are
humped up nodes at the intersection of
swell lines that are even more humped up
intersections of swell lines that might be
instrumental in the transmission of te lapa.”
Kaveia also gave an alternative theory that
“somehow the movement of the swell
patterns themselves stimulate or trigger the
light to flash from islands into the ocean.”
Kaveia said that he had “a feeling, based on
his experience at sea” as to when he could
or could not see te lapa. So, Kaveia theorized,
“certain types of sea surface and swell
conditions were conducive to seeing te lapa.”
But Kaveia added that he was “not sure” just
what the specific conditions are, or what
exactly causes the flashes of light.
Marshallese images of swell patterns
show similar shapes to those that Kaveia
outlined. In particular, the Mattang or
Wapepe and the Meddo could model
exactly the same patterns as Kaveia
described, because the swell refraction
patterns and the patterns of intersection
nodes (of refracted swell lines) of Mattang
(Figure 19) are strikingly similar to what
Kaveia drew and described. The Meddo
(Figure 20) is intriguingly similar to Kaveia’s
lenticular standing swell drawing and
explanation but that is beyond the scope of
this article.10
Fig 19 Mattang (from Finney
and Low 2006: 176, after
Winkler 1898).
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166 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
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Fig 20 Meddo or Rebbeblib
(from Finney and Low 2006:
177, after Kramer 1906).
Research on Oceanic Lights
Videographers, industrial computer designers,
and military planners are very interested
in how bioluminescence is triggered and
how light can be transmitted through or
on the surface of water. The concern of
videographers and industrial computer
designers is to make a computer-created
ocean effect in an image that really looks
Time and Mind
like the ocean, one must have a model of
the effects of swell/wave shapes on light in
or on the water. To create that effect in a
moving picture, one must use a program
that models the movement of refracted and
reflected swell and wave shapes on light
that is in or on the water. The concern of
military planners is to mask the movements
of military vessels into and out of harbors
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 167
without making the enemy aware by
triggering ocean creatures, thus announcing
the presence of a vessel by lighting up. This
requires an understanding of the behaviors
of many luminescent creatures as well as
an understanding of wave dynamics and
transformations.
According to researcher of
bioluminescence in the ocean, Dr Edith
Widder:
More than 80 percent of ocean life makes
light—bioluminescence. Very roughly, coral
and other bioluminescence-producing
reef life comprise about 10 percent
of the number of species that create
bioluminescence in the ocean, but some
of these can be present in large numbers.
Planktonic luminescence, such as from
dinoflagellates and small crustaceans like
copepods and ostracods as well as jellyfish
may occur in surface waters … Most
light on reefs is produced by coral, but
most light in the ocean is almost certainly
produced by dinoflagellates of the type
common in marine plankton. (Personal
communication, 24 September 2010)
There are fish, squid, and other large
animals that emit bioluminescence, and
little is known about many of these. Some
produce amazing light displays. “One deep
sea jellyfish can display light that can be
seen over 300 feet away” and another
squid “sends out photon torpedoes when
threatened” (Widder 2010). While Widder
is intent on learning about the “language of
light in the ocean,” she does not know what
might produce te lapa.
It is known that hydrodynamic flow
fields in the ocean, such as swells, waves,
currents, and backwash, stimulate such
creatures to produce light. It is also known
that major swell patterns travel thousands
of miles. What is little known or discussed
is that some refraction patterns, and even
reflection patterns, may extend well over 100
miles from any island. The overlapping and
interaction of such patterns is very complex.
Might the stimulation of bioluminescence
occur from these larger and almost
omnipresent patterns? If so, then how does
that light appear as pulses of straight lines
from land?
The military has supported research into
bioluminescence to try to learn how vessels
can avoid “tripping on the lights” when they
want to enter the harbor of an enemy, for
example, but what we want to know is
whether the bioluminescence produced on a
reef can somehow be transmitted over 100
miles in the ocean as pulses or lightning-like
bolts, or if bioluminescent plankton on or
near the ocean surface can be stimulated
to go off in what appears to be a flash of
light or bolt emanating from land or reef. If
dinoflagellates such as ostracods (plankton
about the size of tomato seeds) can be
stimulated to produce photic emissions—
pulses or bolts of light (Widder, personal
communication, 24 September 2011), do
they somehow align their light emissions to
emanate from land?
Given the vague hypothesis of Kaveia,
could the lightning-bolt appearance of te
lapa be occurring on the ocean’s surface
as a result of reflections or refractions of
ostracod light emissions in the lenses and
nodes of swells, waves, and currents? Could
these lenses be lighting up something like
an optic cable, or converging and conveying
light like a prism or crystal? Could it be, after
the manner of true atmospheric lightning,
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168 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
that there is plasma in or around these
lenses and nodes that might be a carrier in
the transmission of light flashes from distant
reefs?
Actually, the path in which the
visible portion of lightning (one form of
piezoelectric emission) takes is plasma. But
plasma is an ionized gas. The actual flash
of light we see is static electricity from
the clouds jumping through that ionized
gas to the earth. If te lapa is like lightning
in the sense that it is static electricity that
moves through plasma, then is it possible for
static electricity from an island to jump to
another island using plasma that might form
somehow on the sea surface?
Islands and seawater are electrical
conductors. Swells, tides, currents as well
as the interface of fresh water seepages
and fresh water overflows into the ocean
create more conductivity in and around
islands. Is it not plausible that islands and
their fringing reefs emit electrical charges
that may sometimes be seen in the ocean at
100-plus miles distances?11 There does seem
to be a lot of electrical and geomagnetic
research, but not too many answers relevant
to explaining te lapa. My guess is that the
scientists who might be capable of resolving
this mystery have never seen it—or do not
know about it yet.
Te lapa might be a non-electric form of
light that can move on the surface of the
ocean in some way. But is the source of te
lapa some form of light from an island reef
that converges in the lenses or nodes of
swell patterns around the island or between
the islands? Alternatively, is there light
emanating from the islands that is somehow
made visible in the lenses or nodes of swells
by looking toward the islands? Are the swell
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Marianne George
patterns simply the stimulators or triggers
for activation of a light that flashes outward
from the islands for entirely different reasons?
Or is something entirely different at play
here? For example, it has been observed that
tectonic activity produces light phenomena
of various types (Devereux 1989; Findani
2010: 267–78). It is possible that te lapa is
the result of magnetic or electrical fields
that are caused by the same tectonic energy
emissions manifesting atmospheric light and
color effects in the atmosphere as well as
piezoelectric emissions prior to earthquakes.
It should be borne in mind that the Pacific
Ocean is girded by the tectonically active
“Ring of Fire” which could, in theory at least,
be causing pulses of energetic striations
through the ocean that are focused and
relayed by the archipelagos and by islands
acting as nodes within such a postulated
oceanic energy matrix.
Experience and Consciousness
There are many phenomena that are very
difficult or impossible to capture on camera,
but can be seen by the human eye, just as
there are swell patterns that instruments
are inadequate to measure. Phenomena that
are extremely sensitive and complex are a
challenge to model, even though they may
be very common—e.g. weather and waves.
I am not aware of any science that explains
the physical nature of te lapa. Neither am
I aware of any scientific effort to do so. It
may also be very difficult to measure or
record with technology that is commonly
available. Joe Genz et al. (2009: 234–44)
observed the sensitivity, coverage, and lack of
availability of remote imagery to document
the articulation of swell patterns that
Marshallese navigators explained theoretically,
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Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 169
and attempted to demonstrate to him. Dr
Edith Widder expressed a desire to capture
images of te lapa, but pointed out that very
specialized and expensive equipment, and
very substantial funding would probably
be required (personal communication,
24 September 2011).
On the other hand, might te lapa be
a phenomenon seen only by people who
are psychically and spiritually connected to
the ocean as a result of decades of seatime and experience with life there? In
other words, does te lapa have a Bohmian
consciousness that is a manifestation of
the “implicate order” of things? I know
experientially that te lapa is visible in other
oceans, maybe in all oceans, and not just in
regions within Polynesia. If one could identify
the phenomenon and find a way to record it,
then it could be possible to map where and
how it exists and where and how it does not
exist. But alas, seeing te lapa is not a part of
the European or modern maritime discipline.
For merchant mariners, sailors, and fishermen
who spend time at sea in modern boats
and using modern navigation it seems hard
to even see it or imagine using it. This may
be the biggest obstacle to solution of the
mystery.
If anyone is really interested in knowing
about te lapa then it would seem perfectly
possible to employ various high-tech, lowlight cameras and swell sensors to record it,
and to study what sorts of conditions and
causes there might be for it, where the light
originates, what produces the light, why it
appears to emanate from land and in fact is a
reliable indicator of the direction and even of
the rough distance to land.
If detailed and focused scientific
investigation of te lapa could be undertaken,
we might learn a lot about light, waves,
islands, the ocean and ocean animals, as well
as the capacities of human beings to directly
utilize natural phenomena for purposes that
are now being served by unsustainable and
limited modern technology. I am convinced
that the details and scope of the complex
system of navigation called Te Nohoanga
Te Matangi would provide many clues
as to fruitful avenues of research. What
is undeniable is that those who use Te
Nohoanga Te Matangi, and those who can
see and take advantage of the existence of
te lapa, are using methods that have evolved
from careful observations made over
millennia by deep-sea voyagers. These are
the people who know themselves to be the
heirs of Lata.
Acknowledgments
The board and supporters of the Pacific
Traditions Society, the National Science
Foundation, and Ben Finney encouraged and
supported the research and writing of this
article. I am immensely grateful to Daniel
Jackson for the computer graphics for Figures
3–7, 12–15, 17, and 18 (after origination by
myself).
Notes
1 After meeting Te Aliki Kaveia at Taumako, Lewis
recognized the potential for learning from
present-day Polynesian navigators when he
revised his conclusion of We, the Navigators in
1994. In the revised version Lewis toned down
the conclusive wording of his tribute to Tevake—
who showed him te lapa among other tools and
methods of Polynesian navigation. Lewis changed
his statement from “An era of Polynesian voyaging
has closed with his passing” to “The world of
seafaring is diminished by his passing” (1994
[1972]: 356).
Time and Mind Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
170 Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing”
2 See Howe (2006) for a masterful and forwardlooking collection of summaries and updates on
the state of Pacific voyaging research.
3 In 1999, ophthalmologist Dr Larry Sherrer, his
associates and staff, and the Wilcox Hospital of
Kaua’i donated their services to enable Kaveia
to better teach a new generation traditional
Polynesian navigation.
4 Lewis and I were amazed to learn that anyone
could build a completely authentic, Stone Age,
Polynesian voyaging canoe, since the only known
remains of any such vessel were fragments from
a Tahitian vessel (Sinoto 1983: 10–15), the only
partial description of one is by Andy and Varela
(Corney 1913–18), and the only images are
petroglyphs and those of European artists who
traveled with Cook, etc. At the time David Lewis
was revising his book We, the Navigators, and since
Kaveia seemed not to answer some of David’s
questions about how to use zenith stars and if
there was any dead reckoning technique similar
to the Micronesian “etak,” we did not at that time
understand how much navigational knowledge
and sailing experience Kaveia did have.
5 Some such “wind compasses” from the panPacific and Indonesian literature include: Siassi, Fiji,
Pukapuka, Cook Islands (in Lewis 1994 [1972]),
Bugis, Tahiti (in Finney and Low 2006) and
Satawal (Akimichi 1980).
Marianne George
by someone knowledgeable. Also, we did not
use it for navigation.
8 Most islands in the Pacific are located within 200
miles of each other. Most islands can only be
seen from a canoe at ten miles (tops of coconut
trees on an atoll) to seventy miles distance
(clouds over nearly 14,000-foot peaks of Hawaii
island). Yet, because te lapa is, by definition, a
sign of land, it must be defined as a piloting
tool rather than a method of navigation. Unlike
buoys, radio beams, or radar, te lapa is a natural
instrument of piloting, like birds, archipelagic
formations of island groups, or bottom contours.
Because of its range well offshore of any unseen
island te lapa is a type of piloting that could
be very useful in exploration and discovery of
unknown islands.
9 Fox Boda looked at te lapa while sailing from
Taumako to the Reef Islands in 1998 and saw
it coming from the Reefs about once per hour
through the night. When sailing back to Taumako
in 2000, Fox saw te lapa coming from Taumako
much more frequently. This fits the statement of
Bongi that te lapa from the Reefs is less frequent
than from other islands
6 Harold Gatty (1943) noted repeatedly that there
are a lot of phenomena that people do not notice
or have training in, but those phenomena do exist
nevertheless.
10 Kaveia also stated that sometimes one can use
these nodes to navigate. He intended to show
me how in a traditional canoe, but we never had
the opportunity. Perhaps he was referring to a
kind of swell navigation that Marshallese describe
as “following dilep”—which would be routes
along lines of nodes (okar) (Finney and Low
2006: 176–7).
7 What I saw was a near-land pattern of various
flashes that came from land to the ocean. In other
words I could see not only more than one line
at a time, but many at the same time. In 2007,
H.M. Wyeth drew my attention to a pattern we
could see in the ocean from an airplane flying
along eastern Guadalcanal at about 1,500 feet of
altitude on a very overcast day! It looked familiar
to patterns or plaques I saw at sea level near a
vessel, but I am not prepared to claim this as a te
lapa sighting because there was no confirmation
11 Professor Richard Feinberg seems to have
misunderstood personal communications
with me about te lapa and Te Nohoanga Te
Matangi (2011: 59). I do not “lean toward
electromagnetic fields over bioluminescent
explanations.” I simply do not subscribe to a
description of luminescence or phosphorescence
as being a more likely source of te lapa, because
no one has yet identified what creatures make
light that shoots like a lightning bolt that can flash
a distance of over 100 miles directly from land.
Time and Mind
Volume 5—Issue 2—July 2012, pp. 135–174
Marianne George
Polynesian Navigation and Te Lapa—“The Flashing” 171
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