Ngāpuhi heartland, October 1937. Rānui Maupakanga, possibly the last master waka builder
of his generation and by then in his seventies, enters Puketi Forest. Heir to the skills and knowledge required to build waka taua, he will prove to be a vital link to the tohunga tārai waka of years gone by. He will also be a key figure in the revival of the Māori war canoe.
Born in the small settlement of Hauturu near the eastern shores of the Kawhia Harbour, Maupakanga is solidly built, his face oval and his eyes deep set. A wide moustache covers his upper lip. He has a habit of wearing a short-sleeved bush shirt over his woollen jumper, and on sunny days a well-worn fedora and a pair of round-framed sunglasses complete the picture. He has made the long trip north into Ngāpuhi territory from Waikato, at the request of Te Puea Hērangi, to oversee the building of a massive waka taua.
At a planned 120 feet (35.7 metres) long and 6 feet (2 metres) wide, the waka will be the largest ever built, and will represent northern Māori during the 1940 centennial commemoration of the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi. Maupakanga is in the forest to locate a pair of kauri trees suitable for the task. Stands of the tree dot the forest, but his challenge is to find two large enough to meet Princess Te Puea’s requirements. Even with the help of knowledgeable local guides, the search takes him a full two weeks.
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It is clear from my research that Rānui Maupakanga, sent from Waikato by Te Puea, was almost certainly the last master canoe builder alive in 1937. What I didn’t immediately appreciate was the discontent caused by his arrival in the north. According to court
documents, a large gathering of northern rangatira descended on Kaikohe’s modest courthouse in October 1937 to listen to Te Uri-o-Hau kaumātua Ripi Wihongi address the court in one of a series of meetings called to discuss Te Puea’s waka plan.
Wihongi advised Judge Acheson that a ‘very big and representative gathering of natives’ had themselves decided to build two waka taua. They would represent the five northern iwi — Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Whātua, Te Rarawa, Te Aupōuri and Ngāti Kahu — and were to be called Ngātokimatawhaorua and Mātaatua. The visit of Te Puea from Waikato, he continued, had stirred up the people from Tamaki to Te Rerenga wairua:
‘Te Puea passed through our territory like a shadow. We were hardly awake. Her visit awakened us. We have held meetings. We have linked up again with the spirits of our ancestors. We want to build our own canoes. First the two mentioned, and then others. But all the Northern tribes can go in these canoes.’
Acheson’s reply to Wihongi suggests that he was surprised by what he heard. Perhaps he was formulating a response even as Wihongi’s words echoed off the wooden courthouse walls. The judge pointed out that Ngāti Whātua, Te Rarawa, Te Aupōuri and Ngāti Kahu, along with the Ngāpuhi hapū of Pupuke, Matangirau and Matauri Bay, had all promised ‘support for Te Puea’s plan to build a great canoe to represent all the northern iwi — using Waikato experts and northern workmen’.
Not everyone in attendance agreed with the judge, however. Te Aupōuri representative Hemi Manuera immediately stood to deny Acheson’s statement, insisting that his iwi had made no such promise. The judge then reminded those assembled of the promises he himself had witnessed, before noting that ‘Te Puea has arranged for a suitable tree from the Puketi State Forest’ and that her ‘canoe experts are at the forest now to begin the work’.
It was clear that a compromise was necessary, and ultimately Acheson could see no reason why another canoe, overseen and built entirely by local iwi, should not be built ‘if the people wish it’. The only concerns he expressed were that work on any waka would need to be completed, and that the vessels were to be properly housed and looked after, with ‘proper conditions put in place to guard against damage by fire or otherwise’. In his closing summary the judge acknowledged the two waka building projects and repeated ‘the arrangements previously settled’ to support Te Puea. ‘People will be consulted from time to time,’ he said, ‘even though certain Hapus of Ngapuhi appear to wish to break away from the Northern Tribes.’
The dispute between the northern hapū, some of whom claimed Te Puea had offended their mana by sending her craftsmen north without full consultation, would not be resolved until late January 1938, at another meeting of the Native Land Court. There to address the court was the charismatic Taurekareka (Tau) Hēnare, MP for Northern Māori since 1914 and at one time a bushman himself. Born in the northern settlement of Pipiwai, probably in 1877 or 1878, Hēnare was a direct descendant of Rāhiri, the founding ancestor of Ngāpuhi, and it seems likely that Te Puea had personally asked him to step in to broker a way forward. They had developed a close friendship during their struggles to improve the welfare of Māori, and neither of them would have relished the prospect of this highly publicised project failing due to internal strife. A big man, renowned for his strong voice and refined sense of humour, Hēnare had become a skilled mediator by the late 1930s. He was certainly capable of swaying the opinion of the offended hapū during private discussions.
Hēnare reported to the court that the disagreements ‘all had their origin in the failure of Te Puea and her advisors Mutu Kapa and others to consult Ngapuhi first’. However, he continued, it had been decided to ‘heal the breach, and to reunite with all those who are supporting Te Puea’s project. Two canoes will be supported, namely the one at Puketi State Forest to be under the control of Hohepa Heperi; the other the Ngaiotonga one to be under Rei [Rē] Kauere and others. When finished, both canoes are to be housed in the big Carved House to be erected on the Waitangi Reserve.’
Judge Acheson thanked Hēnare for his ‘invaluable assistance’ and said that the court was ‘very pleased that harmony rules again’.
As Acheson had pointed out, Te Puea’s men were indeed already in Puketi State Forest (as it was officially known then). As soon as the logs for the waka that Waikato were building for themselves had arrived at Ngāruawāhia from Oruanui Forest, they were handed over to Poutapu and his students to shape, assemble and carve. This allowed Maupakanga and his right-hand man, Ropata Wirihana, to make the long trip north to begin their next assignment: to find suitable trees for the construction of a massive waka taua. Waiting for them was the well-respected local rangatira, Hohepa Heperi.
A bear of a man, standing over six foot (1.83 metres), Heperi, who owned a farm at Ōkaihau and had spent much of his life in the local forests logging trees for the government, would play a key role in the creation of Ngātokimatawhaorua. Not only did he manage the project on behalf of the northern iwi, but he also had the necessary knowledge to guide Maupakanga in his search for the trees needed to build the waka. Most important, though, his mana was sufficient to shield the Waikato contingent from any local discontent as they worked. There were elements in the north that resented their presence and, as we have seen, they were not afraid to speak their minds.
Armed with a permit from the State Forest Service authorising them to take two kauri, Heperi, Maupakanga, Wirihana and others entered Puketi State Forest on or about 11 October 1937. The expedition coincided with the arrival of spring and, as if overnight, the drab leaves of winter were overtaken by the new season’s growth in myriad greens. Plants such as the carmine rātā were beginning to show off their new-season flowers, and perfume from the toropapa was starting to infuse the forest. The birdsong was growing more vociferous. Koekoeā (long-tailed cuckoo), famed for guiding early explorers to Aotearoa from their Pacific homelands, had begun to arrive back from their winter nesting grounds, while tūī, toutouwai (North Island robin) and hōrirerire (grey warbler) were busy nesting. Mature kōkako sang out to attract mates and to stake out their territory.
Knowing that he needed two trees in prime condition, Maupakanga refused to be rushed in his search. The kauri had to be large enough to make the substantial waka that Te Puea demanded, and he had to ensure they were free of rot, heart shakes (major cracks) and other faults. He also needed to consider the location of the trees. By the late 1930s, mature kauri were found in
only a handful of stands through the forest, and there were few existing tracks capable of allowing access by truck or tractor.
Exactly where a tree stood in its environment also needed to be taken into account. Canoe builders of old understood that the western side of a ridge or hill produced a superior tree for their purposes. Master waka builder Hec Busby once told me that during the winter months, the south-western side of a tree is constantly assaulted by the wind and rain, slowing its growth and making that side heavier and stronger than the east-facing side. That strength, he said, helped keep the finished hull straight and true.
Multiple accounts date the felling of the first kauri tree towards the end of October 1937. A handful of newspaper articles described the day, but the most valuable source of information was Jim Manley’s black-and white movie footage.
‘It was some of the finest film footage I had ever seen,’ Sir Bob Harvey told me while reminiscing about the first time he watched Manley’s film. As deputy chair of the Film Commission in the mid-1980s he had been one of a select group invited to the Film Archive to view some early silent films.
‘Before we left, the director, Jonathan Dennis, asked if we might be interested in
viewing some footage of the building of the canoes for the 1940 celebration,
which of course we were. Well, I looked at about 10 minutes of the footage and I
was absolutely in love with it. I was just stunned [at] how glorious it was.’
The footage shot within Puketi State Forest began with the bushmen standing below a
towering kauri, their faces turned towards the tree’s crown high above them. The haunting
call of a kōauau plays as they contemplate the enormity of their task. Then, as the voice of
an elder began reciting a karakia, the men’s sharp axes ripped into the tree to remove a
wide, V-shaped wedge. Previously hidden by a thick layer of mottled grey bark, chips of kauri
flesh formed a growing pile at the bushmen’s feet.
Satisfied that enough wood had been removed, the foreman then called for the cross-cut saw. With a man at each end, the saw was soon slicing its way across the circumference of the trunk, the weight of the tree held up off the blade by a set of wedges. Once the saw had completed its work and been put aside, another of the bushmen reached for a heavy mallet. Swinging powerfully, he began to hammer in a new line of larger wedges, forcing them deep into the incision.
Maupakanga, who would have been watching the scene unfold back in 1937 must have been anxious. Any miscalculation in his estimation of the balance of the weighty crown perched high above could see the tree fall in the wrong direction and collide with another, resulting in damage that could prematurely end the build.
When the footage resumed, the tree was lying on the forest floor. In some of Manley’s photographs he captures a delighted Heperi and his team performing a spirited haka on top of the fallen giant. If any of that action was captured by Manley’s movie camera it didn’t make it into the film. Instead, the footage resumes with the bushmen cutting away the crown, then using their axes to remove a thick strip along the length of the log. This flat surface is where Maupakanga would mark out the shape of the canoe.
Once their work was completed, the old master pulled a builder’s string from his pocket, stretched it taut along the freshly exposed timber, and began to mark the tapering lines of a magnificent waka.
