Hokule'a crew still stuck on dry land

By Jan TenBruggencate
Advertiser Science Writer

HANALEI BAY, Kaua'i —ÊThere is an odd sensation when you're ready to go to sea, but waiting day after day for the right weather.

The canoe was there and ready to go, and was habitable. But it was literally tied to the land, or rather to the sea floor via a triad of anchors and moorings in Hanalei Bay.

Most of the crew had most of their personal stuff aboard, but mainly stayed on shore — returning to the canoe for a clean change of clothes or another piece of gear.

Most Hokule'a crew members had given up their customary mobility — they were afoot. If they wanted to get somewhere, they had to walk, or beg a ride.

Not all had entirely appropriate land clothing, and were dressing in sea gear: polypropylene shirts, funny hats with wide brims, and bulky foul-weather jackets. They were away from home, and didn't have their home stuff.

Some passed the time working on fishing gear, surfing, organizing and reorganizing. Many spent a lot of time talking on cell phones, trying to explain why they were away from friends, family and work, and still on land.

When some of us went back to jobs for a few days, people would stop us and say, "Aren't you supposed to be gone?"

I took to answering, "Yeah, I'm not really here."

In some ways, I wasn't. At least it felt that way.

People asked when we were going. We couldn't say.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Maybe next week.

You point at the sky and say, "We'll go when there's good wind and we can see the stars at night."

And when longer term weather patterns have stabilized a bit. And when we can be sure to meet other objectives, like having an aircraft flight at Midway to bring in a new crew and to take us home. And when crew members have gotten over colds and flu.

When were we going? We couldn't say.

Veteran crew members said it was somewhat easier waiting for weather in foreign places, where you didn't know anyone, where your responsibilities weren't only a short flight away, where people didn't ask the questions.

What do crew members do when they're stuck between land and sea?

One pursuit is the passing on of stories about the canoe, about previous voyages and other crew members.

Dennis Chun keeps dropping into a bad New Zealand accent, picked up when the canoe was stuck 28 days waiting for good weather for a voyage to Tonga. Bruce Blankenfeld recalls Attwood Makanani's predilection for collecting stones from everywhere he visited. The crew finally last year had to offload the weighty collection.

There are stories about drifting in the doldrums, trying to sleep on sweltering nights, about fast sailing down big swells, about the incredible generosity of hosts in various countries.

It is a way in which the culture of Hokule'a is passed on.

A favorite topic is that the state Division of Boating and Ocean Recreation was on hand at Hana-

lei when the canoe anchored, to issue a mooring permit and to collect mooring fees. The office has told the Polynesian Voyaging Society that it has tried, but has not been able to find a way to exempt Hokule'a from paying mooring fees.

A nonprofit sailing school from the Mainland can bring in a yacht and anchor free of charge. The voyaging canoe Hokule'a, a state treasure, owned by the designated state museum, Bishop Museum, on an educational and cultural mission, has to pay. So do the other voyaging canoes in the Islands.

"We've sailed all across the Pacific, to French Polynesia, Rapa Nui (Easter Island), Aotearoa (New Zealand), up to San Diego and Canada. And nobody in any of those places ever charged us fees. Only at home, Hokule'a has to pay. You'd think that Hawaiian voyaging canoes would get a break in Hawai'i," said Bruce Blankenfeld.

Advertiser Science Writer Jan TenBruggencate will serve as a crew member aboard Hokule'a during the voyaging canoe's trip through the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands. He will send back regular dispatches during the trip.