MAORI CANOE RACES.

New Zealand Graphic, 25 December 1903, Page 42

MAORI CANOE RACES.

An Exciting New Zealand Sport.

f r , —-—-—ar- — —I] OB several years past Maori regattas on the swiftly[□HfßJ[jo|[BJ|fßJ|[BJ|[BJ IB! flowing Waikato have been among the events that *■ V-finl are looked forward to with more than usual expec[EJ fancy, and the late summer of the year [fij; 0 yj [5l 1903 saw a similar gathering on the !fjg|i M ■ J MJral waters of Rotorua, famed in Maori song I I i and story. While watching the tribes [5l '3 I w [5l contend "for victory on this classic lake, rzjl ’2 iff- =.'i ==i O ne can gaze round at scenes that stir ■IS iIS , yl’ls! the old-time Maori to his heart. From [5l X [5l yonder point to the bush-dad isle of rjjjl jjjjl Mokoia. rising emerald-green from the IS, IE! sun-silvered waters of the lake, swam ||eJ [5l Hinemoa. the beauteous maid, to her raj ra| lover, Tutanekai—the Maori parallel of 1= |E£J a world-known story of other climes. |5l ,4a Egg® fim Round that sacred island of Mokoia clusfnll :.y s’ '• JMSSf-lU. Fll ter l p " en< l s and stories that would make !h=f lEsJ a Maori Iliad had they a Homer. Scores [j3| of years ago the fierce Ngapuhi of the ». North, who sailed down the coast and |P£I dragged their canoes overland from the sea. dashed across the waters of the lake y ~ - -r d and stormed the island fortresses of KO their enemies, the Arawa, who had retired to high Mokoia in fancied security. It was a fight that will live while there is a Maori to tell it. To-day the dusky tribesmen contend for the x pakeha’s gold. The times have changed, but they ean never rob Rotorua of its folk-lore. and. knowing its legends, you watch with renewed interest the Maoris straining their broad backs in the long canoes. The regatta which we illustrate in our presentation plate was held off the native village of Ohinemutu. and is to be an annual affair. The mountain in the background is Ngor.gotaha. which rises black and frowning by the lake-side. Along the foreshore are the Maori whares, and the steam rises from the boiling pools, at which the children of the soil cook their food, as their ancestors have done for generation after generation. On the shores of the point, to the light of the huts, you ean see to this day the remains of the palisading of an old pa. or fort, and if you ask the Maori what happened, he will tell you that many, many years ago an earthquake came in the night, and in the morning the pa was at the bottom of the lake. The canoe races at these regattas are worth going many miles to see. One could not wish for anything finer than a really good war-canoe race. The big red canoe full of men in the picture is one of the few Maori warvessels that are still afloat; but the natives now build very fast racing canoes, about fifty or sixty feet long, hollowed from a tree trunk, and carrying from twenty-five to fifty men. Slowly the long, low canoes paddle to the starting post. "They’re off!” and the double row of pointed paddles clip the water at once. Close together they drop down to the turning-post, a mile away, and swing round with incredible celerity. End on. they look like huge centipedes. The men bend to their task, and the fight has begun. The fugleman, standing amidships, who has been singing snatches of old boat chants, the “hoes” dropping into the water in time to the rhythmic cadence, now flourishes his paddle aloft with incisive gesture and calls to his men with staccato cry. The brown backs lean forward, and every muscle is strained to the utmost. The wet sides of the canoe and the bright paddles glance in the sunlight. The canoe, as though instinct with life, leaps forward, and from each bow the water parts in silver curls, which, ever widening, flow to the shore and cause a small commotion among the sedges and drooping willow tips which float in the water. On they come, the deep “chunk, chunk” of the flying paddles punctuated by the encouraging calls and wild flourishes of the fugleman, who is now more like a fiend incarnate than a human being. All is excitement as inch by inch one canoe draws away from the rest, and the struggle is Homeric. The winning-post grows nearer and nearer; fathoms are reduced to yards, yards to feet, and at. last the victorious crew crosses the line, and a great shout goes up. The straining muscles are relaxed, and as the canoe flies by like a streak of lightning, the old fugleman resumes a human shape, and a broad, pleased grin sits on the face of each stalwart paddler. It is a sight you never forget. More amusing is a Maori canoe hurdle race. Two stout stakes are driven into the bed of the lake, and a cross-piece is strongly lashed to then' about six inches above the water. Sometimes, as in our picture, two stakes are driven into the lake bottom, and the cross-piece rests in the fork. The canoes which are used in this novel sport are about fifteen feet in length, hollowed out of a tree. They have a rather pronounced sheer, and at bow and stern run away to nothing—very much like the spoon-bow of a modern racing yacht. They have a depth of perhaps IS inches, and the beam is not much greater, so that considerable skill is required in “trimming” them even in smooth water, as many a pakeha has found to his cost. Each canoe is “manned” by two native men or women, as the ease may be. In our illustration the race is for the gentle sex. who. however, belie the name in this exciting contest, which is”characterised by a dash and abandon seldom associated with petticoats. All the canoes start in line, over a course of some 100 yards, with usually about half-a-dozen flights of hurdles such as we have described. Gracefully and swiftly the little fleet glides up to the first obstacle, and then the fun begins. The dusky paddlers, when they start, are seated in the stern of their canoe, and very striking they are with their luxuriant tresses flowing behind them, and their supple bodies moving to the time of the quickdipping paddles. When they approach the hurdle they redouble their efforts, and the upturned nose of their narrow craft glides swiftly up the cross-piece of the hurdle. Before it has time to slip back the’girls scramble up to the overhanging bow with wonderful agility, and their weight carries the canoe down the other side of the hurdle—for all the work! like the sea-saw of childhood’s days. Thon they paddle on to the next obstacle amidst great applause from the people-lined bank. That is 'i n ‘ P V;' n 't n P«<l’"ers guide their little bark over the <Lingei xnth *kill. but theres many a slip betwixt one side and the other and that is what provides the comic clement Perhaps the paddlers have misjudged their distance, and come up too slowly; or perhans one of the is "f a « and scant of breath" (as they Vrequent.y . Tnd Xnot along her frail canoe as she did a few summers ago. Anyhow, whatever

the cause, the result is the same. The canoe refuses to slide up the bar, and then follows a scene of confusion. Kind suggestions are thrown from all round by their men friends; the pakeha laughs and applauds; the ladies get excited and flourish their paddles; they shout to one another, and make another wild dash at the bar. The canoe slides up all right this time, or swings half round with its own weight as it hangs on the bar, and disaster follows. She plunges bow first into the water, and shoots her occupants gracefully but unmistakably into the water. The canoe fills, but never sinks, and presently two wet, black heads bob up alongside. The women seldom, if ever, lose their paddles, no matter how bad the capsize, and after much spluttering and giving vent to some short but expressive sentences in their mothertongue, they scramble in over the side, wringing wet. but undaunted. Using their paddles as bailers, they throw the water out over the side with a quick, peculiar movement, and soon have their craft fit for a dash at the next hurdle, in quick pursuit of their more fortunate sisters.