Some days I need to feel better about the world and I'm always glad when I find some joy just when I need it.
For instance, I recently read about a Polynesian canoe called the Hokule'a. Built in the 70s, it’s 62 feet long and 15 feet wide, with a double hull.
Now, I know about canoes; we've had one as long as I can remember. And, of course, Viking blood courses through my veins, so I know about the high seas.
Here's the thing though. About 1,000 years ago, when my long gone ancestors sailed the North Atlantic, they went from Norway to the Shetland Islands, a couple hundred miles. Then from the Shetland Islands, they headed to the Faroe Islands, another few hundred miles, and about the same distance from the Faroes to Iceland. A few brave souls went on to Greenland, about 700 miles, which was about the same distance from Greenland to North America, although on a trip like that about half the ships wouldn't make it.
On the other hand, around the same time the Vikings were taking baby steps across the Atlantic, Polynesian sailors were traveling 2,500 miles by canoe from Tahiti to Hawaii. It's over 2,000 miles from Tahiti to Fiji, and 2,600 miles from New Zealand to Tahiti.
Keep in mind, this was a culture without steel, without the wheel, and most importantly, without compasses or other navigational equipment. For a long time, anthropologists thought that Polynesia was settled by people from South America who built giant rafts and just floated with the currents until they ran into land, because the thought that those people were sailing with a purpose and a destination seemed so crazy.
The tradition, kept alive through stories passed down through the generations, was that the ancient Polynesians navigated by feeling the currents, watching the seabirds and the clouds, steeping themselves in the world around them. Turns out, the stories were right. Researchers found a man named Mau Pialug who lived in Micronesia. He was one of the very few people who still knew the old ways of navigating and was willing to talk about it. They flew him to Hawaii and he and a crew of sixteen sailed the canoe from Hawaii to Tahiti in about a month.
My Norwegian bachelor Great Uncle Carl's favorite bit of advice to useless teenage boys was, “You gotta observe!” He probably would have gotten along fine with Mau, because that was the key to his navigational prowess. He watched the sun and the stars, the wind and clouds, waves and currents, even fish and seabirds. His system worked well enough that he was never lost. He taught others to the limit of his patience and their persistence. With and without him, the Hokule'a sailed to Samoa, New Zealand, Japan, and Canada. Eventually it went around the world on a trip that lasted three years, covering 47,000 miles and stopping in 26 countries, all without any navigational equipment except for the experience and expertise of its crew.
It's a story to love. Maybe it's because the story is about people who hold onto their culture and traditions, even when they're told those traditions mean nothing. Maybe I'm just a fan of people putting their money where their mouth is or seeing arrogant experts proved wrong. Maybe I can't quite put my finger on why I liked the story. But it makes me feel better about the world.
And that's not nothing.
Copyright 2025 Brent Olson