[ SUNDAY TRAVEL ]
Marshallese It's two days before the Marshall Islands' most prestigious canoe race, the six-mile Outrigger Marshall Islands Cup, and defending champion Mortin Jikit is fine-tuning the lashing on his 18-foot canoe.
outriggers sail
from the past
Resurrecting an old tradition,
the men in the canoe race
enjoy a trip through historySee also:
>> Livin' On Marshall Time;
>> Crafts showcase beautyStories by Tim Ryan
tryan@starbulletin.comThe Marshallese canoe, or wa, sits in the sandy front yard of Majuro's former Mayor Rod Nakamura. The newly painted purple-and-green canoe will represent Kwajalein Atoll, a few hundred miles to the west under the sponsorship of the atoll's Iroij, or chief, Michael Jorren.
To the unseasoned eye, Jikit's canoe, the "Wud Kio," doesn't appear seaworthy, especially with its triangular sail made from the sort of blue tarp you'd find back home at Home Depot. The hulls of the canoe are made from breadfruit trees that have been cut down or simply washed ashore.
To understand the Marshallese, it's important to understand their affinity for the ocean, their sailing techniques and boat-building capabilities.
The Marshallese crafts, which range from one-person rowing canoes to massive high-speed voyaging canoes, are recognized and revered throughout the Pacific for their advanced technical refinements: an asymmetric hull, lee platform and the oddest of odd characteristics, the pivoting midship mast.
"The flat top lets (the sailor) easily walk back and forth to adjust the mast as needed," Jikit says without looking up from his lashing duties. "The (asymmetric) hull allows us to change direction by simply moving the sail."
Canoes of the past reached 100 feet in length and carried up to 40 people and enough supplies for open-sea voyages that lasted well over a month.
The korkor, 18 feet and under, is a small paddling outrigger, fitted with a sail and used for lagoon work rather than the open ocean.
The sails are extremely large compared with the size of the boat, with a yard and boom made from driftwood. Pandanus leaves woven into matting strips and sewn together are the strongest sails, but in the Outrigger Marshall Islands Cup, held each May, all the sails are either tarp or other modern material.
The cup is as much about the resurgence of Marshallese tradition as it is about a race, though with cash prizes of up to $1,000 -- a large sum to the 21 sailors entered this year -- all want to win. These sailors are the country's best, having won qualifying races staged at other atolls.
"The culture was resting, and Marshallese youth had forgotten the tradition of their canoes," says Dennis Alssio, who since 1989 has taught Marshallese youth traditional sailing techniques. "It's important that they understand their relationship with the sea."
The day of the big race is sunny and windy. The 11 a.m. competition begins on Marshallese time, an hour late. I have the feeling that the tardiness is caused by a reluctance to have the event and celebrations and attention end anytime soon. The access road and rocky Katwoj Beach, from where the canoes will launch, are crowded with visitors and local families. There's less tension in the air than general excitement.
Competitors joke about the new colorful sails used for the first time in the 5-year-old event. Or they discuss tacks across the lagoon they have no intention of taking, sort of the Marshallese version of trash talking.
Three rescue boats hover a hundred yards offshore to follow the entries to the finish line.
After opening remarks by Iroij Michael Kabua, traditional blessings and a prayer, the korkor set-off is low-key, though the canoes are surprisingly fast, zipping through the heavy chop, disappearing momentarily in the swells and quickly outrunning the chase boats.
Jikit looks skyward at the clouds, then at the lagoon's waves before adjusting his tack heading north, as if he knows something the others don't. The defending champion will finish fifth.
Sammy Abija of Ailinglaplap has made just two tacks, never getting so close to a windward atoll that he loses the breeze. He crosses the finish line fronting the Outrigger resort 15 minutes ahead of the second-place winner, Tiem Clement of Ujae.
In the stillness of the lagoon, the sailors lower their sails, set anchor, shake hands, talk about the conditions that led to their win or loss and connect to their seafaring ancestors.