Easter Island
Today, the Endeavour steamed south across the most feared waterway in the world... the Drake Passage. With confidence, our modern navigational skills predict a precise landfall in the South Shetland Islands. A millennium and a half ago, Polynesian navigators set out eastward from islands in Oceania and discovered Easter Island using a totally different set of navigational skills... ones totally baffling to the most accomplished navigator of all time, Captain James Cook. Both systems work exquisitely well, each a testament to the creativity of the human intellect.
A visit to the Endeavour’s bridge revealed radar, detailed charts, gyroscopic compasses and years of experience. But to the casual observer, everything seemed to be on automatic. A few ‘minor” adjustment will bring us to the correct passage between the islands that guard the Antarctic Peninsula from the fury of the Drake. Our landfall will be on a remote beach, our first contact with Antarctica. It will have seemed, well, a bit too simple, all a bit too direct.
Polynesians sailing on large catamarans and using memorized star locations close to the horizon and other clues discovered the remotest of the Pacific Islands. For centuries these pioneers thrived on Easter Island and created a culture that sculpted the most remarkable statues in the world. Contrary to the conclusion of the New Yorker cartoon above, each was crafted from volcanic tuff using basaltic picks. Transported, sometimes many miles, the statues guarded the homes of those who made them and believed in them.
As we sailed on a course of 158º, we were buffeted by the winds. These circumpolar winds are the realm of albatrosses and giant petrels, of pintados and blue petrels. Birds from the largest to the smallest are as one with the wind. These are the truly pelagic birds, oceanic birds who seek land only to breed. They might breed on islands just over the horizon or more likely on bits of land thousands of miles away. Who among us would base navigational decisions upon their presence? For the Polynesians birds were an important clue to the presence of an island. Terns and boobies, frigatebirds and tropicbirds, each revealed to the Polynesian navigator the existence of an island, its direction and often the distance.
As the Endeavour pitched into the waves of the Drake, some found the motion unsettling but no one believed that our arrival in the South Shetlands would depend upon our successfully interpreting the wave patterns that pass us. How different with the Polynesians. They could locate an island based upon the alterations the island made in the waves as they passed an island. And, to the observant, the effect could be felt miles at sea. For those of us who have just come from Easter Island, we were able to see this effect from Birdman Cliff high above the small islets of Moto Nui and Moto Tu. There, in miniature, changes in the wave patterns were discernible, a change that gave valuable clues to the skilled Polynesian navigator.
And so, as we cross the Drake on our own adventure, we marvel at the soaring of the truly pelagic birds. We stand on the bridge baffled by the complexity of the waves that cross our bow. As we contemplate the navigational skills of both birds and man, our sense of awe grows. It is further heightened by the anticipation we feel as we approach the Seventh Continent. Our Antarctic adventure has just begun.
Today, the Endeavour steamed south across the most feared waterway in the world... the Drake Passage. With confidence, our modern navigational skills predict a precise landfall in the South Shetland Islands. A millennium and a half ago, Polynesian navigators set out eastward from islands in Oceania and discovered Easter Island using a totally different set of navigational skills... ones totally baffling to the most accomplished navigator of all time, Captain James Cook. Both systems work exquisitely well, each a testament to the creativity of the human intellect.
A visit to the Endeavour’s bridge revealed radar, detailed charts, gyroscopic compasses and years of experience. But to the casual observer, everything seemed to be on automatic. A few ‘minor” adjustment will bring us to the correct passage between the islands that guard the Antarctic Peninsula from the fury of the Drake. Our landfall will be on a remote beach, our first contact with Antarctica. It will have seemed, well, a bit too simple, all a bit too direct.
Polynesians sailing on large catamarans and using memorized star locations close to the horizon and other clues discovered the remotest of the Pacific Islands. For centuries these pioneers thrived on Easter Island and created a culture that sculpted the most remarkable statues in the world. Contrary to the conclusion of the New Yorker cartoon above, each was crafted from volcanic tuff using basaltic picks. Transported, sometimes many miles, the statues guarded the homes of those who made them and believed in them.
As we sailed on a course of 158º, we were buffeted by the winds. These circumpolar winds are the realm of albatrosses and giant petrels, of pintados and blue petrels. Birds from the largest to the smallest are as one with the wind. These are the truly pelagic birds, oceanic birds who seek land only to breed. They might breed on islands just over the horizon or more likely on bits of land thousands of miles away. Who among us would base navigational decisions upon their presence? For the Polynesians birds were an important clue to the presence of an island. Terns and boobies, frigatebirds and tropicbirds, each revealed to the Polynesian navigator the existence of an island, its direction and often the distance.
As the Endeavour pitched into the waves of the Drake, some found the motion unsettling but no one believed that our arrival in the South Shetlands would depend upon our successfully interpreting the wave patterns that pass us. How different with the Polynesians. They could locate an island based upon the alterations the island made in the waves as they passed an island. And, to the observant, the effect could be felt miles at sea. For those of us who have just come from Easter Island, we were able to see this effect from Birdman Cliff high above the small islets of Moto Nui and Moto Tu. There, in miniature, changes in the wave patterns were discernible, a change that gave valuable clues to the skilled Polynesian navigator.
And so, as we cross the Drake on our own adventure, we marvel at the soaring of the truly pelagic birds. We stand on the bridge baffled by the complexity of the waves that cross our bow. As we contemplate the navigational skills of both birds and man, our sense of awe grows. It is further heightened by the anticipation we feel as we approach the Seventh Continent. Our Antarctic adventure has just begun.
