Last December, seventeen men and one woman set out on an unprecedented journey: to paddle a six-seat outrigger canoe nonstop from Rapa Nui (Easter Island) to Motu Motiro Hiva, an uninhabited islet roughly three hundred miles to the northeast. Rapa Nui islanders consider the islet a waypoint to Hiva, the legendary homeland of all Polynesians. Its full name, Manu Motu Motiro Hiva, translates as "bird's islet on the way to Hiva."
To grasp the scope of this challenge, consider that the world's longest and toughest outrigger race-Tahiti's annual Hawaiki Nui Vaa-covers roughly eighty miles over three consecutive days. The longest leg is thirty-six miles, from Taha'a to Bora Bora, and takes a crew of six top-level paddlers just over four hours. December's Hoki Mai Challenge went nonstop for nearly two days, with each paddler being on for four hours, then off for four hours, then on for another four before a twelve-hour break. A Chilean naval ship served as escort, while a smaller launch shuttled paddlers to and from the canoe.
The original plan included paddlers from throughout Polynesia, but owing to travel challenges, seventeen members came from either Rapa Nui or Chile. One paddler, Landon Opunui, came from Hawaii. Being the sole representative of one's homeland is a heavy kuleana (responsibility), but the 37-year-old was an excellent choice: He took up paddling at 14, rowed in college, competed in several Ironman triathlons and started paddling again in 2013 after returning to the Islands to begin his residency as a naturopathic doctor. For the past six years he's paddled with Kailua Canoe Club.
The Hoki Mai had three goals: to use a feat that had not been undertaken in modern history to demonstrate paddling's place as an elite sport; to highlight Polynesia's (and the world's) responsibility for the sea and land; and to honor key women in Rapa Nui's cultural revitalization movement. "The balance of a canoe, the rhythm of the stroke, the timing of six people paddling together as one, provides us with the connection between ourselves as paddlers, the ocean, the elements, the waa [canoe] and our cultural tradition," Landon says. "This is what cultivates mana [spiritual energy]."
Training meant many hours before dawn and after dusk around his job as a primary care physician and health care administrator. This turned out to be fortuitous: His three four-hour Hoki Mai shifts all fell within either 2 to 6 a.m. or 6 to 10 p.m. "One of the amazing parts of the journey was being in the canoe for both sunrise and sunset, but they were hard shifts," Landon says. "You're in the middle of the ocean, and you can't see anything other than the glow stick hanging from the seat in front of you. The moon, the stars and the clouds were reflecting off the water, and at 3 a.m. bioluminescent plankton came out, so every stroke glowed as we stirred the ocean in front of us. In the delirium of sleep deprivation and pushing our bodies to the limit, it became almost a dream state. ... There was a palpable connection with those who came before us, who were guiding our way."
The paddlers reached Motu Motiro Hiva in just under forty-four hours, twelve hours ahead of schedule. "The conditions were very gentle. They were very nurturing, and I don't think that was a coincidence," Landon says. "'Hoki mai' means 'to return,' and we were returning to a very important place in Rapa Nui culture. I found a lot of similarity between that and the Hawaiian philosophy of kukulu hou, which means to reestablish, to reclaim, to rebuild, to reimagine. It was such an empowering experience to see my brothers and sisters from the Southeast Pacific living this concept. It reminded me that incredible feats can be accomplished when we come together with our collective strengths and a shared commitment while being guided by our kupuna [ancestors]."
