In good faith, thousands gather at the Wellington waterfront in a spirit of great anticipation and high expectations. The publicity imagery and words have promised we will be “welcoming a majestic fleet of waka hourua (traditional double-hulled sailing canoes) and their fearless crew, as they sail across the waters of Te Whanganui-a-Tara, Wellington Harbour – a moving finale to their months-long journey from Samoa, the Cook Islands and around New Zealand.”

Trepidation has also accompanied the build-up during this week, given the havoc wreaked by Cyclone Gita. Have the waka hourua and their crews survived? Yes, while the storm hit the west, they were east of Te Ika a Maui (the North Island); even so I’m told they had to back-track to take shelter in Napier. But what will the weather be like this Friday? Miraculously the day evolves into a perfect Wellington summer night: warm with just a light breeze, a clear sky with just a few clouds to reflect the setting sun.

We arrive 90 minutes early, from the Chaffers Marina end, and already the best spots are taken, stretching right down to opposite Circa Theatre then round past the Festival Club (Spiegeltent), the Whare Waka, the Boatshed and the Kupe statue. We think we do well to perch on the platform up behind Max Patte’s bronze statue, ‘Solace in The Wind’ – and back up in the corner there is a screen showing live images. But with no sound. Then we realise the tower of speakers to our left is pointing away from us. And hey, we’re here for the live experience not to watch a screen!

So we move to beside the enclosure that will contain one of the groups of high-school kapa haka exponents. We’re about three people deep from the wharf’s edge but have a good view of the triangle of water we think the pageant will play out upon – wherein a range of craft both traditional and modern are milling about – and out towards Matiu/Somes Island: the expanse of Te Whanganui-a-Tara we expect the majestic fleet of waka hourua to sail across.

There is no printed programme, of course. The NZ Festival website page just gives a general overview, including “this theatrical extravaganza feature[es] performers, a mass choir, a thousand-strong haka and a musical score by Warren Maxwell.” The ‘Useful information’ link covers everything from bus stops to lost children. We do know the creative triumvirate is theatre director Anna Marbrook, Hoturoa Barclay-Kerr, captain of the oceangoing waka Haunui and production designer & Kasia Pol. But I have found nothing about who the principal performers are or what the premise or structure of the ‘extravaganza’ might be. For the purposes of this review, then, I turn to other media for some of the names of key performers.

Away in the distance, at (for us) the far point of this triangle, Te Kohe Tuhaka arises majestically, steps forth on to a jutting platform from which a wall of water fall, and commences what I now know to be his poetic oration in the persona of the great explorer Kupe, albeit cloaked in gold and blue fabrics more redolent of a Cecil B DeMille biblical epic than tradition Polynesian clothing. He speak across time, acknowledging our presence, that generations have passed since his arrival and that his exploits are still spoken of today. (This I now know only because next day I find the Facebook feed to the drone-captured recording.) At the time we can only hear Tukaha’s voice on distant speakers; those near us are emitting only what I think is bad static and later discover is the sound of the waterfall. Presumably this is a sound-patching error but it robs us, and hundreds around us, of a basic understanding of the rationale for what we are witnessing.

Kupe (I now know) recalls his love of Kuramārōtini, their making love and his promise that they would voyage again together on this earth (but he doesn’t mention – as Te Ara does, citing one oral tradition – that he stole her while out fishing with her and her husband Hoturapa, whom he left to drown while they escaped on their great voyage). The responding waiata from red and gold-frocked Maisey Rika, on another stack of containers near us, presumably represents Kuramārōtini. She is backed by two wafting maidens in red sheath frocks as she and Kupe wiri to each other across the sea. The Pasifika dance moves are simple and repetitive.

Because Kupe has asked us and/or the gods if this is a dream he is having, we need not expect a linear or even cogent narrative to unfold. An impressionistic celebration of trans-Pacific voyaging, perhaps … And of course we have to realise the sizes of the waka are real – and small – in the expanse of sea before us. It has taken me a while to realise the small waka under sail in the inner harbour, with the standing figure, his cape flowing behind him, is Kupe in his memory/dream. If that one comes close to us, we don’t see it, because it is a function of the physical space that the closer things come on the water below, the harder they are to see from above.

By now our gazes are cast upon Te Whanganui-a-Tara, awaiting the promised arrival of the “majestic fleet of waka hourua”. But first, as Kuramārōtini sings, an impressive flying wedge of modern kayaks bring in a vessel trailing dry ice vapour, sitting densely on the water – a miniature of the long white cloud itself. It lies in front of Kuramārōtini who, legend tells us, names this land Aotearoa: the land of the long white cloud – or, as Ngāpuhi interpret it: the land of enduring light. Indeed the long dusk is setting in.

I have to go by the Facebook feed to know what to focus on. A waka taua (war canoe, from the Whare Waka, I think) does a circuit of the inner harbour, the massed choir sings – and we realise the waka hourua are already here, also circling the inner harbour separately and under motor: no sign of a sail anywhere. This is a major disappointment, echoed by many we speak to later.

When one of the waka hourua comes close to our side, and therefore disappears from sight for many, the kapa haka group beside us (from Mana College) issues a fearsome challenge. At the time, I’m confused: who are these people on land challenging the new arrivals to a new land? (I doubt we are suddenly in the Chatham Islands with the Moriori, whose cultural practices were not the same anyway – were they? Sadly we know too little of that.) In retrospect I realise this is not a re-enactment of the arrivals – the crews are not perceptibly ‘in role’ – but a contemporary celebration of their feats of navigation and endurance. Those of use watching may or may not know of the months-long journey these vessels have actually undertaken.

Sparking intrigue has been a distant craft encased in golden triangles. This turns out to represent a star and as it slowly takes ‘centre stage’, an angel-like white-clad singer (sorry, I don’t know her name) celebrates the star that guides us: “When you know where you are, you know who you are”; “We are all voyaging on this blue canoe called earth,” responds Kupe. Indeed.

The final waiata suggests we take time for reflection as the stars give us direction.  

As we disperse and stars do begin to appear above, everyone we speak to expresses disappointment, such was the level of expectation engendered beforehand. The oratory, singing and music have had various impacts depending on the sound quality where people stood. Visually, for those standing three or more deep on a flat surface, sightlines to another flat surface some metres below are difficult, the closer anything gets. And the further they are away, the smaller they are. If there is meaning to be found in the different waka and their relationships with each other, it’s hard to fathom from an ordinary standing punter’s perspective. A friend who has watched from the wrong side of the speakers feels the scene in general was redolent of the Americas Cup before and after the actual racing. “Underwhelmed” is a common descriptor.

Clearly the logistics of it all have been enormous, the talent brought to bear has been abundant and the commitment of hundreds of participants has been great. “Waka carry stories, art, science, knowledge, whakapapa and performance,” Hoturoa Barclay-Kerr is quoted as saying on the festival website. But in terms of what is communicated in the event, that remains private knowledge. From the perspective of most of the 20,000 people estimated to have flocked to the waterfront in good faith and good spirits, the actual execution of the Kupe part of A Waka Odyssey has fallen a long way short of the spectacle imagined by the creators.  

Watch it here and see what you think and feel.

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