PATHWAYS THROUGH A NEW LAND
The stories of Te Wai Pounamu flow through the land like water, pathways to history, ma¯tauranga and place.
Water’s fundamental role in the pu¯ra¯kau of Te Wai Pounamu is echoed in its very name — the waters of greenstone.
The voyagers who first arrived here did so by sea, and soon set out around its coast, exploring its waterways and reservoirs as extensions of their navigation across the moana.
But those earliest discovers did more than simply map and track the layout of the new land, they took a direct hand in its creation, including many of the lakes for which Te Wai Pounamu is known.
Among the first footprints Ma¯ori made in Te Wai Pounamu were those of the crew of Uruao, the oceangoing waka of the rangatira Ra¯kaihautu¯.
Having navigated their way from Hawaiki, Ra¯kaihautu¯ and his crew found themselves at the northern end of the southern land mass, Te TauihuoteWaka.
O¯ ta¯kou Ru¯naka upoko Edward Ellison confirms the history.
‘‘We have many waka atua, or ancestral godlike canoes in our histories, but the Uruao was captained by Ra¯kaihautu¯ and he landed on the boulder banks by Nelson,’’ he says.
Having arrived at Te Wai Pounamu, Ra¯kaihautu¯ and his son Rokohouia split up, Ra¯kaihautu¯ venturing down through the centre of the island while Rokohouia took Uruao down the east coast to explore and find good places to settle.
‘‘Ra¯kaihautu¯ in the meantime journeyed down through the centre of the island and our memory of that journey is
— digging it with the ko¯ Tu¯whakaro¯ria
‘‘So, there are all these colourful stories talking about the coldness of the water in those places.’’
Waka and mokihi (rafts) were used by Ma¯ori to navigate the vastness of Whakatipu Waima¯ori and were the key modes of transport for the collection and trading of pounamu.
Tauraka waka, landing places for waka, were set up along the shores and on islands, such as Ma¯tau and Wa¯wa¯hi Waka — otherwise known as Pig Island and Pigeon Island respectively.
As the Nga¯i Tahu Claims Settlement Act 1998 records, Whakatipu Waima¯ori supported several permanent settlements, such as the ka¯ika (village) Ta¯huna near presentday Queenstown, Te Kirikiri Pa¯, located where the Queenstown gardens are found today, a Nga¯ti Ma¯moe kaika near the Kawarau Falls called O¯ Te Roto, and another called Takerehaka at Kingston.
For Ma¯ori, the lake was more than a body of water, it was the core of a network of trails that ensured their safety on journeys inland.
There is no direct translation of Whakatipu. ‘‘Whaka’’ is a prefix that often indicates the cause of an action, and tipu means to grow or to prosper. In other translations, tipu could be derived from the word tipua, which refers to a monster or supernatural being. Wai ma¯ori means fresh water, water you can consume, water that sustains life.
‘‘Thus it is a puna (spring) which sustains many ecosystems important to Nga¯i Tahu,’’ the Settlement Act says. ‘‘The mauri of Whakatipuwaima¯ori represents the essence that binds the physical and spiritual elements of all things together, generating and upholding all life.’’
Whakatipu Waima¯ori has also been said to mean the growing bay or the bay of spirits. Some have referred to the lake as the lake that breathes, because even though it is landlocked, it has its own tides that rise and fall through the day.
Ra¯kaihautu¯ in the meantime journeyed down through the centre of the island and our memory of that journey is recorded in the lakes and the maunga that he named — or in some accounts created with his digging stick, his ko¯, know as Tu¯whakaro¯ria
When the creature Ko¯pu¯wai discovered he had been deceived, he swallowed so much water in anger that the Kawarau River emptied.
There are many stories connected to Whakatipu Waima¯ori.
Near Kawarau lived a monster named Ko¯pu¯wai.
He tied a girl named Kaiamio to his leg at night, but she cleverly replaced herself with a log and escaped on a flax raft.
When Ko¯pu¯wai discovered the deception, he swallowed so much water in anger that the Kawarau River emptied, leaving only a rocky bed.
Today, Ko¯pu¯wai is the
Obelisk rock on the Old Man Range, and Kaiamio is the nearby lagoon.
But perhaps the most famous story involves Hakitekura, the
daughter of Ka¯ti Ma¯moe chief Tuwiriroa
The Queenstown Gardens peninsula was once a Ka¯ti Ma¯moe pa¯ site.
The women of the village would often have swimming competitions in lake Whakatipu Waima¯ori and Hakitekura would watch them from a hill near Bob’s Peak.
Determined to outdo them all, she asked her father for kindling and dry raupo¯ or bulrush.
Early one morning, she bound them together with flax and tied the bundle to her back.
Using Cecil and Walter Peaks as her guide, as the sunrise twinkled over the mountain tops,
she set out into the lake, swimming a distance of 3km.
When she made it to Refuge Point, she lit a fire using the kindling and dry raupo¯.
In the morning, her village saw the fire smoke and her father knew it was her.
In honour of her bravery, the peak from which she had planned her swim was named Te Taumata O Hakitekura, the viewing place of Hakitekura.
Refuge Point was named Te AhiaHakitekura, meaning the burning flames of Hakitekura.
Cecil and Walter Peaks were named KakamuaHakitekura, meaning the twinklings seen by Hakitekura.
Ma¯ori made their way to these lakes from the coast using the awa Mataau, otherwise known as the Clutha river, as their guide.
The name Mataau is said to translate to surface current, presumably in reference to the small swirling currents seen on its surface.
The awa was a lifeline for O¯ ta¯kou hapu, providing mahinga kai along their travels to retrieve pounamu. It functioned as a fishery, home to an abundance of tuna, kanakana and ko¯kopu.
Food resources were especially plentiful at the river’s Ka¯ Moana Haehae, the point where the Mataau meets the Manuherikia.
The river also became an important boundary marker between Ka¯i Tahu and Ka¯ti Ma¯moe. Ka¯ti Ma¯moe were to hold mana (authority) over the lands south of the river and Ka¯i Tahu were to hold mana northwards — though over time marriages between the two overcame the division.
Having tracked the length of Te Wai Pounamu, Ra¯kaihautu¯ returned northeast from Te Ara a Kiwa, Foveaux Strait, to hit the coast near Balclutha, Ellison says.
At that time the lake there, RotonuiaWhatu (Lake Tuakitoto), was much bigger, he says.
‘‘From there he went on to Waihora, Waipouri.’’
The former is known as Waihola today, but its correct name is Waihora — which means spread out (hora) water.
Waipo¯uri, currently mispelt as Waipori, is so named because of the dark (po¯uri) colour of that water coming out of the forested hills, the tanin in the water.
Travelling north he named Kaikarae (Kaikorai) for a bird, a karae, they cooked there, then finally arrived at Waihao where he met up with his son again.
‘‘The hao is a particular kind of eel found there,’’ Ellison says.
Finally, they settled at Akaroa, and its work done, Ra¯kaihautu¯ jammed his ko, Tu¯whakaro¯ria, into the ridge.
‘‘So, if you are at Akaroa and you are looking almost due west, you will see along the ridge a tor, something like a tor that is leaning, poking, jutting out of the ridge. That is said to be Tu¯whakaro¯ria in the ridge, renamed Tuhiraki.’’
All these stories are a way of remembering whakapapa, Ellison says. You recite your whakapapa and pass that on to new generations, the fabulous stories working as an aid to memory, he says.
That world view, handed down in ko¯rero, frames the environment and explains it to us.
‘‘How we are here, and how we relate to the whenua, to the wai, to ngahere, to nga¯ manu, to nga¯ ika, to our environment, it goes right back to the ko¯rero of Raki and Papa — or in our case, Rakinui had more than one wife, Pokoharuatepo¯.
‘‘We have atua or demigods assigned through this creation story starting from the time of nothingness, through to the emergence of light, the arrival of water, and then life forms, they are all explainable in our traditions. So, there is no one god in that ko¯rero, there are many.
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We have atua or demigods assigned through this creation story starting from the time of nothingness, through to the emergence of light, the arrival of water, and then life forms, they are all explainable in our traditions
‘‘There was a whanaungatanga relationship, because we descend eventually from particular lines from Rakinui and Papatu¯a¯nuku down to ourselves. So there is a whanaungatanga, a connectedness, or a connectedness that then governs how we work with our environment, how we live with it, respect it, take from it, give back, and have tikanga, or rules, that keeps the balance.’’
As such, the waterways and water bodies of the South, the Mataau, the lakes, embody a way of seeing the world.
At the same time, they are a record of the practical business of living in the land.
Whakatipu Waima¯ori, named by the tupuna Ra¯kaihautu¯, stands as a testament to ancient expeditions. Its shores were home to the mobile lifestyles of Ma¯ori, and helped shape a network of trails and landing places. The awa Mataau served as a highway, while also providing resources and sustenance to those who embarked on its journey.
Together, Whakatipu Waima¯ori and the Mataau remain as guardians of history, connecting whanau and hapu to their ancestral roots.
Etched into the land, their stories speak of resilience, tradition, and the enduring relationship between the people and their whenua.