In May 1976, a canoe slipped out of Maui’s Honolua Bay and into the vastness of the Pacific. It was 18.7 meters long, 4.7 meters wide, and made of fiberglass and plywood — unremarkable by modern standards. But this vessel, the Hōkūleʻa, a Polynesian double-hulled voyaging canoe, was remarkable. It carried no compass, no GPS, and no instruments at all. Only a Micronesian navigator named Mau Piailug stood between the crew and getting completely lost.
But Piailug wasn’t guessing, and he wasn’t playing around.
He was attempting a journey over more than 4,200 kilometers of open ocean. It was a daring and unprecedented attempt to prove that ancient Polynesians had the skill to navigate the Pacific.
For 31 days, he read the ocean like a book. Piailug saw direction in the way waves moved under starlight. He felt shifts in the wind. He watched the sky, the birds, and the color of the water. And when land appeared — first the coral ring of Mataiva, then the full, green sweep of Tahiti — 17,000 people were waiting to meet them.
This one journey paved the way for a cultural and scientific revolution.
Rediscovering the stars
By the 1970s, much of Hawai‘i’s indigenous knowledge had either been suppressed or forgotten. Western governance, cargo ships, and mass tourism had swept across the islands, reshaping everything from education to economics. Traditional practices like wayfinding (using stars, waves, and birds to navigate the sea) had vanished.
An essential part of Polynesian culture was drifting away.
Polynesians originated from Southeast Asia and migrated eastward. They settled a vast oceanic region known as the Polynesian Triangle, which stretches from Hawai‘i in the north to Aotearoa (New Zealand) in the southwest and Rapa Nui (Easter Island) in the southeast. This area includes hundreds of islands such as Tahiti, Samoa, Tonga, the Marquesas, and the Cook Islands. So, how did this population manage to settle such a vast and sparse area?
Some, like Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl, argued Polynesians had settled the Pacific by accident, drifting helplessly on ocean currents. But there were plenty of settled islands, and quite a large distance. So, a small group of scientists proposed that Polynesians must have had advanced knowledge of navigation techniques, relying on stars, ocean swells, and wildlife to voyage across the open sea.
But they couldn’t prove it.
Among these proponents was artist and historian Herb Kawainui Kāne. Kāne envisioned rebuilding a traditional double-hulled canoe and sailing it along ancestral routes. Anthropologist Ben Finney and sailor Tommy Holmes joined him. Together, they formed the Polynesian Voyaging Society and named the new canoe Hōkūleʻa, the Hawaiian name of the star Arcturus, which is an important beacon in Hawaiian navigation. Hōkū means star in Hawaiian, and le’a means gladness.
A Lone Navigator
Yet building the canoe was only half the challenge. No one in Hawai‘i truly knew how to sail it.
The search for a navigator led them 4,000 kilometers west, to the tiny Micronesian island of Satawal. The island is just over a mile long. It’s home to around 600 people. There, Mau Piailug still practiced the ancient art of non-instrument navigation.
The traditional rules were that Mau shouldn’t teach outsiders and show them his ability. But the navigator looked around and saw the writing on the wall. He couldn’t find any students; his culture was vanishing. As he later said, “he feared his knowledge would die with him.”
So, he broke the rules. Mau, who “barely spoke English”, sought a way to save his culture.
The First Voyage of Many
The Hōkūleʻa departed Honolua Bay, Maui, Hawaiʻi, in 1976. It was headed for Tahiti, a journey of 4,200 kilometers, with no other guidance other than Mau. They sailed wherever Mau told them, no matter what. The ocean itself was to provide all the information to orient the canoe, without any compass or GPS. A safety boat was following them, but there was no communication.
After just over a month, they reached Tahiti. They were greeted by a large and very happy crowd. The proof was there: the Polynesian people had not drifted by accident. An entire culture could finally reclaim its history.
Yet a second chapter had already begun.
Among the crew was a young Hawaiian named Nainoa Thompson, educated in Western schools but newly drawn to his roots. Thompson wanted not only to show that the Polynesians could navigate, but he wanted to save the navigation ability. He asked Mau to teach him.
“Navigation’s not about cultural revival, it’s about survival. Not enough food can be produced on a small island like Satawal. Their navigators have to go out to sea to catch fish so they can eat,” says Thompson.
It was a funny twist of fate. Mau had been chosen by his grandfather to study when he was four or five. Initially, Mau protested. He wanted none of it. It was during the evenings, when child Mau would join the navigators as they ate and drank, listening to their stories, that he decided to take on navigation. His grandfather didn’t live long enough to finish his navigation education; neither did his father. But ultimately, the once-reluctant child became a master navigator.
Reclaiming a Dying Art
Per tradition, Mau shouldn’t have taught outsiders. Yet, once again, he broke with tradition.
Initially, Mau returned to his home on the island of Satawal.
Thompson tried to teach himself how to navigate without instruments, using only the position of stars and ocean cues, based on information he learned from books, planetarium observations, and short voyages in Hawaiian waters. In 1978, he attempted to recreate the journey with the Hōkūleʻa. The canoe capsized only a few hours after departing, leaving the crew hanging on for dear life for an entire night.
Mau had to come back and teach Thompson.
In 1980, Thompson became the first modern Hawaiian to navigate a traditional voyage to Tahiti and back. Mau stayed silent, leaving Thompson do the navigation. He gave only one correction, regarding a seabird. The bird was flying in the morning, and birds in the morning usually fly towards the sea. However, this bird had a fish in its beak. This told Mau the bird wasn’t flying seaward to get more fish but rather, was returning to land to feed its young.
This second journey confirmed not only that the knowledge existed — but that it could be passed on.
“[Piailug] gave the Polynesians — the Hawaiians and others — he gave them back their mastery of the sea and navigation,” says Ben Finney, professor emeritus in anthropology at the University of Hawaii and a founder of the Polynesian Voyaging Society (PVS). “He helped them rediscover the ancient way of doing things. He was a beloved guru, to use a current metaphor.”
More than a canoe
Over the next four decades, Hōkūleʻa became far more than a symbol. It became a school, a bridge, and a global ambassador. Several daring journeys were undertaken, including a 150,000 kilometer journey around the globe. What began as a scientific rebuttal became a cultural revival, then a planetary mission.
In 2007, Mau conducted the first pwo ceremony in over 50 years. A pwo ceremony is a sacred Micronesian ritual that formally inducts navigators into the rank of master wayfinders, recognizing their knowledge, skill, and responsibility to preserve and pass on traditional navigation. He inducted five Hawaiians — including Thompson — into the sacred brotherhood of master navigators.
The master had ensured that the ability would survive. In the process, he rekindled a core part of an ancient culture.
No serious scholar today argues Polynesians settled the Pacific by accident. Genetic, linguistic, and archaeological evidence now also confirm the narrative Hōkūleʻa helped revive: that these were planned, skilled journeys by master seafarers who read the world not with instruments, but with insight.
The canoe also forged unexpected alliances. Voyagers from Aotearoa to Rapa Nui have built their own ships, reviving their own traditions. A generation once cut off from its past now sails toward it.
Mau ultimately lost a long battle with diabetes. He was buried in his beloved home island of Satawal. As is tradition, travel between the islands was temporarily suspended in his honor. His work, however, ensured that Polynesian navigation will survive.
In February 2020, at the AGU Ocean Sciences in San Diego, Thompson emphasized the winning combination of science and culture working together. “These children know how to voyage and go anywhere in the world but they also know how to come home because they know who they are,” he said.
As for the Hōkūleʻa, it is still active and engaged in daring journeys. There are already several navigators who can skillfully orient it.
