Long ago, in the time following the separation of Sky Father Ranginui and Earth Mother Papatuanuku, there lived a demi-god named Maui, known across Hawaiki for his cleverness, athleticism, and practical jokes.
Despite his many gifts, Maui wanted little more than the chance to fish with his older brothers. But Maui’s brothers had grown weary of his winning ways and mischievous pranks. Again and again they denied him the chance to cast his line aside theirs, stepping on his pride as they stepped into their canoe, and leaving him alone on the shore as they paddled out to sea.
Maui soon tired of watching the waka of his brothers disappear into the horizon. He went to see his grandmother Muri-ranga-whenua, who at his birth had foretold his future as a great fisherman.
“Grandmother,” Maui said, “I know that I am to be a great fisherman, but I have no hook, no line, and no waka in which to paddle out to the great fishing grounds. My brothers are jealous of me and will not include me in their pursuits.”
“Take this,” said Muri-ranga-whenua, and handed him her lower jawbone. “From it you shall carve a hook capable of snaring the greatest fish of the sea. From the flax that we use to weave our baskets and our sleeping mats, you shall weave a line, strong enough to hold the greatest fish of the sea. And as for a waka, from your brothers you will receive the help necessary to haul in the greatest fish of the sea.”
“But, Grandmother,” Maui began, but she held up her hand to silence him.
“You possess many talents, Maui,” she said. “A simple boat ride is surely within your reach.”
Maui did as his grandmother instructed, fashioning a hook of bone and a fishing line of flax, incanting karakias over both to give them the strength of the spirits on whom he called.
The next day, as his brothers prepared to head out for the day, Maui hid himself under the floorboards of the waka. As the boat slipped out to sea, the brothers watched the shore and wondered why Maui was not in his usual spot on the sand, pestering them to be taken along.
They were talented fishermen, and as the day wore on, the canoe filled with their catch. When he could no longer see daylight through the pile of fins and tails above him, Maui emerged from his hiding place. His sudden appearance so startled his brothers that the eldest, Te Anau, tumbled head first into the water.
“It is my turn to fish,” Maui said.
Tanemahuta spoke first. “Fish if you will, Maui. But we have no spare fishing lines or hooks for you.”
“No matter,” said Maui, pulling his crude flax line and bone hook from under his cloth malo. Te Anau, who had just succeeded in pulling himself back into the waka, burst out in a laugh so forceful he toppled back into the water.
Ngata spoke next, “Look, brothers. Young Maui has made himself a hook and line. What a pity we have no bait to spare.”
“No matter,” said Maui, and with the palm of his hand he hit himself forcefully in the nose, causing a shower of blood. He drenched his hook in it and, standing on the bow of the waka, cast his hook into the sea.
The brothers watched in amazement as the hook sank to the depths of the great ocean, the flax line magically lengthening as it went deeper and deeper. Almost as soon as it hit bottom, the line went taught and Maui felt an enormous pull. He braced his feet against the gunwales and leaned back into the boat.
True fishermen at heart and unable to do nothing in the face of such a catch, the brothers sprang into action. Te Anau and Tanemahuta began paddling the canoe away from the great creature, while Ngata joined Maui at the line.
The four brothers pulled and paddled and struggled against the dead weight until finally a towering fin split the water’s surface.
“Faster,” Maui yelled to Te Anau and Tanemahuta. And the brothers paddled faster as he and Ngata strained against the behemoth, the flax line slicing valleys into their palms. With a final heave, Maui hauled in the great fish, the size of which the brothers had never dared imagine.
“I must go make peace with Tangaroa,” said Maui, panting. “Surely the God Of the Sea will be angered by the loss of such a being.” To his brothers Maui said, “This is Te Ika a Maui, the fish of Maui. Do nothing until I return.” And he turned and dove into the sea.
The brothers did nothing at first, but quickly grew impatient and began to imagine the glory that such a catch would bring them. They began to slice and hack at the great animal, piling the waka high with its flesh. In their reverie, they ignored the movement that was building under their blades.
Te Ika a Maui used its last bit of strength to raise his colossal tail from the water and swat at the vessel and the brothers within who cleaved valleys and gorges in his glorious body. The canoe flew high into the air and splashed down near the great fish, the bow within biting distance of the beast’s mouth, had there been any bite left in it.
When Maui returned to the site of his triumph, there was no sign of his brothers, only Te Ika a Maui, which you know as the North Island, its jagged features formed by the careless strokes of the three brothers; and Te Waka o Maui, the canoe of Maui, which you know as the South Island, its hull rising up from the sea and forming the towering Southern Alps of Aotearoa, the Land Of the Long White Cloud. New Zealand.
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