Chapter Four – Exploring New Zealand
This chapter will be an analysis and interpretation of the data that has been compiled in the previous two chapters. The purpose of these chapters was to provide a level background of information about the tools used and the mythologically settings within which they were found. From these and the following archaeological texts, there are further literary and cultural interpretations provided for the existence of general tools as grave goods. Following in past archaeologists’ footprints, this chapter will focus on the toki and its role within Polynesian mythology. The generality of using the term Polynesian is because while the versions from the Māori will be predominantly discussed, there will be aspects of the Hawai’ian stories included because they share similar mythological characters under different names.
I am building on the model I laid out in Chapter Three. Number one, I will demonstrate that there is a record of the toki tools and their use within the mythology of the cultures in New Zealand. Number two, that within the mythology these tools are associated with the ability to control and manipulate the environment in which people live. Number three, that this manipulation concerns bringing a piece of nature into the realm of culture. Number four, because of these mythological associations these toki tools have ideological significance to communities and would often be used as grave goods.
To follow point number one, initially this chapter will contain an explanation as to what the toki is and what the two main types were that were present in New Zealand. This will be followed with the influence on how they were made due to the types of materials and how they would have been utilized in the different environments of New Zealand. The purpose of this is to show that this tool is an inseparable piece of the Māori cultural realm and is also linked to what follows. Next, addressing point number two, is the examination of the mythology from the Māori and Hawai’ian cultures because they have similar gods (Atua or Akua respectively) and myths. The origins of the islands of New Zealand, the creation of the greenstone, and stories of the toki being in use are included to demonstrate the tools’ relevance. Point number three is influenced by the mythology because the heroes, often gods, are the ones who can harness the natural power in the tools and gift them to us mere mortals. This chapter will conclude with the focus moved to point four, toward a few examples of New Zealand burial sites with toki as grave goods. These examples relate back to the sites from the Hawai’ian section in Chapter Two because there, toki have also been found as grave goods. Following this structure, it is appropriate to use the model I built which then leads to the same conclusions of power and control over the chaos of nature once the tool reaches the human realm.
The Adzing Toki
Creating the tool
When examining adze morphology and how they have been separated into types the standard for the explanation has been highly subjective. In the 1950s Duff took a step forward in examining these tools systematically, however the attempt to specifically define the types is lacking and was based mostly on morphology. Taking recent attempts into account by Turner for reclassification and Leach’s theories about flaking and the effect of the process on the final product, along with the distinguishing names given by the Māori themselves, it is evident that each adze was made specifically and for a particular purpose (Leach, 1990; Turner, 2000; Best, 1977). The word toki is the general name given to combine tool classes with the second word differentiating its use.
Te Whatahoro states that ordinarily speaking there were three processes in adzing a surface: (1.) The ranga, or scoring; timber chipped across grain at intervals to facilitate adzing-off the wood. (2.) The aupatu, or adzing roughly into form. (3.) The tamaku, or finishing process, which leaves an even surface. In this final dressing, which is work for adepts only, the aim is to leave no mark on the dressed surface except at the spot where the adze "takes" the timber, and to leave there a distinct mark across the grain. But such marks must be at regular, even distances, as is seen in various patterns so formed on finished timbers. Different styles of adzes are used in these three operations and sometimes they were wielded by different persons.
(Best, 1974: 152)
Types
In New Zealand there are two general types of adzes of which are further classified; they are commonly referred to as the ‘Moa hunter’ or the Archaic version, common on the South Island, or the agricultural ‘new’ style found on the North Island. Duff classified these by island and the tools appearance, creating a complex system within which the line between types is blurred. This is most likely caused by the system he took to classify the pieces into “a Genus and each Variety a Species” (Duff, 1997: 147). But, according to Turner, Polynesian adze types also depended on the chronological patterns, since certain patterns and methods of flaking will have been more common practice on different islands at different times (Turner, 2000: 1). Turner also discussed the variability caused by the need for mobility versus a more sedentary village lifestyle, along with the tool’s reliability in multiple uses (Turner, 2000: 3-4).
Within Duff’s system there are six types with different subvarieties, each of which are classified by letters. In the reanalysis of 148 adze artifacts found in the Wairau Bar site collection, upon which Duff created much of his classification, the variables chosen were not as easily distinguished and pieces previously described as one type were shifted to other subcategories or completely different types or varieties (Shipton et al., 2016: 367). These were based mostly on cross-section shape and elaboration of the tang, and also include the shape of the shoulders, existence of lugs, thickness, bevel angle, length, striking angle, and the angle of the cutting edge [figure 45] (Shipton et al., 2016, Best, 1977, Duff, 1977).
The most common types found at the Wairau Bar site, also the types which occur most often as burial goods are Duff Types 1A, 2A, and 4A/C (Duff, 1977, Best, 1997, Turner, 2000, Shipton et al., 2016). Example of various types are show below in figures 46 through 49.
Furthermore, what should not be overlooked is because the types of stone being used changed over time and was dependent on location, the methods of production and thus the final shapes were altered.
Materials Used
Depending on the location and the time period in which the tool was produced the materials would have varied. The most common stone types in New Zealand would have been the Pounamu, basalt, baked argillite, and greywacke; all tough stone with fine grain granules (Duff, 1977, Best, 1977, & Turner, 2000). “Best also asserted that the coarse-grained 2B adze was a technological improvement on earlier designs- '...the stronger rock was used in the stronger shape' (1975: 330)” (Turner, 2000: 9). The variations of strength and durability of the different stone sources lend themselves to the ability of the adze makers to craft different shapes for different purposes. The matter of difference of the shapes between the North and South Islands is more to do with the purpose of use. The North Island was rich in agriculture, meaning tree felling and agriculture, while the South island’s more mountainous environment (in certain places) may have required another source of food and, therefore, another use for the adzes; tree-felling, hunting, and more waka-carving for fishing. These patterns are the most commonly noted, however, there are also examples of overlap wherein these different materials can be found within the various locals of sites all around New Zealand because of the extensive trade networks.
Mythological creation
The mythology behind the creation of the toki tool is sparse and difficult to find, most Atua/Akua aka the gods or deities will already have and be associated with the tokis’ use, so it can be assumed that these people were already utilizing the tool before telling the stories in order to have built the world around them. All around Polynesia the toki is the “single most important tool of the canoe builders” as it is used throughout the process of production for the waka (Craig, 2004: 78). Within the Polynesian narrative the toki is used for agriculture and the carving of waka and pillars and has the important meaning of mana to the peoples who use the tool and wear the miniature version. As well as with other cultural areas there is a certain amount of generalization when it comes to compressing hundreds or even thousands of years of oral and written traditions into one story told much later in time, out of context. For this section I will be examining the Polynesian toki from a few of the many different cultures scattered around the Polynesian islands in an attempt to find uncover the common narrative that the toki creates. All the time being fully aware and contentious that the characters and stories they participate in are all individually unique variations on similar overall tales.
The most famous example of the toki in Polynesian mythology is the Te Āwhiorangi, in oral tradition the Taranaki people (Western corner of the North Island of New Zealand) possessed the sacred (tapu) adze that Tāne Mahuta (god of the forest) used to sever the last connections between Ranginui (the sky father) and Papatūānuku (the earth mother) (Matumua, 2018; Keane, 2006). In this case the toki tool is called a taonga, which is a sacred object that is passed down to each new generation. The tradition of passing on the tool continues to reinforce the question as to why other toki examples would have ever been returned to the earth.
Pounamu is the general Māori term for the greenstone, nephrite or bowenite [figure 50], and is one of the common and most mythologically significant materials used to make toki in New Zealand. While both materials look similar in color the tangiwai type, bowenite, was not used due to its fragile nature, as it “could be scratched with the point of a knife”, and therefore, nephrite was the traditional greenstone tool material (Best, 1974: 177). Also, what must be called attention to is that there are dozens of names including: greenstone, jade, jadeite, green talc, etc., not to mention the many native names have all been applied to nephrite and thus Pounamu, so I will be using the general term Pounamu from now on. According to some of the translated stories, Pounamu was made from the ‘fish’ Poutini by Ngahue, a man who sailed from Hawaiki (Best, 1974: 32, 195). Colenso says, "The most esteemed goods, the real personal wealth of the ancient New-Zealanders, were greenstone (un worked or worked as axes, war-clubs, and ornaments)” (Best, 1974: 176).
The many tales of Ngahue, Poutini, Hine-tu-a-hoanga, the personification of sandstone, and Mataa (also called Waiapu), describe where nephrite came from, how humans found the islands, how the Atua interacted with each other, and the adventures for which they are known can greatly vary depending on the Polynesian island. One example of these stories is from the West Coast tribe, Poutini Ngāi Tahu. The water spirit Poutini saw and kidnapped a young woman bathing near Tūhua (Mayor Island) named Waitaiki. Because Poutini was being followed by Waitaiki’s husband, Poutini hid her “in the bed of the Arahura River, and changed her into pounamu before fleeing into the sea” [illustration figure 51] (Nathan, 2016; Te Ara). This story is different than the other origin of Pounamu I relayed, with characters taking on different roles in the story’s outcome. What is constant, however, is the utility of these materials and their transport for the same tool uses. Previously in archaeological studies, Pounamu was seen as too valuable to make the largest versions of toki out of. Archaeologists thought that instead these large versions of toki were symbolic, and only used as part of ritual, with the small versions working as smaller adzes, chisels, or as ornamentation worn about the neck (Best, 1974: 143). However, this is not the case as there is recorded popular use of the large Kahotea and Kawakawa, two forms of the commonly used Pounamu, because of their hardness (Best, 1974: 33).
Carving the boats
The felling of the trees and delicate carving of the waka and the arawa (ocean-going canoes) is part of the major grouping of skills that the Māori New Zealander would have always had, passed down from their ancestors. The waka was so ingrained within the mythology and cultural history of Polynesia that it plays a part in almost every creation myth that there is and the adzing toki is the tool that must already exist in order for the Atua to shape them. Even the South Island of New Zealand is said to be Maui’s legendary canoe that was used while he was fishing with his brothers with the North Island being the fish that was caught (Best, 1974: 196). Among the numerous types of adzes there were both general shapes and the most specially shaped versions to perform the tasks at hand. Specifically, the toki tarai (adzing toki) were employed in canoe making, to waimanu or hollow out the vessel (Best, 1974: 23-24). But the first step was ‘felling the tree’, which was as part of Kū’s duties as the Hawaiian God of war, mountains, adzing out canoes, pulling land together, etc. For cultural ties to the plants themselves, the Kū-ka-‘ōhi’a-laka is worshiped by the canoe makers in the form of the commonly used tree, the Metrosideros polymorpha (‘ōhi’a lehu), known as Rata on Tahiti, Rarotonga, and New Zealand. The proper tools had to be utilized “toki ngao pae, toki ao rnaramara, and toki ngao tu among the Tuhoe Tribe. The first named is a large, heavy adze, used for heavy work, such as ‘roughing out’ a canoe, or house timbers” (Best, 1974:133-134). The final dressing was done with the smaller nephrite tools, as the most important and valuable material, the smallest versions, and the most intricate in design. And, just as the Atua were always known to have their own personalized waka, the work for most people would have been individualized.
The labour of adzing timber is one that was often performed by native chiefs, many of whom were remarkably adept in the use of the stone adze, so much so that such work was often quite artistic. This remark refers to the peculiar patterns adzed on the surface of worked timbers in the final dressing thereof. Nor did such a man think it at all beneath his dignity to engage in such work.
(Best, 1974:134-135)
Even legendary figures like the chief Kupe adzed out his own canoe as an old man with assistance from Toka-akuaku (Biggs, 1957: 234). Using different toki types with different names, “Tauira-ata used by Toka-akuaku and Ngaa-paa-ki-tua used by Kupe… The face, or cutting-edge of Tauira-ata was broad, that of Ngaa-paa-ki-tua was narrow” (Best, 1974: 237) these men were able to finish the work, give names to each part of the canoe, and implanted the living soul within the vessel with the proper prayers done by the priest (Best, 1974). With these rituals the canoe was able to have its final form, its mana, and it is this mana of objects around the human arena that create the Polynesian cultural landscape.
Kane, part of the chiefly line and one of the creator gods along with his brothers Kū and Lono, was also Akua for the woodsmans’ craft in Hawai’i. In the creation myths he recognized that he was separate from Po, the chaos of the universe, and pulled himself away before his brothers followed. Kū and his Māori equivalent Tū, was the Atua of war, hunting, food cultivation, fishing, and cooking. He followed his brother out from Po and helped Kane create the first people. In a passage from one of the versions of the “Lament of Moerewarewa for her father the Ngapuhi ariki Nukutawhiti” (Gunson, 1993: 139):
The thunder crashes above, its lightning is calm,
Tu is angry, Rongomai descends, Loosed is the (gushing?) water
It is Ru, Ngana, Aparangi, Kapitiwhano…
Go, go, the adze go here, join. Tū is angry, Tū rages, is fiercely girded…
Passes by Wawau-atea-nui, Passes the hole of Pipirau which shakes
This is it. To cut the hair of the chief Pipiraueru, this is it.
(Aperahama Taonui c. 1845, trans. David Simmons).
The centuries of canoe travel and intricate carvings all already had the toki imbedded within them; they were the original tools that helped the first people leave western Hawa’iki in search of new islands to bring into their cultural and physical world. This is not always acknowledged in academic writings, but the voyaging legends were part of this expansion. According to Simmons they exist as a means of justifying “claims to mana and land” (Finney, 1991: 385) and the ability to move from island to island shaping each as the colonists sailed would not have been possible without the toki (Simmons, 1976: 321).
Use for agriculture
On most individual islands there were important areas of land that were dedicated to agriculture. On the smaller islands people would need the staple foods to round out their diets in addition to fishing and the resources to sustain a healthy population. The people had domesticated the range of crops and brought them along on the journey from island to island and used the tools that had been perfected for that particular use. The Koma or toki kaheru is a wide adze used for harvesting kumara, much like a hoe (Best, 1974: 140). For this particular version of the tool nephrite was not used, as it would have been too valuable and the wedges would have needed to be far too large (Best, 1974: 143). Instead early materials would have been made out of wood in the forms of the digging stick kō, or the paddle-shaped wauwau (Best, 1974: 150). This, therefore, also is demonstrating the increase in ability and power the people using the stone would have been seen to have. The Atua would have used and crafted these in extremely different ways and with the intention for them to belong to different people than in the case of carving.
In Hawai’i, for instance, Kū is a father deity who presides over a variety of aspects on Earth: crops, fishing, long life, and family prosperity, illustrated in the prayer:
O Ku, O Li! (?) Soften your land that it may bring forth. Bring forth where? Bring forth in the sea [naming the fishing ground], squid, ulua fish. . . .
Encourage your land to bring forth. Bring forth where? Bring forth, on land, potatoes, taro, gourds, coconuts, bananas, calabashes.
Encourage your land to bring forth. Bring forth what? Bring forth men, women, children, pigs, fowl, food, land.
Encourage your land to bring forth. Bring forth what? Bring forth chiefs, commoners, pleasant living; bring about good will, ward off ill will
(Beckwith, 1976: 13-14).
Because Kū presided over these different tasks he, given longer and more direct names, was prayed to for blessings upon each task that one is working towards. In the case of agriculture, he would be prayed to under the names that translate to Kū of the digging stick and of the dry or the wet farming (Beckwith, 1976: 15).
There is an old saying of the Maori people which reads, "He maire tu wao, ma te toki e tua" implying that it needs a toki to fell a forest growing maire tree, so hard and durable is that timber. This saying is certainly in favour of stone tools having been used for the purpose of felling trees; in fact, most of the evidence is in favour of their having been so used, but to what extent they were used in such labour is hardly clear.
(Best, 1974: 136)
The Hawaiians also worshipped Lono, the equivalent to Rongo in New Zealand and Cook Islands, an Atua of agriculture/cultivated plants, fertility, rain, irrigation, as well as a war god, but significantly, the peace after war (Handy, 1965). Kūmara, as one of the main Polynesian agricultural staples was farmed using the toki, both of which were part of the original tales about the crossing from the ancestral homeland, Hawa’iki. “When the canoe Horo-uta landed at Wai-apu the kūmara was at once planted to produce a crop, … respecting the kumara brought here by my ancestors, which is still growing and yielding a crop” (White, 2011: 6). The cultivation of the kūmara crop is such a large part of the Polynesian, and specifically Māori culture, that it is looked on as a representation for having the gods’ permission and blessing to live in a new place (Adds, 2008: 4). The influence of this plays largely upon the facet of Polynesian mythology that no barriers exist between the natural and the supernatural worlds. Just as everything in the ancestral narrative is historic fact, all things are imbued with a ‘nature-culture’ connection wherein there is no divide (Roberts et al., 2004: 4).
In tales we hear that Rongo, the personification and origin of cultivated kūmara, took great effort in creating the plant for food on the marginal zones (Roberts et al., 2004). “So labor intensive it had to be during peace-time”, and this served as “economic lore”, according to Raymond Firth, stating that the intense ritual and effort would have had a utilitarian purpose for solving economic problems in a way that is culturally relevant (Roberts et al., 2004). While I was not able to find mythological examples of Lono/Rongo or his fellow Atua physically growing or cultivating the various species of whakapapa (kūmara, aruhe, and tī), the personification of the essential food sources being honored in rich cultural ways. There is the case that one can identify these adzes by them their fulfilling the role that they are designed for, a tool with the power to cut into and shape the earth in order for a human population and thus a culture to survive and continue to the next generation.
Meanings – Mana, Tapu and Mauri
The overarching theme in Polynesian mythology is not that the tools themselves are created within the stories, but instead, that they have always been. The toki had to exist to create the waka, which were also part of lore from the beginning. The people of the islands did not say that they, as humans, were created where they are, and instead that they sailed from afar to claim the land as their home with the Atuas’ blessings. According to the work done by Best, everything must have had charms and rituals done upon them in order to work. Whether a waka, a season for farming, or an adzing toki, the proper prayers and tributes must be completed before there could be any mana included. In various Oceanic Austronesia languages ‘mana’ has the complex meaning of sacred strength, courage, wisdom, and authority (Keesing, 1984: 136). The word ‘mana’ is also both used as a verb and a noun, but Keesing argues that it should instead be only used as a static or transitional verb like ‘work’ and anything is considered to have “mana-ness” (Keesing, 1984: 138). This power dynamic plays into who is permitted to wear the ornaments connected to these ideals, since those who would embody them would typically be the leaders and other elders. Toki poutangata is the ceremonial version of these tools, and only for use by the leaders. The mana of all toki is predicated on both the work that went into creating it and the favor of which the Atua imbue (Hogbin, 1936: 264-5). This, therefore, leads to the conclusion that the more work or effort was involved in creating such an object like a Pounamu large ritualistic toki poutangata the greater mana-ness it would have. And, as it would take a large amount of time invested to get the work done correctly, that, just like the planting of kumara, these toki poutangata were more likely to exist as evidence of a peace time activity.
All things are supposed to have mauri or a life force and Tapu, concept of sacred rule, which Te Ahukaramū Charles Royal writes as a part of the flow of mana (Te Ahukaramū, 2007: 5). Taonga, a word generally meaning treasure, could be objects, land, words, or memories, have rightfully become more important in the eyes of the legal system and are the ‘gifts’ from the elder generations. The mauri that they were leaving with the dead would have represented the mana flow once again connecting to the earth, completing a cycle. With the insights that I have been able to collect about what toki had been used for and their meanings in the stories, it is strongly acknowledged that toki are tools brought from nature for the purposes of serving human kind and giving the people control over their environment.
New Zealand burial sites
Different from the Mauna Kea site in the island of Hawai’i, New Zealand has tool manufacture, habitation, and a burial site in Wairau Bar in Marlborough, New Zealand. This site in particular is special on New Zealand because it is thought to have been one of the oldest settlements of either island and is thought to have first been a short-term base camp before being permanently settled (Anderson, 1991, Buckley et al., 2010: 1, Higham et al., 2010: 425). Inside the site boundaries [figures 54 & 55] there is every material a new settlement and subsequent population dispersal would need to get started. No evidence for horticulture was found in Wairau Bar [figure 54], but the site was well positioned with coastal and river access for fresh water, fishing, and hunting megafauna, such as seals and moa (Buckley, 2010: 17). The 40 nearby quarries of Nelson/Marlborough and the D’Urville Island argillite were within a few days by canoe. Having plenty of raw material meant they could produce all of the tools they would require, both for themselves and for trading, making that particular community economically settled [figure 52] (Leach, 1990, Brooks et al., 2011, & Walter, 2017: 355). The larger location layout of New Zealand resources is shown in figure 53. The stone that they were able to make the toki out of was a fine-grained, high quality material, similar to Mauna Kea, and the other locations where the pieces had been found show that there were craft specialists and networks of trade early on (Turner, 2000). This should not be surprising as they also, for a short time, maintained some trade with the further away Polynesian Islands, or at least originally brought some materials with them. The evidence of this is from a tool made out of a shell, Acus crenulatus, which being found only in the warm, tropical island areas must have been imported (Davidson et al. 2011: 93-94, 99).
This shell, however, was not found in a grave, so although it does demonstrate an early picture of what was happening at the site, it does not show the burial ritual aspects. Luckily we do not have to search far, because within 21 of the 44 graves of which were uncovered at the time had primary adzes [one burial zone in figure 56], but at least nine separate caches of adzes were found from habitation areas, hearths and house structures (Duff, 1950, Turner, 2000). These features could possibly still connect to burial tradition because part of the ritual for family members with less wealth is being buried under the house floor. Many of the burials that we do find with rich goods include fishhooks, animal bones, ornamentation, and elaborate mega-adzes are from the richest members of a community (Leach, 1993: 41). One such mega-adze, called the Grovetown adze, was found at Wairau Bar and because of its extremely large size, it was assumed to have only been used ceremonially. Turner and Leach, however, stated that large adzes could have been ‘symbols of a community specialization’ or were exclusive property of high-rank, high-status individuals or families, with the larger ones having their own functional benefits and were used for larger projects (Turner, 2000: 217, Leach, 1993: 41). But, at other sites around New Zealand larger adzes were more difficult to make properly with local material or to transport long distances without breaking, thus, of the ones that are found, few are finished and intact.
The North Island is a completely different region ecologically, instead of mountainous areas there was much more land that could be used for farming and less large birds to hunt, therefore, changes in adze form were made in order to keep the tools’ usefulness. And, instead of only transporting the carved toki from Wairau Bar that would not have had the right shape, meaning locals would have to reshape them, the groups (iwi) who sailed to the North Island found their own quarries much closer to their habitation zones. The Coromandel peninsula and the Great Barrier Island [figure 57 and 58] are two such areas with quality material and plenty of evidence to show that this area was readily used locally, and even traded across both islands (Turner & Bonica, 1994).
Tahanga basalt was the major high-quality stone that was worked in this area with flake middens found along the coast and working floors close to the sources (Turner & Bonica, 1994: 19-22). Following the evidence that Turner and Bonica found, the adzes, which were originally flaked near the basalt quarry, were being reworked at every site except the quarry. This occurred even in sites closer to one such quarries, where one could produce a new adze if the old one had broken. People seemed to prefer reworking and conserving rather than wasting extra time starting all over again, though this practice did decrease the closer a site was to the quarry (Turner and Bonica, 1994: 22). While lowering the cost of production in sites across the island from the original quarry location, the increasingly further transportation of this finely shaped stone made the adzes from the ‘exotic’ locals like the South Island increasingly rare and thus more valuable to own.
This practice connects to the burials from Opito Bay, not only because of its proximity to the middens that were found there, but because, in one particular male burial, a cache of 14 adzes were found, along with burials with personal ornaments such as necklaces, shells, worked bone, and tools, including fishing gear and drill points, hammer stones, and other worked stone (Auckland Museum, Davidson, 2018: 104, 113-122). Davidson used the radiocarbon dating on the pit with the adzes in Sarah’s Gully Settlement Area D to show that these would have been placed in an earlier state of history (656 ± 40 BP) as opposed to the burials without grave goods, which then suggested to her that these were dated later (Davidson, 2018: 112, 117). This settlement and its’ burial goods signified that this area was largely used during an earlier time period as a workstation with tools being left behind at different stages of development while some were broken [figures 59 and 60] (Davidson, 2018: 114). These are significant because it demonstrates that the community that lived here was deeply entwined with their specializations creating a possible symbolic attachment to the tools that were made.
Motutapu Greywacke (Argillite), from sources in the Hauraki Gulf Islands and parts of mainland New Zealand were found to be quicker and easier to make than ‘Archaic’ or Western Polynesian type of adzes. East Polynesian adze types were different forms than the ‘Moa Hunter’ adzes because they were shaped especially for agriculture, even though it has been recognized that the ‘Moa hunters’ or the South Island Māori also participated in some agricultural practices to fill and round out their diets (Davidson, 2018: 149-150). Instead of being the incredibly high-quality material that the people in Wairau Bar or the Coromandel Peninsula had, the greywacke was a larger grained stone, which tended to break more easily leading to less effort and thus lower costs of production (Duff, 1956, Turner & Bonica, 1994). Another site that produces a large amount of greywacke and chert adzes is the Waipuna site on the North Island [figure 61] near the Maungarei settlement since it was found to be prime land for natural resources and the perfect location for agriculture, freshwater swamps, and marine resources. “By the time of the main occupation of the cone revealed by the human presence in the region: there had been extensive forest clearance, presumably for gardens, …” (Davidson, 2011: 84). While burial grounds have not been discovered here as of yet, the adzes [figures 62 and 63] shaped on this volcanic cone site had been worked and reworked many times and even when broken, reutilized into hammer stones and the like to keep the tool from becoming useless (Davidson, 2011: 52-54, Turner & Bonica, 1994: 24-27).
In the Otago area archaeologists find both ‘Archaic’ or Moa-hunter and ‘Classic’ Māori adzes in the Long Beach site’s burials suggesting that the people living in the south of New Zealand’s southern island were participating in long distance trade and focusing on both hunting and agriculture throughout the settlements’ history (Leach & Hamel, 1981). While there are black basalt adzes most of which have evidence of use, and being reworked, in this region the more symbolic pieces within the burials were left in the graves. These grave adzes and their smaller pendant equivalents were most commonly made out of Pounamu, which was sourced from Wakatipu (example of a large adze and other stone tools illustrated below) [figure 62], across the width of the island from the Long Beach site. The transport of these goods would have already made then more valuable to trade and because there have been flakes found, proving the reworking of these tools, and the main tool remained mostly polished, it is evident that they were items of use and to be looked at during Skinner’s definition of the transition between the ‘Archaic’ and the ‘Classic’ Māori periods (Skinner 1974: 92, Leach & Hamal, 1981: 131). Pendants and amulet forms that represent the adze tool have also been found in the Long Beach site, signaling an increase of the importance and ritualistic nature of the stones and the tools since one of the amulets that had been left unfinished and only partially polished was found outside the burial area [figure 63] [burial figures 64 and 65] (Leach & Hamal, 1981: 131).
Percentages of burial found with grave goods of any particular type versus ones with adzes specifically are higher in specific areas. Nearer to the coastal edges more fishing based toolkits will be found while there were toolkits for Moa hunting on the South Island, and agricultural kits across both islands with adzes most often being found as useful tools (Dockall, 2001). Locations of burials in relation to living and manufacture areas, especially for specialized tools such as adzes, have a high correlation to each other, showing that the closer the group is to the source the more likely they are to have the pieces of material culture entombed with the body. This is likely because the rest of their family could more easily make new pieces without much production, labour, and transportation costs.
SUMMARY
As a prime site Wairau Bar demonstrates a summary of the four aspects of the model I built because it contains the necessary materials that the society would have been built around with the manufacture and use of the tools. The mythological base for the gods Kū and Rongo would, therefore, have been of particular importance in this location the people are attempting to live in and shape to their needs. As seen in the prevalent use of leaving high quality adzes in burials as a mortuary ritual, which were either produced locally, traded across the islands, or both, connected all of New Zealand together and to the ancestral land of Hawa’iki (Shipton et al, 2016, Emory and Sinoto, 1964, & Walter et al, 2016). Because, in the mythology, Kū was the Atua for creating the waka that brought the people to the island his name would have continued to be praised for the continued blessings of waka creation of safe travels around the islands. Rongo, the Atua of agriculture, would have been highly involved in a land of new and lasting opportunity of wet and dryland farming. As time moves on both Atua would work together because the expanding of iwi groups led to more competition over resources, and thus a greater need for the blessings of safe travels and Rongo’s inherent ruling during times of peace.
In this chapter I built upon the model I laid out in Chapter Three. First, I demonstrated that there is a record in New Zealand of the adze tools and their use within the mythology of the Māori culture based on the explanation of adze classifications and their materials. Second, that the mythology around these tools is associated with the ability to control and manipulate the environment from the use of toki within Polynesian mythology. Third, that based on the appearance of the tool within the grave is shown to influence the completing of cycles of mana. Fourth, that these mythological associations are linked with these tool types and have ideological significance to communities and their mortuary rituals.
This chapter followed the points within the built structure I set out; therefore, it is appropriate to use the conclusion of the model that those points laid out. The thread left by the model leads to the same conclusions of desiring power and control over the chaos of nature within the Māori society as it did in the societies around the world analysed in the literature sections of Chapter Two and Three. The next and final chapter will be the conclusion to this thesis wherein I will summarize my connections and provide my final words.
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