We travelled to Antarctica to see if a Māori lunar calendar might help track environmental change
Maramataka represent an ancient knowledge system using environmental signs (tohu) to impart knowledge about lunar and environmental connections. It traces the mauri (energy flow) between the land (whenua), the ocean (moana) and the sky and atmosphere (rangi), and how people connect to the natural world.
Maramataka are regionally specific. For example, in Manukau, the arrival of godwits from the Arctic indicates seasonal changes that align with the migration of eels moving up the local Puhinui stream.
During matiti muramura, the third summer phase that aligns with the summer solstice, the environment offers tohu that guide seasonal activity. The flowering of pohutukawa is a land sign (tohu o te whenua), the rising of Rehua (Antares, the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius) is an atmospheric sign (tohu o te rangi), and sea urchins (kina) are a sea sign (tohu o te moana).
When these signs align, it signals balance in nature and the right time to gather food. But if they are out of sync (such as early flowering or small kina), it means something in the environment (te taiao) is out of balance.
These tohu remind us how deeply land, sea and sky are connected, and why careful observation matters. When they're out of sync, they call us to pause, observe and adapt in ways that restore natural balance and uphold the mauri of te taiao.
Tracking a Maramataka in Antarctica
One of the key tohu we observed in Antarctica was the mass arrival of Weddell seals outside New Zealand's Scott Base at the height of summer.
Guided by Maramataka authorities, we explored other local tohu using Hautuu Waka, an ancient framework of weaving and wayfinding to navigate a changing environment. Originally used for navigating vast oceans, wayfinding in this context becomes a metaphor for navigating the complexities of today's environmental and social challenges.
During the Antarctic summer, the Sun doesn't set. But we documented the Moon when visible in the day sky and observed the Sun, clouds, mountains and various forms of snow and ice. This included glacial ice on the land, sea ice in the ocean and snowflakes in the sky.
While the tohu in Antarctica were vastly different from those observed in Aotearoa, the energy phases of the Maramataka Moon cycles aligned with traditional stories (pūrākau) describing snow and ice.
We identified some of the 12 different forms of snow recorded by ethnographers, who described them as the 'offspring of wind and rain'.
At Scott Base, we observed feather-like snow (hukapuhi) and floating snow (hukarangaranga). Further inland on the high-elevation polar plateau, we found 'unseen' snow (hukakoropuku), which is not always visible to the naked eye but felt on the skin, and dust-like snow (hukapunehunehu), akin to diamond dust. The latter phenomenon occurs when air temperatures are cold enough for water vapour to condense directly out of the atmosphere and form tiny ice crystals, which sparkle like diamonds.
In te ao Māori, snow has a genealogy (whakapapa) that connects it to wider systems of life and knowledge. Snow is part of a continuum that begins in Ranginui (the sky father) and moves through the god (atua) of weather Tāwhirimātea, who shapes the form and movement of clouds, winds, rain and snow. Each type of snow carries its own name, qualities and behaviour, reflecting its journey through the skies and land.
The existence of the specific terms (kupu) for different forms of snow and ice reflect generations of observation, passed down through whakapapa and oral histories (kōrero tuku iho).
Connecting Western science and mātauranga Māori
Our first observations of tohu in Antarctica mark the initial step towards intertwining the ancient knowledge system of mātauranga Māori with modern scientific exploration.
Observing snow through traditional practices provided insights into processes that cannot be fully understood through Western science methods alone. Mātauranga Māori recognises tohu through close sensory attention and relational awareness with the landscape.
Drawing on our field observations and past and present knowledge of environmental calendars found in mātauranga Māori and palaeo-climate data such as ice cores, we can begin to connect different knowledge systems in Antarctica.
For example, just as the Maramataka contains information about the environment over time, so do Antarctic ice cores. Every snowflake carries a chemical signature of the environment that, day by day, builds up a record of the past. By measuring the chemistry of Antarctic ice, we gain proxy information about environmental and seasonal cycles such as temperature, winds, sea ice and marine phytoplankton.
The middle of summer in an ice core record is marked by peak levels in chemical signals from marine phytoplankton that bloom in the Ross Sea when sea ice melts, temperatures are warmer and light and nutrients are available. This biogenic aerosol is a summer tohu identified as a key environmental time marker in the Maramataka of the onset of the breading season and surge in biological activity.
The knowledge of Maramataka has developed over millennia. Conceptualising this for Antarctica opens a way of using Māori methods and frameworks to glean new insights about the continent and ocean. Grounded in te ao Māori understanding that everything is connected, this approach invites us to see the polar environment not as a remote but a living system of interwoven tohu, rhythms and relationships.
Disclosure statement
Holly Winton receives funding from Royal Society Te Apārangi (Rutherford Discovery Fellowship and Marsden Fast-Start) and Victoria University of Wellington (Mātauranga Māori Research Fund). Logistics support for Antarctic fieldwork was provided by Antarctica New Zealand.
Ayla Hoeta receives funding from Victoria University of Wellington (Mātauranga Māori Research Fund). Logistics support for Antarctic fieldwork was provided by Antarctica New Zealand.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
NZ Herald
2 days ago
- NZ Herald
Māori and Pasifika identity sets Rotorua Boys' High students apart on Ivy League applications
For two Rotorua Boys' High School old boys, embracing their Māori and Pasifika identity has been key to standing out in the highly competitive world of Ivy League university admissions. Koan Hemana is a third-year neuroscience student at Harvard University, and Jared Lasike, who was the school's 2024 head boy
Scoop
3 days ago
- Scoop
‘Birthplace Of The Nation' Threatened By Climate Change
Article – RNZ One of New Zealand's oldest archaeological sites is at risk of rising sea levels, according to a new study. , Māori issues reporter The Wairau Bar, or Te Pokohiwi o Kupe in Marlborough, one of the oldest and most significant archaeological sites in New Zealand, is at risk of being flooded by rising sea levels, according to a new study. One of the study's co-authors Corey Hebberd, a descendant of local iwi Rangitāne o Wairau, said the site is important not only for Rangitāne, but for all of Aotearoa. 'Te Pokohiwi o Kupe is one of the earliest known human settlement sites in Aotearoa, it dates back to at least 1250. We regard it as the birthplace of the nation it was a landing site for some of our first settlers,' Hebberd said. 'The site itself holds a range of artefacts but also more importantly koiwi tangata, so ancestral remains, and for Rangitāne o Wairau it's a sacred wāhi tapu.' As New Zealand was one of the last places in the world to be settled, Te Pokohiwi o Kupe has a worldwide significance as the landing sight of some of those first settlers, he said. 'It tells a story that's important to us as Rangitāne, but also an important story for Aotearoa, but we think internationally as well,' Hebberd said. The Wairau Bar sits at the mouth of the Wairau River with the sea on one side and a lagoon on the other, leaving it susceptible to erosion on both sides, Hebberd said. Rangitāne worked in collaboration with NIWA to model flooding impacts in a one in 100 year storm event, he said. 'The current modelling shows that the site could be potentially susceptible to a one in 100 event and be 20 percent inundated, but, obviously, we know that's going to get worse as sea level rise takes place,' Hebberd said. 'We're expecting that around the 2050s, sea level will have risen by another half a meter, and when we start getting to that point those storm events start to inundate the site closer to 50 percent.' Even more concerning, as the sea level approaches a one meter sea level rise, which modelling shows will happen sometime between 2070 and 2130, approximately 75 percent of the site could be at risk, he said. 'For me, sometimes these threats, the talk of sea level rise and the talk of the storm impacts, it feels so far away, but we're actually starting to see it now,' Hebberd said. 'When we talk about a one meter sea level rise and 75 percent of the site being at risk, that's in my lifetime and that places a real burden and sense of responsibility on my generation.' We have a responsibility to make sure that the stories and the richness of the site isn't lost, he said. Recent heavy rains in the Nelson Tasman region have had a negative effect on the site, although it has escaped any major damage. But Hebberd said each major flooding event leads to further erosion. Protecting the most vulnerable parts of Te Pokohiwi o Kupe from storm events could involve soft engineering, he said. For example, by adding native plants to the bar to bind the soil together and prevent erosion. 'It's a really good opportunity for us to turn our minds to the policy and planning settings that we work within both locally and nationally,' Hebberd said. 'I mean this site is one of many, not only in our rohe, but nationally, that will be exposed to weather events and so we need to start thinking about how we take care of and protect them.' Hebberd said the collaboration between NIWA and Rangitāne weaved together mātauranga Māori and science. 'Our whānau were really supportive of the work that we did, our whānau were engaged throughout the research project, including contributing interviews, spending time with the research team around their experience of previous flooding events in the area.'
Otago Daily Times
3 days ago
- Otago Daily Times
On thin ice: Science at the end of the world
A new documentary following climate scientists to Antarctica, explains the physics of our predicament, Tom McKinlay writes. It's cold in Middlemarch, Pat Langhorn reports when she picks up the phone. "There's still ice on the puddles." It's a commonplace enough observation from the Strath Taieri in winter, but the point the professor is making is that the ice has survived late into the day, despite all attentions from the season's admittedly weak sun. Too little energy in it, given the Earth's lean, for it to return the puddle water to liquid. Emeritus Prof Langhorn knows why. "We were walking today, as I said, and there was ice on the puddles, and people were poking it and saying, 'oh look, there's still ice'. And I said, 'well, you know, it takes an awful lot of energy to melt ice, and a lot of energy to freeze it as well'." Physics is the professor's area of expertise. Ice too. Melting a kilogram of ice takes as much energy as it would to raise that same volume of water to 80°C, she explains. A revealing little truth, neatly explaining Middlemarch's slippery winter reality. But in Prof Langhorn's world it also has other more existential implications. For decades now, Prof Langhorn has been studying sea ice. Initially her field work was in the Arctic but, by the second half of the the 1980s, the focus had switched to Antarctica - she's been based at the University of Otago since 1988. At both poles sea ice has been in decline, failing to form or melting more. That's a worry. Because the sun will continue to send its heat and light, that won't change. But if the sea ice isn't there to meet it, all that energy once consumed by the business of melting is going to do other work instead. "The thought that suddenly there isn't that ice there taking up all this energy and instead it goes into heating the ocean is a bit frightening, I think," Prof Langhorn says. The physics lesson about the kilogram of ice, delivered again by Prof Langhorn, appears in a new documentary, Mighty Indeed , which will screen at this year's Doc Edge documentary film festival. It follows a couple of scientists down to the Antarctic, oceanographer Dr Natalie Robinson and microbiology PhD candidate Jacqui Stewart, representatives of a new generation walking in Prof Langhorne's snowy footsteps. There's plenty of frightening in Mighty Indeed and frightened people - the scientists - but it also manages to celebrate both women in science and the extraordinary unimagined benefits of blue-skies research, the science for science's sake that ends up making an outsized contribution to the human project. Prof Langhorne has experienced the highs and lows of both the former and the latter at first hand. The Scotswoman trained in the UK - Aberdeen then Cambridge's Scott Polar Research Institute - and applied to join the British Antarctic Survey back in the '70s. She made it through the first round, but then the penny dropped that "Pat" was not "Patrick" and her application went no further. "I mean, things have changed quite dramatically in the area in which I've been involved, in which I've had my career, not just in terms of the science, and, of course, the sea ice has changed dramatically, and that's a very depressing story, but a more uplifting story is that it's now much easier for any gender to be involved in science. Gender is not the issue that it once was in that line of work," she says. "So now, you know, if you go to a sea ice conference, there will be at least as many women there as men, which is quite a change." Prof Langhorne is also an advocate for the latter - curiosity and blue-skies science. "Yes, definitely. And, I mean, again, from my own personal perspective, younger people, as I got towards the end of my career, thought that I had somehow magically seen there was going to be a problem and gone searching to understand this problem, which, of course, was not the truth at all. You know, I was interested in sea ice, and at the time that I started to look at sea ice, it was really considered very sort of flippant and why would you bother?" It's a demonstration, she says, of the importance of people deciding what they're interested in and doing their very best to follow that line of inquiry. However, it's no longer a very fashionable idea, she says with regret. That's an obstacle for her young colleagues. "Blue-skies research is really important, because often it's by exploring things that we don't know that we find out things that we didn't know we were going to find out. We didn't know we didn't know them." She has observed the building expectation that science should always be at the service of some calculable, bankable output - should be innovating towards a particular application. "That's just not going to get you the best science," she says. "You can't innovate by thinking, 'well, this morning I'm going to get up and be innovative'. It's not usually the way it goes. So, yeah, I think exploration is really important." Prof Langhorne can't remember the moment when her physicist's "flippant" interest in sea ice became climate science and vitally important to the future of civilisation as we know it. Indeed, back when she started, if anyone outside the academy was giving sea ice any thought at all, it was likely to be as an impediment to drilling for oil. Not that fossil fuel was ever part of her interest. And even Prof Langhorne's first trip to the southern continent had a focus on relatively quotidian matters - on ice as a platform for vehicles and for aircraft to land on. "So there was a fairly gradual transition, I would say, from thinking about it in terms of 'here is something that's an impediment that we need to move in order to get at the oil that's inconveniently underneath the sea ice', to, goodness me, 'this sea ice is really, really important to climate, and we need to understand why it's disappearing'." By the mid-1990s the interest was squarely on the interaction between ice and ocean and what a warming ocean would mean for the sea ice. There are lots of reasons to care about sea ice. It reflects sunlight back into space, preventing it heating the dark ocean below. It protects the Antarctic's ice sheets and shelves from the action of the ocean - holding back sea level rise - and it plays a vital role in overturning circulation, the ocean currents that have such an important role in regulating the planet's climate, distributing heat from the poles to the equator. In another enlightening lesson in physics, delivered again by Prof Langhorne in Mighty Indeed , we learn the freezing of the sea ice leaves the water below saltier, briny, that salty water sinks and helps drive those planet-spanning currents. "So there's a balancing on the Earth." In recent years, Prof Langhorne's interest has been at the interface between the ocean and the sea ice and the problem of measuring sea ice thickness remotely - as drilling holes through the ice in Antarctica's testing conditions is no easy task. "Without knowing how thick it is, you actually don't know how much you have, because, is it a thick slab of butter on your toast, or is it all spread out very thinly? And if you're only looking from above and seeing what the total area is, what the coverage is, then you're not including some of the energy that's tied up with the presence or absence of sea ice, and it's that energy that we really need to care about." It is the extra heat energy stored in the ocean as a result of greenhouse gas-driven planetary heating that is thought to be behind the decline in Antarctic sea ice - both in terms of the temperatures in the ocean and atmospheric influences. Concern has ramped up since 2016, when significant decreases began to be recorded. The consistent trend since has been for less sea ice. The five lowest extents recorded have all been since 2017 and 2025 is thought to be the second consecutive year with a sea ice minimum extent below 2 million km2. It's change on an epic scale: the sea ice ring around the frozen continent covers an area twice the size of Australia. So going back to Prof Langhorne's kilogram of ice example, it's possible - or possibly impossible - to understand just how much energy is bound up in these processes. Sobering, the professor says. As long as it's tied up in the sea ice, keeping the sea surface close to 0°C, it's not allowing our temperatures to go bananas, she says. We've already seen a little of what it could mean. "There are bigger storms than there used to be and that, unfortunately, that's going to be the main change for us, I think, apart from some sea level rise. The main change is just going to be storm events that get bigger and bigger and bigger and wilder and wilder because all that energy has been sucked out of the ocean and comes to us in storms and flooding events and droughts." The physicist strikes a note of optimism in the documentary, asserting that in her discipline problems are tractable. Solutions can be found. However, she concedes that to a very significant extent science has now done its work as far as climate change is concerned. The problem is now clear and we know what the solutions are. What's left is us. "I think if we're talking about the problem, in inverted commas, of climate change, and how to mitigate some of the less wanted effects of climate change, then I think the problem is that human beings are in the system too," she says. "The problem is that it's not a problem in physics; it's a problem in human behaviour, which is much more unpredictable, and much less satisfactory in my view." But she leans into the belief that human beings are wired for hope and optimism, equipped with an almost indefatigable ability to get up every morning confident that today can be better than yesterday. "I think that it takes quite a lot to completely dampen people's enthusiasm for life, actually." That's not to say Prof Langhorne hasn't had her moments. "When I retired, I thought about what I could do that would be best for the world and the conclusion I quickly came to was that the best thing I could do was die. It would be honestly the best thing I could do," she says. "But I just didn't really want to do that." Among the challenges we face, she says, is to identify the changes we regard as acceptable, that preserve the life we want to have, while at the same time making the planet a better place. "But, I mean, that's all sounding very highfalutin. I think that's what most people do, most days, is make judgements like that." Again, Prof Langhorne sees our present as a more difficult environment than she had to navigate. Young people have more decisions to make than she did, she says. A more difficult future to confront. "Climate change is physics. And if it is not going to be all right, it is not going to be all right." Dr Robinson, the oceanographer and next generation sea ice researcher, speaks to that in the documentary, saying she feels like she knows too much and shares her concern for how she talks about climate change around her young children. She is losing sleep over it. Her children will need different skills for the future they are inheriting, the climate legacy they will inherit, she says. Resilience and an ability to meet challenges among them. She tries not to think about it too much. PhD candidate Jacqui Stewart calls working in the field a mental health battle. "Because ... you know." Sometime it gets too much, she says. She has decided not to have children. For her the ice is already too thin. The film • Mighty Indeed screens as part of the Doc Edge film festival online from July 28 to August 24. •
