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People thought we island hopped by random drift, 
when our picnic canoes blew away.
"Where are your charts and instruments" they asked?
"Those feeble canoes could never make the journey"
"You only go there 'cause you lost your way"
"You silly driftwood dreamers"
Little did they know we navigate by memory,
with the way to go, and how to get there 
whispered between old and new ears, orally.
They say we are fair-weather sailors,
afraid of clouds and rain.
They say we only venture out in season, fair and friendly.
Little did they know in daylight, 
we get direction from watching and pin-pointing
where the sun rises and sets on the horizon. 
At night we know which star to watch 
and align with the mast of double canoe
to hold our course.
We switch stars as they rise and set, in season.
They say we sail just for the fun of it, 
for the sheer joy of riding the waves and currents, 
sailing with the winds 
free as a bird, going wherever they take us.
Little do they know we read
the winds and waves to find our way
on epic planned journeys by canoe.
Wave patterns change when an island is nearby.
We know the swirl of currents,
We read the trade winds like sign-posts.
We know the birds know where they roost.
We follow them home.
We know birds are master navigators on
their migrations, we follow them.
Sadly, these oral skills and 
land-finding traditions
are now being lost forever.
Dispelled as oral traditions quelled, forgotten, pass away.
We the navigators have lost our way.
What people said about our ignorance of navigation
and silly random drift for landfinding is now too true,
Repêchage, Touché'.

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