ONE OF THE Whānau
My shoes squelch in mud as we stand on a grassy bank, waiting for Himioa, or Himi as he’s better known, to coax the hīnaki out of the lake. The hīnaki — a cylindrical, woven rope pot — slinks unhappily from the water, empty. It was laid last night in the hope of trapping a freshwater eel.
“I expected this,” Himi says, laughing. “The moon has been too bright for them.”
Native longfin eel, or ‘tuna’ as they’re known by Māori, are a traditional source of food, though numbers have dwindled in New Zealand's Lake Aniwhenua and Rangitaiki River due to dams disrupting their migration and breeding patterns. Himi Nuku is involved in a conservation effort to preserve the fish for future generations, manually transporting them from one end of the river to the other so they can reach the sea. It’s vital work, and personal: his iwi (tribe), Ngāti Manawa, are known as the Eel People. Each time they fish, they take only enough for one meal, but if there’s a special occasion — such as a tangihanga, a funeral rite — calling for larger numbers, special permission from the rest of the tribe is sought.
We jump back in the car, heading to Whirinaki Forest. Although eel is off the menu, there are other ingredients to forage for our dinner back in Murupara, a predominantly Māori township in a sparsely populated part of the North Island. Despite being less than 40 miles from Rotorua, a place so rich in geothermal activity that the eggy stink of sulphur permeates the entire city, Murupara has clear, fresh air. Its grassy pastures are bordered almost
