When WE speak of our maunga
(Maungaharuru)
We acknowledge his entirety
Others refer to him as,
“The Waka”
(Te Waka a Ngārangikataka)
“The Saddle”
(Tītī-a-Okura & Te Waka-a-Te-O)
Blind to his breadth they point to the northern most peaks and say, behold
Maungaharuru
(Ahu o te Atua & Tarapōnui a Kawhia)
Our maunga is more than just chunks of land waiting to be chopped up,
ready to fit inside someone else’s box
Foreign
Alien
Maungaharuru
Every part of him speaks of my whakapapa
He is significant, in the telling of my people’s story
Stories that speak of how my tipuna lived and died there,
That speak of the Tūrehu and Taniwha that still dwell there,
The once bountiful mauri that resided there.
Our oral tradition recounts the migration of the sacred waka Tākitimu, as it journeyed
southwards, along the east coast of Te Ika a Māui towards the home of my tipuna. Te
waka Tākitimu carried the most precious of cargoes, that of knowledge, history and
tradition in the type of personnel which she carried. In all their landings down the coast
these experts (Tohunga), by special rites, implanted the mauri, or life-giving spirit, of
the whare-wananga in the land.
The following is an account of Tūpai, one of the Tohunga who voyaged with the Tākitimu
waka and guardian of the sacred symbols of the gods, the earth and heavens, which were
on board.
As the waka neared the mouth of the Waikare River, our most northern coastal
boundary, they saw inland a high mountain range. Tūpai, cast a piece of
carved wood named Papauma, which embodied the mauri of birdlife, high into
the air. Papauma received life and took flight, finally to land at the summit of
Tītī-a-Okura, at a place which we now know as Tauwhare Papauma.
As soon as Papauma landed, the maunga rumbled and roared upon receiving
this most sacred of taonga and was proliferated with birdlife.
Hence the name, Maungaharuru (the mountain that roared)
It is also said that in times gone by, when our maunga was fully clothed in the children
of Tāne-mahuta, the mountain would roar with each rising of the sun, as the many birds
that lived there took flight into the air and roar again upon their return.
Sadly in today’s times, our maunga is but a quiet murmur, patiently awaiting the return
of his many feathered friends.