Showing posts with label dugouts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dugouts. Show all posts

Saturday, May 23, 2026

Free Download: British Naval Intelligence Guide to Watercraft of Burma, Malaya and Siam

Photo of a canoe with a curious bifurcated bow and an arched shelter admidships. Two men in the bow each stand on one leg and use a paddle with the other. At least one person is in the stern and one sits beneath the shelter.
Leg-paddling a dugout canoe on Lake Inle, Burma (i.e., Myanmar) (source: Fishing and Trading Craft of Burma, Malaya and Siam, 1944, fig. 42).

Toward the end of the Second World War, the Naval Intelligence Division of the British Admiralty published a series of guidebooks to the native craft of southeast Asia and western Pacific islands. A friend of this blog who wishes to remain anonymous has painstakingly scanned these documents and made them available to us, to share for free with our readers. The first one we are presenting is B.R.1050A: Fishing and Trading Craft of Burma, Malaya and Siam, published in 1944.

Sail plan drawing and deck arrangmenet drawing of prahu payang fishing boat. The profile view shows a straight sheerline, high raised ends, and two boomed lugsails without battens. The plan view shows the boat is symmetrically pointed at both ends.
The prahu payang, a Malayan boat of about 34' (~10.4m) used for sein-fishing (source: Fishing and Trading Craft of Burma, Malaya and Siam, 1944, fig. 95)

Although Allied naval forces had an obvious interest in recognizing various forms of native craft, the book is much more than an indentification guide (although it is that). It also describes boatbuilding and fishing practices, including fishing methods that were not conducted from boats, such as shore seining and fish traps. It covers dozens of ocean-going, harbor, and inland vessels, their uses, the locations of construction and use, and includes a wealth of maritime-ethnographic data that would be difficult to find elsewhere. A great many photos and line drawings are included, showing the boats and their uses, various construction details, and fishing methods.

Download Fishing and Trading Craft of Burma, Malaya and Siam.

Stay tuned: future posts will provide links to more volumes in the series.

Wednesday, September 3, 2025

Logboat Building in Estonia

Photo taken from the bow of the canoe looking aft at a woman standing in the canoe and paddling, with milk cans in foreground.
Historic photo of a woman delivering milk to the local dairy in a haabjas. (Source).

Logboats remained in common use in Estonia later than anywhere else in Europe. One of their last holdouts was in the country's Soomaa region, a vast wetland notable for its "fifth season", the spring period of ice-melt during which much of the land floods and almost all movement is constrained to watercraft. In the 1960s, however, the Estonian logboat -- called the haabjas -- finally succumbed to the modernization of society and essentially disappeared from practical economic applications. The craft of logboat building was no longer passed from father to son as it had been for generations and was retained only by an aging and steadily shrinking cohort of traditional builders. Some older boats remained in use, however, treasured by their owners and used mainly on special occasions.

Four logboats inside a building, stacked two upon two.
Logboats at the Haabjas heritage center in Tori, Estonia.

Enter Aivar Ruukel, a nature guide who lives in the Soomaa. Concerned for the heritage of the haabjas, he began studying their design and construction, interviewing and working with some of the few remaining builders, documenting the process, and learning how to build them himself. Along the way, he encouraged others to join him in working to preserve the heritage of the Estonian logboat, founding a haabjas heritage center in the village of Tori, close to the Soomaa National Park, and campaigning to have the haabjas inscribed on UNESCO's List of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding, at which effort he succeeded in 2021.

Ruukel also began running annual haabjas building workshops, which I wrote about in 2008, this blog's first year of publication. Ruukel quickly noticed the post, contacted me to clarify a technical point on which I was unclear, and we remained in sporadic touch until 2023, when we finally met in person at the first Early Watercraft Association Congress in Vila do Conde, Portugal. There, he invited me and Swiss watercraft scholar Béat Arnold to visit Estonia for a future workshop. I had that opportunity last month and was delighted to see Béat there too.

One man snapping a chalkline on a log, stripped of its bark. Several others watch in the background.
Laying out the logboat on a big aspen log.

It was a fascinating, exciting, and at the same time low-key, affair. Over the course of five days, about 17 men and women worked to build a haabjas under the guidance of Ruukel's friend, master builder Jaan Keerdo. The building site was 
on the Pärnu River, next to the haabjas heritage center in the tiny, neat village of Tori. Ruukel had previously felled and transported to the site a large aspen trunk, so after introductions and preliminaries, the crew began the construction process by stripping its bark with shovels, axes, and a drawknife.

Two middle age men standing in front of a log.
Master builder Jaan Keerdo (left) and haabjas heritage champion Aivar Ruukel.

Over the next few days, Keerdo directed the work of laying out the main interior and exterior cuts and demonstrating construction methods, while almost all the attendees took turns doing the physical labor. (A few of us chose to observe only, leaving the heavy work to others.) Even with a large and willing team, five days was not enough to complete the process of carving the hull -- not least because we were all novices -- but Keerdo and Ruukel had anticipated this by arranging to have other boats present in various stages of completion. On one of those boats, we learned how to lay out and install the frames, which are fastened into the hull on the lashed-lug principle. To observe and participate in the critical process of expanding the hull, we made use of two other boats that had been under construction by other builders, and which had been submerged in the Pärnu River to soak for several days prior to the workshop. Carving was complete on these boats, but they had yet to be expanded.

Several men standing behind a logboat on the ground, with a long, low fire in front of the logboat.
Heating the hull along one side only.

Dozens of sticks arranged at angles across the inside of a logboat hull. A low fire is along one side of the exterior of the hull.
Flexible alder rods are used to expand the hull, while brackets at the ends keep their shape and protect them from splitting. 

This, to me, was the most interesting procedure. The hull was placed on the ground and a fire was built alongside its entire length on one side only. As the heat softened the wet wood, sections of "green" black alder branches were inserted into the hull, which was carefully monitored for its developing shape. Brackets were placed over the gunwales at both ends to retain their shape as carved and protect them from splitting. A small amount of water was kept inside the hull and frequently brushed up the sides to keep them moist.

When one side was deemed sufficiently expanded, the hull was rotated 180° so that the other side faced the fire. This approach allows the alder rods to be installed and adjusted from the opposite side while keeping the side being expanded exposed to the fire and moist. According to Keerdo, this method is not traditional but, like several other procedures used during the workshop, was one of his own developments.

Two canoes paddling side by side with a bridge over the river in the background.
Participants had opportunities to paddle haabjas on the Pärnu River beside the building site.

The week featured more than just boatbuilding. We all had opportunities to paddle haabjas of various sizes and designs -- some of which were quite stable, others less so. Some lunches of traditional Estonian country food were served on site, picnic-style and for others we ate as a group at a nearby pub. We hiked a nature trail through the bog in Soomaa National Park, and some of us took a dip in a bog pool, the water of which is unusually fresh and pure due to the acidic peat of the bog. The final day included saunas -- a popular tradition in Estonia.

Three evenings were taken up with presentations in a comfortable meeting room at the Tori village hall, right across the road from the building site. Ruukel and Keerdo handled the first night's affairs, providing valuable input on haabjas traditions and the process in which we were engaged. On the second night, Béat Arnold gave a presentation on commercial logboat building in Kalimantan (Indonesian Borneo), where he had recently completed fieldwork. On night three, I described the logboat use and construction methods of the Indigenous Warrau people of Guyana.

The diversity of the workshop's facilitators and participants was among the event's most engaging and valuable qualities. Participants from Estonia, Finland, Germany, Denmark, Hungary, Sweden, Switzerland, the UK, and Alaska (I'm probably missing a couple) brought experience from museum science, heritage protection, traditional carpentry, boat building, archaeology, ethnography, education, tourism, and other fields. Everyone offered worthwhile input and observations on topics ranging from the construction process to its cultural context to the educational and heritage values of the event.

This short video provides a good feel for the experience and people at the workshop.

For information about future workshops and other nature experiences in the Soomaa National Park, contact Aivar Ruukel through his website, Soomaa.com. Tell him Bob sent you!


Wednesday, August 27, 2025

Expanding a Logboat While the Tree is Still Growing

 An intriguing experiment is under way to investigate how Russians in the 19th century (and probably earlier) took steps to expand logboats while the tree was still growing. The project involves Jaan Keerdo, who wrote a Masters thesis on Estonian logboat building, Aivar Kriiska, Professor of Archaeology at the University of Tartu (Estonia), Irina Khrustaleva, a Research Fellow in Archaeology at Tartu, and Aivar Ruukel, a nature guide (https://soomaa.com/), logboat expert, and PhD student at Estonian University of Life Sciences, who showed me the project recently in a state forest near Soomaa National Park in Estonia.

Historical illustrations of an osinovka boat, top and bottom views.
An osinovka, a Russian expanded-extended logboat. (Bogoslavsky.P.A 1859, plate 5) 
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1NWKIEjyq4PLduhANkFzK1JMVuGDDg_vy/view

In an article whose title translates as "On merchant shipbuilding in Russia, river and coastal" (1859), P.A. Bogoslavsky describes the construction of an expanded and extended logboat used for fishing by Pomor people around the Mezen River on the White Sea in Russia. The double-ended boat, called an osinovka, was up to about 5 meters long, 1 meter wide, and 1/2 meter in depth, and had capacity of 320 kg. The boat was propelled by two to four pairs of oars or a spritsail, and steering was done with an oar. An osinovka cost up to 10 rubles and gave 10-15 years of service. 

Built of aspen, construction of the osinovka began while the tree was still growing. Wooden wedges were driven into the trunk of the living tree and pounded a bit deeper every three days. When the opening became too large to be held open by wedges alone, braces were inserted into the split. After five years of "living expansion," the tree was felled, then additional hollowing was performed with axes or carefully tended fire. The carved trunk was filled with water and allowed to soak for a week, then it was emptied, and a low fire was built within the hollow. After the wood had softened from the combined effects of water and heat, the hull was expanded and braced with wooden stretchers.

Bogaslavsky's text says that "several" pine planks, 60-90cm wide and 2.5cm thick, were added as washstrakes, but his illustration shows only two planks, apparently much narrower than described. These were stitched to the logboat base and to up to four spruce frames which were fastened into the hull. The planks were laid flush and caulked with moss. The hull was tarred inside and out, and runners were added to the bottom.

There is no formal term in the boatbuilding lexicon for the expansion method Bogoslavky described, but Aivar Ruukel calls it wedge-cracking or live-tree expansionUsing Bogoslavsky's description as a starting point, Ruukel and his associates began their experiment in May, working with four large aspen trees all within a few dozen meters of each other. The experiment's objectives are to learn more about the technique, and to discover what (if any) benefits it confers to the boat or the boatbuilder. The team is in contact with Mikhail Stolyarov, a Russian boat builder who has firsthand memories of the wedge-cracking method from his childhood in the 1960s. (Stolyarov runs a private boat museum in Vologda Oblast, Russia. See https://bit.ly/belozersk.) 

Photo of man on a ladder against a tree, holding a mallet. Another man steadies the ladder from below, and a third watches.
Aivar Ruukel, on the ladder with a mallet, explaining the experiment.

When I visited the site in August, the cracks were already wide enough so that some of the first set of wedges were being driven flush with the outer surface of the tree, and in some places a second wedge was placed beside the first to continue the expansion. The splits were between 2 and 3 meters long, and a ladder was used to reach them and to drive the wedges with large mallets.

Photo of split in a living aspen tree, with wedges inserted. Top end of aluminum ladder is in the frame.
One of the four aspen trees with wedges inserted to open up the living trunk.

Many questions have already arisen. Will the cracks promote rot or disease in the trunk? How will live expansion affect the strength of the boat? Will it achieve a wider beam in the finished boat than is possible by conventional expansion methods? Will it reduce the amount of labor required for hollowing? How will this expand our knowledge of vernacular boatbuillding in Russia and elsewhere? We look forward to more questions, and hopefully answers, as the experiment continues.

Sources

Most information for this post was provided by Aivar Ruukel, including a translation of Bogaslavsky's article:

Богославский, П. А. О купеческом судостроении в России, речном и прибрежном / Павел Алексеевич Богославский. – Санкт-Петербург : [Изд. Морской Ученый Комитет], 1859. – 10, IV, 188 с..
Available in the original Russian at: https://webirbis.aonb.ru/irbisdoc/kr/2015/06kp083/68/  See pages 50-51.

Sunday, October 20, 2024

Watercraft at Cambridge (UK) Anthropology Museum

Fans for watercraft ethnography would do well to visit Cambridge University's Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Artefacts on display from many peoples reflect not only a variety of watercraft types and applications, but also a diversity of the ways in which watercraft are culturally significant to their users.

We'll start out with artefacts from the Canadian Artic before moving on to items from Oceania.

Kayak from Clyde Inlet, Baffin Island, Canada, collected in 1946.

Bow-end view of Baffin Island kayak.

Cockpit coaming and internal structure of Baffin Island kayak.

A section of skin pieced into the deck of the Baffin Island kayak. 

Kayak model and hunter from the Canadian Arctic, made from walrus ivory. The kayak is equipped with harpoons, spears and a sealskin float all fastened to the deck.

Walrus tusk collected in the Canadian Arctic in 1927, decorated with a scene of umiaks hunting whales, made for sale to Europeans.

Moving on to items from the Pacific world:

Dugout canoe collected in 1914 from the Utakwa River in West Papua (Irian Jaya) New Guinea.

Carved detail on New Guinea dugout canoe.

Beautifully carved canoe prow in the shape of a crocodile's head, collected in 1927 on the Sepik River, Papua New Guinea. Crocodiles are prominent not only in the river, but also in local myths and spiritual beliefs.

Decorated canoe paddles from the Sepik river.

Canoe "wave cutter" from Milne Bay Province, Papua New Guinea. These decorative, symbolic devices are fitted to the bow of ocean-going canoes used in the kula ring of ritual trade between islands in New Guinea's Massim region. (See B. Malinowski's classic Argonauts of the Western Pacific, 1922.) Made in 2009.

Canoe carving in ebony and mother-of-pearl by Isaac Sulawai of Papua, New Guinea, made 2008-2009. According to the display card, the canoe's occupants are at sea but they are not paddling, leaving the canoe (and themselves) at risk of capsize -- a metaphor for PNG's lack of effective political leadership.

A late 19th or early 20th C "headhunting canoe" from New Georgia, Solomon Islands. The display card is ambiguous whether this is a reduced-size model or a full-size copy. In the latter case it would be a very small canoe, limited to a crew of perhaps two.

The prow of the Solomon Islands canoe, decorated with shells and mother-of-pearl.

Lashed-lug construction of the Solomon Islands canoe.

Toward the ends of the Solomon Islands canoe, the strakes are lashed directly to each other via the lugs that are left standing as the planks are carved.

Stern of the Solomon Islands canoe.


Bowls in the form of canoes, used to serve taro during feasts in the Solomon Islands, collected 1904. Carved dolphins and heads of frigate birds appear on both. Contrasting decoration of nautilus and conus shell. 

Detail of the "figureheads" on the lower of the two taro bowls from the Solomon Islands.

War canoe figurehead representing a crocodile, from the Kenyah people of Borneo, late 19th C. The eyes are Chinese porcelain teacups. The teeth are boars' tusks and sheet metal. 

Model of a Maori war canoe from New Zealand, 19th C. Real ones were up to 40m long -- too big to be collected by a museum -- so Maori craftsmen built models for ethnographers to collect.

Detail of gunwale carving on the Maori canoe model.

Bow carving on the Maori canoe model.

Figure at the base of the sternpost on the Maori canoe model.

Stern of the Maori canoe model.

Side-to-bottom stitching, carved thwart, and carved gunwale (amidships) on the Maori canoe model.

Maori Canoe bailer collected in Aotearoa, New Zealand, by Capt. Cook, 1768-1780. The eyes are of haliotis shell. A split has been repaired with flax thread.

Left: paddle from Solomon Islands, 1900, decorated both sides with a man in a canoe, frigate birds, and a man holding a pistol.
Middle: Maori paddle-club with shell inlay, New Zealand, collected by Capt. Cook.
Right: sternpost of a Maori war canoe (1905), similar to that on the model Maori canoe above. 

Wooden dish in the form of a double-hull canoe, used by a Fijian priest to hold scented oil.. From Rewa, Levu River, Fiji, collected ~1875.

Although the exhibits are somewhat old-fashioned in their presentation, and the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology appears to change most of them but rarely (if ever), it's enlightening nonetheless, and there are items here that are probably no longer in indigenous use. Museum entry is free.

Friday, October 11, 2024

Canoes as Agents of Migration in Guyana

(Click image to watch video on YouTube)

I gave this presentation on the theme of migration on 
25 September, 2024, as part of the observances of Amerindian Heritage Month in Guyana. The webinar was sponsored jointly by the University of Guyana's Amerindian Research Unit and the International Centre for Migration and Diaspora Studies.

The basic argument is that dugout canoes were instrumental not only in the movement of the first people into Guyana, but also to their ability to settle and thrive there, and that canoes remained central to migrations throughout prehistory and the historic period. 

In addition to the video, I am also providing the presentation as a PDF of the slide deck, which you can download or read in your browser's PDF extension. If you don't see the text after downloading, click the "Review Comments" button in the upper right corner.

Watch the video on YouTube

Read or download the PDF


Tuesday, July 20, 2021

Book Review: The Politics of the Canoe, Bruce Erickson and Sarah Wylie Krotz (editors)

Book jacket of The Politics of the Canoe by Erickson and Krotz

The Politics of the Canoe, edited by Bruce Erickson and Sarah Wylie Krotz, is a book of a different sort than that from which I normally obtain content for this blog or choose to review. A collection of essays, mostly academic in nature, it does not address the nuts and bolts of boat design, construction, or usage. As its title indicates, its central theme is the political implications of canoes. The book has no subtitle, but one would have been useful to clarify that its focus is upon the canoe in Canada, although a couple of the essays deal with some of the northern United States. The editors’ Preface describes it as “a multifaceted examination of a vessel that, while structurally simple, is remarkably complex in its meanings” (p.x).

Meanings, of course, are not inherent in objects, but instead are created, imposed by people, and any meanings that canoes have are therefore subjective. To the extent that “everything is political”, then canoes certainly have the potential to be viewed from a political point of view, just as a hammer can be “merely” a hammer, or it can symbolize the proletariat. Many of the essays’ authors read Colonialist meanings in the traditional Canadian discourse regarding canoes and argue for a new canoe discourse with First Nations at its center. Many of them are themselves First Nations people of Canada, and many are in academia, so the pro-indigenous, anti-colonial outlook that informs several of the essays is not unexpected. That said, the theme of “the political canoe” is addressed through varied, even eccentric, approaches, making for mostly diverse and engaging reading.

The book’s Introduction, written by its editors, uses the presentation of canoes in museums as a framework for addressing the politics inherent in the Canadian perception of canoes. Canoes in museum collections, they say, are problematic: “Given that canoes aren’t just cultural objects but are fundamental to many communities’ relations—as family members, as embodied heritage and sovereignty, as living parts of the land—the implications of placing them on display differ depending on the traditions from which the canoes came. In other words, context matters” (p.3).

Drawing on the work of other scholars, Erickson and Krotz outline the historic process by which the indigenous Canadian canoe was adopted by European settlers, notably by the voyageurs for the fur trade, after which it morphed into a recreational craft for a mainly middle class, white audience. As this transition occurred in a Canada increasingly settled and “civilized” by Europeans, the canoe’s indigenous origin was submerged by a mythology valorizing the voyageurs, who were depicted as having used the fur-trade canoe to bring order and civilization to a wild, unsettled land. Indigenous presence and history were erased from the narrative, and the indigenous invention and use of the canoe were part of the process. The greatest significance of the erasure of the indigenous canoe does not lie in the settlers’ tacit claim to the technology; more importantly, because the canoe was central to the cultures of many of Canada’s First Nations and formed both practical and cognitive bases of the people’s connection to the land which they inhabited, erasing the indigeneity of the canoe also erased culture and past occupation of the landscape – which, in turn, erased claims of land sovereignty.

This interpretation informs many of the essays, most of which address the position of the canoe at the intersection of indigenous and settler culture. But other factors are also at play, and other perspectives addressed. As the editors note, "Colonialism certainly looms large over the history of the canoe, but canoes are also intertwined in histories of masculinity, wilderness, consumption, and industrialization, among others” (p.6). And further, “the canoes in this book are agents not just of romantic affiliation with wilderness but of protest, power, governance, social and environmental knowledge, history, cultural resurgence, and sovereignty. Their politics range from collective actions to intensely personal, individual ones” (p.13).

The book is organized in three parts, and each of its ten chapters is preceded by a map which provides the geographic setting of its subject. Some of the essays are accompanied by photographs. The entire production is in black and white.

Each of the three essays/chapters in Part 1, which is titled “Asserting Indigenous Sovereignty”, concern different First Nations’ initiatives of cultural revitalization through canoe voyaging. Chapter 1, “Tribal Canoe Journeys and Indigenous Cultural Resurgence: A Story from the Heiltsuk Nation”, by Frank Brown, Hillary Beattie, Vina Brown, and Ian Mauro, begins with a brief history of the Heilstuk people (often called the Bella Bella) under colonialism. It then focuses on the history of the cultural gathering and voyaging program called Tribal Canoe Journeys (TCJ), which has been going on regularly since 1993. The authors emphasize the value of the program in reconnecting people of many of the Pacific Northwest’s First Nations, especially young people, to tribal traditions and ways of thought, and establishing solidarity between First Nations. They show how the voyaging itself, along with the shoreside activities associated with it, heal personal traumas, enhance participants’ self worth, and provide a venue for learning traditional language, song, dance, and history. Also strengthened during the meetings are intergenerational relationships; understanding and appreciation of the natural environment and resources; and strategies associated with environmental protection and land sovereignty.

Chapter 2, “This Is What Makes Us Strong: Canoe Revitalization, Reciprocal Heritage, and the Chinook Indian Nation”, by Rachel L. Cushman, Jon D. Daehnke, and Tony A. Johnson, covers much the same ground about Tribal Canoe Journeys and its predecessor, Paddle to Seattle, but focuses on the experience of the Chinook Nation. It uses lengthy first-person passages by co-author Cushman, who has participated in several of the voyages, to personalize the experience, and it makes the important point that “rather than being backward-looking and nostalgic, this form of reciprocal heritage is instead tribally relevant, based in current and ongoing relationships and responsibilities, and thus active, forward-looking, and resilient” (pp.51-52). Discussing “protocols” – traditional rules of behaviour that are taught at and which govern shoreside sessions on the voyages – the authors state, “…the performance of protocol is not just an aspect of culture, it is fundamentally an act of decolonization” (p.57). They make a distinction that I personally found enlightening and important:

“There can be a tendency to present these types of claims to heritage as something artificial, as invented political creations primarily constructed to convince others of the rightfulness of the claims. For the Chinook Indian Nation, however, the performance of protocols is not an act created or designed to convince others of the rightfulness of their heritage claims or their Indigeneity. Instead, it is simply behaviour done to ensure that the requirements of the reciprocal relationships between actors, both human and non-human, are fulfilled” (p.65).

They contrast this with voyageur re-enactments, which they describe as a display of nostalgia, a “yearning for the period of colonialism itself” (p.66).

“Whaèhdǫ ǫ̀ Etǫ K’e”, the title of Chapter 3, means “Trails of our Ancestors” and is the name of another voyaging-and-revitalization program, this one by the “Tłı̨chǫ Nation”. I find the use of such special typographic characters by authors John B. Zoe and Jessica Dunkin unhelpful, and partially blame the book’s editors for its presence. I had to refer to Wikipedia to learn that “Tłı̨chǫ” … people, sometimes spelled Tlicho and also known as the Dogrib, are a Dene First Nations people of the Athabaskan-speaking ethnolinguistic group living in the Northwest Territories, Canada.” The purpose of Trails of our Ancestors is to reconnect Tlicho youth with the landscape around them, and to the stories, traditions and culture embedded within it. This, the authors explain, is “both a physical and symbolic act of resistance to colonial efforts to remove Tłı̨chǫ from the land” (p.85). I was struck by the statement that “Women and men worked together to build canoes” (p.77) in traditional Tlicho culture and wished for more detail, as direct female participation in boatbuilding is rare in traditional cultures.

Thus, the first three chapters all deal with different manifestations of the same phenomenon and, while each has a unique and valuable perspective, it is also somewhat repetitive. The reader will find greater variety of subject matter in the remaining parts of the book.

The theme of Part 2, Building Canoes, Knowledge, and Relationships, seems an amorphous one that doesn’t really provide a coherent theme for its three chapters – for which we might be thankful, given the excessive thematic consistency of Part 1. Chapter 4, “Model Canoes, Territorial Histories, and Linguistic Resurgence: Decolonizing the Tappan Adney Archives”, by Chris Ling Chapman, discusses the ethnographic work conducted in New Brunswick, Canada, by the author of the excellent and influential The Bark Canoes and Skin Boats of North America. Adney, the authors explain, was conducting what is known as “salvage anthropology” – the desperate collection of data in the face of imminent cultural disappearance, as was widely believed (among settlers) at that time to apply to the First Nations of Canada. In addition to the renowned model canoes he built from first-hand observation of full-size canoes, it is Adney’s unpublished notebooks that represent what were considered to be “salvage archives”. As it turned out, most of Canada’s First Nations survived, and Adney’s archives, far from being a record of dead cultures, are now providing valuable resources for the revitalization of those cultures. Among the most important of their content is Adney’s recording of native languages, which is aiding current efforts to revive those languages after decades of white efforts to exterminate them along with other aspects of indigenous culture.

In spite of Chuck Commanda’s prodigious skill as a builder of bark canoes and his substantial contribution to the revival of the craft, Chapter 5, “Ginawaydaganuc: The Birchbark Canoe in Algonquin Community Resurgence and Reconciliation”, by Commanda, Larry McDermott, and Sarah Nelson, is the weakest essay in the collection. Unfortunately, the chapter reads like a manifesto, a lengthy series of didactic assertions of the power and importance of bark canoe building as a tool for revitalizing and preserving cultural heritage. Any of its numerous assertions might well be valid, but none of them are adequately supported by evidence or logical argument. One example taken truly at random will illustrate this: “Teaching a young Indigenous person how to become a canoe builder can give them a path in life and a reason to have both hope for the future and pride in their people” (p.113). As a goal, this is admirable, but there is no indication here that it is true: the authors provide no data, examples, or even anecdotes, to support it, and this is the case with dozens of similar assertions throughout the chapter. Two lengthy appendices, consisting of the texts of two sections of the 2010 UN Convention on Biological Diversity, are peripheral to the chapter’s main argument and could have been satisfactorily replaced with URLs for online locations of the texts.

Chapter 6, “Pathways to the Forest: Meditations on the Colonial Landscape”, by Jonathan Goldner, is a first-person account of learning how and where to harvest birchbark for canoe construction. Goldner uses his description of that education, and of the harvesting process itself, to evocatively discuss the history and impact of colonialism on the Algonquin landscape of Quebec and Ontario. Harvesting bark serves as a microcosm for that impact and a metaphor of native rights to the land. It’s a thoughtful, personal, almost poetic piece by “a relative newcomer, a settler, a non-Indigenous, academically inclined male urbanite” (p.136) attempting to understand the indigenous point of view.

Part 3, “Telling Histories”, begins with Chapter 7, “Beyond Birchbark: How Lahontan’s images of Unfamiliar Canoes Confirm His Remarkable Western Expedition of 1688”, by Peter H. Wood. Louis-Armand de Lom d’Arce de Lahontan, Baron de Lahontan, explored areas west and south of the Great Lakes in 1688-89. His book about his travels, which includes descriptions of the geography and the indigenous people he encountered, was published in 1703 and went into several translations and editions but, because of his anti-Jesuit opinions, Pope Clement XI banned it. Between that official censure and some inaccuracies in his geography that became clear after later explorations, his account has been largely discounted as fiction, and aspersions cast upon the trustworthiness of both the man and his travel account. Author Wood believes the book is a largely accurate description of the Midwest’s geography as Lahontan saw it, with a few errors such as are likely to appear in any such work of this time and era. He identifies the river Lahontan travelled along and called the River Longue as the middle and upper Missouri River. He bases this conclusion mainly on two canoe illustrations on a map in the book, the accuracy of which, he argues, must have been due to Lahontan’s actual travel through the region. This argument is weak. The illustrations are rough and schematic, and Woods’ identification of them with specific indigenous boat designs questionable. The one identified as a dugout canoe of the continent’s interior could just as well depict a bark canoe, for all its lack of detail. Regarding the other, Lahontan explained that it represents a canoe from the Pacific Northwest, which he never claimed to have come even close to, and the information for it was obtained from an indigenous slave from that region whom he spoke with while in the Dakotas. In fact, the illustration is not nearly so convincing a depiction of a Kwakiutl logboat as Wood claims it is, and Lahontan’s stated source provides no assurance whatsoever that he travelled the Missouri or visited the Dakotas. I have not read Lahontan’s book and I have no opinion on its veracity, but Wood’s evidence for its truthfulness is weak.

Another weakness concerning the essay is its “political” aspect. The pope’s banning of Lahontan’s book was a political act which influenced popular perception of its accuracy, but that has nothing to do with canoes. Wood employs iconographic evidence of canoes in order to establish Lahontan’s credibility and overcome the ramifications of that political act of censorship, but that seems a tenuous connection to the book’s theme.

Chapter 8, “Monumental Trip: Don Starkell’s Canoe Voyage from Winnipeg to the Mouth of the Amazon”, by Albert Braz, is perhaps the most accessible and engaging of the essays, mainly because it recounts (in condensed form) the narrative of Starkell’s 1987 book, Paddle to the Amazon. Braz feels that the book, its author, and his achievement (paddling a canoe 12,000 miles from Winnipeg to Belem, Brazil) have not attained the recognition and respect in Canada that are their due. This, he argues, is due to Starkell's lower-class (white, Canadian) origin, pugnacious attitude, and straightforward prose, which do not mesh well with the largely middle-class identification of modern Canadian recreational canoeing, nor with the more literary style of most popular expedition narratives. Starkell obtained scant attention, much less support, from the Canadian government while traveling through Latin America, and a secondary political aspect of the essay treats with Canada's negligible visibility and influence in Latin America.

In Chapter 9, “The Dam That Wasn’t: How the Canoe Became Political on the Petawawa River”, Cameron Baldassarra describes how multiple constituencies, including recreational canoeists, kayakers, and rafters, environmentalists, historical preservationists, hunters and fishers, a town, and First Nations people, formed an alliance to oppose a planned hydropower dam near Algonquin Provincial Park in Ontario. The canoe became a central symbol and rallying point for that opposition due to its multiple meanings and uses: as a symbol of wilderness; as a vehicle to enter and utilize the landscape and its resources in a sustainable manner; as recreation; as a sustainable economic activity; as indigenous heritage. It is ironic that what stopped the dam was not grassroots politics, but the Canadian military, whose nearby base would have been partially flooded by the dam. But this, the author asserts, does not negate the wide appeal, symbolic power, and organizing potential of the canoe.

In the final essay, “Unpacking and Repacking the Canoe: Canoe as Research Vessel” (Chapter 10), anthropologist Danielle Gendron uses a canoe trip along the 386-km length of the Trent-Severn Waterway (TSW), a partly-artificial inland route between Lakes Huron and Ontario, as a personal approach to explore "my engagement with and study of Indigenous landscapes" (p.215). The author colorfully details a bit of the lives of her Metis (mixed European and First Nations) fourth-level great-grandfather, who worked for the Hudson Bay Company, and his Metis wife, and says they surely would have travelled through this landscape prior to creation of the TSW.

Gendron describes how European settlers altered this former Anishinaabe landscape, first for agriculture, then for commercial shipping, and finally for recreation, and in the process erased indigenous people from the landscape. As a nationally designated historical location, the TSW ignores the indigenous past and creates a “colonialscape”, a term Gendron borrows from Kwakwaka’wakw scholar Sarah Hunt. This returns to the theme addressed by others in the book, of how the canoe, the landscape, and the past have all been appropriated in a manner that positions whiteness as the official Canadian identity. “How can we disrupt these colonialscapes that are perpetuated through the practice of canoeing?” Gendron asks. “How can we understand canoe trips as negotiating colonized Indigenous territories rather than a natural wonderland?”

As partial answers, she recommends sources from which readers can learn about native occupation, embeddedness, and history in the landscape, and urges the importance of learning the native names for places one travels through. She does not make the unrealistic recommendation that everyone become an expert in native history, but instead suggests that the canoe can be used as a vehicle to “engage in understanding colonial processes and the colonialscape of Canada” (p.227) – a suggestion that aptly summarizes the central theme of this worthwhile and thought-provoking collection of essays.


The Politics of the Canoe
Bruce Erickson and Sarah Wylie Krotz, editors
2021
University of Manitoba Press
ISBN 978-0-88735-909-9 (paperbound: also in e-book, hardcover)

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

The Survival of the Log Canoe

Persistence of Logboats in Latin America: a framework to assess prospects of survival
(This essay is slightly modified from one written for a course in the maritime aspects of culture at University of Southampton.)

Introduction

Vernacular watercraft are disappearing from many parts of the world (McGrail, 2001:201, 211; Blue, 2003:334; Pham et al., 2010:274), under pressure from a variety of forces often related to modernization. As vernacular boats represent living parts of the world’s maritime heritage and may, through the practice of ethnoarchaeology, offer insights into maritime archaeology per se, it is important to document as many of them and their uses as possible while they remain (Figure 1). With an unknown but large number of boat types at risk, a method by which to assess the level of threat in each instance would be useful, so that documentation efforts might be prioritized.

Measuring a logboat (McGrail, 2001:209)
Figure 1: Documenting a boat type threatened with extinction. (McGrail, 2001:209)
This essay proposes a simple framework of supply-and-demand-based factors to assess the survival prospects of traditional boat types. The essay examines examples of logboat use in Latin America found in recent literature to test the method’s utility, but the framework will accommodate all vernacular boat types and locales.

Craft traditions

A boatbuilding craft tradition embodies “a system of ideas about what boats and ships are and how they should be designed and constructed. This will impose constraints in terms of design parameters on the practice of construction” (Adams, 2010:301, 2013:24). But, Adams notes, while traditions exist to protect “best practice,” they are also capable of adapting in response to outside influences.

As will be shown below, the construction of logboats in Latin America occurs within craft traditions. Although these traditions vary from one society to the next, common among them is the conception of the boat as a tree that is felled and hollowed by one’s own labour or with the assistance of others in the community, using hand tools. Changes might occur in building methods over time (for example, the adoption of power tools) without fundamentally impairing the tradition of producing boats of a generally similar type by generally similar means. But at some level of change, a tradition becomes defunct. For example, a boatbuilder who shifts from the one-off production of logboats to the mass production of fiberglass hulls could not maintain the same conception about how boats are designed and built.

Understanding how a logboat building tradition responds to change is therefore central to assessing its prospects for survival.

Supply and demand

For a technology to persist in any society, there must be a sufficient number of people who want or need it, and a sufficient number of people willing and able to provide it. In other words, supply and demand must both remain positive. In most cases, this involves monetary payment or barter for goods or services of comparable value, although there are instances in which logboats are exchanged on other terms – for example, through a generalized practice of reciprocity (described below).

As noted by Lemmonier, “the rejection or adoption of technological features” (1993:18) – in other words, demand for technology in a given form – is not solely a matter of practical utility and economics, but also involves issues of status, group identity, social relations, and symbolism. Considering logboats, then, as a specific form of the general technology of “small boats,” an analysis of demand, and of the forces of supply that respond to it, requires that we look at a variety of factors, some straightforwardly utilitarian or economic in nature, and others ideological.

Demand factors

Although supply and demand are inextricably intertwined, it is convenient to address them separately. This section explores the positive and negative effects of various social and economic phenomena on logboat demand.

Usage

In several locations where logboats traditionally have been used as fishing craft, fewer individuals now fish for subsistence and more fish commercially, using larger boats and boats that are otherwise better suited to fishing with modern equipment (McSweeney, 2004:642; Heyman and Granados-Dieseldorff, 2012:139; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:192; Orofino et al., 2017:2783-2786), reducing demand for logboats. Decline in demand has also been attributed to an overall drop in fishing effort (Orofino et al., 2017:2785).

On the other hand, new niches occasionally arise which can be exploited effectively with logboats. This was the case in Santa Catarina, Brazil (Orofino et al., 2017:2789), and in Central America’s Mosquitia region (McSweeney, 2004:642), where logboats came into use as platforms from which to dive for lobsters for an emergent export market.

Construction and materials

Users may shift from logboats to other boat types because they perceive advantages in other boatbuilding methods and materials, notably plank-on-frame, glass-reinforced plastic (i.e., fiberglass), and metal (McSweeney, 2004:642; Orofino et al., 2017:2783, 2784-2786). Although a full discussion of the performance advantages and disadvantages of these methods/materials relative to logboats is outside the scope of this essay, it is relevant that all three can be used to build larger craft than is possible with logboats, and the latter two offer superior durability.

Some users, however, valorize logboats over other materials because they are perceived as being safer, due to their inherent buoyancy, and quieter when moving through the water, and so less likely to scare away fish (Orofino et al., 2017:2784). The higher purchase price of other types of boats, and the very fact that logboats are not durable in the tropics and so require frequent replacement, also tend to support a steady market for logboats in some areas (McSweeney, 2004:641).

Economics

Logboats can thrive where goods and services are exchanged through nonfinancial transactions (Gilmore et al., 2002:12; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:176-181). As boat users become more highly integrated into a modern cash economy, however, they become more likely to purchase ready-built boats of other materials (Heyman and Granados-Dieseldorff, 2012:139; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:220). The reason for this preference is unclear in some cases, as many logboat builders operate in a cash economy, and even those who practice barter may also accept payment in cash (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:173-174). In fact, market economics are central to the practice of some logboat builders (McSweeney, 2004; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:176-177; Orofino et al., 2017:2789). It seems probable that fishers who are not closely integrated in cash economies are more likely to fish for subsistence, and logboats continue to suffice for their relatively small-scale needs. In contrast, fishers who are more involved in modern cash economies may require larger boats to compete effectively.

As lesser-developed societies become more closely integrated within modern market economies, commercial credit becomes available to some individuals, making possible the acquisition of larger boats and thus depressing demand for logboats. However, owners of larger boats often find their costs of operation unsupportable. In response, many downsize to logboats (Emdad Haque et al., 2015:405). Meanwhile, individuals who do not have access to commercial credit may rely upon informal credit arrangements with family and friends. Such loans are typically for smaller amounts and tend to be used to purchase logboats (Emdad Haque et al., 2015:405). Being less costly than other boat types, logboats thus continue to provide utility by which poorer individuals can live by fishing.

Government policy

Government regulations may influence demand for logboats. In Santa Catarina, fishers previously stored their logboats in boat houses to protect them from the sun. When new rules banned boat houses from beaches, logboats became less practical and demand dropped off (Orofino et al., 2017:2784-2786, table 2), because the lack of sun protection significantly shortened the boats’ lifespan.

Although I have found no other published examples from Latin America, one could posit other common forms of government policies that could (and likely do) influence logboat demand. For example, policies that promote commercial fishing might result in reducing the fish stocks upon which artisanal fishers depend, while policies that promote tourism might have the effect of displacing them from the beaches where they operate.

On the other hand, policies that protect artisanal fishing or fish stocks or restrict coastal development could have the effect of supporting demand for logboats.

Transportation infrastructure

Demand for logboats remains strong in many areas that lack terrestrial transportation infrastructure (Gilmore et al., 2002; McSweeney, 2004:641; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:10). The construction of new roads and bridges tends to depress demand (pers. obs.).

Social stability

Where traditional lifeways prevail, logboats play a central role in people’s economic and social lives, and demand for them remains strong. For example, within a remote community of Maijuna people in the Peruvian Amazon, logboats serve multiple purposes, including hunting, fishing, traveling, communication, and carrying agricultural and forest produce. One informant observed:

“(I)t is very necessary to have a canoe [i.e., logboat]. I cannot live without a canoe because you cannot go anywhere (without one) . . . Sure you can go and fish for a little while with a friend’s canoe but you cannot take it for a long time. If you have a family you need to own a canoe” (Gilmore et al., 2002:12).

A similar situation obtains in the community of Coquí, in the Chocó region of Columbia (Figure 2). Although more closely integrated within larger economic systems than the Maijuna community mentioned above, Coquí remains somewhat isolated from the “outside world” by a complete lack of road connections (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:10). Fuquen Gomez observed:

Boats are fundamental for the people of the Chocó littoral. They are seen across the landscape, being used and mentioned daily in a remarkable variety of contexts. They are central to people and their activities. Many such activities cannot be conceived in the absence of logboats and therefore, the role they play in their daily life is essential. Boats allow people to travel to their farms, and to transport back the production of their main agricultural crops for their own consumption or to be traded. They represent a source of income to the boatbuilders and their families, by being themselves a product with a commercial value that is greatly appreciated and widely used. Moreover, the place boats take in the lives of the peoples (sic) is easily perceived, as they are not only physically present but also continuously mentioned in riddles and games, in legends, and stories. Boats permeate all sorts of social spheres both physically and symbolically . . . ” (2014:173).

A logboat on a river in Coquí, Columbia. (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:120)
Figure 2. Logboats play a central role in the lives of the people of Coquí. (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:120)
Conversely, where traditional ways lose adherence, so does the valorization of traditional means of transportation supplied through traditional methods of exchange and produced by traditional craft methods. As a Santa Catarina logboat builder stated, ‘‘The culture has no value, it is dead, it ended, the carpenter is not valued, paid well or hired anymore’’(Orofino et al., 2017:2786). Although referring specifically to the difficulty of recruiting new workers to build logboats (i.e., the supply side of the transaction), the informant is effectively identifying a demand-side problem in his society: boatbuilding pays poorly because users do not value logboats highly.

Supply Factors

As with demand, a single phenomenon can have both positive and negative effects on logboat supply, depending upon the particulars of the craft tradition.

Access to trees

Access to suitable trees is obviously essential for the construction of logboats. In several locales, access is restricted relative to previous times, impairing boatbuilders’ ability to pursue the craft (McSweeney, 2004:650-652; Heyman and Granados-Dieseldorff, 2012:139; Orofino et al., 2017:2783-2786).

Restrictions on access to logs stem from: environmental regulations limiting the cutting of trees (Orofino et al., 2017:2784-2786); over-logging (McSweeney, 2004:646); transfer of ownership of the forest “commons” to commercial forestry companies  (McSweeney, 2004:650-652); the “colonization” of previously common areas by new settlers (McSweeney, 2004:650); and excessive fees charged for timber cutting rights (McSweeney, 2004:650-652).

These restrictions can increase the time builders must spend searching for trees and the distance logs must be transported, thereby increasing their costs (Orofino et al., 2017:2784-2786). On the other hand, improvements in roads and trucking services can make long-distance transport of logs easier (Orofino et al., 2017:2787-2788), ameliorating these problems in some areas.

Where access to trees of the preferred species is restricted, builders may substitute less-favoured species (Gilmore et al., 2002; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:131). Species substitution may force related changes in logboat design and building techniques (Gilmore et al., 2002) (Figure 3). Both of these phenomena illustrate adaptability within the craft tradition, the implications of which are discussed below.

Maijuna boatbuilders expanding a logboat with fire (Gilmore et al., 2002:24)
Figure 3. Maijuna boatbuilders began expanding logboats only after their preferred tree species became unavailable, forcing them to use narrower logs. (Gilmore et al., 2002:24)
Labour

Logboat builders report difficulties attracting labour in general and skilled workers and apprentices in particular, these problems being related to low rates of pay and the existence of alternative employment opportunities (McSweeney, 2004:650-652; Orofino et al., 2017:2784-2786), including other forms of boatbuilding (Walter et al., 2017:574-575). As a result, the majority of logboat builders in some communities are elderly (Orofino et al., 2017:2784-2786; Walter et al., 2017:574-575), and age-related health problems and the generally arduous nature of the work causes some builders to drop out of the market (Orofino et al., 2017:2785-2786). In coastal Brazil, the attractiveness and availability of alternative employment opportunities for younger workers is related to their generally higher levels of education, which is a result of government education policies (Walter et al., 2017:574-575).

Age is not invariably an impediment, however. Among the Tawahka Sumu people in Mosquitia, older men possess many advantages over younger ones, including stronger kin relationships (a source of unpaid labour), established business relationships (which gives them better access to suitable trees at good prices), and better access to credit and to information about market conditions in downstream market towns (McSweeney, 2004: 650-652).

Builders in some societies have access to unpaid labour through kin obligations (McSweeney, 2004:650), mingas (Gilmore et al., 2002:20; McSweeney, 2004:650; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:217-220; pers. obs.), or less formalized modes of cooperation. The minga is a common phenomenon in rural Latin America, in which members of a community are enlisted by an individual to assist with a specific large-scale task (such as hauling a log from the forest or carving it), with an implicit promise that the favour will be returned at an unspecified time in a manner also unspecified. Unpaid labour obviously enhances builders’ ability to supply logboats.

Materials and methods

The presence of alternative boatbuilding materials and methods (i.e., plank-on-frame, fiberglass, metal) does not directly impair a builder’s ability to produce logboats, but it has negative supply-side effects nonetheless. Many builders now choose to work exclusively with the newer methods (Walter et al., 2017:574-575), evidently because there is stronger demand for them in their local markets.

Economics

Logboat building remains remunerative for some builders (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:177). It can provide a better income than small-scale agriculture and, if pursued only part-time, can provide important incremental income and income during periods of agricultural “down time” (McSweeney, 2004:652-653; Orofino et al., 2017:2789).

To the extent that builders are willing to barter for goods or services (Fuquen Gomez, 2014:176-181), they make logboats easier for users to obtain and thereby strengthen demand. The casual nature of the business thus works in some ways to preserve the craft. But because logboat building tends to be practiced on a small scale, its practitioners have limited access to commercial credit with which to obtain logs and equipment (McSweeney, 2004:650-652), and this, of course, works against its persistence.

Social structures

Among the more powerful forces for the logboat’s persistence is the fact that its construction occurs within a craft tradition, and traditions are by definition conservative. For example, the Tawahka Sumu’s very identity is “tied to the production and export of canoes. Their regional reputation in this regard dates from at least the 1820s, continues to the present, and remains a source of some cultural pride” (McSweeney, 2004:648, internal references omitted).

Logboat builders have strong connections with their communities. They may be themselves fishers or otherwise use the boats in the same ways as their “customers” (Gilmore et al., 2002; Fuquen Gomez, 2014:147-153; Orofino et al., 2017:2775), and so feel emotionally bound to provide the service of logboat building to their communities (Orofino et al., 2017:2782).

Adaptability

Another characteristic of craft traditions that works toward the persistence of logboats is adaptability or flexibility. Among examples noted above, flexibility in selection of tree species and adaptability in production methods to accommodate them, as well as flexibility in terms of exchange, represent positive factors for supply.

On the other hand, builders’ adaptability can also function against the logboat’s survival. Where demand shifts toward other kinds of boats, some builders shift production accordingly. For suppliers, this may not represent the abandonment of tradition: it may be a logical adaptation within their tradition as boat builders, as opposed to logboat builders. Along the Rio Napo in Ecuador, end-users make little distinction between logboats and plank canoes of similar form (pers. obs.), and builders may have a similar perspective. A builder who has adopted a chainsaw for felling trees may see it as a natural transition to use the chainsaw to mill planks, and thereby produce more boats and greater profit from a given tree.

Conclusion

This paper proposes supply-and-demand as a framework within which to assess a vernacular boat type’s prospects for survival in a given society. It has focused on logboat production in Latin America because an appropriate number of examples was found in recent literature for convenient analysis, not because they represent a single, coherent tradition. (They do not.) For the framework to be practically applied, a detailed ethnographic description of a boat type’s role in a single society is necessary. Such a description exists in Fuquen Gomez’s thesis (2014). This paper uses examples from several societies as a heuristic, to consider a wider variety of supply and demand factors and cultural responses to them, and thus further explore the framework’s utility.

As Adams (2010:301, 2013:24) makes clear, ideology and tradition play key roles in craft traditions. As long as these factors are considered along with more obvious utilitarian and economic issues, the supply/demand framework provides a useful tool with which to assess the survival prospects of vernacular watercraft.

# # #

References cited

Adams, J. (2010) ‘Ships and boats as Archaeological Source Material’, World archaeology, 32(3), pp. 292–310. doi: 10.1080/00438240120048644.
Adams, J. (2013) A Maritime Archaeology of Ships: Innovation and Social Change in Medieval and Early Modern Europe. Oxford: Oxbow Books.
Blue, L. (2003) ‘Maritime Ethnography: The Reality of Analogy’, in Beltrame, C. (ed.) Boats, Ships and Shipyards: Proceedings of the Ninth International Symposium on Boat and Ship Archaeology, Venice 2000. Oxford: Oxbow Books, pp. 334–338.
Emdad Haque, C. et al. (2015) ‘Small-scale fishers’ adaptations to change: the role of formal and informal credit in Paraty, Brazil’, Marine Policy. Elsevier, 51, pp. 401–407. doi: 10.1016/j.marpol.2014.10.002.
Fuquen Gomez, C. (2014) Logboats of Coquí: An ethnographic approach to maritime material culture. Doctoral thesis. University of Southampton.
Gilmore, M. P., Eshbaugh, W. H. and Greenberg, A. M. (2002) ‘The use, construction, and importance of canoes among the Maijuna of the Peruvian Amazon’, Economic Botany. Springer-Verlag, 56(1), pp. 10–26. doi: 10.1663/0013-0001(2002)056[0010:catuca]2.0.co;2.
Heyman, W. D. and Granados-Dieseldorff, P. (2012) ‘The voice of the fishermen of the Gulf of Honduras: Improving regional fisheries management through fisher participation’, Fisheries Research. Elsevier B.V., 125–126, pp. 129–148. doi: 10.1016/j.fishres.2012.02.016.
Lemonnier, P. (1993) ‘Introduction’, in Lemonnier, P. (ed.) Technological Choices: Transformation in material cultures since the Neolithic. London: Routledge, pp. 1–35.
McGrail, S. (2001) ‘The “Boats of South Asia” Project’, South Asian Studies, 17(1), pp. 209–211. doi: 10.1080/02666030.2001.9628602.
McSweeney, K. (2004) ‘The Dugout Canoe Trade in Central America’s Mosquitia: Approaching Rural Livelihoods Through Systems of Exchange’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 94(3), pp. 638–661. Available at: http://content.ebscohost.com/ContentServer.asp?EbscoContent=dGJyMMTo50Sep7Q4zOX0OLCmr1Cep7BSr6u4SK%2BWxWXS&ContentCustomer=dGJyMPGptk%2B3rLJNuePfgeyx43zx1%2B6B&T=P&P=AN&S=R&D=sih&K=14228375 (Accessed: 16 November 2018).
Orofino, G. G., Roque, T. V., da Fonseca Kruel, V. S., Peroni, N. and Hanazaki, N. (2017) ‘Local knowledge about dugout canoes reveals connections between forests and fisheries’, Environment, Development and Sustainability, pp. 1–21. doi: 10.1007/s10668-017-0016-8.
Pham, C., Blue, L. and Palmer, C. (2010) ‘The traditional boats of Vietnam, an overview’, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, 39(2), pp. 258–277. doi: 10.1111/j.1095-9270.2010.00266.x.
Walter, Y., Kindlein, W. J., Walter, T. and Marielce De Cássia Ribeiro Tosta, M. de (2017) ‘Artisinal Boatbuilding in Brazilian Shores: Craftsmen, Boatyards, and Manufacturing Process’, International Journal of Advances in Engineering & Technology, 10(6), pp. 572–584. Available at: https://search.proquest.com/docview/1988423214/fulltextPDF/64BF29E71BBC476CPQ/7?accountid=13963 (Accessed: 18 November 2018).