This article is part of
Wilderness Way
VOLUME 9, ISSUE 4.
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The
Samoan Fire Plow
by Cpl. Geoffrey Angle
During extended liberty on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, I found myself cruising along Highway 83, winding along Oahu's famous northern shore. I had originally intended to go skin diving, and with luck, spear some lunch with my new JBL spear gun. However, a far-off tropical storm had blown the sea into a choppy froth churning with sediment, so I continued my mobile sightseeing; passing sheer, cloud-enshrouded mountains, wide sandy coves, small tropical ranches and pineapple plantations.
Eventually, I arrived at the Polynesian Cultural Center,
located adjacent to Brigham Young University. Despite the
fact that it was an obvious tourist destination used to
accommodating large groups of patrons, learning the ways of
the locals is often a time consuming process. I decided my
experience in Hawaii would be quickly enriched if I spent my
day in an educational environment rather than the driver's
seat of a cramped rental car.
The Polynesian Cultural Center
The center was divided into "islands" (or
sections) dedicated to one particular Polynesian culture.
Representatives from Hawaii, Samoa, Tonga, New Zealand,
Fiji, and others presented indigenous technologies and life
ways to large, curious audiences. Proceeds from the center
went directly to the educational funding of the cultural
representatives or their progeny at the nearby university.
After listening to an entertaining explanation of Samoan steam pit cooking techniques, I noticed a familiar scene under a thatched shelter nearby. I saw several people hunched over, apparently working furiously at some small but focused task, only to rise up, exhausted, red-faced, and panting. I knew from experience that they were trying to create fire.
I wandered to the shelter, taking time to admire intricate and clever weaving projects made from palm leaves and the pandanas plant, and stood by quietly observing students and the teacher, a stout, yet softspoken Samoan who introduced himself only as Ula.
The Life of Ula
Ula had a timeless air about him, as if there were no
worries or stress in his life. After talking a bit about his
home on the island of Samoa, where he resides on family land
that can never be bought or sold, where he had built his own
house from resources found on that land, where he can fish
and hunt whenever he wanted, I began to understand why.
"That's the life!" he stated, and I could not
agree more.
We chatted for a while longer, and in talking about our families, Ula told me about a relative who had cured himself of cancer. Intrigued, I followed Ula out from under the shelter to a small tree nearby. "This is the noni tree," Ula explained, handing me a pale yellow fruit the size of a large pinecone with smooth, rubbery skin and the weight of a grapefruit. "A while ago, a relative of mine was very ill," Ula said. "The doctors gave him no more than two weeks to live. But instead of waiting to die, he returned home and sought help from traditional medicine. The traditionalists prescribed noni fruit for him and told him to drink the juice twice a day. That was two years ago, but he only drinks it in the mornings now."
I brought the fruit to my nose to sniff, expecting a refreshing citrus scent. Instead my face contorted into horrified disgust! It smelled like rotten Parmesan cheese! Worse yet, the smell seemed to linger on my hands. Ula's relative must have had a stronger constitution than I could imagine. It smelled like this cure would have killed him. I learned later that another common name for the noni is "starvation fruit." No kidding!
The subject changed to fire making, and we talked about Native American Indian techniques, such as the bow drill and hand drill. Ula had seen it done, but did not have much of an interest in trying it himself. He explained: "Samoans almost exclusively use the fire plow" (I never learned the Samoan term for it). "Unless," he chuckled, "they've got a lighter, of course!"
Using the Plow
To procure materials for a fire plow set, a stave and
splint were cut from what Ula called the hibiscus tree. It
has soft, light wood with a density somewhere between a
tough balsa and a soft, white cedar, allowing for easy
manufacture. The stave was debarked, rough hewn, and allowed
to season before use (this work is usually done with a
machete or large knife). Examples varied in length from
4-1/2
feet to just over 5 feet, but all were consistently straight
and approximately 2-1/2 inches in diameter. The splints
averaged between 8 to 10 inches in length, 1/2 to 3/4inch
wide, and just over 5 feet thick. The tip of the splint was
either carved, or more likely worn, to a tip angled at 45
degrees, much like the tip of a Japanese tanto blade.
An old, brown coconut husk was picked up off the ground.
(I assumed they had been gathered from a relatively dry
place). Leaving the hard, outer shell intact, Ula began to
pull up the tough fibers from within, not shredding it, but
pulling it apart enough to create loft between the fibers,
resulting in a "nest" of tinder that could fill
two cupped hands.
Initially a 5-inch groove would be scored into the stave with the splint, an important length. Too long, and the hot dust produced from the friction would cool too much on the return stroke. Too short, and not enough heat or dust would be generated.
The fire plow technique is simple, but deceptively so.
The concept is to rub the splint back and forth along the
groove or runway-producing, collecting, and heating dust
with every stroke at the far end of the groove. Executed
properly, the friction creates enough heat to bring the
collected wood particles to the ignition point, and a small
coal the size of a cigarette cherry is produced. This coal
is dumped into the tinder bundle and brought to flame by
blowing or directing wind into it.
Ula Makes a Coal
Being a master of the technique, Ula sat casually on the
edge of a matcovered table, securing the stave in place by
sitting on it as well. He left approximately three feet
protruding out in front of him to work with. Ula held the
splint between his overlapped hands, gripping it with the
webbing between index and thumb, and securing it with the
pressure of the rest of his fingers lying on top. This
position allowed Ula to push the full weight of his upper
body into the task. He began to push back and forth, moving
from the waist upwards. His movements were small and
controlled, and it was difficult to discern which parts of
his upper body were static and which were moving. His
strokes were not made simply by shoving with his arms,
chests, or shoulders, but by the sum of his parts.
Using steady controlled strokes, Ula created smoke in
less than eight seconds, and had produced a stable,
smoldering coal in no more than twenty seconds. The control
of his movements led me to believe that the technique is
based more on controlled application of pressure rather than
rapid friction.
The Wind and Fire
After the coal was created, Ula stood, and holding the stave
by his side, gracefully turned from right to left, back and
forth, facing the groove into the wind; effectively cradling
and fanning the coal until it glowed bright red. He reached
down and picked up his coconut tinder bundle. With a twist
of the wrist and a single tap on the shell, the coal was
dropped into the bundle, and he lifted fibers up around it.
Then, instead of blowing into it, he again fanned the coal
with a gentle, swaying motion of his arm, the coconut
cupping the wind. I could now see the wisdom of leaving the
shell of the husk intact, as the fibers that smoldered the
coal grew and spread, but the shell protected his hand from
the heat. Intermittently, Ula would blow into the bundle,
but mostly he fanned it into the wind, keeping the smoke out
of his eyes, finally blowing strong streams of air into the
center of the nest to ignite the entire bundle in a muffled
"whoosh."
My own attempts were not successful, and after working up a sweat like a racehorse after only three attempts, I realized that just as in other primitive firemaking techniques, a lot of practice is involved to make it a reliable method in a survival situation. Or, maybe I will make sure I have Ula's five-year-old along. He can do it in thirty-eight seconds, no sweat!
