Moai at Rano Raraku quarry.
Unravelling the Mysteries of Easter Island
Moai at Rano Raraku quarry.
The captain comes on the speaker and announces that we’ll be landing in a few minutes. Looking out the window, we can’t help but wonder, “Land where?” It's been close to five hours since our flight left Santiago and for the entire time there’s been nothing but ocean, ocean, and more ocean. But undoubtedly the pilot has found the small spec of land in the middle of the Pacific, far away from...everywhere.
Easter Island is considered the most remote permanently inhabited place on Earth. It’s 3,600 kilometres west of the Chilean mainland, on the way to nowhere. If we were to continue travelling west, the next sizable piece of land with regular air service is Tahiti, another five hours' flying time. The nearest inhabited island is tiny Pitcairn Island, with around 50 people, over 2,000 kilometres away. Yet isolated Easter Island holds some of the world’s most dramatic and mysterious sights, with a beguiling past and riddles not yet solved.
We land at the airport, having made no arrangements. Some guest house operators have desks at the arrivals area just for visitors like us. As we glance at their offerings, one woman obviously anxious for business waves us over and assures us that she undoubtedly has the best place and the best deal. Since we’re staying longer than the average visitor, she offers us a special rate. It turns out to be a good choice, a pleasant house set among tropical flowers and fruit trees, where Theresa and her mother Maria live, and offer extra rooms to guests.
Under 4,000 people live on the island, almost all of them in the only town, Hanga Roa. Businesses stretch along a few main streets – a couple basic supermarkets, a handful of restaurants, tour offices where you can rent cars or bicycles, a fruit and vegetable market, and of course the inevitable souvenir stands. Most accommodation offerings are guest houses, such as where we’re staying, or small hotels. Thankfully, there are no high-rise hotels dominating the skyline or sprawling resorts as in many island destinations.
One modern facility, however, is done on a grand scale – the airport runway. At 3,300 metres or over 10,000 feet long, it looks oversized for such a small island. It was expanded a number of years ago with the help of NASA, making it an emergency landing strip for space shuttles in case they run into trouble over the vast Pacific.
The volcanic island supports only limited agriculture. Fruit grows in abundance, but most supplies come from the mainland. Our first day there, we head to the supermarket to buy a rotisserie roasted chicken to take home for supper. A couple days later, we go back for another.
“Sorry, all out of chicken,” says the cashier.
“When will you be getting more?” we ask.
“No idea,” she replies, “Whenever they get here. Could be next week; maybe longer.”
It seems that not all of the inscrutable things about Easter Island are from the past. The islanders have a long history with chickens, thought to be the only domestic livestock brought by the original Polynesian settlers several hundred years ago. Crowing roosters and a chorus of raucous chickens wake us before dawn every morning, and the cackling birds wander freely practically everywhere we go. Yet the supermarket has to wait until they’re shipped from the mainland.
Scholars vary in their estimates of when people first inhabited the island, anytime from the first few centuries AD, to closer to 900 AD. The most easterly outpost of Polynesia, the island is known locally as Rapa Nui. The Easter Island name originated when Dutch explorer Jacob Roggeveen happened by on Easter Day, 1722, making the first recorded contact between the island and the outside world. During those many years of isolation, the island experienced amazing achievements, the most famous of which are the numerous moai dotting the island. These gigantic stone statues with their long angular heads are thought to represent high ranking ancestors. Most were built and transported between 1000 and 1600 AD, without the use of machines, draft animals, or even metal tools.
Somewhere along the way, society began to break down. Internal wars erupted, and part of this involved toppling over your enemy’s moai. When Captain Cook stopped here in 1774, he noted that several statues had been toppled. By the mid-1800s, reports from visiting ships indicated no standing statues at all. Not only did islanders suffer internal strife, but contact with the outside world brought smallpox and other diseases. Things went from bad to worse when Peruvian slave traders captured some 1,500 islanders in the 1860s, taking them to work in mines. In 1877, the island’s population hit a low of only 111.
Chile annexed Easter Island in 1888, and it essentially became a giant sheep ranch. It wasn’t until 1966 that the islanders became Chilean citizens and the fortunes of this Pacific spec began to turn around. Today, the island has one foot in Polynesia and the other in South America. Roughly half of the 4,000 or so people are ethnically Rapa Nui, while the other half come from the mainland. The working language is Spanish, although the local Polynesian language, also called Rapa Nui, is widely spoken as well. When we listen to Theresa talking to her friends or family, she speaks in Rapa Nui, with a generous sprinkling of Spanish words. Rapa Nui is also spoken at services at the church of Santa Cruz where traditional Polynesian beliefs and motifs meld with Catholicism.
We don’t have to go far to see our first moai. The Tahai site is a short walk from the edge of town where three ahu or ceremonial platforms stand next to the sea. Thought to have been an important sacred centre, the site was restored in the 1970s. One ahu has five moai in various styles and states of preservation. The second platform has a single statue considered to be among the oldest on the island. The third, named Ahu Ko te Riku, is one of the most impressive and widely photographed moai, its head crowned with a heavy red topknot. Unique to the island, it has eyes of white coral and jet-black obsidian, making it come alive as it stands near the shoreline, staring back at us. It is believed that many moai once had eyes, but they all “lost their sight” over time. Tahai becomes our favourite place for sunset most evenings, watching the sun dip into the Pacific, framed by massive heads that become imposing silhouettes against the glow of twilight.
Anxious to see more, we arrange for Theresa’s brother-in-law, Patricio, to take us around the island, which only has a couple major roads. Covering around 170 square kilometres, the island is shaped like a triangle, with volcano craters marking each corner. A striking first impression is the wildness of the shoreline, with towering sea cliffs and chaotic jumbles of boulders. The basalt rock resembles fresh lava flow with ragged and sharp edges, much of it as black as coal. Unlike most Polynesian islands, Easter Island has no coral reefs, so the sea pounds it relentlessly on all sides.
Our first stop is Ahu Vinapu, a stone’s throw from the airport runway. We see remains of toppled moai, but most remarkable is the ahu or ceremonial platform where statues once stood. Largely unrestored, the wall is built of enormous boulders, fitted together with such intricate precision that we would be hard pressed to stick a pin in the cracks. Gazing at the fine workmanship, we're reminded of the ancient Inca walls of Peru, in places like Cusco. It was remarkable similarities like this that led Norwegian ethnographer and explorer, Thor Heyerdahl, to speculate that the island had been colonized from, or greatly influenced by, ancient South America.
Heyerdahl’s famous Kon Tiki expedition in 1947 showed that it was possible to sail a primitive reed raft from South America to islands in the South Pacific. He later led a major archaeological expedition to Easter Island in 1955–56, followed by his bestselling book, Aku-Aku, that asserts the South American origins theory. Subsequent research, however, hasn’t supported Heyerdahl; the accepted view today is that early Easter Island settlement came solely from Polynesia.
We’re expecting to see a lot of moai. After all, it was seeing photographs of those intriguing heads and reading the fascinating legends that brought us to this remote corner of the world. But what we’re not prepared for is the overwhelming scale of it all. Travelling around the island, we pass one site after another, some with standing moai, but mostly toppled statues lying prostrate, abandoned and ignored after ancient battles. Add to these the remains of walls, altars, caves, foundations, and rock carvings, and we’re faced with a staggering display of antiquity.
Nothing we read before visiting prepared us for climbing up the volcano of Rano Raraku, the birthplace of the moai. Slopes of the ancient quarry are covered in standing, toppled, and unfinished statues. Mostly upright heads lie scattered at the base of the volcano. While it may look like these are simply heads, excavations revealed that they do indeed have bodies. Erosion and accumulating soil deposits over hundreds of years have buried some statues up to their necks and noses. Researchers excavating one of the larger statues found that two-thirds of it was underground. Is it thought that these finished moai were awaiting transport to other parts of the islands.
As we walk farther up the slopes that reach about 100 metres or so above the sea, we're astonished to see moai literally everywhere we look, right up to the crest of the volcano. Climbing over the ridge, we descend the slopes toward the volcanic lake. And what do we find? More moai. Lots of them.
Most statues are unfinished, some in the early stages of carving, while others are so complete that only final touches would be needed to free them from their stony birthplace. Carvers using stone tools first removed the volcanic rock to create a niche or hollowed-out cavity for their work area. Then they set about carving the moai, and refining its features. When complete, more rock was removed to release the statue. It was set upright so work on the back could be finished. At last it was ready to be moved to its final location. Only about a third of them ever made it.
Around 900 moai have been counted on the island, close to half of them right here. It’s the number of unfinished statues, suspended in the midst of creation, that we find most mind-boggling. They didn’t simply build one, put it up, then go on to the next one. Huge numbers were being carved at the same time. What an incredible sight this would have been. Then all of a sudden, they stopped, so abruptly that it looks like carvers simply dropped their tools on the spot. Perhaps the boss came by and said, “We’ve decided not to build statues anymore.” Or perhaps workers, tired of the incessant toil, rebelled and said, “Take this job and shove it!” Or were there other reasons? Like practically everything to do with Easter Island’s past, conflicting theories abound.
Most moai range in size from two metres to over nine metres tall. The largest ever built was never finished and still lies in the quarry. Stretching over 20 metres or 65 feet long, it’s estimated to weigh around 270 tons. If it were lifted, it would reach about the height of a five-story building. Speculation is that it was never finished because the carvers knew they had bitten off more than they could chew, and work was halted because they couldn’t figure out how to move something that big.
So how did the gigantic statues get from the quarry to various sites around the island? At the crest of the Rano Raraku volcano we find a series of shallow round holes, about a metre across and more than a metre deep. Speculation is that the moai were lowered down the slope using ropes attached to thick support poles anchored in these holes. As for travelling several kilometres around the island, local legend says that the moai walked by themselves. Researchers have come up with various theories, one of which does involve “walking”, where the upright statues would have been rocked from side to side using a fulcrum and ropes, as they slowly progressed along roadways. Other theories suggest that they were laid down and pulled along log rollers, or left standing and pulled on a sledge. There's no shortage of theories and research is still going on.
Travelling around the island, we see other tourists at the main sites, although nowhere does it feel crowded or overrun. When we rent a car, we’re able to visit many off-the-beaten-track sites, and often there’s no one else around. A highlight is returning to the Rano Raraku quarry late one day, just before sunset. We are the only ones here, as the low sun floods the gigantic grey heads with a warm radiance. It’s as if the stone-faced titans are about to spring to life, and we have them all to ourselves.
From the ridge of the volcano, we look over the most spectacular finished moai site of them all, Tongariki, just over a kilometre away. A 200-metre-long platform holds 15 statues of various sizes and styles, their backs to the sea, and facing the quarry of Rano Raraku. The setting is stunning, with a bay of pounding surf, framed by high vertical cliffs rising straight from the sea. Like all other standing moai, these too were toppled during internal conflicts. To add insult to injury, a powerful tsunami hit the island in 1960, packing enough force to wash these sleeping behemoths up to 500 metres inland. A major restoration project started in 1992. Even with the help of a state-of-the-art crane brought in from Japan, it took almost four years to reconstruct the ahu and install the moai once more on the ceremonial platform. We can only imagine how long it took the original builders using stone tools, poles, and rope.
One morning, we get up before dawn to drive across the island to be at Tongariki for sunrise. We meet no other traffic on the lonely road, but have to take it slow since horses are everywhere, grazing beside the road, often crossing, or just standing in the middle for no apparent reason. These aren’t wild horses; each one belongs to somebody, yet they're left to wander anywhere and everywhere unattended. We arrive just as the sun starts to peek over the Pacific horizon, directly behind the statues. Mist rises from the pounding surf, and the low sun shining through casts a golden tinge. The silhouettes of the 15 monoliths throw long ghostly shadows that seem to stretch forever.
With the exception of another small piece of sandy shore nearby, Anakena Beach is the only beach on the island. It was here, according to legend, that the Polynesian chief Hotu Matu’a landed sometime in the distant past and founded Rapa Nui. This idyllic spot best fits preconceived ideas of what a Polynesian island should look like, with a grove of coconut palms overlooking a brilliantly white sand beach, backed by the sparkling turquoise Pacific. We spend a day here, swimming in the inviting water and relaxing on the sand.
But this is beach life Easter Island style. Along with sand, sea, and palm trees, megalithic monsters are also looking over us. One ahu has seven moai, four of which sport huge red topknots. These are considered among the best preserved statues on the island because, when toppled, they landed in soft sand rather than on rocks like almost everywhere else. The other ahu has a single moai. During Thor Heyerdahl's 1956 expedition, this became the first statue in modern times to be reinstalled in its original position. It took 12 men 18 days to raise the 20-ton monster. They used nothing but poles and stones, slowing prying up the statue while jamming in more and more stones to support it.
A short drive away along the north coast, we come to the biggest moai ever moved from the quarry site – 11 metres tall and weighing around 80 tons. Known as Paro, it looks rather forlorn lying face down. It is thought that Paro was the last moai to be toppled, possibly around 1840. This site is equally famous for a smooth round rock about half a metre across which, according to legend, was brought by Hotu Matu’a. Said to represent the “navel of the world”, this strange rock seems to give off some kind of energy, so when we place our hands on it, then pull them away, there’s a slight tingling sensation. We hold a compass near the rock and it goes berserk, pointing different directions depending upon how close it is to the rock.
The standard procedure for erecting moai was to put them near the shore but facing inland. One suggested reason for this is that the statues would then watch over the villages. Driving down a minor interior road, we come to Ahu Akivi, the only exception to this practice, where seven moai stand atop an ahu about two kilometres from the coast and, unlike everywhere else, they face the ocean. One legend says that these represent early settlers from other parts of Polynesia who are looking out toward their former home.
A bit farther along that minor interior road we come to Puna Pau, a smaller crater with red volcanic rock. This is the quarry for the pukao, the round red headdress or topknot placed on the heads of some moai. About 20 remain in various states of completion, including some that are finished and adorned with carvings. Moving these stones, which are up to two metres high, would have been a tremendous job, as would placing them on top of the moai. Similar to the quarry for moai, work here seems to have stopped suddenly.
Everywhere we go, we’re struck by the windswept, wide open nature of the island. It must have looked like this for hundreds of years, since Roggeveen mentioned the lack of trees in 1722. Yet scientific studies show that the island was once covered in thick forest, including tall trees such as the giant palm. Trees were used for firewood, building canoes, to make rope and poles to help move the moai, and were cleared for gardens. While researchers do not all agree on exactly how the statues were moved, any method would have involved ropes and at least some wooden poles. So once the source for these materials had been depleted, it would no longer have been possible to keep moving moai. One theory is that work on moai stopped simply because they ran out of materials to move them.
Today the island does have some trees, mostly fast-growing non-native eucalyptus. Native species are also being grown in the hopes that one day they will repopulate the landscape.
To see some of Easter Island’s post-moai history, we head in the opposite direction from Hanga Roa, to the western tip of the island. We walk along the shore past the naval base, where a couple daring surfers ride the mighty waves. A protected bay is filled with fishing boats, watched over by yet another moai. One boat heads to sea, and is buffeted by strong waves almost immediately after leaving shore. Somehow the boat operator guides his bouncing craft along a safe route through waves and past dangerous rocks. Beyond, the shoreline becomes even wilder. The land rises sharply into high cliffs of exposed black rocks that look as if freshly flowing lava has just solidified. Yet, the rock is no match for the relentless pounding waves that have worn countless contours and caves into the sea cliffs.
We’re searching for the island’s most famous cave, Ana Kai Tangata, the so-called “Cannibal Cave”, said to be site of cannibal feasts. Since its opening faces directly into the surf, we can only enter when it isn’t too rough, and even then we have to carefully make our way over wet rocks. Looking up at the cave ceiling, we see that it is covered with paintings of red birds outlined in white. The dark conditions have preserved the old but still vibrant pictographs. Ancient rock art abounds on the island, with paintings such as these, and even more numerous petroglyphs, images etched into stone.
An astounding 4,000 or so rock art images have been discovered throughout this small island, but none so spectacular as those at Orongo ceremonial village, at the end of our walk to the island’s western tip. It's the magnificent location that sets this place apart, perched high on a narrow ridge between Rano Kau volcano and the sea. One side of Orongo looks over the crater of the extinct volcano that spans well over a kilometre across, with steep and treacherous 200-metre walls dropping to a crater lake that legend says is bottomless. The other is right on the edge of a 300-metre vertical precipice rising straight out of the sea. We walk along this razor edge past two rows of low oval-shaped stone houses that were central to this sacred site. Just beyond, elaborate petroglyphs cover the rocky outcroppings; motifs of birds, sea creatures, turtles, human faces, and designs whose meanings are lost in time have been painstakingly etched into the surface of the stone. Most notable are carvings of the Bird Man, a crouching man with a bird’s head.
After the moai craze ran its course, Easter Islanders adopted an even stranger obsession – the Bird Man cult. Each year the major clans would appoint representatives to take part in a remarkable race. From this spot, competitors descended the 300-metre cliff to the inhospitable shoreline, then using bundles of floating reeds, swam two kilometres through strong current and shark-infested water to the tiny islet of Motu Mui. Their task was to find the first egg laid by a sooty tern that season, then swim back trying not to break the fragile cargo. The first competitor to successfully complete this mission would present the egg to his master, who would then hold the prestigious position of Bird Man, the island’s head honcho, for the next year.
The Bird Man lived away from other people, where he would not bathe, and let his hair and fingernails grow. One of the perks of the job is that the Bird Man could decide who should be sacrificed in order to assure prosperity for the coming year. A handy way to get rid of people you don’t like, but his decisions often led to controversy and renewed conflicts and battles. According to reports by missionaries, Bird Man rituals endured until the late 1800s.
The island’s outstanding accomplishments were followed by a downward spiral, then eventual collapse. A widely held, though certainly not universal, view is that Easter Island destroyed its civilization by overexploiting its resources. Deforestation would have meant no more firewood, no more canoes for fishing, erosion, loss of soil fertility, and a host of other repercussions. The world has seen a lot of civilizations collapse over the years, but in most places, people move away to start over, or rebuild as other civilizations take over. But in this remote corner of the world, there was nowhere to go and no one to take over. The demise of Easter Island is often used as a metaphor for the impending collapse of Earth, that the same fate awaits us if we aren’t careful.
Of course, nothing is ever simple on Easter Island. The more we travel around this island and look into its past, the more it becomes apparent that unravelling its secrets is a work in progress. A long list of experts over the years claim to have solved the mysteries of Easter Island, only to have other equally credible experts come up with different interpretations. Were the islanders masters of their own destruction through mismanagement, or did they suffer some ecological catastrophe beyond their control, such as climate change? Or should we look more to their disastrous contacts with the outside world? It depends on whom you ask.
Such puzzles make Easter Island all the more compelling. Along with wondrous landscapes and astonishing ancient monuments, part of the enduring enchantment of travelling here is that it remains an island of mystery. The stone-faced statues don’t give up their secrets easily.
Moai at Tongariki.
Moai with red topknots at Anakena Beach.
Moai at the base of the quarry at Rano Raraku.
Rano Kau crater.
The rugged volcanic shoreline of Easter Island.