The ownership of New Zealand's coastline and the issue of customary title are shaping up as major political issues as the Government prepares to repeal the Foreshore and Seabed Act.
This week, we investigate coastal ownership and examine the implications of scrapping this contentious law. Land Information New Zealand has exclusively released detailed maps and statistics to the Herald about coastal ownership.
Today, in the fourth of a five-part series, we examine the areas of the Eastern Bay of Plenty and East Cape.
Fred Poihipi is one of the few living Maori who can say he was once a whaler.
The 80-year-old Te Whanau a Apanui kaumatua lives at Maraenui Pa, a bay near Te Kaha in the Eastern Bay of Plenty where, when the sea is flat, he won't be at home, he'll be out fishing.
He was 9 years old when his tribe decided in 1939 the hunting of right and sperm whales should stop. Jobs were becoming easier to find, and the iwi decided it was time to halt the practice.
Mr Poihipi was a passenger on the last hunting expedition.
It was a simple but physically exhausting process, he remembers. Lookouts on the hills signalled to oarsmen that whales were in sight.
Sitting eight on each side of the vessel, they rowed out to within striking distance of the massive animal.
Oars came in and a harpoon connected to ropes had to hit its target. A successful hit sent ropes went running immediately. A call was made to "clamp" the rope and then the boats were off, Mr Poihipi said.
"It was freaky, you watch the ropes shoot out and it was like they were on fire. You were moving so fast."
Eventually the whale would wallow and be hauled in. The boat would come alongside and the harpooner would finish the kill.
His hapu used a punerangi, an instrument shaped like a sharpened, flattened spoon, to despatch the whale.
Whale meat was eaten fresh or could be dried - a delicacy he hasn't had since the last "chase".
"You get all the oil out. It tastes a little like salty pork. It's nice."
He said his life had been defined by the sea, and that was why foreshore and seabed law mattered to him. Living off the sea means keeping to a strict code of seasonal targeting of species. It's a customary system under which only the fattest moki, kahawai, tarakihi and snapper are taken in turn, depending on the time of the year.
Wasting fish isn't tolerated and mussel beds are looked after by manually removing starfish which are suffocating the shellfish. Rahui - bans on taking fish - are set and enforced by locals.
At Maraenui, Te Whanau a Hikarukutai hapu members follow the Ringatu faith, which bars fishing on Saturdays or the 12th of each month.
It's a way of doing things which has sustained Mr Poihipi's hapu and is the reason he backs tribal leader Rikirangi Gage's foreshore negotiations, first with the Labour-led government and now National.
He wants Mr Gage - who did not return Herald calls - to drive a hard bargain.
"We want full control of the foreshore and seabed, but we're guaranteeing access for everybody to go down and get their kaimoana.
"We've always depended on the sea, it's our kapata kai [food cupboard]. We don't have major farms down here, our boundary is backed up right against the moana. For us, it's our life."
