There’s something special about watching rangatahi step into something new — especially when that something carries both mātauranga and meaning.
Over the school holidays, we partnered with Te Rūnanga o Ngāti Pikiao to host a Wānanga Mahi Kai — a simple idea on the surface: take our rangatahi out fishing. But like most kaupapa Māori, it quickly became much more than that.
Monday didn’t quite go to plan.
The rain settled in early, steady and unrelenting. Instead of heading out to the water, we gathered inside the office. But the kaupapa didn’t stop — it just shifted. What could have been a setback became a space for learning. Lines were set, rigs were built, knots were tied and re-tied. There was patience in the room, quiet focus, a few laughs as hooks tangled and hands fumbled through something unfamiliar.
Later, we headed to Kuirau Park.
No water, no fish — just grass, space, and repetition. Casting again and again, learning timing, feel, rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but that wasn’t the point. The learning was in the doing.
We closed the day the best way we know how — kai together. Pizza boxes open, conversations flowing, rangatahi connecting not just with the kaupapa, but with each other.
By Thursday, the weather had turned.
Matatā greeted us with open skies and the sound of the moana rolling in.
This was the moment to bring everything from Monday into the real world. And like most real learning — it came with trial and error. Lines tangled. Casts fell short. Bait disappeared quicker than expected. But no one stepped away. They stayed with it. Adjusted. Learned. Tried again.
That’s where the growth was.
It wasn’t a bountiful day in the traditional sense. The surf didn’t give up much easily. But the highlight came in a way no one expected.
One of the boy’s older brothers arrived — drone in hand.
What followed was something pretty special. The drone carried the line far beyond what we could cast from shore. A different way of fishing, blending new tools with old intent. And then — success. A snapper.
You could feel the shift. Excitement. Pride. A sense of “we did that.”
But if you looked closer, the real catch of the week wasn’t just the fish.
It was the confidence built from trying something new.
The patience learned through repetition.
The connection — to each other, to the environment, and to the idea of providing for yourself and your whānau.
This wānanga wasn’t just about fishing.
It was about filling the kete — with kai, yes — but also with mātauranga, resilience, and shared experience.
And sometimes, even when the rain comes or the fish don’t bite, the kete still ends up full.