Original subtitles

Located in an area of the Pacific that is situated closest to America,

it is nevertheless been assumed that these people originally came

from the Asiatic fringe, the cradle of the human race.

But despite all the research carried out in this area,

no solution to the problem has been forthcoming.

(Thor Heyerdahl speaking Norwegian)

While I was in the Marquesas islands, I kept coming across

sculptured stone statues among the prehistoric remains

which reminded me of similar relics of extinct and

vanished civilizations in South America.

Could there be a connection, I wondered.

At the same time it struck me that the light clouds

that drifted overhead were always moving in the same direction,

that is to say from South America, day in day out,

month after month all the year round.

The point is that Polynesia is situated at the heart of the

trade wind system and as well as the easterly wind,

a powerful ocean current reaches these islands from

the coast of South America.

Gradually, the possibility dawned on me that

ancient civilizations had arrived here from the coast of

South America long before Columbus reached America.

The Spaniards who discovered America recorded that the

Native Indians ventured many miles out to sea

on large balsa rafts equipped with sails.

These ideas, in time, prompted the work which I

subsequently incorporated in my thesis, Polynesia and America.

This was met by the objection that a racial migration

of this kind was inconceivable as the only vessels in

existence along the coast were primitive looking rafts

made of balsa wood.

It was asserted that balsa wood was so brittle that the

large timbers in the raft would collapse as soon as it

encountered the open sea.

As the scientific data I had accumulated had convinced me

that Indians from South America had settled in the

islands of the Pacific and bearing in mind the fact that

their only seagoing vessels were balsa rafts, I came to the

conclusion that these balsa rafts must possess characteristics

of which so far, we were unaware.

The only way to test my theory was to build one of these

rafts on the basis of the Spanish descriptions,

launch it in the sea off the coast of Peru and find out if

wind and current would in fact waft us ashore

on some Pacific island.

Our first task was to procure balsa logs and build our raft.

We'd assumed that like the Incas, we should be able to

cut our timber down by the coast of Ecuador,

but when we got there, we discovered that the balsa wood

had been virtually decimated for export purposes

and we should have to make our way inland

in order to find logs of a suitable size.

We were warned that it'd be impossible to travel

now that the rainy season had set in and the roads

leading to the jungle were flooded.

We'd have to wait six months for the dry season.

Meanwhile the members of the expedition had already set off for Peru

and it was therefore vital to secure our timber as soon as possible.

We hit upon a solution. Chartering a small transport plane,

Watzinger and I flew over the jungle and landed at Quito

on a spur of the Andes where we hired a jeep and drove south

along the Andes down through sun burnt valleys

where llamas browsed and the mountain Indians lived their primitive life.

This way, we approached the rainforest from the interior

and found the balsa trees we were looking for.

With the help of the natives, we cut down the nine largest

trees we could find, peeled off the bark in the native way

and dragged them down to the river.

We then stepped onboard our logs taking with us

a certain amount of bamboo and in company with our

native helpers, floated down river through the jungle

all the way to the Pacific coast.

From here we had the logs transported to Callao,

the seaport town of Lima, the Peruvian capital.

(Thor Heyerdahl speaking Norwegian)

The Peruvian authorities were so interested in our expedition

that the president of the republic personally ordered the

strictly guarded naval dockyard with all its

technical facilities to be made available to us

and that we should have the assistance of its personnel

to build our raft.

The nine large balsa logs provided the structural basis for our raft.

They would transport us across the ocean.

We made deep grooves in each log to house the ropes

that had lashed the logs together and to ensure that these

would not slide off once the smooth logs started

twisting with the impact of the waves.

On top of these nine logs, which constituted the actual raft,

we lashed nine smaller transverse logs.

These were to bind the other logs firmly together

and to provide a basis for our deck, which consisted

of a bamboo platform.

Bamboo rods were split lengthwise and plated with a view

to making the deck as tough and pliable as possible.

Indian log rafts and eskimo dog sleds both faced the same problem.

They had no nails or rivets. For this reason,

as they had no rigid joints, they had to be as elastic

and pliable as possible.

Among primitive races, the golden rule was

"Don't resist nature, but yield to her commands and accommodate."

Finally, our raft was launched.

A vessel without a single nail, rivet or screw.

Everything was fastened together Indian fashion with ropes.

A small hut made of bamboo rods was lashed to the middle of the raft.

Under the vigilant gaze of a number of pelicans,

we attached a slab of balsa with strong thole pins

to accommodate the steering oar.

The last lashings and knots, more than three hundred in all,

were eventually completed.

From excavated graves in Peru, we know that the Indians

were past masters in making almost unbreakable rope

from tough fibers.

We then stepped the masts.

Like our predecessors, we had two raked masts stepped

side by side joined together at the top.

In order to withstand wind pressure, they were made of a

wood so hard that it was incapable of floating.

The yard to which our square sail was bent was a

bamboo poles lashed together.

When the raft was completed, it was towed to a nearby yacht club,

where the authorities and the general public

had an opportunity to inspect it before our departure.

Large crowds turned up, including ambassadors and

ministers representing nine different countries.

We were treated to numerous [dia] for boatings.

The country's leading shipping exporter maintained that

the raft would sink before we were halfway across.

The port authorities insisted on a written declaration

before we set off absolving them from all responsibility

while a naval attache somewhat rashly bet us all the

whiskey the entire crew would ever be able to consume

that we'd never make it to the Pacific islands.

People were keen to secure our autographs, no doubt

convinced that this was their last chance of doing so.

After expressing our gratitude to the Peruvian liaison officer

for his assistance, the raft was solemnly christened

Kon-Tiki with the milk from a coconut

in order to conform to past tradition.

The expedition secretary, Gerd Vold, was given

a bouquet of sunflowers as a reminder that Kon-Tiki

was the name of the sun god in the ancient Inca legends.

According to Peruvian tradition, a nation with a white king

was said to have ruled the land before the Incas took over.

His head is hewn in prehistoric stone statues high up in the Andes.

One of these provided a model for the head on our sail.

The last we hear of Kon-Tiki and these ancient legends

is that he was banished from Peru and disappeared with his

people across the Pacific.

In the Polynesian islands, too, people speak of the great Tiki

who brought to their ancestors to the islands.

We were now going to follow in his footsteps.

On April the 28th, 1947 the pelicans for the first time

for hundreds of years were startled at the sight of a balsa raft

heading for the open sea.

A naval tug towed us out of the bay to ensure

that we'd not been in the way of coastal traffic.

We bade farewell to the tug and rode across to the raft

in a small rubber dinghy which we were elated to use

when filming the Kon-Tiki out at sea.

After waving goodbye to the tug, we were on our own

afloat on our nine balsa woods.

The nearest archipelago lay some 5,000 miles ahead of us,

that is to say the same distance as from Callao to San Franciso

or from San Francisco to Iceland

or from Iceland to Ethiopia.

(orchestral music)

On the very first day, the trade wind blew from the chilly Antarctic.

There was no one who could teach us how to maneuver an Inca raft

and we had to learn by trial and error from the very first day at sea.

All day long, two hands were required at a time

to hold the steering oar in position,

but as we got to know the raft and its characteristics,

we discovered that all we needed to do was to lash the helm

and the raft would steer itself.

After this we have no major problems in handling the Kon-Tiki

as long as the weather was stable.

From now on it was the duty of the man at the helm

to keep an eye on the lashings and to make the necessary

adjustment if there was a change of the wind,

so that our raft at all times presented her stern to wind and wave.

We had a female on board. Her name was Lorita

and she was a South American parrot.

The first few days, Lorita in common with one member

of the crew, was seasick but after four days both of them

were excellent sailors.

Shipping a little water makes no difference

as it all runs out through the gaps between the logs.

The advantage of a raft is simply, that water pours out

just as quickly as it pours in.

We had to make sure that the raft always presented

her stern to the wind.

If we lay a beam to the wind, our bamboo hut would be awash.

As long as the sail filled with the following wind,

the raft would ride the waves and float like a cork.

Failure to react with the steering oar when the wind backed

or veered would result in the square sail jibbing.

We'd then have to work the heavy steering oar and

wrestle with the sail to bring the raft back on course,

otherwise the sail would flap violently against the bamboo hut.

At night we were always lashed down to prevent being

knocked overboard by the sail.

The logs were always slippery and we had no guardrail

and there'd nearly always be a shark following in our wake.

In the end, the Kon-Tiki would gracefully submit and

continue calmly her way with the wind astern.

She never made any attempt to turn back.

On the contrary, should she do a right about turn,

she would continue on her course backwards.

There was never a day when the wind veered right round

and blew from dead ahead. It always came from the

continental stern as it swept across the Pacific.

This is how we determined our speed and the distance

covered over the water.

One of the crew perches in the bows and drops

a piece of balsa wood overboard.

We know the overall length of our raft and a crewman

in the stern times the piece of balsa wood as it floats past.

In this way we can with a fair degree of accuracy,

determine our speed through the water.

Hesselberg would take some shots with his sextant

and in this way, we could mark our position on the chart

as we drifted across the ocean.

From the top of the mast, we could look down on the

starboard side of the raft where the hut was open

and where we spent most of our time.

This was also the galley which consisted of a wood crate

with a Primus stove inside on which we did our best

to make meals the european way.

After all, we were not Incas. Besides, we were keen to

show how seaworthy our raft was.

Occasionally when the Kon-Tiki rolled unduly,

the wood crate would catch fire and the one occasion

when the cook had dozed off, the actual wall of the

bamboo hut caught fire.

Fortunately, water was always readily available onboard

and the fire could be put out very quickly.

If we got a bit bored with one another's company,

we could always paddle off in the rubber dinghy

and observe our comrades at a distance.

The first time we did this, we failed to realize that

getting back to the Kon-Tiki would be a problem

as the raft moved at such a speed that with our small paddles

we couldn't catch up nor could the men on the Kon-Tiki

reduce speed much less come about and back against the wind.

Even after the sail had been lowered, the Kon-Tiki moved

at a fair speed owing to the pressure of wind on the bamboo hut.

As it turned out, we just managed to catch up on this occasion

and were completely exhausted by the time we were close enough

to catch a rope that was thrown out.

(orchestral music)

(water sloshing)

From that day, it was strictly forbidden to paddle off

in the rubber dinghy without being secured to the Kon-Tiki

by a long rope. It wouldn't have been much fun being left

astern in the middle of the Pacific.

The nearest land was endless miles away and we never

sighted a single ship in the entire course of our voyage.

Our parrot had by now become a real sea bird.

If the wind freshened, she'd entertain us with

gymnastic displays on the stays.

She'd be highly offended if we tried to shut her in her cage

inside the bamboo hut.

(orchestral music)

After a month, the Kon-Tiki was way out in the ocean.

The humbled current carried us north almost as far as the equator,

after which we struck out straight across the Pacific.

Ocean currents accounted for about one-third of our

actual speed and the rest was the gift of the trade wind.

(silence)

(water sloshing)

An average day out at sea would be spent in an

atomosphere of utter peace and freedom.

The sea would often be so calm and the wind so stable

that we left the steering oar defend for itself

and the raft to move at her own sweet will.

On such occasions, we felt that we were truly living in utopian.

The steering oar would bob lazily up and down in the

smooth wake with no one to guide it, left to its own devices.

There were no roast chickens flying around,

but other delicacies presented themselves with no effort on our part,

such as succulent flying fish.

The cook's first task every morning was to take his frying pan

and walk around the deck, picking up all the flying fish

that had landed on the Kon-Tiki during the night.

They were absolutely delicious.

Once a flying fish had landed on the deck, it was helpless.

These creatures cannot fly, merely glide.

A flying fish has to thrust itself up from the surface of the water

and is then able to glide for a few hundred yards

before falling back into the sea.

One fish actually jumped straight into Raaby's sleeping bag one night,

not particularly welcome as it had needle-sharp teeth.

It was some consolation to discover later on

this particular species had never before been seen by the human eye.

Two fish of this kind, Gempylus or snake mackerel landed onboard,

which just goes to show that one has to voyage on a prehistoric vessel

in order to discover new zoological species in the twentieth century.

Haugland worked at a scale model of our raft

using bits of balsa he found onboard.

When the weather was really fine,

journeying across the Pacific on a raft proved to be

the best possible way to relax and enjoy life.

About once a fortnight, we'd open our bamboo deck

in order to check the ropes and sort out some special

equipment that we had promised to test for the U.S. military

authorities, in particular a kind of emergency ration

which was being developed in laboratory tests that which

had not been tried out in the field.

We had supplies of nuts, edible roots, fruit and fish

in baskets stowed on deck.

This special American consignment was stowed

between the logs under our bamboo deck.

Opening up the deck revealed the simple yet ingenious

design of the raft. On top there are elastic mats made of

bamboo reed and under this stout bamboo poles

lashed together on top of the transverse logs.

Ensuring that the special packages stowed down there and awash

with seawater remains dry was one of our problems,

but Watzinger had covered the cardboard boxes

with a thin layer of pliant asphalt, which had been

rolled in sand to prevent it becoming sticky

and provide extra durability.

Cardboard treated in this way proved an excellent solution to our problem.

Opening up the deck reveals the raft's five center boards.

The center board was invented by the prehistoric inhabitants

of Peru. These are small boards, two feet in width

and six feet long which it jambs down more as it random

in the cracks between the logs and are kept in place

with rope. They act as a sort of keel as well as a rudder

and assists the raft in moving forward and not sideways.

Watzinger rips open an asphalt covered box

in order to check its contents.

Part of the tests we were carrying out for the

U.S. Armed Forces involved two members of the crew

abstaining from eating fresh fish, plankton or any other

fresh food we might have onboard and subsisting exclusively

on the special diet that was to be tested.

They were just as fit and healthy when we reached the

journey's end as the other members of the crew,

so the diet must have been excellent.

Meanwhile, Lorita prefers the contents of the basket

on which she likes to perch, coconuts.

But she's nonetheless an interested spectator.

Watzinger makes copious notes with a view to compiling

a detailed report once we reach civilization.

Prehistoric man didn't live on army rations,

but he had his own resources.

The sea with its inexhaustible supply of food

would always make up for any lack of supplies on the raft.

The fish most in demand was the dolphin fish also called

the bottle-nosed dolphin, not to be confused with the

dolphin which is a species of whale and not a fish, but a mammal.

This fact was of great importance to my theory.

Before we set off, experts maintained that primitive people

couldn't possibly make such protracted sea voyages.

They would perish for want of fresh food and no fish

could be caught far out in the ocean.

Fish, they insisted, were only to be found in the currents

that sweep along the coast.

This may well be the case if one travels by sea in a boat

which would scare any fish with the noise of its propeller,

but drifting slowly and noiselessly across the water

on nine balsa logs, you'll see fish in large numbers

often seeking shelter under the raft.

The dolphin fish had a delicious taste and if we wanted

fresh fish for dinner, all we had to do was to drop a hook

overboard twenty minutes before the meal.

The simplest method was to thrust a pole with a hook at the end of it

into the water and give it a tug as soon as you felt the fish bite.

The dolphin fish has sharp teeth and the man climbing

onto the crate is taking a very necessary precaution

as he has already had the misfortune to have his big toe

in the jaw of one of these large fish.

As long as the fish is raw, it will provide not only food

but also drink.

One of the experiments we carried out

whenever we landed big fish such as these,

was to cut a large hole in the side of the fish.

This gradually filled with fluid from the fish's lymph glands

and even though its taste wasn't very good, it could be drunk.

It contained such a small percentage of salt,

that it was a thoroughly effective thirst quencher.

When it's a question of life or death, neither white men

nor Indians worry much about the taste.

There's no doubt whatever that primitive people from Peru

were able to survive onboard a raft drifting along out to sea

in this ocean current. When they sailed their raft along the

arid desert coast of Peru, the Indians carried ample supplies

of water in large waterproof baskets, in large bottle gourd

containers and furthernorth in thick, hollow bamboo canes.

We carried not more than a ton of water and this proved

more than enough for the entire journey.

After awhile, we came to an area where there were

frequent showers and this gave us enough fresh water to keep going.

Following advice received from the Royal Air Force,

we also carried out another experiment.

On really warm days when the pores secreted a lot of salt,

we mixed seawater with our drinking water.

On a occasion, we'd mix as much as 40% seawater with

60% fresh water and quench our thirst without any

harmful consequences.

We also collected parasites from the fish we caught

and preserved them in bottles.

The sea also contained lots of other smaller organisms

that we collected and ate, namely plankton; tiny creatures

and plants almost invisible to the naked eye floating

around on and under the surface of the ocean.

To collect sufficient quantities, we simply used a fine,

mesh net which was towed to stern.

When hauled in, our catch resembled a colorful gruel

or porridge which tasted, according to its species we had

caught like shrimps, row or oysters.

Occasionally, this would contain something resembling

a jellyfish forming an unappetizing scum, which had to be

removed. But in every respect, plankton proved highly

nourishing. After all, the largest whales live on a diet of plankton.

The masthead lookout has caught sight of some large

creature emerging from the depth of the sea.

Quite right, it's a large whale.

We were often visited by these leviathans.

The first time a whole school or pod of these air breathing

creatures circled around our craft, we were all scared.

To start with, they kept a respectable distance but not for long.

Soon, whales were popping up in every conceivable direction

and when they caught sight of the raft with us onboard,

some of them turned about and made straight for the Kon-Tiki.

We realized that the largest whales were bigger than the raft

and we were scared of a collision when these huge

creatures headed straight for us and we have no more chance

of stopping a whale in its tracks than of stopping this film.

A snorting colossus of this kind will weigh several tons

and it was scary to be able to look straight down into

that smooth, shiny blowholes, but it would always dive

just short of the raft, gliding down into the translucent

depths below our floating living room.

Time and again, we could perch on the edge of the Kon-Tiki

and look down on the broad, bluish black back of a whale

lying almost motionless in the clear water below.

We knew that the whales often attack small boats either

crushing them or capsizing them with a mighty blow of their tail,

but no whale ever threatened the Kon-Tiki.

One might make straight for us with great speed,

but would always dive in the nick of time.

When the whales tired of frolicking around the raft,

they'd disappear as suddenly as they had appeared.

After one of these visits, we usually checked the lashings.

They often broke, but this was not because of the whales.

The ropes holding the steering oar in place

were constantly in need of repair.

The logs in the stern was smooth and slippery and anyone

slipping into the water would be well aware of the many

creatures milling around in the sea.

By day, there would always be someone at hand to come

to one's rescue, but at night, the man on the helm would be on his own.

At regular intervals, we made a complete inspection

of all the rope lashings. We carried spare lengths of rope,

but only enough for a few logs if all the ropes disintegrated.

But the experts have been quite wrong when they

maintained that the ropes on a balsa raft would be chafed

right through. As it turned out, the logs had no effect

on the lashings and the secret was quite simply that

balsa is as soft and pliable as cork.

The ropes, being harder than balsa, would dig

deeper and deeper into the logs until they were

completely protected in deep grooves.

The radio operators had no easy task.

The transmitter had to be watertight and besides,

there was not enough room on the raft to rig an aerial of any length.

Raaby solved this problem by making a balloon.

Our parrot was particularly interested in radio.

Here she is seen closely watching Raaby's experiment

producing hydrogen for his balloon by mixing a special

powder with seawater.

Once the balloon is big enough, all Raaby has to do is to

attach it to one end of his aerial, send it aloft

and get just the right length of aerial.

All went well until the parrot decided to bite through

the aerial wire ensuring that the balloon went even higher.

The radio operator had his set in the corner of the bamboo hut.

With a transmitting strength of 7 watts, direct contact

was made with the radio ham in Norway

at the opposite end of the world.

This in itself was a sort of world record.

Here, contact has just been made with a radio ham in

Los Angeles who had picked up our message

announcing that we're halfway across the Pacific.

This means that after forty-five days, we'd already covered

a distance more than that between Oslo and the North Pole,

which meant that we had exactly one half of our voyage left.

We were now 2,500 miles from the nearest land.

We were entirely alone in a world of our own.

We often pedaled off a considerable distance in our

rubber dinghy whenever there was just a gentle swell.

We never experienced a flat calm, however.

We had two gales as we approached our halfway mark.

One of these raged for five days and kept us too busy

to do any filming.

Our sails split, the steering oar broke and the center board

came away. There was also some damage to the deck,

but we managed to repair most of it and continue calmly on our way.

The elements were driving us relentlessly west at an

average rate of 42 1/2 nautical miles a day or about 80 kilometers.

Our record for one single 24-hour stretch was 130 kilometers.

We were constantly forced to make our way into the water

below the raft to check the ropes and center boards.

This was an unpleasant task. Two men had to stand by

and pull the diver up by his feet should a shark launch

an unexpected attack and had they failed to be

vigilant and quick enough, the diver would have suffered

the same fate as this fish dangling on a hook astern.

With a snap of its jaws, the shark cut it in two.

We were constantly followed by sharks waiting patiently

to pick up anything thrown overboard.

We fished shark for a very good reason.

In fact, as well as to try shark meat which tasted like

haddock provided it was sufficiently unsalted by rinsing

in water. The main purpose of our shark fishing was to

ensure that we got to the shark before the shark got one of us,

should anyone fall overboard.

Lorita's greatest pleasure was watching our battle with the sharks.

Hooking a shark was no problem.

This creature has a ferocious appetite and will eat just about anything.

But this must be said to its credit, that it never attacked

unless there was blood or fish afloat in the water,

but if there was, it would attack anything that moved in blind fury.

On one occasion, a shark even sank its teeth into a

corner of the raft. Once a shark had been hooked,

holding it onboard the raft presented no difficulty.

But once it was up on the slippery deck, the real struggle began.

The brown shark has a skin so tough that it is proof

against any knife thrust.

To make sure that the great fish would not amputate

a foot or cut through ropes or snap anything within reach,

we had to tie it down securely.

It would often lie on deck, trust up snapping viciously for

as much as three-quarters of an hour and as we sometimes had

as many as nine of these creatures lying on deck,

it was often hard to distinguish between the dead ones

and those alive.

Sharks have small cat-like eyes on the side of the head

and have poor eyesight.

They were always accompanied by their companions,

the pilot fish which would swim unconcernedly just in front

of those powerful jaws on the lookout for anything edible

in the water around.

Once a shark had been pulled out of the sea,

his faithful friends would be at a loss and in time,

shoals of striped pilot fish had attached themselves

to the victorious logs and swam on ahead of the Kon-Tiki

in their typical fan-shaped formation across the ocean.

When our parrot joined us in South America,

she could only speak a few words of Spanish,

but after two months Danielson insisted that Lorita

was speaking Spanish with a Norwegian accent.

She came to be regarded as the seventh member of our crew.

She provided a touch of southern temperament in a world

full of so much cold fish.

Lorita stayed with us for sixty days,

but one day when heavy seas pounded the Kon-Tiki

she was gone in a flash.

As a rule, taking a dip in the sea was strictly taboo

but on hot days when the temptation was too great,

if the masthead lookout assured us that there were no

unwelcome guests lurking in the vicinity, we could venture out.

On such occasions, there was always a life belt

on the end of a long line trailing astern for the swimmer

to hold onto should the Kon-Tiki slip away.

This was how we usually enjoyed the refreshing dip

in the Pacific with a firm grip on the raft.

As a rule, the Kon-Tiki would drift at such a rate,

that anyone falling overboard would otherwise be a goner.

One day Watzinger found himself left behind,

and although he swam like a man possessed,

he had no chance of catching up with the raft.

He was already some 30 yards astern when Haugland

dived into the water with a line and managed to reach him

in the nick of time.

In order to feel more secure, whenever we swam under

the raft to inspect the lashings, we built a so-called

diving basket with a rather rough and ready materials

we had at hand. An old fruit basket from Peru had its

sides extended with the addition of rope and slats.

When completed, it had the desired effect on sharks

as well as on us. We knew, that should we have an unwelcome

visitor, we had only to crouch down inside the basket

while the crew on deck hauled us out as quickly as possible.

The diving basket is lowered for its first trial.

After adjusting his diving goggles, Haugland takes his place

in the basket.

Once underneath the raft, he has a unique experience.

Not only does he see the ropes and balsa logs,

but numerous tropical fish of all sorts of shapes and colors.

It was as though one had an aquarium under one's

living room floor, a floating tank that would accompany us

all the way across the Pacific.

Diving under the raft, now proved a highly popular diversion.

In fact, the Kon-Tiki acquired a new and entertaining

basement in addition to its masthead and its deck.

We were never going to be really bored.

Unfortunately the film of the interior of the hut was

spoiled by seawater, but we have preserved photographs.

Danielson is reading one of the seventy-three ethnological

tracks he brought with him on the expedition.

(crew member singing)

("The Kon-Tiki Man Theme" by Prague Symphony Orchestra)

(water sloshing)

Haugland has just baited a hook with a whole dolphin fish

to lure a shark when we had a visitor we shall never forget.

It was the world's largest fish, the whale shark.

As we hauled the dolphin fish onboard,

the monster came gliding straight for the Kon-Tiki.

The whale shark is easily identifiable as its head and back

are covered in white spots.

According to zoologists, this rare giant whale measures

from 15 - 20 meters in length.

Here could be seen the striped pilot fish that frisk

peacefully in front of the shark's wide jaws.

When it came right up to the edge of the raft,

we saw that its huge toad-like head is so large

that its jaws are a meter and a half in width.

Zoologists report that it has some 3,000 teeth in each jaw.

So large was this creature, that we feared for the woodwork

and the ropes should it attack us with its enormously

powerful tail, but no attack was forthcoming.

It swam calmly up to the Kon-Tiki and then dived under it

to reappear on the other side.

It was so large that when its head remerged on one side

of the raft, its tail was still visible on the other side.

It continued swimming around and under the raft and naturally

we were not a little concerned as to how this visit would end.

We had no firearms, only a few hand harpoons and a fish spear.

(music)

The tension proved too much for Hesselberg.

It looked as if the whale shark intended to follow us

all the way across.

And as it once again approached the Kon-Tiki,

he plunged the fish spear into its sinewy head.

For a split second all was chaos,

after which the great monster readopt and slithers

down into the deep.

The harpoon line snapped. The harpoon broke

and the shaft floated up a few yards further on.

In the course of a few seconds, the whale shark never

repeated its visit. As the days passed, there was plenty

to record in our log. Haugland amused himself using ink

from a cuttles fish to write with. Small cuttle fish

would arrive on their own on deck practically every night.

When cut open, they provided an inkwell ready for use.

The ink, too, was of good quality almost like Indian ink

used by artists.

On dark nights, giant cuttle fish, squid, measuring some

3-4 meters in length would appear on the surface of the sea

with their phosphorescent eyes, but they never invaded the raft.

Finally, one day we had visible proof that we were approaching

land on the other side of the ocean.

The first frigatebird from Polynesia came flying towards us.

We realized how important it now was to keep a sharp lookout.

(musici)

(water sloshing)

We were drifting towards the dangerous coral shoals in the

Tuamotu group of islands.

They're notorious on account of the seemingly endless

coral reefs with which they are surrounded.

While the islands themselves are so low, that they are only seen

when one is hulled ashore through surf pounding on coral reef.

After being at sea for 93 days, the lookout climbed the mast

one morning and announced that he could see land,

a low palm clad south sea island.

(music)

We celebrated our arrival in Polynesia by hoisting all our flags

and working the helm for all we were worth,

but wind and current were too strong for us to alter course.

Despite all our efforts, we continued to drift in the same

direction and the island was soon out of sight astern.

Four days later we were approaching another south sea

island further west and spent the whole day outside the reef

trying hard to find a way through.

We were in fact so close to the shore, that natives

on the beach caught sight of the Kon-Tiki and paddled out

in a canoe to welcome us.

This meant that we had made contact with our first Polynesians.

Our new native friends, each one armed with a paddle

joined us in our struggle against our long termed former allies

wind and current, who had determined to push us further west.

We realized now that the overriding factor was not distance,

but direction. We had drifted automatically a fifth of the

way around the globe in a westerly direction,

but working our way a mere two or three hundred yards

in the opposite direction proved impossible.

We were so close to land that Haugland even managed

to paddle ashore in the rubber dinghy and was very

nearly compelled to remain behind with the natives.

Once again, we drifted across the ocean.

Our visitors departed and returned in their canoes

and the six of us were left behind on our unruly logs.

After 101 days, we sighted land for the third time.

This time we were confronted with the veritable bastion

of palm fringed islands and reefs stretching ahead as

far as the eye could see from north to south.

We put the helm hard over in an attempt to approach

from the rear as the surf was breaking directly on the side

to which we were drifting.

If only we could circle the entire coral reef, we might be

able to land on the other side in the lee of the surf,

but as we drifted inexorably on, you could see from the

masthead that the submarine reef was so extensive

that we had no chance of avoiding it.

All we could do was to prepare as best we could to be

cost up on the reef.

All valuable equipment was collected in the bamboo hut,

which we covered with canvas for protection.

We then hastily removed the bamboo deck and cut

all the ropes that bound the decker boards.

Once these were pulled up, the Kon-Tiki would have

such a shallow draft that we hoped it would ride on top

of the breakers. Every preparation was made for the

moment when the ocean would rise up in its wrath

and crash down on us, but I gave orders that no one

was to swim ashore or try to land in the rubber dinghy,

as this would mean certain death on the sharp coral reef.

We should all have to cling to the raft and hope that the

grace balsa logs would act as fenders against the deadly reef.

At the very last moment, Raaby made contact with a

radio ham in New Zealand informing him that we were about

to be wrecked on a coral reef and that if there was

no sign of life from us during the next thirty-six hours,

he should inform the Norwegian ambassador in Washington

that we had perished. His last words were,

"Fifty yards left. Okay."

"Here we go. Goodbye."

He then switched off and crawled out onto the deck

to join the rest of us as we clung desperately to our

particular ropes and then it happened.

The worst moment of the whole voyage, the crest of the wave

reared up like a wall above us, hurling us into the breakers

and down onto the reef.

Twelve curling breakers propelled us in, but every time

we were sucked back by the undertow.

The thirteenth breaker was so powerful that it'd hold us

over the edge of the reef and when it receded we were left

suspended on top of the coral.

With the arrival of low tide, as the ocean slowly ebbed,

we found ourselves safe and sound on top of the reef

and were now able to salvage our belongings.

The Kon-Tiki was now an absolute wreck.

The ultra hardwood of which the mast was made

had snapped like a matchstick.

The hut had been flattened. The stern crossbeam was

broken and the steering log twisted sideways while the

steering oar and the bow planks had splinted.

The bamboo deck had crumpled like a paper bag.

There was utter chaos onboard,

but beneath all this mess, the nine logs that had brought us

safely across the ocean was still intact

and had resisted pressure from below and provided we

could hang on to this foundation, we should survive.

We managed to inflate the rubber dinghy and started dragging

the most important items of salvageable cargo

across the reef itself.

Both the center boards and the logs were covered with

edible shells, which we used to pick often,

cook soup from when out at sea.

Here we're using a board as a sort of sledge in order to

salvage the last of our water supplies.

A dead shark had to be removed as the reef was full of

poisonous eels which were attracted by the shark's blood.

This particular eel had razor sharp poisonous teeth

and was our only real enemy among all the colorful fish

in the quiet waters above the coral reef.

Otherwise, the entire reef was a fairytale world of curious

creatures and strange shapes and colors.

When we'd rescued the most important equipment,

each crew member seized whatever meant most to him.

Here comes the steward with his kitchen utensils.

His Primus stove was ruined by salt water, but he saved

his pots and pans and there was plenty of dry wood on land,

so we could carry on cooking our food.

(wind blowing)

(water sploshing)

Thus we abandoned the wreck out there on the deserted

coral reef and waded in towards a small palm covered

island which lay inside the reef in the quiet lagoon.

On reaching it, we discovered it to be completely uninhabited.

I don't think any of us will ever forget the wonderful feeling

of stepping on warm, dry sand and walking on solid ground

after spending 101 days on a heaving raft.

It was a delightful little island on which we had landed,

covered with coconut palms.

Our first impulse was to climb one of these palm trees

and pick some of the nuts which we knew were full of

cool sweet refreshing milk, a delicious taste after our long

journey across the briny sea.

(wind blowing)

Meanwhile, the radio operators had set up their transmitter

under the sail, which was still soaked with seawater.

It was important to let the outside world know

that we had reached land, safe and sound.

If we failed to get this news across within thirty-six hours,

the radio ham in New Zealand would divulge his secret

and aircraft and naval vessels would set off to scan the seas for us.

It was a great moment for the radio operators when

their equipment had been dried and linked up only a matter

of hours before our time ran out and our message was

picked up by amateurs in New Zealand and America,

thus preventing the dispatch of any relief expedition.

On the headland, facing the spot where we landed,

we planted a coconut from Peru.

We originally had two hundred coconuts with us on the raft

and most of these had been eaten on the journey.

The ones leftover were planted in Polynesia in the native manner.

We spent a week on our uninhabited island.

One morning, we spotted a white sail on the horizon

on the other side of the calm lagoon and we waved our

flags to attract its attention.

The small flag shown here is that of the New York Explorer's Club.

Shortly after, the first natives waded ashore.

Impeccably clad in european clothes, at any rate

as far as their underwear was concerned.

As we had little in common in the way of language,

we were compelled to use what might be called international speech,

but we did understand that there was another

inhabited island on the far side of the lagoon.

But they were, above all, eager to know what the radio was.

Only two of them had visited Tahiti and seen this marvel.

Fortunately, we were able to tune in to a station broadcasting

south sea island music from Hawaii.

(Hawaiian song)

But the natives were most interested in finding out

what sort of boat managed to land us safe and sound

through the breakers on the windward side of the reef.

When they waded out and saw the Kon-Tiki,

they exclaimed that this wasn't a boat, it was a pei pei.

[Taygee] who spoke french explained that peipei was the

name of the sort of vessels described in the ancestral legends.

Peipei or rungarungas of this kind were well-known in the past

and were used by their distant ancestors for ocean voyages.

The oldest of the natives knew numerous myths and legends

that were of great interest in this context.

These even included a song about the Maui,

a relation of Tiki which stated in so many words that he

had arrived from a country to the east at sunrise.

The natives entertained us with roast pig and exotic fruit

and in return we gave them all the equipment we could spare.

(water sploshing)

Meanwhile, the Kon-Tiki proceeded unaided to move

further and further across the reef at every high tide

and one fine day, it had moved all the way across and

into the lagoon.

With the help of the natives, we attached ropes to the bow

and pulled the raft to the edge of our little island

where we tethered it to some of the coconut palms on the shore.

Today, this island has been named [Fenawa] Kon-Tiki,

which means in polynesian the Kon-Tiki Island.

The raft was so pliable owing to its all the rope lashings

and the tough bamboo plating that we had only to

pull some of the ropes and the hut returned to its original

upright position.

The reason why the balsa logs were still floating

well above the water was that we had ignored the advice of

the experts who had insisted that we should use dry wood.

Instead, we had done just as the Indians had done,

fell to the trees while they were still full of pith which

acted as a kind of proofing or impregnation,

preventing the seawater from penetrating more than a few inches.

In company with the natives, we made our way to their island.

Here we planted various seedlings that we had brought

with us across the ocean, just as their forefathers had done

1,500 years ago.

One of these was the bottle gourd, an important plant

grown both by the Peruvian Indians and the inhabitants

of these islands before the white man ever came here.

The prehistoric voyages must have carried them across

the sea, together with the sweet potato or yam as well as

other plants that were common to both areas.

(silence)

When we arrived on Raroia, we discovered a small boy

who was on his deathbed suffering from a dangerous

boil on his head, we managed to make radio contact

with a ham in Los Angeles who phoned a doctor.

The latter directed the operation by radio and with the help

of penicillin, we saved the boy's life.

A few weeks later, news of the arrival of the Kon-Tiki

in French Polynesia had spread from New York to Paris

and from Paris to Tahiti where the governor dispatched

a boat to fetch us and towed the raft to Tahiti, pearl of the pacific.

When we arrived in Tahiti, I was greeted by my old

Polynesian friend, Chief Teriieroo who during my stay there

ten years earlier had adopted me as his twenty-eighth son

under the name [unintelligible] meaning blue sky.

(lively music)

The successful execution of the Kon-Tiki expedition

does not of itself provide proof of the validity of my

theory of racial migration.

What it proved was that the Polynesian islands are within

reach of prehistoric vessels from Peru and that primitive man

can undertake limitless voyages across the ocean.

The decisive factor is not the distance, but wind and current

moving in the same direction day in day out all the year round.

Trade winds and equatorial currents are caused by the

rotation of the earth and have remained unchanged

throughout human history.