All up and down the East Coast, where high brown peaks plunge into dark blue ocean, the convergence of legend and water is constant.
At Whangara, the sleepy settlement that inspired Witi Ihimaera to write a Kiwi classic, Ngati Porou ancestor Paikea glided in on the back of a whale.
Mighty Mt Hikurangi, looming like a giant and set aglow in fiery orange by an East Cape dawn, is the resting place of the waka used by Maui to haul up the North Island.
The sacred Takitimu canoe made landfall at several places from the cape to Mahia, while the statue of Captain James Cook at Turanga, now Gisborne, marks the point where another famous waka, the HMS Endeavour, arrived one day in October 1769.
Today, just up the coast at Tatapouri, Dean Savage is steering a boat across a blanket of light swells.
Dean thinks of the ocean as something of a church, demanding quiet and respect.
These values have been passed down to him in whakapapa that stretches beyond an ancestor who once nursed Te Kooti as the enigmatic leader left the East Coast.
The waka Dean is driving is powered by a pair of 250hp Mercury outboard motors - more than enough to get you anywhere from here to the cape - but this morning the destination is a handful of orange buoys bobbing just off the headland.
Also onboard are two locals, Curly and Tim, who tell Dean to slow up as they hurl a grapple pole toward a length of rope visible on the surface.
Snagging it, they haul it up until a heavy steel pot emerges from the deep.
One or two of its scuttling inhabitants look large enough to take back to land.
So the unlucky crayfish are measured, tossed into the sides of the boat, and then into a chilly bin at the back; we drive on to the next buoy.
The under-sized crayfish are released back into the water.
Long before there were laws restricting fishers from taking any more than six, Ngati Porou has been a kaitiaki, or guardian, for the bountiful kaimoana fisheries of the coast.
"The whole ocean-going thing is quite strong in this area, so that influences people's relationships with the sea," Dean explains.
"I get asked by tourists what does the ocean mean for Maori? Well, if you look at our culture, Tane Mahuta and Tangaroa were brothers."
His point: iwi know no separation between life on land and that in the sea.
Dean's father, who had grown up in a generation where hapu were still catching muttonbird, or drying and storing eels, had passed on much of this wisdom to him as a boy.
"Maori go out on the water primarily for mahi - they are going out there to do something ... so when my father used to see people frolicking in the waves he just couldn't get his head around it," Dean said.
"You've got to have the utmost respect for Tangaroa, and you've got to go to sea with a clear mind: you leave all you raruraru behind, all you your hang-ups ... it's a quiet place."
Like his father, Dean has never been able to block his ears to the ocean's calling.
Primary school may as well have been Rurimu Island off the coast of the Eastern Bay of Plenty.
There were no rips and plenty of red moki, crayfish and paua.
He and his siblings were taught to dive in its clear, shallow lagoon; he learned how to catch, skin and cook fish in a billy fired by burning driftwood.
A couple of crayfisherman prepare a pot to be drop onto the reef at Tatapouri, north of Gisborne. Photo / Alan Gibson
Tasting the sweetness of crayfish for the first time wasn't so memorable.
"If it wasn't chocolate or chewing gum, you know? Yeah, it was alright."
But the education continued: he was a deckhand at 11, a diver at 15, and running his own boat at 16.
Commercial diving and underwater photography took him around the world; a chance to buy a seaside business at beautiful Tatapouri brought him home.
The outfit changed from kina processing to angling tours before the friendly wild stingrays on the nearby reef inspired a diving and tourist experience.
As we head back to shore, we make out the tiny figures of school children, dressed in waders and being led out across the reef by one of Dean's guides.
With a little berley in the water, the stingrays will glide in and eat a chunk of barracuda straight off the palm of your hand, just like feeding a horse.
It's about honouring the old ways, he says; educating the local youngsters to love and respect the ocean.
"They see the significance that it's not an aquarium, this is nature at it's very best. It's incumbent on our generation to make sure those practices continue."
Because its waters have been looked after, the East Coast remains one of the few places in New Zealand where you can walk a cray pot into the sea and find it teeming with catch the next day.
"We are lucky here as our fisheries weren't fished down prior to the quota being issued, so most of the biomass out here is quite healthy."
That's been immensely important for Maori, who especially at this time of year, rely on abundant kaimoana to feed large gatherings.
"Maori have always prided themselves on how well they feed their manuhiri," he said.
"At times, the chief's mana could be on the line, so if he had a particular visitor arriving, he had to feed him well."
Further down the coast, in Ngati Kahungunu territory, there are old stories of chiefs competing in cook-offs: whoever produced the biggest hakari, or feast, could win a large stretch of coastline.
Back at Dive Tatapouri, a burning stack of beech, gum and Dutch elm has brought the pot to the boil.
The crayfish are brought out and plunged into the bubbling sea water.
Damon Ward, a Gisborne chef-turned-builder, clad coast-style in gumboots and singlet, has prepared tempura-battered blue moki, home-made garlic butter, a zesty lime vingarette drizzled over a light salad.
Dean claims crayfish have a natural indicator that let's you know when they're ready.
After about seven minutes, the two black dots surely enough appear at the bases of their tails, which Damon twists off and trims with the natural knack of a born and raised local.
A large chef's knife is used to cut the tails lengthways into perfect segments that are placed neatly around the salad.
The taste is unmistakably that of the East Coast: sparse yet rich; easy yet unforgettable.
In a word: legendary.
A plate full of crayfish are the results of a mornings work checking the pots on the reef at Tatapouri, north of Gisborne. Photo / Alan Gibson
1. Prepare large pot of salted water, with lid, and bring to the boil.
2. Insert the crayfish in the pot and leave it there with lid on for about 10 minutes until the shell turns a bright orange.
3. Plunge into cold water immediately after to stop further cooking.
4. Remove the head and tail with a large knife, then cut it in half lengthways through the body.
5. Carve the tail segments of meat into portions.
6. Serve with mayonnaise, a light salad and white wine.
The series
Monday: A snapper safari
Tuesday: Hangi the Rotorua way
Wednesday: Smoking on Tongariro
Yesterday: The barbecue capital
Today: Kaimoana on the coast
Auckland chef Phil Clark nearly lost his thumb after a minor cut led to a life-threatening case of blood poisoning. Video \ Jason Dorday