The Sea is Our Ceremony, the Tomol is Our Song

The tomol is more than a canoe. It’s a symbol of who we are—proof that the Chumash were, and still are, ocean people. Of all the Indigenous communities in North American waters, only the Chumash, our southern neighbors the Tongva, and seafaring Pacific Islanders built something like this: a sleek, seagoing plank canoe, crafted not just to survive the ocean, but to move with it.

No one knows exactly where the word tomol comes from, but we believe it refers to how the boat is built—from the bottom up, plank by plank. Our ancestors gathered wi’ma, redwood that drifted hundreds of miles down the coast from the Pacific Northwest, seasoning in the salt and sun until it washed up on the shores of our Channel Islands and mainland. Lightweight, strong, and resistant to rot, this wood was a gift. And we knew what to do with it.

To seal the spaces between the planks, we used dogbane fibers—twisting them into cord, lashing the the planks together. Then we sealed it all with yop, a sticky mix of pine pitch and tar. Some tomol were small, just 8 feet long. Others stretched to 30 feet and could carry thousands of pounds. We used them to fish, to trade, to visit family on the Channel Islands. And much, much farther.

Building and paddling a tomol wasn’t just a skill—those who mastered it belonged to an elite guild called the Brotherhood-of-the-Tomol. They were respected, wealthy, and vital to our community’s survival. But Spanish colonization disrupted our lifeways, took our lands and waterways, banned our language, and tried to erase our traditions. A few Brotherhood members held on—like Palatino Saqt’ele, who continued under the control of the Spanish Missions—but over time, poverty and tragedy took their toll. By the early 1800s, the Brotherhood was nearly gone. So were the tomols.

But our story didn’t end there.

Helek: Return to the Sea

In 1976, as the country geared up to celebrate its 200th birthday, Indian Country had gained strength, allies, and connections through The Civil Rights Movement, the farmworkers’ movement, and the American Indian Movement. In a display of powerful cultural revival, the Hawaiians built and launched the Hokulea that year, inspiring Native maritime people across the globe. It was time to bring the tomol back.

Our community named her Helek—peregrine falcon (or hawk). And she would fly across the water.

John Ruiz, a descendant of Fernando Librado Kitsepawit—the last known member of the original Brotherhood-of-the-Tomol—teamed up with Travis Hudson, an anthropologist from the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History. Travis helped gather funding and resources. John focused on something harder: rebuilding trust. After years of displacement and discrimination, Chumash people had every reason to be cautious, especially with outsiders and institutions.

They brought in boatbuilder Pete Holworth. Harry Davis lent us his boatyard. But there was still a big question: how do you build a tomol? There were no step-by-step plans. Just fragments—over 500 pages of field notes from linguist John Peabody Harrington, who had recorded Kitsepawit’s knowledge decades earlier. Scribbled in multiple languages, filled with confusing measurements—fingerbreadths, palm widths, forearms. The team spent long nights decoding his notes, translating what our ancestor had said into something we could build from. Redwood driftwood was hauled out of the water from Vandeberg AFB to Santa Barbara, where the team spent long days cleaning tar off the wood so it could be milled into planks.

By early June 1976, Helek was ready. She stretched 26 feet, 9 inches, and could carry close to 2,000 pounds. And ten Chumash men were ready: Joseph Estrada Thot, Manuel Estrada Akhewo, Frank Gutierrez Kuic, Frank Gutierrez, Jr. Tomoloc, John Sespe Gutierrez, Raymond Chechihoh Gutierrez, Victor Slo’w Gutierrez, Kote Lotah, John Ruiz Thothokanayoh, and Alan Whitebear Sulwasunaytset. Ready to bring the Brotherhood-of-the-Tomol back to life, ready to care for the Helek, and ready to carry maritime knowledge forward for future generations. The Brotherhood gathered to test her along the coast, from East Beach in Santa Barbara, down to Carpinteria, and up to Summerland. The crew took the Helek out at Lake Los Carneros as well—to train, to prepare for the journey of a lifetime: an 11 day passage throughout our ancestral islands of Limuw, ’Anyapax, Wi’ma, and Tuqan.

On the morning of June 26, 1976, the Brotherhood launched from East Beach in Santa Barbara. A crowd gathered—elders, kids, families, the Mayor, museum folks, strangers. As our paddlers headed out into the blue, it wasn’t just about the ocean. It was about pride. It was about remembering who we were. The support vessel Just Love (Ernie Brooks’ boat) and the crew of the Helek spent eleven days navigating through the islands, sleeping on Limuw, Tuqan, and Wi’ma. On July 4th, 1976 they returned—up through Ventura, Carpinteria, Summerland, and finally…to Santa Barbara—with stories and a deep sense of identity, welcomed home by our community. In a display of support, Summerland residents came out in force to give the Brotherhood t-shirts with the words “Summerland Yacht Club.” That day, our community also participated in the United States Bicentennial Day Parade in Santa Barbara, sharing the wonders of the Helek with thousands of onlookers.

Nearly 50 years later, we still carry that memory of the Helek skimming the waves. That voyage sparked something deep in our people. Two decades after the Helek touched the water, our community built a community tomol’Elye’wun. And our Chumash communities are still building: ’Alolk’oy, Yuxnuc, Iša Kowoč, Muptemi, Little Sister, Xax’ ’Alolk’oy, Milimolič hu ’Aqiwo’….

Because we are still here. Still seafaring. Still Chumash.

The video series below was created by the Northern Chumash Tribal Council. It is presented here through permission from Coastal Band members and co-creators Mike Khus-Zarate and John Ruiz.

’Elye’wun: A Community Rejoices

The Helek had been funded by the Santa Barbara Natural History Museum and two months after she went on her 11 day journey through the Santa Barbara Channel Islands, the museum employed the Sheriff’s department to seize her from Elder Madeline Hall’s home. The museum placed her in their permanent exhibit—never to touch water again.

The spark lit by the Helek struggled to stay alive; without a tomol, our community had no means of sustaining this renewed bond with our ancient heritage. Cost was a huge barrier: building a redwood tomol can cost upwards of $30,000. We needed a funding partner, leadership, and a non-profit to house our tomol under.

In 1997, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and other organizations provided funds for Peter Holworth (who had worked with our community to build the Helek) along with leadership from Marcus Lopez (Barbareno Chumash Tribal Council) to build a new tomol for the community. Marcus Lopez, Roberta Cordero, Luhui Isha Ward, Julia Cordero, Cresensio Lopez, and Alan Salazar created the Chumash Maritime Association to legally house the tomol, care for the tomol, and to study, teach, and share Chumash tomol building and maritime culture. And Luhui Isha Ward, Marcus Lopez, and Julia Cordero secured permanent housing for the tomol at the Watershed Resource Center with the City of Santa Barbara. Our community was ready to build a new tomol, one that could be a hub of cultural activity, a place of education, a hope for the future.

With many hands to help build her, ’Elye’wun (swordfish) was born nine months later and her first launch was from Santa Barbara harbor on Thanksgiving Day 1997. As paddlers gently lifted the frail bodies of Chumash elders, Gramma Liz and Gramma Stella, into the ’Eley’wun, huge smiles broke out. “I would have gone to that launch if I had to crawl there!” - Gramma Liz Easter

The ’Elye’wun would go on to provide our people with opportunities for:
- Chumash tribes to gather together during the summer for “village hops”—near shore paddles at or between the coastal communities of Avila Bay, Hollister Ranch, Dos Pueblos, Goleta, Santa Barbara, Carpinteria, Ventura, and Malibu.
- Ceremonial paddle-outs for Chumash who have passed away.
- Generational maritime knowledge to pass down, become stronger, become more artistic, grow, evolve.
- Women, men, ’aqi (two-spirit), and children to paddle or spend time in the tomol and on the ocean.
- Our Chumash communities to create relationships with other maritime cultures, like the Hawaiians, the Pacific Islanders, and the Northwest Canoe people.

In 2001, ’Elye’wun became the first tomol to navigate across the 20 miles of open ocean to the Chumash Channel Island of Limuw since the time of Fernando Librado Kitsepawit’s youth in the 1800’s. In doing so, she sparked an annual tradition—The Crossing—an experience that generations of our people have embraced as a core part of our identity. We will always return to Limuw.

The Crossings

Each year, long before the sun rises over the Pacific, a group of paddlers quietly pushes off the shores of Southern California in a tomol (redwood plank canoe), entering what our ancestors called wot’oyoy—the dark water. Sometimes, two or three tomols journey together. This is The Crossing, a powerful act of culture that reconnects people, place, and purpose across 20 miles of open sea to our island of Limuw (Santa Cruz Island). This roughly eight- to twelve-hour trip retraces the ancestral marine highway used for trade, ceremony, and kinship.

Started in 2001 by members of the Chumash community and the Chumash Maritime Association, The Crossing now happens annually, with paddlers journeying from Channel Islands Harbor in Oxnard to Scorpion Anchorage on Limuw. The tomols are crewed by rotating teams of paddlers from the deck of the NOAA Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary research vessel Shearwater. Organized by a consortium of tomol captains, support crew, and volunteers—and supported by extended tribal families and the National Park Service—The Crossing is much more than a one-day paddle. It involves months of preparation: tomol maintenance, physical training, ceremony, and logistics.

As the paddlers cut through the Channel, dolphins often join. Whales sometimes breach nearby. Seabirds circle above. The journey is watched—not only by the living, but by the ancestors. To witness a tomol cutting through the waters toward Limuw is to witness something sacred. And to paddle it?—that’s to become part of the sacred yourself.

But the journey doesn’t end on the island. When the tomol arrives, it is greeted with ceremony, song, and welcome by hundreds of Chumash families and friends encamped for four days. A fire is lit. Elders speak. Youth listen. Community gathers in remembrance and celebration. It is a moment of cultural continuity—a living expression of Indigenous sovereignty and presence.

This isn’t a reenactment, it’s reclamation and resilience. And for Chumash people, the Crossing is about much more than reaching the island—it’s about healing what colonization tried to sever: our connection to the ocean, to each other, and to the old ways.

The act of paddling a tomol across the Channel defies centuries of displacement, boarding schools, missionization, and environmental degradation. It proves that we are not relics of the past, but living, thriving people—innovators of maritime technology and caretakers of these waters since time immemorial.

Heritage Highlights

Tomol, Tule Boats, Dugout Boats…and More!

Tomol plank canoes are at the heart of our ocean maritime traditions. But our tule boats, dugout canoes, and sheath canoes were the best way to navigate the near-shore waterscape of our ancestors, which was rich in rivers, marshes, estuaries, and lakes.

Tule Boat

A tule boat (stapan hil tomol) is made from long bundles of dried tule, lashed together expertly and formed into a beautifully arched boat that is both buoyant and light. The outside is coated in tar for durability.


Dugout Canoe

The dugout boat (’a’xipe’neš) was made from a single tree of old growth black cottonwood that was hollowed out and shaped on the outside. Thirty feet in length and three to four feet wide, the underbelly was curved (like the tree it was made from). Both stern and prow were pointed, ending in blunted tips. The last one was made in 1854 in Goleta, just north of Santa Barbara.


Sheath Canoe

In the late 1700’s and early 1800’s, when Russian seal hunting companies were leading excursions to hunt seals around the Chumash Channel Islands, they brought Aleut hunters down with them. All cultures borrow and adapt, and when Chumash boat-builders were exposed to the hide boats that Aleut seal hunters used, they were inspired. The Chumash sheath boat was born: a framed boat with ribs, in the shape of a tomol with a curling willow edge to create the “ears.” Covered in great white shark hide and and lashed with oxhide, this boat was probaby incredibly fast and light. This maritime vessel hasn’t been made since the 1800’s.

Our resources are scarce.

Four hundred years of European colonization has terraformed the Chumash landscape through livestock grazing, dam construction, deforestation, oil drilling, wetland drainage, mining, and urban development. This dramatic reshaping has nearly eliminated the vital materials we need for our traditional watercraft—tule boats, tomol, dugout boats, and sheath boats. And it’s erased the waterways we use these vessels on.

Today, tule reeds survive only in small, protected preserves, accessible through formal agreements and careful stewardship. Long, straight willow branches grow only in ONE place nowadays—along the Santa Clara River—Southern California's last un-dammed waterway. The widespread logging of redwood forests in the Northwest has ended the natural process of fallen trees drifting southward to our coastal inlets. And the old growth forests of cottonwood are gone. Our community continuously struggles to protect these vanishing resources, to maintain our access to ancestral waters, and to secure spaces where we can build and preserve our maritime heritage.