During last week’s Tweetchat @agi_mv asked about the use of satellite technology in identifying submerged sites and shipwrecks. The discussion that followed ended up on the beaches of south India about 10 years ago, beaches which Julian had identified kattumaram boats on from GoogleEarth images and on which Lucy, Julian and I (along with Dr Colin Palmer, Dr Selvakumar and a handful of other fantastically patient Indian colleagues) spent some weeks recording and researching fishing boats.

@JesseRansley @rjulianw Of course. Where would romantic/adventurous cliches of maritime archaeology otherwise come from? Photo evidence? ;)

— Ági MV (@agi_mv) February 4, 2016

@agi_mv’s comment about the images that project conjured up and some of the romantic clichés of maritime archaeology got me thinking.[1]

We could probably all name a few of the clichés and visual tropes that surround maritime archaeology: the dives on intact shipwrecks in crystal blue seas; divers surfacing, breaking the waves with crucial artefacts in their hands; the technology pinging and effortlessly producing perfect surveys of exactly what is on and in the seabed.[2] Most of the time, however, it is largely about mud, mud and soggy wood if you are lucky, but definitely mud and laptops on desks in messy offices.

In maritime ethnography and ethnoarchaeology, which we’ll be discussing further in Week Four, the photographs we take are documentary. They form a core part of the project archive. They are also often a source of a different set of ‘romantic cliches’ and visual tropes: sandy beaches, rough-hewn boats, palm trees, local fishermen and boatmen, big skies… a timeless idyll or holiday paradise in which any researcher would want to work.

In the last few years, archaeologists have been increasingly interested in their project archives as an object of study in themselves. They’re no longer looked at simply as ‘neutral’ records of a project or site. We’re starting to recognise the people behind the archives – the choices that are made of what to record, what to include, what to disregard – and how those choices shape the apparently ‘neutral’ record. We’re looking for traces of the historical and social context in which they were made.[3]

Some of which might sound like a lot of navel-gazing – but it is very important to maritime ethnoarchaeology in particular. There is a lot to be found behind questions like: who is doing the recording? Who gets to choose what is important and should be photographed? How are these images used? And, who is viewing and commenting on them? And perhaps most importantly, are fishermen being recorded as ‘objects’ alongside their boats?

The assumptions we make as viewers of photographs are of particular importance. What do we see beyond boats on a beach? Do our ideas about ‘traditional fishermen’, Indian lives and culture shape what we see? What historical, social and cultural ideas do we unconsciously draw on to understand the image? Do the fishermen (or the researcher) have any say in how they are represented?

In postcolonial contexts, the power dynamics at play in idyllic images like the one above are striking. Ideas about the tensions between ‘modern’ and ‘ancient’, between urban and rural, about race, postcolonial dynamics and even economic and intellectual power, are swirling around these photos and in the ways in which we use and look at them.

This is a problem that ethnographers and maritime ethnoarchaeologists still grapple with. How can the people (researcher and fisherman alike) within the photographs be more than stereotypes? How can we make sure the people we study are able to represent themselves within our work? How can projects be collaborations, shaped by both the community and researcher?

These are complicated methodological and philosophical problems for researchers, particularly if they are interested in intangible heritage, like boat building and maritime traditions.

There’s an awful lot at stake within some of those ‘romantic’ images of maritime ethnoarchaeology.

So, in readiness for tonight’s Tweetchat (between 8-9pm tonight, #FLShipwrecks), I have a few questions for you:

• What do you think are the biggest clichés of maritime archaeology?
• Have you ever thought of any of them as destructive or dangerous?
• And, what image or photograph best sum-up maritime archaeology for you?

[1] In fact, there is a photo essay and research paper being formulated as we speak as a result – thank you @agi_mv.

[2] I’ve written about some of this from a different angle here.

[3] There was a very good ‘Archives Issue’ of the Archaeological Review from Cambridge in 2014. The introduction to the volume can be found here.

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These two monsoons have very different characteristics from each other, despite occurring over the same body of water. The north-easterly monsoon of the winter is characterised by dry, steady, relatively gentle winds which encourage sailing throughout its duration. Meanwhile, the south-westerly summer monsoon is wet, violent and characterised by storms and strong wind with sailing only feasible at the beginning and end; in the late spring and early autumn. Unlike in the Mediterranean and Northern Europe, then, sailing in the Indian Ocean tended to avoid the summer months of June, July and August.

The switch in overall wind direction resulting from the monsoon patterns means that it is possible to sail on the Indian Ocean with a constantly favourable wind, if done in conjunction with the monsoon rhythms. Using favourable winds as much as possible was important. Ancient and medieval Indian Ocean sailing vessels could only sail to windward in lighter winds and calm seas, but were efficient when sailing with the wind. They could average as much as 11 kph on extended voyages, with an even higher top speed in very good conditions.

The use of the monsoon in this manner is inferred in Roman period written sources. One of which is the Periplus Maris Erythraei, a Greek text written in the mid-1st century AD by a merchant with intimate knowledge of the Red Sea, Persian Gulf, Bay of Bengal and Arabian Sea. The Periplus lists the ports of trade, the distances between them and the products that could and should be traded at each port. In this sense it is much more of a trading gazeteer than a description of navigational methods.

Monsoon and Ibn Majid

Our best information for using the monsoon comes from a master navigator called Ibn Majid. He came from what is now the United Arab Emirates/Oman and sailed and wrote in the 15th century. As well as describing the Arab methods of navigating using the stars, Ibn Majid recounts the routes around the Indian Ocean and lists the times of the year when vessels should depart certain ports in order to arrive safely at their destination. The constant nature of the monsoon over recent millennia means that his timetable or departures can also be used to understand earlier eras, e.g. the Roman one.

From Ibn Majid’s work, we can construct a seasonal timetable whereby ships departed from ports in the Gulf like Siraf and southwestern India during the autumn, sailing to East African ports like Zanzibar on the north-easterly monsoon and returning during the spring on the first winds of the south-westerly monsoon. Vessels from Red Sea ports like Aylah would sail south in late summer, using the tail-end of the south-westerly monsoon to sail to south-western Indian ports, returning again in December and January when they would have the favourable winds of the north-easterly monsoon. The voyage between the Red Sea and East Africa could be made using a combination of the two monsoons and a stopover at a port such as Aden in modern Yemen.

Voyages even further eastward, to south-east Asia and China, probably via the straits of Malacca, also fitted within this timetable. Vessels could leave southern India in late December, arriving in the China Sea in April or May with an arrival in Canton for the summer. The return voyage would depart in the autumn and cross the Bay of Bengal in January. A vessel sailing from a Gulf port might take a year and a half to complete the round trip to China and back.

In all the examples above, and for ancient as well as medieval eras, voyages could be made directly, or by stopping to trade at ports along the way. In this way the two monsoons provided the mariners of the Indian Ocean with a means to sail from place to place with a degree of relative certainty and reliability, arriving in specific ports at specific times, and leaving them during designated periods depending on the next destination. This regular timetable derived entirely from the combination of available sailing technology, in conjunction with the predictable monsoon weather systems. It provided a contrast to the seafaring of more northern seas where the technology was broadly similar, but where the weather was far more unpredictable.

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Helen Farr

The Centre for Maritime Archaeology has been buzzing with activity.  There have been demonstrations of new methodologies and cutting edge technology, proposals for collaboration and the building of new relationships between faculties, disciplines and universities.  As I head up to the British Museum for the World University Network meeting to discuss Indian Ocean networks, the next couple of days will include more of the same.

This has led me to reflect on the importance of these relationships and whether in the current austerity of the United Kingdom, where chasing funding is becoming increasingly more difficult and student numbers are dropping, whether these international collaborations will provide a lifeline in the future? One example that comes to mind is that of the problem of practicing archaeology offshore, or, at great depths. The expense of such research is now prohibitive to the majority of UK academics working with national research grants.  The per diem of running a remote operated vehicle off shore would make most research bodies wince.

However, with budding International collaborative research projects, not only are we able to maximise our research, pool our resources and expand our research, but we have an avenue to disseminate our knowledge and results further. This is not only true within academia, but also across industry and it is for this reason that building and maintaining these international relationships on both a personal and University level is important for our future.

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