Tuai — As I flew from Auckland to Gisborne on Tuesday morning, disbelief weighed heavily in the clouds outside my window.
I was heading to the tangihanga of Kiwi Campbell, yet the reality of her passing hadn’t sunk in, even three days after hearing the news. I imagine many others felt the same.
Though I only knew her through racing and interviewing her over the years, Kiwi’s presence was unmistakable - on the water, her voice was a force that drove her crew to their limits, a sound synonymous with waka ama excellence.
At Lake Karāpiro during the Sprint Nationals, Kiwi’s voice wasn’t just heard on the water; it carried to the banks where paddlers and spectators stood.
I’ll never forget racing alongside her at the 2023 Long-Distance National Championships in Whitianga. The weather was punishing — waves crashing, winds howling — but Kiwi’s voice cut through the chaos even with nature at its fiercest. Her crew, paddling in a six-man waka, surged ahead as her commands echoed across the water. By the final stretch, her team was so far ahead all we could see was the distant spray of their paddle strokes — a familiar sight for those accustomed to Kiwi’s dominance on the water.
After arriving in Gisborne, I hurried to catch the convoy escorting Kiwi to her final resting place in Tūai. Along the route, students of Muriwai School lined the roads with balloons and signs reading “Flying Kiwi,” a touching tribute to the limits she defied.
Following the convoy, the weight of the moment struck me. The shared grief of the paddling community was palpable, flowing like a current through the fleet.
Her husband, Bruce Campbell, was in the lead car, accompanying Kiwi’s body. Strapped to the roof was her iconic pink-and-black race waka, Waiwhetūmoana — a vessel symbolising her legacy and countless victories. At Waimako Pā, her hapū, Te Whānau Pani, welcomed her home to her place of belonging. Their words reflected shock, pain, and admiration, with one mourner describing Kiwi as a tipua — a being of extraordinary, almost otherworldly skill.
Kiwi’s mother, despite undergoing major surgery the day before, travelled from Waikato to be with her daughter. Her arrival was marked by wails of anguish, resonating across the marae as she embraced her mokopuna at the front of the wharenui, Te Poho o Tūhoe Pōtiki. The depth of the community’s loss was stark, with some in the waka ama world saying they may never paddle again without her presence.
Kiwi Campbell was more than a champion; she was the soul of waka ama, connecting paddlers with her passion and grit. Like the Tree of Souls in Avatar, she united a community through her strength and spirit.
I learned Kiwi had a flair for singing, often breaking into Waihīrere’s 1996 action-song E Rere Wairere. So Kiwi, I dedicate this song to you—a final tribute to a voice that will forever echo across the waters.
Moe mai rā e te manu ariki whakatakapōkai ki tō moenga roa.