Crossing the Pacific on a raft, the Kon-Tiki and Tangaroa expeditions

78 years ago, on August 7th, 1947, a Norwegian explorer, Thor Heyerdahl and his crew of five reached French Polynesia by crossing the Pacific Ocean on a raft made of balsa wood. The raft didn't have an engine, only the current, the wind and a controversial idea powered it.

Thor wanted to demonstrate that ancient South Americans could have reached and populated Polynesia using balsa wood rafts and ocean currents. The Kon-Tiki crew spent 101 days at sea, sailed 6,900 km (4,300 miles) across the Pacific Ocean and eventually ran aground on a coral reef by the Raroia atoll in Polynesia. This expedition became worldwide famous. The book by Thor Heyerdahl about the expedition was translated into 70 languages, and the documentary filmed during the voyage won an Oscar in 1951.

Kon-Tiki is not just a story about an ethnographer who couldn't swim but crossed the Pacific Ocean on a raft. It is also a story about passion and curiosity, about moving boundaries and changing the view on the world. To this day, the story of Thor Heyerdahl still inspires people to explore.

In 2006, a crew of six brave men embarked on the Tangaroa expedition, a tribute to Kon-Tiki. They built a new balsa raft and completed the journey in only 70 days. Among the crew was Olav Heyerdahl, the grandson of Thor. I met with Olav in the Kon-Tiki museum in Oslo to learn more about Thor Heyerdahl's legacy and the Tangaroa and Kon-Tiki expeditions.

Why did you want to go on the Tangaroa expedition?

Actually, it wasn't my idea from the beginning. I'm a carpenter and civil engineer by profession. I was in South America writing my final thesis when I received an email from two men who told me that my grandfather had been their childhood hero and that they wanted to pay tribute to the Kon-Tiki expedition. They wanted to build a new raft, one that reflected how Thor Heyerdahl might have built it today. You see, although my grandfather was proud that the original Kon-Tiki expedition reached Polynesia, steering the raft was a major challenge for them. They had essentially drifted with the Humboldt Current. In the years after the expedition, my grandfather did extensive research on ancient vessels. He discovered that ancient rafts had been equipped with guara boards, adjustable centerboards used for navigation. So, this new team wanted to build a raft using that system, and they asked me if I wanted to join them.

I spoke with my father and other family members. Since I'd be bringing the Heyerdahl name into the project, I wanted to be sure the family and the Kon-Tiki Museum supported it—and they did. After that, it became very hard to say no. It was a big decision, especially for someone like me. As a kid, I was the quiet one in the back of the classroom. I hated doing presentations, hated being in the spotlight. And I knew that if I joined this expedition, the Heyerdahl name would attract media attention. So joining wasn't easy, but saying no would've been even harder. In the end, I said yes, and I'm really glad I did.

What was the main goal of the Tangaroa expedition?

The expedition became a tribute to the original Kon-Tiki expedition and my grandfather's scientific work. We also wanted to document environmental changes that happened over 60 years. We wanted to launch the raft on April 28th, the same date as Kon-Tiki started its journey. We went to the same region in Ecuador where my grandfather sourced the balsa wood. In 1947, it was a wild jungle. But in 2006, it was all banana and sugar plantations. The river was polluted. We documented the environmental damage, the deforestation, and the differences we saw just 60 years later. During the crossing, we noticed other changes. In 1947, the Kon-Tiki crew saw sharks regularly. We saw only three or four during our entire journey. That was another key part of our mission: to highlight the environmental changes and promote sustainability.

Was it scary to go on the Tangaroa expedition?

I had no prior sailing experience; this was my first time at sea. When we were towed from the port in Peru and the line was cut, we were suddenly alone out there, trying to use the guaras (steering boards). And we failed, again and again. But we adapted. We learned to read the weather and got used to the environment. Being out on the open ocean wasn't really scary.

Of course, there were risks. The biggest danger was falling overboard. If someone had gone into the water, we wouldn't have been able to stop or to turn around and get them—that would have been impossible. Still, I was never afraid. Sometimes out there, we experienced moments of total stillness. Like when you overfill a glass of water and it forms that delicate dome on top. The sea could be like that. And then we had days with 8-meter waves. When you're on a raft where the deck is only half a meter above the ocean, an 8-meter wave towering over you is massive. When the wave lifts you, you feel like the king of the world. When it drops you down, you feel like the smallest person on Earth. But even that wasn't scary. It became our normal. We got used to it. The raft felt like a floating reef, and we had fish following us the entire time. It was a world of its own.

Is there anything in the world that could compare to the feeling of reaching Polynesia after spending 70 days on the raft?

I don't think so. That feeling was unlike anything else. I get goosebumps just remembering it. The entire expedition was filled with unforgettable moments. From the very beginning, just finding large enough balsa logs was an adventure. We met some of the same people my grandfather had met, and we even built the raft at the same naval yard in Callao, Lima. Of course, I've known the story all my life. I had read The Kon-Tiki Expedition book many times. But to be out there on the Pacific myself, drifting on a raft and rereading his book, and suddenly recognising the same colours in the ocean, the same phosphorescent light at night, the flying fish he described—it was surreal. Experiencing all those details first-hand brought his words vividly to life. Even things like struggling to get sponsorship, just as they had, created a strong connection between the two expeditions.

And then, after nearly 70 days at sea, we finally saw the outline of land—palm trees on the horizon. I remember drinking fresh coconut water for the first time in weeks after surviving on warm water for 10 weeks. That moment was pure magic. The next day, the local reception was incredible. We spent a few days on Raroia, the same atoll the original Kon-Tiki raft landed on. They had hit the reef on the east side—we came around to the west, sailing in and then making our way to the exact spot where the famous photos from 1947 were taken. That was powerful.

From there, we kept sailing across Polynesia all the way to Tahiti to prove that our steering technique actually worked for navigating between islands. When we arrived in Tahiti, hundreds of people were waiting, singing and dancing. There were so many milestones—so many emotional moments. It wasn't just about reaching one island, but about reliving and continuing a legacy.
Still, I think the most unforgettable feeling was simply walking on sand again after so many weeks on the raft. That first step on solid ground—there's really nothing like it.

Did you consider going on another expedition?

I went on the Plastiki Expedition in 2010. The expedition wanted to draw attention to the environmental issues and the huge plastic floating islands in the Pacific Ocean. The expedition sailed on a 60-foot catamaran made of 12,500 2-litre plastic bottles and travelled from San Francisco to Sydney. I joined a leg of the expedition and sailed from San Francisco to Christmas Island, Kiribati. But besides that, I haven't been on any other expeditions.

Do you want to do one more?

I'm a carpenter and a civil engineer—I'm not a sailor, and I'm not a scientist like my grandfather. I'm not trying to follow in his footsteps or replicate his life. I have my own path. But the Tangaroa expedition was different. It was a truly special experience because it aligned so closely with my grandfather's work and supported the theories he dedicated his life to. During the journey, I felt, and still feel, a deep connection to what he did.

Do you think the 2012 Kon-Tiki movie portrayed your grandfather accurately?

Yes, I think so. There was close collaboration with the family, especially with my father, as well as with me and some of the other crew members from the Tangaroa expedition. We worked with the actors to help them understand what it was actually like to be out on the raft. Of course, some elements were adjusted for dramatic effect. But overall, I think the film was really well made. You know, the original Tangaroa raft was used to film the movie. So when you watch the movie and see the raft, that balsa wood raft actually crossed the Pacific.

The original Kon-Tiki raft is on display in the museum in Oslo. In your view, what is the primary purpose and the goal of the Kon-Tiki museum?

I guess the most important goal is to honour the legacy of my grandfather and to honour his expeditions and his way of being. Also, to show that oceans are not borders or barriers, but that they connect continents and countries.

Is there a question you believe visitors should ask themselves before coming to the museum—something they might reflect on and potentially find an answer to during their visit?

I don't think all people know how big the oceans really are and how small our Earth is. And also how connected humans have always been by using the oceans for travelling in ancient times. And when they come into the museum and see the original Kon-Tiki raft and the reed boat, they see how small the vessels are. They also understand how seaworthy ancient vessels were.

Of all the legacy left by your grandfather, what do you think is the most important?

How he focused on environmental issues and how he worked together with people. When he put together his crew, he always picked people from different nations, cultures, religions and genders. It's like he didn't see any borders at all.

Actually, my favourite quote by your grandfather is the one written on the wall right at the entrance of the museum: “Borders? I have never seen one. But I have heard they exist in the minds of some people.” Do you have a favourite quote?

— Olav smiles and points to the coffee mug in his hand that reads: "One can't buy a ticket to paradise, you have to find it within yourself" —

I think this is very spot on. It's difficult to find paradise. You know it all started when my grandparents wanted to escape the modern world and move to a "Paradise Island". They moved to Fatu-Hiva in 1937. My grandfather was 23 and my grandmother was only 19. Then she got really sick, and from that day on, it wasn't paradise for them. But you know you can't find paradise. You have to find it within yourself.

Why do you think the world needs people like your grandfather?

I think it's important to explore, to stay curious, and to keep searching for answers. Travelling, asking questions, challenging assumptions—that's how we learn and grow. My grandfather was driven by that sense of curiosity.

You know, he nearly drowned as a child and was afraid of water his whole life. He was a terrible swimmer. So crossing the Pacific on a balsa raft was not on his mind. But he had his theory, and when everyone told him it was impossible to cross the Pacific on a raft, he said, "Yes, it is possible." And then he went on an expedition and proved it. The disbelief from others didn't discourage him; it motivated him even more. He was determined to find answers—and to show that the world is often more complex and surprising than we think.

We talk so much about expeditions, but what does 'expedition' mean to you?

For me, an expedition is going out of your comfort zone. An expedition is not for everyone. It's something a little bit more extreme, something you have to make an effort to do, something that is a little bit tough mentally or physically; that is what an expedition is to me.