Pago Pago, AMERICAN SAMOA — A four-day weekend has been declared, with the government taking off Thursday and Friday to celebrate our 2026 Flag Day, and Fautasi Fiva is surging across the territory in anticipation of the 13 village longboats/ fautasi racing for yearlong bragging rights as the Top Warriors of the Seas — the 2026 Flag Day Regatta Champions.

This year, it will be run with 2 heats deciding who the final nine (9) will be that will race in the final (see Update: Fautasi Race elsewhere).

Every April, a familiar excitement sweeps across American Samoa — it’s the unmistakable surge of Fautasi Fiva. It’s the season when conversations turn into spirited speculations and debates, village pride rises to the surface, and all eyes shift toward the harbor.

The annual Flag Day Fautasi Race has grown into the largest community‑based cultural event in American Samoa — a tradition powerful enough to unite the entire territory in anticipation long before the starting gun ever fires.

Like a developing condition whose symptoms grow more noticeable by the day, the effects of Fautasi Fiva can be seen spreading steadily through the community as April unfolds. Training chants echo across villages, boats glide across the harbor with increasing frequency, and the collective anticipation builds in intensity. By the time race day arrives, the excitement has reached its peak — a full‑blown fever that grips the entire territory until the final oars cross the finish line.

The lanes have been drawn and the atmosphere on race day will be thick with anticipation, the kind that seems to vibrate in the air long before the first oars hit the water. The bay area swells with crowds draped in their fautasi colors, families, and supporters weaving along the shoreline in search of any patch of ground that offers the perfect vantage point. Local businesses feel the surge as well, with sales turning brisk as bright T‑shirts, caps, flags, signs, and every kind of fautasi memorabilia that signals village pride fly off the shelves like hot cakes.

Traffic becomes its own spectacle.

The single road threading through downtown Fagatogo and skirting both sides of the harbor slows to a crawl, cars inching forward at a snail’s pace as drivers and passengers alike try to catch glimpses of the longboats warming up on the water. The buildup creates a sense of controlled chaos — the unmistakable sign that the race is near and the fever is almost at its peak.

“It’s modern, civilized tribal warfare,” said one die‑hard fautasi enthusiast. “It’s probably the only day of the year when everyone in American Samoa goes a little crazy as Fautasi Fever takes hold of their bodies and emotions. But it’s a good kind of crazy — the kind that releases months of pent‑up energy built up from watching their village warriors prepare for the Battle of Pago Harbor.”

The fautasi crews endure months of preparation, with training intensifying sharply in the final three or four weeks before race day. During this stretch, the entire crew moves into a dedicated training camp, committing to a grueling regimen designed to push their strength and endurance to peak condition. Training follows a demanding rhythm: two runs a day except Sundays, with the morning run beginning at 4:00 a.m. and the afternoon run at 3:00 p.m. Evenings are reserved for time on the water, where the crew shifts from land conditioning to perfecting various synchronized strokes that define fautasi racing.

For many rowers, especially those with families, this period is the hardest part of the season as they step away from the daily rhythm of home life and miss quality time with loved ones. Yet the camp remains a defining element of the sport — not only to sharpen physical performance, but also to narrow each rower’s focus on the race and strengthen the unity, discipline, and morale that a fautasi crew needs to move as one body on the water.

The camp is overseen by the Village Fautasi Committee comprising chiefs selected by the village council, assisted by representatives from the women’s committee and the aumaga, and the older untitled men who belong to a different generation of rowers. These retired warriors now offer advice to the younger rowers and carry much of the day‑to‑day responsibility in village life.

Together, they run the camp with discipline and unity. Support for the camp extends far beyond its organizers. The entire village takes part, with each extended family rotating through the responsibility of providing meals for the rowers.

Some villages have also expressed deep gratitude to their relatives living off‑island, whose financial support has helped sustain the training camps. These same families abroad have contributed generously toward the purchase of state‑of‑the‑art longboats, ensuring their home villages remain competitive on race day.

And then there are the gifts from overseas celebrating their warriors — the rowers. Samoa News understands that the Nu‘uuli Manulele Tausala fans & families in Alaska recently put together a $10,000 donation to be used toward the rowers — to celebrate their dedication and loyalty to Nu‘uuli- Ituau Malosi.

The Sunday before the race week, is given over to church services, with warriors, tautua and matais of each auva’a obligated to attend.

When race day finally dawns, the camp is already alive with movement at 4.00 a.m. as the crew rises to face the moment of truth. The months of sacrifice, discipline, and training all converge into this single morning. By 5:00 a.m. after a hearty breakfast, they arrive at the boat shed, where warm‑ups begin in earnest — stretching, pacing, breathing exercises, and the quiet mental preparation that settles over the group like a shared heartbeat.

The crew then gathers for the captain’s final words and village chiefs step forward to offer blessings, invoking protection, unity, and strength. After a short prayer, the rowers make their way toward their fautasi, dressed in their village colors, each step accompanied by cheers and well‑wishes from family members and fans who have been waiting for this moment just as eagerly. The shoreline becomes a corridor of pride and emotion as the crew boards, ready to transform months of preparation into one powerful, synchronized effort across the harbor.

THE STRUGGLE

For many years, the Fautasi Race Committee has struggled with the challenge of ensuring that every longboat remains behind the starting line at the exact moment the horn sounds.

On paper this sounds simple, but in practice it is anything but. Strong drifting currents in the harbor push both the fautasi and the committee boat out of position, and rough weather can make maintaining a clean, fair line nearly impossible.

As a result, complaints have surfaced repeatedly over the years, with some crews insisting that the eventual winner had not actually been behind the line when the race began. Without a bird’s‑eye view of the start, these claims were almost impossible to verify.

That changed during last year’s regatta, when a drone provided the first true aerial coverage of a fautasi start. In the second race sponsored by BlueSky Communications for its 25th anniversary, the footage revealed clear violations: four of the eight competing fautasi were not in compliance with the starting‑line rules. The evidence was strong enough that all four were disqualified.

As a result, the Matasaua from Manu'a which had placed fifth was elevated to first place for the first time in the sport's history. The ruling was one of the most consequential in modern fautasi racing, which has set a new expectation for accountability at the starting line.

Long‑time resident and water‑sport enthusiast James McGuire proposed a different approach to starting the annual fautasi race, drawing on his decades of experience on the water. McGuire, who arrived in the territory more than 50 years ago and was the only palagi who rowed for Pago Pago Aeto under the leadership of businessman Lealaifuaneva Peter Reid, argued that the race committee should consider adopting the rolling‑start method used in yacht racing.

"The traditional stationary start has always been difficult to execute cleanly," he argued. "Strong drifting currents make it nearly impossible to keep the longboats and the committee boat aligned in a straight, motionless line. This has led to repeated disputes over the years, with accusations that some boats were already drifting forward when the horn sounded."

He suggested a structured countdown that would allow all fautasi to begin the race in motion rather than fighting the currents at a standstill:

1. The boats would assemble well behind the starting line, at a distance they could cover in roughly ten seconds.

2. The committee would announce a 30‑second countdown over the PA system.

3. Captains would instruct their crews to begin paddling forward, gradually increasing speed.

4. The goal would be to cross the starting line exactly at the 10‑second mark.

5. Any fautasi that crossed the line before the final ten seconds would be required to turn back and re‑cross properly.

"This method would be fairer for all crews and would eliminate the chaos caused by drifting currents," McGuire stated. "He also argued that it would give the boats a faster, cleaner, and more dynamic start, improving both fairness and the spectacle of the race."

In past years, up until last year, fautasi fans had to rely on live radio coverage from KSBS‑FM 92.1 and V103‑FM to follow the race once it disappeared beyond the harbor mouth. With the starting line set roughly five miles out to sea, the boats were far beyond the reach of spectators, and the only way to track early positioning was through the voices of broadcasters describing what they could see from the escort vessels.

The race begins in open ocean, where the swells are far rougher and more unpredictable than the calmer waters inside Pago Pago Harbor. This creates a natural divide in how different fautasi perform.

Low-hull boats sit closer to the waterline and take on water more easily in heavy swells. Crews must row with caution, balancing speed with stability as they fight to reach the smoother harbor waters where they can finally open up and glide. On the other hand, high-hull boats can handle the offshore chop more aggressively. Captains often push for fast, short strokes early on, trying to build as much distance as possible before entering the harbor, where the advantage of hull height becomes less pronounced.

The long offshore stretch shapes the entire race strategy. Crews must endure the punishing swells, maintain rhythm despite the rolling ocean, and position themselves for the critical moment when they enter the harbor and transition to smoother, faster water. For many boats, the battle offshore determines whether they arrive at the harbor mouth in contention—or already too far behind to recover.

Fans can only see their fautasi when they near the harbor entrance and the Fautasi Fiva takes control, the most affected are the fans of the fautasi in the leading pack fighting to get to the front. As the race progresses further into the harbor towards the finishing line, fans follow the race on foot as it is faster than the snail's pace traffic.

Last year's Flag Day Race featured a spectacular battle for first place between the Paepaeulupo'o from Aua captained by Utaifeau Leonard Sonoma, and Aeto from Pago Pago directed by their new captain Ailao Tualaulelei.

Paepaeulupoʻo took an early lead, rowing head‑to‑head with Manulele Tausala–Lowrider under the leadership of seasoned captain Taufete'e Tanielu Manutafea in the opening minutes. The high-hull Paepaeulupo'o managed to pull ahead as the Lowrider was having difficulties with the high swells. However, Aeto, rowing in the lane closest to the airport, began closing the gap steadily as the race progressed. As the boats approached the fuel dock, commentators described Aeto and Paepaeulupoʻo as “neck and neck,” locked in a fierce contest for the lead. The duel continued all the way to the finish line in front of ASCO Motors, where drone footage confirmed that Aeto’s bow crossed the line just inches ahead of Paepaeulupoʻo.

The moment Aeto crossed the finish line in 2025 erupted into one of the wildest celebrations Pago Pago has seen in years. Drone footage showed Aeto’s bow slicing across the line just inches ahead of Paepaeulupoʻo, and the confirmation sent the crowd into a frenzy. Yellow Aeto flags shot into the air as fans screamed, cried, and embraced one another along the shoreline.

Captain Ailao Tualaulelei, winning his very first Flag Day race on his debut, was lifted onto the shoulders of his crew. He had timed the final sprint perfectly, stealing the win from Paepaeulupoʻo in the last seconds of the race. The image of him raised above the crowd, fists in the air, became the defining moment of the regatta.

The celebration spilled immediately onto the road. Fans wearing bright yellow Aeto shirts poured into the middle of the street, weaving between the long line of slow‑moving cars. People waved massive Aeto flags, some nearly as long as a fautasi oar. Others threw themselves onto the pavement in pure joy, rolling and cheering as traffic crawled around them. A few supporters climbed onto the bonnets and roofs of cars, riding inland toward Fagasa where the traffic thinned and the celebration continued.

It was a scene of pure, unfiltered pride — Pago Pago celebrating its champion with the kind of passion only fautasi racing can ignite. Fautasi Fiva hit its most contagious level as the victory sank in, and the celebration spilled far beyond the shoreline. Even the police, usually strict about post‑race traffic, quietly looked the other way as truckloads of Aeto supporters rolled past with fans perched on the bonnet, roof, and sides of the vehicles, waving yellow flags and shouting themselves hoarse.

With roots dating back to the late 19th Century when the earliest generation of fautasi‑type vessels such as the 'taumualua' (double-ended paddling canoes), 'tulula' (9-12 meter oared boats, and the whaleboat‑influenced hybrids — adapted for speed and capacity, emerged. These early fautasi were used for war, cargo, and inter‑island transport before racing became their primary purpose. By the early 1900s, villages were commissioning their own longboats specifically for competition, and the tradition has continued — growing into the massive, community‑driven event we see today.

Organized fautasi racing in American Samoa began in the early 20th century, during the period of U.S. Naval administration. Naval officers introduced competitive longboat racing — partly inspired by their own naval longboat traditions — and villages quickly embraced the sport. The very first Flag Day celebrations in 1900 included fautasi races, marking the beginning of what would become one of the territory’s most beloved cultural events. Over time, what started as a colonial‑era competition transformed into a uniquely Samoan expression of village pride, discipline, and unity.

Fast‑forward to 2026, and the race feels transformed. With modern drone coverage providing a bird’s‑eye view from the offshore starting line all the way to the finish inside the harbor, fans and supporters will finally be able to witness every stroke, every surge, and every battle for position in real time. What once depended on radio commentary and imagination can now be seen with absolute clarity from above — either on KVZK-TV or on Utube — locally and off-island.

The excitement is already building for tomorrow’s showdown. Thirteen fautasi, each guided by captains who have trained their crews for months, will line up offshore — weather permitting — ready to test strength, rhythm, and heart across the full five‑mile course. The ocean will decide much, but discipline and timing will decide more.

To every captain and crew preparing to launch: may the best fautasi win. Ride like the wind, glide on the waves with God, and carry your village with pride.

Happy Flag Day 2026, American Samoa!