Bali

Bali's Jukung Fishing Canoes Are Nearly Gone From Their Home Beaches

Only six intact traditional timber jukung pelasan survive on surveyed Balinese beaches, and the knowledge to build them is disappearing just as fast.

Qontaktly Editorial·July 31, 2026·3 min read

A Living Tradition Down to Its Last Six Boats

Walk the beaches of Sanur, Nusa Dua, or Benoa today and you will find fibreglass hulls waiting for sunrise breakfast sails, not the painted timber canoes that once defined southern Bali's coastline. According to research published in the International Journal of Nautical Archaeology by Sarah Ward of the Australian National University, only six intact timber jukung pelasan remain on the beaches surveyed. Fifty years ago, these double-outrigger sailing canoes lined the shore in numbers.

What the Jukung Pelasan Represented

The jukung pelasan was far more than a fishing vessel. Its carved prow depicted the gajah mina, a creature from Balinese Hindu tradition combining an elephant's head with a fish's body. The image symbolises harmony between land and sea and was believed to protect crews on voyages. For generations, the boats served as markers of community status, spiritual life, and maritime identity for fishing villages along Bali's southern coast.

Building one required specific timber for the hull, bamboo of a particular size for spars and outriggers, and skills passed directly from builder to apprentice. A retired boat builder Ward spoke with at Sanur explained that the trees once used for hulls were cleared decades ago to make way for beach resorts, and the right bamboo either no longer grows large enough or costs too much to source. Demand has also collapsed: as Ward was told plainly, nobody fishes anymore.

Tourism, Collectors, and Coastal Change

The transformation accelerated through the 1970s and 1980s as hotels and resorts replaced the beachfront fishing villages of southern Bali. Fishers moved into tourism work, and the timber jukung gradually disappeared. Some were replaced with fibreglass replicas. Others were sold to overseas collectors; examples now sit in institutions in Darwin, Seattle, and Ningbo, China. The boats are preserved, but removed from the communities that gave them meaning.

The economic context makes the loss sharper. As first reported by The Conversation, Bali generated 55 percent of Indonesia's national tourism earnings in 2025, with tourism accounting for roughly 60 percent of the island's own GDP. Indonesia's tourism revenue grew 6.3 percent in the first quarter of 2026. Prosperity is real, but it arrived alongside the erasure of the coastal culture that predated it.

Ward's ongoing research, conducted with archaeologist Widya Nayati from Universitas Gadjah Mada, focuses on recording traditional maritime techniques, terminology, and stories before they are lost entirely. The argument is straightforward: a boat in a museum cannot transmit the knowledge of how to select timber, shape a hull, or read the sea. That transmission requires living practitioners.

Why It Matters for Hosts

Independent operators running accommodation or experiences along Bali's southern coast have a concrete opportunity here. Guests who arrive for beaches and sunsets are often genuinely curious about what those beaches looked like before the resorts arrived. Partnering with the remaining boat builders or fishers to offer a short demonstration, a storytelling session, or even a display of jukung imagery and history gives visitors something no fibreglass sunrise sail can replicate. It also directs income toward the people who hold the knowledge. As Ward's research makes clear, the window for this kind of collaboration is narrow and closing.


The research and figures cited in this post were first reported by The Conversation in an article by Sarah Ward, Researcher at the Centre for Heritage and Museum Studies, Australian National University, published on 30 July 2026.

First reported by Bali Travel.