Between a Rock and a Hard Place
Four convervationists explore the past and future of Keone’o’io.
Shannon Wianecki
“At the time when the earth became hot…
At the time when the heavens turned about
At the time when the sun darkened
To cause the moon to shine
The time of the rise of Pleiades
The slime, this was the source of the earth
The source of the darkness that made darkness
The source of the night that made night
The intense darkness, the deep darkness
Darkness of the sun, darkness of the night
Nothing but night
The night gave birth
Born was Kumulipo in the night, a male
Born was Po‘ele in the night, a female
Born was the coral polyp, born was the coral, came forth…
From the Kumulipo translated by Martha Warren Beckwith
In the Hawaiian creation chant, the Kumulipo, night gives birth to a male, a female and—a coral polyp. After that, all of life emerges: barnacles, mussels, limpets, cowries, crabs, sea cucumbers, urchins, ehu, ‘ono, moi, squid, gobies and more. The proof that abundant life can spring from what seems like barren nothingness is amply demonstrated at Keone‘o‘io, the sparkling bay at the southern-most tip of paved road on Maui.
This is not a destination for the meek. Heat ripples off the sharp a‘a lava fields. The tide surges and boils against the shore, exhaling great misty breaths. A place of severe beauty, this untamed land was once home to some 300,000 Hawaiians. And it can still draw a crowd. At 8 a.m., the parking lot at the end of Makena Alanui Road is full. Ranger Matt Ramsey is busy orienting visitors to the area. Most are here to snorkel. Three others, Randy Awo, Bill Evanson, and his mother Mary Evanson, join Ramsey for a coastal hike.
Arriving early is wise. By late morning the sun and wind can be relentless. The nearly shadeless coastal trail travels 5.5 miles south, first along a buckled 4WD road, then onto the ancient King’s Highway—a fascinating but challenging walk. Hikers should have sturdy footwear, double their usual amount of water, and stay on marked trails. “Unprepared visitors get lost following bad directions, bad advice.” Ramsey says. He describes finding two 80-year-old men, lost and cut up in the lava fields. “They were in pretty bad shape.”
One 80-something has no trouble navigating a‘a flows—firebrand Mary Evanson. She straps on a broad hat as the group heads out. This lifelong conservationist spearheaded a movement to preserve Keone‘o‘io either as a state or national park. “I didn’t care how or who, as long as it was getting some protection,” she says.
“I got involved when I ran across a copy of the Makena State plan in 1980. I thought, this is a great plan. It called for a state park from Pu‘u Olai, Big Beach all the way down to Kanaloa, beyond the lighthouse—nine miles down the coastline. The more exploring I did of this area, the more I discovered wonderful archeological sites … I think it’s a very special place.”
When French explorer, Jean-Francios Galaup De La Pérouse arrived in 1786, four large villages dotted the shoreline. His ships were met by more than 150 canoes laden with pigs and fruit. Thatch-roofed hale (houses) were connected by a network of carefully tended paths—remnants of which can be seen in every direction. Signs remind visitors to respect these significant artifacts. After all, what looks meaningless to the casual observer may hold valuable clues to the past.
A memorial to La Pérouse stands near the trailhead. He was one of many drawn to Keone‘o‘io(also known as La Pérouse Bay). Seabirds, turtles and whales migrate through the area. Schools of spinner dolphins frequent the bay to rest. Fishermen hunt ulua here. Surfers ride southern swells at a break called “Dumps.” Unlike the harsh landscape, the underwater treasures offer an enticing invitation. The cape immediately north of Keone‘o‘io, ‘Ähihi-Kïn‘au, is a designated Natural Area Reserve (NAR). Its pools and anchialine ponds contain unique, fragile ecosystems. Fishing, collecting, or otherwise disturbing the environment is prohibited.
Beneath the kiawe trees on the 4WD road, Mary Evanson points up at a platform of stacked rocks, overtaken by lichen. “This is a ko‘a fishing shrine. Ko‘a were built at the high point, where they could overlook the whole fishing area. ” She nimbly collects trash from around the site. “This particular site has been disturbed. It’s different every time I come here. It needs management.”
Popularity has come with a price for this remote coastline. When guidebooks and tour companies publicized “secret” spots known as the aquarium and fishbowl at ‘Ähihi-Kïn‘au, throngs of visitors overwhelmed the sensitive area. A study in 2002 showed dire evidence of people feeding fish, dragging kayaks against live coral, and defecating in pond areas and archeological sites.
Faced with a controversial dilemma, the county chose to close the area to commercial operations. The Hawaii Tourism Authority provided the funds to hire two rangers—including Ramsey—to educate visitors and encourage proper use of the area. People can still enjoy recreational use, but commercial pressures have been eliminated. Ramsey says public response to the closure has been “overwhelmingly positive.”
Mary’s son Bill Evanson agrees. A chip off the old conservation block, Bill works for the Department of Land and Natural Resources (DLNR). He points out where the 4WD road once cut through a site identified as a chief’s residence. Locals had no idea. When they found out, they helped DLNR reroute the road, he says.
On the makai (ocean) side of the trail, Bill brushes dead kiawe branches away to reveal another site once regularly driven over. “These are adze-grinding stones, also called salt pans,” he says, indicating large, flat rocks punctuated by smooth, round bowls. “This is where Hawaiians ground stone tools to the shape they wanted. In doing so they created little holes used for evaporating sea water and collecting salt—a highly prized commodity in ancient Hawaii.”
Silence hangs in the still morning air. The azure horizon is as sharp as a cracked whip. Yellow ‘ilima blossoms soften an otherwise stark path. Ramsey and the Evansons collect as much trash as they can carry. Bill finds a bird’s skull, possibly from an owl—one of the area’s native predators.
After a mile, the trail forks: across the wind-scoured lava plain on the King’s Highway or down to the Hanamanioa Point lighthouse on the 4WD road. The ancient highway once circumnavigated the island. This section was rebuilt in 1823 by Governor Hoapili. The wide path of hewn stones may have been easy walking in ancient times (it is said to have been covered in grass)—today it demands careful footing. It travels two miles to Kenaio Beach, past startling blowholes, freshwater ponds and rocky, lace-like remains of ancient villages.
While almost everyone agrees this spectacular location should be protected, not everyone agrees how. National park plans lost momentum after Congresswoman Patsy Mink died. Congressman Ed Case would like to see Keone‘o‘io become a National Seashore—a looser designation. State park status is still a possibility. Randy Awo, DNLR Conservation Resources Enforcement Chief, hopes that “whoever takes over will have the means to manage it properly and the sensitivity to address all the different users, especially the traditional users—they’re part of the reason we protect these places.”
As if to prove Awo’s point, a fisherman carries a crossbow past this group of ardent conservationists. Fishing is allowed in Keone‘o‘io; it is only restricted within ‘Ähihi-Kïn‘au. The fisherman’s dripping wetsuit and bulging pack hint at the marvels found below the aquamarine surface—the same abundance described in the Kumulipo.
Back at the trailhead, Mary Evanson points to a hill behind La Pérouse’s memorial. She asks Ramsey if he knows the story of Pu‘u Kanaloa. He shakes his head. She begins, “Kane and Kanaloa had their ‘o‘o and they were looking for water. They’d poke around and look for water. And they found it here.” She looks closely at Ramsey. “There’s a well that still runs at M¯akena Stables, still operating.” She seems to be telling this newest recruit not to take his duties lightly—powerful forces are still at work here.
In the Kumulipo, each marine species is paired with a corresponding land plant or animal. “Born was the tough sea grass living in the sea/Guarded by the tough land grass living on land.”
Fortunately, the marine species at Keone‘o‘io and ‘Ähihi-Kïn‘au have found tough guardians in people like Awo, Ramsey, and the Evansons. Looking at his overflowing bag of trash Ramsey says, “It’s a special place. We’ve just got to work on protecting it so we don’t love it to death.”
