Hawaii's adventure islands

[Photo: Jeff Greenberg] Waimea Canyon, slicing through the island of Kauai, was dubbed the “Grand Canyon of the Pacific” by Mark Twain.

Most travelers know about the sun, sand and surf, but did you know there are also cowboys, snowcapped mountains and drive-up volcanoes? There are surprises at every turn and gorgeous beaches too.

By William Ecenbarger
© St. Petersburg Times
published August 11, 2002

KALAUPAPA, Hawaii -- The rocks are wet and slippery from recent rains, but Haku -- a marvel of crossbreeding -- negotiates the serpentine trail with the surefootedness of a donkey and the intelligence of a horse.

[Photo: Susan Ecenbarger]

The mule train carries tourists from a 3,000-foot-high cliff to the former leper colony, now a national historic park, on Molokai.

Every day, weather permitting, he and the other Kalaupapa mules make their way with their human cargo down the 1,600-foot, nearly perpendicular trail, which was carved out in 1886, probably from a route chosen a thousand years ago.

We start at a barn surrounded by the dry, red dirt of the island of Molokai, but soon we are in a tropical rain forest, and guavas and mangoes are within arm's reach. To one side, I see only my denimed leg and the blue Pacific far below, raging into the shore after an uninterrupted journey of 3,000 miles from Alaska.

I recall that when Jack London rode the mules into Kalaupapa in 1907, he noted that a single misstep meant a half-mile drop "through the blue space into the blue ocean."

As we inch down the cliff, the Kalaupapa peninsula at the bottom gets bigger. It juts into the Pacific, low and flat.

Kalaupapa is sealed off from the rest of the island by the cliff on one side and by crashing surf on three sides; geography tugs at history, and Kalaupapa's isolation made it the site of one of the most infamous of all leper colonies in the 19th century.

[Photo: Robert W. Bone]

This is the view from the cliff above Kalaupapa, the former leper colony on Molokai.

Today Kalaupapa is a National Historic Park, and one of the most-interesting places in America, but a century ago it was a hellish dumping ground for leprosy sufferers who were left without shelter or provisions.

The arrival of a Belgian priest known as Father Damien changed the course of the settlement, and new medical knowledge brought the disease under control in the 1940s.

There have been no admissions to Kalaupapa since 1969, but the state has guaranteed that the remaining former patients, who were brought here as children, can stay. They live in cottages in the village of Kalaupapa; there is a store, a gas station (open once a week), a small hospital, a bar and a post office (Zip code 96742) . . .

This is not the stuff of travel brochures -- but this is the real Hawaii.

I side with Mark Twain, a world traveler who near the end of his life, wrote this about Hawaii:

"No alien land in all the world has any deep, strong charm for me, but that one; no other land could so longingly and beseechingly haunt my sleeping and waking, through half a lifetime, as that one had done. Other things leave me, but it abides."

But my enthusiasm is tempered with disturbing suspicions:

I suspect that many Americans' idea of Hawaii is drawn from escapist marketing, airlines posters and Elvis films.

I suspect that many Americans never go to Hawaii, reasoning, "I can get the same thing -- water, sand and palm trees -- in the Caribbean, so why bother with the long plane ride?"

I suspect that many Americans who do go to Hawaii only sit on the beach (for this group, an ancient Hawaiian proverb about "standing on a whale, fishing for minnows" seems appropriate).

Hawaii is no tropical paradise. It is much more interesting than that.

It has mountains, jungles, deserts, a long history and a special culture. There are petroglyphs (pictures carved into rocks by ancient Hawaiians) on Lana'i, cattle ranches and real cowboys on Maui, volcanoes and heiau (ancient temples) on the Big Island, a breathtaking canyon on Kauai, and a huge chunk of American history (Pearl Harbor) on Oahu.

Each of the six principal islands has its own identity and ambience, and hopping from one to the other is easy and inexpensive.

Driving, in ruts and wet sand

America's most diverse and exotic state can be a true motor safari to secluded beaches, snowcapped mountains, lighthouses, cemeteries, and small plantation towns with tin roofs and false-fronted stores where the locals park their rusty pickups and muddy Jeeps with the grille to the sidewalk, rather than parallel to it or diagonally.

The landscape becomes gaunt and biblical as I approach the ancient fishing village of Kaunolo on the island of Lana'i. The "road" -- nothing but a long, dry, rocky gulch -- gets rougher and rougher; the Geo Tracker lurches, and its toolbox rattles like a thunderstorm.

The Tracker tilts at a 30-degree angle as I bump down, down, down the road. The red dust of windswept Lana'i covers everything: car, camera, books, my tongue and teeth.

I approach a hump in the road that I am afraid will leave me suspended in mid-air, which is known here as high-centering. Reluctantly, I turn around. Going back is uphill and tougher. I cover 2 miles in a little less than two hours.

The next day I settle for a trip to Shipwreck Beach, on the other side of Lana'i. I pack a picnic lunch and park 10 feet from the surf line.

The phrase "flotsam and jetsam" takes on new meaning: Truck-sized ship containers are piled on the beach like children's blocks, and out on the reef is the rusting hulk of an old Navy "liberty ship" that foundered there during World War II. I munch on bread, cheese and mangoes as I watch the tide surrender the beach, inch by inch.

Later I give up slowly bumping along the beach road for what the locals do -- drive on the beach when the tide's out. Soon I am whiz-banging down the wet sand, splashing in the surf, past fishing shacks made from the timbers of ships driven ashore by robust trade winds.

Hairpin turns in the rain forest

[Times photo: Susan Ecenbarger]

Driving the Hana Highway offers inspiring views.

On Maui, the chief driving attraction is the famous Road to Hana, which hairpins through a great tropical rain forest. The difficulty of the Hana Road has been exaggerated; if you cannot handle the road in a standard sedan you should probably turn in your license.

The road was hacked out with pick and shovel by convict labor in 1927, but today it is well-maintained and clearly marked. It is narrow, and you will rarely exceed 25 mph.

You should give yourself a minimum of four hours to make the 53-mile one-way trip from Kahuli because there are dozens of places you will want to stop.

One side road leads to the Kaulanapueo Church, built of coral in 1853, a building and a setting so beautiful it could convert you on the spot. In the village of Keanae, native Hawaiians tend rectilinear taro fields. Blossom-strewn trails skip invitingly off into dense bamboo forests, and there are pools under fern-banked waterfalls for a quick swim.

All along the road, orchids grow like weeds. There are African tulip trees with blossoms the color of burnt orange, banyan trees goateed in moss, ferns, vines, eucalyptus trees, enormous monkeypod trees, giant philodendron, and apples, mangoes, and guava you can pick from you car. And to your left, the scrawling signature of the shoreline outlined by white foam and black lava rock.

Once in Hana, most people go back the way they came; but if you've got a four wheel-drive vehicle by all means keep going past Hana, after checking with the police to make sure the road is open all the way.

Like the Road to Hana, the Big Island's famous Saddle Road gets a bad rap. It cuts cross-island through a high valley of lava fields between the towering peaks of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea and is actually a better road than many of the regular state highways.

The king's highway

The deserted Halawa Valley, once the home of thousands of islanders, is on Molokai. [Photo: Robert W. Bone]

Many experts consider the Halawa Valley on Molokai to be the most beautiful, unspoiled area of all Hawaii. To get there, head east out of Kaunakakai on State Road 450, known as the Kamehameha V Highway (after a 19th century Hawaiian king).

Along the coast, ruins of ancient rock walls rise out of the surf. These are the remnants of royal fishponds, built between the 15th and 18th centuries to provide a steady supply of fish delicacies for the alii, or chiefs.

Missionary churches, their roofs pitched like praying hands, dot the landscape and mongooses make death-defying dashes in front of your car.

The road narrows as it climbs into the valley and the temperature drops noticeably. There begins a dizzying unraveling of roadways, hugging cliffs and switchbacks. One minute the emerald meadows of the Pacific are on your left, the next they are on your right and to your left are green mountains wrapped in robes of clouds.

Just before the highway begins its final 3-mile descent, there is a grove of gray-barked kukui trees that is the most revered spot on all of Molokai. The trees were planted by Lanikaula, the greatest of the Hawaiian kahunas, or priests, who is buried here.

Many Hawaiians won't go near this grove, lest they offend its sacred nature. When the Del Monte Corp. wanted to clear the land 20 years ago, not a single local worker would fell the trees, so the project was abandoned.

Not to be missed is the lay-by just past the 26-mile marker. There are ocean and cliffs on one side, mountains on the other; Moaula Falls dangles like a 250-foot silver ribbon from the middle of the green mountain side.

The highway ends in the Halawa Valley, which was a thriving community of taro farmers until 1946. A tsunami, a tidal wave, measuring up to 36 feet high, swept through. A few families and individuals have returned to the valley; they live here without electricity or telephones.

Hula: island culture

I have obtained a ticket to the annual "Merrie Monarch" hula festival in Hilo on the Big Island. The local ABC affiliate pre-empts network programming so that everyone in Hawaii can view the three-day festival.

About 5,000 enthusiastic spectators have packed the arena. I sit sandwiched in the bleachers between two women who know their hula; they are keeping a scorecard and applauding well-executed movements with great gusto. The competition brings together hula schools, called halau, from all of the islands and a few mainland cities.

Onstage, nine young women are swaying with smooth piscine grace, their long slender fingers flickering, telling an old story with their hands and hips. Behind them another woman kneels playing a drum and chanting in a voice softer than cobwebs; the music is so melodious it might be oiled.

The mesmerizing chant, sung in ancient Hawaiian words that seem to glide off the tongue, tells of the rhythm of the universe, the eternal comings and goings. The chanter's voice swells, looping back through the generations.

When the first missionaries arrived in Hawaii in the early 19th century, they were scandalized by the hula and banned it. Like most Westerners even today, the missionaries paid the most attention to the dancers, particularly their hips. But it is the chant, the words, that are all-important. The Hawaiians had no written language and they relied on the hula to be the archives of their history, traditions and mythology.

The hula went underground until King Kalakaua, the "Merry Monarch" who sipped champagne with Robert Louis Stevenson on the porch at Ulupalakua Ranch, took over in 1874 and proclaimed: "I am king! We shall dance!"

And tonight the hula is on center stage in all of Hawaii. The dancers finish with a flourish, and applause washes over them.

In recent years the hula has been the catalyst for a cultural renaissance. There is a great awareness of Hawaiian history and culture and a determination to keep it alive. Local arts and crafts, fine arts and other products are sold in hotel shops. Hotels and resorts employ naturalists, botanists, storytellers, marine biologists, historians and astronomers to help guests learn about the islands, all of which can greatly enrich their stay.

Noe Noe Napoleon, cultural director of the Aston Keauhou Beach Resort on the Big Island's Kona coast, says the immediate grounds once were a summer playground for Hawaiian royalty, featuring canoe landings and fishponds.

"There are several sacred heiaus (temples) on the grounds," she says during a tour with guests. "We've also found fishing stones, where prayers were offered to bring ancient fishermen home safely."

Above the pock-pock-pock of tennis balls, she adds, "Our guests get to know that there's a lot more to Hawaii than sun and sand . . ."

Famous and secret beaches

Not that Hawaii's beaches are to be ignored.

I follow a well-graded dirt road down to Moomomi Bay on Molokai. I leave the car where the road ends and hike for about 20 minutes, walking along 100-foot dunes with the ocean crashing below.

Moomomi Beach is a 200-yard crescent of white sand, which is deserted on this sunny mid-afternoon. A schooner of cloud cruises by on the horizon. The waves surge up on the beach and subside with a sigh; I am soon asleep. I am awakened by cold water at my feet.

The visitor cannot, and should not, ignore the most famous strip of sand on the islands, Waikiki Beach, which is sometimes dismissed as a tasteless tourist icon. But there's a lot more to Waikiki. There are historic hotels all along the beach, and a walk toward Diamond Head, the dormant volcano, at sunrise is downright inspirational.

Hawaiians have always been accustomed to roaming the lands, beaches and waters at their whim; private beaches are anathema. On evenings and weekends, laughing Hawaiian children, sugared in sand, play in the waves while their parents set up barbecues and don snorkel masks.

On Kauai, Secret Beach lives up to its name, and you'll have to ask around for directions. But once you find it, you'll have a huge expanse of white sand practically to yourself.

Grand canyon, drive-up volcano

Lava from the eruption of Kilauea Volcano pours into the Pacific on July 26. The area is about 8 miles from the village of Volcano, on the big island of Hawaii. [Photo: AP]

From the coastal town of Waimea on Kauai, I follow a serpentine road to the awesome splendor of Waimea Canyon. The temperature and oxygen level drop as I climb, and shafts of light diffused by the sun give the canyon a stained-glass iridescence.

I stop to look down into the red-earthed gorge; below me, clouds float through a rainbow arched from one side of the canyon to the other. Beyond the canyon the sea cliffs are under attack from the roiling Pacific, which keeps retreating in a melee of foam.

Twain called this the 'Grand Canyon of the Pacific".

There are many stops along the canyon road, and each lookout is dramatic in its own way. As the sun makes its journey, the canyon's colors seem to change throughout the day. Most striking is the rusty color caused by the iron in the volcanic rock.

Near the southern tip of the Big Island, there is the world's only drive-up volcano -- Kilauea, which erupts about once every 10 months.

Spectators gathered at sunrise July 28 to watch lava from Kilauea Volcano flow into the Pacific. The latest eruption began in January 1983 but became unusually spectacular this July. [Photo: AP]

You can circumnavigate the collapsed crater on the 11-mile Crater Rim Drive and then head down toward the ocean on Chain of Craters Road. A sign there reads: DANGER. HAZARDOUS FUMES. STEEP CLIFFS. HOT LAVA. Who can resist such a sign? This is the place where visitors regularlygo to see lava flowing into the ocean, hissing and sending up a geyser of steam.

On the northern coast of the Big Island, Route 240 ends abruptly at the edge of cliffs, 2,000 feet high and nearly vertical. They overlook the magnificent Waipio Valley.

The Waipio Valley, on the island of Hawaii, has spectacular waterfalls and high cliffs that end at the shoreline. [Photo: Robert W. Bone]

The valley is a mile wide, and it runs in from the ocean about 6 miles, cutting into the Kohala Mountains like an amphitheater. The surf is rolling in on a black sand beach. I raise my binoculars and see farmers knee-deep in muddy water working taro fields.

On Maui, you can drive up Haleakala, the 10,000-foot volcano estimated to be 800,000 years old. Its last eruption is dated about 1790, but geologists have labeled it dormant, not extinct, meaning there might be some life left in it yet.

As the rental car churns upward, I pass through different landscapes: first tropical, then American Southwest, finally lunar. Correspondingly, the temperature drops sharply, I enter a cloud and flick on the headlights. Five minutes later I'm pulling down the visor and squinting into the sun. It's about 38 miles to the top, where the awesome views and the geological wonder of the crater floor make the journey worthwhile. Like nearly everything run by the National Park Service, Haleakala National Park is a class act.

Caution: cowboys at work

Dan Purdy lives in a small home on the Ulupalakua Ranch in the upcountry region of Maui. Purdy is decidedly bowlegged, and the skin on his arms and the back of his neck has the texture of old saddle leather. When he smiles he accentuates the wrinkles that have been etched into his face over 84 years.

He still rides every day and keeps alive the long if fading tradition of the paniolo, the Hawaiian cowboy. The islands' first cowboys were three Mexican vaqueros recruited by King Kamehameha III in the 1830s to control foraging cattle. The three were called paniolos, probably a jargon word for a person who spoke Spanish.

Dan says the life of a paniolo is le'a le'a -- good fun. He says he worked as a cowhand at Ulupalakua Ranch for more than a half century. He remembers cattle drives that took place year-round; a couple of times a year the inter-island steamer would anchor off Makena Beach to pick up the cattle headed to Honolulu. The cattle first would be taken to whaleboats, and then hoisted in slings onto the steamer.

If shark fins appeared, the paniolos would ride into the water and slap their hands and rain slickers on the water to scare them off.

There are three big ranches on Hawaii: Ulupalakua, Molokai and Parker. Together with several smaller operations, they comprise the westernmost of the Wild West.

The century-old Molokai Ranch recently became one of the world's most unusual resorts by opening up its 50,000 acres so that visitors can join the 7,000 head of cattle, 80 horses and nine cowboys. There are three guest camps, one near the town of Mauna Loa, one in a remote corner of the ranch and a third on a pristine beach. Molokai Ranch offers an opportunity to relax amid glorious natural surroundings, engage in soft adventure activities and experience a working ranch where cattle are bred for shipment to the mainland.

At 225,000 acres, the Parker Ranch on the Big Island is the largest in Hawaii. A good overview of the ranch, including an engaging 25-minute film about ranching, is available at the Parker Ranch Visitor Center in the pleasant Kohala Mountain town of Waimea. Just 50 or so paniolos handle the 55,000 head of cattle.

Strictly local

One of the most important goals of any journey is to get to know something about the people who inhabit your destination, and such places are easy to find in Hawaii.

Kitada's in the old paniolo town of Makawao is the place on Maui. It was opened in 1946 by Takeshi Kitada, and today his daughter, Ethel, is hustling to get everyone's order and clear the five hardwood tables that are part of the original decor. They have been supplemented by three picnic tables. At every table, customers are robotically feeding their faces.

Ethel brushes back a wisp of damp hair and briefly laments the proliferation of New Age establishments that have been taking over Makawao. But she's too busy to dwell on it.

The screen door opens and bangs closed and an old man walks slowly across the concrete floor and sits down. Ethel doesn't ask him for his order, she just brings him the large bowl of saimin, a noodle dish.

In Lihue on Kauai, Ma's Family Inc. serves up hearty fare to local workers, but outsiders are always welcomed. It is an institution, and at times four generations of the founding Honjo family are working.

Similarly, when you are on the Big Island, you are guaranteed to bump into locals in Hilo at the 50-year-old Cafe 100, home of the loco moco -- rice with a hamburger patty topped with two eggs and smothered in gravy.

Finally, some of Hawaii's best get-acquainted places are its old-fashioned churches, wooden buildings with steeples knifing toward heaven and set in breathtaking natural surroundings. Each is a gem and the doors are usually open seven days a week. Often the church will have a brief written history and a little jar or plate for donations. Leave your change, or a buck or two, so the church can be open the next time you pass through.

If you go

Put down that mai tai, get off that beach chair, grab those maps and get on the road. You will come home with a lot more than a suntan. All of the phone numbers listed are toll-free.

GETTING STARTED: Begin the planning process by contacting the Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau (1-800-464-2924; www.gohawaii.com) for brochures, maps and basic advice.

For free information on specific islands, call these numbers or check the Web sites:

Maui, 1-800-525-6284; www.visitmaui.com. Molokai, 1-800-800-6367; molokai-hawaii.com. Lana'i, 1-800-947-4774; www.visitlanai.com. Big Island, 1-800-648-2441; www.bigisland.org. Oahu, 1-877-525-6248; www.visit-oahu.com. Kauai, 1-800-262-1400; kauaivisitorsbureau.org.

[Times art]

GETTING AROUND: Hopping from island to island is easy and not too expensive. The two major inter-island airlines, Aloha (1-800-367-5250) and Hawaiian (free 1-800-367-5320), offer passes for unlimited travel among the islands. The major car-rental chains are on the islands; weekly rates are a better deal.

FOR MORE INFORMATION: Lonely Planet and Moon Publications offer excellent guidebooks on the entire state and individual islands. Buy them all, plus longtime island resident Robert W. Bone's Maverick Guide to Hawaii.

Do some non-reference reading before you go: Hawaii, by James Michener; Shoal of Time, Gavan Daws; Travels in Hawaii, Robert Louis Stevenson; Letters from Hawaii, Mark Twain.

- Freelance writer William Ecenbarger lives in Philadelphia.

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