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Paradise for the plucky
By ROBERT N. JENKINS © St. Petersburg Times, published January 21, 2001
I have just finished wrestling a Jeep up and down the 10.5-mile Munro Trail, a washed-out dirt road straddling this island's highest peak. My right arm is sore from having clutched the steering wheel so hard for so long, my left from being jounced against the window ledge. Even in first gear I had to jerk the wheel this way and that to navigate around monster potholes and minicanyons gouged out of the graded road by heavy rains. Despite wearing my seatbelt and taking a full hour to drive the trail's 10.5 miles, I was bounced and jounced constantly while going up and down 3,370-foot-high Lana'ihale (pronounced Lah-nah-EE HAH-lay). Pines, eucalyptus trees and tall ferns often blocked views of the Pacific, to my left. Without designated scenic overlooks, I pulled over once at a chained driveway, to ogle the ocean and try to glimpse the islands of Molokai and Maui, just a few miles away. But the view was partly obscured by "vog", the combination of volcanic ash and sea fog that often pulls a gauzy veil across seaside panoramas. While on the trail, I encountered just one other vehicle. Not surprisingly, there was too little room for us to pass. I backed up until the path widened, and the other guy drove his Jeep up the opposite road shoulder and went by me tilted at a scary angle. It turned out to be one of the few relaxing moments on the trail. This was a drive that I withstood instead of enjoyed. And now that I am at the base of the highest hill on tiny Lana'i (pronounced lah-nah-EE), I am lost. More twisting, red-dirt paths strike off through tall weeds and plants that have taken over the furrows that were part of the 16,000 acres of Dole pineapple farms. I drive first this way, then that. I know that I am heading, more or less, for the sparsely settled island's one-runway airport. My map shows Lana'i City, the only town, is somewhere off to the right. One of the two major luxury resorts should be off to my left. However, the map also shows, in appropriately red lines on a rose-colored background, loop upon interconnecting loop of dirt roads leading away from the base of Lana'ihale.
I am trying to feel both adventurous and philosophical about the magic of being so alone on a Hawaiian isle. But the frustration is mounting. Finally I decide to keep making righthand turns until I can see pavement leading between the airport and the town. Emerging from the vegetation, I know it is time to trespass at that luxury coastal resort; I need poolside refreshment before heading back to Lana'i City, lunch and the B&B at which I am staying. I park the red Jeep near several others. A few words of explanation here: Jeeps are the only rental vehicles on Lana'i; there is just one rental agency, and as far as I could tell, it owns the island's only gasoline pumps. So the island is paradise for someone. I saunter through the tiled hallways of the exotic Manele Bay Hotel, acting as if I belong there. Apparently my cool 'tude is enough to fool the lobby staff into thinking I do belong there -- or else they are used to seeing red-dust-covered mainlanders strolling about. I find the large pool and its bar, where I buy a drink, as if I belong here. Strolling the few steps to beautifully landscaped grounds, I get a wide view of the Pacific Ocean. I plop down on a chaise lounge, whereupon someone who does belong at the Manele Bay turns to me and breaks the news: By not more than five minutes, I have missed a mother whale coaxing her calf slowly in the waters just offshore. Poor timing in paradise.
* * * The timing was excellent, however, to chance upon Kevin Broggi, a man who has taken the theory of being bicoastal to the extreme. Kevin wandered by my picnic table in Dole Park, the heart of Lana'i City. He began a conversation that quickly turned to the wonderfulness of Hawaii and his own wisdom in shutting down his house-painting business in Massachusetts to spend the winter on Maui. On this particular day, Kevin had wheeled his bicycle onto the morning ferry to Lana'i. He had already pedaled around Lana'i City -- roughly 12 short blocks square. Just circling the flat, grassy park, he would have passed by the Cultural and Heritage Center, the playhouse/movie theater, the Lana'i Family Store, the Launderette (12 washers, four dryers -- only two of them working when I came by), the Heart of Lana'i Art Gallery, the Art Program Complex, the branch of Maui Community College and the Senior Citizens' Center Building. Every one of these is across the street from the seven-block-long Dole Park. Another eight civic and retail operations are on the other side of the park, which is equal in size perhaps to a football field. The park's name is a natural: From the 1920s into the 1990s, Dole grew more pineapples on Lana'i -- the company owned 98 percent of the island's 141 square miles -- than were grown anywhere else in the world. Locals say that ended when Dole found it cheaper to import pineapple across the Pacific from the Philippines than to barge it 50 miles to Oahu. The company's holdings were bought in 1985 by Dole board chairman David Murdock. Within 10 years pineapples were no longer a significant crop on Lan'ai. Instead, Murdock built two posh resorts and two golf courses and encouraged cattle ranching and other farming. Many of the island's 3,000 or so residents switched from pineapple work to these other jobs, and they live in older, tin-roofed cottages, the bulk of them concentrated within a mile or so of Dole Park. Having also pedaled around other parts of the island, Kevin told me that Lana'i was too quiet to suit him. Maui, with its booming tourism, was more to his liking. It is the reverse of this situation that appealed to Michael and Susan Hunter. They had spent years in southeast Asia, learning to become metalcraft artisans. Returning to the States, they had settled on Maui. But they traded in the increasing traffic jams, tourism and development for the quiet of Lana'i. Michael and Susan live in a large house that serves as a three-bedroom B&B. They also operate some short-term rental homes, for groups that want to spend a longer time or seek more privacy. But if you stay with the Hunters, you can sit in the kitchen and watch Susan squeeze the passion fruit for your juice, slice papayas or bananas and bring you her banana bread or pound cake, cereal, toast and jams. All the while she or Michael will relate the pleasures of living on an overlooked island. A big night here might be taking in the high school girls' basketball game or heading to the playhouse/movie theater. The place is so quiet you can sleep with the windows open, and there is never a traffic jam. The Hunters, world travelers, call their B&B Dreams Come True on Lana'i.
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