Floating in the Calm Skies of Kona

'Io

On the Kona flank of the Island of Hawaii, the massive bulk of Mauna Loa, the world's largest shield volcano, blocks the prevailing tradewinds, leaving the air calm. Only a daily cycle of gentle convectional breezes moves up and down the gentle slopes, bringing the warm, humid climate that kamaäina refer to as "Kona weather." In the native forests of Kona, the still air would be silent if not for the songs of birds. In the growing light just before dawn, the songs of apapane, amakihi, iiwi, and other honeycreepers fill the cool montane air. The whir of wings overhead guides the eyes to a pair of bright red birds crossing an open lava flow between forest patches. They are homing in on an ohia lehua tree thickly covered with scarlet blossoms, promising a plentiful and sweet nectar meal.

Suddenly, in an explosion of red feathers, one of the two apapane is taken by a dark form that plummets from above, leaving the other to veer off in avian panic. As the feathers drift slowly to earth, a hawk lands in a grey snag of a koa tree, and prepares her morning meal

To Hawaiians, the io is a royal figure: strong and aggressive, but also graceful and stately, poised silently high above the earth. Certainly in our visits to the forests of Kona, to see hawks wheeling about silently in the pale skies or to hear their piercing cries is an impressive and unforgetable thing. The Hawaiian saying "kaha ka io i ka malie" translates as "the hawk stands out in the calm skies," and is used to denote admiration for a person who stands out in a crowd because of their appearance or charisma. The palace of the Hawaiian monarchy in Honolulu was named Iolani, "Exalted Hawk," which reflects this long-standing symbolism.

The Hawaiian hawk is one of only two extant native birds of prey native to the Hawaiian Islands. The other, the pueo (Asio flammeus sandwichensis) is a subspecies of the North American short-eared owl, and considered by many scientists a relatively recent natural arrival to Hawaii. Nonetheless, like the io, the pueo is prominent in Hawaiian mythology and in stories, even engaged in battles with men (the pueo armies won). The pueo can be found on all of the main islands, but the hawk is today restricted to the island of Hawaii. While it is still relatively common there, it is considered an endangered species by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and an important element for biodiversity conservation.

Io have been able to persist because they can thrive in a variety of habitats, and have taken advantage of introduced rodents, augmenting their ancient diet of forest birds. As a top predator, the presence of io in the forests of Kona is also an indication that the system which supports it is still relatively intact. In ecological systems, when the underpinnings are damaged, the top predators are often the first to be affected. In the forests of Kapua in South Kona, io still build their nests in strong öhia trees, calling out their persistence for all to hear.

E ola mau na mea Hawaii!

Visits to the Wao Akua

Recently, my wife and I traveled to the island of Maui and visited the high subalpine cinderlands of Haleakalä. The name of the place, which literally means "house of the sun" gives some indication of its significance in the Hawaiian world view, for the sun was a manifestation of the god Käne, one of the four principal Hawaiian deities. One of the peaks of Haleakalä, named Hanakauhi, is associated with the feat of the slowing of the sun's travels across the sky. According to tradition, the sun in ancient times sped across the sky, and anything left out to dry (such as kapa) would remain wet, and rot instead. At Hanakauhi, tells kupuna (elder) Inez Ashdown, the demigod Maui awaited the rising of the sun, and using his net, snared the great blazing god. In the ensuing struggle, Maui breaks the legs of the sun, but spares his life when he agrees to move more slowly across the sky.

That the highest peaks of our islands, Haleakalä (10,023 ft), Hualalai (8,271 ft), Mauna Loa (13,677 ft), and Mauna Kea (13,796 ft) should be considered sacred, homes of gods, and the sites of the great exploits of Hawaiian mythology is in keeping with the idea that there is a basic dichotomy, a division between the realm of people (wao kanaka) and the realm of gods (wao akua).

Mauna Kea is famous as the home of Poliahu, goddess of the snows, while Mauna Loa is one of the haunts of Pele, goddess of volcanic fires. But one does not have to go to the summits to enter the wao akua. The wao kanaka of old was along the coast, and in the arable, mild lowlands where humans can thrive. Above the cultivated lands were typically native forest, and there was the boundary to the wao akua, for the forest was the realm of Kü, god of war, governance, and upright growth (such as trees). The common person did not visit the wao akua without good reason, and when there was cause, as to gather a tree for canoe-making, the kahuna kälai wa'a (kahuna of canoe-making) would spend days preparing spiritually, and the party would be chosen to enter the place with appropriate ceremony and offerings, for example, as Malo recorded, "e lawe no lakou me ka pua'a, me ka niu, a me ka i'a 'ula, a me ka 'awa [they had to take pigs, coconuts, red fish, and 'awa]."

If infrequent visitations to the wao akua was the rule, then any kind of more permanent sign of human presence should be rare in the uplands of Hawai'i, and such indeed is the case. One might come across a trail in the barren lands, where smooth water-worn boulders might be laid across a rough 'a'ä lava field. Temporary shelters marked by low, C-shaped crescents of rocks (to turn aside the cold night winds) marked where travelers were forced to spend the night. Lava tubes in the subalpine regions yield their clues as well, bits of marine shellfish or other transported foods, or the remains of a water gourd placed strategically under a seep of fresh water dripping from a section of cave roof to collect the precious commodity for use outside, in the dusty, sun-baked setting. Some of these ancient travelers and campers may have been using the high trails to go on important errands across the island. Other reasons included gathering the fat chicks of the 'ua'u (a Hawaiian seabird that seasonally nests in burrows in the cinder highlands), a delicacy reserved for the ali'i (chiefs).

Indeed, some unlikely sites very far from the wao kanaka were regularly visited. Perhaps the most famous (and highest in elevation) of the ancient Hawaiian upland sites is the adz quarry Keanakäko'i. It is an old site (apparently in full production by the 15th century), and indicates how far Hawaiians would go if there was a good enough reason. It is generally acknowledged that the Keanakäko'i site provided some of the finest quality basalt for the making of Hawaiian stone adzes (ko'i). The fact that it was located in the alpine zone, on the upper slopes of Mauna Kea, at up to 12,400 feet elevation meant that Hawaiians braved a multi-day excursion into a barren land, and dealt with freezing temperatures at night, while working to quarry and process the adz precursors (called "blanks") before returning to the warm lowlands and home.  Tons of sharps flakes of basalt material lie on the ground at the site, which covers 7½ square miles, making it the largest adz-quarry in the Pacific. An equal or greater tonnage of blanks must have been created and taken from the site, showing up ultimately at sites in all of the districts on the Island of Hawaii, and even on other islands.

The adz sites were considered sacred, and as Malo notes, "'O ka po'e ka ko'i, kekahi po'e i mana'o nui ia i ka wa kahiko ma Hawai'i nei [adz-makers were an extremely esteemed class in ancient Hawai'i nei]." Thus, the entrance of people into the wao akua was by esteemed kahuna dedicated to the selection and creation of adzes, and not for the common person.

Numerous small shrines occur at Keanakäko'i, thought to be dedicated to the gods of adz-making. Other small shrines have been described from various locations in Haleakalä. However, the massive rock-walled structures of heiau (temples) typically found in the lowlands or on the coast are all but lacking in the uplands of Hawai'i.

Perhaps the only major exception is the 15th century structure called Ahu a 'Umi, which lies in the remote high saddle between Hualalai and Mauna Loa, at about 5,200 feet elevation. At the site, no oceans are visible, only the major mountains of the Island of Hawaii: Kohala, Hualalai, Mauna Loa, and Mauna Kea. When I stood at the site, I also noticed that each of the mountains seemed equal in size, giving the strong impression that here was the center of the island. It is an awe-inspiring spot, one from which the high chief  'Umi consolidated his rule over the wayward districts of his huge island realm.

So, when you next visit the highlands of Maui or Hawai'i, surrounded by the cold, full silence of the alpine air and the vistas of our highest peaks, realize that you are in the realm of the gods of ancient Hawaii. It is a realm not wandered through lightly by the common person, but one that still inspires awe and respect from us today.

KOA

The kahuna kalai wa'a (canoe carving specialist) moved slowly through the upland forest flank of Honomalino on the southwestern flank of Mauna Loa. He was searching, with his small group of assistants, for the ideal koa wa'a, a koa tree with all of the properties needed for a voyaging canoe (wa'a). Such a tree would have to be of the correct size, density, and strength to serve on the thousand-mile voyages over the open Pacific. Too light, and its overall strength might not be the equal of the storms that sweep across the ocean, too dense, and its weight would be a detriment; progress would be too slow, and it would be prone to swamping. He had just examined and rejected a tall, handsome tree with whitish bark, but he knew it was the koa la'au mai'a type: koa with light yellowish wood, but like a banana tree (la'au mai'a), too weak for a canoe. The day before he had found a grove of large koa that were all koa 'i'o 'ohi'a, a dark-wooded form of koa with extreme dense, strong wood, ideal for tools and weapons, but too heavy for a canoe. Now his bare feet stood upon a bed of leaf litter at the base of a huge tree. The familiar crescent shaped leaves mimicked the phase of the moon that day: the waxing phase called Kukahi.

Before him stood two trees, each obviously a cohort of the other, germinating perhaps three human generations ago. Both had the look of the ideal koa wa'a, with straight trunks soaring upward seventy feet before branching. White lichens hung from the vigorous top branches, and the green crescent leaves stood out against the deep blue sky. Overhead, the 'io, the Hawaiian hawk, screamed out its name, silencing the otherwise noisy cacophony of brilliantly plumed native forest birds. Yet one small bird came into the presence of the kahuna and his party as he studied the bark and the girth of the trees.

It was an 'elepaio, the little brown native flycatcher that the kahuna knew was also the manifestation of the goddess of canoes, Lea. He watched the bird intently, as it flew between the trunks of the two trees. It hopped about along the trunk, its tail twitching upward at each hop, but it kept moving, stopping not at all. Finally, it flew down to the assembled group, lit on a shrub and announced itself "E-le-paio! E-le-paio!" and was gone. This was the sign that the kahuna had awaited, for the bird indicated that the trees were solid, and the two were prepared for felling, with long ceremonies, offerings, and chants to the god Ku in his many forest forms. Stone adzes worked carefully around the base of the tree, and after the two were felled and prepared, they were hauled many miles downslope to the sea for the final carving into a double-hulled voyaging canoe, capable of transoceanic trips southward to central Polynesia.

Koa trees played a vital role in Hawai'i. As one of the most prominent native canopy trees in Hawaiian forests, it remains second in coverage and numbers only to 'ohi'a, the wet forest dominant. Endemic to Hawaii, that is, unique to the archipelago, the tree grows today on all of the main Hawaiian Islands except for Ni'ihau and Kaho'olawe, in dry, mesic and wet forests between sea level and 7,000 feet elevation. It is the tallest native tree species, sometimes exceeding 25 meters in height -- the record koa being a giant tree in Kipuka Puaulu (in Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park) that reached 118 feet in its prime. As a climax canopy tree it is an essential source of insect food for many native birds, and large cavities in the tallest trees form the optimum nesting sites for certain honeycreepers, such as the 'akepa. Even in death, the great biomass of a large koa tree serves as an essential nurse log, providing nutrients and protection to seedlings that would one day refill the gap in the canopy caused by its fall.

Hawaiian uses of the tree went far beyond the supreme expression of a voyaging canoe. Surfboards, carved wooden bowls, spears, carrying poles, canoe paddles, house supports, kapa beaters, even special fish hooks designed to catch large sharks were fashioned from koa wood. Many recorded names of the types of koa and their uses indicate the intimate attention Hawaiians paid to this beautiful and durable wood. Today it is the premiere native hardwood in Hawai'i, finding its way into households as premium furniture, lumber, musical instruments such as ukulele, and fine carved art.

The word koa was not only the name of the tree, but also means "warrior" or "fearless," and surely the tallest and strongest of the trees in the forest serves admirably as a metaphor for the standout warrior on the battlefields of old. This metaphor explains why koa wood was also sometimes used as an offering on the altar of the ancient halau hula (school of dance), when the kumu detected that some students needed to overcome stage-fright, or needed a bolder dance style.

Koai'e, a smaller-statured form of koa, can be found on Moloka'i, Lana'i, Maui and Hawai'i, growing in the dry lowlands in a gnarled form. Slow-growing, the wood is extremely dense and hard, making it a favorite for tools and weapons in ancient times.  Perhaps it is no coincidence that the word i'e refers to the heavy beating mallets used to create the delicate kapa bark cloth of Hawaii. The koa i'e, then, would be the form of koa ideal for making such implements. It is interesting that an alternate name for koaie is koai'a, and as i'a is Hawaiian for fish, it is not surprising that hooks made from carefully tended and curved branches of koai'a were used to catch the largest fish during pelagic (open ocean) fishing.

"Cattle are the great enemy of the koa" said Joseph Rock, an early botanist working in the forests of Hawaii. And indeed, without careful management, free-ranging cattle have probably done more to destroy thousands of acres of prime koa forest than any other single element of post-contact Hawai'i. Sad images from the turn of the century show open pasture under dying behemoth trees, and today some of those same spots are unbroken grasslands with a few grey trunks lying on the ground. Little hint remains of the colossal koa and 'ohi'a canopy, multiple layers of other native trees beneath, and a rich mixed understory of ferns and shrubs, alive with birds and thousands of other native species that mark climax Hawaiian forest. In addition to the damage of large mammals and unsustainable overharvesting, koa forest stands have also seen decline due to diseases and insect pests. A recent major insect-caused defoliation of koa in remote Kipahulu Valley on Maui had national park managers worried, but the outbreak of native caterpillars eventually ceased, and the trees regrew their foliage in ensuing months. While a healthy and managed koa forest might survive a natural outbreak of this sort, a damaged and stressed forest might succumb altogether

Despite a history of decline, koa is a fast-growing and vigorous tree that responds well to disturbance in the landscape. If protected from overgrazing, it can quickly establish a young canopy of foliage and in less than half a century provide a harvestable stand. Such are the goals of state foresters in the Kapapala region of the Big Island, as well as Kamehameha Schools, working to restore pastures in Ka'u to native koa forest. As a dominant canopy tree, koa can also form the framework for broader biological restoration, and the idea of sustainable koa forestry that establishes not only koa, but the associated forest flora and fauna marks perhaps the greatest hope for the persistence of native forest ecosystems into this millennium.

 


Haku ia e Kamuela Ohukaniohia Gon III ma ka la ma hope o ka uniki ana ona he kahuna kakalaleo, Pepeluali 22, 2003, Papa Uniki Lauae o Kumu John Keolamakaainana Lake. Nui na mea hili ia ma keia oli: na ano like ole ohia a me lehua (apane, mamo, hamau, a me Laka), na ano ohu: hoailona hana kahuna (komo apana, hui, ohumuhumu), a me na mea hoohanohano no Kumu Lake a me ka Papa Lauae (Ku makua, makani Lauae, lehua apane). Wahi a ka moolelo, he pua ula ko ka ohia Laka ma ka aoao hikina, a ma ka aoao komohana, he pua kea kona. O Oahu ke one hanau o ka mea haku. He hookupu aloha keia no Kumu Lake a me ka Papa Lauae, a he mea hoomanao o ka inoa Ohukaniohia.

Composed by Samuel Ohukaniohia Gon III on the day following his passage as a kahuna kakalaleo, February 22, 2003, the Lauae Class of Kumu John Keolamaka.. ohia and lehua (red, yellow, silent, and of Laka), the forms of mist symbolic of the kahuna's work (appointed rounds, joining, counseling), and honorifics on Kumu Lake and the Laua`e Class (strength, support, wisdom). According to tradition, the ohia Laka bears red flowers on the east and white on the west. Oahu is the birth island of the composer. This is an offering of aloha to Kumu Lake and the Papa Lauae, and a name chant for Ohukaniohia.

On the night of Kane, as the waning cresent moon rises in the deepest hours of the night, the half-sleeping ear can hear the low beats of the temple drums coming from the heiau. So the kupuna (elders) told Bishop Museum anthropologist John E.G. Stokes at the turn of the century as he embarked on a research tour of the heiau of the island of Hawaii...


Multiple platforms and walls characterize some heiau
(above),but some were simple and small (below).

Above: the koa near the summit of the Island of Kahoolawe
is dedicated to bringing rain and regrowth of vegetation

What are heiau?

The term heiau has been translated in various ways, but in general refers to an ancient Hawaiian place of worship; a shrine or temple site. In some peoples' minds, a heiau is a massive structure of walled and terraced platforms comprised of thousands of boulders. In the general sense, religious structures go from there to smaller shrines, stone cairns (ahu), and even single standing stones (pohaku a Kane) at which people made religious observances. The broadest thinkers point out that many sacred sites in Hawaii are completely devoid of human structures, and that it is a mistake to limit the term heiau to the physical structures. The process of religious practice and the significance of human actions at a place do as much (perhaps more) to make a place sacred than any stone structure.

Nonetheless, there were thousands of heiau in existence, and hundreds of physical sites persist in various states of disrepair today. Their use was linked to the kapu system of ancient Hawaii, and when that was abolished in the reign of Kamehameha II, many heiau were abandoned or destroyed. There were different named classes and types of heiau, according to their purpose and dedicatory akua (gods). There were heiau dedicated to agriculture, used to bring rain or enhance growth. Fishing heiau likewise were used to attract fish, increase their numbers, or otherwise ensure good fishing. There were those heiau dedicated to bringing success in warfare, or in governance. There were heiau devoted to healing, to match-making and mating, to birthing, and to the everyday needs of people.


Heiau placement and design

The variety of designs of heiau seem bewildering, and although there might be certain structural requirements in common among many of them, each was custom built according to the guidance of the kahuna kuhikuhi puuone. This was a specialist guiding land uses and placement of structures or manipulations of the landscape, be they agricultural walls and terraces, house sites, or the most important heiau. Thus heiau designed varied from elaborately terraced massive stone structures dominating a site, such as the huge Piilanihale in Hana, (two football fields in surface area!) to small and simple fishing shrines built of coral rubble on the coastline. It is instructive to know that the term for a shrine, koa, is the same word as for coral, which is often found in such shrines.


Placement of Puu Kohola heiau on a coastal hilltop in
Kawaihae was carefully selected


Decisions of kahuna and alii
determined the placement
and design of heiau.

Archaeologists note that many heiau are not the result of a single building effort, but actually represent a sequential historical development of stonework, with additions, modifications, and removal of portions of the structures over decades, even over hundreds of years. Some of this might be attributable to the economy of human effort. A prominent location with pre-existing stonework might be further developed, rather than initiating the building of a new heiau at a different site. This is consistent with an observation by Kamakau that "heiau pookanaka could not be built just anywhere, but only upon sites built on by ka poe kahiko [the ancient ones]. Moreover, for each major use of the luakini, the alii nui (high chief) would consult with his kahuna pule (high priest) about whether the existing structure was sufficient, and whether the old stone walls should remain, or whether there should be new work. We could expect an existing alii to make modifications on his heiau, and it stands to reason that a conquering chief might entirely destroy or change the heiau of a vanquished chief, or build a new luakini, abandoning the old.


The wooden images of male deities stands at the heiau of
Honaunau in Kona, Island of Hawaii. Early European explorers
noted that each carved image had a specific name associated
with the many manifestations of the four major Hawaiian gods
Ku, Kane, Kanaloa, and Lono. They were treated as conscious,
living individuals.

Structures set upon the heiau

Upon the stonework of the heiau were the more frequently renewed wooden and thatched structures of various sort. On the north side might be male wooden images, on the south, the female images. There might be structures housing the personal diety of the high chief (the hale mana), one housing the temple drums (hale pahu), one in which incantations were given (hale wai ea), the sacrificial altar (lele), and the tall oracle tower (anuu or lananuu mamao) wrapped in white bark cloth (kapa), under which was the pit in which leavings were placed after sacrifice (lua pau).
 

Reconstruction of the structures built on the heiau platforms at Ahuena, Kona, Hawaii.

There was a broad dichotomy recognized by Hawaiian writers such as Malo and Kamakau regarding the major heiau of the highest chiefs. Those dedicated to Ku, god of warfare, governance, and leadership, required arduous and harsh sacrifice, and included heiau of human sacrifice. On Oahu, the heiau above Pupukea, called Puu o Mahuka, is considered one of these, termed a luakini or a poo kanaka. Some ascribe the literal translation of these names to the human sacrifice aspects of the heiau: luakini ("many pits" where remains of sacrifices were disposed) and poo kanaka (human head or skull).


Above: The royal featherwork of the ali'i would be apparent at rituals of a luakini heiau.
   
Only an island king or independent chief could establish a luakini class heiau, and the services devoted ran at minimum two weeks, in which the alii nui, kahuna pule and congregation of supporting kahuna and alii spent ten days in joint service, followed by three or more days for the high chief (and his kahuna pule) alone. According to Kamakau, the ritual prayers, the specific sacrifices, even the exact postures of the sitting ranks of alii and kahuna were strictly prescribed. Kamakau indicated that the participants were "very careful to observe the regulations lest they die. The men prayed in unison, and they kept this up for a whole hour, all praying exactly in concert, and holding their hands up, and bringing them down little by little, without moving the body, lest they die, until the burnt offering was brought forth." Merely one line from a luakini chant is sufficient to indicate the importance of the pool of sacrificial oils under the lele:


Mapele heiau

In contrast, the protocol associated with the other major class of heiau, the Hale o Lono, or mapele, was much less harsh, and did not require human sacrifice. The protocol for these heiau, dedicated to Lono, god of agriculture and peace, were milder and shorter, lasting typically three days, and were aimed at bringing health to the people and life to the land. The heiau in Aiea State Park, named Keaiwa, is of mapele class, and dedicated to the healing arts (laau lapaau). There were apparently many more of the Lono heiau than those luakini dedicated to Ku.


Mapele heiau dedicated to Lono, such as on Kaho'olawe, were associated with rain-bringing and fertility.

Pueo: Soaring over the lowlands of Hawaii

There was a time when the slopes of Puowaina, now called Punchbowl, were covered in native pili grasslands. Hidden in the grass were the nests of the pueo, the Hawaiian owl. Stories are told of the reverence that Hawaiians had for these nests and eggs, encountered, but not molested, while pili grass was being collected for thatching. If eggs were taken to eat, it was sure to be followed by dire consequences.

The story of Kapo'i comes to mind: He lived in Honolulu, and came upon the nest of a pueo, and took all seven of the eggs he found home to broil for dinner. But while he was building his fire, an owl landed at the entrance of his house and called out to him "O Kapo'i, give me my eggs!" Kapo'i obeyed, and the supernatural owl became his 'aumakua (ancestral guardian). Kapo'i built a shrine to the owl, but the chief Kakuhihewa had decreed that no man may build a shrine but the chief, and when word came to the chief that Kapo'i had built a shrine to his owl god, Kapo'i was captured and sentenced to be sacrificed at the heiau of Kupalaha, in Waikiki.

That day, the owls from throughout the islands gathered at Kala-pueo (Owl-talon or Owl-proclamation) at Makapu'u, and at Ka-noni-a-ka-pueo (The-hoot-of-the-owl) in Nu'uanu, and at Pueo-hulu-nui (Great-feathered-owl) near Moanalua. At dawn the sun came up, but when the owls took flight, the sun's light was blotted from the sky. They attacked the chief's armies, scratching at the faces of the men, and befouling them with showers of owl droppings. The owls were victorious, and Kapo'i was released. The chief told him: "Yours is an 'aumakua of great mana," and from then on, that owl was elevated as a god of warriors, Ku-kaua-kahi.

Even in 1825, Andrew Bloxam, naturalist of the HMS Blonde, wrote from Oahu that Hawaiian owls were "very numerous here and are constantly flying about all day, and not like those in England, which come out only at dusk." Today, pueo are still the only endemic birds that is found regularly in the dry lowlands of the islands, regions with almost no native vegetation. They are day-flying, medium-sized owls, with a brown back and beige breast, streaked flame-like in darker feathers, and a dark mask around yellow eyes. The introduced barn owl is larger, pale, hunts at night, and has a pure white heart-shaped face. Pueo feed on birds and rodents, and are considered an endemic Hawaiian subspecies (Asio flammeus sandwichensis), of the short-eared owl, Asio flammeus, a widespread species found on all continents except Australia and Antarctica, and even in the Galapagos, where, as in Hawai'i, it is recognized as an endemic subspecies, Asio flammeus galapagoensis.  

The great cultural significance of pueo extends to the present, with many Hawaiian families pointing to pueo as an 'aumakua. They tell of warrior ancestors who were saved by the pueo; people prevented from falling on cliff trails by a pueo, or guided to safety when lost by a pueo. In more modern times, it is said that the flight of a pueo in the path of a car may signify danger ahead.

Image above by Kekona. http://www.kekonaart.com

In my training as a chanter, my teacher, Kumu John Keolamaka'ainana Lake told stories of his pueo 'aumakua, so an experience I had on Kaho'olawe was particularly significant. I was participating in multi-day meetings on the island, planning its restoration, and one morning before dawn, I was moved to awake early, walk up a trail in the predawn light to the top of a nearby hill, to present a chant to the silent morning. The chant begins:

E ala, ua ao, ua malamalama,
ua hele kanaka aia i luna

Awaken, day has come, the sky is brightening,
people are stirring above

But as I uttered those words there was stirring, as in the air around me came soft whistling of feathers, and the dark silhouettes of pueo circling. Four had flown from the nearby pili grasslands toward the sound of chant breaking the silence of the dawn. It was all I could do to maintain my composure and finish the chant, then stand in awe as the four owls continued to circle for a time, then head off into the surrounding landscape.

When I told this to Kumu Lake, he explained further that the pueo, as a kinolau (physical manifestation) of the major god Kane, is associated with the day, so as my chant was dedicated to the breaking day, they were there to contribute to the mana of that event. It is still clear to me that Kaho'olawe, as one the islands where predators may be controlled island-wide, can become a true haven for ground-nesting birds such as the pueo. As one of the few endemic birds that can still be seen in our lowlands, the pueo is a reminder to us that we need to work to ensure the presence of native species that provide so much enrichment to our lives.

The other morning on the way to work the morning sun created a brilliant rainbow fragment low in the western sky over the plains of Ewa. Such a low-lying rainbow is called punohu, and is hoailona (sign) of Kane. This is no surprise, nor is it overtly supernatural when you think about it. One of the main manifestations of Kane is the onohi-o-ka-la, (the eyeball of the sun), and as it rises, its effect on the world, including early morning, low-lying rainbows of course would be associated.



I think on the empiricism of the poe kahiko (ancient people), and how every moment of day or night, every pattern of the changing moon and its effects on tides, and life of sea and land, and the progression of the seasons (much more subtle than the "wet season - dry season" simplification you hear about) is recorded for us as traditional knowledge woven into oli (chant) and hula (dance), as well as the details shared in the multitude of moolelo (stories). Through these media the world was described. So the punohu ula is hoailona of Kane, and that is to say, the rays of the rising sun, sent through the thick atmosphere and refracted, produces red-shifted low-lying rainbows.


So are the new shoots of the endemic Hawaiian fern Schizaea robusta, called oalii-makalii, the kinolau (physical manifestation) and hoailona of Lono, and as it is true that these new shoots are produced on the onset of the winter rains, themselves a sign of the approach of the Makahiki, then so much stronger is the connection between the fern and the Lono, god of the Makahiki. I had known of this fern for years before the name's connection to the constellation that marks the start of the Makahiki suddenly became apparent to me. I knew the Makalii as the Pleiades, until the time of Hokule'a and rebuilding awareness of Hawaiian star names reacquainted me with its proper inoa Hawaii.  It probably didn't help that the person who first showed me the fern described the name "makalii" as "small face" and used it as a mnemonic to help me link the tiny fern frond to the name. But not only a "small faced fern" was this, but also, the oalii fern associated with the Makalii constellation and the start of the Makahiki season. Such a tiny obscure and subtle thing to link to such an important season in Hawaiian life!

But large or small, we are surrounded by hoailona, and when they involve those elements that we share with the generations of ancestors that have trod the trails of these islands, they are the same now as when they presented themselves to our ancestors hundreds and thousands of years ago. That is one of the reasons I chose to explore the art of oli, chant, and why I most enjoy the ancient chants. It is because the phenomena that were chosen by the poe kahiko to put into chant were no doubt the ones most prominent and known, so that they could invoke the intended response via the kaona they embodied.

That is another good reason for us of ke ao nei (these modern times) not to contribute to the destruction of the native ecosystems of these islands, but to know them, cherish them, and actively protect them. When we let the oalii makalii disappear physically from the uplands, chewed up by introduced animals, or let it disappear from our knowledge and awareness, we lose yet another link in the net that the kupuna of these islands wove for us pulapula (descendants).



So now you too know of the oalii makalii, and that it is kinolau of Lono. Now you should take a long hike up to the summit crest of the Koolau, where the oalii makalii sends it little fronds out from the tops of the cliffs, hidden in the clouds.

pipi holo kaao

'Ohu

My work and life take me out into the middle of nowhere sometimes, so I get my share of awesome experiences, like wearing rare plants for hats, and running into my aumakua who camp out with me for a little while way up i the mountains. It has gotten me into the habit of keeping my aumakua and akua as well fed as I can. If you are unfamiliar, in Hawaii in ancient times (and for some people it is still true today), it was the duty of the head male of the household to keep the aumakua and akua fed. All food prepared for the family was not eaten immediately, but offered for the akua to eat, and the food and drink ('awa was the favored liquid) dedicated to strengthen their mana. After all, when your akua are strong, they are in better position to help you when you need it.

So now, whenever I eat, whether a meal prepared myself or one served to me at a restaurant, I take a moment to call the kini akua (the god-multitude) to come and have their fill. I confess -- I cheat when I'm in a restaurant, and tell them "Eia ka mea ai a oukou la, na mea a pau o ka hale! Here is the food for all of you, all the food of this house!" I figure the folks sitting around me won't mind if the spirit essence of their meal is helping feed the akua of these islands -- they're here for all of us, after all...

Can you imagine if every Hawaiian did this, started feeding their akua really well, every day, just like in pre-Western days? Guaranteed we'd start seeing some amazing things happen again. 

My favorite pule hanai akua is not hard to learn, no laila, ina makemake oe e aapo i kahi pule hanai akua, e leka mai i a'u. ;)

me ke aloha,

'Ohu