Born to the Land

It takes us an hour and a half to reach the Waikolu Valley Lookout, normally a 45-minute trip. The fog is thick and we only catch glimpses of the majestic valley when openings appear briefly in the rain clouds far below. As we contemplate whether to proceed onto the even narrower track that continues into the preserve, an even darker rain cloud envelops us.

Livingston halts the jeep along the way at points of interest. Beside an oddly shaped man-made hole, he explains: “This was dug by Hawaiians to replicate the hull of a 19th-century sailing ship. It was used to measure a full load of sandalwood.”

The sandalwood trade is one of the darkest periods in Hawaiian history. “The Hawaiian monarchy almost enslaved their own people to capitalize on the sandalwood trade,” Livingston says. In their desire to acquire American, European and Chinese goods, such as alcohol and guns, they forced their own people to toil in the mountains cutting down sandalwood trees. Within 40 years they had depleted the forest of sandalwood, shipping it primarily to China.

“Life was so harsh that parents would cut down sandalwood saplings or pull the shoots out by the roots in order to kill the trees, just so their children wouldn’t have to cut them down one day.”

The more elevation we gained, the heavier the rainfall. In places the track was so washed out that deep narrow grooves were carved down the center of the tracks, making it difficult to control the Jeep’s steering. And the slippery mud frequently left the jeep’s tires spinning, unable to gain any traction. Occasionally the jeep slid sideways and backwards, until the drive turned into a roller coaster ride that induced nervous laughter and increased the chances we’d roll the Jeep.

Fearing the risk to Jonathan and Bob’s daughter was too great, we stopped the Jeep. At about three-quarters of the way up to the top of Kamakou we left the jeep to walk down a rainforest trail so we could view some of the work being carried out by TNC.

It focusses on native ecosystem conservation where the rainforest is still intact; it doesn’t do single species conservation or restoration of severely altered areas. In Hawaii, that means much of their work is restricted to higher elevations, where the rainforest has largely escaped the impact of humans. And the ecological function of the mountain rainforest is critical—Kamakou’s is responsible for 60 percent of Molokai’s fresh water.

The main threats to the mountain ecosystem are feral animals, especially goats, deer and pigs, but hunters are airlifted into the interior by helicopter to help control their spread. The harvest is evidently bountiful as evidenced by the deer antlers and boar tusks that adorn the fences of homes along Route 450.

The rain gets heavier as we descend, at one point it pours in sheets and we are almost swept off the track as we round a bend. But the scenery is hauntingly beautiful—dark green vegetation, highlighted by light, lime-green moss, shrouded by rain clouds. The forest thins out as we descend until it is reduced to scrub. We arrive back in town, our jeep covered in red mud.

While watching the sun set from the veranda of our beach house, KB, the caretaker, drops by for a chat. Philosophical as always, he muses about the many different reactions that the island provokes.

“Molokai is not for everybody. Some people come here for brief periods and enjoy it. Some come here and absolutely hate it because they don’t like to be away from normal tourist activities. And some people come to Molokai thinking that they’re going to want to stay and love it, and they discover that they don’t like it at all. Others arrive and become hooked. It really isn’t for everybody.”

“The chief thing is that Molokai has a spirit of its own. You’re either going to be compatible with it or you’re not. In a way it may be up to the island whether you get to stay or not.”

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 20th, 2005 at 9:48 pm and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site. Add to del.icio.us.