Kapu in Kauai

The Nene is an endangered goose, found only in the Hawaiian Islands. Just 800 of these elusive webfoot waddlers survive, mostly on Kauai, the “Garden Isle”.

Personally I don’t care for the rare Nene. Cooked that way the meat has a gamy flavour. Just joshing. Eating a nene might subject you to Kapu, the ancient Hawaiian code of conduct. In olden times breach of Kapu resulted in nasty consequences, like summary execution.

The nene’s problem is the mongoose, a ferret-like carnivore imported to Hawaii in the late 19th century to rid the sugar cane fields of rats – another nuisance introduced by that worst of all invasive creatures: man. Unfortunately, as is often the case, we messed up. The diurnal mongoose ignored the nocturnal rats. While the mongooses slept the rats played in the dark.

But the mongooses (yes mongooses, not mongeese) didn’t go hungry. This voracious predator is extremely fond of the helpless nesting nene and its eggs. The goose was soon cooked from many of the islands.

Fortunately the mongoose didn’t make it to Kauai and the State bird has managed to maintain a foothold on this most ancient of the Hawaiian Islands. Lack of mongooses on Kauai has also saved many other rare endemic (native) birds. But want of predators has resulted in a proliferation of chickens. Colorful roosters parade all round this sub-tropical paradise, an island-wide nuisance, cock-a-doodle-do-ing from dawn to dusk.

We had come to the Garden Isle not to seek out threatened ganders or noisy cocks but to hike Kauai’s famed trails. So, what were the chances of running smack dab into a gaggle of nene on our first trek into the rainforest? Yet here they were alongside the Pihea Trail, oblivious to their tenuous existence, quietly eating tender young shoots in a field of cassava. In the misty distance the sun shone feebly through clouds shrouding the world’s wettest spot: each year Mount Waialeale is drenched with 1100mm of precipitation.

Fearful of Kapu we gave the nene a wide birth and continued the arduous 7-kilometer footpath toward Kilohana lookout.

This, our first Kauai morning, had begun auspiciously. The drive from the resort area of Poipu up the Waimea Canyon gorge to the Pihea trailhead is, at the risk of sounding redundant, simply gorge-ous. A rainbow’s-eye view of the ochre-coloured canyon portended a marvelous day.

So I was more than a little miffed when we arrived at the trail’s end, the wondrous Kilohana viewpoint. Quiet serenity, our just reward for completing a gruelling three-hour hike across babbling brooks, beneath rainforest canopy and through spongy swamp, was spoiled by a young woman talking loudly on her cell phone to a loser from the mainland. They had no business (p)honing in on our solitude. The conversation went something like this:

“And I’m like, ‘what did you think I’d say’ and he’s like, ‘I can’t believe you said that’. And then I’m all like ‘don’t give me that bullshit man’”.

This clever repartee went on interminably, disrupting our otherwise tranquil piece of paradise.

When the call ended I intended to comment but before I could interject she dialed again. Steaming mad, I over-chewed my trail mix waiting for her to finish this second equally inane chat with “the world”. When she finally hung up – and before she could begin the next chapter in this series of mindless exchanges – I quietly asked:

“Do you have any idea how rude it is to interrupt this place of quiet reflection with loud, inconsiderate phone calls?”

She looked at me, stunned, the way a young cheek-studded, raven-haired Goth might when told by a stranger on a bus that he needed an appointment with the barber. Then she made another call.

The next day we circled the island to hike the famed Kalalau Trail, another grueling but equally rewarding challenge along Kauai’s rugged Na Pali Coast. Wild orchids rooted in a mossy cliff hung next to giant spiders, each blissfully unaware of their precarious perch beneath Hanakapi-ai waterfall. There were no absurd phone calls this day but we did run into a number of young hippies trodding over the jagged, slippery path in bare feet. It takes all kinds.

We took time off from our busy hiking schedule (Florence said she wouldn’t march another step no matter how goddamn beautiful the trails were) and went golfing. The Poipu course is unremarkable but I was thrilled by the local rule that grants free – and mandatory – relief from all “Heiau”. These ancient rubble piles of hand-stacked lava are considered sacred. It is Kapu to hit a three wood out of this sacrosanct environment – no matter how good your lie. I elected to take the free drop rather than risk summary execution.

The most remarkable aspect of heiau is not how the ancient Polynesians cleverly engineered these lava structures to withstand time and the elements but rather how handy the word “heiau” will be in Scrabble when I’m reduced to a rubble of vowels in my tile rack.

The appeal of hiking is difficult to explain – particularly to a couch potato. The vista earned from a grueling trek to a mountaintop, looking down into the just-ascended valley, forms much of the allure, inducing an endorphin-like sense of well-being. Why does this commune with nature’s palette of trees, water, rock, wind and sky give such a sense of wonder and accomplishment? If I need explain then there’s a cozy sofa nearby with your name and a bag of chips on it.

I’m enamoured by Hawaii. I love hiking. Did we enjoy our jaunts through Kauai’s world-class trails? Does water run off a Nene’s back?

Kapu to all.

Gerry