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On visiting Kaua'i A personal journey
X marks the spot of Ke‘e Beach.	The continuation and conclusion of October and November articles: Last August, my husband Keith and I traveled to the island of Kaua‘i for the first time. I wrote about that trip in both the October and November newsletters; the first article traced the relationship between the mele and dances AHA had performed at this year's Aloha Festival with locales on the island, and the second article gave some historical background about the legendary hula heiau Kauluapā'oa and hula hālau Keahualaka on Kaua‘i's northern coast.
In this final “episode,” I'd like to share more of my own personal experiences at the hula heiau and hula hālau. Not only did we visit these sites on land, but as luck would have it, we sailed past them the very next day while on a cruise of the famed Nā Pali Coast, which begins just south of the hālau Keahualaka. We had the completely unexpected and additional pleasure of flying over the heiau and hālau on the helicopter tour of the island we had been convinced to take by my hula brother, Peyton. [Mahalo, Peyton!] Photos taken from the perspective of land, sea, and air accompany this article.)
Mt. Waialeale hiding under the clouds in the background.	After a home-cooked breakfast eaten on the balcony of our condo (which overlooks the inlet some call "Turtle Bay"), we packed up our gear and our cooler and headed north. We stopped at a couple of view spots along the way, but decided to have our lunch on the bluff above the taro ponds, facing Mt. Waialeale, hoping that the clouds above would lift to allow us a glimpse of the summit.
We were both so intent on watching the mountain (and eating!) that we failed to take the time to slather ourselves with bug repellent: it only took about a minute before we had both become a midday snack for several tiny, winged, biting residents. Even that couldn't spoil our mutual joy at being back in Hawai'i, though, and enjoying the splendid view spread out before us. The mountain did briefly cooperate — almost — after we finished eating, so we headed back on the road, en route to Ke‘e.
The author, on the grounds of heiau Kauluapā'oa	The trip to Ke‘e from Poipu didn't take long, perhaps a couple of hours, total. But the journey from the beach at Ke‘e to the hula heiau Kauluap_‘oa and hālau Keahualaka seemed to occur outside of time. Did it take an hour? Two? More? I still cannot be sure. At first, it seemed as though the trailhead from the edge of the beach would be impossible to find. Nothing was marked, and what we thought was the path bore a strong resemblance to a park utility road.
I cannot say how long we walked —it wasn't more than 10 or 15 minutes — and suddenly we stepped into an enclosed area with a moderately-sized, flat, grassy clearing edged with rocks. I stopped. I recognized ... something; I felt as though I was hearing laughter. I slowly looked around this site, and knew where I was — standing at the entrance to the heiau Kauluapā'oa. It was a magical moment, and I was fortunate enough to have some time there alone with Keith to take it all in.
Retaining wall, heiau Kauluapā'oa	While Keith took pictures, I took a seat on the staircase on the far side of the clearing to reflect on where I was and what I was feeling, when suddenly I heard voices and laughter. Three or four young men and a dog stepped into the clearing opposite me, walked across and kept going, past me, up the steps and out of view. They said hello as they passed, but seemed to have no sense of where they were, or of the nature of the place they were visiting.
I decided to give them time to pass through the rest of the area (hoping to avoid meeting them further on at the hālau). After a few minutes had passed, we set out on what we assumed was the trail, which became steeper and more difficult to follow as we went along. I have to interject here that I am not a natural-born hiker. I like taking walks in the outdoors; I like following trails through the forest. But I am not a climber. I usually wear hiking boots and try to stay covered up and away from too much foliage when I go hiking: I don't like bugs very much, either. Not knowing how much of the area surrounding the heiau or the hālau was or was not developed, I had crossed my fingers and opted to dress for the weather, in shorts and sandals. So it was a bit dismaying to see that I would have to climb through fairly heavy brush and maneuver my way over rocky ground to get from the heiau to the hālau. But somehow, on that day, in that place, none of that seemed to matter. I found myself being drawn up the side of the hill, moving rapidly, and with an uncharacteristic ease and confidence, ducking under low branches, bare legs making full contact with vegetation, and all without a care. It was as if I were being drawn along, pulled as if on a string, and up I went, willingly, and even joyfully. Part of me wondered why the trail was so difficult to follow, while another part of me simply didn't care.
At one point, it seemed as though we were climbing up a forested cliff, but with no visible way out, when all at once the sun was overhead, and we were working our way up an obviously ancient staircase. And then, there it was, Keahualaka. I realized that we had come up to the front side of the hālau, not along the side, as I had somehow expected. The shrub-pocked cliff face rose before us at the rear of a large, grassy plain edged with rocks and boulders. And sitting on one of the boulders was one of the young men who had passed me by at the heiau below.	Hula hālau Keahualaka
Aerial view of the hula hālau Keahualaka.	Unexpectedly, he rose and came over to where I was standing. I admit to being sorry he was there — in my anticipation of visiting this place, I had hoped for a more private experience. But he began to ask me about where we were, and his honest and respectful manner eventually won me over. He seemed genuinely interested, and happy to learn more about hula, about the heiau and hālau, and the history and traditions that surrounded us. He assured me that his friends (and their dog) had shown no disrespect in their brief walk around the grounds there. He left after we'd talked for a few minutes, and then my wish for more privacy came true.
The hālau is beautiful, and it is inspiring: the warm breeze from the ocean carries the scents of the surrounding plants and trees, and the ocean itself extends from the edge of the hālau as if it were a part of it, stretching out beyond the grass, beyond the trees, to the distant horizon. I sat down and let myself envision what it might have been like, with dozens of students gathered there, learning the mele and the dances, over so many centuries. Fifty generations of hula dancers had been students at this hālau.	Gifts for Laka on the cliff face of Keahualaka.
The clearing in the center is the hula hālau Keahualaka [taken at sea] Closer view of the hula hālau Keahualaka [taken at sea]	It was an illuminating and sobering realization — here was an academy in nature, with the blue sea on one side and an ancient wall of stone on the other. And the link to those 50 generations is unbroken — the gifts of fruit and flowers that studded the cliff face, as well as my own presence there, were all proof that this place is still so vitally important to the hula people of today. The trip back down from the hālau to the heiau was much less eventful than the ascent. We discovered a staircase that led down from the opposite side of the hālau, and then found a trail down the hill that was much easier to follow. Why we had not seen it on our ascent I will never know! We left the area once we returned to the foot of the cliff, with no desire to even sit at the lovely beach there at Ke‘e. I said a silent goodbye as we drove away, hoping that one day I'll be able to return.
- by Patricia Ravarra