“I’m not trying to hide from the truth but to balance it, to remind myself that there are other truths, too. I need to remember that the earth, fragile as it is, remains heartbreakingly beautiful. I need to give my attention to a realm that is indifferent to fretful human mutterings and naked human anger, a world unaware of the hatred and distrust taking over the news.”
– Margaret Renkl, The Comfort of Crows.
“I’ll tell you what I believe in,” she said. “I believe in the ‘aina — the land and the sea and the air around us. When our ancestors first saw the fury of the surf or the angry fire spitting from volcanoes, they saw that there was a power to these things that they could not explain. They knew they had mana—power. And they do. Can you look at the beauty around us, Aouli, and doubt that there is mana in this crater, and in the land and sea and sky that surround it?”
– Alan Brennert, Moloka’i
We arrived at the base of Haleakala around nine in the morning—the dawn chorus resounding as though the sun had just opened the sky unto morning light—a whistle, a twitch of tongues, a biting trill that carried throughout the treelines. There was no mistaking the song, as they bound across the sky, the calls of Hawai’i’s native forest birds.
The parking lot was surrounded by (non-native) eucalyptus, emitting its scents—menthol and winter heat. The forest invites a deep breath for anyone near; I take mine.
We landed on Maui just a few hours before, a quick 40-minute flight from our home island of Oahu. My life in Hawai’i has spanned over a decade; although I’ve moved to various states in between, I’ve always been lucky enough to return home.
The fact is, I am a transplant to these islands. I cherish what I’ve learned throughout the years. I value shared traditions, knowledge, stories, and responsibility. Because of this, I’ve done what I can to give back to my community, as these islands have graciously given me so much – healing, life, peace, energy, just to name a few.
The mindset of giving back, the responsibility I feel, has often landed me in positions working alongside biologists and agriculturalists whose job is to preserve the native flora and fauna of Hawai’i. Through these various channels, I’ve known about the ‘I’iwi’s for years, but my depth of knowledge was shallow at best. Mostly, I marveled at their photographs and understood that sightings on Oahu are rare. In that, and my ignorance, I believed these birds only existed in areas restricted to scientists, conservationists, and field researchers. I assumed the ‘I’iwi was something I would never have the opportunity to see beyond a photograph. I have never been so happy to be wrong.
Three days before our weekend trip to Maui, I decided to do some light planning. Haleakala National Park was a top priority, so I perused their scheduled events. That’s where I found the 10 a.m. “Park Ranger Nature Walk,” a .5-mile hike in which a park ranger would discuss the native bird population and point out native plant species. Naturally, we love that for us!
The drive to the National Park entrance was a winding climb through switchbacks of valleys into cloud forests, with an almost 360-degree view of the Pacific Ocean.
We entered the gate and continued to climb before reaching the first welcome center. As any National Park welcome center has, signs were posted for the native species in the area, ‘Ahinahina (Haleakalā silversword), a straight-spined and striking silver sage plant endemic to Hawai’i.
Next to information about ‘Ahinahina was another sign, a photograph of a striking red bird with an unmistakable curved beak, the ‘I’iwi. The sign indicated ‘I’iwi’s are often spotted at the Hosmer Grove trail, and that’s precisely where we were headed for our guided walk.
We met the ranger at the trailhead. He was friendly and genuinely enthusiastic about the (roughly) hour-long walk. He wore the standard ranger uniform and carried a large camera lens that seemingly doubled as binoculars.
As we began the trail, he told us about the controversy surrounding keeping the non-native eucalyptus and pines among the natives. The ranger shared one of the primary purposes of National Parks, which is to preserve both the natural landscape of the place and its history.
The park separates the tree forest from the valley of native species. The Eucalyptus trees you’ll find at the start of the Hosmer trail were initially planted in 1909 by Ralph Hosmer. He planted these trees for various reasons, all of which can be whittled down to one: experimental use.
Despite their natural allure, eucalyptus trees are harmful to the native population, secreting an oil that prevents the growth of other species. The park works to keep the various eucalyptus and pine trees on their side of the forest and away from the valley and the remainder of the park, where native plant species reside.
Throughout the hike, the ranger encouraged us to use all of our senses, sight, smell, and even taste.
He picked up a fallen eucalyptus leaf and advised us to do the same. The slightly hooked-shaped, aged brown leaf was crisp between my fingers. I crushed the leaf, rolling the fibers in my palm until they became leaf confetti. I brought my cupped hands to my nose, the eucalyptus resting inside my palms. I took a deep breath. The scent was clean and sharp, like snowflakes falling on bare arms.
My husband notes he’s never thought to crush a leaf to smell, and I don’t believe in a future where I walk a forest path without performing this ritual.
We reach the clearing, where the canopy of eucalyptus shade ends and the start of sub-alpine shrubland begins. There is a slight climb, and then we’re at an overlook where the mountain gulch opens to a sea of green, blooming yellow buds of the Māmane and the firework-like bursts of crimson flowers belonging to the ʻōhiʻa lehua. These flowers are of the utmost importance, as these are the native honeycreepers and ‘I’iwi’s favorite.
The ‘I’iwi is an endemic (meaning found nowhere else on Earth) forest bird of Hawai’i. They are currently sanctioned under “threatened” species, and a petition is pending to categorize them as “endangered.” The ‘I’iwi are considered honeycreepers; they use their curved, nectar-adapted beaks to feed primarily on the blossoms of native Hawaiian plants like ʻōhiʻa lehua. ‘I’iwi’s were once found across all the islands of Hawai’i, but now are rarely seen on O’ahu or Moloka’i.
At this lookout, we see the ‘I’iwi for the first time, along with two other native forest birds, the ʻApapane’ and the ʻAmakihi. ‘ The birds are not docile; they dance across the sky in a symphony of glorious calls, each unique and beautiful.
We are stone. Listening and observing the birds as they move, they glide and bounce off branches, drinking the nectar, flower to flower. I am awestruck. My heart is exhilarated; I can feel its rhythm speed quickening with every clear view of I’iwi.
To me, these birds appear prehistoric – living dinosaurs – a striking and allusive beauty. What, you’d imagine, could only exist in the past, the story of once upon a time – but of course, they are not once upon a time; they are a living legacy, history interwoven into our present day.
‘I’iwi are found nowhere else in the world; this fact, amidst a blend of fear for their uncertain future, delight in the present, and privilege at their sight, brings tears to my eyes – joy, excitement, and gratitude held taut.
It is my most sincere hope that my experience, observing the ‘I’iwi take hold of open sky as it is their own, in all their vitality and brilliance, is the collective; that in the years to come, ‘I’iwi are far from threatened and exist in abundance.
After about 20 minutes of observing, we continued the second half of the trail. The ranger guided us through the process, discussing the surrounding flora. He was kind to answer our questions and patient as I stopped every time I spotted an ‘I’iwi drinking from the Māmane.
He showed us a few native edible species, including the “hawaiian rasberry” ‘Ākala and the pea-sized, dark purple berries of Kūkaenēnē. Eat at your own risk, he warned, as these berries have a slight laxative property. My husband and I split half of one. The berry had a subtle, earthy flavor, which was barely noticeable; mostly, it didn’t taste like anything.
We continued, letting the tranquility of the trail remind us to keep breathing. There is no way to feel the true pulse of life when distracted by what’s trending, consuming, destroying. Kinship with our environment, the places we call home (big picture and small), is found only when we place ourselves within these wild spaces – where the grass grows atop wormholes, the air smells of earth-brewed perfume, mushrooms, and moss or basil and plumeria, the sounds of wind and trees and birds surround us, where we feel the vastness of the Earth. It is here we are reminded, keep breathing.
A Note: This post was 100% human-made. At no time did I use A.I to write this article. Images you see on this post were captured by me (or my partner) unless otherwise stated (credited/linked). Thank you for reading! 🙂
Learn more about ‘I’iwi:
- https://www.mauiforestbirds.org/iiwi/
- https://abcbirds.org/bird/iiwi/
- https://hawaii-forest.com/the-hawaii-forest-trail-iiwi-fund/
- https://dlnr.hawaii.gov/wildlife/birds/iiwi/
Resources I used to create this post:
- https://www.nps.gov/havo/learn/nature/ahinahina-silverswords.htm
- https://dlnr.hawaii.gov/forestry/plants/mamane/
- https://www.nps.gov/havo/learn/nature/shrubs-and-bushes.htm#:~:text=Like%20%CA%BB%C5%8Dhelo%2C%20p%C5%ABkiawe%20carries%20white,range%20white%20to%20pale%20pink.
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