Category: Conservation

Three Hills of Hilo

These three puʻu, in legend and in fact, were/are an important part of the hydrology of Hilo. The puʻu are sponges which absorb water all rainy season and slowly release it into the underground streams during the dry season. They are/were on the border between the ahupuaʻa of Punahoa and Piʻihonua.

Our kūpuna knew their importance, it is essential knowledge encoded in the legends.

Hinakuluʻua, a rain goddess, is the personification of the Piʻihonua weather system which begins in the venturi between Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa and ends near Lyman House.

Hinaikeahi, a fire goddess, created the springs in the intricate lava tube, freshwater spring, and micro-spring system which begins in the hills and continues out into Hilo Bay. In the full version of the moʻolelo, each of the major springs she created is named. Here is Westervelt’s version of the story, in Peter Young’s blog.

These two akua, or elementals, figure in the moʻolelo of their sister/mother Hina of Waiʻanuenue and her courtship by the moʻo Kuna. You can see encoded into this story important information about the dangers of the river.

Since Peʻa and Honu were dismantled, it has changed the vitality of the springs, and the ecosystems which depended on them.

1929 image illustrating landscape of Hilo, Hawaiʻi
This photograph of Puʻu Hālaʻi, Puʻu Honu, and Puʻu Peʻa was taken by Florence DeMello Dias about 1929. Puʻu Peʻa (far right) was excavated in the 1930s to build the roadways of Hilo. The remnants of Puʻu Honu (center) continue to be excavated for development. Puʻu Hālaʻi was built over by homes, which preserved it from most excavation. The mauka (right-hand) slope seen in the photograph was excavated to build the current medical center. The image is taken from above the turn-off to the old Hilo Hospital.

The Floodplain of Hilo

Aloha no! I would like to share a little history of Hilo’s soccer field area, as I learned it from my kūpuna and some others who have researched it:
 
Back when Paiʻea Kamehameha was building his Peleleu Fleet, the beach went all the way back to the canal. This is why this part of Hilo, from the Wailuku to the Wailoa, is named Hilo One, “Sandy Hilo.” Behind the beach, and throughout the area where Wailoa Park is now, were lush taro fields, as well as fish ponds.
 
The entire area between the Wailuku and Wailoa are Hilo’s natural floodplain. Waiākea is also part of this natural floodplain, as you can see by the name, “Broad Water.”
 
From Hilo One to mauka, and crossing where Komohana Street is now, were Haili Forest and Mokaulele Forest. The remnants of Mokaulele are above the ʻImiloa Astronomy Center.
 
This forest created a natural sponge which helped to absorb the famous rains of Hilo. Many ancient chants describe the heavy rainfall of Hilo, and how it fills the waterways and tears at the edges of the shore.
 
Paiʻea Kamehameha logged huge swaths of the forest surrounding Hilo One to build the Peleleu Fleet.
 
Later, more of the forest was logged to build Hilo Town. Haili Church is named for the forest that its lumber came from.
 
Later, when Sugar was King, railroad tracks were built on the beach. A berm was created to protect the railway.
 
Over the years, communities grew up along the railway and in the Wailoa Park area (most famouly, Shinmachi). Roadways were installed, in addition to the railways.
 
The communities were destroyed by the tsunamis of 1946 and 1960.
 
After 1960, the devastated areas were made into parks so that people could not rebuild there and suffer such losses again.
 
The Kaikoʻo area was created with fill, to elevate governmental and commercial areas above the worst of the tsunami’s reach.
 
By then, Hilo had grown so much there was no place to put a replacement for a major road to serve the makai areas, so the bay front road would have to remain, and because it is so close to sea level, it would have to be protected by a berm. Still, when the sea is rough, the road must be closed.
 
I often hear people say that the berm needs to be cut through and opened up to allow the water on the so-called “soccer field” to drain into the bay. The problem with that idea is that the “soccer field” is only 10 feet above sea level. If that berm were removed, there would be little difference between the floodplain and the bay. Rough seas would use the entire area for a beach. 
 
Yes, there was poor planning, but the poor planning was done in the 1800s. The city should not have been developed makai of what is now Kinoʻole St. All of that area is part of the natural floodplain. But what is done, is done, and the current situation is the best possible solution taking into account the various needs of Hilo. 
 
In 1994, plans were made to mitigate the problems through the Alenaio Stream Flood Control Project. Draining the water into the remains of the floodplain keeps it out of the rest of Hilo, and allows it to slowly seep away, rather than “bite the shore like an angry dog,” as the old chants describe.
 
Rather than be angry that the soccer field and park get flooded, I think we should be happy that enough of the floodplain was opened up to provide for much of the storm waters, and when it is not storming, we have a wonderful soccer field and park to use.
 
Just my manaʻo. If I have made any errors, please give me links and documentation, as I am passionate about the history of our town, and always seeking to learn more!
 

Malama pono!

Mahalo to Baron Sekia for the info about the Alenaio Stream project.

For some amazing photos, check out Extreme Exposure’s Facebook page.

Indigenous Traditions could be New Resource Management Model

This excellent op-ed piece by ʻOhu Gon  needs to be shared with many.
By Sam ‘Ohu Gon
September 4, 2016

The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) recently unveiled a groundbreaking map of Central America that illustrates the critical role indigenous people play as caretakers of the region’s natural resources.

The map depicts Central America’s forest and marine ecosystems, along with the names, populations and locations of its indigenous peoples, who occupy almost 40 percent of the land and water area. And what the map clearly shows is telling: The best preserved natural resources are found where indigenous people live.

“You cannot talk about conservation without speaking of indigenous peoples and their role as the guardians of our most delicate lands and waters,” said Grethel Aguilar, a regional IUCN official. “They depend on those natural resources to survive, and the rest of society depends on their role in safeguarding those resources for the well-being of us all.”

The IUCN has made previous motions acknowledging indigenous people in conservation. But at this year’s World Conservation Congress, now underway in Honolulu, members will vote on a motion drafted by the cultural committee of the Hawai‘i Conservation Alliance that asks them to take additional steps toward integrating indigenous values, knowledge and approaches into efforts to address the world’s conservation challenges.

Why look to indigenous peoples?

Renowned philosopher Noam Chomsky says indigenous peoples have not commodified their relationship with the natural world. Their relationship is reciprocal: they care for their resources because their survival depends on it. Such a philosophy is desperately needed in Western societies today.

Prior to Western contact, Hawaiians embraced a reciprocal relationship with all elements of the natural world, regarding them as elders and physical manifestations of ancestors and gods.

Living on islands, with finite natural resources, they developed a mountains-to-sea system of resource management.

Within each ahupua‘a, or land division, there was an individual — the konohiki — trained from childhood to know the ahupuaa resources intimately, and who had the authority to set kapu — restrictions — when those resources were threatened, thereby bringing the resources back into balance.

The konohiki knew when each mountain tree was fruiting, when the birds of land or sea were nesting and when runs of fish were moving through the ahupua‘a — events that were extremely important to daily life.

Western approaches supplanted old relationships, disrupted ecological processes, commodified natural resources and essentially destroyed self-sufficiency.

Today, 85 to 90 percent of our food and other goods are imported from elsewhere, and the average citizen in Hawaii has little connection to the resources around them, much less a sense of kuleana — responsibility — for their care.

While we can’t easily return to the ancient ahupua‘a system, we can work to re-establish meaningful connections between people, places and resources that were its foundation. When people know and love their place and its resources, everyone benefits. The movement toward community-based marine management in Hawaii is all about this.

In rural areas like Haena on Kauai, Moomomi on Molokai, Kipahulu on Maui, and Kaupulehu on Hawaii island, indigenous communities, many of them lineal descendants of the land, are combining traditional Hawaiian approaches and modern science to restore their near-shore reefs and fisheries.

The idea is that if you engage the people of a place, who know the resources best, align them with the best of modern science and offer them an active and meaningful role in the conservation of those resources, good things happen.

Throughout the world, there is growing recognition that a new model of resource use and management is needed.

How do we achieve a more sustainable future for the planet?

The answer may lie in the caring, reciprocal relationship that indigenous people have with their resources and the natural world around them.

Sam ‘Ohu Gon, Ph.D., is a senior scientist and cultural adviser with The Nature Conservancy of Hawaii. He also is chairman of the Hawai‘i Conservation Alliance, whose cultural committee drafted IUCN Motion 83, affirming the role of indigenous cultures in conservation globally.