A Love Note to Maui

On this island, beauty and diversity are everywhere. Fragility and danger, too. My issues seem very small compared to the devastation the people of this island are currently facing.

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I had a different post prepared today, one written and inspired by my experiences over the last 9 days while on the island of Maui. We returned yesterday, and obviously much has changed in the last few days as wildfires, brought on by strong winds from nearby Hurricane Dora and severe drought conditions, decimate parts of the island. 

I’m heartbroken for the families of those who lost their lives to these wildfires, and I’m heartbroken for the devastation caused to one of the most spectacular places on earth. Yes, Maui will rebuild, but the town of Lahaina, once the royal capital of Hawaii, cannot be replaced. Satellite images show almost nothing left of this historic town. Its 150-year-old banyan tree, the largest in the U.S. and one of the town’s cherished landmarks, was badly burned, but Maui County officials report that if the roots are healthy, it is likely to grow back. Here is what it looked like less than a week ago.

Thousands and thousands of people have experienced the magic of Hawaii. It has one of the most diverse climates on the planet, including dry and wet rainforests, deserts, and even mountainous regions, where snow is the primary form of precipitation.

On this island, beauty and diversity are everywhere. Fragility and danger, too. The people of Hawaii do what they can to protect these lands and waters. Everywhere we went, but especially on Maui’s east side, we saw pleas to respect this place and the power of Mother Nature. I never once forgot my place while I was there—a guest on sacred lands. 

I was struggling mightily on the first half of the trip while we were in Ka‘anapali. Body image issues, comparison and self-criticism were like clouds following me around. It wasn’t until we traveled the road to Hana and then unwound in that remote coastal town that I recognized what was happening and righted myself.

Hana doesn’t hit you, it seeps into you. This is what my trusty guidebook said, and it was true. Somehow, all the issues I had been dealing with melted away in Hana. 

My issues seem rather insignificant now, especially in the larger context of the devastation now taking place on the island. Despite my struggles, we experienced the full range of Maui’s beauty. We hiked to the Nakalele Blowhole and Olivine Pools on our first day, where we scrambled up and over volcanic boulders as we descended the cliffside to the ocean and then back up again. 

We did two hikes in Haleakala National Park, one particularly challenging but with exceptional views. Sliding Sands saw us starting near the 10,023-foot summit and descending into the crater but still above cloud level before we turned around and headed back up.

The other, the Pipiwai Trail, took us through rainforest and just past a giant banyan tree, when the skies opened up. We took shelter under a bamboo forest, listening to the clack clack clacking of these giant grasses in the wind, and before finally making our way to the 400-foot Waimoku Falls.

We did several beach-side hikes in Hana, one a fairly tame cruise up and down volcanic rock alongside a raging ocean (wind from Hurricane Dora had caused high surf conditions). The other was an incredible adventure across a cow pasture to a cliff overlooking lush tropical greens and a spectacular black sand beach. When I scoped it out the day before, the beach had no inhabitants and I wasn’t sure it was even accessible to humans. 

The next day, I returned with my husband and one of my daughters. Our original destination was the Venus Pool, but because of the high surf, it was a little too frothy and filled with debris for entry, so we skipped it, and I showed them the crescent-shaped black sand beach. When we got to the cliff, we spotted three people down below frolicking on the shore. At the urging of my daughter (Hubs needs little prompting for an adventure), we decided to see if we could find a way down through the trees surrounding the cliff.

After walking nearly the entire perimeter, we found a red dirt trail through the trees and then almost straight down. Hubs judged it too steep and went looking for another way, but as my daughter and I got closer to the cliff, we saw there was a rope down. Using the natural rock as footholds and exposed roots as hand holds, along with the rope, down we went. My pleas of Are you sure we should do this? fell on deaf ears. 

Hubs went first, breaking the descent into sections and then stopping to narrate how we should approach each of them. My daughter followed him and I trailed behind, carefully testing out each rock I put a hand or foot on to make sure it was secure. I butt scooted a good half of it, not at all concerned with the brown stain I’d be leaving on my bathing suit bottom. My heart pounded. Sweat poured off my body—the result of fear, sheer effort and the humidity. 

I no longer cared how I looked. I was only focused on my movements, and they had to be precise. I placed trust in my body, in the strength I possess from years of weightlifting and competition.

Hubs and my daughter were already down and I still had a good third of the way to go. Time seemed to stop moving. While I took a moment to plot my next move and catch my breath, I thought about time and how I had no idea how long I had been on this climb.

At last I made it and was treated to this untamed beauty with turquoise waves, soft black sand and walnut-sized lava rocks that had been worn smooth and round. Waves crashed along the cliffs, sending white sprays shooting into the air. We didn’t dare venture more than a few feet into the surf for fear we’d be swept to sea. I pondered the power of the ocean, Mother Nature and our fragility. 

Making that climb and being among the waves was exhilarating. I was proud of myself. My body—this body I had been so hard on just a few days before—had shown awesome strength and had allowed me to experience one of the most breathtaking scenes of my entire existence.

After the hike, we returned to the resort, packed up and made the drive back to the airport, taking the less-traveled way back to civilization.

We were on a one-lane gravel road for a good chunk of it, twisting our way along rocky sea cliffs. Jungle gave way to scrubby trees and eventually desert brush. Out of nowhere, we rounded a corner and collectively gasped. It was like a scene from the Grand Canyon, with deep rifts carved into the layers of volcanic rock. 

As the road left the seaside and we wound our way back to Upcountry, my daughters got emergency alerts about the wildfires. We could see streams of smoke in the hills to our east, but the whole west side of the island was covered in haze. We could barely make out the silhouette of West Maui rising from the ocean, which made no sense, because we didn’t know Lahaina was on fire. We had no idea how bad it was until we got back to the mainland and started reading news reports.  

How to help the people of Maui

The Hawaiʻi Community Foundation started a Maui Strong Fund to support residents affected by the wildfires. Donations can be made at www.hawaiicommunityfoundation.org/maui-strong.

Maui United Way is accepting donations to its Maui Fire and Disaster Relief fund at https://mauiunitedway.org/disasterrelief.

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