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A great archive in Hawaiian Music is the Huapala.org web site.
They also offer some beautiful Pa`u skirts.


Island Magic: Stories, Experiences and Observations
Seven Sacred Pools
© 2007 - 2008 Gilbert Belmudez

(Note:  Regard this true story as a rough draft.  I am writing it from a few notes and a lot of memory.  If there are some inaccuracies in Hawaiian spelling, geographical description, legend, custom or any other details, feel free to contact me with corrections and opinion.  Critique is more than welcome.)

The next day at Wai'a'napanapa I was hanging my damp sleeping bag to dry in the morning sun when the camper I had met approached me with a cup of coffee.  It was a welcome treat. We talked for a while as I sipped from the steaming cup and he asked if I was ready for my first Maui breakfast experience.  I gave him a puzzled look.  He turned and pointed to a long bamboo pole that lay on the ground a short distance away.  “Looks like you might as well learn how to get yourself a papaya” he said and pointed up at some fruit hanging from a fairly tall papaya tree.  “That big red one right there is ripe and ready to eat”.

I took the bamboo and reached up just enough to hit the lowest papaya at the stem.  It broke away cleanly and my friend caught it before it hit the ground.  He explained this was a variety some called a strawberry papaya.  He also mentioned that some people consume the seeds for their concentration of vitamin B.  Supposedly, this eventually helps ward off mosquitoes.  I've got to say that compared to the large mosquito of the San Joaquin Valley in Central California, the “cousins” in Hawaii seemed as big as hummingbirds and the bites could leave welts the size of a silver dollar.  I don't know about the papaya seed remedy as I didn't really see an instant improvement but I can say that with time one seems to acclimate to various physical discomforts.  Mosquito bites do seem to get more tolerable.

The strawberry papaya was delicious and satisfied my hunger.  Once again I needed to get my bearings and someone suggested I continue in the same direction if I wanted to see some beautiful waterfalls.  If I started out early enough, I shouldn't have a problem getting picked up by someone driving in the same direction.  I gathered my few belongings, walked up to Hana Highway and retraced my steps back to Hana Airport.  There I picked up the heavier duffle bag I had left behind the day before.

The walk back up to Hana Highway from the airport was the hardest with duffle bag and sleeping bag in hand.  I was exhausted and drenched with perspiration by time I got the highway.  I've got to mention the word “highway” is misleading since it was just a two lane road with no curb, gutter or walkway.  Once on the side of the road I sat on a large boulder and stuck my thumb out.  I can't really remember how many vehicles passed but eventually a little old pickup pulled to the side and stopped.  “Just throw your things in back and hop in”, I heard the driver say.  I had to look twice because he looked like a real South American Indian.  He looked like a Peruvian Indian and I was a bit confused to say the least.  What could I say?  If I made it here why couldn't he?  It was just that he looked fresh out of the Andes Mountains with one of those tall and round traditional hats, two long braids and a chaleco that covered his shoulders with colorful geometric designs.  Now that I think of it, I probably had him wondering.  I was standing in huarache sandals and carrying a sleeping bag wrapped in a Mexican serape.

As we moved along the Highway at an unhurried pace he confirmed my suspicions about his roots and explained that a number of people from Peru visit the islands but as far as he knew, he was the only true Indigenous Peruvian.  “We are to poor to travel anywhere” he said but in his case and against all odds he had a dream that he worked hard enough on to fulfill and moved here a number of years before.

“Where are you going?” he asked and I told him that I needed to find a place where I could camp and maybe get a job.  “You're going in the wrong direction for work”, he said and then continued, “but there's some good camping areas where I'm going.”  He told me he was meeting some friends by an area called Seven Sacred Pools and that on the way we would stop at Hasegawa’s Store.  I was informed that I could get some food and supplies there because our destination was about twenty miles down the road and Hasegawa’s was the last available stop.

It wasn't long before we arrived in Hana Town which I would really describe as a sleepy village if it were not for all the tourist vehicles that roamed the area.  The area is beautiful and looks like a planned botanical garden.  The ocean was not far from where we parked and there was a bay that I could barely see.  Hasegawa’s was busy and it was the first time I had seen so many people since I had arrived on the island.  I walked around and got canned goods, mosquito repellent, candles, matches, soap and a six pack of sodas.  I also found some nylon rope and a huge plastic tarp.  These two things alone were the best investment I could make for the days to come.  I wasn't sure how I would carry the extras once we got to the pools but I figured that one way or another I would manage.

We got on the road again in no time were traveling along a few pastures that then lead to more dense overgrowth.  At times there were faces of rock out of which flowed occasional trickles of water that formed into miniature waterfalls.  The Indian explained that there were houses in the area but often secluded.  Sometimes all you would see was an address marker or a mailbox.

We finally came to a narrow bridge that crossed about 45 feet over a good sized torrent of water that cascaded down a wall of rock and continued further down toward the visible ocean.  Along the way were two or three more pools, each at a lower level than the other.  Each fed by another waterfall.  On the mountain side of the bridge was the same source of fresh water pouring down from other waterfalls at higher elevations.

“Were here” he said.  “I’ll drop you off by the camp ground parking lot.  There is plenty of space and you don't need a permit because this is run by the Federal Forestry Service.  Don't stay in the same spot for over three days and they won't bother you.  Try not to drink water from the stream because cattle cross the water upstream.  There are a couple of water faucets that work and give good water.  The outhouses are in good shape.  Try to find some dry wood and cover it so that you can make a campfire.  You can use some of those trees nearby to fix yourself some shelter with the rope and tarp that you bought.  Its going to rain and you'll need that to stay dry.”  He made me feel a little more secure but it was a lot of advice to take in all at once.

We pulled into a small parking lot and I unloaded my things.  “Well, I got to go” the Peruvian said and then bid me “Adios” as he drove off.  I sat on a low railing that bordered an expansive stretch of green turf.  It stretched to the edge of thirty foot bluffs overlooking sparkling blue ocean waters.  You could hear the rumble of waves crashing into the lava rock faces and an occasional white spray of salt water would splash up into the air.  Although natural, the grass looked “tended” because it grew low to the ground.  Nature had manicured it to the likeness of a golf course.  There were three or four tents pitched in the area and here and there were the signs of campsites already taken down.  All that was left were a few smoke blackened stones that had been used to shelter campfires from the wind.  Not far but closer to the ocean I saw a couple of small almost leafless trees that were about ten feet apart.  This gave me an idea.

I grabbed a few of my things and moved them to the base of one of the trees.  I then went back and got the remainder of my supplies.  I pulled out one of the nylon ropes and tied it tight from tree to tree.  I then took the plastic tarp and hung it over.  With a little time and ingenuity I stretched the tarp out into the shape of a simple tent.  With the use of a few discarded pieces of wood that lay nearby, it was easy to anchor the bottom corners into the soft earth.  Great!  I finally had a shelter of my own!  The sun was bright and warm.  I took the opportunity to lay out my damp belongings so that they could dry properly and then lay under the tarp and quickly fell asleep.

*              *              *

Originally, Seven Sacred Pools was known to the Hawaiians as O’he’o.  The waterfalls that cascade down from high up above are breathtaking.  I don't think very many people have ever seen all the waterfalls since the terrain gets harder and harder to climb.  Some areas are almost impossible and I would strongly advise against it unless one is experienced and has planned it out with permission.  I spent enough time in the area to see things that one might miss unless you take the time to learn.  For instance, in the pastures close to the camping area one might see a couple of stone towers long ago abandoned.  I've heard that cattle were once transported across ravines with the use of a rope and pulley system that were anchored at either end of these towers.

I've swam the stream above some of the lower waterfalls in areas where you simply had to put your trust in that there was nothing in the darkened waters that would pull you down.  Especially, when the area you were swimming through was bordered by high faces of rock that offered no secure footing.  You would simply have to keep swimming, sometimes around a “blind” bend, until another pool would appear up ahead with a beach side that would allow one to climb out of the water.  It was at one such area that I actually experienced the beauty of a sheet of water cascading in front of a huge, shallow cave one could easily sit in.

There is a small bamboo forest somewhere beyond and deeper into the mountain that is mesmerizing.  Only once did I ever see it but it is a memory never to be forgotten.   So tall that you can't really see the tops and in the quiet there is the soft sound of music as the bamboo rattles together in the breeze.  It is melodious but one word of caution.  Don't walk into a dense bamboo growth.  It only takes a few feet into the bamboo to possibly get disoriented and lose direction and the confusion of getting lost in such a dense maze can be fatal.

I spent about a week in the area and ate a lot of papaya and mango.  Without a proper tent the nights were wet and uncomfortable but the beauty and experience unforgettable.  It was my induction to the island of Maui and one I will never forget.  Comments

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