Half-day trips whisk visitors to one of the purest places in the
Pacific
reprinted courtesy Chicago Tribune 12/13/09
Story and photos by Catharine Hamm Tribune Newspapers
NIIHAU, Hawaii -- Tell people you're going to Niihau, and they
invariably exclaim, "No way!" or, "Do you know the
Robinsons?"
Yes, way, and I do not know the Robinsons.
And even though I've now been to Niihau, I can't really say I know it either.
But I do know that there are few places in the world that I have anticipated visiting
for as long and from which I've come away so changed.
Since my days as a child on Oahu, I've known Niihau as "the forbidden
island." It has been privately owned since 1864, when Elizabeth Sinclair
bought it from King Kamehameha V. Her descendants, brothers Bruce and Keith
Robinson, continue to own it.
Niihau has 130 residents, give or take, and they live in the town of Puuwai.
They don't have running water, and electricity is produced by the sun or by a
generator. There are few cars. Ohana -- family -- is the center of life.
Simple? Yes. But it is more than that. As fellow traveler Margit Tolman said
after our trip here in September, "It is so pure."
That's way beyond the word "unspoiled," which we travel types like to
use when we stumble upon a stretch of beach or a piece of wilderness humans
haven't yet trashed.
But pure? Not in my lifetime.
Not until now.
There is no real mystery in getting to the island. Niihau Helicopters has been
offering half-day trips since 1987. It's just that few people seem to know
about them. When Susan Tanzman, owner of Martin's Travel & Tours in Los
Angeles and a Hawaii specialist, called one day to ask whether I wanted to go
to Niihau, I didn't hesitate to jump on a plane to Kauai.
Five of us gathered at Niihau Helicopters' offices in Kaumakani: Tolman and her
mother, Renate Muller; Victor Ella of Santa Barbara; Tanzman and I. After we
were weighed and given a safety briefing, we were shuttled over to Port Allen,
where the helicopter landed after coming in from the island, where it's based
as emergency transit for islanders. Pilot Dana Rosendal got us settled, and we
were off, whisking the 17 or so miles across the sometimes-rough Kaulakahi
Channel.
To my surprise, Niihau looked just like parts of Southern California.
"Kauai steals all the rain," Rosendal explained. Whereas parts of
Kauai bathe in rain (the summit of Mt. Waialeale is said to get 400 inches a
year), Niihau gets a dozen or so inches.
It looked far more enchanting in 1863, when Elizabeth Sinclair's sons, James
and Francis, first saw the approximately 17-by-5-mile island. It had rained
heavily the previous two years, and the land was electric green. A good place
for a ranch, they thought.
"You guys aren't susceptible to motion, are you?" Rosendal said to
his headphoned group. "I'll try not to dive more than I have to. I'd
really like to show you the eland. I know where they're hiding right now."
As if on cue, out of the brush sprang two of these African antelope, and as we
followed them, the 2,500-pound beasts bounded with the grace of a running back
headed for a touchdown.
"As pretty as they are, they taste a heck of a lot better," Rosendal
said. The people live off the land here. Fish are a staple, but the wildlife
here, including wild boar and eland, is fair game.
The flyover of Puuwai village, where about 35 houses, a church and a school are
clustered, was brief; the Robinsons do not want the Niihauans' privacy invaded.
Ah, yes, the residents. We would not get to meet them, and that was a
disappointment.
"It's a privacy issue," Rosendal
told me later.
We turned toward Nanina Beach on the north shore, where we landed. The sea was
calm, the water and sky a warm blue. The sand stretched before us, unending,
untrammeled, unpopulated.
For the next 3 1/2 hours, we were free to swim, snorkel, walk the beach and
hunt for the tiny Niihau shell, which islanders make into perpetual leis that
can sell for thousands.
I couldn't wait to plunge into the water. It was warm and felt velvety against
my skin. I let it wash over me for a while, then realized I was burning myself
to a crisp. There were no shade trees here. I went back to the shelter, grabbed
the sunscreen and set out on a walk. Tanzman joined me.
The shoreline was covered with smooth lava that formed tide pools brimming with
sea life, and it was here we found the only resident of Niihau we would
encounter.
Her name is Mahina, Hawaiian for "moon," as named by locals. She had
big brown eyes and a cute little nose, although she seemed to have algae around
her mouth. She looked well pleased with herself, as monk seals are wont to do.
We kept our distance -- it is illegal to get too close or in any way harass a
monk seal -- but Mahina flirted shamelessly with us. As a fully grown adult, she
might weigh 600 pounds, and if no predators get to her, she and her 1,200
remaining kin, once hunted almost to extinction, could live 30 years.
I looked into her eyes and wished her a long and happy life. I'd say she smiled
at me, but you'd think I was anthropomorphizing. Maybe I was. Or maybe Niihau
had worked its magic and I was now firmly and willingly under its spell.
email chamm@tribune.com
If you go: Scheduling a trip can be tricky because a minimum of five people is required. If your group is smaller than that, you will be placed on standby for the days you would like to go, and if there are enough people, a tour is scheduled. A half-day tour, including lunch and drinks, is $385. Safaris to hunt game begin at $1,750 per person. Niihau Helicopters, 877-441-3500, www niihau.us/heli.html
reprinted courtesy Chicago Tribune 12/13/09,
original link www chicagotribune.com/travel/chi-sc-trav-niihau-1208-1213dec13,0,7822889.story
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