The Valley of Kings: Visiting Waipi'o Valley, Hawaii

   I wake up to the soft hum of coqui frogs and moonlight streaming through my window. It’s 3:00 AM, quite a bit earlier than I usually start the day. I’m happy to be up at this ungodly hour, though, because I am visiting a place that has been at the top of my list since I set foot on the Big Island of Hawaii three weeks earlier: Waipi’o Valley. Waipi’o Valley is a steep gorge cut into the East coast of the Big Island, about an hour up the coast from the farm where I am living and working. The valley is known for its black volcanic sand beach, dramatic cliffs, and rich history as the home of multiple Hawaiian kings. Waipi’o is one of the more remote places on the island, being only accessible by walking or driving down what is arguably the steepest road in the world. Given these constraints and the fact that I don’t have a car on the island, I assumed my chances of actually visiting this fascinating place were slim to none. As chance would have it, though, some locals I met on the farm decided to go to the valley to catch some early morning waves, so when they offered me a ride I jumped at the opportunity. 

We all converge, fuzzy-eyed and sleepy-voiced, in the driveway and pile into the jeep. As we make our way down the highway that cuts a narrow course between arching cliffs and the ocean below, the sky lightens by degrees. By the time we get to the valley, it is just light enough for me to make out the giant shapes of the cliffs. We are on top of the south side of the valley. The land drops down in front of us, and swoops up on the opposite side to form a giant “V” shape opening to the ocean in the east. As I stare at this view, I feel awe for its beauty, and a tingling of excitement as I realize that in order to get to the bottom we have to drive down the nearly vertical cliff. 

“Here comes the fun part” my friend calls over his shoulder as we turn onto the access road. It is barely two lanes, more like one on curves, and riddled with potholes. Sitting at the top looking down at the sloping, winding asphalt, I get the familiar feeling of being at the top of a roller coaster before you plummet down the first hill. I usually love that feeling, but it's less welcome when I’m in a jeep that could fall for real instead of a roller coaster car safely attached to the track. Those would be two very different types of rides. These are surfer dudes, I tell myself. They’ve driven this road a thousand times. Nothing to worry about. 

And it’s true. I watch in awe as our friend deftly negotiates each hairpin turn, while simultaneously looking down the road to make sure no one is coming up. He seems totally unbothered by the 2,000 foot drop directly next to us. I don’t know if his calm comes from a lifetime being baked by sun and salt or innate unbotheredness, but either way I definitely appreciate it. 

It’s this same difficulty of access that has shaped Waipi’o’s history and the cultural role it plays today. By the mid 20th century most of the Hamakua coast around here (basically the whole eastern side of Big Island) had been eaten up by sugar plantations (McGregor, 1995). Investors from the mainland US and other countries snapped up the land as fast as possible to take advantage of the warm, wet climate; perfect for growing sugar cane. As is the case in many areas of Hawaii, these large operations supplanted native Hawaiian people who traditionally used the land to grow a variety of crops and fruit trees. This is especially significant because so much of Native Hawaiian culture is connected to the land (McGregor, 1995). Waipi’o Valley was one of the few places that was never developed. Prospectors saw its giant cliffs and remote forests, and left it alone. Resultantly, some of the same Hawaiian families have been living and farming in the valley for generations, preserving a hotspot of Hawaiian culture and agricultural knowledge in the process (McGregor, 1995).

As we descend the final few feet to the valley floor, it feels like we are entering a different world. Low-hanging breadfruit trees and twining air yam vines create a thick canopy overhead. I see a dirt road heading off to the left, towards the inland of the valley. I can glimpse a few kalo patches in between the trees but nothing else, and I am seized with intense curiosity about where the road goes. I know that most of the valley is residential though, and I don’t want to disturb anyone by wandering onto their property. Instead, we turn right towards the beach.

Waipi’o is one of several areas on the Big Island with a black sand beach. The sand comes from eroded lava flows and forms beaches of coarse, black grains. This morning we can see Venus hovering over the ocean in the half-light. We all take a moment to plant our feet in the cool sand and take it in. With jet black sand, steep arching cliffs, and shining stars reflecting off the water, I feel like I am on a totally different planet from my cozy farm. Waipi’o in the early morning is simultaneously beautiful, otherworldly, and almost intimidatingly powerful. The thick rainforest behind me feels soft and inviting with the familiar sounds of coqui frogs and Ti leaves rustling in the wind. In front of me though, the Pacific ocean stretches out, bounded on either side by vast walls of earth that rise directly out of the water. The waves arch back and then crash into the cliffs, sending spray shooting in every direction. I can see why Hawaiians associated this place with elemental gods. The impression it gives is undoubtedly one of elemental power; as in you are welcome to be here but don’t wander too far. 

My friends grab their boards and dive into the water, paddling out to catch the first waves of the day. I would love to join them but my surfing experiences are limited to borrowing a family friend’s board when I was 8, so I figure I shouldn’t test them on Hawaii’s legendary waves without a bit more practice. Instead, I walk down the beach towards the other side of the valley. 

The ocean is spectacular as always, especially as the sun rises, but I am almost more curious about the houses I can glimpse behind the trees. Many of them have gardens and I notice kalo plants, sweet potatoes, and a fish pond. Waipi’o valley has been the seat of Big Island agriculture for centuries. With its abundant rainfall and rich soil, the valley is the ideal place to grow kalo, also known as taro. kalo is a mainstay of Hawaiian cuisine with giant leaves and thick, starchy roots that can be made into a paste called po’i or cooked into other dishes (Cho, Yamakawa, & Hollyer, 2007). Waipi’o quickly became the seat of kalo farming in Hawaii, and resultantly, the seat of political power on the island. Some of Hawaii’s most legendary kings lived and ruled from Waipi’o Valley including King 'Umi-a-Liloa, who was the first to unify the Big Island and standardized kalo farming across the island in the 15th century, making it one of the most intensively farmed and productive islands in the world. A few years later in the 18th century, King Kahmeamea I grew up in Waipi’o Valley and went on to conquer the other Hawaiian Islands and form Hawaii into a centralized kingdom for the first time in history. Waipi’o Valley’s historical power comes from the deep connection between agricultural knowledge and political and cultural agency, themes that are still echoing through the Big Island today. 

There are numerous Hawaiians living on the island who can trace their ancestry directly back to Waipi’o Valley. Because the valley remained remote and nearly untouched from foreign influence, besides the addition of a few Chinese kalo farmers, for so long, traditional Hawaiian lifeways and family lines persisted there up to the present day (McGregor, 1995). One man I met on the farm only left the valley as an adult, and explained to me that “My family resided for more than 10 generations in the valley,” growing and selling kalo. Families like this that remained in the valley were able to pass on traditional farming knowledge to new generations (McGregor, 1995). In talking about his childhood, my friend described a way of life that was based in self-sufficiency, knowledge about the land, and community. “The valley being so remote you couldn’t just go to the store [...] If you couldn’t gather or farm you had to barter,” he explained. Many residents make a living by fishing, growing crops like kalo and sweet potatoes, and gathering wild and cultivated fruit. The valley is small, and people shared the abundance to get what they needed. My friend explained that “Certain families have this or that fruit near their house” and people would let other families come pick what they wanted or barter with other fruit and crops. 

Just as the valley’s residents preserved Hawaiian knowledge about the land and farming prowess, they also kept Native Hawaiian culture alive while it was quickly being supplanted on the rest of the island. Because people in Waipi’o valley were so self-sufficient, they didn’t have to change their lifestyle as much to fit the demands of the rapidly westernizing outside world that often actively suppressed Hawaiian culture (McGregor, 1995). Instead, the valley residents were insulated and able to preserve cultural beliefs and ways of life. Traditional Hawaiian cosmology is deeply connected to the natural world. The Kumulipo, an ancient chant that tells the Hawaiian creation story, holds that humans and kalo are siblings, both descended from the gods Wäkea the sky father and Papa the earth mother (Cho, Yamakawa, & Hollyer, 2007). This connection to the natural world is reflected in the way people lived there lives in the valley, gathering from the land and planting according to the moon cycles just like their ancestors before them.

The culture, self-sufficiency, and knowledge of the natural world that characterize Waipi’o valley life represents a vast departure from life in the rest of Hawaii, and it stuck with the people who lived there. One woman who grew up in the valley explained that 

“Well, I loved the place [...] the feelings of the place is actually really warm feelings.... it's a valley of aloha and then full of love. And when I was born and raised there, I had everything that I can think of without spending money. Every thing was really from the land, what we raised” (McGregor, 1995). 

My friend who lived there expressed a similar sense of warmth, saying “The valley itself is such a culturally and historically special place.” Farming in the valley wasn’t always easy, he explained “It’s an arduous way of life,” but “farming kalo, it’s always a labor of love.”

Nowadays, things are changing in Hawaii. Native Hawaiians are still a subculture on the islands who face a host of cultural and economic obstacles, but people are finally able to speak Hawaiian, practice traditional farming methods, and celebrate traditional art and beliefs without suffering massive political and social backlash. As Native Hawaiian culture makes a resurgence, the knowledge that was preserved in Waipi’o valley is becoming instrumental in allowing Hawaiians to reconnect to their past and express their identity in the present. For example, my friend who grew up in the valley helped the farm I worked at to restore an abandoned kalo patch on the property, showing the farmers techniques from the valley. I also heard about local schools who make regular trips to the valley to work with farmers there and learn about Hawaiian culture.

As I walk down the beach, I notice people camping at the edge of the trees, cocooned in hammocks and rolled up in sleeping bags on truck beds. Now that the sun is coming up, campers emerge one-by-one, grab their surfboards, and head to the water. I can’t help laughing because the mass migration of surfers reminds me of baby sea turtles making their way to the ocean for the first time. This is a group of people who’s entire universe revolves around the water. Like sea turtles, they seem to be drawn to the water by pure instinct. Watching people ride waves and gather around morning breakfast fires, it is clear that Waipi’o valley still inspires an elemental connection with nature in people. I meet back up with my friends and we climb into the jeep, headed for a butterfly inducing ascent back up the cliff. Back at the farm, I go about my day like normal; feeding chickens, planting sweet potatoes, and harvesting bananas, but I feel the presence of Waipi’o both in my exhaustion from the early morning and lingering sense of awe. By the time I crash into bed at 5:00 pm, I am still finding grains of black sand in my clothes and hearing the sounds of waves in the back of my mind.

Do ya'll want to see more stories about my time in Hawaii? Let me know in the comments!

Sources

Cho, J. J., Yamakawa, R. A., & Hollyer, J. (2007). Hawaiian kalo, past and future.

Minerbi, L. (1999). Indigenous management models and protection of the ahupua ‘a. Soc. Process Hawai ‘i, 39, 208-225.

McGregor, D. P. I. (1995). Waipi'o valley, a cultural kipuka in early 20th Century Hawaii. The Journal of Pacific History, 30(2), 194-209.