Unclutter Yourself at Makapu'u Point

essay

Living on o'ahu I sometimes...

Living on O‘ahu I sometimes long for reduction. The lush flora and fauna and increasingly frenetic pace of life inundates my senses like too much sugar. I get into my car and drive to one of the few desertlike places I know of on the island: Makapu‘u Point. A few miles past Hanauma Bay and Sandy Beach along scenic Kalaniana‘ole Highway, Makapu‘u consists of a few patchy hills covered in hale koa bushes, cactus, and World War II sentry pillboxes overlooking the sea. After passing through the gate, I pull my car into the newly constructed parking lot, grab a hat and a water bottle, and proceed to walk up the mile-long trail.

Today the trail is busy. There are young mothers with toddlers, couples of all ages, and casual joggers. I step aside as a gang of teenage girls wearing sweaty tank tops and gym shorts march noisily back to their car. Most visitors nod and smile as I pass; I nod back. People seem friendlier here than in other places. Yet I can’t help secretly wishing that there were fewer people around. That, in fact, there was no one else on the trail but me.

A strange thing happens when I step onto this asphalt road: a reconfiguration of the senses, a singularity of attention. I notice blistering cracks underfoot, scratchy branches of kiawe clawing the hillsides, blond grasses breaking up lichen-covered stones. Along the trail, a lemon-yellow cactus flower blooms into view and I feel my existence keenly, uncluttered by the usual distractions and concerns. Life and death reveal themselves in counterpoise, and as I walk, memories of my past return—places I’ve lived in, people I’ve loved, old dreams forsaken.

. . . a lemon-yellow cactus flower blooms into view and I feel my existence keenly, uncluttered by the usual distractions and concerns.

The entire trail offers stunning views. On my right I see Hawai‘i Kai Golf Course overshadowed by a balding Koko Head. A half-mile in, as the trail curves left, I’m greeted by a wide swath of ocean dotted with sailboats, barges, and an occasional kayak. The ocean here looks thick and misty, intimating far-off places. As the light changes, when amber edges into twilight, the entire trail is saturated in gold; abandoned bunkers, cars, and bare trees take on a deep sepia tone. Every pale and reflective surface glows.

Eventually I arrive to the section of the trail that overlooks the Moloka‘i Channel, where humpback whales pass between December and April. In the all the years I’ve come to Makapu‘u, I’ve only once seen whales: a trail of white jets vanishing into a thin spray. Today, I see a muscled blue surface and the faint outline of Moloka‘i in the distance but no whales. I do not stay long. There are the lighthouse and other islands to see.

The Makapu‘u Lighthouse is inaccessible to visitors, yet the sight of it comforts me. Maybe because a lighthouse is a kind of beacon, something that inspires or guides others. The light can be seen from 28 miles out at sea, and radio signals are heard as far as 200 miles away. The lighthouse was built in 1909 and was once occupied by lighthouse keepers; now it is automated and guarded by a locked gate.

Not all travelers found safety here. During World War II, nine pilots crashed their plane in the nearby hills, having mistaken Makapu‘u for Barbers Point, many miles away. There is a plaque in their honor, with the names of each of the pilots inscribed in the metal.

At its summit, Makapu‘u Point rises to 647 feet and the view of the Windward Coast is breathtaking. Metal rails keep me from tumbling down to the water below. I see islets scattered like stones: Kāohikaipu and Manana, also known as Rabbit Island because it was once inhabited by introduced rabbits. Strong winds blow from several directions, either in greeting or in warning, I can’t tell the difference. I’m only aware of the beauty of O‘ahu and the almost unbearable lightness of this unspoiled place.

Originally published in Spirit of Aloha, the magazine of Aloha Airlines, Nov/Dec 2007.