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MOLOKAI MULE
RIDE
VIEW THE
NATURAL BEAUTY OF HAWAII WITHOUT GETTING OFF YOUR ASS
by Carole Terwilliger
Meyers
After the half-hour flight from Honolulu aboard an
island-hopper jet, we arrived on Molokai to be greeted by a burly local
resident attired in an aloha shirt. Picking me and my husband out of the crowd
of mostly locals probably wasn’t too hard for him, since we were pulling Pullman-size suitcases while almost everyone else carried string-tied boxes of
this and that. Sounding like his job could be creating titles for movies, he
announced, “We have a wedding and two funerals on the island, and so we have
run out of cars.” On an island that has only two car rental desks and only two
tour companies with taxi service, he had been dispensed by Dollar to taxi us
around until a car was freed up. Welcome to Molokai.
Measuring only thirty-six miles from the lush eastern end to
the flat, arid western end, by ten miles wide, cigar-shaped Molokai (more
correctly written Moloka’i, and pronounced Mo-lo-kah-ee) is the smallest of the main
Hawaiian islands and the least developed for tourists. It is just eight miles
from Maui, twenty-five from Oahu. Currently referred to as the “Friendly Isle,”
it was once referred to as both the “Lonely Isle” (because of the difficulty in
reaching it over the treacherous currents of the Molokai Channel) and the
“Forgotten Isle.” Since the earliest times this island has been enveloped in
an aura of mystery and darkness, and reputed to be populated with gods,
goddesses, and sorcerers. It has many ancient sacred spots--most of which are
now on private property and can be visited only by securing permission--and is
said to be where the hula originated. One of the oldest settlements in Hawaii,
the lush Halawa Valley on the eastern tip of the island, was settled in the
mid-7th century; unfortunately, it was wiped out by a tsunami in 1946. In 1778 Captain Cook bypassed the island because it looked
so bleak and unpopulated. Molokai’s first clash with the Western world was
postponed until 1832, when Protestant missionaries arrived in Kaluaaha. Those
missionaries recorded the population at 6,000--just a few hundred less than the
approximately 7,000 who now live on this still sparsely populated island. My attraction to Molokai was the opportunity to step back in
time and experience life in the slow lane in old Hawaii. I was attracted partly by what it
doesn’t have: no traffic
lights or traffic; no tour buses (or public buses); no shopping centers; no
fast-food chains; no high-rises; and virtually no crime. But I also found
alluring what it does have: the largest population of native Hawaiians
in the Islands; dramatic sea cliffs on its northern coast measuring 3,300 feet
tall--the world’s highest; and the isolated community of Kalaupapa, where
victims of leprosy were exiled in the 1800s, and which can be reached only by
air in a puddle jumper or via a strenuous hike or mule ride over a narrow trail down those steep coastal cliffs. It was this last attraction that became the focal point for
my visit. How I fretted beforehand as to whether the trail to Kalaupapa was
safe--especially riding atop a mule. I read everything I could find about the
Molokai mule ride, which wasn’t much. And I asked almost everyone I spoke to
whether they had been to Molokai; only two answered yes. Of the two “yeses,”
one was regretful that she hadn’t visited Kalaupapa; the other, who like me
suffers from a fear of heights, offered the advice that I should just look away
for the short time the trail paralleled a steep drop-off. So I was fine until I ran into a mainland acquaintance in Honolulu the day before I left for Molokai. By amazing coincidence, she had once taken the mule ride and proceeded to inform me that the person on the mule in front of her had fallen off! She indicated he had released his grip on the mule’s saddle horn as he took photographs--a definite no-no--and further relayed that the only thing between him and the deep, blue sea was an outgrowth of bushes, which mercifully caught him. My how this spontaneous tale added to my anticipation. By lucky chance we crossed paths with our cab driver early
the next morning--the morning of the mule ride--at a place we hadn’t agreed to meet, but where he was
waiting for us anyway. That possible snag best left unexplored, we headed out
to the highway. As we rode through an empty terrain of red earth sprouting the
occasional scrub brush, I toyed with a sprig of intoxicatingly fragrant
tuberose the driver had given me. As we zipped along, he assured us he would
have us to the stables by 8:30 a.m., in plenty of time, although I had been
told to be there by 8. When we pulled up, everyone was just milling around.
Nothing much was happening. The driver wanted to know was he right, or what? About this time I started relaxing and began operating on
“Molokai time.” I even took off my watch for the duration of the trip. In fact,
I began having the odd experience that whenever I checked the time, it was
always earlier than I thought, rather
than later. Eldon “Buzzy” Sproat, the new owner of the Molokai Mule
Ride, was easy to find with the help of his partner, Roy Hunter. Roy described
Buzzy, who was standing beside his mule, as “the one with the hat is not the
mule’s butt.” Sproat bought the business in 1995 and reopened the mule ride in
September of 1995. (The trail, which dates to 1887, was closed at the end of
1992. During the almost three-year hiatus, the mules were employed in the
reconstruction of the trail under the direction of the National Park Service.)
And if ever someone had a business in his genes, it’s Buzz. He is a
third-generation mule skinner, the grandson of a Missouri mule skinner. As we all began mounting our mules, the mule skinners
continued their repartee. “No pass, no ass,” we were teased. I asked for a
gentle mule and was given Laka, whose name means “tame, or gentle” in Hawaiian.
In legend, it is also the name of the woman who first taught the people of this
island the hula. Single-file, we started down the fragrant trail through
Palaau State Park leading to the 1,800-foot-high cliff we would descend. During
the two-hour descent, which covers a little over three miles and incorporates
twenty-six switchbacks, I rode near the back with Buzzy. I benefited from his
soothing assurances that I should just relax and let my well-trained,
sure-footed mule do its thing. “If they moved any slower than this, they’d be
dead,” he quipped from a few mules behind me.
Then Father Damien arrived in 1873 and things changed. He
convinced the renegades to help make things better for all the exiles,
including themselves. Father Damien, who eventually came to be loved by
everyone in the colony, secured funds for building homes and other buildings
and established medical comforts for the neglected, suffering victims.
Eventually Father Damien also fell victim to the highly contagious disease and
died in 1889. Father Damien was beatified in 1995 by Pope John Paul II. A
relic of his remains was brought back from his native Belgium and reinterred at
his original gravesite beside St. Philomena’s Catholic Church in Kalawao, built
by Damien in 1876. With the discovery that sulfone drugs both curtailed the
mortality rate of leprosy victims and rendered them non-infectious, Hawaii
ended its policy of isolating them in 1969. (Leprosy is said to be one of the
least contagious of all communicable diseases, with only 4 to 5 percent of the
world’s population even susceptible). All patients were free to leave. Many
chose to stay, and 67 now remain. Their average age is 60 to 70. The peninsula
became a national historical park in 1981. On a less somber note, we also found out that the opening scenes of Jurassic Park were filmed here, and we enjoyed a picnic at a gorgeous site overlooking the spectacular, lushly green north coast cliffs. On the ride back, my long-earred mount insisted on being
second in line. Though I tried several times to hold Laka to the back of the
line, she insisted on trotting around the other mules back to the front. A
female mule skinner told me Laka always likes to be at the front on the way
back. Picturing potential disaster if she tried to volley her way up to the
front once we hit the switchbacks, I acquiesced to her stronger will. She was a
delight all the way back up. Didn’t scare me once. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a shiny red rental car was
waiting for us. It had appeared like magic. Molokai magic. Molokai is
definitely mo’ betta. More Information
Getting There
Molokai is easily reached from Honolulu via inter-island
flights on Hawaiian Airlines ((800) 882-8811) and Aloha Airlines ((800)
323-3345). Hawaiian Airlines operates one jet flight each day, two on weekends.
All other flights are on small twin-engine planes. The Maui Princess ((800) 833-5800) sails twice daily to and
from Maui. Day and overnight packages are available. Accommodations
There are less than 700 guest units on the island. Two modest hotels are found in the
charmingly named, central town of Kaunakakai. The Pau Hana Inn ((800) 423-MOLO;
$45-$90/double) offers simple rooms and a great oceanfront patio bar
situated under an enormous old
Bengalese banyan. Hotel Molokai ((800) 423-MOLO; $59-$110/double) is a
Polynesian-style village of brown-shingle, semi A-frame buildings; it is
currently undergoing a renovation and its popular restaurant is closed
indefinitely. More upscale lodging is found on the remote west end of the
island at the Kaluakoi Resort and Golf Course ((800) 777-1700;
$90-$170/double). Ocean-view rooms are the most desirable. The moderately
priced restaurant, which opens directly to the sights and sounds of the ocean,
is the best on the island. Paniolo Hale ((800) 367-2984; $95-$160/double), an
adjacent condo complex that features screened-in lanais overlooking Kepuhi
Beach, is particularly nice for families or for longer stays. Resources
Images by Carole Terwilliger Meyers Copyright 1999 Carole Terwilliger Meyers. Ms. Meyers is the author of
Weekend Adventures in Northern California
and Dream Sleeps: Castle & Palace Hotels of Europe (both
Carousel Press: http://www.carousel-press.com
). The author has granted one-time rights only. Reproduction of this work in whole or in part, including
reproduction in electronic media, without documented permission from the author
is prohibited. |
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It wasn’t long before we all were seduced by the aesthetics
of the trail. Our eyes feasted on the lacy lichens and velvet mosses covering
wayside rocks, and on the unusual varieties of ferns and other native
vegetation. We fell into a rhythm of people softly conversing, and of mules
sporadically whinnying, stopping stubbornly when they got tired and furtively
grabbing a mouthful of attractive grasses to munch on whenever they could get
away with it (a trait that has earned them the nickname of “Molokai mowers”).
Vast sea panoramas stretched out before us as we caught our first glimpse of
the expansive (five-miles square), flat Kalaupapa Peninsula. The last stretch
of the trail, which paralleled an achingly beautiful isolated black sand beach,
was the most scenic. And then we were there.
After dismounting our tired mules, we were met by an old
school bus for our four-hour tour of the peninsula. Our guide was the owner of
Damien Tours, Richard Marks, who himself suffered from Hansen’s Disease (as
leprosy is now referred to in Hawaii by decree of the State Legislature). He is
also the town sheriff. Marks began the tour with a quick stop at his house to
feed his cats.
Having lived here only 39 years, Marks is considered a
newcomer. Still, he had many tales to tell. As he drove us through the eerily
silent streets of the settlement (where the only gas station is open only once
a week and where everyone, even the blind, has two TVs because, according to
Mark, “it takes so long for repairs, you have to have a spare”) we learned that
Hawaiians had lived here a thousand years ago--900 years before it became a
naturally bounded prison for leprosy victims in 1866. When the disease was in
its heyday of contagion, victims were taken here and dropped ashore--or
sometimes right in the water--with minimal supplies. Unfortunately, renegades,
who also suffered from the illness, ran things for a long time.