Molokai’s Big Empty

Clouds of mist drifted through the feathery ironwood forest canopy and shrouded the deserted green meadow of Palaau State Park, our campground on Molokai. Our new cerulean dome tent contrasted with this rugged, lush field in much the same way that rural Molokai contrasts with high-rise Honolulu.

That contrast is really why we came here. My girlfriend, Sylvia, and I, recent Bay Area transplants, now live in a Honolulu high-rise. On Oahu we’re surrounded by tourists; about 4 million visited our island last year. About 2.2 million went to Maui, and more than 1 million hit Kauai.

And Molokai? Well, it attracted a little more than 64,000.

We wanted to see the Hawaii where the tourists aren’t, so Molokai seemed an ideal destination. And because much of the population is of native Hawaiian ancestry, it’s one ofthe most traditional of all the islands. It’s also sparsely populated, about 6,700 residents peppered over 264 square miles.

In early February we set out to experience Molokai “through the back door,” a philosophy that means we would shun big resorts and tour-bus packages and journey on a budget. We also wanted to see the sights that give Molokai its distinctive character, from its renowned leper colony to its dual-personality climate and geography. We booked a long weekend, but it wasn’t enough. We were after pristine beaches and coconuts, of course, but we also wanted to see more.

And spend less. We budgeted about $600, including rental car, accommodations and meals, and, amazingly, stayed within our budget, despite some indulgences.

We arrived on Molokai late on a Friday after a short ride from Honolulu on an eight-seater operated by Molokai Air Shuttle. We treated ourselves on the first night to the Hotel Molokai, where our standard room was $80 a night and was anything but standard. It had a nice back porch with a swing and cable TV.

For dinner we strolled across the grounds, amid coconut palms and orchids, to the Oceanfront Dining Roomview Restaurant. Sylvia sipped a pina colada, I tried a mai tai and together we began our meal with mushrooms sauteed in garlic, butter and wine. We then graduated to the seared ono, topped with a sweet coconut-macadamia cream sauce with vegetables and rice.

The culinary indulgence was wonderful but not our only or even biggest extravagance. That honor went to the rental car: $250 for three days (including almost $30 a day for theft insurance). But we wanted to ensure that we had the mobility to take in all sides of the island, so we bit the kukui nut and signed the contract.

Besides, we were going to save substantially on our accommodations after we checked out of the Hotel Molokai. Before we left Honolulu, we had requested and received camping permits for Saturday and Sunday nights at Palaau State Park, a 233-acre campground on the north-central shore of the island. At $5 a night, it was definitely a value, and the setting couldn’t have been more beautiful: It’s a stone’s throw from a 1,600-foot cliff and the near the entrance to a zigzagging tropical trail that descends to the Kalaupapa Peninsula.

The park has no showers or potable drinking water-we picked up bottled water in Kaunakakai-but there are restrooms, picnic tables and barbecues. To our delight, the park lacked one commodity that we often find in the islands: crowds.

A word of caution: To prevent theft, Don’t leave your tent set up during the day. We took a few minutes to roll up the sleeping bags and take down the tent and put them in the trunk of our rental car. Because there were so few people, we set up again in the same spot both evenings after dinner.

Admiring the lush surroundings, it was difficult to imagine the ugliness behind one of the roles Molokai played for years. In the 19th century, lepers were exiled to Kalawao on the Kalaupapa Peninsula. The conditions in which they lived were as disgraceful as the disease was dreaded. In 1873, Joseph de Veuster, a Belgian priest better known as Father Damien, came here to tend to these miserable souls, who had been moved from Kalawao to the town of Kalaupapa.

No one who comes to Molokai can escape this story of shadow and light, and so on our second day, we made the journey down to the colony, still populated by people who suffer from Hansen’s disease, as leprosy is now called.

You can take a $150 mule ride package or pay $109 to fly in a small plane to reach and return from the peninsula, but hiking costs only $30, payable to Damien Tours. (The money goes for maintenance of historic buildings. Don’t try to take the hike without paying; you’ll be fined.) It takes about 90 minutes to hike down the 26 switchbacks and, surprisingly, about the same to hike back up. That’s the option we chose.

Richard Marks, a Kalaupapa resident for 46 years, guided us in a 1950s-era school bus on a four-hour tour through empty streets, charming whitewashed and cross-capped churches, and bumpy gravel roads where scores of feral cats roam. Marks is also the town’s official oral historian and the sheriff. Expect a colorful tour, chock-full of honey and vinegar, botany, karma and more lore than you can shake a hiking stick at.

Marks dispensed his knowledge as the bus rumbled along a dirt road leading to the leper colony where Father Damien ministered until his own death from leprosy in 1889. You can see Damien’s grave at St. Philomena Church, notable for its square, castle-like tower entrance.

On the east end of the peninsula at Kalawao, the early colony site, Marks pointed to a cove of choppy turquoise sea. “That’s where Damien and most of the lepers first came ashore,” he said of the people who were exiled here. “Some say crews bringing the lepers would just throw them overboard into the water.”

Father Damien labored and collaborated with the exiled Hawaiians to improve life on the desolate peninsula. He organized the building of Catholic churches and homes, tended to the open wounds of lepers and catered to the needs of sufferers.

His generous spirit seems to linger over Molokai.

After our full day Saturday and still suffering from sore calves, we decided to spend Sunday driving both east and west on the island.

From the campground, Sylvia eased our car the Dodge Neon into an empty parking lot a few minutes west. A Pacific wind shrieked over the 1,600-foot cliff that overlooks the Kalaupapa Peninsula, sending red dirt sweeping across the asphalt. Our first stop was the Phallic Rock, a Hawaiian fertility monument.

Along the path to the rock, dried nettles from the ironwood trees lined the dirt trail and crunched under our sandals. Suddenly there it was, in a well-worn clearing.

Fertility rocks are common in Hawaii, but locals claim that this one, called Kauleonanahoa, is the best example in the islands. Legend has it that a woman named Kawahuna and her husband, Nanahoa, quarreled over a young girl who apparently captured Nanahoa’s fancy. Angered, Kawahuna seized the maiden by the hair. Nanahoa hit his wife, who tumbled down the hill, died and turned to stone. Nanahoa lived out his final days grief-stricken, and it is his male energy that is said to reside in the rock.

Myth says women wishing to become pregnant should spend the night next to the stone. That wasn’t our intention, so we decided to move on. Ten minutes north of the rock, we paused at the Kalaupapa Overlook, a great perch from which to gaze at the ocean and the hamlet below and remember the moving story of the leper colony.

Plumeria perfumed the air as we headed for the mountainous, rain-forested east end of the island, about 18 miles from our campsite.

Just west of Kaunakakai, New England-inspired churches line the road. Opposite the steeple strip, the dense Kapuaiwa Grove of coconut palms banded together on the beach as if conspiring to reclaim the island for the trees. Kapuaiwa was the nickname of Prince Lot, who later became Kamehameha V. He planted the grove as a source of shade for his chiefs.

In town, a small harbor and the nearly mile-long wharf, one of the longest in the state, host fishing and whale-watching boats. Quaint arts and crafts shops are stocked with nets, paintings, surfboards and Hawaiian wear. At the Kanemitsu bakery we bought some of the delicious sliced bread and continued east, passing St. Joseph’s, a simple, one-room wooden Catholic church, where a statue of Father Damien pays homage to its builder.

Beyond Kamalo is the remarkable Ualapue fishpond. This mound of stones, looking like a mini-jetty, was built of coral and basalt rocks in the 13th century to give Hawaiian chiefs a steady supply of fish, an ingenious early method of sustainable aquaculture. The recently restored fishpond supports a population of mullet and milkfish and is a national landmark.

As we followed the snaking road toward the east end of the island, mountains rose on the left; foaming surf curled and crashed on the right. We could see coral in the shallows. After an hour we arrived at Rock Point, a popular surf and snorkel spot, where we used the bread and fresh produce to make sandwiches. Sylvia reclined in the pearl white sand. I dove into the aqua water. This was Molokai, pure and simple.

Three hours later, back in the other direction, we were in the wild, arid west. Molokai, formed by two merging volcanoes, has two distinct climates. The east is rugged and dense with tropical growth from ubiquitous rain

clouds. The west looks like the Australian outback. There are no kangaroos, but the orange-reddish soil is dry, and grasses are wheat gold. Pineapple used to be king here, but Dole and others packed up in the ‘70s for cheaper labor markets, leaving fields vacant.

We turned off Highway 460 and headed for Hawaii’s largest beach, Papohaku, just beyond the Kaluakoi Resort. We kicked our feet through sunbaked sand. Seven other souls shared this 2 1/2-mile stretch of uninterrupted beach. The current is too strong to swim in, as it is in much of Molokai, but the water cooled our feet. (If we had planned better, we could have camped at Papohaku County Park next to the immaculate beach.)

The far more upscale Molokai Ranch Resort is also on the west end. A posh paniolo, or Hawaiian cowboy, aesthetic, reflecting vintage 1920s and ‘30s plantation culture, dominates at the resort, which used to have a wild animal park but closed it. Wild West decor-wagon wheels, cattle prods, cowhide bar stools, lassos-adorns the interiors of three rustic buildings. Deluxe rooms start at $295 a night, single or double occupancy, which wasn’t in our budget. (The ranch also operates cozy yurt-like bungalows by the cliffs and on the beach, with rates starting at $145.) The dining hall adjacent to the cavernous lodge lounge serves breakfast, lunch and dinner. I didn’t have proper dinner attire, so we went back to Kaunakakai, where we sampled the fare at the Molokai Brewing Co., a place more geared to my attire and budget.

Eddie Gorospe, the bartender, smiled at us from behind the polished, tan wood bar, where stacks of pint glasses adorned with the Molokai Brewing logo were amassed like soldiers awaiting combat. A phalanx of Napa wines stood ready to be uncorked. Behind the galaxy of glasses, two large windows framed steel brewing tanks as big as SUVs.

We bought a $3.75 sampler of ales: light-bodied Mongoose Mild Ale, the bold citrus Molokai Pali Ale and the chocolate-ruby dark Paniolo Porter. Each was criminally sublime. Not bad considering the place has been open only since October. I sipped some ale and struck up a conversation with owner Michael Rogers and executive chef Bill Zaerle, and ordered the special $15 butter-sauteed lobster ravioli. Sylvia ordered the grilled mahi-mahi for $10, served with a peach-scented mashed sweet potato. Locals and tourists alike ambled in (many places close on Sundays, but not this one) to shoot the breeze and toast life here.

“Some people who come to Molokai don’t like it because it’s not glitzy,” Rogers says, “but the majority who come here do love it and find that it’s a surprise.”

We had been surprised, too, by fancy resorts, affordable hotels and rock-bottom-priced camping; by a historic colony that is both shameful and spiritual; and by a brand-new microbrewery whose suds can duke it out with the best of beers. It’s not clear why so few tourists come to Molokai, but we may be sorry we shared the secret.

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Guidebook: Making the Most of Molokai

* Getting there: Connecting service to Hoolehua, Molokai (about 15 minutes from Kaunakakai), is available on Hawaiian Air from LAX, changing planes in Honolulu. Or you can fly nonstop to Honolulu or Maui from LAX and change to Hawaiian or Aloha. Nonstop service to Honolulu is available on American, American Trans Air, Delta, United, Hawaiian, Northwest and Continental, and nonstop service to Maui is available on Delta, United, American and Hawaiian. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $424.80. You also can take inter-island flights on Molokai Air Shuttle, telephone (808) 545-4988, or Pacific Wings, tel. (888) 575-4546.

* Where to stay: We stayed one night at the Hotel Molokai, P.O. Box 1020, Kaunakakai, Molokai, HI 96748; tel. (808) 553-5347, fax (808) 553-5047, https://www.hotelmolokai.com/new. It’s a delightful throwback to Hawaii of the ‘60s. Standard rooms begin at $80 a night, double. Also recommended: Molokai Shores, P.O. Box 1037, Kaunakakai, HI 96748; tel. (808) 553-5954, fax (808) 552-2288. One mile east of Kaunakakai on the water. Spacious one-room condos with full kitchens, lanai, cable TV and ceiling fans go for $149. If you want to stay on the west end, try the Paniolo Hale Resort Condominiums at Kepuhi Beach, P.O. Box 190, Maunaloa, HI 96770; tel. (800) 367-2984 (for reservations) or (808) 552-2731, fax (808) 552-2288, https://www.paniolohaleresort.com. Hawaiian ranch-style designs with oak floors and beamed ceilings with private verandas. Each unit has a color cable TV, washer and dryer and a fully equipped kitchen including ice maker, dishwasher and microwave. Rates begin at $115 a night. We also camped at Palaau State Park, about 15 miles from Kaunakakai. For information, contact the Department of Land & Natural Resources, Division of State Parks, P.O. Box 621, Honolulu, HI 96809; tel. (808) 587-0300, https://www.state.hi.us/dlnr. Permits cost $5 a night for maximum stays of up to five consecutive nights. County parks are administered by Maui County, although local offices are open on Molokai during the week. Send queries to P.O. Box 1055, Kaunakakai, HI 96748; tel. (808) 553-3204, fax (808) 553-3206, https://www.co.maui.hi.us/departments /parks/recdir.html.

* Where to eat: We bought groceries for picnic and snack fare but ate out too. The Oceanfront Dining Room at the Hotel Molokai (phone above) is popular with locals. It has good food and a stunning view of the Pacific. Breakfast, lunch, dinner daily. Book ahead for Fridays or Saturdays. Dinner entrees run about $20. Molokai Pizza Cafe in Kaunakakai, 553-3288. There’s a pizza named for each island, ranging from $10 to $18. We tried the Lanai (cheese and pineapple) for $14, and it was delicious. Fresh fish, caught locally, is also served, as well as ribs. Kanemitsu Bakery, 553-5855, serves delicious pastries and bread from 5:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. A down-home breakfast is served from 5:30 a.m. to 11 a.m. We skipped the $4.50 ham and eggs breakfast in favor of pastries for about $1 each and bread. Molokai Brewing Co., Kaunakakai, tel. 553-3946, https://www.molokaibrewing.com. This place serves some of the best food on the island. Dinner entrees run between $6 and $35.

* For more information: Molokai Visitors Assn., 28 Kamoi St., Kaunakakai, HI 96748; tel. (800) 800-6367 or (808) 553-3876, fax (808) 553-5288, https://www.molokai-hawaii.com. Also, the Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau, 2270 Kalakaua Ave., Suite 801, Honolulu, HI 96815; tel. (800) GO-HAWAII (464-2924), fax (808) 924-0290, https://www.gohawaii.com.