PWAC Victoria: Tom Koppel, Writing Sample

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Maui a Paradise for Humpback Whales, Too

by Tom Koppel ©

Whale watching is a great reason to head for Hawaii, just as the great cetaceans do each year. Published in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Jan. 24, 2002.

"Whales at four o'clock," came the cry. On board the speedy catamaran, fifty heads swung around to starboard. We scrambled to point our cameras out that way and waited. In the distance, the lush emerald slopes of Haleakala volcano rose 10,000 feet into the clouds. Suddenly, there the whales were again, a few hundred yards away. First a little telltale cloud of mist, then the flash of a tail fluke. Or was it two? Yes, two. Maybe even three. It was hard to tell in the chop and spume of the high running seas. But there was no doubt about it. The humpbacks had returned to Maui, as they do each winter, from December through March.

It was a gratifying moment. Years ago, I wrote a book on the large role played by native Hawaiians in the fur trade in B.C. and the Pacific Northwest. I learned in my research that thousands of young Hawaiian men had also left their islands on nineteenth-century whaling ships. And I had just been reading the gripping but sad tale of the Hawaii-based sperm whale fishery, which nearly wiped out those leviathans of the deep. So I arrived on Maui primed to learn more. I was wondering about the present abundance of whales in Hawaiian waters and hoping to see them for myself.

My wife Annie and I had ocean-front accommodations north of Lahaina, on Maui's western and leeward side. Looking out past the beach with its fluttering palms, we could see the island of Molokai. The channel in-between is sheltered and shallow. This makes it an ideal hangout for humpbacks, which fatten up in summer in the cold, food-rich waters off Alaska but seek warmer and calmer seas for breeding and bearing their young. Even before unpacking, I was out on the balcony, or "lanai," with binoculars, scanning the horizon for the huge cetaceans. The next morning in the hotel's hot tub, a guest told us she had spotted a baby humpback right in close to shore.

Soon we were working on our tans, prowling the beaches for the most idyllic spots, and warily eyeing the surf, which could get quite rough. When we'd had too much sun, we would head off to laid-back Lahaina to lunch in friendly seaside restaurants with funky names like Bubba Gump's or Cheeseburger in Paradise. Or we'd duck into the wall-to-wall T-shirt shops and galleries, looking for gifts and souvenirs. Other days, we ate at inexpensive little Japanese and Chinese places hidden away in barebones strip malls or on side roads, but with outstanding food. Evenings, after a late pool swim back at the hotel, we joined the parade of visitors strolling along the beachfront, trying to decide which breezy restaurant offered the best seafood, local microbrew and place to watch the sunset. A tough routine, but somebody had to do it.

One day we drove inland to the upcountry with its sprawling ranches and the strange subtropical shrubs and trees that grow at 3,000- or 4,000-foot elevation. And we went to the top of Haleakala for the famous view, only to find it socked in by clouds. But mainly we explored the island's maritime realm and heritage. South of Lahaina was the Maui Ocean Center, a fine aquarium where you could walk through an underwater plexiglass tunnel and look up at the gills and mouths of sting rays as they swept overhead. And I snorkeled along the underwater slopes of Black Rock, a small lava peninsula that jutted out from Kaanapali Beach, creating sheltered water with crystal-clear visibility. It was festooned with corals and sea urchins, which attracted a dazzling array of colorful fishes.

The nearest shopping mall was the open-air Whaler's Village, which displayed a 40-foot sperm whale skeleton at the entrance and a graceful wooden whaling longboat on one of the walkways. Upstairs, with free entry, was a compact but excellent whaling museum, with exhibits of long barbed harpoons, vicious flensing "spades," and huge try pots used to melt down blubber. No attempt was made to prettify this grim industry, and the statistics were astonishing. In the mid-19th century, 400 whaling ships visited Hawaiian ports in an average year. Between 1825 and 1872, the American whaling fleet alone killed an estimated 292,000 whales. In the peak decade of the 1850s, 14,000,000 pounds of baleen (whale bone) and 17,500,000 gallons of whale oil were transshipped from the Islands. Honolulu on Oahu and Lahaina on Maui, the two main ports, grew into filthy and disease-ridden warrens of ship chandleries and bars, where churches alternated with brothels along the seafront.

To feed the fleet, herds of cattle were brought to Maui, along with cowboys, locally called "paniolos," from Mexico. Market gardens and plantations sprang up to supply fruits and vegetables. Traditional taro growing and reef fishing declined as the local economy became dependent on whaling.

But massive slaughter decimated whale populations and the catch plummeted. The US Civil War sounded the death knell for the industry. First, the rival navies of North and South recruited away skilled sailors. Then, roaming Confederate raiding vessels captured and burned 46 Yankee whaleships.

This was barely in time to save the remaining whale stocks. I sought out Dr. Rob Wilder, until recently the Conservation Director of Maui's Pacific Whale Foundation. He told me that exact statistics did not exist, but he accepted estimates that humpback populations, which had once totaled some 15,000, fell to around 1,000 at their lowest, but were now back up to 5,000 or more. His main concern today was not the limited whale hunt by Japan and Norway, or even pirate whaling. It was that the entire ocean ecosystem, including the whales, is vulnerable to pollution, coastal habitat loss, and overharvesting up and down the food chain.

Meanwhile, though, whales seemed to be thriving around Maui, and we were anxious to see them for ourselves. As we motored out from Lahaina on the whale-watching boat, the young naturalist on board assured us there had been sightings earlier that day and our chances were good. Still, it was electrifying when those humpbacks actually appeared halfway across the channel between Maui and much less developed Lanai.

The whales were heading north, periodically diving and reappearing, so our skipper slowed down and steered a gradually converging course in the same direction. When they dive, Nani our naturalist told us, we'll have to wait five to ten minutes. Then they'll be back up again, blowing and taking several deep breaths before they can dive again. And so it went for an exciting half hour. Each time, we got a little closer, until their rubbery dark gray backs and dorsal fins were clearly visible as they rolled along rhythmically, cleaving the waves. Finally their tail flukes would rise and flash in the sun, and they'd be gone.

Their route took us into ever rougher seas near the northwest end of Maui. After a few miles, the captain turned back to search for other whales. Soon we were intercepted by a few small bottlenosed dolphins scooting along fast on the surface, heading for Lanai. Nani switched on the amplified hydrophone so we could listen to the weird squeaks and moans of the sea below, but alas no whale songs were to be heard.

We headed back to Lahaina inspired by the experience. Granted, we had not witnessed the more spectacular breaching of humpbacks, where they hurl themselves skyward, or the sight of dozens of them cavorting together. It was very early in the season, and most of the many hundreds that winter here had not even arrived from Alaska yet. But for a brief time we had felt ourselves part of this largely hidden but vibrant marine world.

And we had a perfect excuse to come back, just as the whales do each year, in hopes of an even closer encounter.

Tom Koppel
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Last updated: August 10, 2003 http://www.islandnet.com/pwacvic/koppel10.html