Reflections from the PAA Group

REFLECTIONS 3

Reflections on PA'A
by Robin Craig
from Waikiki, July 2, 2010

Before I was selected to participate in PA'A, I had devoted a large percentage of my law writing career to the issues of marine protection and to adaptation to climate change. Quite frankly, focusing on these two areas is often depressing--but they share the feature of being two legal areas desperately in need of more attention, and more hope. I found that hope at the Midway Atoll, located toward the far end of the Papahanaumokuakea Marine National Monument.

Three images of Midway remain iconic for me (only two of which I could adequately capture by camera). First and second were the abundance of life. While moli (albatross) chicks shared almost every aspect of our outdoor existence, the memory of birds that stays with me the most is that of the multitude of birds in flight over the islands that make up the Atoll, both Sand Island and Eastern Island. Terns, albatross, tropicbirds, and frigate birds played in the sky in unbelievable numbers, with terns and tropicbirds in particular often descending to near-earth to examine the humans walking and biking in what was clearly their domain.

A number of scientists, such as Jeremy B.C. Jackson, have tried to re-create a sense of the historic baseline of species concentrations in various ecosystems. They describe thick beds of oysters in New England and the Chesapeake Bay, turtles so numerous in the Caribbean that sailors could walk on their backs, clouds of birds so large that they could darken the skies. Only on Midway, however, have I personally experienced a true sense of what those kinds of concentration of life truly could be.

Equally important, however, was the relative ease with which those of us on the island could live with that life. Of course, there weren't many of us there (around 80, I believe), and our transportation was limited to feet and bikes most of the time, suggesting the potential value of population reductions and a less oil-dependent lifestyle elsewhere. It was amazing to me how quickly I got used to dodging moli chicks on my bike, and how much I welcomed the examination by the white terns, even though I understood that such examination generally meant that I was too near their nest or egg for their comfort.

The second image of this abundance came in the water, when we snorkeled the Atoll reef. The picture I've included conveys just a small sense of the amount and variety of life on that reef. With over 50% apex predators, these waters again convey a sense of how biodiversity-rich these ecosystems are "supposed" to be.


At the same time, however, Midway did not allow me to romanticize the struggle for survival that typifies most marine ecosystems, or to ignore the damaging legacy of human development and consumption. Plastic littered all beaches on Midway, in an amazing variety, from all over the Pacific. In 15 minutes one morning I gathered 18 fishing floats that appeared (from the writing on them) to be from at least four countries. Moreover, I was ignoring all the other plastic and glass trash I encountered, ranging from an assortment of cigarette lighters to whiskey and sake bottles.

In addition, dead and dying moli chicks were a regular encounter. Saddest for me were the living chicks with "droop wing," a deterioration of the flight muscles resulting from lead poisoning, the enduring legacy of the lead paint used on many of Midway's buildings during the war years. To watch these chicks struggle to move their wings, knowing that they had no hope of survival, was heart-wrenching, especially when I allowed myself to wonder how many would have made it but for the paint chips. Lead remediation efforts are in progress, and hopefully they will remove this toxic invasion from this living landscape.

Nevertheless, evidence of life's resiliency was also everywhere. For me, the most iconic image of Midway--and the one that is coming to stand in my mind for the whole worldwide struggle to preserve and enhance ocean biodiversity and overall health--is the lone endangered monk seal sleeping on the beach among the rusting metal hulks discarded by the military at Rusty Bucket. If these endangered marine mammals can make some kind of peace with Rusty Bucket, then perhaps there really IS hope for the oceans--and for the humans who depend on them--after all.

Reflections from the PAA Group

REFLECTION 2
by Marion Ano

My Return: A First Reflection

I have to admit returning home gave me a strange feeling. We touched down on O‘ahu at about 3:45am in the morning and in the pre-dawn hours I yearned to be back on Pihemanu. After saying our goodbyes to each other in the parking lot, I thought most about how I would share my experience with others. It didn’t take long for reality to set in that I was home and in the dark I already saw it in a whole new way. As soon as I arrived to my house I turned on my computer and looked at my pictures. I could not stay away.

A week ago today, marks my first day on Pihemanu and I miss her smell, the birds, their young voices, the incredible presence of life, the mana (life force), and the ancient spirit of that place. To be honest, I have not fully digested the experience. The space and time to do so is not as readily available here, but I’m glad to have the opportunity to reflect upon it now.

The one thing that strikes me the most upon my return is how much we have destroyed our home and how amplified our presence is here. When I compare the dormant town of Midway to Honolulu, I notice the noise. I’m just so grateful for the quiet moments I had on Pihemanu where for the first time I heard the heartbeat of Mother Nature. I’m trying to be as cognizant as I can to stay with this feeling and remain a catalyst for my own change and to inspire others to do so as well.

The lack of wildlife here is piercing and the baseline has shifted so far. I think about that a lot more than I used to. I view Papahānaumokuākea as part of us, the pae ‘āina (archipelago), and I yearn for those mea ola (living things) that connected the entire chain. If we begin to seriously consider what’s missing here and why, we would work together to repair our connection to the pae ‘āina (archipelago) as nature had worked so hard to do way before our time. Maybe, these young islands can once again be as enchanting and powerful as they were millions of years ago. Could we live in a world where more would be respected and left alone? I hope to keep this conviction close to my heart as time begins to divide my attention. I’m trying hard to remain hopeful, for our children, grandchildren, and the honua that I love so dearly.

I’m anxiously awaiting my weekend trip to Ka‘ena point to see some of the seabirds and other wildlife. I wonder what they look like here and hope to share what I know about them with my ku‘u mau hoa makamaka (my dear friends) that join me.

I had a conversation with a good friend yesterday who has also had the privilege to journey to Papahānaumokuākea and we agreed that parts of the experience could not be captured in words or in a photograph. The only way I know how to hold on to the spirit of this journey is to humbly channel aloha ‘aina (love of the land) and remain steadfast to do all that I can to protect this pae ‘aina. There is no price, there is no cost, there is only love.

Special mahalo to the pae ‘āina, the PAA ‘ohana and facilitators, my family (especially Mom and Dad), my ku‘u mau hoa makamaka (my dear friends), my mentors, and my colleagues.

Me ke aloha no,
Marion Ano

Letter from Pihemanu

Letter from Pihemanu
By Marion Ano


Aloha mai e na hoa makamaka,


Welina mai ia kakou mai ka aina e kapa ia o Pihemanu. Today marks my fifth day on Pihemanu, a place also known as Midway Atoll. My journey here began on a five hour plane ride from Oahu due northwest over the chain of kupuna islands that span over 1200 miles from the island I call home. By the time our gang, PAA (Papahanaumokuakea Ahahui Alakai) 2010, boarded the plane our bonds were beginning to seal us into an ohana. At any given moment on the plane ride one could hear chatter, laughter, and the occasionally oooooo's and ahhhhhh's as we got glimpses of some of the atolls that lay below us in the distance that most of us would never set foot on.


We arrived on Pihemanu in the dark as all planes must do to protect the lives of birds that are flying during the day and the fledglings that veer to far on to the runway. Five minutes into our arrival, my dear friend and roommate, Maya, who journeyed all the way from England began our opening ceremony by sharing her thoughts, asking permission and for protection during our stay here on Pihemanu. We have continued this tradition and begin each day in a circle, pa'a ka lima (holding hands) and recite the oli, E ho mai, so that we can be open to receive the wisdom of this place and set our pono (righteous) intent for the day.


Although I am here sitting on the most beautiful place on earth as I know it, I still cannot find the words to share with you the greatness of my experience here. As I write this letter and glance over the lagoon, my eyes are greeted with the gift of spinner dolphins breaking the water's surface making their morning run to their next destination. My life here shares a similar tone to theirs. Over the last four days, I have taken close to 2,000 photos of the life and sometimes death that I see and feel around me. I cannot help but wonder if my kupuna (ancestors) set foot upon this aina (land) or if I am the first one in my lineage to. I am tremendously grateful that I have been granted this lifetime opportunity to live here for seven days of my life. It is truly a gift to be here. I knew this when I left, I feel it while I'm here, and I know it needs to be appreciated in this way for rest of my life.


I acknowledge that I am a very lucky person. However, my trip to Pihemanu has elevated this feeling and understanding to greater heights. Each of us who have been selected to come here have been entrusted with a kuleana, now lifelong responsibility to take the lessons we learn here and embody this new ike in all that we say and do.


Pihemanu lies within, Papahanaumokuakea, the world's second largest marine monument. The vision statement of Papahanaumokuakea is "to protect and perpetuate ecosystem health and diversity and Native Hawaiian cultural significance of Papahanaumokuakea. In all my time spent on land or in the water as an ocean user, conservationist, and advocate Pihemanu has revealed things to me that I have never seen in my entire life.


The first time I experienced Pihemanu in the light, I was struck by a feeling as though I were at home. There are things that are familiar here, the ocean, the sand, the naupaka, the warmth of the makani (wind). But, I am in a place that is elder to my one hanau (my sands of birth), that has been altered but possesses a genealogy that is ten times older than the island chain to the southeast. In the dawn's light the omnipresence of the birds alone struck me in such a profound way. And so I will try my best to share its story with you.


The landscape of this tiny atoll as far as one can see in any direction is covered right now with albatross fledglings. Current populations of this manu kai (seabird) are around 1.5 million birds. I know that these birds once dominated our landscape back home. On the first morning, with our new bikes and freedom (as stated by my dear friend, Randi) we explored the atoll dodging fledglings that do not move from their place of birth. These albatross that mate for life only produce one egg per season. Once the egg is laid, the male albatross tends to the egg for thirty days until the fledgling emerges from its inner world. Upon its birth, the albatross parents spends the next four to five months flying out to sea in search of food for their young. For this time of their lives the parents operate only to serve this one intent. In the beginning stages of its life the parent will return every three to five days next three to five days to feed its young. The lucky ones, or the way I see it are those fledglings that are born under a tree rather than in the middle of the asphalted roads on the island. By the time the fourth or fifth month rolls around the parent will extend the search for food for ten days slowly building the fledgling's independence and craving for food. Eventually, the parents will never return to see their fledgling again and the young bird's only way to survive is purely driven by it's own hunger. The fledgling's must break through its threshold to wait for food and dare to take its first flight out into the blue horizon gather the nourishment it needs. If the fledgling survives it will find a mate when that time comes and the cycle of life continues.


There is evidence in many places on the atoll that some of these birds do not survive. Each season, thousands of them perish in the heat, become dehydrated, or suffer from the "droop wing" syndrome from lead poisoning. The most powerful association to fledgling death for me is the ingestion of bits and bits of plastic that are mistaken as food by the parents who mistakingly feed it to their young. Whatever "food" material the albatross is unable to ingest is regerjetated in a bolus. During a bolus examination activity, my group concluded that 80% of the material in the bolus consisted of plastic materials. The message to eliminate the usage of plastic in my life speaks to me on a much more personal and urgent way.


Being here is life changing to say the least. And although that sounds a bit cliche, I know it is because I've been granted experiences like this more than once. Throughout my time here, I have struggled when I think of whether I possess the capacity to really bring you here with me if it's even for a moment so that you can feel the mana (power) of this place the way I do. The journey to Pihemanu is long in every sense of the word, it has taken me thirty years to get here. if I could wish for something for all of you, it would be for you to experience this place. But, for now, I will humbly try the best that I can to be that conduit for you. My seven days here on Pihemanu with my new ohana (family) is truly a gift of aloha and as with all makana (gift) it must be shared with all.


Me ka ha'aha'a,