The View from Here:
Learning in the Field - My Cooperative Educational Experience at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park

Lynne K. Fukuda
Distance Learning Specialist,
University of Hawaii at Hilo
lfukuda@hawaii.edu

Even now, I have nightmares of my exams. I dream that I do not make it to my exams due to sudden illness or oversleeping. I still have exam anxiety as a doctorate student and bad stomach upsets and even anxiety attacks when I do my longer papers. But as a young adult, I needed fresh air. I could not continue to remain near the stagnant grounds of the university where study was equivalent to work, which also was equivalent to less and less pleasure in learning.

When I was in my ecology class, my botany professor, who was also the director of the university's cooperative unit with the National Parks Service, gave a short talk on a program that allowed students in the biological sciences to gain field experience in exchange for volunteering part of their summer for one to three months. Hawaii Volcanoes National Park offered free room and transport and a small stipend of $7 per day. The student would be trained on the job and assist researchers in the field of ecological projects.

I am certain that my eyes sparkled with the prospect. Only the summer before, I had lived on deserted islands in the Northwestern Hawaiian Island's atolls to do research on sea turtles for the National Marine Fisheries Services. I stayed on East and Whale-Skate Islands for four months during the summer; it had been a break from school. I was able to escape from the stresses of my pre-medical courses. And now, another opportunity had sprung up. After his talk, I was the first one to introduce myself. I told him that I had researched sea turtles for the Endangered Species Recovery Program for four months and dreamt of working in the cool forests of Volcanoes, watching honeycreeper birds in the Ohia trees, counting and identifying Nene goose, or helping with the feral pig control project. I wanted to spend the next summer in a cool place, because the atolls of the NW Hawaiian Islands had been hot, and the bird mites from the sea birds had nearly killed me with hives.

Images of the forest sprang up before my eyes. I was off in my dream. I had not visited the island of Hawaii or the Big Island for more than ten years. I loved Hilo, the gray, overcast town on the Eastern coast, and adored the slopes of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea with snow on their peaks during winter. I was in Heaven when I heard the magical calls of the honeycreepers in the misty rainforests of Ohia and hiked across the devastatingly beautiful moonscape of the Kilauea crater. "Cool and green and clean, I will be in Heaven," I said to myself.

      "You worked with the sea turtles, Lynne?" my professor exclaimed excitedly, waking me out of my cool green daydream.
       I nodded. "But I can easily work with other animals--I watched monkeys and birds," I answered, worried that he would reject me.
      "Well, you're just the man we've been looking for!" my professor said, his eyes dancing with a strange light.

For one thing, I was not a man, and I did not like the tone of his voice. I did not hear clearly at first, but I heard the word turtle.

      "Huh?" I glanced at my professor, who was rubbing his salt-and-pepper beard. He had a pleasing Welsh accent, and I always loved his zany ways, but for once I felt uneasy, as though he had already planned what to do with me.
      "We needed a researcher who's experienced with sea turtles to help the National Park people start off their Hawksbill Sea Turtle Recovery project on the coast of Volcanoes," he said excitedly. He was more enthusiastic at the prospect than I was.
      "No....but, but, I thought I would work up in the cool forests with Nene birds or with honeycreepers," I said in a small voice.
      "No...we'll let others do that...you're too valuable, we have to have you," he said, his eyes blazing.
      "I don't want to spend my summer in the hot sun near the coast with turtles again," I said.
      "Don't you worry, they'll let you spend half the time up at Volcanoes at the volunteer house and you'll help out in the forest too," he said, convincingly.

I felt as though I were being dragged into something that I did not want, and yet, I saw his desperate look. Good volunteers were hard to come by, and I came with excellent recommendations. But I did not make my decision until a month later, after they had called me many, many times.

I lived at the dorms, where there was only a single payphone in the hallway, and the girls were not great at answering a ringing phone and notifying each other of a phone call. I am quite certain that my future supervisor spent many frustrating days and nights ringing the phone for two weeks.

      "Hello, is this Lynne from University of Hawaii?" a warm, kind voice said when I answered the phone, flustered from running down the hallway. "This is Gary, from Resources Management at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. Your old supervisor for National Marine Fisheries and your professor recommended you, and I've been trying to reach you for two weeks. You are the hardest person to find, Lynne." I heard laughter. He was a good person, I knew.
      "I really don't know if I want to work with turtles again," I said quietly. I wanted to bargain to stay in the cool forest.
      "I guess I have to give you the terms of the position," he replied, using his professional voice. "You have to hike out to the coast and camp out alone in a tent for three to four days, and you can use a horse. We will helicopter in the equipment, like water and camping gear. We still haven't tagged our first Hawksbill...they're so rare. But we need some preliminary data badly."

I believe almost any young researcher or biology student would have jumped at the chance to do something so exciting, but I knew how hard it was in the field. I had spent a frustrating month during my four months on the atolls. I was not ready just yet to be alone and worry about medical emergencies, and in this case, of dangerous people. My desert islands were protected by dangerous reef at night and were part of a wildlife refuge, which was off limits to boats, but I felt that the camping area in the backcountry required a gun for protection.

      "I'm a girl, Gary...I won't feel safe camping out alone. I might encounter some bad campers," I said like a wimp. "And I don't ride a horse very well. I would need an escort to help me, in case I got sick or injured out there."

So I ended the conversation, not wanting to give in to their demands. I would not go to Volcanoes unless I was able to be in the cool forest or have a partner to work with in the remote areas near the old lava flows, where a broken ankle or sudden illness could be traumatic, although I would only be a helicopter away from help and could call some one on the CB radio.

Two days passed. I felt deflated, knowing that I had allowed a great opportunity to escape me. I had wanted to change from a medical career to that of zoology. This would have been a great opportunity to gain training and to have recommendations when I applied as a biologist with the government someday. Then, again, the fateful knock came to my door. "Phone call for Lynne," one of the girls called out.

I ran out the door, slipping and sliding in excitement. I was not waiting for a beau to call. I was waiting for Gary to give me a second chance to say yes.

      "Lynne, so glad to catch you again...called and called and no one answers," Gary said, his familiar warm voice sounded like that of my Kauai cousins, giving me the image of a man with a good sense of humor.

I imagined him in his olive green ranger uniform, tanned and riding a horse in the backcountry. He was a local boy, so I could figure out his general features and even his height and weight. I felt strangely happy, because the National Parks wanted me so much that even with my terrible demands they were willing to call me a second time.

      "Lynne, I still want you to work with the turtles. I spoke with my boss and he said you could have an escort. In fact I will escort you with the other biologist and even helicopter your stuff and get two horses for you to ride and carry equipment. And I can give you alternate weeks to work in the forest with me and with the Nene bird project," Gary said, to my great surprise, "So is it a yes this time?"
      I blinked a few times, wondering if this phone call was all a dream, then I nodded. "Yes, I'll be there in three months, after I return from Europe with my Mum," I said, my enthusiasm bubbling over into the phone receiver.
      "Europe huh? You do get around, don't you," he said laughing.
      "It's my mother's second home," I replied. Gary and I then had a long conversation that lasted nearly two hours. I had a full interview on the phone and was hired for summer. Little did I know that working at Volcanoes was to change my outlook on life and my feelings for the islands forever.

I shopped for many things in preparation for my stay at Volcanoes. Although the parks would provide everything, even rain and camping gear, I invested in two pairs of hiking shoes, a good jacket, and a warm sleeping bag that was good for spring temperatures, camera equipment, and some food. I did not worry too much about what to take, since I would still be in Hawaii, only four islands away to the southeast. It was only a forty-five minute plane ride to Hilo and another forty-five minutes by car to Volcanoes. I even had relatives in Hilo that I could visit with when I got lonely.

However, I dreaded the idea of having a roomie, but I knew that I would only be there part of the time. The rest would be in my own tent in the field looking out for the mysterious Hawksbill that only numbered in the hundreds near the island of Hawaii. I borrowed and bought books on Hawaiian natural history to educate myself. I was a biology freak to begin with, so it was a snap. I had field guides on native birds, plants, fish, and volcanoes. I studied up on sea turtles. In the Northwest Hawaiian Islands, or French Frigate Shoals, I had worked with the more common green sea turtle, but now I began to read up on Hawksbills and prepared myself for my trip.

School ended, and I sighed with relief. My senior year in college was a doozy. I went off to see my beloved Europe, my childhood home for many years. I caught cold and had bronchitis from the pollutants in the air and the heavy smoking in the trains. When I returned to Hawaii, I was sick and considered canceling my trip to the Big Island. I rested for three days, and then I called Gary. I would keep my promise.

      "We'll be there to pick you up. You already have the tickets don't you?" he asked. I had received them in the mail before I left for Europe.

I packed that night, hardly pausing from my European trip to rest. Soon I was welcomed by the NPS crew and was on the way to Volcanoes.

      "You know I haven't been back in years...maybe more than ten years to Hilo and more than twenty years to Kona. I remember the back roads were all gravel," I said, laughing.
      "And you lived in Honolulu all your life?" Bob, one of the crewmembers asked in surprise. He scratched his tousled graying hair in surprise.
      "Most of my life. I went to see Kona when I was barely four," I replied. "But I love the Big Island...the forests and volcanoes. So much better than the crowded place I come from. Imagine all the people, traffic, and pollution."

I know most of you would shake your heads. "Hawaii being polluted and congested?" But this is true. If you ever visit the other islands in the main Hawaiian Island chain, or ever are fortunate to visit Midway Island in the NW Hawaiian chain, you will know what real Hawaiian beauty is. And because there is less stress, crime, and crowding, the natives are a bit more friendly.

      "You know Kalapana's going to go," Bob said suddenly. Kalapana was the village that was being destroyed by the path of the lava flow. As always, Pele, the volcano-goddess, was on her rampage. Her passionate anger destroying what stood in her path. And in its wake, the new forests of Ohia would spring up. But when villages were destroyed, fortunes were lost, and lifestyles were forever changed.
      "I went to Kalapana at four years old," I said, suddenly feeling dismay. "I have a photo my parents took of me on the famous Black Sand Beach."

It was strange that I hardly knew Kalapana, but waves of old memories, and a longing began to haunt me. I was drawn inexplicably to the island where life and death was closer to one's mind than in artificially developed Honolulu. I spent my vacations on the north shore of Kauai with my relatives, like a little native child on the beaches across my grandparents' house. I had run across the old lava rocks that were slippery with algae, walked the reef while fishing for Mempachi, snorkeled with my cousins, and climbed trees. And now, as an adult, I realized that I had moved away from nature when I went to the desert islands in the Northwest. And now, when I returne to the lands, to the Aina, I began my transformation, not only as a biological researcher but also as a child of the land who was a child of nature.

I had remained too long in academia. With its artificial walls, I had memorized too many terms, worked in too many labs, and written too many scientific reports. I wanted to return to that carefree time when I was young. This is not to say that I did not like my university. For it was there that I was free to write and express myself, but I needed to recharge myself and feel the winds and the energy of nature again. And forget for a while about school while learning as an intern with Hawaii Volcanoes National Parks, where I would have hands-on learning, train as a biological technician, and contribute to the data that would be gathered on sea turtles, forest birds, and Nene birds.

I settled into a co-ed volunteer house with two boys from California, a girl from England, a girl from Germany, and my roomie, who was a fellow UH student in political science. It was a lovely cottage that was a small version of my grandparents' Kauai house and had the same mustiness, since Kauai was as humid as Volcanoes. I settled into a routine.

Every morning during the training session, I would awake at 7:00 a.m. and have a quick breakfast of coffee and oatmeal. Then, packing my gear and donning my raincoat and pulling on my shiny new hiking boots, I would follow my housemates to the Resource Management building surrounded by mist. The air would be crisp in the high-altitude rainforest, and smelled of greenery and volcanic gases. I still had a cough from my bout with bronchitis, but I was healthy and glad to be at last at Volcanoes and again in the field. We followed a pipeline that formed a trail in the forest that was a short cut to the workplace. All of us were fresh-faced and eager. The newness, our youth, and our eagerness to learn made us valued workers. Sometimes, I suspected, even working in the forest had its drawbacks. And when young students arrived each summer, the heavy workload was relieved for three months and the hard-working elves that we were began to take over the tasks that required less brain-energy and more brawn. And, in exchange, the students came away with a positive experience of having worked in the field and having explored the type of work they might pursue in the future.

The summer was intense. It was brief and yet burned bright like the passion I began to develop for the natural part of Hawaii. I had grown up in Honolulu, which was a city, spent brief Christmases and parts of summer on the beaches of Kauai, but never had I intensely felt such belonging and such love for Hawaii as I did that summer. It was a summer romance. I fell in love deeply without knowing the reason why. I felt a strong connection with Hawaii, the land and the people. I knew that no matter where I went, I would always return here to die. And in the process of loving, I would work to better the environment of the islands in many ways. My summer internship in conservation was my gift to the islands in thanks for nurturing me in my growing up years.

I assisted my supervisor and the other biologists in the field. Sometimes I would do transects, at others, bird counts. And, at times, clean out the kennels of the hunting dogs that the feral pig control crew used for hunting down pigs in the national park. Pigs were alien species in the Hawaiian forest and destroyed the vegetation and degraded the environment, and the only way to save it was to kill and trap pigs. Another way was to construct fences along the perimeter of the national park. I also helped to put up the fences with the crew; each twisted metal wire, symbolic of our effort to give back to nature that nurtured all of us who grew up in the islands. And, sometimes, I would track Nene goose, which were endangered because they nested on the ground and were attacked by mongoose, rats, feral cats, and even dogs. They were raised in captivity and tagged and released. My half-blind roomie, who missed seeing the birds that were right below her, would miss the numbers on the tags. We learned to drive a stick shift and almost scraped a few cars and almost reversed into a ditch.

Finally, after three weeks, Gary and the other biologist, Terry, escorted me with two horses to the coast. We were dropped off at the end of the road and rode in for seven miles. The landscape changed dramatically. From the lush, misty rainforests above, lava flows left small patches of remaining forests, called Kipuka. These soon disappeared as we moved further down the coast to the newer lava flows where small grassy patches relieved the moonscape.

We waited with the horses for a while for the helicopter that would initially take all our heavy camping gear and water to the campsite. I was in charge of holding the reins of two of the horses, and the slightly skittish one was tied to the back of the camper. The thundering of the helicopter soon neared. I looked up, still holding the two quiet horses, and saw the craft come in for a landing. Then, suddenly, I felt a moment of danger. Something touched me on the head, and I ducked. The hooves of the skittish horse, which was bucking, flew over my head, going where my head would have been moments before. The biologist's fishing gear had been sticking out and touched a split second before the hooves arrived.

      Gary came running to me. "I saw it," his face was ashen. "You could have been killed by those hooves."

Suddenly, my knees felt weak, and I breathed heavily. I knew that I could have been kicked in the head by the horse and would have had my brain spilling out on the lava rocks like a human sacrifice to the god of war on a Heiau (Hawaiian temple).

      "I'm OK," I said, trying to be tough. It was better not to cry or to show my shock. I did not want to see their ashen faces anymore.

I sat down and collected myself for a few minutes and got up and picked up my pack. I got on the tame horse, the old reliable one. I knew that if I lost my nerve, I would never ride a horse for many years. It was a good ride. I relaxed and recovered my bearings.

The black lava flow gleamed in the sun and gave off such a glare that one could be sunburned under the chin. It was as hot as I feared, and unforgiving. The cooled lava was still crusty and unstable in places. There were sinkholes and hollow areas. One could easy fall into a crack and break an ankle. The horses were bleeding from the abrasion from the rough lava rock.

      "I can't ride when they're bleeding," I said to Gary in dismay. "I'm too heavy and they're hurt."
      "Don't worry, they're tough," he replied, calmly.

Nevertheless, I got off and hiked the rest of the way. I could not bear that a beast of burden would have to suffer for my sake. I had two perfectly good legs. The horses were excellent for riding. They were sure-footed and patient. They were so smooth that the horses I had ridden on ranges had given me tender buttocks, but these were virtual Cadillacs. I sighed. Riding them, even if it had been only for a while, had been heaven.

It was a long walk. The old lava flow was solid but uneven rock. The pahoehoe, the smooth lava, was pleasant, but it moved up and down. The a'a was potentially dangerous, sharp as broken glass and unstable. Hikers were often injured from a fall, or received severe cuts. I had sat on a'a for a rest and discovered a hole in my pants later. And all through this landscape, the mule carried the heavy pack, and the two horses patiently carried two riders while I walked behind them, sharing their pain.

We reached the cliff and saw the deep blue waters. It crashed against the rocks, and the wind blew in our faces. We were silent in awe as people are when they are truly immersed in nature. We did not speak much, but pointed out a few landmarks. Konane boards or game boards carved into the rock were found at places along the ancient path. This was an ancient Hawaiian trail, and some travelers probably stopped to play a game with someone they met along the way. We also saw petroglyphs, housesites, and possible temples. There were signs of occupation from the turn of the century, but the new lava flows had since destroyed the old villages, and nothing but barren rock remained in their places. Hollow spaces beneath the lava, the subterranean caves, spanned miles, making living places for unique blind cave insects and cave plants. It was stimulated by my journey. I had spent three summers doing archaeology in Hawaii, and my interest was spiked by the landscape. I was haunted by the images of the ancient Hawaiian who had lived and died here. I was called again by the sea turtles to the sea, the creatures that were so ancient that they preceded the dinosaurs. I knew that my struggle against coming to Hawaii Volcanoes was in vain. Fate had brought me back to the land where all creatures were born. The volcanoes, which were full of fire, of death, and rebirth. And now, the love for my land and for nature would be reborn.

We camped out like boy scouts, laughing and eating. I had a tent to myself, while the guys shared. We slept through the night and did not spot any Hawskbills. It would be three more weeks before we would seek the tracks and, finally, when I camped with my new partner, we would capture and record the much-needed data on the first adult female Hawksbill that had eluded most humans for many years.

The second trip yielded hatchling turtles that were weak from struggling. The lava rocks, unlike sand that was smooth, trapped the babies. They were probably hatched a few days earlier and exhausted themselves trying to get to the ocean. My roomie and the biologist and I removed the rocks and saved them in a pail with sand and let them sleep. We released them that night, guiding them by the light of the flashlight into the water. Tears came to my eyes, knowing that we had done a lot of good. I was giving back to nature, to the land. At least we had repaired a part of the damage that humans had done to our natural world by polluting and killing defenseless creatures. The Hawksbill, hunted for their prized shell, were low in numbers, and the Hawaiian Hawksbill was a very rare species.

In the evenings, alone on my patrols, I would sit on the shore, bathed in starlight. On the nights of the full moon, it was so bright that I could read without a light. I pondered about the course of my life. I also was able to spot the only Hawksbill I saw that summer, lifting 150 lbs without thinking and flipping the creature over. I measured it and photographed it before release. It was a great accomplishment, and I became proud of my skills as a field researcher.

In the daytime, like an old-fashioned naturalist, I sketched. I did sketches and watercolors of native plants, and did a few of the dead hatchlings. I also made notes of the archaeological sites, which I suspect had already been recorded by the park, and played on the beach. All the while, like a native child, I learned from my body, from nature. The learning that took place was far more intense than in the classroom. I was flustered at times and made a few mistakes, but when I learned, I never forgot. And terms, details, and biological information were burned into my mind as my labs and lectures never had. The rhythms of nature also made me more sensitive. I awoke at daybreak, developed better coordination, a great eye for observation, and was more alert and receptive than I would ever be in a classroom. And most of all, I began to mature into a more responsible adult with confidence, experience, and a good sense of humor. I began to become more patient and cooperative with others. It was hard living and working with many people, but they were good in heart. I felt appreciated, needed, and useful. Even until this day, I have nothing but very fond memories of that fateful summer.

I finished with flying colors. I received a lot of praise, helped develop the Hawksbill Recovery Project on the Big Island, which is now a very successful and popular program that is at Volcanoes and on the Kona coast. It is so popular that there is a waiting list of students who want the internship. And mostly, I have a love for Hawaii, which is lifelong. I know that the learning I received, and the lust for learning in nature and in the field will be with me for the rest of my life.

Academic Exchange Extra invites reader responses to any writings in this issue--especially articles advancing the scholarly debate of issues raised.

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