The View from Here -
Study in the Sun on a Desert Island:
My Adventures on the Northwestern Hawaii Islands, French Frigate Shoals
Part I
Lynne K. Fukuda
University of Hawaii at Hilo
Distance Learning Specialist
E-mail: lfukuda@hawaii.edu
I
first learned about the French Frigate Shoals as a college student taking
a Hawaii Natural History course. For all the years I lived in Hawaii,
I was ignorant of the natural treasures that lay over the horizon to the
Northwest of our main Hawaiian Islands, like the rest of the local population.
There were secretive islands to the North of Kauai and Niihau that were
inhabited entirely by animals and birds. However, the military were familiar
with these islands, the French Frigate Shoals being occupied during WWII
by 30 or more navy men who exercised and lived out their days of exile
on the tiny atoll of Tern Island and had bunks and a mess hall just like
in any other camp. Biologists knew of these islands, having permission
to enter the sacred areas to tag and observe sea birds, sea turtles, and
monk seals that came to rest on the peaceful beaches of the tiny atolls
that formed the French Frigate Shoals.
Yet, these atolls were not unknown
to others in the past. The ancient Hawaiians had traveled out in their
canoes to harvest, respectfully, the bountiful resources. They gathered
sea turtle eggs and sea turtle meat, only taking what they needed to supplement
their diet with precious protein. Later, more destructive harvesters arrived,
mostly foreign, who used sea bird egg whites for processing black and
white photos with a substance called albumin. Others harvested the birds
themselves for their feathers to decorate women's fashionable hats. Some
came to harvest large quantities of sea turtles for meat and the fish
from the ocean. Greed and unwise practices began to decimate the populations
of the creatures of the Northwestern Islands.
Other unwise practices, such as releasing
rabbits onto the atolls, brought further destruction. The rabbits were
meant to be backup supplies of food for shipwrecked sailors. But, instead,
they ate themselves almost out of house and home. They ate the vegetation
of the atolls away until native birds had no place to live and died out.
They also out competed other creatures for vegetation and left the landscape
bare, creating erosion.
In the recent decades, from the time
after World War II, humans began the effort to practice conservation.
The atolls that were jewels in the sea, with natural resources and creatures
sometimes not found on the main Hawaiian Islands, were to be protected.
It was from that time on that humans began to study the behavior and biology
of the creatures on the secretive atolls.
It was to this sacred sanctuary that
I was invited. As an ethology student at the University of Hawaii, interested
in the behavior of animals, I needed some experience studying animals
in the wild. One of the former volunteers came to our class to talk and
present a slide show. I was hooked. I could not take my eyes off of the
images of the creatures that materialized before me. I had only briefly
seen them in films and photos during my college years. I had grown up
ignorant of their presence in Hawaii. Monk seals existed at Sea Life Park
(a marine world type of park), sea turtles swam in the tank at the Waikiki
Aquarium, and the seabirds I remembered were part of a show at Sea Life
Park as well.
Images of these creatures in the
wild flashed before me. I wanted to be there, to feel the sea breeze,
to hear the squawking and strange noises of wild creatures. I wanted to
see the sunshine through the shallow waters of the lagoon near the atolls.
It was my greatest wish to be there and live part of the time on a desert
island.
"I am interested but I have very
little experience," I told the sandy-haired girl who was giving the
talk. "I only did a summer of archaeology last year and grew up spending
summers on the beach on the North Shore of Kauai."
The girl smiled back. She was very
friendly, like many researchers and volunteers who thrived on teamwork.
"You would make a great volunteer," she said. "And besides,
you are a biology major."
I nodded, a small bundle of hope
beginning to form in my chest. I was not confident, but I knew that having
gone through the hardships of doing archaeologist fieldwork as an assistant,
I could be able to adapt to a life as a volunteer researcher on the atolls.
My professor for my animal behavior class also backed me up. He was confident
that I would be a valuable researcher. My experience had been confined
to observations of lab and zoo animals, but I had the eye for observation.
I signed up, hopeful that I would
be chosen. In the meanwhile, images of the atolls floated in my head.
I dreamed that I would lie on the beach in luxury, sipping a strawberry
daiquiri while surrounded by wild creatures so tame that they were defenseless.
Unlike volunteer work on the African savannah, I would never have to worry
about being attacked by poisonous snakes or lions or angry four-legged
animals. The monk seals slept away their days on shore, the sea turtles
basked on the sands, and baby sea birds waited patiently on their bottoms
for their parents to bring them food.
"Ah, a tropical paradise,"
I sighed. My tent would be pitched on the white coralline sand, my food
would consist of canned rations, and I would write my poems and do my
watercolors in peace; alone at last.
As you may know, such images are
figments of one's imagination. In reality, one is often transported into
situations of horror, shock, surprise, rapture, and much stronger emotions
than of peacefulness or relaxation. This is truer for those who pursue
field research. Biologists do not lead an easy life. Some have frost on
their noses as they gobble up their food before it becomes a frozen TV
dinner. Others boil in the heat and are attacked by insects. Some live
in discomfort in the jungles as mosquitoes make them feverish and leeches
suck their blood. Often, the biologist must also struggle with the creatures
they study, because it becomes a game of hide and seek. The creatures
escape or fight back, and others do not remain still enough to be observed.
Other creatures may also deeply disappoint a researcher by never appearing
in view.
I got the phone call and the interview.
I passed. I went from the interview to the dive shop and other shops to
get all the supplies and equipment I needed. I bought snorkeling gear
of the best type, bathing suits, hats, gloves, medicines and everything
I needed. I also packed some art supplies and reading materials.
With very little knowledge of what
to expect, I prepared myself for a new life for the next four months.
Instead of a month, as suggested for the leery, or even two months or
three, I signed up for the full four months. I knew that I would never
again make the trip to the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands and wanted to
get the most of it. I would again have the opportunity to do primate research
and study monkeys or apes, but not birds, sea turtles or seals. My volunteer
work was to become my training for more intense fieldwork.
Nowadays, in Hawaii, young children
are taught about the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands. Some tourist knows
of Midway Island, also an atoll in the Northwestern chain, and have visited
there. But as a child and even in high school, the atolls to the Northwest
did not exist for me. It was an unknown territory, where one could be
as far from civilization as possible and still be in Hawaii.
The small twin-engine plane that
was painted a bright yellow greeted me at the small crafts airport. My
three bags were packed with care. I met the few volunteers at the plane.
Others had gone on the Feresa, a fishing vessel that carried supplies,
mail, and acted as the ferry-line for NWHI (Northwestern Hawaiian Islands).
I learned later that the only excitement the crew and passengers got on
the Feresa was being seasick, catching fish, and seeing the small crack
in the cheeks of the captain when he bent over. I was given the expensive
passage. I was leery of a small fishing boat going across the open ocean
more than 500 miles from our main islands. I refused the boat passage
and was given a seat on the plane.
"The ship's more sturdy,"
one of the workers told me.
I shook my head. "I've been
on planes all my life. I would rather die in a plane crash than in a shipwreck."
Passengers and pilot would faint and turn to ashes if we crashed contrasted
with passengers and a captain who would struggle and suffer as they drowned.
I would rather be unconscious when I died than to struggle until I drew
my last breath. It was a gruesome scene, but if one truly must prepare
for working in the field, life and death must always be close at hand.
Thus, I took a ride on the plane,
which consisted of the pilot, an assistant, three human passengers and
a young female monk seal that occasionally bleated in the seat behind
me. We all wore earmuffs to drown out some of the piercing noises of the
engine and held our bladders for nearly five hours. I am certain a portable
potty would have emerged if one of us had to go, but we controlled ourselves,
too embarrassed to complain about having to pee.
I stared at the waters below that
were closer than what I was used to. Jets flew close to the clouds or
over the clouds, but small aircrafts could give the passengers a view
of the ocean below. We passed over the mysterious islands to the north
of Kauai that had no beaches. They were submerged islands with only cliffs,
the peaks of the islands sticking above the waters. Then the atolls began
to emerge. From the coral reefs and the sands, sunken islands had formed
atolls on the sunken peaks of islands. I felt a strange gravitational
pull as we flew over them. I felt them again when I went over the waters
in the French Frigate Shoals on the Boston whaler.
There was a tale I heard from a friend
who believed in the lost continent of Mu. It was thought that the various
islands of the Pacific had at one time been one continent that sank, and
at the peaks, the islands remained. On them, as the continent sank, the
survivors of the flooding remained, sharing similar cultures and languages
because they had been one.
This theory or tale did not take
into account that volcanic islands that formed our Hawaiian Islands had
risen out of the deep sea. They had formed underwater and emerged. Creatures
and humans of the islands had not been survivors but had been colonists,
discovering the newly formed islands and seeking sanctuary from the harshness
of the watery world beyond. The humpback whales had discovered the islands
in their migrations thousands of miles across the ocean from the cold
arctic waters of Alaska to the warm waters of the Pacific. In ancient
times, they had come across the safe, shallow waters of the Hawaiian Islands
that were havens for pregnant females and young lovers. Here, humpback
whales could birth and nurture their young, mate, and conceive before
returning to the harsh north.
Sea turtles, too, which existed millions
of years before the Hawaiian Islands formed, also found the Hawaiian Islands?
They came here to seek a safe place to rest and to meet their mates. Females
found good beaches to bury their eggs so that their young would be released
from the warm sands; they were like a nurturing womb, allowing young turtles
to enter the waters to a new life.
Monk seals were also around in ancient
times, finally finding a place to sleep. After three or four days of constant
diving and swimming in the cold waters, the monk seal haul out to sleep
away their vacation on the sandy beaches of the atolls, content to dream
and to snore without thought of disturbance by predators or by humans.
Sea birds, ever the wanderers of
the world, circled around, finally finding a place to roost and to nest.
It was to the atolls of the Hawaiian Islands that they came too, knowing
that no predators would threaten them. With the lagoons and the sea at
the moats and the bushes on atolls as their castles, they found a safe
fort, a safe harbor to create colonies of their own kind and other sea
birds.
It was to this place, already an
establish sanctuary for wild creatures of the sea and air, that I disembarked.
I came on a metal bird that emitted a piercing scream. I landed into a
mist of scents that resembled pickled and spoiled fish and salt. The mix
of guano and bird scents welcomed me as we landed; the air full of panicky
sea birds that swerved to avoid our plane. I cringed as a few hit our
plane, but most were safe. And on our sand-covered landing strip, lined
by baby albatrosses on either side, I came to an ocean kingdom and learned
the ways of the creatures of the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands.
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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