The View from Here
Study in the Sun on a Desert Island:
My Adventures on the Northwestern Hawaii Islands, French Frigate Shoals
Part II
Lynne K. Fukuda
University of Hawaii at Hilo
Distance Learning Specialist
E-mail: lfukuda@hawaii.edu
If
witnessing the different landscape and the creatures of the atolls was
a shock, I was to encounter a further shock when I met its human inhabitants.
The plane landed on the main atoll, the largest of the ring of atolls
that formed what is known as French Frigate Shoals. This main atoll was
called Tern Island due to the colonies of terns that nest on it. It consisted
mainly of a large landing strip, a building that was a legacy from the
US Navy and the US Coast Guard. It was surprisingly modern.
I knew that Laysan Island, further
to the north, also part of the Northwestern Hawaii Islands (NWHI) chain,
did not have a main building. Instead, it had a smattering of tents with
equipment and some modern luxuries. The researchers there lived in true
hardship, deprived of what the Tern Islands took for granted. I felt lucky,
knowing that my imagined desert island still had a touch of civilization.
"Welcome to Tern Island,"
the humans said warmly.
I blinked in the blinding, bright
light. The sun reflected off the waters and the white sands. The inhabitants
were all partially sunburned and many were blond or had blond streaks
in their hair. Some were freckled. I stared at them, feeling as if I had
discovered Robinson Crusoe wannabees. Some wore floppy hats; others were
dressed in different types of swimwear. They all wore clothes that looked
faded from the sun.
They greeted the new arrivals and
squealed in delight at the new supplies of food and mail that we had brought
with us. Some began to move the monk seal as it protested to a cool, shaded
area.
The director, Ken, introduced me to
everyone and gave me a tour of the building and its facilities. It was
modern, to my shock. The kitchen was operated by a generator and had two
refrigerators. The stove and oven ran on gas. The water was from catchments
on the roof, and the toilets ran on seawater. There were even washing
machines, showers, a TV with VCR that ran on solar electricity, and a
computer.
"This will be your room,"
Ken told me, showing me a pleasant room with a window, a real bed with
sheets and a blanket, and a night stand.
I gasped in delight. "I thought
I would sleep on the floor in the sleeping bag and share a room with others,"
I remarked with a broad smile.
Ken shook his head. "The Navy
guys left us a good building. We have all the luxuries they had and more,"
he said smiling. "We even have a ping pong table and a pool table.
We live a good life," he told me, his eyes twinkling.
I put down my bags. I was delighted.
I knew that I would have to camp alone for periods of time on a deserted
atoll, but while on the main island, I would have my own bed and be able
to use a shower and cook my meals. I had roommates at the dorms in the
past. I was glad to have my own space. It was important to be alone so
that four months of being stuck with others would not create so much tension.
Fieldwork was always complicated by human relations. It was a requirement
that we all lead our separate lives and then came together to share our
experiences.
I was disoriented. There was a culture
shock in addition to the shock of being in a place that I found primitive
and lacking in modern facilities. There was no phone, no electrical appliances
except in the kitchen, and I was on an atoll that had barely any cover
from the harsh sun. I was used to elevated ground, hills, trees with shade,
and grass below.
There was no phone or much mail service,
but I learned to communicate on the CB radio with my supervisor, reporting
to him each day on my progress and findings. It was great to have a mentor
who loved the CB radio. I was able to also hear conversations between
other people using the same source, somewhat akin to eavesdropping, but
a fact of life, nevertheless.
My mode of transport was not a car
or bus but a boat. I did not know how to operate a boat and never learned
how, but I rode on it, bouncing and hanging on for dear life, as the constantly
choppy waters of the ocean hit the boat. The salty water splashed on my
clothes, which were different types of swimwear combined with long-sleeved
cotton shirts and shorts, and a hat with a string.
My meals were mostly vegetarian, due
to a consensus with the others, who had worked with animals for years
and did not enjoy eating them. It was also preferable, since meat spoiled
and was harder to transport and bring in. Also, storage space was limited.
Canned food, however, was abundant. There was a supply that could last
us for more than a year.
Ken ate his meat and potatoes. He
ignored the vegetarian consensus and ordered expensive ground meat and
fried his burgers and potatoes, guarding his normal life in spite of living
in isolation. "I grew up with meat and potatoes, I cannot change
now," he told me. "That is one luxury I cannot give up."
I nodded, respecting his desire to
make his daily life as normal as possible. Ken, unlike the rest of us,
remained on the island almost year round and had been stationed there
for almost three years. He was able to take a months vacation each year
to have his checkups and do his shopping and socializing, but he had been
converted into a veritable hermit, being without a sweetheart or wife,
and living among the birds and seals. And yet, he remained cheerful and
normal.
I immediately liked Ken. He was quiet,
and reclusive, but kind. Sometimes he was grumpy, but who wouldn't be,
living alone most of the year without companionship. He introduced me
to his pet lobster that had survived the trip from the fishing vessel.
"This one was still alive and feisty when we got him from the lobster
cage. I couldn't bear to kill him. The others that were weak went into
the boiling pot, but this one went into my tank. I thought he cloned himself
when I saw two of him in the tank. He molted his shell," Ken said,
laughing.
I started to giggle. I was only twenty-one,
an age when I was still a silly coed. I imagined Ken's surprised look
when he awoke in the morning to see the lobster doubled in number overnight.
"So is that what you do for entertainment, watch the fish tank,"
I said, snickering.
Ken shook his head. "I have a
TV and VCR. I request tapes to be shipped and watch them all the time,
since we don't have TV reception here."
I stared at the TV like it was a shrine.
I did not expect to see such a device on an atoll in the middle of nowhere.
But I suppose anything was possible.
My days became more routine as I
eased myself into life on an atoll. It was cool in the early morning but
soon grew hot, since I was there in the summer months from early June
to September. The atolls, lacking vegetation, heated up from the hot sands
and the reflection of the light on the waters. I pulled myself out of
bed, awakening from the loud squawking of the seabirds outside. They were
often quiet in the evenings but were noisy like school children, shouting
out their territorial cries, protesting, begging for food, or communicating.
I would hear the waves crash on the
shores and the activity of the other humans. Sometimes, there would be
food already on the table. At other times, I would dig into the cool fridge
for something simple to eat. I grew to like stale bread, cold tortillas,
and canned food. We would feast on fresh produce and products in the first
two weeks and go down to the canned items toward the end of the month.
I was thankful for food and never felt unhappy about eating things that
did not taste as good as back home. The atoll whetted my appetite and
the ecstasy of being in the field brought me much joy in my meals.
I looked forward to creative cooking.
I shared my new recipes, creating chicken potpie with bisquick and canned
items. I made stews from various vegetables with spices. I created veggie
burgers out of grains and canned vegetables and eggs. I also began to
bake seriously in the evenings, when I was on turtle watch, patrolling
the beaches every hour to look for nesting females and nests.
My favorite snacks were pop tarts
baked in the sand and Pringles right out of the can. I never tired of
eating them; although, once home, I would not eat them for the next two
years. Even today, I look at the pop tarts and taste the Pringles chips
and remember the mingling of sand with them as I ate them on the snow
white sands of a remote atoll.
I began to share my time with my new
companions if they were not busy with their tasks or away on another atoll.
I met a bird biologist who loved seabirds and devoted herself to their
care. She was softhearted and often fed babies that lost one of their
parents. Sea birds are voracious and need both parents to provide the
right nourishment for a single young. With only a mother to feed its young,
the baby she fed was starving. I followed my bird-loving friend as she
scared one of the adults so that it barfed out a whole squid. Picking
it up gingerly, she took it to the baby that already looked emaciated.
"I hope you don't mind,"
the bird girl said to me, "It's smelly but I need to feed the baby."
I tried to smile, wrinkling up my
nose, "It smells like gourmet fermented fish," I replied.
I watched as she squeezed open the
baby's mouth and shoved down the squid in the manner that the parent would
have if it had been there. There were no protests. My bird-biologist friend
avoided the sharp beaks and held them so that they would not turn and
bite her.
I learned to stalk seabirds by sneaking
up on them from behind and grabbing them by the neck to assist my companions
who were tagging their legs. I learned to use binoculars to check the
numbers of their tags. I loved birds and would have never been afraid.
But I knew that my mother, who hated birds as much as they hated her,
would find Tern Island, with its clouds of birds fluttering about, nesting
on the ground, and squawking and screaming everywhere much like Hitchcock's
movie, The Birds.
"If you do not like birds, do
not attempt to go to Midway or French Frigate Shoals," I told interested
people after I returned. "You will be so horrified that you will
not be able to move." Most of the large seabirds were tame, but the
terns that lived in colonies became a nasty cloud of screaming birds.
They hovered around the humans' heads and tried to land on their hair,
pecking at their head to chase them away. It was called mobbing. It was
a good defense against predators.
The larger seabirds were relatively
tame, although a particular booby found its thrills by pooping right in
the top middle of Ken's head. He would turn beet-red in anger and chase
the bird with a stick or anything he could find. But the creature, with
the advantage of wings, would fly away, almost as if it were laughing
at the silly human who got a wet spot on the top of its head.
Ken swore, his face the color of a
tomato. "That bird always manages to find me and deposits its stuff
on the middle of my head," he said, puffing with anger.
I started to laugh. "It's very
smart; it remembers you," I told Ken.
Ken started to laugh. I believed that
the bird was a way to release all the tension and anger a person had.
Ken needed a fighting companion in the winter months when he was alone
and had no one to speak with. This nasty bird would create a diversion
so that Ken could swear and chase it time and time again. The bird, too,
found Ken amusing. I believed that the reaction the human had to the poop
prompted the bird to do it again and again. That bird never managed to
reward me with such a gift.
We walked on the sands, passing sleepy
monk seals that grunted in annoyance. "Don't bother me, I am sleeping,"
they seemed to say, as they sleepily went back into their slumber. They
were large and fat with blubber. Many females were scarred by overeager
males that latched onto their backs with a bite to mate with them. Having
no arms or places to hold as they mated in water, females were subjected
to injury as the males took them.
In recent times, the lack of female
survivors and grown females created a situation where males literally
gang-raped available females so that bleeding and seriously injured they
became prey to sharks. To remedy this problem, some males were moved to
areas with more females. Ifant females abandoned by their mothers too
young that would starve to death in the wild were brought to Honolulu
and fed by the Waikiki Aquarium staff until they were ready to be released
as adults.
My flying companion, that grunted
in the back of the plane arriving from Honolulu, was one of the lucky
females that were rescued in the NWHI and raised to young adulthood and
released where it was born.
Sea turtles, too, basked in the warm
sands, a typical reptile warming up its body lazily. Basking turtles were
unique to the Hawaiian Islands, where shark-infested waters became inhospitable
resting places for the turtles. They discovered that, unlike other parts
of the world, the atolls and secret places of the Hawaiian Islands lacked
land predators that would attack it if they slept. Thus, on the atolls,
like the seals, they vacationed peacefully, sleeping away the hours until,
energies recharged, they returned to the cold waters to look for food.
I stepped carefully around the maze
of bird colonies, sea turtles, and sea birds, afraid to disturb them,
because I was a guest in their homes. I had to ask for permission to invade
their space. I learned to carefully read the identification tags, note
injuries and possible disease. I learned to tell the sexes apart and soon
began to learn their curious habits.
I felt as though I were living my
days in a National Geographic special. I learned later that both National
Geographic and Nova had visited the NWHI and used my friends on their
specials a few years later. I bought the tapes as mementos of the places
I had once been fortunate enough to visit. I was honored to be a part
of a team that fought for the survival of creatures that were rare and
floundering due to the abuses of humans. It was in this way that I was
able to pay for the sins of humans who, through their ignorance, unwise
practices, and greed, had nearly destroyed creatures that were gentle,
peace loving, gifts of God.
Academic Exchange Extra invites reader responses to any writings in this issue--especially articles advancing the scholarly debate of issues raised.
- Web Editor
| ------------------------------ Page
Citation Reference: AE-Extra. Available Online. [URL: < >. Created: 26 August 2004. Updated: --. Accessed: ] |