Photos by Ken Ige, Star-Bulletin
Guide Maria Holmes demonstrates how to get through
one of the gullies on the intermediate mountain bike trail. Riders
Merle Kishida and Sandy Whang decided to walk this section.
Trail Story by Tim Ryan
Star-BulletinCharlotte is just about finished with her web. It's been tough going for the hard-working cane spider. The trade winds are howling and Charlotte -- the name I've given my only companion at Paniolo Camp for my visit to The Great Molokai Ranch Trail -- has chosen a wide space between a Norfolk pine and the redwood deck railing of my quarters to spin her new home.
Slowly, diligently, through wind and some rain, Charlotte glides up and down, side to side, over and under, spinning. She seems in a hurry, perhaps sensing the sun will soon set and light will disappear from Molokai.
The view from the deck is breathtaking, 270 degrees of open range and forest to the Pacific Ocean six miles away.
There's more to quiet than just silence. When the sounds of human kind and the accompanying "necessities and conveniences" cease to exist, a slight panic may descend. But it soon is replaced by a serenity where one thought comes into focus: This is what life is about.
The Great Molokai Ranch Trail is all about nature. "It takes people about 24 hours to relax and get into it," says Lyle Otsuka, general manager-vice president of the Molokai Ranch's newest venture.
Though a mere 20-minute plane ride and only 26 miles from Oahu, the trail is a huge leap back in time. The sights and sounds of nature, the adventure of exploration, the thrill of being a kid again envelopes the visitor.
Photos by Ken Ige, Star-Bulletin
Jimmy Duvauchelle, livestock supervisor,
is featured in ads for the trail.
"So you wanna be a cowboy?" Uncle Jimmy Duvauchelle asks a would-be paniolo. This French-Hawaiian-Portuguese, fourth-generation ranch employee is livestock supervisor and heads equestrian activities. Duvauchelle's face is pure country, craggy and tanned. It's him you see in the ads for the trail.
"I wanted to share with people the kind of lifestyle I've chosen," Duvauchelle says. "Some people fly planes for a living, some people fish. I'm a paniolo, a cowboy."
Before a rider mounts his horse, Duvauchelle emphasizes that the horse's welfare is any cowboy's main concern.
"You have to earn trust from a horse," Duvauchelle says. "Let him smell your hand, stroke his jaw, pat his neck, talk to him.
"And trust your horse. I can teach you a little bit, but the horse teaches you the rest."
Sugarfoot responds instantly to rein commands, easily cutting a half-dozen cattle from the small herd in the corral. A slight tap of the heel to her sides sends her into a gallop.
"She trusts you, cowboy," Duvauchelle yells. "Now go out there and bring those cows home."
The trail circling Paniolo Camp is bordered by sour grass, lantana, wild ilima. Boulders, believed to have been rolled into place by ancient Hawaiians, show above the vegetation. At the end of the trail on a bluff, a table under a kiawe tree makes an excellent shady place to rest. The only sounds are the wind rustling the tall grass, birds chirping, an insect's buzz. With each gust, the grass twists, showing a different color than the moment before. When the wind slows, the rumbling of surf a half-dozen miles away echoes up the gullies.
A few days later on the Amikopala Trial, guide Gordon Albino carves paths through thick, prickly shrubs to show visitors Hawaiian archaeology sites. The powerfully built man speaks proudly of his Molokai ancestors who, he says, the most fierce and loyal warriors.
"Plants used by Hawaiians for medicinal purposes are all around us," he says, plucking a popola hiwa berry. "We give these berries to children . . . to eliminate chest congestion."
Albino spots a favorite sacred place.
"I believe these rocks were deliberately placed here as a circular pathway," Albino says bending to touch the lichen-covered lava rocks. "Follow me."
Indeed, the stones seem to lead to a central area. "Yes," Albino says, smiling, "this is a place I believe Hawaiians came to talk."
Photos by Ken Ige, Star-Bulletin
It looks like a cabin, but its a "tentalow," a wood-and-canvas
structure that makes camping quite comfortable.
Billy Buchanan is everywhere at Paniolo Camp. Though officially the director of transportation and guest services, he appears to be official greeter, facilitator and main conduit for information about ranch happenings. "Eh, howzit, brudda," Buchanan says to a new arrival, offering his hand. "Woo, so much to do today. First we feed you real good, get you settled in your tentalow, let you unwind, cuz you need to do that, I can tell, then turn you loose. Whatever you want, you got it. Just ask Uncle Billy."
After a several-mile down-hill bike ride it's Billy who shows up in a four-wheel drive to truck the biker back to camp. At a dinner one night he plays guitar and sings with two other ranch workers. Wherever there is a two-way radio, it's Billy's voice that is heard most often.
He's also part philosopher, therapist, peacemaker. When a visitor criticizes himself for failing to test a balky laptop computer beforehand, Billy interrupts: "Hey brah, you only human ... Don't sweat stuff you can't control. Work around the problem, don't let it stop you. You're on Molokai, brudda."
Oahu residents Merle Kishida and Sandy Whang came for an overnight visit. "I wanted to come as soon as I saw it advertised," said Kishida. "We usually go to Las Vegas, but I really love doing outdoor things. There is so much space here; it's so peaceful."
In the next 24 hours, the two women kayak, whale watch and ride mountain bikes.
"Remember," bike guide Harley Tancaya tells them before descending Keoki's Trail, "if you fall, stay down to make sure you're all right. Most people hop up fast because they're embarrassed."
For the next 45 minutes, the quiet is broken by the women's laughter and shrieks. Trailing some 50 feet behind Tancaya, Kishida suddenly disappears into the tall grass bordering the trail. Her head plunges into the vegetation, followed by her pinwheeling legs.
"I'm OK, I'm OK," Kishida says jumping up quickly, forgetting the guide's advice. She is stained by red dirt -- face, legs and clothes.
Whang laughs at her friend; Kishida laughs, too, and climbs back on her bike.
Photos by Ken Ige, Star-Bulletin
Merle Kishida, left, and Sandy Whang join reporter
Tim Ryan on a hunt for whales.
"We'll let every other resort be country club, we'll be country," promises general manager Otsuka. "We want everyone to have chance to be a kid again and to remember their times at camp." Indeed, the design of the guest quarters, called "tentalows," is rustic, functional, simple and though comfortable, not so much so that you want to stay inside all day.
When a guest says there's no plug for a blow dryer, Otsuka jokes that she should just stick her head out the window of the moving truck.
Guests are fed three times a day -- breakfast and dinner buffets, a large box lunch. Then it's off on the road, path, horse or ocean. Meal times are spent sharing experiences with other guests and employees, the bruises you got, the whales you saw, the cattle you herded.
Food and beverage coordinator Julie Lopez Lopez is the one who makes sure all meals are set up and served on time. That means coffee by 5:30 a.m. at the Paniolo Pavilion, where she sets tables with plaid covers and keeps water glasses full. She is the first person guests see in the morning, the last one at night. When one guest requests dinner on his deck, Lopez delivers heaping plates of food, milk, water, coffee and a bottle of red wine "compliments of Molokai Ranch."
By Ken Ige, Star-Bulletin
Each "tentalow" bathroom is open to the sky.
Imagine showering under the stars.
Like most ranch workers, Zhan Dudoit is always smiling, ready to talk, ready to listen. "How was the mountain biking? Was it fun? Are you going to do it again? How about surfing. We heard you surf," she asks a guest.
That night Dudoit, dressed in blue denims, cowboy shirt, hat and boots, helps serve wine at a dinner for new guests. Then she turns the noisy group silent with her inspired singing of a country-western song. After several hana hous and a standing ovation, she returns to to serving wine.
It's odd to be on Molokai and still be able to watch the sun set behind Diamond Head. Oahu may be physically close, but culturally, socially, environmentally, it's quite distant. As daylight dwindles, downtown Honolulu glows in the night sky.
New sounds take over. Cicadas and crickets echo. A lone bird warbles. A pueo scoots overhead. The wind, gentler now, creates a new song in the long grass. Somewhere in the forest there comes a plaintive, searching sound, then two, and still more. Under the cover of darkness, axis deer are coming out to feed, calling to each other.
Even Charlotte is still, sitting to one side of the web, a black dot against the moonlit sky.
The ranch
Location: Western tip of Molokai
