Planting with a Purpose on Kaho’olawe
The first lesson kahoʻolawe taught me is patience.
by Mike Morris
Mike Morris
For more than two years, I waited to step foot on the island. Three volunteer trips had been canceled – mostly because the transport vessel, ʻŌhua, was out of service. But in mid-December, I finally boarded the ʻŌhua along with seven of my colleagues from the Maui Ocean Center.
We were headed to Kahoʻolawe for a four-day trip to plant native vegetation under the guidance of the Kahoʻolawe Island Reserve Commission (KIRC).
After departing the Kīhei Boat Ramp at dawn, we watched flying fish skim the waves and spotted a few whales as we crossed the ʻAlalākeiki Channel. When we reached Honokanaiʻa Bay on the island’s southwest shore, we followed Native Hawaiian protocol and recited an oli kāhea – a chant asking permission to enter:
He haki nuʻanuʻa nei kai
ʻO ʻawa ana i uka
Pehea e hiki aku ai
ʻO ka leo
Mai paʻa i ka leo
Indeed a rough and crashing sea
Echoing into the uplands
How is it that one lands?
It is the voice
Do not hold back the voice
The water was calm enough for the captain to lower the ʻŌhua’s ramp, allowing us to walk ashore. On choppier days, visitors have no choice but to jump into the ocean and swim – Kahoʻolawe has no harbor
and no pier.
Once on land, we lined up and passed gear hand-to-hand from the boat. Each person was limited to a 10-pound bag. Then came a safety briefing with one repeated warning: “If you didn’t drop it, don’t pick it up.” The reason? Kahoʻolawe was once a live-fire bombing range for the U.S. Navy – and not all ordnance was recovered.
Eight volunteers from Maui Ocean Center arrived on the ʻŌhua to work with the Kahoʻolawe Island Reserve Commission. Each person was allowed a 10-pound bag.
Maui Ocean Center
But that’s only one chapter in the story of this sacred, scarred place.
Located seven miles southwest of Maui, Kahoʻolawe is the smallest of the eight main Hawaiian Islands and has no permanent residents. It is revered as the physical embodiment of Kanaloa (god of the ocean). For centuries, it served as a training ground for Hawaiian navigators learning the stars and swells before voyaging thousands of miles across the Pacific.
At Puʻu Moaʻulaiki (hill of the red-crested moa bird) – the island’s second-highest peak – we visited the “navigator chair,” where voyaging students once sat and studied celestial patterns. But Kahoʻolawe’s history holds darker turns. In the 19th century, the island was used as a penal colony. The first prisoners were exiled there in 1826; the last left in 1852 due to illness.
On Dec. 8, 1941 – the day after Pearl Harbor – the U.S. Navy seized the island for use as a live ordnance training site. For the next 50 years, Kahoʻolawe was subjected to relentless military exercises. In 1965, the Navy detonated 1,500 tons of TNT at Sailor’s Hat – a massive blast designed to simulate an atomic explosion and study the effects on nearby ships.
Mike Morris
Resistance began in 1976, when the Protect Kahoʻolawe ʻOhana filed a federal lawsuit to reclaim the island. A grassroots movement grew. Years of protest and advocacy eventually brought an end to live-fire training in 1990. Kahoʻolawe was later transferred to the state of Hawaiʻi, and KIRC was created to oversee restoration and cultural stewardship.
That history was all around us. Our bunkhouse beds still bore “U.S. Navy Property” stencils. Outside the front door stood an ordnance display. But on our travels around the island, we encountered sacred altars and sites deeply rooted in Native Hawaiian traditions. The contrast was surreal – ancient culture and modern destruction sharing the same windswept cliffs.
Something Kahoʻolawe made me think about is the idea of redemption – that you can still try to correct what was wrong and make it right again. That’s why we were there: to plant more than 1,500 native plants across the island.
Our mission was to help restore life to the land. Kahoʻolawe’s ecosystem had been devastated not just by bombs but by invasive species and overgrazing from goats, sheep and cattle. Today, only feral cats and occasional mice remain.
We spent our days planting ʻahuʻawa (sedge), ʻaʻaliʻi (hopbush), makaloa (Cyperus grass) and ʻaeʻae (creeping shrub) in two locations, including a seasonal wetland about four miles from camp. Other volunteer work includes collecting seeds and removing invasive kiawe (mesquite) trees, which once choked out native vegetation.
But even replanting comes with risk. Only 10 percent of the island – about 2,647 acres – has been cleared to a depth of four feet, where digging is allowed. Seventy-five percent of the land has been surface-cleared. The remaining 25 percent – over 6,600 acres – is still considered unsafe
to access.
Despite these challenges, KIRC has a long-term vision. “The KIRC’s objectives are to revegetate Kahoʻolawe, reduce surface water runoff, eliminate sedimentation entering the nearshore coastal habitats, increase groundwater recharge rates and raise the water table to usable levels,” reads a new sign at the Maui Ocean Center’s Kahoʻolawe exhibit.
Created in collaboration with KIRC, the exhibit combines educational videos, newspaper clippings and artifacts to tell the story of the island’s transformation. Visitors often linger at the signs. I’ve heard that some are even moved to tears.
For me, being there was both grounding and transcendent. We worked under the hot sun, hands in the dirt. At night, we listened to the wind roar through the bunkhouse and watched stars blaze across the sky. There’s something powerful – spiritual even – about Kahoʻolawe. I came away feeling changed.
“You come out here not to have a Kodak moment, but to have a meaningful moment,” said Paul Higashino, who manages KIRC’s restoration program.
In 1965, the Navy detonated 1,500 tons of TNT at Sailor Hat. The KIRC works to restore Kahoʻolawe’s ecosystem with native plants.
Maui Ocean Center
There were lighter moments too. After a long day’s work, we’d cool off with a supervised swim in the crystal-clear bay. I had braced myself for peanut butter and jelly, but our meals were far more generous – seared ahi, fresh salads and even a full Thanksgiving-style spread with turkey, stuffing and tiramisu for dessert. Coffee was ready by 5:30 a.m., waiting for us before each day’s labor.
Those comforts were no small feat.
Experiencing KIRC’s off-grid system firsthand showed me just how complex these trips are to organize. One of our earlier scheduled visits, in June 2023, was canceled when both the ʻŌhua and the
reverse osmosis water system at base camp
were down.
The remoteness, the logistics, the risk – it’s not easy to reach Kahoʻolawe. That’s why KIRC is working to build an education center on Maui, complete with classrooms, galleries and demonstration gardens to bring the island’s story closer to home.
On our final night, we practiced one last chant – an oli to release us from our role as guests:
ʻO ʻawekuhi ʻo kai uli
Kuhikau, Kuhikau
E hō mai i ʻaʻama
I ʻaʻama aha
I ʻaʻama ʻia au
Pointing tentacle of the deep sea
Direct, direct
Grant also an ʻaʻama
An ʻaʻama for what?
Releasing me from my obligations as your guest
As the ʻŌhua carried us across the channel back to Maui, I sat in quiet reflection. After years of waiting, I had finally made it. And I knew – some places are worth the wait.
Learn more about KIRC, including volunteer opportunities, at kahoolawe.hawaii.gov
Kahoʻolawe, the smallest main Hawaiian island, is both sacred and scarred from years of military bombing tests. Volunteers from Maui Ocean Center planted over 1,500 native plants, including ʻahuʻawa, ʻaʻaliʻi, makaloa and ʻaeʻae.
Mike Morris
