The squeals of children just released from school and thuds of hammers tightening tent poles fill the Puhi Bay shoreline in Keaukaha. It’s summer, and Native Hawaiian families are moving to the sea.
The squeals of children just released from school and thuds of hammers tightening tent poles fill the Puhi Bay shoreline in Keaukaha. It’s summer, and Native Hawaiian families are moving to the sea.
Families work together erecting their tents, lending their strong sons and daughters to other families so the work can be completed by sunset. Young children dabble in the shallows under the watchful eye of an auntie and the older ones giggle and whisper among themselves.
It’s a fairly new tradition, as far as Polynesian traditions go, but for the 70 or so families staking out their campsites on an approximately 12-acre swath between the ocean and Kalanianaole Avenue, it’s deep with meaning.
It’s also a microcosm of how a self-governed Hawaiian community can live, in cohesive family units led by kupuna and policed by a committee that sets and enforces the rules.
The camping tradition began informally in the 1970s when residents of the Department of Hawaiian Home Lands homesteads across the street began tackling the overgrown seaside lots to make it easier for the families to enjoy swimming in the chilling brackish waters of the bay. Soon, campsites started popping up, and before long, an entire Hawaiian summer village was born.
In the old days, folks just pitched their tents and enjoyed the respite.
But without permits and oversight, the area began taking on an increasing look of permanence. By the early 1990s, DHHL officials started getting concerned and the state’s interests began to conflict with those of the campers.
The situation turned ugly in 1993 when Native Hawaiians ignored the state’s efforts to evict them from Puhi Bay. Bulldozers came in and some campers were arrested.
These days, there’s a lot more control over the area. Families, primarily from Keaukaha, but also from Panaewa, draw lots to choose their campsites, and there’s a waiting list because of the popularity of summertime seaside living. The land is under DHHL jurisdiction.
Strict rules have been implemented, such as every family must bring a portable lua, or toilet. There are rules barring alcohol and drugs, and more rules barring open fires.
There is a committee that sets standards, and the 14 original “founders group” members get to keep their original campsites without going through the lottery.
“This is the only place like this in the state,” said Louis Hao, East Hawaii district supervisor for DHHL.
Hao said the committee has been considering expanding the concept to West Hawaii and South Point. There’s also talk of rebuilding a large pavilion known as “Hawaiian Village” that used to be a favorite tourist stop at the Keaukaha site, featuring native handicrafts and Hawaiian music and food.
There have been problems in the past, with the police coming to break up fights or families interceding when they see bad behavior.
“You screw up — we go tell the commissioner to take them out,” said Duke Ioane, one of the founders. “If they don’t, we help them. We need our reputation.”
Most times, however, the campgrounds are fairly quiet. Many parents work during the day and come back only in the evenings and weekends, to swim, sunbathe, grill and talk story.
“This is what it’s about, all these kids,” Ioane said, sweeping his hand over the panorama in front of his tent as dozens of chattering preteens push each other into the clear, cold water and chase each other over the grassy lot.
“The older folks, they just mellow out,” he said. “They come down from work, they come to relax.”
The vacation for the adults lasts only as long as the children’s break from school. Come August, everything gets packed up and everyone goes back to their regular home.
“They come and enjoy the summer, and when it’s over, everybody gotta move on,” Hao said.