Exceptionally Exotic

Polipoli is probably the most un-Hawai‘i place in Hawai‘i.

 

Bill Harby

 

Most of the time, when exploring Maui, we try to search out the places that are authentic Hawai‘i, full of the flora, fauna and culture that make our island unique. But just this once, let’s be bad.
   
Let’s hop in a 4 x 4 and bumpity-bump up the southwest slope of Haleakala to … Northern California.


Foreign Forest
   
Polipoli Spring State Recreation Area, within the Kula Forest Reserve, is 10 acres of cool, often misty exotic forest just above 6,000 feet. That’s “exotic” in the botanical sense, meaning, “alien” or “non-native.” Hikers walk among towering redwoods, Monterey pine, Mexican pine, sugi pine, Port Orford cedar, red alder, cypress, swamp mahogany, blackwood, ash and several varieties of eucalyptus. Dorothy would tell Toto that they’re not in Hawai‘i anymore.
   
And they’d have plenty of time to contemplate this displacement as they walked the 10-plus miles of trails that meander through these green-card groves.
   
But none of the alien giants would be here if not for the industrious, well-intentioned and (to modern eyes) somewhat misguided Ralph S. Hosmer.
   
A report by Hosmer, who served energetically as the first territorial forester from 1904 to 1914, documented that through most of the 19th century, these slopes were covered with ‘ohi‘a, koa, mamane, pukiawe, ‘ohelo, ‘a‘ali‘i and other native upland vegetation. But by the turn of the 20th century, thanks largely to many thousands of voracious sheep, cattle and goats, this flank of Haleakala was mostly fragile grassland in danger of being washed away by up-slope rains.
   
Ranchers, farmers and leaders of the young sugar industry saw that this was an ecological and economic disaster in the making.
   
Ralph Hosmer saw a solution.            

Because it was believed that native trees were too slow-growing, Hosmer brought in species he knew from his Mainland training, and turned a few patches (including several acres west of Polipoli now known as Hosmer Grove) into sub-alpine forest labs. Planting began in 1927. Trees were chosen primarily for how fast they grew, and how well they held the soil.  Another consideration was whether certain trees might have commercial value for tree farming. Hosmer’s success would have seen these big old fellas marching across the mountain sowing their seed.
   
But that didn’t happen. The foresters found that, when high winds and storms blew, too many trees toppled or snapped. That’s because the volcanic soil is too thin to support such large trees consistently at a level that would make them commercially viable. And they turn out to be not that good at holding the soil because their canopies don’t let through enough sunshine to nurture an understory of smaller plants.
   
Today, what is left is a drop-your-jaw outdoor exotic tree museum.
Threshold
   
The adventure begins with the 10-mile drive up Waipoli Rd. The first seven miles curve back and forth on a smooth paved road through dewy, very-green cow pastures, where the sky can be blue one second and white the next—and very possibly filled with strange, low-flying, human-powered aircraft. (See “The Pilots of Waipoli.”)
   
Somewhere after mile 7, you cross a threshold, which is why mountain bikers often park their cars here and hop on two-wheels. The road is unpaved and usually ungraded, forcing you to slalom between rocks and holes. Depending on the weather, you can be slip-sliding through mud or bottom-scraping through dust.
   
Finally, you arrive at the little tent campground, which is something less than flat. Three little covered shelters are just big enough for their picnic tables. A giant tree stump in front of one of them would make a serviceable poker table for menehune. Two faucets gush with water from the catchment tank, but a sign warns that the water may not be safe to drink. And there’s a flush toilet, of all things.
   
A hop and a skip over the hill and through the woods, there’s more civilized digs: a rustic but comfy little cabin that some say is the best one in the whole state park system. In fact, it’s so popular, you usually have to snag a reservation a year in advance. (See “Staying There.”)
   
Wherever you stay, you won’t be just sitting by the hearth. The pleasure of Polipoli is its trails.

Elephant’s Graveyard
   
Just steps away from the campground, the hill falls away and is strewn with dozens of giant grey carcasses of fallen conifers. Some of the huge prone pines blew over, others snapped off in violent storms. Here's why tree farming didn’t take root on  Haleakal¯a.
   
Along most of the trails, you come upon similar scenes: In groves of towering trees that seem invulnerable, trunks lie splintered and dead, with the ground ripped and scattered.
   
Other patches of disturbed ground look like they’ve been tilled by wild men, but it is only the work of wild pigs rooting for a meal.
   
Sometimes, the thin rays of sun between the branches suddenly fade as fog rolls in like a pale, silent army riding on the spicy scent of pinesap and eucalyptus.
   
And it is strangely quiet up here.  Besides the chirping of birds (often cardinals, another alien species), or the laughter of a family in camp, the only sounds are a falling branch or distant rustling on the forest floor, where a pig or errant hunting dog makes its way.
   
And amidst all this strangeness is something stranger still: native Hawaiian plants. On the outskirts of Ralph Hosmer’s handiwork, you’ll find pukiawe, mamane, ‘ohi‘a and more. These beautiful, tough little plants and trees have hung on to their home through it all. As have the native upland birds—‘apapane, ‘amakihi, Maui creeper—that sing from their branches.
   
These are the true giants. And you won’t find them in California.