Two Kipukas on the Big Island

Along with a'a and pahoehoe, kipuka was a new Hawaiian word entering my vocabulary during my trip to the Big Island in February. Volcanologists use the first two words to describe types of lava; the third is an area of land that survives a lava flow. The habitat is usually one that remains isolated, surrounded by mostly rocky terrain centuries after the eruption event.

Kipukapuaulu in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park was the first kipuka I knowingly explored. In fact its second name is Bird Park so I was eager to visit it as I hunted for Hawaiian honeycreepers. I had seen lots of 'apapanes in that area of the island, but others like 'amakihis and i'iwis had eluded me.

The kipuka comprised mesic forest, rather than the rain forest that pervaded most of the landscape on that side and at that elevation of the island. Except for appearing a bit drier, the flora still looked mostly similar to what I was observing nearby on Kilauea Volcano's lush trails.

The majority of tourists probably disregard this verdant, spared landscape as they search for spectacular flows of lava and evidence of its destructive capability. I know I did twelve years ago, on my first visit to the Big Island, long before the birding bug had bitten me.

A one-mile looped trail guided me deep into the kipuka, where regularly-posted markers referenced its history and ecology. Indigenous trees, like the koa, towered overhead while the forest floor teemed with ferns and other native plants. Before the area was protected parkland, invasive grasses fed grazing cattle under the canopy of trees.

Like everywhere else in my National Park adventure, 'apapanes filled the treetops. The only other birds I identified were Kalij pheasants, introduced from the lower Himalayas last century for game hunting. To have a better chance to see honeycreepers and other endemic birds, I had a plan to take Saddle Road back to the Kona Coast.

A good part of that drive overlapped with the Hawaii Island Birding Trail, a map created by a local birdwatching group a few years ago. I discovered the guide in my lodge room in the village of Volcano where a copy was included in an information binder. Coast to coast between Hilo and Kailua, eighteen stops were highlighted, ranging from bays with marine birds and water fowl, to mountain locales with native birds.

It was these latter high-altitude species that were in my sights when I headed up the pass via a recently modernized highway. The route cut between Hawaii's two massive volcanoes, Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, whose summits each rise almost 14,000 feet above sea level. Showers were no surprise as I left Hilo on the wetter windward side of the island on a late Tuesday morning.

The rain paused as I reached my first destination a little over 5,000 feet in elevation: Kipuka 21. Actually this old, pristine forest is now known as Kaulana Manu, where brand-new information plaques and restrooms greet visitors. Up the road a few hundred feet, at a boot-cleaning station to keep non-native seeds and flora out of the preserve, a gated looping one-mile Nature Trail guides you through the lava oasis.

Details in the Birding Trail map indicated that i'iwi's and 'elepaios were possible sightings so I was excited to encounter a few natives that had eluded me in the National Park. However in my initial scan from the visitor center's viewing deck, the ever-present 'apapanes seemed to dominate the fauna here as well.

On the trail, they continued their rule over the canopy where towering 'ohi'a lehuas and koas were just two of the many native trees. Ferns and other flora blanketed the ground while a misty rain wet my face and threatened my camera. From another viewing platform on the northern edge of the kipuka, thick fog blocked views of Mauna Kea. A snorkeling guide off the Kona Coast had recently told me that reef fish are more abundant on overcast days. Birds are supposed to be similarly less active on sunny days, so the moist weather was a good omen.

Fifteen minutes into the hike, as I circled back in the direction of the entrance, a couple of unique calls drew my attention. Tracking the more melodious sounds, I soon spotted my very first oma'o, a plain, grey native thrush in a bird family that includes the American robin.

A minute later, I focused on a more distinctive, raspy squawk emanating from overhead. Walking up the trail several feet, then turning back dozens more, I dizzily discerned an i'iwi overhead. The honeycreeper's long, curving orange beak made it an easy identification, but there was something peculiar about its color. Not scarlet at all, it was tawny with at least one red patch, similar to the dully-colored female northern cardinal. It turned out this individual in the Kaulana Manu kipuka was a juvenile: another exciting first for me!

Unfortunately weather in the form of blustery wind and rain, unclear signage, and my own lack of preparation each prevented me from exploring any other sites detailed on my informative two-page map. So no akiapolaaus on the Puu Oo Trail or any additional i'iwis on the Puuhuluhulu Trail. And no spectacular views of Hawaii's two gargantuan volcanoes from the almost 7,000 foot-high saddle between them.

However early in my descent to the sunny, dry leeward coast, one last native bird made an appearance. The Hawaiian hawk, or 'io, soared mauka - in the direction of the mountain - over a grassy expanse amidst lava flows. In the opposite direction - makai - I sped in my rental car toward the seaside with its vast resorts and off-shore reefs. I was leaving much of Hawaii's native fauna behind, safe in the shelter of the island's kipukas.