Snorkeling at Ahihi-Kinau on Maui

Everyday the morning snorkel report on Maui described the south swells bringing large, breaking waves to much of the coastline. As a result, the best snorkeling on the island was in the far northwest corner, at sites like Honolua and Kapalua Bays, both shielded from the rough ocean activity. These two locations were consistently getting ratings up to 9 (out of 10) on the snorkeling quality scale while the south shore, home for the second half of my vacation, was receiving dismal scores like 2.5.

Nevertheless, I was happy to be staying for three nights in Wailea, on the south shore, where the beaches were beautiful and the accommodations five-star worthy. Most familiar to me in the area was Makena State Park, famous for two beaches: one incredibly long, the other small and nudist-friendly. A few years ago, I actually snorkeled a reef off the latter beach - I was fully clothed in a bathing suit and rash guard - where I found the conditions excellent. I vividly remember following an octopus and encountering my first saddle butterflyfish, a striking beauty.

But on this trip, I was actually lodging in the area for the first time so I wanted to to explore all of South Maui's renowned snorkeling spots. But on the afternoon I arrived, Mokupu Beach, where I was staying, was windswept with high breaking waves: a sign of disappointing if not outright dangerous snorkeling conditions.

Fortunately there was a window in the morning, before the wind and waves picked up, when the water was calm and the visibility excellent. I've already written about the unbelievable snorkeling on the reef between Mokupa and Ulua Beaches just a short distance away from my accommodations. (See: Snorkeling Ulua.) But there were was another site, at Ahihi-Kinau, that sounded even more intriguing.

There weren't actually many places on my must-see list in South Maui: Makena Landing and Maluaka Beach were the two others. Both of these areas were each referred to as Turtle Town because of the abundance of green sea turtles. However the two times I investigated the first site, once in the early morning and once in the late afternoon, the water was rough, so I abandoned any idea of entering. And the morning I visited Maluaka, I was the only one on the beach and wisely opted not to snorkel alone. In any case, I had seen dozens of turtles during the first half of my Maui trip, in the northwest corner of the island. That left Ahihi-Kinau as the only remaining site to explore.

Ahihi-Kinau Natural Area Reserve lies on the far southern coast of Maui and protects some of the youngest lava flows on the island. The last eruption is estimated to date around five centuries ago, long after Polynesians had settled Hawaii but before Europeans made first contact in 1778. The stark landscape was reminiscent of the much younger Big Island, twenty-five miles away, where lava still erupts from at least two active volcanoes.

The 807 acres of ocean within the reserve is closed to motorized boating and to fishing because, as the signs say, "Wildlife Comes First." However one mile of the reserve's coastline is open to swimmers and snorkelers who want to witness the protected reefs.

There are only two ways to enter the water legally and safely at Ahihi-Kinaua, one on the far end of Kanahena Beach and the other, less than a mile away, at Ahihi Cove. I visited the Cove late one afternoon when the conditions weren't too choppy considering the time of day. But clouds and currents resulted in poor visibility so I didn't snorkel for very long. However the two mornings I snorkeled from Kanahena Beach included some breathtaking underwater moments.

It was tricky to enter the ocean from the beach because of the rough lava that defines the coast. (I suspect trying to enter in the late morning or afternoon when there are breaking waves could even be deadly.) A stretch of black sand in the water at the designated entry point helped ease the pain of walking barefooted on lava rock. The sand also helped define where to exit the water after my excursion.

Surprisingly, there weren't any spectacular marine animal finds at Ahihi-Kinaua. No eagle rays, sharks, seals, porpoises, or barracudas were present: the Big Five I aspire toward in my Hawaii dreams. But there was a multitude of other fish in every conceivable shape and color: orange band surgeonfish, yellow tangs, bullethead parrotfish, cleaner wrasses, reef triggerfish, to name several. In addition, dense schools of convict tangs and black triggerfish clouded the views through my mask. I was quickly witnessing the colorful magic at Ahihi-Kinau.

The morning sunlight in the mostly calm, clear water illuminated some of these standard reef denizens in ways that had me seeing individuals as if for the very first time. Add the acres and acres of dense, healthy coral formations and I even imagined myself entering Hawaii's tropical waters for the first time. If my vision wasn't already heightened enough, I found my hearing equally sharpened when the sounds of nearby parrotfish chomping on coral reached my ears. Why didn't I recall those scratchy bites from anywhere else?

Hawaiian chubs, some longer than a foot, schooled together in tight formations. Normally I ignore this common, drab reef fish, but with my senses titillated in this pristine environment, I noticed details like spots on the chubs' torsos and the brilliant cleaner wrasses accompanying the larger fishes. I even paid attention to a chub deep in the water, framing a bright-orange soldierfish in my shots. Simply put, the commonplace appeared stunning at Ahihi-Kinau.

South Maui being what it is in the summer - wind and waves with late day clouds - I couldn't expect perfect conditions. While I was wonderstruck the first day in the shallow waters close to where I entered the reserve at the east end of the beach, the light was poor and the surf high the second day I snorkeled there. Rather than give up, however, I followed several people that were further out in the ocean and to the west.

From sublime reef to sublime reef, mindful that I was in shouting distance to other snorkelers, I made my way along the coast. My journey was literally paved with coral varieties: rice, mounding, finger, and cauliflower were all present. At one point I noticed in the distance a green sea turtle swimming towards me. I quickly swam to it, camera pointed ahead, snapping shots as he veered away from me.

I paused over the mesmerizing reef, taking in its peaceful beauty. The expanse of tan and yellow-tinged coral was dotted with orange slate pencil sea urchins, all anchoring a kaleidoscopic community of surgeonfish and triggerfish: a scene I haven't imagined since the opening frames of "Finding Nemo." If there was a snorkeling nirvana, I was in it.

Some of my last underwater shots at Ahihi-Kinau were of another green sea turtle and the two snorkelers admiring it. The people were motionless, floating in the water a number of respectful feet away from the reptile. I thought they were even showing the turtle some reverence, in this safe, little corner of its sanctuary, where motorized water craft and fishing lines weren't deadly weapons.

But I needlessly romanticized something very simple: it wasn't worship that the turtle needed, it was merely the respect of distance and safety. That was the gift of Ahihi-Kinau to all marine life, and, by extension, to us.