No, I would rather NOT be riding a mule..

.. on Moloka`i. I spent Labor Day on a mule, riding into Kalaupapa, and it was an experience indeed. Especially if you're into heart-stopping activities such as sitting nearly five feet off the ground on a stubborn animal bent on eating foliage at every opportunity, possessing a perverse desire to see exactly how close it can get to the edge of a 1600 foot cliff and turn around without falling off.

With all due respect to the skinners, next time I'll walk, thanks. That is, if I can ever manage to do anything more than hobble again.

All in all, the trip was definitely worthwhile, both breathtaking and enlightening. After the descent down the trail, we were given an informative tour by patient Richard Marks, the self-described "town radical". He described life in Kalaupapa both now and as it was when he arrived, and gave a detailed history of people and places.

The most interesting moment, for me, was when we filed into Father Damien's chruch sat in the pews, and listened to Richard tell the story of the church and how Father Damien arrived in Kalaupapa. He stressed that Damien was not a saint, but an ordinary, stubborn man who believed in doing his duty.

Today, it is almost difficult to imagine the horrors of Kalaupapa's history. The area's natural beauty is amazing- if Kalawao isn't the most beautiful place in the state, it's in the top five for sure.

I can only wonder what will happen in the next two decades, as the population descends to 0. Kalaupapa represents the both the worst and best aspects of human nature, and without living guardians of that legacy, its history could be lost through governmental carelessness.

With that in mind, I encourage you to visit Kalaupapa if you have the chance. Hike down or fly in if you like, but definitely take a mule if you want a good excuse to call in sick to work the next day.

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HawaiiStories member Donna recently visited Kalaupapa as well.

She wrote a great entry about her trip, and posted a number of striking photos as well.

I think I'd rather hike; at least that way when I fall it's due solely to my own clumsiness, rather than some stubborn critter's whim.

I've never been there, but it's on the list.

I hiked into Kalaupapa in the summer of '92. It was a grueling hike (not so much on the way in, but definitely on the way out), partly because the path was covered with mule doo-doo, so I had to concentrate not only on staying on my feet, but keeping my feet clean.

When the others went into the church to hear the Father Damien story, I sat outside, next to the gravestone that marks where he once was buried (I think he was relocated). He may not have been a saint, but he was a man who offered what he had to people he loved for a God he adored.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass, I thought about how much better everyone's lives would be if we only had a small fraction of Damien's devotion. Sure, we all believe in helping each other out, but I'll bet we all would admit that we could do just a little more with almost no real damage to our lifestyles.

I was on Moloka`i. I was missing the summer olympics (this was the summer of the first--and only real--U.S. Men's Basketball Dream Team) because I and a bunch of friends were conducting Vacation Bible School at Kaunakakai Baptist. We could have complained a lot about sleeping on the floor of a church building, about missing the olympics, and about not having the usual conveniences of our silly, self-centered existences as college students, but something (or Someone, but I won't get into that here) had told us to come, and we came, and as the wonderful people of Moloka`i thanked us repeatedly for blessing them with our efforts, all we could think was that we should be thanking them.

As our little eight-passenger plane arced upward and away from the tiny runway in Kaunakai, I thought about Damien's gift, and about how even I, with my limited skills and egomaniacal tendencies, had been able to accomplish something positive for a few days, and I knew I was a changed man.

'Cause you know, the only thing that made Damien special was that he said, "Okay. I'll do it." Any of us, had we been willing, could have been Damien. And if there's one thing I think we can all agree on, it's that Damien's life meant something.

Damien reminds me that what the world really needs is more hand-raisers.

I hiked into Kalaupapa in the summer of '92. It was a grueling hike (not so much on the way in, but definitely on the way out), partly because the path was covered with mule doo-doo, so I had to concentrate not only on staying on my feet, but keeping my feet clean.

When the others went into the church to hear the Father Damien story, I sat outside, next to the gravestone that marks where he once was buried (I think he was relocated). He may not have been a saint, but he was a man who offered what he had to people he loved for a God he adored.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass, I thought about how much better everyone's lives would be if we only had a small fraction of Damien's devotion. Sure, we all believe in helping each other out, but I'll bet we all would admit that we could do just a little more with almost no real damage to our lifestyles.

I was on Moloka`i. I was missing the summer olympics (this was the summer of the first--and only real--U.S. Men's Basketball Dream Team) because I and a bunch of friends were conducting Vacation Bible School at Kaunakakai Baptist. We could have complained a lot about sleeping on the floor of a church building, about missing the olympics, and about not having the usual conveniences of our silly, self-centered existences as college students, but something (or Someone, but I won't get into that here) had told us to come, and we came, and as the wonderful people of Moloka`i thanked us repeatedly for blessing them with our efforts, all we could think was that we should be thanking them.

As our little eight-passenger plane arced upward and away from the tiny runway in Kaunakai, I thought about Damien's gift, and about how even I, with my limited skills and egomaniacal tendencies, had been able to accomplish something positive for a few days, and I knew I was a changed man.

'Cause you know, the only thing that made Damien special was that he said, "Okay. I'll do it." Any of us, had we been willing, could have been Damien. And if there's one thing I think we can all agree on, it's that Damien's life meant something.

Damien reminds me that what the world really needs is more hand-raisers.

Oh, Moloka'i...my favorite Hawaiian island. My Ford Explorer here in North Carolina has a bumper sticker that says "Molokai Mo Bettah". I can't count how many times I have tried to explain to people here in the mainland what "mo bettah" means (but that is best left for the pidgin discussion).

Kaluapapa is, if I may be so bold, the most beautiful and peaceful place in all of Hawaii. All of the tragedy, and all of the love, that existed, and still exists there, is amazing. Kaluapapa is a beautiful, yet haunting, tragic and isolated peninsula of land. If you visit, you will know what I mean, as you can almost feel it in the air.

There are many, many, many books on Kaluapapa, Father Damien and Molokai.

"The Lands of Father Damien" is written by James H. Booker, a Molokai resident and owner of the Fish and Dive shop in downtown Kaunakakai. (He rents movies, and last time on the island we rented the movie "Molokai" which is the Hollywood version of Fr. Damien and his work on Molokai.) I recommend watching the movie while on the island where the events actually took place.

The "Leper Priest of Molokai" by Richard Stewart and "Holy Man" by John Farrow (Mia Farrow's dad, for a bit of trivia) both are good biographies. They give a balanced look at the man and speak well to the human nature of Damien and his struggles, trying to do God's work while being in possesion of the many, many human shortcomings we all have.

"Kalaupapa: A Portrait" is a very beautiful book as is "Yesterday at Kalaupapa".

Probably one of the most moving books is "The Separating Sickness", which is a series of patient interviews done by a UH sociology student. It really brings the human element to the people who lived and died at Kaluapapa.

If you plan to visit, maybe read a book or two to get some backround. It will make the journey much more meaningful. I recommend hiking down, as you get a feel for how isolated the land is, and how isolating it must have been for the residents before they could freely travel out of Kalaupapa. There are trips that allow you to hike in and fly out. Drive up to the state park at the end of the road and see Kaluapapa from the look out. Imagine the ships arriving, and dropping patients off to be exiled for life, from husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and children.

Father Damien is still on Molokai. Back in 1995, his right hand was returned to Kaluapapa, from his childhood home in Belgium, and reburied at his original gravesite. It was part of the year long celebration of his beatification by the Roman Catholic Church. His was originally buried at his church at Kaluapapa, but his bocy was returned to Belgium in 1936. His right hand was returned to Molokai and Kaluapapa, because it was that hand that did so much good for so many people.

As someone else said, Kaluapapa represents the best, and the worst, that man has to offer to his fellow man.

(Obviously, Molokai holds much meaning to me. Not the least of which is that my wife and I choose to get married there. Not in Kaluapapa, but topside Molokai in one of the other churches Father Damien had founded and built.)

As they say, Molokai is the MOST Hawaiian island.

A couple of years ago I flew in to Kalaupapa, and took the Bus tour with Richard Marks as my guide. Everyone else who took this tour was from the mainland, I was the only Kamaaina (Local). The driving force behind my visit was to locate the gravesites of some of my relatives exiled there because they had contracted Leprosy. As we drove though Kalaupapa I remember the deep emotions I experienced as we toured the numerous graveyards. It almost seemed as though every two feet there was a grave marker, more reminders of the devastating disease. We eventually rode the old school bus through unpaved dirt roads until we reached the breathtaking coastline of Kalawao. The view from the vantage point is awesome, with Haupu rock sitting in the ocean just off the Molokai coastline. The four hour tour ended at St. Philomena church, and Father Damiens Memorial. Although I wasn't able to locate any of my relatives gravesites, the journey through Kalaupapa was very spiritual for me, and it's a place I'll never forget.

I have taken the Damien tour twice and have never had anything touch me as much. It is a beautiful island and, although we didn't meet any of the residents, you could still feel their presents and them touching your soul. Richard Marks is indeed the "village radical", but his devotion to the penisula and the legend of Father Damien is wonderful. When I met him for the first time, my first impresion of him was a leathered skinned, rough around the edges man. As the tour continued you could feel the love he had for the island and his devotion to Father Damien's memory was gigantic. My second tour was even more touching than the first. Mr. Marks hadn't softened any, but you couldn't help but love him anyway. My memory of the first tour will stay with me forever. I had spoken to Mr Marks several times regarding the tour and that I had a desire to take pictures of old churches, especially in Hawaii. When we reached the church, he sat outside the church telling the story of Father Damien and the church and quietly said to me "if you want to see the church and take your pictures quietly, now is the time." He gave me the time to go into the church by myself. It was so serene and spiritual. I could almost feel the spirits of the ancient souls that had been there. It was an emotional feeling that I had never experienced in the past nor since then.
I truly hope to return there some day soon.
I hope everyone that has ever gone there returned home with the feelings that I experience.

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