Chapter 15 The Hunt
The Hunt
Poi: the Hawaiian “staff of life,” made from cooked taro corms pounded and thinned with water
Woody’s truck was the kind you had to climb to get into, with the running board at mid-thigh level and the door above her
head. Once inside, Minnow was surprised to see it was spotless and it smelled faintly like aftershave and flowers. He had
the air-conditioning on high and Hawaiian music blasting from his speakers.
“Next time, leave me a note,” Woody said, turning the music down. “I thought the kayak washed away until I saw your purse
was back on the table.”
“I’m sorry. I was feeling out of sorts after the hospital visit and not really thinking. I won’t do that again.”
“Anna said it was Angela Crawford who got bit out there, and it’s all over the news. Big stinking deal. Da shark nevah care
how rich or famous you are. Floating out in the deep on a boogie board like one sitting duck—who does that? That boat driver
shoulda never let them in the water.”
“It’s true.”
“Mainland guy. Comes here and doesn’t know jack.”
Minnow sat silent. Was that how he saw her too? “People need to be educated on how to lessen their chances.”
“How about they just nevah come here in the first place? Every single one of these people was from somewhere else. To me that
says something.”
“I’m from somewhere else. What does that say about me?” she couldn’t help but ask.
He grunted. “Yeah, well, you know the ocean. You’ve put in the time.”
Back at the house, Woody grilled a fat steak for himself and looked at her as though she were crazy when she told him she
was a vegetarian. But he quickly whipped out a tub of mac salad and poi from the fridge, along with a pot of already cooked
rice. Minnow had tried poi on O?ahu, and it tasted like a cross between dirt and Elmer’s glue, but this poi was sweet and
thick and delicious.
“Waipio Valley, that’s why,” was all he said.
Minnow was so hungry, she could barely see straight and chased the poi with a bowl of mac salad topped with rice.
They were halfway through the meal when he said, “Mayor Lum called for you while you was out. Said they’re having an informal
task force meeting at the Kiawe tomorrow at six. He wants you there.”
So she did have an official invite. “Did he say who else will be there?”
“No, but I told him I wanted to come. These waters are my front yard.”
“As you should.”
Once they finished, Woody set out two cold beers, told her to meet him out on the seawall and went to turn off the generator.
All clouds had cleared, and it looked like someone had taken stardust and flung it across the blackest of nights.
Only in the middle of the ocean could you see so many stars.
She thought of Max, who loved stargazing, and was happy to have so much distance from him.
But he would have been a good person to consult with about these recent incidents.
No doubt he had heard about them. And that she was here.
Good.
The generator sputtered, then grew silent. A minute later, Woody sat down next to her, moaning about his hip. “You know why
we have so many stars?” he asked, sucking down a long swig.
“We’re on a tiny island in the sea?”
“That helps. But also, we have something called a Dark Sky law because of all the telescopes on Mauna Kea. So lights here
gotta be a certain yellow wavelength—streetlights, that kind of thing.”
“It’s breathtaking,” she said.
“You want to talk breathtaking, go up that mountain and try to walk ten steps. Thirteen thousand eight hundred three feet
too tall for me. I like it down here, sea level.”
“I’d love to go up there someday, but I’m with you on that one.”
A satellite moved overhead, a tiny, steadily crawling pinprick, and then the shadow of a large bird flew past, barely visible
except for where it blocked out the stars, wingbeats moving in time with her heart. Minnow closed her eyes for a few moments
and could hear the Sally Lightfoot crab feet scurrying through the rocks as they nibbled on seaweed. The thought of them out
there, going about their crab life just below her feet, brought her a strange heaping of joy.
“What do you call the Sally Lightfoot here?” she asked.
“What? I only ever heard of Gordon Lightfoot.”
Minnow laughed. “The crabs. That’s what they’re called back home.”
“They’re ‘a‘ama crab to us. Where the hell did they get Sally Lightfoot?”
“I have no idea.”
It struck her that for all the immense tragedy and strangeness of the past week, the trip had also been full of tiny bright spots.
The house—minus the bugs. The swims. Nalu.
Woody. The warm, dreamy water. Even Angela.
There was a connection there, sure as the sun.
And then there was Luke. Enigmatic, gorgeous, and obviously hiding something.
The jury was still out on whether he was a bright spot or not, but she’d enjoyed her swim with him today more than she wanted to.
“When was the last organized shark hunt on this island?” she asked.
“In ’75 they tried to have one up at Upolo Point.”
“Why, had there been an incident?”
“Nah, just for sport. ‘Shark charming,’ they called it. A man named Bowles decided he would make a day out of it, invite the
whole island. My brother got wind of it, told him not a good idea, but he went ahead anyway. Cliff and I, we went up and made
an offering to the ocean early that morning at Lapakahi, close by, warning the sharks of what was to come.”
He stopped and sipped his beer, and Minnow’s skin felt as though someone had pricked her with a million tiny needles. She
wasn’t sure she wanted to hear more, but he went on.
“You would not believe how many people came—thousands standing along the cliffs. These guys was selling hot dogs and shave
ice and all kinds of crap, like one carnival. Brah, it was messed up. Bowles had gotten ahold of this dead cow, and his friends
in a boat were dragging it back and forth in front of the cliffs. Every so often they would dump cans of blood from the slaughterhouse
into the ocean.”
“My God, that’s sick.”
“You’re telling me. Bowles is one real macho dude, thinks he’s Rambo. He was pacing along the edge with a harpoon, just waiting
for the sharks to show. There was a few other guys sitting in director chairs holding rifles like they was on safari. Hawaiian
safari.”
The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth again, and she wanted to get up and run away from this story, away from the brutal acts humans are capable of—not in the name of survival, as with most animals, but simply because they could.
And almost always, it was the men. “I’ve heard enough,” she said.
“No, my dear, you have not, because get this: Not one shark showed up that day. Not one,” he said, raising both hands in the
air. “Mahalo ke Akua, someone heard our prayers. Because I’ve heard stories of the old days in those waters, and believe you me, they put one
dead cow or pig in the water, and boom, get twenty big tigers within an hour or two.”
She did not ask what they did with those sharks they attracted.
“Amazing.”
“There are bigger things at play here, you better believe it. Mother Nature always gonna get the last word. So, even if Mayor
Lum and his boys demand a hunt, we have the ‘āina on our side.”
“‘āina?”
“The land. Wilderness. All of it, ocean too.”
“I like the sound of it, but still, we need to prevent that from happening.” She was curious about his brother Cliff. “What
about your brother? Can he come to the meeting tomorrow?”
Woody slapped his thigh. “Hoooo, bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Cliff is . . . unpredictable. He’s the nicest guy, but you piss him off, watch out. Or not. Just depends on his mood that
day, or which direction the winds are blowing. Or the phases of the moon.”
He sounded a little bit like her mother, and in some ways Minnow too. She could always feel the pull of the full moon on her
own tides. And it made her think of the Hawaiian proverb—not to go in the water when the wiliwili was flowering. Ancient knowledge.
“Where does he live?”
“Hawi. He works for the forestry department, backcountry. Luckily he found the perfect job for someone with his temperament.”
“Maybe we need someone like him. Someone with a little fire, who people might sit up and listen to,” she said.
“Let’s see how tomorrow night goes, then we’ll see,” he said.