In the early mornings, birdsong fills this heavenly forest with pulses of vitality, accompanied by deeper echoes of mourning for what is vanishing elsewhere across our islands. As the decline of Hawaiʻi’s native honeycreepers accelerates, we must ask: could species like the ʻAkikiki, ʻAkekeʻe, and ʻAnianiau of Kauaʻi, or the Kiwikiu and ʻĀkohekohe of Maui one day also find refuge here?

Standing beneath the expansive canopies of ʻōhiʻa and koa, a question arises in response: why not?

Translocation is a bold and necessary tool in a changing world. Yet resistance to moving species between islands remains.

Even here, lower elevations face growing threats from avian malaria and ecological instability. Still, Hakalau represents possibility, supporting the most robust community of native honeycreepers in all of Hawaiʻi.

We must not limit these precious birds’ chances for survival, embrace hope, and re-ground ourselves with the strength that Hakalau offers.

Our precious manu are calling out to remind us of the power of place that is the essence of who we are as Hawaiʻi.

The post Kū i ke ʻAki appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Photos: Kamehameha Schools

Hāhālua, Wākiu, Kalamakū, Lauaʻe, Kuwā, Kāʻilialoha, ʻŪkiu. These are the names we were given before that curious day. They do not know that the forest calls us by a secret name only we can hear. “Thrive, ʻAlalā,” they cried before we were swept away to the mountain.

This place is quieter after the morning chorus. As the sun rises, boisterous songbirds dance in the branches while keeping their distance. As the clouds break, we soar over the canopy of ʻōhiʻa, lehua glistening with dew. Diving into the understory, we find the taste of pilo and hōawa which reminds us of our past home but taste somehow sweeter than before.

We have more friends to watch and talk to, those that dance in the leaves and skitter after the crawling things. There are no others like us here. Maybe one day that will change. I feel old, even though I know so little here and have much to learn.

These trees are sturdy, with voices ancient and grounding. We have found new ways to communicate with each other, taking in the new sights and smells and sounds. My feathers are lightening and my cyan eyes are changing to an aged earth. My legs are stronger. My wings spread wider. I wonder who lives across these wide valleys and deep blue sea. Perhaps we will fly there.

The post A Voice from the Wild appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Photos: Kamehameha Schools

Hāhālua, Wākiu, Kalamakū, Lauaʻe, Kuwā, Kāʻilialoha, ʻŪkiu. ʻO ia nā inoa i kāʻana ia me iaʻu mai ka wā kāhiko mai. “E ola ʻAlalā,” ʻo ia ka ʻōlelo ma mua o kō mākou nele loa ana mai nā kuahiwi.

ʻAʻole lākou like i kapa ia iaʻu. He huna ia. Nahenahe ke mele o ka ʻehu kakahiaka. ʻOʻolokū ana nā manu mele hulahula ana ma nā lālā o ke kumu mai o maʻo. Puka ana nā ao, a lele aku mākou mai nā ʻōhiʻa o ka papa kaupoku, alohilohi kehau ma nā lehua.

Luʻu ana i ka papa hapamalu, e ʻai mākou i ka pilo me ka hōawa lana wale ka manaʻo o koʻu home, kohu māʻona mai ka wā ma mua. ʻOi aku ka nui o nā hoa e launa pū ai, nā mea e hulahula ana ma mā lau e heleleʻi ana ʻimi ana nā ʻelalala o lalo. ʻAʻohe like me mākou. Maliʻa paha hoʻokahi lā e loli ai kēia. Kohu kāhiko au, ma loko no o koʻu ʻōpio mau no ka pono e aʻo no ke au kūlohelohe.

Kāhiko no ka nahele e paʻa hohonu ai na aʻa i ka honua. Ua ʻao mākou i nā ʻano hou e kukā me kekahi, he mau kani hou e hiki ai mākou ke kāʻana i nā moʻolelo hou o kēia wā. He hekili ke ʻano o koʻu mau hulu ʻuliʻili a mākule kolu mau maka. ʻOi aku ka ikaika o koʻu wāwae. Māmau no hoʻi ke kaʻapeha o koʻu mau ʻēheu. Lana koʻu manaʻo i nā āwawa o lalo a maʻō loa o ke kai ʻuli. Maliʻa paha e lele aku mākou i ʻō.

The post He Leo mai ka Nāhelehele appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Na Ben Catcho

Hānau ʻia wau ma nā lapa o Mauna Kea, kahi e hānai ʻia au e ke kumu māmane, kahi e hāpai ʻia koʻu leo ma ka makani. Ma koʻu hānau ʻana ʻo koʻu haliʻa aloha mua ʻo ia nā leo i hui pū ʻia me nā mele o ka nahele.

Ulu aʻe au a ʻike ʻia ka loli o ka mauna. Maka ʻia ka lepo i nā hehi hipa. Hoʻēmi ʻia ka nui nahele. Hōʻea nā ʻelala hou, me nā maʻi e pakele ʻole ai au. Emi maila nā leo o kēlā me kēia. Kekahi o nā kakahiaka, kāhea aku au a ʻo ka leo o ka makani wale nō kai pane mai.

A mau, koʻu lele ʻana aʻe.

ʻAʻole nō mamao, aia ā kuʻu mai ma kahi kumu hou, a loaʻa mai kahi ʻanoʻano hou, kahi e piʻi hou ai ka lā. He moʻolelo ko ka mauna ma koʻu mau hulu. Naʻu e ʻauamo i nā mea i hala a me nā me ka kupu aʻe ana.

ʻIke au i nā kānaka, no kekahi o lākou he ʻānunu a he pī, no kekahi o lākou he pono a he lokomaikaʻi, kanu lākou i nā kumu a aʻo i ko mākou inoa. Kuhikuhi aku nā keiki i ka lani a ʻī maila “E nānā aku iā Palila,” piha koʻu hauʻoli.

ʻAʻole nō au he manu wale nō.

He hoʻomapopo nō au: he pilina ko ke ola.

The post ʻO au nō ʻo Palila appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

By Ben Catcho

I was born on the high slopes of Maunakea, where māmane trees feed my body and the wind carries old songs. My first memory is a forest full of voices woven together like a mele, the songs of the forest.

As I grew, I noticed the mountain changed. Hooves mark the honua. Forests thinned. New insects arrived, carrying sickness my wings could not outrun. One by one, the voices faded. Some mornings, I call and only the wind answers.

Still, I fly.

Not far, but far enough to find the next tree, the next seed, the next sunrise. This mountain is written into my feathers. I carry what was lost and what still hopes to grow.

I see humans now, some who take without listening, and others who walk softly, plant trees, and learn our names. When keiki point to the sky and say, “E nānā ʻike au iā palila” my heart lifts.

I am not just a bird.

I am a reminder: survival is a relationship.

The post ʻO au nō ʻo Palila (English) appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

This mighty trifecta arrives only after completing one of the most astonishing feats in the animal kingdom – transpacific migration. Upon the close of the Arctic breeding season, they launch southward over thousands of miles of continent and ocean.

How do they know their way? Long-distance migrations require using the sun, stars, and polarized light as compasses on their journey. But current research also suggests birds can “smell” their way towards land, as well as “see” Earth’s magnetic field through a light-sensitive protein in their eyes’ retinas called cryptochrome-4.

In the presence of short-wave light, this protein reacts to magnetic forces at the molecular level creating a superimposed magnetic mind map in the visual system. It’s an elegant, yet still unfolding, explanation for how these navigators cross with such extraordinary precision to find sanctuary and rest every year in Hawaiʻi

The post Wā Noho o nā Manu Kahakai appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

This year, over 40% of Hawaiʻi is abnormally dry, and conditions are expected to worsen as drought becomes more frequent and intense. Some places, like the leeward slopes of Maunakea, have weathered these dry spells for too long. The mountain has faced widespread deforestation, the loss of native vegetation, and the long-lasting impact of grazing ungulates. Yet even in the face of so much change, these forests remain abundant.

Within the kualono of Maunakea’s western slopes, resilient pockets of māmane-naio forest still cradle the last wild population of Hawaiʻi Islandʻs endemic Palila, the finch billed honeycreeper.

Only about 500 birds remain. Their steady survival is linked to isolated moisture-rich refuges, pockets of veiled forest where the kēhau mists and nāulu rains sustain growth even in the driest years. It is here where Kaʻohe, the ahupuaʻa that encompasses all of Maunakea, still resounds each year with Palila songs.

Rehabilitating and expanding these refugia will help buffer the remaining population against enduring drought and safeguard Palila’s ancestral home. Ola i ka wai a ka ʻōpua, from the water of the clouds, life continues.

The post Kualono i ke Alo o Kēhau appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

From March through October, koaʻe kea gather at one of their long-established breeding colonies at Kaluapele, adorning ʻŪekahuna and Halemaʻumaʻu, within Kīlauea volcano.

Koaʻe return to their same partner year after year, raising a single chick together each season in rocky crevices along the crater walls. Their white plumage, streaked with black along their eyes and wings, and long, ribbon-like tail feathers called streamers, play a central role in their aerial courtship and bonding rituals.

Although awkward on foot, Koaʻe kea are mighty flyers, capable of staying aloft for long periods as they forage over the ocean for tasty mūheʻe and mālolo. At Kaluapele, one can see them soaring near the intense heat of Pele’s explosive fountains, riding the thermals with precision and grace.

This behavior, sometimes precarious, is an adaptive marvel that turns each eruption into a kind of performance, one where the elegance of flight contrasts sharply with the raw creation of new earth. Koaʻe are truly a dazzling companion to the living breath of Kīlauea.

The post E Koaʻe E appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Produced by flowers in their nectary to attract visitors, nectar isn’t just a sugary treat in exchange for pollination. It’s a complex and hydrating drink that provides a massive burst of energy for those who partake.

In the nectary, flowers break down sucrose from their sap into two simple sugars: glucose and fructose. The higher amounts of glucose in ʻōhiʻa lehua nectar may be a preference for honeycreepers while, for some reason, also causing the nectar to crystalize. If you have ever purchased lehua honey, you may have noticed that it tends to harden on the shelf compared to other honey varieties.

The sweetness and abundance of nectars are influenced by many things: who visits the flower, available water, and the shape of the flower itself. Generally, flowers pollinated by insects have more concentrated nectar. In contrast, flowers pollinated mostly by birds have more diluted nectars. It seems that the brushy stamens of ʻōhiʻa lehua blossoms help reduce evaporation from their open nectar cups, and the long floral tubes of ʻōhā wai protect their nectar from rain.

While savoring sweet libations, birds inevitably consume specks of plant pollen, as well as any wandering insects, both of which serve as delicious sources of protein at the flower and essentially serving up a complete meal.

Environmental and ecosystem changes do impact nectar quality. Despite a growing awareness of the importance of Hawaiian plants and nectars as staples in the diets of Hawaiian honeycreepers, there is still much to learn.

Research into Hawaiian nectars isn’t just a scientific question; it is part of securing ʻāina momona for the future of our manu mūkīkī (nectar sippers).

The post Mūkīkī i ka Wai ʻŌhā appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Saving manu ʻōiwi (our endemic forest birds) from extinction requires more than science; it demands authentic connection to the source. Within kaʻao, Hawaiʻi’s manu are some of the main characters, exemplifying lessons that celebrate ʻike kūpuna, honor cultural memory, and integrate ecological truth into a shared vision for action.

Writing kaʻao is a fun, reflective, and inspiring practice, with evolving thoughts and rules on what counts. In today’s digital world, perhaps kaʻao are already living in our social media posts, YouTube channels, and A.I. movies; tools that are building connections for this generation and together weaving tales of hope for Hawaiʻi’s birds.

The post Kaʻao no nā Manu appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.