Hawaii: Searching For Koolau The Leper (cont.)

At the Kauai library there are two biographies of Koolau written by men who claim to be close to the family of the famous leper. In the book Koolau, Leper King of the Kalalau Ke Anna, by John D. Texeira, Koolau is described as being 6-feet tall and weighing 250 pounds. Texeira treats Koolau as if he were a saint—taking care of the tired and sick, risking his life for others and preaching peace in the face of impending violence. In different versions of the legend of Koolau he is said to have shot the sheriff of Kauai. One version says he killed him because he refused to leave him in peace. Another version has him killing the sheriff because he attempted to rape his wife. But in all versions Koolau is the good guy and is forced to move further into the vastness of the valley, away from his attempted utopia, in order to escape those seeking revenge for his killing of the sheriff.

Before killing the sheriff Koolau and his band of lepers set up camp in the valley. They domesticated goats, planted crops and fished the oceans. As outcasts they lived a life many of us envy. But when a price was put on his head Koolau is said to have taken his son Kalei up into the cliffs where no other man could reach him. In the cliffs he lived in a cave formed by a lava tube. He would visit his wife and the others at the colony he had formed and occasionally bring his wife to stay with him and his son in the cave.

Legend has it that the government brought a navy boat to the shore of the Kalalau Valley and blasted cannons at the colony. Eventually many of the lepers were forced out of the valley and only Koolau remained. Legend also says that Koolau died somewhere in those cliffs and only his wife knows the whereabouts of his remains.

I navigate down the rugged terrain as the pungent sea air rises and clouds descend out of view. I enter the valley and set up camp with the tent door facing the Pacific. There are others here—those who have secured camping permits from the Department of Land and Natural Resources for their short trips into the valley, and others who live here for weeks, months and even years. Rounding out the assortment of people are ones who are chased and thrown out of the valley by the rangers for camping without a permit and other offenses. Many of them return; some even call the Kalalau their home.

Occasionally I pass an abandoned camp camouflaged in the bush. Many people leave their equipment in the valley opting to leave the heavy equipment instead of hiking it out, intent on returning in the future.

A friend informed me there’s a Mayor of the Kalalau, a man who has lived in the valley fourteen years. He makes and sells flutes to tourists and offers advice to those in need .

I came face to face with the mayor on the beach. I didn’t expect to hear a deep Boston accent. His countenance is striking, bad teeth and one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve seen. A black beret sat proudly on his head, a long gray beard framed his face, and a belly showed he’d adequately learned to live off the land. There is something about his eyes that unnerved me—His searching eyes seemed to have known a world that will always be foreign to me. I accepted the challenge and stared back. I saw a clear and confident conscious despite his appearance.

He prefers to remain anonymous, the last time his name appeared in print the article landed on the governor’s desk, the heat came down pretty hard and the rangers tried to clear people out of the valley.

I ask him about Koolau.

“This is an outlaw place,” he says. “The people living down here are doing the same thing the first Hawaiians were doing. Escaping the outside world.”

The lepers are said to have referred to the valley as the home of the condemned spirits, but I disagree. It is those of us on the outside who are condemned, and we send our unwanted outlaws to fend for themselves in paradise.

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