begins at the beach, where the river bisects two crescents of sand; it terminates roughly two miles upstream at Moa'ula Falls, a multi-tiered 250 foot cascade of water.

Lower Halawa Valley, near the beach and access road, is a patchwork of homesteads, private ranch land, and state land. A trail leads from the beach, through the lower valley, to Moa’ula Falls. Passage on the trail, technically state-owned, leads through a barrage of no trespassing and private property signs, barred gates, and a temperamental pack of dubiously domesticated dogs.  For all practical purposes it requires a guided hike from one of the residents, who may or may not be on good terms with their neighbors, most likely members of their extended family.

When I was asked to leave, shortly after arriving, my friend Maria and I had just finished setting up our campsite on the beach.  We had arranged for the hike, $75 per person, for the next morning and planned to stay the night. Because all beaches in Hawaii are public land we thought we were safe.

The man who approached us was Lawrence Aki, who I recognized easily from 100 yards after seeing his picture on his website. A sort of self-styled cultural ambassador of Molokai, Aki formerly led the Halawa hike. Now he is a fulltime taro farmer.

Aki told us that we had pitched our tent over an ancient burial ground.  A woman, followed by the pack of dogs, was snorkeling just off the shore. He yelled at her, asking why she had not confronted us. Aki made his ultimatum for us to leave, and walked back to his house as dusk settled over the landscape.
           

All across Molokai Native Hawaiians are holding on fiercely to their land and ancient traditions. “We love having visitors, we just don’t want our life to change,” said my taxi driver, one of two on the island. Despite the economic consequences, Molokai residents are unified and resolute in blocking new development and resort projects. Molokai will not become “another Maui,” residents often say, eschewing the economic benefits even as many live on subsistence farming and food stamps. Maui’s resort-lined western shore, visible from Molokai, is a constant reminder.

The size of Halawa’s community, ranging seasonally between 20 and 70 people, belies its cultural importance. The number and variety of building sites there has provided archeologists a more complete picture of ancient Hawaiian culture than any other place. Once an important center of Hawaiian life, the community dwindled under colonial times and nearly disappeared when the great tsunami of 1957 wiped out north shore settlements along the entire archipelago.

Since the 1970’s the revival of Hawaiian cultural knowledge and pride has spurned a political shift in indigenous awareness, leading to homestead rights and a rebirth of the sovereignty movement. Today, Halawa residents are gradually clearing the jungle growth from ancient ruins, and once again using traditional Hawaiian farming techniques.
Halawa is the easternmost of Molokai’s four great north shore “amphitheatre” valleys, so named because of the immense walls of rain-soaked green that sweep up from the valley floors. Molokai’s sea cliffs divide the valleys; peaking at over 3000 feet they are the tallest in the world.  The valley