John and Kate Kelly’s son, John Kelly Jr., grew up as a Hawaiian boy, swimming, surfing, diving, fishing, and learning from the neighboring kānaka maoli, Native Hawaiians. This account was written about the man named Mapala, who, as a kupuna, mentor, and the boy’s adopted grandfather, taught John Jr., who he called Keoni, to fish and relate to the sea with respect and a deep reverence.
BLACK POINT, A HALF CENTURY AGO...
by John Kelly
A SMALL WHITE DOG with large worried eyes lingered at the
cave entrance, watching my every move. Warily, she dragged an
empty fire-blackened pot into the cave, a fishbag and her master's
net-patching needles. The cave, situated between two huge basalt
rocks, belonged to Mapala, who went to town to buy rice and tobacco.
I sat down to await his return. A few feet away, the dog faithfully
guarded Mapala's few things, watching me with large sorrowful eyes.
Mapala and I had first met at the moi hole below the cliff-he, an
elder Hawaiian kupuna, and I, a young boy. Returning, Mapala beckoned.
"Keoni," he said, "come tonight when the moon is there," pointing overhead.
"Bring thrownet." The afternoon sun cast its silver glitter on the sea.
When the moon was up there, it was after midnight. Mapala sat
chanting softly before a small fire in the clearing fronting the cave. A
tattered canvas extended the cave's shelter a few feet over the neatly
swept clearing.
"E-hele mai no hoʻi lalo (come sit down)" he said. "Keoni, I wen teach
you how catch moi, patch net. Now, come!" He led me to the cliff overlooking
the sea and our favorite moi hole. "You throw, catch three moi," he said.
How he knew, I'II never know, but after assembling my net, I threw to the
left in the dark waters and caught three large moi. The moi is a silver
migratory fish and a delicacy among Hawaiians.
Mapala wrapped each fish in ti leaves and cooked them in the fire.
He placed one before me, one in front of himself, and the third he set aside.
I ate silently, following his moves, as he chanted on. A warm glow from
the fire pushed back the night. Shadows flickered on the rocks. Moonlight
softened with passing clouds, while breaking waves intoned an ancient slow rhythm from the sea below.
Finally, Mapala arose and took the third fish to the water's edge.
Chanting more strongly, he consecrated the fish to the ʻaumakua (native
god) of the moi and to me, his adopted moʻopuna (grandchild). He then
told me to always remember Hawaiian custom: Never turn your back on the
sea, source of life; when you catch, keep only what you need; return some
to the sea giving thanks; and always share what you have.
The aumakua o ke kai (gods of the sea) will watch over you. "The moi
will follow wherever you go," he said. "And always remember: share with
others."
Mapala taught me all he knew about the sea, the moi, how to spot
their fins in the swirling foam waters of Lae o Kupikipikio (Point of Spouting
Waters, or Black Point). He showed me how to make heavy aho (cotton)
nets with the Hawaiian knot for the rough waters, and light linen nets for
ʻamaʻama (mullet) for inshore reef waters. He knew the comings and goings
of inshore fishes according to moon cycles, tides and spawning seasons. He
showed me where to pick opihi and haʻukeʻuke (limpets), to catch the darting
ʻaʻama (black crab) for uhu (parrotfish) bait.
My father, the artist, made some drawings and etchings of Mapala netfishing
along the Black Point cliffs. When Mapala died, my father made an
etching of his son throwing net left hand at the moi hole below Mapala's cave.
Above, in the cliff overlooking the sea, you can see the visage of Mapala,
ever watching over the well-being of his haole moʻopuna.
Memories remain of my Hawaiian teacher, the generous, knowledgable
and kindly Mapala, Hawaiian fisherman who lived in a Black Point cave a
half century ago...