Maui’s First Responders: Love in Action
The wildfire tragedy recalls a hero of yesteryear
It’s hard to process Nature’s indiscriminate savagery. As of this writing, Maui’s recent wildfires have claimed 99 souls, more than any other U.S. wildfires in 100+ years. (In 2022 alone, the U.S. experienced 65,000+ wildfires.). The catastrophe is Hawaii’s deadliest since it became a State in 1959. While only two hurricanes have made landfall since Statehood, every few years at least one of Hawaii’s 137 islands suffers a significant natural disaster, most recently the epic flooding that hit Kauai in 2018, catalyzed by 49+ inches of rain in 24 hours, the most ever recorded in the U.S., which so devastated the island’s far north that it’s still in recovery mode. Plus, each year, 80-90 people drown, half tourists; often because they were just standing on a piece of seaside lava rock—when a big capricious wave burst forth to claim them.
But calamity also gives rise to courage, in keeping with the great Zulu expression: “Let your courage rise to the level of danger.” Led by its first responders, Hawaii’s residents have always risen, and are once again standing tall.
The current exhibition of selfless courage reminds me of another Maui hero. He saved 500+ lives in the 1960s and ’70s.
His name was Edward Ryon Makuahanai Aikau, though most everyone called him Eddie. He was born in Kahalui in 1946, the Maui town around which the three major fires that began in the early hours of August 8th have raged in a nightmarish arc of death and destruction. In Hawaiian, makua hanai means “the love of a parent,” the sort Eddie displayed day in day and day out for 10 years as Hawaii’s first professional lifeguard. (He was also one of the world’s best surfers.) No matter how intimidating the conditions—be they 30-foot waves, a hellish undertow, or sharks, he’d rush into the Pacific, swim out, and manifest love; typically for strangers.
At 6:30 pm on March 16, 1978, Hōkūleʻa, a double-hulled Polynesian voyaging canoe, left Honolulu’s Ala Wai Harbor on a voyage to Tahiti. The goal was to reproduce and document a round-trip navigated without any instruments, while testing the canoe’s authentic sails and traditional food. Eddie joined Captain Dave Lyman and 14 other crew members on the 2,500-mile odyssey.
According to the Coast Guard report, Hōkūleʻa pushed off into 30-knot winds, 6-10 foot whitecaps, but clear skies. Though a gale warning was still in effect, the winds were expected to taper off. Not only had Hōkūleʻa sailed in such conditions before, but Capt. Lyman called the brisk trade winds "the type of weather [we] were looking for on departure,” to get a fast start to the voyage.
Four hours later, however, the conditions hadn’t tapered off. They’d worsened. The crew donned foul weather gear and life jackets. Two hours later, just past midnight, a monster wave hit the canoe and flipped her over. Everyone clambered back aboard, then huddled on the leeward hull, standing on the running board, grabbing hold of whatever they could. They fired flares in hopes of attracting passing aircraft, but the signals weren’t seen. Nor was Capt. Lyman able to raise anyone on the emergency radio. The 16 men held on for dear life as the violent sea tried to snatch it away.
Come morning, the men were exhausted. Their entire bodies ached, especially their hands, from gripping so hard. Yet there was also a glimmer of hope: they could see O‘ahu, Moloka‘i, and Lana‘i. However, the capsized craft was drifting in a westerly direction, away from the islands; out of the air and sea lanes. The physical condition of the crew was precarious. Holding onto the rocking hull got harder by the minute.
Crew member Kikili Hugho recalled the experience: “We were like hours away from losing people. Hypothermia, exposure, exhaustion…[I felt] we were doomed.”
Eddie asked Capt. Lyman for permission to paddle off on a surfboard, to try and find help. Lyman said “No.” A little later, Eddie asked again. “No.” The third time Eddie asked, Lyman relented. (I’m reminded of Lee relenting to Pickett at Gettysburg.) The 16 men joined hands in a prayer, then wished Eddie strength and luck as he set off.
Eddie was never seen again.
Everyone else survived. A Coast Guard ship rescued the 15 men who’d clung to the capsized canoe.
Forty-five years later, you still see bumper stickers, t-shirts, and roadside signs throughout the Hawaiian islands that read: “Eddie would go.”
Peggy Noonan once wrote an iconic piece in The Wall Street Journal about how, during 9/11, as hundreds of terrified people raced down a set of stairs in one of the immolating, furnace-hot Towers, they ran past a stoic fireman hustling up what she called “the stairway to Heaven,” lugging 50-60 pounds of gear. That hero and 342 other firefighters died in the attacks. Noonan was right when she wrote: “courage comes from love.”
Thank you, first responders: on Maui, and everywhere else. For going when others won’t, or can’t. For “daring greatly,” in the words of Brené Brown. For your grueling training, 72-hour shifts, low and sometimes no pay (many firefighters are volunteers).
Thank you for your love, and leadership.
Great story. Mahalo for sharing!