Haleakala, By Lou Christine

The Hawaiian island of Maui was my adopted home for 16 years. I think of that magic place from time to time. Mt. Haleakala dominates the east side of the Valley Isle. The mountain's face is a mighty wall looming over the valley.

Haleakala's summit is 10,000 feet high, and its width spans 20 miles, ocean-to-ocean, splitting Maui in two.

Hawaii is known for perfect weather, pristine beaches, the roar of the ocean and stunning sunsets. Then there are perceptions that bring on visions of outlandishly dressed tourists aimlessly wandering around Honolulu's Waikiki, draped in conflicting attire, who are more like affluent refugees with fish-belly-white feet strapped into cheap sandals, a mush of mixed-flowered polyester, gawking and appearing bewildered while lost on the promenade a long way from Anywhere USA.

There are syrupy sounds of Hawaiian music with the tinny strumming of the ukulele, the sight of hula girls in flowered leis and Don Ho's singing his famous rendition of "Tiny Bubbles." I don't mean to single out Don-he's done much for Hawaii.

Don's a heavy cat and there's considerable substance to the man. Yet Upcountry Maui is not where one finds Do Ho or those saps roaming the concrete jungle of gaudy Waikiki.

Maui leases space to Haleakala. From down in the valley it's impossible to measure the mountain's magnitude. It's only when one begins to make one's way up the mountain's spine on a stretch of tar known as the Haleakala Hi-Way that one can begin to measure the mountain's diversity.

At first, both sides of the highway are lined with sugarcane. The fields sprout millions of thin, long, green leaves identifying the hardy crop. Strong trade winds are a steady force breezing in nonstop from as far away as the Arctic, vibrating the cane's leaves to their own tune.

Further up, cane gives way to pineapple. A snapshot view shows acre after acre dotting the landscape as far as the eye can see.

At a thousand feet above sea level, civilization comes back into play as one enters a new world. Upcountry Maui is peppered with small towns, landscapes and ranch lands. Turning back, one's eyes are soothed by the blue Pacific fanning out in every direction. The back end of Molikai, a neighboring island, is visible with its dramatic cliffs. That back end of Molikai is the last land visible for thousands of miles in what seems like an endless void. In another direction sits the island of Lanai, often topped off with a silvery hat of lingering clouds.

In the yonder is the island of Kaahooawe, remaining silent, perhaps healing, no longer absorbing the military bombardments from when the small island was ground zero for ordnance flung by allied battleships.

Mt. Haleakala is home to cloisters of housing developments, robust farms that form a lively zone situated between the 1,000- and 3,500-foot level, spanning across the mountain's face.

There's hardly anything indigenous living in Hawaii. Not the palms or other trees growing out of the moist floors of forests, nor the blades of grass, nor the unique vegetation. All arrived as onetime stowaways from someplace else. Before they arrived, the girth of the mountain was beneath the sea. The lava finally broke the surface. In geologic terms it was just a short time ago.

There's an array of microclimes with good-sized patches of bamboo jungle on the windward side. Climates vary only meters apart, turning from tropical to bone dry. The arid areas sport hardy cacti and other succulents. Higher above, at the 4000- and 5000-foot level, rest damp, cool redwood forests.

Across the valley are other islands sporting mountains jutting to the sky. They are a stunning sight with plush, emerald peaks that look upholstered in some synthetic material. There are crevices and openings here and there, permitting one to sneak peeks into the lush, mysterious valleys.

All the while moving up Haleakala one passes purple-blooming jacaranda in picturesque settings. Some include dairy cows casually grazing or shading themselves under the drooping branches of monkey pod and banyan trees. Jays and cardinals, mynahs and egrets cruise the sky. Roosters, peacocks and mongooses run wild, poking, foraging, drilling with their beaks and noses for their next meal, devouring the countless species of insects that make Mt. Haleakala their home.

As one drives further, one comes upon a place called Ulapalakua, a magical place very different from anything one might imagine or see advertised about Hawaii, where herds of sheep with no set itinerary lumber down long slopes of close-cropped range. One might forget one is in Hawaii and instead imagine being in the yonder of New Zealand or Scotland-yet it's Maui.

There are vineyards with a winery that bottles a local wine and credible champagne. The old winery is perched on a bluff, a place where Jack London, Mark Twain and Michener have come and gone to hang out, to talk story, to become inspired.

In addition, because of past volcanic activity, there are vast barren fields covered over by the hardened crust of lava, punctuating the mountain's character: a face seared, etched and aged from renegade lava flows leaving incredible ravines once excavated by fast-flowing molten lava.

Waddle trees with their yellow-berried flowers sprinkle the mountainside. Eucalyptus and pine huddle. And there is an abundance of others: avocado, guava, mango and cherimoya. Passion fruit, or what is called lillikoi, amply exists.

A few thousand feet below, the sugar cane fields appear as if they are the mountain's well-mowed green lawn.

Residents on Haleakala are permitted to hold claim to exquisite lawns and gardens, cornucopias of botanical finery that include unsurpassed orchards jam-packed with exotic orchids. Wild bushes seem bigger than life: super-sized poinsettias; exquisite, featherlike protea; a plethora of deep-shaded ginger and colorful bougainvillea.

Tuberose and gardenia send off an alluring aroma. Morning glories and wild mountain flowers need no special care. They checker the mountain's face like providence-placed ornaments on God's Christmas tree. The century plant in Hawaii never takes that long to bloom: its huge white blossoms open fully and gloriously in the moonlight.

Further up, past the tree line, turning and turning via a dizzy switchback road, purple-and-yellow wildflowers flourish high above the clouds.

With the change in elevation, a different climate gives way, and clumps of fern, ohia and lapa-lapa bushes rule. Fog can envelop the upper ranges, providing a damp, moist curtain over those who have ventured that far.

If one is fortunate enough to get that far, one can view firsthand the famous Hawaiian Silversword plants, plants that thrive only in a few choice spots on Earth.

From the very top, almost all the other Hawaiian Islands can be seen on a clear day. If it's wintertime, the Big Island's snow-capped peaks are quite a contrast.

What might be more magnificent and significant, depending on the viewer, is a grand-scale crater that rests inside of Haleakala's crater, unpopulated and invisible while driving up the mountain.

The crater is a sudden inversion with a floor that's a sea of red cinder, refined and colored by sun, wind and time. It has few occupants, Hawaiian ne-ne birds and wild goats, because there's not much to eat. The crater is immense with towering walls large enough to fit the entire island of Manhattan inside, skyscrapers and all.

Spaced apart, dormant cinder cones are visible from the summit and look like large-scale anthills. The moonlike surface, the cinder cones, the shadows-all conspire to hide entrances leading toward bottomless lava tubes. They too hold onto secrets about the island, about Hawaii, and about the Earth and what happened there long ago, but that's another story.

Lou Christine is a local writer and long-time contributor to Atención.