A look back at our first few days.

By Shaun Wolfe
August 9th, 2024

It’s about 7PM near the Aloha Tower and I get in line with the rest of the PMDP crew. We are looking out at the sky, illuminated by orange and pink hues with a crowd of 250 people behind us. In unison, we oli together as a maritime family for the first time of what will be many over the next month.

After the oli, we depart on the M/V Imua with a few hundred people cheering us on from the dock. Their support makes it feel like a grand occasion and we all feel special. It is a powerful start to my first mission with PMDP and it helps bring the gravity of our task into focus— protecting the environment in one of the most special and sacred places on earth.

Before we can do that, we have two days of transit covering 487 nautical miles where we will cross from Ao to Pō. In Hawaiian tradition, Ao is the realm of the light where all living things reside (the main Hawaiian Islands are here). Pō is the realm of primordial darkness and the deceased, where ancestors, spirits, and the not yet born exist. Pō and Ao interact in that Pō is the source of the world and all that dwells within Ao. The Hawaiian tradition is reflected in geological history as well— the islands of Papahānaumokuākea are quite literally the ancestors of the main Hawaiian islands. They formed from the same hot spot in the earth’s mantle about 2-25 million years prior to the main islands. On our journey to our first destination, Lalo, I wonder what could be born or reborn in me during our time in Pō.

But before we get to Pō, we work under the sweltering sun preparing our boats and equipment for our first operational day. In between checking engine oil and securing cargo nets, I catch glimpses of the open ocean. I forgot how captivating it can be— an endless expanse of rolling blue hills with unimpeded sunrises and sunsets. Every now and then an ewa ewa (sooty tern) or ‘ā (red footed boobie) would fly overhead to say hello. I feel a sense of child-like wonder and I can feel a faint fire in me begin to rekindle.

The sun begins to set and we oli as we cross Ke Alanui Polohiwa a Kāne (Tropic of Cancer). We offer wai (rainwater from O’ahu) and ti leaf lei (that we made earlier in the day) to Pō, introducing ourselves and our intentions. I tell Pō that I am here to mālama ka ‘aina i ke kai (take care of the land and ocean). I ask for a safe mission and state that I am ready to receive lessons Pō may have for me.

Waking up in the morning, I can see Lalo in the distance. It is incredibly difficult to comprehend the remoteness of these atolls. I spent my entire academic career in environmental science and I have a good understanding of how these atolls formed. It is still exceedingly difficult to believe that they exist. They are crescent shaped barrier reefs that corral a lagoon and are punctuated by tiny sand islands in the middle of the deepest ocean in the world. It’s harder still to understand the time scale at which they were formed— much larger islands that moved slowly northwest and sank over the course of 7-30 million years. We are truly in an ancient land.

As we drive our smaller inflatable boats towards Lalo, we are greeted by scores of ewa ewa. Many of these birds are juveniles who likely haven’t seen a boat before. They periodically swoop in to check out our antenna out of curiosity. Motoring further into the atoll, I’m awestruck by the hyper-saturated pallet of blue, turquoise, aqua, and green that reach all the way to the horizon. Each color illustrates the different depths and seafloor composition, showcasing the scale of the 20 mile long atoll.

Luckily for me, I get a closer look underwater as we begin to search for marine debris. Our coxswain deploys our tow boards and I hold on, flying past rugose, towering coral reefs with far more diversity and coral coverage than I’ve seen in the main Hawaiian islands. I feel that sense of awe and wonder building in me, it is a life force that energizes me in a way nothing else can. It’s nearly impossible to not feel it here. There are moments where I could be convinced I’m in an aquarium. I look left and see large, shimmering omilu, eagle rays, and a monk seal. To my right I see a small galapagos shark, a large ulua, and numerous schools of reef fishes.

If there was ever a question as to why we came all the way to Papahānaumokuākea to remove marine debris, it is made very clear to me on my first day in the water. I have been all over the world diving as a cinematographer and scientist and I have rarely seen an ecosystem with this level of biomass and diversity. We have so few of these truly wild, thriving places left in the world and they are worth every bit of our effort to protect.

Eventually, I look down to find a giant net. This net weighs about 1000 lbs and underneath lies a mass of broken and dead coral. Just north of the reef that the net is covering lie several giant, broken coral heads that this net likely killed. After over two hours of vein-popping effort from the entire team, we get the net into the boat. My back, legs, and forearms are exhausted, but I feel a great sense of satisfaction. We helped stop the cycle of destruction that would have continued if this net continued to suffocate this reef.

As we motor back to the Imua, I reflect on our first day at Lalo. It is the beginning of our journey, but indeed Pō is teaching me lessons of humility, team work, and has reawakened a fire inside of me I haven’t felt in a long while. It is that sense of awe and wonder that truly wild places give me and makes me feel profoundly alive. I have helped Pō and Pō in turn has given me a piece of my spirit back. For this, I’m truly grateful and cannot wait to see what awaits us on the rest of the mission.

Reflections and Gratitude

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