An Ancient Volcanic Crater Called Molokini

On a crystal clear morning in 1943, a 20-year-old rookie Navy pilot jammed the stick of his Douglas Dauntless dive-bomber forward and sent his aircraft hurtling downward toward a tiny strip of land in the waters off Maui, Hawaii.

The gunner in the back seat held tight to a support bar and prepared to fight G forces. The dive brakes on the aircraft were fully extended and the air streaming around them, mixed with the sound of the screaming engine, made an ominous howl. But there wasn’t anyone on the ground to hear it.

Just hundreds of feet above the earth’s surface, the pilot pulled a lever in his cockpit and sent a 2,250 pound bomb on a course to impact a narrow strip of rocky land sticking out of the Pacific Ocean called Molokini, and then pulled his stick up sharply sending the warplane into a near vertical climb. The bomb hit its target and kicked up rocks, sand and smoke from the ancient strip of land.

It was just one of the thousands of times that U.S. Navy planes 

assaulted the land mass during World War II, not because it harbored enemies or had any strategic wartime significance, but solely because its long skinny shape somewhat resembled the dimensions of a Japanese battleship. It was rehearsal for war and one more assault on ocean ecology and Hawaiian mythological heritage.

In 2016, a tourist with graying hair, bad eyesight, and a fear of the water adjusted his prescription vision facemask, slipped a plastic snorkel mouthpiece in position, and gazed up at the 162 foot peaks of Molokini Crater from the deck of a huge catamaran called the Kai Kanani II. He waited his turn in a line of 35 other tourists before descending a slippery aluminum ladder, snapping rubber swimming fins on his feet, slipping into the cool incredibly clear water, grabbing the edge of a worn flotation device, and flailing about in the water face down to glimpse colorful fish, sea turtles, and, occasionally, his own aquatically-talented grandchildren flutter by gracefully in the depths below.

This is Molokini of the 21^st Century—a popular tourist snorkeling destination where only a certain number of boats per day are permitted to motor out and attach to moorings in the heart of waters bordered on one side by a crescent shaped land mass that protects snorkelers and divers from currents and waves. Molokini is a partially submerged crater and is all that remains of one of the seven volcanoes that formed Maui. Experts say it last erupted 230,000 years ago.

Hawaiian mythology, however, has another explanation for Molokini’s formation. The legend goes that Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire, and a giant magical lizard that guarded the people of Maui were both in love with the same Hawaiian prince. Pele, in a fit of jealousy, sliced the lizard into pieces and Molokini is all that remains of the creature’s tail, which Pele threw into the sea.

The waters surrounding the crater have long been home to a bounty of sea life. For years, divers have discovered the stone sinkers and fishing lures attributed to early Polynesian settlers. There is also plenty of archeological evidence that ancient visitors also hunted birds, eggs and collected feathers from the rocky crater.

But, that’s not all mid-and late 20^th Century visitors found. The U.S. Navy’s wartime target practice left 50 caliber shell casings, unexploded ordinances, and ugly impact indentations all over Molokini and on the sea floor inside the crater.

The Navy’s solution to the danger was to twice take measures to detonate the war remnants, once in 1975 and again in 1984. Obviously, that did nothing good for the fragile coral of Molokini. The elimination of the dangerous wartime litter may have increased the safety of the area, but it kicked up quite a fuss among environmentalists.

Ancient Polynesian fisherman, fire gods, giant lizards, and World War II bombing runs were the last things on our minds when our family waded out to board Kai Kanani II at the beach at Makena on the southern shore of Maui.

An incredibly friendly and professional crew greeted us with a continental breakfast, brief snorkeling safety instructions, and all the equipment we needed. We covered the three miles out to Molokini Crater quickly and hit the water.

“Look up there toward the right when you get in the water,” one of the crew advised as we went down the ladder into the water. “There’s an octopus out there today.”

Probably because we wouldn’t know one from the other, the crew didn’t mention black triggerfish, yellow tang, Moorish idol, parrotfish, peacock grouper, white spotted pufferfish, raccoon butterflyfish and blue fin trevally as fish we could encounter on our visit. All are common to the crater. Some of us did run across a moray eel and a sea turtle or two.

Our grandkids darted around us, intrigued as much by the waterproof GoPro video cameras their parents rented for them on board the Kai Kanani for use in the crater as they were by the fish and coral.

Surprisingly, the crater is Hawaii’s only marine sanctuary where, in addition to octopi and fish, the underwater reserve is home to more than 38 hard coral species.

The designation came somewhat late—after the damage done by the Navy and aquatic thieves, who pilfered black coral from the crater for sale to jewelry makers around the world. Incensed people who valued Molokini’s uniqueness stood up to protest. The concerns eventually led to the designation of the area as a marine underwater reserve.

We were never rushed to get back to the boat during our snorkel adventure. Once we all straggled back, we found that the crew had set out a cold cut buffet and opened the bar.

The snorkelers, now free of their equipment, mingled freely all over the boat.

A seasick woman sprawled out on a bench with an ice bag on her neck.

The crew talked about comic book characters with a guest who wore a Deadpool tee shirt.

Children tested their sea legs by balancing on the netting that hung between the twin hulls of the catamaran’stern

The captain pointed out a nearby sea turtle that broke the surface of the shimmering water for a gulp of air before diving out of sight.

The more adventurous kids took turns diving into the clear blue water and then swimming around to the boat ladder, climbing aboard and repeating the activity over and over again. 

Laughter wafted over the deck when a parent or two got in on the action to attempt a back flip or an uncle made a particularly large splash.

When the day was over, the catamaran made its way swiftly back to Makena. We landlubbers waded ashore and waved farewell to the crew of the Kai Kanani II, savoring our brush with an ancient volcano, its plethora of little-seen sea life, and our short camaraderie with crew and fellow passengers.