After the Maui fires took Carole, her people honored her on the water

LAHAINA, Hawaii - Members of the Lahaina Canoe Club picked up their six-seat outrigger canoes on Monday morning, and, like they have for years, carried the heavy vessels into the crashing ocean at Hanakao’o Beach.

They hopped in, paddles in hand. “Nice and easy,” Carlos Wegner said to his crew, as they paddled in unison. Two other canoes followed his toward their destination, Black Rock, or Pu’u Keka’a, a place where Hawaiians believe souls lept to the next world.

This was not a typical voyage for them. This was the first time this group had paddled through the waters just north of historic Lahaina town since the devastating Aug. 8 wildfire that left many of them without homes. On Monday, they made the journey to honor Carole Hartley - Auntie Carole, known within the club - on what would have been her 61st birthday. Friends and family say she died in the fire.

She was at practice the night before, paddling “like a hammer” in Wegner’s boat, he said, trying to keep up with the strong strokes required to move a massive canoe through the water.

“We spend six days a week with each other,” said club member Mikey Burke. “This is healing for Auntie Carole, but also for all of us.”

All throughout Maui, residents and survivors are carrying out similar rituals of mourning in the wake of the deadliest U.S. wildfire in more than a century. The death toll is expected to far surpass the 115 that authorities have confirmed thus far, given the scores of missing people.

The scale feels unfathomable to this island community of about 160,000 people, as signs of loss are everywhere on the west side, including the missing persons posters hanging in store windows and the memorial crosses lining the only remaining exit from Lahaina.

For many, the only way to navigate this landscape is to be with your chosen family, your ohana.

“The paddlers who wanted to go in the water most are the ones who lost everything,” said Rose Crichton, who helps run the club. “This is the only type of normalcy they have left.”

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After the fires, paddlers frantically tried calling each other. They say their canoe club, the first established on the west side of Maui, is a family for them.

It started in the 1970s to serve the Lahainaluna High School students who were traveling to other parts of the island to paddle, and they still prioritize youth today. Their 150 members now include adults and the children, or keiki, who make up their eight competitive crews. Four keiki crews competed in the state championship in Hilo just a week before the Lahaina fire. Crichton said it is important to find a way to get the young ones back into the water, too.

Some adult canoe members are transplants, such as Hartley, living thousands of miles away from their blood relatives. For others, canoe paddling is a part of their ancestral lineage. “That’s how we got to this island, paddling,” said Lahaina Canoe Club coach, Bear Keahi. “That’s how my grandfather made a living, canoe fishing. That’s basically our lifeline for everything, in the water.”

“Being in the ocean is like going home. That’s why a lot of people wanted to go into the water, especially people who lost their homes,” added Keahi, who also lost his in the fire. “It just felt like more of a home that’s always there.”

Later Monday, loved ones gathered at the ocean to say goodbye to Hartley, adorning her favorite surf spot, Ukumehame Beach, with flowers. “We are here to salute her for loving this place. For loving you,” Kahu Sam Ka’ai said during his blessing.

Originally from Alabama, Hartley arrived on Maui more than 30 years ago and embraced so much of what it meant to make a life here. She loved to dance hula, write poetry, surf and paddle. She wore many hats, working at various times as a repair woman, bus driver, jewelry store clerk.

Her friends told stories about her love of pearls, her feisty spirit and fearlessness, that one Halloween on Front Street where she dressed up as a mail order bride (she wore a mailbox on her hip), about how she was always taking in stray animals or anyone down on their luck.

“She rescued everything and everybody,” said Gloria Madden, a longtime friend. “She really felt like everyone deserves a chance in life, and to be loved and cherished. Her aloha spirit was just so unique.”

Donna Hartley sent a family message to the gathering, about how “our little sister has always looked for the good in people and has always helped others.”

Her friends danced a favorite hula, recited poems, sang songs. They laughed and cried and hugged one another. Her longtime partner, Charles Paxton, greeted people and stayed in the background, making sure everything was coming together.

“This is the first time I’m even able to express tears,” said Pam Thomas. She knew Hartley for 12 years. “Everyone’s volunteering and pushing forward. But this is one of the only times we’re taking time out to actually be in it, and focus on Carole.”

As the stories and songs concluded, clouds began to provide relief from the blazing sun. Paxton picked up his green surfboard from the shore, and waded into the water. Dozens followed him for the paddle-out, a common way to honor the dead here.

Hartley’s friends followed. They placed kids, pets and bags of flowers onto surfboards and jumped into the warm, crashing water. They used their arms to move past the rolling waves that tempted them to ride back to shore instead of pressing onward.

Past the break, they formed a circle around Paxton. A chartered helicopter flew above and unleashed a carpet of purple, red and orange flowers that Hartley’s friends spent an entire day collecting. Paxton let out a yell, and with the group splashing and cheering him on, he threw his lei into the water, submerging himself. They marveled at the sight, crying and laughing all at once.

As they made their way back to shore, a Hawaiian monk seal appeared. These are rare, endangered animals, and can sometimes be aggressive in the water. The creature popped its head up in front of Hartley’s friends and peacefully swam along.

Earlier that day, canoe club paddler Kaleo Cabreros reflected on the concept of aloha as he acknowledged how depleted he felt. The fire had taken so much, including his home. “True aloha,” he said, “is when you give even when you don’t have a lot to give.”

That’s what he feels like he is trying to do. What it feels like Maui is trying to do.

As members of the Lahaina Canoe Club paddled their three canoes toward Pu’u Keka’a, they found their rhythm in the water again. Arriving at their destination, they talked about how Auntie Carole was young at heart, and prayed that her infectious spirit would always be in their canoes.

They tossed flowers and jumped into the water, swimming and letting out laughs. Then they got back in to paddle three times around this sacred spot.

As they turned around to begin the journey back, they could see the scorched ruins of Lahaina town. It’s the first time they were seeing it from this vantage point in the ocean.

They glided their paddles over the water, timed perfectly together, not saying a word except for Cabreros’s call to switch sides.

They kept paddling home, toward Lahaina.