Maui’s Migrants
Lessons gleaned from lives lived to and fro
A humpback whale reveals itself to capture a few precious breaths of oxygen before an upward fluke indicates a descent into the North Pacific’s azure abyss. One of a number of seasonal migrants to the islands of Hawai’i, their journey is marked by tremendous energetic cost and fraught with difficulty. Still, migration is a ritual older than recorded history that, if allowed to run its course, will persist ad infinitum.
Despite their unparalleled isolation and rugged terrain, the Islands of Hawai’i remain a powerful draw for migrants the world over.
The spawn of volcanic activity in the remote Pacific, the island chain was once inaccessible to all but the world’s most fit and hardened travelers. Consider how remarkable it is that coral polyps long adrift in the vastness of the Pacific were able to form the lively reefs that endure today. Fishes, turtles, and countless swathes of invertebrates came to populate those reefs after eons in the open sea. Wayward seeds would come to sprout vast jungles that would house a variety of birds and insects that, too, journeyed through the perilous expanse of the ocean for so much as a chance of survival. When the Polynesians took to the seas, they developed unparalleled navigational skills through generations, taking queues from nature’s migrants as they journeyed to these islands. An ingenious people with navigational prowess near incomprehensible to a society reliant entirely on GPS and air travel, the culture and society they created in this land would come to endure for centuries and create an indelible global impact.
Hawai’i’s history is ultimately defined by such migrations. While many of our cousins within Animalia have been evolutionarily hardwired with mechanisms for finding their way to more plentiful pastures, Polynesian people had to develop these skills on their own. Through the centuries, without the aid of written language, skills of wayfinders were forged through their adventures. Masters of the high seas and the islands that have sprouted thereupon, the people of this land have displayed the same determination of its other migrants and developed a cultural heritage endowed with rich values, artistry, and kinship. Today, still, human migrants take to these islands, increasingly with a sense of obligation to honor the traditions of those first arrivers. They come to pursue sciences, sport, art, or simply leisure. It is by no means a uniform bunch, but rather an eclectic mix that offers a great deal of insight on the world at large.
Now I have come to follow in that lineage of migrants, albeit making the passage with the aide of modern technology in a span of mere hours marks me as significantly less impressive than those who came before. Having found employment on Maui I can attest to the allure that has pulled travelers here in centuries past. My job requires that I spend most of my time with perhaps the most iconic of these vagabonds: the Northern Pacific population of humpback whales. Making seasonal migrations between feeding grounds off of the Alaskan coast and breeding grounds in Maui, these creatures have become symbols of both the ecological richness of the Pacific and of migrations as a whole. For myself, they have revealed much of my own humanity. Most every one of these creatures exhibit traits seldom seen but greatly admired in humans, and spending time in their midst has revealed a great deal to me about the type of creature I wish to be.
The summers of humpbacks up in the North Pacific (it should be noted that while many of these whales will go to Alaskan waters, others will feed off of the coasts of Washington, British Columbia, Russia, and the Aleutian Islands) are spent largely in preparation for this journey. The long days of high-latitude summers create an environment rife for phytoplankton blooms, which in turn fuel a sea teeming with life. The fertile waters of Alaska provide an abundance of food for the leviathans, and every ounce of which is well needed. It was once believed their massive bodies demanded about 400,000 calories of small fish and crustaceans per day, but a 2021 paper has revealed that the figure is in the range of 20,000,000-roughly a decade of human eating. Much of this caloric demand is required for the buildup of a dense blubber layer. Humpbacks will feed only opportunistically on the trek to and from the islands (and most often not at all while in Hawai’i) and as such must stockpile tremendous energetic reserves. This is doubly true for mothers, whose added responsibility to nurse her calf will result in her body weight dropping by as much as one third during her migratory period. After a summer spent gorging in the nutrient rich waters of the North, hormonal urges signal the need to travel to warmer waters.
The humpbacks of Maui will make the arduous journey from Alaska as winter begins to grip the Last Frontier. Following a journey that will most commonly last six to eight weeks, the season’s first whales will arrive in mid-Autumn. Whale season begins to peak around the time I write this, with cetacean concentration reaching an apex from late January through February. But the journey is only commencing with their arrival in Maui. Now surrounded by hundreds of their peers, the time for the courtship of mates and the rearing of young begins. As such, mother humpbacks and their calves proliferate in these waters. Returning to the area where the calf was conceived, a mother will birth her baby in the shallow waters of Maui so as to protect them from the cold and the predation of orcas. Calves bound with energy from their mother’s nutrient-rich milk so dense with fat for the creation of blubber that its texture is closer to that of yogurt. Breathing in shorter intervals (the average dive permissible by their still developing lungs is but a few minutes compared to times nearing a half hour in fully grown adults) the young are surface active and playful under the watchful eyes of mom. For the entirety of their time in these waters and their return migration to Alaska, the two will be nearly inseparable.
This bond is one of nature’s most powerful shows of fidelity and commitment. Undeterred by the pressures of predation and pollution, and at the peak of physical exertion, mothers will carry the burden of their calves ceaselessly. Following a year of gestation, mothers will guide newborns to the surface for their first breaths and to the North to begin lives of their own. But after this all of this maternal sacrifice, it is the calf who decides when it is fit to leave mom. When that time comes, they simply slip off, forever untethering one from the other. Mothers will rear new calves, males will mate indiscriminately, and the species persists. To the observer, though whales often prove agents of anonymity, their impermanent bonds serve as a reminder of our obligation to our fellow man. For many naturalists, countless hours with kith and kin are sacrificed in the pursuit of animal encounters in the company of strangers. Nights and days filled observing wildlife melt into an amalgamation of time, albeit well spent, lost. For those (myself included) in remote regions, it is a lifestyle that demands we break bonds of proximity, but these animals remind us of those in our lives that sacrificed such that we may succeed and our obligation to do the same for others. While whales will simply break off communication after utility has expired, humans are endowed with both the technology and compassion to express gratitude for those responsible for our development. To do anything but is a betrayal of the gifts of man’s evolution. Just as mother humpbacks will devote much of their adult lives to the rearing and protection of others, so too should we be so generous with our time and energy. It is only through sacrifices such as these that we fulfill our duty to our species.
Maui’s waters present prime viewing for humpback breaching. In fact, so often does this behavior occur that it may go unappreciated by locals and tourists alike come the end of whale season. But simple reflection proves the feat is indeed quite remarkable and something worth reflecting upon. Consider the following:
The caloric requirement of a breach is unfathomable to most humans. For a fully grown humpback, such maneuvers demand roughly the energetic intake of a human marathon.
The largest whales capable of full-scale, out-of-the-water breaching, the maneuver is one of the animal kingdom’s most energetically costly. Breaches from humpbacks have a comparable energetic cost to lunges from blue whales, creatures that nearly double their mass.
Breaches will often occur sequentially, meaning that vast energetic reserves are spent in rapid succession.
Humpbacks will not feed once they arrive in Hawaii, meaning that they are consuming the precious calories required for their return to Alaska.
Mother humpbacks are responsible for safeguarding and feeding calves for the entirety of this migration. To see mothers surface active with their calves is thus the ultimate show sacrifice and devotion.
A humpback hurdles into a breach off of Maui’s McGregor Point
Our current understanding of breaching indicates that it may be done for a number of reasons, including the removal of parasites and, in juveniles, for play. But it is suspected that breaches are primarily done as a means of communication. In an environment where visibility is limited sound becomes central to social function. When their massive bodies crash from on high into the sea the mere sound of the impact is heard from other humpbacks miles away. Breaches are married with slaps of the tail and pectoral fins to drum up noise. Such violent movements couple nicely with the hauntingly serene whale-song of males. Once thought to be performed as a courtship ritual, it is now believed that such choruses ring out as a means of coordinating position among fellow males. This cacophony of splash and song is a familiar tune to Maui divers, and so too are its results familiar sights. Male whales will often use these sounds in an effort to assemble what is known as a competition pod. Assemblies of opportunistic bachelors form these groups hopeful for the chance to mate with but a single female; and such competitions. Joiners from far off corners of the group may wander into the group throughout the process, attracted by the sound of mayhem in their midst. To the human observer, the competition pod is a convoluted show of aggression as fins reign down blows and the entirety of the whales’ bodies are weaponized. Heads of black arise from clouds of mist as the creatures breathe intensely during these battles. To the humpbacks, conquest is the ultimate goal of a migration fraught with peril. It is only after a transoceanic journey that they are endowed with the chance to be combatants, thus it is no wonder that these battles may rage on for hours. When a dominant male emerges and the final losers have dissipated, the victorious male will finally have the opportunity to mate (should the female accept his advances - females of this species are larger than males). Losers need not lament long, however, as these whales will compete and breed throughout their time in Hawai’i.
Though violent and jarring there is much we can learn from these battles. I find it an incredible tale of inspiration that these creatures can exert themselves to such an extent after a swim of roughly 3,000 miles with a return trip looming. It is a testament to the not only the physical fitness of the animal, but the power of a hardened will. In the animal kingdom there exists but a few forces more unstoppable than a competing humpback. Even with the might of multiple whale fins and tails, many lined with razor sharp barnacles, assaulting the creatures for hours, many simply refuse to give up. In fact, most are drawn in by competition, not deterred. The innate desire to compete and roll with the punches is abundant in Maui’s migrants, and that is something I draw inspiration from whenever times are rough.
It is for these reasons that humpbacks are so charismatic, so captivating.
Their devotion to their young and relentless drive reveal a creature with traits most of us only aspire to.
Great frigatebirds soar over Molokini Crater
But the extent of Maui’s migrants extend far beyond the mammalian. Consider the great frigatebird, or ‘iwa, their native name meaning “thief” derived from the propensity for stealing the catches of other birds. In spite of a seven foot wingspan, these pterodactlyian beasts weigh in between just two to four pounds. Seemingly perfectly optimized for a life of catching that tradewinds and island hopping, these birds engage in what’s known in the ornithological world as a “lesser” migration throughout the Greater Hawaiian Islands, including the French Frigate Shoals. If I were a frigatebird, I’d find that classification offensive, as this is a flight that spans the approximate distance from New York City to Indianapolis almost entirely over water.
The seabirds proliferated on the cliffs of Molokini when I started my term in Hawai’i. Craning one’s neck skyward to the area high above the rock face, it was possible to observe dozens of these birds patrolling the sea below for a meal. These represented just a tiny fraction of the 10,000 nesting pairs that have been observed in the islands. Many males perched high above the surf, their iconic red gular sacs some of nature’s most conspicuous sights. Male frigatebirds inflate these sacs as a means of appealing to females, whose neck plumage is distinguished by a white apron like patch of feathers.
Notes from an ‘iwa encounter on a day without a camera handy
A heron stalks prey in the grass at Kealia Pond National Wildlife Refuge
Birds of all sorts flock to Maui. Nearly 60 species are known to overwinter on the islands, joining a cast of dozens of year round inhabitants. Again, it cannot be overstated what a miraculous accomplishment such treks are. The ability to find these islands in the vastness of the Great Pacific is a premise almost inconceivable to the average person. Deterred neither by the vast expanse of cerulean nothingness nor unrelenting storms and guided by instincts they most certainly do not entirely comprehend, these creatures have come to dominate the Pacific.
Some of these wayward migrants have evolved into distinct species with the passage of time. Consider the nene, an evolutionary outgrowth of the Canada goose now endemic to the Hawaiian Islands. But perhaps my favorite of the avian colonizers of Maui is the black crowned night heron, a shorebird not unique to this area that is believed to have entrenched itself on island when settlers first crafted fishponds within the last thousand years or so. Sporting a gorgeous monochromatic tapestry of plumage, they stand stoic above the water for what seems like an eternity waiting for prey to venture to just the right distance. Their red eyes unblinking as time stands still. The birds appear as statues even as fish may dance in front of them. Cold and calculated, they have a marvelous sense of when to strike so as to ensure a catch. Observing and photographing these animals is one of Maui’s great tests of patience, but serves as a potent reminder of its power as well as that of thorough deliberation. To rush through life without aim often proves unsatisfactory. Much as in the case of the night heron, we must all exercise deep patience and strike at opportune times when seeking to enact our goals.
But not all migrations need to occur on such grandiose scales. Every evening, the lumbering collective of the ocean’s biosphere ascends to from the fathoms as the process of diel vertical migration takes hold. As darkness comes upon the ocean, from the depths of the twilight zone emerge a litany of species from across the gradient of marine life seeking new resources at the water’s surface. The chase is fueled by phytoplankton, imperceptible to the naked eye, who are in turn hunted by larger species. This energetic exchange works its way up to the food chain to large predators, including tuna and dolphins. Daily high speed chases may seem at odds with the months long slog of migrations discussed previously, but this process fits nicely into the great tapestry of Hawai’i’s ecology. The consistency of these diurnal repetitions reminds us of the value of the unchanging. Though our worlds seems to hurdle further into the abyss of the unknown each day, in nature we find certain immutable truths, and I find that a great comfort. If we take solace in and vow to protect that which does not change, peace is sure to follow.
A spinner dolphin jets off toward dinner. Streamlined and agile, they provide a stark constrast to the motion of humpbacks
A humpback slips into the deep blue of the Pacific
In detailing their stories, I have come to see my own characteristics and shortcomings in these migrants. All of them, from those great avians galavanting on the breezes to the newborn humpback unaware of the vagrant life that awaits it, reveal much about the way man should seek to live. Their mere existence is a testament to the power of unshakable will and fortitude in the face of challenges that seem impossible to overcome at first glance. It is not in spite of these great challenges, but rather because of them that we have seen such incredible adaptations over the natural history of the migrants of Maui. Though entirely unaware of the concept of virtue, they collective of the Animal kingdom to embody the strengths we claim to admire much more than our own, fallible species. The lessons of Maui’s animal migrants are but another example of the infinite expanse of the lessons nature has to teach those who seek out her wisdom, which is now and forever my favorite recourse in times of trouble.
Note: A modified version of this story will be published in the forthcoming edition of An Hour in the Deep magazine, featuring more of my original photographs and writing.
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