Discover How An Ancient Fishpond Breathes…and so much more with Uncle Danny Kaniela Akaka 

Fat silver fish turn figure eights beneath the surface of Lahuipuaa fishpond on the coastline of what today is Mauna Lani Resort. Every now and then you will catch the flash of an eel’s tail disappearing into the shadows. A slender rock wall encircles the five-acre coastal pond. It’s one of seven ancient fishponds at Mauna Lani—waters once cherished by Hawaiian kings and fishermen alike. Watching ripples spread across the surface of Lahuipuaa, you can almost imagine the hands that built its wall eight hundred years ago.

For the group of eight participating in this special walking tour, the wonders of these ancient ponds will be shared by Uncle Danny Akaka, Mauna Lani’s Kahu Hanai, or traditional knowledge keeper.  Danny radiates aloha and enjoys sharing the stories of his Native Hawaiian ancestors.

Guests will walk along the narrow rock wall that separates the fishpond from the sea, stopping in front of a wooden gate that can be raised and lowered to allow water and fish to flow into the pond.

“This is the makaha,” says Danny. “It allows the fishpond’s caretakers to maintain a delicate balance between fish populations and limu [seaweed] growth within the pond.”

Ancient Hawaiians knew how to work with the island’s existing systems to multiply the natural abundance of the land and sea. Savvy fishermen enclosed coastal ponds like this throughout the archipelago to cultivated their favorite species—amaama (mullet), awa (milk fish), and moi (threadfin). These seemingly simple rings of stacked rocks have survived centuries of storm surges and still provide food for their communities. They’re a testament to the native genius of this place.

The makaha is an effective piece of engineering: young fish can pass through the slotted gate, while larger predators cannot. In the pond’s protected shallows, baby fish grow fat snacking on the seaweed that thrives in the brackish water. When the time comes for them to spawn they gather at the makaha, hoping to migrate out to deeper waters. In days past, the makaha was the place to harvest the choicest specimens for a ready feast. The pond’s kiai (guardian) stood watch here during the rising tide to prevent poaching and periodically opened the gate to flush out sediment during the receding tide.

“The makaha is a sacred part of the fishpond,” Uncle Danny will share with guests.  “In the poetry of the Hawaiian language, makaha means "at the source of the breath." The breath, or ha, is the sea water that comes in and out, giving life to the pond, the land, and its people.”

If you stop and listen to the sound of the seawater rushing through the gate, it is rather like a deep inhalation. It is the pond breathing. 

Danny Akaka, the resort’s resident expert in Hawaiian history and culture, is the embodiment of aloha: generous, unhurried, and brimming with love for Hawaii and her people. Diplomacy runs in Akaka’s genes. His father was a respected U.S. Senator, his uncle coined the phrase “aloha spirit,” and his grandmother couldn’t let a tired taro farmer pass by her house without offering refreshment and a shady place to rest.

Akaka knew this coastline long before there were resorts here. He visited Kalahuipuaa—the fabled fishpond—as a young college student in the 1970s. He and his future wife Anna belonged to the University of Hawai‘i’s very first Hawaiian Studies cohort. They were part of what is now known as the Hawaiian Renaissance. Their professor brought them here to experience a place that still pulsed with the power of old Hawaii. The Queen Kaahumanu highway didn’t exist then, so the class took dirt roads down from Waimea through Puako to reach the sea. At Paniau, a Hawaiian family would let the students cross their property on one condition: they stayed to drink a cold beer and “talk story.” “Once we were stuck there for three days,” Akaka laughs.

Danny was awestruck by Kalahuipuaa. “After driving through hot, dry and dusty places, we came to this oasis,” he remembers. “The milo and coconut trees, the large ponds of jumping mullet, the beautiful blue ocean right in front of these quaint cottages—it was like stepping back in time. I felt like I’d arrived in paradise. It made a big impression on me. Growing up in Honolulu, I never knew that a place like this still existed.” As a youth, Akaka dreamed of being a Waikiki beach boy—spending his days surfing and safeguarding swimmers. Instead, he came to work at Mauna Lani when it opened in 1983. Over the years he’s been a landscaper, hotel historian, and cultural director—but his real job is serving as the resort’s conscience.