High above Waimea Bay, on the slope of PĆ«pĆ«kea, stands Puâu o Mahuka, Oâahuâs largest heiau. Overlooking Waimea Bay, it is generally dated to the 1600s, with phases of construction and alteration over time.
Oral tradition holds that this sacred landscape was used for long-distance spiritual communication. One account relates that Aliâi Kahahana asked his kahuna, the great seer, Â Kaâopulupulu, to learn whether Kauaâi would surrender to his invasion. Kaâopulupulu first established KĆ«popolo heiau near the shore of Waimea Bay. Presenting offerings and prayers, he sent his question to Kauaâi, but received no answer. He then asked that a second heiau be built upon the ridge. When Puâu o Mahuka was completed, Kaâopulupulu sent his message again from within the heiau. This time, he received an immediate reply. Kauaâi wished for peace.
Given its position less than a hundred miles from the mouth of the Wailua River on Kauaâi, many believe Puâu o Mahuka and HikinaakalÄ, the heiau located there, were used for regular telepathic communication between kÄhuna.
Puâu o Mahuka is also classified as a luakini heiau, where offerings, including animal and human sacrifice, were dedicated to KĆ«. However, one of the most famous sacrifices at this heiau was not a Hawaiian.
In 1792, Richard Hergest was in command of the Daedalus, a merchant ship hired by the British government, on his way to meet up with Captain Vancouverâs expedition at Nootka Sound in the Pacific Northwest. A young astronomer by the name of William Gooch caught a ride on the Daedalus to join Vancouverâs expedition.
Shortly before the Daedalus arrived in Waimea, Oâahu, an English deserter had taken refuge on the Grace, an English West Indian ship, and convinced the captain to fire upon an Oâahu aliâi. The outcome caused Hawaiians in the area to be distrustful of British sailors.
Despite the advice of some Hawaiians on board the Daedalus when they arrived at Waimea, Hergest, Gooch, and a Portuguese seaman named Manuel went ashore. The men were quickly taken by PÄhĆ«pĆ«, warriors whose bodies were tattooed black on one side, from head to toe. Local accounts say the three were brought to Puâu o Mahuka heiau and sacrificed.
While the views nowadays are spectacular, the mana here is palpable. However, this is not a place for casual rituals like charging your crystals (yes, it has been done before). It is a sacred site where strict kapu once governed life and death, and where the memory of those sacrificed endures.
A luakini heiau like Puâu o Mahuka is dedicated to KĆ«, the god of war. This dedication involved strict protocol to the extreme. The entire heiau, all of its occupants, and anyone in the vicinity were under kapu. From marching in procession for gathering materials to sitting in rows for hours at a time, every aspect of the dedication had to be in perfect order as âoli (chants) were recited and prayers were offered. Any deviation or mistake in protocol would mean instant death for the rule breaker, who was then added to the ritual offering. People of the surrounding area had to hide or make themselves scarce. There could be no noise. Even children and dogs must be kept silent until the kapu was lifted. The seriousness of such an undertaking and the effect it had on every person naturally leaves lasting emotional and spiritual residue that can still be felt today.
A man named Ryan messaged me a few years ago to share his story about a strange incident that had happened to him, his wife, and their friend. They were circling the island one day, doing touristy things, and turned up PĆ«pĆ«kea Road. He then turned onto the first side street he saw. The lane ended in a small parking area. They thought it was a park at first, but before the engine was even off, Ryanâs wife went still.
âSomethingâs not right,â she said.
Only then did they notice the sign, Puâu o Mahuka Heiau.
In the quiet daylight, the car radio clicked on by itself, and a voice sang, âSay what you need to say.â
Ryan said he started to panic, and he asked his wife what to do. His wife told them to pray, and they did so in silence. When he finished his prayer, Ryan eased the car into reverse and drove back to Pƫpƫkea Road. Since then, they have not returned. His wife said it felt like they did not belong, and they were grateful to leave as respectfully as they could.
In another, more recent account, Bill and his friend Tom drove up to PĆ«pĆ«kea to photograph the winter surf at Waimea Bay. They spent a few hours at the overlook behind Puâu o Mahuka, taking pictures, talking story, relaxing. After sunset, with enough twilight left to make the short walk back, they packed up their things. The path was concrete, direct, and not very long. Yet as they walked toward the parking area, time seemed to stretch unnaturally. The darkness thickened, and they had to use the lights on their iPhones to see where they were going. With no cell service and their gear growing heavy, they stopped to rest.
Bill told Tom to wait while he scouted ahead. In less than two minutes, he reached the heiau, glanced to the right, and saw their car in the small parking lot. Relief swept over him. He turned and called for Tom, jogging back to the spot where theyâd rested. But Tom was gone, and so were their things.
A terrible smell, like rotten eggs, rose sharply in the still air. Bill broke into a run, calling Tomâs name, now unsure which direction led to the parking area. Somewhere in the trees, he thought he heard drums, or maybe it was only his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His foot caught and he tumbled to the ground. Something grabbed his ankle, he was sure of it, and then he felt like a person was sitting on his back. The sound of footsteps gathered around him, many feet moving in step, and the world narrowed until everything went black.
He woke to Tom shaking him. Tired of waiting, Tom had gone to find Bill and discovered him facedown on the path. He had managed to carry the camera equipment, but left the cooler and chairs back where theyâd stopped. Together they hurried to the car, drove straight down the hill, and didnât stop until theyâd reached the Foodland parking lot. They noticed it was after 9 p.m., although sunset had been just before 7 p.m. They had been wandering for nearly two hours along a route that should have taken only minutes. They wonât say it was supernatural, only that it was wrong, and that they have no desire to repeat it.
âWe donât do drugs. We werenât drinking. We just brought water and chips,â Bill said.
If someone found a cooler and a couple of chairs, Bill and Tom apologize. They didnât mean to dump their things, but they were too scared to go back and try to retrieve them.
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