Kuuleialoha Gaisoa determines whether a person is eligible to receive his Hawaiian pa’akai, or salt, based on whether they will help him protect Kaua’i’s Hanapepē salt ponds.
Like the kupuna or ancestors before him, “I make a product that I just give away,” says Gaiswa, 49. So, “I expect you to stand in the front line when I have to fight for it.”
Gaisoa belongs to one of the 22 Kanaka Ōiwi (Native Hawaiian) ohana, or families, who have been entrusted with salt farming for centuries. Tradition dictates that their salt cannot be bought or sold – only traded or given away. But in the 21st century, flats are struggling with modern problems like pollution and erosion And contrary to native customs, a Hawaiian salt-farming industry has developed, with businesses marketing the product around the world.
However, gaiswa are not threatened by corporate farms because they are often motivated by profit, not cultural preservation, she says. “There’s nothing to compare to.”
The Hanapepe Salt Ponds are a place of legend. According to Gaiswa, they were discovered a day after a local woman caught many while fishing. As the Hawaiians hunted and gathered sparingly, he walked the shoreline, trying to give him extra fish. Unable to do so, she started crying. At the same time, Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire and volcanoes, was visiting her brother Kamohuali, the shark god. Emerging from the bush, Pele took the distraught woman to the flat to teach her the art of salt making.
Salt is produced at the Hanapepe salt ponds on Kauai. (Photo courtesy of Kuuleloha Gaiswa)
When Guisoa first visited the salt patch in his youth with his father, Frank Santos, he hated the activity. But once her two children, Wailea Tafiti and Pilani Kali, were born, she wouldn’t let them miss a day at the flat.
There, each Ohna maintains its own division. Located on the south coast of the island, the area is flooded in the winter and when it dries up, salt makers start farming. The salt season depends on the weather, but it is usually from May to August.
Saltwater travels underground to nearby wells, which can be 10 to 15 feet deep. Every summer, practitioners use buckets to remove water, then scrape the inside walls of the well to promote water flow.
“You literally have salt crystals on your skin—that’s how salty the water is,” Gaisoa says. Brine also helps clean shrimp wells and sweeten the taste of salt.
Kiai, or stewards, dig for the black clay, then use stones to mold it into salt beds, which are three to four feet wide and eight to 10 feet long. Later, they bake in the sun. The entire process takes between four and six hours. After the bed is well watered, it crystallizes, forming a layer of salt flakes.
Fresh white salt sits on top and is used as a condiment. Pink salt is placed in the middle, and red salt at the bottom serves religious and medicinal purposes.
Salt makers stand in front of buckets of salt being made at the Hanapepe salt ponds on Kauai. (Photo courtesy of Kwelialoha Gaiswa)
In days past, salt makers would give five-gallon buckets to those who asked, but, today, this is usually limited to one gallon. They still barter with salt, and they even auction it off for noble causes. However, Gaiswa does not judge the few who sell their products.
“Living in Hawaii is expensive,” she says. “If someone sells it on the sidelines, well, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.”
And 2023 is calculated as a bad year for salt manufacturers. “I don’t give anything anymore because I don’t have anything,” said Gaiswa. “There has only been one other time in my life where salt was lacking.”
They have faced other problems in recent years. During the COVID-19 pandemic, county officials moved a group of homeless people to the adjacent Salt Pond Beach Park and had their feces contaminate the salt flats. Today, those who gather in their parking lot leave litter. Driving on the beach contributes to sand erosion. A 1960s road built by the government through the patch is now eroded, and salt manufacturers are working on a plan to deal with it.
When the plane of the helicopter tour agency, Maverick Helicopters, flies overhead, they blow dust on the salt. As of 2019, Hanapep Salt Company—a Kanaka “Uui nonprofit representing salt farming “Ohana—has fought the company’s expansion efforts because noise, chemical runoff and the potential for contamination threaten harvests.
“My goal before I die is to get off the helicopter landing pad,” Gaisoa said. “At the end of the day, people just have to be respectful of the area.”
Malia Nobrega-Oliveira, 52, is also a salt producer in Hanapepe. He has several highlights Oversized action points Better support Indigenous elders, including properly quoting and establishing prior and informed community consent.
At Kehole Point in Hawaii, the Kona Sea Salt Farm also deals with external challenges, such as high winds and storms. During the winter, the team struggles to keep up with demand as the weather slows down its production.
“Mother Nature always has the last word,” said Melanie Kelekolio, operations general manager and chief salt maker. Although the business sells its salt in the islands, the continental United States and Japan, it still uses a hands-on approach led by Kelekolio.
Melanie Kelekolio stands on the shore outside the Kona Sea Salt Farm. Hawaii’s sea salt leadership considers kelekolio to be stewards of their leased land. (Photo credit: Ijfke Ridgley)
In 1999, he started at the nearby Natural Energy Laboratory, first growing microalgae before exploring salt production as a side project in 2004. Their first hot house.
Since then, trial and error has fine-tuned the method of undersea salt farming. Now, a 40-foot pipe extending 2,200 feet into the ocean sends water to the operation’s solar evaporation bed. These tunnels are covered, allowing the moisture to evaporate under sunlight before the salt is collected.
“We can’t be completely traditional” and make salt in open ponds, says Kelekolio, 56. “It’s not as clean as it was 100 years ago.”
And in order to sell their salt as food, farms that own sea salt in Hawaii must also follow Food and Drug Administration regulations, which traditional processes don’t allow.
The business is trying to move away from using plastic materials, though “the challenge is finding surfaces that can withstand heat and opportunity—sea salt corrosiveness,” Kelecolio said.
His team has expanded to include seven full-time employees, several part-time employees and event staff – most born in Kama’ina, or Hawaii. That aspect means “they fully appreciate the fact that we’re still carrying on something that’s still an important part of Hawaiian culture,” Kelekolio said.
The Kona Sea Salt Farm sits along the coastline and its salt collection area. (Photo credit: Absence Studios)
He admits that they are not following local customs by selling their salt. But Kelekolio sees products mislabeled as Hawaiian salt in grocery stores, and he’s proud that he and others of Kanaka Ōiwi descent stand behind their products as made in Hawaii.
“We’re actually located in a place where salt was traditionally collected 100 years ago,” says Kelekolio. “It’s really helpful that you have Kanaka to keep it going.”
Editor’s Note: Megan Ulu-Lani Boynton identifies as part-Kanaka Oui.
