For centuries, this crater has stood above the Kona District on O‘ahu, overlooking the plains from Lēʻahi, also known as Diamond Head, to Puʻuloa in the moku of ʻEwa, with a wide view of Māmala Bay. Sometimes referred to as Punchbowl Crater, today, we call it Pūowaina, the hill of sacrifice. However, in ancient days, only the imu ahi (fire oven), also known as a heiau puhi kanaka (human-burning temple), was referred to as Pūowaina. This sacred spot was on the rim of the crater and overlooked several other heiau in the area, which varied in size and importance, and often functioned in conjunction with ceremonies and rituals involving human sacrifice.
The burning ritual punished those who failed to observe the kapu in regards to the ali‘i and akua. Because the ceremony required that the sacrificial body could not be marred in any way, the lawbreaker was first drowned in the ponds at Kewalo. He did not struggle, in part because he knew his sacrifice was the will of the gods, and, more importantly, because any resistance could result in his family suffering for his lack of cooperation.
When the victim finally showed no signs of life, his body was carried in a solemn and sacred procession to Kānelaʻau Heiau. There, necessary rites were performed to make the sacrifice acceptable to the gods in hopes that they would show favor to the aliʻi. Once the rituals at Kānelaʻau were complete, the kāhuna continued their procession, carrying the body up the slope to the imu ahi stone, set high atop the rim of Pūowaina.
The victim was then laid on a pyre of wood, prayers were recited, and the body was set aflame. There was a crevice in the base of the stone that allowed air to flow through, causing the fires to burn exceptionally hot. While the flames burned, auxiliary ceremonies were performed at the adjoining temples.
Pūowaina provided a strategic vantage point from which Honolulu and the harbor could be observed. In 1816, after the heiau and sacrificial altar were no longer in use, eight cannons were placed atop the rim, facing Honolulu Harbor, to support Fort Kekuanohu. By 1838, the number of cannons increased to 14. The guns that were placed upon the crater were fired to signal the arrival of foreign ships and whenever aliʻi entered or left the harbor. It soon became a tradition to offer cannon salutes to announce royal births, deaths, arrivals, and departures.
Since the hill was no longer sanctified, the crater was used for other purposes. Some people lived in and along the sides of the crater, and its steep slopes were perfect for hōlua sledding. Others enjoyed making their way to the top of the crater to picnic and take in the view of the city and beyond. A favorite spot for visitors was the site of the once-sacred burning temple.
In the early 1900s, large houses were being built on the sides of the crater, and banking institutions began digging their vaults into the slopes. Around the same time, Honolulu faced a cemetery crisis as burial sites within the city were becoming severely overcrowded.
For years, the Board of Health held meetings to discuss the need for a new cemetery, and the interior crater of Pūowaina was suggested. Some officials also objected to the idea on principle.
As one noted, “It is very undesirable to have a cemetery — a city of the dead, so to say — above the city of the living.”
The proposal to use the crater as a cemetery was ultimately rejected because of concerns that it could contaminate the water supply.
The first Easter Service at Pūowaina was held in 1902, and it soon became an annual event. In 1920, a cross was erected for the holiday, and in 1926, a platform was built for the cross on the same grounds where victims were burned upon the imu ahi.
Pūowaina, which was once a kapu temple of sacrifice, then a military post, a homesite, a picnic spot, and a rifle range for the National Guard, once again became a sacred place to worship a different God.
Decades later, a cemetery was finally built within the crater of Pūowaina. Dedicated in 1949 for Americaʻs war dead and military veterans, the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific is the largest national cemetery outside of the continental U.S. Within this hallowed space lie more than 53,000 graves for veterans and eligible family members, the remains of 3,000-4,000 unknown souls, and a memorial for more than 28,000 missing soldiers.
Buried there are veterans representing virtually every era of American military service, including the Spanish-American War, the Boxer Rebellion, World Wars I and II, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, the Gulf War, and the post-9/11 conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is even a memorial dedicated to the brave Native Hawaiians and Hawaiian-born Americans who fought in the Civil War for both the Union and Confederate armies.
The ceremonial burning stone has been demolished to make way for the current overlook. A site that was once under sacred kapu is now visited by nearly three million people a year. But according to witnesses, at least a few of those visitors may not be among the living.
Some say that the huakaʻi pō often travel up the road, across the crater, to the summit where the imu ahi stone once stood. It makes sense, given the sacredness of the processions, when the kāhuna and aliʻi would place their sacrifices on the altar. Others say there are ghosts that roam the cemetery, even during broad daylight.
One woman said she was visiting her father’s grave on a weekday a few years ago, having waited until the Memorial Day crowds had all left. Her visit was like any other; she had a nice chat with her dad, took in the scenery, and enjoyed the peace and quiet. She said she knelt in front of her father’s headstone to dust off some grass and flower petals when she glanced up to see a man walking directly toward her.
As she stood up to greet him, the man smiled, reached out his hand as if to shake hers, and then disappeared. Completely stumped, she plopped right down on the grass and wondered if what she just saw was real.
“He looked kind of young, maybe in his twenties,” she said. “He was in uniform, but it was an older style. Just the flat olive-drab, not the camouflage we see today. He looked so kind. That’s what gets me… his smile.”
The woman never found out who the man could have been. She knows he must have been from the past, based on his uniform, but she didn’t know any of the soldiers who were buried around her father, and she never ran into any of their family members. She likes to think that the mysterious man’s smile meant he was at peace.
Cemeteries and graveyards are often peaceful places, and aren’t always haunted in the way that most people think. Paranormal researchers say that the trauma of dying usually happens elsewhere, and the hauntings we see in cemeteries are often the emotional residue of those who come to visit. But I still don’t think I’d hang out there very long after dark.
The authors can be reached at hawaii.mysteries@gmail.com
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