On the eastern edge of Hilo Bay, the small Waiākea Peninsula was one of the most fertile and abundant landscapes in East Hawaiʻi Island. This peninsula was fed by freshwater streams and springs, creating thriving estuaries that supported generations of skillfully managed agriculture and aquaculture.
Fresh water was diverted from the streams through a system of ʻauwai (ditches) to the loʻi kalo (taro patches) before being returned to the sea. The loko iʻa (fishponds) were carefully maintained, full of mullet and milkfish, shellfish, limu, and other marine life. These food systems provided sustenance not only for the residents of Waiākea but also for the aliʻi that governed the region. By the time the first Western ships arrived in Hilo, the peninsula had already been shaped by centuries of careful stewardship.
Throughout the Waiākea Peninsula stood fishing shrines (koʻa), heiau, family shrines, homes, and burial grounds, creating a landscape where daily life and sacred obligations were inseparable.
Historical accounts describe Kūakaʻananuʻu as a massive heiau that once towered almost 60 feet above the shoreline of Hilo Bay, near the area where the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel now stands and directly across from Mokuola, commonly known as Coconut Island. Unlike many Hawaiian temples, Kūakaʻananuʻu featured a distinctive pyramidal design with two platforms and a central chamber, making it one of the more unusual heiau described in Hawaiʻi.
Dredging, harbor improvements, land reclamation, road construction, and hotel development have substantially altered the landscape over the last two centuries. Since much of the original shoreline was destroyed before modern archaeological documentation, the precise extent of the heiau complex is impossible to determine. However, it is estimated that the heiau occupied what is now the shoreline between Banyan Drive and the bridge to Mokuola and may have been part of or immediately adjacent to the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel.
Kūakaʻananuʻu was a luakini heiau, where men were sacrificed to the gods. There were a number of ceremonies performed during and after a sacrifice that included the body being laid out for several days while kāhuna offered pule (prayers) to the gods. Once the protocol was finished, about 20 days later, the body might be returned to relatives to be stripped. The flesh was thrown into the luapaʻu, a refuse pit in the luakini enclosure, and the bones were taken to the tiny island of Kaulaʻinaiwi to dry.
While Kūakaʻananuʻu has been destroyed, Hawaiians often believe that the mana, the spiritual essence, of the past is not separated from the present. Our kūpuna (ancestors) remain connected to the places they lived in and loved. The sacred ground of Waiākea was never just a piece of land. It is a living landscape shaped by generations of people from ancient moʻolelo to modern history. It is perhaps fitting, then, that stories continue to emerge from this place long after the voices of earlier generations have faded.
For years, people have shared their tales of strange events at the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel. Many of those reports involve guests watching spheres of light dancing about their rooms. These silent orbs are said to be visible to the naked eye and drift from corner to corner unimpeded. No source for the lights could be found: no headlights from outside, no reflections, and no malfunctioning electronics. Witnesses insist that they were wide awake, certain of what they saw.
Two former housekeepers at the hotel have said these experiences are not uncommon. One of them said she tried to ignore any weird happenings, kept her head down, and cleaned the rooms as quickly as possible.
Far more unsettling are the accounts of guests startled from sleep without explanation, heart racing for no apparent reason. When they look around, they see an elderly man dressed in old-style clothing, standing at the foot of the bed or resting against the wall. He remains silent and still, watching them until he vanishes moments later.
One friend shared that one year, as hundreds of hula dancers and spectators descended upon Hilo for the Merrie Monarch Festival, the women of her halau stayed at the Hilo Hawaiian Hotel. One night, she awoke to the sound of electricity crackling near the bathroom. An elderly woman suddenly appeared, floated a bit near the window, and then settled on the edge of her bed. The kupuna wore a mu‘umu‘u with a handkerchief around her neck and a papale (hat) on her head. Unfortunately, my friend said that even with the soft, warm light of the morning sun, she didn’t recognize her silent visitor.
Even though the landscape of a place changes, imprints of the past often remain. The Waiākea Peninsula has been inhabited for hundreds of years. Who were these ghostly visitors and what did they have to do with this particular location?
The authors can be reached at hawaii.mysteries@gmail.com
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