Danger, tragedy stalk Hawai'i's 'opihi pickers
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| Arlito Cablay drapes a lei over the memorial cross near the water's edge at Maliko, Maui, just steps from the site where his brother, Wilmar, was swept to his death while picking 'opihi last year.
Bruce Asato • The Honolulu Advertiser |
By Sara Lin
Advertiser Staff Writer
Arlito Cablay keeps a picture of his brother Wilmar in the family room. Next to the picture is his brother's 'opihi knife, his 'opihi bag, and a strand of 'opihi shells.
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A few miles down the road on Maui's rocky Maliko coastline sits a small cross with one of Wilmar's T-shirts on the rocks below it. For almost a year following his brother's death, Arlito visited the cliff-side daily with a lei.
Arlito Cablay and his brother, Teddy, set up the memorial to Wilmar along the Maliko coast.
The memorial was assembled on Feb. 20, 2002, when a fire-rescue crew found Wilmar's body 50 yards off shore. A pile of 'opihi and Wilmar's knife were found on a nearby rock the previous day.
In the past 18 months at least six people have died while picking 'opihi, a prized Hawaiian delicacy that grows in treacherous splash zones where waves crash against razor-sharp lava rocks. Picking 'opihi is a dangerous proposition, and harvesters regularly risk their lives wading through surf for a handful of quarter-sized shells.
Arlito remembers the scene well: he was supposed to go with his brother that morning, but Wilmar wouldn't wait. Had he awakened in time, Arlito figures he could have saved his brother, who would now be 32. He still talks to his brother's picture every night, telling him what he did that day.
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"Before, we all used to go — me and my brothers and father," says Arlito, 28. "I don't go picking anymore. It brings back memories."
Arlito Cablay holds a strand of 'opihi shells next to his family's shrine for Wilmar, adorned with remembrances, pictures, religious artifacts and shells.
It's not an overstatement to call 'opihi Hawai'i's deadly delicacy.
On O'ahu, Capt. Kevin Allen of Windward Ocean Safety says rescuers sometimes find themselves called on to help two or three pickers on any given day and then have no rescues for months. "It comes with the changes in the wind" and corresponding wave conditions, Allen says. Fire officials on Moloka'i and Maui estimate they handle one or two rescues a year. On Kaua'i and Lana'i, rescues are seldom needed.
On the Big Island, where 'opihi are more prevalent, fire dispatchers say they handle anywhere from five to 10 'opihi-related rescues a year. In April, an 18-year old Na'alehu man died picking 'opihi in Ka'u. A 56-year-old man believed to have gone 'opihi picking in Keauhou has been missing since January.
Just last month, the Waiakea Fire Station rescued an 'opihi picker in Honoka'a. The young man had been scaling a cliff when he fell about 50 feet.
Despite the dangers, 'opihi picking is a Hawaiian tradition. It's also a lucrative business.
'Opihi can sell for as much $225 a gallon on O'ahu, where 'opihi are scarcer than on other islands. On O'ahu, it's said that any person clever enough to know where to find 'opihi on the island is also smart enough to keep the location a secret. Some store owners take it a step further and refuse to even give the names of their local suppliers.
"I've been diving for 10 years, been chased by sharks, but never have I gotten into as much danger as when I go pick 'opihi," says Ricky Torres, a commercial 'opihi picker on the Big Island.
Glenn Tanoue, owner of Tropic Fish and Vegetable Center, doesn't begrudge paying his pickers a premium price.
"There's a demand for it," he says. "And they deserve every penny that they get. I like to eat it. But as far as going where these pickers go? No."
Danger zone
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idou Phouthavong is balancing on a small cliff on the North Shore when his friend yells, "Wave!"
Duke Brown of Ha'iku, Maui, knife in hand, looks for appropriately sized 'opihi at Maliko while also keeping an eye on the nearby waves. Because of the dangers in collecting the Hawai'i delicacy, pickers can fetch top dollar from local fish markets.
With that, Phouthavong grabs the rock face in front of him and braces as a set of waves wash over him.
When it's relatively clear, Phouthavong crouches and resumes plucking 'opihi off the rockface with his knife, dropping them one by one into the mesh bag tied to his waist. Experience tells him he has about a minute before the next set of waves rolls in.
But even with a firm grip and tabis on his feet it's easy to be knocked off balance. Waves can slam a picker against the cliff leaving the person unconscious and helpless.
Phouthavong picks every few months for himself with friends. 'Opihi picking is something he has done since he was a teen.
Keiki who grow up on fish and poi, 'opihi and limu-kohu learn from fathers and uncles how to slide their butter knives under the 'opihi with one deft motion, dislodging it from the rock before it has a chance to stick. Veteran pickers know that if you don't get your blade under the 'opihi on the first try, there's no prying it off the rock.
"The idea is to get really really close, and clip it with the butter knife right underneath. As soon as you pop it up, hopefully your left hand doesn't drop it," says Derald Kam of Waimanalo.
Most 'opihi pickers are well-versed in rules of the ocean. Yet, the lure of 'opihi is so strong it causes every harvester to break the cardinal rule of island life: Never turn your back on the ocean.
Phouthavong gets by on this day with his friend watching his back, calling out the waves as Phouthavong picks.
Pickers who work alone, such as Wilmar Cablay, don't always hear the waves coming.
Scarce commodity
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While there's a loose-knit network of commercial 'opihi pickers who supply local fish markets, picking the limpets is difficult enough that most people pick only for their own family.
The family memorial to Wilmar includes old photographs and other remembrances.
"On O'ahu, you hardly get any 'opihi; it's all picked out already," says Larry Hinojosa of Wai'anae. "They pick so much and don't even let it grow. You find quarter size, if you're lucky. If you get bigger than that, wow. They don't even pick that on the outer island. That's like baby stuff."
Even where 'opihi is plentiful, pickers can be territorial. "You have to know the people that live there, call them out of respect and ask if it's OK (to pick 'opihi)," Hinojosa says.
Like many people who grew up on the west side, Hinojosa spends a lot of time in the ocean. Surfing, diving, fishing — whatever suits his mood. Picking 'opihi has been a regular event, too.
"It was the thing to do on a flat day," Hinojosa says. "You'd check out a place and see if get 'opihi. You give it to family and friends. Everybody happy 'cause everybody get 'opihi."
Lee Loeffler, who grew up on the Big Island, says 'opihi was a tasty snack kids could find on a rock wall without looking too hard when he was younger.
"When I was a kid, you get hungry, you either pick 'opihi or throw net and catch some fish," says Loeffler, 46. "The younger generation is not as apt as we were as kids. It's easier to drive to McDonald's. In my days, we didn't have McDonald's."
As the easy-to-reach 'opihi spots have been overharvested through the years, only the more remote — and more dangerous — spots remain.
" 'Opihi are unique to Hawai'i and they've disappeared. ... Let's face it, it's not something that can swim away from you," says Dave Gulko of the Department of Land and Natural Resources.
Local tradition
Arlito and Wilmar Cablay learned to pick under the watchful eyes of their father and an uncle before they were teenagers.
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On that same Maliko cliff where Wilmar died, the family would sit and talk story while spooning fresh 'opihi into their mouths. Arlito remembers Wilmar's fingers getting bitten by eels as he reached underwater for the really big 'opihi.
A roadside memorial just off Hana Highway marks a point overlooking the area where Wilmar Cablay was swept to his death last year while picking 'opihi. His brother Arlito regularly leaves lei there.
They used to call each other "Bagis," which Arlito has now etched under the words "Miss You Bro" on the inside of his bedroom door. It's a shrine he looks at every morning when he wakes up.
The thought that he could have gotten out of bed earlier and gone to pick 'opihi with his brother still haunts Arlito. They worked as truck drivers for the same Maui pineapple company and played basketball together on weekends.
It was Wilmar's day off. Arlito was supposed to go picking with him, but the water was calm that morning, and Wilmar wasn't about to wait for his brother to wake up. Wilmar picked for himself and his family almost every weekend and had been going back to that same spot in Maliko for the past month.
Wilmar parked his truck alongside the Hana Highway, as he always did, and followed a narrow dirt path toward the cliff.
When Arlito came home that night his brother's truck was still parked on the side of the highway.
"My father said my brother still never come home, but we never think anything of it," Arlito says.
When Wilmar didn't come home the following morning, the family went looking for him. Arlito found a pile of 'opihi and his brother's knife on a rock. A fire-rescue crew found Wilmar's body the next day.
"Me and my brother were close," Arlito says. "He was like everything to me."
Only their father still picks 'opihi. Wilmar's 10-year-old son, Isiah, still comes by the house on weekends and Arlito takes him shopping.
"I tell Isiah no worries, he's watching you," Arlito says. "He was a good man, a good dad."
Arlito no longer picks 'opihi, but he values it more.
"Now to me 'opihi is like gold," he says. "Waste not."
Reach Sara Lin at slin@honoluluadvertiser.com.
