Some simply call it "the bush." Others refer to it as O'ahu's "Wild West." To police who patrol the mile-long stretch of shrubs and dense underbrush in the island's lonesome and remote corridor past Kea'au Beach Park, it's known as "No Man's Land."

Folks who peer through the thicket at makeshift huts, junked cars and barking dogs as they nervously drive past on the rural two-lane blacktop say the location has a forbidding, lawless, dangerous, air about it.

That's not without good reason, according to John Ayat, 59, a veteran Wai'anae Coast police sergeant who retired in 2005, and who has spent as much time in the bush beyond Kea'au Beach Park as anyone who doesn't live there.

"It is frightening to look at," Ayat said. "There have been homicides in there. There have been dead bodies found rolled up in a tarp in there. There have been assaults, and sexual assaults and all that kind of thing in there."

However, a handful of city and state officials recently ventured into the volatile area under police escort to take stock of the situation. And, at least on this day, they found little to be alarmed at other than an abundance of barking dogs.

Kaulana Park, the state's homeless solutions coordinator, was among the officials who ventured into the area on Feb. 16.

He said the purpose of their visit was to assess the conditions under which the bush homeless are living, ascertain how the area can be cleaned up and determine what can be done to deter any drug activity.

Their tour and a subsequent visit approved for The Advertiser provide a rare glimpse of those who inhabit this rugged area, which is mostly on city and county land.

An estimated 100 homeless people live here, individuals beyond the reach of social support systems and the state's efforts to provide a roof and a bed for the coast's unsheltered. A high percentage are part-Hawaiian.

NO SHELTERS FOR THEM

Jeremiah Lopez, a former Kea'au Beach Park inhabitant and recovering methamphetamine addict, said the bush dwellers differ from other homeless groups in one fundamental way.

He said the bush people are a group apart from either the stereotypical chronic homeless with drug, alcohol and mental problems, or the newly homeless who were thrust onto the beaches as a result of rents that doubled in the past five years.

Both of those groups are generally amenable to assistance and living in shelters, he said. Not so for the bush dwellers.

"The majority of these guys here are not really interested in getting into shelters," said Lopez, 51, who now lives at the state's Onelauena transitional shelter at Kalaeloa.

"They're more like the hidden, hidden homeless. They prefer to live their lives this way."

Sharlene Sotelo, who has lived in the bush for most of a decade, comes right out and says it.

"A shelter? No way. I ain't going there. I'm not going in somewhere where I've got to follow their program. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. I want to stay right here."

Sotelo, 50, prefers to follow her own rules.

Like most of her neighbors in the bush, she has an enterprise. The part-Puerto Rican, part-Hawaiian woman sells handmade shell bracelets and necklaces from a roadside stand near her amazingly spacious tent quarters neatly tucked in the shade of the jungle.

On each side of the path leading to her tent flap, Sotelo has fashioned a manicured "lawn" of sand and potted plants. She creates the jewelry herself from shells she collects by the sea.

"This is how I survive," she said. "Every day, I go on the beach for one or two hours and pick up whatever I don't have."

FINDING WAYS TO COPE

Sotelo's resourcefulness is a common denominator among this population. Some keep a gas generator in their lean-to or tent to supply electricity. If the generator breaks down, the man to go to is Ke'ali'i Kepano, 46, a bush dweller with a knack for fixing anything. Kepano also keeps chickens for fresh eggs, and goats for milk.

Sandra Miyoshi, homeless program branch administrator for the Hawai'i Public Housing Authority, said the bush people seem to find a pattern of living that works for them, and avoid alternatives.

"They may be coping better, which is why they resist any kind of assistance," Miyoshi said. She wasn't with officials who toured the bush area recently but is familiar with the homeless people of extreme western O'ahu.

Not far from Sotelo's compound is an encampment occupied by Derek Stabilio, 39, his uncle, Stanley Kanae, 65, and their poi pit bull puppy, Manu. Stabilio is originally from Kalihi and at one time lived in Kaka'ako Park.

For the past year, he and Kanae have lived in the woods west of Kea'au Beach Park. For money, the two collect and recycle scrap metal. Stabilio, an Army veteran who was stationed in Germany, says he also does construction work, carpentry and the occasional odd job when he can find it.

While Stabilio and Kanae are familiar with their neighbors, they say it's best to keep to themselves.

"Nobody really bothers you or anything," Stabilio said. "You don't want to associate too much with other people living like we do. Otherwise, if there's a domestic problem you become part of it. It's bad enough trying to survive and be self-sufficient, because I don't go for welfare or anything like that.

"It's a kind of lonely life. I would recommend this lifestyle to people who are sort of distracted."

Few if any children live in the bush, another distinct difference from the newly homeless Wai'anae Coast beach dwellers, fully one-third of whom are under age.

Kanae, who is half-Hawaiian, half-Portuguese, said if he had children he might not make his home in the bush inside what is left of a pickup camper. As it is, though, he would just as soon stay in the bushes.

"It's a tough life, yeah," he said. "But I'm not interested in going to a shelter. I'd rather just stay here if it's not inconvenient to anybody."

Reach Will Hoover at whoover@honoluluadvertiser.com.