What Kolea Can Teach Us About Travel and Our Purpose
A small golden brown bird runs quickly across the dirt in front of me, racing toward grass on stick legs. I am five years old and have no interest in birds. I want to pretend to be a unicorn on the playground, but I like the look of this one. His small stature, wide brown eyes, and spottled feathers make him look friendly as he shifts on those chopstick legs and bolts into the sky after pecking the grass.
This is Kolea, a Pacific Golden Plover. I would learn that his a regular visitor to this place, and would return to my school campus year after year. He is not always as friendly as he first seemed to me, territorial when it comes to his designated grounds, but he is a welcome visitor (especially when he eats some of the centipedes).
Though I never intentionally looked for him, my body would always feel a sense of relief when I spotted the litle body on two stick legs running across the fields of my campus (where I attended grades Kindergarten-12th grade) at the start of each school year.
What Kolea Has Taught Me About Finding My Purpose
The magic of migration
I wasn’t much into biology or science in school. My world was wrapped up in socializing, art, theater, and movies. (I was in my twenties when I finally realized how fascinating and magical our world was with electric eels creating electricity with stacked cells, trees miraculously pulling water to their branches, and the cyclical nature of salmon and trees).
Still, there was no way Kolea’s awe-invoking journey could not leave me curious and filled with the questions: “how” and “why”. To me, this was (and still is) an entirely magical phenomenon.
This bird, this teeny-tiny bird, travels all the way from Alaska and Siberia to Hawaii (~3,000 miles). They do it every single year.
I went to Alaska when I was ten years old. I witnessed its wild beauty, the raw jaws of its forests, and the heart-thundering soul of its wildlife. It had been so different from what I experienced at home in Hawaii.
How could this little bird call both of these places home?
How could it navigate (without a map) to the same place every year?
How could it find its way on that first journey, without ever having been there before?
It’s been challenging to understand how many migratory bird species there are, but according to the US Fish & Wildlife Service, 1,106 bird species are protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act.
I’m a romantic. I think it’s both one of my best qualities and one of my biggest faults. It’s what draws me to fiction stories and what sent me to college for a Creative Writing degree.
It’s also what leaves an ache in my heart when I think of the concept “meant to be.” I love the notion of being drawn to something without totally understanding why.
In storytelling, the hero’s journey is often spurred on by a call from the unknown, a higher power. This call then leads the protagonist on a quest through treacherous challenges. These challenges are part of what makes the journey significant. Without the trials, the hero would not be worthy or a hero at all.
From what I can understand, Kolea goes through a hero’s journey every year. It hears the call for life somewhere else, it faces the treacherous journey of thousands of miles without stopping (3-4 days of flight), to land in Hawaii where it can rest and feed.
That higher power, pulling the Koleas’ heartstrings to their summer homes and back to their winter habitats, is survival. A need to escape the Siberian conditions.
I am privileged enough to not fear for my survival.
The call I feel is driven by something else, but it is a call all the same. I think I’ve been ignoring it for too long, blocking it out because I know it will force me to experience challenges and discomfort. I’ve ignored it so long, I almost cannot hear it anymore.
Kolea reminds me to listen.
Migratory restlessness
Zugunruhe - A German word for what happens when migratory birds are captive and cannot travel with their wild counterparts. They become restless.
I know this feeling as well.
It is burning inside me now that I’ve opened my heart to listen to my own migratory call.
The relief I seek from this feeling can be found through action. If those birds who were captive could fly, they would, and their wings would thank them.
What the Kolea has Taught Me About Being a Visitor
The Pacific Golden Plover and Hawaii
I am not alone in my joy at seeing the Kolea return to Hawaii.
We wait for this bird and mark its return.
If I were a scientist or true birder, I might track when I see my first bird of the season or use colored bands like Wally and his son. I might refer to this little bird by its other name, Pluvialis fulva.
But I am not a scientist by profession, so instead, delight tickles my bones when I see them racing across the sandy shore of Kailua Beach as I walk from one end to the other with my mom during my winters at home.
In my head, I sing the song we were taught in grade school.
Kahuli aku
Kahuli mai
Kahuli lei ‘ula
Lei akolea
Kolea, kolea
Ki’i ka wai
Wai akolea
Wai akolea
It’s a song about the Hawai’is native tree snails (Kahuli) who are asking the Kolea to bring them a drink of water.
I read somewhere that the word Kolea can now be used to refer to those outsiders who come to the islands and use them to their advantage, then leave without giving anything in return.
This makes me sad. I am not a native Hawaiian. Though my dad was born and raised on Oahu and his mother and father were raised on Oahu and the Big Island, there is still the feeling of being an outsider.
When friends visit, I warn them that not everyone there likes tourists.
But I like to think of this song as a guide, not only when I instruct visitors about how to behave when they flying to Hawaii, but also when I travel in general.
To me, this song is about reciprocity; a visitor can become someone who is not a stranger, someone who is beloved, trusted, and relied on.
The native tree snails know Kolea, they have seen him for many years, they know that if they ask, he will help them, and give them the water they crave. Kolea is no longer a stranger, but someone they sing to.
I think we can take it a step further.
We can give back to those places and communities we visit (whether we’re traveling far or to a new neighborhood) without having to be asked. We can look for ways to say ‘thank you’ to the places and the people we meet. We can be patient should they not be ready to greet us as friends just yet, reminding ourselves that others have come and have not given them the water they need, instead turning away once they have taken the resources they came for.
I think of this with my relationship to Kolea as well. If I appreciate seeing this little bird every year, I should be aware of what’s happening with its environment. It is affected by the changing climate and its nesting grounds (low vegetation areas where they can lay their ground nests).
