The Sacredness of the Koʻa — Part II: The Voices of Wind, the Presence of Spirit

1. The Wind as Messenger

Old fishers spoke of winds that could speak or weave. A gust moving through the valley could twist a strand of grass, a piece of cord, or even the ʻupena (net) itself into a shape — a gift left by spirits. These were not coincidences. The makani carried the voices of ancestors, guiding the lawaiʻa to the right tide, or warning him when silence was required.

“Ke hanu o ka makani, ka leo o nā kūpuna.”
The breath of the wind is the voice of the ancestors.

Sometimes, the fisher would find something hanging in the breeze — a leaf, a cord, a small fishbone charm. It would appear suddenly, as though woven from air. The next day it would vanish. That was how the ocean spoke — through momentary signs too subtle for those rushing to capture instead of observe.

2. The Dangers of Forgetting

Modern excitement often replaces respect. In today’s age of performance and social media, the spirit of kilo — slow observation — fades beneath the hype of quick success. Those who chase images instead of connection forget that the koʻa has its own guardians. Ignorance is not evil, but it is dangerous; the ocean never forgets its agreements.

• Visiting and paying homage: bring acknowledgment to those who maintain old practices, not exploitation.
• Good practice before presence: enter any place with understanding of its rhythm — not for proof, but for participation.
• Silence as offering: sometimes the most sacred act is not to cast, but to stand and listen.

“He ʻaha ka ʻupena inā ʻaʻohe aloha i loko?”
What is a net worth if there is no love within it?

3. The Spirits of the Wind and Sea

Those who lived by the ocean understood that spirit could manifest — not as ghost or fear, but as energy made visible. The wind might suddenly weave a strand of seaweed around a pole, or a faint outline might shimmer on the water’s skin. Japanese and Hawaiian traditions both speak of this — of eo, the lingering echo of presence that appears between worlds. It is proof that life continues to move even after the body has gone.

When this happens, old fishers say: don’t chase it, don’t photograph it, don’t speak of it with pride. Just nod, say mahalo, and carry on quietly. The wind does not perform for applause — it reveals itself to those who still believe.

4. Returning Awareness to Practice

To fish by kilo is to let awareness return to the center of the work. Watch the shadows of clouds moving across water. Feel how the wind changes tone when fish schools pass beneath. Smell the air for minerals, for rain, for life. These are the languages of the sea — the ancient science that precedes devices or algorithms.

Reviving this awareness is not nostalgia; it is survival. It keeps balance between humanity and the ocean’s rhythm, allowing future generations to fish with humility rather than entitlement.

5. A Call to Modern Lawaiʻa

Every thrower of the net today stands between two worlds — the ancient one of sacred attention and the modern one of spectacle. The challenge is to bring them together without losing the soul of the craft. Filming and sharing are not wrong if done with intent to educate, but they must never replace reverence. Visit the elders, those who still kilo before casting. Offer respect before results. Remember that each wind still holds a name and each tide carries memory.

“E hālau ka makani, e hoʻolohe ka naʻau.”
Let the wind move, and let the heart listen.

6. The Lesson of the Wind

The wind reminds the lawaiʻa that the invisible is never gone. The spirits do not live only in stories — they live in the air that fills the sail, the gust that lifts the net, the silence that follows a throw. When the wind turns warm and soft after days of absence, it is said the ancestors are near again. That is the moment to look, not with eyes, but with awareness.

The sacredness of the koʻa continues not in temples or altars, but in this living attention — the constant, humble conversation with the unseen that has always made fishing in Hawaiʻi more than work. It is a prayer in motion, a thank you whispered to every breeze.

Footnotes

1. Malo, Hawaiian Antiquities — “Winds, Spirits, and the Sacred Practice of Fishing.”
2. Titcomb, Native Use of Fish in Hawaiʻi (1948).
3. Pukui, ʻŌlelo Noʻeau — “Ke hanu o ka makani, ka leo o nā kūpuna.”
4. Bishop Museum Archives — oral accounts of wind spirits and fishing rituals, Hilo and Kona coasts.
5. “Hawaiʻi Goes Fishing” television segment, Uluwa Fishing Feature — testimony on kilo and sacred observation practices.