A Very Strange Fisherman

A one-hour horticultural tour in Maui changed the way I saw the tropical landscape.

Joe Ahpuck, a Hawaiian fisherman known locally for his abundance of fishing derby awards, took a detour in high school when a teacher gave each of his classmates 10 hibiscus cuttings with instructions: “to make them grow.” At the end of the term, Joe was the only student who still had 10 healthy plants. He became president of the Ag club for the next four years. “I was the teacher’s pet,” he says with a prankish grin, “that’s how I learned about gardening in the tropics.”

Joe has been tending the grounds at Napili Kai Beach Resort for 33 years. Every Thursday morning, anywhere from two to 20 interested guests trail him around the 11-acre property for a one-hour Horticultural tour guaranteed to alert all senses to the staggering abundance of the tropics. Even non-gardening vacationers are charmed by Joe’s chain of vibrant stories laced with hints of Hawaiian legend grafted onto modern-day gardening lore.

“Everything behind me in this section is edible, and likely found in most people’s yards here on Maui,” he says as he begins the tour.

He introduces a mountain apple about the size of a tennis ball; red skin on the outside and white crunchy meat on the inside. The only difference between this one and the regular variety of apples is the single pit. “These are the trees you find fruiting in July or August along the side of the Road to Hana,” he continues.

Each guest accumulates a brilliantly coloured bouquet of just-picked, transient blooms – fragrant white ginger, grapefruit hibiscus, waxy plumeria usually found in Hawaiian leis, and occasionally, Joe slaps a hefty fresh green lime straight off the tree into each palm of a popeyed guest. There are other trees with edible fruit: lychee, sugar cane, avocado, tangerine, vanilla bean, orange and papaya.

Fisherman and horticulturalist Joe Ahpuck offers guests slow-roasted meat during a luau. Photo by Daryl Jones.

Joe pulls out a scary big knife, halves an overripe, juicy Hawaiian orange and passes it around. I hold it close to my face, close my eyes and inhale. Tangy aroma seeps into my nostrils and makes my mouth water.

“These are watermelon papayas,” he says as he quickly moves us through his surfside garden. “I used to have trees that were 14 feet tall, but when we started to get 10-pound papayas, I removed the trees and replaced them with shorter, safer plants. As a family resort, we have young children playing in the area, so I remove anything I think might be a liability.”

“When I started working here, I was told we might not have much growing at ocean level, so I put these fruit plants behind the buildings to protect them from the salt spray.”

Dominant trade winds normally come from the northeast, but three or four times a year, the southerlies blow the salt from the ocean right onto the property. On those days, Joe and his helpers shift their agenda. They come in early, rinse everything, soak all the soil, flush the salt and fertilize – otherwise the non-native plants die.

In our tour, he moves from one super-healthy plant to the next and describes the world of native and introduced varieties of tropical flora under his care.

The club-like clusters of vivid red ginger are not edible, just eye candy, without a scent. “You can’t eat it, you can’t smoke it, and you can’t make medicine out of it,” Joe says; “it’s introduced flora. If you look into the history, most native Hawaiian plants are purposeful.”

He shows us splashy spreads of raspberry-ice bougainvillea, a hybrid often planted in highway mediums because it is beautiful, requires little care, and was bred to handle carbon monoxide.

After being told by friends that it wouldn’t work, Joe started tying orchids to trees. We witness the success of a variety of his grafting efforts. Orchids abound, and exquisite plants are placed in every guest room.

“If you look up at this tree you will see half red flowers and half white,” he says; “I grafted this together 30 years ago. Both were plumeria, so it worked. You can’t graft macadamia to watermelon.”

I tell Joe I think he is a very strange fisherman. He laughs.

My hands are full of tropical garden creations that were invisible to me before the tour. We sniff our way through the hour, swamped with delicate and powerful scents. The bird-of-paradise, the spiral ginger, and the fragrant ylang-ylang, used in cosmetics, all overwhelm us with their fantastical beauty.

Joe put in Crown flowers about eight months ago to try to attract Monarch butterflies. Caterpillars have appeared. Joe is hopeful.

He tells us the genetic makeup of a banana tree is air and water. “Feel this,” he says. He offers each of us a piece of plant that looks solid but is light-weight and has little substance – sort of like the plant equivalent of a bubble-filled Aero chocolate bar. He sticks his knife in the tree and it pierces easily as though the woody plant were non-solid. When he pulls his knife out, the tree instantly seals itself, as if bewitched.

“This 12-year-old tree is called ulu or breadfruit and will need to be cut down. See how the roots are rotten? This is the third tree I have needed to cut down in 30 years,” he says. Joe’s sensitive care of his breadfruit tree makes me wonder if our fisherman guide is channeling the horticultural skills of an ancient Polynesian gardener.

Joe has to cut spaces through the overhead foliage, so the sun reaches the underplants and the PV panels on the roofs of the two-story buildings. No high-rises on this sandy cove.

He helps us distinguish between the Triangle palms, Fishtail palms, the false palms, the Traveler’s palms, the Foxtail palms and the Manila palms from the Philippines. As an aside, he points out one of the trees he planted 12 years ago in the decaying remains of an old coconut tree. The new growth has never needed fertilizer. I recognize a 15-foot tall version of the poinsettia plant we have in little pots at home.

Joe directs a pointed finger across the landscape to Spaghetti, Cup and Saucer, Prince Edward, and Indian Blanket – all 40-year-old hedges that were in the ground before he started to work at Napili Kai Beach Resort. He regards the sturdy bushes kindly, almost as if they are respected elders.

Flowers are arranged by colour all over the property. You can bring Joe a flower from anywhere and he can tell you where it is from and the history of the plant.

Joe claims to have 65 of the 70 colour-combinations varieties of hibiscus. The biggest brilliant yellow hibiscus on the property is called the Hula Girl – nearly 2.5-metres tall. He plants things and if they don’t do well within two weeks, he moves them. His plants invariably turn into champions.

Husband and wife work on the overnight task of steaming meat in a modern day imu (earth oven). Photo by Daryl Jones.

He takes us past the “breast cancer shuffleboard area” where all the hibiscus flowers are pink. We ogle hanging heliconias, snowflake hibiscus, and a lace hibiscus – with a wash of tiny little holes in all the leaves.

Joe’s appreciation for the artistry of horticulture is inspiring. You cannot help but soak up his love of flora and fauna. His garden forms the heart of a business started 60 years ago by three Canadians. A preponderance of magnificent patches of skunk cabbage with luxurious clumps of leaves and large yellow blossoms lit up a peaceful ocean-side landscape and beckoned the trio to dream of creating a Maui resort. The resort is still 25 per cent Canadian-owned today.

I chatted with a young mother of three boys who told me she was a landscape developer and has come here with her family since she was a child. She says her holiday is never complete without a long, plant-based chat with Joe.

At sunset, I run into Joe as he is preparing for a private luau for one of the staff who is retiring after 30 years. He has offered to cook the feast to honour his colleague. Joe’s wife joins him under the breadfruit tree, to help with the overnight task of steaming meat in a modern day imu (earth oven). I ask how she found a husband who could excel at fishing, gardening and cooking such a feast. She tells me her husband of 32 years is a “good provider.” Joe Ahpuck’s diversity of skills are rooted in a primal Hawaiian past, where resourcefulness was king.

Joe places banana and ti leaves on the bottom of the outdoor cooker. He explains they are for “aromatic effect.”

By 8:30 the next morning, some 12 hours later, the meat is cooked, and Joe and two colleagues open the heavy tinfoil parcels. Juice runs. The smell of cooked roasts permeates the warm morning air. Meat falls away from the bones and the large serving trays fill up under deft hands.

Joe extends a plate of meat, offering samples, and looks at me with a face full of satisfaction. “It doesn’t get any better than this,” he says.

Thelma Fayle is a Canadian freelance writer. She was a paying guest at Napili Kai Beach Resort. thelma.fayle@shaw.ca