The district of Kahikinui on the southeastern coast of Maui is famous for its vast lava fields, relentless winds and barren landscape. Populated for centuries by native Hawaiians, even the most rugged of today's outdoosmen would consider the terrain unaccommodating. It's shoreline, however, has always attracted fishermen from all over the island, whether it be for menpachi, moi or ulua. My grandfather, Henry Daniels, was one of those men.

The morning of January 9, 1965 found him driving along that all too familiar stretch of road through Kula, and on past Ulupalakua. Accompanied by his two partners, Ken McGuire and Bob Fernandez, the three friends had planned a two night fishing trip to a spot called ‘Monument', which had produced many ulua for them in the past. Arriving at mid-morning, they set up camp and cast their poles in hopes of a daytime strike.

Catching small game was easy at Monument, and in no time all poles were baited. At around 10:30am, one of my grandfather' s poles took an intense strike, nearly draining his 6/0 Penn Senator. The Lamiglass rod arched under the pressure for nearly 45 minutes until the fish, which had taken a live moana, surfaced in front of the point. It was the largest ulua the trio had ever seen.

Brought to gaff, carried up the cliff and bled, the massive fish now hung from the pole racks of his truck. They had been at their fishing spot for less than three hours of a two night trip and had already landed an ulua which they all agreed was well over one hundred pounds. With no cooler large enough to accommodate the huge fish, they kept it cool by wrapping it with wet burlap. After some discussion, the group decided that they would cut their trip short and return home the next morning. That night, the three friends put together a nice mixed bag of small game, but no other ulua were caught. Morning came and the group packed up and headed for Kahului. When finally weighed, and although showing obvious signs of dehydration from over 24 hours of exposure, the impressive fish still tipped the scales at one hundred pounds even.

My grandfather has since passed away, but I know that he is with me every time that I pack up for an outing "behind the mountain". Every year, I try to plan a trip to the Kahikinui coast around the same weekend that he did so many years ago, and January of ‘96 was no different. The Maui Bowhunters archery club, of which I am a member, had organized a work party on the weekend of January 12th to help the Department of Hawaiian Homelands pick up trash at Kahikinui Homesteads. In return, our club receives hunting access as part of their game management strategy.

Since we were spending the night and hunting the next morning, it was suggested that we set up camp at Monument so that the fishermen in our club could give it a go. After the work was done, the caravan of 4-wheel drives made its way down the long, bumpy road to the ocean.

After setting up camp, we cast our poles, slid down some bait, then sat down to dinner and exchanged stories of hunting and fishing trips past. Stomachs full and dishes done, small game was the call and the gang picked up a nice variety of menpachi, a'weo'weo, kumu and ta'ape. The clock struck ten, and with an early morning hunt planned, we all decided to hit the sack.

At 11:40pm, the silence was broken with the clanging of a familiar bell followed by the sound of line being ripped from a Penn extended 6/0. One of my buddies, who had laid his bed nearest the poles, jumped on the bucking rod as I tried to get out of my sleeping bag.

The initial run was impressive as the fish drained nearly 150 yards of line in a long, steady pull. I was at first unable to pull the pole from its spike, so we waited until the fish slowed, then I quickly yanked the rod from its place in the rocks. I decided to put some pressure on the fish by adding more drag and braced myself as he tried to steal more line. The #80 Varioptic line was whistling with tension as we watched the tip of the Fenglass 16810 arching in the direction of the run. After about twenty minutes, I was able to retrieve about three-quarters of the line lost during the fishes first run. It was then that he decided to make another attempt at freedom and was headed for a shallow reef on the far right side of the bay, forcing me to lock up on the brakes. Luckily, he turned and came back left, crossing directly in front of the point. My back was aching but my heart starting pounding when I saw the Bimini and Albright knots break the surface. Once I got a couple of wraps of the #300 monofilament into the reel, I knew the fish would be coming up soon. My partner sunk the gaff "commercial style" and the fish was on the rocks at 12:25am. It had taken a slide of frozen tako and had hit on the peak high tide on the first day of the moon's last quarter phase.

It was extremely hard to concentrate during my hunt the next morning, so I cut it short, as I was quite anxious to get home and weigh the ulua. Upon our arrival home, we scaled the fish which ended up weighing 88 pounds. My first fish for that year and still my largest to date.

My grandfather's smile must have stretched form ear to ear that night as he had always told me to "be patient, one day you'll hook a big one". Having caught it at the same spot, and on the same weekend that he landed his 100-pounder is very special to me, and I'd like to think that he helped steer that fish into the bay that night. One thing I do know, if you ask me where I'll be, come the first or second weekend of the New Year, you can put money down that I'll be fishing ‘my grandfathers spot'.

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