Hanging in a Hawaiian treehouse

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WE COULDN'T BRANCH OUT, BUT MOVIEGOERS CAN.(XL Ent).

BY JOE O'CONNELL
Austin American-Statesman
(June 20, 2002): p28


Matt and Melissa Breault stole our Hawaiian treehouse. But that didn't stop us from honeymooning in what Chris Smith's documentary "Home Movie" calls the most beautiful spot on Earth.

Linda Beech opened the Waipi'o Treehouse -- the odd hotel 25 feet up in a monkeypod tree -- in the late '70s in a lush back corner of the sacred Waipi'o Valley on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Two years ago, it was the perfect honeymoon spot for my bride Tiffany and me. I called Linda, but it was taken. Not to worry: "Anthony Kiedis prefers the cottage," she said, dropping the name of the Red Hot Chili Pepper.

We arrived at Kukuihaele and found the Breaults, treehouse-bound honeymooners from Dracut, Mass., enjoying an ice cream cone. Grrrr.

Linda's employee Shawn engaged the four-wheel drive for the slow descent at a 25 percent gradient into the valley below. At the bottom, we took a deep breath, assuming the hard part was over. Then we crossed the river once, twice. Beech's 12-year-old dog Suki barked a greeting and led the way. At the next water crossing, we turned and drove down the river itself for a mile.

Momentarily back on ground, Shawn, a former ski bum who had lived on the beach for a month before Linda hired him, slowed the SUV and grabbed fresh coffee berries from a tree. As we sucked on the red fruit, he told us maybe 60 people live in the valley amid taro patches and mango trees. He said we'd have no phone, no television, no air conditioning, no door locks, but plenty of running spring water and electricity -- both thanks to Papala Waterfall.

We dropped the Breaults at the treehouse first and took a look. Forty steps up we entered a 20-by-10-foot room with a tree trunk dominating its middle. Amenities included a hot plate and a gorgeous view of Papala rushing down the cliffside. A flushable toilet and bath facilities were in separate sheds at the bottom of the staircase.

Tiffany and I gritted our teeth at their luck and made the trek down the road a few yards to the cottage. It was much more spacious than the treehouse, and we knew the Chili Pepper guy was right.

Filmmaker Smith chose Beech's treehouse as one of five odd homes to highlight in "Home Movie," which looks at people living on the fringes of society. There's a missile silo home, a house teeming with cats and a gadgety abode where everything is machine operated. But Smith's personal favorites were an alligator salesman who lives in a houseboat on a Louisiana swamp and the late Beech, an eccentric former cult actress in Japan who until her recent death rented out her idyllic Waipi'o lodgings so travelers could sample this primitive and beautiful rain forest.

At nightfall, a sleepy haze clung to the clifftops. Birds sang, the waterfall roared.

A light rain fell as if on cue and the sun dipped into the horizon. We soon discovered the biggest problem -- bugs, bugs and more bugs. Both the treehouse and cottages were separated from nature only by well-worn screens and a few pieces of Plexiglas. The Treehouse also had Plexiglas in its roof so guests could stare up from bed at the twinkling stars. Mosquito rings and multiple cans of bug spray were provided and necessary. At dusk, a dozen geckos covered the screens to gorge on the bugs that soon began to assault our lamps. Unfortunately there were a lot more bugs than geckos. By 8 p.m. we turned the lights off, crawled into the loft and gave in to the rhythms of the jungle.

We arose at dawn and walked down an overgrown trail to Papala. As the water descends the cliff, it collects in pools. At the bottom, we rested our backs against the rock and let the brisk water flow over us. A 30-foot climb with the aid of a rope is all it took to get to the second, larger pool, which was touted as a remote spot to skinny dip. A very steep and muddy 210-foot climb ended at the third pool. I got about two-thirds of the way up on a morning whim before giving up, my heart beating out a disco song.

Back at the bottom we found a huge, barrel-chested Hawaiian man clad only in shorts and a boar's tusk necklace. His face and arms were tattooed in the traditional Hawaiian arrowhead style. He smiled and told us his family had been taro farmers in the valley for generations. He was back now to care for their graves.

The Waipi'o Valley is considered a sacred place by Hawaiians. Many kings were buried in caves along the steep cliffs.

Their life force is said to protect those who live there. Locals point to a 1946 tsunami and a 1979 flood that devastated the area, but took no lives.

"Feel the mana?" our new Hawaiian friend asked, stretching his arms wide. "It's life. This place has life.