Agriculture, Power, and Community in Kaupō, Maui

Home , David Malo, Heiau, History of Maui, Luakini

On the Cloak of Kings: Agriculture, Power, and Community in Kaupō, Maui

Alexander Underhill Baer

A dissertation submitted in partial satisfaction of the

requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Anthropology

in the

Graduate Division

of the

University of California, Berkeley

Committee in charge:

Professor Patrick V. Kirch Professor Kent G. Lightfoot Professor Anthony R. Byrne

Spring 2015

On the Cloak of Kings: Agriculture, Power, and Community in Kaupō, Maui

By Alexander Underhill Baer Table of Contents

List of Figures iv List of Tables viii Acknowledgements x

CHAPTER I: OPENING THE WATERS OF KAUPŌ Introduction 1 Kaupō’s Natural and Historical Settings 3 Geography and Environment 4 Regional Ethnohistory 5 Plan of the Dissertation 7

CHAPTER 2: UNDERSTANDING KAUPŌ: THEORETICAL APPROACHES TO THE STUDY OF POWER AND PRODUCTION Introduction 9 Last of the Primary States 10 Of Chiefdoms and States 12 Us Versus Them: Evolutionism Prior to 1960 14 The Evolution Revolution: Evolutionism and the New Archaeology 18 Evolution Evolves: Divergent Approaches from the 1990s Through Today 28 Agriculture and Production in the Development of Social Complexity 32 Lay of the Landscape 36

CHAPTER 3: MAPPING HISTORY: KAUPŌ IN MAPS AND THE MAHELE Introduction 39 Social and Spatial Organization in Polynesia 40 Breaking with the Past: New Forms of Social Organization and Land Distribution 42 The Great Mahele 47 Historic Maps of Hawaiʻi and Kaupō 51 Kalama Map, 1838 55 Hawaiian Government Surveys and Maps 61 Post-Mapping: Kaupō Land Grants from the Archives 76 The Documents of Kaupō: Conclusions from the 19th Century 79

i CHAPTER 4: SPATIAL ANALYSIS OF KAUPŌ’S ENVIRONMENTAL AND CULTURAL FEATURES Introduction 81 Kaupō: The Ecological Setting 82 Watering the Plants: The Hydrology of Fog Drip, Springs, and Rainfall 86 Surface Age and Nutrient Capacity 89 Dirt, Nutrients, and Productive Potential 92 Base Saturation 94 Calcium 95 Phosphorus 98 Rock Percent 101 The Cultural Landscape: Surveys, Settlement Patterns, and Life in Space 102 Aerial Imagery, Remote Sensing, and Landscape Assessment 102 Initial Exploration of Kaupō 106 Surveying the Moku: Methodologies and Approaches 110 Site Classification: Formal and Functional Types Found Throughout Kaupō 115 Total Sites and the Criteria for Categorization 116 Spatial Analyses of Kaupō 121 All Sites and Disturbed Areas 122 Ritual Sites 127 Residential Sites 138 Platforms 146 Agricultural Features 148 Conclusions: Site Distribution and Spatial Organization 151

CHAPTER 5: KAUPŌ BENEATH THE SURFACE: EXCAVATION AND CHRONOLOGY Introduction 153 Historical and Theoretical Approaches to Hawaiian Excavation 154 Household Archaeology 156 Radiocarbon Dating and Bayesian Considerations 157 Site Excavations 159 Kau-149 161 Kau-307 165 Kau-314 169 Kau-333 173 Kau-362 183 Kau-371 191 Kau-407 195 Kau-409 198 Kau-433 202 ii Kau-535 207 Kau-536 207 Kau-551 214 Kau-561 222 Kau-568 226 Kau-580 233 Kau-999 239 Summary and Conclusions 248

CHAPTER 6: MARGIN TO CORE AND BACK AGAIN: THE SOCIAL AND POLITICAL DEVELOPMENT OF KAUPŌ Introduction 249 Population Projection and Census Data 249 Mokulau: An Early Sociopolitical Center 251 Broader Chronology: All Dates from Nuʻu and Kaupō 252 The Ritual Network in Time and Space 261 The Changing Face of Kaupō 263

CHAPTER 7: CONCLUDING THOUGHTS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS Further Research in Kaupō 265 The Place of Kaupō in Hawaiian History

REFFERENCES CITED 268

APPENDIX A: SITE CHARACTERISTICS 294 APPENDIX B: SITE DESCRIPTIONS 315

iii List of Figures

Figure 1.1: Kaupō and southeastern Maui 4

Figure 3.1: The Roberts Map of Hawaiʻi 52 Figure 3.2: The Baker Map 54 Figure3.3: The Emerson Map of Oʻahu 55 Figure 3.4: The Kalama Map as a whole 56 Figure 3.5: Close up of Maui from the Kalama Map 57 Figure 3.6: Molokaʻi in the Kalama Map 58 Figure 3.7: Lanaʻi in the Kalama Map 59 Figure 3.8: Kaupō isolated in the Kalama Map 60 Figure 3.9: Map of southeastern Maui land claims until 1881 63 Figure 3.10: Further land claims from the 1800s 65 Figure 3.11: Land parcels from throughout Kaupō 68 Figure 3.12: LCA awards in Kaupō 69 Figure 3.13: Royal patents 73

Figure 4.1: Southeastern Maui 83 Figure 4.2: Digital elevation model of Kaupō 84 Figure 4.3: Photograph looking up at Kaupō Gap 85 Figure 4.4: Overhead DEM of Kaupō Fan 86 Figure 4.5: DEM and rainfall 88 Figure 4.6: DEM with more recent rain measurements 89 Figure 4.7: Map of Kaupō’s geologic substrates 90 Figure 4.8: GIS interpretation of substrate ages 91 Figure 4.9: Location of soil sample test locations 93 Figure 4.10: Base saturation 95 Figure 4.11: Ca++ measures 96 Figure 4.12: CaO percentage 97 Figure 4.13: Ratio of Ca++ to CaO 98 Figure 4.14: Raw count of Resin-P 99

iv Figure 4.15: Percentage of P2O5. 100 Figure 4.16: Ratio of P to Resin-P 101 Figure 4.17: Estimated rock percentage 102 Figure 4.18: Aerial photo with interpreted walls 104 Figure 4.19: Photos of differential growth on archaeological sites 107 Figure 4.20: Exaggerated profiles of field embankments 109 Figure 4.21: Areas surveyed 111 Figure 4.22: Sample of data collected 113 Figure 4.23: Field form sample 115 Figure 4.24: Rank scale plot of Kaupō heiau 120 Figure 4.25: All sites found in survey blocks 122 Figure 4.26: Sites on different geologic substrates 123 Figure 4.27: Close aerial photo of different surfaces 124 Figure 4.28: Sites and areas of disturbance 125 Figure 4.29: Density of all sites 126 Figure 4.30: Walker Map of southeastern Maui 128 Figure 4.31: Walker Map georeferenced 128 Figure 4.32: Walker Map overlaid on Kaupō 129 Figure 4.33: Walker sites and corresponding relocated temples with original map 132 Figure 4.34: Walker sites and corresponding relocated temples 133 Figure 4.35: Offset between Walker and modern sites 133 Figure 4.36: Ritual locations in Kaupō 134 Figure 4.37: Major and minor ritual sites 137 Figure 4.38: Residential site distribution 138 Figure 4.39: Density of residential sites 139 Figure 4.40: Air photo of kauhale house cluster 141 Figure 4.41: Buffer around house sites 142 Figure 4.42: Potential house clusters 143 Figure 4.43: House clusters across Kaupō 144 Figure 4.44: Further distribution of potential kauhale 145 Figure 4.45: Platform sites 147 Figure 4.46: Density of platform sites 148 Figure 4.47: Agricultural walls and geologic substrates 149 v Figure 4.48: Walls and areas of modern disturbance 150 Figure 4.49: Agricultural features 151

Figure 5.1: Location of excavated sites 160 Figure 5.2: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-149 162 Figure 5.3: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-149 164 Figure 5.4: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-307 166 Figure 5.5: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-307 168 Figure 5.6: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-314 170 Figure 5.7: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-314 172 Figure 5.8: Stratigraphic profiles of Kau-333, TU1 175 Figure 5.9: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-333, TU2 176 Figure 5.10: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-333, TU4 177 Figure 5.11: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-333, TU5 178 Figure 5.12: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-333 180-181 Figure 5.13: Stratigraphic profiles of Kau-362, TU1E 184 Figure 5.14: Stratigraphic profiles of Kau-362, TU1N 185 Figure 5.15: Stratigraphic profiles of Kau-362, TU2 186 Figure 5.16: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-362 188-189 Figure 5.17: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-371 192 Figure 5.18: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-371 193-194 Figure 5.19: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-407 196 Figure 5.20: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-407 197 Figure 5.21: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-409 199 Figure 5.22: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-409 201 Figure 5.23: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-433 203 Figure 5.24: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-433 205-206 Figure 5.25: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-536, TU2 209 Figure 5.26: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-536, TU3 210 Figure 5.27: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-536 212-213 Figure 5.28: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-551, TU1 216 Figure 5.29: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-551, TU2 217 Figure 5.30: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-551 219-220 vi Figure 5.31: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-561 223 Figure 5.32: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-561 225 Figure 5.33: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-568, TU1 227 Figure 5.34: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-568, TU2 228 Figure 5.35: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-568 230-231 Figure 5.36: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-580, TU1 234 Figure 5.37: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-580, TU2 235 Figure 5.38: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-580 237-238 Figure 5.39: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-999, TU1 240 Figure 5.40: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-999, TU2 241 Figure 5.41: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-999, TU3 242 Figure 5.42: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-999, TU4 243 Figure 5.43: Bayesian distribution of dates from Kau-999 245-246

Figure 6.1: All radiocarbon dates from ritual contexts 257 Figure 6.2: Radiocarbon dates from residential sites 259 Figure 6.3: Major and minor temples, with some highlighted 261

vii List of Tables

Table 3.1: List of all land divisions described in Kaupō 66 Table 3.2: Land claim awards and their total areas 70 Table 3.3: Total lands distributed in the Mahele and late-1800s 74-75

Table 4.1: Distribution of formal site types 117 Table 4.2: Site types subdivided by structure form 117 Table 4.3: Interpretation of functional site classes 118 Table 4.4: List of Walker’s ritual sites and their modern relocations 130-131 Table 4.5: Ritual sites beyond those described by Walker 135

Table 5.1: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-149 163 Table 5.2: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-149 163 Table 5.3: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-307 167 Table 5.4: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-307 167 Table 5.5: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-314 171 Table 5.6: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-314 171 Table 5.7: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-333 179 Table 5.8: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-333 179 Table 5.9: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-362 187 Table 5.10: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-362 187 Table 5.11: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-371 193 Table 5.12: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-371 193 Table 5.13: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-407 196 Table 5.14: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-407 197 Table 5.15: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-409 200 Table 5.16: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-409 200 Table 5.17: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-433 204 Table 5.18: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-433 204 Table 5.19: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-536 211

viii Table 5.20: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-536 211 Table 5.21: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-551 218 Table 5.22: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-551 218 Table 5.23: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-561 224 Table 5.24: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-561 224 Table 5.25: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-568 229 Table 5.26: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-568 229 Table 5.27: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-580 236 Table 5.28: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-580 236 Table 5.29: Material assemblage from excavations in Kau-999 244 Table 5.30: Radiocarbon dates on samples from Kau-999 245

Table 6.1: List of all radiocarbon samples taken throughout Kaupō 252-256

ix Acknowledgements

This work strives to encapsulate many years spent working on the slopes of Kaupō and the labs, libraries, and bars of Berkeley, but no collection of words and images can truly capture all of the influences and critical contributions that have made this dissertation possible. I hope, here, to recognize some of the people who have helped me throughout this process, though these brief acknowledgements are an inadequate substitute for the heartfelt thanks I feel, but rarely say out loud. First, to Pat Kirch, who was gracious enough to return my emails about Pacific archaeology when I was a freshman in college many, many years ago. Since I arrived at Berkeley, Pat has always known when to push me and when to sit back and let me explore different disciplines and ways of approaching the history and people of Kaupō. For that, and his absurdly deep understanding of Oceanic peoples and history (and ever growing body of work), I will always owe him $1.380. I would also like to thank the members of the Oceanic Archaeology Laboratory at Berkeley, both past and present, who have offered so much in the way of support, from knowledge surrounding theory and practice to creating networks of people interested in the rich and complex history of Polynesia. Mark McCoy continues to serve as a friend and mentor, while Jenny Kahn remains one of the most impressive people I know. Kathy Kawelu, whether she knows it or not, was hugely influential and has done work that shapes everything about my approach to Hawaiian archaeology. James Flexner largely influenced my use of historical sources and historical archaeology, and I have come to truly value that as part of my work. Tom Sapienza was a shooting star who may have been the best of us, but moved on to Australian archaeology as the Pacific apparently did not have enough deadly spiders to keep in his pockets. Jillian Swift has been ok (see below). Deia Nickelsen has been a rock, offering unparalleled knowledge of faunal remains. And the final member of the OAL, Kirsten Vacca, has changed how I hope to approach future excavations and understandings of space. At Berkeley I have been fortunate enough to work with a stellar group of professors and colleagues, many of whom operate outside of the Polynesian-archaeology-sphere, but who have supported and influenced my work nonetheless. Kent Lightfoot is a role model to whom all future professors should aspire. I would also like to thank Roger Byrne, whose Friday afternoon/evening graduate seminars in geography can be seen in much of the work here. Meg Conkey has also been a hugely helpful mentor and basketball/football game compatriot. Additionally, Laurie Wilkie (despite her constant ribbing!), Rosemary Joyce, Ruth Tringham, Steve Shackley, Junko Habu, and Christine Hastorf have been incredibly influential. Finally, Nico Tripcevich has been of immense help with any and all GIS-related questions. In Kaupō, all of my work has been possible thanks to the generosity people with a shared interest in the local history. Kaupō Ranch, and particularly Jimmy Haynes, have been so welcoming in allowing me to survey and excavate across ranch lands, which has enable this entire work. Bobby Ferreira, Herbert Kinores, and Alex Franco, have gone out of their way to help our research, while Kawika Gregoire has been an invaluable source of local knowledge. Finally, Andy and Bernie Graham have also been instrumental in everything presented here. In welcoming us onto their land they opened so many opportunities, and this small thanks is in no way enough to describe the gratitude I feel for their hospitality. Of all the work described in the rest of this dissertation, I can claim only partial credit, as much was accomplished by a collection of wonderful people who helped me in the field. In

x marginally chronological order, I would like to thank Kristyn Hara, Jesse Stephen, Pili Keau, Ashley Lipps, Micah Sze, Jillian Swift (who was ok; see below), John Chenoweth, Anna Browne-Ribeiro, and most certainly Rose Claire Guthrie. All helped immensely and shared in the solid days of work, followed by calm nights eating off the grill, drinking scotch and cheap beer, and looking out at the beauty of Kaupō from the cabin porch. Returning to Berkeley, a number of people have been important influences and deserve at least brief recognition. John Chenoweth, Elliot Blair, and Rob Cuthrell have been around either nearly as long, or longer than I, and all have provided important field and/or moral support (though their collective influence on my physical wellbeing is more suspect). Annelise Morris and Melanie Miller are people to whom I will always turn for their incredibly sharp insights into archaeology and actual life. Whether we are agreeing or not, their opinions carry massive weight. I would also like to thank a number of people, including Pat, Teresa, Micah, Manny, Jared, Suchit, Olesh, Dag, Mara and many more, but overall, I would really like to acknowledge the contribution and influence of Jillian Swift. Jillian has been an invaluable help throughout this process, from participating in fieldwork to dealing with faunal remains and talking through any and every question I have had on pretty much everything. She has been a true friend. And to Elizabeth Hecht, who has pushed me not only to finish, but to publish as well. She has been an editor and critic, but more than that, she has simply been a positive presence who has supported me throughout this endeavor. I cannot describe enough how meaningful that has been. Finally, I would like to thank my family. Their influence and importance often go unsaid, but for my Mom, Pop, Becky, Marianna, and Henry, I owe everything to you. Thank you so much. And to Henry, who is so positive and instantly at ease with absolutely everyone, you are great and will do great things. This is dedicated to you.

Chapter 1 Opening the Waters of Kaupō

Introduction

In the mid-1700s, Maui’s King Kekaulike launched a fleet of war canoes from the landing at Mokulau, Kaupō, in an attempt to conquer the rival kingdom of Hawaiʻi Island. This army contained hundreds of warriors, numerous chiefs, was likely blessed by many priests, and was supported by the agricultural labor of thousands of commoners. All of these people, including the King and his royal court, had been living in Kaupō since the early 1700s, but what was it that led this dry, previously marginal part of the island to become the center of a hundred year war between Maui and Hawaiʻi? What of the time period before Kekaulike? Did the King’s arrival in the district spur rapid development of local infrastructure, such as a dryland agricultural system and monumental temple construction, or had earlier Kaupō elites established these structures well prior to Kekaulike? This work explores the archaeological, environmental, and ethnohistoric record of Kaupō to understand how the district was settled, modified, and ultimately developed into the royal seat of the powerful Maui polity. Using historic sources from some of Hawaiʻi’s first indigenous scholars, including Samuel Kamakau (1964, 1976, 1992), David Malo (1951), John Papa ʻĪʻī (1959), and more, we can chart different eras in Kaupō’s history, with the arrival of Kekaulike in the early 1700s marking the rapid ascension of Kaupō from political hinterland to core. By comparing the archaeological remains across these discreet periods, we can explore the processes behind increasing social complexity and the transition from chiefdom to archaic state. The distinction between these levels of sociopolitical complexity represents a fundamental change in social relationships, expressed not only in increasingly hierarchical class divisions, but in shifting patterns of settlement, production, ideology, and material consumption. These changes, however, may be reflected differently across a society, creating archaeologically visible dichotomies between contemporaneous communities. By understanding Kaupō, with its pre- and post-Kekaulike recorded histories, we are afforded a unique opportunity to test the archaeological record of a politically peripheral region and see if it experienced major changes when it was made a sociopolitical center. This therefore speaks to how the transition from chiefdom to archaic state was reflected across a society, creating not only a model for how different parts of Hawaiʻi were likely affected by increasing sociopolitical centralization, but for the differential impacts of this process on core and marginal areas in any developing state society. Understanding larger questions of social evolution can be most readily accomplished through the identification and study of smaller “model systems” (Vitousek 2004), such as Kaupō. Communities, bounded both geographically and ideologically as “sociospatial settings” (Kolb and Sneed 1997: 611), offer the best opportunity for this examination. By studying a community from this perspective, rather than from an exclusively practice-based perspective (Bourdieu 1977; Lave and Wenger 1991; Giddens 1984), we are afforded smaller-scale expressions of larger social interactions (Drennan and Peterson 2012). While communities are by no means

1 merely compact versions of larger structures, they are predominately localized interpretations of a greater common paradigm (Nelson 1995; Smith 2012; Hommon 1986; Kolb 1997). Political, religious, and other institutions found at the apex of complex societies are often reflected in the structure of local practices, with discrepancies between scales offering an opportunity to examine how and why groups at different levels react to sociopolitical change (Peterson and Drennan 2012). Particularly during periods of significant social upheaval, such as the transition from chiefdom to archaic state, the examination of groups at the community scale can inform our understanding of how past people adopted, rejected, or generally responded to increasing social complexity (Stark and Chance 2012). To understand these community responses towards change and sociopolitical centralization, this dissertation examines emergent Hawaiian statehood through the lens of Kaupō. While Hawai‘i in the 16th-18th centuries has been characterized as an emerging set of archaic states (Kirch 2005, 2010a, 2012; Hommon 1976, 1986, 2013; Allen 1991; Kolb 2006), the expression of this emergence within different, particularly peripheral communities remains unclear. Politically important centers arose in areas such as Waipiʻo Valley and Kealakekua Bay on Hawaiʻi Island, ʻĪao Valley, Wailuku, and Hāna on Maui Island, and Waikīkī and Kualoa on Oʻahu Island (Kirch 2010a, 2000, 1985; Kolb 1994, 2006), but evidence for contemporaneous centralization outside of these political cores is less well known. As a politically and geographically discrete district, or moku (see Chapter 3 for further discussion of territorial distinctions), Kaupō offers a unique opportunity to assess the impact of emerging state power on such a peripheral community. Outside of brief references in creation myths (Beckwith 1940), Kaupō is virtually unmentioned in oral traditions prior to the 18th century, existing on the fringes of political centers in ʻĪao Valley and Wailuku in West Maui, and Hāna in East Maui. Between 1710-1730, however, Maui’s King Kekaulike adopted Kaupō as his royal seat, constructing important temples (heiau) and a massive residence from which he and his court could plan the invasion of Hawai‘i Island (Cachola-Abad 2000; Kamakau 1961). This rapid transition from political periphery to centrality again creates a defined break in the district’s history, allowing for a comparison of community interactions and expressions before and after the arrival of the king. Compared to entire islands, or the smaller territories known as ahupuaʻa, discretely bounded moku, with their own centralized institutions, best represent the scale at which to study community formation and change (Peterson and Drennan 2012). All of these districts, large areas with thousands of residents, were well defined and sociopolitically distinct from their neighbors. Even following unification of entire islands, moku retained their own individual identities, creating a sociospatial setting that allows for the examination of centralization and its effects on community development. Kaupō, in particular, features a set of conditions that make it a prime location for study: 1) limited development within the region has left a rich and largely undisturbed assemblage of surface and sub-surface features and remains; 2) extensive residential structures at a variety of sizes are distributed throughout the ~25 km2 of habitable land; 3) Kaupō contains the first confirmed dryland agricultural field system on the island of Maui (Kirch et al. 2009); 4) the district is bounded on either edge by a string of ritual sites, known as heiau, including some of the largest temples on the island (Baer 2015); and, 5) ethnohistoric sources approximately date the arrival of the royal court (Cachola-Abad 2000; Kirch et al. 2009). In this dissertation, I examine the spatial and temporal distribution of residential and agricultural features across the landscape and their relation to the ritual network which bounds and defines the region. By understanding the development of these intertwined aspects within the

2 ethnohistoric framework of King Kekaulike’s arrival in the early 18th century, we are afforded greater insight into the process by which Hawaiian communities, particularly those on the periphery, became sociopolitically centralized. In addition, this investigation creates potentially testable scenarios for other locations in Hawaiʻi and elsewhere in the world.

Kaupō’s Natural and Historical Settings

While Chapter 4 provides a more comprehensive description of the district’s environmental features, the geography described here will place Kaupō within the greater Maui setting. Understanding its location between extreme rainfall zones, along with the unique nature of its sedimentary history (shaped largely by lava and mud outflows from Haleakalā volcano), will shape the subsequent discussions of agriculture and landscapes (Chapter 2). Additionally, a brief history of Maui and Kaupō will similarly situate the district within the broader cultural framework. Although short sections on the environment and history are presented discretely here, their juxtaposition within the same section serves to highlight how I employ both as the foundation of this study. Expanded within a discussion of landscapes and their utility in archaeological research, I draw heavily from historical ecology, a theoretical perspective that acknowledges the roles of both environmental conditions as well as the accumulation of human activities (both on a place and within a set of cultural practices. Particularly see Crumley, ed. [1994], Redman [1999], Balee, ed. [1998]). In the leeward southeast of Maui, Kaupō was one of twelve semi-autonomous political districts. While each district (again, called a moku) featured its own internal sociopolitical organization, by the time Captain James Cook arrived in 1778, paramount rulers had come to control entire islands, installing their own supporters as the heads of various districts. Occupying a unique environmental niche, Kaupō was a highly productive agricultural region, making the district politically and economically valuable to the competing polities of Maui and Hawaiʻi. By the mid-18th century, the region had become the political and productive center of late pre- contact Maui – a uniquely important locale from which King Kekaulike and other Maui rulers orchestrated their wars against Hawaiʻi. A leeward hinterland turned agricultural powerhouse and socio-political nucleus, Kaupō serves as an ideal region in which to employ the dual tenets of historical ecology to examine the role of long-term human actions and environments in a nascent archaic state. As numerous Hawaiian settlement pattern studies have demonstrated, dry, leeward regions with no permanent water were traditionally settled after their windward valley counterparts (Handy and Pukui 1972; Clark 1981; Kirch 1971, 1975, 1985; Rosendahl 1972; Sweeney 1992; Carson 2004; Weisler and Kirch 1985). While Kirch et al. (2015) have shown some ritual activity taking place in Kaupō as early as the 11th century, broad settlement throughout the district likely mimics the later expansion into dry areas seen everywhere else throughout the archipelago (also, see Chapters 5 and 6 for numerous 14C dates, none of which fall earlier than the 1400s). With relatively late settlement (likely in the 15-16th centuries) and the subsequent adoption of the district as royal seat in the 1700s, we are afforded a small chronological window through which to assess changes in agricultural practices and settlement patterns. Previous archeological studies have demonstrated the presence of an intensified dryland field system by the 1600s (Kirch et al. 2009) and the construction of numerous ritual and residential sites from the same time period (Kolb 1994; Kirch and Sharp 2005; Kirch et al. 2015), ultimately

3 connecting large-scale agricultural production to increasing social complexity and the emergence of Hawaiian statehood (Kirch 2010).

Figure 1.1: Kaupō, in the southeast of Maui, straddled by the dry district of Kahikinui to the west and the highly watered district of Kīpahulu to the east.

Geography and Environment

On the southeastern coast of Maui, the moku of Kaupō straddles the boundary between the lush, wet districts of Kīpahulu and Hāna to the east, and the extremely dry region of Kahikinui to the west (Figure 1.1). Bounded geographically by the gulches Kālepa and Waiʻōpai, Kaupō stretches approximately 13 km at its widest extent, and climbs 5 km inland up the slope of the volcano Haleakalā. The district’s highest peak, at Pōhaku Pālaha, reaches 2470 m. While these high points tower above the region, Kaupō’s upper climes are notable less for their peaks than for a broadly incised, erosional valley breaching the southern face of Haleakalā Crater (Fig. 1). Known as the “Kaupō Gap”, this rift in the crater wall is the result of erosion during the Pleistocene. During a rejuvenation phase of volcanism ~120 kya (Stearns and MacDonald 1942), the gap allowed both lava and mud to flow out of the volcano down to the sea, creating a vast accretionary fan of nutrient-rich lavas and sediments. Unlike the mosaic of sediments and limited rainfall in Kahikinui on Kaupō’s western border (Coil and Kirch 2005; Dixon et al. 1999), or the overly wet, incised valleys of Kīpahulu to the east, Kaupō’s situation on the Hāna Volcanic Series (Sherrod et al. 2007; Stearns and MacDonald 1942) placed it within a set of conditions predicted by Ladefoged et al. (2009) as prime for dryland agriculture. While the predictive model created by Ladefoged et al. (2009, fig. 1) identified a broad swath of land extending from Kaupō through the districts of Kahikinui, Honuaʻula, and Kula, the variable nature and ages of discrete mud and lava flows actually make this zone far less

4 continuous than the Ladefoged model alone would suggest. Remote sensing and survey reveal that, of the four districts identified by the Ladefoged model, only Kaupō contained a continuous field system such as that represented by the Kohala, Kona, and Kalaupapa field networks of broad, reticulate walls (Kirch et al. 2009; Holm 2006). Though agriculture was practiced throughout the dry length of Kahikinui and further west, the mosaic of sediments and low rainfall resulted in discontinuous production emphasizing intensive cultivation in discrete swales (Coil and Kirch 2005; Holm 2006; Kirch 1997, 2010; Kirch et al. 2004; Coil 2004; Hartshorn et al. 2006). Ecologically, Kaupō and its accretionary fan of lavas and sediments offered the single largest planting area in the region, but even this was subject to internal substrate variability. The fan dates to the post-shield building phase of Haleakalā Volcano (Stearns and MacDonald 1942), with the deposition of Hana Volcanic Series flows overlying older Kula Series lava (Sherrod et al. 2007). Older Kula surfaces (generally >140 kyr) are found on both the eastern and western margins of Kaupō, with the interior covered in flows from the past 140 kyr. Within this fan, Sherrod et al. (2007) have identified discrete flows, mapping their boundaries and individual ages. The western portion features younger ʻaʻā flows, including the Pu‘u Maile basanite (3-5 kyr) and the Pu‘u Nole basanite (0.75-1 kyr). In the east, older flows of Loaloa (5-15 kyr) and Kaupō basanites (13-30 kyr) have had more time to weather, both releasing nutrients into the developing soils as well as accumulating aeolian sediments. The center of the fan contains two substrates, Mamalu Bay basanite and Kamanawa Bay basanite, with ages between 50-140 kyr. Along with substrate age, rainfall is critical in determining productive potential, both in watering crops and weathering surfaces to allow for nutrient release. Kaupō sits at a transition point for southern Maui, as the rain shadow created by Haleakalā Volcano pushes extensive precipitation east into Kīpahulu, while greatly limiting rainfall to the western districts of Kahikinui and Honuaʻula (Giambelluca and Schroeder 1998:56; Giambelluca et al. 1986, fig. A.79). Between them, rainfall decreases significantly, with Kaupō’s eastern uplands receiving >2,000 mm/year compared to only 700 mm at Nuʻu Bay on the western coast (Giambelluca et al. 2013). This precipitation gradient again affects the region during both annual planting cycles as well as long-term weathering and leeching patterns. Virtually the entire fan falls within the range of annual rainfall required for sweet potato cultivation (determined to be 760-1270 mm/year by Purseglove et al. [1968:82]), indicating that outside of droughts affecting the western portion of Kaupō, annual precipitation was likely not a limiting factor. Though critical for individual cropping cycles, annual precipitation alone does not account for Kaupō’s level of agricultural intensification. Equally important is the combination of rainfall and substrate age, allowing for enough weathering of the young Hana Volcanics (releasing nutrients into the developing topsoil), but not enough time to begin leaching. Described further in Chapter 4, the range of substrates found throughout the accretionary fan do create some level of nutrient variability, but in comparison with similar age-rainfall locations throughout the archipelago, such as the Lower Kohala Field System, Kaupō provides an ideal setting for sweet potato and other dryland crops.

Regional Ethnohistory

Historical research in Hawaiʻi benefits from both a relatively short settlement history, as well as a strong, early commitment by Hawaiians and Europeans to record oral traditions and practices. The district of Kaupō holds an interesting place in these historical traditions, as it goes

5 virtually unmentioned through most of the early Hawaiian histories, genealogies, and stories, before suddenly becoming central to the struggle for control of the largest islands in the archipelago around the turn of the 17-18th centuries. It became home to Maui’s kings, and the site of numerous intra- and inter-island battles, set amongst broad fields famed for their sweet potatoes (Kamakau 1992). Even into the 20th century, despite massive population loss both locally and archipelago-wide, Kaupō was remembered as a moku of great productivity. Noted by the ethnologist E. S. C. Handy, “Kaupō has been famous for its sweet potatoes, both in ancient times and in recent years” (1940:161). It is this capacity for dryland production that presumably attracted the attention of Maui’s King Kekaulike, ultimately transforming the district from unknown hinterland to the center of Maui’s political power. Through the 19th century records of Native Hawaiian and Western scholars, including Samuel Kamakau, David Malo, John Papa ʻĪʻī, Abraham Fornander, and others, we are afforded a view of Kaupō as it emerged in a context of war, production, and chiefly expansion. Powerful island-wide polities, ruled by divine kings and classes of chiefs, priests, and artisans, came to dominate in the late 16th century (Kirch 2010). Kaupō itself was largely invisible during this primary phase of increasing social complexity, but within two generations of Maui’s first unification, the district was adopted as the royal seat of the Maui paramount, King Kekaulike (Fornander 1996; Kamakau 1992; Cachola-Abad 2000). The grandson of Kiha-a-Piʻilani, Maui’s unifying aliʻi nui (king), Kekaulike rose to kingship following two battles (Ka-eulu and Ka-hale-mamala-koa) at Mokulau in Kaupō (Kamakau 1992). In his ambition to expand beyond Maui, Kekaulike then shifted the center of the island’s political power from Wailuku, in the northwest, to Kaupō, where he began to plot an invasion of Hawaiʻi Island. From Mokulau he launched his attack, raiding from Kona all the way north to Kohala before returning to Kaupō where his army waited for a counter-attack by Hawaiʻi’s King Alapaʻi-nui. Before the fighting began on Maui, however, Kekaulike fled Kaupō for Wailuku where he “was seized with a violent illness” (Kamakau 1992: 69) and died. While this eased tensions with Alapaʻi-nui, it created a power struggle within Maui itself. Once again, Mokulau served as the grounds on which Kamehameha-nui, one of Kekaulike’s junior sons, claimed Maui kingship (Kamakau [1992] is unclear as to whether actual fighting occurred or if Kamehameha-nui achieved this position through diplomacy alone). Following his ascension in ~1730 (Cachola-Abad 2000; Kirch 2010), the islands of Maui and Hawaiʻi enjoyed a brief peace, though the subsequent generation of kings would again make Kaupō the center of a new war. In the 1770s, Hawaiʻi’s ruler Kalaniʻōpuʻu brought his armies against Maui and its new king, Kahekili. Kalaniʻōpuʻu had previously fought with Kamehameha-nui over the westernmost district of Hāna, but this time, his armies raided Kaupō. Moving just inland from Mokulau, the Hawaiian forces were met by those of Maui at Puʻumaneoneo and Ka-puka-ʻauhuhu in the battle Ka-lae-hohoa (“forehead beaten with clubs”). The Hawaiian army was pushed back to Ka-lae-o- ka-‘ilio in western Kaupō before fleeing, wholly defeated, to their home island. Accounts of this battle, notable partly for the first appearance of the young Kamehameha, offer an early description of the district’s extensive “potato hills” and the furrows between them, noting the density of crops which caused warriors, particularly the famed Kekuhaopiʻo, to become “entangled in the vines” (Kamakau 1992: 84). While Kaupō’s centrality to the ongoing wars between Maui and Hawaiʻi is demonstrated through numerous battles described in oral traditions, increasing references to the district’s developing agronomic and sociopolitical control systems are also evident (Maunupau 1998). Kekaulike is credited in the oral tradition with the construction of a number of major structures,

6 including the war temples (luakini) of Pu‘u-maka‘a and Loʻaloʻa, and a royal center at Pōpōiwi (Kamakau 1992) – the latter two measuring amongst the largest structures in the archipelago. He is similarly associated with other temples, indicating that much of Kaupō’s ritual network (discussed further in Chapters 4 and 6) was completed during Kekaulike’s reign. What remains less clear, however, is the extent to which the field system had been intensified prior to his arrival. The sheer presence of Kekaulike implies that the district was already productive enough to support the king and his royal court by the early 1700s, while the traditions recorded by Kamakau (1992) and others note numerous hills, furrows, and vines associated with sweet potato production in the period surrounding his rule. Early ethnographic work from Kaupō similarly speaks to the region’s high productive capacity. In addition to intensive sweet potato cultivation up to an elevation of approximately 600 meters (Yen 1974), ethnographer E.S.C. Handy noted “formerly great quantities of dry taro were planted in the lower forest belt from one end of the district to the other” (1940:113; Handy and Handy 1972:507-8). As a secondary crop in the uplands, dryland taro would have produced lower yields, but could grow in conditions too wet and too nutrient poor for sweet potato. Combined, these crops spread from Kaupō through Kahikinui, Honuaʻula, and Kula, creating what Handy called “the greatest continuous dry planting area in the Hawaiian Islands” (Handy 1940:161). While research in Southern Maui (described above) has demonstrated that the agricultural practices to the west of Kaupō were more diffuse and swale-oriented than the formalized field system found within the accretionary fan, this broad area from Kaupō to Kula was no doubt rich with dryland output.

Plan of the Dissertation

This work builds on previous studies from Hawaiian scholarship and beyond, integrating ethnohistoric work, environmental analyses, and an extensive body of archaeological data collected over four seasons of field research to explain the social patterns, trajectories, and developments expressed within Kaupō. Following this brief introduction, Chapter 2 offers a background of the theoretical considerations. I first examine Hawaiʻi on the eve of European contact, establishing that the sociopolitical structures in place had moved beyond that of a chiefdom and into an archaic state. I then look at what this means in general, with an exploration of archaeological theories surrounding the nature of social complexity. As a core aspect of state societies, I next explore the literature surrounding agricultural development, with an emphasis on work in the Pacific and recent examples from the Hawaiian Archipelago. I finally turn to archaeological landscapes more broadly and the role of historical ecology and landscape analyses in understanding patterns of social development. Chapter 3 begins with an exploration of social structures from throughout Polynesia, and the ways in which they developed to ultimately form the backbone of Hawaiian social and political organization. This includes familial relations and power dynamics along with land divisions and the structuring of social space. The way in which space was divided is central to the following section on the formal Hawaiian land division of the mid-1800s known as the Great Mahele. Through extensive maps and historical documents I chart how Hawaiians and foreigners viewed Kaupō, ultimately claiming and purchasing very different sections of the district. Chapter 4 employs extensive spatial data collected from throughout the district to identify patterns of pre-Contact spatial use. I begin this chapter by further expanding on the ecological setting of Kaupō, leading into analyses of sedimentary depositions and the results of soil

7 geochemistry conducted throughout the district. This is followed by Geographical Information System (GIS) analyses of all the surface architecture found in over 3.5 km2 of intensive field survey. Sites are analyzed as a large group before they are classified and then examined as discrete functional categories. Chapter 5 moves from the spatial distribution of Kaupō’s surface architecture to the subsurface excavations and 14C assessments of 16 different sites. I provide a background on Hawaiian excavations along with household archaeology to justify how understanding what was happening within residential and ritual sites, along with absolute dating, can give a holistic picture of changing practices through both space and time. I then discuss questions surrounding Bayesian dating before providing in-depth descriptions and analyses of all 16 sites excavated. In addition to descriptions and subsequent interpretations, these sections include excavation profiles, tables of material culture recovered by layer, raw radiocarbon results, and Bayesian models integrating all the dates with any prior information. In Chapter 6, I integrate the spatial and temporal data, merging the larger patterns observed in GIS modeling with information from excavations. In addition I integrate the historical information to identify how Kaupō changed through time. This section offers a summary of the data together, demonstrating how early elites defined the region spatially before exerting increasing power in the intensification of agriculture and control over the commoners lives. Finally, Chapter 7 is a very brief conclusion featuring parting thoughts and directions for possible future exploration.

8 Chapter 2 Understanding Kaupō: Theoretical Approaches to the Study of Power and Production

Introduction

With Kaupō, we are afforded an exceptional opportunity to examine the transition from complex chiefdom to archaic state, exploring how agriculture and settlement patterns reflect sociopolitical centralization and increasing class divisions. Through the lens of this formerly marginal community, we can better understand how the development of increasing sociopolitical complexity is reflected across cultural space and manifest through time. Juxtaposing periods of history, well defined through oral traditions and archaeological work, this research offers a case study for the processes surrounding the rise of states and how these may manifest archaeologically, not only in Hawaiʻi, but throughout the world. Kaupō is therefore of wider significance than from a purely Polynesian perspective, serving rather as an inroad into the comprehension of larger social processes. To address the question of increasing sociopolitical complexity and its accessibility through archaeology, this chapter is divided into four main sections. While Chapter 1 provided a brief discussion of Kaupō’s physical nature and oral history, Chapter 2 begins by establishing that at the time of European contact, the Hawaiian Archipelago (and Kaupō itself) was unequivocally home to a number of competing archaic states. This assertion of Hawaiian statehood remains somewhat contested today, though recent works by Kirch (2010), Hommon (2013), and others have led to concessions by some of the most vocal opponents in acknowledging Hawaiian culture’s fundamental break from traditional notions of chiefdoms (Earle 2013). This first section, then, examines archaeological studies on the nature of social complexity in the archipelago, charting the slow shift towards the current paradigm of Hawaiʻi as an independent development of a “pristine” state (Fried 1960: 713, 1967: 240–242). In establishing Hawaiʻi’ as the last, most recently developed state, fundamental questions arise as to the nature of state-level societies. The second section of this chapter steps back from Hawaiʻi to examine theoretical approaches towards social complexity, emphasizing the deep field of research defining the nature of statehood. While notions have advanced beyond the rigidity (and implicit racism) of Morgan’s (1877) “savagery, barbarism, and civilization”, modern conceptions of differential social organization have too often adopted unilinear views that equate change with progress. The most commonly used system of categorization today remains the distinction of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states first espoused by Service in 1962, but essentialist interpretations of this system have rendered it an easily dismissed syllogism for many scholars. In the examination below, I argue that while the band-to-state scale may have limitations, when approached from a materialist perspective it remains a valuable device for evaluating both quantitative and qualitative distinctions between levels of social complexity. As such, through a theoretical expansion of the nuances separating chiefdoms, complex chiefdoms, archaic states, and states (as more materialist subdivisions along the complexity continuum), Hawaiʻi’s place as a model system for understanding developments worldwide will become evident. Next, this chapter shifts towards one of the foundations of any large-scale sociopolitical system, namely agriculture. Much anthropological work has been devoted to the production of food, particularly with an eye towards surplus generation and the move beyond subsistence

9 production, which underpins any emergence of hierarchy. While the discussion of agriculture writ-large is beyond the scope of this study, by examining patterns of practice from throughout the Pacific Islands we may gain a greater understanding for the basis of early Hawaiian systems. Hawaiian agronomic practices at the time of European arrival supported hundreds of thousands, divided among discrete classes of elites (aliʻi), priests (kahuna), and crafts specialists, but while the scale of production was impressive, the systems practiced were remarkably grounded in similar techniques found throughout the Pacific. Coupled with the social and historical practices from ancestral Pacific/Polynesian islands and their adoption and modification in Hawaiʻi (see Chapter 3), the study of Oceanic agriculture provides a basis for understanding how and why the Hawaiian sociopolitical trajectory took it so far beyond the complexity of any other island in the Pacific. The final section of this chapter examines broad theoretical approaches employed in this study as a means to assess sociopolitical, agricultural, environmental, and material data as a whole rather than simply constituent parts. These varying sources of information, representing both spatial and temporal data from macro- to micro-scales, present a challenge best confronted by a mix of theoretical approaches centered largely around historical ecology. Following a brief discussion of historical ecology, related paradigms, including landscape archaeology and GIS theory at the largest scale, and household archaeology at the site level, will be introduced and framed within the greater context of the data at hand to demonstrate their applicability. Ultimately, by examining Kaupō district and the Hawaiian Islands at large through the lens of historical ecology, we will better be able to understand the historically contingent relationship between Hawaiians and their environs.

Last of the Primary States: Archaeological Examinations of Hawaiian Social Complexity

At the time of European contact in 1778-79, Hawai‘i’s population numbered between 400,000-600,000 (Dye and Komori 1992; Cordy 2007), governed by a handful of powerful leaders engaged in the archipelago’s final push towards unification (Kirch 2010a, 1985). These leaders were divine rulers, manifestations of godly descent with the power of deities themselves (Valeri 1985). Beneath these divine rulers were nine classes of elites, or aliʻi (Kamakau 1964, 1961), who controlled all of Hawai‘i’s agronomic and sociopolitical power, including the enforcement of kapu restrictions. Their divinity distinctly separated them from commoners (makaʻāinana), breaking the traditional Polynesian and Austronesian practice of a “conical clan” (Sahlins 1958; Kirch and Green 2001; Kirch 1990) that connected even the highest chiefs to all the members of their kinship groups through common ancestry (see Chapter 3 for further discussion, as well as Kirch [2000]; Graves et al. [2010]; Hommon [1986]). Additional classes of permanent priests and warriors in a standing army (in which law was enforced exclusively by the state), offer further indications of classic statehood. This complex hierarchy, all supported by commoner labor, represents a level of sociopolitical complexity featuring virtually the hallmarks of a state society, but despite its advanced nature, archaeologists and anthropologists have been slow to disassociate Hawaiian culture from the reified category of chiefdom imposed upon cultures throughout the Pacific (Drennan and Peterson 2012). Polynesian cultures have long been regarded as archetypes of the chiefdom society (Sahlins 1958; Goldman 1970; Earle 1978, 1997), but this overarching term has served to mask considerable diversity in cultural practices and complexity throughout the region. Some authors,

10 including Fried (1967), Goldman (1970), and Service (1971) attempted to subdivide the classification into smaller categories that more accurately reflect differences, but ultimately, the term chiefdom remains the most commonly used. In Polynesia, Hawaiian society has been characterized as the highest development of this chiefly tradition (Sahlins 1958, 1992; Goldman 1970; Cordy 1981; Earle 1977, 1978, 1997; Kirch 1985; Johnson and Earle 2000; Earle and Doyel 2008), even, as Earle has said, “the most complex of any [chiefdom]… in the world” (Earle 1997: 34). Recent work, however, has shifted away from strict classifications (Service 1962; Adams 1966; Carneiro 1970; Flannery 1972) towards an understanding of social complexity as a continuum (Service 1975; Claessen 1978; Feinman and Neitzel 1984; Lightfoot 1984). In the shifting ground between chiefdom and state, the “archaic state” (Feinman and Marcus 1998) offers a valuable conceptual bridge between the traditional chiefdoms of Polynesia and the new complexities of pre-contact Hawai‘i. While the archaeology of early Hawaiian settlement (Kirch and Kelly 1975; Tuggle and Griffin 1973; Clark 1981; Dixon et al. 1999; Spear 1992; Streck 1992; Weisler and Kirch 1985; Sweeney 1992; Carson 2004) and social development (Kirch 2005, 2010a; Allen 1991; Withrow 1990; Dixon et al. 1995; Hommon 1986; Cordy 1981) place the archipelago’s founding culture within the tradition of Polynesian chiefdoms, evidence for rapidly increasing social complexity in the 15th-17th centuries (Kirch and Sharp 2005; Kolb 2006, 2012; Weisler et al. 2006) indicates a clear shift towards early statehood. While some maintain that Hawai‘i never reached the level of statehood seen elsewhere in the world (Johnson and Earle 2000; Yoffee 2005), studies on ritual construction (Kolb 2012, 2006, 1999; Mulrooney 2004; Mulrooney and Ladefoged 2005; Kirch 2004), residential patterns (Rosendahl 1972; McCoy, 2007; Allen and McAnnany 1994) and agricultural intensification (Tuggle and Tomonari-Tuggle 1980; McCoy 2005; McElroy 2007; Kirch et al. 2009) offer clear evidence that Hawaiian society had reached the level of archaic state. Today, notions of Hawaiʻi as a chiefdom have been challenged to the point that even the most steadfast supporters of the Hawaiian chiefdom model are revising their opinions. While some authors continue to either omit or flatly deny Hawaiʻi’s place among the state societies, one of the most influential and vocal detractors has recently (and publicly) changed his stance. Tim Earle, a leading scholar of cultural evolution, long maintained that the archipelago represented an advanced, or complex, chiefdom, stating as recently as 2011 that Hawaiʻi “developed a state-like political organization” and featured “considerable size and power approximating archaic states” (italics added, 2011: 37). Despite the assertion that Hawaiʻi is simply “state-like”, this demonstrates a shift from earlier works in which Earle defined the Hawaiian case as one distinctly not representative of any state features. By 2012-2013, however, and with the publication of key books on Hawaiian statehood by Kirch (2010, 2012), Hommon (2013), and Bayman and Dye (2013), Earle converted his public stance to one in which Hawaiʻi serves as an example of an early state, and a model with which to explore the transition from chiefdom to statehood (Earle 2012, 2013). Ultimately, while conceptions of Hawaiʻi as the world’s last pristine state remain divided, increasing evidence and support are building towards a new understanding that the Hawaiians belong alongside many of the other great states of history. With this as the modern tableau, however, we are forced to confront not just new questions, but issues fundamental within the study of archaeology. As one of the questions central to anthropology, understanding the nature of states, with their differential origins and organizations, remains of paramount importance.

11 Of Chiefdoms and States: Sociocomplexity and the Place of Cultural Evolution in Archaeology

Since its earliest days, archaeology has employed heuristic devices to arrange and organize our understanding of the past. These methods of categorization have been applied to material remains, ethnic groups, time periods and more, but perhaps their greatest influence has come in the definition of sociopolitical types. While attempting to understand interpersonal interactions in any context of wider group interactions results in a nearly endless variety of possibilities, the creation of generalized social categories offers the archaeologist a starting point for their inquiry. With regard to sociopolitics, this has meant the definition of various types of social organization. Since the first formal attempts in the early 19th century, these groupings of societal types have focused most notably on social complexity. A common belief held that over time, complexity, seen primarily as the move from hunting and gathering towards the industrialized state societies of the West, steadily increased through history. This idea of a unilinear march towards “progress” would soon be coupled with the notion of Darwinian evolution, ultimately leading to a line of archaeological inquiry that, some 150 years later, is still generating debate. Numerous attempts have been made to define different political structures and systems of social complexity, but of all of them, perhaps the most enduring has been the notion of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states proffered by Elman Service (1962). Using a set of standardized criteria, including population size, religious beliefs, and political and economic systems, any given culture could be slotted into one of the four social types. Many scholars have adopted Service’s framework as a basis for the description of both archaeologically and ethnographically known cultures from throughout the world. While other formative and influential attempts at the creation of a classificatory social scheme include those by Thomsen, Morgan, Marx and Engels, and later Fried, Service’s ideas remain deeply ingrained in both anthropological discussions and popular imagination. Despite its strengths as a heuristic device, the idea of partitioning cultures into a set of four discrete categories has by no means gone unchallenged. Since its introduction in the early 1960s, there have been critiques levied against both the specific, internal division of the categories, as well as its overall usefulness. Many social scientists have argued that the pigeonholing of cultures into definite types simply glosses over variation and supports an antiquated view of the unilinear march from simple to complex. Service himself acknowledged some of the problems inherent in his definitions with an amended second edition to his 1962 work, but in all his writings he noted that his original scheme was by no means intended as a doctrine supporting blind evolutionism. Instead, he argued, the idea of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states should be used as a set of stages through which some cultures will travel as their sociopolitical complexity increases. This is by no means necessary, however, or to be considered better than previous stages, and distinct cultures can reach the various stages through any number of means. While Service and his supporters were effectively able to counter the claims of unilinear bias (particularly by citing his work describing the distinct natures of unilinear and multilinear evolution in 1960), critiques about the threshold between the various stages persisted and continue to be a point of contention even today. Ultimately, while this evolutionary manner of thought has limitations (and has served as a polarizing aspect of anthropological thought), it nonetheless still offers a valuable way to approach comparative cultural analyses. From early attempts in the latter half of the 19th century

12 to a backlash and subsequent reemergence in the middle of the 20th century, evolutionary approaches prior to the expanded works of Service (1962) and Fried (1967) served as solid, if incomplete, introductions to the benefits and drawbacks of such a theory. Out of the 1960s and 70s emerged a fuller picture of cultural evolution and the notions of sociocomplexity, but with the explosion of archaeological theory in the 1980s and 90s practitioners once again became split in their support for or against evolutionism. In the course of this section, two major themes regarding cultural change, especially between chiefdoms and states, will be assessed: the processes by which cultures move between stages as well as the criteria used to define each stage. Early writers who employed an evolutionary perspective on culture cited a range of reasons for increases in complexity, but most tended to believe that these “advances” were intrinsic to humanity (Morgan 1877, Tylor 1865, 1871, Childe 1936). This idea of inevitable progression, however, lost favor as anthropologists’ knowledge of past and current cultures grew in the first half of the 20th century. Authors such as Boas (1904, 1936) and his students railed against any ideas of universal evolutionism and even archaeologists who accepted the general tenets of cultural evolution (such as Steward [1955]) argued that numerous different processes could account for the changes seen in increasingly complex societies. Over the following half-century works devoted to the ways in which social complexity developed featured a broad range of explanations. Where some authors posited in-depth theories highlighting the effects of a single causal factor (see, for example, Boserup’s [1965] work on population pressure, Cohen’s [1979] work on population growth, or Carneiro’s [1970] emphasis on warfare), others, including Quigley (1961), Flannery (1972), Service (1975), Earle (1989) and more adopted a more expansive range of possible processes. As will be seen, all featured productive ideas that have served to fuel many of the theories popular today. Other than the processes by which cultures change, the major aspect of chiefdoms and states dealt with by scholars has been the specific definition of each stage. While bands and tribes have received limited attention regarding their classification, since their initial definition in 1962 many anthropologists have argued against their separation (Fried 1967, Kingsnorth 1993) and lumped them under “egalitarian” or simple “ranked” societies. More complicated, however, are the characterizations of chiefdoms and states. Numerous definitions have been offered, including important discussions by Service (1962), Fried (1967), Carneiro (1970), Flannery (1972), and others, but as will be demonstrated the majority contain at least a core agreement as to what constitutes chiefdom versus state. Unfortunately, as with most generalizing schemes, exceptions can be found throughout the archaeological and anthropological records where cultures feature a mix of traits associated with both levels, as with the stratified, sedentary, and highly complex Native Americans of the Pacific Northwest and California who never adopted agriculture (Sassaman 2004, Lightfoot 1993). Ultimately, although definitions have become more refined, there will always be outliers that challenge the accepted classifications. Variability and the presence or absence of certain traits clearly exist in cultures throughout time and space. This should not be taken as an invalidation of the general scheme, but rather a further confirmation that while cultures can be given a classificatory tag, they still exist along a continuum of social complexity. Since the adoption of evolutionary themes, archaeological and anthropological literature dealing with social complexity has seen a number of trends. The first of three subsections will briefly examine the early period of anthropology prior to the formative 1962 work of Service in which he defined bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states. During this time scholarship focused on

13 the creation of unilinear schemes which could be used to chart sociopolitical progress from simple to complex. While some authors accepted an intrinsic belief in these schemes reflecting humanity’s inevitable advancement, others sought to understand the processes by which cultures changed and became more complex. Still others came to dominate the field of anthropology with a dogged denial of all evolutionary explanations. The second subsection will focus on the creation of, and reaction to, Service’s classification scheme. While anti-evolutionists had dominated the first half of the 20th century, a small number of influential scholars remained interested in generalizable notions of cultural progress. Through the tutelage and writings of White, Steward, Childe, and others, a new generation of archaeologists emerged with a renewed focused on processes. The work of these processual archaeologists aimed to understand the evolutionary trends, both general and specific, that would explain a culture’s changing structure. To this end, classificatory schemes such as Service’s bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states were created, thus defining generalized categories of societies that could be understood throughout both space and time. Although many of these scholars vehemently disagreed over the actual processes behind cultural evolution and the way in which the various groups were defined, the majority of archaeologists shared the idea that cultural change was both comprehensible and qualifiable. The period from the early 1960s through the late 1980s (coinciding with the height of Processual archaeology) saw some challenges to the strict reification of types (Yoffee 1979, Feinman and Neitzel 1984), but featured a generally uniform acceptance of cultural evolutionary principles. With the rise of Postprocessual archaeology, however, some detractors reemerged and supporters were forced to reevaluate their own beliefs. The final subsection of this look at social complexity will look at the current state of archaeological inquiry as it relates to cultural evolution. While the majority of researchers maintain their use of Service’s general scheme, questions remain surrounding the reasons behind cultural change as well as the definitions of individual stages. Modern scholarship reflects a generally high level of acceptance for the basic tenets of cultural evolution as a continuum, but specific distinctions have created a muddled picture of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states. In an attempt to cover virtually all possible societies, many different authors have posited a wide range of reasons for the increasing complexity of cultures and an even greater range of definitions for types of state. While the sheer number of these types precludes an in-depth analysis of each, some of major works will be highlighted to provide an overall picture for the current state of research on cultural evolution.

Us Versus Them: Evolutionism Prior to 1960

Prior to Darwin's Origin of Species in 1859, theorizing about the non-European world had generally painted life as bleak and difficult. Thomas Hobbes, writing in the 17th century, described an existence of constant conflict, ultimately “solitary, nasty, brutish, and short” (Hobbes 1651 [1991]). Along with Rousseau, Hobbes believed that in exchange for a modicum of safety and acceptance, people grouped together, forgoing individual rights and deferring to leaders who would come to institutionalize an unequal power structure. This notion of a “social contract” (Rousseau 1762 [2002]), in which individuality was traded for organization, provided the main explanation for cultural development until the 19th century writings of Darwin. The social contract theory of Hobbes and Rousseau provided a means by which culture could change, but by the early 1800s little had been done in the way of classifying societal types on a broad scale. Rousseau offered the unelaborated contrast between “homme civil” and

14 “homme naturel”, but rather than giving any definitions for these categories, they served more as an “us versus them” way of seeing the world (Rousseau 1762 [2002]). One of the first schemes to identify characteristics of cultural stages was the Three Age System of Christian Thomsen. Created in the 1820s and subsequently demonstrated by his student and fellow Dane J.A.A. Worsaae, the Three Age System based the complexity of a culture on the type of materials used in tool making. This early attempt broke prehistoric culture into the Stone Age, Bronze Age, and Iron Age (subsequent work by Lubbock would further partition the Stone Age into the familiar Palaeo- and Neolithic). While this system defined cultures by the kind of material used at the time, it served to elaborate upon the ideas of human progress emerging in the Enlightenment and early Victorian periods. The Three Age System as well as the Palaeolithic-Neolithic division remained important concepts throughout the 19th century, and even today retain some of their popularity in general knowledge (Trigger 2006). In 1859, Darwin introduced the concepts of evolution and natural selection. While intended to be an explanatory scheme for biology, his ideas rapidly became cornerstones for a range of academic disciplines. In the nascent field of anthropology a number of authors adopted the idea and began to look at societies in a social or cultural evolutionary way. In the latter half of the 19th and early 20th centuries, this evolutionism was tied to a strictly unilinear chain of progress; culture began in small, simple groups and over time would develop more sophisticated technology and cultural mechanisms, ultimately advancing to a stage of complexity commensurate with the modern Western states. This line of thought, though highly popular, veered away from Darwin’s original concepts of evolution. Where biological examples demonstrated diversity, divergence, adaptation to niches, and often relative stability, anthropologists with unilinear ideas believed that human cultures were constantly on the move towards greater complexity, with Western “civilization” as the pinnacle. “Progress” and “advance” were, in their minds, desirable and ultimately better. Herbert Spencer, Louis Henry Morgan, and Edward Tylor were among the first to advance these concepts of cultural evolution. Spencer, who coined the phrase “survival of the fittest” (Spencer 1866), applied evolutionary ideas only loosely to human cultures. While he was a great proponent of change through time, he was less of a unilinear thinker than Morgan or Tylor. Spencer, well versed in biology, viewed cultures as large organisms (which he called “super-organic”, based on the terminology of James Hutton [1789]) functioning through a variety of systems (Spencer 1866 [1967]). These ideas prefaced the society-as-organism notion advanced by Childe (1936) as well as the systems of processual archaeology and eventually complexity theory (although Chapman [2003] would disagree). Spencer furthermore identified the two main types of societies as militaristic, in which the individual is greatly subordinate to the group, and industrial where people work together for mutual benefit (Spencer 1866 [1967]). Spencer’s early contribution merges the older notions of the social contract with concepts of evolution. Morgan and Tylor were two of the most influential evolutionary thinkers of the later 19th century, both regarding cultural evolution as a unilinear process. Morgan departed from many of the earlier Enlightenment thinkers in his belief that cultures at a lower stage of complexity had the potential to become as intelligent and advanced as all Western groups as they progressed through the stages of technological development (Morgan 1912). Through his work with Native American groups, Morgan argued that social development was the direct outcome of changing technologies. He therefore proposed a scheme of cultural progression featuring a series of stages based primarily on material culture and its technological advancement. Although his terminology

15 is woefully ethnocentric, the idea behind his savagery, barbarism, and civilization categories continues to be a conceptually accurate demonstration of early evolutionist thinking. Morgan and Tylor, whose writings include Primitive Culture (Tylor 1871 [1958]), were both instrumental in pushing an evolutionary approach in anthropology. These notions of the “primitive” and “savage” remained in anthropological thought and classrooms until the latter half of the 20th century, while in popular culture they still remain (see, for example, Troost [2004]). Ultimately, however, the idea that human intellectual capacity must result in a unilinear move towards “progress”, as posited by Morgan and Tylor, has proven false, and is now slowly being removed from public understanding of cultures. Two 19th century writers bear mentioning for their evolutionary ideas and long-term influence on anthropology and archaeology. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, co-authors of The Communist Manifesto as well as numerous influential works individually, believed that social change was inevitable and moving in a unilinear direction (Marx and Engels 1976). While their claims that societies would move beyond hierarchical, capitalist states into more egalitarian communism remains today an unlikely prospect, their studies on power structures and the ways in which class interactions take place still influence anthropology (see Fried 1967, Trigger 1989). Marxist archaeologists, including Fried (1967) and Trigger (1993, 1998), have contributed heavily to the discussion of cultural evolution and expanded our understanding of both the processes behind social change and the definitions of various stages. By the beginning of the 20th century, Marxism was not yet a driving force in archaeology or anthropology, but the evolutionary ideas that had taken root some fifty years earlier were beginning to come under fire. As early as the 1880s, works were emerging which claimed that cultural evolution was a denial of individuals and actors (White 1960). Leading the attack was Franz Boas, a physicist turned anthropologist who believed that evolutionism not only dehumanized the past, but also was an untestable generalization (Boas 1904, 1936). While he fully believed in the notion of evolution in a biological sense and that cultures indeed change over time, he argued that the wide range of societies found throughout the world could never be understood as a whole. Rather, individual cultures must be studied on their own terms; any attempt to generalize would simply be the expansion of a “just so” story (Boas 1936). Along with his numerous influential students, including Kroeber, Lowie, Benedict, Mead, and Gamio, Boas promoted notions of historical particularism (the individuality of all cultural groups), and succeeded in turning evolutionism into a maligned concept. Although his criticisms were initially pointed against the unilinear notions of Morgan and Tylor, the entire concept of cultural evolution was stained. Within sociocultural anthropology this sentiment remains today, and while many archaeologists currently employ some form of evolutionary thought, it is by no means universally accepted. With the devastating critiques of Boas and his myriad students, the use of evolution in anthropological inquiry ceased almost entirely. Ethnographic studies and discussions of social change focused on specific cultures while archaeological work aimed for artifact classification (particularly of pottery) and the identification of discrete cultural groups across spatial “horizons” and temporal “traditions”. During this time, virtually no attempts were being made towards the generation of explanation based on archaeological data. In the 1930s, however, Australian archaeologist Vere Gordon Childe returned to many of the evolutionary principles described at least in part by Spencer, Tylor, Marx, and Engels. Childe took care to emphasize his belief that evolutionary change through time by no means involved a value judgment. Societies with a lower level of complexity were no more

16 “primitive” than any other, and the concepts of “progress” used in the latter part of the 19th century were simply a construct of modern European times. In Childe’s opinion, the tenets of cultural evolution could be tied intimately to the basic concepts of biology. “The historian’s ‘progress’”, he claimed, “may be the equivalent of the zoologist’s evolution” (Childe 1936:15). By aligning himself with Darwin and directly contrasting with unilinear change, Childe was more free to pursue questions surrounding the evolution of cultures. As the premise for his research (as well as his personal life), Childe adopted many of the ideas of Marxist socialism. While culture could operate in a biological sense, with societies adapting in different ways and at different rates, he felt that the fundamental force behind these changes was conflict and social inequality (Childe 1936). In a series of none-too-subtly-named “revolutions” Childe posited that changes in food production around the beginning of the Neolithic, including a move towards horticulture and early agriculture, allowed for the generation of surplus. This in turn led to population increases and trade. Over time, differential access to resources and the need to manage the increasingly complex society led to the emergence of distinct classes. From the archaeological evidence, Childe concluded that kingship, built around stratified urban populations, was the most complex system known to prehistory. Despite its early date, Childe’s seminal work, Man Makes Himself (1936), provided an advanced set of explanations for change as well as descriptions of various cultural stages. Despite Childe’s successful use of an evolutionary framework, further work with the still precarious scheme was by no means immediate. To broach evolutionism in a way that would again appease the Boasians, Julian Steward (1949, 1953, 1955, 1956) advocated an approach to cultural change as both multilinear and historical (essentially a concession to historical particularists that societies were each weaned on their own set of cultural and environmental factors). His success, however, came not only in the acceptance of the evolutionary terminology, but in the hunt for “regularities”, or similarities between unrelated cultures. By looking at common trends from parallel groups, Steward concluded that social change could indeed be generalized and that the central factor in cultural evolution was ecology (Steward 1956). While Sahlins (1960) would later criticize what he saw as an over emphasis on evolution specific to localized environments, he rightly commended Steward as one of the first to rekindle an interest in evolutionism. Steward’s influence continued to grow throughout the 1960s and 70s as cultural ecology became perhaps the central platform of processual archaeology, remaining even today a dominant research focus. Where Steward approached evolution from an individual society scale looking for worldwide regularities in cultures from similar environments, Leslie White hoped to discover evolutionary trends on a much broader level (White 1960). He agreed with Steward that cultural changes could move in a variety of directions, but he also believed that cultural evolution was based on a set of universal trends. He criticized Steward and the students of Boas for their study of what he called “history”, or a chronicling of unique sequences of events with no means to explain the connection of those events (White 1960: viii). History, he emphasized, was very different from evolution. For White, culture could best be understood as an open system in which energy captured is transferred back into the system allowing it to grow. The more energy harnessed through technological advances, the greater a society’s ability to develop more complex social and political institutions. This advancement could then be seen in a series of successive stages (White 1959). While this approach certainly hearkened back to the dehumanizing aspects of late 1800s evolutionism, it provided a scientific explanation for why and how changes occurred for groups through space and time.

17 White’s approach to evolution as the study of a greater “class” of evolutionary events, with a particular emphasis on energy capture, was by no means universally accepted. Contemporary authors railed against White’s new brand of evolutionism as a rehash of outdated ideas. Murdock (1949) agreed that while culture change was an adaptive process, and evolution a viable explanation for biology, no connections could be made between stages of social organization and technology, economy, class structure, or political integration. Fully in line with the Boasian denial, he wrote, “Nowhere does even a revised evolutionism find a shred of support… there is no inevitable sequence of social forms” (Murdock 1949:187). While he was strongly against the grand evolutionary ideas of White, he paid a backhanded compliment to the multilinear, parallel evolution of Steward in saying, “parallelism or independent invention is relatively easy and common in the field of social organization, and that any structural form can be developed anywhere if conditions are propitious” (Murdock 1949:200). By the 1950s and 60s, however, young archaeologists and anthropologists began to look for ways to explain the past rather than simply describe it. One of the primary avenues to which they turned was evolution.

The Evolution Revolution: Evolutionism and the New Archaeology

By the early 1960s, a sea change was taking place in archaeology. Scholars trained in the culture history approach yearned to understand how and why past cultures changed in the ways they did. While the deep descriptions collected over the past half-century provided invaluable information, it was time to use that data in the generation of explanatory models. Building upon the works of Steward and White, the New Archaeology adopted cultural evolution as its core concept. These new “processual” archaeologists focused on the idea of culture as a set of interrelated systems designed to adapt to both environmental and social conditions (White 1959, Binford 1965). Evolution, then, became an underlying process driving changes in culture in a generally more complex direction. The job of the archaeologist was to discover the processes underlying social change, thereby allowing for the creation of predictive models for culture as a whole. While the beginning of processual archaeology is most generally associated with the early works of Binford (1962, 1964, 1965), evolutionary archaeology began to regain prominence in the late 1950s. Spurred, in part, by the settlement pattern studies of Willey (1953) and the ideas of Steward, archaeologists moved back toward examinations of landscapes as the expression of social practices and community organization. Looking beyond simple artifact classification, Goldman (1955) used an evolutionary structure in his analysis of Polynesian kinship. South (1955) touted its benefits for historical archaeology while Meggers (1959) edited a volume on the role of evolution in anthropological discourse. By far the most influential, however, were Marshall Sahlins and, particularly, Elman Service. In 1960, Sahlins and Service edited Evolution and Culture, a collection of four chapters co-written with colleagues that attempted to bridge the gap between White and Steward. The authors believed that the grand evolutionary ideas of White could be married to the smaller scale studies of Steward to produce a comprehensive view of cultural evolution. This work served almost as a passing of the torch from one generation to the next. In the preface, White introduced the new ideas of Sahlins and Service by looking at the academic culture from which they had emerged. Evolutionary ideas, he argued, had taken a beating by Boas and his students due to overly unilinear assumptions. Culture historians, however, had done nothing to dispel these notions, instead trundling out occasional evolutionary explanations when parallel cultures shared

18 any similarities. White praised the specific evolutionary studies of Steward for being more than history (due to their search for explanation), but said that this type of work ought to be taken even further towards the creation of culturally generalizable rules. In Evolution and Culture, Sahlins and Service defined evolution and its relation to human culture. They argued that cultures could go from one stage of complexity to another, but also evolve along many different lines (Sahlins and Service 1960). Sahlins (1960) called this merger of White and Steward general versus specific evolution. In this scheme “advance” was a general evolutionary term while “divergence” referenced specific evolution, but both were ultimately aspects of the same process. This concept of evolution on a number of scales would theoretically be seen in the archaeological record as an increase in material elements, division of labor, and the creation of subgroups or classes, as well as specialized means of political and philosophical integration (Sahlins 1960). Overall, specific evolution would afford an individual society a greater adaptation to their particular cultural or natural environment, but general evolution would lead to greater adaptability and versatility (Kaplan 1960, though see Hallpike 1986 for contradiction). While the premise of their work was the definition of general versus specific evolution and an explanatory framework for how and why cultures change, the terms never stuck. Instead the influence of this book remains in its lucid justification for the use of evolutionary approaches to archaeology as well as the seed of a classificatory scheme to be further elaborated by Service only two years later. In 1962, Service published Primitive Social Organization, first introducing the concept of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states to anthropology. As a progressive scheme in the mold of Morgan’s savagery to civilization, Service’s four-part system was simple enough for anthropologists to slot in cultures. It also benefitted from many years of hindsight by using explicit definitions and avoiding value judgments. In this unabashedly evolutionary text, Service again identified the principles of general and specific evolution, arguing that while individual cultures may move in multiple directions the global trend for all societies was towards increasing complexity. With the creation of a heuristic device he hoped to give researchers looking at different groups a common nomenclature through which to filter their results. He had also rekindled the idea of evolutionary advance as a kind of advancement: “Progress is measured by some absolute criterion, such as complexity of structure or level of integration, and the forms are classified in broad overall stages” (Service 1962:5). With a firm evolutionary explanation for why cultures change (he would leave the “how” question for later works), Service moved into an in-depth discussion of what societies at various stages look like by explicitly defining bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and, to an extent, states. While the idea of bands, tribes, and states had been around anthropology for some time, tracing well before the writings of Morgan into the 19th century (Carneiro 2003), the concept of chiefdoms was relatively new. In 1955, Oberg had proposed six types of social systems, including the category “politically organized chiefdoms” in between “segmented tribes” and “feudal-type states” (Oberg 1955). Although he did not advocate any form of evolutionism, the use of chiefdom presented an interesting category for the sociopolitical stage between generally mobile egalitarian groups and complex states. Service seized upon this idea and proceeded to describe the relatively new stage of chiefdom as the answer to the question of how to “fill in the picture factually and bridge the gap theoretically between our comprehension of primitive culture and the beginnings of civilization” (Service 1962:166). Bands and tribes had been relatively well documented, but by juxtaposing them against one another as well as placing them on a lower rung of social complexity, Service managed to

19 demonstrate their distinct differences. In brief, bands were comprised of small groups based around kinship, organized either patrilocally or as a composite of individuals brought in for marriage purposes. This group, usually no more than 100 people, lived a mobile hunting and gathering lifestyle with a relatively limited range of material culture. No political structures or religion existed outside of informal family heads and institutionalized leveling mechanisms served to maintain social and material parity. As a group, or evolutionary stage, Service believed bands to have been the earliest form of social aggregation as well as the dominant form throughout the majority of prehistory remaining even today in populations such as the Australian Aborigines or African !Kung (Service 1962). Tribes, which Service described as similarly egalitarian and kinship-based, featured enough differences to distinguish them from bands. Much larger in size, tribes consisted of at least semi-sedentary aggregations of family groups with a greater reliance on horticulture or even agriculture. While kinship still connected many people within the tribe, extra-familial ties and the creation of social relationships became central to the maintenance of the group. Smaller groups, known as sodalities, formed based on shared values or through exchange networks. Reciprocity took on a larger role, not simply in quantity, but as the means by which relationships were made and maintained. As in the band societies, no official stratification existed, but individuals and leaders could still be distinguished through their own actions. This “achieved” status meant that while certain people could gain influence, when they died there was no official position that needed to be filled (Service 1962). In contrast to bands and tribes, the leap to chiefdom and eventually state was made at the institutionalization of inequality. Individuals no longer had equal access to power or material goods, but rather had to be born into positions of authority. As Service wrote, “Chiefdoms are profoundly inegalitarian” (Service 1962:140). This localization of power was likely not the function of single individuals gaining enough prominence to legitimize hereditary succession, but probably a social development out of an increasingly centralized system of redistribution. Chiefdoms represented the evolution of a tribe into a fully sedentary community or set of communities based around a shared economic, social, and religious core. As density increased with population aggregation, so too did production and the need to organize both redistribution and the many social systems. Specialization arose to deal not only with the administrative aspects of the culture, but also to produce craft goods for trade and exchange (Service 1962). With the advancement beyond tribal society, the position of chief became a legitimized institution. Chiefs claimed a hereditary right to rulership, generally tracing their genealogy back to powerful founding ancestors. As such, succession was strictly regulated and limited to those with the closest consanguine relationship. In tribes, erstwhile leaders had a tenuous grasp on power and could lose their position if they failed to fulfill their duties. In chiefdoms, however, chief had become a position ruled not through the exercise of power, but by the accepted notion of authority by hereditary descent. This authority then radiated outward, giving legitimacy to all those related to, and surrounding, the chief. Social categories, not yet fully exogamous, but strongly exclusive, were ranked based on their relationship to the chief and the ultimate ancestral power. This usually led to the definition of “proto-classes” into which people could be easily placed with little hope for upward mobility due to the chiefdom’s legitimizing ideology (Service 1962). While Service’s Primitive Social Organization did not feature a chapter exclusively on state-level organization, he devoted a portion of the chiefdom section to an explanation of their differences. Perhaps the lack of its own chapter represents an unclear distinction in Service’s

20 mind, as the differentiating factors he defines are somewhat fluid. After reiterating that the state is no longer a kinship-based system, he claims that the creation of true classes is one of two main aspects that separate states from chiefdoms. In chiefly society, rank is based primarily on social relationships, often with two or three levels of increasing biological distance from the chief. These distinctions are borne out in sumptuary practices, such as who can eat or wear what, and often manifest in the roles played by differently related individuals. In a state, on the other hand, there is a class of workers as well as multiple classes devoted to the administration of civil bureaucracy and the production of economic or artistic specialists (Service 1962). Although the distinction between classes based on social prescription versus social function may contain some truth, it is by no means universal and should not be used as a primary way to distinguishing cultural stages. The second major difference that Service defines is the authority of the state to hold a monopoly over the application of force and violence. He argues that in less complex societies, interpersonal violence is not condoned, but is not the group’s responsibility to punish. At a larger scale, the leaders of these earlier evolutionary stages can call for support in war or defense, but have no power to force individuals into fighting. In a state, however, the leader (often a king) will forbid any sort of unsanctioned violence and forcefully punish transgressors. In larger conflict, the king is legally able to call troops and command them at will. This monopoly of force, Service argues, is an even greater distinction than class structure and is a point to which he often returns (Service 1962, and supported by Hoebel 1954, Austin 1954, Erenstadt 1963). Again, however, as the basis for defining major evolutionary stages it is rather weak. Ultimately, Primitive Social Organization provided archaeologists and anthropologists a system with which to organize and understand cultures. As an evolutionary scheme, bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states offered a universal classification that spoke to both emerging evolutionary ideas as well as specific definitions. For all of its successes, however, this work left much to be desired. A further subdivision by Service of states into “primitive”, “archaic”, and “classical” added categories based only on a degree of scale while the distinction between chiefdoms and states in general remained muddled. Service himself would later admit, “The distinction between Chiefdom and Primitive State is worrisome” (Service 1971:157). Critics, including Fried (1967), would also question the division between bands and tribes. Finally, while Service answered why cultures changed (evolution) and what they looked like, little attention was paid to how they changed and the processes by which cultural evolution occurred. In the following decades he would address many of these issues, but in the initial publication of this book he opened the door for numerous other authors to expand upon evolutionary ideas. Unfortunately for archaeology, the reemergence of evolutionary concepts was something of a Pandora’s box. While some good work was produced, such as Quigley’s (1961) book on the evolution of institutions and culture as a whole, much of the scholarship of the 1960s went to illogical extremes. Gregor (1966) epitomized the glossed-over return to unilinear thought with such universal notions as “farming was followed by civilization” (Gregor 1966:133) and “[agriculture] enabled him to lift himself out of savagery into civilization… and he submitted to regulations and laws” (Ibid. 141). In another questionable theoretical development, processual archaeology’s early obsession with the creation of generalizable “laws” occasionally led to the dehumanization of culture through the application of equations and mathematical formulas. Authors such as Schaefer (1969) attempted to classify evolutionary levels of social complexity through the application of such formulae as “Naroll’s Social Development Index” and “Marsh’s Index of Differentiation”. In their own ways, both the return to 19th century “evolutionism” and

21 the reduction of humanity to numbers hurt the progress of evolutionary ideas in archaeology, but influential writers such as Service, Fried, Carneiro, and Flannery continued to publish clear and effective calls for the use of such ideas. In 1967, Morton Fried employed examples from the Pacific to propose a new system of evolutionary stages. Building on Sahlins’ (1958) description of different Polynesian social organization schemes, along with Goldman’s (1955, 1970) look at divergent cultural evolutions (also within Polynesia), Fried discussed island societies and how evolutionary changes had resulted in a range of different sociopolitical structures. Coming from a Marxist approach to the studies of power and social interaction, Fried challenged the band, tribe, chiefdom, and state categories with the definition of new stages based on class and social hierarchy. While he acknowledged the influence of environment, particularly in the capacity for food production and the generation of surplus, Fried believed that these were simply means to an end, with the outcome being differentiated levels of society. Early cultures, he argued, did likely resemble Service’s “bands”, but in a very impassioned critique he called the concept of “tribe” a meaningless classification. Rather than distinguishing the two, which Fried believed were nothing more than a difference of scale, he merged them and called this lowest level of complexity “egalitarian” society (Fried 1967). In the next step up, Fried continued his classification based on sociopolitical organization with what he called “ranked” societies. Generally equivalent to Service’s “chiefdom”, a ranked society was politically structured such that institutionalized positions with valued status existed, but access to these positions was not universal. The economy became more centralized, with food and goods being collected and redistributed by the leader. Populations aggregated in increasingly dense villages, and while differences in rank existed, on a daily basis social interactions were not defined by rank. Leaders ruled through their control of both the economy and ideology, but ultimately “commands” issued by these leaders could be ignored by the group with no real fear of legitimized, violent reprisal (Fried 1967). Above “rank” societies in Fried’s scheme is the nebulous category of the “stratified” society. In this stage, hierarchical organization becomes formalized, but not to the scale or extent that the culture could be called a “state”. People of similar rank no longer have equal access to power and what was once communal property can be claimed in private ownership (Herskovits 1952). Beyond these criteria, however, little remains to distinguish “stratified” society from “state”. Fried claims that this liminal stage is inherently unstable, moving quickly into either statehood or collapse. He also admits, “Societies that are stratified but lack state institutions are not known to the ethnographer,” (Fried 1967:224). Ultimately, this stage in his evolution of culture was poorly conceived and found no solid footing. Fried’s “state” societies represented the height of hierarchical complexity. More than simply legislature, law, bureaucracy, or government, the defining factor was an interwoven complex of institutions where power was organized to control virtually all aspects of society. Ideology defined authority and legitimized stratification while backed by the threat of force. Multiple levels of society existed with specialists devoted to bureaucratic, religious, and craft production functions. This view of the state, despite its explicitly Marxist focus on power and social relations, served as a stronger definition than that provided by Service. Unlike Service, Fried provided at least initial thoughts as to why cultures moved from stage to stage. With evolution and people’s inherently unequal social relations as the accepted underpinnings, he briefly discussed mechanisms that could drive groups towards increasing complexity. While he acknowledged that ecological demography indeed played a role, Fried

22 believed also in social factors playing an important role. Despite the writings of Fortes and Evans-Pritchard (1940) to the contrary, Fried sided with Stevenson (1968) who had written that population aggregation and increasing density was a good indication that the emergence of hierarchy was not far behind. This agreed with the recent evidence from Goldman’s (1955) study of Polynesian societies, who believed cultural evolution was largely driven by “status rivalry” and Boserup (1965) whose work had shown that increasing population necessitated developments in agricultural strategies and social organization. The combination of population pressure and demography, Fried argued, was likely the mechanism by which cultures evolved from stage to evolutionary stage, partially echoing early Sahlins (1958) who described societies at different evolutionary stages as a reflection of their potential energy capture and technological development (following on the work of Leslie White). Although Fried’s work was critical in updating Marxist ideas of evolution (which had been virtually stagnant since Childe), his classificatory scheme never took hold. Perhaps due to its more esoteric stage titles or the weak definition of “stratified” society, the system of bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states remained paramount in both popular and anthropological opinion. Fried was, however, successful in melding a work with evolutionary stages to explanations for why and how cultural complexity seemed always to be increasing. With Service’s scheme firmly entrenched, archaeological studies turned almost exclusively towards an understanding of how cultures moved from stage to stage. One of the first archaeologists to heavily push one causal factor, or “prime mover”, was Robert Carneiro. In “A Theory of the Origin of the State” (1970), Carneiro attempted to discern why cultures made the relatively quick transition from bands, which had dominated virtually all of human history, all the way to states. He began with a brief overview of other theories, the majority of which he either dismissed or incorporated into his own view. He argued that voluntaristic theories, essentially all outgrowths of Rousseau’s Social Contract, had been disproven. This included Childe’s Oasis Theory (1928), premised around agriculture and social aggregation, as well as the Hydraulic Hypothesis of Wittfogel (1957). He also argued that neither racial traits, “geniuses”, nor historical accidents had caused the rise of states. He did, however, adopt the idea of environmental circumscription from Boserup (1965), and even more centrally, the social circumscription of Chagnon (1968). Carneiro believed that although a population grew and group identity formed (advancing through Service’s evolutionary stages as it did), it would eventually reach the limits of either its local environment’s carrying capacity or it would begin to impinge upon other social groups. Building upon the ancient Grecian notion that “war is the father of all things” (Carneiro 1970:734), he argued that the cultural solution must be conflict. Expansion into new territory would be required, and the creation and management of an army would necessitate the kind of grand organizational effort only possible with a state structure. The conquest of other cultures would integrate new ideas and groups, ultimately leading to an expansive empire. While this emphasis on conflict (with environmental and social circumscription as the cause) as the mechanism for change was adopted by some later scholars as one of the possible routes to statehood (see Earle 1997), warfare as the single factor behind the evolution of states never caught on (though see Haas [1982] for militarism as a critical factor). Despite the lack of acceptance, Carneiro, along with Wittfogel, Boserup, and others, showed that “prime movers” could effectively be argued as evolutionary mechanisms. While some authors were pursuing single “prime movers”, authors such as Kent Flannery were advancing multi-causal models for the evolution from one stage of complexity to another.

23 In 1972, Flannery published an extremely comprehensive work that not only explicitly defined each of Service’s stages, but covered, at least in brief, all of the current theories surrounding cultural evolution. Although of a generally ecological bent, Flannery was keen to dispel the idea of environmental determinism. He believed that while ecological influences were certainly present, particularly in societies with a lower level of complexity, by statehood these approaches were no longer workable. Instead, and at all levels of complexity, archaeologists must also consider the roles of ideology, art, and religion (Flannery 1972). Before diving into the question of how cultures changed, however, Flannery provided readers with his own interpretation of Service’s bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states, particularly as the last had not received its due diligence. Bands, like tribes, were simple egalitarian groups integrated through kinship and marriage. Informal leadership and a division of labor by age and sex married with a weak sense of territoriality and limited religion meant a very low level of social complexity. Tribes, a term Flannery disliked for its conceptual boundaries, were larger, but similarly egalitarian societies. Lineage groups based on descent and clans with non-familial membership increased the size of the culture, but still only weak or ephemeral leadership was in place. Sedentism and a likely reliance on agriculture led to the growth of villages. Religion became increasingly complex and premised around scheduled events or rituals. Chiefdoms, for Flannery, marked the move from egalitarian to non-egalitarian societies, as well as a host of other increasingly complex institutions. Leadership was no longer achieved by anyone with the drive or charisma to do so, but became a right of those born into a chiefly line. The perpetuation of hereditary inequality featured ranked lineages holding dominion over, or even owning, prime lands. These chiefs became divine with an exclusive connection to the gods legitimizing their right to demand support and tribute from a population numbering in the thousands or tens of thousands. Elaborate rituals, occasionally led by religious specialists with similarly exclusive access to the divine serve to cement ideology. Economically, everything from agricultural production to trade goods and the work of specialized producers went through the chief before being redistributed (Flannery [1972], though see his later writings [1994, 1995] and work with Marcus [Flannery and Marcus [1976, 1983a, 1983b] for subsequent elaborations on these classificatory distinctions). States, Service and Flannery’s highest form of sociopolitical organization, were based around strong, highly centralized governments with a professional ruling class elite. As noted by Service, the state had a complete monopoly over violence and the presence of true laws, but these were by no means Flannery’s only distinctions. Kinship, he added, no longer served as the basis for organization and the implementation of power, as the highly stratified and internally diverse state became a fully functioning bureaucracy more focused on its own systemic maintenance than familial relationships. Much larger populations gathered in urban centers, often with defined areas of specialized production or labor. Food and goods produced by specialists operated in both a reciprocal and redistributive economy as well as a market economy. Artistic and scientific achievements were supported by the state, but as with the production of food and goods, these ultimately came under the control of high-level elites. Public works, buildings, and services were professionally managed and served to reinforce state control and ideology, including religion. With this solid set of stage definitions, Flannery (1972) proceeded to identify the most commonly cited “prime movers” used as explanations for cultural evolution before expanding upon his own ideas. First was the rise of the “hydraulic state”, as proposed by Wittfogel (1957),

24 in which rulers in certain climates developed to deal with issues surrounding the management of large scale irrigation. Next, Flannery examined Carneiro’s conflict hypothesis, but found no robust data to support warfare being the cause, rather than the result, of state formation. Population growth and the consequent environmental and social circumscription were also popular explanations. Boserup (1965), Sahlins (1972), and others argued that cultures with increasing population and density could not expand indefinitely, but would ultimately reach the limits of environmentally productive areas or come in contact with the territory of another group and have to innovate their productive capacities as well as organizational structures. Other “prime movers” in which Flannery put even less stock included trade and symbiosis, nebulous ideas of cooperation and competition, and the integrative power of art and religion. Following his analysis of all these explanations, Flannery (1972) proposed some conclusions of his own. Ultimately it seemed that the linear causality of “prime movers” was not enough to explain cultural evolution, particularly the formation of states. Instead he favored the more synthetic theory of Robert Adams (1966) that adopted a multivariate causality in which a series of internally related systems constantly interacted to regulate the society. In Flannery’s view, these systems, operating at all levels of social complexity, functioned for information processing and storage. As influences such as population growth, technological change, or interaction with outside groups became more complicated, internal structures would similarly have to become more complex. Where bands and tribes had headmen who were responsible for receiving and distributing knowledge, chiefdoms required the creation of new positions surrounding the chief to help in the processing of increasingly elaborate information. This new group of people, which would evolve into a professional political class in states, needed to be both fed and supported in ways that demonstrated their status. Flannery acknowledged that the archaeological detection of information processing would be extremely difficult, but he proposed that by identifying changes in internal institutions it could be accomplished. The two main mechanisms, he argued, were promotion, in which some group or institution suddenly gained a visible amount of importance, and linearization, where the top levels eliminated the lower level institutions by taking on the duties themselves. Both could potentially lead to conflict, or “pathologies”, but could also serve to support the culture’s increasing control over information. Ultimately, Flannery proposed a set of 15 “rules” as the conditions required for the emergence of statehood. These were based on his preceding discussion, but included room for localized socio-environmental conditions affecting the ways in which culture evolved. Despite the creation of what he believed to be an understandable set of circumstances and mechanisms for evolutionary change, Flannery admitted that archaeology was still a “long way” from being able to create a predictive model that could be universally applied towards cultural evolution (Flannery 1972:421). By the mid-1970s, Elman Service had reexamined his original bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states scheme in a number of papers (Service 1968, 1971a, 1971b, 1975). Having read Fried’s (1967) critique, Service agreed with the uselessness of the tribe category, combining it, as had Fried, with bands to create a stage called “egalitarian society”. He further altered his own scheme by changing what was the equivalent of chiefdoms into “hierarchical society” and states in “archaic civilizations” (Service 1971a). By 1975, however, these new categorizations had not been adopted, and in a rather interesting move, Service’s next book, Origins of the State and Civilization (1975), went back to the four-stage system with absolutely no mention of his amendments from 1971. Possibly as a way to justify what Carneiro calls a “recanted recantation” (Carneiro 2003:139), Service took a new approach to his four stages. Rather than reifying each

25 as a discrete, essentialist category, he described all as points along a continuum of directional change. In shifting these stages into a materialist framework, Service updated his original scheme and advanced the evolutionary idea that the seeds for each stage could be found at earlier points along the continuum. In 1981, Jones and Kautz edited an important volume about the development of state societies. Nominally devoted to New World cultures, this volume contained a variety of papers based around the three forces Jones and Kautz felt to be the driving factors towards statehood: sociopolitics, environment, and ideology. They divided their book into these three sections and had prominent authors define specific causal factors within one of the categories. For their part, Jones and Kautz briefly discussed crisis as an understudied factor that could have pushed groups towards statehood. Following on Adams’ notion of leaders gaining power in troubled times due to a “spiritual or theistic charisma” (Adams 1975:239), Jones and Kautz proposed that conditions of stress may have pushed cultures throughout the world into a “cultic” response to crises (Jones and Kautz 1981). While Jones and Kautz (1981) mention crisis as a possible reason for the move to increasing complexity, they premise the majority of their book around the more likely processes of sociopolitics, environment, and ideology. The first of the two chapters dealing with sociopolitics comes from Carneiro (1981) who reiterates his 1970 argument that increasing populations in environmentally and socially circumscribed areas would lead to warfare. At lower levels of complexity, the advantages offered by a more organized administration would mean victory, while at more advanced stages a state bureaucracy would be a virtual necessity to deal with the many logistics involved in feeding and leading an army. To a very different end, the second chapter in the sociopolitics section also used conflict as a central factor in the move to statehood. Haas (1981) argued that intra- rather than inter-group conflict was the main reason for social change. Grounded in the work of Fried (1967), this Marxist analysis said that the state developed as a coercive mechanism to resolve internal conflict. These conflicts, he believed, were the result of unequal access to both power and material goods between economically stratified classes. Although the works of Carneiro and Haas presented markedly different conclusions, they agreed that the cooperative notions of the social contract theory were not likely. In the following section on environment, two cultural ecologists, Cohen and MacNeish, reemphasized the focus of processual archaeology on the formative role of nature in social evolution. In an obvious return to Steward (1955) and Sahlins and Service (1961), Cohen (1981) argued for the dual processes of general and specific evolution. At the grand scale, general evolutionary principles pushed all societies towards increasing complexity. For Cohen these grand issues included population pressure and centralization, while at localized scales parallel developments in cultural reaction could also be seen. At this smaller scale the mechanisms for change could include differential storage, long distance trade, or other specific environmental adaptations. None of the ideas noted by Cohen were challenged in the following chapter by MacNeish (1981). Instead, MacNeish provided an oddly unilinear set of twelve specific stages through which he believed each society must travel on their way to statehood. In the final section on ideological factors, Coe (1981), Keatinge (1981), and Freidel (1981) all present a similar set of ideas regarding religion and general ideology. In a rather circular argument, Coe says that ideology is central to chiefdoms and their move into states through its ability to draw people together. He also, however, argues that as people begin to aggregate, religion is allowed to spread at a higher rate. It seems, then, that neither could exist

26 without the other and that archaeologists must look elsewhere for the reasons behind the move to statehood. In the following chapter, Keatinge postulates that the transmission of ideology to outside groups led to the creation of enhanced trading networks. Trade, interaction, and increasing centralization of socioeconomic power were all enabled by ideology, and more specifically religion. Freidel finished the section with a general rehash of Keatinge’s ideas, saying that ingraining ideological factors accelerated trade and the formation of hierarchy. Ultimately these discussions of ideology provided a weak case for an evolutionary “mover” with an already low archaeological signature. By the late 1980s, much of the work concerning cultural evolution featured a myopic eye on states and the teleological means by which they arrived in their final incarnation. While some archaeologists, such as Boyd and Richerson (1985), looked at social transmission and evolution in smaller-scale cultures, few did more to promote the study of pre-state societies than Tim Earle. With a specific emphasis on Polynesia, and Hawaiʻi in particular, Earle’s focus on chiefdoms (1987, 1989, 1991, 1997) served to highlight the intricacies of power relationships and the political economy of this intermediary stage between egalitarian societies and states. He noted that while the characterization of chiefdoms served as an effective framework for understanding central decision-making and social inequality, the forms in which this evolutionary stage could be found were numerous, far greater than those of states (Earle 1987). These dynamic chiefdoms, in all their forms, built their stability around a hierarchical system of governance that served not as a series of professional classes, but rather as a means to keep the class below them in check. While Earle explicitly used Hawaiʻi as an example of a complex chiefdom, it was ultimately arguments surrounding just these hierarchical systems (Kirch 2007, 2010, 2012; Hommon 1986, 2013) in conjunction with other traditionally chiefly traits that convinced him of Hawaiian statehood (Earle 2013). As chiefdoms developed out of tribes and into states, Earle (1987) argued, their inherently precarious nature had to be maintained by strong, organized leaders. These chiefs could come to power through either a benevolent, managerial role, or through the exercise of controlling, exploitative power (echoing earlier arguments of the social contract versus coercion). The ruling elite must then have walked a fine line between balancing self-interests and the maintenance of their power monopoly with existing and developing ideologies. To this end, Earle (1989) proposed ten strategies by which chiefs could gain and extend their power. While some focused on the opportunities and constraints offered by the environment, including the expansion of agricultural infrastructure and the encouragement of circumscription, Earle’s other strategies covered a range of mechanisms, from controlling trade or economics to the appropriation or creation of legitimizing ideology. Interestingly, despite his clear focus on the definition of chiefdoms and the mechanisms by which they evolved, Earle was also responsible for the creation of an entirely new system of evolutionary stages (Johnson and Earle 1987, updated in 2000). Johnson and Earle identified three major phases based on affiliation, including the family-level group, local group, and regional polity. Family-level groups were the most simple and could not be subdivided into any smaller categories, but both local groups and regional polities contained could be segmented. At the local level, eponymously named “local groups” were egalitarian collectives most reminiscent of Service’s “tribes”. Above them, however, Johnson and Earle defined a group known as the “big-man collective” as a bridge towards chiefdoms. This stage contained all of the previously described characteristics of a big-man society, but was now given its own title. At the regional polity lever, Johnson and Earle described the “chiefdom” much as had Service (1962), Flannery

27 (1972), and Earle (1987), although they did make slight distinctions between “simple” and complex” chiefdoms. State level societies, however, were divided into “archaic states”, essentially a extension of the complex chiefdom, and “nation states” premised around massive populations and a governmental structure similar to those of the modern world. While the 1987 organizational system of Johnson and Earle did not take over from bands, tribes, chiefdoms, and states, it still served as a useful exercise in the identification of big-man societies and archaic states as stages along what should be construed as a continuum of evolutionary change. Despite the positive reactions to all of this evolutionary work by the late 1970s and early 80s some archaeologists began to question the overwhelming dominance of evolutionary explanations and aspects of the theory began to come under fire. One of the most substantial criticisms was brought against the widely accepted use of “types” or “stages” as defined by either single or multiple cultural traits. Yoffee (1979) argued that the use of stages was a reflection of many archaeologists having never abandoned the erroneous link between cultural and biological evolution. Whereas the study of processes and how or why things change ought to be the primary focus of evolutionary research, too much was still premised around nomenclature and the definition of when a culture makes the leap from one stage to another. Dunnell and Wenke (1980) quickly countered with an acknowledgement of some of the failings evident in contemporary evolutionary archaeology, but hastened to note that most practitioners had long since severed ties with biological evolution. They also argued that while cultures by no means jumped straight from stage to stage, the process of change was also not a smooth and consistent transition. Instead they advocated the notion of “punctuated equilibria” (Eldridge and Gould 1972) in which advances in technology or complexity occurred in concentrated bursts. Although versions of this idea had been utilized as early as 1960 by Sahlins and Service, no clear conclusions had since been reached as to how quickly cultures changed. Despite the effort of Dunnell and Wenke (1980), doubts surrounding the efficacy of evolutionism in archaeology were beginning to spread, particularly in the definition of cultural types or stages. Works by Claessen (1978), Feinman and Neitzel (1984, aptly titled “Too Many Types”), and Lightfoot (1984) began to argue that the definition of evolutionary types unreasonably categorized cultures with no sense of there being a continuum leading from lesser to greater sociocomplexity. To combat the rising critiques, some authors (Kirch 1984; Kirch and Green 1987) integrated new data sets into archaeological analyses, including linguistics and oral traditions, but the overall sense of skepticism would continue to develop, ultimately leading to an entirely new period in which evolutionary thought in archaeology would again have to redefine and reassert its utility.

Evolution Evolves: Divergent Approaches from the 1990s Through Today

By the mid-1980s, many archaeologists were becoming dissatisfied with the terminology and accepted ideas of an evolutionary approach. With the postprocessual critique of New Archaeology and its reliance on cultural ecology and general evolution just around the corner, Van der Leeuw (1982) argued that the evolutionary ideas of the 1960s were losing their relevance and that their associated terminology lacked the finesse required by modern archaeologists. This argument, along with a number of other criticisms including the processual tendency to avoid agency and “humanness” (as early as Hill 1977), drove a substantial number of archaeologists away from the evolutionary approach in the 1980s and early 90s. In a theoretical shift that would have pleased Boas, this faction returned to a sort of historical particularism and

28 focus on individual cultures at specific times. They also interjected the idea of agency and archaeology at smaller scales to answer questions outside the realm of broad evolutionary explanations. While postprocessual arguments took one branch of archaeology in a new direction, a large number of researchers continued to work on, and refine the concepts of cultural evolution. One branch of evolutionary thought that flourished in the 1990s and beyond was the Marxist approach previously advocated by Childe (1936), Fried (1967), and others. At the fore of this theoretical development was Bruce Trigger. In 1993, Trigger reiterated the hallmarks of Marxist archaeology, arguing that cultural change was a product of social inequality. While hunting and gathering groups featured relatively low complexity, over time issues and access to resources compounded (particularly during Childe’s “Neolithic Revolution”), leading to differential levels of power. This led to greater disparity in both social and economic equality, ultimately leading to the creation of classes and institutions designed to maintain these distinctions (Trigger 1993). Trigger argued that the postprocessual critique, despite containing a number of correct ideas, was wrong in its dismissal of evolutionary ideas. Evolution need not be unilinear, but instead a general trend towards increasing complexity as the compounding sum of local human histories. This perspective need not be colonial or racist if applied properly, but rather a social focus on the ways in which ruling groups throughout the world have used coercive power to augment their authority. In archaeological examples, Trigger claimed, this could be seen in the control of both surplus and the means of production, while increasingly centralized power was being exerted over specialists and symbolic or religious enterprises (Trigger 2006). Trigger was by no means alone in his support of Marxist ideas in archaeology. Many scholars adopted the idea of a social power struggle as either the premise for their work or at least a partial inspiration. Studies in evolutionary thought continued to focus on both definition of different stages (particularly at the more complex levels) and the means by which cultures changed. Crone’s (1989) work echoed the ideas of Boserup (1965), claiming that population pressures drove increasing complexity. In addition to spurring agriculture (as per Boserup), the aggregation of people and population density led to conflict and the rise of class struggles (Crone 1989). Similarly, Patterson (1993) argued that as these densely populated areas developed beyond tribe and band structures, elites came to control the economy through a system of “violence, repression, and conflict” (Patterson 1993:100). The systems of tribute, ownership, and labor mobilization all contributed to this growing social rift (Kristiansen 1991). As their power grew, these elites employed coercive strategies in the support of their own position, putting into practice what Baines and Yoffee (1998) believed to be a concise and maintained vision of what states should look like. Although Marxist ideas provided a strong argument for the processes by which states formed, many archaeologists found notions of power relationships to be useful, if not the single reason for cultural evolution. Feinman (1995) noted the ways in which both external trade and internal support could be used by elites to strengthen the hierarchy, reiterating Yoffee’s (1993) recent conclusion that power relationships were a central feature in social development. In addition to chapters on the redefinition of state societies (Feinman 1998, Marcus 1998) sections of the formative volume Archaic States (Feinman and Marcus 1998a) adopted Marxist notions. Following Baines and Yoffee (1998), Feinman and Marcus (1998b) characterized early civilizations as an unstable platform for the growth of classes underpinned by a societal resistance to state power. A final branch of theory to adopt elements of Marxism was feminist archaeology. Led by Brumfiel (1994, 1995), feminist ideas on cultural evolution adopted

29 elements of the power struggle created by class and gender as well as recognizing distinctions between the development of the state and the very different development of society. Marxist scholars were by no means the only ones to isolate a single, driving force behind the evolution of cultures. In what could be seen as the flip side of the Marxist coin, a number of archaeologists, led by Tim Earle, identified the politicization of the economy as the main “mover” in developing society. While not all of the authors in Earle’s volume on chiefdoms (Earle 1991) subscribed to the political economy theory (in particular, see Kirch’s [1991] chapter on Marquesan development), a large number supported his contention that increasingly complex society was fueled by the control of both everyday resources as well as luxury goods. Hirth (1996) supported this notion, arguing that systems evolved in direct proportion to their access to, and control over, resources. Ruling elites cemented their positions of leadership through redistribution of food products, specialized crafts, and trade goods. By 1997, Earle’s focus remained on political economy, but he, along with many others, shifted his thinking to include a more holistic view of social development. In addition to economics driving cultural evolution, two other factors were also key: the exercise of military power and control over ideology (although see the earliest introduction of these ideas in Earle 1989). Claessen (1988) developed a similar tripartite system of causality, having refined an original six determinants (Claessen and Skalnik 1978) down to economics, ideology, and social format in place of Earle’s military power. Mann (1986) presented what was essentially the combination of these later systems in his argument that economics, ideology, military strength, and political relationships were the four main factors in social development. While Earle and others were attempting to isolate a small number of “prime movers”, other archaeologists were adopting an even more broad approach. Knapp (1993) said six causes, each with subsets, could lead to social complexity. Although in his specific instance he believed political economy and the control over production were the primary cause for local cultural evolution, he argued that any of the other five causes were equally likely elsewhere. Like Knapp, Byrd (1994) believed that political economy was only one of a number of evolutionary causes. Blanton (1998) summed up this shift towards a spectrum of equifinal “movers”, noting that despite the large number of archaeologists who still used evolutionary approaches, ideas of single or multiple causal factors were remnants of processual archaeology’s heyday. Instead, he argued, modern archaeology must return to the examination of actual processes, rather than “prime movers” as simplified mechanisms. In addition to prefacing a return to large-scale systems studies and the rise of complexity theory, Blanton’s work also highlighted the archaeological focus on state defined by centralization and the possibility of its fallacy. By the 1990s and 2000s, definitions for the different stages of complexity, most notably chiefdoms and states, were relatively well accepted. Some archaeologists, however, focused not on the causal factors between these stages, but returned to questions of whether the given definitions were appropriate. Leading this reappraisal were Crumley (1987, 1995) and Ehrenreich (1995) who each produced chapters in a co-edited volume on the notion of heterarchy, or a distribution of power between groups or institutions. Power relationships, they claimed, were not uniformly hierarchical, but often flexible, contingent, and fluctuating. This concept, contrary to the ideas of states as highly centralized authorities, was argued in archaeological examples from throughout the world (Ehrenreich 1995) and found support with a number of authors (see Possehl 1998). Brumfiel (1994) saw different actors in the past supporting this divided power structure, while Stein (1998) said that concepts of heterarchy provided a greater focus on agency and allowed for evolutionary change to come from a range of

30 factors, both internal or external. It also gave new legitimacy to studies in rural areas, as these “peripheries” had their own power and interacted with the “core” in a crucial way. As prefaced by Blanton in 1998, much of the work on cultural evolution in the 2000s has taken the old idea of cultural processes and expanded upon it. Bintliff (2003) looked at the archaeological approaches of the previous four decades and concluded that neither the universal evolutionism from the 1960s nor the particularism and relativism of the 1990s offered good explanations. Rather than pushing for new lines archaeological inquiry, contemporary method and theory were not moving forward, but “crablike and sideways” (Bintliff 2003: 79-83). Neither memory nor active individuals, he argued, could account for any social change. People matter only insofar as they were aspects or products of a larger, complex system, and that the nature of these systems must be archaeologists’ focus. To this end, Bintliff supported the adoption of the theoretical perspective known as complexity theory. Complexity theory, called by Bentley and Maschner (2003) a bridge between processual and postprocessual archaeology, was defined as the study of dynamic, nonlinear systems. In the study of archaeological cultures, this meant the combination of a number of previously distinct lines of questioning. Crumley (1995) summed these up as integration (a culture and its evolutionary causes are far greater than any single institution or cause alone, like Knapp [1993] and Blanton [1998]), communication (similar to Flannery’s [1972] concept of increasingly complex information sharing), and history or initial conditions (an eclectic mix of environmental influences from the 1960s as well as the inclusion of a culture’s historical memory). For Bentley and Maschner (2003) these factors all had to be considered in the study of specific cultures. With some ideas that hearkened back to Sahlins and Service (1960), they argued that broad cultural patterns could be seen in general trends, but that particular local phenomenon were unique. This familiar concept of explaining the general through the particular was modified through the examination of cultures as interactive, open systems in which complex social and environmental factors were constantly in a dynamic state of flux. As social complexity increased, more factors had to be taken into account and the less feasible it would become for archaeologists to understand a past culture. In the 2000s, complexity theory gathered a relatively limited following, perhaps due to its combination of very disparate theoretical leanings as well as its inherent intricacy. Bentley (2003) advocated the primacy of network studies at a large scale for understanding cultures across a regional network, and while this approach featured potential analysis down to the household level, and thus a true integration of archaeological approaches, he contented himself with interaction at the village level. While studies featuring complexity theory are ongoing (see Rousseau [2006] or Layton’s [2003] work on complexity and mechanisms for punctuated social evolution), it has not yet bridged the divide between processual, postprocessual, or any of the other archaeological theories as Bentley and Maschner (2003) had hoped. Despite periods in both the early and late 20th century, ideas of cultural evolution have held an important place in archaeological inquiry. From the most basic notions of change through time, scholars adopted the ideas of Darwin and applied biological principles to human culture. These ideas were manifested as unilinear models of social evolution with European complexity as the teleological end, but following both criticism and reflection, evolutionary theory emerged again in the 1950s and 60s with a new, more broad approach. The single line of human and cultural potential branched, and while increasing complexity was a general trend, they ways in which a society got there were innumerable. During this period groups were also

31 effectively defined based on their social structure rather than their material culture, and the how and why of movement between a series of stages became central to archaeological practitioners. In the 1990s, theory in archaeology fractured in a number of different directions. Postprocessualists advocated the study of smaller scale questions and the analysis of agency, memory, and identity over general evolution. While Marxist and feminist archaeologists appreciated many of the postprocessual critiques, a number of their studies continued to look at cultural evolution, but turned an eye to the structure of power relationships and social inequality. Continuing in the tradition of isolating “prime movers” from the middle of the century, many archaeologists turned to economic control or ideology as other aspects, along with politics, that drove cultures towards increasing complexity. By the 2000s, single causal factors began to lose some followers as the more holistic concepts of heterarchy and complexity theory took root. In these approaches, power became decentralized and the understanding of culture and evolution shifted towards a greater appreciation of intricate systems and networks. Ideas about cultural evolution have, themselves, evolved from humble origins. The myriad approaches that today constitute evolutionary theory in archaeology represent a range of perspectives and possibilities. The latest ideas of heterarchy or complexity may emerge as successful theories, or perhaps either old perspectives will reemerge or entirely new ways of addressing evolution will de developed. As the basis for much of the research in the archaeological world, however, it is clear that ideas of cultural evolution will remain with archaeology for a long time. Their utility, then, must lie in a nuanced and responsible application to all discrete scenarios rather than the broad syllogisms often adopted in cultural classifications.

Agriculture and Production in the Development of Social Complexity: Hawaiʻi and Greater Oceania

Early European visitors to Hawaiʻi, including Captains Cook, La Perouse, Vancouver, Kotzebue, and others, all marveled at the bounty of the islands, writing in their journals of terraced ponds of irrigated taro in every valley and broad fields of dryland crops interspersed with sugarcane and other edibles. Of Oʻahu, Kotzebue wrote, “We daily received taro, yams, cocoa-nuts, bananas, and water-melons, in abundance. The hogs are so large, that the whole crew could not eat one in two days” (Kotzebue [1821: 321], in Fitzpatrick [1986]). Stories of Polynesian plenty returned home with the sailors, leading intellectuals such as Rousseau and Diderot to enchant Enlightenment readers with notions of “l’homme natural” (or “the natural man”) living in a virtual Eden where life was leisurely and food could be plucked by all from the nearest tree (Rousseau 2002; Kirch 2000). What these accounts failed to recognize, however, is that the richness of Hawaiian production was the function of a highly modified landscape requiring massive amounts of labor in creation and upkeep. Furthermore, these systems were supporting the single most socially complex archipelago in the Pacific, and were the apex of a long line of productive systems stretching back through Polynesia to Near Oceania and Island Southeast Asia. These ancestral practices offer insights into the development of pan-Pacific agriculture, while providing a deeper understanding for the manner in which production developed in Hawaiʻi. Furthermore, tying agriculture to social complexity sets a background for their linked development in a location such as Kaupō. For anthropologists and archaeologists of the Pacific, agriculture has long been an important research focus. Numerous studies have assessed the region’s role as one of the earliest

32 centers of domestication (Golson 1990, 1991; Yen 1990, 1995; Denham et al. 2004), as an example of agriculture’s social effects (Geertz 1963; Barrau 1965; Brookfield 1972, 1984; Earle 1978, 1997, 2012; Kirch 1984, 1994, 2000, 2010), as a “model system” (Vitousek 2004) for worldwide agricultural development (Morrison 1994), and others. Oceania has also been studied for its broad range of agricultural strategies, spanning highly regulated arboriculture and horticulture, to various wet and dryland practices, each frequently attributed to a number of causal factors, including time depth, population pressures, and environment. Outside of the Pacific, numerous questions have been posed regarding the development of both complex society and the shift to specific forms of agriculture. Particularly during the mid-20th century, research (described in part above) was conducted with the aim of identifying direct causal relationships, thereby equating, for example, the rise of social hierarchy and overall complexity with the invention of irrigation, or vice versa. In their early years, theorists working on subsistence questions were generally divided between two camps; those who saw agriculture as a necessity demanded by increasing population (Boserup 1965), or those who viewed it as a development that then enabled the expansion of society (Wittfogel 1957; Sahlins 1958, though this branch of thinking relied largely on the ideas of Enlightenment thinker Thomas Malthus). While these two sides conducted fieldwork effectively demonstrating local examples of their respective arguments (Boserup in Africa and India, Wittfogel in the Near East and Sahlins in Hawaiʻi), other researchers began looking at environmental factors in relation to either agriculture or social development. Geertz (1963) and Barrau (1965) recognized the crucial role of ecology in the development of intensified agriculture, both focusing on the practical differences between farming in various environments. Where Geertz centered his work on the differentiation between wet and dry zones, Barrau sought to understand how disparate local conditions could manifest themselves in the underlying structures of society. In 1978, Earle conducted extensive investigations on Kauaʻi to chart the distribution and productive potential of irrigated agricultural systems. This project integrated many of the theoretically divergent proposals put forth previously, ultimately arguing that the expansion of intensified agriculture went alongside increases in both population and technology, while also being a function of environmental potential. Taking the position of environmental determinism even further (yet still, like Earle, integrating some notions of demographics and innovation) Brookfield (1972, 1984) looked at how intensification of agricultural practices affected cultures in different ecological zones. Studying the differences between wet and dry, he concluded that intensification in dryland areas was usually a function of necessity. These marginal environments, he argued, required higher labor inputs and social control, while wetter areas had less pressing subsistence pressures and people were more free to experiment with new crops or other innovations. By the 1990s, archaeological work on agriculture had moved well beyond the determinism of the 1950s and 60s. Approaches combining the studies of intensified agriculture with socio-complexity and ecology (as per Brookfield) came to the fore. In 1994, Kirch published his seminal The Wet and the Dry, a work that not only expanded upon the integration of these factors, but added direct ecological distinctions between contrasting environments and applied them to a real world scenario. Centering primarily on the ethnographically and archaeologically studied Pacific island of Futuna, Kirch highlighted the differential methods of production between closely associated wetland and dryland agricultural systems and their related social structures. He identified alternate technological advances between the two areas, but also the inherent tension underlying the juxtaposition of such varying agronomic and socio-political

33 landscapes. These environments, he argued, shaped the cultures reliant upon them, but that over time, these groups developed intensified practices and social systems that shaped daily life on an equal or greater level of influence than ecology. Ultimately, his argument lay with the basic tenets of Barrau, that locations such as the Pacific Islands must be studied not only for their unifying similarities, but also as socially and environmentally distinct representations of wet and dry. While The Wet and the Dry tended to emphasize initial environment as a central factor in the eventual development of a culture, Kirch was quick to note that through time, this could not be fully abstracted from issues of agricultural and social maturity (Kirch 1994). While some authors such as Leach (1999) and, to a lesser extent, Morrison (1994), questioned whether the cropping practices of the Pacific Islands could be considered full agriculture (much less “intensive” agriculture), most researchers continued to pursue deeper understandings of island planting regimes, ultimately discounting any notions that these were simply mono-cropping horticultural and arboricultural systems. Supporting the agricultural position were a number of authors, such as Sand (2002) who argue that the types of cropping practiced throughout the Pacific employed highly modified landscapes uses, on par with that of field cropping or irrigation elsewhere. Spriggs (1993), echoing this sentiment, claimed that the intensive focus on a variety of crops and planting strategies is every bit as challenging as other, more common types of agriculture. He continues that while some, including Leach, may call Pacific systems “incipient agriculture”, this downplays the difficulty of multi-cropping and the management of various semi-domesticated cultigens. To counter the additional charges that Pacific producers had not even fully domesticated all their crops (a dubious claim, at best), Spriggs rails against what he calls “the fetishization of domestication as an important threshold between cultivation and agriculture” (Spriggs 1993:137). Moving forward, numerous new studies were conducted to better understand the practices of intensified agriculture in the Pacific. The most notable of these come from Hawaiʻi, though New Zealand and Easter Island have also been the subject of considerable research not detailed here. One of the dominant themes that has shaped agricultural studies in Hawaiʻi is the distinction between wet and dry production. Kirch (1994) expanded greatly on the work of Barrau (1965) defining differential production in these ecologically discrete zones, but had already acknowledged practices in Hawaiʻi varied greatly based on the windward and leeward sides of the islands (Kirch 1984, 1985). While differences between the two had previously been acknowledged, primacy had always been given to the production of irrigated taro (as with Earle [1978]). On the geologically older islands of Oʻahu and Kauaʻi, where permanent irrigation was feasible, pond-fields (loʻi) expanded throughout well-watered gulches and river valleys (Yen et el. 1972; Earle 1978, 1980; Tuggle and Tomonari-Tuggle 1980; Allen 1991, 1992; Kirch and Sahlins 1992; Allen 2001; Ladefoged et al. 2008; Palmer et al. 2009). While loʻi, primarily for the production of taro, were also located along the windward sides of Molokaʻi, Maui, and Hawaiʻi (Riley 1975; Kirch and Kelly 1975; Kirch 2002; McElroy 2007), these younger islands were increasingly dominated by dryland agricultural production (Handy 1940; Yen 1971; Kirch 1985, 1994). In reviewing work conducted on both irrigated taro agriculture as well as dryland systems (see especially Rosendahl [1972]), Kirch (1984, 2006) was able to demonstrate that as people moved from the windward to leeward parts of the islands their productive capacity was not necessarily gutted. The creation of irrigated pondfields for cultivating taro required a substantial investment in both construction and upkeep, but led to consistently strong yields. Likewise, dryland agriculture required the development of extensive wall systems running both with and

34 against the hill slope to maintain soils, nutrients, and water while limiting wind damage and erosion (Ladefoged et al. 2003, Kirch et al. 2005). Given sufficient labor, however, these dryland systems were capable of producing large quantities of sweet potato, dryland taro, and more, particularly as they could be expanded over large areas. While the cultivation of sweet potatoes and dry taro allowed for production outside of well-watered valleys, modeling by Ladefoged et al. (2009) has demonstrated that only select zones across the islands were suitable for dryland cropping. Using data on rainfall, elevation, and geological substrate age, they identified broad areas on Hawaiʻi and Maui, as well as smaller areas on Molokaʻi, Lanaʻi, and Oʻahu, in which dryland agriculture was environmentally feasible. Fieldwork by numerous teams has revealed that many of these locations did feature intensified production systems, with dryland fields present in Kohala, Kona, and Kaʻū districts, and at Waimea, on Hawaiʻi (Burtchard and Tomonari-Tuggle 2004; Clark and Kirch, eds. 1983; Lincoln and Ladefoged 2014; Schilt 1984), in Kalaupapa, Molokaʻi (McCoy 2005), and Kaupō, Maui (Kirch et al. 2009; Baer, forthcoming). Of these, the most extensively studied is the Leeward Kohala Field System (LKFS) on Hawaiʻi’s Kohala Peninsula (Ladefoged and Graves 2008; Ladefoged et al. 1996, 2003; Kirch, ed. 2010). Researchers participating in the Hawaiʻi Biocomplexity Project have demonstrated that this 60 km2 (Ladefoged and Graves 2010) system of reticulate walls is highly constrained by a combination of substrate age and rainfall. Recent archaeological work has further endeavored to link the different productive systems and the role of agricultural intensification in the rise of Hawaiʻi’s competing archaic states (Earle 1997; Hommon 2013; Kirch 2012, 2013). As early as the late 13th-14th centuries, evidence for field-wall construction demonstrates settlement and incipient dryland production in the arid regions of Hawai‘i’s younger islands (Kirch et al. 2005; Meyer et al. 2007; Holm 2006; Ladefoged and Graves 2008; Graves et al. 2010). Without permanent watercourses, farmers in these environments maximized their productive capacity through field systems demarcated by low walls or embankments (Kirch 1994; Kirch et al. 2009; Ladefoged and Graves 2010). These walls served both ecological functions, including water capture, wind breaks, and the possible location of nitrogen-fixing plants (Caborn 1957; Stock et al. 2003; Ladefoged et al. 2010, 2009; Kagawa and Vitousek 2012; M. Allen 2001), as well as social functions, through the delineation of individual plots and spatial definitions of control (Kirch 1985; Ladefoged and Graves 2006). By the 16th century, demands for production had increased due to both growing population along with the requirements of an increasingly powerful ruling class. Within the drier regions, these increasing demands were met through the expansion and intensification of previously widely-spaced walls into densely packed, reticulated grids, often covering dozens of square miles (Ladefoged et al. 2010; Holm 2006; McCoy 2007; Kirch 2010b; Baer et al. 2015). This intensification of both wet and dry agricultural systems coincided with an increasingly formal division of land (see Chapter 3 for further discussion). Mulrooney and Ladefoged (2005) have demonstrated how agriculturally valuable land parcels were identified by the placement of temples on their borders, with increasing wall and trail construction similarly serving to delineate boundaries (Ladefoged and Graves 2006, 2007). In the 16-17th centuries, as spatial divisions became increasingly defined, the islands also witnessed a rise in sociopolitical centralization and the early move towards archaic statehood (Kamakau 1992; Kirch 2010). By the arrival of Europeans in AD 1778, entire islands had been consolidated, resulting in a number of competing polities. The most powerful among these were centered on Hawaiʻi and Maui, geologically younger islands where environmental conditions limited the capacity for irrigated agriculture, but instead allowed for the intensified production of dryland crops (Kirch

35 2007; Vitousek 2004; Vitousek et al. 2004). The leaders of these islands relied heavily on the yields from these dry, labor-intensive regions to support multiple levels of chiefs, priest, warriors, artisans, and commoners. As discussed further in Chapter 4, districts such as Kohala (Chadwick et al. 2003; Vitousek et al. 2004; Vitousek and Chadwick 2013) and Kaupō (Baer et al. 2015) were uniquely suited, from an environmental and biogeochemical perspective, to produce large quantities of dryland crops. Through an examination of agricultural potential and production throughout the islands we can better understand how and why certain areas came to sociopolitical and demographic prominence. Conversely, by looking at increasing social complexity we may also chart the implementation of agricultural intensification. For Kaupō, understanding these factors in tandem provides an opportunity to see larger social changes directly reflected in community practices.

Lay of the Landscape: Multiscalar Approaches Towards Understanding History, Ecology, and Culture

In examining Kaupō as a location that uniquely demonstrates both marginal and central political relevance, this work necessarily looks at the region from a multiscalar perspective. At the largest level, the moku serves as a self-contained, proscribed community with sociopolitical institutions that generally mirror organization at the greater scale of the kingdom (which are predominately also discrete islands). Understanding these districts then becomes key in understanding developments, both locally and more broadly, through space and time. While settlement patterns at the largest landscape level offer crucial insights, their ultimate utility is limited without tying the broad patterns to patterns of behavior and activity manifested at the household and site levels. Through extensive excavation and analyses of architecture and material culture at the lived scale we are afforded information surrounding the practices of Hawaiians in a variety of different settings. Radiocarbon dates from numerous sites not only define shifting social practices through time, but also tie these behaviors and sites to the larger network of culture distributed across the landscape. While myriad approaches to the examination of each of these aspects could be employed, as a whole they are perhaps best examined through the single lens of historical ecology, integrating landscape studies, settlement patterns, and household archaeologies within a multiscalar framework. At its core, historical ecology examines the recursive relationship between humans and their environments across both space and time. Notions of people and their natural surrounding are by no means new to archaeology, with pioneers such as Childe (1936), Steward (1955, 1956), White (1960), and others, but the emphasis on ecology and the human role in shaping and being shaped by their environs is a relatively new development. Dating back to Sauer (1925) and other early geographers, notions of the “landscape” were used to organize a series of associated environmental “facts”, but even Sauer made distinctions between natural and cultural landscapes (see Crumley [1998] for a discussion of early developments). This division posited that much of the earth was either undisturbed by humans (never peopled or with groups living without disrupting natural systems), or modified by humans to the point of obvious alterations. While notions of the landscape as a reflection of human activity were novel for the time, advancing theories in ecology and anthropology began to increasingly place humans within the tableau of nature. Among numerous contributions, the edited volume Man’s Place in The Island Ecosystem (Fosberg 1963), along with the 1966 symposium “Man the Hunter” and its subsequent text (Lee

36 and Devore 1968), served as some of the foundational volumes describing the role of humans as integral parts of larger natural systems. Glacken (1965), in particular, emphasized some of the tenets of what would later become historical ecology in defining how human culture was, over time, written on the landscape. These concepts expanded in both anthropology and archaeology, with Rappaport’s (1968) work on contemporary humans and the ecosystem, Pigs for the Ancestors, and Butzer’s (1982) archaeological examination of continuity and change through time over broad landscapes. While many researchers were employing notions of human-environment relationships, the term historical ecology itself was first used by Carole Crumley (1987) in an eponymous work describing the foundations of a new approach to understanding the past. Expanded by Crumley over the following years, she posited that “the practical understanding of past and current relationships among these environmental and human systems requires a culturally specific temporal and spatial perspective applied at the regional scale” (Crumley 1994b: 8). Perhaps responding to the growing dissatisfaction with purely processual approaches, she added, “Historical ecology traces the ongoing dialectical relations between human acts and acts of nature, made manifest in the landscape. Practices are maintained or modified, decisions are made, and ideas are given shape; a landscape retains the physical evidence of these mental activities” (ibid: 9). With this statement she allowed for not only broad, systemic views of history and culture writ-large (rather than a collection of individuals), but also for the daily decisions and actions of real, discrete people. By situating humans as actors within the landscape, Crumley neatly merged the broad, positivist approach of processual archaeology with the humanism emerging in the post-processualism of the 1980s. The notion of actors as agents in persistent daily processes as well as individuals capable of effecting rapid change aligned the emerging paradigm of historical ecology with the French Annales school of Braudel, Bloch, LeRoy Ladurie, and others. Recognizing the potential role of “punctuated equilibrium”, Balée (1998b) noted that cultural shifts were often archaeologically visible as prorated processes, but could also be seen in abrupt changes in patterns and practices. This concept parallels Annales ideas on temporal scales of analysis, with the capacity to examine événement (events), conjuncture (cultural context with historical precedent), and longue dureé (long-term history and processes). By acknowledging differential rates of change, both historical ecology and Annales open archaeological examinations to a variety of approaches and interpretations, allowing for a broader range of studies while maintaining cohesive theory. Where Annales dips into different spatial scales of analysis, however, historical ecology’s almost exclusive emphasis on studies at the regional or landscape scale presents a point of dissection and what I believe to be a failing in the latter’s theoretical development. While Crumley acknowledged the role of human acts, practices, and decisions, the role of individuals remained more implicit than explicit (Crumley 1994a, b, 1998). The formative scale of analysis that took on increasing importance to practitioners of historical ecology remained the landscape, with entire volumes devoted to regional changes without a single chapter addressing shifting practices at the lived scale (Kirch and Hunt 1997; Balée 1998; Redman 1999). Although any theory premised around environmental history must necessarily examine broad ecosystems, no proscription prevents this being tied to work at a smaller scale to better understand how large processes in the human-environment relationship were manifested or even constructed within daily lives. To access daily practices and lives through material culture, household archaeology offers theoretical and methodological approaches to past assemblages, and can perhaps serve as

37 an effective approach alongside historical ecology. At its core, household archaeology examines the structuring of space at the microscale to identify issues surrounding subsistence, social organization, relationships, behavior, and more (Kahn 2005). While the present examination of Kaupō is by no means a “household” study, extensive excavations were conducted with many of the premises of household archaeology. Through the findings at each of the sites excavated we can address questions such as those described above, but integrate them into a wider understanding of how these practices may have reflected differential social and environmental conditions across space and time. Far from being exclusively household archaeology, this integration serves as a theoretical bridge from historical ecology at the landscape scale down to its potential efficacy at the lived scale (see also Bloch [1995] for household excavation and interpretation from the Annales school). Ultimately, through the lens of historical ecology, this work will examine Kaupō from a multiscalar perspective. At the most broad level, the district as a whole can be studied as a reflection of what Balée (1998) and Barton et al. (2004, 2006) describe as “contingent landscapes”, or the cumulative manifestation of human behaviors within a dynamic ecological setting. At a smaller scale, highly focused studies within numerous households and ritual structures offer insights into daily practices in a variety of social settings spanning Kaupō’s settled history. By combining these perspectives we are afforded a greater view of not only the manner in which settlement changes were effected over time, but also how these broad patterns may be demonstrated in the lives of the Hawaiian residents. These changes in lived behaviors, along with evidence for increasing agricultural intensification and sociopolitical centralization create a holistic picture of Kaupō’s overall development.

38 Chapter 3 Mapping History: Kaupō in Maps and the Mahele

Introduction

In addition to direct archaeological investigation of Kaupō, our understanding of the region is greatly enhanced by the rich documentary evidence from the 18th and 19th centuries. As the oral traditions collected by Kamakau, Fornander, Maunupau, and others (Chapter 1) provide historical evidence for the social, political, and personal histories from throughout the archipelago, early maps and legal documents offer a broad view of the structures surrounding land tenure and land use in the early post-Contact period. At a more focused scale, they also provide important details surrounding the organization, both on the physical landscape as well as the social systems, of areas such as Kaupō. Through an examination of early maps and documents (associated primarily with the Great Māhele and its massive impacts on traditional land tenure), this chapter will assess the system of land division in Kaupō as recorded in the early post-Contact period. By combining a solid understanding of the highly proscribed landscape with firsthand descriptions of the region by Hawaiian claimants from the 1840s-1890s, we can establish the organization and social frameworks found within Kaupō a mere century after Kekaulike made the district the center of his kingdom. While contact with the West no doubt affected many aspects of life, the importance of traditional boundaries continued not only into the early post-Contact period, but remain today in the form of numerous governmental land divisions. Though the emphasis of this chapter lies in the analysis of documents from the 19th century, an understanding of Hawaiian land practices in 1850 requires an examination of the historical roots of not only Hawaiian territoriality, but greater Polynesian systems of spatial and social organization. In defining traditional systems known both ethnographically as well as archaeologically, we can see that while early Hawaiian settlers brought with them a familiar set of practices, by the 16-17th centuries (and the transition towards archaic statehood), practices of land division and social organization had shifted well away from anything else witnessed throughout Polynesia. To ultimately understand the system of land division and Māhele claims within Kaupō itself, this chapter is divided into four sections. The first serves as a basic discussion of Polynesian social systems and landscape organization, with an emphasis on traditional hierarchical structures described by Sahlins (1958) as the “conical clan”. Tied to these social practices were (and remain on some islands today) the exercise of land division in which islands were divided into pie-like slices, thereby ensuring each clan or social unit’s access to resources from the coast to the interior. These systems were brought by early Hawaiian settlers and form the basis for much of Hawaiian society, but by the time of European contact, they had transformed into a wholly new set of practices. The second section of the chapter deals specifically with the changes effected throughout the Hawaiian Archipelago and the practices in place by the arrival of Cpt. Cook. Using archaeological examples as well as a brief return to oral traditions, this section will provide an overview of land units unique to Hawaiʻi as well as the metamorphosis of the “conical clan” ideals into the strict and expansive systems of the Hawaiian state.

39 The second half of the chapter engages with data directly from Kaupō. Using surveyor’s maps from the mid-late 1800s along with early maps created by Native Hawaiians, section three examines the structural divisions within this particular moku. By comparing these maps we can identify changes through time, possibly sorting out the creation or merging of land sections, or instead reflecting shifting knowledge surrounding the older land names. While this will offer a greater understanding of Kaupō’s specific past, it may also provide a stark warning surrounding the modern acceptance of “traditional” names. Concluding the chapter, section four will briefly look at some of the land claims filed from the 1850s-1890s. This period, marked by the Great Māhele in 1848, saw sweeping changes to the Hawaiian land tenure system. Away from a sort of feudal system in which tenant farmers worked the land at the pleasure of their local chiefs, the Māhele ushered in a new era of fee- simple land ownership. Through claims to the government, farmers, for the first time, could purchase outright lands that their families had worked for generations. While the ultimate results of this transition actually served to disenfranchise more people than it benefitted, it provides modern scholars a compelling source of data with which to see how various lands were named, described, valued, and set within broader contexts. By examining land claims as well as simple purchase requests from Kaupō, we can see how different parts of the district represented different opportunities for its former tenants.

Social and Spatial Organization in Polynesia

While societies throughout Polynesia today feature a variety of distinct adaptations and differences, much of the utility in examining variation within the region comes from the fact that they all share a common history. By 3200 BC, Austronesian speakers had settled the Western Polynesian area comprising Fiji, Samoa, and Tonga. Here they paused, perhaps for lack of technological ability to cross even greater open-water distances, and developed what is known as Ancestral Polynesian Culture (APC). This culture, itself an outgrowth of Lapita before it, featured small villages, predominately coastal, with groups engaged in a mix of agriculture, horticulture, and marine resource gathering. Eventually, people in the region once again began to look east towards further opportunities for expansion. Recent chronological revisions have pushed back the expansion out of Western Polynesia, but it is now clear that Central Polynesia was settled by ~800-1000 AD at the latest (Athens et al. 2014; Rieth et al. 2011; Dye 2011; Kirch 2011). Here they again briefly paused, developing traditional Polynesian Culture, before once more expanding outward to the final extents of the Pacific. The period prior to this final push, however, offers a brief snapshot in which to examine the basic practices of social and spatial organization that would eventually be carried out to Hawaiʻi. While archaeological data can tell us about a shift towards new basalt adze forms or modifications to traditional fishhook styles, much of the information we currently have surrounding social practices and notions of land and territory come from linguistic reconstruction. These data, built from ethnographic studies and modern word lists, have led to a more robust and nuanced understanding of life from the Polynesians back through their earliest Lapita ancestors. They also offer a more detailed view into the social principles that likely organized the lives of the first men and women to set sail for Hawaiʻi (Kirch and Green 1987, 2001).

40 Despite the variety of modern cultures throughout the Pacific, Polynesia has traditionally been seen as the type area for societies dubbed “chiefdoms” (Service 1962; Sahlins and Service 1960). While later attempts have been made to subdivide discrete expressions of chiefly societies (Fried 1967; Goldman 1955), the overall structures of sociopolitical organization and territorial control do reflect a shared history that speaks to what Kirchoff (1955) calls the “conical clan” (and adapted into Pacific archaeology by Sahlins [1958]). In this system, today defined as “descent groups” rather than the “conical clan” (Howard and Kirkpatrick, 1989), groups are primarily organized based on kinship and relation to a chief, whose own power comes out of hereditary descent from powerful past chiefs and ancestors. In this system everyone is in some way (genealogical or even fictive) related to the chief, and therefore connected to the former populace. Chiefs serve as vessels through which mana would flow from the ancestors to current generations, but the chiefs themselves were not directly divine entities. In this way, the descent groups (or perhaps “ascent groups”, as Kirch and Green would argue [2001]) maintained a social system in which stratification and hierarchy defined peoples’ roles without creating exogamous classes and impenetrable barriers. In regards to spatial organization, chiefs oversee the control of land, but people and family groups are tied to the ownership of specific places and have rights over their lands. Chiefs act more as “stewards” (Sahlins 1958:6), often over large areas with a number of groups, and while they do not direct the daily activities taking place throughout the lands under their control, they maintain the ability to define certain crops or resources kapu, or temporarily off limits, to ensure future productivity. Commonly, the area controlled by a chief, or even a subsection controlled by a lineage group, will be organized such that it has access to all manner of local resources. This is frequently seen where entire islands or territories are divided into a number of pie-shaped pieces, generally meeting in the center of the island in the mountainous uplands. This system ensures that each section is self-sufficient, with marine and coastal resources alongside arable land in the interior as well as elevated regions with their own sets of vegetation and animals. While the structures of chiefship and equitable land distribution are by no means universal throughout Polynesia, they are frequent enough to have served as the basis for definitions of chiefdoms in general. More important to the region itself, however, the broad similarities along with lexical reconstruction can be used to create a picture of Ancestral Polynesian structures (Kirch and Green 2001). This ancestral form of Polynesian organization was similarly controlled by a figure known as the *qariki. This word, which would later become familiar throughout the Pacific as ariki, ariʻi, aliʻi, and others, denoted one who was certainly a leader, but not separated from the people by any virture of divine ancestry. This person would likely have served as the facilitator of rituals designed to ensure the connection between dieties or ancestors and the modern people (Koskinen 1960), and while this capacity ensured their power within the community they would not have held the same authority over all administrative duties as did the chiefs and kings at the time of European contact. According to Kirch and Green (2001), the ancestral position of *qariki, was the leader of a social “ascent” group with rights to land-holding and control known as the *kainanga. The *kainanga were traditionally a unilineal group with ties to a founding population or specific ancestor. Often quite large, such groups were associated with broad territories, and while ultimately all was under the auspices of the *qariki, the people of the *kainanga had rights to the land as owners rather than vassals. Subsumed within the *kainanga were smaller social units known as the *kaainga. These were residential groups associated with a specific dwelling site

41 and its connected garden plots or other localized resources (Kirch and Green 2001). Many of these *kaainga together comprised the larger *kainanga, ultimately creating a broad heterarchical group with smaller subunits that may have competed with one another for power and wealth (Crumley 1995; Bondarenko et al. 2002; Kirch 2010).

Breaking with the Past: New Forms of Social Organization and Land Distribution in Hawaiʻi

When Polynesian voyagers began the final push towards the furthest reaches of the Pacific around 1000 AD (Athens et al. 2014; Kirch 2011), they carried with them not only the foods and material goods to survive on new islands, but a set of cultural practices that had developed from the Ancestral Polynesian homelands into Central Eastern Polynesian (namely the Marquesas and Society Islands). At the corners of the Polynesian Triangle, voyagers found and settled the last undiscovered landmasses on Earth, founding societies in Hawaiʻi, Rapa Nui (Easter Island), and finally New Zealand. At these ends of the Austronesian expansion, these islands saw wildly different developments in social practices. In Hawaiʻi, basic practices fomented in Central Eastern Polynesia continued smoothly with the early settlers before eventually shifting to suit the needs a growing populace with rapidly increasing levels of social complexity. This outgrowth of practices, from Ancestral Polynesian homelands in Fiji-Samoa- Tonga to Central Eastern Polynesian culture, included the development of new (if conceptually related) practices of both social organization as well as land division, ultimately resulting in the most massive and complex culture in the Pacific and one of only a handful of independently developed states in world history (Hommon 1976, 2013; Kirch 2010). As discussed above, the last wave of Polynesian voyagers set sail from Central Eastern Polynesia with a cultural template premised around chiefly control of social systems and collective rights to land units affording a comprehensive range of resources. So it was with the new settlers to Hawaiʻi, and while early sites representing actual settling populations remain limited perhaps to a handful of sites, such as the O18 Bellows site (Kirch and McCoy 2007; Tuggle and Spriggs 2000; though see Carson’s [2004] discussion of Wainiha on Kauʻi as another initial location), early archaeological remains indicate a house society similar to those from the Central Eastern Polynesian heartland (Kahn 2003, 2005; Kirch 1985). By the arrival of Cpt. Cook, however, the archipelago was divided into a series of competing kingdoms featuring a highly stratified system of elites, ruled at the top by divine god-kings. These kings, along with a series of lesser chiefs, made up the aliʻi class, an endogomous group defined as discrete from the common people by their geneological descent from the gods (Valeri 1985). In another departure from their Central Eastern Polynesian forebearers, control of the land was no longer in the hands of the greater *kainanga, but rested exclusively with chiefs, who in turn held their lands at the discression of the king. These major conceptual breaks with traditional systems of Polynsian governance and land tenure occured during the transition to statehood and will be discussed in regards to Kaupō in the following chapers, but at a broader level their general expression throughout the archipelago reflects a shift in demographics and complexity unseen throughout the rest of the Pacific and bears a brief description. In Hawaiʻi, the ancestral Polynesian system of a *qariki controlling a single *kainanga with multiple *kaainga, each headed by their own *fatu (later haku in Hawaiian [Kirch and Green 2001]), likely began in a fashion familiar to the people of Central Eastern Polynesia, though by contact these terms had drastically shifted, coming to reflect new principles more akin

42 to feudalism than shared, corporate descent. Additionally, the creation of new territorial division practices further alienated the common people from both the land as well as the ruling classes. While these concepts of hegemony and land-tenure are undoubtedly closely linked, the question of dependent causality between them remains archaeologically murky. Oral traditions, however, offer clues as to their rise and the general Hawaiian break from Central Eastern Polynesian practices (though further archaeological work is still required to better tie these stories to the material record). Our understanding of this shift from a society centered around concepts of *quariki, *kainanga, and *kaainga is best explored through an examination of Hawaiian practices at the time of European contact, followed by a brief discussion of traditions describing early and transitional sociopolitical constructs. By the time of contact with Western explorers, Hawaiʻi was home to a number of kingdoms engaged in a constantly shifting set of conflicts and alliances. These kingdoms, covering entire islands and featuring as many as 100,000 residents, were controlled by leaders who had transcended the ascent/descent kinship system to become divine rulers. Known as aliʻi nui or mōʻī (though see Stokes [1932] and Malo [1951] for discussion of this term’s actual antiquity), these rulers had become god-kings, earthly vessels of the mana, or power, flowing directly from the divine. The aliʻi nui, coming from one of the highest in a series of nine ranked levels of aliʻi, controlled all aspects of both the secular and ceremonial (a number of priestly classes and positions did exist, but ultimate power lay with the aliʻi nui). These kings distributed land and power down through the subsequent levels of chiefs, redistributing at will to ensure that loyal followers were in charge at all incremental scales of land division. At the largest level, the archipelago of Hawaiʻi is comprised of seven major islands known as mokupuni or moku (King [1935] also uses the term kalana, though this appears to be a later misinterpretation of a land designation closer to the modern concept of “county”). While the larger islands of Kauaʻi, Oʻahu, Maui, and Hawaiʻi appear to have developed their own independent (if related) kingdoms, the islands of Kaho'olawe and Lanaʻi were traditionally controlled by Maui, while control of Moloka'i shifted between Maui and Oʻahu; Niʻihau was under the auspices of Kauaʻi (Kirch 1985). Each island was then divided into a series of smaller administrative units, from broad districts (also called moku) containing tens of thousands of occupants down to individual house plots. While aspects of this system are reminiscent of the *kainanga and *kaainga of Central Eastern Polynesia, their formalization and sociopolitical abstraction from the members of the lineage group created a wholly new system premised around top-down administration. Below the level of mokupuni, islands were divided into a series of districts known as moku (the same word as for an entire island). These subdivisions were large areas that generally followed on the Polynesian principle of separating an island into pie-like pieces, thereby ensuring access to all resources from the coast to the interior for each parcel. Throughout the archipelago, each island was divided into six relatively equal moku. The exception, Maui, was divided into twelve, perhaps as a result of it’s “double island” landmass of two narrowly connected volanic peaks (King 1935) and that these sections were independent polities prior to unification by Piʻilani (Kamakau 1991). In dividing the land into only six or twleve districts, the larger islands, such as Maui and Hawaiʻi, featured moku of significant size, often resulting in boundaries that may have been strategically placed in strategically empty regions (as seems to be the case in SE Maui). By occasionally defining borders in areas of limited value or population, these divisions could effectively created an “island within an island” (see Chapter 6), perhaps with centrally populated regions akin to Hommon’s (2008, 2009) notion of the “salubrious core”

43 buffered on either side by open space. While this remains theoretical, areas in which population had not yet expanded into every niche may yet demonstrate an unexpected intentionality in land division. Beneath the administrative scale of districts, each moku was further divided into a number of smaller parcels. The largest of these was the ahupuaʻa, most commonly a long, thin strip of land running inland from the coast and narrowing at the top (often creating what is described as a pie-shaped wedge). Somewhat similar to moku in the concept of resource accessibility, ahupuaʻa were the most common form of named land division throughout the islands. While the archipelago likely contained around 40 moku and 476 ʻili (the subdivision below ahupuaʻa), over 1,800 different ahupuaʻa existed by the early 1900s (Moffat and Fitzpatrick 1995). These numbers gloss over what was probably a far greater number of ʻili, but within the era of recording land names and ownership, this demonstrates how personal plots did not have the same memorialization as the larger community land sections (see further below). Ahupuaʻa, which could range quite dramatically in overall size and quality of land, served as valuable markers of kingly favor to be distributed among the aliʻi, and were home to relatively stable commoner populations. Although exclusive control over an entire district was nominally granted to an aliʻi ai moku, control over individual ahupuaʻa appears to have largely been in the hands of local leaders who, along with their konohiki, exercised most of the day-to-day control. High-ranking aliʻi were commonly granted numerous ahupuaʻa, sometimes adjacent, though frequently distributed over different parts of an island. Size and location were a reflection of rank and the level of favor with the aliʻi nui, but were always under threat to be taken away or divided into smaller parcels. While this commonly occurred with the shifting political alliances between islands or following the many wars of succession, it appears that division may have accelerated as the population grew and the need to appease a swelling aliʻi class increased (Ladefoged and Graves 2006; Ladefoged et al. 2008). Where ahupuaʻa represent large areas with multiple resource capacities, ʻili, the next smaller division, are traditionally associated more closely with the practice of agriculture. ʻIli were usually located in fertile areas featuring prime conditions for either wet or dry cultivation. These smaller sections of land were often associated with multiple families, indicating that arable sections were socially important and capable of supporting numerous people (along with producing for their requisite tribute). While not all ahupuaʻa land was subdivided into ʻili, many of the larger lands contained dozens of ʻili, though as noted above, most of the names of these smaller divisions have been lost. Archaeological, historical, and ethnographic work in Anahulu, Oʻahu, Halawa, Molokaʻi, and other locations has demonstrated the importance of these ʻili to social organization (Sahlins 1992; Kirch 1992), but with the demographic collapse of the farming class following European arrival, much of the information surrounding specific ʻili was lost. Even more difficult to reconstruct, ʻili were also subject to further division into pauku, moʻo (still smaller agricultural plots) and kīhāpai (the garden of a single family, perhaps more for subsistence than taxation), though these seem not to have played as significant a role in the political land hierarchy as moku, ahupuaʻa, and ʻili. Finally, units of land known as ʻili kūpono were also scattered throughout a district. These parcels do not appear to be of uniform size, but they served a interesting political function outside of the strict land hierarchy described above. Each of these small land units was owned by, and paid tribute directly to, the aliʻi nui, or king of the island. Anything produced within their boundary was not subject to taxation or collection by the local chiefs or konohiki, thereby creating small, but fertile, patches all over the island from which the king would draw.

44 Throughout the islands, each of these land divisions was subject to the control of a ruling aliʻi, and often administered on a daily basis by a manager known as a konohiki (predominately low level aliʻi themselves, and often collateral or junior relatives of the greater ruler). The aliʻi, through their konohiki, were responsible for the collection of yearly taxes to be paid to the aliʻi nui at the end of the sweet potato growing season, known as the Makahiki. In collecting tribute (consisting of foodstuffs such as sweet potato, taro, pigs, dogs, chickens, and more, alongside material goods like tapa cloth and mats), the aliʻi nui gathered all the foodstuffs and goods before doling them out to the descending ranks of aliʻi, redistributing a large percentage of everything produced by the commoner class. In paying taxes off of their work in the ʻili and ahupuaʻa, the commoners were implicity acknowledging not only their subservience to the aliʻi, but to a system in which their rights and access to the land were granted exclusively through the authority of the king. This departure from the traditional practices of Central Eastern Polynesia is seen not only in the increasingly fractured land holdings, but in the terminology reflecting a social division between both people and the land as well as the political structure. In Central Eastern Polynesian (and back to Ancestral Polynesian), the term *qariki referred to chief or headman. Authority from this position radiated down through the group, creating a linkage between every member from the bottom to the top and therein the “conical clan” of corporate responsibility (Sahlins 1958). By European arrival in Hawaiʻi, however, this term had shifted to the familiar word “aliʻi”, meaning an endogamous ruling class fundamentally different from the majority of the population. Similarly, shifts in *kainanga and *kaainga also demonstrate an alienation of the lower class, resulting in the terms makaʻāinana and ʻāina (Kirch and Green 20001; Kirch 2010: 24-27). Originally, *kainanga meant a corporate ascent group related through common ancestry in control of a single piece of territory. In Hawaiian, makaʻāinana very specifically meant “commoner”, “subject”, or “one who attends the land” (Pukui and Elbert 1986). Rather than implying a connection between all the people of a region, this evolution of the word (which previously had morphed from *kainanga to mata-kainanga in Proto-Eastern Polynesian) demonstrates a major break in the social structure in which the commoners are no longer tied to either the leadership or the land-holding rights inherent to the people of a *kainanga. Additionally, where *kaainga once meant a smaller, co-residential group who farmed a specific piece of land and occupied a common dwelling site, the term ‘āina becomes the wholly more abstract word for “land” (Pukui and Elbert 1986). At some point between initial Polynesian settlement of Hawai'i and the 18th century, then, individual, familial, and corporate rights to territory became subsumed under the power of an endogamous chiefly class led by a series of divine god-kings. While the archaeological debate continues as to the origins of this new sociopolitical structure, traces from oral traditions, or moʻolelo, may provide evidence as to antiquity, though less so regarding their causality. Based on Hawaiian informants of the late-19th century, land surveyor C.J. Lyons argued that the boundaries of major land divisions, including both moku and ahupuaʻa, were “fixed about twenty generations back in Hawaiian tradition” (1902). Expanding upon this by employing Stokes’ 1932 estimate for a generation lengths, King (1935) reckoned that the scalar system of land units was established some 500 years before the Mahele of 1848, placing it squarely in the middle of the 14th century (though King may have misinterpreted Stokes’ generation at 25 years, rather than 20). While the recent work of Ladefoged and Graves (2006) and Ladefoged et al. (2008) has clearly shown that boundaries continued to change and divisions were increasingly made into the 19th century, Lyons’ and King’s estimate of a land

45 system established in the 14th century may loosely match oral tradition, albeit off by 100-150 years. Stories recorded primarily by Kamakau (1991) and Fornander (1998) speak to early examples of chiefs parsing their land into recognizable divisions, creating the basis for the territorial structure of contact-era Hawaiʻi. This did not, however, seem to arise directly with the first settling population, but hundreds of years later, following the introduction of new customs previously unfamiliar to the archipelago. In fact, stories related to the early settlement period of Hawaiʻi make virtually no mention of the founding population or their practices. Instead, moʻolelo from the time of settlement (around 1000 AD) to approximately 1400 refer almost exclusively to a series of long-distance voyages undertaken by Tahitian chiefs who ultimately installed both their ideology and political dominance throughout the islands. By the end of the 14th century the voyages connecting Hawaiʻi to Central Eastern Polynesia appear to have ceased, leaving the archipelago, particularly the eastern islands, with a strong Tahitian influence. Oral traditions regarding the subsequent century transitioned rapidly from foreign interlopers (albeit ones with generally positive ascriptions) towards a rising class of chiefs who began the process of land division and power consolidation. The earliest references to what we now consider traditional land divisions come a few generations after the end of long-distance voyaging. According to Kamakau, in the century following isolation, “the land divisions were in a state of confusion” and “were clearly not defined” (1991: 54). While the highest chiefs held sway over entire islands (if not outright control), periods of succession could result in entirely new redistricting, including new territorial boundaries as well as the movement of lesser chiefs into regions in which they had no genealogical connection (Sahlins 1992). While this indicates that familial connection, a reflection of the conical clan, remained an important consideration, it also shows that at some point strict control over a *kainanga by a related *qariki had been abandoned. In the late 15th or early 16th centuries (as reckoned by Hommon [1976], Cordy [2000], and Kirch [2010, table 3.1] based on recorded genealogies and the relative dating of Stokes [1933]), an Oʻahu chief named Māʻilikūkahi rose to power. According to Kamakau (1991), Māʻilikūkahi was a good and wise chief who recognized the disorganized nature of the land tenure system as well as the disconnect between aliʻi and the makaʻāinana they ruled. He ordered that Oʻahu be parceled into six moku, with subsequent divisions into ahupuaʻa, ʻili, and moʻo. Each of these were to be under the control of a descending level of chiefs, with the commoners ultimately in charge of their own small subsistence gardens. Furthermore, to tie the numerous aliʻi both to himself as well as the makaʻāinana, he ritually adopted the firstborn of every household, creating a unity throughout the island built on a shared sense of family. In bringing these new members into his family he both assured the fealty of the current aliʻi as well as the next generation, but as one of his conditions to further cement interconnectivity he stated: “And you, chiefs of the land, do not steal from others, or death will be the penalty. The chiefs are not to take from the makaʻāinana” (Kamakau 1991: 55). In granting at least a modicum of protection and respect for the commoners, alongside the establishment of a stable system for the aliʻi, Māʻilikūkahi gained the love of his people and reigned peacefully for many years (Kamakau 1991). While the attribution to Māʻilikūkahi of what was, ostensibly, the “modern” land tenure system may have been partially a creation of Samuel Kamakau writing in the early 1800s (Kirch 2010), it remains likely that he was one of the first chiefs to institute some sort of codified land system. The organization from moku down to moʻo, with its associated political hierarchy, became the template not only for Oʻahu, but all

46 the islands of the archipelago. Within a generation, chiefs from the islands of Kauaʻi and Maui had adopted the principles established by Māʻilikūkahi, and while a relatively peaceful implementation of this system took place on Kauiʻi, its imposition on the island of Maui foretold of the dangerous potential of concentrating power in the hands of only a few. Where Māʻilikūkahi on Oʻahu and Manokalaipō on Kauaʻi managed to divide their islands into equitable, stable sections, the reign of Kakaʻalaneo on Maui was far more forceful and oppressive, though perhaps no less effective in establishing social and political hierarchies. Around twenty years after the organization of Oʻahu, Kakaʻalaneo became the paramount chief of Maui (Kirch 2010). While Māʻilikūkahi attempted to create a unified system in which he led as something of a patriarch, Kakaʻalaneo functioned more as a conqueror under whom the commoners, chiefs, and land itself would submit. In his stark juxtaposition of the two leaders, Sahlins describes Kakaʻalaneo as a “warrior-king” (1992: 26) who saw the creation of formal land divisions as a better means of control. Aliʻi were given lands of varying size and value based on their usefulness to the chief, and these could change based on further conquest or simply the will of Kakaʻalaneo. No bonds were made between the lesser chiefs and their makaʻāinana subjects, nor were any guarantees given to the commoner class. Instead, in a dark parallel to Māʻilikūkahi, Kakaʻalaneo also ritually adopted many of his island’s firstborn sons (though largely limited to chiefly families) and conscripted them as the warriors and protectors of his own young son (Beckwith 1940; Kamakau 1964; Fornander 1998). The contrasting stories of Māʻilikūkahi and Kakaʻalaneo offer very different origins of the territorial system and associated governance. While the tales from Maui feature more corroborating stories than the single account of Oʻahu from Kamakau, they nonetheless provide a general timeframe of about AD 1500 for the creation of the land divisions. Additionally, despite the distinction between benevolent and dictatorial intent, we can see the imposition of social hierarchy and its potential moving forward to be manipulated by the direct will of an aliʻi nui, either for the greater good of the kingdom or the personal aspirations of a single leader. Both of these outcomes are seen in the moʻolelo of the following 350 years, with generations of rulers on each of the islands rising and falling (Kamakau 1991; Fornander 1998). Ultimately, however, from approximately 1500 onward, the ancestral Polynesian practices of the *kainanga, comprised of smaller *kaainga and led by the *qariki, was abandoned in favor of a top-down form of governance in which the divine classes of aliʻi ruled absolutely over the makaʻāinana and the ʻāina at large. This system would remain in place well past the arrival of Europeans in 1778, finally to be broken in the mid-1800s with the sweeping land and sociopolitical reforms of the Great Mahele.

The Great Mahele

In the early 19th century, Hawaiʻi experienced a rapidly increasing exposure to Western business and politics. Extensive (and effective) efforts towards Christianization came from both Britain and America, while an explosion in industries such as whaling and the sandalwood trade led to booming port towns in Honolulu and Lahaina. Like fledgling trade between many cultures, there were numerous early examples of Hawaiians being exploited, but in their attempts to move quickly towards Western practices, Hawaiian leaders were eager to learn business matters and exploit them for their own benefit. Since the unification of the archipelago under a single leader, Kamehameha I in 1810, the system of governance had adopted traits from British and American rule, shifting from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy in 1840 (Chinen 1958). With this

47 change, new protections were granted not only to the aliʻi and their business interests, but to the commoners as well in a guarantee of their rights and privileges (almost as an echo of the efforts made by Māʻilikūkahi some 350 years before). One of the effects of the overall shift towards free capitalism was an increasing desire, particularly among the aliʻi, for the right to private landholdings. Some chiefs, most notably those with lands containing abundant sandalwood, had grown increasingly wealthy in the early 1800s. Conversely, some had also mortgaged their own futures by over-promising goods against exorbitant borrowing, but the result was the shared idea that through access to trade networks with the West there was an incredible amount of money to be made. This sentiment, however, was not limited exclusively to native Hawaiians, but was similarly found among the small, but growing population of permanent haole (“foreign”) residents. Throughout the early 19th century, foreign residents in Hawaiʻi operated under the same rules of land ownership as Native Hawaiians. Their higher profile and status often led these haole into contact with the highest members of Hawaiian royalty, frequently resulting in the gifting of land by the King to the outsiders. By 1844, there were 125 grants made to non- Hawaiian residents, many of which were in prime locations and had numerous families already installed on the land to act as farmers and servants (Banner 2007). These newly received lands, however, offered their haole owners no privileges beyond what any aliʻi might have been granted, as the property could not be sold and could be taken back at any time. While this may represent Hawaiian kings attempting to indoctrinate Westerners into the traditional system of land tenure (Banner 2007), it may also have galvanized both foreign and native peoples to push for a transition towards fee simple land ownership. This measure, viewed very differently by both groups, would guarantee both the principle of permanent investment for outsiders and a secure protection of certain tracts against foreign interests. The ultimate reasons for the monarchy’s choice to pursue individual land ownership remains debatable. Some scholars argue that the powerful influence of a small number of foreigners was enough to sway Kamehameha III towards the creation of favorable conditions for outside business interests (Chinen 1958; Kameʻeleihiwa 1992; Dougherty 1992; Silva 2004; Osorio 2002; Kirch 2012). Others claim it to have been a more self-preservationist movement, in that the establishment of private land holding was a way of pushing back imperialist powers keen on grabbing land (Moffat and Fitzpatrick 1995; Banner 2007). This argument says that large tracts of land could certainly be owned and kept away from foreigners, but even more so it would conceptually establish the Hawaiian governmental system as a modern entity to be respected by other world powers (particularly during the 1840s in which European nations were rapidly annexing most of the Pacific). The reality of the adoption of fee simple tenure, however, is more likely a combination of factors with powerful haole pushing for change and a politically savvy ruling caste of Hawaiian aliʻi recognizing their tenuous position and acting to both preserve many of their traditional lands and systems along with forestalling any foreign designs on their national sovereignty. Whatever the reason behind these changes, the mid-1800s saw the official overhaul of the entire system of land tenure practiced for the past 3-400 years. Beginning the in late 1830s, King Kamehameha III and his advisors (both Native Hawaiians as well as haole) began to examine approaches for transitioning towards a more Western approach to land ownership. The initial push aimed to establish a series of rights for all people in Hawaiʻi, guaranteeing their safety and their inalienable entitlement to the possession of property. While this may have been a direct response to the rising number of foreign warships sailing into the archipelago (along with their

48 increasingly imperialist captains), socially it represents an interesting attempt to protect all Hawaiians rather than purely the interests of the aliʻi class. In 1839, the government adopted a Bill of Rights, establishing a set of values and protective measures ensuring fair treatment of all people. Protections were granted to all people, guaranteeing that lands, buildings, and property could not be taken from any individual, except by provision of the law. In a further populist move, the Bill stated a “landlord cannot causelessly dispossess his tenant” (in Chinen 1958: 7), thereby eliminating one of the traditional powers central to all hierarchical levels of the previous land tenure system. The following year, this series of rights was strengthened as Kamehameha III ratified a national constitution, shifting the political structure from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy. Similar to the British parliamentary system, a two-house legislature was created with one house comprised entirely of chiefly representatives and the other of representatives chosen by the commoners. Again, in granting the makaʻainana access to the political process, Kamehameha III and his advisors were opening the sociopolitical world in way wholly new to Hawaiʻi (Chinen 1958). While the changes enacted from 1839-1840 served to alter social paradigms within the islands, they also served to establish conditions in which individual ownership could flourish. The transition to privatization, however, presented an altogether new set of complex challenges. To determine a course of action, Kamehameha III created the Board of Commissioners to Quiet Land Titles in 1845, better known as the Land Commission. The five members of the Land Commission, both Native Hawaiian and haole, were tasked with “the investigation and final ascertainment or rejection of all claims of private individuals, whether natives or foreigners, to any landed property acquired anterior to the passage of this Act” (in Chinen 1958: 8). With this act, the ability to claim family lands or attempt to purchase lands in general became open to all people in the islands. With such a huge area and number of likely claimants, however, the Land Commission spent the following year determining the order in which groups would be allowed to make claims and the principles by which they would be adjudicated. First rights would be granted to the crown, but all others would have to be submitted by February, 1848, at which point the commissioners would begin to grant land to the highest ranking chiefs prior. Not until August 6, 1850, were the smaller claims by the makaʻainana officially addressed (Chinen 1958). In 1848, the Commission had issued their guidelines to aid in the parceling of land and called for all claimants to submit their requests to the board. Known as the Great Mahele (meaning division, or separation), they oversaw the partition of the kingdom into sections destined for different groups. In their initial proposal of 1846, they proffered that the kingdom be divided into equal thirds: a portion each for the king, the chiefs, and the commoners. This idea, however, was a radical departure from traditional systems, and the notion of providing a third of the kingdom for commoners was never implemented. Instead, with the Great Mahele, the territory was still split in thirds, but was divided between those of the crown (personal lands of the King), the government, and the aliʻi. From this final category, the commoners would eventually be allowed to make their own claims, but in the first round of land division the aliʻi were given areas with the expectation that they would remain dutiful chiefs, treating their local farmers well and “respecting the rights of the native tenants” (Laws of Hawaiʻi [1848] in Chinen [1958: 29]). Other than the king, all who wished to claim land had to submit an application stating who they were, the land to which they claimed title, and their connection to that specific parcel. For the aliʻi, applications were negotiated directly with the king. In the early phase of the Mahele, chiefs from throughout the islands submitted claims to ahupuaʻa, ʻili, and other lands

49 that had traditionally been under their control. In a nod to the previous system of hierarchical land control, each claim would have to be approved by someone higher in the social structure who could vouch for the claimant’s tenure on the requested tract. While the small, tightly connected class of chiefs had little trouble with this first phase of the process, when commoners began to get hearings two years later it may have served to limit their access to land. By March of 1848, over 240 chiefs had claimed, and were granted, their territory. Two years later, when it was the commoners’ turn to have their cases heard, this extra complication to find and gain the approval of konohiki or low-level aliʻi who had formerly (or still) administered their regions created yet another step in a complicated process that may have been a factor in the limited number of registered makaʻainana claims. Upon the receipt of an application, and after taking testimony from those familiar with the region in question, the Land Commission would rule as to the validity of the claim. While most were approved (though often reduced in acreage from the original claim), many were denied outright. Even if a Land Claim Award (or LCA) was authorized, the applicant would then have to pay for an official “meets and bounds” survey, followed by a “commutation fee” based on the valuation of one-third of their property. If paid in full, individuals were finally provided a Royal Patent giving them clear title to their lands. The majority of commoners, however, took no part in the process. With the application deadline approaching in late 1847, one of the commissioners, William Lee, desperately wrote to representatives on Kauaʻi and Hawaiʻi urging them to get their citizens to submit claims. While the islands of Oʻahu and Maui had combined for approximately 1,200 makaʻainana claims (itself a small number in relation to the total populations), his letters evince a shocking paucity from the outer islands. His letter reads: “I learn with great pain that there are not a dozen native claims received from the whole island of Hawaii” (in Banner 2007: 144). This lack of participation, particularly in locations further from the epicenter of the legislation, is explained in part by a lack of dissemination, but also by active repression of the commoners by a number of chiefs. Beyond these practical considerations, however, it also seems likely that the almost instantaneous shift towards governmental participation and private land ownership were simply not changes that many makaʻainana saw as relevant to their lives. Far from a lack of comprehension, many may have simply chosen not to take part, as any claims made would have required them to buy (albeit for a small amount) the land they already worked for free. Over the following years the deadlines for application were continuously extended, allowing for more applications from commoners to slowly trickle in until 1854. From this time until 1895, Government lands were made available for purchase, shifting the focus from commoner claims to aliʻi lands, to the private purchase of public lands. While initial Mahele claims (largely for the chiefly class and some of the commoners prior to 1854) required only a description of the land being requested (often using boundary markers like a large stone, stream bank, or stand of trees), in the later waves of applications a Royal Patent Grant would only be issued with an official cadastral map created by a certified surveyor. This added step and cost further disincentivized the process for many makaʻainana, leaving the land tenure system essentially as imbalanced as it had ever been prior to the Mahele. Combined with the right for foreigners to purchase land outright in the latter half of the 19th century, the fractured state of the archipelago left Hawaiʻi vulnerable to further outside influence. By the completion of the Mahele, nearly 13,000 claims were granted, of which perhaps 500 went to the aliʻi (Moffet and Fitzpatrick 1995). Through the work of surveyors mapping and assessing the plots granted throughout the archipelago, the total distributions of the Mahele

50 resulted in nearly 1 million acres of land for the king, 1.6 million acres for the chiefs, and 1.5 million acres for the government. Spread amongst the 12,000 or more remaining claims, the commoners were granted just 29,000 acres (Linnekin 1977). Overall, the insufficient experience of its overseers along with poor planning and the inherent differences of this new system combined to make the Great Mahele a major factor in the loss of national and individual economic independence. The loss of traditional land structures and sociopolitical hierarchies weakened Hawaiian identity and solidarity, while the lands acquired by foreigners only empowered the increasingly imperial designs of outside political and business interests. While it could be argued that some lands distributed in the Mahele and maintained through today have become valuable pieces of the common good (most notably those given to the crown and government, many of which today fund education for Hawaiian students), the ultimate effects of this process set Hawaiʻi irrevocably along the path from nationhood to colony.

Historic Maps of Hawaiʻi and Kaupō

In the early 1800s, Hawaiʻi was moving rapidly towards Westernization, not only in regards to land tenure and the loss of traditional social hierarchy, but also in terms of religion, material consumption, and education. With the increasing presence of British and American traders, many Hawaiians were quick to recognize that adopting the practices of these outsiders meant greater access to wealth and the ability to improve one’s position. As a result, public schooling quickly became available to the majority of Hawaiians. In a relatively short period of time, Hawaiʻi boasted perhaps the highest literacy rate in the world, as well as a large number of professionals in trades such as surveying. This high level of education and skilled tradesmen served to buoy the lot of many throughout this time of change, but it has also been a boon for modern scholars.

Figure 3.1: One of the first maps of Hawaiʻi, made by Roberts (1778-1779) on one of the Cook voyages (from Fitzpatrick 1986). No moku or ahupuaʻa are acknowledged in this map.

While the majority of early literacy education came out of missionary efforts to teach Hawaiians how to read the Bible, writing was quickly adopted to both disseminate contemporary

52 news as well as record traditional knowledge. A number of Native Hawaiian newspapers sprang up, sharing events and stories from throughout the archipelago from a purely indigenous perspective. Similarly, Native Hawaiians who attended institutes of higher education, such as the Lahainaluna Seminary, graduated to produce maps, historical documents, and social commentaries distinct from those being produced by haole residents. These resources offer compelling insights into Hawaiian culture as well as practices such as the land divisions found throughout the islands prior to the Mahele. By examining some of the earliest territorial maps we can gain information not only surrounding the general practices of land tenure, but specific examples of division within regions such as Kaupō. These early maps can then be compared with the highly specific surveyors’ maps from the Mahele through the late 19th century when LCA awards and land grants stopped being awarded. Through these documents, produced from approximately 1830-1895 and from both Native Hawaiian and haole sources, we can assess, to some extent, how traditional systems of land tenure were spatially distributed at the time of European contact. Finally, these abstract practices can be tested against direct evidence from a discrete moku, examining the mapped land divisions of Kaupō against both geographic features and the remnants of pre-contact, agricultural landscape modification.

Figure 3.2: Another early map, drawn by Baker between 1792-1794 (from Fitzpatrick 1986). As with the Roberts map, geological features are noted, but nothing is recorded in regards to Hawaiian land divisions or sociopolitical boundaries.

54 Kalama Map, 1838

One of the primary responsibilities of early European explorers was to painstakingly record the details of newly found lands in maps and journals. As a result, numerous maps of the Hawaiian Islands were produced, to varying degrees of quality, from contact in 1778 through the early 1800s. These depictions emphasize coastal features and dimensions (over inland), likely as a combination of higher visibility as well as greater immediate importance for identification of harbors and potentially lucrative ports. Some note the locations of population aggregations or broad area names, but none feature much information in the way of cultural or political information (see Figures 3.1 and 3.2 for two of the first maps made by Roberts and Baker). Again, the reasons behind this may simply have been a lack of interest on the part of the recorders, but may also represent a lack of understanding of Hawaiian institutions. Some missionaries made minor efforts, but while improved in their cultural efforts, they nonetheless were poor facsimiles of the real sociopolitical delineations (Figure 3.3, for the best effort by Ursula Emerson in 1833). In any case, the emergence of Native Hawaiian cartographers added an important new layer of knowledge towards the construction of maps better suited to characterizing the social and political alongside the purely physical.

Figure 3.3: Drawn by Ursula Emerson in 1833, this is one of the first maps to identify Hawaiian land divisions (from Fitzpatrick 1986). 55

The first map to broadly and effectively present Hawaiian land divisions and political boundaries was compiled at the Lahainaluna Seminary, a high school founded in 1831 in the hills above the West Maui town of Lahaina. The map features a date of 1838 and the words “Na Kalama i kaha”, meaning “drawn” or “engraved by” Kalama (Moffat and Fitzpatrick: 1995). It is presumed that this attributes creation to Samuel P. Kalama, a Native Hawaiian student at the time and future surveyor as well as member of government. The Kalama Map likely represents an amalgamation of previously made maps with the combined knowledge of Kalama and collaborators at Lahainaluna. As the first of its kind, this map presents a number of interesting features, including what we would consider to be traditional, or expected, divisions on some islands, and unusual distributions on others.

Figure 3.4: The Kalama Map of 1838. Moku and ahupuaʻa from each of the islands are recorded, along with colors and differential capitalization to help identify various land divisions.

Looking at the map as a whole (Figure 3.4), Kalama’s compilation is likely the aggregation of numerous maps charting island position, size, coastline, and major physical features, such as volcanoes. While the overall quality of relative aspects is high, focused examination of some areas of the coastline reveals a repetitive, wavy line that does not match true landforms (this seems to be most prevalent on islands such as Molokaʻi, Lanaʻi, and Kahoʻolawe, likely due to less accurate base maps from which Kalama was drawing). The most interesting feature of the map, however, are the labels delineating the political boundaries of moku and ahupuaʻa. Associated with these labels, on most islands, are a series of colors to aid in the identification of a district, though as described below, these actually create a level of

56 confusion on some islands when matched against Kalama’s use of capital and lowercase lettering. Of all the islands throughout the archipelago, Kauaʻi, Oʻahu, and Hawaiʻi all exhibit the “traditional” division into six districts, each radiating outward from a central meeting point to form a generally pie-shaped parcel. While the Kalama Map does not define the moku boundaries from the coast all the way to their inland extents, coastal delineations are marked with a dotted line and the name of the district in all capital letters. Each island similarly features coloring that defines the districts, though Kauaʻi and Oʻahu are labeled only with blue and yellow, while some of their moku contain no color at all (on both islands, districts adjacent to one another were left oddly uncolored, but do feature the dotted dividing line). This may be a reflection of the map’s unfinished nature as the rest of the islands are fully colored in not only blue and yellow, but also red and green.

Figure 3.5: Close up on the island of Maui (Kalama 1838).

Like the northwesterly islands, Hawaiʻi is also divided into six districts, each labeled in all capital letters. Within the central islands of Maui, Molokaʻi, and Lanaʻi, however, we begin to see discrepancies. Maui is partitioned into twelve districts (Figure 3.5), likely on account of its geological nature as a “double island” (Sterling 1998). Of these twelve, however, the broad moku of Wailuku spans the central isthmus, covering what may have been two different districts in the past. As discussed later in the chapter, the importance of the ahupuaʻa (rather than moku) of

57 Wailuku, along with neighboring Waikapu, Waihee, and Waiehu, created one of the centers of power on Maui known as Na Wai e Ha (“The Four Waters”), and likely subverted the traditional distinction between moku and ahupuaʻa.

Figure 3.6: Molokaʻi, as depicted in the Kalama Map. Note the island is partitioned into only three sections.

Where Maui is divided into twelve districts, the island of Molokaʻi is partitioned into just three (Figure 3.6). This comes as no surprise, as the island is believed to have been divided into three parcels deep into the past, but offers another small departure from the traditionally held idea that islands were all likely to be divided into six districts. Also interesting, though probably another late-stage mistake, are the divisions of Lanaʻi. The Kalama Map shows the island divided into seven different parcels, each colored as though representing a moku (Figure 3.7). Evidence for this being a colorist error comes first from a lack of dotted lines dividing the land sections, but more interestingly from the typography used by Kalama in distinguishing districts from ahupuaʻa. While each of the moku are labeled on the map in all capital letters, ahupuaʻa appear as capitalized names with predominately lowercase letters. The seven land divisions on Lanaʻi feature this lowercase lettering, indicating that despite their coloring, they represent smaller land segments such as ahupuaʻa. While the issue of sociopolitical land divisions on Lanaʻi remains interesting, the question of moku vs. ahupuaʻa highlights the single most interesting aspect of the Kalama Map, which is its identification of every district and a large number of ahupuaʻa throughout the islands. This is the first map to record anything but the most crude, general place names. Beyond this, it is a reflection of indigenous knowledge and the representation of Native Hawaiian understandings of space and territory. It is, however, by no means a perfect representation of pre- contact land divisions. In comparison with later maps, including surveys conducted for the 58 Mahele only a decade or so later, it seems evident that Kalama’s specific knowledge of these divisions throughout the islands may reflect a mixture of actual ahupuaʻa with place names or maybe, even, the misattribution of certain names to places.

Figure 3.7: Lanaʻi, divided into seven colored bands with eight apparent names (Kalama 1838).

At the broadest level, the names of all moku and their locations on each island are an accurate reflection of sociopolitical boundaries carried from pre-contact times up through today. Again, however, the placement of ahupuaʻa do not seem to have the same level of accuracy, an issue that is clearly illustrated through an examination of Kaupō and its internal divisions. Kalama records 6 areas, purportedly ahupuaʻa, named Kipapa, Huilua, Kukoa, Kaumahalua, Mikimiki, and Kealepa (Figure 3.8). Comparing these names to numerous sources, including the moʻolelo of Kamakau (1991), place name aggregations of Pukui et al. (1974), maps and records from the Mahele period (see below), modern place names, and others, it becomes clear that the Kalama Map, while valuable, offers a mixed amount of factual and erroneous information.

Figure 3.8: The Kalama Map focused on southeastern Maui, including the moku of Kahikinui, Kaupō, and Kīpahulu.

Briefly, from west to east, the six potential ahupuaʻa named within Kaupō on the Kalama map serve as an example of both the positives and negatives to be taken from the use of early maps, along with possible insights into their production at the time. On the western edge of Kaupō, Kalama notes an area called Kipapa. While this is, in fact, an ahupuaʻa in southern Maui, its location near the Lualaʻilua Hills places it squarely within the neighboring moku of Kahikinui, unrelated to the unified district of Kaupō. Next to Kipapa, Kalama records Huilua, which is similarly not present in any other record. Directly translated, Huilua means “two groups”, but again, with no other historical or modern reference, Kalama’s depiction of the district may have been more interpretive than factual. The only possible link to modern times is a Congregational church in the region named Huialoha, which, linguistically, stands on its own as cognate term meaning “a group (hui) that meets with love, or positive feelings (aloha)”. This church, built in the 1850s, shared a denomination with the Lahainaluna School, and thus the producers of the Kalama Map, but this connection remains tenuous at best.

60 Beyond Huilua, Kalama places an area he calls Kukoa. This is around the region (and major temple) long known as Kou, and as such Kukoa may be a transliteration, or simply a slight error in understanding of the local name. This again, however, is purely conjecture. Fortunately, continuing eastward the Kalama Map begins to more closely resemble the historical to modern divisions. The next section noted is Kaumahalua, an ahupuaʻa recorded in the 1850s that remains a named land division today. Next to this is Mikimiki, which similarly remains to this day, followed by what Kalama calls Kealepa at the border between the districts of Kaupō and Kīpahulu. This is almost certainly a variation or slight misspelling of the name Kālepa. Ultimately, while the western portion of Kaupō’s named divisions do not match any modern or historic records, the eastern parcels demonstrate that the Kalama Map does indeed have historical veracity. Whether this implies that the unknown names, such as Kipapa, Huilua, and Kukoa, may have more truth to them than we currently know, or just that this oldest of Hawaiian territorial maps contains significant information that has yet to be fully understood. At its worst, however, this map offers the earliest representation of the ancient Hawaiian system of land tenure.

Hawaiian Government Surveys and Maps

With the initiation of the Mahele in 1848, the need for accurate surveys to demarcate the boundaries of land claims grew rapidly. Surveyors, including numerous Native Hawaiians coming out of the Lahainaluna School, were employed throughout the islands to generate plans identifying the parcels to be distributed, from the largest plots awarded to the aliʻi and government, down to the very smallest LCAs conferred upon the commoners. In addition, as large tracts of government land were sold off in smaller increments as Land Grants, these too required accurate recording. While each of these transactions required documentation, their sheer volume meant relatively little time allotted to the generation of large-scale maps incorporating the claims from a single, larger region. In Kaupō, this resulted in a 30-year gap before comprehensive maps for the moku were created. Kaupō’s limited number of accurate maps from this interim period may also be the result of the incompetence and perhaps corruption of the region’s early land agents and surveyors. Directly following the Mahele, one of the first figures to be newly granted a surveyor’s license and appear frequently in the record of Kaupō land claims is John T. Gower (Privy Council Series 421, vol. 7). Granted his license in 1850, Mahele mapping researchers Moffat and Fitzpatrick’s description of him reads, “Gower, John T. A very careless surveyor” (1995: 63). By 1856 he was both the primary local surveyor in Kaupō, as well as a land agent in charge of directing purchases, many of which he made for himself. For the following decade, Gower’s letters to the Privy Council and Interior Department demonstrate a defensiveness surrounding his own control of the area, including his ownership of the only store and an increasing level of debt (despite seeming to sell much of his land back to the government for prices highly favorable to his own ledgers). By the 1860s, many of the land claims initially submitted with Gower’s surveys and endorsements had never been addressed, appearing to simply fade away with neither rejection nor approval (Privy Council Series 421). While purely speculative, it seems likely that Gower’s work and reputation negatively affected all those in Kaupō who sought his assistance in submitting land claims. In a letter to the Interior Department and their subsequent records (Privy Council Documents 361, 387), Gower, appearing to be in financial and legal trouble, promises to repay his debt of $598.98, but before doing so flees the islands forever.

61 Of the other Kaupō land agents and surveyors, little better can be said. Of John Richardson, Moffat and Fitzpatrick write, “Must have used a very defective compass; his distances are good, while his bearings in most cases are quite unreliable” (1995: 63). Richardson, like Gower, was both a surveyor and land agent, but had his own issues with the law. In the early 1850s, Interior Department record show that he paid $200 to commute the sentence of a nun named Sister Fanny for the crime of adultery (presumably against God, and to the benefit of Richardson), but that she was “always to remain a pillar of salt” (Privy Council Series 421). The combination of his careless surveying with potential philandering may have limited his trustworthiness, as very few of the LCA claims or land grants associated with his name are successful.

Figure 3.9: Map of southeastern Maui looking at LCAs and land purchased in Kaupō and Kīpahulu up until 1881.

63 The combination of other seemingly ineffective agents, such as Asa Hopu, Manu, and Anedanekero, with a low number of makaʻainana land requests resulted in a very limited number of successful claims for Kaupō. During what was, elsewhere in the islands, a period of intense acquisitions, the moku of Kaupō featured only 23 awards and no comprehensive maps. By the late 1870s, however, with some 20 years since the proper Mahele, Hawaiian administration had caught up to its backlogs and was able to more effectively register claims and grants from throughout the islands, including relative hinterlands such as Kaupō. Commissioned in Honolulu and placed under the charge of W.D. Alexander, the Hawaiian Government Survey was tasked with expanding and systematizing survey throughout the archipelago. Under the jurisdiction of circuit judge John Richardson II (son of the afore mentioned John Richardson), W.D. Alexander was dispatched to the southern coast of Maui to compile all of the LCA and land grant surveys into a set of comprehensive maps. From his work, assisted by E.D. Baldwin, we now have the first records to accurately reflect the distribution of land holdings across the district of Kaupō. While this comes long after the breakdown of traditional land holdings in Hawaiʻi, it nonetheless offers an opportunity to examine early documentation of ahupuaʻa and the locations in which various people made claims. Through Alexander’s work, we have the first two maps that cover the entirety of Kaupō, accounting for every acre of the district and the ownership of each plot of land (Figures 3.9 and 3.10). Conducting his surveys from 1881-1884, Alexander’s work was compiled into a full map of Kaupō in 1884 by his assistant, E.D. Baldwin. A second map, drawn in 1894 by C.J. Willis, was done at three times the scale of the first (1:6000 compared to 1:2000), and covered not only Kaupō, but much of the neighboring district of Kīpahulu as well. A close comparison of the two maps reveals no differences or additions in land ownership, indicating that the Willis version was not meant to serve as an official update of all land ownership in the moku, but a more comprehensive, single document with coverage of a larger region. Numerous land transactions were indeed being conducted in the region, but it does not appear as though another large survey on the scale of Alexander’s was attempted. Land purchases from throughout Kaupō are recorded in the late 1880s and early 90s (see below), but limited survey (including the sale of a single parcel to two different individuals) is telling in regards to the lack of effective governmental oversight in this marginal region. Beyond ownership of discrete plots, however, Alexander also noted the names of all the ahupuaʻa and potentially ʻili throughout the region (Table 3.1), creating documents that combine both modern survey and land tenure with the traditional system of land divisions. Again, while this may not fully elucidate the sociopolitical systems structuring pre-contact Hawaiian land use, it allows for greater insights into the organization of the moku as a whole.

Figure 3.10: Map of LCAs and purchased plots in Kaupō.

65 Beginning with the names of traditional land divisions, it is clear that the six districts identified on the Kalama Map represent only a fraction of the actual ahupuaʻa recognized by people living in Kaupō. In comparison, Alexander records 43 different land divisions, with the scale of these maps cutting off the far western ahupuaʻa of Waiopai, on the border with Kahikinui (though recent evidence indicates Waiopai actually was administered by Kahikinui, rather than Kaupō [Kirch 2014]). These 44 divisions (unknown regarding their classification as ahupuaʻa, ʻili, or otherwise) mirror the number recorded in the Mahele records, and may in fact

Waiopai (off map) Nakula Nuu Puumaneoneo Kou Maiana Mamalu Keahuapono Pauku Kaulanamoa Waipouli Kukohia Puukaauhuhu Manawaiapiki Kaalelehinale Hikiaupea Papaauhau Puuomaiai Kaumahalua Makaakini Kakio Lolelole Pohoula Alaakua Kepio Kumunui Manawainui Niniau Niumalu Puulani Popoiwi Kahuai Maalo Mikimiki Kukuioolu Mooiki Kalihi Kalaeoaihe Pualaia Kaniaula Mokuia Hualele Waiahole Kalepa Table 3.1: List of all land divisions (likely ahupuaʻa, though not clear) described in Kaupō.

underrepresent the true number as some of the parcels, such as Popoiwi, for example, are recorded as Popoiwi 1 and 2 (Soehren 2010). Since the creation of the Alexander Maps, a dwindling population and interest in the region have resulted in the loss of many of these names. Modern sources depicting Kaupō present the region with anything from 8 to 15 to 22 different ahupuaʻa, and even within these there is only marginal agreement as to names and boundaries. As such, the 1894 map of Alexander and Baldwin (using data from surveys collected from 1881- 1884) represents the best source regarding the spatial division of the district from the middle of the 19th century, and is potentially illustrative of the discrete land units from well prior to European contact. While Chapter 6 briefly discusses this naming system in relation to environmental conditions and social divisions, at this point the identification of these numerous land units is enough to establish Kaupō as a highly structured sociospatial setting. Along with the glimpse into pre-contact land tenure, the Alexander maps also provide important insights into how the moku was divided, first in the Mahele, and then into the period of fee simple land purchases by anyone with money and interest in the region. Figure 3.11 shows the surveyed boundaries of all LCAs and land grants mapped over satellite imagery of the region. While these parcels represent claims from approximately 1850 to the mid-1890s, isolating only the early LCAs offers an interesting picture of the land distributed in the first stage of the Mahele (Figure 3.12). Spread throughout the district, the 26 different lots are predominately small enclosures associated with Native Hawaiian claimants (Table 3.2). Of the two sections given to individuals with traditionally haole names, at least one was given to a man, William Harbottle, who had married into a Hawaiian family (the lot given to D. Baldwin was likely under similar circumstances).

Figure 3.11: Combination of all LCAs (red) and later Royal Patents, with those awarded to Native Hawaiians in blue and foreigners in yellow. Note that the early LCAs were granted under the auspices of the Mahele from 1850-1854, while later purchases date anywhere from 1854-1881 when surveys for this map were conducted.

Figure 3.12: Overhead of Kaupō with each of the 26 numbered Land Claim Awards given during the Mahele.

The most notable of the 26 claims is found along the western edge of the Nāholokū outflow with the massive parcel given to M. Kalaimoku (labeled “0”). According to Mahele records, this area of 32.6 km2 encompassed the whole of Nuʻu, one of the prominent ahupuaʻa of Kaupō. While tempting to associate the name Kalaimoku with an eponymous figure from nearby Hana who rose to govern Oʻahu alongside his sister, the regent Kaʻahumanu, this M. Kalaimoku appears instead to be an aliʻi of Big Island ancestry. While not particularly notable himself, M. Kalaimoku (also called Kalanimoku) was the grandson of Kamanawa, one of King Kamehameha I’s four principal war chiefs (Barrère 1994; Fornander 1996). It is unclear whether Kamanawa was ever granted land in Kaupō, but with multiple stories citing Kamehameha’s rise to prominence in a war fought throughout Kaupō, it is tempting to believe that the region may have held personal importance to the archipelago’s first king. This moku, then, could have been a prestigious location granted to a higher-up within his government (not to mention its productive

69 capacity), perhaps Kamanawa himself. Whether the Mahele records of Kalaimoku’s claim to Nuʻu reflect an ancestral connection to the region or not, his presence in the district indicates that Kaupō held a level of importance to more than just local Maui residents.

Land Claim Awards prior to 1854 Claimant Km2 Number M. Kalaimoku 32.642 0 Keliiawaia 0.036 1 Keliiawaia 0.043 2 Mailehuna 0.035 3 Ekikalaka 0.027 4 Kawahoakaia 0.038 5 Nawaimakaeha 0.011 6 Kahoouluwaa 0.136 7 Kaholua 0.030 8 Nawaimakeha 0.088 9 W Harbottle 0.082 10 Kekapa 0.017 11 Kau 0.061 12 Kekapa 0.012 13 Nuuanu 0.019 14 Alenuihaha 0.028 15 Kaimihono 0.016 16 Alenuihaha 0.030 17 0.003 18 Kekipa 0.012 19 I. Kaili 0.039 20 Kehana 0.011 21 Lahaina 0.054 22 D Baldwin 0.008 23 Akaa 0.085 24 Kekahu 0.029 25 Table 3.2: Land Claim Awards and their total areas.

Beyond the large tract claimed by Kalaimoku, the rest of the LCAs also offer hints as to the importance of different areas. The remaining parcels are small (the largest being only .1 km2, compared the 32.6 km2 of Nuʻu), but the majority are clustered in and around an area of potential sociopolitical significance. Lot numbers 10-19, and perhaps including 5, 7, and 8, are located in a region known as Mokulau, or “the thousand islands” for the small beach with numerous columns of basaltic lava emerging from the waves just offshore. The name does not seem to refer to any specific land division, such an ahupuaʻa or ʻili, but rather to the general area centered around the beach, which served as one of only a very small number of canoe landing spots throughout Kaupō (the other notable landings being in Nuʻu and adjacent Kou). Mokulau features prominently in the tales of interisland warfare recorded by Fornander (1998) and Kamakau (1992), serving as the setting for numerous battles, including the first in which Kamehameha

70 distinguished himself as a powerful warrior. While the geographic features of Mokulau alone (including its strong agricultural potential) would have made it an important location, its continued importance into the mid- to late-1800s may have more to do with cultural factors than physical ones. The area generally defined as Mokulau comprises five ahupuaʻa, from Manawainui in the west to Popoiwi in the east. This small region in the eastern part of the district contains two of the most important places not only in Kaupō, but the island of Maui. First, the major war temple (luakini) of Loʻaloʻa sits on a flat above the valley known as Manawainui. This massive construction is the second largest structure in all of prehistoric Maui, and is among the largest temples in the entire archipelago. Perhaps dating to the 15th century (Kolb 1991, 1994), Loʻaloʻa has long served as a major focal point of Maui religion and politics, reaching its height in the early 1700s when it was expanded and rededicated by King Kekaulike prior to his invasion of Hawaiʻi (Kamakau 1992). Nearby, in the ahupuaʻa of Popoiwi, sits another major complex closely associated with Kekaulike. Known alternately as Kanemalohemo, or simply Popoiwi, this is the location where Kekaulike apparently expanded an existing heiau into a permanent residence. From this complex he held court, planning his attack on the island of Hawaiʻi before setting sail from Mokulau. Again, evidence suggests that the earliest construction here dates to the 14-16th centuries (Kolb 1991, 1994), providing another indication that this small region in the middle of Kaupō was an important center from a relatively early time period. While the luakini of Loʻaloʻa and the temple/palace of Popoiwi serve as touchstones within the recorded traditions of Kaupō, Mokulau’s importance is also supported through the findings of this study. Expanded upon in Chapters 4 and 6, the region’s dense, highly formalized agricultural features (far more labor intensive than the field system seen throughout the rest of Kaupō) along with significant ritual and residential structures indicate an area of significant prominence. This intensified production zone sits on the coastal cliffs, flanked by heiau, with the major sites of Loʻaloʻa and Popoiwi just inland and upslope. If, as hypothesized, this truly was an important area of ritual production and chiefly power prior to European contact then the clustering of LCA claims directly within the region speaks to a preserved cultural memory of Mokulau’s significance. Where the Alexander maps indicate a cultural emphasis on Mokulau, one of the other interesting things they demonstrate is the absence of claims in areas we might expect. From both air photos and pedestrian survey, there are clearly areas within the district that feature high levels of intensive cultivation as well as residential activity from the pre-contact period. Two areas in particular are notably developed, yet lack any LCAs: the broad slope above Mamalu Bay (referred to here as Paukū) and the flats from the coast inland at Ka Lae o ka ʻIlio. In the center of the accretionary fan, Mamalu Bay is a defined by steep cliffs dropping from the ground surface up to 50 m to the water below. Inland of the cliffs, the ground is a relatively smooth slope up the side of Haleakalā volcano. As can be seen in the air photos, the area is uninterrupted by young, craggy ʻaʻā volcanics and provides a broad space in the middle of a nutrient rich zone ideal for farming. Also evident in the photos (and expanded upon in Chapters 4 and 6), are the series of reticulate walls indicating an intensive dryland field system in which hundreds to thousands of individuals would have been engaged in farming. According to the named land divisions in the maps, this area was tightly divided into a number of sections, including Mamalu, Keahuapono, Paukū, Kaulanamoa, and Waipouli (possibly with Kukohia as well). The combination of numerous subdivisions with intensified agricultural production and

71 habitation (see Chapter 4 for residential and ritual distributions) indicates that this region was a highly important zone for farming (and thus, potentially, surplus production) with a large local population. As such, the complete absence of LCA claims within the core of this region is particularly interesting. Only one claim, Lot 4, might be considered within the area, but it is located well inland of the coast and just at the upper threshold of the field system. Perhaps the best explanation for the lack of interest on the part of Hawaiian claimants is that the area above Mamalu Bay quickly lost its importance as soon as plentiful labor and the need for extensive surplus production dried in early 1800s. With a significant loss in overall population following the arrival of European diseases, fewer farmers were available to work the fields, particularly those in the dryland regions requiring more work for less output than their windward counterparts. Additionally, economic strategies were shifting in the early 19th century, with less need to feed standing armies (thanks to the consolidation of the archipelago in 1810), and a growing emphasis on supplying Western demands, in particular sandalwood. As a result, large populations in places like Kaupō dwindled rapidly, leaving only small handfuls of people behind and losing much of the cultural knowledge surrounding an area. In Kaupō, and specifically above Mamalu, this may be the reason that traditional names have been lost as well as past understandings of a place’s importance. While claimants in the Mahele and later land grants still refer to specific ahupuaʻa in this region, today no consistent names remain. Scholars, including in this study, refer to the area as Paukū (Sterling 1998; Kirch et al. 2010); local ranchers know it as Kokowai. Much like the lands of Paukū, the area inland of Ka Lae o ka ʻIlio shows extensive traces of pre-contact farming and settlement. It is also home to 5-6 named ahupuaʻa, again in a relatively small area, and like Paukū it also has no LCA claims in the heart of what would have been a densely populated area. While Lots 1-3 may technically fall within the ahupuaʻa comprising the region, they exist well inland and up the mountain, effectively beyond the areas under intense cultivation. Ultimately it seems likely that this area suffered a similar demographic and cultural abandonment in the early 19th century as its neighbor to the west, quickly losing relevance to the few remaining people. The paucity of claims in areas that would have been home to many Native Hawaiians serves as a sobering indication of population loss and the quick abandonment of regions centered on the difficult practice of intensive dryland farming. The reverse of this, however, is the substantial interest in the lands surrounding Mokulau, an area equally good for agriculture, but with cultural significance clearly sustained. While these LCAs from approximately 1850 do offer interesting information, the parcels recorded by Alexander in the 1880s as Land Grants can similarly tell us about shifting conceptions of land value and use. During the Mahele, chiefs with claims throughout the islands negotiated with the government, offering ahupuaʻa and ʻili in certain locations for land in different areas. As noted above, the largest single parcel claimed in Kaupō reflects this process, as M. Kalaimoku, a chief with ties more closely aligned with Hawaiʻi than Maui, was granted the entirety of Nuʻu. This was made possible, however, by William Lunalilo, a high-ranking chief who, during the Mahele, ceded his control over the whole district to the government (see below). As a result, virtually all of Kaupō (minus Nuʻu and some eastern ahupuaʻa claimed by the chiefess Kekauonohi, along with the lands formally claimed by commoners) became government land to administer as they saw fit. Over the following decades, Kaupō was sold off in numerous Land Grants of variable sizes, resulting in a patchwork of parcels eventually ordered by surveyors such as Alexander.

Figure 3.13: Royal Patents for private land ownership awarded from the end of the Mahele to the time of mapping in 1881. Blue sections represent parcels give to Hawaiians while tan sections were awarded to haole investors.

Again using the Alexander Maps to assess ownership throughout the moku there are distinct trends visible (Figure 3.13). In identifying each parcel and its owner (Table 3.3), some of the most interesting patterns are the differential location preferences and grant sizes between people with Hawaiian versus Western surnames. While the equation of a last name with ethnicity is by no means a concrete 1:1 relationship, during this time period it at least serves as a rough marker for emic versus etic cultural status. Interestingly, when the plots purchased by haole landowners (again, with the above caveats) are compared with those of Native Hawaiians, we see a distinct split between preferences for the western versus eastern portions of the moku. With the notable exceptions of Nuʻu and the coastal Lots 11-13 (which are home to one of the archipelago’s oldest and largest temples, known as Kou), virtually all of the western part of Kaupō was granted to foreigners. All the way from the boundary of Nuʻu to the middle of Ka

73 Lae o ka ʻIlio, haole claimants were purchasing large, relatively regular geometric tracts of land. While a few parcels in this area were indeed granted to Hawaiians, this overwhelming emphasis on land in and around Paukū and Ka Lae o ka ʻIlio reflects the rapid push by Westerners towards ranching. With smooth land surfaces, productive soils, and slightly less rain than found in eastern Kaupō, this area presented an ideal opportunity to run cattle.

Land Awards: 1854-1881 Pali et al part 0.58 Claimant Hawaiian Km2 Harbottle no 0.10 W. Mutch no 3.59 J Grahm no 0.19 A.V. Marciel no 4.13 Kanukanui yes 0.05 AA Coe no 2.00 Kahomohomo yes 0.20 AA Coe no 0.08 L Maigret no 0.02 Kawaiaea & Mailehuna yes 0.68 Ohia yes 0.16 W Mutch no 0.02 Ohia yes 0.12 W Mutch no 0.12 Noiau yes 0.14 Mahi yes 0.03 Namakakaia yes 0.09 Kahunaaiole yes 0.26 Hanaoli yes 0.09 A Sylva no 0.13 Pipipi yes 0.07 A Sylva no 0.35 Dedric no 0.46 Kaehu yes 0.04 Dedric no 0.08 Kahunaaiole yes 0.15 Makaoli yes 0.19 Kanakaokai yes 0.76 Ohaule yes 0.06 W Mutch no 2.18 Kanakaokai yes 0.12 W Mutch no 0.15 Lazarus no 0.05 W Mutch no 0.14 Helio Punihele yes 0.09 W Mutch no 0.13 Marciel no 0.07 W Mutch no 0.07 Marciel no 0.06 W Mutch no 0.14 Kalauniohua yes 0.02 W Mutch no 0.05 Keawe yes 0.10 Aki yes 0.09 Flores no 0.03 Aki yes 0.12 Kealo yes 0.09 Kahunaaiole yes 0.12 Jans no 0.03 AA Coe no 0.48 Kahui yes 0.01 Kuaola yes 0.06 Kaupena yes 0.04 Smith no 0.01 Kawika yes 0.20 Andrews no 0.02 Kaluamu yes 0.12 Kamai yes 0.09 Kawaiaea yes 0.01 Pili yes 0.07 Coe no 0.01 Lazarus no 0.05 Kawaakoa yes 0.18 TC Wilmington no 0.09 Kawaakoa yes 0.07 TC Wilmington no 0.11 Poepoe yes 0.10 TC Wilmington no 0.10 Owali yes 0.07 Pakamai yes 0.09 Helio Punihele yes 0.07 Kukui yes 0.09 Helio Punihele yes 0.09 Kawika yes 0.11 Helio Punihele yes 0.09 Andrews & Kapoi part 0.12 Helio Punihele yes 0.65 Jackson no 0.25 Poepoe yes 0.01 Andrews and Kapoi part 0.03 Poepoe yes 0.09 74 Kekiekie yes 0.01 Keakua yes 0.01 Owali yes 0.02 Kailipela yes 0.21 Napue yes 0.00 Kahunaaiole yes 0.02 Loheau yes 0.34 Kainapau yes 0.02 Kanakaokai yes 0.01 Puu yes 0.09 Loheau yes 0.26 Kahoopii yes 0.06 Kealu yes 0.03 Keawe yes 0.21 Ohulepolahi yes 0.27 Aikane yes 0.04 Manoanoa yes 0.01 0.46 Alanuihaha yes 0.02 Pauoahu yes 0.02 Nawaimakaeha yes 0.01 Alenuihaha yes 0.03 Kahialii yes 0.06 Kekahuna yes 0.02 Pau yes 0.13 Kalua yes 0.02 Kulumama yes 0.00 Alenuihaha yes 0.07 Wills no 0.02 Hulumanu yes 0.01 Drummond no 0.02 Drummond no 0.00 Kailianu yes 0.06 Kailipuaa yes 0.05 Wills no 0.25 Kahalewai yes 0.02 Coates no 0.02 Moiki yes 0.07 Kaimimoku yes 0.19 Kekahuna yes 0.19 Harbottle no 0.32 Wilkinson no 0.28 Manoanoa yes 0.22 Kamaka yes 0.10 Kaalani yes 0.10 Kahaua yes 0.20 Kamakala yes 0.03 Moku yes 0.09 Stork no 0.04 Paku yes 0.47 Lahaina yes 0.04 Kila yes 0.15 Kealakui yes 0.05 Keakua yes 0.03 Kama yes 0.06 Kowaha yes 0.08 Akaa yes 0.15

75 Table 3.3: Total parcels awarded as Royal Patents from the end of the Mahele (1854) until the production of the map in 1881. Name of the claimant, their nominal ethnic affiliation, and the total area of the claim are presented.

From Ka Lae o ka ʻIlio to the eastern boundary with Kīpahulu, the Land Grants are dominated almost entirely by Native Hawaiians (see Figure 3.13 and Table 3.3). Even the largest haole grant in the region was made to Isaac Harbottle, himself half Hawaiian. These parcels, however, are generally smaller than the land granted to Westerners, though this may reflect a larger number of people trying to gain access to the lands with greater cultural importance. Ultimately, much of Kaupō would be purchased by ranchers, including large portions of the land in the district’s northeast still held by the government at the time of Alexander’s surveys. While this aggregation likely served to further alienate the few remaining Kaupō natives, it also hedged against broad-scale development and the destruction of the region’s cultural resources. Those enduring people with ties to the local history maintained some of the old practices (see Chapter 2) to the point where numerous heiau were still remembered, but even this was not enough to remember all of the local names and histories. As such, even with things such as the subdivisions of ahupuaʻa, ʻili, and others, early documents such as the Alexander maps offer invaluable insights into pre-European land tenure, along with the shifting patterns in the 19th century, that we could not learn from oral traditions or archaeology alone.

Post-Mapping: Kaupō Land Grants from the Archives

Following the submission and allotment of official Land Claim Awards in the late 1840s, Hawaiian land rights effectively moved towards a fee simple system in which holdings, be they personal or governmental, could be freely transfered at will. While the restricted area inherrent to islands limited what could have become a wholesale landgrab, Hawaiʻi nonetheless saw a large number of transactions, including all manner of exchange between haole and Native Hawaiians, chiefs, commoners, the government, and the crown. Beginning primarily with Hawaiian purchases outside the scope of Mahele claims, over the latter half of the 19th century the lands of Kaupō were parceled into numerous divisions, again reflecting the differential values placed on the moku by a variety of different buyers. In December of 1850, following the initial land divisions of the Mahele, a small rush of land grant requests were submitted by groups of Native Hawaiians. From December 11-14, 1850, three separate groups petitioned the interior ministry for parcels of land throughout Kaupō. While some of these claimants had already been granted limited plots in the Mahele, many within these documents have no connection to LCA awards. Whether these men were not native to Kaupō, or had simply not filed LCA claims for some reason is unclear, though their association with individuals who had successfully made claims may indicate that they were locals. The first letter, composed under the aegis of “Z. Manu, Tax Assessor”, represents nine individuals all requesting between 20-80 acres, the lone exception being an individual named Kahoomiha, who asks for 6 acres in Kakio (Letter to the Interior Department, December 11, 1850a). All of the requests, written in Hawaiian and compiled into a single document by Manu, offer to pay between $1.20 and $0.25 per acre, often dividing their claims by saying they will pay one rate for the “good land” and a lower one for the “very bad land”. Manu himself begins the letter with one of his own two claims. He states: “I make application to you for 80 acres in the piece of land between Pukaauhuhu and Nakapauku. I am willing to pay the Government half

76 a dollar for the good land and a quarter for the bad land. Because there is only 4 months of rain” (Letter to the Interior Department, December 11, 1850a). As a template for all the other requests, this is very typical in both its format as well as tone. Interesting, Manu, like many of the others, employs a subtle rhetoric in which he implies that this land is, in fact, very poor and not worth the Government’s time. This is clear in his brief statement regarding the limited rainy season, but also in his manipulation of ahupuaʻa names. The region he requests, between Pukaauhuhu and Paukū, is actually one in which we see the densest evidence of prehistoric farming in the district, implying that its productive capacity is quite high. In describing this area, however, Manu does not use the name Paukū, but rather Nakapauku. This subtle shift changes the implication of the word “pauku”, meaning “section” or “division”, into “naka pauku”, or “the scorched/burnt land” (Pukui and Elbert 1986). In downplaying the true properties of the area in question, Manu, along with many of the others he represents, is attempting to secure lands at what are likely below market rates. Over the three days following the application of Manu et al., two more group claims representing another 18 individuals were submitted. Much like the previous claims, the first of these emphasize the supposed difficulty of life in Kaupō. The first individual, S.W. Haia, says he is “willing to pay the government ¼ per acre for the bad land, and ½ an acre for the good land. Because there are only 4 months of good rains, and the greater are sunny” (Letter to the Interior Department, December 11, 1850b). Following this, all the subsequent claimants similarly offer different prices for good and bad land, citing “The difficulties are the same as above” (Letter to the Interior Department, December 11, 1850b). Interestingly, each of these requests premises the lower price for the bad lands first. Again, the emphasis in these letters is on the harsh nature of the moku. The third group of individuals asking for parcels made their submission on December 14, 1850. This group’s requests make no mention of the difficulty, nor do they ask for different prices based on the variable quality of land. Instead, each of their single-sentence appeals simply give an acreage, ahupuaʻa, and price to be paid. They, like the initial group, however, end their submission by asking specifically for the surveyor Anedanekero to assess their potential properties (Letter to the Interior Department, December 14, 1850). Whether this is a transliteration of “Alexander” (the father of W.D. Alexander who made the later maps of the 1880s) or a different individual is unclear, as is the overall success of these claims. Ultimately, by the time effective surveys were conducted some 30 years later, numerous further transactions had taken place, including, most likely, resales from some of these initial purchases along with further grants from the government. By the late 1880s, Kaupō had been parceled into approximately 140 distinct lots, mixing Native Hawaiian as well as haole interests throughout the moku (though see localized tendencies above). Kalaimoku retained his large tract in Nuʻu, while the other chiefess who appears to have been granted much of Eastern Kaupō no longer maintained any presence in the region. The broad areas in the northeast still labeled “Government” in the Alexander maps became increasingly valuable in the 1890s as ranching interests sought to consolidate land. This process, in fact, was occurring throughout the 1870s-90s, as haole investors such as Coe, Mutch, Marciel, and Wilmington all sought to buy up large tracts of land (see, for example, Letter to the Interior Department, August 22, 1868). Much like the claims from Manu et al. in 1850, these later requests emphasize the poor nature of the region, highlighted by Christian Andrews in a letter to Minister of the Interior, Loren Thurston; “Everybody knows Kaupō to be a lava bed. So how much can the price be reduced?” (Letter to the Interior Department, December 18, 1889).

77 While grousing about local conditions persisted, it was likely a tactic to simply lower prices, allowing for the purchase of remaining government lands into the 1890s. Transactions did indeed continue, though problems surrounding the lack of survey in the years after Alexander followed suit. Two letters dated June 13, 1892 discuss a claim against the government as a single, large piece of land in central Kaupō was sold to two different individuals. Through extensive research and heavy citations of the Alexander and Baldwin map, one of the claimant’s representatives, G.L. Brown, notes that the lack of survey and governmental oversight from the 1850s-80s resulted in entire land purchases misattributed to different moku. Furthermore, he argues that the second purchaser, William Mutch, should be entitled to a large block of land in upland Kaupō as the price he paid for this already-owned parcel far exceeded the true value of the land. Brown states, “The lands bought by Mr. Mutch (on the site of the old Duncan grant) were at the rate of $5 and $3 per acre. I can not consider this barren precipitous land at a great elevation worth more than $0.25 per acre, if that” (Letter to the Interior Department, June 13 1892a). Overall, this period in the early 1890s saw an increase in claims, likely associated with ranching interests, but as with the prior 40 years, the transition towards private, fee simple ownership remained hampered by Kaupō’s loss of agro-productive power and the rapid shift towards a peripheral place in the archipelago.

The Documents of Kaupō: Conclusions from the 19th Century

With the arrival of Europeans in the late 1700s, Hawaiʻi was set on a wholly new social, political, and economic trajectory. While many of the changes initiated had negative consequences (most notably devastating demographic collapse and the loss of many traditional practices), the rapid modernization of the islands resulted in an unparalleled level of documentation surrounding a culture both in internal transition (pre-contact) as well as under the influence of external pressures. By examining some of these early resources we are better able to understand broad structural patterns that served to organize social and political life prior to the influx of Westernization. Through a combination of oral traditions, maps, and governmental records we have insights into the origins and development of traditional land tenure, while later documents provide an emic view into not only how specific locations were partitioned, but why different areas featured variable sociopolitical and economic values. At the scale of the archipelago, early oral traditions (recorded almost immediately following the wholesale adoption of writing by Native Hawaiians from 1820 onward) tell of the development of formalized land holding as an extension out of traditional Polynesian systems. While the first wave of settlers to Hawaiʻi likely practiced a more communal form of ownership based around family and shared descent, by the time of Māʻilikūkahi and Kakaʻalaneo only a few hundred years later, this had transformed into an increasingly rigid hierarchy with controlling rights to nested land divisions held exclusively by the chiefly caste. Reflected in lexical changes are the alienation of the commoners not only from their leaders, but also the land that was once theirs by birthright. With the rise of exogamous chiefs came the structured divisions of moku, ahupuaʻa, ʻili, moʻo, and ʻili kupono (along with some other tiny parcels difficult to assess in either the historic or archaeological records). These land units were designed to provide access to a range of resources, from the ocean up to the mountain forests. They also served as clearly bounded regions in which hierarchical power was physically manifest. Control over regions of different sizes or productive capacity became a reflection of political favor over heredity, as increasing

78 warfare created an incentivized system in which chiefs could be rewarded with new lands based upon their contributions to a successful campaign. This resulted in a codified, if increasingly subdivided, set of land boundaries, but a rotating cast of aliʻi. By contact, the system of land divisions was culturally entrenched. While the names of all the largest divisions, the moku, were widespread public knowledge and recorded in early maps such as those by Kalama, more localized spatial understandings were subject to regional population changes and relative importance. Land surrounding such early centers as Lahaina was extensively mapped and known by the town’s larger number of inhabitants and visitors, while demographic collapse in places such as Kaupō resulted in a smaller number of people to recall and record the various land units. As a result, our understanding of Kaupō’s internal divisions are limited to a few early maps, and even these are largely divergent in their identifications. While it is tempting to trust the first emic map of the islands by Kalama in 1838 as the arbiter of traditional land names, further examination of this work points to a number of inconsistencies throughout the archipelago. This leads to a conclusion that sections of this map were likely created based on only a limited knowledge of certain areas, or the unfounded opinions and hearsay of other contributors similarly in residence at the Lahainaluna School. Instead, while the Kalama map offers insights at the district level, subsequent work from the surveys of Alexander and notes from the Mahele and land grant documents may provide a more accurate picture of Kaupō’s internal structure. Even so, the divisions of ahupuaʻa and perhaps ʻili remain only unqualified and unbounded names on a map, leaving us with a glimpse into past land units, but relative rather than concrete information. Although the maps and records surrounding mid-1800s Kaupō may not identify the exact locations of all internal land divisions, there is enough corroboration to create a relative picture of the district’s structure. Together there appear to be 44 discrete units, the majority of which are referred to in the land documents as ahupuaʻa, though those that remain unreferenced cannot be confirmed as ahupuaʻa or ʻili. Most telling, however, are the records listing the lands given up and received by different aliʻi in the Great Mahele itself. All of the lands fall within the overall district of Kaupō, which is given up by King Kamehameha III. The exception to this, though, are apparently the ʻili kūpono, or small areas outside the purvey of local chiefs, but beholden to the king alone. The location and number of these “ku” remain elusive, as limited references to them state only that Kamehameha III maintained a long list of individuals areas, including “The kus of Kaupō remaining in this division” (Land Matter, Document 387). The only other evidence for these ku comes from a discrepancy between the description of the 43 land divisions from Alexander as well as the Mahele records and a list of Kaupō lands compiled by Soehren (2010). Soehren’s list of the divisions within the district includes a single area not recorded on any of the maps or within other documents. Between Waipouli and Kaulanamoa he lists Kukoae, which offers interesting linguistic evidence for being one of these ku rather than a larger division. While other land sections within Kaupō begin with “Ku” (Kukohia, Kumunui, Kukuioolu) all of these represent either direct, compound words (Kumunui, Kukuioolu) or full words unto themselves (Kukohia). Kukoae, however, may have a number of different meanings. Kūkoaʻe is a word for temple for purification ceremonies or the blessing for a stream, which are both reasonable titles for a small parcel of land in this region. More interesting, perhaps, is the possibility that this refers to Ku Koaʻe, meaning the ku of either white-tailed tropic birds, bananas, or a variety of taro (Pukui and Elbert 1986). Considering that Soehren found this term in relation to other land divisions, this last option seems very likely, particularly as he places it directly in the most fertile and heavily farmed part of Kaupō. While

79 bananas and taro were potentially both grown in this region, the majority of cultivation throughout this central part of the district focused on sweet potato, possibly pushing interpretation towards a ku named after the sacred tropic bird that makes its home along this southern coast of Maui. Ultimately, the records from the Mahele, maps, and land grants from the following years offer insights into how the land was organized as well as the locations valued differently by various groups. A greater knowledge of the ku, both prior to contact as well as the lands maintained by Kamehameha III would be helpful, but the information we currently have surrounding the ahupuaʻa claims by chiefs in Nuʻu and the eastern portion of the district indicate certain areas worth acquiring. More interesting is the differential emphasis by Hawaiian commoners and haole on distinct parts of the moku. Westerners tended to focus on broad areas in the slightly drier western portion, while the numerous smaller claims made by Native Hawaiians centered around locations with significant cultural value. This emphasis on areas such as Mokulau, with its proximity to the heiau Loʻaloʻa, the palace/temple of Pōpōiwi, and the ritual zone along the coast described in this study, reinforce that these places held strong levels of importance and that even following their desanctification in the early 1820s they remained in the hearts and minds of Native Hawaiians. The virtual abandonment of the western portion to ranching interests is also interesting, though the lack of claims in this once highly populated and cultivated area is less easily explained. While Chapter 6 will explore this further, it seems likely that this area’s pre-contact emphasis on farming meant it was a functional zone representative of labor and production that may not have figured highly in the opinions of Hawaiian commoners. Evidence from the century following European contact provides a wealth of information surrounding questions of Hawaiian sociopolitical organization and greater cultural practices and processes. They also offer detailed insights into what was happening just as the archipelago was completing the final push towards unification under a single, state-level government. Through a deeper understanding of this endpoint, a combination of archaeology and recorded traditions can then chart the transition through time from the first of the Polynesian settlers to the rise of kings born of a uniquely Hawaiian state.

80 Chapter 4 Spatial Analysis of Kaupō’s Environmental and Cultural Features

Introduction

As discussed in Chapter 2, the organization of features across space reflects past land use practices and former, underlying sociopolitical structures, thereby leaving landscapes as the canvas upon which cultural ideals are layered. In Kaupō, we are presented with a district largely undisturbed by modern land use (such as plantation agriculture, residential expansion, or resort development) with the potential to elucidate patterns of ancient settlement unprecedented in the Hawaiian Islands. While subsequent chapters 5 and 6 will discuss site-specific excavations, analyses, and temporal data, this chapter will deal exclusively with spatial analysis of the region, identifying the relationships between environmental factors and archaeological remains. In addressing spatial considerations separately from any questions of chronology, this chapter highlights the dynamics of Kaupō’s settlement patterns from a synchronic perspective. Independent of time, by approaching the district first as a snapshot of the accumulated cultural activities across a landscape, a palimpsest of hundreds of years of activities, we are afforded insights into the recursive interactions between humans and their surrounding environs, as well as the relations between people and social institutions. This by no means denies diachronic questions surrounding population expansions or exploitation of new areas through time, nor changing cultural practices, but privileges the archaeological remains indicative of past human decisions as inscribed on the landscape. These remains, left by conscious actors with deep understandings of ecological and social conditions, may illuminate the processes through which Kaupō became a central district in Maui’s rise towards statehood. Prior to analyses of the surface archaeological remains covering Kaupō, this chapter will provide background information on the region’s natural factors that may have offered both opportunities and constraints to the former residents. Beginning with an overview of the region, questions of hydrology will then provide evidence for multiple sources of fresh water that were once used to support life and intensified forms of agriculture. This leads into the geological distinction between the area’s core, where lava and mud outflow from the volcano Haleakalā created a fertile zone, and the edges, composed of older, more weathered sediments. The geological and geographic factors, combined with issues of hydrology, offer insights into the district’s nutrient availability. Extensive soil chemistry analyses reveal the combination of ecological factors while allowing for significant correlations with cultural remains. Finally, elevation and coastal access serve as the mauka and makai bounding factors. In the uplands, differential zones of use likely corresponded to elevation and temperature, while along the coast large cliffs limited access to the ocean to only a few landings, predominately towards to periphery of the productive core. Through an analysis of Kaupō’s natural environment, we can begin to examine the ways in which these factors influenced human activities, from ritual and residential patterns to agricultural production. Serving as a link between pure geology and the primary focus on archaeology, this chapter next examines the results of soil analyses from throughout Kaupō. These analyses offer a combination of baseline soil nutrient data, comparative samples from different elevations and rainfall gradients, and information surrounding agricultural production and nutrient draw throughout the field system. Ultimately, an examination of the region’s soil

81 chemistry ties natural conditions to human activities and can better inform our understanding of how Kaupō’s ancient residents viewed, manipulated, and lived on the landscape. Throughout the core of Kaupō, agricultural field walls crisscross the landscape, creating an extensive reticulate grid of permanent landesque capital modification (Blaikie and Brookfield 1987). Similar to other systems found on Molokai and Hawaiʻi Island, this field system was crucial in the maximization of crop production as well as social identification. Following the exploration of regional soil chemistry, the chapter will then move to the spatial patterns exhibited in this agricultural production zone. Various densities (and absences) are tied to environmental factors, along with considerations of modern land-use practices and how these may have altered the archaeological remains of agriculture. I will then turn to surveys conducted throughout Kaupō and the results these generated in regards to spatial understanding. Beginning with a brief discussion of survey practices, the system of site recording is described with some typical sites given as examples of the data recorded (for a full description of all sites see Appendix 1). This leads to a short discussion of the different types of sites found, followed by extensive GIS analyses of sites discovered throughout Kaupō. Analyses of 585 sites assess patterns of residential settlement, elite and commoner sites, ritual locations, and the interplay of all these categories not only with one another, but with environmental factors as well. Ultimately, the focus of this chapter lies in Kaupō as a synchronic unit; a landscape upon which natural and cultural forces met, leaving behind a record of this recursive relationship along with the community interactions of pre- and proto-historic Hawaiian society. Large spatial trends demonstrate the development of this district as a consolidated core, tightly aggregated around productive soils and organized or controlled through a series of monumental temples. While the excavations of individual structures (Chapter 5) and the consolidation of spatial and temporal data (Chapter 6) offer their own compelling evidence surrounding the development of Kaupō, the understanding of spatial patterns described in this chapter provide a broad context of interaction and a basis for developing hypothesis regarding the ultimate rise of sociopolitical complexity.

Kaupō: The Ecological Setting

On the southeastern coast of Maui, the moku of Kaupō straddles the boundary between the lush, wet districts of Kīpahulu and Hāna to the east, and arid Kahikinui to the west (Figure 4.1). Bounded geographically by the gulches of Kālepa and Waiʻōpai, Kaupō stretches approximately 13 km east-west at its widest extent, while rising 5 km inland up the slope of the volcano Haleakalā. The district’s highest point, at Pōhaku Pālaha, reaches 2470 m above sea level, but Kaupō’s upper climes are notable not for their peaks, but for a broadly incised, erosional valley breaching the southern face of Haleakalā Crater (Figure 4.2). Known as the “Kaupō Gap”, this rift in the crater wall is the result of erosion during the Pleistocene. During a rejuvenation phase of volcanism ~120 kya (Stearns and MacDonald 1942), the gap allowed both lava and mud to flow out of the volcano down to the sea, creating a vast accretionary fan of nutrient-rich lavas and sediments (Figure 4.3). Unlike the mosaic of predominantly leached sediments in Kahikinui bordering to the west (Coil and Kirch 2005; Dixon et al. 1999), and the overly wet, incised valleys of Kīpahulu to the east, Kaupō’s situation on the Hāna Volcanic Series (Sherrod et al. 2007; Stearns and MacDonald 1942) placed it within a set of conditions ideal for intensive dryland agriculture.

Figure 4.1: Location of Kaupō in the southeastern portion of Maui.

Through extensive GIS modeling, Ladefoged et al. (2009) identified locations throughout the Hawaiian archipelago predicting the best areas for both wet and dry agriculture. This model effectively predicted the presence of archaeologically attested, intensified dryland field systems on Molokaʻi’s Kalaupapa peninsula (Kirch 2002; McCoy 2005) and on Hawaiʻi Island at Kohala (Ladefoged et al. 1996, 2003), Waimea (Burtchard and Tomonari-Tuggle 2004), Kona (Allen 2001; Schilt 1984), and Ka'ū. Though the predicted system in Kaʻū district has recently been identified through remote sensing (Ladefoged et al. 2010), no work prior to the beginning of this project in 2007 had addressed the presence of formal, dryland field systems on the island of Maui.

Figure 4.2: 3D digital elevation model (DEM) of the region showing geological formations and the outflow from Haleakalā Crater to form the accretionary fan central to Kaupō. Note that the label of Nāholokū does not represent the entire fan, but a large upland zone (possible ahupuaʻa).

Extensive archaeological work in Kahikinui district to the west has revealed the residential and agricultural systems within this district to be discontinuous and distinct (Coil and Kirch 2005; Holm 2006; Kirch 1997, 2010b, 2014; Kirch et al. 2004). Rather than the formal, reticulate field systems predicted by Ladefoged et al. (2009), Kahikinui’s mosaic of sediments (Sherrod et al. 2007) resulted in small-scale production emphasizing familial exploitation of discrete swales or depressions in the 'a'a lava flows (Coil 2004; Hartshorn et al. 2006; Holm 2006; Kirch 2014). With the outflow of the Kaupō Gap, however, deposition of younger Hāna Series materials over the older Kula surface found in Eastern Kahikinui resulted in a broad fan of highly arable land (Fig. 4.4). This accretionary fan features an age-range (Sherrod et al. 2007) and base saturation (Vitousek 2004; Vitousek et al. 2004) more similar to Kohala and Kalaupapa than neighboring Kahikinui. Coupled with these prime soil conditions, Kaupō’s dynamic hydrology created an environment ideal for dryland agriculture.

Figure 4.3: View of Kaupō Gap and the resulting fan of highly arable materials. Also, cows.

While not home to any permanent streams allowing for irrigation, crops with lower water requirements thrived. Much as in other dryland systems, the primary cultigen was sweet potato (Ipomoea batatas), augmented with other food crops including dryland taro (Colocasia esculenta), yams (Dioscorea spp.), sugarcane (Saccharum officinarium), and others. Within Kaupō’s core (specifically Nāholokū), the landscape was permanently modified to enhance the production of these crops (see Chapter 2 for details), again creating an intensified system akin to those of Hawaiʻi Island and Kalaupapa on Molokaʻi. Today, the largest remaining traces of a dryland field system are found in Hawaiʻi’s Kohala district, measuring approximately 62 km2 of modified land (Ladefoged et al. 2009), but through his fieldwork in the 1930s, ethnohistorian E.S.C. Handy described southern Maui, from Kaupō through Kahikinui, Honuaʻula, and Kula as “the greatest continuous dry planting area in the Hawaiian islands” (1940: 161). Though this entire region was certainly inhabited and under cultivation, describing it as “continuous” may be an overestimation of its intensity. Kaupō itself was indeed home to a highly intensified system of production, but, as described above, the districts of Kahikinui and Honuaʻula were likely only arable in discrete patches, creating a mosaic of residential and agricultural plots across the landscape. Ultimately, while much of Handy’s “greatest” system may have been more limited than he imagined, the residents of Kaupō were fortunate enough to find themselves in a region featuring ideal soils and rainfall well-suited to the production of dryland crops.

Figure 4.4: DEM of SE Maui showing the flow of materials to create Kaupō’s accretionary fan.

Watering the Plants: The Hydrology of Fog Drip, Springs, and Rainfall

Examining the district today, the arid conditions make it difficult to imagine how this region was once a highly farmable landscape, but the historically-introduced, invasive scrub grasses and koa haole (Leucaena leucocaephala) belie a dynamic and denuded ecology. Ethnohistoric and archaeological sources indicate that at the time of European contact broad, native forests occupied elevated regions throughout the archipelago (Kamakau 1992; Stock et al. 2003; Coil 2004). Beginning ~600 meters above sea level (masl), a dense canopy of upland trees covered the volcanic slopes of mountains such as Haleakalā. In addition to generally retaining water within their root structures, the leaves on these trees served to capture not only rainfall, but the moisture accumulating in clouds and fog. This moisture would then fall to the surface, replenishing groundwater and likely resulting in numerous small surface flows (Coil 2004; Stock et al. 2003). While this may not have provided the majority of the water for regions such as

86 Kaupō or Kahikinui, it certainly would have augmented rainfall and served as an important resource for Hawaiian planters. These forests, also valuable for their timber and as the home to a number of bird species highly valued for their feathers, were removed early in the historic era to supply European ships with construction materials and sandalwood, a valuable commodity in the burgeoning trans- Pacific trade network. More locally, these timbers were also used extensively as fence posts for burgeoning ranches. With their removal, a small but important feeder of surface and spring water was lost, perhaps contributing to the demographic and productive downturn seen in places like Kaupō. Even in their absence, however, a small number of springs for drinking water and an ample (if gradated) amount of rainfall sustained the population. Of the springs that likely once flowed throughout the district, only a small number still remain, all of them close to the coast. Flanking the intensified core region of Pauku (known to modern ranchers as Kokowai, perhaps translating to “a place from which water was carried”) are the two springs of Waiū (“mother’s milk”) and Waipū (likely a shortening of wai puna, “spring water”, or waipūʻolo, “water that can be carried”). Still flowing today, these sources have long been considered as a last resort for consumption, as the poor taste of the the water is attributed to the corpses of commoners thrown into deep caves inland at the springs’ source (Kamakau 1964:39-40). To the east, in Mokulau, is the spring of Punahoa (perhaps “the spring brought forth by striking with a stick”), one of the few locations in Kaupō mentioned in oral traditions as associated with royal figures, specifically Hawaiʻi Island’s Queen Keakalani, wife of Alapaʻinui (Sterling 1998). According to John Rae in 1853, this source “never fails and is very pure and is quite a treasure” (in Sterling 1998: 170), providing yet another valuable resource in an ahupuaʻa likely central to the district’s sociopolitical power.

Figure 4.5: Rainfall gradients from the 1980s for the island of Maui (Giambelluca et al. 1986).

For all of the benefits provided by fog drip and permanent springs, the most important source of water for the residents of Kaupō remained rainfall. Where the windward sides of Maui and other islands allowed for permanent irrigation, the leeward sides were traditionally more reliant on intermittent rains to provide enough water to raise more drought-tolerant crops such as sweet potato. The location of Kaupō, however, places it at the threshold of the wet and dry sides of the island. Partially shielded by the rain-shadow of Haleakalā, it still receives just enough cloud-cover over and around the sides of the volcano to make it a highly viable cropping zone. As seen in Figure 4.5, this rain wraps around the peaks and crater of Haleakalā, depositing moisture in a strong gradient from the northeast to the southwest (Giambelluca et al. 1986). Figure 4.6 shows a more recent interpolation of rainfall with slightly higher values, but similarly places Kaupō at the boundary of very wet and very dry regions (Giambelluca et al. 2013). In the most moisture-rich regions of Kaupō, namely the northern climes of the volcano over to the eastern border with neighboring Kīpahulu, the district receives in excess of 2500 mm of rain per year. Moving towards the southwest, however, this drops off rapidly, resulting in an average annual rainfall of <700 mm down at the western edge of the productive fan. Continuing further west, past the young soils of the fan and into the hinterland of the district as well as Kahikinui, these low levels of rainfall are maintained, creating a broad area that, while livable, would have presented a challenging environment for pre-contact Hawaiians (Holm 2006; Kirch 2014).

Figure 4.6: Updated rainfall gradients from data collected up to 2013 (Giambelluca et al. 2013).

The rainfall gradient within the core of Kaupō, ranging from ~750-2500 mm per annum, offered the requisite moisture, particularly in the growing season from October/November through early Spring (see Giambelluca et al. [2013] for further seasonal data). Combined with the nearly ideal soil conditions (discussed below), the district was in a prime position for the production of dryland crops. Sweet potato, one of the main Polynesian staples, thrives almost exclusively within this rainfall range. Able to grow in the harsh, dry conditions of the lower levels, it gets overly saturated above 2000-2500 mm. Within this upper range, however, dryland taro begins to flourish, thereby allowing two of the major Hawaiian crops nearly full coverage throughout the accretionary fan. Combined with yams, sugarcane, bananas, and other crops, the district’s rainfall offered the right range for a suite of dryland crops. This moisture gradient alone, however, was only part of Kaupō’s productive potential, as the soils and sediments of Nāholokū completed what Ladefoged et al. (2009) describe as a “sweet spot” for agricultural production.

Surface Age and Nutrient Capacity

The majority of Southeastern Maui is comprised of old, undissected lava flows forming the slopes of the large shield volcano Haleakalā. From the western edge of Kaupō through the eastern portion of Kahikinui these surface sediments are greater than 140,000 years old, creating a broad zone of relatively old materials with very little rainfall. To the east of Kaupō, Kīpahulu and Hāna are similarly of older sediments, but in these districts, levels of rainfall exceeding

89 3,000 mm have led to very different conditions. Recent work by Vitousek (2004), Vitousek et al. (2004), Kirch et al. (2005), and others has demonstrated that the nutrient value in Hawaiian soils is directly related to both material age and rainfall.

Figure 4.7: Map of Kaupō’s geologic substrates and their respective composition and ages (Sherrod et al. 2007).

Using the broad measure of base saturation (an aggregated metric assessing the nutrient availability of cations such as calcium, phosphorus, nitrogen, and others), it is clear that a region’s capacity for maximal production requires a specific level of surface weathering (Chadwick et al. 2003). To achieve this ideal level, surfaces must be old enough for their basaltic base to have begun to weather, releasing nutrients into the developing soils. This process is generally effected through rainfall, in which exposure to water and the elements begins to break down the rock. While this allows for the release of nutrients, an excess of water, either through overly abundant annual rains or simply consistent rains over a long enough period, will decompose the surface and ultimately lead to nutrient leaching. Conversely, in regions with very

90 limited rainfall, surfaces can remain undisturbed for hundreds of thousands of years, never decomposing and releasing the nutrients locked within. These scenarios are seen to both the east and west of Kaupō, leaving in the middle a district with its own sweet spot (Chadwick and Chorover 2001; Vitousek et al. 2004). As described above, the surfaces of Kīpahulu (east) and Kahikinui (west) are of a similar age. Taken from Sherrod et al.’s (2007) geological analyses of the island as a whole, Figure 4.7 highlights the core of Kaupō, the accresionary fan.. This outflow of younger materials sits on the older Kula series of volcanic sediments, here labeled Qkul, which extend both east and west out of Kaupō and into Kīpahulu and Kahikinui. The older Kula series dates to 140,000+ ya, while the interior of the fan ranges from the very recent (<500 years) up to the threshold of the Kula period at 140,000 ya. Figure 4.8 identifies five time periods, creating a background of sedimentary deposition and its associated nutrient release that may correlate with

Figure 4.8: GIS interpretation of Sherrod et al.’s (2007) substrate and age classifications. agricultural productivity and settlement practices. Based on the modeling of Ladefoged et al. (2009) in Kohala, the ideal location for nutrient release will correlate with sediments between 50-100 kya and annual rainfall from 800-1500 mm. In Kaupō, we see a set of conditions that place the core of Nāholokū directly within the “sweet spot” of potential production, offering environmental traits similar to those of Kohala and creating a test case to see whether these conditions were exploited in consistent ways throughout the archipelago.

Dirt, Nutrients, and Productive Potential

To assess the overall nutrient profile of Kaupō’s central region, we conducted soil sampling along a series of transects from throughout the fan. Related studies have recently been done throughout the Pacific, creating a growing body of knowledge surrounding not only the ideal conditions for dryland production, but the distinctions between various environments (particularly old-young and wet-dry) and their impacts on potential human activities (Vitousek et al. 2010, 2014; Vitousek and Chadwick 2013). These studies have demonstrated not only how environmental conditions have determined the types of practices possible, but also the means through which people have adapted and developed technologies to enhance or even allow for production in marginal environments. Vitousek (2004) argued that the bounded and largely isolated nature of the Hawaiian Islands made them an ideal case study for the examination of nutrient cycling. Adopting a term primarily from biology, he identified the archipelago as a “model system”, or a scenario with relatively simple properties through which larger systemic processes can be studied. His call for the increased study of Hawaiʻi’s nutrient movements included questions of prehistoric human impacts on the environment and the role of different natural processes on cultural practices. In addressing the recursive dynamics of human-environment interactions, archaeologists and soil scientists have since demonstrated that agricultural productivity is closely related to sediment age and weathering (Vitousek et al. 2004). On the older islands, such as Kauai and O'ahu, incised valleys with permanently flowing streams could sustain irrigated taro cultivation through the constant introduction of newly water-released nutrients (Palmer et al. 2009). Without constant water and nutrient replacement, however, farming in the drier parts of the archipelago was dependent on a very specific set of environmental conditions, namely a “Goldilocks” combination of sediments between 5,000-100,000 years old (though a few small sections of the Kohala system are actually around 400,000) and annual rainfall measuring from 800-2000 mm (Chadwick et al 2003; Vitousek et al. 2004; Ladefoged et al. 2009). Modeling by Ladefoged et al. (2009) and Kurashima and Kirch (2011) have identified zones meeting these conditions, leading to fieldwork exploring whether these areas indeed supported dryland agriculture. In the Kohala (Chadwick et al. 2007; Ladefoged and Graves 2007, 2008; Ladefoged et al. 1996, 2005, 2009, 2011; Kirch [ed.] 2011) and Kona (Allen 2001, 2004) districts of Hawaiʻi Island, extensive work has shown that non-irrigated field systems covered broad expanses of land, while work on the predicted areas of Waimea and Kaʻū have also begun to reveal evidence of pre-contact agriculture. On Maui, work in Kahikinui (Kirch et al. 2004, 2005; Coil 2004; Hartshorn et al. 2006; Holm 2006) and Kaupō (Kirch et al. 2009) similarly demonstrate how these predicted “Goldilocks” zones were utilized for dryland agriculture (though the work from Kahikinui has clearly shown a reliance on a patchy mosaic of arable plots rather than the continuous planting landscapes of Kohala, Kona, Kaupō, and others). Further work is providing models for how nutrient cycling affects not simply agricultural production, but demographics (Puleston and Tuljapurkar 2008; Lee and Tuljapurkar 2011; Field et al. 2011; Kirch et al. 2012) and shifting practices throughout Polynesia (Vitousek et al. 2014). This work builds on these studies through the intensive examination of Kaupō’s nutrient profile. By sampling throughout a district with clear evidence for intensified dryland agriculture we are both developing an increased understanding of Kaupō itself, while also creating a set of nutrient data to be compared against other cropped systems such as Kohala. Combining soil and

92 sediment analyses from Kaupō with work from Kohala, Kahikinui, and others we can better understand the role of ecology in the choices made by Hawaiian farmers regarding the intensification of some locations over others. In October of 2013, the author along with P. V. Kirch and O. Chadwick undertook soil sampling at locations throughout Kaupō. Emphasizing the central core of Nāholokū, a collection strategy was designed to systematically sample across sediment age, elevation, and rainfall gradients. Three transects ran from the coast up the slope of Haleakalā Volcano; one in the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu, on the far western edge of the accretionary fan, a second in the heart of the observed field system above Mamalu Bay, and a third up from the intensified fields of Mokulau. These transects all cut across sediments of different ages, but they also fall within very different rainfall regimes. Samples from the southwestern extent represent the lower range of moisture availability, with annual precipitation measuring just over 500 mm, while those in the northeast receive an estimated 1500-1800 mm a year. In addition to these three north-south transects, we also conducted an east-west transect through the upper, eastern portion of the fan. This transect, at an elevation of ~400 masl, is around the highest elevation for visible traces of the field system and moves from the drier west into the highly watered east. Additional samples were taken to fill in certain areas, ensuring coverage throughout the district, and resulting in 36 total locations (Figure 4.9).

Figure 4.9: Soil sampling locations throughout Kaupō.

In the field, sampling locations were chosen along the general transects at uniform distances. We dug holes of ~40x40 cm such that we would have a profile of at least 35 cm. Ignoring the top 5 cm of overburden and ranching disturbances, we collected integrated samples of soil from the throughout the exposed column. These samples were then analyzed for nutrient and chemical composition at the University of California, Santa Barbara and at Stanford University. I focus here on four specific kinds of data critical in assessing nutrient cycling, particularly aspects related to productive potential, agricultural drawdown, and human-based replenishment.

Base Saturation

An important metric for understanding the agricultural potential of soils is base saturation. First used in Hawaiʻi by Vitousek (2004; Vitousek et al. 2004)), this measures calcium, magnesium, potassium, and sodium over cation exchange capacity to produce a percentage that can be compared across any cropping location (Palmer et al. 2009). Vitousek et al. (2004) demonstrated that the top 30 cm of soil were the most important for Hawaiian cropping, with integrated base saturation figures from this depth >25-30% indicating high productive potential. Figure 4.10 shows the base saturation from each of the 36 sample locations mapped on top of substrate age ranges. The most striking observation about these data is that every one of these numbers is above the 25-30% threshold defined by Vitousek, indicating that all of the sampled localities throughout the fan would have had suitable nutrient supply for agricultural production (independent of rainfall and other factors, which would impact micro-growing environments). In fact, base saturation values in Kaupō tend to be over 40%, with some into the 80s. The highest numbers tend to concentrate in the lower portion of Paukū, an area discussed further below as the most densely settled and farmed portion of the entire moku. To the west, the figures from the Nuʻu transect represent samples from valley or swale cultivation localities, meaning that despite their generally younger ages, these locations were still nutrient-rich and prime for cultivation.

Figure 4.10: Base saturation values at sampling locations, set against substrate ages and rainfall gradients.

Calcium

Figures 4.11-4.13 show exchangeable calcium (as Ca++), trapped calcium (as part of the molecule CaO), and the proportion of raw exchangeable to non-exchangeable calcium. Compared to relatively immobile phosphorus (described below), exchangeable calcium corresponds largely with rainfall gradients and soil age (Vitousek 2004). Soils in areas with >2000 mm of annual rain tend to lose nutrients to leaching, while too little rain limits erosion and the chemical decomposition of volcanic basalt into its constituent minerals and elements. Similarly, sediment age influences calcium availability as very young deposits have not had enough time to weather and very old deposits have been leeched over time.

Figure 4.11: Ca++ values at sampling locations, set against substrate ages and rainfall gradients.

Work in Kohala, Hawaiʻi, has shown a tight correspondence between exchangeable calcium levels and the boundaries of the Lower Kohala Field System. Ca++ values of 10.2 meq/100 g or higher were capable of supporting dryland agriculture (assuming sufficient rainfall), while anything below this threshold was unsuitable for intensive agriculture (Vitousek et al. 2014). Outside of Kohala’s gentle, leeward slopes, however, Palmer et al. (2009) have shown that permanent water flows allow for a far lower value of exchangeable calcium by constantly eroding and bringing in new nutrients. While Kaupō likely had more moisture in the past (due to enhanced fog drip precipitation, as described above), the overall water availability aligns the district far more closely with Kohala than any other region. As such, taking a minimum exchangeable calcium value of 10.2 once again means that all sampled locations would have been sufficient for intensive farming.

Figure 4.12: CaO% at sampling locations, set against substrate ages and rainfall gradients.

Within the older substrates, particularly through the core of Paukū, a slightly lower average value of exchangeable calcium is exhibited. While still well above the minimum threshold, the values through this region with archaeological evidence for intensive cropping (densely packed field embankments and walls) are below those of Nuʻu. Rainfall does not seem to be a factor, though sediment age could have resulted in more extensive leaching. Figure 4.12 above shows non-exchangeable calcium trapped in CaO molecules, and its compositional percentage of the parent material. Here we see a more clear indication that the older substrates have reduced amounts of calcium. Converting this to raw, non-exchangeable calcium (again into meq/100 g), Figure 4.13 below demonstrates a proportion of the exchangeable to non- exchangeable calcium. This shows a higher relative proportion in the middle of the district (including on Pu'umaneoneo), indicating that even though these areas have slightly lower amounts of calcium in general, the amounts available for uptake by crop plants are greater. Further study is required, but this could indicate the possible addition of mulching and fertilizing materials, constant use creating an environment of faster parent material decomposition, or some other ecological factor.

Figure 4.13: Ratio of Ca++ to CaO.

Phosphorus

Phosphorus, which tends to be far less mobile, similarly serves as a good marker for potential agricultural production. In Kohala, Vitousek et al. (2014) found that resin extractable forms of phosphorus (resin-P) were all around 40 mg/kg or higher. Our research in Kaupō, however, has not produced as clear results. As seen in Figure 4.14, raw counts of resin-P jump from 3 mg/kg to over 190, with major discrepancies between sites only a few dozen meters from one another. With three clear outlier sites measuring >170 mg/kg (and a fourth at 112), we may be seeing the influence of modern ranching. Cattle excrement is high in phosphorus, and with the volume of cattle moving through this landscape it is probable that some of this material made its way into the top 30 cm of some of the sampled soils. Removing these outliers may provide a very different picture of the region’s phosphorus distribution, but the values still vary widely throughout. In Nuʻu, the numbers tend to be under 30, with many under 10 mg/kg, while in Paukū we similarly see a range from 10-30.

Figure 4.14: Raw count of Resin-P.

Looking at the percentage of P2O5 (Figure 4.15) we are similarly presented with an unclear distribution. The percent of total nutrient material once again varies widely, including between sites in close proximity. Finally, the ratio of raw phosphorus (derived from the P2O5 counts) to resin-P (Figure 4.16) should provide a picture of how much phosphorus was decomposing into an agriculturally available form, but no obvious trends can be discerned between these values and sediment age, rainfall, or human activity. Ultimately, our results are confused by the movement of phosphorus across the landscape by modern cattle and may not serve as an ideal marker for nutrients available to crops grown by Kaupō’s ancient farmers.

Figure 4.15: Percentage of P2O5.

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Figure 4.16: Ratio of P to Resin-P.

Rock Percent

The percentage of each sample comprised of "rock" (pebbles, cobbles, and boulders) was estimated in the field, as an indication of the degree of decomposition of lava flow surfaces in each location. A lower rock percentage indicates more time for the initial parent materials to break down into nutrients available for farming. As is visible in Figure 4.17 below, the older sediments in dark green contain a significantly lower amount of rock. In the younger substrates to both the east and the west, rock percentage is generally from 50-70%, while the core is predominately between 10-30%. This also corresponds with the areas most heavily covered in agricultural walls, connecting processes of decomposition with nutrient release and human cropping activities.

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Figure 4.17: Estimated percent of rock in each sampling location.

The Cultural Landscape: Surveys, Settlement Patterns, and Life in Space

With an understanding of the broad environmental conditions potentially influencing the lives of Kaupō’s former residents, soil geochemical analyses (all described above) offer a link between how ecological factors structured agricultural practice and the activities people were performing across the landscape. These chemical analyses not only offer information regarding nutrient potential at various points throughout the district, but can be correlated with agricultural, ritual, and residential features. In associating cultural features with environmental factors, including subsurface nutrient values, we are afforded a greater perspective on why, when, and how Kaupō developed into one of Maui’s richest, most powerful regions.

Aerial Imagery, Remote Sensing, and Landscape Assessment

In all, the district of Kaupō measures approximately 130 km2, though the majority of this includes the steeply graded slopes ascending towards Haleakalā Crater. The western portions, including parts of the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu, incorporate older Kula age substrates, while the sediments of the accretionary fan are made up of younger Hāna series lava and mud flows. This, combined with rainfall dipping significantly below the 750 mm threshold desirable for the cultivation of sweet potato, left the western part of Kaupō more akin to Kahikinui than the arable

102 eastern half. Prior to the commencement of my research, high-resolution aerial photographs were consulted to remotely identify signs of cultural activity (see further below). In assessing these images, the density of visible features within the eastern fan portion dwarfed the density of those on the older Kula substrate, both in regards to numbers of structures as well as linear features suggesting agricultural field divisions (the west contains no visible agricultural signs while the younger, wetter east is crisscrossed by a reticulate grid of dryland field walls easily visible from the air). This western portion of Kaupō then appears to feature an archaeological signature similar to Kahikinui. Understanding that the eastern half of the district contains the most densely collected indicators of prehistoric human activity, our remote sensing investigations centered on the area from Nāholokū to the western border with neighboring district Kīpahulu. The accretionary fan itself features a western edge incised by Manawainui Gulch. From Manawainui to the border with Kīpahulu, the district once again exhibits exposed, older sediments. As opposed to the Kahikinui side, however, extensive rainfall exceeding 2500 mm has resulted in dense forests obscuring traces of past human activity. While this region remained valuable into the contact period (as evidenced by the number of claims made by Hawaiians following the Mahele; see Chapter 3) it is doubtful that these older soils under a significantly higher rainfall regime offered much opportunity to practice dryland cropping. As demonstrated by Palmer et al. (2009), sediments under these conditions would have been highly leached and unsuitable for the production of sweet potato or dryland taro, leaving the limited number of small valleys with irrigation potential as the only locations for food production. With the lack of visible features in both western and far eastern Kaupō established, the focus narrowed to the accretionary fan itself. Analyses were conducted in ArcGIS 9.2 (currently 10.2) on imagery obtained from the Pacific Disaster Center’s online archives (http://www.pdc.org). These 1:24,000 scale ortho-rectified images were digitized from true color diapositive photographs taken by the NOAA/NOS Benthic Habitat Mapping Program from March to July 2000. Scanned at 800 dpi, they provide a ground resolution of approximately 0.85 m, thus allowing for the identification of natural and archaeological features at sub-meter precision. This allows viewers to identify not only large structures or patterns, but individual stones, trees, and bushes, all of which can be used to chart features or changes in vegetation, often corresponding with subtle archaeological remains. Throughout Nāholokū, this level of resolution afforded an ideal opportunity to study the region prior to the commencement of any fieldwork on the ground. In this initial phase all features potentially related to prehistoric human activity were identified, including construction and landscape modification (Figure 4.18). This included numerous sites as well an extensive series of parallel and perpendicular lines identical to those found in the field systems of Kalaupapa, Molokaʻi, Kona, Waimea, and Kohala, Hawaiʻi, and now Kaʻu, Hawaiʻi. These lines appeared in the photographs as long, dark stretches covering the region in a grid pattern, generally

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Figure 4.18: Aerial imagery of Kaupō with overlain identifications of N-S walls (red), E-W bunds/embankments (yellow), and potential archaeological sites (white). running parallel and perpendicular to the coast. Running up- and down-slope, roughly north- south and perpendicular to the coast, were a series of thick, generally longer lines that we interpreted to be stone walls, potentially delineating long plots of socially proscribed territory, possibly corresponding to ahupuaʻa and ʻili land divisions. In the central Paukū area, these lines averaged 600-700 m, while a sample from the less densely packed region just to the east contained average walls 1000-1200 m long. In contrast, the east-west lines mirroring the coast were more closely spaced and tended to be far shorter. Where north-south lines feature an average spacing of ~50 m, the east-west lines (at least in central Paukū) averaged only 12 m apart. While these apparent walls and the field system they create required subsequent field- truthing to validate, their presence in the imagery provided valuable information relating agricultural production to environmental factors along with determining where we might conduct pedestrian surveys. Our assessment also identified a number of areas throughout the fan with surprisingly little evidence for prehistoric agriculture and settlement. These “blank” areas in the photos were often bounded by zones of dense archaeological features and were located on what appeared to be prime sedimentary flows, making the absence of remains very stark. In examining ranching practices from the 1950s to today, we recognized that seemingly barren patches were a reflection 104 of modern land use activities, notably “grubbing”, involving the removal of surface foliage (and, consequently, archaeological remains) with a bulldozer in an effort to create flat, open space for grazing. Overall, approximately 4 km2 of the fan has clearly been modified in this manner, often leaving behind hundreds of dozer push-piles appearing as dots in the photographs. On the ground, these piles, usually measuring 4-7 m on a side and 2-3 m high, contain stones that were likely once the remains of agricultural walls and ritual or residential structures (see further below). While some of these cleared areas still reveal faint traces of the previous field system, reconnaissance surveys throughout have confirmed that little to nothing remains visible on the surface. In addition to the areas cleared by ranching interests, a number of other “blank” spots with no evident archaeological remains can also be see in the aerial photographs. Expanded upon further below, these areas of low density could be correlated with geological substrates of very young age featuring a low potential for agricultural production. In planning for extensive field- testing, these zones were targeted with the hypothesis that if arable surfaces were so valuable, these potentially non-arable zones may have offered centralized habitation areas. Through subsequent survey (see below), it is evident that these jagged, unweathered flows contain virtually no arable land, but are home to a small number of structures. During the pre-field screening, however, this alternate set of “blank” spots served as another type of land for potential exploration. By combining aerial imagery with geological base-maps we were able to identify broad areas to target in field surveys. Additionally, comprehensive metrics were determined regarding the total area of the fan and the various geological zones within it, including the total arable land. This offered insights into the specific regions with the highest capacity for production (and the social implications associated), while guiding a sampling strategy to maximize coverage of the distinct regions. In total, the entire moku of Kaupō covers approximately 130 km2, though as noted above, nearly 50% of this sits on dry western edge with older Kula surfaces similar to those found in Kahikinui. In the eastern portion, the area of old, highly leached sediments from the accretionary fan to the border with Kīpahulu measures another 30 km2. These two areas, unsuitable for the production of dryland crops, leave the central region of Nāholokū as the productive heartland of the district, though even within the fan itself the capacity for farming was highly variable. Along the coast, the fan reaches its greatest breadth, measuring over 7 km along a coastline dominated by large cliffs, often dropping over 75 m into the ocean. Moving inland, the deposited sediments narrow as they extend nearly 5 km up the face of the volcano and to the crater breach known as Kaupō Gap. In all, the Nāholokū fan covers approximately 25 km2, though again, only some of this was truly suitable for agricultural production. Analyses of the aerial photographs showed field walls densely packed below an elevation of approximately 400 m. Above this, virtually nothing of cultural origin can be seen. Surveys within neighboring Kahikinui have demonstrated that production took place up to about 600 masl (Coil 2004; Kirch 2014), creating questions as to why no traces are visible in Kaupō. While initial hypotheses posited the presence of sites hidden within increasing foliage, later reconnaissance through these upland regions generally confirmed the low density of sites, including both standing architecture and agricultural field embankments and walls. This issue remains unresolved, though a number of reasons may be suggested: 1) the combination of elevation along with higher rainfall made this area too wet, cold, and potentially leached of nutrients to serve as a suitable agricultural zone; 2) the area was, in fact, under cultivation, but

105 perhaps the growth of cultivars such as dryland taro or even sweet potato at this elevation did not require the same type of moisture capture and wind protection as further downslope; or, 3) at this elevation, natural forests were maintained for the procurement of wood, the feathers of birds used in aliʻi garments and adornments, and other natural resources. Further geochemical and archaeological analyses are required in this zone above 400-500 m to confirm or refute any of these hypotheses. By combining observable field walls (below approximately 400 masl) and expected areas of production (400-600 masl) with substrate ages and rainfall gradients we created a predictive model for the total area within Kaupō capable of sustaining intensified dryland agriculture. Again removing the far eastern and western portions of the district, the total area of Nāholokū itself is around 25 km2. Using 600 m as an upper boundary for production and occupation, the area shrinks to 20 km2, and upon taking into account the zones covered in exceedingly young lava flows, it is estimated that intensive cultivation could have taken place over 12.5-15 km2. With the entire moku measuring some 130 km2, this small, productive core likely accounted for virtually all of the food for Kaupō’s residents and fueling the district’s political economy. In sum, aerial photography and remote sensing allowed for a relatively deep understanding of the moku’s ecological and cultural dynamics prior to any fieldwork. Through modeling of the area’s differentially productive zones were able to identify locations best suited for surveys that might tell us more about the relationship between agriculture and sociopolitical complexity.

Initial Exploration of Kaupō

Initial explorations of Kaupō’s surface archaeology began in 2007 with a reconaissance trip to test the reliability of our air photo interpretations. With only a short amount of time, we limited our exploration to the areas we believed were most densely packed with agricultural field embankments and standing architecture, emphasizing the area above Mamalu Bay known in historical maps as Paukū (Figure 4.19). This region sits on the relatively old Kaupō Mud Flow, dating towards the earliest phase of the crater breach between 120,000-140,000 kya (Sherrod et al. 2007). Featuring a gentle slope of undulating swales and ridges, along with an annual rainfall of approximately 1000 mm, Paukū potentially offered one of the most ideal locations throughout the moku for dryland cropping. Aerial photographs displayed a tight pattern of north-south (N-S) and east-west (E-W) lines, presumably representing a field system similar to those of Kohala or Kalaupapa. While the region was owned by Kaupō Ranch and clearly utilized for cattle grazing, remote sensing indicated no signs of mechanical disturbance, potentially offering an intact agricultural system with its associated ritual and residential structures. Our investigations in Paukū were initially disappointing, as the abundant features we believed visible in the air photos were not readily apparent. While we had expected to find a clear series of stacked stone walls running both parallel and perpendicular to the coast, we saw only low vegetation cover consisting of pasture grasses (Paspalum sp.), lantana (Lantana camara), and koa haole (Leucaena glauca). Running N-S were indeed some very low, long rock walls probably representing land divisions, but the E-W lines visible on the aerial photos were seemingly absent. Upon closer inspection, however, the lines visible from the air were not collections of piled stone, but rather rows of koa haole growing preferentially on top of low stone and earth embankments (Figure 4.19).

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Figure 4.19: Top image shows the verdant area of Paukū where differential growth patterns identify past walls, embankments, and fields. Bottom image is from a drier, more elevated section of the field system where low embankments of stone and earth can be seen running along the slope.

Once properly identified, the embankments, or bunds, became clearly discernable (for the most part, though some are quite subtle). Running parallel to the coast and abutting the longer N- S walls at each end, these embankments generally measure between .5-1 m wide. Spaced approximately 8-10 m apart, many were formed as discrete, elongated mounds rising like speed bumps above the surface some .15-.3 m. Others were constructed more as a level surface with a small drop down to the next surface, creating a series of low, subtle terraces in which each level- change was maintained by an embankment of rocks (Figure 4.20). The embankments were composed of basalt cobbles and boulders, along with gravel and earth, likely cleared from the 107 surrounding area in the initial development of the surrounding gardening plots. While the presence of the koa haole growing on these embankments is a modern phenomenon (as it and the other vegetation currently in the region are all historically-introduced species), the preferential growth pattern likely indicates enhanced water retention, or perhaps increased nutrient availability due to a lack of prehistoric cropping or the decomposition of the basalt in situ, similar to what is seen in the rock gardens of Rapa Nui (Vitousek et al. 2014). In contrast to the E-W embankments, which were short, low, and somewhat difficult to readily identify (even after knowing what to look for), the N-S walls presented more obvious construction patterns. The majority are both longer and significantly larger, generally measuring between 2-5 m thick and .5 m high. While also made of basalt and earth, many of these features contain stones stacked 2-3 courses high, occasionally expanding into short, well-defined freestanding walls, perhaps serving as residences or shelters within the field system. This practice marks a departure from other field systems, most notably Kohala, in which N-S walls traditionally served as trails running up- and downslope (Cordy and Kashko 1980), rather than as potential habitation locations. Where this type of boundary or trail in Kohala was often marked by two parallel alignments of stone defining the path, no evidence from Paukū or anywhere else throughout Kaupō gives indication that these long walls were used as walking guides. Instead, these long walls appear more like the kuaiwi (“backbone”) walls associated with the Kona field system on Hawaiʻi (Allen 2001), and at Kalaupapa (McCoy 2006) in which they served simply as discrete social boundaries.

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Figure 4.20: Cross sections through sample north-south embankments (A, B) and east-west bunds (C, D, E) from the Paukū area. A and B are at 2x vertical exaggeration and C-E are at 4X vertical exaggeration.

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In addition to confirming the presence of walls and embankments (along with the field system at large), this exploration of Paukū marked the first systematic survey of the region. We recorded 33 sites including a variety of different stone structures, gaining a greater understanding for the types of sites to be expected within and around the field system (Kirch et al. 2009). The limited scope of this initial visit served as an effective test prior to commencing larger survey and excavation operations in the following years. While this area was subsequently resurveyed and recorded, it offered a basis for how best to approach a spatial analysis of the region. Ground truthing also demonstrated that remotely identified agricultural features were almost entirely supported, but their physical construction was different from expected. In contrast, potential archaeological structures identified remotely were not as accurately represented, and would have to be located and recorded on the ground.

Surveying the Moku: Methodologies and Approaches

Following the initial visit in 2007, I conducted four further field seasons during the summers of 2008-2011. In total, not including research time spent exclusively in Nuʻu, I conducted ~28 weeks of fieldwork surveying and excavating throughout Kaupō. The majority of the first two seasons were spent conducting systematic survey, recording a variety of sites from a selection of different ecological and cultural zones. By the conclusion of these four seasons, I had covered ~3.5 km2 with 100% coverage, conducted reconnaissance throughout most of the other areas, and recorded 585 discrete sites, independent of the 356 sites recorded within Nuʻu alone. This volume of data offers a compelling portrait of Kaupō’s spatial organization, tying settlement strategies of the region’s pre-contact inhabitants to sociopolitical and environmental considerations. The total area of Kaupō covered in 100% survey can be seen in Figure 4.21. While each field season began with a set of areas targeted for exploration, the day-to-day realities of conducting research on a working ranch significantly altered the approach, ultimately resulting in a broad coverage that explores all of Kaupō’s cultural and ecological zones, with an emphasis on the southwestern portion of Nāholokū. This higher proportion of surveyed areas within this zone is a reflection of two practical features, both relating to moisture.

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Figure 4.21: Aerial photograph centered on the Kaupō fan with areas of intensive survey in blue. Note that this does not include the ~1.5 km2 of Nuʻu that have also been intensively surveyed just along the western edge of the fan.

As demonstrated above, the district’s rainfall gradient means far more water is available in the eastern and northeastern regions. This results in increased vegetation density along with potential for rapid regrowth. For ranchers practicing rotational grazing of livestock, moving cattle between the pens in these fertile zones means plentiful food without having to constantly drive herds all across the large moku. This is not sustainable year round, as fallow time is occasionally required, but it means that the paddocks in the eastern portion of Kaupō are more frequently in use. While we were eventually told our work would not disturb the cattle, in the interests of maintaining positive relations with the ranchers (and not causing any inadvertent harm or stress to the cows) we continued to avoid areas with actively grazing livestock. This did limit our ability to conduct some research in these areas, but we were still able to do significant work in the eastern portion while avoiding ranch operations. Another logistical drawback of the increased moisture in the east was the practicality of working in the rain. Regarding survey, the GPS units used are water resistant, but continued exposure to rain could potentially cause significant damage. Similarly, recording with pencil and paper is difficult in wet conditions, leaving all modes of recording severely handicapped. For subsurface testing, rain can damage not only the integrity of excavation units, but the cultural materials being exposed. It also makes visual and tactile assessments of soil properties virtually impossible. Finally, from a sheer comfort perspective, keeping a team out of inclement

111 conditions ensures greater productivity and happiness. Despite these limiting factors we were still able to achieve sufficient coverage of the wet areas in addition to the extensive work in the drier west. Initially, the intention was to conduct equal amounts of survey in the east and west, parsing these between upland and coastal regions. Reconnaissance in the areas above ~400 m demonstrated that few archaeological sites exist at this elevation, matching what had been identified in aerial photos. This is not to discount pre-European human presence above this elevation, as the area was likely employed in the manners described previously, but the scarcity of sites meant our time would be more efficiently used slightly downslope all the way to the coast. This resulted in survey blocks being chosen largely to create a reasonable distribution between east and west, subject to the nature of ranching and rainfall described above. We achieved substantial samples from throughout Kaupō, allowing for analyses and interpretations regarding differential patterns of land-use and practice from the wet side of the moku to the dry. In the field, we employed a standardized set of survey procedures and recording methods. While approximately one week of survey was conducted exclusively on my own (in which I performed all the functions described below), the rest of this work was done with a team of two or three people. Upon selection of a region for survey, the team would spread out at 10 m increments and walk transects, identifying all potential sites and recording as we went. Full coverage was ensured through the constant monitoring of a global positioning system (GPS) instrument. With the region currently under extensive ranching, numerous barbwire cattle fences also helped to guide our transects. These fences created relatively small, bounded regions that could be covered in a smaller number of passes, resulting in less cumulative error by the end of each paddock. Similarly, the undulating terrain also offered physical features conveniently constraining discrete survey blocks. In walking transects, the combination of the region’s vegetation and land-use allowed for relatively easy identification of archaeological sites. Having been under cultivation for more than four centuries, much of Kaupō is today open grassland with only a scattering of low trees and shrubs, including koa haole, kiawe (also known as mesquite; Prosopis pallida), and Christmasberry (Schinus terebinthifolius). Combined with the rotational grazing of hundreds of cattle spanning the last century, this has left most of the area denuded and easily accessible for walking and examining the surface. In these open regions transects could be spaced slightly further apart, maintaining full coverage while increasing efficiency. While in some areas, including patches around Mokulau and the southeastern portion of Paukū, vegetation was dense enough to limit visibility to a few meters, we compensated by tightening our spacing, again ensuring we would not miss any surface features. In all of these zones, from open fields to the dense underbrush, another factor aiding in the location of sites was the preferential growth of koa haole in and around areas of past cultural activity. Much as the “field walls” identified in air photos turned out to be lines of differential vegetation growing on the low embankments, the growth of trees very often corresponded with archaeological remains. Whether this is a result of nutrient input from a household setting (or, conversely, lack of drawdown as the space was not under cultivation) or a function of cattle not getting inside stone-walled structures to consume young trees remains unclear, but it created highly visible markers across the landscape. Upon the location of any new site (defined here as discrete stone architecture at least 10 m from any other former structure), standard protocols involved the entire team taking a brief survey of the immediate area to determine the extent and nature of the structure. Each site was then mapped with a GPS unit, either the Trimble Geo-XM in the first two seasons or the Geo-XH

112 in the last two years. With post-processing through the Upolu Point datum, these units allow for sub-meter accuracy, placing every new site precisely on the landscape. Outlines of all the features within the site would be mapped, creating a basic schematic of every structure (see Figure 4.22 for examples). While somewhat crude (particularly if conditions such as clouds or tree cover limited the ability to record all the desired perimeter points), these maps give the basic shape and size of every one of the 585 sites located throughout Kaupō. This allows for subsequent analyses of aspects such as size and orientation while placing the basic structural outline within a larger context. In addition to mapping the features, a short description was also added to each GPS recording. These one or two sentence notes offer not only a brief encapsulation of the site, but the written perspective of the person using the GPS unit which may provide something slightly different from the record written by others on a survey form.

Figure 4.22: Example of data generated through field GPS recording.

113 In addition to digital mapping, we also employed a standardized survey form, recording numerous aspects of each site (Figure 4.23). These forms included fields for measurement of dimensions, likely function, setting, the presence/absence of numerous architectural features or artifact types, and more. Perhaps most importantly, they also featured an area for the description of a site, allowing for further details and increased interpretation while still in the field.

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Figure 4.23: Sample field form featuring formal attributes and functional interpretation fields.

Finally, all sites were digitally photographed with a Nikon D40. While overgrowth and the collapse of stacked stone architecture make many of these photos difficult to interpret, images allow for another source of data when reexamining sites and notes away from the field. They may also permit new analyses of elements overlooked during survey, such as moss and lichen growth patterns or rock-fall configurations. These photographs are archived in the Oceanic Archaeology Laboratory at UC Berkeley, and are stored in online servers.

Site Classification: Formal and Functional Types Found in Kaupō

Throughout the district, we encountered a variety of different sites featuring a range of standing architectural constructs. In assessing each of the newly located structures we recorded first a collection of morphological traits, defining construction details to adequately describe the overall form. While form provides a comprehensible measure for all others examining the study, we also recorded probable function as a means of integrating archaeological experience and previous studies (both done by the field team employing the wealth of Hawaiian archaeological scholarship). These functional assessments were derived based on the field experience of team members, other known sites, and ethnohistoric examples, though in all cases formal definitions of the site were the first aspects recorded. Indeed, subsequent reanalysis of these survey data resulted in modified characterization of the functional class based on the formal traits. Presented here are the sites of Kaupō as they were analyzed from a combined formal and functional perspective. For further information on any of these sites, including the capacity to make new

115 functional determinations, Appendix A offers tabulated data regarding the traits of all 585 sites, while Appendix B provides expanded descriptions of each. The formal description of standing architecture is based on the structural forms first described in Kirch (1985). These include enclosures, shelters, walls, rock shelters, terraces, platforms, and more, with most of these subdivided into further categories, such as C/U shaped shelters compared to L- or linear-shaped shelters. I first present data on the formal classifications of the Kaupō site assemblage, identifying the variety of structural types found throughout the district. I also note the breakdown within individual formal categories, subdividing large groups such as “enclosure” into discrete forms such as “circular”, “square”, and “rectangular” enclosures. While the spatial analyses presented later premise the function categories, these interpretive determinations were built on the identification and combination of distinct traits. As noted by Dye (2010), sites are locations comprised of myriad architectural details and behavioral remains (in the form of spaces and material culture). While described form is critical, function is what gives a site meaning. Following the brief description of Kaupō’s site categories, I then discuss how functional categorization was determined. This moves beyond the descriptive statistics of formal traits to explore how Hawaiian archaeologists have classified ritual, residential, mortuary, and agricultural sites throughout the archipelago. I build on previous work to support determinations made for Kaupō’s individual sites and structures, ultimately allowing for broad spatial analyses to describe how pre-contact people inhabited the landscape.

Total Sites and the Criteria for Categorization

In the ~3.5 km2 of survey, we encountered a range of surface architectural forms. Outside of a single identified petroglyph, all of the sites were comprised of dry-stacked basaltic stone, though the manner and extent to which these stones were combined varied greatly, from the massive, core-filled structures the size of a football field and over 7 m high to low alignments of a few cobbles. As seen in the sample survey form above (Figure 4.23), sites were defined through a series of formal categories, beginning with a distinction between the number of elements or components present. We then noted the basic site type, followed by the dominant form expressed. Much of the rest of the form contained information on discrete character states, such as the presence or absence of things such as paving, upright stones, or artifacts. The combination of these descriptive traits also allowed for a field interpretation of site function, represented in the top right of the survey form’s first page. Finally, the back of the form contained space to describe relevant physical aspects of the structure, its location and surroundings, and anything else that seemed important to the recording team. The resulting categories of the 585 structures found throughout Kaupō are given below, beginning first with a table breaking down the total sites into individual classes (or types) based on architectural form (Table 4.1). This is followed by Table 4.2, which shows the subdivision of the major classes into their dominant architectural components. Like the primary types, descriptions of the stone structure form are all discrete variables, but the same form may be described as the basis for sites with different type classification.

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All Sites by Site Type

Wall Total Shape) Shelter Multiple Terraces Platform Overhang Petroglyph Stone Cairn (Any Shape) Adj. Terrace Wall/Shelter Rockshelter/ Stone Mound Free Standing Enclosure (Any Terrace (Single) Not Determined 108 27 31 1 65 8 160 2 47 69 53 14 585 Table 4.1: Primary formal class of Kaupō’s 585 identified sites.

Individual Site Types by Stone Structure Form

Enclosure Forms Circular Rectangular Square U-Shaped Other

22 63 11 6 6

Free Standing Wall Forms Core-Filled Stacked Other 6 18 3 Multiple Terrace Forms Earth Filled Stone Filled Platform Square Enclosure Other

14 11 1 1 4 Platform Forms

Stone Faced Other

61 4 Shelter Forms C/U Shaped L/J or Linear Other

82 76 2 Single Terrace Forms

Earth Filled Stone Filled Other 50 17 2 Wall/Shelter Adjoining Terrace C/U Shelter L/J/Linear Shelter Earth Filled Terrace Stone Filled Terrace Other

9 11 26 4 3 Table 4.2: Division of major, or most common site types into architectural forms.

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Table 4.3 presents functional interpretations of the sites based on a combination of the formal traits above and evidence gathered by team members in conjunction with prior archaeological works. Below, short breakdowns of each functional category are presented, with some of the classification schemes reported by different practitioners.

Functional Classifications

Agricultural Burial Residential/Habitation Ritual/Ceremonial Not Determined

15 105 380 29 56

Table 4.3: Interpretive classification of the 585 sites.

Perhaps more than all other types of sites, ritual architecture has garnered the most archaeological attention. Kaupō itself is home to a broad diversity of structures defined early in the 20th century as ritual locations (Walker 1930; Thrum 1909; Maunupau 1998), and again reassessed and codified in the work of Michael Kolb (1991, 1992), the surveys of Patrick Kirch (pers. comm.), and the current study. The definitions of a ritual site, compared to residences or other kinds of structures, has long been of interest to Hawaiian archaeologists, as one of the first chroniclers of Island history, Abraham Fornander, posited that different styles of temples were a reflection of multiple phases of colonization and a major shift in cultural practices (Fornander 1998, though his original works were written from 1878-1885). Stokes tested this hypothesis (1991) in the early 20th century, hoping that formal classifications of ritual structures would correspond with different time periods dating from the earliest settlement, to the era of the Tahitian priest Paʻao, and then into the rest of Hawaiian history. Stokes was disappointed to find, however, that very little connection could be made between the architectural traits of individual temples and their time of construction. In particular, the distinction between walled and platform styles had served as hypothetical temporal markers, but as with other formal traits, these offered little support for the notions espoused by Fornander and Stokes (Dye 1991). Where Stokes failed to equate form with temporality, he was similarly confounded in efforts to associate specific forms with certain functions. Even these demonstrated no concrete rules linking form to function, leaving archaeologists with little solid information surrounding what a temple ought to look like (Dye 1991). These difficulties did nothing to dissuade subsequent researchers from attempting to identify architectural trends, beginning with Bennett (1930), whose typology was reference through the 1990s (Graves and Cachola-Abad 1996). Following a lull in temple research (coinciding with a rise in broad settlement studies), the creation of ritual typologies returned strongly with the island-wide studies of Kolb (1991, 1992). This work spurred further classificatory schemes based on traits such as wall vs. platform, exterior steps, notches, interior platforms, and more (Graves and Cachola-Abad 1996; Kolb and Radewagen 1997; Mulrooney and Ladefoged 2005). While these studies have all purported to identify various connections between time, form, and function (to differing degrees of success), I am more inclined to agree with Valeri (1985) who argued that form and function were independent in the construction of heiau, such that similar looking sites could have been built and used for entirely different purposes. That said, Valeri does put forth his own basic classification scheme, dividing between war- and growth-centered temples and based largely on 118 each structure’s associated “owner” (most notably the king). He acknowledges the numerous limitations of this system, but contends that some stride may be made in identifying temples within such a structure. For this study, I have employed both formal and functional definitions in the identification of Kaupō’s ritual structures, but have also relied heavily on oral traditions surrounding specific heiau recorded by Walker in his island-wide examination of Maui’s archaeological history (Walker 1930). In the following section I discuss the relocation of nearly all of Walker’s Kaupō sites, but outside of these known entities, I classified a number of other sites (n=29) as ritual based on a combination of factors. Where previous studies (see above) attempted to isolate single or combined formal traits as indicative of era or specific ritual function, I simply used the presence of these traits as markers of some sort of ceremonial structure. Critical elements in this identification were size (both of the overall footprint as well as the thickness and height of the wall), wall construction (core filled tended to be much larger, again related to size, than their stacked counterparts), notching, upright stones, internal space divisions, and internal platforms. While all types of sites could potentially feature one or multiple of these traits (such as a residential site with internal rooms), their combined presence, particularly in a relatively large site, led to the classification of ritual. Beyond the identification that certain sites were likely ritual or ceremonial in some way, no further effort was made in the field to subdivide these into different kinds of heiau. Extensive ethnohistoric, archaeological, and anthropological works have identified a range of different ritual locations of varying sizes, meanings, associations, and functions. From Kamakau (1976, 1992), Malo (1951), and more, we know of numerous categories, but through survey and even excavation, the certain association of a site with a specific sort of heiau remains murky. Among the many types of heiau described for Hawaiʻi, the most prevalent (at least in reference cultural memory and practice) were pōhaku a Kāne (sacred stones at which offerings were made), hale mua (the men’s houses usually associated with a kauhale or larger ʻohana), kʻoa (generally small shrines associated with productivity, particularly in fishing), hale o Lono (medium sized temples, often related to productivity and farming), and luakini (the largest class at which human sacrifices were offered, particularly in regards to war). These categories (defined most concisely by Valeri [1985:173-183]) are by no means comprehensive, as not only are there numerous other types, but these may themselves be subdivided into smaller groups. While it was (and remains) tempting to associate the sites described throughout Kaupō with these different traditional categories, too many pitfalls exist to make this possible. In Chapter 6, I present hypotheses relating some of these specific ritual sites to agricultural production (heiau known as hoʻoūluūlu ʻai), but here I limit analyses to three categories: 1) the relocation and identification of temples defined by Walker (1930); 2) the distribution of all ritual sites recorded throughout Kaupō’s surveyed areas, and; 3) a simple division of these sites into two categories based on formal traits to isolate “major” from “minor” heiau. For the 29 sites discovered in greater Kaupō (which is actually 28, as two of them should be merged into a single site) and the 7 taken from surveys in Nuʻu (Kirch pers. comm.), I created categories based first on size, and second on the presence of internal architecture. Of all the sites described, a few are certainly massive (see Figure 4.24 below), but as a whole they present a reasonably tailed distribution. In first selecting a threshold for size, I argue that sites averaging above ~20x20 m, or >400 m2, can reasonably be considered large. While this is admittedly a somewhat arbitrary figure, sites of this size tend to get increasingly labor intensive (in regards to their building labor costs), with greater investments in wall construction, wall size, and/or

119 internal features. This does not mean that all sites over this size are highly complex or have any of these traits, nor that smaller sites cannot have any or all of these aspects, but simply that sites with a footprint greater than 400 m2 tend to evince a higher level of investment.

16,000

14,000

12,000

10,000

8,000

6,000

4,000

2,000

0 Kou Opihi Waihi Kailiili Loaloa Kau-32 Kau-49 Nuu-10 Paukela Halekou Popoiwi Kau-552 Kau-249 Kau-271 Kau-319 Lonoaea Kau-273 Kau-544 Kau-467 Kau-533 Kau-113 Kau-454 Kau-566 Kau-408 Kau-448 Kau-433 Kau-556 Kau-235 Ukulalae Nuu-188 Puuakua Puaakolo Keanawai Puumakaa Oheohenui

Heiau at Puhilele Figure 4.24: Rank scale plot of the ritual sites found throughout Kaupō (includes some of the sites identified by Walker that may not actually have been ritual locations). Red bars indicate sites with reported sizes not truly reflective of the size of the constructed space.

Size alone, however, is inadequate for defining any categories of site types, including ritual. First, shown by the red bars in Figure 4.24, some sites feature a disproportionate total area based on the simply multiplication of maximum length and width. While sites such as Kou are indeed enormous, the area described in the figure above is not an accurate reflection of the space enclosed for ritual use within the large walls. The site is constructed in an L shape, with most of the above area outside of the ritual interior space. Conversely, sites Kau-32 and 273 (also in red above) do feature internal areas of 4000 and 1800 m2, respectively, but these sites are both just large enclosures that feature some substantial wall thickness, but nothing else like internal platforms or rooms to indicate that they were significant heiau. Of the sites above, the five in red are least representative of true use area, limiting the viability of creating a ritual classification on size alone. Additionally, as Gill et al. (2015) have demonstrated, sites of significant size (in their case, the Oʻahu site of Pālehua, measuring >1500 m2) may be deemed “ritual” without also being heiau. Despite the substantial footprint of the enclosure they describe, the lack of all traits associated with temples separates a site such as this from other sites featuring the traditional characteristics of a heiau. Similarly large sites are found in Kaupō (again, such as Kau-32 and 273), but once more, a lack of distinguishing traits identifies them as perhaps ritual, but by no means major temples. 120 For the purposes of identifying discrete classes of ritual location, I therefore combine size with the presence of internal structural or spatial divisions. More than any other single trait, the existence of interior boundaries and separated zones (particularly elevated areas, such as internal platforms) serves to indicate that a structure was consciously divided to allow for differential access and use of space. Below, I show the broad collection of ritual sites from throughout Kaupō, followed by a classificatory scheme that distinguishes between “major” and “minor” sites, as defined by sites that are both above the size threshold and containing internal divisions. While these terms do imply a level of supposed pre-contact social importance, without extensive excavation and further research, they are more heuristic descriptors than realized classes. Following the analyses of ritual locations, I move to explore the distribution of residential structures. As described above, the identification of a “residential” site represents a functional interpretation built on formal structure types. Habitations were made as enclosures, shelters, free standing walls, terraces, and more, often in clusters called kauhale (described more below). In the examination of residential sites, I begin with general spatial patterns of habitations as identified in the surveyed areas. I then model discrete groups of structures to potentially reflect kauhale. Beyond the ritual and residential, the region exhibits a large number of stone platforms and mounds. Sometimes as small as 1x2 m, most are comprised of in-filled, stacked stone 2-4 m on each side with a height up to 1 m. Some of these platforms clearly demonstrate multiple phases of construction and addition, which, in conjunction with our understanding of mortuary practices in the early post-contact phase, supports the premise that, for the most part, these are burial platforms. Also an indication that these are burials are indentations in the centers of many of these structures, corresponding with the collapse of wooden coffins used only from the early 19th century on. While these types of sites were recorded in the same manner as all other types found throughout Kaupō, care was taken not to disturb them. Finally, agricultural sites present a range of construction features making their identification somewhat difficult. While some of the terraces described above may have been used as residential spaces, they may have also been small garden plots developed to maximize water capture on sloped land. Small mounds, potentially for cropping, or features including early historic check-dams and landscape modifications are also classified as agricultural sites. Ultimately, the N-S walls and E-W walls, bunds, and embankments covering Kaupō are the most obvious agricultural features to be found, but in categorizing these sites it is once again important to approach each location on an individual basis.

Spatial Analyses of Kaupō

The following sections describe analyses undertaken in ArcGIS versions 9.2-10.2. I begin with an examination of all the sites together to provide an overall picture of spatial emphasis across the landscape, including a discussion of modern disturbances. While the stone architecture remaining on the surface today indicate a clear focus on the central, more coastal parts of the district, parsing out the various site types (again, presented here as functional rather than purely formal categories) may allow for further insights. Beginning with ritual sites throughout Kaupō (including sites in Nuʻu recorded outside of this specific project), I chart not only the overall presence of sacred locations, but the nature of these sites based on the categories described above. Next I show the distribution and density of residential sites, including efforts to statistically identify household clusters, or kauhale. Following residential sites I look at putative

121 burials, as represented by platforms and mounds, spread throughout the district. I conclude with an assessment of agricultural remains, addressing not only the permanent field walls crisscrossing the region, but the small number of agricultural features such as planting terraces and check dams.

All Sites and Disturbed Area

In all of the surveyed areas above, I recorded 585 discrete sites (Figure 4.25). While the overall density speaks to intense human occupation, one of the most striking aspects of this figure is the complete absence of sites in some zones. Comparing these blank spots with geology (Figure 4.26) I found no significant correlation between sediment age and the sudden absence of human activities. Instead, adjacent areas with identical environmental profiles often demonstrated opposite patterns of density and scarcity.

Figure 4.25: Locations of all sites (red points) found within the zones of intensive survey (light blue). Note the complete lack of sites in some of these surveyed areas.

122

Figure 4.26: Sites plotted on a geologic map describing substrate age.

Prior to fieldwork and the survey of these areas, however, indications from the aerial photography suggested many sections of Kaupō might have been disturbed by modern ranching practices. By zooming in on one section of the coast we can clearly see evidence for cultural modifications of the landscape (Figure 4.27). In right portion of the image, numerous lines represent the reticulate grid of intensified agricultural walls. Within that area, small rectangles and irregular lines speak to previous enclosures, shelters, and other sites. To the left of this, a thick dark swath of younger lava bisects the frame. Despite the jagged surface of sharp ʻaʻa stones, some structures can similarly be seen in this area (though no traces of agriculture). Moving further left, the oblong, yellow area dominating much of the frame appears somewhat similar to the area first examined. From afar, this zone appears barren, dotted only with a large number of densely packed circular features. Upon closer viewing, however, much of the area contains trace signs of former field walls and structures. The dark circles, most evident in the upper right, are the result of bulldozing; large piles of earth and stone containing the aggregated remains of centuries of prehistoric occupation. By dozing areas such as this for the benefit of cattle, ranch workers were inadvertently reusing the same fertile locations employed by Hawaiians in the past. While this no doubt proved profitable for the ranch, clearing practices, either for cattle land or residences, have destroyed much of Kaupō’s archaeological past.

123

Figure 4.27: Close-up of western Paukū, Kou, and Puʻumaneoneo to highlight geological influence, agricultural markers, and bulldozer piles.

By learning the aerial signature of these bulldozer piles I was able to canvas the entire district remotely, looking for direct evidence of modern clearance. Ultimately, hundreds of these piles were identified, mostly clustered together. The top of Figure 4.28 (below) shows the region with all of the push-piles, while the bottom adds identified sites, creating clear zones of disturbed and undisturbed areas. Larger landscape modifications include the establishment of the modern residential zone to the northwest of Mokulau, the dozer piles previously noted, and broad sections likely “dragged” or “disked”; farming and ranching practices employing chains or blades behind a tractor, cutting, churning, and smoothing the ground surface. While much of the area appears to be disturbed, faint traces often remain, and in the zones where no clear ranching practices have altered the landscape we are left with a rich collection of surface features. As seen in Figures 4.25 and 4.28, many of the areas surveyed contain numerous features, including ritual, residential, mortuary, and agricultural remains (agricultural sites here defined as discrete features and not the walls of the field system). A density map of these sites provides a statistical measure of all activities and their frequency across the landscape. Of course, these data are somewhat skewed as disturbed areas (which now measure a site density of nearly zero) will drag down the density of surrounding zones. To offset this, I established parameters in which buffer zones of 100 m projecting out from every site would create overlapping areas. This relatively small buffer limits the drag-down effect of 124

Figure 4.28: Top shows all bulldozer piles, while bottom adds identified archaeological sites.

125 disked, dozed, or grubbed areas over increasing distances, emphasizing localized density. In the figure below (Figure 4.29), green areas of low-density are seen in the cleared areas, but also in the areas radiating away from the central core of Paukū (known today by ranch workers as Kokowai).

Figure 4.29: Density plot of all sites identified in the Kaupō surveys.

The obvious pattern demonstrated by this graphic is the cultural emphasis placed on Paukū, just above Mamalu Bay. As seen above, and discussed further below, this zone is not only home to the most dense feature aggregation, but also the most tightly clustered and intensified agricultural field walls. This does not speak to differential site types (analyzed separately in subsequent sections) or questions of control and political complexity, but it indicates that many people were highly active within this area. Other zones of density include the highly disturbed hill and its uplands known as Puʻumaneoneo, the uplands above Paukū, and small area examined within Mokulau. Puʻumaneoneo refers specifically to a hill with its apex in the oval, yellow area shown in the far west of Figure 4.29. It also refers to two ahupuaʻa (Puʻumaneoneo 1 and 2) extending up the slopes of the volcano. The hill itself displays quite a high density of sites, but even more in the elevated parts of the ahupuaʻa above (both would likely show even more if heavy cattle rotation and landscape modification had not influenced the areas so much). We also see an increase in density high above Paukū, just at the top a geological change in which sites sitting on recent 126 mudflow hills look out over the rich, older slopes of Paukū below. Finally, the area of Mokulau also shows higher levels of site frequency. While the evidence indicates that Paukū was a heavily utilized area, we also see these other zones with significant cultural remains. The fan of Nāholokū as a whole was clearly home to a substantial population, but without parsing out discrete site types we can only see part of the region’s history. Utilizing the extensive data on each of the sites throughout Kaupō we are afforded a clearer look at not simply distributions, but how different areas held different sociopolitical values.

Ritual Sites

Distributed through the district are a variety of ritual structures, with forms ranging from relatively small enclosures to massive platforms raised some 7 m above ground surface. Building on the ethnohistoric and archaeological descriptions of various temple types discussed previously, the formal features from individual sites were combined with previous works to functionally define sites as heiau. Many of the sites shown here were formerly identified by Walker (1930) in his survey of archaeological sites in the early 20th century. I begin this section by describing my efforts to relocate the 24 sites he recorded throughout the accretionary fan. Using a georeferenced version of his original map, I place his numbered sites on the modern landscape. In conjunction with his notes and site maps, I then tie 21 of his sites (along with two others he names, but never mapped or numbered) to locations I have visited and recorded. While many of his points are some distance from their true geographic locations, his skill in mapping and recorded offers a link between the archaeological work of the present, the ethnohistoric and archaeological practices of the early 20th century, and pre-contact Hawaiian practices. By merging the information Walker gathered on the names and uses of many of these sites, we gain valuable insights into ritual locations (along with habitations and burials) that can be merged with greater spatial analyses and excavated material data. Following the description and mapping of the Walker sites, I discuss the overall distribution of ritual sites across the district. This leads into the classification discussed above, in which I divide the categories of “major” and “minor” heiau to explore how different types of temples were spread throughout Kaupō. These analyses of ritual locations offer important insights into how space was structured prior to European contact and the different ways in which various areas were utilized. My study of the district’s ritual sites began by attempting to relocate all of the 24 locations numbered by Walker (1930). Working off his maps and descriptions, along with information provided by local informants, I was able to find 21 of his previously recorded sites, and have potentially identified two more that he mentions, but offers little in the way of concrete information. Below, Figure 4.30 shows the map he created of southeastern Maui, featuring numbered sites, contours, and local landmarks. This map was georectified, as seen in Figure 4.31, to best align his coastline and, ultimately, sites, with true locations.

127

Figure 4.30: Walker’s (1930) map of SE Maui, including archaeological sites.

Figure 4.31: Walker’s map georectified and set on the coastline of Maui. 128

Figure 4.32: Close up of Kaupō with overlaid, slightly transparent Walker map. This was used to plot all of his sites in on the landscape.

Using the 1930s map placing Walker’s sites within Kaupō (Figure 4.32) I cross checked his sites against the sites I had identified (Figure 4.33), including those I had recorded early in my survey that were known Walker locations. Table 4.4 lists each of Walker’s assigned site numbers, along with corresponding modern site numbers (if relocated), their traditional names, and brief notes describing the site.

129 Relocated Walker Sites

Walker Modern Site Area Hawaiian Name Notes Relocated Number Number (m2)

Massive site, assc. w/ Kekaulike. Also called 140 Kau-324 Popoiwi 14,400 Yes Keakalauae and Kanemalohemo

Multiple large stone-filled terraces and rooms, by 141 Kau-996 Paukela 2,000 Yes the coast Small platform temple, destroyed in modern 142 Lanikaula No construction

143 Kau-994 Loaloa 9,800 Massive structure, early use, reconstruction by Yes Kekaulike Stone platform, internal spaces, described as a 144 Kau-535 Puumakaa 897 Yes luakini

Described as a large raised platform, site of 145 Haleokane No sacrifces, along E edge of fan

In a streambed, platform built on natural outcrop 146 Kau-998 Lonoaea 1,500 Yes with internal court and rooms

Heiau at Oval court, sunken into ground, massive retaining 147 Kau-536 835 Yes Puhilele wall Small terrace with good uprights in backwall; 148 Kau-556 95 Yes Walker gives no name

Little info, described as small ritual site, poss. 149 Kau-011 Halulani 484 Yes? relocated, but deflated

Small platform site below church, described as 150 No possible heiau

Square platform, raised in the center, but more 151 Kau-024 Puuakua 52 Yes likely a burial than heiau

Multi-phase, enclosure with open terrace and one 152 Kau-252,253 Puaakolo 351 Yes room Large enclosure on finger ridge, opens S to fields 153 Kau-411 Waihi 1,166 Yes and ocean Described as a platform temple, possibly a burial 154 Kau-235 95 Yes as no heiau evidence Large coastal temple, huge walls, interior 155 Kau-995 Kou 7,600 Yes platforms Two-room temple by the coast, just S of Kou; 156 Yes relocated, but no number given Two enclosed rooms on built up terrace, 157 Kau-999 Keanawai 1,122 Yes connected by notched wall Multi-phase, large two-room temple to N, low 158 Kau-333 Opihi 2,250 Yes walled rooms to S

Agriculture temple near beach, at base of Nu'u 159 Papakea Yes cliffs; relocated, but no number

130 Enclosed space, S end contains raised platform 160 Nuu-81 Kailiili 520 Yes area Enclosure, W side features rooms and ramp up to 161 Nuu-100 Halekou 924 Yes raised platform area Square enclosure on stone floor, poss. ritual, but 162 Nuu-10 64 Yes? no clear evidence or name Structure on hill, described as temple but more 163 Nuu-1 Oheohenui 289 Yes work has shown residence Small walled platform in gully, likely this modern 164 Nuu-188 525 Yes? site, but unclear Described as large temple for fishing, but not no number Nuu-101 Ukulalae 1,075 Yes numbered Described as large temple in Nu'u for human no number Pili-o-Kane Yes? sacrifce, possibly Nuu-79 Table 4.4: All of Walker’s identified sites, cross-referenced against sites relocated in the current study. Sites with no modern number, but classified as relocated were found in reconnaissance survey, but have not been formally recorded.

I relocated 21 of the 24 Walker sites, and know the specific area for the missing three, providing an almost complete coverage linking the early 20th century archaeology of Walker to this project. While Walker emphasized the recording of temple structures and major sites, not all of his locations necessarily correspond with modern understanding of heiau. Specifically, his sites number 149, 151, 162, and 163 (and potentially 142, 150, 164, and 165 as well) are highly questionable in terms of their functional classification, and were not added in my subsequent discussion of ritual sites. Nonetheless, the images below show the correspondence between the Walker’s original sites (placed within the GIS based on his mapping) and their actual locations on the terrain (Figure 4.34). The following figure (Figure 4.35) visually links these sites, offering viewers a clearer understanding of how Walker’s mapping shifted clusters of sites.

131

Figure 4.33: Walker sites (red dots) and all ritual sites (blue triangles) located throughout Kaupō. As some of his sites were not recorded in modern survey as ritual, they had to be added to the following image.

132

Figure 4.34: Walker sites (red) and their corresponding, relocated sites (blue).

Figure 4.35: Links between Walker and relocated sites. Square boxes indicate the known area in which one of his sites exists. Unconnected blue dots represent located sites mentioned by Walker, but not numbered.

133 The relocation of previously recorded sites provides critical information, as these are sites with direct ethnohistoric links to their former names, functions, and sociopolitical importance. They are, however, not the only ritual locations found throughout the district of Kaupō (and indeed, based on their forms and the names and descriptions given by Walker’s informants, I do not believe all of them to truly be heiau). Integrating these structures with sites recorded in modern archaeological surveys offers a greater picture of the distribution of temples. Below, Figure 4.36 shows the locations of all the sites I have located and identified as ritual in my survey’s Kaupō. The seven structures on the western edge of the accretionary fan fall within the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu and were recorded by Kirch (pers. comm.), though I have visited each of these sites and been present for all the excavations that have taken place at those sites. By combining the sites of Nuʻu with the relocated sites of Walker and those newly discovered in my work, we are offered an interesting glimpse into the distribution of ritual practices. Figure 4.36 shows the overall distribution of heiau throughout the district. While this initially seems to indicate an even spread of ritual sites throughout the surveyed zones, the actual distinctions between temple categories point to a highly uneven dispersal of monumental sites compared to smaller shrines.

Figure 4.36: The distribution of ritual locations found throughout Kaupō, including Nuʻu.

As Table 4.4 (above) lists all of the Walker (1930) sites and their corresponding modern site numbers, Table 4.5 gives a brief description of the 16 sites I have recorded unrelated to the

134 Walker surveys. While the majority of these sites demonstrate relatively low sizes and limited architectural and labor investment (perhaps justifying why they were not brought to Walker’s attention by local informants), at least one of these sites, Kau-552 in the Mokulau area, is an enormous complex featuring numerous rooms with 2.5+ m high walls and a broad aerial footprint. The rest come largely from the intensively surveyed Paukū zone. The density of total sites described earlier points to this being the most archaeologically rich area examined, but the number of small ritual sites found in this region indicate that other parts of the district may have similarly contained a number of small temples. Further survey, particularly in the expanse between Paukū and Mokulau, is required, and as this area features a decrease in apparent agricultural intensification, I expect it to similarly contain less standing structures (reconnaissance work throughout the area supports this notion, but no measures were taken to statistically confirm the hypothesis). This would, then, also pertain to ritual locations, though there would no doubt still be at least some, likely small, temple sites.

New Ritual Sites Site Area Internal Internal Notch Uprights Notes Number (m2) Divisions Platform Single large enclosure on a steep slope, N wall may Kau-32 4,000 No No Yes No be notched, but no internal spaces Small, two room structure with elevated platform to Kau-49 315 Yes Yes No No N and exterior paving to S Single enclosed room, notch in NW of the site, thick Kau-113 483 No No Yes No eastern wall Terrace area built on massive 2.5m high retaining Kau-249 200 Yes No No No wall of boulders, likely mua Two rooms, one elevated to N, slightly larger room Kau-271 62 Yes No No No to S, but whole site is quire small Large enclosure on slope with adjacent, later rooms Kau-273 1,565 No No No Poss. added

Kau-319 27 Yes No No No Small, square platform with c-shape wall built on top

Square, nicely built platform with added platform Kau-408 225 Yes Yes No Poss. area on top Small elevated square, NE and SE corners further Kau-433 144 Yes No No Yes elevated, big upright in NE Canoe-shaped, on slope with built up retaining wall Kau-448 202 No No No No to S, points to Big Island, Mauna Kea? Rectangular enclosure, notch in the SE, cairn w/ Kau-454 392 No No Yes Yes upright just outside structure Large structure from top to bottom of rel. deep Kau-467 900 No No No No gully, almost like a big stairway with levels Large rectangular enclosure near Lo'alo'a, near edge Kau-533 509 No No No No of Manawainui Gulch Complex just by stone beach, multiple rooms, large, Kau-544 1,500 Yes No No No deep pit at front Massive complex from base to top of hill, many Kau-552 9,790 Yes Yes No No rooms, >2m walls, huge boulders Multi-room enclosure, >2m walls in places, set in Kau-566 261 Yes No No No low place between hills Table 4.5: All of the independently located ritual structures, along with some of the traits identifying them as in any way sacred or sociopolitically relevant. 135

Looking at the distribution of ritual sites independent of any further classification, what appears most striking are the relative densities of structures in the coastal Paukū and Mokulau regions. In Paukū, we see a large number of structures clustered directly within an area that also features the densest collection of agricultural walls and embankments. This solidly ties production to ritual investment, indicating that locations of agricultural potential held important sociocultural meaning. In Mokulau, we again see a preponderance of ritual sites, but what is not clear from aerial imagery is this micro-region’s heavy investment in agricultural features. The sheer volume of stones in this area used to create well-protected furrows for cropping is unlike any other location in the district. Much of Mokulau is covered in these extremely dense, labor-intensive agricultural fields comprised of thick, closely spaced parallel walls highly distinct from the small, low walls and embankments traditionally associated with dryland field systems. In and around these fields we see a high number of ritual sites, indicating that some different level of importance was placed on the region, both in terms of its production as well as its ceremonial impact. In discussing the area, Kamakau describes the major temples of Pōpōiwi and Loʻaloʻa as above Mokulau (Kamakau 1992), while the oral traditions and numerous small land claims made in the area (described in Chapter 3) all point to it holding significant cultural importance. The density of ritual sites seen here provides further evidence that this location played a central role in the development of Kaupō’s community. While clusters of sites clearly identify Paukū and Mokulau as uniquely important, the overall picture of Kaupō’s ritual locations (Figure 4.36, above) masks the variability of the temples and heiau themselves. (As noted previously, however, these sites certainly represent some sort of ritual or ceremonial importance, but this does not necessarily mean they were seen specifically as “heiau” by Hawaiians.) Ritual sites in Hawaiʻi come in a range of sizes and forms, but as ethnohistoric descriptions (Malo 1951; Kamakau 1976) and anthropological examinations (Valeri 1985) attest, sites were differentially powerful and not all of the same sociopolitical importance. To potentially assess the variable importance of Kaupō’s 36 ritual locations, I have created a basic, two-part division designed to test whether spatial patterns reflect differential temple construction. As described above, I separate these sites into “major” and “minor” categories based on size (above and below 400 m2) and the presence or absence of any internal architecture (design choices to create differences in access, visibility, or more). Again, these terms do partially serve as interpretive shorthand for past sociopolitical meaning, but are more of a heuristic device than reified type. Figure 4.37 demonstrates the two classes and their distributions throughout Kaupō. Notable is the discrepancy between sites in the interior of the district and those located along the borders of the accretionary fan. In the coastal portion of Paukū, the cluster of ritual sites is exclusively categorized as minor. Inland and upland, three major sites are localized towards the upper bounds of the field system, but these three (also recorded by Walker) serve as the only large temples outside of the fan borders. As discussed further in Chapter 6, two of these three (Kau-333, known as Opihi Heiau, and Kau-999, known as Keanawai), feature the earliest temple dates I have found for Kaupō (the third has not had any excavation or dating). While these early dates, along with the extremely early U-Th date for the temple of Kou (Kirch et al. 2015) may be coincidental, they also may reflect the construction of ritual sites prior to subsequent efforts to bound Kaupō’s core in a system of larger heiau.

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Figure 4.37: Differential distribution of “major” (red) and “minor” (green) ritual sites.

The distinction between the smaller temples seen most centrally in Paukū and the emphasis on larger, monumental structures along the geological defined fan edges likely speaks to a conscious structuring of the landscape. With a population of farmers aggregated in the area of greatest production (coastal Paukū), we see we see a collection of small temples. While we cannot yet say definitively, some of these likely served as mua, while others were almost certainly temples designed, as Valeri (1985) describes, to increase productivity (such as hoʻoūluūlu ʻai). In contrast, the major sites along the borders of the fan demonstrate much larger sizes and the presence of features such as interior courts, multiple interior elevations, rooms, and generally larger investments in labor cost. Additionally, Walker (1930) and Kamakau (1992) recorded at least five of these locations (Loʻaloʻa, Hale o Kane, Puʻu Makaʻa, and Halileo in the east, and Pili-o-Kane, and potentially Halekou, in the west) as sites at which human sacrifices were offered. Ultimately, by classifying the ritual sites found throughout Kaupō, and merging formal, functional, and ethnohistoric analyses, we are presented with a distribution of heiau that indicate very different use-zones and highly structured ritual placement. Where the core of Paukū features temples likely for small groups or families, and a potential emphasis on agricultural fecundity, Mokulau evinces a dense quantity of large sites and an associated zone of ritual agricultural production. Bounding this entire region, major heiau create a network of monumental sites likely constructed to accommodate larger corporate or community groups. In addition, these major sites served to create discrete boundaries surrounding the interior productive core of the district.

137 Residential Sites

Initial examinations of the aerial photography led me to assume that certain zones of Kaupō were devoid of habitation. Some of the barren areas were ultimately the result of ranch clearance, and likely did have prehistoric residences, but I still suspected that the geologically younger areas would not have been suitable for habitation. In extensive survey through Nuʻu and particularly the strip of especially young, rocky ʻaʻa extending up from Kou, I found these areas not to be barren at all, but rather filled with even more residential sites. As such, it seems likely that much of the moku would have been populated, with households throughout to maximize the number of people who might contribute to agricultural production. Figure 4.38 shows all of the putative residential sites identified in Kaupō. These include C/L/J-shapes, enclosures, terraces, cave shelters, larger, more formal structures believed to be residences, and more. While I had expected to identify a clear discrepancy between commoner and elite households, this proved far more difficult in the field. Only two structures, defined as residential compounds due to their size and number of rooms, could confidently be called elite residences. With just the one in upland Puʻumaneoneo and another near the coast in Paukū, I shifted my emphasis towards the general distribution of population rather than the distinction between different castes and their households (though the excavation of one of these sites, detailed in Chapter 5, does provide information surrounding contrasting practices).

Figure 4.38: All residential sites distributed throughout zones of intensive survey.

138 Again, in creating a density map the overall picture is likely skewed by the activities of dozing and dragging, but it nonetheless provides information surrounding spatial patterning. Figure 4.39 shows a clear emphasis on the two regions of Paukū and Puʻumaneoneo. Unsurprisingly, these areas also feature the highest density of agricultural embankments, meaning that people are living as close as possible to their fields. Whether this was a function of safeguarding against theft or is purely for convenience remains unclear. We can say, however, that habitations were not relegated to the jagged lavas to maximize every single meter of fertile planting grounds.

Figure 4.39: Density analysis of residential sites demonstrating a clear focus on coastal Paukū and Puʻumaneoneo.

While the coastal core of Paukū shows the most intense residential activities, the uplands above it demonstrate a surprising lack of sites. Field walls remain, and almost no dozer piles indicate major disturbance, so the zone from approximately the modern road up to the top of the survey area (and the top of the older fertile sediment) appear to have been intentionally left to agriculture. This does not seem to apply to area above Puʻumaneoneo, however, as dense residential sites run all the way up to the top of the nutrient-rich zone. To the east, the initial picture of overall site density showed Mokulau to be quite heavily filled with sites. When looking at residential sites alone, though, we see the area actually does not have all that much evidence for habitation. It does seem to be slightly more dense than the upland zones above it, but nonetheless this provides further evidence that while this region

139 featured a significant number of total sites, it is the volume of ritual sites that made it seem to be similar in density to Paukū and Puʻumaneoneo. While Figure 4.39 does speak to overall residential trends, one of the difficulties in assessing actual populations (as opposed to raw site counts) is the nature of Hawaiian households themselves. By the time of European contact we know that many households were organized into small groups of discrete structures, each with their own function in daily life (Kirch 1985; Hendron 1975; Weisler and Kirch 1982). Known as kauhale, these residential clusters are described by Malo (1951) and in more depth by Handy and Pukui (1972) to contain a number of different structures, most notably the hale noa (the center of daily life and family interactions, as well as the sleep house), mua (the men’s house, where men of a family or larger ʻohana would eat, generally gather, occasionally sleep, and offer tribute to the ʻaumakua), hale kua (the house for women’s work), hale ʻaina (the eating house for women, girls, and young boys), hale peʻa (menstrual house), and hale kuhumu (cookhouse). These specific structures (along with other, less common buildings, such as a hālau, or canoe shed) offer an idealized version of the family compound from around the contact period. Malo describes the kauhale as typical for “every self-respecting Hawaiian” (1951:126), while those of the lower classes content to reside in a single “shanty”, where cooking, eating, and sleeping all took place under one roof (1951: 122). This system of a residential compound dominates discussions of habitation patterns, but the acknowledgement by Malo that commoners often forewent the formalities of kauhale living indicates that many, if not the majority, of residential structures from that period may have been single structures. In addition, the notion of the kauhale is by no means inherently old, and may simply be a reflection of a more recent trend towards clustered habitations. We must therefor be conscientious when associating surface architecture with other nearby structures, careful not to conflate sites from different eras into single kauhale in an attempt to reify what may be only a late development in Hawaiian. With the caveat that kauhale may not be the exclusive residential system of Hawaiians across classes and times, and that blind groupings based exclusively on proximity could mask the distribution of discrete structures, the exploration of these habitation groups is nonetheless worth pursuing. As noted by Dye (2010), the surface architecture we encounter today is likely not a true or complete palimpsest of all activity previously set on the landscape, but rather a remodeling in which the stones from abandoned structures would be taken and reused in the construction of new houses in different locations (see Terrenato and Ammerman [1996] and Ammerman et al. [2013] for parallel cases of house material reuse). As such, it is possible that the sites we currently see in Kaupō skew to the later periods, and thus are more likely to reflect the practices of kauhale-style residence. To explore potential clustering, I use models in ArcGIS 10.2 (described further below) to see if kauhale can be identified, and how they would have potentially been distributed across the landscape. Figure 4.40 shows two aerial images of upland Puʻumaneoneo. The top image is a high- resolution air photo, while the bottom shows the same region and what our survey work recorded in the field. This kauhale contains multiple structures, likely including a main house, sleeping houses, and a cookhouse (nothing is clearly a shrine, though perhaps one of these structures served as such). While in the GIS these are each represented as individual structures, or points, in actuality they are all part of a single household unit.

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Figure 4.40: Duplicate image in which the bottom highlights the layout of associated sites in the central kauhale.

141

To assess kauhale as residential units rather than a number of discrete sites, I attempt to spatially identify household groups, or collections of sites with close proximity to one another. I use cluster analyses with a radial buffer of 10 m, meaning that sites within 20 m of one another would create overlapping buffers zones. The closer two sites are, the more overlap appears in the GIS, creating an increased proximity value. With more than two sites in close association, more overlap creates larger values and larger areas of intersection. Figure 4.41 below shows a zoomed- in example from Paukū. Each dot represents a site, with blue circles around them the spatial buffer.

Figure 4.41: Paukū area analyzed with sites (red dots) set into buffer zones of 10 m.

This provides an initial picture of site relationships, but still creates the implication that individual sites represent kauhale. The following image, Figure 4.42, shows the same location as above, but isolates point values above a certain proximity threshold, ensuring that the darker density map only displays areas in which there are sites sufficiently close to one another. Again, larger patches indicate larger site clusters.

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Figure 4.42: Isolating zones in which buffer zones overlap enough to create density values indicative of associated sites.

Zooming out from this we see the distribution of these clusters across the surveyed areas of Kaupō (Figure 4.43). Then extracted and overlaid on both a DEM and air photo of the region to gain a greater sense for the distribution of kauhale across the landscape (Figure 4.44).

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Figure 4.43: Distribution of putative kauhale across Kaupō.

While this by no means a perfect method for identifying household clusters, it provides a good sense for the likely number of kauhale in the region and their spacing. By this reckoning, there are 85 discrete residential units spread throughout the Kaupō survey zones. Their distribution appears relatively even, with large and small clusters everywhere. In reality, this figure probably under-represents the true number of kauhale by a small amount. It suffers, however, from the same weakness as much Hawaiian household work, namely the rote assumption that these compounds were the norm for pre-contact people across time, space, and sociopolitical levels. Our notions of the kauhale come primarily from literate aliʻi, nearly all of whom were from the Island of Hawaiʻi. The exploration of household traditions on different islands and from different time periods may prove fruitful in the future, helping us understand whether the clusters we see in places like Kaupō are truly representative of kauhale, or if local practices somehow differed from our traditional understanding of residential grouping. Ultimately, the identification of kauhale and the general density mapping of residential sites reemphasize the importance of Paukū and Puʻumaneoneo as centers of production and everyday life. While there does not appear to be any sort of formal village, the lack of habitations upland from Paukū and the decreased density further east imply that these western areas were population aggregations from which people may have moved daily into their fields up the slopes of Haleakalā.

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Figure 4.44: Kauhale set on DEM and air photos of the district.

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Platforms

Platforms putatively containing human burials are distributed throughout the surveyed portions of district (as well as in areas examined, but not recorded due to the time constraints of reconnaissance survey), but with obvious density increases in certain areas. These do not seem to cluster near major ritual locations, but rather in the areas with a higher density of residential sites. This implies that in death, people were interred near where they lived and worked, particularly Paukū, rather than around any major sites of ritual significance. It also indicates that there were no formal burial grounds shared by a community. One factor that possibly masks the number of total burials throughout Kaupō is that many of these sites appear to feature multiple phases of construction, in what Kirch (pers. com.) calls “incrementally constructed mortuary features”. Differential stone sizes, moss growth, construction style, and architecturally distinct additions tell us that 10-20% of these burials have more than one person within. None have more than five obvious phases, while the majority of the multiple burials appear to have two or three. The presence of incrementally constructed burial platforms increases the likely number of total interments, but overall we are still left with what seems to be a low volume of burials. Our projections posit the region may have sustained as many as 15,000 people at its peak (Kirch et al. 2009), and while this may be a high figure (see below), a population even 1/10th the size should have more than the 105 graves seen in the surveyed areas (Figures 4.45 and 4.46). Particularly with continuous settlement from at least the 1400s, the lack of burial sites implies that another type of mortuary practice was taking place. Some traditions speak of various early burial practices, with formal stone platforms becoming popular during the early Contact Period, but even so, this leaves the total burials well short of population figures in the early 1800s. As noted previously, the first census to account for Kaupō noted more than 3,200 residents in the district in 1832 (Schmitt 1973: Appendix A), again begging the question as to where all these people were interred. Perhaps the most likely explanation for the limited amount of local burials is a shift in interment practices coinciding with the arrival of Europeans, as seen in the Anahulu Valley (Kirch 1992). Different “traditional” practices are described in the ethnohistoric record, with an emphasis on the ultimate removal of the body from daily sight. Malo (1951: 97-98) tells how, following a period of mourning, the corpse would be bundled and removed during the night, often to be buried in a secret place. Occasionally the long bones were removed and kept by loved ones, but largely the burial process was concerned with getting rid of the body (considered spiritually “unclean”), which included removing any visible markers or traces. Similarly, Kamakau (1964: 34-38) describes what he believed to be older, traditional practices in which some people were embalmed with salt and placed in known graveyards (such as that of Keōpū, Hawaiʻi, chronicled by Han et al. [1986]), while many others were taken out to the deep ocean and deposited. He also mentions large, natural pits or caves in which bodies were dumped, but all of these behaviors are quite distinct from the practice of interment near a residence in a small stone platform. As such, the platforms (or putative burials) found throughout the islands are likely a relatively recent phenomenon reflecting the adoption of Christian casket burials. While these platforms can still offer insights into social practices, they should not be considered the product of a deep settlement history.

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Figure 4.45: Putative burials found in Kaupō.

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Figure 4.46: Density of probable burials, once again showing an emphasis on human activities in coastal Paukū.

Agricultural Features

Throughout the survey of Kaupō, the reticulate grid of walls defining an intensified cropping system has served as the core marker for pre-contact Hawaiian activities across the landscape. Ritual and residential sites are virtually all located within the boundaries of the planting zone. The existence of walls (or embankments or bunds) visible through remote sensing (Figure 4.47) was ground truthed, confirming their nature and, in some areas, recording new linear features previously unrecorded. These features appear to be patchy throughout the region, but again, this is a function of modern human activity that likely cleared extensive tracts of land for grazing and settlement. As such, we would have had a system stretching all the way from Nuʻu to the eastern edge of the district. Ongoing work, specifically in the region of Nuʻu, continues to discover more subtle alignments, indicating that the figure below should likely demonstrate an even greater density of walls and embankments throughout, though further testing in the apparent empty zones is required for confirmation.

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Figure 4.47: Walls and embankments and their location on geologic substrates.

While the distribution depicted above features blank spots certainly due to modern clearance (see Figure 4.48 for zones with extensive modern disturbance) and poor aerial visibility, we also see the influence of environmental factors in a way that did not seem to influence residential patterns. Particularly in the western portion of the accretionary fan, substrates are dominated by younger lava flows, mostly under 5,000 years. Survey on the young portion around and above Kou featured a number of residential and burial sites on the young ʻaʻa, but as evidenced here and on the ground, very little in the way of evidence for agriculture. Similarly, the rest of this western portion features diffuse walls, with the exception of dense farming and occupation on the older (dark green) slopes of Puʻumaneoneo. Work throughout Nuʻu (minimally included here) has demonstrated significant agricultural remains (including field walls), present in smaller valleys, swales, and discrete planting areas as well as on small ridgelines and other flat, arable locations. This limited form of cropping featured more horizontal embankments, spanning the narrow gullies and elevated areas, with few of the long N-S walls seen in areas such as Paukū. As with the data described previously, the central area of Paukū once again appears to have been the most densely occupied and managed agricultural zone. Numerous walls run both N-S and E-W, with some stretching over 1 km from the coast inland. The volume of small embankments and bunds in this region, along with their abrupt endings when abutting other

149 walls, indicates that in later phases of construction this area was further and further subdivided, creating a large number of smaller parcels (Ladefoged et al. 2009). While the remote sensing data suggest that Paukū became more intensified through sequential constructions, it does not give an accurate sense for the sheer density of agricultural practices taking place above Mokulau. Where Paukū is clearly a highly developed region, Mokulau seems to contain numerous labor-intensive walls all constructed around the same time. This region features walls over a meter high and thick, spaced no more than two meters apart, all running parallel to the coast and one another. The walls cover approximately three hectares, ending in the east at a large, multi-level heiau directly on a geological boundary between good, older soils and an extremely young flow. From the air, it is difficult to discern individual features from what appears to be a uniformly dark area, but on the ground these significant walls speak to a significant investment in labor. As there are no stylistic distinctions, nor intersections to create discrete planting units, we infer that all of these walls were likely constructed contemporaneously.

Figure 4.48: Agricultural features and zones of modern clearance and disturbance.

Further research is required throughout the area, but the combination of high ritual site density, low residential and burial densities, and this extensive, intensified production zone suggest that the Mokulau area was an important location in the growth of high-value resources. Dating on some of the walls and the associated ritual and residential structures will provide a

150 greater understanding of local development, but I believe that this area was likely an early center, with the extensive cropping area providing for ritual functions and/or elite subsistence. Beyond the intensified wall systems of Paukū and Mokulau, a small number of other agricultural features dot the landscape (Figure 4.49). These sites are a mix of likely pre-contact terraces and planting areas with historic check dams crossing many of the gullies. While the latter may have been created prior to contact, the levels of sedimentary build up on the up-slope sides does not indicate a particularly lengthy history. Overall, the limited number of these other agricultural features leaves little to assess, but the abundance of field walls throughout Kaupō speaks to the region’s highly productive past.

Figure 4.49: Non-field system agricultural features.

Conclusions: Site Distribution and Spatial Organization

Looking at the region as a synchronic whole, we are afforded crucial information about the spatial organization of the district. Beginning from an ecological perspective, the region’s core is clearly defined by the outflow of younger volcanic flows from the Kaupō Gap. Visually, the distinction between the central fan and the older volcanic substrates to the west and east is striking, from air photos to 3D models and on the ground. This creates a discrete area within the moku that can be easily defined as different; a zone of fecundity that was no doubt also clear to the pre-contact residents.

151 Along with this visual indication, the fan also features an environmental profile distinct from the neighboring landscapes. With more water than Kahikinui to the west, and less than the heavy rains of Kīpahulu to the east, central Kaupō’s moisture availability places it squarely in the same category as other areas known for their dryland agriculture, such as Kohala, Waimea, and Kalaupapa. Combined with sediments in the latter stages of weathering, Kaupō offered Hawaiian farmers an ideal location for the intensive production of dryland crops. These ecological factors are reflected in the archaeological record, with agricultural field embankments and walls spread across the landscape to maximize virtually all of the arable land. These alignments are most densely constructed in the central part of the fan where sediments of approximately 50-80,000 years allowed for intensive utilization. In and around these walls and embankments, hundreds of residential sites, shrines, and burial platforms indicate that this central zone of Paukū was not only the region’s breadbasket, but population core. While other areas feature dense residential evidence (notably Puʻumaneoneo), archaeological remains shows that coastal Paukū was the main aggregation area for Kaupō’s commoners. While residential sites demonstrate a clear tendency towards Paukū, the distribution of ritual sites offers a very different perspective on the region’s development. As noted previously, the identification of elite residences as discrete from those of commoners proved more difficult than anticipated. Defining classes of ritual heiau, however, could be accomplished through analyses of size, form, location, and more. These show that while numerous ritual sites are indeed interspersed throughout the field system, virtually all of them are small and related to agriculture. Along the borders of the fan, however, are a series of large heiau. As defined previously, by looking at all of the temples greater than 400 m2, and featuring internal divisions of space (particularly raised platform areas), we see a clear emphasis on the discrete definition of Kaupō’s productive borders. Additionally, oral traditions surrounding sites such as Loʻaloʻa, Pōpōiwi, and Puʻu Makaʻa speak to rituals surrounding war, sacrifice, and the consolidation of mana. With no interior heiau discussed as luakini or associated with war or sacrificial offerings, this further supports the notion that the boundary structures were differently important from those in the interior. This distribution of ritual sites indicates that that the district’s productive core was intentionally demarcated through the construction of important social centers. The monumental structures bordering the edges required extensive labor to construct, implying an elite mandate. By enclosing the region within these powerful structures, Kaupō’s past residents were defining their communal area, merging the ecological features of Haleakalā’s mud and lava outflow with an increasingly intensified agricultural community capable of supporting a kingdom. Finally, the spatial study of Kaupō also supports the notion from Chapter 3 that the area surrounding Mokulau was a crucial sociopolitical center. With highly intensified and elaborated agriculture, a high density of ritual features, and low volumes of anything residential, Mokulau contains the hallmarks of a chiefly zone. When combined with oral traditions noting all the chiefs who came from, and lived in, Mokulau with all of the land claims made by Hawaiians, the density of ritual and likely ritual agriculture indicates that this was an area from the moku may have been ruled.

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Chapter 5 Kaupō Beneath the Surface: Excavation and Chronology

Introduction

While public perceptions of archaeology traditionally position excavation as the beginning and end of field practice, the history of subsurface excavation in Hawaiʻi is actually somewhat abbreviated. As the field developed in the early 20th century, archaeologists and anthropologists alike concluded (with very little evidence) that the islands of Polynesia contained only a short settlement sequence and that poor preservation meant only stone tools would be recovered. Because of the perceived lack of time depth, stone tools were not seen as valuable indicators of cultural change, meaning that stone items described ethnographically were sufficient for understanding the whole of regional tool production. During this time, archaeologists throughout the world (and particularly the American Southwest) saw pottery as the premier methodology for identifying cultural sequences and change through time and space. With no ceramics and an already “understood” stone tool tradition, the utility of excavation was further limited (Kirch 1985, 2000). In the early 1950s, Kenneth Emory’s excavations at Kuliʻouʻou rockshelter on Oʻahu Island demonstrated that not only did Hawaiian sites contain more than simply stone fragments, but they were well stratified. In conjunction with the newly developed method of radiocarbon dating, Emory was further able to show that Kuliʻouʻou’s lower levels dated back approximately 1000 years (though see below for recent revisions by Kahn et al. [2014]). Through this single excavation, the myths surrounding Hawaiʻi’s lack of time depth, poor preservation, and limited diagnostic artifacts were all dispelled, opening the door to a rapid increase in excavation work across the archipelago. This chapter begins with a brief look at the history of Hawaiian excavations, emphasizing the role subsurface excavation has played in understanding practices at the household level. Broadening this discussion, I expand notions of household archaeology into greater Polynesia, exploring how this concept has shaped research questions and what it can offer towards the study of sites throughout Kaupō. Linking the theory of excavations and material culture to the temporality of site construction and use, I next address the nature of radiocarbon dating. In methods of collection, identification, analysis, and interpretation, 14C dating has many aspects which must be considered. Particularly in Hawaiʻi, with only about 800 years of pre-European contact settlement history, all efforts must be made to ensure chronometric hygiene, minimizing even small errors. Alongside the identification of appropriate samples, the analysis of both individual and group dates has its own considerations. In the 1960s, the association of 14C dates with known dendro-ages ultimately led to the development of calibration curves (with standards still not agreed upon currently), modifying dating interpretation, while today, Bayesian statistics further influence the ways in which radiocarbon dates are assessed. These theoretical considerations directly affect the overall interpretations to be made surrounding the construction and use of sites throughout Kaupō, as well as the development of the district as a whole. Following historical and theoretical considerations surrounding excavation and radiometric dating, the bulk of the chapter is devoted to data derived from my subsurface work at

153 16 different sites in Kaupō. I discuss how and why these locations were chosen before describing every site and the work conducted at each. These detailed examinations include stratigraphic profiles, materials recovered from various layers and contexts, samples chosen for dating, and a summary including discussions of the dating and the overall implications of each site. By looking at each site individually, we are afforded a greater understanding of the practices and changes taking place in ritual and residential settings. Combining them, however, allows for both a spatial and temporal examination of trends across the district as a whole. While this work takes into account only 16 of Kaupō’s thousands of sites (and does not include the 12 sites excavated and dated in Nuʻu, though see Chapter 6 for their integration into the broader spatial and temporal) we can certainly see patterns developing. Ultimately, excavations in sites throughout Kaupō provide a temporal and artifact-based link to the broad spatial patterns described in Chapter 4. In identifying materials being used and consumed at these sites we can describe daily practices throughout the district while charting how they changed as the region became increasingly centralized. Radiocarbon dates also offer a connection to when and how the landscape was settled and modified. Integrating the numerous excavations described here with the extensive survey data described previously allows for a more holistic understanding of the district as a whole.

Historical and Theoretical Approaches to Hawaiian Excavation

Early in the development of archaeology as a formalized discipline (beginning, perhaps, in the mid-19th century with the Danes C.J. Thomsen and J.A.A. Worsaee), excavation and identification of artifacts served as the primary means for practitioners to define cultures and changes in the historical record. As work expanded beyond Europe, North America, and North Africa, notions of subsurface exploration continued to dominate the field. Throughout the Pacific, however, a combination of factors resulted in a heavy emphasis on the discovery and description of surface architecture. In the early 20th century, archaeologists (primarily in America) were developing methodologies to refine cultural sequences based largely on artifact classification and seriation. By examining large volumes of material culture, such as ceramics and some stone tools, they hoped to see patterns and changes in cultures that had left no written records. While this approach effectively served as the backbone of the Culture History school, the lack of pottery throughout Polynesia and much of the Pacific left researchers with only stone tools as an “acceptable” source of research objects. In Fiji and Melanesia, the pottery that was found was erroneously attributed to the temporally recent arrival of the islanders, or simply variations on a ceramic tradition with little time depth (Kirch 2000). In America, stone tools, such as projectile points, offered archaeologists specific stylistic differences that were used to define not only the spatial boundaries of cultural horizons, but their persistence and transitions through time. This was partly successful because the tools could be correlated with identifiable ceramic traditions, but also because the antiquity of human settlement was better understood. While the specific origins and dates of arrival were unknown, there was at least the recognition that indigenous groups had been present for thousands of years, and that migrations and general cultural changes could be observed in the archaeological record. Throughout the Pacific, and particularly Polynesia, an assumed short history of settlement and perceived lack of cultural change meant that the archaeological examination of stone tools could be subsumed within any contemporary anthropological study. This perspective

154 was typified by Ralph Piddington, who wrote: “there are definite limits to what archaeology can add to our knowledge of Polynesian material culture; and that it implies for the most part nothing more than a duplication of information already available” (Piddington 1939: 334). Despite beliefs that little could be learned from subsurface excavations, archaeologists and anthropologists of the early 20th century nonetheless made strides towards understanding Pacific cultures and their origins. Through the findings of the Bayard Dominick Expeditions and the work of Te Rangi Hiroa (Peter Buck) and others, inter-island connections were identified, along with the documentation of practices from numerous island groups. In Hawaiʻi, these archaeological investigations emphasized surface architecture, particularly large heiau. Through the work of Emory (1924), Bennett (1931), McAllister (1933), Walker (1930), Hudson (ms.), and Stokes (1991), broad surveys of all the major islands recorded hundreds of ancient sites. While certainly useful to the researchers of the early 20th century, these data are invaluable in modern studies as they both integrated contemporary indigenous knowledge as well as described structures that have since been largely lost to modernization. With a strong emphasis on survey and architectural description, Hawaiian archaeologists went decades without putting spade to earth. The only exception was a 1913 excavation on Kahoʻolawe by the Bishop Museum’s John F.G. Stokes, but he never wrote up his results, leaving the publication of this work to McAllister in the 1930s who had little interest in describing Stokes’ meticulous stratigraphic methodologies (Kirch 1985). Following Stokes, more than thirty-five years passed before the next excavation, and even this was more luck than any active recognition of subsurface Hawaiian history. In the late 1940s, Kenneth P. Emory was working for the Bishop Museum along with teaching at the University of Hawaiʻi. Emory had long been active in Hawaiian archaeology and ethnography, conducting field surveys throughout the islands, but had not done any stratigraphic excavations. (His first fieldwork took him to the crater of Maui’s volcano, Haleakalā, which he reached by visiting Kaupō. While in the district he recorded a number of sites before climbing up into the crater through Kaupō Gap.) In 1950, he was asked by the University to teach a small class on field methodology, and while it was believed nothing would actually be discovered, the class was designed to train students in excavation techniques. Emory selected a rockshelter in Oʻahu’s Kuliʻouʻou Valley where a local informant had previously conducted some unsystematic digging and could confirm the presence of material remains. Emory and his students discovered not only an abundance of artifacts (including objects of wood and fiber, which they did not believe would survive), but a deep, finely stratified sequence of age-progressive layers. This alone would have served notice that Hawaiʻi’s history was not simply limited to surface architecture, but the excavations at Kuliʻouʻou also concided with the recent development of radiocarbon dating. From this first Hawaiian excavation, Emory selected a charcoal sample from a hearth at the deepest level of the rockshelter. Willard Libby, who developed the methodology for radiocarbon dating, tested this sample, returning to Emory an age of A.D. 1004 plus or minus 180 years (Emory et al. 1959). In one stroke, Kenneth Emory had not only dispelled the myth that Hawaiian sites were poorly stratified and bad for preservation, but demonstrated that the islands actually had at least 1000 years of human occupation. Spearheaded by Emory and the Bishop Museum’s new director, Alexander Spoehr, Hawaiian archaeology entered into an intense phase of excavation and growth. Alongside Emory, William Bonk and Yoshiko Sinoto conducted projects throughout the islands. One of their primary goals was to establish a sequence of cultural development. Without the pottery of

155 the American Southwest, they looked to fishhooks as a new way of creating seriations and identifying site age. Much of the 1950-60s was then engaged in excavating dune sites and rockshelters; locations believed to feature better preservation and stratigraphy that would further allow for the development of the local fishhook and relative dating sequence. In the early 1960s, around the time Emory and Lloyd Soehren’s were completing excavations at the Nuʻalolo rockshelter, many archaeologists in both Hawaiʻi and the mainland began to employ methodologies for exploring broad spatial questions. Pioneered in the 1940-50s by Gordon Willey, settlement pattern studies emphasized intensive survey over a large area designed to understand the broad distribution of people and sites across a landscape (Willey 1953). Roger Green, one of Willey’s students at Harvard, brought this approach to Polynesia, conducting successful studies in Tahiti and Samoa (Green 1961, 1967a, b). With his appointment as director of the Bishop in 1966, Green encouraged the expansion of settlement pattern studies in Hawaiʻi, including work in Kahikinui, Lapakahi, Hālawa, and Mākaha (Kirch 1985). These works, combining extensive survey with excavations, improved upon the broad, coarse-grained surveys of the early 20th century and expanded research into the arid, traditionally marginal zones associated more closely with dryland production. Throughout the 1970s and 80s, settlement studies were prominent in the academic literature. During this period, cultural resource management also became prevalent throughout Hawaiʻi, and while CRM projects did conduct broad surveys, they were also known for conducting large excavations. Unfortunately, much of this gray literature remains in state archives, limiting access and overall availability. This period of increasing academic and for- profit archaeology did, however, usher in a new era in Hawaiian archaeology in which booming construction and increasing scholarly interest in the region led to far greater numbers of projects and practitioners (Kawelu 2007). Over the subsequent decades, CRM work has moved largely towards “salvage” archaeology in preparation for construction, greatly increasing the volume of excavation taking place. Again, though, access to these reports and subsurface examinations remains difficult, meaning that integration of data and knowledge between academic and CRM archaeologists continues to suffer. One clear distinction that has arisen between these approaches is the grain of analysis conducted during excavation. Where CRM work is often conducted primarily for expediency (though see Dye [2010] for a study of nuanced stratigraphic excavation), some academic work throughout Hawaiʻi has trended towards the practices of household archaeology. This combination of method and theory (described further below) premises tightly constrained excavations designed to identify practices and behaviors at the lived scale of individual sites.

Household Archaeology

While my work throughout Kaupō has not taken an explicitly household archaeology approach, many of the principles behind excavation choices and interpretation borrow from this theoretical perspective. By situating careful, targeted excavations within larger settlement pattern studies, I am afforded a greater understanding of past community practices at a range of different scales. In the early 1970s, David Clark first identified households as analytical units in need of more explicit theoretical and methodological means of investigation (Clark 1972, 1977). He argued that households were an important step within a multiscalar ladder and should be included within the settlement studies in vogue at the time. By excavating lived sites he believed

156 archaeologists could better understand social relations, including status and gender differentiation as well as ideology. With the edited volume Archaeology of the Household: Building a Prehistory of Domestic Life, Wilk and Rathje (1982) began to explore specific archaeological practices that might be used to investigate households. Largely a product of the processual period of archaeological theory, Wilk and Rathje, along with most of their contributors, looked at lived sites as the space where humans articulated directly with economic and ecological processes. Presaging the postprocessual approaches of the 1990s, however, James Deetz’s chapter brought in a range of social considerations. Rather than simply expressions of quantifiable wealth and status, materials found in households were representative of beliefs and behaviors (Deetz 1982). Throughout the 1980s and 90s, expanding notions of households as discrete, heterogeneous entities began to shape archaeological approaches. New social theories, often integrated within the emerging paradigm of postprocessualism, shifted household studies away from functional and material considerations towards the social considerations advocated by Deetz. Households came to be viewed as the locus of microscale organization, in which spatial use and deposition both structured, and were structured by, everyday practices (Holm 2006). By conducting close excavations of these settings, archaeologists thus hoped to see how homes were a reflection of daily life, family structures, and broader patterns of social organization. While households were by no means static, nor their excavations representative of single moments in time (Beaudry 1989), they nonetheless offer insights spanning processual and postprocessual questions. From the functional musings of Wilk and Rathje (1982) to Julia Hendon’s (2010) examination of homes as the locus of memory (following on bell hooks’ 1990 work surrounding “homeplace”), household archaeology offers multiple venues for exploration. Much as theoretical approaches are not unified, however, methodological considerations are similarly varied. Many archaeologists believe aerial excavations are required for fine-grained analysis of household practices (Kahn 2003, 2014; Field et al. 2011), while issues such as change through time or understanding variability can be assessed through smaller excavations at a number of comparative sites (Van Gilder and Kirch 1997; Allison 1999; Holm 2006). The work described in the rest of this chapter follows the latter approach, examining how excavations at 16 sites across Kaupō provide a sample of daily and ritual practices, the time frame in which these were being conducted, and how these patterns are indicative of changing sociopolitical structures.

Radiocarbon Dating and Bayesian Considerations

Since Emory’s first Polynesian radiocarbon date in 1950, radiometric dating has played a crucial role in understanding the settlement and development sequences of islands throughout the Pacific (Anderson 1995). Recently, numerous efforts have been made to tie down initial human arrival and establishment in the Hawaiian Archipelago, though disparate opinions remain. Some researchers, including Wilmshurt et al. (2011) and Rieth et al. (2011), use statistical modeling of numerous “chronometrically clean” dates to argue for initial settlement between AD 1220-1260. This late proposal contradicts older models of settlement, which posited human arrival in the early 1st millennium (Kirch 1985), but adherents of an early settlement date now acknowledge AD 300-600 is unsupported by recent dating. By redating early sites (Kirch and McCoy 2007; Dye and Pantaleo 2010; Kahn et al. 2014), applying new criteria to date selection (Dye 2000; McFadgen 1982; Rieth et al. 2011), and conducting analyses through a Bayesian lens (Dye

157 2011a), the settlement window narrowed to AD 900-1250. Further efforts by Kirch (2011) combined dated and redated materials with evidence from elsewhere in Polynesia and paleoenvironmental records to posit a likely settlement period from AD1000-1200. Using a similarly broad spectrum of evidence, Kirch’s dates are supported by the recent work of Athens et al. (2014), who say the extremes of settlement run from AD 940-1210 (Athens et al. 2014: Fig. 3.95), with a most likely date of 1000-1100. Understanding dates for Hawaiian settlement provides not only an interesting perspective on greater Polynesian movements throughout the Pacific, but a baseline of arrival through which to examine expansion into the archipelago’s various ecological zones. Where the majority of the early dates analyzed in the studies above were from wetter contexts, such as the windward sections of Oʻahu, Maui, and Hawaiʻi Island, relatively little evidence for early period activity comes from the leeward, arid portions of the islands (see especially Carson [2012] for a review of problematic early dates in leeward contexts). One of the few exceptions, however, is the temple of Kou in Kaupō, where Kirch et al. (2015) have used U-Th dating to identify early ritual activity by the late 11th century. This very early date does not seem to represent large-scale occupation and use of the district as a whole (see below and Chapter 6 for all dates from Kaupō), but it provides evidence supporting settlement by the 11th century, as well as human presence in a dry, somewhat marginal section of the islands. In addition to the questions of arrival and use of certain areas, the debate surrounding 14C dating has also largely centered on the practice of Bayesian analyses. While this statistical approach has gained favor in archaeology, its implementation remains uneven. Premised around “prior” knowledge (Bayliss 2009), Bayesian models identify the probability of an event based on a set of known parameters (Scott 2011). Employing a prior (previous information chosen by the user to structure their analyses), likelihood (the statistical emphases guiding data towards certain outcomes), and posterior (the ultimate, most probabilistic outcome), this approach is designed weight results towards what is most likely to occur. One of the major problems, however, is that in the definition of priors and likelihoods, data are necessarily skewed by the choices of the user. In some cases this may be beneficial. A randomly selected radiocarbon date from Hawaiʻi is more likely to have come from a 17-18th century context than the 11-12th centuries. As such, a model predicting the age of any random Hawaiian sample could be weighted such that the distribution of probability does not create equal likelihoods that your sample was from either bin. Instead, the later period would be premised, predicting a higher probability that your sample would come from the more recent period. While this should certainly offer a model that approximates reality over broad sets of data, with individual cases (such as the relatively small number of 14C dates run for any given site or project), the chances for error increase dramatically. Additionally, multiple places for user-specific prior entry can create discrepancies even with the same set of data. To extend the example above, different beliefs surrounding the settlement date of Hawaiʻi would alter model parameters. Using arrival dates of AD 940 or 1250 as the earliest possible date of the random sample creates a significantly different time range, while on the later end the user must decide if the terminal possibility is European contact, the Mahele, or any other year. This can be further complicated by decisions on likelihood weighting. As seen in the debate between Dye (2012) and McCoy et al. (2012), by increasing the likelihood of an event based on competing sets of assumptions, different conclusions can be reached. Where Dye (2011b, 2012) demonstrated the intensification of dryland agriculture in the late 18-19th centuries, McCoy et al. (2012) countered that his model only predicted such a late development

158 because the normalizing curve he employed had a standard deviation heavily weighting AD 1850. They continue that while this date coincides with the land distribution of the Mahele period, no evidence links mid-to-late 1800s land practices with broadly intensified agriculture. As such, the choice of 1850 in weighting this model necessarily creates a posterior probability in which it appears as though agriculture only developed late in Hawaiian history. While Bayesian analyses are subject to the choices made by individuals, it is nonetheless a helpful tool for narrowing down probable age ranges. The rest of this chapter describes excavations conducted throughout Kaupō, integrating within the description of each excavated site a summary of the materials identified for 14C dating and the results of these tests. Each site features at least two tested organic samples, all of which were identified by Dr. Marjetta Jeraj of the University of Minnesota. This identification (often to species, but genus at minimum) was conducted to select materials from short-lived shrubs and trees endemic to the Hawaiian Islands, thereby eliminating questions of old-growth wood that may have plagued early chronology building (Dye 2000; Bayman and Dye 2013). Following identification, samples were sent to the NSF Arizona AMS Laboratory at the University of Arizona. The results of AMS radiocarbon dating are expanded in Chapter 6, but shown here to provide context for the individual sites and described below. Tables and figures associated with each excavation unit show these calibrations based on the IntCal13 curve (Reimer et al. 2013) at 2σ ranges (95.4% probability), visualized within an Oxcal plot (Bronk Ramsey 2009) of calibrated probability distributions. The models from individual excavations (including multiple samples from within single sites) are described within each site subsection. These stratigraphic models place samples within a context of architecture and soil layers and associate each dated item with terminus post quem, penecontemporaneous use, or terminus ante quem regarding the standing structure. Through the construction of inferred stratigraphic relationships, each site’s dates are then modeled using the Bcal program (Buck et al. 1999). Priors for each site are constrained by settlement after AD 950 (represented in the models as β1) and terminal use (α2), which was determined for each site based in part by associated material remains. Sites with remains from the contact period are given an upper boundary of 1910 (by which time we have oral and written accounts of the district attesting to only a handful of known people residing within the area), and those with only pre-contact material are generally bounded at 1820 (a somewhat arbitrary date, but approximately 40 years post-contact and about the time in which traditional social structures were irrevocably altered with the end of the kapu system).

Site Excavations

The following sections describe in detail the 16 sites excavated throughout Kaupō. Following the type of structure and its setting, I give a selection of data, including stratigraphic profiles, the weight in grams of various artifacts classes as distributed by layer, Oxcal radiocarbon dates as returned from the University of Arizona’s AMS Radiocarbon Laboratory, and Bayesian interpretations of all dates derived from Bcal (http://bcal.sheffield.ac.uk). I then discuss the materials recovered, the implications of the assemblage and dates, and offer a basic interpretation of the site as whole. Due to a modification in excavation strategies, the first sites I explored in the two initial field seasons were dug in layers, with each layer theoretically reflecting depositional processes associated with a single unit of time. These time periods were seen in different sedimentary deposits, but after excavating a small number of sites, I determined

159 that field identification of layers was too imprecise, often delving into a different layer by a few centimeters before changes were effectively identified. As such, the majority of sites described here were instead excavated in 10 cm levels (or 5 cm in certain cases). The data from these levels was later aggregated as layers (presented here in the material assemblage tables) based on a full understanding of the profile and the breaks between discrete layers. As described previously, materials for dating were selected from contexts associated with construction and early use. Most of the sites have multiple dated samples, in which case there was always at least one date associated with the earliest phase, with further dates either also tested to identify early use, or from clearly later layers. As is the convention in reporting dates interpreted through the BCal software package (Buck et al. 1999), the earliest layers (in this case also the lowest) are defined as “theta 1”, with higher, more recent layers defined as theta 2, theta 3, and on to theta n. Overall, these locations were chosen in part for practical considerations (see Chapter 4’s discussion of survey factors), but more so to achieve coverage of sites in different ecological zones and of various functional types (namely ritual versus residential, as well as elite and commoner residences). I do not address here the 11 sites in the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu, on Kaupō’s western edge, as they will be published separately, though the following chapter will bring the dating of those structures into the larger temporal and spatial picture of the district. For a greater understanding of distribution throughout the district, Figure 5.1 shows an overview of the region with each of the sites labeled.

Figure 5.1: All excavated sites throughout Kaupō.

160

Kau-149 Classification: Residential Site is located in a low area in the western portion of Kaupō, above Puʻu Maneʻoneʻo, and between some small hills. This is a well-made L-shape with two interior rooms separated by a small wall and elevation change. The northern portion is slightly lower. There is also a rectangular enclosure built as an extension to the east, though this appears to have been a later construction utilizing the pre-existing wall of the original structure. Main wall is only .3 m high, but 1.5 m thick. 14 x 7 m at its largest extents. Entire site was likely reused through time, but certainly residential. One excavation unit measuring 1 m x 50 cm (henceforth 1x50) was placed against the back wall of the main structure. Somewhat in the center of the entire structure, this unit location was largely chosen as it abutted faced, standing wall, with large basal stones under which we hoped to find charcoal. This was the first site dug for this project, and field methodology was still being established. As such, this (and a small number of others directly afterward) was dug based on layers rather than levels. While this may be the ideal way to conduct excavations in very clearly stratified contexts, the divisions between layers throughout this region is rarely clear. In this site, layer boundaries were somewhat diffuse, and coupled with relative inexperience, the determination of where to stop a layer and begin a new one was somewhat challenging. Overall, control of soil identification was enough to define layers in the field and separate materials found into four discrete layers. Outside of the overburden (Layer I), each stratigraphic unit featured archaeological materials, indicating continued use over time. The lowest layer (IV) went to a depth of 78 cm below surface (cmbs) at which point no clear evidence of bedrock could be found, but a virtual absence of artifacts and a depth well below the wall’s basal stones indicated that we had reached a sterile zone. This substantial quantity of in-filled sediments is likely the result of the site’s location in something of a bowl, surrounded by higher ground on all sides and thus the locus for sedimentary deposition (Figure 5.2).

161

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.2: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-149. Unit located in the interior space against the east wall.

162

Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-149 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.4 4.79 4.47 9.66

3 4.45 14.82 162.12 0.1 181.49

4 7.5 0.9 0.1 58.1 29.32 11.41 107.33 Table 5.1: Material assemblage of site Kau-149 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ) AA102203 KAU 149 KAU-149-TU1-4-7 Chenopodium sp. 152±40 -24.8 1669-1696 (11.8%) 1665-1784 (46.4%) (cf. oahuense) 1726-1780 (25.6%) 1794-1892 (31.6%) 1798-1814 (7.2%) 1904-Present (17.4%) 1836-1844 (2.7%) 1851-1876 (8.3%) 1918-Present (12.6%) AA102204 KAU 149 KAU-149-TU1-4-9 cf. Cordia subcordata 119±38 -25.1 1685-1712 (12.6%) 1676-1766 (33.7%) 1716-1732 (7.2%) 1772-1776 (1.0%) 1808-1890 (39.9%) 1800-1940 (60.7%) 1909-1927 (8.5%) Table 5.2: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

163 149-tu1: theta 1

0.012

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability

0.004

0.002

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) 149-tu1: theta 2

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 300 280 260 240 220 200 180 160 140 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.3: Bayesian distributions of radiocarbon dates.

Interpretations

This site appears to be pre-Contact, with likely early use from the late 17th to late 18th centuries. While both dates taken from Layer IV represent early human activities at this site (rather than direct association with the wall features), the construction of the wall and the rest of the site may have been a later phase of occupation. No evidence of historical materials anywhere within the site, however, limits the chances of habitation after Contact, meaning that the later

164 dating bins post-1800 seem unlikely. As noted previously, the site certainly has multiple phases of construction, leading me to think the dates from Layer IV are indeed indicative of use from ~280-180 BP, or ~ AD1670-1770. Samples from the layers above would likely have registered as later, but still pre-Contact dates. The material assemblage similarly supports occupation in the lower Layers of Kau-149 (Table 5.1). Charcoal and some small food remains combine with the presence of extensive amounts of coral head fragments, particularly in Layer III. As evidenced below, and in other examples coming from the region, bone preservation may be especially poor throughout Kaupō. Soil pH, as described in Chapter 4, is generally in the 5.5-7 range, making it an unlikely culprit in the destruction of faunal remains. Other post-depositional processes, such as seasonal rains resulting rapid and frequent fluctuation between wet and dry periods, are probably to blame, but we must also acknowledge that this may have been a region with only limited access to marine and terrestrial protein sources. This notion, expanded in Chapter 6, may account for the higher frequency of bone and shell at older sites, with younger sites and occupation periods evincing a greater reliance on crop foods (either due to depleted protein resources or increased investment in agriculture). Overall, this site likely dates to the period of increasing intensification in the 17-18th centuries. Set within a zone known to have been heavily cropped, Kau-149 may have been established and used right around the arrival of Kekaulike in the early 1700s (Table 5.2, Figure 5.3). Whether it pre- or post-dates him, the region as a whole clearly demonstrates a large investment in agricultural infrastructure, and this residence was probably home to some of the farmers engaged in local production.

Kau-307 Classification: residential This is a medium-sized C-shaped structure with some sections of stacked, faced wall remaining. It may have been part of a kauhale residential cluster, but this is unconfirmed as a few other, similar sites are near by (just over 25 m away), but not obviously of a single cluster. The structure is 8.5 x 4.2 m, creating a good-sized interior space. Walls remain stacked, standing to an average height of .7 m and are in decent condition. Like most C-shapes, this site opens to the west. It is located in the core agricultural zone of Paukū, but is one of the most southerly sites in the area, sitting quite close to the cliffs that drop off some 50 m to the sea below. A single 1 x 1 m unit was initially placed in the NE corner of the site’s interior, abutting walls with nice facing on two sides. Upon digging down through cultural materials in Layers II- IV (again, this site was dug in layers) we continued the excavation under both the N and E walls, creating new units defined as TU1A and TU1B. These extensions were done to get beneath the walls for datable materials, but also because a cache of items (including 32 modified dog teeth, discussed further below) was discovered buried directly beneath the corner of the structure. A likely floor paving was identified at a depth of ~12 cmbs. This floor abutted the basal stones of the structure wall, identifying the floor (which included a hearth feature filled with chalky ash) as contemporaneous with the original construction of the wall and greater structure. This was at the interface between Layers II-III, with the charcoal lens appearing to run quite deep and potentially to the bottom of Layer III. Layer IV continued to contain some cultural materials, including what appears to be a small fire feature independent of the hearth layer above at ~40 cmbs. Layer below this contains only sterile soils, with a final unit depth of 58 cmbs (Figure 5.4).

165

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.4: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-307.

166 Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-307 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 1.77 78.12 79.89

3 29.05 0.8 0.42 118.81 0.59 0.26 149.93

4 28.94 1.72 86.19 0.11 29.42 146.38

5 4.83 15.99 20.82 Table 5.3: Material assemblage of site Kau-307 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102205 KAU 307 KAU-307-TU1-4-1 Aleurites moluccana* 99±38 -24.8 1694-1726 (17.8%) 1680-1764 (30.2%) 1813-1896 (42.1%) 1801-1939 (65.2%) 1902-1918 (8.4%) AA102206 KAU 307 KAU-307-TU1A-X-6 cf. Nestegis 129±41 -24.4 1682-1709 (11.6%) 1670-1780 (39.5%) sandwicensis 1718-1738 (8.4%) 1798-1944 (55.9%) 1756-1762 (2.0%) 1804-1890 (35.1%) 1910-1936 (11.1%) Table 5.4: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

167 307-tu1: theta 1 0.02

0.015

0.01 Probability

0.005

0 280 260 240 220 200 180 160 140 Calendar Date (cal BP)

307-tu1: theta 2

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 300 280 260 240 220 200 180 160 140 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.5: Bayesian distribution of multiple dates.

Interpretations

Like Kau-149, this site was probably built and occupied around the time of Kekaulike’s arrival in Kaupō. Two dates, both from the same layer, offer a most likely TPQ for construction of the structure around ~AD 1680-1730 (based on Bayesian analyses of the 14C dates). The occupation layers of the site demonstrate general household activities, with the light presence of

168 food remains and evidence of both basalt and volcanic stone tool production. Most compelling, however, are the faunal remains that were discovered directly beneath and between the stones of the interior, northeastern corner of the structure. Not indicated in Table 5.3 above (as this excavation was outside of the original unit and conducted to recover materials falling out of the sidewall), we found numerous modified and unmodified dog remains. Though highly decomposed, we found most of the cranial elements of a single dog beneath the lowest corner stone of the structure. Associated with this, and both below and just in between some of these basal stones, were 33 dog teeth modified with a drilled hole through each crown. These teeth almost certainly come from a woven hula leg ornament, worn around the ankle or lower leg, as described in detail by Buck (1957: 553-557). The placement of a dog skull and an object such as a dog tooth leg ornament beneath the corner of this house represents a ritual interment prior to the construction and use of the site, though the fact that some of the teeth were between basal stones indicated that this offering was almost certainly made at the time of construction. One of the charcoal samples used to date this site was found in association with these offerings, further tying our dates to an actual construction and early use phase (Table 5.4, Figure 5.5). As this site may have been part of a larger kauhale, the limited food remains, presence of lithic flakes, and the dog remains beneath the structure could point towards this being a men’s house, though this conclusion is only loosely justified. More compelling are the sheer location and date of this structure, as its placement (as noted above) is at the bottom, center of the Paukū planting zone. While this structure itself may not have been of much singular importance, Paukū as a whole most certainly was. With construction dating to the period of agricultural intensification, this site, featuring one of the only non-coral offerings found throughout our excavations, represents the social and ritual investment in life centered on crop production.

Kau-314 Classification: Residential As part of a tight kauhale cluster, this site is on the slope of a small gully. The cluster itself contains two c-shapes, two terraces, and an enclosure, all within an area measuring ~25 x 20 m. For the excavated site, a terrace built up with stones creates a flat use area, with a freestanding wall along the edge of the terrace in a general J shape. Nearby are a C-shape, two other terraces, and a small enclosure. This is a very well organized little group of structures, and could be explored further in the future. The one test unit placed here was a 1 x 50 abutting the freestanding wall on the eastern edge of the terrace. Four layers were excavated (as layers rather than levels), but relatively little was ultimately found in this site. Layer II, and to a lesser extent III, contained the cultural materials. The wall appeared to end almost at the interface of I-II, but upon digging down into II it seems that the original retaining wall at the edge of the terrace went ~15 cm below the current surface, and slope in-fill along with a possible later addition of further wall stones means that the site may have had multiple phases of occupation, or at least reconstruction and addition following sedimentary deposition. Excavation was ended at a depth of 45 cmbs with a layer (IV) of sterile sediments (Figure 5.6).

169

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.6: Stratigraphic profile including the extension of the excavation unit beneath and within the basal stones of the wall.

170 Material Culture by Layer

Kau-314 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.72 0.72

2 9.8 3.23 3.28 135.29 77.89 229.49

3 4.15 0.1 11.26 15.51

4 0.29 0.29 Table 5.5: Material assemblage of site Kau-314 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102208 KAU 314 KAU-314-TU1-2-1 Nothocestrum 214±38 -10.7 1648-1680 (25.8%) 1529-1540 (0.8%) cf. latifolium 1764-1801 (30.1%) 1634-1694 (31.1%) 1938-Present (12.2%) 1726-1813 (46.7%) 1918-Present (16.8%) AA102207 KAU 314 KAU-314-TU1A-X-1 Chamaesyce sp. 322±39 -26.2 1514-1600 (53.6%) 1470-1648 (95.4%) 1617-1648 (14.6%) Table 5.6: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

171 314-tu1: theta 1

0.009

0.008

0.007

0.006

0.005

0.004 Probability 0.003

0.002

0.001

0 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP) 314-tu1: theta 2

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.7: Bayesian calibrations of two dates.

Interpretations

With only limited shell and charcoal and no faunal remains, this site was either not used in a traditional residential sense or is a reflection of destructive taphonomic processes over a very long time (though the notion of differential preservation in this site is less likely than simply a reflection of different practices within the site, Table 5.5). Much like Kau-307, this site is located in the heart of Paukū. Set within a very distinct kauhale and placed on the slope of a gully which

172 may have once been a more permanent source of water, 314 is again compelling for its location and early date. The flat area on which the structure is built was certainly made by humans, meaning the under-wall charcoal used to date this site would not have been the result of early fire and field clearance. Instead, it points to the surface modification of this area for the construction of a house cluster and the standing architecture still associated. From the Bayesian analyses, we can see an early range of construction from ~1450-1650, with a most likely date from ~1500-1575. The later date, with multiple peaks of high probability, demonstrates that the site was still in use (or re-use) by either the mid-1600s or the late 1700s (Table 5.6, Figure 5.7). This again points to an early presence in the more favorable planting zone, while the location on a slope, off of the best land and close to a water source that likely flowed more frequently in the past (Stock et al. 2003) may have been to designed to maximize local planting land. Overall, the lack of artifacts (minus an adze preform in Layer II), offer little help in the interpretation of this site. Areal excavations of the other associated structures would identify if this structure was singularly devoid of cultural materials, or if some destructive process was locally removing items from the archaeological record (or, perhaps, if the people of this house cluster were simply fastidious in their cleaning).

Kau-333 Classification: Ritual This large, multi-component site is the ritual site known as Opihi heiau (Walker [1930], site number 158). Numerous phases of construction are evident, as are different elements likely unrelated to one another. Most of it is built on a large area of natural outcrop above the productive fields surrounding Puʻu Maneʻoneʻo. There are terraces and two rooms with retaining and freestanding walls to the southeast, which seem to be the most recent structures. This apparent multi-phase construction is corroborated by Walker who says this site was rededicated in 1801 by Kamehameha II (known as Liholiho) during his tour of the island to rededicate many temples (Kamakau 1992: 188). A flat area in the interior is entirely covered in small stones. It is unclear, however, if this is intentional paving or natural deposition, but probably some of both. This area has a few free standing walls and a small enclosure. Set within an inlet into the outcrop (on the southern side, facing down slope) is a very well made square burial mound. In the northeast there are two substantial enclosures forming something of a figure-8, or potentially a classic “notch” type of heiau. The walls of this structure are 2 m thick and 1.5 m high, forming two square rooms, offset from one another but sharing a central wall. Overall, this construction measures ~25 x 20 m, creating a significant building on the northern edge of this larger site. Our initial hypothesis posited that it might have been the original ritual structures at the site, which is supported by the dating described below. As this site features so many disparate parts, five separate excavation units were dug (in discrete 10 cm levels, unless clear layer transitions could be identified), and while this has provided some sense for the structure’s subsurface assemblage, numerous areas remain untested. Test Units 1 and 2 were located in the well-defined room in the southeastern corner of the site. Unit 1 abuts the eastern wall, though as this area was leveled into a flat terrace through piled stones, most of the sediments here were probably dumped during and after construction (and through aeolian deposition). Test Unit 1 was dug to a depth of 84 cm, but by that point we were largely removing stones rather than dirt. Test Unit 2 was in the center of the same room and featured a similar subsurface collection of loose stones, though some larger pieces appear to have

173 been bedrock. This unit was finished at ~40 cmbs as stacked stones continued downward (Figure 5.8, 5.9). Test Unit 3 was located in a small (<1 m wide) channel or pathway just north of the room described above. Function is very unclear, so a 50 x 50 unit was placed at the end of the hall. Little was located in this unit, as it was comprised mainly of stacked stone with limited dirt. Only excavated to a depth of ~20 cm, and with no clear profile or layers of sedimentary deposition, no stratigraphic profile is presented here. Test Unit 4 was also a small excavation (50 x 50) on the outside of the formal southern retaining wall. This wall appeared to be a later construction, so digging beneath it would theoretically provide a TPQ for this addition if datable materials were discovered. While little was found in the way of lived materials, a lens of large, freshly broken branch coral was found at the base, and beneath the wall. We ultimately reached a depth of 30 cm (Figure 5.10). The final excavation, Test Unit 5, was located in one of the larger “figure 8” rooms to the north end of the site. Lots of tree and root growth limited where this unit could be placed, but ultimately set against a low porch of stones in the interior of the north wall. This porch lined the north wall, and may have been a sitting area at the base of thick wall over 1.5 m high. Besides overburden, just one layer of sediment existed before reaching bedrock. Some cultural materials were found in the upper sections of this layer, but not much (Figure 5.11).

174 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.8: Profile of the east wall of TU1, located in the most clearly defined room set in the southeastern corner of the site.

175

Figure 5.9: Profile of the west wall of TU2, coming from a unit located in the center of the defined room in the SE of the site.

176

Figure 5.10: Profile of north wall of TU4. This small unit was set against the outer wall of the structure and found a large amount of freshly broken branch coral, possibly as offerings set under the wall during reconsecration by Liholiho in 1801.

177

Figure 5.11: Profile of north wall of TU5. This unit was placed in the large notched heiau (or figure-8 structure) in the north portion of the site.

Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-333 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.15 0.22 5.45 10.66 23.25 0.15 39.88

Kau-333 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.05 11.17 40.63 31.43 83.28

178 Kau-333 Test Unit 4 Unit size: 50x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.01 0.08 303.82 303.91

Kau-333 Test Unit 5 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 13.1 287.37 102.15 0.41 169.11 572.14 Table 5.7: Material assemblage of site Kau-333 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102209 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU1-4-1 Cordia subcordata 122±38 -22.1 1684-1734 (21.0%) 1675-1778 (36.2%) 1806-1891 (38.2%) 1799-1942 (59.2%) 1908-1929 (9.0%) AA102210 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU2-4-1 cf. Nestegis 273±38 -25.1 1522-1574 (33.9%) 1488-1604 (50.6%) sandwicensis 1626-1665 (31.0%) 1610-1670 (37.4%) 1785-1793 (3.3%) 1780-1799 (6.3%) 1944-Present (1.1%) AA102211 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU4-X-5 Acacia koa 81±38 -23.5 1696-1726 (20.5%) 1682-1736 (26.4%) 1814-1836 (14.7%) 1805-1935 (69.0%) 1845-1850 (2.6%) 1876-1917 (30.4%) AA102212 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU5-3-5 Dodonaea viscosa 380±39 -22.9 1448-1520 (50.5%) 1441-1530 (55.7%) 1592-1619 (17.7%) 1541-1634 (39.7%) Table 5.8: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

179 333-tu1-tu2: theta 1

0.018 0.016 0.014 0.012 0.01 0.008 Probability 0.006 0.004 0.002 0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) 333-tu1-tu2: theta 2 0.02

0.015

0.01 Probability

0.005

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP)

180 333-tu4: theta 1

0.016

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) 333-tu5: theta 1 0.01

0.008

0.006

Probability 0.004

0.002

0 600 550 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.12: Four Bayesian calibrations of dates from different parts of the site.

Interpretations

The lack of clear stratigraphy throughout this site make interpretations somewhat difficult, but historical knowledge and architectural analyses may aid our understanding. As noted previously, Kau-333 features a number of different elements likely representing at least two phases of construction and use. Test Units 1 and 2 (and 3, though nothing was recovered from this unit) were set within the formal room in the southeast of the structure. Test Unit 4 was

181 placed on the outside of this room, beneath a wall bounding the wall of Test Units 1 and 2 that appears to have been a later addition. The final unit, 5, was located in a discrete structure with no clear connection to the broad, flat areas in the southern portion of the site. As such, Units 1 and 2 could be easily associated, while 4 could also be represented as a likely contemporary or later construction (though it was modeled as having an unknown relationship to the other samples in Bayesian analysis to avoid an unproven connection). According to historical documents, however, we know that while this was likely an early site, it was reconsecrated by Liholiho around 1801, and that some aspects of the structure were built or rebuilt around that time (both Walker and Thrum, in Sterling 1998). As such, the dates from units 1, 2, and 4 provide an interesting example of dating calibration. The two dates from within the room return multiple intercepts, with high probability of use between 250-300 BP. They also have small peaks indicating potential use right around 1800 and the time of reconsecration. While little in the way of the material culture from either of these units points towards one age determination over another (no historical materials were found in either one, possibly indicating an older time frame), the age and materials from Test Unit 4 leave me inclined to associate this portion of the site with the period around 1800. The date from Test Unit 4 opens the possibility that the wall above was built around either 1700 or 1800, tying it to the period surrounding Kekaulike or the presence of Liholiho. The artifacts found in the unit, however, are overwhelmingly large pieces of freshly harvested branch coral, demonstrating that this wall was built with a high degree of ceremonial meaning. Having only excavated a 50 x 50 unit, it is conceivable that much more of this wall (again of an architecturally later construction phase) was built on top of ritual offerings. Ultimately, this portion of the structure could be associated with either time period, though the good preservation of the corals, the later nature of the wall and room construction, and the known, direct presence of Liholiho as he resanctified this structure makes me inclined to say that while this part of the site may have seen some degree of early use, the portion we tested was likely from the early 1800s. Far older, however, is the date from the large, two room structure in the north. With no clearly definable stratigraphy, the one dated sample was selected from around the middle depth of the unit, hoping to approximate early general use of the site. This sample returned an age range from ~1450-1620, representing an earlier investment in ceremonial architecture. Even taking the later end of this range (which is not as likely as the early, by either regular calibration or Bayesian standards), this heiau falls at the beginning of the ritual construction phase identified by Kirch and Sharp (2005; Kirch et al. 2015). As one of the only two named ritual sites in the interior of Kaupō (see Kau-999 for the other non-bounding, named structure), this early date likely speaks to a temple conceived and built prior to the district’s overall sociopolitical consolidation. Additionally, the preponderance of branch coral found throughout the unit, along with some lithic materials and an adze preform indicate that this was a gathering place with ritual significance. Taking the most statistically likely construction period of the late 1400s, we see an early temple site featuring a few artifact varieties (here shell and stone tool remnants) not traditionally associated with the highly proscribed heiau rituals defined in the Contact Period. This pattern of unexpected materials in early temple sites grows more stark with the excavation materials from sites including Kau-433 and 536, described further below (Table 5.7, 5.8; Figure 5.12).

182 Kau-362 Classification: Residential This is a large residential complex with multiple rooms, walls, enclosures, and terrace areas. It seems to have been built and used in multiple phases, as things like a small square enclosure (the location of TU2) sit in the middle of what was likely a former open living space. Artifacts, including large shells and lithic materials, sit on the surface. Overall, the size of this site may indicate an elite residence or residential complex, though construction and excavation details indicate that much of it may have been built and used during the contact period. Three units were placed within the southern portion of the site, leaving some of the small rooms and living spaces in the north for future study. Test Unit 1 was a 1 x 50 excavation against the interior of the eastern wall. Beyond this wall the land drops down, potentially indicating human modification to build up this land surface for the subsequent construction of the site (as with Kau-999). Test Units 1 and 3 (which was also located against this wall) demonstrated high amounts of stacked stone from virtually the surface down to ending depths. Both also featured decent artifact quantities just below the surface, and it appears much of this filtered down into the open spaces between the rocks beneath (only limited sediments below ~45 cm meant movement would have been relatively easy). While Test Unit 3 was abandoned somewhat early (over concerns that it may have been a culturally sensitive location), Test Unit 1 was taken to a depth of 62 cmbs, with additional work to pull materials from beneath the wall. The nature of the matrix in this unit, as a combination of piled stones, some surface dirt (likely brought in for a floor), and aeolian sediments all mixing together, no discrete layers were identifiable. At the deepest points, less dirt was found, but no clear breaks could be discerned to define different layers (Figure 5.13). Test Unit 2 was located in the same general area as the other excavations, but within a freestanding enclosure. This structure does not align with the other walls around, and generally appears to be a later, independent addition. Three layers could be identified, with a clear cultural presence in Layer II. Layer I was thin over burden, while Layer III began at a depth of 16 cm, just below the bottom of the lowest basal wall stones. This lowest layer was continued another 10 cm, but by the end had hit bedrock and sterile soils (Figure 5.14, 5.15).

183 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.13: Profile of east wall of TU1.

184

Figure 5.14: Profile of the north wall, also from TU1.

185

Figure 5.15: Profile of east wall in TU2. This unit was placed in what was initially interpreted as a later, contact era household.

186

Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-362 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 4.95 0.29 2.53 13.19 181.65 19.26 1.4 222.48

Kau-362 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 12.03 1.6 0.39 37.52 36.13 77.15 3.05 0.15 168.02

3 0 Table 5.9: Material assemblage of site Kau-362 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102216 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU1-6-4 Leptecophylla 189±38 -25 1662-1682 (12.8%) 1646-1698 (21.6%) tameiameiae 1736-1805 (48.5%) 1722-1816 (48.5%) 1935-Present (13.2%) 1834-1878 (6.0%) 1916-Present (19.3%) AA101594 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU1-X-1 Aleurites moluccana 180±26 -25.1 1667-1682 (12.4%) 1656-1694 (19.0%) 1736-1783 (35.3%) 1726-1813 (55.0%) 1796-1805 (5.9%) 1918-Present (21.3%) 1935-Present (14.6%) AA102217 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU2-4-5 Myoporum 173±38 -25.3 1665-1690 (13.1%) 1653-1706 (18.7%) sandwicense 1729-1785 (31.5%) 1719-1826 (47.1%) 1794-1810 (8.1%) 1832-1884 (10.9%) 1925-Present (15.5%) 1914-Present (18.7%) AA101588 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU2-X-1 Aleurites moluccana 209±34 -24.7 1650-1680 (23.6%) 1642-1690 (29.1%) 1764-1801 (31.4%) 1728-1810 (48.8%) 1938-Present (13.2%) 1925-Present (17.5%) Table 5.10: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

187 362-tu1: theta 1

0.012

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability 0.004

0.002

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) 362-tu1: theta 2

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 300 250 200 150 100 Calendar Date (cal BP)

188 362-tu2: theta 1 0.035

0.03

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability

0.01

0.005

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) 362-tu2: theta 2

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 300 280 260 240 220 200 180 160 140 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.16: Bayesian calibrations multiple dates from each excavation unit.

Interpretations Kau-362 is an interesting, but still unresolved site. A large complex with numerous walls, rooms, and areas, it features discrete elements that indicate it may have been used and reused in any number of different phases. It is one of only two sites throughout Kaupō that is clearly residential and large enough to be labled as an “elite” residence. This classification as a high status site is also influenced by its location on a small, modified rise within prime agricultural fields, and shouting distance from both the named interior heiau, Kau-333 and Kau-999. While

189 we conducted three excavations within the site, and ran four radiocarbon dates, overall age and internal space function remain unclear. Test Unit 1, set against the eastern wall of the most well defined room in the southeast, contained an array of material culture indicative of habitation. It appears this area was built largely on construction fill, making the identification of layers impossible. As a result, despite digging to a depth of more than 60 cm, we were unable to parse excavated materials (including charcoal for potential dating) into discrete temporal periods. If all the materials had been recovered from clear phases, then we could more safely tie the assemblages to dated layers. The single mixed fill, however, means a predominance of traditional artifacts are confused by the presence of two historic artifacts. Approximately half way down in the unit, a piece of broken glass was found, while one shell button was found towards the very bottom. These raise the possibility that the entire material collection represents at least the early contact period. As only two objects, however, we must also acknowledge that these artifacts may have gotten into the unit through other taphonomic processes, including the bioturbation caused by rodents known to have been at the site (Table 5.9). The possibility that the glass and button were somehow transported into this unit is increased by the assemblage collected in TU 3, only a few meters away. This unit was placed within an odd surface alignment of stones, and in excavating down we found an abundance of historical materials. Upon getting deeper into the unit, we began to suspect it may have been a burial assemblage, so the unit was stopped and all materials were returned to the ground. As such, no materials remain from this excavation, but its placement near TU 1 and clear later modification (through the stone outline set in the ground and continuing downward) offer a possible explanation for the historic material culture located in TU 1. The dates recovered from this unit similarly create a muddied understanding of local occupation. Both Oxcal and Bayesian calibrations on two samples return two probable periods, dating the lower levels of this unit to the late-1600s or mid-1700s to early-1800s. This broad range coincides with either the period of sociopolitical consolidation just prior to the arrival of Kekaulike, or sometime after his death and crossing into the contact period. No clear evidence points towards one or the other, but with a higher statistical likelihood for the later time frame and a general sense that this may not have been from a very early phase, I am inclined to link this construction and use to mid-to-late 1700s (Table 5.10, Figure 5.16). Our excavation in what appeared to be a historic house in the center of this flat living area was similarly unclear. Only one historic artifact was recovered in the 1x1 unit, instantly casting doubt on the age assumption we had made based on architecture. A single historic button was found in the relatively shallow depths of Level 2 (the highest part of Layer II). In dating this unit, we selected charcoal from the lowest part of Layer II, as well as beneath the lowest basal stone. The sample from under the wall returned possible dates from either the late-1600s or the mid-1700s into the early-1800s. Again, this large range affords multiple possible interpretations with no clearly obvious solution. The Bayesian interpretation would tend towards the earlier period, while the Oxcal analysis points to the later period. Our other sample, taken from a higher level and layer, also provides a massive range of possible ages, though the Bayesian model skews more towards the contact period. Perhaps the date from beneath the wall is from a time of local use well before the structure was built, while the date from the upper context speaks to sedimentary and material accumulation within a later household, but more testing throughout the site is required.

190 Ultimately, this site remains something of an unknown. We can see evidence for household activities emphasizing traditional Hawaiian practices (fishhooks, coral, food remains, and kukui for light were all present in both excavations), but when these practices were taking place cannot be definitively said. The presence of a few historic artifacts may push an interpretation of this as an 18-19th century residence, though again, this conclusion calls for further testing.

Kau-371 Classification: Residential This is a C-shape on small hill within a well-defined system of agricultural field walls. The structure itself is small, only 4 x 3 m, but features a well-preserved stacked wall. This wall curves around, opening to the west, and is 1.5 m high, 8 courses in the center. The site is also near a few other shelters and may have been part of a kauhale within the field system. Overall, the interior space is only ~2 x 2 m, so there is very little space for activities or to have any sort of subsurface features, such as a hearth or earth oven. A single 1 x 50 was place inside the structure, with the smaller end abutting the back wall along a nice basal stone. A thin layer of overburden quickly transitioned to a relatively deep layer of cultural materials (from ~5-45 cmbs), featuring some charcoal and ash. This quickly transitioned to a distinct layer of yellow soil and exposed, degrading bedrock (Figure 5.17).

191 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.17: Single profile from the small interior space of Kau-371, set against the high-backed east wall.

192

Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-371 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 10.63 1.02 0.68 0.33 12.66 Table 5.11: Material assemblage of site Kau-371 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102218 KAU 371 KAU-371-TU1-4-1 Chenopodium sp. 244±42 -25.5 1527-1554 (10.1%) 1513-1600 (19.9%) (cf. oahuense) 1633-1676 (34.1%) 1616-1685 (39.1%) 1768-1771 (1.0%) 1731-1808 (28.0%) 1777-1800 (16.8%) 1927-Present (8.5%) 1940-Present (6.3%) AA102219 KAU 371 KAU-371-TU1A-X-1 cf. Myoporum 243±39 -23.2 1528-1544 (6.0%) 1520-1592 (16.5%) sandwicense 1634-1674 (37.0%) 1620-1684 (41.8%) 1777-1800 (18.8%) 1735-1806 (28.8%) 1941-Present (6.4%) 1930-Present (8.3%) Table 5.12: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

371-tu1: theta 1

0.02

0.015

0.01 Probability

0.005

0 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 Calendar Date (cal BP) 193 371-tu1: theta 2

0.02

0.015

0.01 Probability

0.005

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.18: Two Bayesian calibrations from this excavation.

Interpretations Our initial hypothesis posited that this may have been a cookhouse, as its small nature and association with other nearby structures positioned it as a residential site, but not one in which many people could work, live, or sleep. In excavation, however, we found very little evidence to support this claim, with only one occupation layer featuring limited food remains (two tooth fragments, one certainly pig, and a single fragment of decomposing cowrie, see Table 5.11). Additionally, 8.93 g of charcoal throughout the layer is enough to indicate the presence of some former fire feature, but our centralized unit location in such a small interior space found no clear hearth, earth oven, or other consistently used burn site. As a result, it seems unlikely that this would have been a cookhouse, and alternative functions must be considered. As the nature of this structure remains unclear, so does its place in the local chronology. Two samples were sent for radiocarbon dating; one from beneath the basal stones of the wall and another from the lower level of the occupation layer. These samples returned almost identical dates, placing the most likely construction and early use of the site between 1616-1685. While this is supported by the Bayesian framework, we are also presented with possible dates in the early 1500s and the late 1700s. This creates a question as to whether the higher likelihood dates are simply a function of radiometric analyses of Hawaiian materials skewing around 1650, or if this is truly when the site was first built and used. This issue is something worth considering with all of the sites discussed here, but with the dates from Kau-371 clustering so tightly around the 1650 bin, the question becomes more magnified. In this instance, these dates do make sense, as much of the region begins to see development in the mid-to-late-1600s, but it is something that must be consciously considered for every date returning a figure in this time period (Table 5.12, Figure 5.18). Overall, this site can tentatively be dated to the middle of the 17th century, and was likely built in conjunction with some of the other small structures in the vicinity, creating a kauhale. While it may indeed have been a sleeping house or menstrual house, the lack of material culture 194 limits our ability to effectively define its function. Charcoal, some volcanic glass, and limited food remains, however, point to it as some sort of residential space, and likely only one part of a larger habitation cluster. Excavation at the surrounding small sites could provide a greater understanding of these as a whole, or would perhaps indicate that all were simply temporary shelters within the field system, devoid of any permanent residential evidence.

Kau-407 Classification: Residential While not entirely in good condition, this site on a small hill within agricultural fields has some good wall face remaining. The structure is a slightly bowed shelter with a back wall to the east. It is the highest of four clustered sites within what was clearly a kauhale. Just down-slope, two more slightly smaller structures of similar shape and orientation are found, as well as a very small, but relatively high walled c-shape. The southern portion of this wall is predominately large boulders set upright in the ground (not indicative of standing stones occasionally found in temple sites), with smaller stones stacked in the northern section. Not a remarkable site, but part of a residential cluster set within dense field system, so interesting to investigate. Overall, this entire complex is an exemplary reflection of traditionally described kauhale, and may present an interesting case for future exploration. One test unit was place in the northeastern interior of this structure, abutting the eastern back wall. We dug down against the face of this wall, reaching the basal stones ~25 cm below the surface. Only 5 cm deeper we hit solid bedrock, but between the bottom of the wall and the bedrock was a very thin layer of darker material. This may have been a burn to clear the space for agriculture or habitation. Other than this deep color change, no clear layers could be identified (Figure 5.19).

195 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.19: Stratigraphic profile of Kau-407’s relatively shallow subsurface.

Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-407 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 35.2 45.85 81.05 Table 5.13: Material assemblage of site Kau-407 by layer.

196 Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102220 KAU 407 KAU-407-TU1-4-1 Chenopodium sp. 142±38 -26 1676-1698 (9.7%) 1667-1782 (43.8%) (cf. oahuense) 1724-1766 (19.6%) 1796-1893 (35.5%) 1772-1776 (2.0%) 1906-1950 (16.1%) 1800-1815 (7.1%) 1834-1878 (18.4%) 1916-1940 (11.4%) Table 5.14: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

407-tu1: theta 1

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.20: Bayesian calibration of single date.

Interpretations In this excavation, no clear stratigraphy was identified, indicating a very gradual accumulation of fine sediments in the interior of the structure. This stands to reason, as this part of the district is constantly subjected to high winds, with very little to block or slow them. Fine particulate blows across the region, resulting in a steady deposition of small sediments as they are trapped in the aerial eddies behind standing stone walls. A lack of overburden also points towards surface mobility, with organics unable to establish themselves in the swirling environment. Excavation in this structure did find signs of human residential practices, though the total assemblage from the site is limited to just charcoal and lithics. Our investigations did not reveal a bounty of cultural materials, though the volume of charcoal recovered throughout the layer does speak to continued fires throughout the uselife of this structure (and assuming gradual sedimentary accretion). No single fire features were identified, though some small lenses may represent small surface burns. In the greater interior

197 space of this site, we likely just missed either hearths or an earth oven, where further excavations might discover a centralized source (or sources) from which this charcoal spread. Additionally, the presence of some flaked stone materials, but the total lack of any food remains, indicates that while this was likely a place for people to gather and work around a fire, it was certainly not the central communal house of the kauhale (Table 5.13). Much as the excavated materials lack a clearly defining element, the one radiocarbon date from this site is similarly inconclusive, featuring multiple possibly calibrated ages. While Bayesian analyses demonstrate a highest likelihood that early use of this site dates to the late 1600s, a second probability peak notes that the site may have seen early occupation in the late 1700s. As with the previously discussed site, both the slightly higher dating likelihood and the intensification of political and agricultural practices in the 1600s leave me inclined to believe Kau-407 was settled in the earlier period, but this remains only the most probable within a much longer stretch of time (Table 5.14, Figure 5.20). Again, as above, a larger exploration not only of the internal space within this site, but in other structures of this kauhale would provide a greater understanding of when this complex was constructed and the types of social dynamics occurring in a traditional residential cluster.

Kau-409 Classification: Residential This is a small terrace, slightly elevated from the surrounding ground surface, with its back against a curved rock outcrop. At the front of the terrace is a small wall. This site is not far above the numerous ritual and agricultural complexes of Mokulau, but is in an area with remarkably few sites. The small raised area on which the living surface sat was likely constructed by piling up ʻaʻa stones, which became more evident through excavation. The 1 x 50 unit was placed against the interior of the stacked stone wall on the eastern edge of the terrace. A thin layer of overburden was followed by a layer of pebbles and cobbles ~10 cm deep. This may have been a floor, and charcoal along with cultural materials were found within the matrix. The following layer (III) contained more sediments in the top, and then turned into what may have been another floor. This entire layer, particularly surrounding the second possible floor, was filled with artifacts. Beneath this, Layer IV was comprised of looser stones with less sediment between, likely indicating the beginning of clear fill. Artifacts continued, but due to the open spaces between the stones and limited sedimentary matrix these were probably from the living surface just above. The final layer was purely fill, with almost no sediments. We continued to pull stones and the little dirt remaining, as a few artifacts persisted, but these were again likely things that had worked their way down into the loose fill (Figure 5.21).

198 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.21: Deep excavation profile of eastern wall, down into likely construction fill used to create the terraced living space.

199 Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-409 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x50 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 1.27 1.46 27.19 29.92

2 10.06 1.03 9.33 11.34 2.94 0.24 34.94

3 8.64 0.53 59.5 13.65 2.07 100.8 5.32 190.51

4 2.42 0.2 0.17 25.14 0.3 4.2 32.43

5 2.49 0.31 1.17 21.1 2.41 1.1 9.37 37.95 Table 5.15: Material assemblage of site Kau-409 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102221 KAU 409 KAU-409-TU1-2-3 Myoporum 126±38 -25.2 1683-1710 (11.8%) 1672-1778 (37.8%) sandwicense 1717-1736 (8.2%) 1798-1942 (57.6%) 1805-1890 (37.1%) 1910-1935 (11.1%) AA102222 KAU 409 KAU-409-TU1A-X-1 Cordia subcordata 374±40 -23.5 1450-1521 (46.2%) 1444-1530 (52.3%) 1577-1583 (2.8%) 1540-1635 (43.1%) 1590-1622 (19.2%) Table 5.16: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

200 409-tu1: theta 1

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability 0.004

0.002

0 600 550 500 450 400 350 300 Calendar Date (cal BP) 409-tu1: theta 2

0.012

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability

0.004

0.002

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.22: Two dates interpreted through Bayesian analyses.

Interpretations This is one of the few residential sites located inland and upland from the agricultural and sociopolitically important zone of lower Mokulau. As such, my initial idea was that this site would be a relatively late occupation, having been constructed as a standalone residential unit in the time following Kaupō’s political height. Instead, a clearly defined stratigraphy with multiple possible phases of occupation demonstrates that this was, in fact, built early in the local sequence and potentially used over an extended period of time.

201 As described above, both Layers II and III appear to have distinct aggregations of stones, creating two different floors within the stratigraphy. Layer II demonstrates a variety of material culture, but not a high volume of any single category (Table 5.15). Charcoal, food remains, and evidence for stone tool production (in both basalt and volcanic glass) all point to a typical residential profile. The layer below, again with its own floor, shows a similar assemblage with slightly greater density of materials. This layer also contains an adze fragment (chipped basalt with one entirely smoothed side) and a small, complete U-shaped fishhook. The prevalence of urchin spine (in far greater frequency than urchin shell) is also noteworthy, as this layer and the layers below contain the highest frequency of urchin spine of any site excavated. Below the floor of Layer III, sediments begin to dwindle, with a higher presence of loosely piled fill. By Layer V, very little actual sediment could be found between the stones, and while archaeological materials continued through both Layer IV and V, there were almost certainly things that had worked their way down from above rather than reflections of early occupation on rocky, uneven piles of stone. In dating this site, I chose two charcoal samples, the first from beneath the formal wall (apparently built up on the fill in a more orderly architectural arrangement) and associated with the occupation of Layer III, and the second from Layer II and the clearly later phase of occupation. The deeper sample returned a date with the highest likelihood of ~ AD1450-1500. Even taking the most recent possible dates, this sample is at the latest from 1630, or well before Kekaulike and one of the earliest residential examples from Kaupō. Taking the most likely date of the late 1400s, we see an early example of settlement in the region that features a range of foods and single, non-kauhale style house. From Layer II, we have a date placing later occupation from ~ AD1675-1775, though this is based on the Bayesian analysis, as opposed to Oxcal calibrations, which would push the layer slightly later. Taking even the latest date from Layer III and the earliest from II, we can still see occupation of the site for over 50 years, or phases of reoccupation, which is equally interesting. With a probable settlement in the late 1400-1500s, followed by use through time, this site presents an interesting early example of a residential unit (Table 5.16, Figure 5.22). Its coverage of virtually all material categories (including fishhooks and adze fragments) may be representative of early local households with greater freedom to practice a variety of subsistence strategies. As seen through other excavations in Kaupō (described below), early sites such as this may have architectural forms and material assemblages distinct from kauhale traditionally associated with Hawaiian habitations.

Kau-433 Classification: Ritual This is a small, almost certainly ritual site. Located at the very edge of Paukū, this is only a few meters from a basalt cliff face (~5 m high) that separates Paukū from the next district to the west. Measuring only 13 x 10.5 m, the structure is low with two raised, likely platform areas in the northeast and southwest corners (these raised areas are <1 m high). Between the two square platforms is a small notch backed by a core-filled wall, which runs around most of the site. This is also low, however, not indicating any clear visual separation of the interior space from outside viewers. In the northeast, a large standing stone is set upright. Initially, a 1 x 1 m test unit was placed in the notch against the western wall. A second 1 x 1 area was added on the south of the original excavation to further expose a lens of charcoal that emerged towards the bottom. The top layer of overburden was followed by a cultural layer

202 (II), which had a pit dug into it of ashy matrix and cultural materials. This ashy incursion was called Layer III, and it continued quite deeply into the sterile yellow soils of Layer IV. At the bottom of Layer III, a boulder sat at the interface of the ashy layer and a clear fire feature full of dark charcoal. This basal deposit, along with the ashy area above, was the primary source for most of the site’s cultural materials. Ultimately, we reached a depth of 69 cmbs (Figure 5.23).

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.23: Profile of the extended 2 m wall of the excavation unit.

203 Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-433 Test Unit 1&2 Unit size: 2x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 6.14 0.57 4.08 5.33 0.06 0.06 16.24

3 7.59 8.18 1.12 0.2 0.52 1.14 7.7 0.21 26.66

4 14.78 1.51 2.87 0.59 0.1 19.85 Table 5.17: Material assemblage of site Kau-433 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA101585 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU1-3-5 Aleurites moluccana 244±26 -26 1645-1665 (53.2%) 1526-1555 (4.9%) 1785-1793 (15.0%) 1632-1677 (60.3%) 1766-1800 (26.1%) 1940-Present (4.1%) AA101583 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU2-3-4 Aleurites moluccana 263±27 -24.6 1528-1544 (12.4%) 1520-1592 (29.0%) 1634-1664 (52.1%) 1620-1670 (56.8%) 1787-1792 (3.7%) 1780-1799 (9.6%) AA101586 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU2-4-4 Aleurites moluccana 265±27 -24 1528-1550 (18.5%) 1520-1592 (32.0%) 1634-1664 (49.7%) 1620-1669 (55.2%) 1781-1798 (8.2%) Table 5.18: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

204 433-tu1-tu2: theta 1

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability 0.01

0.005

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP) 433-tu1-tu2: theta 2

0.045 0.04 0.035 0.03 0.025 0.02 Probability 0.015 0.01 0.005 0 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP)

205 433-tu1-tu2: theta 3

0.045 0.04 0.035 0.03 0.025 0.02 Probability 0.015 0.01 0.005 0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.24: Bayesian analyses of three dates.

Interpretations Kau-433 is an interesting site, representing the only smaller “shrine” category of ritual site excavated in the main of Kaupō (even within Nuʻu, the ritual sites excavated and expanded upon in Chapter 6 are classified as medium sized heiau). By placing our two units within the notched space of built up sediments between the platform areas, our excavations could easily be tied (at least stratigraphically) to depositional processes after the site’s initial construction. In identifying bedrock and sterile soils at the base of the unit, we can also argue that materials found in the cultural layer directly above (and set within this small zone) are associated with early construction and use. Layer III, defined as an ashy intrusion in both Layers II and IV, reaches neither the bottom of IV, nor the top of II, meaning it was likely a fire feature dug at some point during the occupation of Layer II. While not combined in the table above, the materials from II and III could reasonably be linked within a contemporary time frame, creating a larger assemblage that is perhaps more representative of this phase of use. Whether combined or not, however, the material record from this site demonstrates a broad collection of artifacts indicating generalized practices, rather than the limited set of specific behaviors traditionally associated with ethnographies of temple rituals (Malo 1951; Valeri 1985). Extensive charcoal (including kukui), along with food remains of all varieties, and lithic materials (both basalt and volcanic glass) seem more indicative of an early habitation site (such as 409, described above), but the architectural style of the structure (along with a shark tooth near the bottom) leaves little doubt that this was a small ritual site, rather than residential (Table 5.17). Three samples were dated, all returning similarly early ages. These samples came from Layers II, III, and IV, presumably dating the earliest use and the initial process of infilling this notched section (IV), and then a subsequent phase (Layers II and III) in which further use and deposition took place. At the lowest layer, we see two most likely period of initial deposition, though discrepancies between the Bayesian and Oxcal calibrations once again must be examined. 206 The Bayesian model posits strong likelihoods that the early use dates to either AD 1520-1550 or a full century later from AD 1620-1650. Unlike other models previously shown, both of these feature probability indexes well above .01, which has been the general threshold used for prior tests. While the 1500s figure appears more likely in the Bayesian model, Oxcal defines the date from the 1600s as significantly more probable. By incorporating the other two dates, however, I am inclined to trust the later number (Table 5.18, Figure 5.24). The samples from Layers II and III were taken from higher layers, and were thus built into the Bayesian model as later than that from Layer IV. Despite the fact that the two higher dates were virtually identical to the lower one, bCal’s modeling algorithm naturally pushed the average age of the “earlier” sample back in time, creating a false higher likelihood for the early bin. As these different layers demonstrate similar artifact assemblages (and may, in fact, be a reflection of the materials from the pit, Layer III, bleeding into Layer IV), I believe they are from a relatively close period of time. With the subsequent dates from Layers II and III very strongly indicating use in the mid-1600s, I think it most likely that the lower sample is also from this similar era. Assuming this is correct, we have three dates from the site all tying it strongly to the middle of the 17th century: prior to the arrival of Kekaulike, but during the period of sociopolitical aggregation and increasing ritual construction. As a smaller shrine, featuring large upright stones, but no exterior walls to limit real access or views of the interior, the architecture and assemblage recovered may reflect an early familial, rather than corporate ritual structure. Evidence for daily behaviors (and nightly, with the presence of burnt kukui) points to this site being used for more than the occasional ceremony. While further testing at other sites of a similar nature is required, the presence of artifacts similar to those found in an early residence along with this type of structural design may be very typical of small, local ritual sites (especially early on) that existed outside the network of larger, more formalized heiau.

Kau-535 Classification: Ritual Described by Walker (1930) as the luakini Puʻu Makaʻa (Walker site number 144), this site is a decently sized ritual location only a few hundred meters north of Loʻaloʻa heiau. Measuring 35 x 25 m, the front end of the structure faces east and is built up on a sloping terrace of stacked stones. At the western, back end, the floor of the temple remains covered with paving, but is flush with the natural ground surface. No single walls ring the exterior of the structure, but internally a few low walls do divide use spaces. Accessibility to the interior of the site was difficult, as vegetation and a number of substantial trees have grown up throughout, but we chose a spot in one of the rooms to place a 1 x 1 m test unit. Unfortunately, virtually no sediments and soils had been deposited on this surface, and after clearing some organics and a thin layer of duff, we proceeded to excavate simply by removing rocks. We went to a depth of 30 cm, hoping to hit a layer of dirt, but saw no indications that we would soon find anything other than stacked stones. As a result, the unit was terminated with no recovered materials.

Kau-536 Classification: Ritual Walker (1930) recorded this unusual temple as site 147, calling it the Heiau at Puhilele. It is located in the Mokulau zone of extensive ritual and agricultural investment. On a small bluff,

207 the southern face of the slope is entirely made of a well-faced, stacked stone wall measuring some 3+ m high. This may have maintained the slope, or, using further fill, have created an extended flat surface on which this structure was built. The southern wall rises above the level of the rest of the site. Moving north, the most interesting feature is a oval room set into the ground. Walls rise around it on all sides, but it certainly features two steps (which may have been a bench for sitting) that drop the main use area to at or below the surround natural ground surface. Both the subterranean setting and the rounded nature of this site make it unique throughout Kaupō, seemingly more reminiscent of an American Southwest kiva than anything else Hawaiian. While not huge (measuring 33.4 x 25 m), this site, colloquially dubbed “The Theater”, featured not only the open space within the oval construction, but a small flat area outside of the structure, but still on the bluff, to the west. Three test units were placed in this site. The first ended up quite similar to the excavation from Kau-535, in that it was placed in an area of stones we hoped would come down onto sediments, but did not. This was on the bench area, or interior terrace of the sunken area, and after going down 34 cm and not finding any sediments, artifacts, or datable materials, we ended the unit. Test Unit 2 was also in the interior of the ovular space, but set on the earthen surface against the bench terrace. Lots of wall fall and organics, but once cleared away there was only a thin layer of fine aeolian sediments before hitting a layer of loose sediments with relatively little cultural material. This layer was ~16 cm deep and was likely the result of aeolian accumulation as this sunken structure acted as a trap for sediments. The rocks found within the layer appear to have been pieces from the wall that fell in over time. Layer III contained more stones, possibly as a floor, along with an increase in cultural materials. Also of interest was the feature exposed in the southeastern corner, which eventually became a relatively large and deep layer (IV) with cultural materials. Layer IV extended only partially under Layer III, and underlying both was a sterile layer of packed yellow soil and bedrock (Figure 5.25). Test Unit 3 was placed in the flat area just outside the structure itself. Digging down, we identified three layers, with an overburden, a layer of cultural materials, and an original, non- cultural layer of yellow/orange dirt. We went quite deep (62 cmbs) as some items continued to come out of the apparently sterile layer, but no real evidence for occupation during this period indicates that the presence of numerous rocks throughout likely let some of the artifacts from Layer II filter downward (Figure 5.26).

208 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.25: Profile from TU2, a unit located within the sunken inner court of the structure.

209

Figure 5.26: Profile from TU3, located in the flat, potential use area just outside the main structure.

210 Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-536 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.07 5.19 22.83 17.5 0.18 45.77

3 11.51 11.31 2.42 26.44 13.36 80.71 0.71 0.08 0.27 146.81

4 2.97 0.57 0.28 28.36 0.04 32.22

Kau-536 Test Unit 3 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 9.61 2.47 0.72 266.03 44.48 251.13 1.74 0.06 576.24

3 0.14 0.16 6.5 0.54 7.34 Table 5.19: Material assemblage of site Kau-536 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA101581 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU2-4-8 Aleurites moluccana 379±26 -23.3 1452-1512 (53.8%) 1446-1524 (64.8%) 1600-1616 (14.4%) 1559-1562 (0.7%) 1570-1631 (29.9%) AA101580 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU2-5-6 Aleurites moluccana 388±26 -22.2 1448-1494 (55.8%) 1442-1522 (72.4%) 1602-1615 (12.4%) 1574-1624 (23.0%) AA102276 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU3-4-3 Aleurites moluccana 350±39 -23.9 1476-1524 (28.4%) 1456-1638 (95.4%) 1558-1630 (39.8%) Table 5.20: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

211 536-tu2: theta 1

0.016

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008 Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 520 500 480 460 440 420 400 380 360 340 320 Calendar Date (cal BP) 536-tu2: theta 2 0.018

0.016

0.014

0.012

0.01

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0 520 500 480 460 440 420 400 380 360 340 320 Calendar Date (cal BP)

212 536-tu3: theta 1

0.007

0.006

0.005

0.004

Probability 0.003

0.002

0.001

0 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.27: Bayesian calibrations of dates from the interior and exterior use area.

Interpretations With its unusual form, Kau-536 presented an interesting test for the dating and materials associated with a unique structure. Based on its architecture, location, and required land modification, this was clearly a ritual structure (and was identified as such by Walker [1930]), though its round, semi-subterranean form offered a style unique throughout Kaupō, and Hawaiian literature more broadly. Two test units (TU2 and 3, along with TU1, which yielded no materials due to its placement on fill) were located in the inside and outside of the structure, respectively, to see if different practices were taking place within the cloistered interior versus exterior. As described above, excavations in TU2 identified four distinct layers resting on top of a sterile yellow sediment (not defined as its own layer). Layer II appears to represent a thick period of aeolian sedimentary accumulation, but some human activity clearly continued. While the total amount of materials deposited in this layer is low, it is the only layer to contain a piece of relatively substantial branch coral, perhaps serving as an offering. If this is indeed a later layer (and no samples from this layer were directly radiocarbon dated), then the subsequent placement of branch coral within a formerly sacred space implies that ritual locations such as this were either still used at some later date, or at least maintained in cultural memory as socially significant places (Table 5.19). Beneath this, denser collections of material culture were found in Layers III and IV. Layer III, partially overlying IV, likely had a floor of cobbles, with artifacts scattered in the sediments both on and between these stones. Beneath this, and potentially dug into the sterile base layer as a small pit or trench, Layer IV also contained some stones and a collection of artifacts. The distinction between Layers III and IV may, in fact, be false, as IV could simply be the area dug out to construct the surrounding structure, with stones, sediments, and artifacts all entering as fill (or seeping down from above) before the floor layer (III) was laid on top. In the Bayesian models generated above, this latter scenario was used as the model, defining the 213 samples from levels 4 and 5 (corresponding to Layers III and IV) as contemporary. Not shown here is the model in which the lower sample was defined as absolutely earlier, as this version only pushed the lower date some 10 years earlier, while defining the higher date more likely to have been from nearly 150 years later. Looking at both the Bayesian and Oxcal calibrations (and assuming the two samples are of at least similar age), early occupation at this site, along with the possible construction episode itself, ranges from the mid-1400s to the early 1500s (Table 5.20, Figure 5.27). This places the site well within the frame of the earliest structures from of all Kaupō, and joins with others (409 and 551, most notably) in creating a block of early dates from the Mokulau region. Integrating the date from TU3 (taken from the flat space just outside of the structure), we gain further support for the late 1400s as the initial phase of use at this site. The main occupation layer from the exterior area places the sample representing early use (from the bottom of the lowest cultural layer) from the 15th to early-16th century. This is very similar to the dates derived from the interior, and allows for an interesting comparison of the materials found in these different spaces. Like the artifacts found in Kau-409, the assemblages associated with 536’s early layers demonstrate a wide variety of materials covering nearly every artifact class. TU2, within the structure, contained evidence of fires, consumption, and tool production. TU3 contained a similar suite of artifacts, but despite being from the same time period, had a different range of emphasized materials. Both units feature similar amounts of charcoal, but beyond that, the interior shows nearly five times the amount (in weight) of both fish and terrestrial animal bones (a mix of mammal and bird). While the exterior unit did have some terrestrial and marine bones, the dominant food item found was marine invertebrates (a mix of ʻopihi, cowrie, and small shells, likely Littorina of some variety). As TU2 contained five times more bone than TU3, TU3 had nearly five times the amount of shell. Additionally, while TU2 does show evidence for stone tool production, the amount of basalt and volcanic glass flakes recovered from TU3 speaks to a much greater focus on knapping in the exterior of the site. Overall, this site offers another interesting glimpse into the behaviors taking place in early ritual sites. Noted previously, ethnographic ideals of temple behavior derive largely from the accounts of explorers and aliʻi in the 18-19th centuries, leaving little information surrounding the earliest treatment of temple sites. Kau-536 was a medium sized heiau, but its probable construction in the 1400s places it well before the sociopolitical centralization of greater islands or just Kaupō itself. What we can see, then, is that early temple sites, including both this site and 433, were being used not only for single rites, but as places of gathering. Here, evidence shows that the interior of the structure was where more high prestige items were consumed, yet mammal and bird bones were also being eaten just outside, if to a lesser extent. The interior also has the detritus from stone tool production, and while more was happening in the exterior, the ultimate distinction between these spaces is one of degrees rather than structurally different practice.

Kau-551 Classification: Residential This site is comprised of two well-made, walled square enclosures slightly offset from one another, but sharing part of a central wall. The southern room is at a lower elevation (~60cm), matching the slope of the weathered ʻaʻa ridge. The walls are thick and high, about 1 m each. The lower room may have a small terrace off the southern face, but unclear. All evidence

214 indicates that this was a residential structure, so its location in the Mokulau zone, and proximity to a number of substantial heiau, makes it an interesting site worth exploring. Two test units were excavated in this site, one in the interior of each enclosed room. TU1, in the lower, more southern room, had a layer of overburden, followed by a ~20 cm thick layer of stones and loosely packed earth. Numerous cultural materials were found in this layer, and the stones may have been a floor or simply wall fall through time. Beneath this, Layer III featured almost no stone, but a slightly more dense accumulation of sediments (though a few large boulders began to emerge). In the southern portion of the unit, we exposed Layer IV, which appears to have been a pit for dumping ash and food remains. This excavation became difficult as the number of large rocks (possibly bedrock) increased significantly, but we managed to get down to ~55 cmbs, which appears to have bottomed out Layer IV. We believe we had just begun to hit sterile yellow soil at the base of this layer, but because of conditions we cannot be certain (Figure 5.28). Test Unit 2 was excavated against the interior eastern face of the upper room (Figure 5.29). Ultimately reaching a depth of ~70 cm, this unit exposed that there may have been two phases of wall construction, with a thick layer of larger boulders underneath the surface and an upper extension of 6 courses of smaller stones stacked on top. While this may have been a construction technique to build on top of a solid base, it is not the kind of practice we see in any other sites. After completing the unit, we dug into the wall beneath the layer of large boulders and the stacked smaller stones (at depths of 45-55 cmbs and 10-25 cmbs, respectively) to get materials for dating, in addition to the materials pulled from the three layers. Both Layers II and III contained cultural materials, and would have been at a depth in which the larger basal stones would have been exposed. A final depth of 70 cm exposed cultural material nearly to the bottom, though these began to lessen when associated with increasing angular rocks emerged around 60 cmbs.

215 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.28: Profile of the east wall of TU1, which was placed in the lower room of this two room structure.

216

Figure 5.29: Profile from TU2, in the upper room of this site. Dark rocks are ‘ʻiliʻili stones.

217 Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-551 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.13 0.13

2 3.74 1.88 12.57 32.57 98.69 7.98 70.07 227.5

3 4.39 0.08 0.72 54.32 4.69 1.52 0.06 65.78

4 0.57 0.05 0.03 46.9 0.46 48.01

Kau-551 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 5.58 2.62 8.2

2 5.89 3.1 1.35 60.41 13.28 74.28 1.93 3.31 5.41 168.96

3 32.11 19.19 9.68 769.52 163.14 186 5.72 1.6 0.06 1187.02 Table 5.21: Material assemblage of site Kau-551 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA101582 KAU 551 KAU-551-TU1-4-4 Aleurites moluccana 414±26 -21.9 1440-1479 (68.2%) 1433-1512 (88.6%) 1600-1616 (6.8%) AA101587 KAU 551 KAU-551-TU2-5-7 Aleurites moluccana 189±26 -24.3 1665-1681 (14.8%) 1652-1690 (20.7%) 1738-1750 (8.4%) 1728-1810 (53.6%) 1762-1785 (20.7%) 1925-Present (21.15%) 1793-1802 (7.2%) 1938-Present (17.1%) AA102223 KAU 551 KAU-551-TU2-X-4 cf. Calophyllum 311±38 -24 1516-1596 (51.7%) 1475-1652 (95.4%) inophyllum 1618-1644 (16.5%) Table 5.22: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

218 551-tu1: theta 1

0.03

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability 0.01

0.005

0 500 450 400 350 Calendar Date (cal BP) 551-tu2: theta 1

0.008

0.007

0.006

0.005

0.004 Probability 0.003

0.002

0.001

0 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0 Calendar Date (cal BP)

219 551-tu2: theta 2

0.018 0.016 0.014 0.012 0.01

Probability 0.008 0.006 0.004 0.002 0 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.30: Bayesian distributions of dates from both the upper and lower rooms of the site.

Interpretations Like a few of the other sites excavated in this study (Kau-568 below, and the large, older structure in the north of Kau-333), this site is architecturally defined by two offset, square rooms sharing one wall. While the “figure-8” structure in 333 is clearly far larger and for ritual purposes, this structure is quite similar to 568. In Test Unit 1, we have four defined layers, three of which have a broad range of cultural materials (the top layer of overburden had a single, unassociated piece of head coral). Layer II featured a potential floor (or possible wall fall), while Layers III and IV below may potentially be connected temporally. Layer IV seems to be a pit dug at some point towards the beginning of Layer III’s sedimentary accumulation. Layer IV either represents the excavation of a trench for wall construction, with an associated and likely rapid period of infilling, or was a small dump pit dug during the accumulation of sediments in Layer III. If associated with the construction episode, dates and materials from IV should characterize the site’s earliest creation and use, with III serving as the immediate period of following. If the two are largely contemporaneous, we are seeing the first period of geological deposition against the wall (and digging down next to it in IV), which should again signify some of the earliest use of the site. In either case, the materials from Layers III and IV can be looked at together, and in contrast to Layer II, which was certainly from a later period (Table 5.21). Layer II, which may have featured a floor, demonstrated a range of artifacts, with an especially high amount of stone materials. This layer contained a good amount of basalt flakes, along with an entire adze preform and the highest concentration of volcanic glass found in any site excavated throughout Kaupō. A small amount of terrestrial bone and a number of Littorina sp. shells point to this having been a site of production and some consumption. In the two layers below (again, separated in the table above as III and IV, but treated here as generally contemporary), we also see a broad range of artifacts, but in different proportions. Layers III and IV contain far fewer lithics, but show a significant increase in shells. Particularly in the loose, 220 fill-like matrix of IV we see a large amount of tiny Littorina shells along with a few decomposed cowrie (while the total amount of shell found in IV is slightly less than in III, the volume of sediment removed from the higher layer was far greater, giving Layer IV a much greater concentration index). Overall, what we are seeing through relative time depth is that this room was home to both production and consumption, but early on there was a larger emphasis on marine resource consumption, while later the space became more heavily focused on the creation of stone tools. In the excavation from Test Unit 2, we found again found a full range of artifact classes, but a far greater density of nearly all materials. This unit featured three occupation layers, with two phases of architectural construction differentially associated with these layers. As described above, excavation revealed a deeper, basal layer of large boulders from a depth of ~10-50 cm below the surface, and the exposed wall visible above ground reaching from 10 cm below, to about 60 cm above. This second wall was made of smaller stones, stacked on top of the basal group. Of the sedimentary layers exposed, Layer I was an unusually thick accumulation of fine particulate with a bit of overburden, featuring a few possible flakes and what may have been coral modified into a bead. It spanned both the upper, smaller stone wall, and the lower, larger stone wall. Below this, Layer II exclusively abutted the side of the lower wall. It also may have had a pavement towards the top, in which were embedded a small number of artifacts, including some modified historic glass. Under this possible floor, no other historic artifacts were found, meaning that the top of this layer likely represents a paving. This can then be associated with the construction of the secondary wall, potentially placing this entire later phase within the historic period. Materially, Layer II contained a fair of lithics and some food remains, including a few burnt mammal fragments, some cowrie, and a single complete ʻopihi shell. The presence of glass relatively dates this layer to post-contact (assuming the pieces did not move downward through the relatively thick matrix of Layer I), but the fact that the glass was slightly modified for use implies that this was still early in the Contact Period. Under Layer II, III contained far fewer floor stones and featured a massive collection of artifacts. Unfortunately, excavation at the time failed to distinguish any breaks in occupation, though field notes do indicate that the lowest level of this layer (Level 6, with a depth of 55-75 cm below the surface) featured a new abundance of artifacts and a slightly darker soil right above sterile yellow dirt. The notes say that this may have been associated with the original deposition and use of the site, but the stratigraphic profile fails to identify a new layer at this depth. While it is tempting to parse Layer III into multiple phases and split the materials data, it is safer to simply aggregate and say that this broad layer represents time from settlement at the site to likely prior to contact. A return to this site and further excavation would potentially be valuable, as the wealth of artifacts from this layer speaks to an abundance of marine shell collection and general household practices. This one layer, Layer III, returned a large amount of charcoal, though no discrete fire features. It also contained a relatively high amount of terrestrial and marine bone, in which the majority of the terrestrial was made up of bird. Whether these bones were from chicken or some wild varieties is unknown (and will likely remain so, due to extreme levels of fragmentation and an inability to reach species level identifications), but this abundance of bird is an interesting feature of the layer. Even more compelling, however, was the volume of shell found throughout. Within this single layer we found perhaps more shell than in all our other excavations combined. The figure of 769.52 g is a massive amount, and is not fully representative of the actual total as we stopped collecting the tiny Littorina approximately half way through the layer. These small,

221 1-2 cm shells were found in the thousands, along with some cowrie and ʻopihi. The greatest amount of these shells does come from the lowest level (6), which could be associated with the early occupation, but is aggregated here with the excavation levels above. Finally, debitage flakes of both basalt and volcanic glass were also found in the layer, along with a single, possible fishhook. In dating this site, one sample was tested from Test Unit 1, and two from Test Unit 2. Unit 1’s sample was taken near the interface of Layers III and IV and represents either the construction event or a time soon thereafter. Both the Bayesian and Oxcal dates strongly place this event in the mid- to late-1400s (Table 5.22, Figure 5.30). In Unit 2, samples unassociated with the earliest phases of occupation were unfortunately chosen. One sample was taken from within the larger, basal wall, at a depth of ~25 cm. This was below the smaller, upper wall, but does not necessarily reflect the building of either one. While this effectively creates a TPQ for the upper phase of occupation, it only offers a TAQ for the activities that may have taken place centuries earlier. The second date cannot be related directly to the first, and can simply be associated with the upper bounds of Layer III. The date from within the wall offers a relatively broad age range, from ~450-300 BP, or AD 1500-1650. This is somewhat commensurate with the date from Unit 1, suggesting that this site was established by the 1500s. The second date is from somewhat later, and features multiple intercepts, but is most likely from the mid- to late- 1600s. This later date, along with different phases of construction and the presence of historic materials in the upper layers suggests that this site was settled early and used either continuously for a very long period, or was subject to periodic reuse without the structure ever being dismantled for construction materials elsewhere. Combining the information from the two rooms, this site was either an early residential structure or perhaps a small ritual location, such as a men’s house. The first inhabitants (or at least the people using this site) had access to an abundance of protein foods and materials for production. With a far greater amount of charcoal, food materials, and basalt flakes in the upper room, we might conclude that this was the gathering and eating space, while the lower room was used more for something else, such as sleeping. This lower room did, however, contain a fair amount of materials, particularly volcanic glass flakes, so the distinction between these spaces is not entirely clear. If this site, along with others such as 568, is actually residential, it may demonstrate that early house forms require further study to define their architectural composition along with material assemblages and the use of space.

Kau-561 Classification: Residential Similar to other terraces in this area, this site creates a flat area on a steep slope overlooking the ocean. Along the southern and eastern edges, a wall bounds the internal space, while some stacked stones and a rapid rise in elevation mark the northern edge. The wall to the east is the thickest, likely to protect against the strong winds that come from that direction. The site is certainly residential, but nothing further indicates whether it was an elite or commoner residence (though a few other similar sites points towards this being the home of more regular people). Overall it measures 10 x 8 m, so not particularly large. One test unit was placed in the interior against the basal stones of the thick eastern wall. Four layers were identified, with the top 5-10 cm (Layer I) comprised of overburden and the bottom 42-46 cm (Layer IV) made up of packed yellow dirt and bedrock. Layer II was the main cultural layer, with a possible floor of pebbles and cobbles intermixed with artifacts and

222 numerous pieces of charcoal. Below this, Layer III was exposed within a collection of bedrock stones. III features less artifacts, but some things continue to come from this layer (though this may be a function of the downward movement of objects through the matrix). Layer III is also much lighter than II, perhaps as a function of lower charcoal volumes (Figure 5.31).

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.31: Profile from the interior of site Kau-561, set against the eastern back wall.

223 Material Assemblage by Layer

Kau-561 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.32 1.25 0.65 2.22

2 50.96 1 1.21 11.75 0.43 99.5 0.68 9.36 77.8 252.69

3 1.31 0.2 0.15 0.5 0.25 2.41 Table 5.23: Material assemblage of site Kau-561 by layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA101579 KAU 561 KAU-561-TU1-4-5 Aleurites moluccana 225±26 -22.7 1647-1669 (37.0%) 1624-1682 (43.4%) 1780-1798 (31.2%) 1738-1750 (2.0%) 1762-1803 (38.8%) 1936-Present (11.2%) AA101578 KAU 561 KAU-561-TU1-X-1 Aleurites moluccana 215±29 -22.9 1650-1675 (27.5%) 1644-1684 (33.4%) 1777-1799 (28.1%) 1736-1805 (46.8%) 1941-Present (12.7%) 1934-Present (15.2%) Table 5.24: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

224 561-tu1: theta 1

0.03

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability

0.01

0.005

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) 561-tu1: theta 2 0.03

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability 0.01

0.005

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.32: Bayesian analyses of two dates.

Interpretations Of the four layers identified in excavation, only Layer II demonstrates clear evidence as an occupational period, with Layer III below representing the movement of materials down through a potential floor and into looser fill and bedrock. Within Layer II, the suite of artifacts suggests a likely habitation site, covering the range of materials expected from a residence (Table 5.23). Overall, however, food and lithic remains were somewhat limited. Only small amounts of terrestrial and marine bone were found, while a combination of ʻopihi and cowrie

225 made up the small shell assemblage. This may be due to the site’s location on the face of a relatively steep slope, in which any trash could be easily disposed of by throwing it just outside the house, but this cannot currently be confirmed. An interesting aspect of the assemblage, however, is the prevalence of charcoal (including kukui). Within the one layer (of relatively average depth), we found one of the highest concentrations of charcoal anywhere in the district. As this site is quite exposed and subject to very strong winds and rain it is possible that this was a colder area requiring more heat, but as with the lack of faunal remains above, this is purely a hypothesis. Dates for this site come from two samples; one taken from an excavation directly beneath the wall and the other from kukui associated with the occupation phase. Both returned very similar dates, placing the construction of the wall in a similar temporal frame as the construction and use of the floor (Table 5.24, Figure 5.32). While there is a relatively high statistical probability that these dates are both from ~160 BP (or about 1790, and into the Contact Period), the total lack of historic artifacts and the even more statistically likely peak at ~ 290 BP place the site in the middle of the 1600s. Because of the tendency for Hawaiian radiocarbon measurement to bin around 1650, the authenticity of these dates should be confirmed, but overall agreement of the two, along with a material assemblage consistent with this time period, serves to support the conclusion that this site was first occupied between ~1650-1680.

Kau-568 Classification: Residential This site is located just above the road and directly up from the heiau Kou. It sits on a flat space (possibly human-created) of a relatively steep slope, surrounded by what would have been extensive agricultural fields (though the nature of this slope means it would not have been suitable for cultivation). Two adjacent enclosures create a pair of rooms (similar to Kau-551), with walls of relatively large, fine-grained boulders. The most easterly wall is very thick, with two 2 m depressions, possibly indicating former holes for wall posts or potentially a carved wooden ritual object known as a kiʻi. Branch coral was found in the southern wall of the structure, so the site’s purpose is not entirely clear, architecturally. Most likely it was a residential space, but it could have potentially been a small shrine. Two test units were placed in the site, with one in each room. Test Unit 1 was in the eastern room, set against basal stones of the thick eastern wall. Following a thin layer of overburden was a ~18 cm thick layer of hard-packed sediment (with virtually no artifacts), possibly the result of constant slope-wash and alluvial processes. Quite difficult to get through, but at a depth of ~20 cm we hit a thick layer of looser sediments with numerous stones and the sudden appearance of many artifacts. While possibly a floor, with artifacts moving through the stones, this layer (III) contained the most dense collection of artifacts. Below ~50 cmbs, large rocks began to emerge, which were likely bedrock. Dirt continued down between them, however, so we continued, defining this lowest area Layer IV. Layer IV contained more artifacts, and while these may have been a result of contemporary cultural activity, the presence of the large stones creating such an uneven surface makes it more likely that the items found from ~50-90 cmbs were affected by gravity, slope movement, and alluvial processes (Figure 5.33). Test Unit 2 was placed in the center of the western room and reached a depth of 82 cmbs. Layer I was over burden, while the basal layer, V, was likely the original ground surface on which fill (Layer IV) was dumped or accumulated to create the flat living surface above.

226 Much as with Unit 1, Layer II directly below the duff was hard-packed, mostly sterile sediment with few rocks. This transitioned to Layer III, with cultural materials and more stone creating a distinct layer. This seems to have been the most active cultural layer, as items were found below in Layer IV, but not nearly in the same density as III. Ultimately, Layers II in both units can be associated as similar depositions. Layers III and probably IV are also likely contemporaneous, with Layer V in Unit 2 representing the original ground surface either unreached in TU1 or simply undefined in profile (Figure 5.34).

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.33: Deep excavation profile from TU1 in the eastern room of this two-room structure.

227

Figure 5.34: Profile from excavation unit set in the interior, open area of the site’s western room.

228

Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-568 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.12 0.12

3 157.29 14.7 16.63 23.12 1199.48 6.48 306.03 0.04 3.63 1727.4

4 0.62 0.62

Kau-568 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.17 0.17

3 1.58 0.54 0.16 95.69 29.16 127.13

4 75.88 10.5 89.78 34.08 0.68 210.92

5 0.21 0.26 0.8 1.27 Table 5.25: Material assemblage of site Kau-568 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102224 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU1-4-3 Chamaesyce sp. 368±38 -24.6 1454-1522 (43.7%) 1446-1530 (49.9%) 1576-1584 (3.9%) 1538-1635 (45.5%) 1590-1624 (20.6%) AA101589 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU1-9-5 Aleurites moluccana 384±34 -22.5 1448-1514 (54.5%) 1441-1526 (61.5%) 1600-1617 (13.7%) 1556-1633 (33.9%) AA102225 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU2-4-2 Acacia koa 424±38 -24.5 1432-1486 (68.2%) 1418-1522 (82.3%) 1575-1624 (13.1%) AA102226 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU2-7-1 Aleurites moluccana 381±40 -25 1448-1520 (50.6%) 1440-1530 (55.7%) 1592-1620 (17.6%) 1540-1635 (39.7%) Table 5.26: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

229 568-tu1-tu2: theta 1

0.02

0.015

0.01 Probability

0.005

0 520 500 480 460 440 420 400 380 360 340 Calendar Date (cal BP) 568-tu1-tu2: theta 2

0.012

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability

0.004

0.002

0 500 450 400 350 Calendar Date (cal BP)

230 568-tu1-tu2: theta 3

0.025

0.02

0.015 Probability 0.01

0.005

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 Calendar Date (cal BP) 568-tu1-tu2: theta 4

0.045 0.04 0.035 0.03 0.025 0.02 Probability 0.015 0.01 0.005 0 500 480 460 440 420 400 380 360 340 320 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 4.35: Bayesian distributions of four dates from the two excavation units.

Interpretations This site presents an interesting case for a number of reasons. First, its location on a slope, directly below a broad swath of agricultural and ranch land, has created a distinct series of depositional events, resulting in one of the deepest sites in Kaupō. While the accumulation of these sediments has defined a few very clear levels of stratigraphy, they may also provide information surrounding erosion and soil loss associated with farming and ranching.

231 In Test Unit 1, we found only one clear layer of habitation (Table 5.25), though as noted above, the artifacts from this likely moved quite a ways down into the looser, rock filled matrix below. Also, as this layer is very thick, it is possible that it represents either a long period of occupation, with incremental sedimentary deposition, or multiple phases of habitation that were undistinguished in the excavation. As a layer with a depth of nearly 60 cm, there are surely processes ongoing throughout the creation of the archaeological record, but no clear breaks could be identified through which to divide this into discrete phases. However, two dates were taken from Layer III, from the very top and very bottom of the layer, to hopefully bookend the occupation period. From the lowest part of the layer, just above the interface with sterile sediments below, we recovered a date of ~500-460 BP, placing early use of this location in the latter half of the 1400s. At the top of the layer, we once again see discrepancies between the Bayesian and Oxcal calibrations. The Bayesian model dates the upper reaches strongly to the early 1600s, at least a century and some after the lower date, but the Oxcal model demonstrates an almost equal likelihood that the higher date was of around the same era as the lower (1446-1530, with a 49.9% probability, compared to 1538-1635 with a 45.5% probability). The distinction between these models highlights how priors within the Bayesian framework will create potentially unreasonable weighted averages, skewing early dates earlier and late dates later. What can safely be said about this site however, is that its occupation layer began early (potentially in the mid- 1400s), and that the dated layers were done as habitations by the mid-1600s. While evidence from higher levels could point towards later occupation here, virtually nothing was recovered above the depth of the higher sample (Table 5.26, Figure 5.35). Materially, Layer III features a wealth of artifacts, including extensive charcoal, terrestrial and marine food resources (including a mix of unidentified birds, mammals, large and small fish, and shell), lithic remains, and more. Notable is the large amount of coral, which featured both head and branch varieties, with one large piece of branch coral located on the interface between the sterile Layer IV and Layer III. Test Unit 2 demonstrated a similar age range to Unit 1, though the density of artifacts was far less. While tempting to associate the different concentration values with spatial use, it is more likely that the placement of Test Unit 1 directly against the site’s largest wall resulted in greater accumulation compared to Test Unit 2, which was placed in the center of the second room. Differential practices may indeed have taken place in these rooms, but further aerial excavation would be required to make any definitive claims. For dating, this unit again had two samples tested; one from the bottom of the main occupation layer (IV) and another from the layer directly above (III). As this excavation identified slightly different characteristics in Layers III and IV they were separated in the field, but the distinctions for this unit may be applicable to TU 1 as well. Test Unit 1’s thick layer of cultural materials could likely have been subdivided into layers very similar to those of Test Unit 2, making the dates described above from their own discrete layers. In TU 2, the definition of superposition actually creates some confusion, as the higher (and theoretically later) sample provided an older date. While this is easily attributed to multiple intercepts of the calibration curve, it creates a somewhat muddled picture for the deeper date from Layer IV. As seen in the Bayesian model above, it most likely dates from ~500-450 BP, but has a substantial secondary possibility placing it a century later. The second date, constrained by the first, gives a strong peak right around 1600.

232 If we combine the dates from Test Units 1 and 2, and look at the most likely periods of occupation, we see a very similar picture in which the initial structure was built in the late 1400s and occupied either continuously or intermittently for the next 150-200 years. The rooms also show relatively similar material patterns, with TU 2 containing food and lithic remains, along with notably high amounts of charcoal and coral. As with Kau-551, this site was classified as residential, potentially demonstrating a new form of habitation structure, though the material assemblage may also indicate a small, early ritual structure. The preponderance of coral (and potentially charcoal) may be significant, as this is a pattern seen in the other early two-room residence. At that site, too, evidence for extensive burning within the structure and a large volume of head coral, and particularly branch coral creates an interesting question as to whether these sites are revealing a new pattern for early habitations or a type of early ritual location.

Kau-580 Classification: Residential On top of a hill directly overlooking Puʻu Maneʻoneʻo, this site has three components, likely of different ages. On the edge of the slope is a bowed linear shelter wall that is almost certainly prehistoric. Just to the west is a rectangular enclosure with a small doorway in the southern wall, possibly indicating that this was more of a historic residence. The walls of this enclosure are highest in the east, measuring over 1 m, but remain nicely constructed all around. Again to the west is a smaller enclosure, possibly serving as a cookhouse. Overall the site is located at the highest point in the surrounding vicinity, gaining a good view of all the agricultural fields and local sites. While nothing about the site indicates that it would have been the home of any elite overseers or managers, its placement and reuse through time may be significant. That said, much as with some of the other sites excavated above Puʻu Maneʻoneʻo, this location is extremely windy and would have been unpleasant much of the time. It is likely for this reason that the eastern walls of both main structures are quite thick. One test unit was placed against the eastern face of the likely prehistoric wall. A layer of overburden (featuring some stone flakes just beneath the surface), ~3-12 cm thick revealed an extension of one of the wall’s large basal stones. Continuing down, Layer II contained the most cultural materials, set in a fairly loose, darker matrix with some small charcoal stains throughout. This layer also coincided with the bottom of the wall’s basal stone. Beneath this, Layer III turned into a more yellow, gritty soil with cultural materials quickly disappearing as depth from Layer II increased. The entire unit was taken to a depth of ~45 cmbs (Figure 5.36). Test Unit 2 was set against the interior, east wall of the likely historic structure. Beneath only a very thin layer of overburden, Layer II contained nearly all of the unit’s cultural materials. Only a few small cobbles within the semi-compact matrix in this layer. Layer II was only ~15 cm deep before reaching the highly compacted, yellow soil indicative of sterile layers (defined as Layer III). The deepest section of the unit did not quite reach 30 cmbs, but had already gone through 10 cm of totally sterile soil (Figure 5.37).

233 Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.36: Profile of the north wall of TU1. Unit set against eastern back wall, running along edge of a hill.

234

Figure 5.37: Profile of south wall from TU2. This unit abuts the interior face of a structure just west of what appeared to be an older wall.

235 Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-580 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.1 159.37 5.35 164.82

2 17.09 2.8 1.49 48.32 51.17 10.37 3.41 2.77 16.58 154

3 0.21 0.16 0.15 2.18 2.7

Kau-580 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 14.77 1 0.9 79.96 32.2 16.27 28.78 6.07 179.95

3 0 Table 5.27: Material assemblage of site Kau-580 by unit and layer.

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA101577 KAU 580 KAU-580-TU1-4-3 Aleurites moluccana 214±39 -22.2 1648-1680 (25.8%) 1528-1550 (1.3%) 1764-1801 (30.1%) 1634-1694 (30.5%) 1938-Present (12.3%) 1726-1814 (45.8%) 1838-1842 (0.3%) 1852-1868 (0.9%) 1917-Present (16.6%) AA102227 KAU 580 KAU-580-TU2-3-1 cf. Aleurites moluccana* 247±38 -23.5 1528-1550 (8.4%) 1517-1594 (19.8%) 1634-1670 (37.8%) 1618-1684 (43.5%) 1780-1799 (17.1%) 1736-1805 (25.5%) 1944-Present (4.8%) 1935-Present (6.6%) AA102228 KAU 580 KAU-580-TU2-X-1 Cordia subcordata 141±38 -22.4 1677-1698 (9.6%) 1668-1782 (43.5%) 1722-1766 (19.4%) 1796-1893 (36.0%) 1772-1776 (1.7%) 1906-1948 (16.0%) 1800-1816 (7.4%) 1834-1878 (18.8%) 1916-1940 (11.1%) Table 5.28: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

236 580-tu1: theta 1 0.016

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008

Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) 580-tu2: theta 1

0.018 0.016 0.014

0.012 0.01 0.008 Probability 0.006 0.004

0.002 0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0 Calendar Date (cal BP)

237 580-tu2: theta 2

0.01

0.008

0.006

Probability 0.004

0.002

0 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.38: Bayesian distributions from both test units.

Interpretations Our initial hypothesis was that the stacked stone wall on the edge of this small hilltop represented the oldest settlement, in comparison with the rectangular enclosure just meters to the west. The wall’s architectural form appeared close to many of the other prehistoric structures found throughout Kaupō. Excavation revealed that while it was potentially built prior to European contact, it was still occupied at some point after 1779, where the rectangular structure may have actually been far older. Excavation against the wall along the slope edge revealed three layers, with an upper layer featuring a few lithics and a single piece of melted glass, a clear habitation layer, and a lowest layer with a few scattered artifacts that quickly became sterile. The top layer, containing a possible core and the one piece of historic material, displayed no clear signs of consistent habitation, with the few scattered artifacts a likely remnant of an occasional later visit. Layer II contained a variety of materials, including a range of charcoal, coral, and food remains with a relatively high amount of shell. Throughout the layer, other small pieces of historic material were identified, such as further glass and a number of small beads. These items, found almost to the base of the layer, indicate that this entire habitation period was probably historic (Table 5.27). As this layer abuts close to the basal wall stones, but does not go beneath, it is difficult to definitively say that the wall construction is absolutely associated with this period of historic occupation. The one date taken from this portion of the site comes from beneath the basal stone, which offers a TPQ for construction of the wall and the subsequent habitation, but does not directly date the phase of occupation. This date has multiple peaks in the Bayesian model, defining the under-wall charcoal from either the late 1600s or the late 1700s while the Oxcal model places the higest likelihood in the period surrounding the arrival of Europeans. In either case, the artifact assemblage speaks to this part of the site being predominately occupied in the years post-contact, with some sort of burn event having happened prior to construction (Table 5.28, Figure 5.38). 238 In Test Unit 2, we expected to find a later structure dropped in the middle of a prehistoric site, but the materials recovered along with two radiocarbon dates leave an unclear picture. No artifacts were recovered in either Layers I or III, with the entire small assemblage associated in the habitation layer (II). This collection featured small amounts of charcoal, bone, and lithics, but relatively high proportions of shell and kukui. Some glass was found in the middle of the layer, perhaps placing the whole habitation within the historic period, but radiocarbon dates were sent in the hopes of identifying various phases. To date the construction, we dug in Layer III beneath the wall, where we recovered a few pieces of charcoal. Unfortunately, this does not directly date the construction, but again provides a TPQ for the site, though the results for this pre- construction basal layer do not provide any clear answers. Some sort of burn event happened in one of three phases, most likely in the mid-1600s, but this only offers clues as to possible fire use prior to the development of this part of the site. The second sample, taken from the bottom of the occupation layer, probably reflects an early historic period date, but its range of possible ages creates an unclear statistical timeline. Through the presence of a few historic artifacts, it seems like the main occupation phase of the structure was sometime starting perhaps just before contact, but certainly running into historic times. Overall this site appears to be later than originally believe, offering information surrounding the Contact period, but less regarding the development of the district during the early and middle phases.

Kau-999 Classification: Ritual This site was originally recorded as Kau-336, but due to an error in which this number was duplicated for different sites, this was later amended to Kau-999. According to Walker (1930), this heiau was named Keanawae, and was numbered 157. This site is set on a small bluff overlooking prime agricultural lands. It is quite close to the Opihi heiau, and together these are the only two named ritual sites in the interior of the district. Keanawae itself has two parallel square enclosures with an eastern wall running between them. Directly in the center of this wall, between the two rooms, there is an eastward jog creating a notch that may have had a small paved platform inside. Between the rooms is an open space, including the notch, which may have been a use area (though collapse into this space limited potential for excavation). The northern room has a doorway to the west, and the southern room has a door to the north. All of the walls in this structure are nicely constructed, averaging nearly 1 m high. The eastern connecting wall appears larger and more deflated, but unclear if this is an indication of differential construction period (though this is doubtful, and the site seems to all have been of a single phase). Four excavation units were placed in the site, with two in each of the enclosed rooms. None were located in the flat space between the rooms, but this may be explored further in the future. Test Unit 1 was placed in the center of the northern room and went down ~35 cm. Three layers were identified, with the middle layer appearing to be associated with cultural activity. Numerous artifacts and possibly a pavement of cobbles (Figure 5.39). Test Unit 2 was in the same room, but went much deeper and continued finding artifacts, making us question whether Unit 1 would have had more if we had continued down. Four stratigraphic levels were identified, going to a depth of 70 cmbs. A layer of stones at a similar depth to the other unit had increasing artifact density as it got deeper, and the layer beneath it (Layer III, ~35-44 cmbs) contained the highest density of cultural materials. After this we began to hit sterile soils and what appeared to

239 be bedrock. Also, excavation was done beneath a basal wall stone to locate datable materials (Figure 5.40). The southern room sits towards the edge of this small bluff. Two more units were placed here with one along the wall and another in the center of the room. Test Unit 3, in the center, and further towards the southern edge of the site, is notable for the density of loosely packed boulders and cobbles beginning at ~15 cmbs, which continued until the end of the unit at 60 cmbs(Figure 5.41). Air coming through this, and a lack of sediments, indicates that this may have been construction fill used to artificially create the small, flat bluff on which this site sits. Most cultural artifacts from this unit were in Layer II, just at the top of the possible fill, but then a second layer of relatively dense artifacts (now Layer IV) was found below the rocky layer (III). This may indicate multiple phases of use. Test Unit 4 was set against the interior face of the eastern wall, and would have been naturally closer to the preexisting land surface. As such, the unit was dug to a depth of 64 cm with no evidence of stone fill. The lowest layer was dug in an attempt to see if further fill could be identified, despite going through ~30 cm of sterile soils with essentially no artifacts in the majority of them (Figure 5.42).

Stratigraphic Profile

Figure 5.39: Profile of TU1, located in the interior of the northern room. 240

Figure 5.40: Profile of TU2, set against the north room’s interior wall face.

241

Figure 5.41: Profile of TU3, from the southern room.

242

Figure 5.42: Profile from TU4, also located in the south room.

243 Material Assemblage by Unit and Layer

Kau-999 Test Unit 1 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.13 0.13

2 1.75 1.42 0.58 27.05 17.95 182.98 16.2 247.93

3 0.72 0.1 0.25 0.42 21.22 2.62 25.33

Kau-999 Test Unit 2 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 39.51 39.51

2 7.67 22.93 390.99 421.59

3 2.29 0.07 26.5 14.65 819.56 4.28 867.35

4 0.24 0.02 4.09 1.22 2.44 8.01

Kau-999 Test Unit 3 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0.07 4.61 0.5 0.99 10.39 159.37 3.66 179.59

2 0.36 1.43 0.93 7.53 12.57 22.82

3 0.33 0.37 0.05 0.73 0.44 12.54 0.22 14.68

4 0.83 2.75 0.34 2.22 0.69 0.68 0.11 7.62

Kau-999 Test Unit 4 Unit size: 1x1 Terrestrial Fish Volcanic Kukui Total Layer Charcoal Bone Bone Shell Coral Urchin Lithic Glass (Total) Other (g)

1 0

2 0.63 0.05 1.77 0.1 4.29 104.15 110.99

3 0.29 0.1 71.95 0.12 72.46 Table 5.29: Material assemblage of site Kau-999 by unit and layer.

244

Radiocarbon Dates and Bayesian Analyses

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ)

AA102213 KAU 999 KAU-336-TU2-7-2 cf. Chamaesyce sp. 514±60 -23.6 1324-1345 (14.7%) 1296-1476 (95.4%) 1393-1445 (53.5%) AA102214 KAU 999 KAU-336-TU2-X-1 Aleurites moluccana* 211±38 -10.3 1649-1680 (24.7%) 1530-1538 (0.4%) 1764-1801 (30.7%) 1635-1695 (29.4%) 1938-Present (12.8%) 1726-1814 (46.9%) 1837-1844 (0.4%) 1852-1868 (1.0%) 1917-Present (17.2%) AA102215 KAU 999 KAU-336-TU4-4-1 Psydrax odorata 203±39 -26.3 1654-1681 (19.4%) 1640-1697 (25.9%) 1738-1750 (6.6%) 1725-1814 (47.7%) 1762-1802 (29.4%) 1835-1878 (3.7%) 1938-Present (12.8%) 1916-Present (18.1%) Table 5.30: Dates generated at the University of Arizona’s AMS Laboratory.

336-tu2: theta 1

0.012

0.01

0.008

0.006 Probability

0.004

0.002

0 650 600 550 500 450 400 350 Calendar Date (cal BP)

245 336-tu2: theta 2

0.016

0.014

0.012

0.01

0.008 Probability 0.006

0.004

0.002

0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP)

336-tu4: theta 1

0.018 0.016 0.014 0.012 0.01 0.008 Probability 0.006 0.004 0.002 0 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 Calendar Date (cal BP) Figure 5.43: Bayesian dates from the two rooms of the site. Note that titles reflect the earlier site designation of Kau-336.

Interpretations As described above, TU 1 may have potentially contained further materials had we continued excavating, but even with only 35 cm of depth we are still afforded an interesting density of stone remains. The suite of standard materials, including charcoal, bone, shell, and coral, all were found in the second layer, but it also contained an unusually high amount of lithics and flaked volcanic glass. Where other sites have occasionally shown high total weight of stone materials, these numbers are sometimes deceptive in that they are dominated by one or two

246 very large flakes, or a possible core. Here, the amount of basalt materials is distributed among a large number of small flakes. Similarly, the high quantity of volcanic glass is also comprised of numerous very small flakes, indicative of stone working at a fine scale (Table 5.29). In TU 2, located in the same room as Unit 1, we went far deeper in our excavation. A thin overburden matched Layer I from the first unit, while Layers II and III may also parallel the other unit. In Layer III, however, we continued to find more artifacts and extended the excavation further down, ultimately reaching a depth of 70 cm. The bottom layer (IV) had a few artifacts towards the top, which were likely just small things that had made their way down through time, but became sterile at the bottom. Layer I, while seeming to have a very high amount of shell, simply reflects a single very large opihi shell just beneath the surface. Artifact density begins to increase in Layer II, though the counts do suffer from the lithic fallacy described above, in which the substantial weigh of basalt materials is skewed by the presence of a single large core. Getting into the primary use layer (III), we see a similar collection of artifacts as from Test Unit 1, again with an extremely high amount of stone materials. Both the basalt and volcanic glass flakes are of average or small size, with no single samples pulling the overall average up. In Layer IV we have only a few artifacts, likely moving into sterile soils from the occupation layer above. In dating this portion of the site, two samples from TU 2 were selected, with one from directly under the wall and the other from the bottom of the occupation layer, just above the interface between Layers III and IV. The sample from beneath the wall stones was taken from a depth of ~30 cm, while the other was from ~50 cm. The deeper sample cannot be tied directly to the structure above, but it is certainly related to extensive human activity at this site. The most likely date for this sample places it strongly in the early 1400s, with the possibility that it may have been even a century earlier. Above, the date more closely associated with the wall probably comes from the mid-1600s, though it might actually be even later (Table 5.30, Figure 5.43). Together these imply that this area was in use for an extended period of time, but the lack of direct association between the low habitation layer (III) and the wall means that the structure was probably a constructed significantly after this site gained some sort of cultural importance. Even with the late construction of the larger structure, it appears this site in the form seen today was in use before the time of Kekaulike. On the southern end of the site, two more units were placed in the second room. Test Unit 3 came down through sediments and stone fill before encountering a possible floor within Layer III and sitting on Layer IV. While nearly all artifact categories are represented in the table above, nothing from this unit is found in a particularly high density. Also described above, much of the matrix within this unit appears to be fill, which would have allowed considerable movement of the artifacts through time. Like TU 3, Test Unit 4 contained relatively little in the way of cultural materials. With one main occupation layer (II) set on what was potentially the previous land surface (III) we selected a single sample from near the interface for radiocarbon dating. As the adjacent wall appears to have been built on the top of Layer III, this date should be close to the construction age of the wall. Similar to the upper date from Unit 2, the sample returned a probable date from the mid-to-late-1600s, though the pure oxcal calibration says this is less likely than some time between 1725-1814. With the extremely early date from Unit 2 along with a similar age also from Unit 2, I am inclined to place the construction of the larger structure in the 1600s, though this could certainly be pushed back with further evidence.

247 Summary and Conclusions

The 16 sites described above cover ritual and residential settings from early in Kaupō’s settlement history up through the Post-Contact Period. Further spatial and temporal trends are explored in Chapter 6, but it is worth noting that the excavation and radiocarbon dating described here offer interesting clues surrounding the earliest sites in Kaupō, along with the overall development of practices throughout the district. One of the most notable trends is the relatively early collection of dates, particularly in regards to the temple sites. While the following chapter will add to the corpus of dates and dated sites through the inclusion of 11 more ritual and residential locations from the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu, just along the edge of the accretionary fan, the dates presented above show an earlier florescence than anticipated. As Kaupō was virtually unknown in ethnohistoric memory prior to the arrival of Kekaulike around 1710-1720, the use (if not full architectural development) of sites that persisted through time as ritual locations back into the 1400s is interesting. In the same vein, the tendency for house sites to fall into later dating bins also begs the question as to whether we simply did not sample enough sites to find the earliest residencies (though see below), or if ritual sites were treated differently and did not have their stones taken and reused in construction by subsequent generations. Also of note are the three sites described above featuring the “figure 8” architecture. While one, from Kau-333, is certainly ceremonial based on its location and scale, the other two sites were classified as residential. These two sites are not overly large, with Kau-551 being quite small and 568 being larger, but still far more in the range of house sizes than temples, but their early dates and material assemblages may indicate a different function. High volumes of charcoal and particularly lithics (including volcanic glass) point to these as sites with very different associated behavior, perhaps simply as early houses, but also as potentially early ritual gathering sites. Ultimately, excavation of the greater Kaupō, as well as Nuʻu sites offers a compelling portrait of practices across time and space. Chapter 6 expands upon these trends, integrating radiocarbon dates with GIS modeling, architectural patterns, and material assemblages to present a broad understanding of the district’s development as a whole. Despite Kaupō’s absence in early oral traditions, the work will demonstrate that the region was far more active and sociopolitically dynamic that previously believed.

248 Chapter 6 Margin to Core and Back Again: The Social and Political Development of Kaupō

Introduction

The previous chapters have covered discrete aspects of Kaupō’s archaeological and ethnohistoric record. This chapter synthesizes these data, bringing together aspects of the oral traditions and historical documents (Chapter 3), the spatial distribution of environmental and cultural features (Chapter 4), and the material and temporal records of numerous sites (Chapter 5). Combined, these offer a holistic picture that shapes our understanding of life and development in pre-contact Kaupō, returning to some of the main questions asked in Chapter 1 while raising new issues. Here, I draw on population estimates and the rest of the dates derived from excavations in the western ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu to understand what Kaupō would have looked like in the generations prior to European arrival. With an emphasis on sociopolitical organization and the control of the landscape, I further integrate these dates with the distribution of ritual structures, identifying a system of monumental architecture designed to create a discretely bounded community. Contrasting different areas within the moku, I also highlight how the area of Mokulau may have once been the district’s hub. While these ideas are presented in their own sections below, together they create a deeper understanding of Kaupō as important, previously unrecognized center of Maui well before the arrival of Kekaulike in the early 1700s.

Population Projection and Census Data

In 1831, missionaries conducted the first census of the Hawaiian Islands, recording 3,220 people living at the time in Kaupō (Schmitt 1973: 18, Appendix A). This figure represents one of the most populous districts on Maui, and would likely have been significantly higher were it not for the previous 50 years of introduced diseases. While some have argued that these European diseases may have killed over 80% of the Native Hawaiian population (Stannard 1989), Rallu (2007), Cordy (2007), and others set the overall death rates far lower. In either case, the population figure recorded by these early missionaries likely underrepresents the total numbers living in Kaupō prior to the arrival of Captain Cook by a significant factor. To generate potential population numbers that could have been supported in the district, yield estimates and caloric needs may offer an upper bound. In New Guinea, Pospisil (1972: Table 24) reported that a hectare of intensive sweet potato production would yield 8.1-16.9 metric tons per year. Elsewhere in the Western Pacific, Massal and Barrau (1973: 25) found sweet potatoes to yield 6.7-13.5 metric tons per hectare. Considering Kaupō’s soil nutrient richness (described in Chapter 4) and the accounts of Kamakau (1992), Maunupau (1998), and others, the district featured a very high level of productive capacity. Using the ranges provided by Pospisil and Massal and Barrau, we can use an estimate of 10 metric tons per hectare for Kaupō’s annual sweet potato output. By identifying all of the areas throughout the district that were on sedimentary substrates from 3,000-120,000 ya (previously defined as the optimal age range for nutrient release) and featuring rainfall levels over 750 mm/annum (Purseglove 1968), we find ~12.5-15 km2 of land suitable for the production of sweet potato. Multiplying this total

249 land area by the potential yield per hectare, Kaupō may have seen the production of 12,500- 15,000 metric tons of sweet potato a year. Murai et al. (1958: 104, Table 13) define the nutrient value of sweet potato at 128 calories per 100 grams, resulting in a yearly caloric output of approximately 16-19 million kcal. Using metrics for daily consumption needs, it is estimated that an average person would require 3 kcal of tubers a day, or 1095 kcal annually (see Kirch et al. [2009] for further discussion). With the productive potential of sweet potato alone, this defines an upper population boundary of 14,611 to 17,534 that could have been supported by local tuber cropping. We know that the uplands of this field system were also cropped with dryland taro (Handy 1940; Maunupau 1998) and various other cultigens, such as sugarcane and bananas, creating even more possible sources for caloric input. These optimal numbers and the idea that every single hectare of arable land was being utilized to its productive capacity are likely not entirely reasonable. We can see evidence in the form of the remaining dryland field system for broad areas of intensified planting, but the notion that the entire district was producing this much at a constant rate ignores the need to fallow, the presence within the cropping zone of residential and other non-productive spaces, and more. While the metrics on sweet potato alone dictate a sustainable population over 17,000, our conclusions in Kirch et al. (2009) posit a more likely figure from 8,000-10,000. This integrates caloric outputs and arable land measures with the demographic data collected by missionaries, noting Kaupō’s 3,220 residents in 1831. A pre-contact population in the range described above allows for a significant depopulation on par with what we believe to have happened elsewhere throughout the islands (Cordy 2007). Using a house count methodology advocated by Kirch (2007) may also provide some utility, though the nature of residential sites in Hawaiʻi may result in some confusion. I previously noted that ~3.5 km2 of the district were intensively surveyed, and in those areas we found a total of 380 discrete residential structures (a very small number represent multiple features, but only grouped as a single site if spaced less than 2 m apart). If we expand this number out across the ~20 km2 of land assumed to have been populated and under cultivation we would have a total of 2,171 residential features. Various figures from throughout the Pacific have noted an average household population of 5-8 people, but using Cook’s assumption of 6 people to each residence, we would have a total population for Kaupō of 13,026. Of course, this assumes that each residential feature was its own discrete household, rather than parts of larger kauhale, but overall it presents a relatively reasonable (if likely somewhat high) total population for the district. This method of estimation requires far more development, but it does offer another line of generally commensurate evidence. Overall, these various population figures indicate that Kaupō has long had a substantial human presence, and was likely among the most populous areas on Maui. By the time of the Mahele, however, a drastic drop in numbers is reflected in the fact that only 21 claims by Native Hawaiians were made for land in the district, with subsequent letters between prospective buyers and government agents speaking of the district as a largely empty lava bed (see Chapter 3 for more examples, particularly Christian Andrews’ letter of December 18, 1889). With the 1922 visit to Kaupō by Emory and Maunupau we further see how scattered the few remaining residents were, and that even though they could recall many of the practices and traditions associated with pre-contact times, the district was almost exclusively inhabited by a just a small number of elderly people. This drastic change from the earlier times- in which the district may have been occupied by as many as 10,000 people- speaks to the rapid shift away from agriculture

250 and towards urban life in centers such as Lahaina and Honolulu. As it remains today, Kaupō shifted from being a populous hub to marginal hinterland.

Mokulau: An Early Sociopolitical Center

In the early 20th century, the area around coastal Mokulau served as the home to one of the district’s two churches, the schoolhouse, and a small number of households aggregating the majority of Kaupō’s total population. By this time, the number of Kaupō residents may only have been in the few hundreds, but the presence of this community in this location was likely not a coincidence, but a reflection of social memory that Mokulau was once the most important place in the district (if not the entirety of Maui). This importance is demonstrated through the oral traditions, historical records, and the archaeological remains of a uniquely intensified agricultural system and extensive ritual structures. In Chapters 1 and 3, I described how Kekaulike moved his royal court to the district, rebuilding and expanding the temples of Loʻaloʻa and Puʻu Makaʻa, along with the heiau at Pōpōiwi (sometimes incorrectly called Kanemalohemo, and referred to here simply as Pōpōiwi), which he potentially turned into a royal residence (Fornander 1969; Kamakau 1992). He then gathered his army at Mokulau and sailed against Hawaiʻi, ultimately returning to the same location. Following his death, the ascension of the next moʻī also took place at Mokulau, as did a friendly meeting between the kings of Maui and Hawaiʻi. Over the subsequent century, the area further served as a battleground, with war between the islands often coming to this specific spot. Beyond its role in warfare, a significant number of chiefs and powerful aliʻi trace their lineage to Mokulau (see Chapter 3). The early chief Pamano (described as a demigod by Beckwith [1940]) surfed in the bay and ultimately turned to stone at his death, remaining a large upright into the early 20th century before being pushed over (Maunupau 1998). Others born at Mokulau married into the most powerful aliʻi families. Following the arrival of Kekaulike, and his work on some of the area’s existing temples, this section of Kaupō demonstrates a clear centrality to the sociopolitical aspirations of Maui and Hawaiʻi leaders. Archaeologically, we see a particularly dense collection of unique agricultural features and ritual structures. A broad area of 4-5 hectares is covered in highly intensified agricultural walls, described in Chapter 4. These walls, over a meter high and thick, were spaced under two meters apart, creating alleys or furrows in which plants would have been protected from the region’s occasionally very strong winds. In total, the investment in these hundreds of substantial walls was incredibly high and speaks to a different practice and conception of cropping, especially compared to the walls and embankments of areas such as Paukū. Additionally, the density of temples within coastal Mokulau and extending into its uplands indicates that this region was somehow special. Kekaulike is credited with expanding the heiau Loʻaloʻa and Pōpōiwi, but they certainly existed well prior to his arrival. Michael Kolb posits early use of these temples to the 1300-1500s (Kolb 1991, 1992), and while these dates require further testing to tie chronology directly to construction and use, they do support the idea that large ritual sites were already established a long time before Kekaulike in the early 1700s. Furthermore, dating described on the one ritual and three residential sites in Mokulau (see Chapter 5) places all of them very early in the district’s overall chronology. By combining these sources of data, Mokulau appears to have been the early center of Kaupō. With its numerous temples and productive capacity (perhaps producing ritual or kapu foods) Kekaulike was likely able to move into this area with relatively few differences from the

251 traditional royal seat in Wailuku. He certainly confirmed his political and spiritual power by greatly expanding some of the local heiau (and constructing other new temples), but the ethnohistoric and archaeological data indicate that Mokulau was likely an established sociopolitical center and the previous home to powerful chiefs.

Broader Chronology: All Dates from Nuʻu and Kaupō

In Chapter 5, I presented radiocarbon dates and Bayesian analyses from the 16 sites excavated throughout Kaupō, excluding the ahupuaʻa of Nuʻu. While information surrounding excavated materials and interpretations from the Nuʻu sites are presented elsewhere, the corpus of dates generated from this area help to understand the overall development of settlement practices exhibited in the district. These dates demonstrate a combination of spatial and temporal patterns, confirming the early presence of both residential and ritual activity in Mokulau (described above), distinctions between temple and habitation constructions, links between material culture in different time periods, and more. Table 6.1 (below) is a collection of all 51 samples generated through this project.

Lab. No. Site No. Sample No. Material Conventional 14C δ13C Calibrated Age Calibrated Age Age (B.P.) Range A.D. (1σ) Range A.D. (2σ) Chenopodium sp. - AA102203 KAU 149 KAU-149-TU1-4-7 152±40 24.8 1669-1696 (11.8%) 1665-1784 (46.4%) (cf. oahuense) 1726-1780 (25.6%) 1794-1892 (31.6%) 1798-1814 (7.2%) 1904-Present (17.4%) 1836-1844 (2.7%) 1851-1876 (8.3%) 1918-Present (12.6%) cf. Cordia - AA102204 KAU 149 KAU-149-TU1-4-9 subcordata 119±38 25.1 1685-1712 (12.6%) 1676-1766 (33.7%) 1716-1732 (7.2%) 1772-1776 (1.0%) 1808-1890 (39.9%) 1800-1940 (60.7%) 1909-1927 (8.5%) Aleurites - AA102205 KAU 307 KAU-307-TU1-4-1 moluccana* 99±38 24.8 1694-1726 (17.8%) 1680-1764 (30.2%) 1813-1896 (42.1%) 1801-1939 (65.2%) 1902-1918 (8.4%) KAU-307-TU1A- - AA102206 KAU 307 X-6 cf. Nestegis 129±41 24.4 1682-1709 (11.6%) 1670-1780 (39.5%) sandwicensis 1718-1738 (8.4%) 1798-1944 (55.9%) 1756-1762 (2.0%) 1804-1890 (35.1%) 1910-1936 (11.1%) - AA102208 KAU 314 KAU-314-TU1-2-1 Nothocestrum 214±38 10.7 1648-1680 (25.8%) 1529-1540 (0.8%) cf. latifolium 1764-1801 (30.1%) 1634-1694 (31.1%) 1938-Present (12.2%) 1726-1813 (46.7%) 1918-Present (16.8%) KAU-314-TU1A- - AA102207 KAU 314 X-1 Chamaesyce sp. 322±39 26.2 1514-1600 (53.6%) 1470-1648 (95.4%) 1617-1648 (14.6%) - AA102209 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU1-4-1 Cordia subcordata 122±38 22.1 1684-1734 (21.0%) 1675-1778 (36.2%)

252 1806-1891 (38.2%) 1799-1942 (59.2%) 1908-1929 (9.0%) - AA102210 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU2-4-1 cf. Nestegis 273±38 25.1 1522-1574 (33.9%) 1488-1604 (50.6%) sandwicensis 1626-1665 (31.0%) 1610-1670 (37.4%) 1785-1793 (3.3%) 1780-1799 (6.3%) 1944-Present (1.1%) KAU-333-TU4-X- - AA102211 KAU 333 5 Acacia koa 81±38 23.5 1696-1726 (20.5%) 1682-1736 (26.4%) 1814-1836 (14.7%) 1805-1935 (69.0%) 1845-1850 (2.6%) 1876-1917 (30.4%) - AA102212 KAU 333 KAU-333-TU5-3-5 Dodonaea viscosa 380±39 22.9 1448-1520 (50.5%) 1441-1530 (55.7%) 1592-1619 (17.7%) 1541-1634 (39.7%) cf. Chamaesyce - AA102213 KAU 336 KAU-336-TU2-7-2 sp. 514±60 23.6 1324-1345 (14.7%) 1296-1476 (95.4%) 1393-1445 (53.5%) KAU-336-TU2-X- Aleurites - AA102214 KAU 336 1 moluccana* 211±38 10.3 1649-1680 (24.7%) 1530-1538 (0.4%) 1764-1801 (30.7%) 1635-1695 (29.4%) 1938-Present (12.8%) 1726-1814 (46.9%) 1837-1844 (0.4%) 1852-1868 (1.0%) 1917-Present (17.2%) - AA102215 KAU 336 KAU-336-TU4-4-1 Psydrax odorata 203±39 26.3 1654-1681 (19.4%) 1640-1697 (25.9%) 1738-1750 (6.6%) 1725-1814 (47.7%) 1762-1802 (29.4%) 1835-1878 (3.7%) 1938-Present (12.8%) 1916-Present (18.1%) AA102216 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU1-6-4 Leptecophylla 189±38 -25 1662-1682 (12.8%) 1646-1698 (21.6%) tameiameiae 1736-1805 (48.5%) 1722-1816 (48.5%) 1935-Present (13.2%) 1834-1878 (6.0%) 1916-Present (19.3%) KAU-362-TU1-X- Aleurites - AA101594 KAU 362 1 moluccana 180±26 25.1 1667-1682 (12.4%) 1656-1694 (19.0%) 1736-1783 (35.3%) 1726-1813 (55.0%) 1796-1805 (5.9%) 1918-Present (21.3%) 1935-Present (14.6%) - AA102217 KAU 362 KAU-362-TU2-4-5 Myoporum 173±38 25.3 1665-1690 (13.1%) 1653-1706 (18.7%) sandwicense 1729-1785 (31.5%) 1719-1826 (47.1%) 1794-1810 (8.1%) 1832-1884 (10.9%) 1925-Present (15.5%) 1914-Present (18.7%) KAU-362-TU2-X- Aleurites - AA101588 KAU 362 1 moluccana 209±34 24.7 1650-1680 (23.6%) 1642-1690 (29.1%) 1764-1801 (31.4%) 1728-1810 (48.8%) 1938-Present (13.2%) 1925-Present (17.5%) Chenopodium sp. - AA102218 KAU 371 KAU-371-TU1-4-1 244±42 25.5 1527-1554 (10.1%) 1513-1600 (19.9%) (cf. oahuense) 1633-1676 (34.1%) 1616-1685 (39.1%) 1768-1771 (1.0%) 1731-1808 (28.0%) 1777-1800 (16.8%) 1927-Present (8.5%) 1940-Present (6.3%) KAU-371-TU1A- - AA102219 KAU 371 X-1 cf. Myoporum 243±39 23.2 1528-1544 (6.0%) 1520-1592 (16.5%) sandwicense 1634-1674 (37.0%) 1620-1684 (41.8%) 253 1777-1800 (18.8%) 1735-1806 (28.8%) 1941-Present (6.4%) 1930-Present (8.3%) AA102220 KAU 407 KAU-407-TU1-4-1 Chenopodium sp. 142±38 -26 1676-1698 (9.7%) 1667-1782 (43.8%) (cf. oahuense) 1724-1766 (19.6%) 1796-1893 (35.5%) 1772-1776 (2.0%) 1906-1950 (16.1%) 1800-1815 (7.1%) 1834-1878 (18.4%) 1916-1940 (11.4%) - AA102221 KAU 409 KAU-409-TU1-2-3 Myoporum 126±38 25.2 1683-1710 (11.8%) 1672-1778 (37.8%) sandwicense 1717-1736 (8.2%) 1798-1942 (57.6%) 1805-1890 (37.1%) 1910-1935 (11.1%) KAU-409-TU1A- - AA102222 KAU 409 X-1 Cordia subcordata 374±40 23.5 1450-1521 (46.2%) 1444-1530 (52.3%) 1577-1583 (2.8%) 1540-1635 (43.1%) 1590-1622 (19.2%) Aleurites AA101585 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU1-3-5 moluccana 244±26 -26 1645-1665 (53.2%) 1526-1555 (4.9%) 1785-1793 (15.0%) 1632-1677 (60.3%) 1766-1800 (26.1%) 1940-Present (4.1%) Aleurites - AA101583 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU2-3-4 moluccana 263±27 24.6 1528-1544 (12.4%) 1520-1592 (29.0%) 1634-1664 (52.1%) 1620-1670 (56.8%) 1787-1792 (3.7%) 1780-1799 (9.6%) Aleurites AA101586 KAU 433 KAU-433-TU2-4-4 moluccana 265±27 -24 1528-1550 (18.5%) 1520-1592 (32.0%) 1634-1664 (49.7%) 1620-1669 (55.2%) 1781-1798 (8.2%) Aleurites - AA101581 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU2-4-8 moluccana 379±26 23.3 1452-1512 (53.8%) 1446-1524 (64.8%) 1600-1616 (14.4%) 1559-1562 (0.7%) 1570-1631 (29.9%) Aleurites - AA101580 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU2-5-6 moluccana 388±26 22.2 1448-1494 (55.8%) 1442-1522 (72.4%) 1602-1615 (12.4%) 1574-1624 (23.0%) Aleurites - AA102276 KAU 536 KAU-536-TU3-4-3 moluccana 350±39 23.9 1476-1524 (28.4%) 1456-1638 (95.4%) 1558-1630 (39.8%) Aleurites - AA101582 KAU 551 KAU-551-TU1-1-4 moluccana 414±26 21.9 1440-1479 (68.2%) 1433-1512 (88.6%) 1600-1616 (6.8%) Aleurites - AA101587 KAU 551 KAU-551-TU2-5-7 moluccana 189±26 24.3 1665-1681 (14.8%) 1652-1690 (20.7%) 1738-1750 (8.4%) 1728-1810 (53.6%) 1925-Present 1762-1785 (20.7%) (21.15%) 1793-1802 (7.2%) 1938-Present (17.1%) KAU-551-TU2-X- AA102223 KAU 551 4 cf. Calophyllum 311±38 -24 1516-1596 (51.7%) 1475-1652 (95.4%) inophyllum 1618-1644 (16.5%) Aleurites - AA101579 KAU 561 KAU-561-TU1-4-5 moluccana 225±26 22.7 1647-1669 (37.0%) 1624-1682 (43.4%) 1780-1798 (31.2%) 1738-1750 (2.0%) 1762-1803 (38.8%) 1936-Present (11.2%) KAU-561-TU1-X- Aleurites - AA101578 KAU 561 1 moluccana 215±29 22.9 1650-1675 (27.5%) 1644-1684 (33.4%) 1777-1799 (28.1%) 1736-1805 (46.8%) 254 1941-Present (12.7%) 1934-Present (15.2%) - AA102224 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU1-4-3 Chamaesyce sp. 368±38 24.6 1454-1522 (43.7%) 1446-1530 (49.9%) 1576-1584 (3.9%) 1538-1635 (45.5%) 1590-1624 (20.6%) Aleurites - AA101589 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU1-9-5 moluccana 384±34 22.5 1448-1514 (54.5%) 1441-1526 (61.5%) 1600-1617 (13.7%) 1556-1633 (33.9%) - AA102225 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU2-4-2 Acacia koa 424±38 24.5 1432-1486 (68.2%) 1418-1522 (82.3%) 1575-1624 (13.1%) Aleurites AA102226 KAU 568 KAU-568-TU2-7-1 moluccana 381±40 -25 1448-1520 (50.6%) 1440-1530 (55.7%) 1592-1620 (17.6%) 1540-1635 (39.7%) Aleurites - AA101577 KAU 580 KAU-580-TU1-4-3 moluccana 214±39 22.2 1648-1680 (25.8%) 1528-1550 (1.3%) 1764-1801 (30.1%) 1634-1694 (30.5%) 1938-Present (12.3%) 1726-1814 (45.8%) 1838-1842 (0.3%) 1852-1868 (0.9%) 1917-Present (16.6%) cf. Aleurites - AA102227 KAU 580 KAU-580-TU2-3-1 moluccana* 247±38 23.5 1528-1550 (8.4%) 1517-1594 (19.8%) 1634-1670 (37.8%) 1618-1684 (43.5%) 1780-1799 (17.1%) 1736-1805 (25.5%) 1944-Present (4.8%) 1935-Present (6.6%) KAU-580-TU2-X- - AA102228 KAU 580 1 Cordia subcordata 141±38 22.4 1677-1698 (9.6%) 1668-1782 (43.5%) 1722-1766 (19.4%) 1796-1893 (36.0%) 1772-1776 (1.7%) 1906-1948 (16.0%) 1800-1816 (7.4%) 1834-1878 (18.8%) 1916-1940 (11.1%) Aleurites - AA101590 NUU 1 NUU-1-TU2-4-4 moluccana 282±34 24.1 1522-1575 (40.3%) 1493-1602 (58.5%) 1626-1660 (27.9%) 1615-1666 (34.6%) 1784-1795 (2.3%) Aleurites - AA102229 NUU 1 NUU-1-TU2-4-5 moluccana* 170±38 10.4 1666-1692 (13.0%) 1655-1707 (18.1%) 1728-1784 (30.8%) 1718-1826 (46.9%) 1795-1811 (7.7%) 1832-1885 (11.9%) 1920-Present (16.7%) 1912-Present (18.5%) Aleurites - AA101593 NUU 1 NUU-1-TU2-7-4 moluccana 272±27 22.8 1527-1554 (26.7%) 1520-1592 (42.9%) 1633-1661 (41.5%) 1620-1667 (48.5%) 1783-1796 (4.0%) Aleurites AA102230 NUU 1 NUU-1-TU2-9-1 moluccana* 307±38 -9.3 1518-1594 (50.9%) 1474-1654 (95.4%) 1618-1645 (17.3%) Aleurites - AA102231 NUU 9 NUU-9-TU1-3-1 moluccana* 164±38 11.4 1666-1694 (13.1%) 1660-1709 (17.2%) 1727-1784 (30.3%) 1717-1890 (60.0%) 1796- 1812 (7.9%) 1910-Present (18.2%) 1918-Present (16.9%) - AA102232 NUU 79 NUU-79-TU1-5-2 Acacia koa 358±38 22.8 1466-1522 (34.8%) 1451-1636 (95.4%) 1572-1630 (33.4%) Aleurites - AA101591 NUU 81 NUU-81-TU1-4-7 moluccana 188±34 21.9 1664-1682 (12.6%) 1647-1696 (21.1%)

255 1736-1804 (42.2%) 1725-1814 (50.1%) 1936-Present (19.9%) 1836-1877 (4.3%) 1916-Present (19.9%) - AA102233 NUU 81 NUU-81-TU2-3-2 Chamaesyce sp. 306±38 23.4 1519-1593 (50.8%) 1475-1655 (95.4%) 1619-1645 (17.4%) Aleurites - AA101592 NUU 153 NUU-153-TU2-7-2 moluccana 325±33 23.3 1514-1600 (55.2%) 1474-1644 (95.4%) 1617-1637 (13.0%) Aleurites - AA101576 NUU 181 NUU-181-TU1-5-1 moluccana 173±31 23.4 1667-1684 (11.5%) 1657-1698 (17.7%) 1732-1783 (34.0%) 1723-1816 (50.5%) 1796-1808 (6.7%) 1834-1878 (7.3%) 1928-Present (16.0%) 1916-Present (19.8%) - AA102234 NUU 409 NUU-409-TU1-3-4 Chamaesyce sp. 195±38 10.6 1658-1682 (15.0%) 1644-1696 (23.2%) 1736-1804 (40.5%) 1725-1814 (48.6%) 1936-Present (12.7%) 1835-1878 (4.7%) 1916-Present (18.9%) Table 6.1: Total list of radiocarbon samples generated from excavations throughout Kaupō.

In total, both the 1 and 2σ dates for the 22 sites listed above show activity at both ritual and residential sites from as early as the 1400s up until the post-contact period. Many of the sites excavated were dated with multiple samples from various stratigraphic layers and associations. As described in Chapter 5, I chose materials for testing based on their relationships with basal stone architecture to link the dating with the period of construction. Sites with multiple tested samples also have dates reflecting either higher stratigraphic layers or association with some sort of use feature, such as a hearth or occasionally floor. Additionally, prior to AMS dating, Dr. Marjieta Jeraj of the University of Minnesota identified all the materials to ensure only short- lived species were being tested. Individual sites are explored in more detail in Chapter 5, but the picture offered by these dates is that many, if not most of these structures, were originally built in the time before the arrival of Kekaulike. This implies that both ritual and residential locations were established and in use (or at least had formerly been in use) by the early 1700s. For the sites in which multiple samples were dated (predominately through greater Kaupō, rather than Nuʻu) we see evidence for construction relatively early, but subsequent dates pointing towards reuse or permanent occupation spanning centuries. Parsing these dates into categories of ritual (Figure 6.1) and residential sites (Figure 6.2) further informs our understanding of construction and use patterns.

256

Figure 6.1: Aggregated dates for all ritual sites. Note that Kau-336 is also recorded in Chapter 5 and the Appendix as 999.

257

In the figure above, we can see many of these ritual sites demonstrate almost certain use through time. Kau-536, a strangely shaped structure featuring a sunken, oval court has three dates, all of which place its construction and some aspect of use in the late-1400s to late 1500s. All three are very similar and do not as yet show use beyond the original time period, but the placement of this heiau within Mokulau is highly interesting, as its odd formal characteristics and apparent use exclusively early on may point to it being a temple associated with early ritual activity that fell out of use. Walker also describes this as “the heiau at Paukela” (Walker 1930), not ascribing a real name, as he records for many others, but simply a temple at a specific place. This again supports an interpretation that Kau-536 was an extremely early ritual location, but that its use may not have continued into the period of consolidation in the mid-1600s (Kirch and Sharp 2005) or the time of Kekaulike. The only other ritual site that shows use exclusively in one time period is Kau-433, which is an especially small shrine within the Paukū planting area. This was likely a minor community temple for agricultural production (or hoʻoūluūlu ʻai), so a concentration of dates from its early period in the mid-1600s is not surprising as it probably would not have held much long term social significance outside of the original building group. Beyond 433 and 536, however, we see all of the other sites for which there are multiple dates showing extended use across generational time periods and perhaps through hundreds of years. Notably, with the exception of Nuu-1, which we now believe to be a residence rather than temple, and Nuu-153 (too small), all of the sites described above fall within the category of “Major” temple described in Chapter 4. While this certainly speaks to a sampling bias towards the excavation of sites with significant standing architecture and interesting features, it also demonstrates that these big ritual sites were constructed early on and then largely reused through time.

258

Figure 6.2: Dates from all ritual sites, presented in chronological order.

259

Figure 6.2 shows a time-rank plot of dates taken from residential sites. There appears to be a discrete break in the distribution, in which all of the dates from KAU-551-TU2-X-4 and above are unquestionably prior to AD 1650. The rest show multiple intercepts, and while this this produces less concrete dates, all of them almost certainly post-date AD 1650 (a few with small tails into the 1500s are statistically extremely unlikely to have been this early, as seen in Table 6.1). Of the older group, we see sites Kau-314, 409, 551, and 568. Of these, both 409 and 551 are located in Mokulau. Along with the temple site, Kau-536, this means that three of the four sites excavated and dated in Mokulau count among the earliest in the district (the exception being the residential site 561, with a pair of dates likely placing it in the mid-1600s). For the rest of the residential sites (distributed throughout Kaupō and Nuʻu) we see a range of possible dates, but Bayesian modeling described in Chapter 5 places most of these in the 17th century, with some potentially coming from the era around or after which Kekaulike would have moved into the district. Overall, however, the majority of both residential and ritual sites described here present a picture of Kaupō as a populous community by the late 1600s. This further supports the conclusion that Kaupō was already densely settled and sociopolitically centralized enough to have built monumental temples and have people living all across the accretionary fan. While the total body of dates indicates early settlement, a distinction evident between temple and habitation sites warrants noting. Of the eleven house sites excavated, seven appear to come from the mid-1600s or later. With the ritual sites, all eight pre-date AD 1650, meaning that they have remained standing on the landscape for at least 350 years and have survived through numerous generations, wars, and political regimes. While some of these had specific names recalled into the contact period, even those that did not were still recognized as places of social importance not to be disturbed or scavenged for the construction of later structures. As Dye (2010) and others have noted (see Chapter 4 for further discussion), residential structures were likely not held in the same esteem, and with abandonment may have become resources used in the building of subsequent temples, houses, walls, or otherwise. The dates presented here indicate that once constructed, heiau of various sizes were maintained, often with functional use through time. Even if abandoned, however, they seem to have been left alone. This certainly creates a bias against finding temples if they actually had been destroyed, but the fact that all of the ritual sites tested here are so structurally different, yet similarly old, points to heiau remaining on the social and physical landscape. Finally, these dates offer an interesting association for future research. Three of the sites excavated display what I have called a “figure 8” style of construction, in which two square rooms share a central wall but are slightly offset from one another. While this is somewhat similar to notched heiau, I believe these to be a distinct form. Of the three sites in Kaupō, one is significantly sized and sits at the north end of the temple complex, Kau-333. It represents a highly different construction style, and radiocarbon dating places its initial use in the 1500s. The other two sites were classified as residential sites, but may actually also represent early temples. Kau-551 and 568 are both smaller than the structure at 333, but nonetheless represent substantial input of labor. These also represent the two earliest “house” sites tested, with evidence that they were first used in the mid-to-late 1400s. I am now more inclined to suggest that these were small ritual sites, as their assemblages include high levels of flaked stone (especially obsidian in 551), protein sources, and coral. While this remains unconfirmed, the connection of this structural form with early dates presents a potentially testable type of structure of a specific type and age.

260 The Ritual Network in Time and Space

As described in Chapter 4, I believe one of Kaupō’s most distinguishing features to be the concentration of large temples along the borders of the accretionary fan. Looking at the excavated and dated structures (Figure 6.1), we can see some of these heiau feature dates from a range of periods, including 333, 336, Nuu-1 (which we now believe to be a residence), and Nuu- 81. Of these 4, all show early use in the 1500s, with subsequent use through time, but more interestingly, we still have their recorded names. These sites, Opihi, Keanawae, Oheohenui, and Kailiili were maintained in social memory. With the other sites described here, specifically 433, 536, Nuu-79, and Nuu-153, we only have dates from a single time period. Of course, with Nuu- 79 and Nuu-153 this is a function of having only one early sample, but with the other two we simply have no record of their social meaning, even though Walker recorded 536 quite extensively (again, he calls this “the heiau at Puhilele”, placing it on the landscape rather than giving it a specific name). This discrepancy indicates that some sites maintained a level of use or importance, while others did not. Returning to the distinctions identified in Chapter 4 of major and minor heiau (Figure 6.3), we can once again see the clusters of smaller sites in the center of the district and the prevalence of larger sites along the outer edges. A brief look at the sites circled below highlights

Figure 6.3: Major (red) and minor temples (green), with the earliest dated heiau in circles. some of the information added through dating, and may support the notion that many of the bounding temples are representative of a period of sociopolitical centralization. At the bottom left is the heiau Kou, which has been described by Kirch et al. (2009) and recently dated to have

261 early ritual use in the 11th century (Kirch et al. 2015). Above this, we have the temples of Opihi and Keanawae, both of which are also very early (Keanawae dating to the late 1400s and Opihi to the 1500s). Further east, we have the heiau at Puhilele, which solidly dates to the early-mid 1500s. If we assume Kou was established well before Kaupō was fully settled and politically organized, and then look at the available dates for the other temple sites, the three circled above represent the earliest ritual structures in the district. I believe that, like Kou, these also may have been built early in the process of district unification, or even independent of it, and instead constructed as individual structures without consideration for a larger network designed to bound the region. While the central heiau may have served to proscribe the upper edge of the agriculturally intensified core (these two sit just below young lavas with little capacity for cropping), their unusual forms do not tie them to any of the other major temples along the edges of the fan. Kau-536 is similarly unique, and may simply be an early heiau associated with the chiefs of Mokulau. Assigning degrees of intentionality to individual structure construction based on a small number of dates is certainly highly speculative, but if these earliest temples with outlier forms do actually represent a different phase and goal of building then it creates another testable hypothesis. While many of the largest border heiau, including Pōpōiwi, Loʻaloʻa, Puʻu Makaʻa, Haleokane, Lonoaea, Kaʻiliʻili, and Halekou, feature rectangular enclosures with interior, elevated platforms, the sites highlighted above do not. We do not yet have sufficient data on these numerous, structurally similar heiau to identify a temporal pattern or shared material assemblage, but future research might think to explore the distinctions between these important ritual sites. Ultimately, while we cannot tie all of the ritual structures of Kaupō to a specific era, we can say that while Kekaulike in the early 1700s was indeed occupied by the construction of heiau (or perhaps rebuilding and expanding are more reasonable), many of these structures were already on the landscape prior to his arrival. With all of the temples dated (potentially including the two sites discussed above that were initially defined as residences), we see a boom in construction centering around the 1500-1600s. This may represent a single, extended phase of temple building, or perhaps multiple waves, with one in the early-1500s (less centralized in form and unifying placement) and another coinciding with Kirch and Sharp’s (2005) proposed boom in the 1600s. I believe the distribution of these sites, as described further in Chapter 4, was a conscious effort on the part of increasingly powerful chiefs to construct sociopolitically meaningful structures that spatially defined the district. Understanding that nearly all of these temples were originally built in what was likely about a 100-year range indicates that during the time of power consolidation in the 1600s (Kirch 2010; Kamakau 1992), Kaupō was home to its own form of politically structuring heiau construction. Mulrooney and Ladefoged (2005) have demonstrated that small temples were used to define ahupuaʻa boundaries in Kohala, but here it appears we have this pattern on a scale previously unseen in Hawaiʻi. With the imposition of large heiau along the ecologically significant borders of the accretionary fan, Kaupō’s leaders were defining their community, bounding the people and the productive land within a network of centrally constructed and controlled ritual structures.

262

The Changing Face of Kaupō

In exploring the spatial and temporal distributions of ritual and residential structures across Kaupō, we can see patterns of pre-contact settlement and use. Despite the early date for ritual activity at Kou, the majority of the district appears to have been largely settled hundreds of years later. Similar to patterns seen throughout the archipelago (described in Chapters 1 and 2), early Hawaiians did not move to occupy places such as Kaupō- incapable of supporting irrigated production- until probably the 1300-1400s. Of the 51 dates generated in this project, only one pushed into the late 14th century, and while this may simply reflect sample size or the fact that early sites were destroyed for subsequent constructions, it seems more likely that the grouping of all these dates from the late-15th century onward is actually representative of a population influx. I argue above that the early period of settlement in Kaupō was accompanied by some residential structures and a small number of temple sites that reflect moderately monumental constructions requiring group labor, but not demonstrating a broadly unified corporate style or distribution plan. With a number of early house sites and small temples, alongside tales of the powerful chief/demigod, Pamano (Beckwith 1940; Maunupau 1998), the area of Mokulau was likely the earliest center from which the aliʻi began to exercise their increasingly broad control. In the 15-16th centuries, we begin to see the consolidation of larger areas throughout the archipelago by chiefs such as Māʻilikūkahi on Oʻahu. This was followed by the apparent unification of entire islands under Umi and Piʻilani (Hawaiʻi and Maui, respectively), but the extent to which they controlled every area remains questionable. Particularly for Kaupō, we can see archaeologically the presence of people and significant ritual structures by this time, yet no mention of Kaupō or chiefs at Mokulau is made in the traditions surrounding Piʻilani’s unification. This perhaps implies that the district was peacefully integrated within the larger sociopolitical sphere, but may also suggest that Kaupō remained independent for some time. By the 1600s, a boom in dates from house sites and temples points to an increase of the local Kaupō population, along with an expansion of centralized sociopolitical power in the form of a network of ritual sites. These sites were spread along the borders of the highly productive accretionary fan, from the coast up to the upper bounds of the field system at approximately 600 meters above sea level. While excavations and dating have not been conducted at all of these sites, I believe their construction reflects a defined plan to identify Kaupō as discrete community. Whether this was conducted by leaders at Mokulau who were attempting to maintain or build their own power against outside control remains unclear, but investment in such monumental structures along the edges of their productive system and population core is both highly curious and so far at a scale unique within the Hawaiian Island. By the 1700s, the archipelago was home to a number of competing archaic states, with divine kings ruling over entire islands and engaging in a constant struggle for total supremacy. During the reign of Kekaulike around 1710 (Cachola-Abad 2000) we get this first mention in the oral traditions of Kaupō. Where numerous other districts throughout the islands are mentioned in the travels of kings, chiefs, warriors, and gods, Kaupō is first referenced almost casually, with Kamakau noting, “Kekaulike… the ruling chief (mo-i) of Maui mentioned above, was then living at Kaupō engaged in building luakini heiaus for his gods” (1992: 66). No further information describes why or when he had moved his royal court, or whether he had only recently taken the

263 district, through politics or force. What is clear, however, is that Kekaulike’s presence pushes the district into a central role in the governance of Maui and the war with Hawaiʻi Island. As described previously (Chapters 1 and 3), constant combat, both interisland as well as between the chiefs of Maui themselves, marked Kaupō over the following 80 years. The district remained a sociopolitical hub, famed for its production of sweet potatoes, until the draw of growing cities like Lahaina and Honolulu, with industries involving trade and whaling, expanded in the mid-1800s. In the years from the Mahele to today, the district has once again become a sparsely populated hinterland, home to scattered farmers and ranchers, yet the rich archaeological record continues to speak to its powerful past. By integrating archaeological study with close examinations of the ethnohistoric record and advanced understandings of environmental factors, we can chart many of the developments that took place throughout Kaupō. We are left, however, with a number of questions. While the Conclusion (presented in Chapter 7) will briefly address future research directions, a summary of Kaupō’s history is incomplete without an acknowledgement of what we do not yet know. Primary among these is the direct connection between agricultural intensification and the development of the centralized state. Polities on Maui, Hawaiʻi, and the other islands were certainly closely intertwined with productive capacity, particularly the reliance on dryland cropping (Kirch 2010), but what were the respective developmental trajectories of agricultural intensification and the rise of states? I agree with the modern approaches, eschewing notions of “prime movers”, that these were recursive systems, supporting and even allowing for each other, but a more comprehensive body of work examining and especially dating the development of intensified systems is required (Stock et al. 2003; Kirch, ed. 2007; Dye 2011, 2012; McCoy et al. 2012). With a greater understanding of the specific time frame for intensification and field divisions we will be better positioned to link sociopolitical development in places like Kaupō to increasing social stratification and the ultimate emergence of state-level society. Alongside the need to develop our knowledge of agricultural intensification in Kaupō and elsewhere, we must also find ways to explore whether the district was, from the beginning, politically integrated within the greater Maui sphere. We know that by the 1600s the islands were becoming sociopolitically centralized, with the evidence from Kaupō supporting the ideas of Kirch and Sharp (2005) that the early-to-mid-1600s were a time of increasing complexity and power accumulation. Kaupō is home to many of the processes of centralization elsewhere in the islands, but the question created by the unique proscription by ritual sites is whether the district was controlled externally, or if it was somehow independent and outside of the politics taking place to the northwest. Was, then, Kaupō its own small polity? I certainly do not mean to imply that it may have been its own, fully independent archaic state, but the fact that we hear nothing about it, yet see it being highly intensified in the 1600s is curious. While the most likely scenario posits that Kaupō was controlled as a satellite from the political centers of Wailuku and Nawaieha generally, the evidence presented by the unique settlement patterns creates a new and important question.

264 Chapter 7 Concluding Thoughts and Future Directions

Further Research in Kaupō

This dissertation has explored the history of Kaupō through a combination of ethnohistoric, archaeological, and environmental approaches, yet much work remains to be done. As described previously, more rigorous attempts must be made to link the construction and development of the field system to increasing settlements and the burgeoning ritual network. I suspect these will show a tight correlation, but better connections must be established. Indeed, the field system itself may prove interesting for an examination in greater depth than I have managed here. Where the dryland systems of Kohala (Ladefoged and Graves 2009) and Kona (Allen, ed., 2002) feature mauka-makai “trails” for traveling up and down in the fields, along with discrete walls rather than embankments, Kaupō has none of these. What this implies for movement within the district or the interactions between people, I cannot say, but the fact that this Maui system has its own distinct styles of construction warrants further investigation. Another possible direction for research involves testing at more ritual structures to identify whether specific styles of construction actually reflect chronology, function, and interrelatedness. As noted previously, sites I have described as “figure-8” ritual structures appear to be of a particularly early date, perhaps into the 1400-1500s. Study of more of these structures might clarify whether they are actually ritual sites at all (as two were initially identified as residences in field survey), and if they share a similar time frame and material assemblages. Where the figure-8 structures may represent early temples, the collection of enclosed heiau with interior raised platforms also warrant more study. Described more in Chapter 6, many of these temples retained their names into the contact period, and their similar construction styles, as well as placement along the boundaries of the accretionary fan leads me to believe that they were ideologically and socially linked in ancient times. Dating for each of these structures and a close assessment of the remains in their interiors should provide an answer as to the connection between these ritual sites. Expanding upon this broad study of many different heiau, it would also be valuable to focus efforts on the areal excavation and exploration of one or more of these sites. In particular, the site of Pōpōiwi has a huge potential for research. Believed to have originally been a large heiau, the site was rebuilt extensively by Kekaulike who may have turned it into a royal residence. This conclusion is only tentative, but if so it would present arguably the first palace structure in the archipelago, as the massive Piʻilani Hale has not effectively been identified as royal residence, heiau, or both. While defining Pōpōiwi as a palace would support general assertions of Hawaiian statehood (Kirch 2010, 2012; Hommon 2013; Feinman and Marcus, eds., 1998), understanding the phases of temple construction would be equally valuable. Ultimately, Kaupō is a massive area with numerous unrecorded sites and a wealth of data yet unexplored. The possible research questions presented above reflect my own interests in agriculture, monumentality, states, and sociopolitical organization, but future work is limited only by the capacity of one’s imagination. Perhaps in consultation with Kaupō’s small remaining community, work can be more driven by the needs, questions, and general interest of the residents who still call the district home, but whichever direction future research may take it

265 must be conducted with the understanding that Kaupō is a special place with a central role in the development of Hawaiʻi.

The Place of Kaupō in Hawaiian History

Archaeological and historical studies of the Hawaiian Archipelago often emphasize centers of power known from the contact period: Waipiʻo, Kealakekua, ʻĪao, Wailuku, and Honolulu, among others. Perhaps missing are the places that rose to prominence well prior to the arrival of Europeans, ultimately losing their esteem due to location, politics, or simple chance. All of these likely factor into the forgotten history of Kaupō, once the center of mighty Maui but today an isolated stretch of cattle pens along a rutted dirt road. When I began this project, I did not set out to demonstrate that this district was formerly the royal seat and the focus of a major political and military conflict, but over time Kaupō’s importance became increasingly clear. With the initial identification of a massive dryland field system (Kirch et al. 2009), the district distinguished itself as a uniquely intensified section of Maui. While similar modifications are known from other parts of the archipelago, this was the first evidence pertaining to the agricultural base of the Maui polity. This pre-contact investment in a landesque infrastructure is manifest in oral traditions and ethnohistory, with references by Kamakau (1992), Maunpau (1998), Handy (1940), and others to the productive potential of the area. In truth, the fields and remaining architectural record by themselves may not have been enough to fully understand Kaupō were it not for the writing of early authors on Native Hawaiian history. These oral traditions offered glimpses into the life and behaviors of Kekaulike and his successors, along with other aliʻi throughout the islands, providing not only information on Kaupō itself, but the process by which Hawaiian social organization became increasingly complex. While few stories relate to early Kaupō (prior to Kekaulike), what we see in the district by the 1700s is the culmination of Ancestral Polynesian chiefs consolidating power and becoming the divine arbiters over the fates of hundreds of thousands. Of course, where oral traditions have linked many of the aliʻi spread throughout the islands to Kaupō (and, in particular, Mokulau), the archaeology does provide a wholly different perspective on nascent statehood. Spatial and temporal analyses of standing architecture and subsurface assemblages, combined with soil geochemistry, offer clues found nowhere in the stories of kings and wars, greatly enhancing out understanding as to why Kaupō became so central, and the practices undertaken to ensure its sociopolitical dominance. Specific to the district, Kaupō offered Hawaiian planters a rich environment for the production of sweet potato and other dryland crops. While traditionally seen as a secondary agricultural choice (behind irrigated agriculture), locations such as Kaupō and Kohala demonstrated that intensified landscapes were capable of supporting large populations. Unlike Kohala, however, the highly productive portion of southeast Maui is easily visible as the outflow of accretionary materials from the breached crater of Haleakalā. To proscribe this valuable zone, along with the field infrastructure supporting its productivity, Kaupō’s leaders built a series of temples along its eastern and western edges. By bounding this area, Kaupō was marked as a highly defined community with a very clear value. Whether the district’s field system and ritual network were implemented by independent local elites or were imposed by leaders from elsewhere remains unknown, but it is clear that by the time Kekaulike arrived in the early 1700s, Kaupō was largely established. Moving his court

266 to this area would not have required wholesale changes to local structures and systems, allowing for what was likely an easy transition. From that point forward, Kaupō ascended from a productive and highly organized moku to the powerful core of Maui, where it remained essentially until the final conquests of Kamehameha in the early 19th century. Following a steep decline in population, Kaupō returned to its modest roots, no longer serving as the center of a young state, but rather the home to a few scattered ranches and farms. The history of this district is written into Hawaiian traditions and inscribed on the landscape, yet much of this past glory has been lost in the rush of Westernization and the focus on economically important cities. This dissertation serves as a small reminder that Kaupō was once home to thousands of Native Hawaiian men and women whose work in the intensified fields and prayers at the major temples supported rulers such as Kekaulike and a powerful caste of aliʻi. While more research will further increase our understanding of daily life and overall organization of the district, we can now at least recognize Kaupō’s place among the important centers of ancient Hawaiʻi.

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293 Appendix A Site Characteristics

Site Type Site Number Exterior length Exterior Exterior Width Exterior Wall Construction Probable Function # of courses (in wall) Total Area (approx.) Average Wall Height Stone Structure Form

Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 001 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 3 3.5 10 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 002 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 2 3 .25 1 .25 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential/ 003 adjoining terrace or linear habitation Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 004 Platform faced Burial courses) 5 10 6 60 .8 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 005 shape) rectangular /habitation Single course 1 12 6 72 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 006 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 5.5 5 28 .5 Free-standing wall, Not Stacked (2+ 007 Free standing wall stacked determined courses) 3 80 1 80 .4 Free-standing wall, Not Stacked (2+ 008 Free standing wall stacked determined courses) 3 35 14 490 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 009 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 45 12 540 1 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 010 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 11.5 10 115 .75 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 011 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 2 22 22 484 .25 Platform: stone 012 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 5 5 25 .25 Platform: stone Residential Not 013 Platform faced /habitation applicable 1 13 8 104 .2 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 014 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 3 18 1.5 27 1 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 015 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 4 19 13 247 1 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 016 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 2 19 7 133 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 017 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 6 5 30 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 018 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 12 4.5 54 .2 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 019 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 2 11 1 11 .5 020 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 3 22 14 308 1.5

294 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 021 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 3.5 3 10 .75 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 022 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 3.5 1.5 5 .25 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 023 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 8.5 5 42 1 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 024 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 7.5 7 52 .6 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 025 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 3 10.5 3.5 37 .5 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 027 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 9.5 5.5 52 .4 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 028 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 5 4.5 22 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 029 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 4.5 3.5 16 .25 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 030 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 2 5 2.5 12 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 031 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 6 5.5 33 .25 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 032 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 10 80 50 4000 1 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 033 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 4 3.5 14 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 034 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 21 12 252 .75 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 035 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation courses) 4 5 4.5 22 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 036 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 6 8 5 40 1 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 037 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 2 10 7 70 .25 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 038 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 5 4.5 22 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 039 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 4.5 3 14 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 040 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 4.5 4 18 .2 Platform: stone 041 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 9.5 6 57 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 042 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 4.5 3.5 16 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 043 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 5 4 20 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential 044 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 12 10 120 .2 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 045 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 6 6 36 .5 Platform: stone 046 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 2 9 6 54 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 1.2 047 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 11 9 99 5 Platform: stone Residential 048 Platform faced /habitation Core-filled 2 15.5 3.5 54 .4 049 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere Core-filled 6 21 15 315 1.5 295 shape) rectangular monial Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 050 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 5 6 4 24 .75 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 051 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 19 8 152 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 052 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 5 3.5 18 .75 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 053 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 4 3.5 14 .25 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 054 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 6 13 11 143 .75 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Not Stacked (2+ 055 shape) rectangular determined courses) 5 43 26 1118 .5 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 056 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 2 6 6 36 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 057 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 8.5 3.5 30 .25 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential Stacked (2+ 058 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 7 4 28 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 059 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 8 4 32 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 060 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 4.5 4 18 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 061 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 8.5 7 60 .5 Platform: stone Residential 062 Platform faced /habitation Single course 1 5 5 25 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 063 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 5 4 20 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 064 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 4 6.5 26 .25 Stacked (2+ 065 Stone mound Other Burial courses) 2 3.5 2 7 .25 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 066 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 3 5 2 10 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 067 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 6 5 3 15 .75 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 068 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 4 2.5 10 .25 069 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 3.5 2.5 9 .2 Platform: stone 1.2 070 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 6 6 3.5 21 5 Platform: stone 071 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 2 5 4.5 22 .4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 072 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 10 6.5 65 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential Stacked (2+ 073 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 24 13 312 .5 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 074 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 4.5 3 14 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 075 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 6.5 5 32 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 076 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 6 4.5 27 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 077 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 9.5 5 48 .75 296 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 078 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 11 5.5 60 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 079 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 9.5 6 57 .6 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 080 adjoining terrace filled l courses) 5 15 10 150 1 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 081 adjoining terrace filled l courses) 4 6.5 6 39 .8 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 082 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation courses) 4 11.5 8 92 1 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential 083 adjoining terrace filled /habitation Core-filled 3 13.5 12.5 169 1 Not Stacked (2+ 084 Stone mound Other determined courses) 3 5 4 20 .25 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 085 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 10.5 6.5 68 .2 Platform: stone 086 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 2 4.5 3 14 .2 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 087 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 15 5 75 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 088 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 2 17 13.5 230 .75 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 1.2 089 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 5 5 3.5 18 5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 090 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 25 12 300 .4 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 091 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 9.5 9 86 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 092 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 7.5 4 30 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 093 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 7 5.5 38 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 094 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 3 17 7.5 128 .3 Free-standing wall, Residential 095 Free standing wall core-filled /habitation Core-filled 3 7 2.5 18 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 096 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 6.5 4 26 .2 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 097 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 2 17 4 68 .2 Platform: stone 098 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 Platform: stone 099 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 2 4.5 4.5 20 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 100 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 5 15 6 90 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 101 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 8.5 6.5 55 .8 Stacked (2+ 102 Not determined Other Burial courses) 5 7.5 5 38 1 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 103 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 3 15 2 30 .75 Residential Stacked (2+ 104 Not determined Other /habitation courses) 3 6 5 30 .25 Stacked (2+ 105 Stone mound Other Burial courses) 2 4 3 12 .2 297 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 106 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 5 3.5 18 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 107 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 14 7 98 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 108 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 5.5 3 16 .75 109 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 3.5 3 10 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 110 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 9.5 7 66 .6 Wall/shelter Residential 111 adjoining terrace Other /habitation Core-filled 5 14 13 182 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 112 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 10.5 6.5 68 .4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 113 shape) rectangular monial courses) 5 23 21 483 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 114 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 7.5 2.5 19 .25 Not 115 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 2.5 2.5 6 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential Stacked (2+ 116 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 36 20 720 .5 Platform: stone 117 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 3 3.5 2.5 9 .3 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 118 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 6.5 6.5 42 1 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 119 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 2 17 3 51 .25 Not 120 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 5 2.5 12 .2 Not 121 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 4.5 2.5 11 .2 Not 122 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 6 3.5 21 .2 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 123 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 9 8.5 76 .5 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 124 Stone mound faced Burial courses) 2 3 2.5 8 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 125 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 20 6 120 .5 Platform: stone 126 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 4 8.5 8.5 72 .6 Platform: stone 127 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 5 4 20 .2 Platform: stone 128 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 5.5 5 28 .2 Platform: stone 129 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 7 4.5 32 .2 Not 130 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 7.5 4.5 34 .2 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 131 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 2 6 5 30 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 132 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 9 8 72 .25 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 133 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 8.5 6 51 .3 134 Free standing wall Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 4 7.5 4.5 34 .3 298 stacked /habitation courses) Wall/shelter Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 135 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 2 8 6 48 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 136 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 7 5 35 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 137 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 7 5 35 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 138 shape) rectangular /habitation Single course 1 8 6 48 .2 139 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 2 2 4 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 140 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 9 8 72 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 141 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 5 11 5.5 60 1.2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 142 shape) or linear /habitation Not applicable 8 4.5 36 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 143 shape) shaped /habitation Not applicable 3.5 2.5 9 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 144 shape) or linear /habitation Single course 1 6.5 1 6 .1 Terrace: earth Not 145 Terrace (single) filled determined Not applicable 7 3 21 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 146 shape) or linear /habitation Not applicable 7 3.5 24 .2 Terrace: earth Residential 147 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Not applicable 11 4 44 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 148 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 12.5 8 100 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 149 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 14 7 98 .3 Platform: stone 150 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 2 3.5 3 10 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 151 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 6.5 4 26 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 152 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 4.5 2.5 11 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 153 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 8 3.5 28 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 154 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 5 2 10 .5 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 155 Free standing wall stacked /habitation courses) 3 19.5 8 156 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 156 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 5 3 15 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 157 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 4.5 4 18 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 158 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 3.5 1.5 5 .25 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 159 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 2 8 6.5 52 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 160 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 6.5 5 32 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 161 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 5 6 4.5 27 .4 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 162 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 5.5 3.5 19 .3 299 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 163 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 12 5 60 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 164 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 4.5 4.5 20 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 165 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 4 3.5 14 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 166 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 7.5 3 22 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 167 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 8 2.5 20 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 168 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 6 4 24 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 169 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 4.5 2 9 .25 Stacked (2+ 170 Stone mound Other Burial courses) 4 3.5 2 7 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 171 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 5.5 3 16 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 172 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 4.5 2 9 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 173 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 4.5 2.5 11 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 174 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 2 10.5 9 94 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 175 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 5 2 10 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 176 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 5.5 3 16 .25 177 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 3.5 3.5 12 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 178 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 19 6.5 124 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 179 shape) shaped /habitation Single course 1 3 2 6 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 180 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 4 8.5 4 34 .5 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 181 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 8.5 8 68 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 182 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 11 3.5 38 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 183 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 8.5 7 60 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 184 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 10 4 40 1 Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 185 Multiple terraces filled l courses) 3 35 17 595 .5 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 186 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation courses) 3 7 3 21 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 187 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 2 13 13 169 .3 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 188 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 6 5.5 33 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 189 shape) shaped /habitation Single course 1 16 4.5 72 .15 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 190 shape) Other /habitation courses) 2 10 8 80 .25 191 Free standing wall Other Not Stacked (2+ 4 15 10 150 .75 300 determined courses) Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 192 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 16 11 176 1.2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 193 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 5 2 10 .25 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 194 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 9 9 81 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 195 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 8.5 8.5 72 .3 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 196 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 5 15 9 135 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 197 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 6 6 36 .2 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 198 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation courses) 4 7 7 49 .25 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Not Stacked (2+ 199 shape) rectangular determined courses) 5 55 17 935 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 200 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 9 5 45 .2 Stacked (2+ 201 Stone mound Other Burial courses) 3 5 4.5 22 .25 Platform: stone 202 Stone mound faced Burial Single course 1 4.5 3.5 16 .5 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 203 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 6.5 5 32 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 204 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 3.5 3.5 12 .2 Residential 205 Multiple terraces Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 4 32.5 20.5 666 .5 206 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 5 4 20 .15 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 207 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 9 6 54 .5 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 208 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 5 9.5 8.5 81 1 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 209 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 8 16 11 176 1 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 210 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 2 8 8 64 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 211 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 3 12.5 11 138 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 212 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 9 6.5 58 .25 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 213 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 15 10 150 .35 214 Platform Other Burial Single course 1 6 6 36 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 215 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 5 11 7 77 .5 216 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 6.5 5 32 .3 Enclosure (any Residential 217 shape) Other /habitation Core-filled 3 100 45 4500 .4 Stacked (2+ 218 Stone mound Other Burial courses) 2 4 2 8 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 219 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 5 4.5 22 .25 220 Platform Platform: stone Burial Stacked (2+ 2 7 7 49 .25

301 faced courses) Platform: stone 221 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 6 5.5 33 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 222 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 6 11 6.5 72 .5 223 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 4 2.5 10 .2 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 224 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 11.5 10.5 121 .75 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 225 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 15 12 180 .6 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 226 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 18 7.5 135 1 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 227 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 20 11.5 230 .5 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 228 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 10 6 60 .6 229 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 1 5 4.5 22 .2 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 230 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 5 4 20 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 231 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 5 11 7 77 .5 232 Platform Other Burial Single course 1 5.5 5.5 30 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 233 shape) shaped /habitation Single course 1 10 4 40 .15 Enclosure (any Residential 234 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation Core-filled 4 17 11 187 .75 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 235 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 9.5 9.5 90 .35 236 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 6 4 24 .15 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 237 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 8.5 6.5 55 .75 238 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 5.5 5 28 1 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 239 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 10.5 9 94 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 240 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 5.5 5 28 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 241 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 8 35 16 560 1 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 242 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 5 11 6 66 .35 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 243 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 11.5 11 126 .35 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 244 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 17.5 13.5 236 .25 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 245 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 3 13 11 143 .25 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 246 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 7 19 15 285 1.2 247 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 5 2 10 .15 Rockshelter/overh Free-standing wall, Residential 248 ang shelter stacked /habitation Single course 16 Wall/shelter Terrace: stone Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 249 adjoining terrace filled monial courses) 9 20 10 200 1.5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 250 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 5 16 7 112 .75 302 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 251 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 9 8 72 .5 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 252 adjoining terrace filled monial courses) 9 30 7 210 1 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 253 adjoining terrace filled monial courses) 4 19.5 18 351 .75 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 254 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 9.5 3.5 33 .3 Not 255 Platform Other determined Single course 1 6.5 4.5 29 .2 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 256 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 7.5 5 38 .5 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 257 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 5 9.5 8 76 .75 Shelter (any Residential 258 shape) Other /habitation Not applicable 6.5 2 13 .75 Rockshelter/overh Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 259 ang shelter stacked /habitation courses) 4 15 4 60 1.5 Rockshelter/overh Free-standing wall, Residential 260 ang shelter stacked /habitation Single course 6 26.5 5.5 146 .6 Terrace: earth Residential 261 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 4 3 1.5 4 .6 Residential 262 Free standing wall Other /habitation Single course 3 3.5 2.5 9 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 263 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 10.5 5.5 58 .25 Platform: stone 264 Platform faced Burial Single course 5 8 7 56 .5 Rockshelter/overh Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 265 ang shelter shaped /habitation courses) 6 13 7 91 1 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 266 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 5 9 4.5 40 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 267 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 9 6 54 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 268 shape) or linear /habitation Single course 1 6 3.5 21 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 269 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 5 7 4.5 32 .8 Terrace: earth Agricultura 270 Multiple terraces filled l Single course 1 16 6 96 .2 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 271 Multiple terraces filled monial courses) 4 10.8 5.7 62 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 272 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 7.1 3.6 26 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 273 shape) rectangular monial courses) 6 50.8 30.8 1565 .6 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 274 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 2 7.4 4.9 36 .3 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential 275 adjoining terrace filled /habitation Single course 1 4.4 1 4 .1 276 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 3.8 3.4 13 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 277 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 5.3 4.5 24 .3 278 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 3.4 2.4 8 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 279 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 5 4.8 3.6 17 .5 303 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 280 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation courses) 7 8.2 5 41 1 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 281 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 6 16.3 4 65 1 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 282 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 4 14.3 3.1 44 .6 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 283 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 13.3 8.8 117 .8 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 284 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 4 7.1 2.4 17 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 285 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 7.8 2.7 21 .3 Wall/shelter Terrace: stone Agricultura Stacked (2+ 286 adjoining terrace filled l courses) 10 13.8 5.8 80 1 Free-standing wall, Agricultura Stacked (2+ 287 Free standing wall core-filled l courses) 4 15 7.9 118 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 288 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 9.1 3.2 29 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 289 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 18.3 6.2 113 .3 Wall/shelter Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 290 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 26.2 12.5 328 .7 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Not Stacked (2+ 291 shape) rectangular determined courses) 8 40.8 37.2 1518 1.2 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 292 Multiple terraces filled determined courses) 2 19.2 5.6 108 .2 Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 293 Terrace (single) filled l courses) 3 13.2 8.7 115 .3 Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 294 Terrace (single) filled l courses) 2 8.9 6.3 56 .2 Not Not 295 Not determined Other determined applicable 1 8.5 5.1 43 .1 Not Not 296 Not determined Other determined applicable 1 10 6.9 69 .1 Enclosure (any Agricultura Stacked (2+ 297 shape) Enclosure: square l courses) 5 29.1 27.5 800 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 298 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 8.6 3.3 28 .5 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 299 Multiple terraces filled determined courses) 3 13.7 4.8 66 .5 Not Stacked (2+ 300 Stone mound Other determined courses) 4 10.2 6.3 64 .7 Terrace: earth Not Not 301 Not determined filled determined applicable 1 39 11.1 433 .1 Not Not 302 Not determined Other determined applicable 1 6.8 5.1 35 .1 303 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 4 2.8 11 .1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 304 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 9 4.3 39 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 305 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 4 21.4 4.4 94 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 306 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 35.8 11 394 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 307 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 8.5 4.2 36 .7 308 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 3 3.5 2 7 .3 304 shape) shaped /habitation courses) Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 309 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 9.7 2.9 28 .4 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 310 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 7.2 6.8 49 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 311 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 7.1 3.4 24 .4 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 312 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 4 10 1 10 .3 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 313 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 8.6 3.1 27 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 314 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 5 8.4 4.4 37 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential Stacked (2+ 315 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 7.8 3.6 28 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 316 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 12.9 3.9 50 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 317 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 14 6.3 88 .3 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 318 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 3 15 4.5 68 .5 Platform: stone Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 319 Platform faced monial courses) 4 5.4 5 27 .4 Terrace: stone Stacked (2+ 320 Terrace (single) filled Burial courses) 2 4.3 1.9 8 .1 Terrace: earth Not 321 Terrace (single) filled determined Single course 1 7.4 2 15 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 322 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 7 5.5 2.3 13 .8 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 323 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 5 8.2 2.8 23 .6 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 324 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 6 120 120 14400 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 325 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 3.3 1.8 6 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 326 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 3.4 2.6 9 .6 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 327 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 5.8 3.3 19 .6 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 328 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 6.7 3.5 23 .6 Not 329 Not determined Other determined Not applicable 9.5 3.8 36 .15 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 330 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 4 7.2 5.3 38 .4 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 331 Platform faced Burial courses) 3 2.6 1.8 5 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 332 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 5.7 3 17 .7 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 333 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 8 50 45 2250 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 334 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 5 5.4 2.7 15 .6 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 335 Platform faced Burial courses) 4 9.3 9.1 85 .5 336 Terrace (single) Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 2 9.5 8.8 84 .8 305 filled /habitation courses) Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 337 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 4.9 3.3 16 .3 Terrace: earth Residential 338 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Single course 1 6.5 4.5 29 .4 Free-standing wall, Agricultura Stacked (2+ 339 Free standing wall stacked l courses) 5 12.9 1 13 1 Free-standing wall, Agricultura Stacked (2+ 340 Free standing wall stacked l courses) 7 17.7 1 18 1 Free-standing wall, Agricultura Stacked (2+ 341 Free standing wall stacked l courses) 5 19.1 1 19 1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 342 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 3.2 1.9 6 .15 Terrace: earth Residential 343 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Single course 1 6.7 2 13 .1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 344 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 3 1.8 5 .3 Terrace: earth Not 345 Terrace (single) filled determined Single course 1 21.9 17.6 385 .15 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 346 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 5 13.2 5 66 1 Rockshelter/overh Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 347 ang shelter stacked /habitation courses) 3 2.3 2.1 5 .4 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 348 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 17 5 85 .8 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 349 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 7.1 4.1 29 .5 Enclosure (any Residential 350 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 5 10.9 10.8 118 .8 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 351 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 5 7.8 5 39 .7 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 352 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 9.4 5.9 55 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 353 shape) or linear /habitation Single course 1 7.2 3.9 28 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 354 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 4.4 2.8 12 .25 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 355 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 21.8 15.5 338 .4 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 356 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 6.6 3.9 26 .6 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 357 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 5 6.2 4 25 1.2 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 358 Not determined stacked /habitation courses) 2 18.3 9.2 168 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 359 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 6 2.7 16 .3 Terrace: earth Agricultura 360 Terrace (single) filled l Single course 1 16.2 1 16 .1 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 361 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 7.2 3.4 24 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 362 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 Not 363 Stone mound Other determined Single course 1 6.4 4.1 26 .2 364 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Core-filled 7 11.7 8.6 101 1 306 shape) rectangular /habitation Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 365 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 9.6 8.8 84 .4 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 366 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation courses) 4 9.2 6.3 58 .5 Platform: stone Stacked (2+ 367 Platform faced Burial courses) 2 7.8 5.2 41 .3 368 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 2.4 1.2 3 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 369 shape) shaped /habitation Single course 1 4.8 3 14 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 370 shape) or linear /habitation Single course 1 6.3 1.6 10 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 371 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 8 4.3 3 13 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 372 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 13.3 7 93 .3 Not 373 Not determined Other determined Single course 1 6.6 1 7 .1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 374 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 5.1 3.4 17 .4 375 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 2.4 1.4 3 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 376 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 2.7 2.4 6 .5 Terrace: earth Residential 377 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Single course 1 36.4 20 728 .1 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 378 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 4 5.6 1.3 7 .5 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 379 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 3 5 3.3 16 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 380 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 5 12.7 8.6 109 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 381 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 3 7 4.6 32 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 382 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 7.6 5.6 43 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 383 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 5.2 1.3 7 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 384 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 2 4.7 3.5 16 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 385 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 6.3 5.1 32 .4 386 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 2.1 1.8 4 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 387 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 4.4 4 18 .3 Wall/shelter Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 388 adjoining terrace filled /habitation courses) 2 5.4 4.8 26 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 389 shape) shaped /habitation Single course 1 2.6 2.4 6 .15 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 390 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 5 15.4 2.1 32 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 391 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 9.6 6.3 60 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: u- Residential Stacked (2+ 392 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 4 7.2 5.2 37 .6 393 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 8 9.7 7.7 75 .7

307 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 394 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 5 13.7 8.1 111 1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 395 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 7.5 3.7 28 .4 396 Stone mound Other Burial Not applicable 3.4 2.7 9 .3 Terrace: earth Not 397 Not determined filled determined Single course 1 6.1 3.4 21 .2 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 398 shape) Other /habitation courses) 6 49.3 27.5 1356 .3 Not 399 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 4.3 3.8 16 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 400 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 5.7 3.6 21 .25 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 401 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation courses) 2 7 6.4 45 .3 Not 402 Stone mound Other determined Not applicable 5.8 3.6 21 .4 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 403 Multiple terraces filled determined courses) 2 24.7 13.4 331 .25 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 404 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 3.7 3.1 11 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 405 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation courses) 3 5.6 3.4 19 .5 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 406 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 3 10.2 5.5 56 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 407 shape) or linear /habitation courses) 4 7.3 2.4 18 .5 Platform: stone Ritual/cere Stacked (2+ 408 Platform faced monial courses) 4 15 15 225 .5 Terrace: earth Residential 409 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 4 5.1 4.9 25 1.1 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 410 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation courses) 5 12 8 96 .6 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 411 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 5 36.2 32.2 1166 1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 412 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 17.3 5.8 100 .4 Not Not 413 Stone cairn Other determined applicable 1 3.4 2.6 9 .8 Residential Not 414 Not determined Other /habitation applicable 1 4.4 3.2 14 .7 Residential 415 Multiple terraces Other /habitation Core-filled 6 32.1 31.8 1021 .6 Not 416 Stone mound Other Burial applicable 1 2.4 2.3 6 .2 Terrace: earth Residential 417 Multiple terraces filled /habitation Core-filled 3 11.2 9 101 .5 Not 418 Multiple terraces Other determined Core-filled 2 8.0 4.5 36 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 419 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 9.8 6.1 60 .8 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 420 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 6 10.6 6.1 65 1.2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 421 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 9 3.6 32 .35 308 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 422 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 12.1 6.6 80 .5 423 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 4.6 4.4 20 .7 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential 424 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 13.2 9.7 128 .8 Terrace: stone Residential 425 Multiple terraces filled /habitation Core-filled 12 21.9 12.6 276 3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 426 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 4.9 3 15 .6 Enclosure (any Residential 427 shape) Enclosure: circular /habitation Core-filled 2 3.1 3.1 10 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 428 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 4.1 3.1 13 .35 429 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 2 6.8 6.4 44 .4 Wall/shelter Residential 430 adjoining terrace Other /habitation Core-filled 3 10.7 4.9 52 .5 431 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 5 10.2 9.6 98 1.3 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 432 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 10.3 5.3 55 .8 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 433 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 3 13.5 10.7 144 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 434 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 6.5 3 20 .4 Platform: stone 435 Platform faced Burial Core-filled 3 4.1 4 16 .7 Terrace: stone 436 Terrace (single) filled Burial Core-filled 2 4.1 3.9 16 .7 Free-standing wall, Not 437 Free standing wall core-filled determined Core-filled 4 32.8 1 33 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 438 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 5 6.7 3.1 21 .8 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 439 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 4 5.8 2.8 16 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 440 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 5.6 1 6 .5 441 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 4 4 16 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential 442 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 11 6.8 75 .9 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 443 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 10.7 3.7 40 1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 444 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 5.8 3.8 22 .3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 445 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 5 19.8 10.5 208 .8 Enclosure (any Residential 446 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 4 5.6 5.3 30 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 447 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 6 13.9 9.4 131 1 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 448 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 2 20.2 10 202 .5 449 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 4.3 4.3 18 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 450 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 11.1 7.3 81 .65 Platform: stone 451 Multiple terraces faced Burial Core-filled 3 7.6 7.4 56 .5

309 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 452 Multiple terraces filled determined courses) 3 6.9 4.4 30 .5 Terrace: earth Residential 453 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 5 7.7 6.5 50 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 454 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 4 23.2 16.9 392 .7 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 455 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 6.4 4.2 27 .4 456 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 2 3.9 3.9 15 .25 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 457 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 14.6 6 88 .4 Terrace: stone Residential 458 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 8 11.8 6.4 76 2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 459 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 5.6 2.1 12 .3 460 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 4 4.9 4.7 23 .7 Terrace: stone 461 Terrace (single) filled Burial Core-filled 4 3.6 2.9 10 .8 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 462 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 5 12.5 9.8 123 .5 Residential 463 Free standing wall Other /habitation Core-filled 3 21.9 5 110 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 464 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 11 7.8 86 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 465 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 16 6.5 104 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 466 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 15.1 9.4 142 .5 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere 467 Multiple terraces filled monial Core-filled 10 30 30 900 2 Terrace: stone 468 Terrace (single) filled Burial Core-filled 4 5.2 4.9 25 .3 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential 469 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 5.6 5.6 31 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 470 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 7.5 3.9 29 .4 Terrace: earth Residential 471 Multiple terraces filled /habitation Core-filled 2 11 4.9 54 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 472 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 15.8 8.2 130 .4 Terrace: earth Residential 473 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Single course 1 13.5 12.7 171 .15 474 Not determined Other Burial Core-filled 3 5.9 2.7 16 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 475 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 8.8 3.6 32 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 476 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 4.3 3.4 15 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 477 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 4.6 2.2 10 .2 Enclosure (any Not 478 shape) Other determined Core-filled 2 52.7 31.9 1681 .3 Terrace: stone 479 Terrace (single) filled Burial Core-filled 3 5 4.7 24 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 480 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 4.4 1 4 .3

310 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 481 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 4.8 3 14 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 482 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 6.4 2.8 18 .3 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 483 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 19 17.9 340 .4 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 484 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 4.6 1.3 6 .3 Terrace: earth Residential 485 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 3 8.3 5.2 43 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 486 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 2 8.8 6.2 55 .2 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential 487 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 8.4 5.2 44 .4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 488 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 3 6.4 4 26 .5 Wall/shelter Residential 489 adjoining terrace Other /habitation Core-filled 5 3.3 2.7 9 .6 Enclosure (any Not 490 shape) Enclosure: circular determined Core-filled 3 17 16.6 282 .3 491 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 3.8 2.2 8 .3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 492 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 3 9.2 6.2 57 .35 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 493 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 6.1 3.5 21 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 494 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 3 6.2 4.7 29 .4 Not 495 Not determined Other determined Single course 1 1 1 1 1.5 Terrace: earth Residential 496 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 3 6.3 5.1 32 .3 497 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 3 3 2.5 8 .3 498 Stone mound Other Burial Core-filled 2 1 1 1 .2 Terrace: earth Residential 499 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 2 13.3 7 93 1.7 Enclosure (any Residential 500 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 6 7.4 7.1 53 .6 Shelter (any Residential 501 shape) Other /habitation Core-filled 3 7.8 7.1 55 .5 Free-standing wall, Residential 502 Free standing wall core-filled /habitation Core-filled 5 6.4 1 6 .45 Terrace: stone Not 503 Terrace (single) filled determined Core-filled 2 5.2 3.6 19 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 504 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 3.9 3 12 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 505 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 3 2.9 1.5 4 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 506 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 5 8.4 5.1 43 .6 Platform: stone 507 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 4 3.9 16 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 508 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 4.7 2.2 10 .7 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 509 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 5 3 2.8 8 .7

311 Not 510 Not determined Other determined Single course 1 6.9 5.1 35 .2 Not Stacked (2+ 511 Stone cairn Other determined courses) 5 1.5 1.5 2 1 Enclosure (any Residential 512 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 3 7 6.1 43 1.5 Platform: stone 513 Petroglyph faced Burial Single course 1 3.5 3.2 11 .2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 514 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 12 15 11.4 171 3 Platform: stone 515 Platform faced Burial Single course 1 3.7 3.6 13 .2 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 516 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 5 10.1 4.7 47 .8 Residential 517 Platform Other /habitation Single course 1 5.4 3.4 18 .2 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 518 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 35 16 560 1 Terrace: stone Residential 519 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 8 15.6 15 234 2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Not Stacked (2+ 520 shape) rectangular determined courses) 3 80 40 3200 1 Rockshelter/overh Residential Stacked (2+ 521 ang shelter Other /habitation courses) 5 3 2 6 1 Terrace: earth Not 522 Multiple terraces filled determined Core-filled 3 29.3 14 410 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 523 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 5 21.4 18.5 396 .6 Free-standing wall, Residential 524 Free standing wall core-filled /habitation Core-filled 4 11.4 2.4 27 .8 Terrace: stone Stacked (2+ 525 Terrace (single) filled Burial courses) 4 9.1 7 64 .8 Rockshelter/overh Residential Stacked (2+ 526 ang shelter Other /habitation courses) 3 3 2 6 .8 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 527 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 7 3.7 26 .5 Rockshelter/overh Residential Stacked (2+ 528 ang shelter Other /habitation courses) 5 2 2 4 1.2 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 529 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 2 4.9 2.3 11 .5 Shelter (any Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 530 shape) or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 3.8 1.6 6 .6 Terrace: stone Not Stacked (2+ 531 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 3 3 3 9 .5 Terrace: earth Not Stacked (2+ 532 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 6 23.4 4.8 112 1.3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere 533 shape) rectangular monial Core-filled 5 23.9 21.3 509 1 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential 534 shape) shaped /habitation Core-filled 4 5.7 1.3 7 .6 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere 535 Terrace (single) filled monial Core-filled 8 35.3 25.4 897 2 Enclosure (any Ritual/cere 536 shape) Enclosure: circular monial Core-filled 7 33.4 25 835 2 Free-standing wall, Not Stacked (2+ 537 Free standing wall stacked determined courses) 4 10.1 2.8 28 .7 312 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 538 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 11.8 7.3 86 .3 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 539 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 5.8 4.4 26 .3 Terrace: stone Residential Stacked (2+ 540 Multiple terraces filled /habitation courses) 3 6.3 4.8 30 .3 Terrace: earth Residential Stacked (2+ 541 Terrace (single) filled /habitation courses) 2 9.6 3.4 33 .3 Terrace: stone Not Stacked (2+ 542 Terrace (single) filled determined courses) 4 5.2 4.2 22 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 543 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 14.5 10.5 152 .6 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere 544 Multiple terraces filled monial Core-filled 5 50 30 1500 .7 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 545 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 4 17.4 9.6 167 .4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 546 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 2 10.8 6.7 72 .3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 547 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 3 40.6 16 650 .3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Agricultura Stacked (2+ 548 shape) rectangular l courses) 10 11.2 4.7 53 1.4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 549 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 7.3 4.1 30 .3 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 550 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 6 15.3 12.3 188 .6 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 551 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 5 16.9 12 203 1.3 Ritual/cere 552 Multiple terraces Other monial Core-filled 10 110 89 9790 2.5 Enclosure (any Residential 553 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation Core-filled 3 8.3 7.3 61 .4 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 554 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 2 36.2 6.9 250 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 555 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 10 6.1 61 .3 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere 556 Multiple terraces filled monial Core-filled 7 10 9.5 95 2 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Not 557 shape) rectangular determined Core-filled 3 27.2 14.6 397 .6 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 558 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 6 32.8 29 951 .5 Terrace: stone Not 559 Terrace (single) filled determined Core-filled 2 4.1 2.4 10 .3 Terrace: stone Not 560 Terrace (single) filled determined Core-filled 3 7 4.6 32 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential 561 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation Core-filled 4 10 7.3 73 .6 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 562 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 3 2.7 1 3 .4 Terrace: earth Agricultura Stacked (2+ 563 Multiple terraces filled l courses) 3 68.8 32 2202 .5 Wall/shelter Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 564 adjoining terrace shaped /habitation courses) 3 11 5.5 60 .3 565 Stone mound Other Burial Single course 1 4.4 4.1 18 .2 566 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Ritual/cere Core-filled 8 25.6 10.2 261 1.5 313 shape) rectangular monial Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 567 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 3 11 10 110 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 568 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 4 18 12 216 .5 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 569 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation courses) 2 9.6 8.1 78 .25 Free-standing wall, Not Stacked (2+ 570 Free standing wall stacked determined courses) 4 13 1.5 20 .8 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 571 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation courses) 2 8 7.5 60 .3 Residential Stacked (2+ 572 Terrace (single) Other /habitation courses) 3 7 6.6 46 .5 Enclosure (any Residential Stacked (2+ 573 shape) Enclosure: square /habitation courses) 3 7.3 4.8 35 .6 Terrace: earth Residential 574 Terrace (single) filled /habitation Core-filled 3 7 5.3 37 1 Free-standing wall, Residential Stacked (2+ 575 Free standing wall core-filled /habitation courses) 3 8.9 2.7 24 .6 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 576 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 5 10.2 7.1 72 .5 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential Stacked (2+ 577 shape) rectangular /habitation courses) 5 9.9 7.4 73 .5 Terrace: earth Not 578 Terrace (single) filled determined Single course 1 8.7 6.3 55 .3 Shelter (any Shelter: C/U Residential Stacked (2+ 579 shape) shaped /habitation courses) 2 9.2 3.8 35 .4 Wall/shelter Shelter: L/J shaped Residential Stacked (2+ 580 adjoining terrace or linear /habitation courses) 3 23.3 14.8 345 .6 Ritual/cere 994 Terrace (single) Other monial Core-filled 140 70 9800 Enclosure (any Ritual/cere 995 shape) Other monial Core-filled 80 80 6400 Ritual/cere 996 Multiple terraces Other monial Core-filled 100 30 3000 Enclosure (any Enclosure: Residential 997 shape) rectangular /habitation Core-filled 2 8.3 5 42 .4 Terrace: stone Ritual/cere 998 Multiple terraces filled monial Core-filled 8 60 25 1500 1 Enclosure (any Ritual/cere 999 shape) Other monial Core-filled 8 51 22 1122 1

314 Appendix B Site Descriptions

Site: Kau-001 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Highly deflated terrace on a hill slope. Dense collection of stones running downslope. Possible stacking, though the entire site is in poor condition. May be related to Kau-002, and 003, both of which are close, and of similar construction and preservation.

Site: Kau-002 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Low wall on a slope, appears to be stacked no more than two courses. Retains some sediment upslope, so could have been used to define a residential or planting area, but preservation is poor enough that this is unclear. Possibly associated with 001 and 003.

Site: Kau-003 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and back wall

Site is comprised of a retaining wall on a slope, made of some large boulders with smaller stones stacked on top. This defines a flat area with what appears to be a freestanding wall at the back. Numerous trees growing out of the site, which may indicate nutrients from human activity, or a lack of drawdown from agriculture. As such, vegetation was too dense to get a GPS point, but this site is likely another residential structure associated with 002 and 003.

Site: Kau-004 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

This is a large, rectangular stone platform, measuring 10x6 m. Surface is paved with ʻaʻa cobbles. Some facing on the sides, but southern wall is deflated. Otherwise well preserved.

Site: Kau-005 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

This is a 12x6 m rectangular enclosure. Low walls made of small and medium stones, but not stacked more than two courses. Site is inside a historic cattle/horse pen and is highly disturbed, likely by modern animals. Lots of vegetation growing in the interior.

Site: Kau-006 Probable Function: Burial

315 Construction Form: Platform

5.5x5 m platform on a gentle slope. Middle of the platform is 1.5m high, so quite substantial. Paved interior of ʻaʻā, clearly burial.

Site: Kau-007 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Free standing wall

This is a long wall of about 80 m. The quality of its construction and its placement indicate it is probably from the historic period and served as a cattle wall. This, however, is not entirely clear. Ends in what appears to be a dozer pile.

Site: Kau-008 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Free standing wall

Long free standing wall, makes a right-angle to define a big L-shaped area, though it does not appear to be a residential structure of any kind. 35x14 m arms, stacked about .5 m high, likely another historic period feature for the containment of livestock.

Site: Kau-009 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Large rectangular enclosure in which the northern wall is largely outcrop and boulders. Walls average 1 m high. East and west walls are severely deflated, southern wall extends further to the west for a considerable distance. This may indicate that this structure was used for ranching purposes, though it appears that much of the original enclosure is older. Possible small circular enclosure just to the north, but not recorded as too deflated. Not originally called a residential site, but now is being assessed as such.

Site: Kau-010 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Thick walled enclosure, made of cobbles and a few interspersed boulders. Wall averages .75 m high and 1 m thick, which is quite substantial. Entire structure is on a relatively steep slope, so may have had internal terraces to create flat areas, but now unclear, particularly with dense vegetation. Not originally called a residential site, but now is being assessed as such.

Site: Kau-011 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

This is an L-shape, but construction style and piles of pushed stones indicate that it was likely originally an enclosure. Quite large, at 22x22 m, but relatively low wall, though this could

316 be due to extensive deflation. Highly disturbed region, but the wall and interior space of the structure both contain numerous water-worn stones, indicating possible prehistoric habitation.

Site: Kau-012 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Low, oval burial mound with associated layer of paving extending to the west. Possible that this is wall fall, but unlikely. Mound is made mostly of medium stones, paving is of smaller stones.

Site: Kau-013 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Platform

Recorded as a platform, but also could be a low paving. Seems to create a living area, so it has been assessed as a residential site. Two distinct areas of paving come together to form this space, one on a slight slope and the other on a flat area above. All paving made of small stones.

Site: Kau-014 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Long, stacked, free standing wall. ~18 m in length, up to 1 m high and 2 m thick in the northern portion. Entire north area is more substantial. On a gentle slope, may have required interior terraces to create flat areas. Near an enclosure.

Site: Kau-015 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure, 19x13 m. Mostly cobbles and pebbles with some boulders, deflated wall on the south end. Concentration of boulders in the northeast section of the wall. Dense vegetation, near some other sites.

Site: Kau-016 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Multiple terraces

Three terraces coming downslope with a single wall on one side. All terraces are slumped, but may have had stone facing retaining each level. Bounding wall is 2 m thick. Near burial and other residential sites.

Site: Kau-017 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

317 Square burial platform, 6x5 m. Trees growing out of center, so difficult to tell much about historic central slump. Associated with other sites.

Site: Kau-018 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shaped of small and medium stones, longer arm of structure runs N-S, then juts out west. Walls are ~2 m thick, but relatively low.

Site: Kau-019 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Likely linear shelter. 11 m wall on a small ridge. Southern part of wall is quite thick, close to 2 m. Trees growing out of the structure have destroyed much of it.

Site: Kau-020 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Slope retaining wall creates a terrace with a wall at the back largely of natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-021 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small, circular burial mound.

Site: Kau-022 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Likely burial mound, though near some other stone piles appearing to be tractor push. Small, oval mound, some large boulders and cobbles in construction.

Site: Kau-023 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure, not very large, but well-stacked walls remain, 1 m high. Southern wall is collapsed, but rest is in very good condition.

Site: Kau-024 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

318 Circular burial platform, 7 m diameter. Edges have a height of .5 m, but reaches 2 m in center.

Site: Kau-025 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shaped wall, N-S with a western jog on the north end. Some good facing on the wall, central part is larger boulders while the arm is generally smaller stones.

Site: Kau-026 Probable Function: Construction Form:

Site: Kau-027 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Aggregated burial platform with three (min) phases of construction. New areas apparently added in the north and east, likely later burial additions.

Site: Kau-028 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small rectangular burial platform, stacked, with low faced sides.

Site: Kau-029 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small rectangular burial platform; low.

Site: Kau-030 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Linear wall, probably for a residential unit. On a ridge above a relatively steep slope. Mostly small and medium stones.

Site: Kau-031 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

319 Low square burial platform, at the base of a slope on flat ground. In an area of dense agricultural production.

Site: Kau-032 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

This is probably a large ritual site. Set in the middle of agricultural fields, it is perhaps related to production, or maybe enclosed an area in which ritual crops were being grown. The east and west walls are up to 2 m thick, stacked stone. The northeastern corner has a large collection of stone. The north wall is less substantial, but as it runs west it cuts down, creating a notch in the northeast corner, and then cuts down again. The southern wall the most substantial and interesting. Despite some slumping, it has a sort of U-shaped construction jutting into the interior of the enclosure. Within this U are a number of platformed steps, rising up over 2 m, creating a stepped-up kind of court. The entire structure measures 80x55 m and is located on a slope. The open interior space may have a number of small elevation changes, possibly indicating that this was used for agriculture. This would support the idea that some sort of ritual foods or production process were taking place in this location.

Site: Kau-033 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Circular stone platform at the base of a slope. Made of small to medium stones.

Site: Kau-034 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Multiple terraces

This is a three roomed structure on a few different levels, thus the designation of multiple terraces. The eastern wall is the most substantial, like most other sites in this region. The upper- most room (northern) is the largest. North wall appears to have been partially destroyed by the construction of a modern fence line. This room step down into the lower east and west rooms, both of which are about half the size of the upper room and divided by a small wall. Overall, the construction of the north room shows the most stones and quality building, but it also appears to have been built and used in conjunction with the other two rooms.

Site: Kau-035 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Generally square, small enclosure, though the corners appear slightly rounded. May be a function of collapse, but generally still a square structure.

Site: Kau-036 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

320

Rectangular enclosure with a substantial eastern wall. East wall has 4+ courses and is over 1 m in height, while the other walls are not quite as big (though they are still relatively nice). Entire thing is well preserved. Most stones are medium and small.

Site: Kau-037 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure made with boulders and medium sized stones. From the northwest corner of the structure a wall extends north for a ways. This is possibly a later extension for boundary purposes. From the southwest corner another single course wall runs a short ways south before turning east. This may create either another residential space or may define and retain a small terrace, or lanai, just below the main living area.

Site: Kau-038 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Relatively small, circular/oval enclosure. Small and medium stones make up the well- preserved walls. Sits on a small ridge overlooking a wash.

Site: Kau-039 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small rectangular enclosure. West wall has one large water-worn stone.

Site: Kau-040 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform. Only side with facing is the west, all the others are nearly flush with the ground.

Site: Kau-041 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Large burial platform with multiple phases of construction. Northeast portion is slightly raised, differential construction and moss.

Site: Kau-042 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

321 L-shaped structure, 4.5 m wall runs N-S with a small western jog from the southern corner. On the outside to the east is an area of paving made with ʻaʻā clinkers. Wall is about 1 m thick, but not more than .5 m high.

Site: Kau-043 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Substantial rectangular burial platform. Slight depression in the center and pieces of metal placed on the platform (including what appears to be a faucet) indicate this is from the historic period. A field wall extends westward out from the platform, construction relationship between the two is unknown.

Site: Kau-044 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

U-shaped enclosure that opens to the north. West, south, and east walls are all greater than 1 m thick but less than .5 m high.

Site: Kau-045 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small oval enclosure. West wall is most substantial, with most courses remaining, though this may be a question of preservation.

Site: Kau-046 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

9x6 m burial platform with a depression in the southern half. Some water-worn stones are found in the construction.

Site: Kau-047 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace with wall

Slope retaining wall defines a terrace area with a back wall. Retaining wall is densely stacked, 1.5 m thick, though there is deflation. Terrace area is earth-filled.

Site: Kau-048 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Platform

322 This site is somewhat unclear. May either be a large platform, over 2 m thick and some 15 m long, or this served as the back wall of a residential structure. If it was a platform then it was likely a large burial structure. There are water worn stones and pieces of marine shell to the west, which may indicate that this was a residence. Also located on a ridge line. As such, in the GIS it is identified as a residence, but this may be open to change.

Site: Kau-049 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Located at the base of a steep slope, this ritual structure has three distinct parts. The main room features four walls, the easternmost being the most substantial. The south and west walls are not as well preserved, but made of large stones. Inside this main room, the northern portion features an elevated platform flush abutting the walls on three sides. This area has deflated into the rest of the room somewhat, but is still well defined. There is also a small square enclosure on the west side of the structure sharing a wall with the main room. To the south of the main room is an area of paving. This is a nice structure, considered to be a shrine for smaller ritual practice.

Site: Kau-050 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small rectangular enclosure. North and west walls are made of larger boulders and are 1 m high. The other two walls are lower, but still made of large stones.

Site: Kau-051 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure of medium and large stones, with the eastern wall being the only one with stacking. Others are single course. 19x8 m in size, appears to have three internal areas defined by slight elevation changes, getting higher from south to north.

Site: Kau-052 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Circular mound of small and medium stones, with probably unrelated walls extending both north and south from the middle of the mound. The wall to the south runs into another burial mound/platform.

Site: Kau-053 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

323 Similar to above, this is a circular mound/platform with a wall extending out of it to the north as well as the south.

Site: Kau-054 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

This site is made of two connected enclosures. The larger, to the north, has relatively well preserved walls .5-.75 m high. From the southwestern corner there is a second smaller enclosure. Not quite as well preserved and slightly lower than the northern section. Likely constructed together, though this remains unclear.

Site: Kau-055 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosure

Thick-walled enclosure with irregular sides measuring 43x26 m. In the field this was classified as a cattle enclosure, but remains unclear. There is also an adjacent enclosure extending to the southwest, which is similarly irregular in its construction, but also featuring walls 1-1.5 m thick. Use and age remain undetermined, but this was definitely not any sort of prehistoric residential or ritual structure.

Site: Kau-056 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small circular enclosure, primarily single course of boulders. Eastern portion of the wall is 1+ m thick.

Site: Kau-057 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular stone platform of decent size and construction. Very even and faced on all sides, despite being low to the ground.

Site: Kau-058 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

U-shaped enclosure, primarily made of a single course of large stones.

Site: Kau-059 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

324 Large rectangular platform, made mostly from smaller stones. This site could potentially be a wall for a shelter, but this is impossible to confirm without excavation.

Site: Kau-060 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape made from two courses of stacked stones. Located within the agricultural zone, opens to the west. This type of structure remains unclear in its permanent vs. temporary livability.

Site: Kau-061 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Low rectangular enclosure with decent preservation.

Site: Kau-062 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Platform

This raised rectangular area has a single course of facing all the way around. The interior is filled with earth. The western half is slightly higher. Does not seem to be a burial. Possibly a small farming plot, but more likely the location of some sort of residential practice.

Site: Kau-063 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape of small and medium stones. Opens to the west, has a low line of stones across this opening. Located at the base of a nice agricultural plot.

Site: Kau-064 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small to average circular burial platform.

Site: Kau-065 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

This is a small mound of stones likely representing a burial. It also could be a ritual marker, though not very well constructed, or the clearance of the field for agricultural purposes. Stones are relatively large.

325

Site: Kau-066 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Small stone wall made of stacked stones of all sizes. Edges curve slightly westward, creating something of an abbreviated C-shape.

Site: Kau-067 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Like above, this is a stacked stone wall running N-S with edges that curve slightly to the west, making a C-shaped or linear shelter. Wall is relatively thick, though not unusually so, and .75 m high at its height.

Site: Kau-068 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular burial platform with a N-S wall running directly into it from the north.

Site: Kau-069 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small stone mound with some earth in it. Not an obvious site, and may be just an aggregation of stone to clear the field for planting, or perhaps a planting mound. Classified as a burial as there are so many others in the area, but this is open to reinterpretation.

Site: Kau-070 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

This is a rectangular stone platform, likely with two phases of burials. Outer facing is large and medium stones over 1 m high. Western portion is filled with large stones in the interior as well, while the eastern half is core-filled with small stones. An E-W field wall runs into and out of the platform.

Site: Kau-071 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Another average-sized burial platform, 5x4.5 m and .4 m high. Larger stones make up the outside while medium and smaller stones appear to be the fill.

326 Site: Kau-072 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure, walls made of large and medium stones with some areas core- filled. Wall is low, under .5 m, but 1 m thick all the way around.

Site: Kau-073 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Relatively large U-shaped structure, opens to the north. Eastern wall is most substantial, made of larger stones and measuring 1.5 m thick. This wall then shrinks, but continues to run north as a mauka-makai wall. The western wall of the structure is much less built-up, and is primarily a single course of large boulders.

Site: Kau-074 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

This was likely a burial in either a mound or platform, generally of circular shape. Eastern side is notably deflated.

Site: Kau-075 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Another N-S wall with a slight western jog from the southern end of the wall defining a living space to the west. From this short arm, the wall diminishes, but continues west as a field wall.

Site: Kau-076 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape made of large and medium stones. Opens west. Thick walls, largest at the eastern end, but averaging 1 m despite being under .25 m high.

Site: Kau-077 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace with wall

Flat, earthen terrace area defined by a back retaining wall cut into a slope. This retaining wall is close to 1 m in height and made of medium and large stones. A field wall extends west from the southern edge of the living area.

327 Site: Kau-078 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Long, linear N-S wall with arms to the west on both ends, creating a nice interior living space. Wall is 1 m thick and .5-.75 m high, possibly core-filled, though this only shows in some areas. A mauka-makai wall extends northward from the top section of structure.

Site: Kau-079 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Linear feature with curves at the ends creates a C-shape. Three courses of stacked stone. Southern end has a field wall running west out of the structure.

Site: Kau-080 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace and wall

This is likely historic check-dam built across a small ravine. The wall is well faced, 1 m high, 15 m long. Upslope sediments have gathered up to the height of the wall, creating a flat terrace area. This would serve to slow water, prevent erosion, and maintain land for cattle.

Site: Kau-081 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Identical to above, this is a slightly smaller check-dam to prevent erosion. Again, almost certainly from a historical context.

Site: Kau-082 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Nice residential site with very thick walls. Enclosure is square, with two distinct spaces in the north and south separated by a low, by nearly meter thick wall. The upper, northern area has another line of boulders inside which may again divide this space. The exterior wall is quite substantial. The eastern wall is the largest, with walls measuring 2 m thick. The rest are equally well constructed, but generally 1 m thick. From each direction on the outside of the structure (particularly the south), small and medium stones make up what may be pavements. These very possibly could be wall-fall from the large walls, but may also be creating extra lanai-kinds of spaces.

Site: Kau-083 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and walls

328 A slope retaining wall in the south defines a flat area above it while a wall in the east is cut into a hill slope, further creating a clear, flat living area. Both walls are core filled. On the northern and western sides, single course walls sit on the surface and define the inside of the structure’s space. Both the southern and eastern walls extend beyond the site, becoming smaller, but moving out into the agricultural fields as field and mauka-makai walls. Living space is approximately 14x13 m.

Site: Kau-084 Probable Function: Undetermined Construction Form: Mound

This mound of stone and dirt has a field wall extending from it to the west. Form and function are difficult to determine. May have been a planting mound, a burial, the corner of a terrace, or a tractor push mound, but poor preservation and nebulous structure make identification impossible.

Site: Kau-085 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure with a curved wall extending from the north to create an adjacent C- shape. This extending wall is made only of a single course of boulders, so not highly formalized. Enclosure walls are relatively low as well, but are stacked at least three courses high.

Site: Kau-086 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Circular burial platform with larger stones on the outside and smaller core-fill in the interior.

Site: Kau-087 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small circular enclosure. Eastern wall is part of a longer mauka-makai wall and is 1.5 m thick.

Site: Kau-088 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Two rectangular rooms make up this enclosure, sharing a middle wall. Eastern enclosure is slightly smaller, but it’s walls, particularly the easternmost, are very thick and substantial, about 2 m wide. The western enclosure shows more deflation, possibly indicating different ages

329 of construction, though nothing else indicates this. Lots of wall-fall throughout, so probably was once higher.

Site: Kau-089 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

2 m thick wall, 1.5 m high, though not very long. This wall, at the base of relatively steep slope, was likely a shelter.

Site: Kau-090 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Earth filled terrace created by slope retaining walls to the east and south. These are built up, and earth filled in behind them. East wall is made of stacked small and medium stones, while the south wall incorporates natural outcrop and stacking. Defines a large flat living space above.

Site: Kau-091 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Good sized circular enclosure. Southern portion seems to serve partially as a slope retaining wall as that end of the structure is lower on the slope than the rest of the enclosure. Walls are thick, 1.25 m wide and .5 m high.

Site: Kau-092 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape, opens to the west. Main wall is relatively straight with the ends curving westward to create the C form.

Site: Kau-093 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular platform, about .25 m high around the edges but rises to 2 m in the center. Center also has a depression, likely indicating the former presence of a wooden coffin (indicating post-contact era). Lots of deflation around the edges.

Site: Kau-094 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

330 Rectangular enclosure divided into two smaller rooms by a single course wall running E- W in the interior. Eastern wall is the most substantial, averaging 2 m of thickness. All is core- filled.

Site: Kau-095 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Core-filled, free-standing wall that likely served as a shelter. Possible westward extension from the southern end, but highly collapsed.

Site: Kau-096 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Low stacked wall running N-S was the back of a residential structure. Wall is 1.5 m thick.

Site: Kau-097 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Difficult to ascertain, this was probably a linear shelter wall. Mostly smaller stones with another possible wall parallel just to the west. Main wall is 15 m long, not very high, but has discrete ends on both sides so probably not just a section of mauka-makai wall.

Site: Kau-098 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Very low, but distinct mound/platform. Circular in form, average size but never more than a single course.

Site: Kau-099 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Core-filled, square burial platform made almost entirely of smaller stones. Tightly packed stones, very distinct. At it’s greatest height it still only reaches .25 m above the surface.

Site: Kau-100 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

N-S wall that curves west at the northern end. North portion of the wall is made of boulders and medium stones, while southern half is generally smaller to medium stones. Along

331 the southern end of what would be the living area there may be a small retaining wall, but this is highly deflated if true. Wall is relatively long at 15 m, and is over 1 m high and 2 m thick at the largest parts.

Site: Kau-101 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Very thick, squat wall that does not appear to be related to mortuary practices. Instead it seems to be a very stoutly constructed shelter wall. Area does get a lot of wind, so that may justify the nearly 3 m thick wall.

Site: Kau-102 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Form of this structure is very unclear, but seems to be a mound or a platform made up of a large number of stones. All are piled up against the beginning of a relatively steep slope, though clearly not a natural aggregation.

Site: Kau-103 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

15 m long wall, 1+ m thick, but not instantly recognizable as a residential structure. May be part of a mauka-makai wall, but has very distinct ends, so classified as a linear shelter of some sort.

Site: Kau-104 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Mound

Not well preserved, making identification difficult. Mounded stones, generally running N-S, also has slight jogs to the west on either end. As such it is being called a residential structure, but could be a poor grave or a tractor push.

Site: Kau-105 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Low circular mound made almost entirely of small stones. Some stacking, also seems to employ some natural outcrop in the northern part.

Site: Kau-106 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

332

Rectangular stacked stone burial platform. Almost all small and medium stones, but one boulder sits on top in the center of the platform. Mauka-makai walls extends north from the platform.

Site: Kau-107 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Free standing linear wall of medium and large boulders. Maximum thickness of 2 m. Wall defines a living area to the east, which is rectangular and outlined with a single course of stones all around. Also, there is an extension of stones from the north corner that creates a semi- circular enclosure.

Site: Kau-108 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

Free standing wall runs N-S, curves westward on the northern end.

Site: Kau-109 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Poorly preserved mound, unclear if circular or rectangular. Mostly medium stones. Assessed as a burial, but could easily be something else.

Site: Kau-110 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

N-S wall that curves west at both extents. Southern arm is slightly longer. Average wall width is 1.5 m, though almost all below .5 m in height.

Site: Kau-111 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces with wall

Two terraces with a large free standing wall on the northeast. Lower terrace has a slope retaining wall incorporating natural outcrop. The higher terrace is a little larger and has the substantial wall at its back. This large wall is 2.5 m thick, and may very well define a different living space just above it.

Site: Kau-112 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

333

Relatively standard shelter, over 10 m long, wall curves to the west on either end. Wall is low, but quite thick.

Site: Kau-113 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure with a notch in the northeast. 23x21 m at its extents, walls are well made and quite thick, averaging 1-1.5 m. The east wall is the most substantial. Made largely from small stones (where the others are larger) this wall is 2+ m thick. Significant slumping in the south and northeast.

Site: Kau-114 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

N-S wall with a western curve at the south end. Located on a small ridge, associated with a mauka-makai wall to which it may have once been connected.

Site: Kau-115 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Small circular mound of medium and small stones. Does not appear to be a burial, but could be. Also may be some sort of ritual marker, or just a clearance for planting, but all is unclear.

Site: Kau-116 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Large U-shaped enclosure opening to the south with two internal living spaces. The east wall is substantial, +2 m thick, north wall is less large, but still 1+ m thick, while west wall is just a line of single boulders once it extends south past the upper living space. Overall the site is 36x20 m, so quite large.

Site: Kau-117 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular burial platform, medium stones on the outside with smaller stones as fill.

Site: Kau-118 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

334

Large burial platform, faced all around with boulders. Interior is filled with smaller and medium sized stones. Center of the platform rises to 1.25 m in height.

Site: Kau-119 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

N-S wall with a width of 2 m. May have been part of a mauka-makai wall that was turned into a residential structure, or the opposite, existed before being incorporated into a longer boundary wall.

Site: Kau-120 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Mound of dirt and smaller stones. Near a large area cleared by machinery, so this could very possibly just be a dozer push. Could be a burial, but unlikely.

Site: Kau-121 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

This is exactly as above. Poor mound near cleared area, probably created by modern ranching activities.

Site: Kau-122 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

As above, probably a dozer push, but potentially a burial (though unlikely).

Site: Kau-123 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small circular enclosure. Wall is thickest on the eastern side, deflated on the west, but on average measures 1.25 m thick and .5 m high.

Site: Kau-124 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform of small and medium stones.

Site: Kau-125 Probable Function: Residential

335 Construction Form: Shelter and platform

This is a compound site, featuring a terraced living space, free-standing shelter wall, and burial platform. Living space has a small slope retaining wall and is backed on the east by the shelter wall. This wall abuts a good sized stone platform, likely a burial. Construction history is unclear, but perhaps the burial is the former resident of the household.

Site: Kau-126 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square platform with some nice facing on the southern and western sides. Core-filled, depression in the center. Relatively large burial platform.

Site: Kau-127 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Very low, single course burial. Rectangular, no facing.

Site: Kau-128 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

As above, low, rectangular burial platform.

Site: Kau-129 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Single course burial platform; rectangular. North side is the only one with the boulder course maintained, rest has deflated significantly.

Site: Kau-130 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Rectangular area with aggregation of stones. May at one point have been a mound or burial platform, but too difficult to readily classify.

Site: Kau-131 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Small C-shaped terrace with retaining walls on the south and west and a back wall of larger stones to the east. Not well preserved.

336

Site: Kau-132 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: U-shaped shelter

U-shaped free-standing wall opening to the west. East wall is most substantial, but all of this site is highly collapsed.

Site: Kau-133 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform, mostly collapsed, though some facing may remain hidden in the vegetation covering the southern wall.

Site: Kau-134 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

This is a linear shelter wall running N-S defining a living area to the west. Wall is 2 m thick, made of large and medium stones, and continues south in a diminished form as a mauka- makai wall.

Site: Kau-135 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape opening to the west. Southern arm of the structure likely extended further west, connecting with another nearby structure. Likely part of a small compound.

Site: Kau-136 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Like above, a C-shape in a likely complex. Very windy area, walls made of boulders and medium sized stones.

Site: Kau-137 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Just like above, this is a C-shape in association with a few other residential structures. Not very large overall, but thick walled to protect against wind.

Site: Kau-138 Probable Function: Residential

337 Construction Form: Enclosure

Single course, rectangular enclosure associated with the adjacent complex. Function of this site is not clear, but may have been a house site, agricultural plot, or even a small shrine. For this purpose it is generally being classified as a general residential structure.

Site: Kau-139 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Another unclear feature. Appears to be a circular mound of large stones, so assessed here as a burial, but could have been a collapsed hearth or agricultural feature.

Site: Kau-140 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Single terrace, earth filled, supported by a slope retaining wall of medium and large stones incorporated into some natural outcrop. Wall is partially washed out.

Site: Kau-141 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

Free standing wall combing medium and large stones with natural outcrop to define a good sized living area. Wall itself is about 1 m thick, and 1.2 m high for a short distance.

Site: Kau-142 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Low walls, L-shape in which one arm also serves as a slope retaining feature to define a living space to the west.

Site: Kau-143 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Deflated C-shape of medium and large stones. Small, opens to the northwest.

Site: Kau-144 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Small, single course wall defining a living space to the west.

338

Site: Kau-145 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Low retaining wall creates a small terrace on a slope. Does not seem to have created a living area, so this was perhaps some sort of landscape management feature to limit erosion.

Site: Kau-146 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Low L-shape, serves as a slope retaining feature defining a living space to the west, and also as a low base for the creation of a wall.

Site: Kau-147 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Medium and large stones make this L-shape, runs N-S with an arm to the west extending from the southern end. Creates a flat terrace area. This is likely a living space, but could possibly have been for agriculture.

Site: Kau-148 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

This structure was originally a small C-shape, but was later incorporated into a larger rectangular enclosure. Former C-shape makes up the western wall, and is distinct in construction and size, being both thicker and higher. The north and east walls are generally single courses of boulders, while the south wall has stacking and a range of stone sizes.

Site: Kau-149 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

This is a well-made L-shape with two interior rooms separated by a small wall and elevation change. The northern portion is slightly lower. There is also a rectangular enclosure built as an extension to the east, though this appears to have been a later construction utilizing the pre-existing wall of the original structure. Main wall is only .3 m high, but 1.5 m thick.

Site: Kau-150 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Rectangular mound, now deflated that was likely once a decent burial platform.

339

Site: Kau-151 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

This C-shaped wall serves as both a retaining wall, creating a terrace area, and a low basal wall. Opens to the northwest.

Site: Kau-152 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

Site is unclear. Classified here as a residential structure, with a thick wall creating a living space to the west, but may also be a burial platform. Core-filled, some good facing in the southeast.

Site: Kau-153 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Thick core-filled wall (1.5 m) creates a linear shelter. May also have a small retaining wall to the south, supporting a terraced living area.

Site: Kau-154 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

N-S free standing wall made of large boulders and medium stones. Not large, some deflation in the middle of the wall.

Site: Kau-155 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

N-S wall that turns west at the southern end. Entire wall sits a little below ground surface, creating something of retaining wall to define a flat terrace. It also extends above the surface to create a base wall for a superstructure.

Site: Kau-156 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape made of large boulders. Opens to the west, may have a single course retaining wall to the west defining the living area. Not good preservation.

Site: Kau-157 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

340

C-shape of medium and large stones, opens to the west. May have a small terrace for a living area, as defined by elevation change. Set at the base of a slope.

Site: Kau-158 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

N-S wall that incorporates boulders and medium stones with natural outcrop. Wall is low, but enough for a residential structure. Overlooks broad agricultural fields.

Site: Kau-159 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace with wall

Terrace on a slope with retaining walls on three sides and a small back wall.

Site: Kau-160 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Burial platform, possibly with two phases of construction. One section has a distinct depression. Appears to have been built on top of pre-existing agricultural fields, so this and the depression indicate a later construction for this site.

Site: Kau-161 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Very average C-shape. Possibly core filled.

Site: Kau-162 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Nicely constructed burial platform. Rectangular, long sides run up the gentle slope.

Site: Kau-163 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Regular C-shape, if a little larger than some of the others. Measures 12.5x5 m, which is larger than some of the C-shapes described above, but still of consistent construction style.

Site: Kau-164 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

341

C-shape incorporating natural outcrop. One large rock is used as the north wall while others are stacked. Opening to the west has a small, single course wall defining the occupation area. Near a very similar structure.

Site: Kau-165 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small circular enclosure that uses natural outcrop. On top of a small ridge, likely associated with site above.

Site: Kau-166 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Another structure, possibly associated with above. This is an average C-shape of boulders and natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-167 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

N-S linear shelter, mostly large and medium stones. On a ridge in a very windy area.

Site: Kau-168 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape. Northeastern portion of the wall is quite thick, at 2 m.

Site: Kau-169 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

As above, very basic structure. Associated with above, as well.

Site: Kau-170 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Oval mound of medium and large stones. Deflated, with generally poor preservation. Probably a burial, but may be something else.

Site: Kau-171 Probable Function: Residential

342 Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape for which much of the wall is natural outcrop with stones stacked on top.

Site: Kau-172 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Linear, N-S shelter wall of medium and large stones. On ridge, very windy, so heavy stones necessary for protection.

Site: Kau-173 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Linear shelter, same as above. Similar construction and location.

Site: Kau-174 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Two connected rectangular enclosures, slightly offset, forming something like a figure-8. Eastern enclosure is slightly higher and larger and has a thicker east wall, likely as a windbreak. Most of the rest of the walls are low, generally single course.

Site: Kau-175 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Another linear feature on a ridge-top. Stacked stone wall that creates a small livable area to the west. Vaguely bowed with the concave side opening west.

Site: Kau-176 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape incorporating outcrop in the northern portion of the wall.

Site: Kau-177 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Deflated square mound, most likely a burial.

Site: Kau-178 Probable Function: Residential

343 Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Large space, called a C-shape but more of a long wall that has westerly right angles at both ends defining a living area. In the southeastern corner there is a ring of stones that may have been a hearth. Possibly a low retaining wall the west bounding the internal area.

Site: Kau-179 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape near the above structure. Walls are low, made of large stones.

Site: Kau-180 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Medium sized L-shape with large stones making up the wall. Not great construction, but stones are stacked at least 4 courses high in places. Associated with other local sites.

Site: Kau-181 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure, measuring about 8x8 m. Decent wall construction, has five large boulders that are clearly set upright, though some collapse elsewhere.

Site: Kau-182 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape located on the flat area of a small hill.

Site: Kau-183 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace area filled with earth, created on a slope by a good sized retaining wall. No back wall, but slope uphill.

Site: Kau-184 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Very similar to above. Earthen terrace maintained by 1 m high stone retaining wall. Creates a flat living space on a relatively steep slope.

344 Site: Kau-185 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terraces

Three terraces on a relatively steep slope. Retaining walls made of medium and large stones. All are just below a C-shape, so these could be further residential spaces, but they seem more like agricultural terraces.

Site: Kau-186 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Average sized C-shape above some terraces. Connected to an enclosure to the east. Possible slope retaining wall to the west which would have maintained living space from slumping down the hill.

Site: Kau-187 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Generally rectangular enclosure measuring 13x13 m. Wall is low, primarily single boulders and natural outcrop. Western wall is mostly destroyed.

Site: Kau-188 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform, core-filled, with a depression in the center.

Site: Kau-189 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Long C-shape (16 m) with good amount of livable space. Opens to west, like virtually all other sites trying to protect from the wind.

Site: Kau-190 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Irregularly shaped enclosure. Walls are relatively thick, but do not go in straight lines. The southern wall has been incorporated into a historic wall. The rest of the enclosure has a very different construction style from the historic wall, so from different eras. This still does not fully inform what the original structure was, but here called a residential feature.

Site: Kau-191 Probable Function: Other

345 Construction Form: Historic bridge

This is a historic stone bridge on the slopes of a hill. Nice construction, but in no way related to prehistoric occupation.

Site: Kau-192 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces with wall

Two earth filled terraces with retaining walls along with a larger back wall.

Site: Kau-193 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Located in a swale, poorly preserved N-S wall.

Site: Kau-194 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Earth filled terrace with a slope retaining wall to the east and a raised side wall to the south. Possibly a second elevated terrace to the east.

Site: Kau-195 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Square enclosure, walls up to 1.5 m thick. Dense stone cover in the northwest, possibly paving.

Site: Kau-196 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and wall

Two terraces, both with stone retaining walls. Northern terraces is slightly higher, has a collapsed back wall to the east.

Site: Kau-197 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape of average size and orientation. Walls about 1.2 m thick.

Site: Kau-198 Probable Function: Residential

346 Construction Form: Enclosure

Small square enclosure.

Site: Kau-199 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosure

Irregular shaped enclosure. Semi-rectangular with numerous twists. Natural outcrop is incorporated into the walls. Walls are thick, up to 2 m, and quite solidly made in parts, reaching over .5 m in height. Strange construction style makes interpretation difficult. Possibly some sort of ritual/agricultural enclosure, but more likely a historic cattle pen.

Site: Kau-200 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape.

Site: Kau-201 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Rectangular mound, not quite formal enough to be called a platform. Field wall extends out of the mound to the east.

Site: Kau-202 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular platform of small and some medium sized stones.

Site: Kau-203 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

As above, low rectangular burial platform.

Site: Kau-204 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

As above, low rectangular burial platform.

Site: Kau-205 Probable Function: Residential

347 Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is likely an elite residence with multiple living spaces in a single large structure. Thick east wall is the back wall to three terraces. Northernmost is the highest, and it has decent walls dropping down to the west and south. Just to the south is an open terrace area, and then south of that is a small room. Just below all of these is a deflated enclosure, likely of the same construction period. Shell and water worn stones found on the surface.

Site: Kau-206 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Circular stone and earth mound, mostly small stones.

Site: Kau-207 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Earth filled terrace with a stone retaining wall to the west.

Site: Kau-208 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Located on a relatively steep slope, this terrace has a retaining wall to the west and back walls to the east and north. Back wall to the east is mostly large stones with stacked small stones, while the north wall is all smaller stones.

Site: Kau-209 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Earth filled terrace with a substantial slope retaining wall to the west and small, deflated back and side walls to the east and south.

Site: Kau-210 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Earth filled terrace with large L-shape at the eastern end creating a good living space. L- shape wall is 2 m thick.

Site: Kau-211 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

348 Rectangular enclosure with core-filled walls, 1.2 m thick.

Site: Kau-212 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape made from large boulders with smaller stacked stones. Highly disturbed site. Eastern back wall is now about 2 m thick, but this is due to deflation and was likely half that.

Site: Kau-213 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure with a particularly thick eastern wall.

Site: Kau-214 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Low rectangular platform of small stones. May have had facing, but is now too collapsed. Small southern extension of unclear function.

Site: Kau-215 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Linear shelter, N-S, made of medium and small stones.

Site: Kau-216 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular platform, low, with larger stones around the outside and smaller within.

Site: Kau-217 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosures and walls

This is a very unusual site, with numerous interior features and rooms. Difficult to tell if all are from the same time period, but due to a number of irregular shapes and angles it seems likely that this was originally a large residential structure that was modified through time. Most walls are core filled. Some low terraces, other open spaces and enclosures. This is being assessed as a residential site, with its size potentially indicating elite status.

Site: Kau-218 Probable Function: Burial

349 Construction Form: Mound

Small circular pile of stones, not formal enough to be called a platform. Western half is made of larger boulders, while the eastern half is generally constructed of small stones.

Site: Kau-219 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular platform, virtually all side walls have deflated with only a small amount of facing remaining on the west side.

Site: Kau-220 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform. Low, but good construction. Larger stones around the periphery, smaller filling the interior.

Site: Kau-221 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

No facing remaining on this low, rectangular burial platform.

Site: Kau-222 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Very standard C-shape.

Site: Kau-223 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small rectangular mound of piled stones.

Site: Kau-224 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Terrace is supported by a slope-retaining wall to the west. On the east side there is a free standing shelter wall, while the south has a small side wall.

Site: Kau-225 Probable Function: Residential

350 Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Similar to above, this terrace has slope-retaining wall to the west and a shelter wall to the east.

Site: Kau-226 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

This terrace faces east, with a retaining wall on the eastern side slumping down the slope. Wall is 3 m in extent, though this could be due to collapse. Level area is quite large.

Site: Kau-227 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Raised terrace with a lengthy northern retaining wall. 3 m wide extension of stones to the east may be a paving.

Site: Kau-228 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

This terrace has a slope-retaining wall to the west, and a possible back wall to the east, though this is made enormous stones that may indicate it is a dozer push (despite this, the terrace part appears to remain a prehistoric structure).

Site: Kau-229 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Rectangular mound, relatively nice construction. Mostly made of small stones.

Site: Kau-230 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular platform, some facing on the sides.

Site: Kau-231 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Mostly made of large stones. Near some dozer push piles, but this appears to be a legitimate prehistoric structure.

351

Site: Kau-232 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular burial platform, low.

Site: Kau-233 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Average C-shape, partially destroyed by trees, only distinctive feature is that it opens more towards the south than the traditional west, though this is due to land forms and the direction of the wind.

Site: Kau-234 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Large circular enclosure, measuring 17x11 m. Walls are 3.5 m thick and average about .75 m high. Well constructed, substantial structure.

Site: Kau-235 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Low square burial platform.

Site: Kau-236 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Circular mound, probably a burial.

Site: Kau-237 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure, eastern wall is the most substantial, measuring 3 m thick and close to 1 m high in parts.

Site: Kau-238 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

352 Square mound of larger stones. The size of the stones and proximity to a cleared fence line make it possible that this is just a dozer push pile, but for now it is being classified as a burial.

Site: Kau-239 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Enclosure that borders between oval and rectangle. Southern side has fully collapsed.

Site: Kau-240 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape made mostly from large boulders.

Site: Kau-241 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Three earth filled terraces with substantial retaining walls and a large, unifying wall to the north. Each level steps up as the structure moves upslope. Slope retaining wall in the middle is the largest, measuring 3 m thick. Originally called a possible ritual site, this now appears much to be a residence, likely for elites.

Site: Kau-242 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure made of boulders. May incorporated natural outcrop in places.

Site: Kau-243 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Good sized circular enclosure made mostly of boulders. In the center there is a mound- like collection of stones with unknown purpose. Potentially burial, but not clear.

Site: Kau-244 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

This is a large rectangular platform with large stones on the border and smaller stones in the interior. Located on a ridge with panoramic views, potentially a flat terrace area to the west. Originally called either a burial or some sort of ritual platform, remains unclear, but nothing else indicates ritual, so is now being classified as a burial.

353

Site: Kau-245 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Circular enclosure, walls are low, but east and west are both 2 m thick. Southern wall shows extensive deflation.

Site: Kau-246 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Elevated terrace with a slope retaining wall to the west measuring 2 m high. Northern side wall is .5 m high and 2.5 m thick.

Site: Kau-247 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Oval mound, probably a burial but could be a dozer push. Not much dirt in the interior, so this is less likely than a burial.

Site: Kau-248 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

This is a small cave with a wall outside. Cave is not big, a person would need to sit sitting and still hunched to remain inside, but evidence of prehistoric occupation including coral, shell, water worns, lithics, and more. In the middle of slope on which there is lots of evidence for agriculture.

Site: Kau-249 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terrace

This is a large stone-filled terrace measuring over 2 m high. Creates a nice flat area on top which has a back wall. Another terrace below is also a good use-space. This is almost certainly not a regular residential structure, but seems more likely to be a small ritual space, such as a men’s house. May be a small shrine, but it is quite open and seems to have spaces for sitting and use.

Site: Kau-250 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

354 Good sized C-shape, some of the wall on the downslope side is longer and low, serving as a retaining wall to maintain the structure’s flat interior space. Thick walls, 2.5+ m wide.

Site: Kau-251 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Enclosure made primarily of large boulders.

Site: Kau-252 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terrace with wall

This site is set into a small hillside. Dug in, the back wall is a retaining feature 1.75 m high. There is a free standing wall defining the eastern portion and another extension on the west. Interior space is a rectangular open area. Likely associated with Kau-253 below, which is three terraces going downslope adjacent to this site. Site is located at the top and back of a long finger ridge. Probably a ritual site, and due to size and construction this would go in the smallest shrine category.

Site: Kau-253 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terraces with wall

This is probably all part of a single site with 252 above. Directly below the above site, there is a terrace retaining wall and two side-by-side rooms. Below this is another single terrace at the southernmost extent of the site. This lowest terrace seems to have some paving, though potentially a small burial. Each of these terraces steps down to the next.

Site: Kau-254 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape, opens west, on flat, widest part of a finger ridge.

Site: Kau-255 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Paving

Area of low paving, rectangular, does not appear to be a residential foundation or a burial. Overall form is unusual, function indeterminate.

Site: Kau-256 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

355 Retaining wall to the east is dug into a small rise, creating a flat living space to the west. At the edge of a ridge crest, looks into a swale below.

Site: Kau-257 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Elevated terrace supported by a slope retaining wall to the south. Has a back wall to the east measuring 2 m thick.

Site: Kau-258 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

This N-S feature is highly destroyed and/or poorly constructed. It is being interpreted here as a wall that may have defined a residential space to the west, though this could certainly change with further examination.

Site: Kau-259 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter and wall

Shallow overhang at the base of 7 m high rock race, has a wall of boulders defining a living space about 15 m long between the wall and cliff.

Site: Kau-260 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter and wall

Two adjoining rock shelters with walls. Shelters are about 3 m deep, ceilings no more than 1.5 m high. Long area, now destroyed by pigs.

Site: Kau-261 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace of stones abutting a cliff face with a wall along the east and south edges. Highly deflated, called residential but use is not quite so clear.

Site: Kau-262 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Free standing wall

This site is very unclear. Originally recorded as a burial, appears to be a very destroyed wall, perhaps for a small shelter. May actually still be a burial, but not clear.

356

Site: Kau-263 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Nice C-shape on a small rise.

Site: Kau-264 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Large burial platform with faced walls on the south and west. On the west side there is evidence of later additions.

Site: Kau-265 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter and wall

Small cave or rock shelter with a nicely faced wall defining a living area. Wall goes for 12+ m about 2 m from the cliff face.

Site: Kau-266 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace with a retaining wall on the edge of a small drainage. Back wall of the living area is natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-267 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Nice C-shape, wall is core filled, 1 m high in center, rest is deflated. Located on a low rise.

Site: Kau-268 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

Shelter incorporating a high amount of natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-269 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape with 5+ courses in the center.

357

Site: Kau-270 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terraces

Three terraces running just downslope from the C-shape site above. Retaining walls are 2 courses high, define the three areas, possibly for cropping.

Site: Kau-271 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terraces

This is a well-made site near what is likely a complex of residential structures. Not huge, measuring some 11x6 m, but the walls are thick and the layout with two levels indicates that this is possibly a small ritual space. There is a paved room in the south, which is slightly lower than the northern area, which is more thin. Defined as a shrine.

Site: Kau-272 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

J-shape, elevated, wall continues north as a mauka-makai wall.

Site: Kau-273 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Large complex, probably associate with ritual activity or production. Largest section is a big enclosure to the west with 1 m thick and high walls. Abutting the southeastern portion of this large space is an extension to the east of four smaller rooms. The first is the best defined, and largest, while the next three are all smaller with lower walls. This does not appear to be a major or intermediate heiau, especially if associated with small-scale production, so it is being classified as a shrine.

Site: Kau-274 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form:

Small oval enclosure with thick walls.

Site: Kau-275 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Low wall closely paralleling an embankment, probably defining a small living space. Unclear site function, but assumed here to be residential.

358

Site: Kau-276 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Low circular mound, quite deflated.

Site: Kau-277 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape, relatively well preserved. Interior is not large enough for multiple people, so possibly a temporary shelter or a cook house, particularly as this is near other residential sites.

Site: Kau-278 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Low stone mound, poorly constructed and never more than a single course. Probably a burial, but not a nice site.

Site: Kau-279 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Shelter that was part of a larger complex of structures overlooking agricultural fields.

Site: Kau-280 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Nicely stacked C-shape in a complex with other structures, reaches 1.5 m high in the center, though this is a couple of remaining rocks on top of one another. Small slope retaining wall to the west defines the interior terraced living space.

Site: Kau-281 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Poorly preserved site, making assessment difficult. May be stacked stones forming a retaining wall with a terrace above, though may also be a tractor push.

Site: Kau-282 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

359 As above, this is another possible terrace, but proximity to a cleared fence line and the poor nature of the construction could also mean this is another push pile.

Site: Kau-283 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces

This site is made of four terraces running downslope. None are well preserved, but their number indicates that these are not natural or dozer created. Two terraces on top are about 3 m wide, while lower terraces get a little smaller.

Site: Kau-284 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

Site is not very well preserved, but appears to have been a standard J-shape, possibly with paving in the interior, though a tree has disrupted much of the living space.

Site: Kau-285 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Low linear shelter with slight bowing, but more straight than any other shape.

Site: Kau-286 Probable Function: Agriculture Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Historic water control feature. This is a check dam running across a small gully. Center has been mostly washed out, but sediments have accumulated behind the wall.

Site: Kau-287 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Like the site above, this is also a historical feature designed to limit erosion. Whereas the above is set in a gully, this is on a nearby slope, similarly intended to slow the loss of surface sediments.

Site: Kau-288 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Low linear shelter on a ridge, somewhat disturbed by trees.

360 Site: Kau-289 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Likely a shelter, this is made from stacked stones on natural outcrop. Wall is 1.5 m thick. Sits on a ridge over looking a small gully.

Site: Kau-290 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Relatively large residential site with multiple terraces and living spaces. Terrace, nice paved area, a couple of steps down with evidence for prior facing, and a back wall of primarily natural outcrop. Size means it may have been an elite residence, but this entirely unconfirmed.

Site: Kau-291 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosure

This large site is likely a historic livestock enclosure. Corners on the walls indicate it was once rectangular, but now missing areas and somewhat irregular. Wall construction is somewhat crude, mostly large boulders in a single course or only small amounts of stacking. Appears to be an entryway in the western wall. There is also another small enclosure adjoining one corner.

Site: Kau-292 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terraces

Multiple terraces, both of which are low and relatively small. The two are distinct based on elevation changes. Nothing to indicate residential use of the site, so potentially agricultural, but not enough information to make a clear case for any function.

Site: Kau-293 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace

Small terrace on a slope within agricultural fields. Wall is low and not well constructed, and does not appear at all to be residential.

Site: Kau-294 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace

Similar to the other terraces in this area, this is a raised area within the fields. Some possible stacking on the east side, but mostly defined by an elevation change.

361 Site: Kau-295 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Pavement

Paved area on the slope of a swale ridge. Function is unknown.

Site: Kau-296 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Very poorly preserved site, now is a jumble of stones that may once have been a terrace or shelter. Destroyed by cows and trees, function and form are unclear.

Site: Kau-297 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Enclosure

Square enclosure, likely historic, with surface level is lower than the surface outside the structure, probably due to being at the base of a ridge and having sediments accumulate outside. Another wall parallels this site just to the south.

Site: Kau-298 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Likely a destroyed linear shelter, located on a ridge crest.

Site: Kau-299 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terraces

Three thin terraces create small patches of flat ground. Function is unclear.

Site: Kau-300 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Messy mix of stones with no clear indication of construction, seemingly just piled. May simply be a collection of stones piled up to clear space for agriculture or cattle.

Site: Kau-301 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

This is a very unclear site, though definitely something. It is a large area mostly marked by a change in vegetation, soil composition, and elevation. No distinct stone structures, so

362 difficult to classify, but may have been a former terrace. Entirely on a slope, with flat areas just above and below.

Site: Kau-302 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Pavement

Area of aggregated stones, though not dense enough for a burial of any sort.

Site: Kau-303 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Low rectangular mound, no stacking, slightly elevated in center.

Site: Kau-304 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape of relatively standard size. Wall is low, near historic and modern ranching things.

Site: Kau-305 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Large L-shape near the coast. A small wall in the southeast may have defined an additional room. Another small room on the west side. West wall ends in an area recently cleared for a cattle tank, so may have continued further.

Site: Kau-306 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Nice wall with good construction and stacking. The site measured likely incorporates some mauka-makai wall, and probably was not this large, but the wall is substantial through the entire length. Likely defined a residential area to west of parts of the wall.

Site: Kau-307 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Nice C-shape, relatively small, opens to the west. Wall is still about .7 m high. Quite near the coastal cliffs.

363 Site: Kau-308 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape, near the above site, so possibly associated, perhaps as a cook house.

Site: Kau-309 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

Average J-shape, middle of the wall has collapsed but otherwise in relatively good condition.

Site: Kau-310 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Wall and terrace

Lower slope-retaining wall supports a flat terrace area with a back wall to the east.

Site: Kau-311 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape located on a ridge near the coast. Associated with other structures, probably in a complex.

Site: Kau-312 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace set into a slight slope. Flat area dug into the slope behind it with a retaining wall. Quite steep slope. Near other sites.

Site: Kau-313 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Part of a complex, this is another terrace with a retaining wall facing into a small gully. Possible hearth and mound of stones.

Site: Kau-314 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Retaining terrace wall goes above surface to make a front wall to the site. This wall is well constructed with core fill.

364

Site: Kau-315 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

U-shaped enclosure with thick walls (1.5-2 m) located on a ridge slope in association with the rest of the above site complex. Interior space is small, possible cookhouse.

Site: Kau-316 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Relatively long but low L-shape. Not well stacked, or has had a fair amount of collapse/disturbance.

Site: Kau-317 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Very similar to above, and likely associated. L-shape on a ridge overlooking agricultural fields.

Site: Kau-318 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace area is located on the edge of a slope into a small gully. Retaining wall is low, collapsed in some places and not entirely straight.

Site: Kau-319 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Platform

This is a small platform with what is like a C-shape on top of it, creating a defined open area in the center. Not likely anything residential, so appears to be a small ritual structure, perhaps an agricultural heiau. Ultimately it is being classified as a shrine, though even that makes it sound as substantial as others in the category (where it is, in fact, quite tiny).

Site: Kau-320 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Stacked 2 courses high, but still quite low and unclear in form and function. Being assessed as a burial, but this could change with further examination.

Site: Kau-321 Probable Function: Not determined

365 Construction Form: Terrace

Earth and boulder terrace, defines a flat area on the slope above. Very unclear function.

Site: Kau-322 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape at one of the highest points on the local landscape. Wall remains well stacked and faced, 7+ courses. Looks over fields in all directions, possibly associated with another shelter and shrine.

Site: Kau-323 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Well built shelter wall, 5 courses high, 1+ m thick. Wall is slightly bowed, nice facing on west side.

Site: Kau-324 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosures and walls

This is the heiau/royal residence Popoiwi. Very large site, multiple courts and rooms. Perhaps the most important site in Kaupō, as it was likely rebuilt by Kekaulike and turned from a temple into a hybrid temple and palace.

Site: Kau-325 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Mostly natural outcrop, but features enough stacking on top to indicate that this was used as a site. Located on a windy ridge.

Site: Kau-326 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Very similar to above, and may in fact be part of the same site (almost definitely is), but separated by a gap (which could be modern, especially by cow passage). Stones stacked on top of outcrop.

Site: Kau-327 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

366 Stones stacked on a natural outcrop to create a retaining terrace wall with flat living area.

Site: Kau-328 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Near the top of a ridge, retaining wall of stacked stones creates flat space. Back wall is predominately natural outcrop, 2 m high. On a somewhat steep slope.

Site: Kau-329 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Pavement

Highly disturbed area that is now a collection of stone in what appears to be a pavement. Evidence for stones set into the ground as walls, so certainly a human construction, but original function and form are unclear.

Site: Kau-330 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

U-shaped interior space, opens north. Slope retaining terrace on the lower, east side is made of boulders and cobbles. Rest of the walls are free standing.

Site: Kau-331 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small rectangular platform, low and not stacked more than a single course.

Site: Kau-332 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Shelter

Very poor shelter structure. Mostly natural outcrop with some stones stacked on top.

Site: Kau-333 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This large, multi-component site is the ritual site known as Opihi heiau. Numerous phases of construction are evident. Most is built on a large area of natural outcrop. Terraces and two rooms with retaining and free standing walls to the southeast, these seem to be the most recent structures. Flat area in the interior entirely covered in small stones. Unclear if this is intentional paving or natural deposition, but probably some of both. This area has a few free standing walls and a small enclosure. Set within an inlet into the outcrop is a very well made

367 square burial mound. In the northeast there are two substantial enclosures forming something of a figure-8. The walls here are 2 m thick and 1.5 m high. These may have been the original ritual structures at the site.

Site: Kau-334 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small rectangular enclosure just downslope from Opihi.

Site: Kau-335 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Relatively large burial platform set on a terrace with a slope retaining wall. Good facing on some sides of the platform.

Site: Kau-336 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Modified outcrop with stacking creates a small terraced living area.

Site: Kau-337 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape that is highly deflated. May have had multiple courses of stone, but unclear now.

Site: Kau-338 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Small terrace at the top of a slope. Retaining stones are not so much stacked on one another, but run down the slope a few courses.

Site: Kau-339 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Free standing wall

Likely a historic check dam, or a means to control cattle. Crudely stacked boulders and cobbles span a small gully, near another similar feature.

Site: Kau-340 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Free standing wall

368

As above, this is another dam for erosion control or cattle control. This one is quite substantial, measuring nearly 18 m long and is stacked 7 courses high. Neither this feature or the one above show much sediment build up upslope, so possibly either later construction for different purpose.

Site: Kau-341 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Free standing wall

Like the two above, this is a wall spanning the same gully. Unlike them, however, it has clearly served as a check dam with the sediments on the upslope side having built up to the top of the 1 m wall. As this is upstream from the other two dams, perhaps this one trapped all of the sediment, making the others less necessary, but that seems somewhat unlikely.

Site: Kau-342 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small, deflated C-shape.

Site: Kau-343 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Single course alignment defines a low terrace with a flat living space.

Site: Kau-344 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape, nicely rounded interior.

Site: Kau-345 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Large area, backed to the east by natural outcrop, the rest is defined by low walls to the south and west that create a rectangular area. This space is only slightly above surface level, but it is definitely distinct. No other structures, so function of this area is unclear.

Site: Kau-346 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

369 Nice terrace wall, 1 m high, defining a flat area with a back wall of natural outcrop and extensive stacking. Possible paving.

Site: Kau-347 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

Very small cave within a ridge of outcrop. There is a small stone wall, mostly collapsed, outside of the entrance.

Site: Kau-348 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Free standing shelter wall to the east, then a living space supported by a retaining wall to the west. Interior space may be divided into two rooms, but not entirely clear.

Site: Kau-349 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape with multiple stones set upright to create facing in the interior of the structure. Site is small, but appears to be quite nice.

Site: Kau-350 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Square enclosure with high, core-filled walls. Site is quite large, may be a historic structure. Set in a gully.

Site: Kau-351 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Another rectangular enclosure in the gully, also has relatively well preserved walls. Smaller than above, and possibly featuring an entranceway.

Site: Kau-352 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Low terrace on a slope over gully. SE corner is built up with stacked stones, also stacking in the south wall, but most other areas are single course.

370 Site: Kau-353 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape abutting terrace. No stacking, but the walls are made of boulders, many of which are set upright to create nice facing in the interior of the living space.

Site: Kau-354 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Small, relatively indistinct L-shape. Mostly boulder wall with a few stones stacked on top.

Site: Kau-355 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Eastern wall is a free standing, somewhat L-shaped, but jog on the northern end is destroyed by a road. Southern wall is a slope retaining feature defining the terraced area of the living space.

Site: Kau-356 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

On a small ridge line, the back wall here is mostly natural outcrop with some stacking. Living space is kind of a nook in the outcrop. Some stones maintain the terrace below.

Site: Kau-357 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

On natural outcrop, slope retaining walls to south build on the natural rock to create a flat space 1.5 m above the surface. Back wall is not as well preserved.

Site: Kau-358 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Poorly preserved structure, now only a couple of courses high but was probably more in the past. Assessed here as a residential feature, but this is not entirely clear.

Site: Kau-359 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

371 Core filled C-shape on a small elevated rise of lava, about .7 m above the ground surface below.

Site: Kau-360 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terrace

Single course slope retaining wall that defines agricultural fields above from the slope drop below. Mostly boulders, no stacking.

Site: Kau-361 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape incorporating natural outcrop. Poor condition, possible small terrace wall.

Site: Kau-362 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is a large residential complex with multiple rooms, walls, enclosures, and terrace areas. Seems to have been built and used in multiple phases, as things like a small square enclosure sit in the middle of what was likely a former open living space. Artifacts sit on the surface. Overall this is probably an elite residence or residential complex.

Site: Kau-363 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Unclear form and function. Seems to be a T-shaped collection of stones on a slope, possibly retaining the slope, but with an extra wall extension that does not have a definite purpose.

Site: Kau-364 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Set at the confluence of two gullies, this is an oddly shaped, thick walled enclosure. Walls are core filled, 1.2 m thick and 1 m high. To the north, the walls pinch together, almost making this into a triangular structure. Also features an entryway in the south wall.

Site: Kau-365 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

372 Terrace built up on a slope, defined by low slope retaining walls to the east and south. Shell and coral found. Quite windy, would have been an open place to live.

Site: Kau-366 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small square enclosure. West wall is outcrop, north and south are nicely stacked while the east has a large, abutting pile of stones. These may be later dozer dump, as many others are nearby.

Site: Kau-367 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Nice burial platform near enclosures and overlooking agricultural fields. Boulders on outside, core filled. Coral and shell on and around the platform. Three substantial boulders placed on the platform’s SE corner.

Site: Kau-368 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small rectangular mound, some of the boulders within may have been set upright.

Site: Kau-369 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Destroyed C-shape on the top of a hill. Mostly a single course of large boulders.

Site: Kau-370 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Shelter wall on the top of a small hill. Boulders set upright make up the wall.

Site: Kau-371 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape on small hill with well preserved stacked wall. Wall is 1.5 m high, 8 courses in the center.

Site: Kau-372 Probable Function: Residential

373 Construction Form: Linear shelter

Irregular wall, stacked 3 courses high. Turns slightly to the west at its north extent.

Site: Kau-373 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Low stone scatter, collection of rocks that indicate something was here, but very unclear in terms of both form and function.

Site: Kau-374 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shaped shelter with stones set into the ground, southern half of the site is quite disturbed.

Site: Kau-375 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small rectangular mound, likely a burial. Not good construction.

Site: Kau-376 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape of boulders and cobbles. Back wall is stacked 3 high, and there is a small frontal wall defining the interior space of the structure.

Site: Kau-377 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Large area, flat terrace on a small rise, defined by single course walls to the north and east. Has a structure on it (possibly a second) that is recorded as a separate site below.

Site: Kau-378 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Wall defining a living space to the west. Set within the site above.

Site: Kau-379 Probable Function: Residential

374 Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Free standing walls on the north and east sides with terrace retaining walls on the south and west. Not a large site, but habitable space.

Site: Kau-380 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

J-shape, both ends stop at large boulders. Interior space has lots of stone, possibly paving. Whole site slopes gently downhill. One small piece of ceramic.

Site: Kau-381 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape with the biggest corner in the SE, probably as protection again the area’s strong winds.

Site: Kau-382 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: U-shaped shelter

Nice U-shape, entire thing appears to be elevated from the surrounding ground surface by about 20 cm. The three real walls are made of larger stones, facing on the eastern wall remains. At the opening of the structure is a low wall of single course stones retaining the interior’s elevation change.

Site: Kau-383 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Low and poorly constructed and preserved site. Assessed as residential, but may have been a mauka-makai wall or some other sort of boundary or agricultural feature.

Site: Kau-384 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Poorly preserved L-shape. Mostly single course, never more than two courses. All boulders set into the ground.

Site: Kau-385 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

375 This site is very unclear in both form and function. It is being called a residential C- shape, but this could change. Collection of stones running between two field walls.

Site: Kau-386 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small rectangular mound, larger stones on the outside, smaller fill in the center. In agricultural fields, may sit on a field wall.

Site: Kau-387 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape in a saddle between two small rises. Lots of surrounding stone indicates that this may have been quite substantial, but now is almost entirely collapsed.

Site: Kau-388 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Square area defined by linear shelter wall to the east and a stacked stone embankment to the west. Site is slightly raised above surface level, and is located in the middle of agricultural fields.

Site: Kau-389 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape, relatively deflated. This appears to be associated with the above and below sites and may have served as a small cookhouse (though no clear evidence for cooking features such as a hearth). Some of the stones used in construction are quite long and set on their sides.

Site: Kau-390 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Associated with the two sites above, this is a long, slightly bowed shelter wall. Wall is well stacked, 3-5 courses high, sits on a slight hill crest above the other two sites.

Site: Kau-391 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

376 Many rocks remain here, but most are the result of slump off the previous walls. Southern wall is highly deflated, now 2.5 m thick and dense with boulders and cobbles. Northern part of the wall looks more like a traditional C-shape.

Site: Kau-392 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure. Northern wall is low, made only of a single course of boulders, while the rest of the walls are higher and thicker, generally 2-4 courses and 1 m thick. Incorporates some large boulders, including one very big stone in the northeast corner.

Site: Kau-393 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Relatively well preserved rectangular enclosure. East wall is most substantial, with 8 courses reaching 1.4 m high. Rest of the walls are smaller, but still 3-4 courses. Apparent entryway in the middle of the west wall. Overall structure is quite large, and may represent some sort of historic residence.

Site: Kau-394 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and walls

This is a nice site that is either a residential or ritual location. It has two distinct spaces, one a slope retained terrace and the other a very formally paved room with walls on two sides. Located on a small slope. Might consider this an elite residence or a small shrine, but for now it is being considered purely a residence.

Site: Kau-395 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape, though more of a bowed linear feature than the tight C of other similarly defined structures.

Site: Kau-396 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

This mound is located on a slope on the edge of some agricultural fields. Its construction is very poor, so may simply be a natural aggregation of stones or a collection created through field clearance, but for now it is being called a burial.

377 Site: Kau-397 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

In a shallow drainage area, this is a collection of stones which may have made up a terrace. Currently too destroyed to know what it’s form or function may have been.

Site: Kau-398 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is a large, very irregular site with a number of features. Large stacked wall to the east, low terrace defining walls to the south and west, along with some other bordering terraces. Some single course rectangles define spaces within this area, but their purpose is unclear. As we know for other sites, these may indicate burials within, but cannot be confirmed without excavation. Some areas of possible paving and a potential hearth. Overall it is likely that this is a residential complex with a possible small shrine and the rest living space.

Site: Kau-399 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

This is an undefined mound of stones in an agricultural field. Does not appear to be dozer push, but also does not look like any burials. Possibly for field clearance. Overall unknown function.

Site: Kau-400 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Deflated C-shape, shares its back wall (east) with a mauka-makai wall. Set within fields, which seems unusual, but perhaps it was a temporary shelter.

Site: Kau-401 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Terrace with a shelter wall to the east and a slope retaining wall to the west.

Site: Kau-402 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

Large, nebulous mound within agricultural fields. No real form or stacking. Some soils in the mound, so possibly a dozer push, but local field walls do not seem disturbed, making it difficult to assess this feature.

378

Site: Kau-403 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace and walls

Relatively large area with slope retaining walls on the east and west sides that are about 1 m thick. Smaller slope retaining walls to north and south are single course. All of these define a nice square area of unknown function. Does not appear to be residential, so perhaps a discrete agricultural plot.

Site: Kau-404 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape on the edge of fields and base of hill. Built around a single flat boulder in the interior.

Site: Kau-405 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Square terrace area built into a hill slope. Retaining walls on north, west, and south, cut into hillside to east. Northern wall is most substantial. Many lithics around the site, including running downslope.

Site: Kau-406 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace is supported by a large retaining wall, .8 m high, mostly of boulders. Area above is a nice, flat, square living space.

Site: Kau-407 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Slightly bowed shelter wall on top of a small hill. Overlooks agricultural fields. Wall is mainly large boulders in the south end, stacking in the north.

Site: Kau-408 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Platform and walls

This is a heiau identified by Walker on the Marciel/Gregoire property. Low, well faced walls on south and west. Interior has another platform on it. Lots of paving with small water worn stones. Elevated wall around much of the exterior. Definitely a ritual site, but small enough to be placed in the category of shrine rather than anything larger.

379

Site: Kau-409 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

This is a terrace in which the front retaining wall rises above the surface to create a bounding wall. The back of the structure is made of natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-410 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Small terrace on a gentle slope. Poor condition.

Site: Kau-411 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Good sized heiau on the end of a finger ridge, overlooking all of Paukū and much of Kaupō in general. “Enclosure” may not be the right word for the site, as it is generally rectangular and made with nice walls, but there is no evidence for a wall on the southern side facing out over the district. This may be because it was taken for the construction of some later rooms, but all the other walls seem to be intact, so likely this was always at least partially open. North wall is especially thick, 2-3 m, while west and east are about half that. In the northeastern interior of the structure is a small room with a possible platform. Outside this room, but still along the north wall, is a raised area of paving, creating a sort of platform or dais along the most interior part of the structure. In the southwest, there are two small rooms on the outside of the structure using the western wall. Unclear as to the construction order, but they are probably not of the same time period as the majority of the heiau.

Site: Kau-412 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Core filled walls, now highly deflated. Generally a basic C-shape, near what may be a small cairn.

Site: Kau-413 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Stone cairn

This is a small mound with facing. Not large enough to be any sort of residential structure, and as such its function is unclear. Perhaps it was a boundary marker, but located in the middle of a field system, so it seems like that would be an odd place to divide land.

380 Site: Kau-414 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Shelter

Highly deflated site, now appears more as a mound than anything else, but perhaps was once a shelter. Very poor condition.

Site: Kau-415 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is a residential complex with five rooms defined by ascending terraces and walls including back, shelter constructions. Each of the slightly curved terraces rises to the next. Some areas have water worn stones.

Site: Kau-416 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small stone mound, function is unclear, but possibly a burial. Also may appear to be a small area defining an upper terrace space, but this is definitely unconfirmed.

Site: Kau-417 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces

Two small terraces, possibly associated with 415, on a slight slope. Retaining wall near 1 m in height on one of the two.

Site: Kau-418 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terraces

Two wide terraces, do not appear to be residential features, so possibly modifications for creating flat agricultural space.

Site: Kau-419 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Possibly core filled wall, located on a ridge. Poor preservation.

Site: Kau-420 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

High walled rectangular enclosure on a ridge.

381

Site: Kau-421 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Very poorly preserved, so classification is difficult. May be a shelter, but may also be some kind of agricultural feature.

Site: Kau-422 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Area elevated above surface level by .8 m with an L-shaped back wall.

Site: Kau-423 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform, well preserved and made mostly of smaller stones and cobbles.

Site: Kau-424 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Terrace about 1 m high with a C-shaped shelter wall creating a nice living area.

Site: Kau-425 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Three terraced room with good defining walls. Rooms step upslope. May be a ritual location, but more likely a higher range residential complex.

Site: Kau-426 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

This was a nice shelter, either linear or L-shaped, but the southern portion has been bulldozed for a road and fence line.

Site: Kau-427 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small circular enclosure on a slight slope; low walls.

382

Site: Kau-428 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Poorly preserved shelter wall with a small terrace defining the opening side. Does not seem to be a permanent living structure, so possibly temporary shelter.

Site: Kau-429 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Burial platform with probably three or more phases of construction/addition. Some water worn coral present.

Site: Kau-430 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Sort of a linear shelter with a wall dividing two interior spaces, with lower area to the south dropping down over .5 m from the upper room.

Site: Kau-431 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Large burial platform, generally 1 m high. Possible slumps in the interior, mound up slightly in the center.

Site: Kau-432 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Located at the bottom of a ridge slope, site’s back wall is cut into the slope about .5 m below the flat top of the ridge.

Site: Kau-433 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terrace and walls

This is an enclosed area with some thick, core filled walls and a platform at the top. The platform is mostly in the northeastern corner and has an upright set in it. Possibly a nice residential site, but more likely this is a small shrine.

Site: Kau-434 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

383

Linear, slightly bowed structure. Overall very average; may have been scavenged for stones to built surrounding structures. Some shell in living space.

Site: Kau-435 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Well built square burial platform directly in front of residence above. Some shell found. Core filled, with large boulders making the raised walls and smaller stones in the interior.

Site: Kau-436 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

On the south edge of a small hill, this is a platform with different height walls. South wall is 1.5 m high, while north is almost even with the surface. As such it is something of a terrace, but still is almost certainly a burial.

Site: Kau-437 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Free standing wall

Likely a historic construction, this wall zigzags along the contours of a slope on the north side of a hill.

Site: Kau-438 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Long shelter incorporating natural outcrop. Southern portion features 4-5 courses, while the north is generally single course. Interior space may be divided into two sections by a protrusion of bedrock.

Site: Kau-439 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Small terrace with lots of slump, located on a slope. Function is unclear, but near other similar structures, all of which may have been agricultural features of some sort.

Site: Kau-440 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Poor condition, probably a shelter feature, but not entirely clear.

384

Site: Kau-441 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Square mound, would have been called a platform but there is no facing on any of the sides. Located on top of a ridge.

Site: Kau-442 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

C-shape with adjoining terrace built on a ridge slope. Site overlooks agricultural fields.

Site: Kau-443 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape on top of a ridge, wall on the east is 1.4 m above the slope behind it. Walls are relatively thick and core filled.

Site: Kau-444 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Low, poorly preserved C-shape.

Site: Kau-445 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Relatively large enclosure with a small notch in the northeast corner. This has often been seen as indicative of ritual status, but there is nothing else to indicate that this is anything ritual- based. Some surface midden, including shell and coral. This may ultimately turn out to be a shrine, but for now it is classified as residential.

Site: Kau-446 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small square enclosure.

Site: Kau-447 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

385 L-shape near a ridge crest, small terrace in front. Some shell and coral within the living space.

Site: Kau-448 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Unusual shaped enclosure, somewhat like an elongated eye or a canoe. Located on top of a small rise and running downslope to come to a point that aims directly at the Big Island. This pointed area is more built up and raised well above the surface. The “prow” of this structure has a small line of stones extending further downslope, making the whole thing point towards the northernmost part of Big Island. Likely a small ritual structure, to be classified as a shrine.

Site: Kau-449 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform just south of above ritual site.

Site: Kau-450 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Nice rectangular enclosure, some sections remain in pretty good condition. Possibly multiple phases of construction with an additional interior wall added later.

Site: Kau-451 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Three stone burial terraces together at the bottom of a ridge slope.

Site: Kau-452 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terraces

Two terraces of piled stone, in very poor condition. Alignment of 6 intentionally placed stones run downslope.

Site: Kau-453 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

May have two levels separated by elevation. On a slope, in very poor condition but still seems to have been a residential structure.

386

Site: Kau-454 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure with a notch in the southeast section. Set on a hill looking out on agricultural fields in all directions. Standing stones are set upright in the wall, and also on a small, associated cairn.

Site: Kau-455 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small rectangular enclosure with relatively thick, well-preserved walls. Some shell, volcanic glass, and historic ceramics.

Site: Kau-456 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small burial platform near the historic site above.

Site: Kau-457 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

L-shape with living terrace on the west side.

Site: Kau-458 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Very poorly preserved site, was likely a terrace built into a hill slope.

Site: Kau-459 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Small linear shelter with living space to the west. Much of the back wall integrates natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-460 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Good sized burial platform. Some larger boulders in the northern portion, and depression in the center.

387

Site: Kau-461 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace coming out of the side of a slope.

Site: Kau-462 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Site is actually two C-shapes connected to one another, but separated by a change in elevation of 2.5 m. Nice flat living areas in both.

Site: Kau-463 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

This is an especially built up part of a longer agricultural wall. This section may just be an area of more dense construction, but it is being classified here as a small shelter using boundary walls. This could be changed with further exploration.

Site: Kau-464 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: U-shaped shelter

Small U-shape opening to the west. North and south walls are in poor condition, but the back wall to the east remains standing up to .7 m high.

Site: Kau-465 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Shelter

Deflated residential structure of unknown form. Likely either linear or L-shaped, but the entire thing has slumped too significantly.

Site: Kau-466 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Elongated shelter wall with a possibly terraced living space to the west.

Site: Kau-467 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terraces and walls

388 Large, multi-component compound feature built into the east side of a gully. At the confluence of two gullies. Structure has multiple levels. At the top, generally even with the ground surface at the top of the slope, is a large, paved, rectangular enclosure with core filled walls. This section also serves as a slope retaining area for all of the spaces below. Descending into the gully are a number of well-faced retaining walls and platforms. There is a potential walkway with steps leading between some of the flat areas. These platforms are all about 2-3 m high with flat areas on top. At the bottom, on the floor of the gully, is an L-shaped wall, potentially defining the lowest courtyard space. This is certainly a ritual structure, and based on size and intricacy it is being defined as an intermediate heiau.

Site: Kau-468 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Terrace

Poor condition, small terrace coming out the side of a gully. Likely a burial, but not confirmed. Northern portion remains well-faced.

Site: Kau-469 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Former C-shape on a slightly elevated surface. Interior space is possibly a small terrace.

Site: Kau-470 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Linear shelter on a slope. Interior alignment may indicate two interior spaces.

Site: Kau-471 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces

Series of terraces in very poor condition. Flat areas with retaining walls were likely living spaces, but entire site has been cut by a dozer.

Site: Kau-472 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Long L-shape on top of a high hill overlooking agricultural region. Lots of fine-grained basalt and some probable flakes on the surface.

Site: Kau-473 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

389

Interesting site. Low walls on three sides define an earth-filled terrace of good size. No back wall, but still being classified as a residential space. Water worn and fresh branch coral are found in the interior, but nothing indicates that this was a ritual space.

Site: Kau-474 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

This appears to be a burial mound of decent size, though it is also in the area of a number of other dozer piles, so it may be another of these. The mound is not filled with dirt, however, so this seems to be the best candidate for intentional mounding in the local area.

Site: Kau-475 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Unclear whether this is a linear shelter defining a living space in front of it (to south), or if it is a retaining wall creating a living terrace above. In either case it is a residential structure.

Site: Kau-476 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape, does not curve in drastically, but bowed enough not to call it a linear feature.

Site: Kau-477 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Shelter wall in poor condition.

Site: Kau-478 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosures

Two low enclosures sharing a central wall make up this site. The two enclosures are both rectangular, eastern being smaller. Originally classified as ritual, this is now reconsidered. No real indication of function, and as the construction style is not very intense it is not determined to be ritual, residential, or potentially even agricultural.

Site: Kau-479 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Terrace

390 Terrace on a slope that appears to have been a burial, though this is not fully clear.

Site: Kau-480 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Small, very poorly preserved feature that may have been a linear shelter (possibly dozer or some other field clearance). Located on top of a high ridge overlooking fields.

Site: Kau-481 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Another very poorly preserved site of questionable function. Probably a C-shape, but may be another modern ranching relic.

Site: Kau-482 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

As the sites above, this is also relatively high up, but poorly preserved. Again, probably a residential site, but may also be modern.

Site: Kau-483 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

Two room shelter of good construction. Square living areas separated by elevation changes. Back wall of north room is core-filled stone, while south room is mostly an elevation change.

Site: Kau-484 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Another poorly preserved linear collection of stones on the broad flat of a ridge top. Again, probably a prehistoric residence, but possibly a dozer push (again, this seems less likely as there appears be at least a small amount of intentional stacking).

Site: Kau-485 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

This appears to be a terrace with retaining walls on two, possibly three sides. These walls are low and quite slumped, but define a square interior space.

391

Site: Kau-486 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Flat living area cut into a slope. North side digs into slope, east side has wall and south has small retaining feature and elevation change.

Site: Kau-487 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

C-shape with a slightly raised interior area.

Site: Kau-488 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

Small 4-5 course wall in front of a 3 m outcrop.

Site: Kau-489 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small enclosure built in a gully, most of the walls are modified outcrop. Possibly another room to the southwest, which may have been elevated. This area has a very large piece of coral on the surface.

Site: Kau-490 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosures

Two adjacent enclosures, both circular, with a built up stone mound in the northeastern- most corner of the larger enclosure. This mounded area in 2 m high, and may have been additional wall, but is unclear. Walls are generally quite thick all the way around. Overall, both the function and age of this site are very unclear. May have been some form of old ritual structure, or a more modern residence or even livestock pen.

Site: Kau-491 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Small, but densely packed burial platform. Raised in the center.

Site: Kau-492 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

392 Rectangular enclosure with thick, but low walls. One large cowrie shell found under a wall stone.

Site: Kau-493 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: U-shaped shelter

Thick walled U-shape opening to the west. Eastern back wall may extend further to the south.

Site: Kau-494 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: L-shaped shelter

L-shape facing southwest. Relatively thick back walls.

Site: Kau-495 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Upright stone

This is a single upright stone with a course of smaller stones surrounding it. Whole thing is small, 1.5 m per side. Not significant enough to call a real ritual structure, nor any reason to even call it a shrine, so classified as undetermined.

Site: Kau-496 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Stones stacked on outcrop to west, possibly a small paved area to the east with a low wall defining an interior space.

Site: Kau-497 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Small burial mound with no evident facing, but dense rock piling.

Site: Kau-498 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Mound

Two small mounds adjacent to one another. Probably burials, though not fully clear.

Site: Kau-499 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

393

Terrace with a retaining wall to the south and a back wall of boulders to the east.

Site: Kau-500 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Large rectangular enclosure with possible entrance in the southeast. Walls are quite thick and well preserved. Interior surface is nearly 1 m higher than surrounding surface outside the walls.

Site: Kau-501 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: U-shaped shelter

Two U-shaped shelters sharing a wall. May share a back wall and a dividing wall.

Site: Kau-502 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Shelter

Two freestanding walls, though one seems to be built into an area of outcrop creating something of a terrace above it. The faced wall, however, is defining an area in front of it, which may have been a living space. All is built on a lot of very young lava flows, so there is much loose stone and lava around the area.

Site: Kau-503 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Very poor terrace. Function is unclear, though there does appear to at least be a small amount of facing on the west side. Could have created a living space on a paved area, or may have been a burial.

Site: Kau-504 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

High back wall with a rectangular living area depressed into the surface; three small retaining walls maintain this lower area.

Site: Kau-505 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape with some facing on either side of the wall. Opens to the southwest. Perhaps associated with a number of nearby structures.

394

Site: Kau-506 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Shelter

Two phases of construction in this structure create two rooms that each appear to be C- shapes. Northern room has much more substantial walls than the southern area.

Site: Kau-507 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Square burial platform, low, appears to have been disturbed on one side by later ranch constructions.

Site: Kau-508 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small, relatively well preserved C-shape opening to the west.

Site: Kau-509 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Standard C-shape, had one large piece of water worn coral in the interior, under an overhanging wall stone.

Site: Kau-510 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Mound

This is a possible burial, but the entire area is covered in naturally deposited stones of the same size. There is a slight depression in the center, but not enough evidence to clearly identify this as a cultural feature.

Site: Kau-511 Probable Function: Boundary marker Construction Form: Cairn

This is a small, roughly square cairn of stacked stones. Essentially it is a 1.5 m cube of cobbles. Located at the edge of a small line of outcrop overlooking coastal heiau.

Site: Kau-512 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

395

This is a large square enclosure with walls about 1.5 m thick and high. Clear doorway in the western wall. Numerous historic artifacts inside and good preservation indicate a more recent structure, though may be old with re-use well into the modern period.

Site: Kau-513 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Rectangular burial platform, mostly made of small stones. Branch and water worn coral found around the side.

Site: Kau-514 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

This is a very large enclosure with thick walls occasionally stacking on bedrock to reach 4 m high. Walls on all sides, with the north end remaining highest. All are well faced, with an entryway in the southern wall. No evidence of artifacts, nor is there any indication whether this was a residential or ritual structure. Perhaps a late residence, though some sort of ritual would be entirely feasible given the size and construction of this site.

Site: Kau-515 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Standard square burial platform.

Site: Kau-516 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: J-shaped shelter

J-shape with well constructed walls made mostly of boulders and cobbles. Nice area of paving made from flat water worn stones.

Site: Kau-517 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Pavement

Collection of large water worn cobbles set into the ground as paving. Relatively close to the site above, but seemingly not connected. Shell and coral found in the area.

Site: Kau-518 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and walls

396 Site is highly overgrown, but quite large and appears to contain a number of walls, terraces, and rooms. At the northernmost (and highest) extent is a nice C-shape, while other areas of the structure feature oval and rectangular depressions in the ground, possibly pits. Perhaps this was a residential complex for people living or working at Popoiwi heiau, but extensive foliage makes further identification of the site difficult.

Site: Kau-519 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Terrace with an adjacent wall. Retaining feature, including bedrock, supports a flat use area about 2 m above the surface just to the south.

Site: Kau-520 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure with numerous different styles of construction and degrees of preservation. Highly disturbed, but not in a consistent way. Some of the wall remains high, reaching 2 m, but much is destroyed. Over all this site’s function and even form are unclear.

Site: Kau-521 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

Small, 2 m wide cave with a low ceiling and a wall of stacked stones outside the entrance.

Site: Kau-522 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terraces

Number of earth-filled terraces supported by bedrock and stacked walls. Flat areas are very defined and rectangular in shape. Quite clear, so perhaps these were used as agricultural locations. No real indication that these were ever employed for residential purposes.

Site: Kau-523 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Possibly part of the same construction as the site above, but these flat spaces feature some back walls defining living space.

Site: Kau-524 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

397

Free standing wall, core-filled and thick construction. Located in the middle of an open agricultural field, but probably some sort of residential site.

Site: Kau-525 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Terrace

Stone-filled terrace at the base of a slope and top of a gully/swale. Probably a burial feature, but due to location it may be a small ritual structure associated with planting in the swale.

Site: Kau-526 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

Small rock shelter with a wall of boulders in front of the entrance.

Site: Kau-527 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Likely C-shape made of cobbles and located on a small promontory.

Site: Kau-528 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Rock shelter

Decent sized cave with a wall of boulders 1.2 m high piled in front. Also has ranch pipe sitting on top of the site, so possibly the boulder wall was to keep animals out of the cave, but this cannot be confirmed.

Site: Kau-529 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Rough C-shape opening to the west. Back wall seems to extend another 7+ m to the north, and is probably an old mauka-makai or ranching wall.

Site: Kau-530 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Mostly destroyed core-filled wall. Linear feature built on the edge of a small promontory.

398 Site: Kau-531 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Poorly preserved collection of stones, probably a former terrace. Form and function are difficult to ascertain, but appears to have been some sort of intentional construction.

Site: Kau-532 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Long retaining wall defining a terrace on a slope above. Construction is quite good, and well preserved. Indications are that this was a historic feature, possibly for slope retention.

Site: Kau-533 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Large structure that is likely a ritual site, though could be a nice residence. Walls are core-filled, 5+ courses high. Southern wall is especially well constructed. No other indications that this was a particularly significant site, so assessed as either a shrine or intermediate heiau.

Site: Kau-534 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Bowed wall of relatively thick, core-filled construction.

Site: Kau-535 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terrace

This large platform or terrace with walls on top is the heiau recorded by Walker as Puʻu Makaʻa. Seems to face west, with the largest sloping retaining wall on that side. As the structure goes east it merges into the surface level. The interior of the structure has a few freestanding walls and is entirely paved with stone. Site is located at the base of a small hill that almost curves around this structure.

Site: Kau-536 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure

Nice small heiau of unusual design. While the general outline of the site is rectangular, the defining feature is a sunken area in the center in the shape of an oval. This has two levels, with something of a bench running around the entire interior. On the south end of the site is a built up wall which overlooks a steep drop of about 5 m down to the ground surface below. This entire drop is covered in a nicely stacked retaining wall, possibly featuring a few steps. The site

399 is located on a small natural rise and has some flat areas just outside of the construction area. Due to the form of the sunken room it is being called “The Theater”. Walker says this is the named heiau Puhilele.

Site: Kau-537 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Free standing wall

Wall on a relatively steep slope. Both function and form are unclear, as this feature may continue as a wall a bit further to the north.

Site: Kau-538 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Three tiered terrace running downslope. At the bottom of the structure it seems to come to a point, aiming out over the ocean, though this could be due to significant collapse. Bottommost terrace also has a notch in the center of its back wall. As the terraces move upslope they get wider. Some of the interior areas may have paving, but this is unclear due to animal disturbance. This is being considered a residential site due to the similarity of nearby features, though it is possible it was a shrine of some sort.

Site: Kau-539 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Very similar to the site above. This has three terraces which shrink in size as they move down the slope. The topmost room has a very large, flat stone serving as the back wall of the feature, which is quite prominent on the landscape.

Site: Kau-540 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Similar to the two sites above, this is a three tiered terrace structure with shrinking rooms as they go downslope. All interior spaces are nicely leveled off.

Site: Kau-541 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Poor preservation here, but appears to be an earth-filled terrace with an adjoining upper wall. Incorporates a lot of natural outcrop. May be divided into two interior rooms or levels, but this is unclear due to preservation. Site is associated with terraces above and other sites.

400 Site: Kau-542 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Single rubble-filled terrace on a natural outcrop. Likely was larger in the past and may have had an additional small earthen area to the southwest. This is associated with the cluster of sites above, so probably is something residential, but may potentially be an agricultural feature.

Site: Kau-543 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosures

This is a three room enclosure, probably built at different periods based on architecture and historical documents. All are nicely built and preserved, with core-filled walls. Southern room is generally made of water worn stones while northern is lava cobbles. Northern room is open to the west and was probably a canoe shed, while other room may be a more modern residence. Third room is relatively small. This site is described by Walker in the early 20th century as a recently abandoned residence whose room had only just collapsed. He also says the area has a number of residences and canoe sheds.

Site: Kau-544 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is now covered in trees, but is a large area full of paving and terraces likely indicative of a former ritual structure. Walker speaks of this area, however, and describes no heiau, but says there was a collection of six houses and canoe sheds. As such, while this would appear to have been a ritual site, documents indicate that it was actually a residential complex. Overall the site has a number of walls, platform spaces, and a large pit lined with stones. This would have been a good supply location for the rest of Mokulau.

Site: Kau-545 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular house site with core-filled walls (mostly water worn boulders). Two interior rooms with the most southern wall made only of a broken single course alignment.

Site: Kau-546 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Mostly rectangular enclosure with a built up north wall, decent south wall, and almost nothing on either end. Possible canoe shed or residential structure.

Site: Kau-547 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosures

401

Three enclosures running east-west. Wall is occasionally stacked, but in places just mounded dirt or single stones. Part of the structure is fully overgrown and cannot be seen. Seems to have been built in multiple phases.

Site: Kau-548 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Stone-lined pit

This is a trench or deep pit large enough to hold a modern van. The walls and floor are lined with water worn stones. According to Walker this was a historic pit dug to retain water for grazing cattle.

Site: Kau-549 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Collapsed enclosure made entirely from water worn stones. Likely once stacked, they are now fallen both in and out of the structure.

Site: Kau-550 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure of decent size, but low walls. Walls are somewhat irregular and despite its proximity to other sites, the construction style of this structure indicates it is from a different era (though earlier or later is difficult to say).

Site: Kau-551 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosures

Two nicely-walled square enclosures slightly offset from one another, but sharing part of a northern wall. Walls are thick and high, about 1 m each. Northern room is slightly upslope and of marginally higher elevation.

Site: Kau-552 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosures

This is a very large and overgrown site that goes from the base of a small hill to the top. There are at least 20 interconnected rooms, many paved and with walls some 3 m of good stacking high. Terraces as well, and the entire complex has spaces of increasing elevation. Vegetation throughout makes it difficult to get a good sense for how the site is actually put together, but it is certainly a major site. There are no open areas or spaces that would indicate

402 that this is a ritual structure, but unless it is a massive residential complex for hundreds of people it must be some sort of ritual site.

Site: Kau-553 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small square enclosure in very poor condition. Near other structures, but is very differently aligned, indicating that it is perhaps not associated and from a different construction period.

Site: Kau-554 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Long rectangular enclosure extending from the west terrace of Kau-536. Very poorly preserved.

Site: Kau-555 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Two small C-shapes together, built mostly on natural outcrop.

Site: Kau-556 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terrace and walls

This is a relatively small core filled terrace of nice construction. Is flush with the ground on the south side, but has a wall about 6 m high to the east. A wall in the middle divides the terrace into multiple spaces. East extent has three rectangular upright stones of considerable size. Site is located in the middle of some very formalized and intensified fields. Likely a ritual structure of some kind, perhaps for agricultural production. Classified as a shrine level ritual structure.

Site: Kau-557 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Enclosure

Large two room structure with the north room slightly higher than the south. At the bottom of a ridge and within highly intensified fields. Originally this was called a ritual structure, and may still be so, but seems to perhaps be an agricultural delineation (again, which may define ritual plots). Does not seem to be any sort of real temple site, but function is unclear.

Site: Kau-558 Probable Function: Residential

403 Construction Form: Enclosures and walls

Function of site is not entirely clear, but may have been a substantial residential complex. Set in the heart of many agricultural fields, this features numerous small rectangular and circular rooms, some with nice walls up to 6 courses high. Potentially could have been an agricultural storage area, but here being assessed as a residential location.

Site: Kau-559 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Small stone terrace on the side of a hill. Core filled, three faced sides of larger boulders with smaller stone in-fill. Could be a burial, but may also be a sitting platform overlooking fields and the ocean.

Site: Kau-560 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Stone-filled platform (on three sides) on the side of a hill. Lots of stone, but but the form and function are very unclear.

Site: Kau-561 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Similar to the terraces above, this site creates a flat area on a slope, but also has a large protecting wall to the east which better defines a living area or use space on the terrace to the west. Possibly elite housing.

Site: Kau-562 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Small C-shape opening to the west in the middle of a large field of high-walled agricultural terraces.

Site: Kau-563 Probable Function: Agricultural Construction Form: Terraces and walls

This is a large area of very clearly defined terraces and walls. Likely all this intensification was for agricultural production. Near a number of ritual sites, and with this site’s extensive construction it is possible that this was a region of ritual production, but that cannot yet be confirmed.

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Site: Kau-564 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Bowed structure in the agricultural fields. Possible slope retaining wall to the north and slight elevation change to west.

Site: Kau-565 Probable Function: Burial Construction Form: Platform

Just north of site above, this is a low rectangular collection of stones.

Site: Kau-566 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosure and walls

Large multi-room complex with high walls measuring 10 courses and 2+ m. A number of other rooms and an enclosure on the west side. Set on a high point overlooking fields and the ocean. Most likely a shrine ritual site, but could have been some kind of elite residence.

Site: Kau-567 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Classified as residential, this could be something else. Rectangular enclosure built on outcrop, featuring high walls, particularly the well-preserved east wall. This wall also has a large, flat cap stone sitting on top of it. Highly unusual stone.

Site: Kau-568 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosures

Two adjacent square enclosures sharing a central N-S wall. Set on a slope just across from an outcrop bluff overlooking Kou heiau. Site is well preserved, branch coral in the wall and a depression in the eastern wall in which a wall post or kiʻi may have been placed.

Site: Kau-569 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Square terrace area with lower wall to the west and south supporting the terrace and low stacked walls to north and east dug into the slope. None of the walls are more than a couple courses high, but living space is well formed and flat.

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Site: Kau-570 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Free standing wall

This wall stands on the easternmost edge of a large flat area used for agriculture. Does not appear to be a particularly well built wall, and nothing indicates residential use, so may have been a wall to limit wind, or something to keep cows from falling into the gully below.

Site: Kau-571 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and wall

Linear shelter wall to the east with a living space to the west defined and supported by a slope retaining feature to the south.

Site: Kau-572 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace and walls

Flat terrace area created in the side of a hill. West and south walls are slope retaining and support the living space while the north and west are dug into the hillside and retained with stacked walls.

Site: Kau-573 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Small square enclosure on field of decomposed lava. May be other similar structures associated, but this is the best preserved. This site could be associated with nearby heiau complex, which might indicate that it is not residential, but this is unclear.

Site: Kau-574 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Terrace

Poorly preserved terrace supported on the east side by a 1 m slope retaining wall.

Site: Kau-575 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: C-shaped shelter

Bowed wall, core-filled. Located on a small ridge crest, appears to be a residential structure, but could have been a way to keep cows away from the steep slope. If no other walls along the ridge then likely residential, but must be confirmed.

406 Site: Kau-576 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Either rectangular or ovular enclosure, relatively well preserved and located at the base of a high cliff.

Site: Kau-577 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

Rectangular enclosure near site above. Walls remain well faced, though the east side of the structure may have extended further, but has since been destroyed by a modern cattle wall.

Site: Kau-578 Probable Function: Not determined Construction Form: Terrace

Area could be called an enclosure, with a back wall to the east and what appears to be a single course of stones defining the rest of a rectangular space. The interior may have a few small elevation changes. Nothing about this site indicates residential, and as such it may be an agricultural plot.

Site: Kau-579 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Linear shelter

Shelter wall with what it likely a terraced living area to the west. This living space is slightly elevated and drops down at its western extent.

Site: Kau-580 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure and wall

On top of a hill, this site has three components, likely of different ages. On the edge of the slope is a bowed linear shelter wall that is almost certainly prehistoric. Just to the west is a rectangular enclosure with a small doorway in the southern wall. Again to the west is a smaller enclosure, possibly serving as a cook house.

Site: Kau-997 Probable Function: Residential Construction Form: Enclosure

In very poor condition and does not appear to have ever been substantial to begin with. Low walls form the enclosure, though may have been U-shape as the eastern wall is mostly missing.

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Site: Kau-998 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Terraces and walls

Unusual site located on a large outcrop directly in the center of a watercourse. The gully, which occasionally flows, has this rock island in the center on which is built a heiau of significant size and construction. Area is somewhat boat or eye shaped and the entire surface is covered in paving stone with different levels, terraces, enclosures, pits, and walls. GPS could not get the form of the site due to vegetation cover, but worth exploring further. That said, very limited soils and sediments mean excavation would be almost impossible, particularly considering the entire surface is paved.

Site: Kau-999 Probable Function: Ritual Construction Form: Enclosures and walls

Originally recorded and excavated as Kau-336, this shared a number with a different site so now called 999. This site has two parallel square enclosures with an eastern wall running between them. Directly in the center of this wall, between the two rooms, there is an eastward jog creating a notch that may have had a small paved platform inside. Between the rooms is an open space, including the notch, that may have been a use area. The northern room has a doorway to the west, and the southern room has a door to the north. All of the walls in this structure are nicely constructed. The eastern connecting wall appears larger and more deflated, but not sure this is an indication of differential construction period. Walker records this site as the heiau named Keanawai.

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