Kapalua. Maui. HI. USA.

On Kapalua, Hawaiian hospitality, & the forbidden fruit of travel in 2020.

For those who love golf, an early weekend alarm is always welcome. Add five hours worth of east-west jet lag to the mix, and that wakeup call is rendered almost useless. And when the first tee that awaits is that of Kapalua’s Plantation Course, only the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning can compete.

I got to set that alarm in November, amid this global pandemic. It was cathartic and conflicting and confusing all at once, and decidedly worthy of an honest account. It all began the day before, with a twenty hour odyssey from Montreal to Maui...

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“Where are you traveling today?”

“Maui.”

“Ok thank you.”

That was...it.

Walking to the gate, one could not help but wonder how this US Customs exchange could be so easy. Medical masks and a temperature check were all that distinguished the process from pre-pandemic 2020. It was all strikingly surreal, yet familiar. This would be a common theme over the next eleven days, on a work trip that seemed impossible for any Canadian in this norm shattering year.

But after an uneasy layover in Chicago, a twenty minute hike from the gate to a parking garage rapid COVID test and back in San Francisco, and about fourteen hours of flying, I finally stepped foot on solid ground on Maui.

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Morning came quickly on Saturday November 14. Get dressed, grab a coffee and a muffin, and the keys to the rental. Work would come on Monday, but not before 36 holes of pure bliss. Did I forget to mention we were first off on Sunday morning, too? Yeah. Lucky bastard, indeed.

The drive up to the clubhouse, which is on par with some of the great lead ups in golf, built the anticipation and offered just a taste of what lay ahead. The sunrise joined in on the reception with rays streaming down the famous eighteenth and lighting up the ninth, first, and second.

Welcome to Kapalua, home of the PGA Tour’s Sentry Tournament of Champions! This is the big leagues.

It was a member of the business operations team on-property who had kindly set us up with the first tee time. Easier, perhaps, due to Maui’s slow lifting of COVID restrictions and a light tee sheet, rare for a Saturday morning in paradise. My humble offering for such a hookup was a can of Quebec maple syrup, beaten up by the journey in the bottom of my travel bag.

The next four hours constituted an escape that was certainly better than most: perfect weather, ridiculous views of the Pacific and Molokai, hole after hole of “oh, this is far cooler than on TV,” and ice cold Kona IPAs cracked well before noon.

Tongue in cheek, you realize that maybe “aloha time” isn’t all that bad after all.

Bill Coore and Ben Crenshaw’s now mature renovation makes for the perfect combination of scorability and punishment: width and angles all over the shop paired with perfectly placed bunkers, dramatic false fronts, and diabolically subtle greens.

Bogeys, doubles, pars, or birdies, it really didn’t matter. Making this trip possible was an all-time combination of good fortune, timing, and a lot of hard work by many, none of which was lost on me. By extension, I was experiencing Kapalua not just for myself, but for 3 distinct groups. First, for an office full of golf crazed colleagues that would have traded places with me in a heartbeat. Second, for a foursome of friends that rose for many a 6am tee time in this socially starved summer. Finally, for my father, who I had not seen since Christmas, and who I had not been able to share 18 (or 19) holes with in some thirteen months.

As a result, whispers of guilt were a struggle to silence. Like Maui’s trade winds, they lurked around every corner, poised to remind me that I would not be able to share this magical place with those that shared my passion for the game.

However, much like how those winds force focused knockdowns and crafty bump and runs, the guilt kept me from flying too close to the sun. Simultaneously admiring and documenting every panorama, every putt, and every last piece of sushi was now of monumental importance. I simply had to bring back more than just predictable souvenirs.

Even having never been on Maui, it was easy to see the very real impact that COVID has had on almost every business and the locals who own and run them. Case numbers remained low, but with virtually no tourists for months, many shops and restaurants had shuttered. Hotels and resorts were ghost towns, and normally bustling beaches were criminally empty.

No traffic, no selfie sticks, no problem, right? Not quite. While that would seem to make for an unthinkably perfect vacation or business trip in normal circumstances, it also meant so many were without work. Skeleton workforces maintained many establishments that operate with razor thin margins at the best of times.

Despite these crippling challenges, the people were warm, kind, and ever hospitable. It became impossible to ignore the parallels with Newfoundland, from where I hail. Curious, perhaps, as nearly six thousand miles and an entire continent separate the islands.

Hawaiians and Newfoundlanders fish with the same net of sensibilities, even though they’re oceans apart. There’s an appreciation for those that have travelled long hours to visit your home. It shines through in a certain pride felt by showing off its most breathtaking landmarks. There’s also a willingness to teach the language and dialect, always at the risk of one’s ears bleeding from butchered tourist attempts. And of course, there is the everlasting desire to share local delicacies, most of which are sourced from an ocean that has shaped so much of each place’s story.

Fueled by the knowledge that I would regret every lost opportunity to explore, it was time to fully embrace this modified version of Maui.

First, the food.

My brain, heart, and stomach all begged in unison to forego the fridge full of groceries at the resort: “Go to every place on your list of recommendations. Now! Poke for breakfast? Absolutely. Another beer after dinner? You bet. You don’t even get to sit down in a restaurant back in Montreal.”

A couple of places stood out.

Joey’s Kitchen, a friendly neighborhood Filipino joint just minutes from Kapalua, requires multiple visits. The garlic chicken is dangerously good; the short rib unequivocally divine. Post round, it cannot be beaten.

Tamura’s Fine Wine & Liquors, set unassumingly in an industrial park in Lahaina, came highly recommended for poke. Saying it is the best I’ve ever had would be a disservice - it was phenomenal. Best enjoyed on the beach, try as many varieties as you can. Mediocre brunch, this is not.

Miso Phat Sushi, another Lahaina staple, also knows to let the fish do the talking. Order the TNT and a baked Dynamite roll, because as their names suggest, they’re the bomb.

Maui Brewing Co. in Kihei is everything a brewery should be. Modern, casual, and unpretentious. They pour plenty of interesting beers with local traits, and serve up tasty shareable snacks to go along with them. NFL Sunday kicks off at 8am in these parts, so plan accordingly.

Second, the sights.

The northwest corner of Maui is ruggedly handsome, with dramatic cliffs giving way to tiny coves and gorgeous beaches. Watching the surfers from high above Honolua Bay as the wind whips and waves crash against jagged volcanic formations is a sensory overload in all the right ways.

Both Kapalua courses draw on these vistas from various points on each course. The photogenic par 3 eleventh on The Plantation, a broadcast favorite during the Tournament of Champions, appears to melt into the ocean behind the green. This despite it being a DeChambeau-length drive from the sea. The all-world par 3 seventeenth on the Bay Course brings you even closer. Thrill seeking locals cliff jump into the Pacific around the corner, and many tee shots share the same fate. The forced carry to a precariously perched green just might be the single coolest shot on the entire island.

On the southwest coast, the weather is decidedly less temperamental. Makena State Park and its beach is as idyllic a location as one can fathom. Get there at the right time, and the sky catches fire while the sun slowly disappears behind Kaho'olawe. As Hawaiian sunsets go, this is the one that you’ll replay over and over.

This was a final glimpse of Hawaiian daylight as a redeye back to Canada, and the real world, awaited. An unlikely trip had come to an end, but a return under more normal circumstances is just a matter of time.

Mahalo, Maui, for your golf and for your people.