Chapter 5
Coffee Break
I was riding drag for Uluwehi Ranch on one of our annual round-ups off the slopes of Mauna Loa. The drag riders are the ones who bring up the rear of a herd, and it ain’t the most popular job. If you’ve ever ridden drag, you know that about all you smell is cattle and dust. Suddenly I got this whiff of coffee. I thought maybe I might have been in the sun a bit too long. I couldn’t figure out where that coffee aroma was coming from. Then I saw him.
We were pushing close to a thousand head of cattle off the slopes toward the town of Kamuela. When I topped one of the ridges and we were getting ready to cross, I saw the figure of a man sitting on the ground with a big mug of coffee in his hand. He didn’t seem to take any notice of the wild herd of cattle surrounding him.
When I reached him, he smiled and said, “Morning neighbor. I don’t think your cows would mind if you cut the dust for a few minutes with a cup of coffee. This variety I call ‘Lava Java’ because I grew it the fertile patches between the lava flows.”
That was my first encounter with Paniolo Pete. He was dressed the same as most of us island cowboys with blue jeans, palaka shirt, and a bandana around his neck. He favored a newer style of cowboy hat rather than the lauhala ones most of us wore. Although he looked to be a fairly young man, his face was dark and weather-beaten like he’d spent most of his life outdoors. He had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. When he smiled up at me, those eyes twinkled with a mischief all their own.
“Pleased to meet you. My name is Pete, and I have a small spread down the coast a ways. I just thought I’d take a ride up here this morning and see what the real cowboys are up to.”
He stood up and offered me his hand. Although he wasn’t a big man, he carried himself with the ease of someone who knew what he was about. His grip was strong and his hands showed signs of years of hard work.
“Howdy,” I said. “My friends call me Bronco Bill. I break horses and round up cattle for Uluwehi Ranch, and this here land you’re having breakfast on belongs to them.”
The name of the famous ranch or the fact that he was on their land didn’t seem to impress Pete one bit, so I figured I might as well have a cup of his coffee. That was the beginning of my friendship with Paniolo Pete.
“This is mighty fine coffee. It sure cuts the dust from my throat and could put the spring back into my step. Don’t reckon I ever had a better cup.”
“Mahalo, Bronco Bill. If there’s one thing I pride myself in, it’s my home grown coffee. Those beans were started from some pretty good stock out of South America. I imagine coffee beans are like horses in a way. It’s all in their bloodline.”
Now I don’t know much about bloodlines or beans or South America, but like most cowboys, I know a good cup of coffee when I taste it. That cup I was drinking was the best coffee I ever had. As we sat there enjoying the morning with those cows eyeing us up, two more ranch hands rode up.
“Aloha, Bill,” greeted Keala, one of the biggest and nicest Hawaiians I’ve ever known. “How come you just sit here like one lazy haole when we got plenty work to do? Maybe we just put you in the wagon and carry you like one old wahine.” Keala and fellow worker José were riding perimeter and rounding up strays.
“Mornin’ Keala, José. I’d like you to meet the reason why I’m takin’ a break. This man causing all this ruckus with the herd is Pete”
“Aloha neighbors. I’m pleased to meet you. If you can spare a few minutes, I’d be proud if you’d both join us in a cup of coffee. You look like you could use a break. Gathering strays is hard work.”
Keala climbed down from his horse and extended his large hand. “Howzit braddah. I’m Keala, and this guy on the horse who scared to get down is José. He new, so he like make good impression. Me, I no care.”
Hawaiian “pidgin” was still a little new to Pete, but it didn’t matter. Keala’s body language said it all. An instant friendship developed between those two that words cannot describe. Keala finally convinced José to get down off his horse and take a coffee break. I filled all our cups, and the four of us sat there, drank our coffee, and stared right back at all those cows.
“Brah, where you went get this coffee?” asked the big Hawaiian.
“Why, I grew it myself. I have a small spread down the coast and some of the land isn’t good for cattle. I just threw in some beans and got lucky. It’s not bad as far as coffee goes.”
“Whoa brah, if you ever like sell this stuff, I like buy. This one ono cup.”
“Keala, I don’t think I could ever sell coffee to a friend. If you want some, I’ve got a bag of beans over there on my horse. I’d be pleased to give it to you if you’ll take it. When that runs out, just ride on down to my place and I’ll give you some more. Always plenty of coffee for friends.”
I originally thought Pete was new to the islands, but after that offer I was no longer sure. This man had aloha in his heart. As long as I knew him I was never really sure how long he had been in Hawaii. At times, it seemed like he had only just arrived, but then he would say or do something and you believed he’d been born here. Pete was a hard man to figure out.
The most important thing I learned about him throughout our years of friendship was that Pete had a deep respect for both nature and for his fellow man. I’ve seen him push a herd of cattle way off route so he wouldn’t disturb the beauty of a waterfall, or stop in the middle of branding a new calf to explain to a young boy what he was doing and why he was doing it. I’ve seen him sit up all night with a sick cow, and I once saw him jump off the cliffs into the choppy surf to help a fisherman who’d been swept off the rocks. Pete was just one of the doers in life. But I’ve veered off my story here. Let’s get back to the first time I met the man who became known as Paniolo Pete.
The four of us were sitting there in the middle of that herd, drinking coffee, and getting to know each other. It was all nice and peaceful until suddenly, this big old range bull decided he didn’t like us near his cows. Snorting and huffing he came chargin’ straight at us, and we barely had enough time to scramble out of his path. Pete’s immediate reaction made a lasting impression on all of us.
That big, mad bull was running straight toward us trampling everything in its path. Myself, Keala and José darted off every which way, but Pete just sat there drinking his coffee as peaceful as if he was watching the sunset over the Kona coast. We all shouted at Pete to run. José grabbed his rifle. Right at that moment I witnessed the strangest thing I’d ever seen. That wild snorting bull locked its legs and skided to a stop. He wasn’t more than two feet in front of Pete. What was even more unbelievable was that Pete walked right up to that bull, reached up and started scratchin’ him behind his ear!
That bull must have weighed close to two thousand pounds, and every bit of him shouted “MEAN.” He was all scarred up from a lot of fights, and had foam dripping from his nose. Well there he stood, as tame and gentle as a newborn calf, letting Pete scratch him. With his coffee cup in one hand and scratching the bull with the other, Pete stood there grinning at us like we were a bunch of fools.
José crossed himself and mumbled something in Spanish and put away his rifle. Keala stood back a ways, completely dumbfounded. He is a very superstitious Hawaiian and was more affected by the whole ordeal than the rest of us. He stared at Pete, but kept his distance for the time being. As for myself, I just figure that some things in life can’t be explained. I went and helped myself to another cup of Pete’s excellent coffee.
“Well, Blackie” Pete said, “it seems you tried to interrupt our peaceful morning. I think these gentlemen better get back to work, and if they don’t mind I think I’ll take you back home. We need to have a serious talk about that fence you broke over there.”
I swear to this day, that old bull dropped his head and looked downright ashamed of what he’d done. I figured one old bull wouldn’t be missed, so I let Pete take him. He turned to us, tipped his hat and said, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you gentlemen. I’m sure w
e’ll meet again soon.”
I watched Pete as he loaded up his gear and his coffee pot and mounted his horse. Before he rode off, he turned to Keala and said, “Here’s that coffee I promised you. When it runs out, just follow this path about twelve miles down the coast and you’ll reach my place. You’re always welcome.”
He gave a quick wave and started off, bull in tow. The three of us stood there watching Pete ride down the trail with the bull following him like a pet dog. We watched until he reached the top of the volcano slope and disappeared down the other side.
“That one powerful haole,” said Keala softly. “I no can believe he talked to that bull. He got one strong ‘aumakua.”
‘Aumakua is the Hawaiian word for a personal or family god. After that first encounter with Paniolo Pete, I would have to agree.