A Brief History of the Shaka le Moose

Vedauwoo, Wyoming

The "shaka" -- the Hawaiian hand gesture for "hang loose" or "positive vibes" or "right on" or " take it easy" or "aloha," which itself means "love" or "affection" or "peace" or "compassion" or "mercy" or "greetings" -- has become, like its meanings, near universal. It is no longer just surfers on the pro circuit who flash the shaka.

President Obama waves the shaka. Jock bros on fraternity row throw the shaka. Duck-butt hair cut "let me talk to the manager" suburban moms named Karen who drive from yoga class to the closest wine bar even have the shaka printed on the bumper stickers of their Land Rovers. The shaka is ubiquitous and perhaps it is its universality that allows for its vast and sundry use and application. Indeed, it would seem, the shaka has become all things to all people.

The shaka comes to us from Hamana Kalili (1882-1958), a legendary fisherman from O'ahu, Hawai'i who lost the middle three digits of his right hand in an industrial accident, working at a sugar plant circa 1917. Later, Hamana worked security at that same plant and local children looking to murk some of that sweet sweet sugar cane would mimic his deformity by waving their pinky and thumb to alert that the coast was clear. And thus, according to the oral history, the local tradition of waving the shaka was born.

Hamana Kalili was also a Mormon. And it makes sense that, given the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saint's central tenet of open revelation,  that the shaka would go on to take new life and new forms around the world. Hawai'i Magazine readily describes "7 ways to throw a shaka." This youtube user illustrates 13 different shakas. But the definitive source of all things shaka is Thomas Campbell's  2005 surf film Sprout, which explains the many types of shakas:

 Sprout (2005)

In Sprout we have our first known example of the Shaka le Moose in the wild. In this variation of the shaka, the practitioner raises a double fisted shaka to their head, resembling the palmate antlers of the male moose. The film claims that the shaka le moose is reserved for Canucks who come to visit the Hawaiian islands. But while moose are closely associated with our friends in the Great White North, these largest members of the deer family also inhabit the boreal and temperate broadleaf forests of the United States from the Utahlorado Rockies to New England as well. So while Mormonism was exported to the Hawaiian islands, the shaka was imported to the mainland where the Shaka le Moose was set free to populate the mountains and spread the shaka spirit in the high country.

Sometime around 2010, I discovered the Sprout clip on youtube and was introduced to the "shaka le moose." During my tenure as a mountain guide in Salida, Colorado (2013-2015) the shaka le moose became my go-to summit selfie pose. The first such instance occurred at the summit of Mt. Guyot in July of 2013. Mt. Guyot was the "white whale" amongst our guiding outfit. It lacked clear trails to high camp and featured a long, exposed ridge traverse that was prone to bad weather in the summer months. Ours was the first group to summit in years and I celebrated the good vibes with some hang loose moose.

Mt. Antero, Colorado

Wetterhorn Peak, Mt. Guyot, Mt. Shavano, Colorado

From there the shaka le moose and I went up and down the Rockies from New Mexico to Wyoming, across the Great Plains to the Southern Appalachians and then internationally to its apropos motherland: Banff National Park, Canada. But the shaka le moose is in decline.

Based on very reliable and highly scientific instagram data using the #shakalemoose, #shakalamoose, and #shakamoose hashtags, the shaka le moose is vulnerable to extinction in the wild. Posts tagged some variation of shaka le moose peaked in 2015 and though it saw a modest resurgence in 2018, the general trend is down. This threatened status begs the question, where has all the mountain shaka gone? Like the moose population in temperate climates declining due to human-induced climate change, the conservation of this species of positive vibes and good tidings depends on mountain people like you and me. Become part of the conservation effort by getting out there, doing rad things, and throwing those good vibe antlers up. 

Heart Mountain, AB, Canada

Viva la Shaka les Moose!

*

Like this post? Continue to support megasplitter by subscribing to the mailchimp, commenting on, and sending the posts that you like to your friends. 

What was your best climbing day of the decade?

photo by Logan Mahan

I'm a sucker for nostalgia. I always get a joyful kind of pensiveness at the end of the year. So when Mountain Project username "plantmandan" started a thread titled "What was your best climbing day of the decade?" I was thrown into a nostalgic journey through the past.

I'm also a hopeless romantic, so I listened to Neil Young's "Journey Through the Past" on repeat while doing so.

I started rock climbing (and this blog) toward the beginning of the decade and since then it has brought so much joy and memories it's hard to pick a singular day. Rock climbing has been my conduit to travel, my social outlet, a source of friends and companionship, and my respite and sabbath from school, work, and stress.

Significantly, it isn't the climbing that stands out the most.

It's the meaningful conversations that I genuinely believe can only be had on long car rides driving across the country.

It's spending $40 of gift card money on margaritas at the Canon City Chile's while flash floods swept through the canyons and gulches of Shelf Road.

It's bringing the wrong crampons on your first alpine climb. (I'm basically Alex Honnold.)

photo by Barrett Pckard

It's the profound sense of clarity and peace of mind as you top out that highball boulder problem all by yourself, alone in the woods, as the snow begins to blanket the forest.

It's sitting around the campfire listening to the Knoxville crew picking and grinning bluegrass music at Del and Marte's campground.

It's tying an inner tube to a boulder and floating for hours on the South Platte River.

It's running an inner tube down the Clear Creek rapids after a big rain at the Obed.

photo by Ragnarok Endurance Competitions

It's the fist bump from your partner after a proud send or a scary whip.

It's shotgunning a PBR at 10:00 AM on the side of Independence Pass because the can got a hole in it and Josh has a strict "no beer left behind" policy.

It's sitting around the campfire, listening to Doc Watson underneath the high desert stars when a huge herd of open range cattle come marching through your campsite.

It's the silhouettes of elk at ridge line, as the sun peaks up from behind that makes that 3:30 AM alpine start all worth it.

It's the summit hug and selfie after accomplishing a big goal you set for yourself with your best friend.

It's proposing to your wife at the top of her first multi-pitch in North Carolina.

photo by old lady hiker at Table Rock

It's getting in your truck after a day at work, driving to the local cliff, and talking about your day with your belay partner who happens to be your co-worker.

It's eating BBQ on the bench outside Jed's Gas Station at the base of Pigeon Mountain where most people boulder but you, proudly, had a 50-pitch day trad cragging at Lost Wall.

It's stuffing your sleeping bags in the floorboard of your truck and cranking the heat to make them nice and toasty when there's a fire ban in Tennessee.

photo by Vance Cato

It's the stories and laughter shared around the campfire with folks you only met an hour ago who came from all over the country or the continent to climb the same rocks you are.

It's Eli talking about Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill" while driving to King's Bluff and then turning on the radio and it being the very next song. (We screamed like school children on the playground.)

It's playing games in the dirt when you get to your backcountry camp.

photo by I don't remember

It's sleeping in the dirt, in a tent, or in the back of a truck, making a cup of coffee and walking to the cliff in the early morning air.

It's dipping into that well-spring of youth every time you go play in the woods and realize you're a full grown adult who still gets to play in the woods.

It's countless sweaty summer days chasing the shade at Sunset Rock or up in Suck Creek.

It's talking about the historicity of Ice Cube's "Good Day" and the age appropriateness of pooping your pants while hiking into North Clear at the Obed.

It's the view from the anchors, the sound of the river at the bottom of the gorge, and the sun setting behind the Southern Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee.

It is the memories of places and people that make rock climbing so special for me.

But if you want a straight answer to the question, "What was your best climbing day of the decade?" It goes like this:

trad: climbing 3,000 ft in a day for my 30th birthday at the Linville River Gorge with Russ.

sport: clips and whips (no significant sends) and then inner tubing the Clear Creek rapids at the Obed with Eli.

video

boulder: last month, running around Zahnd climbing and giggling on all the oddities, triflings, and V-Weird boulders with Andrew and Hobe AKA the Choss Boys AKA the Chosstafarians AKA The Three Chossineers.

the not climbing part of climbing: sitting around the campfire every night for a week drinking cheap beer and listening to Doc Watson in El Rito, New Mexico with Josh.