As the sun begins to fall behind the rugged mountains surrounding Great Salt Lake, clear water ripples around a 40-foot, dark blue canoe with yellow trim and big white letters that read “HUI PAOAKALANI.” Each canoe holds six people, all of whom have a specific role as they paddle through the cool waters.

For 13 years, members of the Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Club launched the canoes from the Great Salt Lake Marina every Saturday morning – a great workout for paddlers, but that was never the main purpose.

“The Hawaiian people don’t like to look at the canoes as being an exercise piece of equipment,” said club co-founder Darren Medeiros. “These canoes have spirits of their own, and we use the canoes to perpetuate our culture.”

Founded in 2007 and named with a nod to legendary surfer Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, the club became all but extinct after COVID-19 forced it to shutter its operations for two years. Co-founder Ben Au said lower water levels at the lake and the cost of maintaining the canoes made reestablishing the club seem impossible. The club stands alone as the only Hawaiian outrigger organization in Utah, and losing it means the loss of an important cultural touchpoint for Pasifika people across the Salt Lake valley, Au said.

"The canoe club is about … teaching people and kids how to paddle, how to steer, the purpose of the canoes, what it means to our culture,” he said. “The other thing is that it is a social event – we all get together."

Over the years, more than 60 people became club members or volunteers, coming from Logan to Provo, Au said. They would paddle from April to October, sometimes even into November, before the lake got too cold.

Rigging of Hui Paoakalani’s Hawaiian outrigger sailing canoe assisted by Mark Ellis, Hokulea captain and master navigator from Honolulu (center) alongside Ben Au, Kehau Ellis, and Tom Parker (L-R) at the Great Salt Lake Marina. (Photo courtesy of Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Canoe Club).

Au said paddlers would take the canoes nearly eight miles from the marina to Antelope Island.

“We would go once, maybe twice a summer, and it would usually take about an hour to an hour and a half,” he said.

The club, called simply “the Hui” by its members, offered more than canoes and a launching point to the water. It was also a cultural hub with hula classes, shaved ice, lau lau, music and dancing, Au said.

Whether on the islands or in landlocked Utah, Medeiros said, Hawaiians have found ways to bring their culture wherever they live.

"Hawaiian culture never leaves the Hawaiian people,” he said. “The club was a way to rally them and bring them together to connect with the culture.”

Mederios said this emphasis on connection and belonging makes the club a cultural institution, fostering a sense of identity and heritage among its members.

A shrinking lake

The decline of Great Salt Lake in recent years has made it more difficult for these canoes to get back into the water.

"The Great Salt Lake has been dropping,” Au said, “and it has dropped to such a level that it is hard to get out to a safe area to paddle because what used to be … underwater is now above water."

Little reefs, rocks and stalagmites are now visible above the surface, Au said, which makes canoeing more challenging and dangerous.

The challenges, Medeiros said, require a solid team of paddlers to navigate. When conditions are right and water levels are higher, however, he said there’s no better place for paddling in the state.

"The Great Salt Lake is perfect for outrigger canoe paddling because of the high altitude, winds and glass-like water," he said.

But Mederios said it wasn’t enough. When the club tried to restart after the height of the pandemic, recruiting people to come back and securing donations and funding was difficult.

“That’s when things started to slow down,” he said. “These canoes are a lot of upkeep, and it is not cheap to keep the canoes in the marina.”

An unprepared generation

Another co-founder, Butch Porter, said he’s surprised Utah’s Hawaiian community does not take advantage of the club. Like the canoes, Great Salt Lake has its own culture and does so much for our environment and community, he said, but more people need to be aware of it.

Steersman Butch Porter (back of boat) and Darren Medeiros (front) teach a group teenagers how to paddle a Hawaiian outrigger canoe at Great Salt Lake Marina. (Photo courtesy of Hui Paoakalani Hawaiian Outrigger Canoe Club).

Au, Medeiros and Porter all said they wish they had taken the opportunity to come up with a succession plan. Many of the club members and founders are in their 50s, 60s and 70s, Medeiros said, and teaching the younger generations how to take over may have helped save the club.

About 1.2% of Utah’s population is made up of Native Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders, according to 2023 Census data. Many of them are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which Au said places a similar importance on genealogy and understanding family history.

"It is important for everyone to know where they are from,” Au said. “Knowing your genealogy helps you figure out what you want in life.”

At its height, Medeiros said, club members would invite high school football teams from Salt Lake’s west side communities – which included many Pasifika players – to the marina. Already familiar with teamwork, Porter said the club took that connection to the water and introduced the players to parts of their culture they may not have experienced before.

"Many people of Hawaiian or Polynesian descent have lived in Utah their whole lives and can struggle to connect to their roots, and the canoe club offers that,” Au said.

Now that it’s gone, he said, so are opportunities to connect with other members of Utah’s Pasifika communities on the waters of the lake. He hopes efforts to revitalize the cultural tradition of paddling – reminiscent of taking the canoes between the Pacific’s islands – can one day return to Utah.

“The Great Salt Lake has its own culture and spirit,” Au said. “You can feel it when you are out on the water.”

Camille Lee, a student at the University of Utah, wrote this story as part of a College of Humanities journalism course in partnership with the Great Salt Lake Collaborative and Amplify Utah. The collaborative is a solutions journalism initiative that partners news, education and media organizations to help inform people about the plight of the Great Salt Lake – and what can be done to make a difference before it is too late. Read all of our stories at greatsaltlakenews.org.

This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune, to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through student journalism.

Enter the George S. Eccles Student Life Center after 5 p.m. at the University of Utah any day of the week, and the sounds of shoes squeaking, balls bouncing and nets swishing can be heard echoing out of the gym. Pickup basketball draws dozens of students to the courts after classes end for the night.

In these games, male students dominate the courts, with a female student or two some nights. Girls who played basketball in high school but aren’t on a college team, like Ella McDonald, said it can be hard to find opportunities to keep playing.

Recognizing this gap, McDonald took a historic step last fall by founding the first and only women's basketball club at any university in Utah. She made the decision, she said, after repeatedly finding herself with only one option: trying to join games filled with male students. She knew other women wanted to play — they just weren't gathering in numbers at the same time.

“There weren't any clubs. And then for intramurals, they didn't even have women's," McDonald said.

Team president Ella McDonald (left) and team secretary Georgia Hatton (Photo courtesy of Ella McDonald)

Her initiative created a middle ground between casual intramurals and the highly competitive NCAA team, opening doors for female students who love basketball but lacked organized playing opportunities beyond high school.

“I kind of did it by myself,” McDonald said about starting the new club from the ground up. “That was definitely a little daunting.”

The team's launch coincides with surging interest in women's basketball, creating a timely opportunity for female students seeking the camaraderie, competition and community that organized basketball provides.

Team point guard Sydney Europa, who helped get the club started, said she became frustrated with the constant barriers women face when attempting to play the sport they love. 

“We have intramurals but it’s really only guys who play on the teams, and it’s very hard as a girl to get on,” she said. “I’ll … sit for like two hours and get in one game, and then lose, and probably be done for the night because nobody wants to let me in on their team.”\

Ella McDonald shoots the ball during a game against Colorado State University (Photo courtesy of Ella McDonald)

As the only collegiate women's club basketball team in Utah, finding competition presented a unique challenge. Instagram became their most successful channel for connecting with other clubs and planning games, McDonald said.

Without other in-state university clubs to compete against, the team joined women's basketball recreation leagues around Salt Lake County, playing against a different demographic than they had anticipated, said team vice president Eden Schulz.

“It was an older women's league but they were probably anywhere from 20s to 40s, age range,”  she added. “It was just one league, and everyone played.”

Sydney Europa takes the ball up the court during a game against Colorado State University (Photo courtesy of Ella McDonald)

The team was able to find some success, hosting the Colorado State University women's club basketball team in the fall for a series of games. Building on that connection, they traveled to CSU in late April to compete in a tournament against other universities' club teams, Schulz said.

“A lot of us want to travel, just cause it’s fun,” she added. “You get to go to a new place, hang out with your teammates, stay in a house together, play games against other colleges instead of just leagues around Utah.”

However, travel requires money, and finances presented an obstacle for the pioneering club, said team secretary Georgia Hatton.

“With the club being brand new, it’s been harder to be able to fund everything that we’re doing,” she said. “The more that we can have financially, the more opportunity we have to… go play in different states.”

Travel became necessary to play other schools because no women's club teams exist at other universities in the state, said Europa.

(From left) Eden Schulz, Georgia Hatton and Ella McDonald run up the court during a game against Colorado State University (Photo courtesy of Ella McDonald)

"We're the only school in the state of Utah that has a club team, so if we wanted to play other schools we have to go out of state," she added.

They also needed money for uniforms and equipment, said McDonald. They raised funds through several channels, including GoFundMe, Snap Raise, Little Caesars, and Associated Students of the University of Utah, the U’s student government organization. 

“We have ways of getting money, they’re just really hard,” Schulz said. 

McDonald said ASUU gave the team $160, for example, which isn’t enough to fund travel or gear.

Despite the challenges, the club grew from the first semester to the second — starting with about seven girls in the fall, but attracting so many people in spring tryouts that they had to make cuts, Europa said. The demand led to girls willing to only attend practices without traveling or playing in games.

Georgia Hatton runs up the court during a game against Colorado State University (Photo courtesy of Ella McDonald)

“We want to give girls the opportunity to just be competitive and still feel like they have a place to play basketball,” Hatton said. “Creating a space where girls can come and play… on the same level is something that’s important.”

The club team has filled that gap in its first year at Utah. Female students looking for a place to play basketball with their peers have the chance. The founders, McDonald said, remain hopeful about the club’s future.

“My plan is to leave it in somebody's hands and to keep it going, pass everything on,” McDonald said. “Everything's set in place to keep going.”

Natalie Newton wrote this story as a journalism student at the University of Utah for a capstone course focused on women’s sports. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.

This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through student journalism

The crowd is loud, about 3,000 people packed into Bruin Arena at Salt Lake Community College on a Saturday night — erupting in screams and cheers after each set, getting up to dance when pop music starts blaring during timeouts and team huddles.

The reason for all the excitement is the final game of the inaugural season of LOVB Pro, the nation’s newest professional volleyball league. 

Olympic gold and silver medalists Jordyn Poulter and Haleigh Washington playfully taunt the opposing team from their side of the net. Fans giggle and point at the interaction while shaking handmade posters. Friendship bracelets pass from hand to hand among young fans.

This is more than a volleyball game. It feels like a family reunion.

The league LOVB Pro, pronounced “Love Pro,” hosted its first matches this January, with six teams based in Atlanta; Austin, Texas; Houston; Madison, Wisconsin; Omaha, Nebraska; and Salt Lake City. Four months later, games like the season-closer in Utah are indicative of success, said Poulter, a co-founding athlete of the team.

But success was never guaranteed. 

When the 11 founding athletes envisioned the league in 2020, they knew it would be a risk, Poulter said. To make their athlete-forward league come to life, they would have to leave behind better-paying European gigs to build the organization from the ground up. 

“When I was on that first call, I was like, ‘I'm not signing onto something four years in the future, that's just too much time,’” she said. “There's so much unknown and variability in between. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, if this comes to fruition, this is the dream.’” 

At this point in their careers, Poulter and Washington had been away from home for years. Both Colorado natives were playing in what is widely considered the top women’s volleyball league in the world,  Italy’s Serie A1. 

After graduating from college — Poulter from the University of Illinois in 2018 and Washington from Penn State in 2017  — both athletes said they dreamed of making a career in the game they loved. They moved to Europe to play professional volleyball, because there was no league developed in the United States. 

But homesickness had long since set in, and the long winter days at the base of the Italian Alps had gotten to them, they said. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, everything got harder.

In the early months of the pandemic, Poulter and Washington joined nine other athletes on a Zoom call, one of the first steps in creating a new professional women’s volleyball league in the United States. They were asked to be the league’s founding athletes, building on their previous experience and successes to help develop the organization. 

“To turn around and help build something like this, something that gives more people a chance to dream that big,  it means everything,” said Washington. 

Poulter said there were many reasons a new league was needed, but one of the main motives was helping players like her and Washington have more opportunities to stay close to home and be psychologically healthy.  

“If we can keep American talent on American soil,” Poulter said, “mental health tends to be better.”

Washington recalls instances of mistreatment while playing overseas. Players were forced to play with injuries or vacation and sick days were taken away, she said. This action towards the players, combined with the long distance from home, led to depression, she said.“The depression is real. You're not a person over there. which is something that we're hoping to harp on in this league here… You're something that they paid for. You're a product, you're their commodity,” Washington said. 

The league’s rapid growth

In comparison to other professional sports leagues, LOVB Pro is in its humble beginnings. However, with over 19,000 followers on Instagram and teams often playing to sold-out crowds, the league's popularity is growing. But, it may also be a sport-wide trend. 

In 2004, about 1,750 junior clubs were registered with USA Volleyball, according to the organization. Now, there are nearly 4,000. 

The growth of youth teams coincides with a growing audience for women’s college volleyball, which broke a world record for the most attended women’s sports event. On Aug. 30, 2023, the University of Nebraska’s Cornhuskers filled Memorial Stadium in Lincoln with more than 92,000 fans to watch that school’s women’s volleyball team defeat the Omaha Mavericks.

“There’s a really big swell happening right now in the sport,” Washington said. “People care. People are ready for this. It’s just about giving them something to care about consistently.” 

Several professional volleyball leagues, some co-ed and others expressly for women, have come and gone in the United States over the past few decades. LOVB pro is resolved to change that, Washington said.. 

If LOVB fails, Washington said, she and the other athletes will be the faces of that failure. 

“It’s my face and my name, as well as the other founding athletes’ faces and names, that are going to get recognized the most,” Washington said. “So, when it flops and fails, nobody’s going to be mad at the COO or the CEO or the CFO, because they barely know who those people are.” 

That’s a particular risky in a league that, unlike most other professional sports organizations, was founded not just by investors but by athletes themselves. 

In Atlanta, it’sOlympic gold medalists Fabiana Claudino and Kelsey Robinson-Cook. In Houston, it’sgold medalists Micha Hancock and Jordan Thompson. In Madison, silver medalist Lauren Carlini joined. In Omaha, four-time Olympian Jordan Larson and two-time Olympian Justine Wong-Orantes are the team’s famous names. In Austin, it’sbronze medalist Carli Lloyd. And, in Salt Lake City, it’sPoulter and Washington. 

The league, Washington said, “wanted to pick the kind of founding athletes that were good people, had good hearts, were good characters, and I think that’s a majority of the USA team. We have a lot of great girls.”

The role of a founding athlete can be demanding and time-consuming, Poulter said. On top of regular practice times, founding athletes commit to media roles such as advertising, interviews, branding and partnerships.

Poulter said all of those are paying off. 

“I pinch myself every day,” Poulter said. “I hope that this decision we all made to play in League One will be the next shoulders for future generations to stand on.” 

Keeping talent In America 

Volleyball was invented in the United States in the late 1800s, but European audiences have taken a particular liking to the game. The competition, market and wages in European countries draw in athletes after their collegiate careers end. Getting whisked away to Europe to play professional volleyball alongside and against some of the world’s best players might sound ideal, Washington said. But that’s not always the case. 

“In America, we have this vision [that] you’re in Italy, so it’s pasta and Vespas and coffee and Italian men,” Washington said. “Is not that. It’s 10 long months of being in a gym and traveling and having to work really hard.” 

But with limited options for playing professional volleyball in the United States, many of the best athletes, like Washington and Poulter, would leave the country in search of better paychecks and higher competition. 

“We all played overseas, and the amount of money we could make there is better,” Poulter said. “Being so far from home, you're living this alternate life. The overseas schedule is so much longer …The injuries a lot of us sustained were probably due to playing 15 weeks straight. It was too much for too long.”

Katlyn Gao, a Harvard Business School graduate and the league’s chief executive, said League One has the potential to change these dynamics.

“We have 400 girls that have to go abroad if they want to continue in the world of volleyball,” Gao told NPR in 2021. “And many of them don't really want to. They want to be closer to home, closer to the communities that they have been brought up in.” 

The future of LOVB Pro 

When the idea of LOVB began, five years ago, there were no other women’s professional volleyball leagues in the United States. Today, there are three: LOVB Pro; the Pro Volleyball Federation, which was set to finish its second season on May 9; and Athletes Unlimited, a short-season league that plays all of its games during five weeks each fall in Omaha Nebraska, with live broadcasts on ESPN and Bally Sports. 

The combined leagues have drawn $160 million in investments. LOVB additionally runs scores of junior clubs across the country and a training center in Wisconsin. League One has also orchestrated branding deals with Revolve, BSN Sports, and Spanx, and plans to expand by two teams by 2027. 

Alissa Iverson, LOVB Salt Lake City’s marketing and communications manager, said there’s still a lot of work to do. 

“We truly are a startup league,” she said. “Some of us are a one-man team trying to make a difference across an entire state and across an entire country, but I think that we’ve done it right in terms of starting small.” 

Every new professional sports organization wants to draw crowds, build stadiums and make money. The founding athletes of LOVB Pro want to reach those goals as well, but Washington said there’s more at stake.

“We’re not just building a league,” she said. “We’re trying to change the entire ecosystem of women’s volleyball in this country. And that takes time. But I want little girls growing up knowing they can dream about playing pro here, at home, and actually make it happen.”

Estella Weeks wrote this story as a journalism student at the University of Utah for a capstone course focused on women’s sports. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.