Kauai Again

It takes no more than 20 minutes to fly, from liftoff to touchdown, from Honolulu to Lihue, Kauai, but the flight crew of  Hawaiian Airlines manages to hand out small juice cups up and down the aisle before we land. Nice touch.

Lihue airport is situated on the island like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier; it's on a flat shoulder of land that's like a shelf off the island's southwest curve. Kauai is here! Rather, we are here! Kauai has been here longer than any of the other habitable islands, the northernmost in the chain of Hawaiian Islands. It's the prettiest one, in my opinion, and it has the most chickens. Little factoid there, but I'll get to that later, in another post.

We round up our rental car, load up our stuff, drive away to the south shore, opposite direction from our home town for the week, Hanalei. It's too early to check in, so we've decided to explore. Most visitors to this island beeline for the south and stay in Poipu. In the winter, it's drier, warmer, and all the big resorts are here. We are hungry and look up best bets for good local grinds, choose a popular hamburger chain, head for it, find it, and then smell garlic. Hmmmm. I poke around a bit and find a place called Savage Scampi and my mouth waters vigorously. After some, ahem, discussion (he wants a burger), we go to the shrimp place. It seems more authentically good. A few thousand people have turned the walls into a giant yearbook of sorts by writing messages to the owners all over the walls, floor to ceiling.

He orders a fish taco dish, and I order a scampi-and-rice dish that comes piled up with garlic, garlic and more garlic. I have to peel the scampi, but it's good. I'm happy. We eat with fine appetites and then go poke around Koloa, an old sugar mill company town now given over to touristed trinket shops and food places.

The one main reason we drive to and from Koloa is the chance to go along the so-called tunnel of trees. The trees are tall, grand, overhang the highway and border the road on both sides for miles. They were stripped of all leaves and most small branches during Hurricane Iniki in 1992 but have recovered wonderfully and form a living cathedral over much of the roadway. Along the same stretch of road, a dramatic panorama catches my eye, a cattle ranch. Its spread of trees, backdrop of volcanic ridges and hills, as well as the open plain of grasses is rugged and natural in appearance, a testament to the beauty of nature if left mostly alone.

It's time to head up to Hanalei Bay and find our place. We were here two years ago, so the island is looking and feeling immediately familiar. The famous Princeville area with its many condo communities and golf courses sits on the high point above the bay to the northeast. Taro fields, a long curving scythe-shaped beach and spectacular mountains form a stage-backdrop setting for the little village of Hanalei. It's so perfectly tropically pretty and charming from every angle that even ugly is pretty. The dark red iron-rich soil tinges buildings, cars, the tree trunks and fence posts with its ochre red. Corrugated roofs built to withstand upwards of 25 inches of rain a year and hot sun as well are picturesque to me. Lush undergrowth and tall beautiful trees with flowers in their canopies give way at times to reveal craggy and jagged peaks in every view on the mauka side of the road.

Our bungalow is a vacation rental that we have completely to ourselves for the week. There's no maid service. Just us. I find it to be in total contrast to our Waikiki hotel. It's very quiet, simple, old-fashioned in some respects, but our wifi hookup is far better than we had at our last hotel. In defense of better hotels on Oahu, wifi is generally no problem, but it seems like a kind of voodoo security system is evolving there to the point that it's sometimes very hard to find cell-friendly areas with adequate signals for smart phone use. But, I digress.

We take a walk after settling in. The sandy expanse of Hanalei Bay is about a five-minute walk away. The sand is soft, warm brown and easy to walk on. My guess is from one end to the other might be about three miles. We walk around and wade in the warm water when the waves rush up onto the beach. Without suits on, we are just up to our ankles only. We'll begin our exploration tomorrow in earnest. Right now, softening into the rhythm of the place is all that's required. Wow, is it pretty.

Hapa Helps Me Celebrate

I think I'm going to take a day off from writing and celebrate.  (Wait, wait, wait, why am I writing? hmmm...)

I had a final swim clinic workout today and got some positive feedback on my breaststroke work from that wacky swim coach putting us all through various paces.  That would be Monsieur Temple, here from the hockey-loving nation to our north.  Lucky us.  For a change, I put a few lengths together to the point that he noticed an improvement.  That was pretty gratifying.  Too bad it was on the very last day, and I'll have to go back to my usual swim time to continue fitness improvement.  But, I'll take the compliment; they don't come that often.

Age-group swimmers (adolescents) were zooming back and forth in the first four lanes and we oldsters in the other four.  Then, those groups were subdivided by ability (fitness and coordination) or by stroke.  Most of the oldsters are freestylers, but a couple of us were working on "strokes."  I do breaststroke better than the other strokes.  Of course, I had to kick with the bucket and then pull with various other implements of evil (paddles, tubes, pull buoy).  There are all sorts of things that have been dreamed up by diabolical demons (coaches) to emphasize the areas of the stroke that need special focus.  For me, it's timing and strength.  When is it ever NOT timing and strength, right?  (swimmers are all rolling their eyes and nodding heads yes).

Two other things:  First, I bought a new CD by Hapa called Surf Madness, after having been on Kauai in December and hearing a cut from it that I liked a lot.  The song sounds grand and celebratory to me.  The other is that I am sitting here looking out at gathering clouds and feel the air cooling down.  Rain is possible tomorrow, but so what, right?  Here's why I don't care:  I'm playing Hawaiian slack key music and getting in a Hawaiian groove, and I'm happy I put in the time to get fit again and do some bucket drills in the predawn hours since that's what it takes sometimes.  Check out Hapa, the cut called He'eia, and channel some ancient Hawaiian power.  Pretty cool.  (I saw this group play ten years ago and have been keeping an eye on their music, always feel it has a special energy and reach.  Hapa, by the way, means half in in Hawaiian.  One guy's haole and the other is Hawaiian, both talented and worth a listen.)

Big Waves, Big Dreams: The Wave by Susan Casey

I'm in the middle of a book called The Wave by Susan Casey.  I picked it up after reading an excerpt of it in Sports Illustrated a few months ago.  What a great promo, eh? - one most authors would die for.  

A nonfiction account of big-wave surfing and rogue waves as mentioned throughout history, The Wave is a fast-paced read.  There's a lively mix of scientific facts and angles related to wave energy, occurrences observed by mariners in recent times and also the exploits of surfers who search the world for the jumbo-jack waves that rival most towns' tallest buildings in height.

What I'm interested as I read the book is the singular focus of individuals, that they're sparked by one certain idea, how they are forever after spurred by the same inspiration and vision for the rest of their careers.

Susan Casey took five years to write the book, including a very stressful period when her own father had died.  The perseverance and determination that she found to complete the project mirrored the same qualities in the men she wrote about, especially Laird Hamilton, the most famous of big-wave riders.  I first became aware of him after watching Riding Giants, a movie about surfers who go after the behemoth waves everyone else runs from.

Hamilton grew up in Kauai, basically in the area where we stayed just last week.  I might have seen him surfing when the waves got big toward the end of our stay; he moves his family back there every winter to be nearer to the likely big-wave surfing spots in case big storm surf rolls down from Alaska.  We watched stand-up paddlers taking on head-high waves in Hanalei Bay; not an easy thing to do for a beginner surfer.  Hamilton has been fascinated with huge waves and has spent countless hours in the ocean on all sorts of surfing equipment, spurred by his intense drive to surf big waves and understand the forces of the sea and its currents.

The men who study wave science around the world are equally obsessed with their ideas and vision.  They spend decades determining the nuances of force, and they build wave models three-dimensionally as well as mathematically.  They must follow threads and layers of complication to extreme lengths before anything can be made sense of.

Reading this book has made me think of other men and women who found their calling early in life, perhaps in a split moment when an idea reared up and struck them.  I watch documentaries and read biographies of people gripped with the possibilities that lie within concepts they've had in a dream or vision or perhaps glimpsed during a conversation or while reading a book.  The universal thread is that the idea is instantaneous; the explanation or the journey on which they embark because of the initial idea is long, arduous and sometimes lumpy, but the best of them always seem to hew to the initial vision as it occurred at the outset.

A book like The Wave is a rapid read.  Though it offers a hero-worshiping look at one surfer and his friends, it stirs up my own imagination about giant waves the same way Moby Dick or 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea whipped up wild thoughts of sea beasts that could crush humans.  The surfers and scientists as well as the mariners and landlubbers who have witnessed the effects of outlandish waves give vivid accounts of their experiences in storm surf or on high seas. The amazing fact is that the waves themselves are so little understood - and consequently so difficult to predict - in this age of super computers and with so many brilliant thinkers attempting to do so.  Food for thought and interesting reading for the human vs big wave contrast and the unique glimpse into the minds and hearts of men driven by a dream.

(Note:  There is a certain controversial element of big-wave tow-in surfing that is not addressed in the book.  That is, the use of jet-skis to access the waves themselves.  Purists are concerned with the fact that jet-skis add a certain level of noise and water pollution to the ocean and allow entree to surf conditions that were inaccessible in former times when only paddling was used.  Tow-in surfing using jet skis is now banned at Ghost Tree near Pebble Beach, which is within boundaries of the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary.  Ghost Tree has had 50-ft waves during big storm surf and was becoming a legendary spot in its own right, like Mavericks up in Half Moon Bay.)

Good-bye to Kauai, Hello Again Waikiki

Today was transition day; time to shift attention and focus to other places.  We left Kauai today, but first we drove slowly from our little bungalow along the skinny winding and scenic road east to Hanalei Bay to feast our eyes one more time.

Waves were steaming into the bay from its outer reaches, long plume-bedecked rollers that kept on and on without collapsing or playing out.  The heavy rain from the day before had washed lots of silt into the bay and turned it brown.  Mist hung on the surrounding hills like lace, sun glittered on wet places and the ever-present rainbows arched left and right.

It's deceptive to see photographs of Hanalei and the north shore because most of them look brooding and overcast, but the air at this time of year is about 75 degrees.  Bikinis, shorts, t-shirts and water sports are worn all four seasons.  Actually, in Hawaii, like other tropical places, there is a wet season and there is a dry one.

I never know whether to just get up and go away from a place or person I love, quickly leaving to avoid prolonged good-byes or to linger and savor every last moment together.  As we walked out onto the Hanalei pier to watch the surfers and paddle boarders, it became obvious we were just going to have to say good-bye once and for all and get it over with.  We savored the views, trying to memorize every aspect and finally got into the car and drove away.  Fittingly, a downpour started and seemed to erase the scene just behind us for a while.

The flight to Oahu is brief; no time for in-flight service.  You zoom up and away into the face of the tradewind and then you land again.  In Waikiki, our last treat was to rent a room at the Park Shore Hotel to get a view of one more beautiful Hawaiian sunset before traveling to the mainland tomorrow.   We're here overnight to say hello and good-bye to our two loved ones once again.  They called us before the dramatic sunset quite hit its highest note.  Their community was going to be having a Christmas parade; did we want to see it?  Of course yes.  Christmas in Kaimuki would be just the right bookend to a holiday vacation.

The whole community, which lies about three miles southeast of Waikiki, was in the parade, or half of it was.  The other half watched, and so did we, while Santas in shorts, t-shirts and whimsical headgear paraded by.  A Santa waved to the parading kids and posed for me.  Cub scouts, Brownies, football teams and beauty princesses waved and yelled to friends.  Eventually, another Santa on a truck decorated in lights and holiday garlands rolled slowly by, followed by The Grinch who guarded a volcano fuming green smoke.

There go my countrymen, I thought, all these people who live in America, Hawaiian style.  They're parading happily down this street with their beautiful and precious little children, yelling Merry Christmas the same way every kid in America does, no matter their State or ethnicity.  Santa hats, reindeer noses, candy canes and Christmas carols - no matter the way the weather feels - it's the way we do it, we nutty Americans.

Then, it started raining again, so we ducked inside for Thai food - still another flavor of life in Hawaii.  The whole day felt like some sort of parade of images, gradually turning from one to another before my eyes.  Rainbows in Hanalei turned to our own flight's arc from Kauai to Oahu and then the descent of the winter sun down to the horizon.  Finally the bright smiles of cheering kids and waving Santas, all a patchwork of tropical colors and din of city noises.  What is it about life that we don't live it like a vacation all the time?

Aloha, Sweet Kauai

Heavy rain pounded down on the corrugated red roof of our little B&B bungalow and the ocean steadily rose, too, increasing the intensity of waves rolling in at every beach.  Kauai's rivers and waterfalls became muddy torrents for a while, but nothing close to flood stage.

Once we made our way east to Hanalei for breakfast, a distance of about six miles, the heaviest showers had moved on and we were able to stay dry, although beach fun was off the list.  As we sat at Paradise Deli eating our French toast and coffee outdoors on a lanai, another heavy shower angled down.  Not much changed; people were still walking around in their shorts, summer beach wear and flip flops.  Okay, maybe a couple of folks kind of squinted as the water pattered on their heads, but that was it.

After considering a few options, the most adventurous thing we wanted to do in such weather was to go see Waimea Falls, which entailed driving out of Hanalei Valley east past Princeville, Kilauea, then down to Kapa'a to get to the highway that leads up to the falls.  On the way, we drove to a pretty overlook above the Waimea River where kayakers were making their way upstream.  On another trip here, I'll be doing that for sure.  There are lots of rivers on the island and kayak rental companies are everywhere.

I had read about a Hindu temple that's situated on the lava rim high above the river not far from the overlook.  The temple is made of 40,000 stones transported from India, each one hand carved.  Each stone is said to have taken seven years to carve to its correct dimension.  The temple is only open to the public on certain days, and today was not one of them.  Further up the road, we saw a small sign indicating the area enclosed within a fence was a small forest sacred to the Hindu followers.  A small shrine greeted us at the entrance to the forest area.  The trees within had been planted and have a peculiar fin-like root shape that winds and curves away from the tree's trunk.  Soon enough, a young Indian man showed up and greeted us, asked us questions politely and tried to give us information, but his accent was heavy and hard to understand. The gist of it was that the temple was not open; try another day.

On we went to find the road to Waimea Falls and found it easily.  The falls were held sacred by the early Hawaiians, as was the headwaters on Mt. Wai'ae'ale.  Since it had been raining heavily all night and probably was still pouring up high there, the falls were in full roar.  A busload of Russian tourists was lined up along the overlook railing, so we joined them and admired the pounding water and its beautiful rainbow.  We've seen at least one rainbow every day we've been on Kauai, a pretty good streak to be proud of.  I can't say that about any other vacation I've ever been on.

We found Mark's Place in Puhi, a small community on the way to Koloa Town.  Mark's Place sells "local grinds," the pidgin term for good honest down-to-earth food that locals love.  I bought the Mark's Special Plate that included:  Beef Katsu, a large scoop of brown rice, two pieces of Teriyaki Beef, green salad, and beef stew, all piled high in a take-out box.  Other choices for sides alternative to green salad are macaroni salad, potato salad, or white rice.  Seven bucks; that's it.  I ate half and was stuffed and saved the rest for dinner tonight.  (We split that and added fresh pineapple and grapes and were stuffed again.)  It is known to be the best local food on the island, end of story.  The staff are - as so many servers and staff have been everywhere - polite, eager to please, very generous and thoughtful in attitude.  It's the aloha that used to be everywhere in Hawaii.  Sweet.

Roosters, who are evident everywhere on Kauai, began crowing right at our feet as they re-established territories in the yard next to the eatery.  In 1992 when hurricane Iniki whacked Kauai, the roosters' forebears were sprung from cages and began to breed like rabbits.  Something like that.  They're handsome and foolish but harmless.  I think a few good coyotes could do some good around the island, but that's what someone said who introduced mongoose to Oahu as well as cats, geckos, kokee frogs, mice, rats (well maybe not rats; they sneaked off ships), English sparrows, pigeons, and on and on.

On to Kaloa, the home of a large sugar plantation started in 1835.  It became the center of business in that area, the third largest port in Hawaii, and remains a quaint town with many plantation-style buildings still standing.  It's cute.  We shopped around for gifts, looked at a huge monkeypod tree overhanging a creek that gurgles on its way to the sea, and ate some haupia ice cream (a local coconut dessert we'd had at the luau last night).

We drove all the way back to Tunnels Beach to try to see one more sunset.  Missed it but saw larger waves than we'd seen before and felt the drive was worth it.  Besides, we got to listen to surfers talking story about Duke Kahanamoku at Disneyland while we drove.  KKCR plays Hawaiian music and local info, so we tune in when it's within signal reach.  Duke is a legendary hero all over the islands, introducing surfing to the world once he'd won Olympic gold in swimming.

This is our last night in Kauai, and it's hard to believe.  From the time I was about 10 or so, I formed ideas about what Hawaii is like and imagined myself living here, surfing, swimming and being out in the natural beauty.  In many trips to the islands - about six or seven or more now - I'd caught glimpses of what my imagination had conjured as a child.  Now, here it is, that lovely, soft place.  It really exists.

Has it changed me? I'm not sure yet.  I'll know when I get home and contrast my new self to my old hometown, Pacific Grove.  I'm bound to be changed; it always happens.  It's why I travel, to push change and transformation in myself and see the world.  What I do know is:  Aloha lives, and Kauai is its home.

Mt. Wai'ale'ale: The Top of Kauai

Waimea Canyon State Park is a major Kauai geological feature that some poetic-thinking person dubbed "The Grand Canyon of the Pacific." (It wasn't Mark Twain; he'd never set foot on this island) It's a grand place that has no comparison that I know of in the islands, although Haleakala Crater on Maui is  spectacular in a similar way.

To get there from here (the north shore of Kauai) you have to drive nearly all the way around the island, on a two-lane highway through several charming coastal communities, so even though it's a distance of about 70 miles, give or take, it takes about 2 or 2 1/2 hours to get there.  We set out after breakfast and found ourselves distracted by lots of things along the way.  We'll do them some other time.  The top of the island was calling today.

I'm not a good navigator for driving because as soon as I read a map or book while the car is moving, I start to feel queasy.  The road leading to the canyon is winding and climbs from sea level to 5,000 feet in about 18 miles.  I wanted to study the map, but my tender stomach would have none of it, so I just watched the centerline and hoped for the best.  We drove into the park and began noticing koa trees and other native Hawaiian plants like ferns and maile vines.  Koa looks similar to eucalyptus in the sickle-shaped silver-gray leaves and gives a highly prized hardwood that's now very expensive.  The park has a YMCA camp and a Boy Scout Camp as well as a few cabins that can be rented from the park headquarters.  In the area of the park cafe and museum, we noticed redwood trees and Monterey cypress growing.  Home away from home, I guess, planted by someone long ago who felt that the climate is similar.  About 90% of Hawaii's botanical growth is now made up of nonnative species, so every koa tree was very encouraging to see, holding its own against extinction and invasion.

When we finally got to see Waimea Canyon, it was splendid with color, several thousand feet deep, very wide and fed with many side canyons.  Apparently, a crater had originally been formed a few million years ago, which collapsed eventually into itself, and then a side formation of a different kind of stone gradually emerged, creating layers of color and two contrasting kinds of stone one on either side of the main canyon area.  Then, the Waimea River's headwaters gradually eroded away the ever-deepening canyon to its present form.

The top of the island is Mt Wai'ale'ale at 5,140 feet and the wettest place on earth, receiving about 400 inches of rainfall a year.  Mist was light today, thank god, because we didn't have a poncho or jacket to protect ourselves.

After exclaiming about the huge size and depth of the canyon, its tributary ravines and gullies, we drove on through more koa forest until we got to the final parking lot and took a look.  Before us was a mist-enshrouded expanse of whiteness beyond the railing, but soon enough features of geography began to appear in the mist.  There were no interpretive signs, so we weren't sure what to look for, but then the fantastic fluted mountainsides of the Na Pali Coast took shape, then the ocean far below and a rainbow arching between them.  We took a few dozen pictures and walked around looking for more viewpoints and talking with other visitors who were all looking dreamily at the vista below us.  It's free to drive into the park and see the sights and worth taking the time to get there.  Superlatives hardly touch the feeling of wonder you are left with.

We visited the museum, also free, although a donation is suggested and then drove back down to the coast to Waimea Town, down a road - Hwy 550 - that is the closest imitation of a roller coaster you'll ever find.  It has dips, drops, turns, climbs and then even more precipitous drops, and every single inch of it provides panoramic technicolor views of the canyon or the vast plains of western Kauai or the wide silvery-blue Pacific and islands beyond.  Or forest, ravines and coastal towns.  Or combinations of any of those.  It has just been paved nicely and is just fantastic.  I wonder if they haven't filmed a few car commercials on it; it wouldn't surprise me a bit.  Unbelievable.

We drove to Port Allen to an beach in a small industrial area locally known as Glass Beach to look for seaglass and found some old blobs of brown, some polished white glass and a few kernels of blue, but it is a popular hunters' beach, so you have to be patient and get there at optimum tide.  We spent about half an hour, maybe an hour, in the afternoon sun and warm water, picking through the beach made of glass beads, ground over decades, looking for special pieces.

Our appetites were in full roar by then.  We got lucky and spotted a sign for Monday night pizza buffet at Brick Oven Pizza in Kalaheo for $14.95 each, all you can eat salad, pizza, pasta and clam chowder - fresh and good.  Then, we headed east once again to see Spouting Horn at Poipu resort area at sunset.  This is a wide shelf of old lava rock that has two or three blowholes that the surf shoots up through when the tide is right.  One of them makes a loud blowing sound that is haunting in nature, a lot like a whale blowing when it reaches the surface.

It was a day of sightseeing, thinking about 4 million years of island formation and the changes the little round island has seen in all its days.  It feels like it has personality, wisdom or character, maybe all that, but it is a special place.  My friend who said I'd be bored in a week was so wrong I can't even say.  I keep finding more I want to do and learn.  Of course, as is true on all journeys, the place is changing me the way it changes most visitors, slowing things down and asking for patience and a closer look.  It seems to be an easy thing to do, no problem at all.  

Kalalau Day Hike: A Mud Fest

We are somewhere on Kauai's north shore, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Western Hemisphere, Planet Earth. This part of the globe is wet and crazy, with rainbows and roosters thick as thieves.  The ocean is aquamarine and warm and has pounded the shore for enough time to create miles and miles of golden soft sand out of reef coral and shells.

I hear the surf and night insects and sometimes a car going by on the narrow highway beyond the yard, and there are loud drops of rainwater tapping on the lanai's awning, a corrugated metal surface.  No barking dogs.  No sirens or yelling people.  Nothing but various kinds of water noises, sometimes showers of rain.  There's also a white cat, Leroy, snoring next to me as he sleeps upside down the way cats do.

We got a wild hair this morning and decided it was a good morning to go hike on the infamous Kalalau Trail to a point two miles distant from its trailhead in Ha'ena State Park so we could see the Na Pali Coast.  Neither of us had hiking boots, bandana, or snack food to carry, but we set off anyway.

Let me tell you something:  The Kalalau Trail - if you hike beyond the two-mile marker where  Hanakupi'ai Beach lies - is an intense and challenging hike with unparalleled views.  It's steep in sections, slippery with mud, rocky, narrow and has a severe drop-off to the ocean, sometimes a thousand feet below. There are no facilities anywhere along its length; you must pack everything in on your own.  It's considered one of the most dangerous hiking trails in the U.S.  So, if you hear someone say they hiked it, buy them a treat; they deserve it.  The initial section to the beach is considered "moderately difficult" in comparison.

The four-mile round trip we undertook today was about all we could handle.  I was wearing Ecco sport sandals (like Tevas), nylon pants and a thin no-sleeve top.  I would have been a lot happier in hiking boots, but the sandals did okay.  I could not have gone any farther than I did with them, as sandals offer no ankle support and no toe protection really.

This is the rainy season in Hawaii, especially in Kauai's northern area where the trail is.  Hawaii's soil degrades into a gooey, sucking red mud that is slippery and tractionless when you're going up- or downhill.  But, off we went, feeling adventurous.  We strode past a host of signs shouting last-minute warnings about falling rocks, steep slopes, sun and wind exposure, and rocky surfaces.  We felt as ready as we'd ever be to hike this trail, even if that was not really true.  The trail is immediately thick with glistening lava chunks and dripping water from trees overhead, and it heads uphill at what seems like a 45-degree angle, although it's more likely less.  After a quarter of a mile, you are rewarded a beautiful view of Ke'e Beach and the pulsing blue Pacific that stretches to infinity. And then the rain starts.  But, so do rainbows.  Big, thick, vivid Walt Disney rainbows that practically sparkle on their own.

We picked our way along the boulder- and root-strewn muddy trail for the next two hours, stood in the lee of tall trees, hatless, while showers passed along the coast and rainbows beamed everywhere.  There were only a few serious uphill sections after that first stretch, so aerobically the hike was not bad.  But...the mud is treacherous and each footstep must be carefully placed or you are in some peril of doing a classic pratfall, landing on either your backside or some other bony aspect of your anatomy, graceless and embarrassed.  I managed to stay upright, but my dear husband hit the ground three times.  Oh, will he be sore tomorrow.

The trail is very popular because of its beautiful views of the tropical, rugged Na Pali Coast.  This coast is inaccessible for the most part unless you helicopter over it or take a boat or kayak down its length during calm-water months in summer.  The popularity of the day-hike trail means hundreds of human feet trample it into muddy oblivion on a daily basis, which turns the path into a wide slimefest most of its length.

Every single person we encountered on our hike today was friendly, and most of them were younger than us, which actually felt pretty good.  It's certain that if we hiked regularly, we would be more prepared for a tough trek, but we made it and feel pretty okay at the moment.  In my mind, I keep hearing the sucking slurp of our footwear in the brown muck of the trail - all sorts of gurgley, slippery, slimy sounds.  The round trip took us about five hours including a rest break on the beach.

To reward ourselves, we indulged in a long hot shower, put on dry clothes and then went to Princeville Center to find North Shore Grindz for exceptional (ono) hamburgers and iced tea.  On the way back home, we explored the taro field road in Hanalei Valley that is home to a National Wildlife Refuge.  It's backdropped by layer after layer of jagged volcanic mountain ridges that look like Chinese brush paintings.  We saw two very rare Nene geese, an endangered Hawaiian native bird.

Now the little cat next to me is sleeping more quietly and the day is over.  We're planning a trip to Waimea Canyon tomorrow, the grandest feature of the whole island.  But first, some sleep.

Kauai Talks Story Quietly

There is a thing you have to do as a traveler, and it may relate more to eastern philosophy than to western.  As much as you would like to think you're prepared for a new area after you've read and listened to stories of other travelers, you still have to let go and swing into the wild blue yonder without a rope, letting go attempts to control the outcome.  Then, it's you and the place, meeting each other.

Oftentimes we who believe we have a high standard of living impose ourselves on the universe and think we are conquering it, teaching it how we must be treated so that we will be comfortable and have the upper hand.  It's like teaching a dog to say hello in English.  Have you listened to it, heard what it had to say, in Dog?  Not really.  It has only learned to mimic what you wanted it to say.

I asked my friends what Kauai is like before I came here.  I asked them what to see, what they liked about it.

"It rains a lot, but it's pretty," they said.  One said, "You will be bored out of your mind in a week, guaranteed."

We got up this morning and felt soft, cool air on our skin and saw that the sky was covered with rain clouds.  A few small birds sang a lilting song, and a rooster crowed as if mimicking another rooster in jest.  I thought I heard it laugh afterward.  Then drops of water began a random patter on the lanai awning that grew to a steady downpour.  The rain sluiced off the large leaves of the breadfruit and palms in the yard.  Green on green with splashes of vivid pink or orange met us as we waited for the  rain to stop.  It ended in ten minutes and then all was quiet except for drainpipes gurgling and leaves rustling in a very light breeze.

Bound for Limahuli Garden and Preserve two miles to the west of us, our exploration and swing into the wild blue was beginning.  The region is lush, green, dense with growth and feels like a tilted world decorated with flowers.  Mauka way (toward the mountains), there is a rambling skyline of overgrown lava peaks.  Makai way (to the ocean) the water is aqua blue and lined with curling white breakers.  In between is a riot of undergrowth that you might think only needs Tarzan to go swinging through it or velociraptors so that the prehistoric jungle can be complete.  But, it's quiet.  You hear wind or water on leaves and the restless surf.  Tarzan or velociraptors is not what the forest and jungle are talking about; they would be an imposition in this nearly silent place.

Kauai's north shore feels soft as it meets you, talks to you quietly about water, how it flows through and around rocks.  The undulations of land, rivers, forests and beaches muffle sound and baffle the wind.

We slowed our pace quite a lot today and took time to feel the change.  We drank less coffee, stopped more often to watch and listen and felt delight come over us, very slowly.  We were not bored out of our minds.  Instead, we have a longer list than before of places we want to see and spend time with.  We forgot what day it is today and have no inclination to watch television or take part in fear and violence.

I stood on the hushing shore at sunset once again this evening.  While the aqua swells lifted and fell on the golden sand, an image of white snow falling silently filled my mind.  Earlier this afternoon, I watched paddleboarders gliding across Hanalei Bay while glittering light played on the hammered gray metal water, and I thought of shooting stars.  All silence in all of nature was speaking its own language, talking story, peacefully.  Now the singing insects are keeping a trilling pulse-like rhythm in the night, the lullaby of the ages.

Kauai Evening

After having a unique (read:  space- and budget-constricted but fantastically flavorful) Thanksgiving dinner with our two loved ones and their young friends yesterday, we packed up our bags for an island hop to Kauai this afternoon.  Before leaving, we were treated to breakfast at a locals' favorite called Bogarts Cafe, located just east of Kapiolani Park and the Honolulu Zoo.  I saw signs on the wall boasting "best breakfast bagel in Honolulu," so I tried it and completely agree.  Coffee's great.  The food's fresh and very tasty.

Years ago, when hippies were a lot younger than they are today, quite a few of them chose to drop out of society and escape to the most remote reaches of Kauai and live "naturally."  That meant living nude, smoking dope, camping out, growing sprouts and "living off the land," which has always been a euphemism in hippy parlance for doing as little as possible for as long as they could.  Eventually, the park system flushed most of the hardcore society drop-outs from the Na Pali Coast area where they'd clustered.

Those days are gone now, and hundreds if not thousands of people challenge themselves with hikes on the extremely rugged trail that boasts views of a jagged and nearly vertical 11-mile stretch of fin-like cliffs, considered one of the most dangerous and gorgeous in the entire country if not the world.

On past trips we'd always found the jungled, tropical and rural areas of other Hawaiian islands to be most attractive and beautiful, eschewing mega resorts and elaborate accommodations in favor of uniquely "real" places that are locally owned and operated.  Well, we've found another one, and at the moment I can't even tell you the name of it, but I can say I feel like Robinson Crusoe in the jungle.

We landed at Lihue Airport and began driving our rental car north on Hwy 51, eating at Bubba's Burgers in Kapaa, then driving through Kailua, Princeville and Hanalei, places that will have no meaning to you at all unless you've been there already.  Let's just say, you start off in shrubby, windy and rather dry-looking coastal areas and wind up in a lush low-lying valley with wide flooded fields of taro with a backdrop of tall craggy and steep mountains wrapped in puffy clouds as a backdrop.

This is a B&B with only three different spaces that are rentals.  Ours is a cottage with a lanai (veranda or porch), a kitchenette and a small yard filled with tropical plants.  It's private, has its own entrance out of view of the other small buildings and the main house and an outdoor bed to use if we want to, and a larger indoor one with books to read.  There's no TV but we do have good internet access.  No phone.  No one around.  Just us.  We have to let the owner know a day in advance if we want to have breakfast next morning so they can buy supplies and cook for us.  If we want to, we can cook our own meal in a little kitchen area off the main room.  We feel like, hmmm, explorers I guess.  The skinny two-lane highway just beyond the yard here is lined with large home built way up high off the ground that I suppose allow for air and/or water flow beneath them.  I mean, some are 20 feet up off the ground on pillars.  Ours is not, but it's further removed from the shoreline.

We took a walk for about a mile to Tunnels Beach, a tawny-sand beach that's golden, long, with curling aqua-colored breakers thumping on the curving shoreline.  It's not quite the last stop on the road, but it is famous for a few caves there as well as fantastic sunsets.  We did a rather quick reconnaissance of the area before having to walk back quickly before darkness fell.

We ate dinner across the street and down a ways at Mediterranean Gourmet Restaurant, an oddly self-descriptive name lacking any romance.  The food was terrific, the setting romantic and handsome.  The chef is from San Francisco and did himself proud with the seared ahi and chicken kabob that we ordered.

Now, far after dark, cricket-like insects are trilling in the distance and light showers are sprinkling down on the lanai overhang as I write.  It's cool, maybe 70 degrees out tonight, and in the distance the surf is making the same muffled rumble we are so used to hearing in Pacific Grove.  The bustle of Waikiki is far away, and we are ready for discovery and adventure.