Out of Waikiki, to the North Shore

We are in a mood to get out of the city, flee to rural Oahu today. Even though this is a medium-sized island, there is immense variety in terrain and climate. Wherever the tradewinds blowing across the Pacific for a few thousand miles suddenly slam up against a cliff, there is rain. Tall, dark jagged mountain cliffs block the moisture carried on the wind, sending it upward where it cools and tumbles, then condenses and pours down on the flanks of the mountains and plains further out. In contrast, the southeast side of the island, only a few miles away on the protected side of the pali, appears to look like the high desert of the southwest on the mainland. 

We decide to go to the north shore and circle the island’s perimeter starting with Haleiwa, the historic little town that has evolved from a plantation town to tourist attraction and gateway to surfing's mecca, the North Shore. On the north shore and areas that border it, life is surfing and surfing is life. There is solace, renewal and physical challenge out there in the salt water. It seems as if it is living, that ocean, but it is many forces of nature jostling for dominance, and we ascribe emotion to it. If nothing else, the ocean is intoxicating, I will give you that. 

Simply say, “north shore” to a surfer, and they know you’re talking about Oahu’s legendary surf spots. Lots of surf places can and do offer huge waves or beautiful swells, but this constitutes the beating heart of surfing, the one place where any surfer worth his or her salt will eventually find themselves gazing at the ocean, studying surf reports as they have never studied before. They all dream of paddling out for a spot in a lineup on the north shore, even if they can only handle a flat day like this one. There are many strata of surfers, the lowliest of them wobbling out on boards to try small waves, then paddling back to shore when the swells kick up, knowing full well that their skills don’t allow for head-high or overhead surf conditions. The waves the north shore are infamous for are big, thick 30- to 40-foot monsters that boom like thunder. It’s hard to imagine at the moment, but there are certainly a lot of galleries and stores stocked with images of wiry athletes charging down mountainous and glistening waves to prove that it happens. They seem to defy gravity just as cats do, exactly as lithe and graceful. 

Right across the street from the Haleiwa McDonalds, which looks very quiet, the Haleiwa Cafe is elbow to elbow with mostly large, white, not-a-chance-of-surviving-a-tiny-wave tourists, but a few locals (unruly hair, deep tans, surf shirts and board shorts) sit with friends here, too.  The food is hearty, nourishing and delicious. The women waiting tables are very good at their work. My breakfast burrito has a savory sauce that sets my mouth watering. I am grateful for the simplicity of it; it seems honest for some reason, perhaps because the cafe is very small and has evolved in response to the needs of hungry local athletes over a long period of time and stick with what nourishes instead of following trends and fads. 

I am glad to be away from Waikiki and the loud thrashing din there. We finish our meal and consider our route for the day. It’s possible to shop among many little boutiques and art stores here, but we will drive on further northeast and then south along the windward coast. This being the wet season, the sky is heavy and overcast but still warm. We are very comfortable in shirts and shorts. 

After a few minutes we begin to see roadside fruit stands and cars bellying up to them. The ladies at one stand have bagged fruit. They call out prices for bananas, pineapple, dragon fruit, tomatoes, corn and papaya in sing-song voices. No mangoes. I choose a pineapple, some corn on the cob and a bag of tomatoes. Thanksgiving is in two days. 

At Sunset Beach, the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing is setting up; it will also be held in turn at Pipeline and Waimea Bay. A huge crane is hoisting scaffolding into place to form the observation structure where judges will sit as well as the press photographers and officials. I can imagine the two-lane road we’re driving today will be an incredible crush of cars when the contest is going on. I’ve always hoped to see the waves heave up to massive heights, but the ocean has never cooperated while I’ve been on island. Someday. Certainly today looks like a riffled lake, a disappointment to competitors and fans all over the island.

We stop at one of many public beach parks to photograph and stretch our legs. There are a few other people around, but the moody sky is keeping most away from the shore today. A fresh pineapple snack is refreshing. Little red-topped cardinals as well as the ubiquitous and silly local doves call and flutter, alert for crumbs and morsels. Palm trees rustle in the steady wind, and they look like wild mops to me, upended by a temperamental giant. 

Traffic intensifies later on as we near Kaneohe, Kailua and Waimanalo. These are towns below the vertical pali that block the precipitation blown in on the shoulders of the tradewinds. The scenery is dramatic and tropical, vines climbing everywhere and flowers littering the ground. Driving is fairly easy to handle as most drivers on the island tend to move more slowly than in say, Southern California or Texas (where if you dare to use a turn signal, drivers behind accelerate past you with a devilish and pig-headed desire to obliterate you). Hawaii remains relatively mellow even as the population has increased, one of the reasons I love it. 

Finally reaching the southmost stretch of the island, we see wind-sculpted rocks, sere landscapes and turbulent waves thumping the shore. It’s rugged and beautiful, but seems to snarl with a nasty temper. The scenic overlooks near Sandy Beach give a good view of the dark teal water with its white foaming spray. The blowhole is going full blast, and little girls watching are giggling and screaming with delight. I am mesmerized and want to stand there watching for the rest of the day. 

At last we arrive back in the busy hive of Waikiki to rest and then join our family members later. (We’ve brought home leftovers from Maile’s Thai Bistro, a delicious discovery we bumped into in Hawaii Kai on the south shore.) The images of the day are jumbled, misted by restless waves and currents. So many people on one island, so much rock and such a tremendous ocean, all of it moving and alive, continually. 

North Shore and Waimea Bay

Another day, another big cappucino in paradise.  I'm hooked.

I pointed the Mini Cooper's nose north today and let her have some rein, so off she zoomed to Haleiwa, a dinky and charming little town north of the pineapple plantations and east of the Waianae Mountians, the oldest range of extinct volcano remnants that make up Oahu.  I returned to the Haliewa Cafe where I'd enjoyed some pretty puffy pancakes in the past.  It's the only place I've been where you can see huge prints of north shore surf as you eat good grub, all in a funky local's-love-it setting.  This time I ordered a breakfast burrito and packed it off to see if I could find any decent-looking surf, for which this coast is so famous.

The prettiest beach along the north shore is Waimea Bay, a half-moon-shaped stretch of white sand hemmed in by tall mountains, a river that flows out into the bay from a canyon sacred to the original Hawaiians, and a tall art deco tower to the east.  I got there about 10 AM and found the parking lot half full, a good omen.  I sat on the beach, munching my burrito and watched locals dashing into the green-blue waves, one after another, to play in the surf.  No stress left in my bones, no sirree.

It was a 4- to 6-foot shorebreak, meaning I could hear the swish of the surfboards on the waves all the way up until they quit the wave in about 2 feet of water.  The acoustics in the bay are pretty remarkable; you can hear that kind of detail from about 100 feet away from the water's edge or farther.  They say that on big-wave days when the liquid mountains reach 30-40 feet, the sound they make is like guns going off up the valley.

After I'd had it up to here with handsome, muscular bronzed surfers dashing about in the sparkling surf, I drove the little Mini across the street and up a long beautiful drive to the Waimea Falls Park, a preserve and botanical garden run by the Audubon Society.   The walk was much easier than yesterday's walk, and the setting is much more parklike; they offer nature walks and talks every couple of hours.  There were a modest number of other visitors there, but most of the time I felt like I had the place to myself.  You walk on a gently uphill slope that curves and meanders past large plantings of tropical plants, arranged by geographic region.  The walk culminates at a 50-foot waterfall where a pool entices hot and foot-sore walkers.  There's even a lifeguard who can provide a life vest for a fee.

That was it for me.  Back to the car I walked, taking pictures of the exotic plants and enjoying the twittering invisible birds in the canopy overhead.  I saw one tree whose leaves were as large and round as serving platters.  Another had flowers that bloom white and gradually turn red.

All of Hawaii is suffering from its version of a drought, even though everything looks green and lush.  The riverbed running through the park is dry as can be.  The falls were running today, but after not too long the stream drops underground through the porous lava stones.

I'll be flying away home tomorrow, back to the Grove and all the rain they've been having.  My island adventure was too short but very good.  Lots of traffic on Oahu in every direction all day long.  Everyone and their dog has a car.  If you go to Oahu, buy Oahu Revealed (bright blue cover with a satellite view of the island) and look for things off the beaten path; you'll save money and find the relaxed beautiful island that you dream of.