Stateside

We are back on the mainland, visiting daughter Rebecca in Menlo Park, CA, regrouping, shopping for an RV for our Eurasia trip, and contemplating our brief return to Missoula. Our blog will be in suspension for awhile, until there is news.

Aloha, Hawaii

Arizona Memorial

Diamond Head

Monday we packed and turned in the Subaru, flew from Kaua'i to Honolulu, retrieved our bags from Bob Buss & Co. (thanks, again, wonderful Humanite people), and then repacked for the trip Tuesday to San Francisco. FWIW, our last night in Hawai'i was in a motel near the airport; not in a car or in the county park.

One might think of this as the end of our trip. Well, it is the end of the Asia/Pacific leg. For now. We have seen so much to which we want to return. For the next several weeks we will reorganize, refit, and re-provision, with our daughter Rebecca in Menlo Park, back “home” in Missoula mooching off friends there, and then in Orlando with Vicki's sister, Marie. There will be a reunion with Rebecca and Rachel in Orlando and a visit to my sister Carole and her family in Weston. And then we will be off again in early May—this time to Eurasia in an RV.

End of Kaua'i

Waimea Canyon, "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific"

Not too many chefs...

Surfing at Anaholi

More surfing at Anaholi

Forester Encampment

Sunday we drove back to Waimea, viewing the Waimea canyon again, and through Lihue, and then up the east coast to Anaholi, where we camped for the night at the county park. We're experienced at this now. Anaholi is an entirely different kind of place from Salt Pond, a very small camping area, all locals but for one other apparent tourist couple. The cove, as it were, is perhaps a mile wide, but the waves were gigantic—beyond the shoals, they looked far higher than the shore—and then they crashed on the shoals and dissipated. The final 100 yards to the beach was entirely calm, a surf of a foot or two. Farther out, half a dozen people were surfing in the watery tumult. See illustration.

We had a great lunch earlier in the day at Bennicke's at Poipu, so dinner was the final left-overs from our travels. I attempted to add roast chicken bits to chicken rice soup with chicken boullion, over coals left by pick-nickers (our propane had run out). The chickens watched with interest. I was tempted to see whether they would eat roast chicken breast, but then I was hungry myself.

Vicki insists I divulge that we slept in the rental car that last night on Kaua'i. It was a Subaru Forester, just like the one we used to own in Missoula, and the rear seat folds down to make a sleeping area just about the size of a 2 person tent. We had already packed for the plane, it was blustery, blowing salt spray everywhere, so, yes, our last night on Kaua'i was in the car, at the county park. At least the crashing surf and the windows rolled up muted the roosters a bit.

Koke'e, Kalalau, and Pihea

The Ohe Ohe cabin at Koke'e State Park

Kalalau Valley from Kalalau Lookout; I think Pihea Peak is the highest point on the ridge

So there we were, at 4,000 feet, 20 degrees latitude north (about like Cuba), end of February, wearing our down jackets from the Himalayas. Cold and very wet outside. In order for us (me) to do some hiking in this area, Vicki booked us for two nights in the Koke'e State Park cabins. “Cabin” apparently is an Hawai'ian euphemism for shack or shanty. It was not as cheap as the county park ($3 per person); actually, at $75 a night we thought it was overpriced. There is a wood-burning stove in the “cabin,” and we are feeding it everything that will burn, especially considering the concessionaire charges $7.95 a 5-gallon bundle for firewood. I figure, at this price, a typical Hawaiian tree must be worth about $795 trillion. Ever collected fire wood in a rain forest? In the rain?

Saturday I did my hike. It was raining, of course, when I left the cabin. We are only a few miles from Kaua'i's big old volcano, which, at about 5,000 feet, is officially the wettest place on earth. 450 inches a year wet.

My hike was the Pihea trail, which takes you out via a long sort-of knife-edge ridge over the Kalalau canyon to Pihea Peak, and then down into the Swamp. I arrived at the Kalalau Lookout trail-head in the rain, sat in the car for half an hour while it rained, optimistically, and then, sure enough, some blue appeared, and then some more, and then it stopped raining, and then you could actually see some of the canyon below. I knew, in my non-Islands wisdom, it would clear up, the clouds and moisture would soon burn off.

So I donned my rain suit—just a precaution—and set forth over the red lava slabs that cover, or underlie, the ridge. After a few hundred feet, it became apparent this was the same volcanic mush that constitutes the Kalalau trail. The “rock” degenerates into mud of the slipperiest kind. At the half-mile mark, my clouds-burning-off delusion ended, the canyon disappeared, and it rained, and rained, and rained.

Mercifully, the trail was short. I can best describe it as a mixture of rock-climbing and solo mud wrestling. I am sure there was as much exposure as on the Kalalau trail itself, but the vegetation on Pihea entirely covered it. The wind was terrific, rain blowing side-ways. I reached the summit, photographed the marker--in the white-out there was nothing else to photograph—rested and reflected briefly on how much a person can accomplish through delusional determination and persistence, and headed down toward the Swamp. Here, the State of Hawaii has installed wooden staircases, the only concession to trail “improvement” I have seen on Kaua'i. But, after awhile, it occurred to me that a swamp was even less interesting in a white-out than a “mountain” “peak.” So I headed back, ascending, then descending, step by deliberate step. I slipped half a dozen times, but never actually fell. My ribs still ached enough from Kalalau.

We spent the rest of the day feeding the stove and going over the 38,000 photos we have taken on our trip. I think this is what you have with nearly 40G of pix. A few people have asked for slide-shows, and, of course, we will oblige, cutting it down to mere scores, or hundreds. Eventually, I swear, I will do the Picasa albums I have promised.

Feral Fowl; or, Avian Flu, Anyone?

Feral fowl Up close and personal Feral cats Feral seal 

 Among its many other attractions, Kaua'i has a very large feral chicken population. Wherever people are, there are scores, hundreds, thousands of them, roosters, and hens, and chicks, but most conspicuously, roosters. See illustration. I am sure we have seen and heard 10,000 roosters in the past week. This is no exaggeration. They are clearly the island's largest biomass. Tyson's should buy this island. The guidebooks gloss over the chicken thing as one of the local curiosities. Most tourists stay in isolated, air-conditioned resorts, and do not have to endure the incessant cockle-doodle-doo-ing. They see them at the “sights” and oogle and even feed them. How cute. Look, Danny, it's a rooster, just like on a farm. What's a farm, Dad? I have asked a number of locals about the roosters and have gotten a variety of interesting stories. All begin with the hurricanes that devastated the island in the early 90s. Lots of fowl flew their coops. According to the more colorful stories, among those fleeing the coop were the King's Roosters. (Elvis? He had roosters on Kaua'i?). They mated with the hens that also flew the coop, and thus, their numberless progeny, as royal Polynesian descendants, are “protected.” According to other stories, people like them because they are “natural.” Personally, I think they are repulsive and possibly unhealthy, but that's just culturally-insensitive old me. Kaua'i also has a significant feral cat population. They are apparently tame, even friendly, most just looking for a hand-out or a good home. Cats are so sly. But they also are everywhere, even the Kalalau trail. Kaua'i benefits from them, however. Unlike the Big Island, we have seen no mice on Kaua'i. And the cats don't start screeching at 3AM. I think the cats should be encouraged to take on the roosters. No one else will. Clawageddon.

Kaua'i South and West

Our site at Salt Pond

Yes! We have no papayas! at the National Center for Tropical Botanical...

The Na Pali afternoon cruise

Returning; the "Forbidden Island," Ni'ihau, in the background
Longer-term campers at Salt Pond

After resting, relaxing, and washing, at the Kaua'i Inn in Lihue (expensive, to us, but free internet, breakfast, and very nice and helpful staff people), and re-provisioning, we drove generally west on the island's one coastal road, from Lihue to Hanipepe, stopping at Poipu to gawk at the resorts, and dozens of vacation homes and condos for sale, then an the National Center for Tropical Botanical something-or-other (vastly over-rated by the National Geographic, IMHO; and expensive, at least for a publicly-supported entity), and then finally camping on the beach at Salt Pond.

In our previous visits to Hawaii, we always wondered about camping on the beach, in a state or county park. Salt Pond is such a place, a favorite among locals. The old guys hang out there all day and well into the night, drinking and smoking in the covered pavilions, and doubtlessly scaring the teenies away. This is good. Salt Pond is a beautiful beach, small, but scenic, on the dry side of the island. There were about a dozen tents, the usual international mix. The one we set up next to the first night, unfortunately, turned out to be a case of local domestic dis-tranquility. We learned lots of new and interesting expressions (“get out of my #$%@-ing life!”; the tent is his; the pick-up hers; the stereo is his; the kids?; etc.). The beach and environs were nonetheless wonderful, if breezy. Hey, if we can hitch-hike on Monday, we can camp in the county park on Wednesday. We spent most of the 60s trying to claw our way into the middle class, rather than dropping out of it, so we have a lot of hippie-time to make up for.

We were awakened quite early the next morning by the island-wide feral rooster population (see next post), about 3AM, to be exact. Earplugs are no protection against these monsters. And, pursuing male competitiveness, they continue all day and into the night, trying to out-cockle-doodle-do each other. At 6:30AM, the park ranger showed up, asking for our permit. Civil servants are so conscientious. We had no permit, but knew we could buy one on the spot when so greeted. We were thinking perhaps the evening before, just after cocktails, not an hour before dawn's rosy fingers. But it's always good to get an early start on the day.

After buying a permit for the next night, moving our site much closer to the beach and away from the love-birds, we drove on to the end of the road, Waimea, Polihale, and the missile range. Even in paradise we have missile ranges. Thank you, DOD, Homeland Security, and USN. All this is a different part of the island, the south-west, dry, flat, 360 clear days per year, right up to where the Na Pali cliffs end on the west side. Another road that does not go ever on, but I'll spare readers the photograph.

We spent Thursday afternoon on the beach, Vicki reading her latest Sara Douglass novel (4th in a series of 6), me fighting off Beach Boredom. We were both born in Miami, had ample beach experience as teens, but have never returned to nor enjoyed the beach MO. The surf and waves are endlessly interesting...for about fifteen minutes. And I do not go in water that does not have significant chlorine content. The major entertainment of the afternoon was a Hawaiian monk seal sleeping on the sand next to us, just a few feet away. The tide was coming in, and every time it reached him he squiggled up a bit further on the beach, then collapsed again into deepest slumber. I wonder what he was thinking, or dreaming...the beach full of people, himself alone, cordoned-off by the life-guards, with signs about threatened species, do not disturb, no flash photography, etc. Was he bored?

Kalalau Curiosities

Avast! Whales; They're There, I Swear

Much of the Trail Passes Through An 
Old Coffee Plantation

Beans All Over the Place

This Was One of the Relatively Dry Spots

Part of the "Campground" at Mile 6; a Disgrace

Feral Kitty on the Trail

Another Hiker, After Quitting the Trail, 
Disgustedly Deposited Her Shoes in the 

Rubbish Bin; I Retrieved Them and Began 
This Incipient Kalalau Shoe Tree at the 
Trail-head

Vicki adds:

February 24, 2009—Kauai

So we are back one day early from our hike of the Na Pali coast. For me it was very disappointing not to have made it back all the way to the last beach. That beach and the surrounding valley and cliffs (and illegal hippie camping), are what everyone wants to see--maybe in my next reincarnation or when we have won the lottery and can afford the helicopter tour. The trail has been rated a difficulty of 9 out of 10 by the Sierra Club, so even to have done more than half was an accomplishment.

The day hike part ends after two miles—that is also the end of most maintenance. One of the semi-permanent residents who was hiking out to get provisions said that Hawaii doesn't maintain it because the rangers don't walk it; they fly into the last valley by helicopter to issue citations for all the illegal campers and then fly out, at $500 an hour. I can see that the state does have a dilemma. If they make it easier then even more illegals will be able to get back there and walk in and out for provisions, etc. However, if Hawaii put a ranger back there and collected the camping fees and enforced the rules, they could probably collect enough money to pay the ranger's salary. We did have permits, but I had a very strong feeling hardly anyone else did. You can only get them by mail or in person in Honolulu and at least 7 days in advance. The weather was part of the reason we couldn't make it. Though it was pretty dry on our four days, it had rained for two weeks solid before. If we could have waited two days for the trail to dry some, it would have made all the difference. But crazy us, we try to follow the rules! I take comfort in the fact that after the day hike part, I saw no woman over 30 and only 1 man our age—a German.

So now we are back at our cheap $100 a day motel, a mile from the bus stop and beach—and not able to get a rental car until tomorrow. Today I rest my knee, wash clothes and boots, and spend hours on the Internet. For those of you not familiar with our future plans, I will explain the need for all this research.

We head back to the mainland next week for 4 days with our daughter Rebecca in San Francisco and then on to our “home” in Missoula for 2 weeks or so. Next we head to Orlando where we will stay with my sister Marie during most of April. Both our daughters are also coming for a 5 day long weekend. Sometime during that 6 weeks, we have to locate a small diesel RV and arrange to have it shipped to Europe for the next 18 month leg of our adventure.

Tsunami Beach

72 Killed, So It Says

Big Waves on the Bench

Just Down from Our Campsite

Despite It All, We're Happy Campers

How Others See Na Pali

Were They Taking Pix of Us?

This Is the Correct Way to Do It

The Buzz of Sceni-Copters Was Constant

Kalalau Trail

Kaua'i is the oldest of the Hawaiian islands, much older than Hawaii. The lava is greatly eroded, and there is none of the sharp a'a nor smooth pahoehoe of the newer islands. And there is vegetation—much of its transplanted from elsewhere—everywhere. It is a smaller island, but has two major scenic attractions, the Waimea canyon, aka the “Grand Canyon of the Pacific,” and the Na Pali cliffs along the northwest coast. Other than boat or helicopter, the only way to see Na Pali is to hike the cliffs along the 11-mile Kalalau trail. We had hoped to do the entire trail back to the beach at Kalalau, 5 days and 4 nights, a leisurely pace, but a variety of circumstances changed our plans. Vicki's knees had not really recovered since the Routeburn tramp in New Zealand. I slipped the first day out and bruised some ribs. The trail—last “improved” in the 1930s—was the worst we have ever seen. It had rained prior to our departure, and the lower tracks were ankle-deep in incredibly slippery mud. The upper tracks, along the cliffs, were narrow (a foot and a half wide mostly), slippery in places, and frightfully exposed, hundreds of feet to the raging sea below. The bus/taxi/foot transportation to the trail-head took all the morning, and consequently we got a late start. With my injury and the ultra-slow pace required by the poor trail and terrain, we decided to camp well before the six-mile campground. It was a beautiful campsite, probably not authorized—although we had camping permits for the whole trek—where what I will call the Lepsis Creek spills out into Tsunami Beach. Beautiful as it was, the surf raged all night, and we kept listening for tsunami warning sirens (as if!). Vicki was determined to press on, and the next day we marched, in improving if more exposed conditions, to the six mile “campground.” This is two or three apparent “sites,” a covered cooking area, and a privy, all trashed very thoroughly. We had been warned about the condition of the “campgrounds,” but they were still disappointing. After another cold night in the tent (we left our sleeping bags in Honolulu), neither of us could face an 8AM cold, deep river crossing, so we began our march back out. The retreat was marked by one real gift, watching humpback whales spout and breech and flap their tails in the distance. We arrived back at Tsunami Beach as darkness approached, ate, and settled in for another cool, breezy night. The surf had really picked up at this point, and the constant roar, a hundred feet away, was just about deafening. We walked back out on the fourth day. We had enjoyed excellent weather all four days, sunny skies in the 70s, with very light rain occasionally in the valleys away from the coast. The breeze had dried out the first two miles of trail to the point they were actually almost decent. We hitched a ride back to Hanalei and then caught the bus back to Lihue and the Kaua'i Inn. The scenery is indeed beautiful, maybe even “world-class,” as advertised. For us, it was all marred by the condition of the trail and the campgrounds. All were disgraceful, especially in view of the spectacular surroundings. I hope enough people will complain, as I will, to the state government. Alas, we saw no persons of our age doing the over-night hike, and younger folk often just don't have the perspective to see that something is seriously wanting.

Typical Na Pali View Another A BIG Waterfall Vicki on the Trail 

Lihue, Kalalua Trail

Someone else's photo, to be replaced by ours shortly

We're off, Friday morning, by bus, taxi, and foot, from Lihue to the start of the the Kalalau Trail, in the Na Pali State Park. If we do all five days we have planned--which I seriously doubt--there will be no posts nor emails nor anything else until probably next Wednesday. At least the weather forecast is pretty good. Until then....

Back to Kona

Coast north of Hilo

Variegated Hibiscus

Waipio

Coast north of Kona

Monday we continued our circumnavigation of the Island, driving north from Hilo, to Waipio, then across to Waimea and then back south to Kona. A leisurely day, enjoying sights, sounds, and tastes. Tuesday we strolled along the beachfront in Kona, had lunch at Kanaka Kava (Hawaiian food: the pulled pork and sweet potato pie and garlic bread were great; the kava, well, it was another of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences), and then spent the rest of the day gearing- and provisioning-up for our Kaua'i trek and doing internet research.

Update: Wednesday we flew from Kona to Lihue, Kaua'i, via Honolulu. We're at the Kaua'i Inn here, will explore Lihue a bit tomorrow, and then begin our Ne Pali/Kalalau trek on Friday...five days, four nights, backpacking. We'll see how Vicki's knees hold up. The Sierra Club rates Kalalau a 9 out of 10 on the difficulty scale.... But it's said to be spectacular.

Mauna Loa

While Vicki slaved over a hot laptop, researching the next phases and modes of our journeys, I got up very early, drove out to the observatory on Mauna Loa, and climbed the 6 mile, 3,000 foot trail to the top. It is less than a trail: rather, a "way" up the mountain--over a'a and pahoehoe (the two kinds of Hawaiian lava), both much crumbled, some finer gravel higher up, and more snow than I would have liked--marked every hundred feet or so by a cairn. The cairns are well placed, range from 3 to 8 feet tall and are easy to follow. It would take quite a white-out to get lost on this mountain. Given the terrain, the 6 miles are a ten-hour trudge, up and back, especially starting from 10,700 (sea level, actually) and reaching 13,700, without proper acclimatization. One can never establish a pace, as the terrain is continually changing--imagine 3,000 feet of alternating boulder hopping/jagged scree/snow, scanning for the next cairn--but continually interesting. The lava flows are fascinating, especially the pahoehoe, the smooth black type that forms itself into braids and other life-like designs. It is almost like climbing on a living thing. Let's see, Mauna Loa last erupted in 1984, so I guess it is a living, if sleeping, thing.

Like Mauna Kea, Mauna Loa is a shield volcano. All the Hawaiian volcanoes are of this type. The angle of ascent is slight, barely noticeable (except for one's heart thumping away...), and the distant views stay pretty much the same. Nearly all day long I could see from the Kona coast all the way to the cloud bank over Hilo Bay, with Mauna Kea rising prominently in the middle. Mauna Loa is a huge mountain, the world's largest "ultra" when measured from its root thousands of feet down in the sea.

Were I to do this again (who knows?), I think I would spend the night before at one of the parking lots, at 6,000, 9,000, or 10,700 feet, for acclimatization. Nonetheless, it was a memorable climb. I have done volcanoes before, e.g., Lassen, but nothing like Mauna Loa.

I got up quite early

White rainbow seen on the way to the observatory on Mauna Loa

Mauna Loa's caldera, crater, summit plain, whatever

Mauna Kea from Mauna Loa; note "shield" shape

What Mars would look like if it had a road and telephone poles

Hilo

The National Comfort Food

At First We Thought These Were Mini-Durians; Within the Red Skin and Thorns Is a Lychee-Like Grape; This Guy Described the Taste Experience Like It Was a 1947 Mouton-Rothschild, "Finish" and All; Tastes Like Lychee

The Pacific Tsunami Museum; Excellent Treatment and Displays

Just In Case You Never Saw a Tsunami Gift Store...

Despite the persistent rain, we like Hilo. It feels Hawaiian (whatever that means), more authentic, less touristy. Apart from moving from one hostel to another (downtown, old hotel), we spent the day at the Saturday market, browsing the abundant and excellent used bookstores, and visiting the Pacific Tsunami Museum. Hilo suffered a catastrophic tsunami in 1946.