Around the Island

 I flew the nest! And then I came back. The end.

That’s the skeleton, but the meat is mildly entertaining if you care to read, but just a warning, it’s long. And so we begin with the weekend.

View from Kohala Volcano

Last Saturday, Mason invited me to go for a hike with him and his eleven year old daughter, Olena in the forest above Waimea. Waimea is a cool little cowboy mountain town that reminds me of any quaint mountain town in everyday America (not that I’ve spent much time in them), save the sweeping ocean views around the occasional corner. It sits at the southern foot of Kohala volcano, the oldest of the five volcanoes that make up the Big Island. At 2,600 feet in elevation, it is much cooler than the beaches, which makes for a great hiking climate.

After loading up on sugary crepes and buying musubi for the hike at the super cute and borderline hip farmers market, the three of us set off on our hike. Mason has lived on the island for 15 years, so I expected him to take us to some really cutty, local, off the grid kind of place. I was mildly surprised when we arrived at the Koai’a Tree Sanctuary, because it seemed so… on the path. Mason has worked in native plant restoration for a long time, so he gave me and Olena a detailed lesson in endemic plants as we hiked. Soon, we hopped over a fence and started up a grassy 4x4 road along a cow pasture.

Olena knee deep in the mud

The views were stunning but the hike itself, two miles straight up a grassy road, was a little tedious. After an hour (felt like more) we arrived at a gate that allowed us to enter the Pu’u O Umi natural reserve. In an instant, we were in the rainforest. Aha, this is what I was waiting for. As we hiked, the terrain got more mushy and muddy, the ferns greener and the moss thicker. Before long, Mason and Olena, who were both barefoot, were knee deep in mud, while I chose the high road and walked on a small path lined with knee high, bright green and yellow moss. We stopped to eat musubi (think a sushi roll, but with Spam and egg instead of fish – gotta eat like the locals) and then headed for what we thought was the summit. The trail ended at a lookout in the forest but we were in the clouds and couldn’t see much, but Mason was pretty sure we were on the backside of the mountain above Waipio valley. On the way back down we slipped and slopped through the mud. We didn’t see one person the whole time on the hike. It was exactly the local experience I was looking for.

The next day was a Kona Sailing Club race day. I crewed for a nice guy named Brad, who recently bought a 40sih year old 38 foot J boat. The wind was surprisingly honking, much unlike the last time we sailed, so it was great to be on a bigger boat. Before the first race, Brad looked down below and said, woah, we’re taking on a lot of water. I went down below and sure enough, there was water coming up through the bilge and sloshing around the cabin. For the next three hours, while we raced, I took it upon myself to go down below and turn on the bilge pump for a few minutes to make sure we didn’t sink, except for the race where he let me drive. I have no idea where the leak is coming from but I hope Brad figures it out. We didn’t sink and we came in second, so I guess that’s a win? It was a fun day anyway.

The next day I packed up everything I thought I would need for a night or two of adventure and camping, and headed (finally!) toward Volcanoes National Park. I’ve been meaning to get down there since I arrived. My first stop was South Point, because I’m not good at planning and basically look for obvious geographical points of interest to guide me. My guide book told me that South Point is the southernmost point in the USA, the fishing is great, the currents are swift and be super duper careful if you snorkel in the crystal clear water because it’s mighty dangerous. Flying solo, I didn’t plan to get in the water because I was kind of spooked (understandably, right?), but after seeing the beautiful, clear water and watching pasty tourists jump off the high jump and survive, I decided to go for a little dip.

South Point

I didn’t jump off the high dive (sorry, Katie, I know you’d do a gainer off it), instead looked for a nice easy entrance at the water’s edge. I had also read in my guide book that the ancient Hawaiians bored holes in the rocks to tie off their canoes because at times the currents and wind were so strong, they couldn’t paddle against them, and at South Point there is nothing between you and say, Alaska or Antarctica. I walked the rocky cliff and scrambled down to the water’s edge where it looked like an easy enough entrance, albeit surgey, and sure enough, right there was a rock with a perfectly bored hole in it. It pleased me that the ancient Hawaiians and I both chose the same ocean entrance, because like I said before, it’s the little things.

I went for a quick snorkel, staying just close enough to shore to not get swept away but far enough not to get washed up onto the jagged rocks. After sunbathing naked on a rock for a few minutes, (it felt remote, although there were tourists milling about, just not where I was) I packed up and drove up into the mountains, where I snagged a chilly campsite on the side of an active volcano, because that’s what you do in Hawaii, but not before drinking a beer at the southernmost bar in the USA, heyyyo! I set up camp and then drove into the park, having no idea where I was going in the dark and the rain, until I came across an outlook, where I could see the glow of an active volcano reflecting in the clouds. It was awe-inspiring and humbling. 

Bad picture of a lake of fucking lava

Next, I drove around the other side of the crater and ended up at the Keanakako’i Overlook, where I watched a real live lake of red hot fucking molten lava spew and spray for an hour or so. It was fairly crowded with people coming and going, and it was fun to hear people’s reactions as they approached the apocalyptic lake, although traveling solo you realize how loud and how much other people talk. 

I went back to my campsite and ate cheese and crackers in the car for dinner, put on pretty much every piece of clothing I brought, wrapped myself in a blanket and realized that I could see the glow of the volcano from where I stood, right before dove into a semi-soggy tent for a rather chilly night’s sleep. I was warned, but I wasn’t super well prepared. Oops, now I know for next time. 

The next morning I spent an hour building a fire from wet twigs and branches to heat water for coffee (dammit Mom, why didn’t you make me do Girl Scouts?!), and after coffee, breakfast and breaking down camp, I went back into the park. I met a wonderful volunteer park ranger, Steve, who invited me on an off the trail informational hike at 1pm, but I wanted to get to Hilo so I told him I’d be back another day and went off on my own hike. I hiked around a small portion of the crater in the lush ferns and endemic fauna, with the bleak, mars-esque terrain of the Kilauea caldera on my left. It was so fucking cool. Again, on the hike I didn’t come across one person. I turned around when I came across a sign on the caldera floor that said, “Land beyond this point is closed to the public due to volcanic hazards,” and felt very badass.

The cool thing about the Big Island is that, while there is lots to do and see, everything is pretty close. So after my hike I headed into Hilo, about a 45 minute drive from Volcanoes. I went to Radio Bay, an industrial area of Hilo that is of absolutely no interest to anyone, except for the fact that it is where my family and I docked when we sailed to Hawaii when I was 8. After snapping a photo and getting weird looks from some locals who were drinking beer on the breakwater, I went to find food. 

The normal, downtown part of Hilo is very cute, with lots of shops, restaurants and a farmers market, and a strong authentic vibe that very much feels like Hawaii. From my limited experience, the Kona side feels a little more manicured and catered more toward tourists. On a bit of a high, I decided I wanted to stay on this side of the island for another night, but didn’t want to pay $80 to sleep in a hammock or camp in someone’s front yard, so I texted Mason and asked him if he had any recommendations. He said you can camp on Laupahoehoe Beach Park for $20 per night and I said, “Perfect!!!” I went online and saw that it was a cute, grassy park on the shore with bathrooms and showers (of which I was in dire need of both), bought a permit to camp, then headed around the island that direction. 

The only picture I took in Laupahoehoe

It was around 4pm when I got to Laupahoehoe, cloudy and squally, with sheets of rain coming down intermittently. I winded down the steep, jungly-lush road to the beach, which was more of a rocky shore line with a boat ramp. I decided to check out my guide book and see what it said about the area. Apparently, this is where, in 1946, 24 people were killed in a giant tsunami. Sure enough, I saw the memorial and read all about the 21 children and 3 adults who were swept out to sea on that fateful day. And yes, there were showers, but they made the Ocean Beach showers look fancy. To be fair, three old men who looked like they might live at the beach park invited me to drink beers with them, but I politely declined. I poked around trying to find some tourists or someone my age (and preferably gender) to talk with about camping for the night, but struck out. Between the weather, the natural past disasters, and the just plain weird vibe that I got from the place, I decided to book it back to the farm. Again, perks of living on a small island.

I had to laugh at myself as I drove back up the winding, jungle path back to the main highway, promising to do more research before booking a campsite and even possibly before I leave on my adventure. It was a good lesson in solo traveling all around. Being alone, I can go wherever I want whenever I want, but I might be hesitant to do things for lack of a buddy or for lack of someone to split costs with. Also, maybe I should travel with someone who is a better planner than me. Ha ha. Still, it felt good to go it alone, and felt like a reconnaissance mission to figure out which places to return to, and which places to maybe not return. 

Needless to say, I got home, had a nice hot shower and crashed in my comfy bed. The end.

One Month Check-In

 

Perfection

I’ve been in Hawaii just over a month and from one side it feels like I’ve been here for a few short days, and from another it feels like I’ve been here a lifetime. In the words of Janis Joplin, “It’s all the same fucking day, man.”

I suppose I haven’t reported back in a while because there haven’t been many fireworks or volcanic eruptions per se (ha ha bad joke), but it is the little things here that I absolutely geek out on. For example, my favorite flower in the world is the plumeria. So to find perfect little plumerias lining the driveway absolutely does it for me. I love mangoes. When I went over to Monica’s brother Mason’s house and found he had a tree chock full of ripe mangoes, we sat under the tree and gorged on mangoes until we were covered in sticky juice and had tummy aches. Then we went surfing, and then to the local dive bar. I mean… Can you ask for a nicer afternoon than that?

Chock full o’ mangoes

The other day I was reading in my cabin while Captain, the dog, sunbathed on the steps outside my door. I heard him snarl, take off running, heard the squeaking of a dying animal and instinctively knew that he had killed a mongoose. Mongooses (mongeese?) are an invasive species, brought here by brilliant sugar cane moguls who thought they would solve the rat problem. But rats are nocturnal and mongeese (I like that version) are diurnal so it was not a well thought out plan. Mongeese cause a lot of damage on the islands so nobody is too sad to see them run over by a car or killed by a cheeky pup. My satisfaction came from knowing, without seeing, exactly what had happened. Like I said, it’s the little things.

One not so little thing I’ve accomplished since being here is finishing James Michener’s Hawaii. I highly recommend the first 20 pages (out of 1,068), which give a fascinating description of the creation and geological evolution of the Hawaiian islands that I am still trying to wrap my mind around. The other 1,048 pages paint an occasionally interesting, fictional portrait of how present day Hawaii came to be, culturally and socioeconomically, from the point of view of an old, American, white dude. That said, it is based on historical facts one can verify from current events. See this article about how the US navy poisoned an aquifer in Oahu... oops. 

Yes, I’ve been reading a lot. I like having an understanding of wherever it is I’m traveling. Monica and Ryan have a copy of Captain Cook in Hawaii by Terrence Barrow, which is agreed upon by both haoles and Hawaiians to be the most accurate account of the realization of the existence of the Hawaiian Islands by a European (don’t say “discovered”). Plus, the book is embossed with gold so it must be factual. It also gives a first hand description of Captain Cook’s death at Kealakekua Bay, which is coincidentally right at the bottom of the hill below the farm.

I haven’t gotten to the part where the Hawaiians kill Cook so I can’t comment on that, but I’ll give him props for two aspects of his character: one, he accidentally stumbled across Hawaii as his ships were sailing north from Tahiti, looking for a northern passage across North America. Upon finding the islands, Cook didn’t plant the British flag – didn’t claim the land for Britain – he merely wanted to replenish resources, chart the islands and move on. Second, he forbade any of his men from having sex with the local women because most of the sailors had venerial diseases, which he knew would decimate the local populations. Unfortunately, his men didn’t obey his orders, and the local populations were decimated. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, right?

The Monument with local flair

Last weekend, Monica and I hiked “The Monument” which ends at the monument to Captain Cook at the north end of Kealakekua Bay. His monument has been adorned with local flair by red paint that says, “YOU ARE ON NATIVE LAND.” Hard to argue with that one. Then Monica and I went for a delightful snorkel and hiked the two miles straight up back to the road, which nearly killed me.

The mongoose killer in the pineapple patch

Other than that, (and writing my own Michener-esque account here) I’ve been getting a lot of pleasure out of tending the pineapple patch up by my cabin, going for afternoon snorkels, learning new songs on guitar, giving the cats and dog lots of good scratches, and keeping the kids happy. Next on my list of things to do is see more of the island.

Greetings

Greetings from a very salty, smelly, crunchy, tired Schneider. In the past four days I have camped, had a birthday, sailed in a regatta, surfed, volunteered at a keiki sailing camp and have still not had a proper shower.

Camping was a blast. We packed up everything but the kitchen sink on Saturday morning, and headed out to Pinetrees beach where we set up to hang for the next three days. Monica had bought the permits to camp last summer, so it was serendipitous that we were able to camp at my favorite surf spot on the island for my birthday. A gaggle of other people, including no less than six other kids joined, so there was a party (and the occasional meltdown or two) from sun up til after sundown every day.

A rare quiet(ish) moment in the camp kitchen

For my birthday I made a pitcher of lilikoi margaritas - my dad’s famous recipe with a Hawaiian flair - that had all of us singing songs by the campfire way too late into the night. Ok, maybe until 11pm but that is late for camping. We were graced by a pod of humpback whales off the beach, a beautiful sunset and a lot of great friends, new and old.

The next morning the famous lilikoi margaritas had become infamous and everyone was convinced I had tried to kill them, but I clearly remember giving stark warnings: “you guys these are super strong. It’s like, basically all alcohol.” But they were so delicious nobody took me seriously.

Kona Sailing Club Opening Day Regatta with Alicia

The next day I had committed to sailing in the Opening Day regatta for the Kona Sailing Club. I am, after all, their newest member, and the harbor is conveniently located in the next bay over from Pinetrees, so I couldn’t bail. I dragged my throbbing head off the beach and down to the harbor where I tried my absolute best to be cheery and helpful and not rig the boat backwards or fall in the water. Fortunately, Alicia had someone else work the foredeck so I chilled at the helm most of the race. It was mercilessly hot and the wind was light, and by the time the second race came around I was cursing my decision making and commitment skills. By the grace of Pele, the windward mark had started to deflate and sink (rinkadink, I told you) so the race committee called off the second race. Alicia suggested we all jump in for a swim and I did not hesitate. On our way back into the harbor I saw a little tiger shark. 

After the Opening Day festivities, I headed back to the campsite where I came across the whole bunch, plus many more kids, celebrating Monica’s niece’s eleventh birthday. I didn’t have much left in the tank so I made myself scarce for most of the evening. I was excited to go to bed and finally as the camp quieted down and the tweenagers stopped giggling and went to sleep, the sky opened up and torrential, tropical rain fell on our ill prepared camp. It never rains at Pinetrees, said Monica. Ha ha.

It didn’t help that I had put the rain fly on inside out so my tent was funneling water inside instead of shedding it, but everyone’s tents got absolutely flooded. I grabbed my sleeping roll and dove into my car (gotta love the hatchback) and slept there (more or less) all night. Everyone had their means to get through the night but nobody slept very well.

Fortunately, the beach is so hot that by mid morning on Monday everything had dried out. We spent the day surfing, hanging on the beach, playing with the babies, fishing, whale watching, soaking sea urchin riddled keiki feet in vinegar, eating food, drinking beers and jamming on the guitar. It was a mellow day and night, and no torrential rain storms, which was a good thing because I had committed to volunteering at the sailing camp today.

Kona Sailing Camp

Now, I envisioned myself sitting in the motor boat yelling at kids to pull in their main sheet, but this morning I got a text from Alicia asking if I would sail in a boat with a kid because someone didn’t show up. Sure. Oh and it’s capsize day today. Wonderful.

I spent the last six hours with 8 kids, who were all delightful and mostly happy to be there; helping them rig boats, get their life jackets on, launch boats, sail for three hours, land boats, de rig, wash sails and life jackets, and now I’m really tired. I treated myself to a beer and late lunch at the Harbor House, and it’s happy hour so a beer is $3.75, which fits into my current budget. I might have another one before I go. Or I might just crawl under the bar and take a nap.

Time

If you’ve spent time in the tropics, then you know that time floats by like a soft, warm breeze – almost imperceptible unless you really stop to think about it. Granted, this perception comes from the standpoint of the fun, old “retired” auntie, with nothing better to do than meander around, sightseeing, reading books and playing with the kids. 

For Monica and Ryan things are a little different, juggling their jobs, kids and farm; they never feel like there is enough time in a day. But they also go super hard. After working all week last week, Monica got home from work on Friday and cooked up a storm for Mahina’s first birthday party. On Saturday morning we were all packed and in the car for a beach day at 7:30 AM, and spent the entire day at the beach. The next morning they were all in the car at 7:45 AM ready for Sunday morning yoga down at the beach. I opted to stay in my cozy bed and drink coffee. Sorry flexibility, I’ll get to you someday.

But truly, it is an absolute gift to have this time, and I’m grateful for every moment. What would you do with 3-4 days a week of no commitments on a paradisiacal island? Although I am perfectly happy hanging around the farm harvesting huge stalks of bananas and papayas, throwing the ball for the dog and giving the chickens food scraps, I do want to explore all sides of the island. That said, I’m not the best at going out and doing things on my own (but getting better!), and the jungle kind of freaks me out (scary bugs and wild pigs!), so my exploration has sort of followed the path of my normal hobbies.

I recently joined the Kona Sailing Club, which is a rinkadink hodgepodge of small boats, but it will be a fun way to get on the water, make new friends, and explore the Kona coast line. They also recruited me to volunteer for the keiki sailing camp during spring break next week. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes. I’ve been spending time exploring the local beaches, and on Monday watched Humpback whales breach right off shore – Hawaiian fireworks as Monica calls it – while everyone on the beach cheered. 

I also reached out to a few friends that have moved to the Islands over the years, and had a nice dinner with David and Kris, who gave me the insider intel on the gay scene in Kona, which isn’t quite as hopping as Hillcrest, but at least there is one. In any case, it was nice to feel like I have friends here aside from Monica and Ryan, who are very welcoming and inclusive, but would also understandably like some solo time with their family.

The good thing about this majestic island is that you don’t have to go too far to find incredibly beautiful and interesting places around here. A five minute drive down the mountain from the farm is Kealakekua bay, which was settled by Hawaiians over 1,000 years ago, where Captain Cook was killed in 1779, and is now a historical state park and marine preserve, with excellent snorkeling, kayaking and whale watching. If you love a good Wikipedia rabbit hole, you can explore more about Kealakekua bay here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kealakekua_Bay. And this is all just down the road. There are equally mind blowing nooks and crannies and bays and beaches and valleys and mountains all over this island. 

Being in Hawaii is like time traveling, not only because the days float by, but because I can experience billions of years while star and galaxy gazing as I pee outside at 3 AM, millions of years of geologic and natural history pondering the fact that I’m living on the side of the active volcano Mauna Loa, a thousand years of human history, and then play with a toddler, for whom every day is an eternity and every kabooma (fall) is a calamity. 

But really, I’ve been enjoying being Auntie Corie more than any other aspect of my time here. The kids are exhausting but sweet. Inevitably whenever I sit down to write, Bodhi Kai knocks on my screen door asking me to read him a book, and who could say no to that? Yesterday we made smoothies with fresh fruit from the farm, which he calls “poonies.” A few days ago there was a huge, dead, flying cockroach in the kitchen that was being eaten by ants, so we had a discussion about the circle of life. I had to pull the dog, Captain, off a wild chicken that he had cornered and was trying to eat (alive), and bag up a rooster that he and a mongoose had killed together. Whenever I walk in the door Mahina gives me a huge smile and crawls over to be picked up and hugged. She has taken a few steps on her own and is about to walk any day now. It truly is a special time.

Practice Aloha

It’s not that I had forgotten this aspect of traveling, and in fact I expected it, but the sting of being a kook in a new place is probably the least fun aspect of traveling. Call it what you will – the finding one’s feet, the getting the lay of the land – can be a bit rough, even in one’s own country. While I haven’t done any major cultural faux pas (yet), I’ve still had the humbling experience of feeling like an outsider.

Although I’m still in my own country, and have only been here just over a week, I have felt the sting of embarrassment more than once, just living life. Maybe I’m too sensitive, but after living in one place for a long time and having the place wired, that out-of-place feeling of embarrassment is foreign. But that’s why we travel, right?

(Side note, my gecko roommate just pooped on me from the ceiling. They are not as tidy as they initially made themselves out to be.)

It’s been a long time since I paddled out at a surf break and did not catch one wave, paddling back in with my tail between my legs. Alas, it has happened twice since I’ve been here. I’m trying to be gentle and patient with myself, but I’m used to paddling out to the peak at my favorite waves and picking off the best wave I see within minutes. I guess the humility is good for me.

So long as you don’t drive too fast, don’t park too close to the old uncles, don’t post up on the beach too close to the people next to you, don’t paddle out to the peak before it’s your turn and never, ever, EVER drop in on the locals, it’s all good. But we all make mistakes.

That said, people around here are generally pretty nice. You just have to smile and say hi first, so says Monica. She makes friends with everyone. It isn’t my natural tendency to be nice and friendly and outgoing with everyone who crosses my path, but in my travels, it has been these outgoing people who have made my experiences so special. Whether it is the guy in the lineup who tells me to paddle deeper and he will block for me, or the bartender who says he likes my vibe and buys me a beer, those small acts of kindness go along way. It inspires me to be a kinder, more patient person with those who I can tell are trying to find their way, instead of honking and swerving around them.

I know that it is a lot harder to feel the aloha when you are late for work and sitting in traffic, or experiencing any number of ways our capitalistic society tries to crush our souls, but on behalf of all the kooky tourists out there, I ask you to be patient and kind with us.

This also applies to refugees and immigrants, who have been forced to leave their homelands. I can only imagine what it is like for someone who has no resources, doesn’t speak the language, doesn’t understand the culture and is just trying to get by. My heart goes out to all of them, and I will do my best to practice aloha with everyone who crosses my path.