Honoka'a Ah

Unwilling to get all of our laboriously dried gear wet again, we pulled over to assess our options. One miraculous phone call later, it turned out that we had parked across the street from the only hotel on the entire island with remotely affordable rates. Hotel Honoka'a Club is run by a sweet little woman from Maui.  She left a movie theater during the previews to come back to the hotel to check us in. And instead of doing so perfunctorily and rushing back to her movie, she waited until we were completely settled to return. She informed us of the hotel's history, town happenings, where to get groceries and where to buy sundries. Only when she was satisfied that we knew all of the advantages and disadvantages of all of our options in Honoka'a did she return to the theater. Of the options she gave us, we chose the the sports bar in town. Reminiscent of the television-adorned beer saloons of the northeast, it felt familiar. Its offerings were more exotic -- delicious edamame and alcoholic root beer floats. However, I don't think she realized that all we really wanted that evening was a roof.

On Sunday morning, we awoke to cocks crowing. The sun rose unencumbered by clouds. After a communal island breakfast of tropical fruits and a lot of recommendations about where to go and what to do for the remainder of out trip, we slathered on sunscreen and drove west - in the sunshine.
The afternoon was vacation bliss. We checked out Piilanihale Heiau, walked along the beach and snorkeled with innumberable fish. Consulting my guidebook later that evening, I identified LOTS of fish- cornetfish, angelfish, wrasses, parrot fish and even a snowflake eel. 

We were all loving the island life when we drove on to Kona airport with the wind blowing through our hair and our wet swimsuits flapping themselves dry out of the car's windows. We were confident that 15 minutes away on Maui the sun would still be shining like it was here on the Big Island.

And it was.

The sun shined as we island hopped to Maui. It shined as we drove to Lahaina and as we ate burgers and ice cream pie at Kimos on the waterfront. The sun shined as the wind rose.By the time we checked into the Westin at Ka'anapali the sun was still shining - though setting and the wind was really blowing. It blew almost as loud as the massive air conditioning unit outside of our hotel room.

Saddled with Moisture

Sure, sure, the high point between the towering summits of Wanna Lay-ya and Wanna Kill-ya offers open sweeping views that were a start contrast to the dark, wet confines of the lava tubes. However, the bird watchers and nature lovers are not the only people to appreciate this isolated plateau of high ground.

Your friendly US Government appreciates this area for a very different reason, and as such just below the saddle you can witness miles of picturesque barb wire tracking over the landscape. Behind the welcoming fences are large pieces of equipment of various types that do their best not to blend in with the natural landscape they occupy.

Also along this stretch of road we were able to witness a Hummer migration towards the base. This Harem of Hummers roared along the terrain like a pack of wild hogs that were fed a diet of steroids and muscle builder and washed it down with growth-hormone-laced milk. It was a sight to behold.

The sun did come out, both literally and figuratively, however in the town of Waimea. Here not only did we find refuge from the rain, but also refuge from our frustrations in the form of cold, fermented hops at the Waimea Brewing Company. We decorated our Dodge Nitro like a gypsy hovel with all of our wet gear (i.e. all of our gear) and enjoyed a few pints of Hawaiian-brewed goodness as the rarely seen sun did its work.

We ended the day with a hike down to some valley with a couple of tall waterfalls and a beach with some sand that is darker than average. That was fine. The hike back up, however, was not completed before rain once again fell from the sky. By the time we made it back to the top of the ridge, we were once again drenched and our rental car smelled like a homeless shelter. One that allows booze.

Our day had ended and our camping plans were quite literally washed away. Once again, we were Driving from the Rain…

Worshipful Pele

March 3

Truly we drove into the rain on Friday. And truly we couldn’t drive far enough to entirely escape it on Saturday. But despite the general dampness, we had moments of sun. And brief moments of dry pants.

Before we ever got wet we did had a few only in Hawaii moments. Driving towards Volcano we stopped at a black sand beach created by a volcanic eruption of uncountable bits of tephra. Green sea turtles lounged on the shore in piles of chelonian laziness. They barely bothered to blink while we circled them with digital cameras.

Setting up our tent in the dark at Volcano National Park’s free campground, a wide red plume rose between us and Orion. Drawn to its source, we went as close as we could to the mesmerizing plume.  There we stood in a silent primitive awe watching black shapes form and disperse in the swirling mass of steam rising from the lava lake below. We gaped. We could only get close enough to see the reflection of the source of earth’s creation and destruction, but any closer would surely have killed us. We were staring at the pulsating heart of Pele or of Shiva or some other destroyer creator, at the manifestation of a kind of geologic omnipotence.

Once the rain began, the red plume pulsed on, it’s burning unaffected by water. Most of the National Park trails and even roads were closed. The lava lake was boiling too wildly and too close to the surface. Perhaps it was thirsty for tourist blood. We wouldn’t have been able to spend our only full day on the Big Island hiking in the park even if it hadn’t been pouring.

Instead we drank the first of many delicious cups of Kona coffee at a dive in Volcano.

And drove through drenched Hilo.

To the lava tubes, the derelict intestines of the active Pele we had seen the night before. We snuck into her bowels at an unassuming roadside picnic area. Tim, Jay and I followed cavern after ancient dripping cavern, daring each other to go further away from all vestiges of natural light. The rain dripped through the porous volcanic soil onto lava stalactites and onto our heads. Our feet waded through a roiling subterranean stream. With each step we got wetter and with each step we entrusted ourselves more to headlamp batteries that hadn’t been changed since last summer. Aside from them, the darkness was complete. We were spelunkers, encountering underground rivers, divided passageways, minute skylights of sunlight unreachably far overhead.

 Overexcited, Tim and I got ahead of Jay and found ourselves returning to a distinctive subterranean waterfall. We had unwittingly traveled in a circle. But Pele had been kind. She disgorged us at a known location. Expecting that Jay wouldn’t follow our lucky route, Tim and I began an exhilarating overland and underground search for our missing comrade. As we outnumbered him, he was the one that was missing of course. Splashing and scraping through the wet dark world created by lava was invigorating . So was the disorienting jungle of strangling spiky Hawaiian plant life on the ground above it. I didn’t care that the vegetation slashed through my pants or that the aa lava slashed my skin. Aa lava hurts and slashes.

The drive over the Saddle between Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea was damp and nauseating, but beautifully unfamiliar. The volcanic alpine zone. A tropical lake fed by permafrost. An island army base. The applicability of these concepts’ internal contradictions: Hawaii, domestic exotic.

Who cares if it rains.

Ring Around the Big Island

A fine example of a kind of view that we didn't get in Hawaii.

"Come to the coast, we'll have a lot of sunshine..."

OK, so our first visit to Hawaii proper, or "The Big Island" as it's commonly known, didn't go quite as badly as Jack McClain's visit to see his ex-wife in California but lets just say I didn't use a lot of ink scratching things off my must-do list for this place.

We arrived early in the day on Friday and mercifully the weather held off long enough for us to enjoy a couple of beers and a cheeseburger on the outside patio at the Kona Brewing Company. For a few glorious hours, things were looking up and the potential for this vacation was unlimited. Here we were drinking Hawaii beer, eating Hawaii beef and basking in Hawaii sun.

Only an hour south of Kona, however, we realized that this trip would be no different than the last trip. It all starts off so innocently; some black-ish clouds in the horizon, a couple of drops of rain on the windshield. "No big deal," we tell ourselves, "it rains every day on Hawaii, this just just the afternoon spit."

Then the heavier rain starts to fall and the justifications begin. "You know this place doesn't get to be so beautiful without a little rain falling," Alison says from the passenger seat.

"Yea, plus we are just driving around the island tonight anyway. Tomorrow is the day that really matters," I respond.

Well right there I might as well have just strapped a boot to my right hand and punched myself in the nuts because that pain would have been awful but it would have receded quickly. However since I had the audacity to wish for a day of nice weather, I was punished for that transgression with one of the worst thunderstorms that I've ever camped in.

Sure, in my post-vacation rose-colored-glasses evaluation of the trip, things COULD have been worse. The rain COULD have started an hour earlier thus forcing us to set up came in a downpour. At 4000 feet above sea-level, the sheets of rain that came down all night COULD have turned to hail, or snow, or ice. While the tent leaked and some of our stuff got wet, my trusty 15 year old Sierra Designs car camper held mostly true and kept us warm. The endless thunder and lightening could have been closer...

We woke up the next morning alive and had no problem shaking off the cobwebs as the bathrooms were more than a 10 second sprint from our now-battered tent. After performing our morning duties in a hasty manner, we tossed our drenched gear into the back of our nondescript mid-sized SUV along with a wet dog (well, at least it smelled that way). Alison prepared some cold instant coffee in her stained, unwashed metal thermos while I munched on a banana and some beef jerky that I was up until this point saving for our hike in Volcano National Park.

We were off, and once again Driving from the Rain...