Hunkering down on the Hanalei

The wild winds and stormy weather persists. No ocean kayaking for me this trip.

So with the sand fast running out on my stay of execution on the old red island I hire a yellow plastic tub for a paddle on the Hanalei river.

From a distance it looks idyllic: a river winding through taro fields and a wildlife refuge. As I am driving there rainbows play across the vista. Veils of rain shift and swirl around the mountains.

Once one is on the river, however, one doesn't see much of the refuge and the fields. Banks rose pretty high on either side on the day of my paddle, though I can see that in recent floods the water level was much higher. At other times the vegetation is thick and dense along the banks: bamboo, banana, coconut palms and the other jungly kind of trees and bushes.

I do meet some of the locals.

Right as I launch a Hawaiian gallinule ('Alae 'Ula) from the moorhen family, is preening in the foliage. This native Hawaiian waterfowl is know for secrecy and my greeter hastens away as I pull the camera out. Not before affording me opportunity to admire the beautiful long yellow legs and the red frontal shield which was burned when this compassionate little fellow brought humans fire from the volcano gods.

A little way into the paddle, once I am under the bridge and in the taro fields, Nene, the Hawaiian national bird (Branta sandvicensis) purr as I pass by. In the sections where the banks are grassy I realize that I am paddling through Nene City, though perhaps I am a little early in the day. Many have their heads turned under a wing in sleep. I am glad, however, to have spent time with these geese, cousins of the migratory flocks I recently communed with in the snow melt mud of the fields around Deadhorse Gulch.

Black Crowned Night herons (Nycticorax Nycticoras) roosting higher in the trees get a little restive on occasion when I pass by. They are well hidden and I miss them unless they move.

I am excited to see a couple of fresh water turtles sunning on the rocks. However, on doing some research to identify them I discover that they are Red Eared Sliders (Trachemys scripta elegans) and alien invaders. Most probably pets released when the owners no longer want them, these now pose a problem to the fragile island ecosystems.  More information in this 2005 article here.

Interestingly Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles were from this species of turtle. Ah! how the eighties do come back to haunt. There seems to be pretty much an ongoing theme woven through this island sojourn: alien invaders.

I paddle until the river runs narrow, passing some serious logjams and navigating some swirls and boils. I see local fisherpeople and a banana harvester. I weather some heavy showers which have me wondering about flash floods. The return journey was speedy. The river current and the wind combined to make it more a float than a paddle. I only needed to do the occasional steering dip. I spend the rest of the day smelling slightly of pond slime but feeling calm and tranquil for having been on the water in the Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge.

It was a good way to spend a few hours and makes it even more interesting to survey the geography from a vantage point now. That was the river I paddled, there, curving to the left, around that mountain and up that kloof. Well something like that.

Getting it off my chest: why impeccability matters

Rant alert: Twenty four hours after bad weather had us pulled from the Po'ipu to Port Allen paddle I realize I am angry.

Not angry with the weather and the waves. Those one accepts - it is all part of the relationship with nature when one is a disciple in the holy Order of the Double Bladed Paddle.

No, here are the things I didn't say on Thursday when I was being nice to the shaken up young people who had a bit of a taste of failure on the high seas.

I am angry with the dishonesty of this inexperienced couple whose repeated capsizes led to multiple recovery efforts out in the ocean in rough seas which eventually led to my paddling the male in (with some more capsize) while the tour guide Nick paddled the female in.

This couple had NO previous kayaking experience. That's fine. A lot of people have never been in a kayak before (ag jammertog, imagine that!). On the other hand those who have never sat in a kayak before do not (should not) sign up for challenging kayak paddles in the stormy Pacific Ocean in winter.

The Po'ipu to Port Allen paddle is rated "challenging". The requirements are clearly stated on the paddle company website and the indemnities we sign. On the morning of the paddle, before we loaded into the van to take us to put-in, we were asked again, in person, face to face, if we have kayaked before. Again at the kayaks, immediately before put in.

Turns out the couple who gave us all the trouble fudged the truth on this one. Repeatedly.

This dishonesty endangered all the rest of us on that paddle: Nick the amazingly cool headed, even tempered tour guide and myself who had to do recovery after recovery a few miles out, the two other couples who had to repeatedly turn around and wait in high, rough seas.

The male part of that couple, aka Mike, is in the United States military in San Diego. The navy? I am not absolutely sure which branch, but I suspect so. Niiiiice one. Just who I want defending me out at sea. Not.

Yes this Mike did have nice manners and call me "m'am" repeatedly but, to put it bluntly, he didn't know shit about kayaking. It also seemed to me that he had no aloha for the salt water and he was definitely NOT comfortable on a kayak. Growing up on Long Island does not qualify as kayaking experience if you have never put your rear end in a kayak.

Mike and wife: you endangered the lives of every other person on that paddle through your lack of integrity. You do NOT lie about your lack of experience and enter a challenging kayak paddle in the Pacific Ocean in winter. The organizers rely on entrant's word. They have no other vetting procedure. Your word is assumed to be the truth.

Mike: I paddled your dead weight in, through some of the roughest seas I have ever paddled, using only my wrong side of fifty year old arms for steering as well because twenty-something you, sitting in the driver seat, could not get how to use the rudder pedals either. Thank you for extending my experience with the salt water, moving me up a notch in my discipleship in the holy Order of the Double Bladed Paddle. I scored that round, since I have never had to do that kind of rescue in rough water before. Yes, you gifted me.

However, I hope you have learned something from this: I hope you will act more responsibly and with more integrity in future.

It is really very simple: honesty is always the best policy. Be impeccable with your word.

Always.

Lesson over for the day.

Now, since the wind is still howling and the sea is still raging, I am off to find another river to paddle. Om Shanti. Peace Out and all dat kine stuffs

Prayer paddling the Wailua River: all rivers are gods

The Wailua River on the island of Kaua'i is a pretty sacred river for native Hawaiians. I did not want to go on a guided tour up this river, paddling in a huddle with a bunch of strangers and a tour guide telling me second-hand, worn out and weary eco and pop-cultural/historical titbits along the way. I wanted to paddle solo so that the river could tell me its story. I wanted a prayer paddle.

Score! The girl gets what she wants. It pays to have kanaka maoli (native Hawaiian) connections or at least to having had my ear tuned to kaona, the hidden message, to hear what isn't being said. It was hard work, but I found a company who would hire me a single kayak (mostly they have tandems) and who would allow me to go on an unguided paddle on this great, sometimes grey green greasy (thankyou Rudyard Kipling) Wailua River.

At put in at the mouth, the water was a beautiful flow of dancing blues reflecting the 7 am dawn light. The satin oily sheen reminded me of other sacred rivers, not just the Limpopo and Zambezi, but also the Ganges and the Nile.  The wind had my back gently. The river was all mine, not another soul on it yet on this day.

By the time I was paddling beneath Poli'ahu Heiau, where I watched the sun rise on the equinox the previous day, the water had changed to green, the reflections playing back even more shades of green.

Onward intrepid paddler! The river forks and I take the right one. Walls of  jungle vegetation begin closing in. There's a primeval slime smell. A dead piglet floats on the surface - pua'a offering up a sacrifice. The water has turned to a deep grey-green aquamarine.

After about 45 minutes of paddling, I get to a beach and some rapids. The little yellow plastic bath tub toy can go no further. I will follow the river on foot from here on. My destination: a secret jungle waterfall.

The path is strewn with fresh flowers  - can't get more holy than that. My footprints are the first that day.  I feel blessed, or very lucky, which come to the same thing in the end. I see signs of wild pigs having rooted in the soft earth overnight, some evidence of their cloven hoof prints. Though I couldn't be sure, the thumps and bumps in the undergrowth could just be pua'a. Bird calls are loud surround sound music in the canopy.

I come out into a clearing where strange monsters loom. An exotic invader vine has completely covered trees. The grass is six foot tall, over my head. I feel a little spooked in this place. Especially when I look up and see million dollar homes on a ridge, empty shiny glass windows watching me. Monsters to the left of me, monsters to the right.

I am glad to get back into the safety of the forest where the ringing silence alerts me to the rock walls of ancient moss covered ruins. A king once walked here. Ferns, roots, vines like huge coiling pythons and always that river, beautiful and blue. Mysterious and dark indigo sometimes, leading me on and on.

At last the Secret Falls. A plunge of white water into green pool. Mission accomplished. I make an offering, say my thanks and turn.

The guided tours have reached the beach by the time I return. Teeming hordes of people are dragging and trampling over the sacrificial flowers and pua'a tracks. I feel the hostility from some of the guides. Someone has gotten away from them, managed to slip under the fence.

I don't know. If I was native Hawaiian I wouldn't like my ancestral holy places being tramped upon daily. At the very least I think only native Hawaiian owned companies should be allowed to operate tours. What's with all these alien invaders making money out of a sacred heritage? It is only a matter of time before those smothering vines strangle and kill the  forest on which it is grows. Parasitic relationships are never sustainable in the long run.

Yes, just like the guidebook says, there IS a lot of politics surrounding Wailua River tours. And so there should be.

Yes, I slipped under the fence, but the wire was held up for me by a native Hawaiian. Does that give me the right to occupy some moral high ground? No. I just got lucky. Stubby local bananas, even sacrificial ones, rule here. Or should. That's a protest poster.

The return paddle is rigorous. The wind is against me and strengthening, funneling up the river valley, canceling out any benefit of current. This is a first workout of the season for my arms. It feels good to lean into the blade, to flex against water, though I am worrying about exhausting unused muscles with a big ocean paddle lined up on the morrow. As it turns out that paddle turned into a huli fest, as per previous post. (Yes I am posting out of chronological order here)

On my return journey, I see a few stand up paddleboarders, pass flocks of kayakers. Some are really bad at navigating passage - these guided tours will let anyone on as long as they hand over the dead presidents. At least 3 big flat bottomed river boats carrying aloha shirted, guitar strumming golden-brown skinned musicians playing to crowds of package tourists churn the waters.  Big wheel keep on turning. All the traffic is going upstream to my downstream paddle now. As I near the ocean, the river acquires glints of silver and white in all the the grey green greasiness. It is all churned up with excitement to meet the crashing breakers.

My Wailua was a precious gift of a paddle/hike experience: Forget the strong brown god (TS Eliot - Four Quartets). The one I found was a strong multicoloured god. Mahalo nui loa.

The Pacific by any other name, would swell so sweet

Ocean won this round.

We were pulled out of the Po'ipu to Port Allen paddle after only a couple of miles by repeated huli (capsize), huge surf and a small craft weather advisory.

The roughest and toughest seas I have ever paddled.

I got to play (unwilling but no choice) hero and do recovery for a struggling couple too. A first for me. And huli too when paddling the rescue wagon. Ugh. I am like a cat when it comes to getting tumbled. Hate getting thrown in the water. Even warm tropical water. Though today's could be called boiling.

We did have time to see a beautiful huge honu (Hawaiian sea turtle) reassuring me that it was there as safety net, guiding us into harbour. One lucky couple had a monk seal accompany them in the wild waves a bit. I was too busy concentrating on getting my people to safety to enjoy the wildlife much. No whales.

The Pacific Ocean in winter sometimes throws its name away.

Five minutes before launching, who would have thought looking at this scene? There is a clue in the palm trees, though. Serious wind there.

Linguistic perils

Keep encountering rude license plates on vehicles on this island, telling me there is bad lovin' here.

Can't be true, can it?

The perils of knowing too many languages. Very distracting in the traffic.

Blissfully blistered

On my first day on Kaua'i I found myself at Ke'e beach - the trailhead for the Kalalau trail. I hadn't really planned to do this trail but the path led up through the trees from the parking lot. It was really early morning: the day stretched ahead of me unwritten on. There was no reason not to see what was around that bend.

I soon discovered that this is a trail for mountain goats, and preferably reasonably fit ones. There are a lot of ups and downs. It is pretty much all inclines and declines as the trail winds along the series of pali (cliffs) and valleys of this spectacular stretch of Kauai, the oldest island in the chain.

I would call many parts more a rocky scramble than a walk.

This coastline was the training ground for ancient Hawaiian warriors, both on land and sea. The balance and physical strength required in one's legs to navigate some of the sections of the trail had me thinking of hula - especially some of the male hula dance moves. Certainly my yoga balance asanas stood me in good stead. That said my calves took strain and are letting me know about it still two days later.

Last time on Kaua'i,  I paddled this coast. Though I hadn't actually planned it, once I was on the trail, it seemed fitting that I be walking the earth. At one point, I turned to admire a view and right there was a green lizard on a leaf. Just letting me know that I was in the right place at the right time. Lizard medicine. Still with me.

Much of the trail is lush tropical jungle vegetation, other parts drier and exposed depending on which side of the ridge one is on. There are dreamscape places where vines and roots cling and clamber to span walls of spectacular mysterious-spirited black volcanic rock on one side of the trail. The other side drops vertiginously to emptiness or maybe ocean way way below.

The Kalalau trail is not a place to wander absently off the path. Definitely asks for focus and attention.

I am visiting in the rainy season of one of the wettest places on earth. There was quite a bit of water making the lovely red earth into sticky red mud and the rocky river crossings were sometimes slippery little torrents.

I experienced occasional downpours and then patches of sun burning through to dry itsy bitsy spider up again. Steamy, yes. But in a good way, especially if you are fresh from the snow and ice.

The ocean with its beautiful blues kept me focussed throughout, sometimes through trees in brief glimpses, other times wide vistas.

I did not go all the way to Kalalau beach (no permit, no overnight gear etc) but I went far enough to realize that this is no lightweight walk in the woods. It is a strenuous hike. I was not surprised to learn, while verifying facts for this post,  that Backpacker magazine ranks this as one of the 10 most dangerous hikes in the USA.

And I did it in a dress. And Teva sandals more frequently used for kayaking (that piece of information for my fav ancient Polynesian who is worrying about my footwear). And yes I have blisters now.

A mighty fine speckled rooster greeted me when I returned to Ke'e beach parking lot, making it worth it, after all.

An internet search for Kalalau trail yields many reviews, websites and way more spectacular images than I gleaned.  Hawaii State Parks' official word on the matter is here

Balance

Coconut palms swoon and sway like Dr Seuss trees in the wind at the Poli'ahu heiau on equinox dawn. A  fingernail paring of crescent moon dances between the fronds.

I find it difficult to balance for yoga with the competing pull of wind, swaying palms and morning workday rush of vehicles which swish by on the highway alongside so I give up on asana practice and sit to absorb the warming light instead. Sometimes we find balance in movement, sometimes in stillness.

A stubby little local banana is offered as sacrifice on the lichen covered walls of stone. I remember a cigar flower lei, the best I could do with what I had,  how it was torn off in haste. Another island. Another life.

The rocks for the heiau at Poli'ahu were apparently brought up from the valley below and the stonework is reputed to have been the handiwork of those mysterious ones, the Menehunes. Who,  themselves, might or might not be the creation of western (aka European) anthropology.

Menehunes and me: we both love to eat bananas. Now ain't that also a fiction these days too where I spend way too much time in the snowy mountains where Musa fruit must travel from far to taste like soap.

Something calls me back each time to the red earth and crowing roosters of Wailau ahupua'a, one of the royal centres on Kauai, prior to western contact.

More on Wailua River State Park and Poli'ahu heiau in the state park brochure here.

In the sky with diamonds

Horizons tilt and sway.

I am in the sky with a peaceful lunar crescent suspended above clouds like soft sea foam.

Score! I have the whole row to myself. A window and an aisle seat. Can you say princess!

Moon gives up the stage to a blinding sunburst. Talk about solar flares. Then we nosedive through clouds, swooping down on the Bay, the end comes fast, like a bird of prey.

Rainbows in a stormy, windy San Francisco put flowers in my hair even though it's just a couple of hours transit. 

I could get seriously used to this airport, this lifestyle. 

Lovely internet carrels with private booths and electrical outlets for charging make up for the fact that I find myself possibly the worst bagel on the continent. Rivaled only by the bad customer service with which it is packaged and thrust at me, conveyer belt style.

The free wifi disconnects after 45 minutes. Requires one to watch a sponsor's video. Whatever it takes to keep me connected. Hiccuping through my lay over. I should sleep but there's too much going on. I am in an airport going somewhere and must savor every precious moments radiance.