And so the Hawaii adventure continues….mightily delayed but still worth a read- promise!
After completing the long crossing from Oahu to Kaui and transferring the group's endless mountain of gear from boat to dock to car to hotel room, Morgan was finally able to indulge her bacon craving and Jenny had some chicken noodle soup (a comfort food she'd been hankering for during the paddle).
Then began a few days of recovery for the weary sea-women.
Before arriving on Kaui there had been talk of hiking and camping along the Na Pali trail, which winds its way down 11 miles of breathtaking coastline- one that has been featured in several movies (think Jurassic Park and King Kong). As soon as it was mentioned, I began playing out the adventure in my head. My heart was set on it.
But when the time came around to check out the Na Pali coast via boat, only Jen the writer and I were still excited about the prospect of boating the length of the coast, swimming in to the last beach with camping gear and hiking out on the Na Pali trail (Disclaimer: I later learned this was illegal- I do not endorse doing anything that I write about in here. I was lucky not to get hurt, fined or taken to jail, but those were all real possibilities I was unaware of at the time).
Morgan's body was breaking out in hives and having other curious reactions to the strenuous stand-up paddle crossing, and both Jenny and she agreed it wouldn't be the smartest thing to push their bodies further. But they gave us the green light to do the hike if we still wanted. So we scraped together our meager camping supplies (i.e. one camping hammock that barely accommodated one person comfortably and a tarp) in addition to our free diving gear for the day trip on the boat and headed out early the next morning with the rest of the team.
We pulled out of the mouth of Hanalei Bay, watching glassy rights peel across the water, surfers joyfully carving up the faces. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the Na Pali Coast were still enshrouded in gobs of fine mist, appearing as if an entomologist had tried to trap the big thugs in his butterfly net. Captain Jack was our main man. He was the crustiest old seafarer I had seen in a while. In other words, he was adorable- for the first fifteen minutes. However, it quickly became apparent he was (by his own estimation) the most knowledgeable master of all things. We quickly understood our role was to sit back and absorb his wisdom.
Kaui had been courted by squalls complete with rain and wind since we arrived, so conditions on the water were less than ideal. This meant rough seas prevented Captain Jack from taking the boat into the famous sea caves and through the spectacular archways. Despite the bumpy water, no rain pelted down today, and we were able to anchor and free dive with a school of white tip reef sharks. At least ten of these curious fellas were checking us out, darting straight for my camera and then changing direction at the last second.
After a couple of hours of free diving, we all warmed up on board the boat eating snacks and talking when Captain Jack caught wind of our plan to swim into Kalalau Beach and hike out. He became concerned.
"Ya know lotsa people hike in on that trail and never come out, they jes disappear. 'N the luckier ones end up with brokin' bones. 'N then there's flash floods, ya know? Those could trap you fer days. How much water d'ya have?," he continued without pausing for an answer, "That trail ain't no joke. 'N besides the trail, that beach you plan to swim into, dozens a people drown at every year, that shore pound'll get ya," he said blinking at the two of us.
I saw Jen's face turn white. I wasn't feeling nearly as confident either, especially because I was planning to swim $6,000 worth of camera equipment in with only two layers of plastic between it and the shore pound.
However, I've noticed that when people start warning me about what I should and shouldn't do, my brain flips into a certain mode. I call it the "I'm listening but taking it with a grain of salt" mode (my mom would probably call it the "You can't tell me what to do" mode, but whatever).
Captain Jack's warnings were familiar, similar to ones I'd heard when I was preparing to set sail for six months from San Diego to Costa Rica or when I was getting ready to travel to Africa on my own to study chimpanzees. Had I heeded the well-meaning advice of others and not gone, I would've missed out on invaluable pieces of life. I wouldn't have even come on this trip, because there wouldn't have even been a trip if Morgan, Jenny, Jen and Chris had listened to all the warnings they heard while planning their expedition paddling between islands.
So while I appreciated Captain Jacks feedback and knew that despite all his puffery he was far more knowledgeable about the area than I, I just wouldn't be dissuaded from the plan. We had brought plenty of water and food and were both strong swimmers, able-bodied, fit, young adults. Besides, the trail was well traversed and Captain Jack told us there were hippies living in the valley a few miles inland from the beach.
In the end, Jen and I agreed we should still go, figuring we could always count on the hippies to help us if need be. So we wished our Captain and fellow Destination 3'ers peace and love and got ready to hop off the boat.
Of course during this process I managed to break one of the clips that sealed together the dry bag I had borrowed for the occasion, now leaving my camera gear more vulnerable to flooding and worse- unintended burial at sea. To compensate I held on to it with a vice grip of death and plunged into the ocean ready for battle. Bear hugging my precious cargo left me with no arms to swim ashore. I was quickly sucked into the impact zone and tossed around like a rag doll. I saw the concern in Jen's eyes as she watched the shore pound spin-cycle have it's way with me.
In the end my camera gear and I made it in one piece and still functioning. And no sooner had we set foot on sand than we were surrounded by four guys all asking if they could help us in any way. "It's like someone rang the dinner bell," Jen remarked as we walked towards the camp site. She was right, it was a bit disconcerting at first. We hadn't even had a chance to adjust our disheveled bikini tops before they were on us. But after a bit of conversation, they all seemed genuinely friendly and harmless.
The setting was surreal. The ocean buffeted the beach on one side, while the chiseled mountain peaks rose up on the other, hovering overhead. From one of the lower precipices a delicate waterfall tumbled down. The most persistent of our greeters, Brother G, as he introduced himself, gave us a guided tour. He showed us the ropes of the camp site, including how to use the waterfall-shower.
Mid-sentence his eyes diverted to a dinghy being hauled towards the sea a ways down the beach. He ran over to aid the men carrying it and motioned us to follow. Jen and I stared as the men darted aboard the dinghy through the punishing shore break to safe waters, and Brother G shortly returned to our side. One of the men in the boat was a large Hawaiian known as Koa (i.e. Brave One), who Brother G explained had been taking care of Kalalau for years. Koa had also been encouraging his fellow brethren to return to their sacred land from which they had been removed decades earlier, largely because he was concerned about the youth's high drug-use and gang involvement.
While telling us about Koa, Brother G delved further into the history of the Kalalau Valley. His version of it went like this: the native Hawaiians lived off the land happily and in perfect harmony with nature until the Robinson Family (a wealthy family that owns the island of Ni'ihau) decided they wanted to use the valley for cattle farming. So they moved all the Hawaiians to their private island to work for them on Ni'ihau. Eventually the cattle farm in Kalalau went under, and they sold the land to the state of Hawaii, which designated the area a national park. In the 60's and 70's hippies looking to live off the land began taking up residence in the park to the chagrin of park authorities.
According to Brother G there are also people who don't necessarily live in the valley but who take care of the land, voluntarily helping to maintain the trails and pack out trash left behind by campers, because the state doesn't have enough funding to do so. Koa did just that and had apparently been sent to jail a dozen times or so. Brother G said the authorities went as far as air-lifting his trash-filled boat off the beach with a helicopter as plastic bottles and wrappers flew out in all directions like confetti. He said they target Koa because he's Hawaiian.
We asked Brother G a flurry of questions, both of us finding him a curious creature. Late forties to early fifties, tan and fit, dark hair and eyes, he had lived in the valley for seven years straight. Then he'd left only to come and go periodically. But something was funny about his story- he sprinkled in comments about staying at friend's mansions in Malibu, New York and Miami.
Drug dealer?
Jen was convinced, I wasn't sure.
"It's really- living here is something else. There's this community and everyone wants to live out the aloha spirit, share with each other, be generous. But people are always coming and going, and we get thieves, crack heads and crazy people, so you have to be on guard. It ends up being every man for himself a lot of times," Brother G explained.
"Justice is crazy too," he continued. “We have to be our own police. One time I had the life of a man in my hands, it was wild. This one guy stole from me, he stole a lot, and some of the other guys caught him red-handed. They'd suspected him of stealing from them too, but no one had seen him do it like they did this time. So they stormed him, held him and dragged him to the edge of a cliff. There hadn't been any helicopter traffic that day, so if they threw him over most likely no one would ever know. They said, "It's your call Brother G, you want him gone, you say the word and he's done,"" Brother G grew excited as he spoke, I could see him reliving the moment that had given him such power.
Then the glint in his eye softened, "In the end I let him off. I didn't want that hanging over my head. The guy didn't deserve to die. And it scared me, that we could all get so fired up over something like that. People change when nobody's watching. Vigilante justice is a crazy thing," he added more to himself than to us.
After walking us back to the campsite he invited us to a going away bash being held that night for one of the hippies who was leaving Eden. We thanked him for the invite and parted ways.
We spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the beach, exploring, photographing, and scribbling down notes. For dinner we gobbled up our turkey and gouda cheese sandwiches while chatting with some of the other campers.
The friendliest were two boys from Montana about our age, who let us share their fire with them, one they had built in a nearby sea cave at dusk. They both worked at the same hospital and were bona fide mountain men. We told them about the hippie party, and they were game to join. At about 9 pm we meandered through the forest that paralleled the beach until we heard drums and a ukelele. We bumped into Brother G as we approached the fire, but he was far less friendly than earlier when we had no men in tow. At first his cold demeanor threw us off. I felt a little uneasy and out of place.
But as we came closer to the rest of the group, my hesitation melted away. They ushered us into their circle and demonstrated how to weave strands of rope out of hao (hey-ow) fiber which was made by boiling the bark of a hao tree. I tried my hand at it and created an anklet. Weed came at us from every direction, a pipe from the left, joint from the right, bong from across the circle. So did lemon grass tea and other unidentifiable liquids. To avoid being completely rude I sampled the tea, which was delicious, reminiscent of fruit loops.
Finished with my anklet, I broke the circle and moved closer to the fire where a toothless man crooned to the ukelele. He paused and began a new song he said he'd written about Kalalau Valley. My encouraging applause led him to another song about the island of Kaui, then to another about Hawaii as a whole, then to another about islands in general. I cut him off there, but let him know how much I appreciated the private concert. There was fire dancing and there were shells being strung together into necklaces and bracelets. Barefoot women danced around donning butterfly and fairy wings (where they acquired this Halloween paraphernalia, I never found out). I enjoyed everything. It was fun to think about what it would be like to live here for a while. To break ties with civilization.
A time when I was in Uganda studying chimpanzees popped into my head. I had told my fellow researcher and friend that sometimes I was filled with an overwhelming desire to go to the very middle of nowhere by myself where there was nothing but nature for hundreds of miles around.
She simply asked, "And what would you do when you got there?" It struck me, because I really hadn't thought about it before- what would I do when I got there? I didn't know. Then she told me to watch the movie Into the Wild before I attempted to pursue my solo nature adventure.
Thoughts of running off into the valley and disappearing (I would be wilder than even these hippies, I would create my own little fortress!) melted away as the end of the movie, which I had watched as soon as I returned from Africa, played in my head. No I didn't want to die alone as the main character had, poisoned after eating unfamiliar berries. The four of us said goodbye to the valley dwellers and walked back through the forest to the campsite to get ready for bed. We needed to rest up for the hike out tomorrow.
