Posts Tagged With: kohala

Uninvited Guests

If you were to travel back in time to the 5th century AD and accompany the first Polynesians to settle Hawaii, upon arrival you would be (a) really, really seasick, and (b) very surprised at how different the islands appear from what you see today. Practically the only land animal life were birds and one species of bat. There were no coconut palms, no banana or candlenut (kukui) trees, no taro plants, no breadfruit… all things that are inextricably identified with Hawaii today.

This was driven home to me yesterday while we were touring Kohala, the peninsula at the northern end of the Big Island that is essentially a million year old extinct volcano. We were taking a break in the town of Kapa’au, a sleepy hamlet best known as the birthplace of Kamehameha I, unifer of the islands, and a statue commemorating same. I was lounging outside a small restaurant across the street from the statue while Alice was inside buying a drink, and my reverie was interrupted by a young couple querying me in an English accent:

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Are you OK with lizards?”

I was unsure where this line of inquiry was going, and decided to play it safe.

“Um, yes. Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

“Well, there’s one a few inches from your head.”

This was quite true, more than one in fact. I turned my head to the bamboo fence over my left shoulder and came eye to eye with this guy, about twice the length of my pinky finger and accompanied by several of his friends:

I was surprised to see him. Geckos are very common in Hawaii; there are at least nine species of them, all of them introduced. But despite having lived on the Big Island for three years in the early 1980’s, I did not recall ever seeing one that looked like an acid trip with scales.

It turns out that there is a very good reason for this. A little Googling reveals that this is a “gold dust day gecko” — that would be Phelsuma laticauda for you taxonomy lovers — and that it is native to northern Madagascar. That is nearly as far from Hawaii as it is possible to be and still be on this planet, so what is it doing here?

The answer, of course, is “people”. A student at the University of Hawaii main campus on Oahu smuggled eight of these geckos from Madagascar and deliberately released them in 1974. (Why?) They were first sighted on Maui — about halfway between Oahu and the Big Island — 20 years later. By extrapolation we can estimate with some confidence that they made it to the Big Island some time within the past ten years. So I would not have seen them 35+ years ago.

So the moral of the story is that change is continuous even in a place that we think of as being isolated. When I eat local fruits or witness an old Hawaiian craft demonstration I like everyone else like to luxuriate in the satisfying illusion that I am beholding the island in some Edenic antediluvian state. But in fact the islands lost that particular innocence as soon as the very first settlers stepped out of their canoes, and the process never stopped.

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Hapuna a me ka Lapakahi

…which is not as complicated as it looks. It simply means “Hapuna and Lapakahi” in Hawaii, those being the names of two places on the Big Island that we visited yesterday.

Hapuna Beach is one of the best known beaches on the island, an achingly photogenic stretch of dun-colored sand caressed by a gentle turquoise surf, and framed by two jagged lava promontories at either end. Here’s a panorama from the drone, taken during yesterday’s visit:

Hapuna Beach drone-001

Besides the obvious beach and surf, there are two other features of note: Kohala mountain bulging gently above the horizon at left, and the luxurious Hapuna Prince Beach Hotel at far left, regally overlooking the scene. The hotel is enormous and beautiful; several years ago we had the privilege of staying there for four or five days on someone else’s dime while attending a boondoggle conference. The mountain is also enormous: a mile-high, 200 square mile (500 square km) extinct volcano that essentially is the entire northwest corner of the Big Island.

Conditions are not always this idyllic at Hapuna. The surf can be rough, although the bottom is sandy — unlike the other, rockier beaches on the island — and so a rough surf is far less dangerous than elsewhere. And if the wind is high you can get sandblasted whilst attempting to enjoy yourself. But these are the exceptions. Most frequently the place looks like a postcard and it is a popular destination for sunning and body surfing. Here’s a 2-minute drone flyover video to give you a sense of the place:

(As you can tell, I’ve gotten heavily into flying my drone on this trip. But I dare you to tell me that this is not seriously cool.)

Neither Alice nor I are sunbather types. For one thing, when I am in strong sunlight my mottled pasty complexion moves the state of my skin almost instantly from “Anemic Vampire” to “Crimson Crispy”. In the words of Woody Allen, “I don’t tan, I stroke.” And Alice grew up in Oregon, where one’s best opportunity to get a tan requires dodging the raindrops. So we hung out for 45 or minutes or so with our visiting friends, then moved on.

Our next stop, further up the coast in Kohala, was a little more cerebral: Lapakahi State Historical Park. It’s the ruins of an ancient coastal village, about 600 years old. The name means “single ridge” and it is an array of ruins and reconstructed structures spread out along a rough lava coast and threaded by a mile-long interpretive trail. Like so many archaelogical sites it seems to make the most sense when viewed from above, so here are a couple of aerial shots:

Lapakahi drone-002Lapakahi drone-001

In addition to the ruins, the offshore area is a Marine Life Conservation District. The interpretive path takes you past a variety of structures in various stages of deterioration or, in some cases, reconstruction. There are dwellings, canoe storage houses, salt-making pans, and a couple of kōnane games, the latter being a lot like Chinese checkers. It’s played on a lava “board” with a grid of hollowed out pits, with alternating black and white stones placed in the pits and variously moved around per the rules.

The aerial views give you a sense of the layout of the place, but, truth to tell, when you are following the path it mostly feels like you are walking among a random collection of low lava walls of uncertain purpose. Which, I suppose, is why I am not an archaeologist. Nonetheless, the place has an enjoyably eldritch feel to it, the susurration of the surf and the dark rough lava walls invoking a real sense of mystery and age. Or to put it another way, it feels just a bit like being inside the beautiful old computer game Myst. Here’s a video that I took by flying along the coast, so that you can see how large and spread out it is.

The surf has been high and the weather on the windward (eastern) side of the island rainy for the past few days, so we have confined our roamings to the Kona coast and the western side of Kohala to escape it. But things look better for the next few days. Tomorrow we will try and make it to the 13,802′ (4205 m) summit of Mauna Kea where the conditions are expected to be clear, provided one is willing to tolerate sub-freezing temperatures and 20 mph winds. They’ve had a lot of snow up there this winter, so if we are lucky then I will have some “snow in Hawaii” photos to post.

 

 

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Waipio? Wai not?

The oldest part of the Big Island is its northwestern corner, a 15 mile (25 km) long, 10 mile (16 km) wide peninsula called Kohala. It is, in fact, a single giant extinct volcano, the first part of the island that formed. That makes it about a million years old, and it last erupted about 120,000 years ago. So it’s old; eroded and overgrown, it’s now cattle grazing country, a huge grassy hill dotted with overgrown volcanic cinder cones and commanding a view down the coast.

When the clouds are not in the way — which they are, more often than not — you can see Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa as well.  Today we had — what is for this part of the island — uncharacteristically beautiful weather; the day was clear and warm, though distant clouds kept Mauna Kea out of view most of the time.

At the southeastern end of the peninsula, on the windward side where Kohala joins the rest of the island, is one of the Big Island’s most paradisaical  locales: Waipi’o Valley. A 1000-foot deep, half-mile wide slash in the lava-stone coastline, Waipi’o’s striking appearance is matched by its comparable inaccessibility. It was the home of ancient Hawaiian chiefs and is still considered a “cultural seedbank”, dotted with taro fields and threaded by a shallow river that flows down to a black sand beach. The nearly vertical green walls are punctuated by waterfalls, giving the place a serene Edenic feel. I wrote about it a year ago in this blog post.

It’s tough to get down to the bottom: you need a good four-wheel drive or really strong thighs and cardiovascular system to tackle the intimidating 25% grade. We did it for fun when I lived here, 35 years ago; today I sent a drone in my place.

The cranky “Resource Ranger” (that’s what it said on his name tag) wouldn’t let me launch the drone from the lookout point and admonished that I must not fly into the valley at all. So I walked a few hundred yards back down the approach road and launched from there instead, being careful to stay out over the water and above the rim of the valley. Here’s what it looked like from my airborne proxy, nearly 500 meters above the beach.

If you’d like a greater sense of immediacy about the place, here’s the video from the same drone flight:

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Snow on the Mountain

One of the many amazing things about the Big Island is its climate diversity. Worldwide, ecologists recognize 14 distinct climate zones; I won’t bore you with all their names but they include things like “Continuously Wet Warm Temperate”, “Hot Semi-Desert”, etc. The point is, that ten of the 14 are found on the Big Island, making it the most climatologically-diverse place on the planet. And so it came to pass that as we drove north and east from Kona to the higher elevations of Kohala, we left behind some of the coastal clouds and most of the tropical vegetation in favor of cloudless windswept grasslands and a stunning view of 14,000 ft Mauna Kea, recently crowned by a snowfall:

mauna-kea-016-edit

This is about a 90 degree panorama; a similar one taken facing in the opposite direction would show Mauna Loa (which, unexpectedly, does not have any snow on it despite being the same height). The bulbous cinder cone at left — the gentle remnant of some ancient lava vent — is a few hundred feet high and is in the foreground; Mauna Kea’s snow-capped peak is 18 miles away in this picture. Here’s a better (and more artistic!) view of the mountain:

mauna-kea-003

Zoom in a little to the left of the summit and you’ll see what brought me to the Big Island in the first place:

mauna-kea-015

(Actually, that’s not technically true. The telescopes that you can see in this image had not yet been built when I was here over 30 years ago, working at a different observatory that is not visible in this photo.) The two identical white domes are the twin telescopes of the Keck Observatory, each 10 m/33 ft (!) in diameter and acting in concert to combine their signals to achieve enormous detail and sensitivity. To the right of the two domes you can make out the gray cylinder of the Subaru Telescope, yet another behemoth whose mirror is 8.2 m/27 ft across. (To give you an idea of how far we’ve come, the telescope I worked at had a 3.8 m/12.5 ft mirror, which was one of the largest in the world at the time.)

Now, at this point, you may be thinking, “Why did they name a big telescope after a Japanese car?” Well, it is a Japanese observatory but cars do not enter into it. “Subaru” is the Japanese word for the Pleiades constellation, and both the car and the telescope are named after them. This very likely answers a question that you never thought to ask. (And now that I’ve got your attention, “Mitsubishi” means “three diamonds” — take a look at the car logo. You’re welcome.)

Where was I? Ah, right. Snow. Mauna Kea does not get snow every winter, but when it does the snowfall can range from a dusting to a downright blizzard that can drop a couple of feet of the white stuff with disturbingly little warning. Indeed, the winter before I arrived, two astronomers got caught out by a storm and were stranded in one of the observatories for a few days, burning furniture for warmth and eating an emergency supply of canned goods. (I know them and trust me, they are still dining out on that story.)

Because of the occasional snow, the Big Island advertises itself as the only tropical island in the world where you can ski. This is quite true, but take my word for it: I’m a skier and do not recommend the experience. There is no recreation infrastructure whatsoever: no lifts, no trails, no nothing. You drive to the summit in your four wheel drive, step into your skis, and head downhill in whatever direction seems to have the most snow whilst praying to the Almighty that you do not wipe out and cut yourself to bloody ribbons on the underlying lava rock. Then at the end of your couple hundred yard run, which takes about 30 seconds if you’re lucky, you take off your skis, sling them over your shoulder, and trudge back to the summit on foot. Then you die of a heart attack because nobody in his right mind would schlep up a steep lava-strewn mountainside at 14,000′ altitude while wearing ski boots.

Back to climate zones. As you can see in the photos, the sky was nearly cloudless, the terrain like a prairie. What you cannot see in the photo was the 30 mph wind that made it nearly impossible to point the camera. And so we continued on, and within five minutes were in yet another climate zone, the “Continuously Wet Warm Temperate” that I mentioned earlier, in the town of Waimea at 2500′ elevation. What that meant in practice was a chilly, misting fog and intermittent light drizzle, a rather dramatic contrast to where we had been literally five minutes earlier. The Big island is like this.

Our first destination was lunch and malasadas — especially malasadas — at the locally famous Tex Drive In, which I wrote about in this space a year ago. I am happy to report that the good people there have not lost their touch. Then we moved on to Waipio Valley, a destination that we failed to reach last year because it was closed off due to an outbreak of dengue fever. That particular danger has since abated, and so we drove to the valley’s striking lookout point, the mist and drizzle notwithstanding:

waipio-valley-001-edit

The valley has a sacred history, supposedly the place where Kamehameha met with the war god Kukailimoku in 1780 to be informed of his destiny to unite the islands. At the time it hosted a population of several thousand. Today only about 50 people live there full time, variously farming taro, raising marijuana, or hiding from civilization in general. It’s a stunning setting for any of those activities, bounded by 2000 ft cliffs and dotted with waterfalls, site of many a skinny-dipping party in my salad days. The black sand beach is gorgeous though it can be treacherous with currents.

(One of my beloved activities in those days was to fly a small plane out to the head of the valley, sideslip down to a few hundred feet above the valley floor, and then zoom out to the ocean at treetop level. This was illegal, dangerous, and wonderful. I always wondered whether any of the pakololo (marijuana) growers would shoot at me, but I never found any bullet holes in the fuselage afterwards, so I guess not. Or they were too wasted to aim accurately.)

The only way down into the valley is via a very steep (25% grade), very winding, and very poorly-maintained road. Your choices are walking or four wheel drive, period. As it happens, our rental car on this trip is a Jeep Grand Cherokee that enjoys about 27 different 4WD settings on a control panel slightly less complicated than the Large Hadron Collider. The car’s user manual is — and I swear this is true — 745 pages long. But we all know that no one reads user manuals, so I pressed the 4WD button that said “Auto” and basically drove off the cliff. Amazingly, we got to the bottom in one piece, and drove around for a bit along the mud path that parallels the river. We made for the black sand beach but were eventually stymied by a puddle the size and depth of Lake Champlain that looked too daunting even for our Testosterone-Mobile. There were two young Canadian women hiking past the obstacle at that moment, about to commence the long trudge uphill, so we turned around, picked them up, and drove back up the hillside as they thanked us repeatedly. (As well they might. On the way down we passed a few Japanese families with a small children in tow, heading down into the valley. I can only imagine the scene as they tried to cajole those kids back up the cliffside afterwards. They’re probably still down there, praying for a kindly stranger with a large Jeep.)

We drove home afterwards, back through the fog, back across the windy prairie, overseen by the two giant mountains, back across to our familiar beach and hot weather. So I’ll close with a final view of Waipio, and today’s serene sunset as viewed from our lanai.

waipio-valley-004-edit

sunset-001

 

 

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Petroglyphs, Rain Forests, and Waterfalls

The first humans to reach Hawaii originated in the Marquesas Islands in about 300 AD, though the major wave of settlement didn’t happen until about a thousand years later, in 1200-1300 with settlers from Tahiti. Both of those groups of extreme canoeists paddled here across more than 2500 miles (4000 km) of open water, navigating via the stars, winds, and patterns of seabird flights, not only without stopping at a 7-11 to ask directions, but with the additional handicap of having only inferred that their destination even existed. It is a virtually incomprehensible feat.

It is said — and the evidence is indirect at best — that the original settlers first made landfall at South Point here on the Big Island. They then got down to the serious business of not dying, and taking an occasional break to carve drawings into the unforgiving lava rock. Which brings us to the petroglyphs. The Big Island is dotted with fields of carvings that look like this.

Puako Petroglyph Preserve-001 Puako Petroglyph Preserve-008

Now, this would normally be my cue to launch into a discourse about the history and meaning of the carvings, but I will spare you this for the simple reason that these things are an utter mystery: nobody knows what they mean nor even when they were carved. The particular petroglyph field that we visited yesterday — the Puako Petroglyph Archaeological Preserve on the western coast of Kohala — is one of the larger and better studied groups, but even there the official signage is reduced to saying things like “We don’t know what these things are. What do you think?”  It is believed — for what it’s worth — that the carvings were made some time between the years 1000 and 1800, which is about as unhelpful a range of dates as you can imagine. (Imagine how well it would go over on a high school history test when you pointed out that a particular event took place somewhere between the Norman Conquest and the French Revolution.)

One of the few things that one can state with confidence is that most — but not all — of the drawings are human figures. (And no, they do not look like aliens.) It’s all a little bit spooky.

At the Puako petroglyph preserve, the spookiness is amplified by the setting, which is on a lava flow that one emerges onto after a short hike through what feels like some kind of haunted forest, along a rough path through groves of stunted and twisted trees.

Puako Petroglyph Preserve-003 Puako Petroglyph Preserve-005

At the end of the wooded path is the petroglyph field, a lava flow about the size of a couple of tennis courts, limned with burnt-looking trees. Virtually every square foot of it has a carving. You can see a couple of them clearly in the photo below, but in fact there are hundreds if not thousands.

Puako Petroglyph Preserve-007

It makes for an interesting if head-scratching outing. It’s hard not to wonder what these things are all about.

We had had a more conventional sightseeing experience a couple of days earlier on an outing to the Hamakua coast, the northeastern coast of the island that stretches between Hilo and the Kohala peninsula. It was a rainy day on that part of the island but we made the best of it, starting with a pilgrimage to the deservedly best-known purveyor of malasadas on the island, the Tex Drive In. Simply put, if you have not eaten malasadas from Tex, you have not truly visited the Big Island.

Tex Drive In-001 Tex Drive In-002

When I lived here in the early 1980’s, Tex Drive In was a little shack by the side of the road in the town of Honokaa. They sold malasadas and nothing else, and it is trite but true to say that people came from miles around to buy them. They prospered, and I was simultaneously pleased and disconcerted on this trip to discover that they are no longer in a little shack, though they are still by the side of the road in Honokaa. But the little shack has morphed into a grown-up building complete with a lunch menu and a gift shop. It feels a little like lost innocence but the good news is that the malasadas are still absolutely killer and cost only $1.10 each. So it’s hard to begrudge then their success.

Our touring ambitions were tempered by the downpour but we did make it to Akaka Falls, a 442 ft (135 m) cataract that is one of the highest and most beautiful on the island.

Akaka Falls-007

You reach it after traversing an easy paved walk along a rainforest trail — and on this particular day the emphasis was on the “rain” — whose ferns and banyans set the stage for your eventual view of the falls.

Akaka Falls-002 Akaka Falls-005 Akaka Falls-003

It’s always been one of my favorite sights on the island; back when I lived here, one of my favorite things to do was rent a small plane and fly out to the falls, just flying tight circles above it so I could admire them from above. Now you can do that at really close range: there’s some kind of zipline tour that takes you quite close to them, and Alice is agitating to do exactly that some time in the next week or so if we can find a day when it is not raining there.

Akaka Falls-008

Alice vows to return to Akaka Falls via zipline

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I, Kamehameha I

As you travel around Hawaii there is one name that you are likely to encounter more frequently than any other: Kamehameha. Schools, roads, buildings, parks… you name it, they’re named after Kamehameha. There’s a reason for that, of course: Kamehameha was the chief who, by dint of political savvy and a really big army,  united all of the islands into a single kingdom. Guess who the king was. He was born in about 1736, right here on the Big Island in the town of Kapua’a, up at the northern tip of Kohala right next to Hawi. They have a famous statue of him there — more about that in a moment — in a suitably regal pose (which is actually cribbed from a Roman statue):

Kohala-023

But first a little biographical information. His full name — and I suggest that you go get a cup of coffee while I type this — was Kalani Paiʻea Wohi o Kaleikini Kealiʻikui Kamehameha o ʻIolani i Kaiwikapu kauʻi Ka Liholiho Kūnuiākea. (You can insert your own jokes here about driver’s licenses and library cards.) He was born into a royal family and there are legends of his family having to conceal him, Moses-like, because of assorted intrigue among warring royal families. There is also an important legend invoking a prophecy (there’s always a prophecy): it was said that whoever could lift the Nala Stone — a slab of lava rock weighing over 3 tons — would be the future unifier of the islands. If this sounds suspiciously King Arthur-like to you, join the club, but in any case the legend tells us that at the age of 14, Kamehameha not only lifted the stone after many had tried and failed, but overturned it completely. So everyone knew he was a big deal, and I imagine that his friends started calling him “Special K”.

You will not be surprised to learn that he was prolific, siring 35 children. There is a lot of uncertainty about how many wives he had; historians’ estimates range from 21 to 30. (And you know you’re dealing with a historical badass when discussions of his wives include the phrase “estimates range from”.) He died in 1819, having spent the last several years of his life in a royal compound at what is now the site of the King Kamehemeha Beach Hotel in downtown Kailua Kona. Fittingly, the grounds of that hotel are now the starting and finishing point of the Ironman Triathlon.

But back to that statue. In 1878 a member of the Hawaii legislature got funds to commission a brass statue of Big K to be placed in front of the seat of government, the Iolani Palace in Honolulu. The sculptor was selected to be Thomas Gould, an expat Bostonian artist living in Florence, Italy. The work was completed and shipped from Europe… and the ship sank near the Falkland Islands. Dismayed but undaunted, the legislature commissioned a copy to be made, and while it was being shipped it was discovered that a bunch of Argentine fisherman had actually recovered the original statue from the shipwreck and sold it to a British sea captain, who in turn brought it to the islands. So now the Hawaiian government had two identical statues. They decided that the copy was in better condition and placed it in front of Iolani palace as originally planned.

No one was sure where to put the original, and in the end it was decided to place it in his hometown of Kapua’a on the Big Island, as I mentioned earlier. It stands there today, about 10′ (3 m) tall atop a 6′ (2 m) base, both a tourist draw and the Hawaiian equivalent of a white elephant: it is expensive to maintain, and there is a continuous three-way battle among the town, the county (which is the Big Island itself), and the state as to who should foot the bill.

So we visited the statue, then reprised our journey down the Kohala coast back to Kona. Along the way we stopped at Lapakahi State Historical Park, the archaeological site of a 600 year old Hawaiian village that includes some reconstructed buildings as well as some of the original settlement’s lava rock walls. It sits on a windswept coast overlooking a dramatic surf, making for a very evocative setting.

Kohala-026

It had been a drizzly visit to Kapua’a and Hawi, but it was sunny on the nearby coast, once again creating ideal conditions for the Big Island’s specialty: rainbows. Yesterday’s was a particularly brilliant one, as you can see.

Kohala-028 Kohala-029

If you look carefully in the lower picture — that’s Alice admiring the spectacle — you will see a faint band of green below inner purple band of the rainbow. This is a phenomenon of very bright rainbows: on the interior of the main bow, you get so-called supernumerary bands of green, pink, and purple. So this one was quite the show.

 

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Oh, Kohala!

The Big Island is actually built out of five volcanos:

  • Kilauea (currently in eruption, and probably the major tourist draw on the island)
  • Mauna Loa (active, but not erupting right now)
  • Mauna Kea (dormant, fortunately for all the observatories atop it)
  • Hualalai (dormant and probably extinct for the past 200 years)
  • Kohala (extinct)

That last one — Kohala — is long extinct and basically is the entire northwest corner of the island, a huge and ancient shield volcano about 5000′ (1600 m) high that itself forms one of the island’s many distinct climate zones. It is now as much a region as a singular mountain, and worth a dedicated visit or two. So we struck out this morning to do exactly that. It’s about an hour and a half north of our house, and so we cruised up the coast, our local palm-lined streets soon giving away to the wasteland of lava and scrub that I described earlier. Here’s the view looking inland from the coast highway.

Kohala-001

The view in the other direction is a sea of rippling black hard lava, reaching down to the sea.

Being at higher elevation, Kohala is cooler than the coast and also catches some of the trade winds blowing from the east, the result being that it supports more temperate types of vegetation: grasslands and coniferous trees. It is even cattle country, and it is a common sight to see herds of cattle grazing on the grass-covered volcanic slopes.  Those domes in this landscape photo are old volcanic cinder cones.

Kohala Pan 1

The architecture of Kohala’s few small towns reflects the history of cattle grazing and has a charming and slightly offbeat Wyoming-meets-Hawaii vibe, with a dash of Sedona, as you can see here. But cattle are definitely part of the culture: there is even a Hawaiian word for “cowboy”: paniolo.

Kohala-003The “Sedona” part is not obvious in this picture, but as you walk or drive slowly through the towns of Hawi and Waimea the “warmed-over hippie” gestalt emerges pretty quickly, as about two-thirds of the businesses are notional antique stores or one form or another of local crafts. There are many bandannas in sight. The towns are small and charming. But aside from the tropical flowers, such as the birds of paradise plants that you see above, the pine trees and rolling grasslands stand in odd conjunction to the overgrown cinder cones, and if you were blindfolded and surreptitiously transported here you might well have a very hard time guessing that you were in Hawaii. There’s not a palm tree or a coconut in sight.

Hawi with its 1500 residents is sort of the spiritual center of Kohala, the northernmost town on the Big Island. Because it sits at the northern end of the peninsula that is Kohala itself, it is a reliably windy place and thus unsurprisingly the site of what has to be the world’s most picturesquely-situated wind power farm.

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You can see some cinder cones in the background . More spectacularly, the wind far overlooks the Alenuihaha Channel, which is the narrow piece of the Pacific separating the Big Island from Maui, the next island up in the chain. So here is the view from the road just above the wind farm.

Kohala Pan 2

That’s Maui sticking out of the clouds, about 1/3 of the way in from the left. You can see one of the windmills at lower right.

We made a driving loop around the peninsula, then headed back down the coast to home. But no such trip would be complete with sampling some local food, and so we stopped at a poke (pronounced “pokey”) house, poke being by itself a reason to visit Hawaii. It is marinated sushi, usually ahi though other fish are used as well, seasoned in various ways such as with sesame, or soy, or hot sauce. You generally want to get a bowl of it over rice with a side of sesame seaweed salad, served over rice in a downtrodden-looking place like this one. If you have never tried this, do so. You can thank me later.Kohala-013

 

 

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