Posts Tagged With: ocean

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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Kayaking at the End of the World

That’s “End of the World” as in that part of the Kona coastline, not the apocalypse sort. And we weren’t the ones doing the kayaking. And…oh never mind, you’ll see in a moment.

We are enjoying a brief visit from our friends Laura and Brian, who live in Honolulu and whom we usually stay with for a few days during our sojourns here. This time they came to us on the Big Island. Laura is one of my oldest friends, dating back a terrifying 46 years or so, a nice Jewish girl from Massachusetts who fulfilled the lifetime dream of all nice Jewish girls by marrying a Hawaiian. (For the record, poi is kosher, Kahlua pig isn’t. Not that she cares either way.)

We took them down to End of the World this morning to be appropriately awed by the  gigantic crashing waves there, only to find a disappointingly calm sea. However, those ocean conditions were a lot better received by a large group of kayakers, college students from Georgia who are here on some kind of Outward Bound-type of program. I know this because I felt obliged to buzz them with the drone, which prompted an unexpected visit from their tour leader: he walked over to us from the top of the cliff overlooking the kayakers to gawk at the drone, explain who they were and — to my surprise and delight — ask if he could purchase my drone photos and video footage for their publicity material. Being a nice guy and an idiot, I gave them to him for free. Here are a couple of the shots.

Having acquired that smidgen of good karma, we moved on to our next destination: Naalehu, at 19.07° latitude the southernmost town in the U.S.  It’s a sleepy little place where every single business establishment correctly if rather repetitively advertises itself as the Southernmost ______ In The United States; you can fill in the blank with restaurant, barber shop, gas station, funeral home, or whatever. Our particular target was the Punalu’u bakery, which is the southernmost et cetera et cetera.  I wrote about Naalehu and Punaluu in this blog post two years ago, so you can read it and brush up on the details. (Clicking the link will open the post in a new browser tab so you won’t lose your place here.) Punalu’s big attraction is their malasadas, a jelly-donut-like confection of Portuguese origin that will transport you to heaven both figuratively (because of the taste) and literally (because of the calories and cholesterol).

Having pushed our LDL numbers into a blissfully unhealthy range, we moved on to South Point, the actual physical southernmost point in the U.S. at latitude 18.91°. It’s a windswept volcanic coast of lava cliffs overlooking crystal cerulean waters where you can see the coral reefs all the way to the bottom. The actual location is signified by a navigation marker, as you can see here.

The “windswept” part gave me pause, since my drone gets unhappy when the winds reach about 20 mph (32 kph) and I was a little nervous about the thing blowing out to sea. But it handled the conditions without much difficulty, affording me the shot of the navigation marker and this view of the coastline.

One of the bizarrely popular activities on those cliffs is cliff diving, a sport in which I have no desire to participate. There are several metal ladders drilled into the lava at the top of the cliffs near where the cars are parked, so that those daredevils who do take the plunge — invariably testosterone-besotted young males — can climb back up in safety rather than, um, die.

You can tell from the photos that outside of the cliffs themselves the terrain is rolling grassland. Indeed, as you navigate the one-and-a-half lane road south from Naalehu for 12 miles to reach South Point, you pass a number of cattle farms that look like they’d be right at home in the higher elevation cattle ranches on the northern part of the island, or for that matter in Wyoming.

The wind is pretty constant, the trade winds rounding the point as they blow from the northeast. And so it is not at all surprising that the region takes advantage of that with a wind farm, dramatically situated on a ridge as though commanding the seas whilst harnessing the breeze.

 It was about an hour trip home from South Point, where we crashed for a few hours before continuing in the sacred tradition of Eating Too Much While On Vacation. Dinner was at Annie’s, a cheery low-key place overlooking the ocean and billing itself as proffering the best hamburgers on the island. Make a note of that if you come here: they make a pretty strong case for the claim.



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Crashing Waves

The Big Island is built out of three active volcanoes (Kilauea, Mauna Loa, and Hualalai), one dormant one (Mauna Kea), and one extinct one (Kohala). The Kona coast lies in the shadow of two of the active ones: Mauna Loa and Hualalai. Most of the Kona district, in fact, sits on the slope of Hualalai, which last erupted 200 years ago and is waiting patiently to play serious havoc with the local real estate market at some time in the indefinite future.

So as you would imagine, lava rock is not exactly a scarce commodity around here; as you’ve seen from my previous photos, most of the coastline is lava rock in various degrees of pulverization. One of the most dramatic illustrations of that feature is a locale called “End of the World”, a line of lava cliffs pummeled by high surf that puts one to mind of what the beaches might look like in Mordor. Here are a couple of photos to give you the idea. (The first is from the drone, directly offshore, and the second is taken from a hillside a few hundred meters down the coast.)

End of the World aerial-003End of the World Canon-003

Not your ideal swimming locale, a rather obvious fact that does not prevent the occasional idiot from going mano a mano again Darwin and losing. (Two years ago, just around the time we moved into the house, one of these benighted daredevils jumped into the water from the top of the cliffs and — surprise! — was unable to figure out a way back up.  A helicopter was dispatched but was too late to save him.)

So although I am not even remotely tempted to perform that particular stunt, it is an ideal venue to snag some dramatic aerial footage via drone, so here is a short video of our visit yesterday. (Stick around till the end of it: there was a sightseeing boat about a mile offshore that I was able to catch up to and play peekaboo with.)

We went back again today. The surf was far calmer than yesterday, but we don’t need the drama to have a nice end to the day here: a Hawaiian sunset will do nicely. So here it is:End of the World Canon-002

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Sons at the Beach

For about the past 30 years, my family has enjoyed a reunion week at the beach. The gathering has near-religious significance; we didn’t even miss the year my father died. It’s very gratifying to watch the family grow over the years — we’re up to four generations now — and since this year is Alice’s and my 20th wedding anniversary we splurged on a more elaborate setting, an 11-bedroom house right on the dunes at Virginia Beach. Here is our temporary Gatsby-esque mansion:

Virginia Beach 2017-031-Edit

How did this whole vacation-at-the-beach thing start, anyway? (I mean the whole cultural concept, not just my family.) Turns out it’s mostly a phenomenon of the past couple of hundred years. Although there are records of elite ancient Romans taking the waters at the coast, the historical reputation of the ocean was traditionally a little dark and intimidating: mariners lost at sea, biblical Jonah-eating whales, and so forth.  Plus, for most of recorded history, outside of Polynesia the hoi polloi were too busy starving and/or dying of the pestilence du jour to do a lot of vacation planning or practice body surfing.

But when it comes to not fearing the sea, it’s hard to beat the Dutch — they’ve basically fought it to a standstill for the last several centuries — and it was Dutch landscape artists of the early 17th century whose pastoral seaside imagery started establishing the beach as an attractive place to visit.

Things really stated rolling in 1778 when French nobleman and chemist Antoine Lavoisier discovered oxygen. Yes, really. Assorted hucksters and promoters of the day seized on the discovery: oxygen is good for you! And the sea air has more and better oxygen than whatever hovel you’re occupying at home, so come to the beach! Oddly enough, there was some truth to this, the Industrial Revolution having recently taken hold, and the air quality in cities like London ranking somewhere between “toxic” and “carbonaceous solid”.

So here we are. Virginia Beach is officially the largest city in Virginia, with a population of about a half a million, but it has grown largely by accretion, having absorbed a number smaller seaside suburbs. There is a downtown resort area with a big boardwalk, but we are a little farther down the coast in an area called Sandbridge, on the northern end of an enormous barrier island that extends southward for roughly 150 miles (250 km) down through North Carolina’s Outer Banks.  The Guinness people cite it as the longest pleasure beach on the planet.

Virginia Beach 2017-070

Barrier islands, as you probably know, are threatened by the rising oceans, “threatened” in this case being the reassuring first cousin of the more accurate “doomed”. They are designed by nature to be ephemeral: sand and silt accumulate on the inland side as the ocean washes away the shoreline, causing them to migrate inland and merge with the mainland as the tide creates replacement islands further out to sea. Beach houses are not so mobile, however, so every property owner is fighting what must ultimately be a losing battle against flooding.

A related problem, of course, are storms. Virginia Beach is extremely lucky in that regard, being generally far enough north to be mostly out of reach of the tropical-forming hurricanes, and too far south to be touched by northern storms. So it is in a meteorological “Goldilocks zone”, being jusssst in the right place to perpetually avoid being blown away. (The rising seas will still get it in the end, though.)

Our weather this week has been mostly good, if a little windy on the beach. That can be good news if you’re flying a suitably heavy kite.

Virginia Beach 2017-063-Edit

We’ve also had one or two ominous looking days, which if nothing else make for nice dramatic photos… black and white of course.

Virginia Beach 2017-071

Virginia Beach 2017-057-Edit


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Waves and Ice

We spent our last day on Oahu enjoying two of the iconic experience of the North Shore: waves and shave ice.

Everybody knows about the waves, of course: Oahu’s North Shore is the home of the famous Banzai Pipeline, a renowned surfing venue characterized by big, regular waves. And this season the operative word is “big”: waves have been measured up to 45′ (14m) from trough to peak. That is objectively ginormous, too big even for the pros to ride.

And now a word about the physics of wave riding. Every now and then you’ll see some goofy scene in, say, a science fiction movie about a tsunami, in which some stoner surfer dude rides, like, a hundred-foot wave. That can’t actually happen. Well, the wave can, but riding it can’t: you catch a wave by matching speeds with it, and a wave’s speed increases with its height. A wave that high would be moving like a fast car, and not even Michael Phelps could match his pace with it to shoot that particular curl. (If you ever watch a surfing competition with really big waves, you will see that they actually start by towing the surfers with speedboats to allow them to catch the waves.)

Anyway, the views were spectacular though on the day of our visit the biggest waves were a lot closer to 8′ (2.5m) than five times that, which still rewarded us with sights like these.

Oahu North Shore-004

Oahu North Shore-003

Our other activity, as I mentioned, was shave ice (it had to be food, didn’t it?). Everyone is familiar with shave ice (also called snow cones, though never in Hawaii), but Hawaii has raised it to an art form, with a dizzying array of flavors that ranges well beyond the familiar (e.g., Japanese yuzu fruit, or — I am not kidding – pickled mango). You find it everywhere, from dedicated shave ice stores to street corner pushcarts, and one of its most famous purveyors on the island is Matsumoto’s on the North Shore, which offers 38 flavors.

You choose three flavors (more or fewer if you want); they serve you a grapefruit-sized sphere of snow (and it is pretty much an actual snowball, with that compressed-fluffy consistency) divided into three segments with the appropriate flavored syrup poured over them. You can if you wish add condensed milk and actual ice cream as well.

You eat it with a combination of plastic spoon and a straw to suck down the dregs. I chose coconut cream + lilikoi (passionfruit) + root beer. It was wonderful. Do not judge me.

The next morning (Monday Feb 1) we flew to Kona on the Big Island to begin the main part of our five week stay. Things immediately started out with a glitch because it turned out that I had inadvertently selected the pickup point for our rental car to be a hotel down the coast (near our rental house, as it happens) rather than at the airport. However, this is what we have come to refer to in our travels as an “MSP”, which stands for “Money-Solvable Problem”, the money in this case being given to a taxi driver to bring us to the correct venue.

City of Refuge-018One of the reasons that the Big Island is my favorite part of Hawaii that its geology and geography enforce a remarkable environmental and ecological diversity. You get a taste of this even as your plane lands in Kona and you drive away from the airport afterwards: Kona airport sits about 15 minutes north of town on a blasted lava plain, a rippling moonscape of seemingly frozen asphalt doted with sere, unhappy-looking yellow shrubs. It is stark and, looked at from a certain perspective, pretty, um, ugly; it is not hard to imagine a first time visitor driving away from the airport thinking, I though Hawaii was supposed to be nice. Which it is — very — but you have to have the patience, fortunately not too much of it, to watch the landscape give over to the anticipated beaches and palm trees as you head down the coast. (You never lose the lava altogether, though; it’s what the islands are made of.)

We got to our house mid-afternoon, and were more than pleased with what we found, a very attractive and spacious three bedroom duplex on a hillside overlooking the ocean, the latter a 15-minute walk down the hill. We also met up with our first visitors: our younger son and his wife, who will stay with us for about a week.

City of Refuge-001Our visitors, of course, are all here for much less time than ourselves, and so of course want to pack in as much Hawaiian quality time as possible during their stay, whereas given the length of our sojourn we may opt for a rather uncharacteristic more relaxed pace. But even so, there are some things that must be done on Day One as a matter or priority, and this includes snorkeling. The site we chose is well known as having the best snorkeling on the island, immediately adjacent to an ancient sacred Hawaiian site — and now a National Historic Monument – called the City of Refuge. In Hawaiian it is called (you might want to sit down for this) Pu’uhonua O Honaunau. (Yes, yes, I know how to pronounce it.) Snorkeling aside, it has a remarkable history.

If you lived in ancient Hawaii you may have enjoyed the weather but you were constantly on guard against breaking any of about eight zillion kapu laws. Kapu means “forbidden” and is related to the English word “taboo”. Things that were kapu included looking at the king; allowing the king’s shadow to fall upon you as he passed by; eating a sacred species of fish; wearing someone’s clothing; and (for all I know) ending a sentence with preposition. And although the rules themselves were complicated, their application was simple, since basically everything carried the death penalty. Seriously. Look at the king? Death. Eat a parrot fish at the wrong time of year? Death. Wear white flip-flops after Labor Day? Definitely death.

City of Refuge-015A criminal justice system like that is an invitation to negative population growth unless you offer some kind of occasional out, hence the City of Refuge. A walled compound made of lava rock, situated dramatically on a spit of hard lava jutting out into the rough surf, Pu’uhonua O Honaunau offered a place of absolution if you could get there. Which wasn’t easy, since it is open only on the side of the roiling, rock-strewn sea and its back faces up against the bottom of a steep rocky hillside.

City of Refuge-007But if you did make it there, the priests would take you in and for a certain length of time variously put you to work and engage you in assorted cleansing rituals, the result being that once you had satisfied their requirements you were absolved of your transgression and free to rejoin society without fear of further retribution. Or at least until the king walked by again and you didn’t prostrate yourself fast enough and bingo, you were once again Dead Man Surfing.

The compound is dramatic and even a little spooky, dominated by the sound of the waves and decorated throughout with sacred symbolic carved statues that seem like reminders of the bridge between the sacred and profane.

City of Refuge-004

City of Refuge-008

It’s somehow fitting that the best snorkeling on the island is here, and though you are not allowed to enter the water from the grounds of the national park itself, there is a small access point, basically a public beach on lava instead of sand, only 100-200 yards away. Getting into the water is a little too exciting for novice snorkelers, as there is a very strong and ceaseless tidal surge that washes up over the flat algae-covered lava flows at water’s edge. You basically have to sit down on a slippery little natural lava shelf and let the next surge carry you away.

It is more than worth it, since the water here, though 10′-25′ (3m – 8m) deep, is clear and alive with colorful marine life: sea turtles, schools of yellow tangs, parrot fish and trumpet fish…. and of course, lots of humuhumunukunukuapua’a. (You knew that was coming, didn’t you?)

We snorkeled for perhaps 45 minutes, my enjoyment sullied only by the belated realization that the small weight in my right swimsuit pocket was my car keys. Twenty years ago this discovery would not have occasioned a second thought — they’re just keys, they won’t fall out and they won’t dissolve! — but in Anno Domini 2016 everything has a computer chip and I worried that the salt water would fry its little car-key-brain and that our rental car would no longer start. Which is exactly what happened.

A place of refuge doesn’t feel like a place of refuge if you’re &&%^*^% stranded there, and so the next two hours were spent arranging for a new (and dry) car key to be couriered to us by taxi from the Hertz desk at the airport, an hour north of where we were stuck. Kind of a bizarre end to the afternoon, although we got bonus irony points when the taxi driver carrying the new key turned out to be the same guy who ferried us to the correct rental car pickup location yesterday. So he now thinks we are idiots, which I cannot altogether rule out.

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City of Refuge and Careless Snorkelers





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