makuleroad

And, as the fates so ordained, it happened while I was here.

One of the reasons I was determined to make a February pilgrimage to O’ahu was to witness (as an adult) the big waves on the North Shore, which can deliver 40- and 50-foot faces during the winter months. Yesterday was one of those days, marking a “go” for the mythic surfing competition, and the 31st annual, “Quiksilver,” honoring the memory, legacy and spirit of the Hawaiian demigod and surfing legend, lifeguard Eddie Aikau. Around here, this most famous of surfing events is simply known as “The Eddie.”

Though I was born on this island and lived here a couple of times during my childhood, sadly, I never learned to surf. Better informed accounts will be written about yesterday’s already classic event by surfing insiders who have not only mastered the sport, but who also know the culture and its fearless star performers first hand. They will write knowingly about how they’ve been waiting for ideal conditions to run this event since the last one was held in 2009. How yesterday’s early morning churn gave way to crisper sets that sent the world’s best surfers sliding down slippery faces, while 6 or 7 jet-skis manned by the famed Hawaiian Water Patrol raced towards the beach to outpace avalanching, crushing walls of water. I don’t have the context or the expertise to put what I witnessed yesterday into proper perspective. All I can say is that surfing scholars and aficionados will call it “epic.” And finally, I understand why.

When I heard the Eddie might go, I gave up on my idea of traveling everywhere by foot or the Bus. With only a few days remaining before I travel back to the Mainland, and only a few days left before this year’s window would close for running the Eddie, I couldn’t risk not getting there in time. Instead, I went to Enterprise rental on Kapi’olani and booked a small car. With 10,000+ spectators expected to crowd the beach and the narrow roadway leading to Waimea Bay Beach Park, I drove to the North Shore on Wednesday night to scope out my vantage point in advance. I was prepared to hike the 8 miles from my evening sojourn at Turtle Bay (another blog post!) if traffic was too heavy or parking impossible on Thursday morning.

Setting up and waiting for the ‘bay to call the day.”

The fabled Waimea Bay.

Camping overnight to secure prime viewing spot.

Cliffside “cave-dwellers” camp out to reserve prime spectator position.

In the end, I got there by nesting the little Nissan in free public parking at the Pipeline, then walking the two and half miles on to Waimea Bay. Without the walk, I would have missed the street carnival atmosphere that makes this event absolutely unique in the world of sports. It’s a world where the 23-year-old winner actually rode his bike through the dark streets of his hometown to reach the “venue” on the morning of the big day. Fitting, because it perfectly captures the vibe of the sport, the spirit of Eddie Aikau, and the ethos of O’ahu’s North Shore. Truly, one my favorite places on earth.

My starting time, just outside the gates of Turtle Bay Resort.

Along the hike towards Waimea Bay from the Pipeline, Pupukea is covered with the frothy churn from crashing waves.

One of countless campers along the way.

Homage to famous surfer Brock Little who lost his battle to cancer days before the event.

Beautiful Catholic church on the hill overlooking the Bay (and the surfers who face unbelievably extreme conditions).

Final stretch of hikers and campers just before reaching my viewing spot, along the rail overlooking the Bay. The ground in front of the railing and the safest spots on the beach had already been snagged by the time I arrived just after sunrise. According to official estimates, the crowd of spectators mushroomed from the projected 10,000 to over 25,000.

The awe-inspiring Waimea Bay greets me upon arrival. As they say, the Bay calls the day, and lucky for me, the Eddie was a go! I was both stunned and thrilled.

Visit the embedded links of this blog post to learn more about this, yes epic, event and the so-called “gladiators with boards” who take on the world’s most powerful and unpredictable adversary. My photos unfortunately just don’t capture the scale nor the might of these unbelievable swells, so please also enjoy the linked photos from the brave and talented photographers who were (quite literally) immersed in the day’s surfing action (Quiksilver site). But, honestly, you can’t truly fathom a 60-foot wave until you see it in person. How lucky I was to be there and to take it all in – it was thrilling! I will never forget it.

The sky and sea around the time of the morning’s first heat.

Surfing icon Florida-born Kelly Slater surveys the roaring bay. Cameraman surveys Kelly. (Hopefully, a surfing insider will help me identify surfer number two in this shot.)

Haleiwa’s John John Florence studiously scans the break before taking the plunge. I learned later through news accounts just how nervous he was before he got out there.

John John paddles out to meet his first heat on a day he’d turn in the highest score.

Thank god there are people in this world like Eddie and his brother Clyde. Those who would go . . . at any cost. I witnessed about 20 of them yesterday. I’ll forever consider it my parting gift from this island I love so well.

66-year-old Clyde Aikau, a legend in his own right, heads out for what he claims will be his last Eddie.

A next-gen surfing champ is coronated on an epic day at Waimea Bay. The winner, North Shore native John John Florence.

#eddiewouldgo #eddieaikau #thequiksilver2016 #northshoresightings #johnjohnflorence

Saturday started off with 2 quick loads of laundry and tidying up the condo. As I started the 3-minute walk to Ala Moana and Queen to catch the 57 (headed north via Pali Highway eventually bound for Kailua and Sea Life Park), Tim White texted me. He’d been to breakfast with Brian and Mylo, but was ready for a hike. I responded with my plans to hike the Makapu’u Point Lighthouse Trail, and we quickly decided he’d pick me up to spare me the 81-stop bus ride out to the trail head.

Our more direct 30-minute car trip brushed Waikiki along Kalakaua and Kapi’olani before emptying onto the H-1 headed towards Koko, with unexpectedly light traffic.

On the highway to Makapu’u.

The drive out to Hawai’i Kai and on over to Waimānalo features some of O’ahu’s most iconic sights, but you don’t necessarily want to stop at any of them on a Saturday afternoon. This artery is often clogged with tourists and locals, all clamoring for a piece of paradise. After the dredge-filled, planned community of Hawai’i Kai, there’s the famous and popular Hanauma Bay preserve, my childhood favorite Halona Blow Hole, the lesser-known Japanese fishermen’s memorial, and the rough and tumble Sandy’s Beach, one of the best spots in the world for extreme bodysurfing and boogie boarding.

Boogie boarding at Sandy’s.

I don’t know if it’s the way the light strikes this stretch of south O’ahu before you turn and head up windward, or if it’s the abrupt confrontation between the rugged lava rock and the deep ocean with barely any beachfront buffer, but there is no blue more gripping than the blue of the Pacific along these miles of the Kalaniana’ole Highway. It’s stunning and unforgettable. Long ago, this stretch of coastline fused my own internal Pantone color chart for “Pacific Ocean blue.”

At least three shades of “Pacific Ocean blue.”

It’s the deepest and richest of all blues. Here – coalescing long before I could possibly know it – I learned visual and emotional context for just what an ocean looks like. Just what an ocean should be. And, sadly, it has forever relegated the Atlantic Ocean to second-class status . . . for me, the lesser sea.

As we took the curve after Sandy’s, we saw too many cars lining the roadway leading to the large parking area for the recently resurfaced Makapu’u Point Lighthouse Trail. Tim snatched a roadside opening. We quickly changed into our hiking shoes, then Tim unexpectedly led us over to the Makapu’u Lookout, rather than towards the smooth trail already crowded with families and strollers, bikers, runners, and even many elderly.

I was admiring the breathtaking vista when Tim jumped the lookout rail and said, “Okay, this is it. Just follow the worn footpath all the way up.”

Just above Makapu’u Lookout, where we jumped the rail and took the path less traveled.

Somewhat surprised, my only admonishment to Tim as we attacked the rocky ascent was that there’d better be another way down. I was okay to slowly and steadily hike up – mountain goat style – but my halting knees would never tolerate coming back down the same path, without a serious tumble. He assured me we’d take the actual trail to descend once we crested and caught a good look at the lighthouse.

At 22 stories (according to my Fitbit), I fervently wished that I had better conditioned myself on the stairclimber at Cross Training San Marco. As I looked above to gauge just how much further we had to go, I noticed rock-climbers dangling from an even steeper precipice, one hiking tier closer to the sea than we were.

Rock-climbers face the precipice.

For a second, I fantasized they’d scoop me up, strap me securely in their safety harness and bounce me gently back down the face of the cliff. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Since I couldn’t go back down without risking a painful fall, the only way for me to see the unobstructed lighthouse now was to keep on climbing. One loose lava rock after another, I followed the faint footpath, lunging well beyond my natural stride and grasping gnarly scrub brush roots to steady myself and to help propel me upward.

Glancing at the Fitbit just before we reached the top of the craggy hillside, I was at 47 flights. I can assure you that I worked harder for those 47 motley, incongruous flights than any orderly staircase I’ve ever climbed. Despite frequent water breaks and vista-rewarding rest-stops,

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just before we crested, I felt faint and very near exhaustion. I had unfortunately skipped lunch. With one last swig from my plastic Kirkland water bottle, I pushed through the final 25 steps.

How many steps to go?! (Notice the moon.)

The rocky ascent gave way to a short grassy plateau and the most remarkable views you can imagine – an unobstructed look at the lighthouse and out in the deep blue Pacific, evidence of more humpback whales than I had dreamed we’d see.

Makapu’u Lighthouse.

Looking windward, the lighter shades of Pacific Ocean blue.

Long way down a rocky cliff.

The trade winds that had been imprisoned by the rocks were now set free, racing over my hot flesh and nearly snatching the faded Duke ball cap from my sweat-matted hair. The release was akin to the euphoria that comes just after an intense hot yoga class. You’ve given your all. You’re absolutely spent, and yet at the same time, restored.

My exhaustion from the climb was generously rewarded with the exhilaration of being able to witness first-hand some of the most stunning sights I’ve ever seen, including a crystal clear view of Rabbit Island and the sheer wonder of countless spouting humpback whales way beyond the old lighthouse, now off-limits to the general public. It was a visceral reminder that sometimes the less traveled path is the very best way to go.

Good view of the lighthouse from the trail side, with spouting humpback to the side.

Resting and taking it all in, 47 stories high. Exhausted but happy.

Dealing with a 5-hour time delay, my work day starts anywhere between 5 and 6am and ends around noon, sending additional emails at night. Last Friday as “close of business” neared for my east coast co-workers, I put my laptop to sleep promptly at 5pm EST (noon, Pacific), eager to take a ride with my sister towards Diamond Head. I love that spot on Diamond Head Road where you can pull over, park and watch the surfers and the windsurfers from the short stone barrier along the makai side of the crater.

On the way out there, we decided to run by Kahala Mall so we could pick up lunch at Aloha Salads and increase Glenda’s Verizon data plan. That accomplished, we detoured through the Kahala Resort then looped back into the residential area near the crater – one of the loveliest neighborhoods on O’ahu – to snag a parking place.

Manicured cliff on the makai side of Diamond Head.

The waves roll in with the regularity of a wave machine.

Gentle ride on an O’ahu afternoon.

Watching the surfers from a semi-shaded spot which graces the cliff-top before it dives sharply to the sea, I worked up a thirst and started craving a shave ice. Knowing that we were pretty close to Uncle Clay’s, I asked Glenda to take me there before we headed back to change clothes for First Friday, Honolulu’s monthly art gallery walk in Chinatown. She and her family had regularly frequented Uncle Clay’s House of Pure Aloha when they lived in Hawai’i Kai, but I had never tried it.

Was I in for a treat! Sure, the famed all-natural, locally-sourced homemade syrups were deliciously refreshing over the fine shaven ice, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and fresh pineapple topping. But they aren’t kidding about this being the “House of Pure Aloha.” The shave ice and homemade toppings are a given; but what Clay and his handsome nephew, Bronson, are truly peddling is “Ohana” and the spirit of Aloha. All my life I’ve struggled to communicate the meaning of that three-syllable word:  Aloha. Uncle Clay and Bronson did it over a single serving of shave ice, late on an O’ahu afternoon. 

According to Uncle Clay, “Aloha” is unconditional love. It’s making a commitment to appreciating all people as part of our one world, one family (“Ohana”); to being our best selves and to believing that we can change the world for the better starting with ourselves, one heartbeat at a time. Whew. I felt like I was in church.

#hopalove manifesto (and marketing genius) on display.

Is this “House of Pure Aloha” (#hopalove) credo contrived to sell more shave ice? I suspect so. You can bet tech-savvy Bronson is behind the branded hashtag, Facebook and Twitter accounts, and the mouth-watering Instagram photos. Yet, somehow Uncle Clay’s interest in speaking to every customer and sharing his vision of Ohana and Pure Aloha seem to go beyond marketing gimmickry. It seemed genuine. Greeting each patron with a warm handshake or heartfelt embrace (even me!), Clay’s affection was palpable, even when he struggled to remember a customer’s name.

Out here, they take “Aloha” seriously enough to write it into the law books. And believe it or not, most people embody the concept. Is there a fragment of the population simmering with anger and resentment surrounding Cook’s contact and so much of what followed? Undoubtedly. But if you are truly mindful and respectful of cultural customs, sacred places and practices, your attitude is appreciated and met with the same respect…and I daresay…the spirit of Aloha.

According to official statute in Hawai’i: “Aloha is more than a word of greeting or farewell or a salutation. Aloha means mutual regard and affection and extends warmth in caring with no obligation in return. Aloha is the essence of relationships in which each person is important to every other person for collective existence. Aloha means to hear what is not said, to see what cannot be seen and to know the unknowable.”

A-lo-ha. Three little syllables that mean so much and speak so deeply. It’s southern hospitality on steroids, without the cloying saccharin, or judgmental up-in-your-business nosiness that too many of my southern brethren exude. 

The handsome Bronson and Aloha evangelist Uncle Clay, pictured with their #Square checkout reader.

In a state so committed to living the Aloha spirit that it’s even written into the law books, it seems appropriate that a simple outing to fetch shave ice turned into an inspirational prayer meeting with the Aloha evangelists of Aina Haina. Long live #hopalove.

Kaʻena Point is the westernmost tip of land on O’ahu. Yesterday, my nephew Brian drove my sister Glenda and me almost all the way there. We traveled a rural two-lane blacktop through the agricultural lands of Dole, Monsanto and Kamehameha Schools, for 20 minutes or so, from Brian’s apartment in Wahiawa.

Brian let us out at the graveled parking lot where Farrington Highway terminates, a bit beyond Dillingham Airfield on the island’s north shore. From there, we hiked on to Ka’ena State Park, accessing it from the boulder and pothole peppered dirt footpath that picks up where the paved road and the small parking lot end.

I’ve read that the area was named after a brother or cousin of Pele, with kaʻena meaning “the heat” or “red-hot” in Hawaiian. In truth, it can get quite hot out there, but yesterday spritzed us with a refreshing morning mist and relatively cool February temperatures. Glenda and I barely broke a sweat during the 7-mile hike out to the island’s tip and back.

Though I did the best I could with my iPhone camera, it’s impossible to capture the indescribable beauty of this place. The State of Hawai’i has designated Ka’ena Point as a Natural Area Reserve to protect nesting Laysan albatrosses and other seabirds, Hawaiian monk seals, and fragile native vegetation. The unspoiled stretch is pristine and absolutely breathtaking.

Private fishing spot.

At least three shades of Pacific Ocean blue.

Park visitors overlook the lava rocks leading to the ocean.

View from WW2 military pillbox down the western side of the island.

Before Dad’s second tour of duty in Hawai’i (during my first and second grade elementary school years) we were stationed for a brief time on Midway Island, long before Midway was ever designated a wildlife refuge. Midway is one of the most remote coral atolls on earth, but precisely because of its remote location in the Pacific, it became a strategic fulcrum for defense operations. That’s what took us to Midway – where our little sister Lisa was born – and where we first saw the Laysan albatross. The Laysan is a large, black and white seabird that ranges across the Pacific Ocean, and now has a growing refuge at Ka’ena Point.

Black and white Laysan albatross nesting at Ka’ena Point.

On my first visit to this park a couple of years ago, I saw not a single albatross, but yesterday, Glenda and I saw many. During our brief time on Midway as children, we called the Laysan albatrosses “gooney birds”, owing to a rather goofy-looking mating dance and spectacularly awkward crash landings. This visit though, I caught one in mid-flight. There was nothing gooney or goofy about it. It was completely graceful and awesome – well worth a 7-mile hike to this lonely stretch of land, where the bird population has increased 25 percent since the predator-proof green mesh fence was installed in 2011.

How native Hawaiians feel about the conversion of Ka’ena Point to a wildlife refuge, I can’t say, given this spot’s significance in ancient Hawaiian lore. Ka’ena Point was considered the sacred jumping point (leina a ka uhane) from which souls purportedly leapt to the afterlife.

Rock formation along the 3.5-mile hike out to the point. (Some say this very rock is the “leina a ka uhane” – the souls leaping place to the afterlife.)

Now, this hallowed place has been given back to the birds, who were here long before any human ever was. Yesterday, watching in wonder as the albatross soared above the native vegetation that has rebounded on this windswept tip of the island, I imagined the shadows and sounds of souls leaping . . . soaring actually. Just like the black and white seabird overhead.

The streets of Waikiki. The shopping. The hawkers. The sidewalk performers. The islanders, the mainlanders, the internationals. It’s one part Rodeo Drive and two parts circus sideshow, played out on a hardbody-beach-bar backdrop, punctuated by a Hawaiian slack-key soundtrack. In truth, the percolating amalgam that is Waikiki always reminds me of some exotic tropical cousin to New York’s Times Square. It can overwhelm, if you let it. That’s why pausing for a Mai Tai at sunset is one of my favorite Waikiki activities. 

Surf and SUP boards stowed along the Outrigger alley on the steps to Waikiki.

If you take a quick turn into the alley off of Kalakaua and stroll by the SUP and surf boards securely stowed along the walls of the Outrigger property, a quick snake to the right beyond the Waikiki Beach Cafe will lead you somewhat unexpectedly onto the historic, hallowed grounds of the Royal Hawaiian Resort. In a flash, all the opulence and kitsch and aspiration and broken dreams that define a frenzied Waikiki come to a sudden, jarring halt. You stop. You exhale. You take a deep, lingering breath and surrender to the beauty and peace of the lush tropical garden and pink stucco walls that now envelop you.

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You stand facing perhaps the most luxurious and most famous hotel fronting the sands of Waikiki – the famous “Pink Palace of the Pacific.”

Yesterday as I took that right turn, I lingered but a moment. I was on a mission, needing to secure a beachfront table for the main event – sunset on Waikiki Beach. As we made our way through the Royal Hawaiian Resort to its aptly named and legendary Mai Tai Bar, my sister Glenda (here from Georgia to visit her son Brian and his family in Wahiawa) and I basked in the graceful stateliness of the hotel that has anchored Waikiki since 1927. Walking a little too briskly through the wide breezeway towards the manicured “wedding lawn”, the most iconic of all O’ahu landmarks greeted us; this very spot offering one of Waikiki’s best views of Diamond Head. The crater was bathed in the magical light that filters across the island in the hours before sunset.

Diamond Head Crater.

Legendary Mai Tai Bar.

We quickly snagged a table hugging the lawn and were welcomed by an easygoing but efficient waiter who had our drinks to us in no time, along with chili-infused citrus garlic edamame sure to keep us thirsty. Glenda and I enjoyed the quiet calm of the late afternoon and the perfect 73-degree breeze as we sampled each other’s drinks. Hers, some frozen pineapple and rum concoction; mine, the original Royal Scratch Mai Tai with fresh fruit juices, orgeat, and the requisite light and dark rums. Such a good one – sweet, but strong!

Mai Tai’s the main thing.

Serious sunset-watching cocktails.

Glenda sipping her frozen drink.

We were so caught up discussing our grandchildren, life after divorce, growing older, our earliest memories of the Royal Hawaiian and life on O’ahu, that we failed to notice the preparing musicians and graceful hula dancer, or the rapidly gathering “sunset spectators.” Within minutes, as the sun quickly descended, throngs of sunset groupies (just like us!) had crowded the sands of Waikiki or seized every open table at the Mai Tai Bar.

Sunset spectators crowd Waikiki for the daily show.

It didn’t matter – the sunset, of course, was spectacular, as were the drinks, the music and the aging hula dancer. In my ongoing quest to find the island’s most pleasing, sweet-but-strong Mai Tai, I am also finding a sweetness and strength that springs from my love of the island, the memories Glenda and I share of our parents and their happiness here, and the reassurance that through Glenda’s son, Brian, and his beautiful Hawaiian family, that my connection to this place will live on. 

As will my love of the Mai Tai. Like they say, Hawai’i didn’t invent the Mai Tai, but they sure have perfected it.

Please note:  On Diane’s Mai Tai evaluation scale of 1 to 10, the Royal Hawaiian’s Royal Scratch Mai Tai achieves an 8.5(+) for balance, sweetness and strength. Cheers! (Kāmau kī`aha)

The Royal Hawaiian “Royal Scratch” Mai Tai – sweet but strong.

Unfortunately, Honolulu routinely lands on the annual top three “worst traffic in the USA” lists. Not a proud distinction, with dire consequences for paradise.

So this trip, I decided to walk and to take The Bus instead of renting a car. Though the overall walkability index for Honolulu falls way short of cities like Boston, New York and San Francisco, my Ala Moana neighborhood actually scores higher than the top five walkable cities in the country. Additionally – a true sign of promise for my upcoming forays around O’ahu  – the Ala Moana area also boasts a third-place transit score of 75, just behind NYC and San Fran.

Yesterday was all about exploring the neighborhood by foot and testing the walkability rating, while gathering the household staples I’ll need for the next 29 days. I’m happy to report that according to my Fitbit at 10+ miles, the landscape is safe and easy for willing pedestrians seeking trusted local services. Though both are within walking distance, I prefer the local Japanese market Nijiya to the Safeway, despite the latter’s impressive offering of poke. Nijiya’s vast array of sake and the sumptuous to-go case quickly won me over. Added bonus:  Nijiya is just a block away, making the grocery haul a whole lot easier, plus a half-gallon of organic milk is nearly two dollars cheaper.

Sake, sake and more sake.

Ethnic cuisine.

To-go case, my go-to.

Nijiya won me over.

Poke at the Safeway.

My beautiful adopted neighborhood hugs the shoreline and overlooks one of O’ahu’s busiest recreation areas. By the time I wandered there on Sunday just before sunset, Ala Moana Park was still alive with family picnics, fishing from the rocks, yoga/SUP lessons, and a number of intimate weddings.

The beach at Ala Moana.

Fishing the slippery rocks at sunset.

Three pre-teenage girls confided to me as they zipped by on their shiny pink and silver bikes, “this is the wedding hour!” Witnessing three ceremonies within 30 minutes, turns out the girls were right.

Wedding number 1.

The flower circle from wedding number 2.

Wedding number 3.

Sadly, it’s also the final hour before dark. The hour when the homeless settle into the countless makeshift tents and canvases that pepper this 100-acre city park. Ala Moana Park is, like it or not, “home” to many of O’ahu’s nearly 5,000 homeless, offering yet another manifestation of O’ahu’s blending of cultures. Somehow, family picnics hum with joy and sacred nuptials are softly spoken, side-by-side the harsh reality of so many living life without permanent shelter.

I walked slowly back across the wide boulevard towards the beautifully luxurious condo that is my home this month (due to my incredible luck with amazing and generous friends). A little tired, and deeply obsessed with this island’s contradictions, I found myself wishing I’d bought at least a small bottle of that sake from the Japanese market.

Twilight sky for both the haves & the have-nots.

Beautiful view from the condo overlooking Ala Moana Park.