Journal Entry March 11th 2006
Day Seven: The Monsoon season has arrived early this year. The natives are restless and have stopped all trading in the local markets. The rains have washed out the only access roads, both above and below our camp, trapping us here like rats on a sinking ship. All we can do is sit it out, wait patiently, and hope our supplies last until a clearing in the storm. My worst fears are being realized as I watch Anissa pacing around the floor mumbling something in a hallucination about “Hawaii” and “The Garden Isle”, then tossing her head back and cackling. It is like “The Fever” has got her in its grasp. I have come to accept this change as our current lot in life. This acceptance has brought a sort of peace and contentment as if I am wining a game of checkers against Death by cheating because his hood keeps falling down. Pray for me that I that I keep winning…
OK, so maybe that is a bit dramatic but after four days of non-stop rain I needed to do something to entertain myself. There we are on the Garden Isle of Kauai, Hawaii and the rains had not stopped for the last three days. Garden Isle… Just think about that for a second… It seems some-what obvious at this point that to keep a place so green as to be called a “Garden Isle” it requires some water, some being an understatement. The really unexpected part is that the “Garden Isle” gets all the water needed to keep it green all at once, several times a year. At the interior of this small island is the, locally referred to with fervor, wettest place on earth, Mount Wai’ale’ale (pronounced –WEE-ALLe- ALLe), which receives a modest 40.5 feet (inches are so passé) of rain a year. By comparison Orange County receives 1/40th of that amount and the Amazon Basin in Brazil (Often referred to as a “Rain Forest”) receives 1/8th of that amount. The only place which receives more rain than this so called “Garden Isle” is in India during the Monsoon season, a modest 54+ feet per year, which is when (I can’t contain my excitement…) we will be traveling (or floating, as needed) through the region.
We received large torrents of rain there for the two of the four days we were in residence. We were fortunate that the other two days it rained more like small pails of water were being thrown upon us instead of the Gatorade cooler sized downpours. Upon some exploration on the second day of rain, we discovered that, indeed, the road to the north was closed by seventeen inches of water flowing to the sea across twenty feet of road. After a not so long drive to the south, we discovered that that road and bridge were closed because the muddy red river had swollen its banks and was threatening to float any small cars away to the ocean. We drove that very short distance back to Hanalei Bay to find that all the shops had closed for the day. ALL THE SHOPS had closed for the day: the locals were at home, eating banana pancakes and feeling groovy; no soup for you!
We found this information out later upon interrogating our host at the bed-and-breakfast: there is a Coconut Hotline that lets the locals know when the bridge it closing and they all just head home. That was my strongest clue that this type of rain was not an isolated event in the comings and goings of North Shore Kauai. All in all we learned from our time in Hanalei Bay, Kauai to just relax and go with the flow.
We did manage to leave the room for a few hours each day, in spite of the rain. Mostly, we would drive between the flooded road and closed bridge, taking every side road that had a sign reading “Dead End” or “No Outlet” just to see what interesting place was hiding at the end of the road. Most often there was nothing notable, just somebody’s home a mile or so down a dirt road; however, there are exceptions. Once, we were rewarded with a beautiful and very old Japanese Buddhist cemetery.
The headstones we could read dated to the turn of the 20th century. The most unique I have ever seen were the headstones made out of, well stones, large stones, unhewn and worn from the elements, covered with lichens and mosses from years of marking the final resting place for a departed loved one. These old markers announced the dead only in Japanese Kanji, unreadable to Anissa and I. I am still pondering whether the sign at the turn was a warning or announcement… Dead End? It seemed like every road on Kauai was a dead end, whether a sign announced it or not.
The road to the lighthouse was a dead end, but the sign doesn’t say:
Dead End 3mi
Oh, and there is
a lighthouse there.
The sign just says points the way to a lighthouse and it is left to the intelligence of the traveler to figure out that it is a dead end. I really wanted to ask people if they knew where the dead end was, but all the nude boobies caught my attention and I soon forgot all about dead ends. Well, it may be a little unfair to point out that the boobies were nude. They have no clothes, true. Their shame is covered with lots of feathers so they are not so nude in the bare skin sense of the term. In our one respite from the rain we enjoyed a short bit of sun watching the Red-Footed Boobie flit and float in the sky at the Kilauea Lighthouse.
The Boobie is a very interesting bird to watch, really, no kidding. They make their nests each year on the cliffs around this lighthouse. The Boobies zoom through the sky with such grace and powerful speed. Their sleek bodies are seen cutting through the air with such ease. Like a Learjet they circle their nest on the cliff with their head tucked low spotting the landing target. Then, like a sprinter off the starting line, they dive straight at the nest, and within a few feet of crashing into it, the diving Boobie thrusts its red feet out from where the have been tucked away within snow-white under-feathers, the tail feathers flare, and its wings buckle and flap as reverse feather-thrusters. While watching thousands of birds bring back nesting material over and over again, I am forced to create a landing dialog for each.
“Tower, this is Feather-Duster. Over.”
“Feather-Duster this is Tower, go ahead”
“I’ve got a full payload of leaves and twigs and am ready to land, fuel is low, and I need some crazy bird lovin’. Over”
“Feather-Duster, your wife has been notified and has cleared you for landing at nest 22759er. Be advised that crazy bird lovin’ is a Go. Over.”
“Thanks Tower. Over”
“Ahhhhh, Feather-Duster it looks like you are coming in a little hot there. You may want to go around one more time. Copy? Feather-Duster DO YOU COPY?... FOR GODS SAKE SON, YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO BEACOME A BOOBIE PANCAKE. PUT THE FLAPS DOWN SON… PUT THE FLAPS DOWN NOW!!!”
“Tower, Tower, I made it. I am on the ground safe, The wives’ feathers are a little ruffled but I am ok. My flaps are a little hot still… almost glowing red. Thanks for the support. Over.”
Sorry, I must truly apologize for allowing you entree into my sick and twisted mind. The hour of sun must have been too much. As I prepare this post I am sitting in the airport getting ready for an overnight flight to New Zealand. In the next post I will tell a little more of our time in the Islands and perhaps try to explain the mysteries of the international date line and how Anissa and I will lose a day, never to get it back.
Aloha
Rion
PS As always, your comments are welcome and much appreciated.
