Almost Lost at Sea
“The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.” -Vincent Van Gogh
Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/jeVctrPXy7nPy8x69
January 4th, 2024 - Hawaii Day 9
The ocean rocked beneath us. It jostled our small kayak, shooting the horizon up and down in a bewildering sort of way. The long hump of a farwaway volcano seemed to grow and shrink with every wave we traveled over. We tried to keep our eyes focused on the distance. Neither one of us had fully recovered from our snorkeling seasickness the night before, but it was hitting Tyler worse. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how he wasn’t throwing up. We are anything but seafarers, after all.
My gaze drifted over the tilting waters, searching for Hawaiian monk seals. We had actually seen one of the endangered seals just that morning. As we stood around our cluster of kayaks stacked on a large volcanic rock, the inquisitive creature swam right by us. Its big puppy-dog eyes were curious. Its whiskers drooped like a cowboy’s mustache. Our tour guide looked at the seal as if it had just offered him a million dollars.
“Huh. In all my years of doing this, I’ve never seen a seal over this way. They’re rare to see anywhere.” He put his hands on his hips and followed the seal’s progress through the water.
“Seals are dangerous,” the guide added. He lowered his voice dramatically. “One of those things can wrap its arms around a grown man and drag it down into the water to drown it. It’s true! I’ve heard of it happening. You don’t want to get anywhere near those things.”
I thought back to the seal’s cute, innocent face. It certainly didn’t look dangerous. If anything was dangerous, it was the mass of water we were precariously floating on. Only a thin layer of molded plastic suspended me above the writhing waves of the Pacific. It would only take one big push to dump Tyler and me overboard. How deep was the water beneath us? What was in that water? I had grown up swimming in my family’s pond, where the largest hazard was the tiny leeches that clung to our legs. There’s nothing quite like an ocean to make a person feel fragile.
Not to be disrespectful, but our ocean kayak tour guide wasn’t exactly helpful in alleviating our worries. He reminded me of the stereotypical surfer dude I had seen in movies. His eyes were the pale blue of the horizon line between the sky and sea. His hair was a sunbleached blond, roughened by salty waves. His skin was sunburnt, his smile carefree. It was the carefree nature that worried me. As our group paddled our kayaks along the island shoreline, we noticed an older gentleman beginning to fall behind. Unlike the kayak Tyler and I shared, this man paddled alone. The waves were rough on the smaller vessel, and paddling through them was difficult. The poor man fell farther and farther behind our group, working through the water the best he could. Finally, I couldn’t bear it any more. I flagged down our guide.
“Hey, um, sir? I think that guy back there is struggling a bit. Should we maybe wait for him?”
The guide leveled his ocean-blue eyes on the straggler. With a small sigh, he turned his kayak around and paddled back to the man. Over the splash of the waves, we could hear him talking to the older man.
“Hey buddy, you doing alright back here?”
“Not really,” the man responded. “I’m having a lot of problems with my shoulder. It’s really acting up today- I think it must be the paddling.”
“Oh.” The guide was quiet for a minute. “Well, we’re only about halfway to the sea cave from here, so we’ve got more paddling to do. Why don’t you just stay here and wait for us? We’ll be coming back this way and can come pick you up. See that rock? Start working your way over there and wait for us there. We’ll be back.”
The guide’s solution surprised me. What if the older man wanted to see the sea cave like the rest of us? He’d be missing out on half the tour if we left him here. But was there really any other option? Reluctantly, we followed our group and left the man behind. We kayaked along a shore crusted with piles of lava rock. The rocks rambled in piles and towers, frozen where the lava had cooled ages ago. We followed the shoreline to a small cove, where we jumped out of our kayaks to do some snorkeling. I slid on my snorkel mask, plunged my face into the crystalline waters, and promptly tried to drown myself. Gasping, I yanked the mask off my face and readjusted it. What was with me and snorkel masks? I just couldn’t quite shake the anxiety of breathing through a tube. Once I figured it out, though, the snorkeling was beautiful! We floated about fifteen feet above a coral reef teeming with colorful fish. Tiny needle-shaped fish navigated the air bubbles just below the water’s surface. Zebra-striped fish danced with bright yellow ones amidst the blobby coral structures. Spiky urchins protruded like thistles from lava rock. We even saw an octopus!
Near our snorkeling spot was a lava rock cliff. It stood about twenty feet above the water, the perfect height for brave people to jump off. Tyler and I tend to draw the line at jumping off of things, but we challenged ourselves this time. Truthfully, our bravery was due to peer pressure, as nearly everyone else in our group climbed up to jump off the cliff. Regardless, we did it! After the first terrifying plunge, the adrenaline rush took over. The few seconds of weightless suspension over the turquoise sea was thrilling. I jumped a few more times after that, loving it more each time. On one of my last jumps, I discovered that hardened volcanic rock is very sharp. I stood atop the cliff, blood dripping from a fresh slice in my knee. The guide noticed.
“Hey, you good?” He pointed to my gory-looking leg.
I glanced down at it. Yikes. That was going to leave a mark. Too adrenaline-filled to care, I just grinned and nodded. Yep, all good.
Standing on top of the cliff, I noticed for the first time that the older man in the kayak was no longer visible. After I jumped, this consumed my attention. Where had he gone? I kept looking for him when we started our journey back along the shoreline. Finally, I spotted him. In our absence, he had drifted out to sea! His orange kayak was nothing but a colorful spot bobbing the crests of the waves. Periodically, a flash of white indicated that the man was attempting to paddle. He was so far away! Failing to suppress my anxiety, I waved at our guide to catch his attention. He looked at me, followed my pointing finger out to the faraway vessel, and sighed audibly. He indicated that the rest of our group continue back along the shoreline. With strong arms, he turned his kayak around and plowed out into the ocean. About halfway to the older man, however, the guide stopped. He rested his paddle across his boat and sat, watching the poor man struggle. Then, defying all expectations, the guide turned back around! We were shocked. How could the guide just leave him out there? Couldn’t we help tow the his kayak or something? Couldn’t we at least wait until the poor guy rejoined our group?
Nope. Following the guide, we paddled away, letting the older man find his own way back to shore. Thankfully, we all made it! Nobody was lost at sea that day.
We ate a fish taco lunch at a little mom-and-pop joint just off the Mamalahoa Highway. Live music for our lunch was provided by a possibly drug-addled man who talked to lizards and garbled the song lyrics. We couldn’t understand what he was singing, but he sure played enthusiastically! Charcoal-black lava fields transported us into the heart of Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park, where thick ferns erupted between stretches of jumbled stone. Piles of thick grey clouds spattered rain as we roamed through lush meadows and colorful remnants of volcanic eruptions. Green bits of volcanic glass glittered in the crunchy black gravel. My eye was drawn to the gnarled trees shoving upwards between plates of hardened lava. They had thick, waxy leaves to survive the harsh post-eruption environment. Nestled between the leaves, feathery crimson flowers brought vibrant color to the scenery. These, I learned, were Ohi’a Lehua trees. They are sacred in Hawaiian culture. They are also endangered due to the effects of a rapidly-spreading fungus. There was something a little sad about the lonely trees. After surviving and thriving in a lava field, they were being killed by a microscopic fungus. I was thankful to get to see them in their natural state, and appreciated their beauty even more in the face of their possible demise.
A brisk wind, following the underbelly of the rain clouds, whipped around us. It buffeted our vehicle too. We drove through a landscape that the wind had molded. Trees leaned sideways. The yellow grass lay flat. Carried by the wind, we journeyed down to the southernmost point of the United States. The wind tossed the water against blocks of stone. Froth soared above the tall turquoise waves. Immense piles of broken coral had accumulated everywhere on the beach, creating a strange mimickry of the reef we’d snorkeled above that morning. Where were the fish in this reef? There were none to be found, only windblown tourists quietly picking their way between the rocks. Like the Ohi’a Lehua trees, this place was sacred in Hawaiian culture. The foundation of an ancient structure still overlooked the ferocious sea. A rock wall, carefully built, split the beach down the middle. Some people had placed pieces of coral on the wall, almost in a sacrificial manner. This place was special, I sensed. It had an untamable nature, a sense of resiliency.
Like all of Hawaii, it was beautiful.
Places of interest:
Pu’u O Lokuana Trail
Kamakapa’a Trail
The coral beach and rock wall: https://maps.app.goo.gl/Fna7b4XHnHotiC2u8
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