Hawaii – Out in the World

Floating with Spinner Dolphins

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Sun high in sky as we launch the double kayak into the teal blue waters of Kealakekua Bay. We quickly coordinate our strokes and paddle toward where the Pacific’s waves crash against a cliff. This is the pace a small pod of spinner dolphins followed my kayak during a visit more than a decade ago.

As if expecting us, we first see a set of small, angled fins in the distance, heading right for us. Then two more off our starboard side. Suddenly, a pod appears just off our port side. I count 10, maybe more. Diving, surfacing as air from blowholes sounds like the forceful exhale of a post-dive snorkel.

They’re curious, taking a look before submerging deeper. The younger ones try their hand at the jump – spinning and splashing back into the ocean. Knowing the dolphins come to the shallower bays to rest during the day, we don’t follow as they cruise away. We continue on toward Captain Cook monument, to snorkel along a reef next to the big blue. But the dolphins double back toward us, so we float and just take in this connection to nature – it definitely rates in my top five list of outdoor experiences of my lifetime.The next day, we SUP in Kailua Bay, to be out in the sun, on the water on our last full day in Kona. We’re out on the Ironman World Championship swim course, at mile 1.2 buoy when another spinner pod shows up, slowly moving in sync. We kneel on our boards and watch them swim under us, turn their silver bellies up like my tortoiseshell cat wanting attention back home.

A swimmer we later dub the dolphin whisperer sings and talks to them through her snorkel, or maybe it’s a recording? The pod collects near her as if she’s one of them. Wherever she goes they pop up, in pairs and groups. We take this in for more than an hour before heading back in – another few hours of nature TV we’d tune into any day.

Check out Nat Geo’s underwater video, with great views of the spinners in action.

Makalawena Beach

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I’m burying my bare feet in the soft, warm brown sand. It has that perfect packing consistency – not too soft and not too hard. It’s our little piece of paradise on this stretch, many feet from the crashing waves. The next couple is hundreds of yards away, in their own world. We’re all looking at the turquoise blue Pacific, letting time stand still in this pristine location.

I watch waves climb over and around a single lava boulder – my moments of Zen as I call it. We steal a nap and magazine reading as our reward for hiking in more than a mile to this spot, over mid-day radiating lava rocks from 1800s-era eruptions of one of many volcanoes on Hawaii’s Big Island.

Passenger planes fly overhead, past lava fields to Kona airport’s runway several miles south of here. I saw this spot from one of those planes days before, vowing to return to this place where many years ago I ventured out furthest into the ocean than I had ever before – where I first saw a brackish pond and an untouched lagoon I was afraid to swim across.

We were some of the only visitors then, back when the road from the highway was truly “unimproved,” washboard gravel and ruts everywhere.

Now the road is tame by comparison, smoothed out and even paved in places. I see now why its location and increased access has become even more contentious to locals. This feeling bad for enjoying paradise at the expense of a culture is challenging to me, and familiar in the mainland states as well. I’m not sure tourists and people in general really think about that as they travel, but it’s always on my mind how tourism affects the local culture.

I try to balance these conflicting ideas by respecting places we visit, packing in and out everything we bring and learning about the history.

Waking Up in Kona

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Sliding open wooden blinds to see what morning has brought 2,000 miles away and on an island in the Pacific.

Beginning of sunrise over lush mountainside, about to fill a thin slice of clear space between the mountain and cloud bank. Humid, warmth on skin previously covered by winter layers on the mainland’s Pacific Northwest.

Spot on small beach, calm salt water lagoon as my nature TV. Waves crashing over outer reef, water trickling over pond rocks. Three palm trees frame my view to the right, over lagoon. Blue sky, puffy clouds. Sun escapes its cloud lock, warms my skin to the bone. I turn my face to it like a sunflower and soak it in.

Breeze off Pacific picks up, palm frond leaves dancing like the chords inside an open-face piano. They all lean left, into direction of the wind, which will pick up later.

Breathe in air. Dry, but humid at same time. Clouds gentle, floating past the palms, collecting with fellow puffs under sun, drawn to the greater cluster inland.

Sand soft and fine, rocks and coral broken down to tiny pebbles and chunks. Lagoon’s resident fish a few Moorish idols, butterfly fish, an eel. Smaller fish darting between rocks. Tide comes in, turtles with it. Coming to feed, their fins flapping to balance as the waves recede back over reef.

This is why we leave our home nest to establish a temporary one for a week or two so we can take in all that an island has to offer – or just relax on the beach, absorbing as much vitamin D as possible for our serotonin-depleted Pacific Northwest bodies.

Anticipation of a Journey

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The mid-morning top-deck drop off. Excitement looms.

Leaving the post-snow, deep February cold of the early-morning curb, entering warm airport. Swaths of people cross our path, toting bags, checking in. Energy, pace and stress level picking up, heading to security checkpoint along with the masses.

The dance of piano keys, live music greeting on other side. Soothing for a busy airport, sending travelers to other cities, states and countries.

Pianist hands off to cellist further down the concourse. Local artist playing hand-made small cello he calls his travel version. Travelers dash by, heeding gate calls. As we plop our bags, look for outlets and settle into our boarding area we listen to his deep, soulful sounds filling the air, his bow mesmerizing as it effortlessly glides across the cello’s strings.

People filtering into gate waiting area, some with kids, retirees. All gathering in this spot – this waiting area – all of us with hopes of leaving dreary cloud-covered Portland for the sun-filled Big Island in the Hawaiian Island chain.

Hundreds of disparate lives coming together to be squeezed in a pressurized tube that will take us more than five hours and two thousand miles over the Pacific Ocean to our island destination – for sun, beach, R&R, away from to-do lists and daily responsibilities. To wear shorts, tank tops and sandals. Swimsuits and snorkel gear. For time to slow down. To wander. To explore.

Pilot strolls by, coffee in hand, heading to settle into cockpit, complete flight check. Woman walks by, tiny, shaggy black dog head popping out of dark bag.

Passenger list filled, we board and take our spaces for the next five hours, me in my favorite window seat with my partner taking it for the team in the middle seat. We hope for a nice seatmate – one that is friendly but doesn’t chat too much or take over the conversation. It can be a long, exhausting flight with the latter.

We luck out and become part of a female threesome, and post wheels-up share our travels and stories of places we’ve loved visiting. We even coordinate our bathroom run, all filtering back into our respective seats and high-fiving at the efficiency.

30,000 feet up
There’s something about being 30,000 feet in the air that soothes me, plucks me out of my daily life to a place I can think, imagine. There’s less worry of daily life stress up here – it’s like we’re suspended above the clouds, above and beyond time.

I feel lucky to live I a time in history when an airplane is like a bus in the sky, taking you to the next city, the next state or other countries. Your cash is your ticket to the world, to experiences and discovery. New places, different languages and cultures.

This is what we work for, to be up here transiting at hundreds of miles per hour to a destination far from our home.