Day 1
I was carrying a daypack full of cashew butter, trail snacks, and cosmic eggs when I boarded the bingo-destined DC-8 stretch, bound for Honolulu International. Funny that our jet was called a stretch for we were much bound and restricted in our joke-laden space during the thankfully short 4.5 hour flight.

Landing yielded no leis. Off to an alcoholic hotel on Waikiki where numb night awaited. We strolled to a beach, which it turns out was the only one on Waikiki to allow alcohol, and gazed westward at Jupiter and Scorpio and high-rise hotels reflecting off the warm, steaming waters.

Day 2
Next morning was adjust-the-trip time and we found ourselves snorkeling that afternoon in Hanauma Bay, an extinct volcano turned coral reef and wildlife refuge. Strange, exotic fish such as the trumpet fish and coronet fish heightened an already tropical melee of piscines. Little, mobile Peter Max sketches darted about amidst bug-eyed squirrel fishes and great, huge black and orange something or others with pooching, parrot-like mouths. So this was the bay they filmed Blue Hawaii in? Around its shellfish rim we found small pockets of green gem sands made of peridot and magnetite and zircon. The thrashing waves seemed to taunt us about our removing Madam Pele’s exoskeleton, so we just waved back.

Enroute back, our tour guide mentioned all the great TV shows based on Oahu such as Magnum P.I. (We drove by the car dealership where Tom Sellek’s Maserati was on sale.), Hawaii 5-0 (we saw the building/hotel where Jack Lord stands in the opening credits and the camera zooms in on his face real quickly.), and Hawaiian Eye (an old dick series with a lot of almost forgettable actors and actresses—well, I forget them, anyway.). We were thrilled. Also that day, I was accosted by hippy peddlers, howling bowels, and McNugget Mania. Wrote some Ben Bland postcards saying, "Wish I was here." and rot like that.

Day 3
Nexus of the crisis morning we missed our bus to the airport, but taxied to the runway in time to split to the Big Island. The interior of the old prop job was filled with champagne and cheese Danish. Outside was a vista of all the islands, some distant and mysterious, some looming toward us with kilometer high sea cliffs. The landing brought sloshed cheers (not up thankfully). Soon we had our Tercel and were off to find the green sand beach. Made it to South Cape, just below the 19th latitude, but in spite of all the Big Island we made "Tercel Country," we didn’t find an entire beach of green sand. We only found pockets up to a meter of the precious stuff and lots of really bad road you wouldn’t ever want to attempt in a four-wheeler! Back to the main highway through mad dogs and misty jungle. There we galloped into Volcano National Park (the park). It was raining en route, in a drizzly fashion, and our first glimpse of active volcanics was of steaming vents amidst natural haze and mist. We flew by the park headquarters to visit the steam vents where we were also afforded our first good glimpse of Kilauea. Around the rim we drove, stopping at every steaming fissure to photograph, bask in the heat, or just to inhale the deep powerful vapors of Halemaumau fire pit, Pele’s current abode. While it was still light, I hunted for white gas in Volcano Village General Store. It was dark upon our return, but there was a red glow to the north. We set up camp, ate, and took a night hike to watch the fiery sky. We hiked for a couple hours without flashlights and miraculously made our way back to camp, but we never found the source of the red glow. I was sure it was a forest fire.

Day 4
In the morning a trash-collecting ranger told us it was the "O vent" that had erupted the previous night, fountaining up to a couple hundred feet he said. So that was the source of the mysterious red glow! The roar from the vent kept him and his wife up all night. We dashed to the volcano headquarters and were given directions to the active vent. We drove back through the ever-elegant fern-ohia forest, down "string of craters" road to a parking lot. The plume was visible beyond the cars and signs and distant cones, and we dashed on foot the 1.5 miles to Puu Huluhulu, the viewing crater. We barely stopped to gaze at the surrounding forests of spatter cones and blisters and brittle, almost vitreous pahoehoe. Indeed, from Puu Huluhulu’s summit, we could see some four miles off, a 30-40 foot high, metamorphosing blob of orange.

[Photograph by J.D. Griggs, U.S.Geological Survey, February 4, 1985.]
http://volcano.cs.und.nodak.edu/vwdocs/HawaiiQuest/kilauea/part1.html

Through someone’s 40x telescope, it was just like the National Geographic films and all that! The distance wasn’t close enough to invite hours of staring, so off to Volcano Village for a mahi mahi lunch. Back to the park headquarters where we chuckled over the case full of bad luck testimonials and hastily returned geologic specimens (it was considered bad luck to remove rocks from the Hawaiian islands). We awed at the 10-minute film of the last 50 years of eruption highlights. I wanted to smoke a cigarette after it was over! Volcano topographic French-cut tee shirts were next, then more park touring. First Kilauea Iki’s rim, then the Thurston lava tube, its entrances secreted in dense jungle. We hiked down steep jungle cutbacks to walk across the floor of Kilauea Iki, whose magnificent 1959 eruption created a several square mile lake of lava and fountains that fired up to 1900 feet! It was quiet now, but the power and heat could be sensed below its steaming black cap of hardened, faulted rock. We registered for our hike up Mauna Loa, deciding on a trek to Red Hill Summit and cabin. Then down the chain of craters road towards the southwest coast. Above us all the time was the ever-trailing plume from the still erupting O vent. The sun went through several shades of red behind that plume, from blood to burgundy. The eerie infrared spectrums reflected off of massive fields of pahoehoe and the aa left flat black holes in the barren moonscape. On the coast we watched huge waves pummel the fresh volcanic cliffs. Large arches, like keyholes, pocked the coastline for miles. We drove past massive petroglyph sites and lava covered villages til we came to Queen’s Bath, a tropical water hole in a nearby luscious forest. We swam in the mildly brackish, shaded waters while grey-haired locals played guitars and sang songs in Hawaiian. The water was clear and cool and deep, and the forest encroached upon its rocky, trough like form. Feeling refreshed, we retreated back into the park to Kamoamoa campground, site of an ancient Hawaiian burial ground. Our entire evening of rains and mists and beer runs was ever accompanied by the reddish glow of the continuously spewing orifice on the hillside above.

(NOTE: this eruption started a few months before we landed on the big island in August 1983 and has continued on various levels to this day (1/1/2001). There were several fountain eruptions in those first few months. for more info see http://volcano.cs.und.nodak.edu/vwdocs/HawaiiQuest/kilauea/part1.html The vent oozed lava for a couple years and eventually permanently blocked the Chain of Craters Road. The lava also filled in Queen’s Bath so that feature is permanently gone. Now, the vent has melted a tunnel through the substrata and pours lava directly into the ocean through this subterranean tunnel. Apparently a vast plume of steam rises up from this coastal phenomenon.)

Day 5
We were up at dawn searching for lava tubes and finding black sand beaches instead. Then we ascended from sea level through the park to Mauna Loa strip road, past the tree molds and bird park, and drove up to the end of the road at 6500 feet elevation. There we packed for our ascent on foot. We met Mona, a woman bound for Samoa who was using Hawaii as a transitional zone. She started up ahead of us. We exited the parking area through rain forests and soon emerged in an open range of shrubs, grasses and occasional trees which dotted the vast shield volcano landscape. The trail was hard to see in this area so we followed a distant line of cairns. We soon passed Mona and eventually the sun came out and the trees dwindled into nonexistence. The path was rough, yet gradual, and the heavy packs, hot sun, and ever-gaining altitude began to wear away our energy. Behind us, the park grew distant but Kilauea remained distinguishable as a huge maw streaming little wisps of steam into the air. The trail became more prominent where hundreds of Vibram soles had worn a shallow groove in the red pahoehoe. The trek slowed with each new 1000 feet elevation gained. Finally, we spotted Red Hill, a burnt umber sort of cinder cone a couple miles away. It seemed an eternity before we reached it and the Rest Cabin tucked away in the cinder cone’s caldera was a most welcome sight. The cool rainwater in the adjoining catchment was a real treat and after dinner, we bathed in stove-heated water out of a large pitcher, just like down on the farm. Mona finally dragged into camp as we were ascending the lip of the little caldera. On top, we watched the sun set and the clouds began to fill the lower island and the valley between Mauna Loa and its magnificent neighbor, Mauna Kea. Twin observatory domes gleamed in the receding sunset from Mauna Loa’s summit and the clouds began to redden. All around the patchwork quilt of lava flows took on an ominous and eerie nature. The previous night, Jupiter was scratched by the passing moon. But tonight they were separated again and allowing the rest of the sky to resume unrivaled splendor. The vastness of the landscape, mixed with the sublimity of dusk, made us feel quite alone on a distant planet or island in the sky. Even as night’s blackness increased, the sea of clouds below us enhanced our island isolation.
Something strange occurred as Peg and i watched the sun set. As the clouds rolled in beneath us, we perceived multi-color flashes of light under the clouds between the craters. We never heard thunder, and the flashes seemed to be of reds, blues, and whites. We asked about the lights the next day, assuming there was some sort of military base beneath the clouds, but no one knew what we were talking about.

Day 6
The highly unnatural beeping of a digital wristwatch arrested our lofty and frigid slumbers. Soon Mona followed daylight outside and she departed ahead of us, hoping to later catch a lift to Hilo with us. Amidst packing for descent, I found time to inscribe cryptic messages on the cabin walls and in the summit logbook. Much reference to Bud Foon, Wilson and Verne. The descent was buffered by light rain and our first opportunity to use our sundry rain gear. We halved our time down the mountain and met Mona just outside the parking lot and she joined our little expedition. From an East Coast bird watcher we learned of the abatement of the O vent. We checked out of the park and beat a hasty path to Hilo and our county park permits. Once secured, the permits gave us access to the 20-odd Big Island county parks. Now all we had to do was find one. First, however, we took a scenic tour of Hilo. Across every bridge we could catch glimpses of distant waterfalls and our curiosity was aroused. We found Rainbow Falls, a lava tube with a fall coming over the top of it. I’ve since seen several photos of Rainbow Falls and all of them had a bogus spectrum painted at its misty base. We saw no such entity; but given the right lighting, one was quite imaginable. Nearby were the first vestiges of a tropical fruit garden. Smashed, ripe, and fragrant papayas lay about on the ground like detritus on a military bombing range. In the midst of a guava grove grew a massive Banyan tree whose aerial runners and oddly fused, divergent trunks threatened to overtake the forest. Peggy decorated the car with violently bright orange flowers and we continued upstream via our car. The next stopping point on the river offered us a view of a phenomena we were to encounter again and again--waterfalls and pools in rapid succession. This particular batch was known as the boiling pots and, during a heavier water flow, they very well might have been. We then drove further inland towards Kaumana Caves County Park. Mona remarked how the residential streets we were traversing resembled San Francisco. Indeed, the hills were steep and winding and the houses were of pastel hues, draped and surrounded by all manner of foliage. And even in the distance behind us was always the Pacific. The caves turned out to be more lava tubes (what else?) And again they were strung with flowering vines and carpeted with impatiens and palms. We didn’t bring a flashlight with us (this series of tubes was unlighted, unlike Thurston Tubes), but we ventured to our visibility threshold. As we looked back towards the light, jungle and stairs ascending through the green, gaping hole in the ceiling, this verdant probe contrasted sharply with the dark, slimy, sinewy insides of the tube.

Ten seconds of awe and back to Hilo where we sought out authentic Hawaiian cuisine. Natives directed us to Jimmy’s Drive-In, which wasn’t really a drive-in but was filled with lots of locals. And yes, there on the menu was a Hawaiian dinner or two. Peg and I ordered one of each and some Primo beer. The traditional Hawaiian dinner consisted of one or two types of poi or taro root, fresh and sour. The fresh was kind of sweet and both were very starchy and just a touch fruity. Great stuff to live on for months, wallpaper the grass shack, or repair holes in your outrigger canoe. Also included was an assortment of local sashimi and some pork jerky. The main dish was salted, shredded pork or salted pork baked in taro leaves. It was all very saline and heavy with jungle flavors. Afterwards, we looked for our nightly quart of Mickey’s and commenced our campground search. After considerable delays in finding suitable shelter (the entrance signs, when they existed, were small and blended into the background) we negotiated passage to Laupahoehoe Beach Park campground, on which stood a tidal wave memorial to one of many communities lost to the gods and their pet Tsunamis. In spite of loud locals wherever we tried to camp, things quieted down about sleep time. Evening ended with a few games of Crazy Trumps, tarot-style.

Day 7
First order of business next day was to deliver Mona to Hilo airport. We nosed around in gift shop and then parted, bartering addresses. Spent over an hour in Hilo itself, searching out tee shirts and Wicked Wahine (a perfume). If not sooner, we immediately set out for Akoka Falls. Akoka Falls is one of several falls on the Kolekole Stream in northeast Hawaii. This park covers 65 acres, with a path that winds by the vantage points for viewing Kahuna Falls (~ 300 feet) and Akaka Falls (420 feet). Both falls were moderate-sized white ribbons on tall, dense, green and black mattes. The trail was equally splendid as it meandered through 25-feet high bamboo patches, huge glens of ginger and other favorites, such as the bird of paradise, banana, dumb cane, Banyan and azalea.

We stocked up on water at the park, knowing our next stop, the Waipio Valley, would offer no such luxuries. After failing to secure permission to venture into the valley, we decided to hike into it anyway. We emptied the Tercel contents into the bushes, hiding what we didn’t pack in. The southern road into the valley descended 1500 feet on a toe-jamming, steep grade. We could see the trail ascending the northern wall’s 900 feet of height across the mile-and-a-half valley mouth. Black sand beach and river occupied the lowest points, with old taro plantations covering patches of the flat valley floor. Jungle, marsh, and little shacks filled the rest of this seven- to eight-mile deep crevasse, while scrubby jungle and thin waterfalls laced its sides. We hiked towards the coast, past wild avocados and ripe, receptive guavas. We grabbed some riper guavas and hit the shore, staking our tent just inside tree line. We swam in the warm, black-stained, frothy waters until dinner and spent much time gazing back at California, the moon and the spectral outlines of tall cliffs which loomed over us on both sides. In the distance, Maui sat like an illusion, as an island floating on the cloud tops. We drifted asleep, surrounded by the fragrance of the ripening guavas.

Day 8
Peg began her parallel trip upon awakening. We broke fast and hid the tent, sleeping bags, and my large pack. Now all we had was a canteen and Peg’s day pack with cameras ointments, and the materials for lunch. So we trekked inland, up the jeep trail. We passed 600- to 700-foot cliffs with barely enough water dribbling down them to be seen as falls. We abandoned our shoes for a mile as the jeep trail crossed several streams and a couple rivers. When we tried to follow the road into the back of the valley, it began to turn coastward again, so we went cross country. Our objective was a medium-sized stream about three miles in on the northern valley wall. The stream was prominent owing to the many falls and cascades on its upper levels. Some women on horseback had told us about a jeep trail which led near the falls and a path which followed the base of the northern wall. After only half an hour of tramping through jungle and marsh, we found a jeep trail (apparently one of the streams we passed was another fork of this jeep trail). The jeep trail led 100 m to a path, the path 200 m to the first pool or lowest pool of our only slightly elusive stream. We waded across the first pool and climbed beside the cascade to the next pool. At this time we were accompanied by two froggy native boys bearing snorkel apparatus and tridents. They showed us how to ascend to three other pools and accompanying falls before they left. As one boy climbed roots up the steep hill in front of us, I caught flashes of Edgar Rice Burrough’s or Rudyard Kipling’s finest hours. So we swam and explored the pool bottoms and ate a cuttlefish noodle soup for lunch. We met another local, a blonde Oregon man, who now lived and farmed in the valley. He showed us the path to the coast and pointed out some very large breadfruit trees. We hit the trail and he ascended to continue removing obstructions from one of the higher pools. The path back to the shore was through the greatest variety of tropical foliage yet! Occasionally we would pass obscured Baba Yaga-looking huts or modern split levels, but most of the trail was dense forests of palms, creepers and low, sprawling trees, all of which were covered with vines and the ever-present, vast array of flowers. We finally heard the surf in the distance; and after avoiding a wrong turn into the marsh, we emerged at the northern end of the beach. There we mucked about in the viscous black sand and chased little black crabs to and fro. Eventually we skipped across the hot black sand and relocated our gear. We plopped down in the shaded, grassy dunes and realized it was the first time we had relaxed the whole trip—but not for long.

We again had a monumental task in front of us, the ascent of the south wall. After hiking up about 1000 feet altitude, a truck (with its muffler exuding steam from river water it had collected) carried our packs the rest of the way. The Tercel was unmolested and we collected our bushed suitcase and packs. Then we dashed across the northern end of the island, through Parker Ranch, stopping for seconds to glance at royal and ceremonial lava artifacts outside the Lyman Mission House and Museum. These included a throne and a salt evaporator. The Kona Coast was host to the setting sun as we shunned one crowded campground after another. We ended up at Mahukona County Beach Park, which was small and noisy with the bustling activities of the 1978 class reunion of Kamanawanaleia High. A trailing line of clouds pizzled on us as we ate our last trail dinner. Maui was still out there to the north, just across the Alenuihaha Channel. Night was short due to persistent noise and occasional BB gun ricochets.

Day 9
I arose before Peg and explored the rocky coast covered with platy sea urchins, most of which had tabular, leglike extensions. Another reorganizational packing, more missed and overbooked flights, macadamia nut ice cream at HON, a speedy return to the last nine hours of Maximum Louie Louie on Los Altos, CA KFJC radio, and two leis left in my fridge like olivine left on the lava. Aloha and Mahalo.