Mike Pirnat

When our alarm went off at 5:30, I was feeling pretty awful. I wanted more sleep, I was sore from the kayak trip, and my cold was hanging on with a vengeance, no thanks to the coughing aching etc. etc. medicine. At some point a few minutes later I had a sudden change of heart, threw back the covers, and leapt to my feet. My sinuses, as if on cue, cleared, and I started throwing on clothes.

After all, when was I ever going to have a chance to see the sunrise from the top of Diamond Head?

We rushed to get clothes on, and a backpack loaded with essential supplies: bottle of water, flashlight, binoculars, sun screen, camera, and two loaves of banana bread that came with our room. We hurried downstairs, picked up the Mustang, and drove off through the dark to Diamond Head. The traffic gods smiled upon me, and I caught green lights the whole way through Waikiki.

To get to the trail, you drive up along the north face of Diamond Head, then take a tunnel that passes through the side of the mountain, and park in the bowl of its crater. It was a little after six when we arrived and started up the trail, dark enough to still be night, but, thanks to the ample moonlight, just light enough to make out the trail.

The concrete path quickly gave way to a rough, rocky trail, and that’s about where things start to get steeper. We made our way quickly but cautiously up the winding path, navigating switchbacks and the ever-increasing slope. We passed a family of Japanese hikers, greeting them with a warm “Ohaiyou!” The sky grew lighter and lighter as we hiked, shifting from pitch black to a deep midnight blue.

The rocky path ended abruptly in a set of stairs. This is the point at which things start getting serious. The first set of stairs, the total of which I did not count, got a nice burning sensation going in my thighs. The stairs delivered us straight into the mouth of a long, narrow, steep tunnel, reason number one to bring a flashlight. I made a crack to Liz about our trek through Moria, and since the tunnel was so narrow, “Yoooooouuuu shall not paaaaass!” Liz bopped me on the head, and we kept walking.

Finally we saw that the light at the end of the tunnel was not an oncoming train, and emerged out onto a small rest area. We puffed a couple times to catch our breath, turned to the left to see the ever-approaching dawn, then turned to our right to see the next phase of our ascent — 99 steep stair steps. Joy. And I thought my legs were on fire from the first set of stairs! Ha! Neither of us were willing to miss the sunrise, though, so we pressed on, trying to keep a steady pace, focusing on just taking each step at a time. Each step was one step deeper into pain, but also a step closer to victory.

Where the stairs end, the old Army bunker begins. We took a minute to rest after the climb, then headed down the passageway. This led us to a pitch black shaft which houses a rusty spiral staircase, reason number two for the flashlight. We trudged up the stairs and were rewarded with a former gun enclosure with a view to the south and west. We could already see the hardcore surfers out at the beaches below, and the daylight was fast approaching. Time to keep moving.

We crawled out through the now-empty artillery slot and onto a very narrow path along the face of the mountain. We followed the path east along the side of the mountain, which brought us to the final set of stairs. From here we could see the lookout station at the top of the mountain, and that gave us all the encouragement we needed to scurry up and find a place to take pictures.

There were already twenty or so hikers who had arrived before us, and there were more behind. We snapped a few pictures before the “show” started, broke out the banana bread, and got caught up with our friend the water bottle. Below us, the island of Ohau sprawled, stretching and yawning as dawn approached, and the ocean’s tireless caress washed in against the shore. The breeze was cool, and persistent, but none of us really cared about the cold.

First came a hint of yellow on the eastern horizon, a thin band of delicate gold, tucked between the ocean and the clouds. Then a little sliver of fire peeked up from the sea, almost hesitant at first, but then boldly, inexorably progressing forward, blazing into the morning sky, painting the clouds with vibrant orange, pink, and yellow colors. It washed over us with a radiant warmth, and the light was thick and delightful. We all ignored what our mothers had told us as children and stared into the rising sun.

As the sun continued its ascent, the light began to spill over the mountaintop and into the west, first lighting up Pearl Harbor, then progressing slowly through downtown Honolulu and last onto Waikiki Beach directly below us. West north west of us, toward the interior, the rain clouds smiled, and we were treated to a series of rainbows, sometimes coming in sets of twos and threes.

After giving ourselves a sufficient time to be awestruck, we hiked back down the mountain in jubilation. With the light, I was able to get pictures of the parts of our ascent that would not have shown up before sunrise. As we neared the start of the trail, we passed a family going the other way; the mother was practically dragging her daughter, who must have been about nine or ten. Mom was saying, “See, we’re going to hike up to the top there,” and the daughter was whining that, “Nooooo, it’s too lonnnnng, and steeeep, I don’t want to go up there.” After they passed, Liz and I both started laughing; they had no idea what they were in for.

We drove back to Waikiki and, basking in the new day, returned the Mustang, walked back to the hotel, and got cleaned up. Liz got us a table beachside at the Surf Room, and I met my parents and mother-in-law at the door. We all had a lovely brunch, enjoying the breeze, sunshine, and beach activity. After brunch, we split up again; my parents had to return their car, and we needed to check out.

Once checked out, we took a cab over to the Aloha Tower Marketplace, where our ship, the Norwegian Star, was moored and ready to board passengers. We checked our luggage, then took a quick walk around the marketplace to kill a little time. Then it was time to get in line and board.

Things moved fairly efficiently, in spite of the extra security since the last time we had cruised. Our bags were X-rayed, and I got the royal treatment with the metal detector wand. We moved swiftly through the rest of the process, checking in, obtaining ID cards, and having the obligatory “look at us boarding our ship” photos taken. I noted with some amusement that a green screen was being used for the photo background; I wondered how many people would end up with transparent shirt syndrome when their pictures were completed.

As we boarded, a crew member showed us to our stateroom, where we set down our bags and let Liz bounce with excitement for a few minutes. We then headed out on our mission to locate everything aboard, starting at the top decks and working our way down. We paused at the spa to make a couples’ hot stone massage appointment, and Liz oohed and aahed over the fitness center’s array of goodies, then we pressed on through the ship. The Star is brand new in 2002, the biggest thing in the Pacific, and the interiors are lusciously art deco, filled with elegant, warm woods, and plenty of clean lines. I took lots of pictures along the way, since I am that compulsive about documenting our explorations.

We met up with my parents and did the last bits of deck six and seven with them, then turned them loose to explore on their own. At five o’clock, we had our mandatory all-hands emergency drill. Following the drill, Liz and I went up to the front of the ship to take a dip in the hot tub and watch the beginnings of the sunset. After our soak, we got dried off and rendezvoused with our respective parental units by the pool for the barbeque sendoff party. It was pretty packed with revelers, so the first table we were able to find was several decks up at the Bier Garten, looking down at the festivities below. Even that far away from the water slides, food, and party, we still had to shout to hear each other over the band.

Liz and I took off to take some pictures once we finished with dinner. We went down from the Bier Garten’s lofty perch and headed aft to get some shots of the Aloha Tower, where the large clock faces were lit with red and green to celebrate Christmas. Along the way we discovered the oversized deck chess set, with pieces about two feet tall, and made a mental note to come back for a game sometime.

As we moved aft, the sound of the band faded away and was replaced with traditional Hawaiian singing and music. Where was it coming from? To our surprise, there was a mini-luau at the pier, where the Aloha Boat Days group performs traditional music and dance to greet and send off cruise ships. We listened for awhile, then went down to the promenade on deck seven for a better view. We applauded between songs, and waved when appropriate, fully aware of our part in this little tourist/native symbiosis. We watched the moorings slackened one by one, and dock hands in Hawaiian shirts unhooked the mighty ropes from the pier. We started to pull back and away from the pier; the musicians shifted into serious Aloha mode, and their dockside audience turned to wave goodbye to us. We waved back, grinning, excited by the prospects of the journey ahead.

family, hawaii, liz, photos, travel

When I am not coughing and sneezing, I am a god.

Liz has given me a bit of a sniffle and cough, but it fades into the background when I am out and about doing things. Therefore, doing things is good, and today I have done good things!

We have another sunrise breakfast on the beach. These are such a perfect way to start the day — the omelette bar and fruit smoothies to order are my favorites by far, though the apple-stuffed crepes that Liz finds are pretty dang good too.

We pick up the Mustang from the valet at the hotel, put the top down, and head out for adventure. We drive east around the foot of Diamond Head, then north along the coast to Kailua, stopping along the way to take pictures.

At Kailua, we arrive at our destination: Kailua Sailboards. We have an appointment to go kayaking on the sea.

That’s right, Mike who hates the water, who wants nothing to do with boats (except the big pretty ones), is going sea kayaking.

Well, maybe. It depends on the weather, which is pretty rough when we first arrive.

Liz and I buy little grabbers for our sunglasses — neither of us like the idea of losing our prescription Oakleys to the watery deep — a bottle of water, and a water-proof disposable camera. A quick van ride brings us to the beach, and we drag the kayaks over to the water of a canal that runs inland a couple of miles.

Liz and I get to share a two-seater, and start out easy, trying to get the hang of paddling this thing around. Despite our next-to-complete lack of kayak experience (I once almost sunk in a lake in Colorado, thanks to a leaky kayak), we get the hang of it pretty quick, and head on up the canal like champs, leaving behind our guide and the two young Japanese girls he is escorting. Our guide is making these two little things — can’t be older than about twelve — do all the paddling on the way out. It’s a pretty amusing sight to behold. We get buzzed several times by groups in outriggers, and wave aloha to each other as we pass. Once we reach the entrance to the private lake, we turn around and head back down the canal to the beach.

When we get to the beach, the weather is better. The sea is still rough, but it has calmed down enough that our guide thinks we can handle it. Another visitor, a gentleman from Germany by way of San Francisco, and a strong paddler, will also go out on the sea. We are to make for Poipu Island, or “Flat Island,” a bird sanctuary about half a mile offshore. We will have a rough go, thanks to the strong winds, and big waves, but our guide feels like we can do it, as long as we keep paddling pretty hard. We find out later that the winds were in the neighborhood of 20 miles per hour or more.

Our guide sends Herbert off into the water, and we watch him struggle against the wind and waves. He’s maybe a third of the way there when the wind manages to counterbalance his forward progress, and he fights hard just to stay in place. We begin to fear for our poor little selves — what in the hell do we think we’re doing here??

Finally, Herbert catches a lucky break and starts moving forward again, and we watch him until he’s about three quarters of the way there. At this point, he’s looking pretty good, so it’s time for us to go. Our guide drags our kayak down into the water, about chest deep, and we throw ourselves into the kayak. We have only a moment to grab our paddles and catch last-second advice before the fight of our lives begins.

The waves are BIG, and they are STRONG. We are reminded that it is not nice to tease Mother Nature. We are quickly soaked through by the spray from the waves, which come crashing across us two and three at a time, while we scream “LEFT!” and “RIGHT!” to each other in an attempt to coordinate our paddling. This allows us to get socked in the face with plenty of sea water.

I can’t help but keep thinking, “This is dumb. This is stupid. What the hell are we doing out here? We’re never going to live through this.”

We are almost halfway there when I announce that I am just about ready to puke. The effort of paddling, the tossing of the sea, and the taste of salt water are just about to overwhelm me. Says Liz, “We can turn back if you want. But it’s your call. I’ll do whatever you want.” We pause for a moment. I say nothing, and start paddling harder.

Poipu Island keeps getting bigger and bigger, which keep egging us on. We go back to yelling out directions to each other, and press on. Our guide passes us about eighty percent of the way there, and navigates us into a little cove on Poipu where Herbert is already beached and waiting for us.

Land! Huzzah! We did it! We stagger out of our kayak and collapse on the beach for a minute to catch our breath. Once our legs find a little strength, we don sandals and spend a few minutes walking around the perimeter of the island. It’s rocky, and the rocks are full of air holes from where the lava has cooled here. It’s like walking over a jagged sponge. I manage to cut my left foot straightaway, say, “Ow!” and keep walking. We finish our walk and take some pictures of Herbert back at the kayaks. He returns the favor. Once we are back ashore we will swap contact info and share photos.

The journey back to shore is much faster and easier, since now the wind and waves are behind us, and every paddle stroke is like ten or twenty. The trick to landing the kayak involves coming in straight at the beach and paddling like crazy so that we don’t get caught in the shorebreak. We’ve made it out and back again; it’s not good form to capsize right when it’s almost over. Thankfully, we succeed, and our kayak plows into the beach as it should. We dive out of the kayak onto the wet sand and start heaving the kayak further onto land before the tide can take it.

We drag the kayak back up to where it will be loaded onto the truck, pausing to answer some other beachgoers’ questions. Where can they rent kayaks? Did you go out to that island? How far is it? Was it hard? Liz and I take it all in stride, feeling pretty good about ourselves at this point. Liz and Herbert and I walk back to Kailua Sailboards to dry off and get some food. I strut the whole way; I feel I’ve earned it.

After lunch at the little Japanese/Hawaiian fast food place next door to Kailua Sailboards, we hop back in the Mustang and hit the highway. It’s only half past one, and there’s still a lot to see today.

We cruise up along the coast to the North Shore. Watch the big waves come in. I spot a shave ice stand along the side of the road, and I pull off into the parking lot like a madman. It’s a quaint little place, utterly charming, consisting of two rickety old vans that have been converted into a shrimp and shave ice joint. There are some covered tables, a nice patch of land, and some restrooms in a building at the back of their lot. There are about thirty or forty people there, snacking, relaxing, chilling. Big families. Couples. Children running around in the yard, giggling and shrieking in delight. The sign by the road says that the place is “legendary,” and I am inclined to agree. It all feels great, and I soak up the joy, hoping to save it for a rainy day.

We kill off our strawberry and papaya shave ice, then it’s back in the car again, down through the interior of the island. We pass a coffee plantation, then we are into pineapple country. We make a quick stop at the Dole plantation, crush another penny for gieves, and buy a couple of souvenirs, including my first nice Hawaiian shirt. It’s all silk, and is very happy to touch. The place is packed, though, so it’s time to get moving. We zip down the H2 to the H1 — why an island is allowed to have an “interstate” highway is beyond me — and pull up at our hotel right about 5, just like we had planned.

After a shower and change of clothes, we are feeling like part of civilization again, though we now know that something wild and dangerous lurks within us. We rendezvous with my parents over at Keo’s for our 7:30 dinner reservation. Liz’s mom, Anne, shows up around 7:45 or so, having managed to survive the airport shuttle ride from hell. We all sit down to a nice dinner, and regale one another with tales of our various adventures.

Finally the evening winds down, and we head back to the hotel for some much-deserved rest. I stop along the way for some NyQuil — hopefully I will sleep a little better with it in me — and postcards. If we are really brave and insane, we will go hiking before dawn.

I feel crazy, so that’s probably a sign.

cars, family, hawaii, health, liz, photos, travel