Chris and dolphins
Hawaii
(The Big Island): March 6-16
Day 6, Dolphins
Chris and dolphins
Having spent Tuesday on a car adventure and whale
watching
coming up on Thursday, Wednesday was the day to try to find dolphins.
I’d read
that the best place to encounter dolphins from shore was in Honaunau
Bay near
Pu’uohonua O Honounaou (the Place of Refuge and ali’i palace). We
wanted to
leave fairly early, as reports suggested that earlier was better for
encountering dolphins, but we were also checking out from our room at
the same
time. We’d more or less packed up the night before, so we were fairly
efficient
in the morning. I left Chris shaving (to help keep his snorkel mask
from
leaking) and brought the car around; we were out on the road around
7:40.
Finding the Place of Refuge was easy enough, but
my
directions were somewhat vague about where “Two Steps” might be, the
“famous”
easy entry into Honaunau Bay’s snorkeling reef. We parked in the Place
of
Refuge lot (free because we arrived so early) and wandered through the
old
chief’s habitation on the beach, finding our way through an enormous
stone wall
and along the shore to a small park on the other side. It looked
somewhat
likely—a small band of sand at the edge of the parking lot and rocks
all along
the shore, but I was unconvinced and it seemed surprisingly deserted.
Thankfully, a park attendant cleaning up the area was helpful enough to
point
us in the right direction. Instead of south of the City of Refuge, Two
Steps
was north of the park. We walked back along the road that connects this
little
beach to the park’s parking lot, through the lot, and a little ways
down the
street to a side road that ran to the shore. There wasn’t much of a
park there
in terms of sand, shade, parking, or picnic tables, but mounds of dry
lava made
a wide shelf out to the ocean and a dozen snorkelers were gearing up.
Across a
small cove to the south I could see the tiki statues and huts of the
park we’d
just walked through.
I
have to admit that at this point my mood was
gloomy. The
drive south had been longer than expected and we’d lost a lot of time
making
our way to and from the wrong beach, so it was already approaching 8:40
when we
dropped our gear on a swirl of lava rock, secured my phone in its
underwater housing,
and approached the edge of the ocean. I was sure all the dolphins were
out in
deeper water already. A dozen or so people milled about the edge of the
rock
shelf, and a few more were in the water, so we waited our turn before
putting
on our fins, rinsing off our masks, and sliding in. Honaunau Bay is
touted as
one of the best snorkeling reefs on the Big Island, but my first
impression was
fairly neutral: the corals were the flat kind that cover rocks without
creating
much vertical interest in the reef. There were plenty of hidey-holes in
the
rocks, but it lacked the vibrancy and diversity of more interesting
substrates.
That’s probably too hasty a judgment since we really didn’t give it a
chance--I’m
sure it would have been a fun place to snorkel and the visibility was
certainly
much better than it had been at Makalawena Beach. The only thing I
remember was
a huge school of yellow tangs (see photo to left) which I took a quick
photo of as we
passed over
them on a purposeful swim away from the beach. I suspected that if any
dolphins
did come by, they would probably pass in deeper water, so Chris and I
swam
straight out toward the edge of the bay where the reef ended in perhaps
80-90
feet of water, white sand descending rapidly beyond and out of
visibility. There
we waited.
I was unhopeful and, as much as I knew it was a
long shot to
begin with, grimly disappointed. I figured we’d linger out there and
hope
something passed by (the edge of a reef like that is also a good place
to look
for other large animals like mantas and sharks) before returning to
snorkel the
reef and then continuing our day at another location. Since I’d kicked
Chris
once or twice already trying to free dive in his proximity, I swam a
little
ways away from him and was gazing down into the blue when I heard
urgent
moaning. I recognized the sound immediately—Chris was trying to
yell to
me
through his mask! I turned, found him, and followed his gaze
to…dolphins. There
were dolphins. At the edge of visibility, four dolphins glided through
the deep
blue water. Then a larger group followed below, and more after that.
They were
moving effortlessly, maybe 50-70 feet away. Then they swam up to the
surface to
breathe and, if had ended right then, I would have been thrilled. But,
it
didn’t stop, and it only got better and better. For a minute or so at a
time,
the ocean might be quiet, but the dolphins always came back, over and
over
again. Small groups seemed to be everywhere, larger groups floated by
underneath us, and every time I thought the closest group had passed, I
was startled
to find another pair just behind me, and three more after that! We
don’t know
how many dolphins were in the area, but at one time (and only one time)
all the
dolphins in sight were more or less together and below us and Chris and
independently counted 30. There may have been many more. I kept
thinking that
it was already later in the morning and that surely the dolphins would
tire of
checking out the noisy, splashing humans and move offshore, and several
times
when they seemed to take more serious breaths and dive away more
earnestly, I
thought they had left. But they always came back, over and over again,
closer
and closer. After a series of passes, one after another, each group
would
breathe and dive to disappear into the blue, only to reappear within
seconds or
a minute or two. As time went on, they seemed to move more
independently and
came so close several times that I think they were in touching distance.
But I was trying very hard to be a considerate
guest. I
debated the merits of free diving with them, unsure whether this would
be
disruptive/alarming or interesting. I overheard one woman tell another
that the
best strategy was to remain very still so the dolphins knew she wasn’t
a
threat. It was hard to imagine the dolphins being threatened by us, but
I can
see how they might not appreciate 
indelicate
movements in
their
direction. On
the other hand, experienced dive masters in both the Pacific and the
Atlantic
had instructed me to be as interesting as possible in the vicinity of
dolphins
because they get bored with divers very quickly and entertaining them
is the only
way to keep them around. The highlight of a three minute encounter with
bottlenose dolphins in the Socorro Islands was when I started twisting
through
the water. One dolphin broke away from the others with a high-pitched
shriek
and circled me very closely.
And so I free dove with them. Just getting my head
beneath
the surface was a pleasure, away from the noise of the splashing and
the air--the
only thing I heard under water were the constant squeaks of the
dolphins. And
there I was, gliding along with wild dolphins all around me. It was a
magical
experience, and in retrospect I see that the photos I took while free
diving
are better because I was no longer above or at the surface with the
dolphins—I
could be alongside them, or even underneath (though not directly). And
I did
catch their attention. There were several times (and Chris agrees) that
my
antics turned them around and brought them over for a close approach.
Our best
buddies were a group of four dolphins, one of which had a distinct
white circle
below the dorsal fin on his/her right sight—a baseball sized hole that
I saw on
a number of other dolphins too. Because of that injury or scar, the
group was
very recognizable and I see now that quite a few of my photos and
videos are of
that group. Chris independently recognized them too, and dubbed them
“the gang
of four.” Based on their curiosity and behavior, it wouldn’t surprise
me if
they were a group of young dolphins, bolder and more interested in us
than the
others.
There were at least two mother and calf pairs, one
of which
I saw passing by often but never too close. Early on, one of the calves
started
spinning in the air and I had the unique experience of not only
watching
dolphins from below and at the surface as they came up to breath
(having only
seen it from above every other of the thousands of times I’ve seen
cetaceans
breath) but of watching dolphins race to the surface to breach or, in
this
case, spin. We saw many dolphins spinning in the air from a distance
(which is
how I knew they were spinner dolphins at that point); I tried to get
video of
the race to the surface and the actual spin, but, not surprisingly,
failed!
And
so the entertainment was all around us. Just
watching dolphins
swim around was amazing, though most of the time they just seemed to
drift, the
movement was so effortless (lending a dreamlike, surreal quality to
it). But
there was often something going on. A flash of white in a herd of gray
was a
dolphin swimming belly up, sometimes twisting around another (the
calves did
this a lot). Often they would exhale underwater and if it was deep
enough and
close enough, both Chris and I would swim over so dolphin breath broke
over our
skin. Sometimes pairs would peel off from the group and chase each
other, and
sometimes they played the leaf game. I’d read about the leaf game
before, so I
was delighted to watch them play it. It’s a simple enough game—a
dolphin finds
a floating leaf and plays with it, catching it in its dorsal, pectoral,
or
caudal fin. Many of the dolphins that passed were carrying leaves on
their fins,
which seemed to defy physics. And once, I played the game too. After a
brief
free dive, a group of dolphins passed me and I soon realized that one
had dropped
a brown leaf nearby. Whether it was intentional or not, I don’t know,
but I
decided to play dolphin and see what happened. I swam up the leaf,
caught it on
my hand, and swirled it around a little, then let it go and kicked
quickly
away. Sure enough, one of the dolphins in front of me quickly spun
around and
swam straight back to the leaf, now only about eight feet away from me,
caught
it expertly on its pectoral fin, and dove down into the blue. I had
played the
leaf game with a wild dolphin!! Does it get any better? Amazingly,
despite a
mask full of water, Chris managed to get video of the whole thing
during the
brief time I handed the phone to him to get a few photos of me with
dolphins.
Watching confirms what I remember and I’m more confident that it was an
intentional move on the dolphin’s part to drop off that leaf.
The
dolphins themselves were inscrutable. During
their close
passes, with the bright sunlight dancing on their skin and in the water
around
them, I looked into their eyes as they glided past at a snail’s pace.
So
difficult to read! They lack the famous dolphin’s smile, so I wasn’t
fooled by
a fixed grin, but wished I could read them better. With their immense
power and
grace in the water, any of the dolphins could have been out of sight in
about a
second and none of us could have pursued. And, though the bay had a
large
number of snorkelers in it, the dolphins could easily have found places
to
breath at a distance from the people even had they wanted to stay for
the bay
itself. Not to mention the availability of other bays. Later that day,
Chris
and I found ourselves at Kealakekua Bay just to the north and read an
interpretive
panel there about the na’i (spinner dolphins). It said that the spinner
dolphins use protected bays to rest and socialize during the day,
heading out
to deep water to feed during the night, and that swimmers should avoid
them to
ensure that they get their necessary resting/nursing/breeding/etc.
time. I
thought about it again there, as I’d thought about it in the water.
Nothing
about the dolphins we observed suggested that our encounters with them
were
anything but intentional and sought out. They were in charge, and we
occupied
only one small bay. Each time I ducked my head underwater or dove and a
dolphin
or two turned and swam over to check me out I was further satisfied. In
a vast,
blue ocean where leafs are objects of play, why not enjoy people
watching?
And while we were out there, it was impossible to
pull
ourselves away. I still expected the dolphins to disappear at some
point on
their way to deeper water, but they kept coming back, seeming more and
more
relaxed all the time, with passes that got slower and closer as time
went on (I
like to think they were recognizing me, but I have no idea). I think
Chris and
I, who were some of the few people in the water when the dolphins
showed up,
outlasted all of those originals plus the many others that joined in.
For the last
half hour we were both shivering visibly, and we eventually had to
leave the
pod. By that time I was uncontrollably shivering. Again we swam quickly
over
the reef (my faithful phone had finally popped up with its 20% battery
warning
that cannot be cleared while in its housing, so I couldn’t take more
pictures)
and pulled ourselves onto the rocks. We relocated our gear to a smooth
rock
closer to the edge of the water and spread out on our towels to warm
up. It was
after 11:00, which means that we’d been in the water for over two
hours. The
sun boring down onto the black lava rocks felt wonderful (the rocks
were
painful to walk on in bare feet) and we soaked it in for another hour
or so. It
wasn’t your classical lounging beach, as there was no sand and only a
few palm
trees for shade near the parking lot, but I found it surprisingly
pleasant.
There was a constant bustle of snorkelers and visitors on the rocks.
 Chris and dolpins |
 A dolphin spins |
 Spinner dolphins |
 A lovely pass |
 Giving me a good look |
 Spin! |
 A close pass |
 Mother and calf |
 Dolphins playing |
 A large group |
 The gang of four |
 See the leaf on the dolphin's tail? |
 A group with a calf |
 Blowing bubbles! |
 A friendly pair |
Since
we were so close to Pu’uohonua o Honaunau we
decided
to visit the park before heading out. The Honaunau part refers to the
residence
of the ali’i (chiefs) of the Kona district. How much the vegetation and
structure of the area resembles what it did in the days before the area
was
abandoned after the kapu system was abolished by King Kamehameha III in
1819 I
don’t know, but regardless of the details, you can see why they would
have
chosen this place (as we could see at other ali’i residences along the
coast).
A large, flat, sandy beach dotted with smooth old lava rocks wrapped
around a
perfect little canoe landing cove and freshwater springs fed ponds
behind the
shore. Reconstructions of thatched long houses and other structures
dotted the
landscape and we followed our brochure around the points of interest.
Along
with the structures, there was a stone near the beach with divots
ground out
for playing the game konane. On the south side, beyond the cove, was
the
enormous wall we’d passed through that morning when searching for Two
Steps.
The wall was built around 1550 and has only been mildly reinforced by
the Park
Service since. The wall separated the residence from a stretch of
rockier beach
that was reserved as the Place of Refuge (Pu’uohonaunau) where people
could
come to be forgiven for kapu transgressions or as refuge during times
of war.
At the corner of the wall was a reconstruction of an old heiau which
once held
the bones of many generations of Kona ali’i which were responsible for
the
absolution of the refugees. The rest of the area was fairly barren—no
trees
grew on the ocean side of the long wall—but there were the remains of
an
enormous heiau. I hadn’t known what to expect of heiaus, but I was
beginning to
learn that they tended to reside on large stone platforms. This one was
dozens
of feet square and too high to see the top of. Like the nearby barrier
wall,
its walls were straight and smooth and so carefully joined that they
required
no mortar. I gather that the platform would once have housed less
enduring
structures for offerings to the gods and such.
Hot, hungry, thirsty, and fairly worn out, we
headed out in
search of food when we finished visiting the area. Highway 11 south of
Kailua
is a small road that winds along the mountainside at about 1,000 feet
through
small towns and coffee plantations. Along that road we’d noticed
numerous cafes
and restaurants, one of which Chris pulled over to. It turned out to be
a small
operation—a tiny table or two inside, a glass counter filled with old
paraphernalia for sale, an adjoining room with a talking parrot, and
the menu
on a board behind the counter. Chris ordered a pork sandwich, I got a
veggie
sandwich and a fresh banana smoothie, and we retreated to a picnic
table
outside. Other than spilling most of my smoothie when my cup fell into
a huge crack
beneath the tablecloth, the lunch was delicious and pleasant. Chris
ordered me
another smoothie to go. While we were there, we called the owners of
our
lodging for the rest of the stay and were told that we could check in
an hour
later (a little earlier than check in time). We decided to find a beach
to
spend the rest of that time and surveyed my cheat sheet. Manini Beach
looked
like the spot (my notes said that it was a good place to hang out)
which was on
the south side of Kealakekua Bay, not far from where we were. We saw on
the map
that if we returned to the Place of Refuge, we could take highway 160
north to
Manini Beach rather than following the directions on my cheat sheet,
which had
us meeting up with 160 from the north right at the beach. It agreed
that you
could come from the south as well.
So we drove back down to the coast and turned onto
highway
160 which turned out to be about as unlikely looking as a highway could
be. It
remained at sea level and wound through what appeared to be totally
wild land
(we got the impression there were ranches there). The road was a single
lane
and completely undeveloped and went for a long ways before becoming
even
narrower and passing through a quiet residential area with locals that
did not
seem pleased with our appearance. The road became one-way before we
made a
tight left turn which spit us out at the kayak launch and, a few blocks
further, at an overlook into Kealakekua Bay. We made a cursory attempt
to find
Manini Beach, but eventually gave up, looked across the bay at the
Captain Cook
Monument, and then retreated to the kayak launch area where we found a
little
sandy area and relaxed for a bit. When it was comfortably past time for
our
rental to become available, we headed out and found the place somewhat
downhill
of Highway 11 south of Captain Cook in the middle of a coffee
plantation area
(many of the road names in our neighborhood had the word “coffee” in
them). The
roads were also surprisingly steep! You would never
build roads of that grade in a place that
ever experienced frost. The driveway to our rental was straight and
steep and
long, and made me wonder how on earth they built the houses there.
But the steepness was to our advantage. We found
our parking
area to the right of our building, also on a downward grade. The
entrance was
on the side of the lanai in front of the rental which was essentially
the
bottom of a house built into the hillside. It was jaw-droppingly
amazing. With
a thick stand of bamboo on the north side, palms and other vegetation
on the
left side, and wild vegetation on the steep slope below, we had
complete
privacy and a stunning view. The whole apartment faced the water—bed on
the
south side, then the couch, then the kitchen, then the bathroom on the
north
side. A huge lanai spanned most of the building in front, comfortably
furnished
with two chaise-longues, two chairs, and a table adorned with a classy
orchid.
It was screened in on all sides. We couldn’t believe what a perfect
place it
was.
After showers and settling in, Chris and I drove a
few
blocks back toward Captain Cook and stopped at a grocery store for
supplies.
Among our groceries we selected a bottle of Rex Goliath malbec (at a
ridiculously low price of about $5), then stopped by a Chinese
restaurant in
the same complex for takeout. Eating on the lanai, looking down the
landscape
and out over the Pacific and the setting sun and thinking about
dolphins, I
felt pretty much on top of the world.
 Relaxing at Two Steps |
 The Two Steps "beach" |
 Tanaka |
 Honaunau (Kona ali'i residence) |
 The imprint of a tree in lava rock |
 Honaunau grounds |
 On the Pu'uhonua side of the wall |
 The Pu'uhonua beach |
 Konane board |
 Old heiau platform at Pu'uhonua |
 Canoe at Honaunau |
 Dinner on our lanai |
