Junea Ice Field
Hawaii
(The Big Island): March 6-16
Days 1-2, Beach #1
Junea Ice Field
Hawai’i. Both a place I’ve wanted to visit for a
long time
to see “our” humpback whales in their wintering grounds and, at the
same time,
not quite exotic enough to entice my interest. Also, every time I
started to
consider a trip to Hawai’i, the confusion of which island to visit
quickly
quelled my interest. What island was what—what did they all offer? How
could
one possibly decide? The results of most google searches resulted in
very little
differentiation between them all. But I finally persevered, sorted out
which
island was which, and used the lonely planet online guide to picking an
island
for a first time visitor to Hawai’i to settle the issue: the Big Island
was the
only one that advertised wildlife! I’m not saying the other islands
don’t have
wildlife, but I had to go on something. My requirements were simple:
whales and
wilderness—it didn’t take much to make that final decision. The Big
Island it
was.
And so Chris and I booked tickets for a March trip
to the
middle of the Pacific. We overnighted in Seattle with a friend of
Chris’s, then
took the light rail from downtown Seattle to the airport and boarded a
six and
a half hour flight to Kona. The flight went brilliantly, stocked with
entertainment, diet cokes, and macaroni and cheese from Beecher’s in
the
airport, topped off by a complimentary mai tai from Alaska Airlines
which was
surprisingly good considering that the entirely cocktail came from a
plastic
jug. The flight attendants were appropriately festive and we were all
treated
as though we were tourists about to descend into paradise. We flew over
Maui on
the way in, then turned southeast to approach the Kona airport from the
water.
We disembarked onto the runway and found our bags under cover, but
otherwise
open to the air, which was novel. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon
and I was
immediately excited by the small, strikingly marked doves scavenging
around the
airport—my first indigenous wildlife!? After collecting our bags, we
rode the
shuttle to Alamo (barely squeezing into an overcrowded van, which put
us first
in line at the counter), and picked out a convertible. I nixed the
silver car,
and Chris chose the cherry red camaro with racing stripes over the
banana yellow
choice. In no time we were driving through sparse lava fields into
downtown Kailua
and along Ali’i Drive to our first vacation rental: a privately owned
condo at
the Islander Inn. Along the way, I had time to gawk at a truly
preposterous
tree with two foot wide branches reaching horizontally across the road,
defying
gravity with jaw-dropping immensity. I have yet to figure out what it
is!
And then we arrived at the Islander Inn and found
a parking
spot just a few feet from the door of our rental. We punched in our key
code
and entered an enchanting room, small but perfectly suited to our needs
and
arranged brilliantly. Failing to find a parking pass as promised, we
called the
owner who directed us to the hotel lobby and the security desk where we
convinced
the attendant to issue us a pass by showing her the vacation rental
email
confirmation on my new iphone 5s. We were just in time, for Dusty, a
friendly
security guard, had already photographed our license plate to ticket
us, but
promised to complete our parking paperwork inside instead.
In
the room we marveled at the pleasant
lanai (patio)
that looked over tropical flowering plants, across a small lawn, over
Ali’i
Drive, and onto the ocean. We relaxed for a bit outside, luxuriating in
the
climate and the view while my toes became plump and red from all the
warmth (it
had been in the single digits or teens with brutal north winds for
weeks in
Juneau before we left). Eventually, we wandered off to explore, first
crossing
the road to walk over the very small sandy beach and peer into the tide
pools
for fish (later identifying two species from my new Hawai’i fish ID
app). Then
we headed down Ali’i Drive through the tourist district of seaside
Kailua,
walking beneath a different, but equally impressive tree (a banyan) and
past
several restaurants; we eventually chose a sparsely populated
steakhouse and
wound up at the edge of the outdoor seating looking over the bay. After
dinner
we spotted a convenience store near the King Kamehameha Hotel nearby
and purchased
drinks and snacks (we’d found a small cooler in the room that would be
perfect
for taking to beaches and adventures). On the way back, we found two
more
stores of the same brand in the few blocks that we walked within easy
sight of
each other. “ABC” stores clearly had a monopoly, but they were awfully
convenient.
Back at the room, we had a beer on the lanai
before relaxing
on the king bed, unusually placed at the back of the narrow room so one
could
look out onto the lanai from bed. A folding screen stood at the foot of
the bed
for privacy as needed. The rest of the room was furnished by a chest of
drawers
topped by a TV covered in a festive cloth, several chairs, and a coffee
table.
We barely used any of them except as counter space. The bathroom, with
small
fridge and microwave, was on the right as we entered the room. It
wasn’t large
as far as hotel rooms go, but perfectly outfitted for our Hawai’i
vacation. The
furnishings weren’t new, but they were adequate and felt fairly clean.
The
cupboards in the kitchen/bathroom were a little old, and the towels
smelled a
bit musty, but nothing uncomfortable. Air circulation could certainly
have been
better; we usually left the lanai door open and screened during the
night; closing
it and using the air conditioning didn’t improve things much. I slept
well, but
Chris found it uncomfortably warm. I was more disturbed by the idiots
cruising
Ali’i Drive blasting stupid music at all hours of the night, but it was
Friday
after all.
 Whiting River (and homestead) |
 Our lanai |
 View from a restaurant |
The next day we decided to relax and ease into the
vacation
with a simple day on the beach. Perusing my 28-page cheat sheet,
painfully
creating over hours and hours of research, we decided to check out
Waialea Bay
(a.k.a. Beach 69), the photos of which had piqued my interest. Waialea,
like
most white sand beaches, was located north of Kailua in the north Kona
and
south Kohala districts. So we wound our way up Kailua streets until we
found
ourselves on highway 19 going north over grimly barren land. I’d heard
that the
Kona side of the island was newer (i.e., covered by more recent lava
fields),
but I was in no way prepared for driving past wide stretches of truly
barren
lava rock. There were distinct flows—some comprised of jagged reddish
rocks in
fields of calamity, others of black boiling mounds jumbled together,
most with
distinct vertical edges five to 15 feet off the ground above older
land. Patchy
yellow grass grew and a few scrubby trees grew between the flows. Some
flows
hosted solitary trees here and there, or a lucky clump of grass. The
farther
north we traveled, the more mature the vegetation became until it
looked all
the world like the African savanna. Dry grass covered the landscape,
broken by
reddish rocks and interspersed by mesquite trees that look like
acacias. I could
picture gazelles and zebras among them, but all we saw were occasional
feral goats.
At
last we saw the sign for Puaka (which leads to
Waialea
Bay), which suggested that it was a mile ahead. We later learned that
most such
signs on the Big Island indicate the distance down the road in question
rather
than the distance to the start of that road, but being new to the
island, we
sped right by Puaka Road which was located just a hundred yards ahead
of the
sign. The next turn we came to was for Hapuna Beach, so we took that
instead,
arriving at a parking lot with few other cars and paying for parking
with a
credit card at a booth (at 9:00 a.m. there was not yet an attendant).
It had
rained hard during the night (I’d woken up and thought the sprinklers
had turned
on) and it had sprinkled on and off all the way north. I think that’s
why we
managed to wander our way down past the bathrooms, picnic tables, and
shade
trees to a nearly deserted beach on a Saturday morning. On the way we
were
surprised to see a long, lithe, squirrel-like creature run into the
vegetation—Chris suggested it looked like a mongoose, and it turned out
to be
exactly that, an small Indian mongoose species introduced onto the
island to
eat invasive rats; unfortunately, they feed by day and the rats
apparently
emerge by night, so they’ve done more harm to birds than to rats.
We chose a spot on the south end of the perfect,
white sand
beach and set up our towels, pleased that the rain had stopped and the
day
was
warm. We lathered up in sunscreen (inadequately as it would turn out)
and soon
found ourselves in the water. The life guards had posted undertow
warning signs
and placed a rescue board out in front of their station, but most of
the waves
were fairly tame. Chris and I played in them, reveling in the warm
water and
sunshine and learning tricks to make it comfortably over the larger
series of
waves. We didn’t always make it, and when the crest of the waves curled
over
our heads, we succumbed to their power, churned like the contents of a
merciless
washing machine over the sand and toward shore. We were both flipped
upside
down, spun, and twisted. Twice was enough for me, and I started to go
out of my
way to avoid them, but Chris was eating them up. Eventually we headed
back to
the beach to warm up, eat smoked gouda and chips, drink cool drinks,
and fall
asleep in the sunshine. It might have been my first nap on a tropical
beach and
it was amazing.
In the afternoon we played in the water again; I
retreated
back to the beach much earlier than Chris and enjoyed a long rain
shower. This
drove some of the beach goers away, but I wrapped my towel around my
legs and
waited it out while reading Isaac Asimov’s second Foundation novel and
researching the two gorgeous birds I’d been watching around the island.
I was
very disappointed to find that both the dove and the strikingly bold
yellow,
black, and white birds that were everywhere in the town and on the
beach were
non-native: zebra doves and hill mynas, respectively.
On my second trip to the bathroom, I discovered
with some
embarrassment that there were outdoor showers nearby which would have
made
post-swim relaxing and much more enjoyable! As it was I could hardly
touch my
hair for my hands sticking to it and pulling it painfully. The beach
itself was
a classic tropical affair; possibly the longest beach on the island, it
was
separated about three quarters of the way up by a ridge of lava rock,
beyond
which was the hotel. On the south end where we were, the beach ended in
a high,
rocky point jutting into the surf. The sand was backed by a ground
cover (beach
morning glories?), then a gentle grassy slope up to the parking lot
populated
with large shade trees and shelters with picnic tables. On the way up I
spotted
a couple of yellow birds that looked like yellow warblers (and could
have been),
which are native, but I didn’t get a close enough look to tell for sure.
On the drive back, we swung by Waialea Beach to
check it out
and to check on the status of the sand. Apparently winter waves
sometimes wash
the sand off the beach, so we wanted to make sure it was worth a return
visit.
The area was as beautiful as the pictures suggested—narrow sandy
beaches backed
by twisted, beautiful trees (both dead
and alive); it was picturesque, offered lots of scenic shade, and had
sand on
the wide crescent on the southern end. Back at the room, we showered,
then
wandered across the street and accidentally found our way to Daylight
Mind
restaurant/bakery protruding into the bay. We had a classy, quiet,
quality
dinner on a patio over the ocean, looking back toward the island onto
the sandy
beach across from the inn. We shared a bottle of malbec, asked our
waitress
about when to say aloha and mahala, and enjoyed the evening.
 Chris about to be tumbled by a wave |
 Waialea Beach |
 Waialea Beach |
