After visiting ‘Akaka Falls, we drove northward (which actually is northwestward) along the coast until we came to Waimea where we admired true free-range chickens and had lunch. I marveled at how dry it had become. The fields as we approached were pastures with cattle at times. Upon our return to Hilo, a day’s-end beer and sunset awaited us.
On our second full day in Hawai’i, we arrived to ‘Akaka Falls State Park near midday. We paid to park in front of the entrance rather than along the road as some did, paid for entrance, and received a warning from a woman there that the trail required one to go up and down more than 600 steps. Her warning wasn’t an empty one: for nearly a month after our visit I experienced a sharp pain in my left knee when I went up or down stairs. I later learned construction on the path forced us to take the long way around a loop trail, in essence covering three times the normal distance. This trail descends to a stream, crosses it, climbs again on the other side, basically cresting a ridge obliquely to be above Kolekole Stream which plunges 442 feet at ‘Akaka Falls. One hears but does not see a variety of birds. Foliage is lush, a result of the near-constant rain (measured best in feet). It sprinkled on and off while we visited.
If you find yourself on the Big Island, and most especially if you stay on the east side in or near Hilo, a must stop (for the physically fit) is Akaka Falls State Park. As you head north to that park–only 15 miles distant, a very easy drive–just past Paukaa you’ll see a typically yellow/orange/ochre, diamond-shaped highway sign telling you that to your right is a “Scenic Highway” with a little sign beneath that says it’s four miles in length. Hopefully someone in your car (perhaps you?) will say as my wife did, “Let’s take that!” When you jerk the steering wheel to the right in the Papaikou census area (pop 1314), you’ll be on the Old Mamalahoa Highway.
These aren’t my best photos. Skies were overcast. Dense tropical foliage made it dark everywhere. Green predominates. The road twists, turns, offers few places to just pull over to grab a photo.
Halfway in we stopped at the Hawai’i Tropical Botanical Garden. It looked interesting, and it had restrooms. Our interest waned when faced with admission prices of $30/each and the prominent display of mosquito repellant for sale right beside the register. Translated from “customer-eze”, the signs basically said, “You’re a fool if you don’t apply repellant.” I’m sure it’s a wonderful point of interest: it features a valley down to the ocean with 2,500 species of plants. Nevertheless, we drove on. We stopped soon after when we found a bridge and a wide spot to pull off the road.
I had become fascinated by a orange-red flower growing high in the canopy. At this stop we found ourselves above some of these trees, permitting me to photograph them:
Driving north as we did, one suddenly pops out of the dense foliage and into a grassy pasture area on the edge of Pepeekeo. Joining the main highway, we drove on to Akaka Falls.
Our room at our Hilo hotel afforded me a delightful perk because it faced Hilo bay and its breakwater. I hadn’t realized only the larger rooms faced this direction–just a lucky pick, I guess. I’ve always had a curiosity about boats and ships, but especially commercial ships. I’ve never had a desire to work on a ship–heck, I barely want to be on one at all. Maybe that’s what makes it intriguing to see ships plying their trade in coastal waters.
After checking in to the Grand Naniloa hotel on a Tuesday, we witnessed a Norwegian Cruise Lines ship leaving the bay at dusk (above). By Wednesday morning I realized the passage in the breakwater lay to the west of us, but moorage lay to the east. Therefore, all of the ships passed our balcony in a leisurely fashion, guided by two tugs. (Astute readers will note the commercial docks in all my sunrise photos posted to date.) Within 24 hours I learned this would be a frequent feature of our visit.
I never did figure out the exact roles of the two tugs. One always headed out after the first one, and one always peeled off and headed back to the dock as they guided the ship in–leaving the other tug to finish the job.
They worked at night too….
Getting ready to leave, again on a Tuesday, we managed to complete the cycle: the Pride of America returned to stay docked all day before heading out again on a Tuesday evening. We left a few hours later, but I still see it as I write these words, magical perhaps to no one but me.
I felt drawn to making a pithy statement about the symbolism of the leaves with their green and red, but sometimes you just need to let leaves be leaves.
Since our hotel suite had a small range, pots/pans, and dishes, after our morning walk on the first day, we visited the downtown Hilo KTA Super Store, a funky grocery that reminded me of rural groceries which need to be a little bit more of everything for their customers. A guy at breakfast had described getting to a grocery, but I think I didn’t understand him because a flashy new Safeway and a much spiffier version of a KTA existed a similar distance to the southwest…but we went northwest, and I was glad we did. We dodged the raindrops which had threatened all morning, and as we shopped, I saw many products I’d never seen before, including….
Our first full day in Hawai’i on the Big Island, we woke to mostly cloudy skies–not surprising considering we were on the rainy side of the island and we’d arrived to Hilo Airport under a solid overcast. As is our wont, we spent our first morning lazily, eventually venturing forth to explore our near surroundings. Here, it meant taking a walk around the western half of Waiakea Peninsula. Our hotel sat on the northernmost tip of the peninsula, situated on pretty grounds, so we started there.
After touring the property, fencing forced us to the road in front of the hotel, Banyan Drive, so-called because 75-90 years ago a bunch of folks planted banyan trees to line it. Every time we drove in and out of the property we traveled Banyan Dr, making it one of the cool pieces of Hawai’i for me. Banyan trees are huge:
Our perambulations took us to a small park which culminated in Coconut Island, a spit of an island which took it in the teeth when a tsunami hit in 1960. (The somewhat famous Tsunami Clock is located nearby.) By now I had started cursing my brother who talked about the gloriously comfortable weather where humidity gets balanced by near-constant breezes. Our shirts were getting soaked. Temps were running close to 90 as the clock approached noon. As North Carolinians we’re very experienced with gray, overcast skies accompanying warm, humid conditions. We learned later this weather pattern wasn’t normal.
Our last stop consisted of wandering Lili’uokalani Gardens, a Japanese-style layout with plenty of Hawai’ian flora–at least I took it to be native. Who knows? Asking around later, I learned the park lies so low, so near Hilo Bay, that Waihonu Pond and other low-lying areas fill with extra water from the high tides. It prevented us from walking some of the paths.
While meeting with a representative from the company which recently installed a natural front yard for us, we watched a red-shouldered hawk sitting in our white oak tree. It sat there five minutes, flew a small circle through the neighbor’s trees, and returned for another ten minutes. Unlike my usual luck–it flew that circle just as I returned with my phone–after it returned, it remained there so long I grabbed a half dozen photos, finished with the landscape rep, ran downstairs for my 50x zoom, and captured another couple shots on that camera. I’ve yet to download it.
I get confused between Cooper’s and Red-shouldered hawks, but noted that Cooper’s don’t have the mottled white pattern on the wings that this one does. Also, all those skreeeee’s I hear aren’t Cooper’s, according to Audubon. If that’s the case, most hawks I see around our little copse of trees are Red-shouldered.
Like so many things in the American South, the arrival of autumn takes its own sweet time. I should say “fall” also because at two syllables, both of which have a “u” in them, “it “autumn” just seems a bit pretentious here. Our first inkling summer is nearing its end (besides a simple look at the calendar) occurs when “someone turns the humidity off” as a former boss of mine put it. (He was from Michigan.) Humidity levels build quickly in early June, and by mid-month your A/C chokes on the amount of water it’s removing from your indoor atmosphere. Around Labor Day a similarly rapid decline in humidity takes place. It seems even quicker than the ramp up because the lack of humidity means heat no longer lingers around all night, ready to leap into action at dawn. Instead of staying in the high 60’s and low 70’s suddenly one’s body registers temps that are downright cool at dawn. What follows seems like a coda to the summer, a time of 72-80 degree weather, mostly sunny weather, and dawn temperatures in the low 50’s.
For me fall can be said to be truly here when leaves start to turn color. Except for stressed trees and shrubs, this usually occurs around the second to third weekend in October. Even then it’s a slow, drawn out affair. This cluster of leaves seemed representative to me. We’re in the last week of October, and the trees reluctantly turn various colors dependent on species.
We arrived home Monday after a quick dash north for a wedding, when I realized, “Hey the dogwood is really turning color.” One of the first to herald spring with its blossoms, and one of the first to leaf out, it’s also one of the first to say, “Nope, gettin’ a mite too cold. Goodbye.”
And finally this photo to illustrate the sadness of invasive species. The Virginia creeper is native to central and eastern North America. It knows that it’s fall here. The English ivy isn’t native to North America at all. The latter will hang around nearly all winter, and in milder winters I believe I haven’t seen it turn colors at all. It chokes out most undergrowth if allowed, and it adds weight to trees if allowed to proliferate. It creates an eco-desert.
Over the past weekend we attended a wedding in the nexus region for our family: greater Philadelphia. Google maps failed us at least once on our northerly journey, when I disregarded a patently stupid suggestion which turned out to be… not so stupid. Regardless. There are times when silence is the best soundtrack. The rest of the time was spent thusly (in no particular order):
Good stuff, Maynard.
all the voices in my head 