… I like turtles?
Did I mention…?
Tag: nature
Clouds from the ground
The island of Hawai’i could be called triangular. The west coast roughly runs north to south. From its northern tip, though, the coast runs northwest to southeast. Then from that easternmost point it runs northeast to southwest to join up with the west coast. Situated inland from the southeast-facing coastline lies Volcanoes National Park. Volcanoes presents much more than just dormant craters. Its most active feature (inland) turned out to be the first thing we saw: steam vents. Craters? I found their vastness difficult to comprehend.
I’m not even sure the photo above shows only Kilauea. I see “Hale Ma’uma’u Crater” on the ol’ Google Maps. Lava flowed in 1919, 1921, 1954, 1959, and on and on I would guess. I paid little attention to information, so I’ve only myself to blame! Seeing it seemed more important than reading about it on signs, the internet, pamphlets, and the like.
Trade winds blow northeasterly toward the park. There are dry plains inland, but plenty of slopes catch the moisture. Plant life abounds there. Even in this dryness:
Where the rain can fall, things change rapidly. Just a few miles away from the photos above…
Eventually I realized this incredibly wide circle we were tracing surrounded a ‘family’ of volcano craters. We continued past many tantalizing side trips, acknowledging our (a) laziness, (b) general physical un-fitness, and (c) certain time constraints. Turning off of the Crater Rim Drive where it intersected Chain of Craters Road–further westward travel was blocked–we traced the path of lava flows to the ocean.
Now that I know more about this park, I would go back to look into lava tubes, to hike a bit here and there, to see if some of the roads had opened up, and to maybe hike down into a crater…maybe. It looked kinda boring to be truthful.
It all impressed this guy who grew up with the volcanoes of the North Cascades, a far different kind of thing.
sometimes, look straight down
Thus ended our day-to-market. My usual procrastinating nature had combined with Hawai’i’s induced laziness to leave two journeys for the final two days on this island. To be continued…
Rainbow Falls
Gray skies colored all of Friday the 13th, as promised by the dawn. After a lazy start, and feeling the effects of our up-and-down trek to ‘Akaka Falls the previous day, we drove all of 3.5 miles or so across Hilo to Rainbow Falls in Wailuku River State Park. A gentle, sporadic spitting of raindrops punctuated our first view of Rainbow Falls (above). They continued as we climbed under the trees for a closer look.
Volcanic rocks made slippery with rain didn’t appeal to us. We stayed under the trees and gazed upriver, unaware another set of falls existed just a short distance away.
Weather dictated indoor activities, so we headed to the Lyman Museum (recommended). Ravenous afterward, we grabbed fried plantains and beer at Ola Brewing.
‘Akaka Falls
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.
Old Mamalahoa Highway
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.
Leave it alone
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.
An exploratory walk
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.
On watch
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.
Fall, y’all
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.
all the voices in my head 