THE BIG ISLAND OF HAWAII

THE BIG ISLAND HAWAII

God only know how my exploits originate. A little worm in my brain starts to wiggle and giggle. “I want to go on another adventure!” says Mr. Wormy. I only remember leaving a used book store with a travel guide to the Big Island of Hawaii. Then comes the thought, why not spend a month or two and walk the 350 miles around the island. There are over fifteen campsites located on some very nice beaches. I have enough frequent flier miles from United to fly there for free. It only costs $5.00 to camp on the beaches, when they catch you.

FLYING SURE BEATS SWIMMING
On December 31st I was on my way to the Big Island of Hawaii. In the belly of my airplane was my backpack and camping gear. I have 48 days to finish my quest for beauty and contentment.
I noticed lots of lava fields from my plane and taxi windows. I shared the cab with a couple from England . They were on their honeymoon and only had two days to discover the island and each other. My hotel was described as an older hotel with some worn edges but clean.

A FIREMAN’S PREDICTIONS !
Jan. 1st. The door of my motel slammed shut early. I was ready to head out on my 48 day walking adventure. I stopped at a local coffee shop for a real breakfast before I started to eat out of my pack. A fellow diner noticed my pack and asked about my plan. “You are truly a individual to walk for 48 days by yourself” he said.
The first eight miles were along the beach with very nice condos and houses on both sides of the road. Most of the houses had beautiful driveway gates that kept us

peasants away from the rich and famous. The first thing I noticed along the busier road was the whirling sounds. Big pickup trucks with hugh tires were the norm with the native population. There are very few taverns on the island. The tail gate and back end of these trucks filled with beer makes up for it. Families will show up at the beach sites with cooking gear and assorted meats for a picnic.
Almost immediately I started to find some fruit that had fallen off of trees. Guava and passion fruits were the easier ones to find. Papaya and avocados were not as frequent.
I stopped at a fire station to eat my lunch and gather water. A fireman came out and was very curious about my pack. “Oh my god you’re not going to stay on the beach sites are you?” he asked. “There are more drug addicts and homeless than sea shells on the beach!” he said. “Then at Miloli’i beach park the natives don’t like outsiders!” he explained. The best part of this stop was the wild fruit around the fire house.

By 4:00 pm I had made it to the Manago Hotel . The hotel was built in 1917 and has been in the same Japanese family ever since. Fire boy told me it was dirty and ready to fall down. The place was well managed and very clean, especially for $45.00.



A COWBOY & A FIRST AID STATION
Jan 2nd/3rd The road to the ocean was very narrow and twisty. I had a great view of the bay from the Kahikolu Church as I took a break. The grave ahead of me was of Henry Opukah’ia a Hawaiian who had survived the inter fighting among the island peoples. He had been educated in New England and was responsible for the missionaries coming to the islands.
As I walked into the parking lot of Kealakekua Bay I noticed lots of different colored canoes being paddled to a distant white pillar. This is the spot Captain Cook was killed on in 1778 after a misunderstanding over a canoe. The bay is supposed to be very good for snorkeling and the only way to get there is by canoe.
A narrow road with dark lava on both sides would lead me to the City of Refuge.
During the ancient times if you were unfortunate enough to piss off the king, you could get to this city for safety. Now it’s a maintained national park.
I really lucked out as I came out of a small country store. A man pulled up and asked if I needed a ride down to the Hookena Beach Park. It saved me the 5 miles I would have had to walk down to the beach.
As I climbed out of the back of his pickup, I noticed the camping spots were on the beach with a steep mountain behind. Several bathroom and showers were located at each end of the park.
I started to set up my tent when I noticed a older fella just staring at me. “What do you need?” I asked. “Well my family usually camps at this spot.” he explained. “Come on down!” I said. I lucked out again because his family had payed for two permits and were not going to use them. They also had heaps of extra food. This looked like a great place to spend two days under the trees. We had a great time telling stories for two days. It’s called “story talk” on the islands.
This husband and wife, John and Francie were brought up on a ranch in Montana and always wanted to homestead like the pioneers. John loaded up his four kids and wife and headed to Canada. They brought along a wagon and a team of horses. After the road got too bad for the truck they hooked up the wagon to the horses. When the forest got too thick for the wagon, they built a log cabin and lived off the land for five years. The Canadian government asked them to leave since the pioneer days were long gone. The Mounties still send John a bill every year for the trees they cut down for the log cabin.
They then went to Billings, Montana and John started a business making saddle trees. These are the wooden supports under most leather saddles. Frances came up with a grand plan of turning antique silver ware into jewelry. She sold her jewelry at flea markets and made lots of cash. Then both of them saved enough money to move to the Big Island. Now they spend their time helping their one son with his farm.
A bee had stung a young lady who was on our beach in the hand and she was looking for tweezers to pull out the stinger. She was wearing next to nothing and John was looking over my shoulder as I worked on the stinger. “I have training in mouth to mouth resuscitation!” he said sheepishly.

A SCORPION’S GOOD NIGHT KISS
Jan 4th
All kinds of thoughts were going through my little mind as I walked the twenty-three miles towards Miloli’i beach site. Everybody and their dog had told me about the unfriendly natives in this fishing village. The first two miles had heavy growth of fruit trees and vines. Then the scene opened up to lava fields with houses that looked like they had been dropped from the sky. Along the beach were a row of houses that had the well used look, with a barking dog tied to the front of each door. Lots of fishing boats and large trucks decorated the front, the sides and back yards.
The camp sites were under a group of trees. I noticed there weren’t any water tanks. Two women were watching a group of kids play in the surf. “Where does a person get water around here?” I asked. Come to find out the whole area has to truck their water in. One woman said her mom had some bottled water and she would go and get some for me. She jumped in her truck and off she went. The second woman and me sat down at a picnic table. Five kids were playing in front of us as we watched the ocean waves. “How many of these kids are yours?” I asked. “I have these five and three more at home.” she explained. “Three are with my husband and the other five are from five different guys in the village.” she said. I didn’t glance her way, because if I looked at her I knew I would break out laughing. I thought she must be “Miss Saturday night.”
Later I headed to a small building beside a covered long porch. This building held a small library. As I walked in I noticed a woman behind a desk and a man unloading boxes of books. Since this is a fishing village I thought I had a good chance of getting some fish for dinner. The woman said her cousin had just come in from fishing and she would call him. In a matter of minutes he was on his way with a two pound tuna and refused any type of payment. I then walked over to the next beach that was the winter home of Monk Seals. The black sand beach was nice but the seals were out to lunch. By the time I got back my tuna was there and Alika, the main librarian had given me two pounds of macadamia nuts. Come to find out his family owned two hundred acres beside the park. It’s been in his family for nine generations.
I started a fire and got along with the job of gutting the fish. I took the guts and threw them into a tidal pool. When the fire died down I put the fish on a grill and surrounded it with the nuts. Later after finishing my feast, I walked over to the tidal pool. Two long black ells were having their own dinner on the discarded fish parts. The way they slithered between the coral and rock was a treat to watch. I already had my tent set up so when it got dark I just had to unzip it and get in. When backpacking long distances I think about two things, the weight of the pack and my wife naked. I can’t do anything about the wife but I can figure every ounce in my pack. My tent only weighs 1 pound 8 ounces but it doesn’t have a bottom. It’s also off the ground by four to five inches. It’s great for getting cross ventilation. The down side is all the creepy crawlers that waltz through your sleeping area. So now back to climbing into my tent. I got into my sleeping bag and was reading a book when I noticed my first visitor. It was almost a transparent scorpion. I don’t know if he was coming over to just say “hi” but I smashed his little head with a shoe. Later as I was sleeping his big brother must have come looking for him and gave me a kiss on the neck. It felt like someone had put a branding iron on my neck. I wondered if I would get any kind of reaction from the poison, but I woke up the next morning alive and kicking.
These unfriendly natives gave me so much, I wonder what the friendly ones are like!

LAVA LOTS FOR SALE-WATER NOT INCLUDED
Jan 5th/6th
The next morning the five miles of an uphill walk out of scorpion beach was especially fun with two pounds of tuna mixed with nuts in my tummy! I got a early start hoping some of the local dogs had slept in.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman sitting on a rock along side the road.”If you’re camping I would watch the centipedes!” she said. “They can get as long as your arm and give quite a bite!”she said. That’s when I noticed one of her arms stopped at the elbow. I was hoping that was the length she was talking about.
I had decided to stay at my next stop, Hawaiian Ocean View for two days. I was interested in exploring Kula Kai Caverns, a twenty-three mile lava tube located near there. For two nights I would be sleeping in a real bed at the Bougainvillea Bed and Breakfast.
Ocean View Estates is a subdivision that was started in the sixty’s. It has thirteen thousand lots and it’s the biggest subdivision in these United States of America. The same shady people that brought you swamp land building lots in Florida developed this area. The sales agent painted a rosy picture of palm trees and hula girls, both swaying in the wind. The problem with both is that they are in the need of water. My host has had to haul water from thirty miles away for the eighteen years that they have lived here.
Like most people that I have met on the island Don my host has done lots of things to make a Yankee dollar. He sold Chevrolets from 1955 thru 1965 , but he didn’t keep any 1957's. Then he sold Mighty Mites, a portable ski lift. The lifts would be used by ski teams that wanted to keep practicing after the local lifts closed. One of the machines was sold to a fella with deep pockets and short arms. After Don had delivered the machine the check was supposed to be in the mail. The man then had to go to Europe for a spell. Don realizing he would never see the cash, had called a lawyer. “Do you know were the machine is stored?” asked the lawyer. “It’s time to steal it back!” he advised. Don had delivered Mighty Mites to a barn on the clients property. At night, Don backed up to the barn with a trailer, knocked the pins out of the locked door hinges and then used the doors as a ramp to get the machine back on the trailer. Don won the Academy Award for telling the best lie when the real thief called him by telephone and asked him “where the hell is my Mighty Mite?”’
Don gave me a ride to the trail that winds it way down to the beach. The lava field went out in all directions. Every once in a while you would see a house just baking in the noon day sun. It reminded me of my sister’s Easy Bake Oven when we were kids. After a hour’s walk I made it to the small beach with a few swaying palms. A group of people were camped out beside their high 4x4 truck. A woman with two small children asked if I needed some water. Her husband was having the time of his life with a beer in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. She was ready to go back home two days ago.
The lava tube tour was three miles from the B&B but it was worth the walk . A couple of geologist along with the tour guide would accompany me down into the tube. We all started our little exploration at 4:30 pm. The path down into the tube was lit with electricity at the very beginning. Then we walked and crawled with our head lamps on. It felt like we were walking down the throat of a dragon. After taking our time investigating every type of rock and debris from early inhabitants we came to the surface and didn’t realize it was night until we saw the stars.

FERAL CATS & A MARATHON DOG
Jan 7th
It was going to be hot and dry today, so I wanted to get a early start. The cooking gods weren’t on my side this morning. The husband and wife team at my B&B got into a major drag out and knock down fight. Hubby and I had to wait outside until his wife cooled down a tad. When I finally got on the road I was getting hot from the sun. By noon I came upon a great fruit stand run by Barney and his dog. Barney was a black fella from Chicago. He and his wife had bought this run down fruit orchard and cleaned it up. I know one thing, his dog sure could run. That dog followed me down the road for a couple of miles before turning around and running back home.
I walked by the Mark Twain’s Monkey Pod Tree, that he planted in the 1800's. This spot is known to be the best water on the island and everybody comes here to collect it.
About 3:00 pm I had reached the town of Naalehu with a small grocery store and free e-mail. I still had couple of miles to go until Whittington Beach Park. The country side was changing with steep rock cliffs above the roaring waves.
The park had four covered picnic areas beside the quake damaged sugar cane harbor. The water storage tank was labeled undrinkable, which I knew was a lie. I hope anyway! A small group of feral cats were hanging around a picnic table. In a short time a lady showed up with cat food and some kind words for the felines. As I walked by the cat lady she gave me a glance. “Some one has to take care of them and they have been fixed.” she explained. I wasn’t going to get into a discussion about the cats eating all the birds. Come to find out a billionaire that lives in Hawi pays people to feed the feral cats on all the islands.
The breakers were doing their job on the old harbor supports. The picnic table looked like a good place to sleep with not a soul around.

ARCHAEOLOGIST & PERMITS
Jan 8th
The next morning I had my pack loaded and ready to go, before I ate my breakfast. A ranger showed up and came down to my pavilion. “Did you stay here last night?” he asked “I sure did” I replied. “I saw you walking a couple of days ago in Kona!” he said. “It doesn’t look like you’re staying anywhere for too long.” he said. He told me the water was potable. The park service mark it undrinkable to keep the locals from stealing it. Shortly after walking out of this beach site I approached the road to Black Sand Beach. The camping area had short green grass with a beautiful view of the ocean. I stopped in at the pavilion to have a bite to eat and drink some water. A teacher and his handicapped students sat at the picnic tables and were interested in learning about my travels.
By noon I had walked into the small town of Pahala. I was able to get enough groceries to last a week in Volcano National Park.
On the road again, I just can’t wait to get on the road again. Sorry Willie! It was twenty miles to the national park and it was already early afternoon. After several hours of walking and still a good distance from the park entrance, a car pulled up and saved my sweaty butt. My savior’s name was Anthony and he was a archeologist from the town of Captain Cook. Originally he had been hired to work with a golf course developer. If the workman uncovered any ancient Hawaiian ruins at the site, Anthony put the brakes on. He presently was a “Mr. Mom” due to flaws in the school system. The teachers wanted to be on the beaches and the kids were training to be surf bums. It was impossible to hold down a job when the kids were in school for just four hours. Today Anthony had some free time. He was going to drive to the national park and get a permit for three days to explore the 13,678 foot Mauna Loa mountain. What a break, that was also my game plan!
We both were standing in front of the park ranger within a couple of hours. We got our permits to stay at Red Hill Cabin for two nights. It’s located on the trail up to the mountain, at 10,200 feet in elevation.
Anthony drove me to the Namakani Paio Campground. The next morning he would swing by and drive us up to the trail head. What a sweet plan!
The camping area’s grassy cover was completely protected by tall trees. I had rented a key to the hot showers for three dollars a day, and the camping was free! I would leave my tent set up when I explored the mountain for the three days.
The next morning Anthony was due to pick me up at 6:00 am. I waited until 6:45 am and then started to walk the road towards the trail head. Mauna Loa Road was a sixteen mile single lane road that climbed from 4000 feet to 6500 feet in elevation. After walking about an hour a man gave me a short ride. He worked for the government measuring the strength of gravity on the mountain. He had been doing this job for five years. A nice tan suggested he might be checking the size of women’s swim suits from his surf board. The beach boy pulled onto a side road to drop me off. Just then I heard a car drive by at a fast clip. Hello Anthony and goodbye Anthony. The next hour of walking was real sweet with blackberries ripe along the road.
A Hawaiian, out for a short drive picked me up and took me to the trail head. He had been brought up on a small island off of Hilo. Outrigger canoes were the only transportation available when he was a youngster.
I had a six mile trek up to Red Hill Cabin from 6500 feet to 10200 feet in elevation. Within a hour I caught up with Anthony. He had so much gear on his back that he resembled a burro except for a long tail. He didn’t want to drink from the water containment tank attached to the huts’ gutters, so he carried two gallons of water. Just before lunch I ran into a couple of guys that could have been on a sporting goods commercial. Some of the items hanging from their packs still had the price tags attached to them. It was hotter than hell and these guys were covered from head to foot with layers of new pressed clothes.
By 3:00 pm I came up over a very red rocky hill and there stood the cabin. A couple of men were sitting out on the front porch. I noticed a few tents scattered about. The two were teachers and their students were hanging about. One of the kids had altitude sickness or maybe his attitude needed a little adjustment. The cure for both was going back down the hill. The brightly colored tents set up against the red rocks with Mauna Kea in the back ground made for a Kodak moment.
Anthony and the two hikers showed up within the hour. We all sat around the covered front porch and chatted. The two guys dressed to the nines were priests and they were also gay. One of them was very tired ,crabby, bitchy and at the end of his rope.
It was amazing how cold it became when the sun went down. At 6:30 pm it felt like the temps were in the seventy’s and then it plummeted to the thirties by 7:00 pm.
In the middle of the darkened cabin, the school group sitting around a table and eating their dinner by candle light. They were talking and laughing, and just being kids. Out of the darkness we all were startled when we heard a bitchy voice squawk, “If you want to talk, go outside!” yelled the gay guy that was trying to sleep in the bunk.

UP TO MAUNA LOA & SNOW BLIND
Jan 9th
It is ten miles up to the summit so I needed an early start and I needed to be first in line to the outhouse with so many campers. The toilet was nice and clean with a solar battery light. The two priest followed my lead and were making waking sounds. They were going to walk to Mauna Loa cabin below the peak and stay the night. I left my sleeping bag and a few things on my bunk and was on the trail by sunrise. Anthony had found a tent site around the corner from the cabin. I heard the zipper of his tent being opened as I walked by. The boys were also starting awaken and smell the granola.
The terrain surrounding the trail was like a scene on Mars and was cut through every type of lava this side of an eruption. I thought I was watching a B movie, with the hissing sounds of steam vents in the distance. Within a couple of hours I started to walk on the concrete hard snow. My game plan was to get over the snow fields and back before the sun turned it into mush. Every time I took a break I would fill up my water container with snow. By noon I had made it to the crater and the summit of Mauna Loa was another two hours of walking. As I looked over my peanut butter sandwich I noticed the clouds starting to become angry. I didn’t want to be caught out in the open with a wet snow storm in the possible future. The week I arrived on the island an unprepared hiker went for a short hike on this mountain when a fast snow storm covered up every trace of him. The rangers asked me to keep an eye out for his remains! The real possibility of a storm was my motivation to return to the warm bed in the hut!
As I returned I ran into Anthony. This would his third attempt to get to the top of the mountain in the same amount of years. Not even the thought of becoming a popsicle was going to deter his plans.
Later I met up with the priests, one of them had forgotten his sunglasses. His eyes were in the early stages of snow blindness. The sun’s reflection off the snow was intense. My lips felt like I had kissed a hot frying pan.
In the distance I could see different colored forms spread across the trail. When I approached closer, I realized it was the school group. After a couple of hours of walking up hill the granola had burned off..
Returning to the little green hut with black clouds above made my heart soar like an eagle. After resting along the trail the school group arrived at the hut, appearing to have a new lease on life.
After dinner I went back up the trail to look for Anthony who was lost in action. Every fifteen minutes after the sun went down I would go back up the trail from the hut and turn on my flash light which acted as a beacon. By 8:30pm I detected Anthony’s light in the distance getting closer. He was so tired he collapsed into his tent without eating dinner.




PERMITS AND A MILITARY CAMP
Jan 10th
The next morning Anthony was having a hard time walking due to blisters on top of blisters.
Arriving back at the national park I was able to acquire my permits to stay at Halape Beach Site for a couple of days.
I needed just a few extra food supplies. The only store was the military store located down the road. I thought they would ask for some sort of military badge, but the cashier might have had Iraq on his mind.

HALAPE BEACH AND A NENE GOOSE
Jan 11th
Today I was going to get a real view of the back country. I would walk towards Jagger Museum and onto the Kau Desert Trail. The caldera with its steaming vents was my companion. This trail connected to the Mauna Lki Trail which resembled Wyoming, maybe a billion years ago. By late morning I found the Hilina Pali Road which was closed to traffic because a flightless Nene goose had gotten squished on the road. While eating a snack, I heard a goose sound that was connected to a real nene goose in the flesh and feathers. The Nene goose is a kissing cousin to the Canadian goose that must have come to the islands thousands of years ago for a vacation and forgot how to fly. The trail down was very steep and narrow. I could see a group of people below me that had wished they had remained at their B&B. After the steep hill came waist deep grasses and brush. As I came to the Hailina Pali trail it wasn’t getting any better and I was getting very low on water. In fact I didn’t have water. I found some guava fruit to chew on for a little moisture. I could see some palm trees along the coast and I knew I was near the beach site. Arriving at the beach site the water tank was full and I drank two liters.
The first two people I met were a woman and her six month old baby. I don’t know what was in that woman’s milk but it must have contained high octane, for it was very healthy looking. Her husband who I met later had worked trail maintenance on the Wonderland trail in Washington state. I had walked that trail so we had something in common. Another couple from Hilo, helped me get my tent set up. Large palm trees lines the edge of the beach. A very talented wood carver had made totem poles.
Because of past tsunami I heard lots of stories about this beach. A tidal wave had come in when a group of scouts were camped here. A few got washed out to sea, never to be seen again.

A BIT OF A BLOW!
Jan 12th
Today I didn’t have to walk anywhere except around the beach. The baby and his parents were leaving this morning and they had a primo camping site with lava rock walls all around. As soon as they vacated I was on that site like a chicken on a June bug. I took a walk along the shore and had an early morning swim in the fresh water pond. Later the school boys from Red Hill cabin and their teachers showed up. They were glad to see me and we talked about my past adventures. I sat on the rock wall and watched the sun reflected off the white foam.The wind started to pick up a bit. By 10:00 pm it was more than a bit. I had to get up and put some heavy duty rocks on my tent stakes. The lava walls blocked the winds fury during this storm.

VOLCANO VILLAGE
Jan 13th
The next morning I noticed that dried leaves had blown all around my sleeping bag. Every time I turned over I heard a crunching sound. I wondered why I had dreams of sleeping in a potato chip bag. I walked up to the bathroom and realized I had faired better them some with this wind storm. There was a three sided emergency shelter that had people stacked like cord wood inside. The bathroom was turned into a bedroom for two German campers hiding from the wind. The school group’s tent had been flattened by the hurricane force winds. The main supports of the tents had bent and some were completely broken. The previous afternoon the school group had told me they had thrown rocks into the cauldron of Mauna Loa which was a very good way of unleashing the anger of the god Pele. It reminded me of the story of a past Hawaiian king that had thrown rocks into the same cauldron and hundreds of his followers had died breathing the poisonous gas.
After saying all of my good byes I was off to climb the hills back to the visitor center. Tall grasses blew along the windy Keauhou Trail that slowly rose above the beach site. Then I came up to a group of trees that offered a good wind block. Just before I came onto the Chain of Craters Road the lava took on the appearance of black glass. I followed the road until I made it to Crater Drive which was my passport to the visitor’s center.
I walked down to Volcano Village and to the Aloha Junction B&B. It was a nice walk surrounded by some jungle type vegetation. I had to walk behind the post office and then up to a gate which required a car horn to open. In this case Robert the host, had left a whistle which would activate the gate. The house was built in the 1920's as a vacation home for the sugar cane officials. Robert and his wife had bought it years ago and fixed it up to its former glory. To celebrate my adventures in Volcano National Park, I ate off of a real china plate at a fine restaurant instead of surviving out of my backpack.

HOT CHOCOLATE & LAVA TREES
Jan 14th
The Volcano Village area has a wet cold climate year round. I could see my breath as I walked out of the gate.
My first stop this morning was the Akatsuka Orchid Gardens. Every type and color of orchid was displayed. I don’t know what it takes to produce a new type of orchid, but it must involve a lot of work. The color and prices on some of those babies took my breath away!
By lunch time I had arrived in Glenwood, a town that was a bump in the road except for a small gas station connected to an even smaller grocery store. Lots of these small Ma and Pa places have kitchens in the back room where the locals satisfy their appetites. A small sign taped to the cash register displayed the special foods, for example, wild boar stew, served with a papaya sauce or tourist on the half shell!
Another hole in the wall restaurant displayed a menu board outside that read “CHICKEN OR BEEF STEW.” The customer in front of me asked about other foods. “That’s all we are serving today.” answered the cook. “We can either throw chicken or beef your way, that’s the choices!” she explained.
Later I approached a small building that was selling everything related to coffee. They had all types of coffee and also coffee plants for sale too, just in case you didn’t need your cup of joe right away. I stopped in for a cup of chocolate and got an education on the properties of coffee. All coffees of the world come from the same bean. What makes the difference is where the plant is grown. Sun, soil and weather patterns affect the taste and the weight of your wallet after your purchase. Hawaii is known for Kona Coffee and you pay through the nose for it, $35.00 a pound. The growers themselves can’t afford to drink it. Then you have Blue Mountain coffee of Jamaica. It sells for $17.00 a cup in Japan!
I couldn’t have picked a better place to stop. The women were thrilled to hear of my walking odyssey. They even found a place for me to stay in Lava Tree State Park. I tried to pay for my drinks and cookie treats but they wouldn’t hear of it. My fan club also told me of a short cut thru Hawaiian Acres that would save me an hour or two of walking.
The directions were to turn right at an old church. I don’t know if there are a lot of sinners on this island but there are hundreds of old churches. I wasn’t sure if the church I approached on my left was the right one. A car pulled up and I walked over to ask directions. The lady quickly rolled up her window and drove away in a cloud of dust. Later when I read the local paper there was an article about this bandito that had shot someone during a home break in. He was armed and dangerous. He also looked a lot like me or I looked like him.
I did find the road and it was worth almost getting run over for. Not much traffic and lots of fruit to eat.
As I walked in to Pahoa and was getting my bearings a truck pulled up. A fellow carpenter not only knew the location of my B&B, he had worked on it and offered to be my tour guide.
My host, Irene was out shopping so I let myself in and took a hot shower. After dinner she and her family from Hungary showed up. Only Irene and her sister spoke English. I had to use sign language to talk with her two aunts. I got to eat a Hungarian dinner with her friend named Richard and the rest of the group. Then the guitar and ukulele were brought out and we sat around a fire and sang songs. What a way to end a perfect day.



HOT PONDS AND A NUDIST BEACH
Jan 15th
As I was floating on my back in a hot water pond with an ocean wave occasionally lapping at my feet, I thought what a great way to start a morning! Irene and her group’s morning ritual was to soak in a natural hot springs and I was their guest.
After a breakfast of fresh fruit I was going to walk along the shore line and do some local exploring. The Lava Tree Park was located next to the B&B. During the 1700's a lava flow came down the mountain and covered some live trees. Then over the centuries the trees decayed away, leaving a lava shell. I walked along a nature trail with huge trees native to Africa, acting like large umbrellas. My eyes met with a couple from Switzerland. They had actually seen me earlier walking around the Volcano National Park. The three of us had a major discussion on the ups and downs of hiking and camping. Later I left them to the lava trees as I walked down the road to the beach sites.
As I walked along the road I could hear the surf breaking against some rocks. The main street that was parallel to the sea, had a few narrow side roads that lead down to the sea. A white van was parked at the end of this one road. Two fellas were sitting in chairs with a radio playing in the back ground. I walked up and noticed another guy was fishing off the rocks. Ernie Cruise and part of his C&W band were taking a break from performing and trying their hand at catching some big ones. At this point they would be satisfied with small ones. Ernie was interested in my walk and we shared his fried chicken and all the fixings. Later when I told Irene that I had been fishing with Ernie, she couldn’t believe it. I guess he’s a famous singer on the Big Island. Ernie had dropped a long thick line into the sea with two hooks attached. The whole mess was wrapped around some rocks below. Every time Ernie tried to swing the rope around the rock a big wave would come in and make things worse. Ernie had another line with a huge hook attached. I was able to throw it out and catch the other end of the line with the float attached. I braced myself and started pulling the whole mess in. A large eel was attached to the last hook. Just before I raised our dinner up the thirty feet to the base of the cliff, Mr. eel jumped off the hook and is probably still swimming away from our hot skillet.
I still had a bit of a walk to the next beach site when I met up again with my Swiss couple. We decided to spend the day together and visit some sites. First one was the nudist beach. Heaps of cars were parked along a steep cliff that hung above this small beach. The walk down was narrow and steep. Most of the people on the beach were over fifty years old. To further prove Sir Isaac Newton’s theory of gravity people over fifty shouldn’t take off their shirts and especially the pants. A well developed young hippy woman was fun to watch. She had completely shaved every bit of hair off her body. She was rolling around in the big waves like a beach ball with appendages. It was like flipping a coin, you never knew if you would end up with heads or tails, sticking out of the surf.
The road ended because during the last twenty years, lava had eaten the road and fifty houses in the subdivision for dessert. We could look up the hill and see a bellow of smoke coming from the lava chewing away at some new vegetation. Also decorating the landscape was newly erected real estate signs. Even though the old subdivision was buried under twenty feet of lava, why not try and make a Yankee dollar from some thrill seekers!

Jan16th
BEACH ROAD AND WHO’S BEHIND THE GATE
I should have gotten an early start for my walk to Hilo. This was my thought as I lay in the hot ponds again this morning.
My relaxed body did manage to get on the Beach Road by 10:00 am. This mystery road, even to the locals was very different. Every few miles it changed from open grass land to jungle. Like all deserted roads it would be a great place for everybody to get rid of their trash. Mattresses and old cars were the decorations that didn’t quite fit in with the beauty of the rain forest. I found one deserted car that had large vines growing out of the open windows and trunk. If a skeleton would have been sitting behind the steering wheel I wouldn’t have been surprised! I met some locals that had no idea where or how this road ended. One woman actually took down my e-mail address and was going to write me later, just to find out where the road ended.
By late afternoon I arrived in a small subdivision. I noticed a homeowner washing his boat and I thought this would be a good place to gather water and information. He had moved here from Norman, Oklahoma and just loved it. I found out that places to camp were far and few between from here to Hilo. Who needs a stinking campsite when I have fresh water!
Later as I traveled along the road, I noticed a small wooden table topped with assorted fruit. An elaborately carved wooden door attached to a privacy fence was right behind the table with a slot to deposit money for fruit. I heard a fella working behind the gate when I walked up. I tried knocking on the gate and calling out but this shy guy just held his ground, maybe thinking I was the bandito from the paper.
By 4:00 pm I came to a path with two steel poles marking the entrance. I walked down the trail and came to a rocky shore line with the ocean breakers doing their work. My free campsite had a panoramic view and it was completely sheltered with tall trees. I had my dinner on some flat rocks listening to the crashing waves of the sea.

TORNADO AND THE ORCHID FARM
Jan. 17th
As I emerged from my hidden campsite I entered another subdivision. I noticed three men walking ahead of me on the road. All four of us had plenty to talk about as we strolled along. The one man had been camping in Loveland Colorado in the 60's. A rare tornado for that altitude had come thru the camp ground and destroyed a small brick building. The bricks became quite dangerous as they flew through the air at a hundred miles per hour. He thought I hadn’t known about this event and had one up on me, until I told him that my great uncle was the one who had given the early warning. He was some what of a expert on twisters after living next door to Dorothy and Todo in Kansas. My uncle’s Airstream trailer survived the storm which impressed this man so much that he later bought one for himself since the only recognizable object left from his trailer was the toilet.
After days of traveling I wasn’t sure what day it was. After inspecting a house under construction I asked the carpenter what day it was thinking it was Wednesday but it was Saturday! I also found out about another short cut to Hilo called Railroad Road. Needless to say this shortcut ended up at a no trespassing sign, attached to a strong gate. I turned back and then noticed a large orchid farm and walked into the greenhouse. John, the owner told me that I could follow the power line easement and come out on the main road.
I had lunch above the University of Hawaii campus on a grassy hill. Then the rain clouds moved in and it rained hard and in a sideways direction. Just when I thought I might drown, a van pulled up and it was John from the orchid farm. He gave me a ride to Hilo and found me a hotel to boot.

RAINBOW FALLS AND HILO MARKET
Jan 18th
It’s going to rain off and on all day, I can just feel it. I payed for two nights at my hotel. Today would be a good day for exploring the ex sugar town that time forgot. A big flea market downtown was set up with every vegetable and fruit that Hawaii had to offer. A band was setting up in a pavilion across from the market. I walked and shopped the market and with my newly purchased fruit for lunch I went over to the pavilion. For the next couple of hours I ate and listened to music, does life get any better? I walked the couple of miles up to the Rainbow Falls. A very deep valley with large trees surrounded the river, and the falls created a misty cloud that gave the whole picture a surreal appearance.

KOLEKOLE BEACH PARK
Jan 19th
The walk this morning had Hilo in my rear view mirror. I noticed in the bay below people in canoes paddling along with hopes of spotting whales. I found a side road that led to Onomea Scenic Drive. The road was narrow but had a nice feel with little traffic. All of a sudden I heard someone call out “Vince”. The voice was connected to a couple that I had met on the beach site in Volcano, and who happened to live along the road. They had seen me walking down the road and gave the alarm.
The trail thru the jungle was connected to a private garden so you had to stay on the path. After thirty minutes of exploring the rain forest I came back onto the main road with the garden headquarters blocking my path. I took a short break on a bench and as I got up to leave I heard a security guard/gardener yell “You can’t park your car here!” “I parked my car in Denver.” I told gestapo boy “Stop kidding me!” he said. I still don’t think he believed me about walking around the island.
By 3:00 pm I had made it to my campsite at Kolakola Beach Park. I set up my tent and took a walk down to the beach. My shower knocked off a layer of road dirt. I noticed some people having a tail gate party, and they seemed to want a little company. I spent the next four hours hanging out with them sampling their food and drink. There were three of them with a typical cultural mixture of Hawaiian and Portugese. The food was cooked on a wok and mixed with vinegar chili pepper and garlic sauce. I heard a loud whining noise from a small moped coming down to the beach site. A little old man with a large beard parked his scooter in the center of our party. “Anybody want a burn?” he asked. In main land talk “ Smoke a joint.” When the party ended not many people were left in the park and only one other person was camping out.

LAUPAHOEHOE BEACH SITE & THE TIDAL WAVE
Jan 20th
I could set my watch by the rain showers in the afternoon but this morning the rain gods woke up cranky. The wide valleys with red flowered trees coming down from Mauna Loa mountain were transformed into a post card setting with shiny wet scenery, but the rain was getting old. Then my saviors, the couple that I had met from the Volcano beach site drove by and picked me up before I started to grow gills. They deposited my soaked butt on Laupahoehoe Beach Site. Within an hour the skies cleared but not so the wind. A crazed camper lost all sanity when her tent was being thrown about by the constant wind gusts. Her tent might as well have been a red cape and she the bull. Standing back from the tent with her head down she charged the flapping structure again and again. Tent stakes, support poles, and pieces of tent were caught by the wind as they were being thrown skyward! With smoke almost coming out of her nostrils my fellow camper sat down in the middle of the destruction that once was her tent. I quietly and slowly ventured far away from the bull ring. My tent was set up behind the shower pavilion because it was sheltered from the wind and the insanity!
Across from the small harbor was a memorial to the survivors of a tidal wave in 1946. The deadly tsunami had come all the way from Alaska and killed hundreds of people in the Hawaiian islands. A local school that stood on this very spot was picked up and washed out to sea. Numerous newspaper articles were posted along with a list of the dead and missing. Still living fairly close to the site of destruction, an older lady who had survived the wave on that fateful day relived the past for me. Waking up that morning with a foreboding feeling she moved her family to higher ground. Her friend, the teacher had hung on to the school building’s front door and was swept all the way to Hilo. My new friend told me of a older deserted road that would lead up to the town site. I came to realize what a thrill seeker she still was when I came to the deserted road way. A large sign advised that the road was closed to all forms of transportation because of major landslides, but she used it every week to walk to the grocery store. What is good for a survivor is also good for an adventurer, so I used the road.

KALOPA STATE RECREATION AREA
Jan 21st
My walk this morning was orchestrated by great waterfalls cascading down the valleys. After several hours of walking I had a special treat with a personal tour of Donna’s Cookies kitchen. The group of women resembled elves as they slaved away at the cookie dough. They insisted that I sample a wide variety of their special cookies, and after walking all morning they didn’t have to twist my arm.
Then shortly down the road was a small store front with a house connected. A menu was printed on a paper bag that hung above the counter. A husband and wife team worked the store and house. When a order for food was given the man would run to the house and start cooking. There were a few specials that looked interesting. After lunch I started to walk up the hill to the Kolopa State Recreation Area. The road was a steep ascent with panoramic views of the ocean below. A hour into my walk an older gentleman pulled up and offered me a ride. He was a retired professor from the mainland. Carrying a backpack always starts some interesting conversations. “What ever you do I want you to walk the Appalachian trail!” he said. “When I retired twenty years ago, I wanted to walk that trail and now I am too old!” he explained. “ I have already walked the trail and I have seen some eighty year old people on the path.” I said. I could just tell that he was excited that I had finished the trail even though he had no intentions of starting it himself.
The camp area had a few covered pavilions and the main pavilion had a shower attached. A couple of California girls that had never camped in their lives where out for a holiday of cheap camping. I ate a quick lunch and followed a nature trail back into the forest. The trees in the reserve had never been cut. The ground cover was thick with green ferns. Several wild pig families gave a squeal and vanished in the under growth. By 4:30 pm I decided to head back to camp. I came to a fork in the trail and took it. I must have taken the wrong one because I ended right back were I had started. For the next two hours I wandered those woods. Like Daniel Boone said “ I have never been lost but I have been confused for a few hours!” I just made a wild guess and decided to head down hill before it got dark and cold. I ended up right behind my campsite and if I could have seen the look on my face it would have been priceless.
The couple with the healthy baby from the beach site showed up late and left early. It was the campsite shuffle, you set up your tent after 6:00 pm and leave before the ranger checks at 6:00 am. That way you don’t have to pay!

HONOKAA OR BUST
Jan 22nd
The weather was very cooperative for my walk down the hill to the main road this morning. An assortment of delicious fruit lay on the ground from trees that were growing along the secondary road that added to my breakfast menu. I heard a chain saw and found its owner up a tree. Reynolds had a bit of a problem on his hand. He wanted to cut down this dead tree but the possibility was great that it might fall on a passing car. He needed me to stop all traffic along this highway, so I played traffic guard for a few minutes. When the dust settled I was to learn from him that he was related to King Kamehameha. We sat down and had a most interesting chat about the spiritualism of the Hawaiian people.
I walked into the town of Honoka’a just before the skies opened up and sent buckets of water down the street. I checked into the Honoka’a Hotel Club, that had been built in the 1920's. I got a back packer’s room for $35.00. Lucky for me the theater and an Italian restaurant were open and I ended the day with a dinner and a movie.
WAIPO AND WAIMANU VALLEYS
Jan 23rd
The highway ahead of me ended at the deep Waipo Valley. I had to put seven miles behind me before I could even gaze upon this Garden Of Eden. The Waipo Valley used to be the home to a large community of native peoples. The farmers used to raise most of the fruits and vegetables for all of the Hawaiian Islands. If it wasn’t for bad luck this community wouldn’t have any luck at all! After a series of tidal waves and floods, most of the farmers and their crops were washed out to sea. Abandoned horses and fruit trees decorate this beautiful landscape along with a few hardy taro farmers today.
The semi paved road down to the valley is very steep and all rental car companies advise you to stay the hell off this stretch of roadway. The occasional rather large four wheel drive truck that I encountered had the right of way on this highway to hell. The drivers of the trucks thought they had the right and or maybe the obligation to run over any hiker that ventured in front of their machines! The rental car companies were the smartest people on the island because if you survived the steep hill, the lake size mud puddles on the beach road could eat all cars with room to spare. A few brave souls were hanging out on the beach as I crossed the benign Waipo River to the black sand beach beyond. The wind break of trees that lined the beach made a perfect hideaway for the camping feral hippies. They were able to collect enough fruit and fresh water to survive and engage in hippie activities. Every shape and color of structures made up this community of free thinkers.
The one mile beach walk led to the Z trail which climbed a 1200 foot mountain. The trail on top of the mountain resembled a snake for seven miles as it followed twelve gulches. A few water falls cascading down these gulches along the way made for some great photographs. The Waimanu Valley with its magnificent two waterfalls lay before me with the floor of the green valley 1200 feet below me. This valley wasn’t as wide as the Waipo Valley. The distant falls looked to be several hundred feet tall. They spilled into the river which meandered into the sea at the bottom of my trail. From my vantage point I could see a couple of compost toilets along the beach side of the camping area.
As I changed out of my hiking shoes to cross the river I noticed a memorial to a possible drowning victim. A picture of poor old Clyde and assorted tokens were swaying in the gentle wind coming off the ocean. The rushing water was fast but with my walking sticks for balance I was able to cross and reach the camping area. The first campsite I came to had been the deserted encampment of a pioneering hippie. Every object known to beach dwellers littered the site. The wind and rainy weather had not been kind to my invisible neighbor’s equipment. A tent and tarp had turned into a small wading pool after many days of rain.
I set up my tent facing a nice view of the waterfalls and the beach, but it was also out of the wind. I spent a few hours sitting on a log and looking at all the surroundings with thoughts of tomorrow’s plans. What lay ahead of me were steep grass covered mountains that ended at a swampy meadow. The ocean with its pounding surf which constantly turned over the giant lava rocks on the beach was my back ground music as I enjoyed my dinner.

Jan 24th
THE WATERFALLS AND BUILDING BRIDGES.
A perfect mirrored image of the waterfalls against the river greeted me as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes in the morning. After breakfast I explored along the base of the mountain and found a trail. The sound of the distant waterfalls and the thought of fresh guava and papaya hurried my journey. The falls were producing a lot of mist due to the steepness of the mountain. Two Hawaiian hawks were standing guard over the large swirling pool at the bottom of the waterfalls. The duet took off and caught the up draft from the cascade as they slowly circled above the falls.
After all of my exploring I made it back to camp by late afternoon. I had a grandiose plan to keep my feet dry by building a bridge with rocks and logs at the mouth of the river. I spent several hours throwing large rocks into the river. Then I rolled a large log into the river and it drifted until it was arrested along side the rocks, and then I had a fine bridge. During dinner I noticed a few rain clouds and the wind started to blow.

A CASTAWAY WITH FLIPPERS
Jan 25th
It rained most of the night and was still raining in the morning. Instead of seeing two waterfalls in the distance, I could count twelve. My bridge was washed out to sea and the mouth of the river was now four times bigger and getting larger. Large river rocks imitated the sound of bowling balls colliding together as they were being arranged by the raging river. Time to figure my options as I gazed at the river’s last victim’s memorial site. I could stay a few days and hoped the river depth got lower, but the valley and mountains with dark rainy clouds all around them didn’t look very promising. With the ocean waves crashing on one side and the river rising on the other I had visions of sleeping on a large water bed . I would swim across the river keeping far away from its mouth, since there was a strong possibility that I might be chewed up and spit out into the ocean. A raft to keep my backpack dry was going to be top priority. The beach comber had left enough equipment behind to put a smile on Tom Hanks face in the movie “Castaway.” I found two giant floats from a fishing net along with a small piece of plywood. I went to the ten campsites and found enough pieces of rope to tie everything together. I must have been quite the sight as I walked around naked with just borrowed flippers on to get used to the cold water. I was waist deep in cold river water when I realized my shore built raft lacked the stability to keep my sleeping bag and camera dry, so I attached two deserted surf boards to my raft and it would prove to be my salvation. Except for the freezing water, rain falling and the sound of the dragon at the river’s mouth, the experience wasn’t all that bad. Within a few seconds I was swimming for my life across the river in a sideways direction. I made it to the other side and hung onto some roots sticking out of the river bank. Then I just slowly worked my way along until I found a place to get out.
After having saved my butt with all of the abandoned equipment I wanted to erect a memorial to my unseen beach bum. After drying off and getting my pack back together, two guys showed up. They had plans to cross the river and climb the mountain. After telling them of my experience of the raging river and the steep muddy mountain, I then left them to scratch their heads.
I made it back up and over the mountain and then down to Waipo Valley without much of a problem. When I had to cross the Waipo Stream it was twice as deep and much stronger because of the previous rain. On the opposite bank a small audience of beach tourists seemed to be fascinated with my struggle as I crossed in the waist deep water. Everyone just stared as if they were about to watch a train wreck. My legs were bending back and forth like rubber bands from the force of the raging water. When I stepped out of the river onto dry land almost everyone turned away with disappointment on their face. I met a couple of day hikers and gave them information about the trails. I also asked them to pick me up with their car if they saw me walking to Hoonkaa. Back up on the main road I found a telephone booth and called the hotel for a reservation for the night. Since the river had been so muddy, I hadn’t been able to get fresh water to drink. To my astonishment, after using the phone I looked down and there beside the booth was a full container of water, what a break! After walking several miles a jeep driven by the couple I had met on the trail made a huge u turn and stopped and took me to the hotel. After a hot shower and a quick snack I made it to the movie and was totally surprised that I didn’t fall asleep.

Jan 26th
BILLY AND THE GATE
In town, the next day I met Billy who was the nephew of the drowning victim whose memorial I had seen in the bottom of the valley. Amazingly, Clyde hadn’t drowned crossing the river. Billy said that the whole family had lived in the Waipo valley and when the grandmother died she wanted her ashes spread at the waterfall pool. Clyde, her son, had volunteered to carry them down. When Clyde didn’t come home his brother went down to see what had happened to him. He found his body swirling face down in the pool. The doctors weren’t able to tell if he had hit his head and drowned or had suffered a heart attack. They cremated old Clyde and spread his ashes along the river. When I mentioned the two hawks I had seen soaring above the pond, Billy wasn’t surprised. The two hawks contained the spirit of his two departed family members, according to Billy.
Lately its either just stopped raining or just started to rain. The metal roof above my head sounded like machine gun fire with the rain beating on it all night long. I saw some cars with the chrome beaten off the bumpers from the rain!! Honest. The monsoon moved away from my parade. On my map, I located an art museum and Honokaa landing, and out of boredom I decided to explore all that the town had to offer. Within a few minutes of walking I came to what was once the art museum. The locals must have had more of a demand to fill one’s stomach than one’s mind because the museum was now a meat market specializing in smoked products. The road to the harbor was as twisted as a snake’s butt. It went around old neglected metal buildings that were held up by momentum. Then I came to a metal gate with a chain that held it closed. I was percolating on the situation when a old truck pulled up. Billy and his wife whom I had met previously, were out collecting cans as they worked their way down to the harbor to fish. Billy said the gate was just to keep the cows from wandering onto some ones dinner plate. Since I was in the right spot at the right time I opened the gate and let him drive through. The sloping hills were covered with green grass and an occasional cow. Because of all the rain the road was a series of big puddles and bigger puddles. I passed by a house under construction with a unbelievable view of the sea.
The old harbor or what was left from the earthquakes was being pounded by the ocean waves. Billy was standing out on a high crumbling pier and doing his best at catching dinner. He might have had a death wish because giant waves and mist were lapping at his legs as he was standing there against the ocean’s fury. After several minutes of playing dodge wave he came back onto safer ground.
I walked back up the hill and stopped to talk to the builder of the house under construction. He was a doctor in Waimea but it was cheaper to build his own house rather then have no account white trash contractors taking him to the cleaners.

GUARD DOGS ARE LIKE PRUNES-
IS ONE ENOUGH OR IS TWO TOO MANY!
Jan 27th & 28th
By using the bypass of the Old Mamalahoa Road I would be staying off the busy main route. The road was a steady climb through some heavy forested residential lots. Along the way I met a few gardeners trying to nurse their veggies along. With all the rain their produce was rotting in the ground. The road crested as I entered a large open pasture. A group of bicyclers were pulled off the road fixing flats and trying to inflate their dampened attitudes. They were part of a group that would spend 10 days biking around the island.
Moving on, the countryside opened up with areas of huge grassy fields that disappeared into the horizon in all directions. An occasional farm house would breakup this green carpet. One foreboding looking house could have been the Fort Knox of the island because it had a guard dog chained to each corner and to each door opening. Off to one side were two other snarling dogs just waiting to take their turn, like a tag team on studio wrestling.
I had just finished lunch when, you guessed it, it started to rain. I had my umbrella and pack cover on but the problem was that the rain was coming in at a vertical angle. My right shoe was getting filled up and my foot was beginning to swim.
By late afternoon the rain stopped and entered the town of Waimea. I checked into my motel after answering the hotel clerk’s questions about my trip.
The original 500,000 acre Parker Ranch is now a measly 150,000 acres and is located in this area. The town of Waimea has an uplifting spirit and a town that seems to be moving forward. A steady stream of vehicles were leaving two large malls anchored with grocery stores restaurants and shops. There is something to be said for the conveniences of civilization.

KOHALA MOUNTAIN ROAD
Jan 29th
Blue bird clear skies with a touch of cold in the air would be my companion this morning. The steady climb with a elevation gain of 2500 feet up Kohala Mountain Road would take me over the next mountain range. Legs don’t fail me now, I didn’t want to be caught out in the open with a blowing horizontal rain. A panoramic 360 degree view of Mauna Kea mountain and the Kona coast would be my reward for venturing up the mountain. Locals and tourists were pulling over to take snapshots of the vibrant green countryside enhanced by the past rains. The strong winds coming out of the valleys occasionally turned me into a drunkard, as the gusts grabbed my pack and pushed me around. Ancient streams that had cut their way through the lush green pastures were decorated with sheep and cows. By lunch time the road started to drop in elevation and the landscape was transformed into fruit trees and rain forests. The motel in Hawi was a welcome sight and I felt fortunate to have missed the cloud bursts.
I hooked up with two locals John and Bobbie who wanted to show me some interesting sights around Hawi. We decided to go on a short hike since I had already covered twenty two miles today. A local treasure that the couple wanted to share with me was a light house casting a golden reflective glow as the sun was setting on the bay.
Along the steep cliffs we saw a wooden cross that was decorated with a tattered straw hat and sun glasses as a simple memorial. This sad story was related to me by my new friends, as we stood on the bluff over looking the sea. As the tale unfolded the mother had posed on the edge of the cliff with their baby on her shoulder with the idea of having their pictures taken. Having second thoughts, the husband took the baby at the last minute. Then the bank gave way and the mother fell to her death on the rocks below.

POLOU VALLEY
Jan 30th & 31 st
This morning finds me walking thru the hamlet of Kapaau. There was not much traffic since the road dead ends at Polou Valley. Kapaau used to be a town for the sugar workers but when the sugar plantations moved out in the 70's, then the yuppies moved in during the 90's.
The view of Polou Valley below was accented with its’ steep cliffs falling into the sea. The maintained trail was fairly steep with an occasional step to make the hike easier. At the end of the trail a stream crossed the path. The volume of the stream wasn’t anything to write home about, the trickle of water just disappeared into the sandy beach.
I set up my tent above the beach and under some tall trees with huge leaves that could act as umbrellas, come rain or shine. My lunch was interrupted with a very wet storm that came off of the ocean. It rained from noon until 5:00 pm, I laid in my tent and read a book. I felt like a prisoner just making parole, when the sound of the rain on my tent stopped, and I was released from my canvas cell.
The next morning the skies cleared and I got a few rays of sunlight on my back. The dry stream bed had become this wide ribbon of brown rushing water. Lucky for my camera and sleeping bag the chocolate water was only even with the bottom of my pack as I waded across.
I climbed back up the mountain to the main road without too much trouble. Within fifteen minutes the skies opened up again with a pounding rain. I found a small building with a covered porch and sat down to wait the rain storm out. As the skies cleared an opened sided truck with seats in the back pulled up with a group of Japanese travelers. They were covered from head to foot with rain ponchos, but their dripping faces had the look of “The tour guide didn’t mention driving through a car wash!”
The side road down to Koekoe State Park was your typical narrow winding road. As I ate my lunch at the picnic table pavilion I had a grandstand view of the ocean’s breakers. An older local fella by the name of Sammie came down and we had a bit of a story talk. He had worked on a sugar plantation during the island’s booming time. His family rented a company house for $15.00 per month with a $1.00 charge for water. In 1960 the company gave everybody the chance to buy their house for $600.00. In 1975 Sammie got payed $3.85 per hour just before the sugar cane industry went belly up. His mom was Hawaiian and his dad Chinese. Sammie couldn’t speak either language and his parents weren’t fluent in either lingo. I had just come out of the Polou Valley and Sammie knew all about the valley. I asked him about the metal tracks that I had found. During the war a U.S. army unit had orders to train down in this valley. The company landed on the beach but the two half track trucks couldn’t get back on the landing gear and were left with heaps of other pieces of equipment. For months Sammie and his brothers would go down into the valley and bring up discarded K- Rations for dinner. He said his mom loved the free food. He also remembered that a farmer had raised pigs down in the valley, and on market day the piggies would be driven up the steep trail. The locals would then lasso their meal as the pork chops ran by.
The rains accompanied me as I walked towards my motel in Hawi. New faces that were hiding from the damp weather greeted me as I entered my sanctuary. A very excited couple from Connecticut proudly told me of their big plans of selling everything at home and moving here. The real estate agent let them know the cheapest real estate on this end of the island was a condo at $400,000.

MAHUKONA BEACH SITE
Feb 1st &2nd & 3rd
The next day the sun made a grand entrance and I was able to walk down airport road off of the main highway. A wind farm was sharing its’ space with a dairy farm. The grey skies and the black and white cows made an Ansel Adams kind of moment. The singing sound of the wind through the blades of the wind mills only added to the surroundings.
The black top road ended where the muddy mess started. I was swimming my way through the greasy clay mud when I came to a house that was under construction. John the foreman lived with his wife, in a small shack nearby. John and his clan were blown to the island after a cyclone destroyed their home and sailboat in Guam. The project had been under way for two years with two months worth of work to show for it. If there is beer to be drunk and fish to be caught, then why work? The homeowners of this project make their money dealing in the production of pig semen exported to China. As far as I was concerned the owner was getting screwed on both sides of the Pacific Ocean! Hopefully the pigs had more to show for their effort at the end of the day than these construction workers.
I continued on my journey along the ocean with a constant eye on the large muddy puddles in the hopes that I wouldn’t become a part of them. By lunch time I had reached the birth place of one of the early rulers of the island with now only a few rock walls to mark the place. I came to an abandoned Coast Guard Station and the buildings were in excellent condition. I was totally surprised to find no feral hippies taking up residency there.
My enthusiasm for the Kapaa Beach Park was dashed when a lone surfer informed me that the water supply had been destroyed in the recent earthquake. I met a couple of women who were on their way over to the next campsite at Mahukona. They agreed to show me a short cut along a old train roadbed and as we all walked together, I received a short history lesson about the country side. The sugarcane train that once traveled on this path not only delivered goods but brought harmony to the island by connecting the communities. Mahukona Beach Park was once a train stop and harbor used to fill the hulls of ships with their sweet products. The expert masonry work of the harbor had survived earthquakes and tidal waves. There was a stone walkway that led down into the sea for snorkeling. The camp area was huge with a shower and a lighted pavilion for night reading.
A large college group were camped out on the grass. Some were first year students and some were grads. They were studying nature and each other for three months on the Big Island. There was also a group of folks who were living on the beach permanently, due to every type of bad luck under the sun. James and Mona had come from LA with a one way ticket and $250.00. James had a job swinging a hammer but things had slowed down or he was spending too much time exercising his arm with a bottle of Jack Daniels. Both had been relying on the goodwill of a wealthy landowner who set himself up as the guardian of the feral cats of the islands. The billionaire became more infatuated with Mona’s body than with the indigent felines. James and Mona then made a bee line back to the sanctuary of their original beach campsite. That’s their story and they’re sticking to it.

SPENCER BEACH PARK & THE BIG PENIS
Feb 4th thru 11th
Spencer State Park is known to be the nicest of all the islands’ parks. As I walked from the main road I noticed a lot of construction activity around the park. Work crews were rebuilding the site from the recent earthquake. With a little more walking I found the campsites and two sets of showers with toilets. Almost everyone there was from Alaska and had flown south to escape the cold winter weather. Danny a commercial fisherman from Alaska and his wife Brenda had been warming their bodies on the beach site for the past two months. For years his main catch was herring harvested for its’ roe, but now the cash crop was salmon. The Japanese youngsters appetites had moved on to Happy Meals and now turned up their noses to fish eggs which caused the market price of herring to bottom out.
Ron and his wife Camille with their kids Sirena, Olivia and Turner in tow were from Seldovia, Alaska. They originally had come to the island to work on an organic farm. They found the farm not meeting their expectations with cramped living quarters in a converted school bus. After a family meeting they had decided to come and stay at Spencer Beach for three months.
People from all over the world had taken up temporary residency at this beach which made for some interesting conversations. One woman and her ten year old son had a strange relationship. I could hear them talking in their tent late at night and it was wacky. One particular time this pre adolescent kid’s voice began to crackle as they walked by my picnic table and I heard the following exchange. “Son, your voice is starting to change.” said the mother. “ Is that right, well when is my penis going to start to grow bigger?” the son exclaimed.
On Monday morning Danny and I drove over to the harbor. I had met some paddlers from a local canoe club. For exercise they take 25 foot outrigger canoes out into the ocean three times a week. Our game plan was to go along. After a few introductions we were part of the club. Within a hour we spotted a few whales and the race was on. We got to within ten feet of these big boys. They would surface, look you over and then down they dove. One fella stuck his head under the water and tried to hear the whale talk. It could have been breakfast time for a Great White shark.
The campsite was a perfect place to spot whales and listen to them talking all night long. One of these times I saw a whale breech twelve times in a row!
On Feb. 12th the park would close for a several days for spring cleaning and painting. Time to move on and up to the mountain.

MAUNA KEA and THE BIRDS/COLD TABLE
Feb 12th &13th & 14th
There is a state park along the Saddle Road which leads to Mauna Kea mountain and I called to reserve a cabin. The ranger at the end of the phone informed me that I had to come to Hilo in person to make the reservation and also learned that the cabins were only available on the weekends and to make it totally impossible there was no running water.
Leaving Spencer State Park and reaching Waimea I discovered a B&B along the main road named the Jacaranda Inn. It was owned and operated by Mary Ellen. Operated very reluctantly I might add. The place was leased from the Parker Ranch estate and Mary Ellen had enjoyed fixing it up but she didn’t enjoy running it. A couple from Canada who were staying there had to practically show me to my room since Mary Ellen wasn’t there mentally or physically. The whole B&B had been remodeled with first class touches and had countless buildings and gardens.
The Canadian couple was interested in hearing about my travels so they invited me to dinner. Stan thought he had one up on me when he asked me if I had ever canoed in Algonquin Park, Ontario. “Oh you mean Burnt Island!”I said. “That’s not far from Pembroke Ontario.” I replied. Stan started to hit me with his menu. “I used to live in Pembroke, how do you know about Pembroke?” he yelled. “I used to run a hunting and fishing camp in Quebec just across from Pembroke.” I explained.
The next day I started up the dreaded Saddle Road with its narrow or nonexistent shoulders. This speedway is frequently used as a direct route to the Costco in Kona. The money must have been burning a hole in their pockets as they put peddle to the metal. With numerous blind curves I could hear the trucks and cars long before they came into view in this area of continuous grassland.
Right after lunch I came to a rise on the road and saw a small building with a water collector beside it. As I filled my water bottles I noticed a map of the Mauna Kea Forest Reserve with a hut located six miles down a back road. I had enough water to make it to the hut and back in case the hut lacked any agua.
Traveling along the dirt road I saw fields of yellow wild flowers and the silence was broken by the sound of a road grader. The operator running the grader told me that the hut did have water but the other huts located on my map had been torn down years ago. He also said the dirt road going around Mauna Lea continued for fifteen miles after reaching the hut.
After three hours of walking I found the little green hut with an antique wooden tank that was being fed rain from the roof. I opened up the door of the windowless building and saw a half inch of dust on the floor which I cleaned up with a pine bough.
As I was unloading my pack, I heard a truck pull up. I walked out and met a character named Dennis who was a sheep hunter from Kona. This man had more reliable information about the surrounding area. It was thirty five miles past the hut to the road, not fifteen, with no water along the way. He also informed me that there was a rough steep dirt road leading up the side of Mauna Kea with a elevation of 13,796 feet.
That night as the sun started to sink on the horizon the wild birds rose up with song. My feathered friends were trying to keep warm with songs as the temperature dropped instantly.
I slept on a big table in the hut off the drafty floor. Looking like the Pillsbury Dough Boy with all of my extra clothes on, I climbed into my sleeping bag.
The air is thinner and cleaner here on the mountain and I had a ringside seat for star gazing.
The next morning I got up before the sun and did a few bend and stretches around the cabin just to get the juices flowing. The city lights of Kona were so far below that I had the illusion of flying in a plane.
The ancient roof of the hut had a serious problem with rust which I found in my water container which added to my iron intake.
I was rewarded with a view of wild flowers and singing birds as I traveled the steep road up to the mountain. Late morning found me above the tree line with sweeping views in every direction.
The black rolling clouds were my curtain call for this excursion. With in minutes of high tailing it down to the main road I was rescued by a local.

THAT’S ALL FOLKS
Feb 15th & 16th & 17th
I returned for two days to Spencer Park and then walked my last 36 miles into Kona.
It’s dam near impossible to describe 48 days of adventure in 80 pages! I learned so much from my hosts as I toured their island. The diversity of the people and the landscape was the biggest surprise for me. Millions of years ago the island was a vacant volcanic rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Scientist are still scratching their heads trying to figure how all the critters migrated across the seas to the Big Island. Plants lived in harmony for centuries with the environment until the dramatic arrival of man, and then nothing remained the same.
Walking three miles an hour compared to driving at sixty increased the quality and quantity of my encounters ten fold. I spent an average of $16.50 per day for lodging which isn’t bad for a resort island such as Hawaii!