ALOHA HUKILAU

Arriving at dusk over the glowing lamplights of Honolulu sends a sense of revived red-eyed travels to Florida on business trips in past life. Burning amber bulbs roll by like sprites in the night as we make our way along the Kamehameha Highway, Northbound next to the bitter black well of ocean ink that crashed into foamy lines on the coast. Stifled in the tiny room with no AC I fled to the patio, gawking in uneasy fascination of the seemingly massive waves that bellowed relentlessly onto the beach some twenty yards away from the back yard. It’s strange to be out here, where normally are mountains in my periphery I can now only see the silhouettes of tree cover, clouds, and an abyss that stretches beyond comprehension. “I need some sleep”, I think, amazed as well at the measly 8PM hour reading emanating from my wrist. 


Just as the shock of an early night fades, the sound of rolling waves luls me into an easy slumber, humid but cooled by the ocean breeze, and I’m out cold until the faint glow of daylight breaks through the loosely curtained windows. Rising before the sun isn’t something I’m able to do often back East–in itself a terrifying statement since I’ve always lived in the “Intermountain West”--but the rising sun bursting into a volcanic fury of citrus orange, gold, and dragonfruit magenta are a sight that puts everything back into perspective. Especially so when my eyes finally catch the light on the glittering waves of Hukilau beach on the Oahu island; North Shore, as I’m told, is a remarkable place of glowing soft sand and cerulean tides. 


Walking through a gate down to a beach is a sensation whose remarkable rarity hits me like a sack of bricks, or more appropriately, like jumping mid-air into a boogie-board with a rolling wave already pushing it’s mighty force into my lungs. I never thought I would make it to Hawai’i, or any other tropical island for that matter. I had for my entire life consigned myself to the trout-laden streams and treeless basins of the Uinta Highlands, happily, until I was given the opportunity to fly out on a tri-annual vacation with my new in-law-to-be family. But here I am now, stepping out onto beach side property and making my way down to warm waves, crabs, jellyfish and sea turtles. 


I would have been more than content with just this as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something that I would tell my grandchildren about one day if I make it so far, but the ride had only just begun. Over the following 10 days, I would snorkel with massive schools of fish, be ripped by tides and cut open by lava rock, zipline over local farms from which I would buy my produce, explore tropical gardens, and pick up glowing algae along the beach during moonless strolls with my beloved betrothed. So many experiences packed into what I initially feared would be far too long of an experience has left me feeling like I’ve only scratched the surface of what this beautiful place can offer, whose rich and vibrant culture is something no film, book, or photo can capture. Everyone here has a story, and my time in Hawai’i has been more than enough to stir a sudden observation that these places deserve respect, love, and protection just the same as the wild lands of my more typical alpine adventures take place: somber reminders of our impact in these places take center stage when you look closer at the beaches littered with shreds of plastic, listen to stories of private land acquisitions, and learn about the impacts of military presence on local wildlife.


I’ve found myself observing that this is the first time I’ve been in a place whose culture and traditions I am completely foreign to, and I’m glad to say it’s felt like a genuinely heartfelt welcome. I’ve grown up with so many Germanic, Hispanic, and Native American cultural influences all around me back in Utah that I’ve found a sense of homeliness in them, from the cuisines to the celebrations to the friends and families that have taught me and shared with me all that they have to give. Here it’s all new, and these people have had to tread some tough trails to get the recognition they deserve. There’s elements of a corporate comodification of the experience, and I’d be lying if I didn’t feel an allure to giving into it. You can’t go on an island vacation and not buy a cheesy island shirt, right? Hallucinations of a Disney experience in places like the Polynesian Cultural Center could be enough for one to question whether it’s right or wrong to take joy from the experience of what appears to be a lifestyle for sale–the worst of which is on full display in the excess of gluttony and tourist wealth that is Waikiki–but I think that it’s more of a trap to fall into that mindset at all; This place is a celebration of life, and the people here are not afraid to show it. They will tell you about the hardships, but they will also share the love and joy they’ve found along the way, and that by spreading knowledge about that history, the heritage just grows stronger.  


Just as I’ve found a respect and adoration of this new strange place my life has brought me to, I’ve learned to acknowledge that it would never be a place I would permanently belong in. My place is among the pines, in the cold, with fires and axes and fly rods and hammocks. But I will always yearn to return, to come again and experience more of what this place has to offer, and how I can add those lessons to the toolbelt of knowledge I carry with me. 


When I first arrived at the Hukilau House I was given some of the most pertinent advice I think I could ever receive on an escapade of the nature, one that I meditated on every day that I ran along the sunkissed beaches and star-lit nights. It was a lesson on the concept of time on the islands, and the futility of wearing any kind of timekeeping apparatus around your wrist. It seems like the entire island operates with a different treatment of the passage of hours and sunlight that goes a little something like this:


Time flows like the waves out here, so it’s best to take off your watch and let the tide take you where you go.

the Shrek cloud

Zeus of the Road