December 07, 2009

Page 1 - "...like there was lightning in my veins."

 

Ok then, back in the hotel room after a long day on Oahu.

Saw a few things, we did.

Waves were big, but not quite as big as I’d hoped.

Waimea didn’t quite fully close out.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m the first one up, coming awake without being prompted to do so, at 5:30am local time, which would be 10:30am Florida time. Works for me. Started putting myself together, and soon enough Jesse arises, and just as the gray light of dawn begins to filter down through the concrete canyons, we’re headed downstairs for the car.

Today’s plan is to head to the North Shore, by way of Sandy Beach, going the long way around on the Windward Side, showing Jesse various items of interest along the way. Such little heritage as I have on this island is tied to the Windward Side, and since I’ve never lived west of Sunset Beach, or south of Kailua, I’ll be on familiar ground the whole way. Suits the hell out of me. I like returning to this place, and whenever I’m on Oahu, I gravitate to the Windward Side.

Of course, plans notwithstanding, Hawaii had a little something of its own to say about the matter.

Clouds and rain.

And lots of it.

Phoo.

Rolling down the highway toward Hawaii Kai, and it’s gray and lowering and you can’t even see the Koolau mountains inland from Honolulu. Pshit.

But we press on, and I’m hoping that the notoriously fickle weather on this island may break, and allow Jesse to see some of this bitchin shit for herself.

First stop, the parking lot where you can see Turtle’s Reef way the hell and gone out in the middle of the ocean. I’m hoping the place will be breaking, but a good looking at through the binoculars (the sky remained gray and low, but the rain had very fortuitously stopped falling for the moment) reveals oddly glassy conditions with a light wind out of the north (uh oh, not good for the North Shore) but undersize waves with a pair of stand-up paddle guys out there, stroking into what looked to be waist to maybe titty high peaks that immediately kind of fizzled out and didn’t really go anywhere. Not real Turtle’s, by a long shot.

So ok, maybe we won’t ride it today then.

Down the road, with the rain returning, and stop at the Hawaii Kai Foodland to stock up on provisions.

I’m down for a variety of stuff, including a quart of chocolate milk and a pound of sliced ham.

Jesse looks at me like I have two heads, when she sees what I’m planning on eating today.

I laugh, and go right ahead, as per usual.

Back on the Kalanianaole Highway, up and past the entrance to Hanauma Bay, and down to that wonderfully wild stone and water between there and Sandy Beach.

But it’s gray, spitting rain, and it doesn’t look all that wonderful or wild.

We stop and give it a look at one of the pull-off places along the road, but it’s just not happening with the goddamned solid gray overcast and rain. Ocean’s gray and glassy, very unlike the typical extraordinarily deep blue with sideshore chop that it usually displays hereabouts. Oh well, maybe tomorrow, if the sun comes out.

Onward to Sandy Beach, and we pull in and park for a bit.

Rain’s stopped, once again, and there’s these chest-high occasionals coming in, with a most un-Sandy Beach appearance to them. Clean as a fucking whistle, in fact. There’s a small knot of people sitting where the bodysurfers usually chance the rocks, and most of them are on surfboards of all weird things.

High tide has helped (a little, just a little) in covering the exposed basalt for which this place is notorious, and the wave, when it comes in, is reeling perfection, or at least by Florida standards it is.

We watch a few rides, including a guy on a sponge who just gets absolutely perfectly slotted on one of the lefts, stays that way for a bit, comes out, and then does it once again for good measure, before pulling over the top, close to the shoreline sand.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

But we’re on a journey, and we cannot stay.

Back down the road toward Makapuu.

Stop at the very top, to give it a look, but the rain has returned and that’s not going to happen.

Ok, fine. Whatever.

And down past the beach park at Makapuu we go, and then head on up the Windward Side, beginning with Waimanalo.

The gray low clouds completely block any view of the Pali, which is a shame, ‘cause I wanted Jesse to see this thing.

Ah well.

Windward Side Oahu

Rough country, Windward Side

And we drive on, and I’m doing my best to get us through the turns and shortcuts that will take us past both Kailua and Kaneohe. I lived in Kailua once upon a time, but it was a very long time ago indeed, and I’m not sure I can get this done. Also, a lot can happen to change the look of things, and the roadways themselves, over the course of thirty five years.

But I pull it off, and away we go, past the Hygienic Store and then with Chinaman’s Hat visible in the far distance, across the placid waters of Kaneohe Bay.

Spooky. Way the hell out there. How big? I do not know. Kaneohe Bay. Ride if you want, nobody will ever be out there to bother you.

Mokolii

Round the corner out by the Hat, and we pull over into the beach park and stop and take a few photos.

We’re also looking to see if any of the big stuff is wrapping around and hitting over this way. Perhaps a bit of it is, but not much. Looks to be overhead out there, but exactly how much overhead is hard to tell with no humans to help judge scale, and the waves being so far out, breaking on the reef in the distance.

The rain has stopped, and the clouds have lifted a little, but the wind remains weird. Light, and still not a normal trade. The waves coming over in the far distance are weirdly clean. Most unusual for hereabouts.

Windward Side solitude

Chinaman's Hat

Kinda pretty around here, but around here is not what we’re really interested in.

Ok then, back in the car, and onward we roll.

Through Kaaawa, past Crouching Lion, around Kahana Bay, and up and past Punaluu, where I used to live for a time, all those decades ago. In my heart, I’m still a Windward Side guy.

Here and there, at various random places, it’s clear that the ocean has overwashed the road at some point earlier, despite the fact that there’s a very shallow reef a quarter to a half mile out, that expends almost every bit of each wave’s energy.

Roadway sign, helpfully enhanced by some creative soul with a few bits of surfwax

Smile for the camera!

Somehow, some of it is getting across that reef, across the calm water that intervenes, and causing a bit of mayhem against the low shore.

Interesting. Seen this sort of thing before around this place, but only a time or three in those four winters that I dwelled out here. Once, very late at night, driving home from my job at the bakery in Kailua, I encountered a wave that threw itself up into the air above my head and clear across the road, completely soaking my ratty-ass vw beetle with saltwater in the process. Fortunately, there were no bits of stone or coral in it, and the car and I both survived intact.

And on through Hauula and into Laie. Out on Laie Point, but the gray sky keeps it from looking as gorgeous as it can, and Jesse says, “Let’s go,” and we go.

Just the kind of stuff you'll see on the Windward Side. Kind of nice of 'em to include the CPR after all of the other fun is over and done with.

Through Kahuku, and around by the Rich Asshole enclave at Turtle Bay.

Fuck you, assholes.

Ok Jesse, we’re just about there.

Welcome to the North Shore

The North Shore.

Even if the wind’s a little weird, there’s definitely still waves to see.

Round the corner, and between the dips and rises along the cost, some serious whitewater is grinding along, way the hell out there.

Pull in at Sunset Beach to get our first proper look at things.

And now, finally, we get a good look at the ocean.

And it’s just BOOMING!

But not quite as big as I was hoping it would be.

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen waves this size before out here.

But goddamned, is it ever grinding along.

Sunset Beach as a proper surf spot does not exist and instead is a slow-motion frenzy of mountainous waves, with giant whitewaters relentlessly plowing shoreward from a mile out, crossing, heaving, and throwing spray in an awe-inspiring display of unfettered energy release.

There is no channel between Sunset and Kammies, both of which are completely overwhelmed by massive disorganized whitewaters and waves breaking more or less randomly, here and there, out to an absurd distance.

The air is thick with sea mist.

People all over the place.

Cars clogging the Kam highway.

The wind continues north, although not all that strong, but it’s enough to make the outer reefs unrideable.

No takers.

Very large waves.

Amazing display of energy.

The sound alone is worth the stop.

There is a very strong, very deep, base tone that pervades and underlies everything else.

The sound today is unmistakable and as always it’s unlike anything I’ve heard anywhere else, and for whatever reason, I just can’t get enough of it.

Nice to be hearing it again, today.

Jesse marvels at the churning ocean, but eventually she says, “Let’s go.”

We depart.

Down the road and traffic is thickening up rapidly.

Bumper to bumper.

I say, “Turn right here,” and we’re on Ke Nui road, jouncing in slow motion over the speed bumps, working the cramped narrows toward Ehukai beach park.

Pipeline.

Full North Shore circus swirls around us.

People walking, biking, riding, here, there, and everywhere.

As usual, there is a surprising number of spectacularly beautiful women around this rat-hole of a place. The rattyness and gorgeous women contrast strongly with one another.

Disheveled surfers everywhere.

Pipe Masters........under construction

Finally, we arrive at Ehukai.

And they’re setting up the scaffolding and shit for the upcoming Pipe Masters.

Did I say circus? I guess I meant to say Circus.

The machine is grinding away, and all of the participants, hangers on, spectators, idly curious, and those just passing through by chance are swarming, milling, pacing, standing, moving, and swirling around it.

We park the car, and are, for the moment, swept up into it.

Just a few steps to the dune line.

Pipeline, just like Sunset, does not exist.

Pipeline doesn't live here anymore

This is larger than it looks

Whacking-big waves are hitting at Outside Log Cabins, and further north along the outer reefs, and just overwhelming anything inside that might have at one time been a proper surfspot.

The normal place where Second Reef waves at Pipeline would be coming into the main part of the break is now just a kind of deranged shorebreak where bizarrely twisted and contorted mountains of water don’t quite back off, but sort of relax just a bit, before gathering themselves up into furious explosions of fume and whitewater.

That hole down there, down at the bottom, below the lip, is literally big enough to drive a large truck through.

People lined up, staring at it, trying to comprehend incomprehensible forces on display.

It’s nuts out there.

Once in a while, beneath all the cycloptic garble, you can see a wave or two that’s trying to gather itself together as a normal Pipe wave would, but it doesn’t stand a prayer.

Lost in the confusion doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Violent also doesn’t even begin to describe it.

The ocean is in a towering rage.

People on the beach are gawping and hooting as great surging masses of water detonate more or less right in front of them.

Helluva show.

Behind us, work proceeds on the contest scaffolding.

I take some shots of Jesse in front of it, and once again, it’s time to roll.

Traffic now has more or less slowed down to less than a walking speed.

Literally.

We inch in the direction of Waimea Bay.

I’m pretty sure nobody is going to be surfing there, ‘cause the north in the wind is just making a fucking mess out of it all over the place.

We finally inch down the road far enough to get to where you can see the ocean at Shark Cove.

Which is just insane.

Just fucking insane.

HUGE waves are coming in and detonating right on top of the exposed knife-edged rocks that line this bit of coast.

Our slow travel provides us with plenty of time to marvel at it, as set after psychotic set of giant waves hurl themselves to their foaming doom on the exposed rock.

Pretty impressive.

And, as it begins to dawn on me, it’s also getting more linear. More lined up. More organized looking.

Hmmm.

Perhaps the trade wind is attempting to reestablish itself?

Dunno.

The clouds have lifted and the rain has been gone for a while now and looks like it’s not coming back any time soon.

Hmm hmm hmm.

Inch to the corner of Pupukea Road, at the Foodland, and turn left at the traffic light.

Up the hill we go, headed to the heiau that sits above Waimea valley.

As we switchback up the cliff, the view of the ocean is very very impressive.

And, lo and behold, there’s people sitting in the lineup at The Bay.

It’s still pretty garbly looking, but it’s trying to get its shit together.

Very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Over the top and the road winds inland.

Take the turn and down the narrow pot-holed road to the heiau.

We wind our way through the haole koa, and finally reach the end of the road.

Maybe a dozen cars parked, and a few people milling around.

The heiau above Waimea.

The heiau broods inscrutably under a leaden sky.

Rough black basalt, uncut, piled into thick low walls and arranged in a large rectangle, with more rectangles of the same sort of stonework within. It’s large, maybe an acre or so in extent. You are left wondering who’s hands laid these unwieldy blocks of raw black stone, who oversaw the operation, what went down in this place, all those years ago, why, how, and a thousand other unanswerable questions.

On the side of the heiau away from the ocean, just beyond the outer perimeter of the mysterious rectangle, a bit of a shrine.

People have left offerings to their gods, whomever they may be, placed here.

Some food, a few trinkets, and even some U.S. banknotes.

I walk right past it, headed to the edge of the valley, to see what I might see from that vantage point.

Down and around a twisty path through the high grass. Don’t slip on the muddy, slippery ground. Might be a long way down.

From the heiau above Waimea

And wind up at the very end of the slick trail, to see a vista that looks across the sand at Waimea Bay, across to the other side and beyond.

In the distant ocean, massive gray walls of water erupt into churning white and march relentlessly shoreward.

The Kam highway is visible across the bridge, winding around the far side of the bay, and it’s solid cars and none of them look like they’re moving.

Helluva crowd down there.

I take a few shots, and so does Jesse.

Then it’s back up and away, and then down another, nearly-hidden little path through the grass that grows head high.

Waimea lineup from the heiau		Solo rider at Waimea		Two riders committed, while a third backs out

And at the end of this little path, plainly visible in the distance below, the lineup at Waimea Bay is clearly visible, complete with a knot of black human forms bobbing on top of their surfboards.

The guy in back is about to have a problem		The guy in front is still there, and he made this wave.

Well alright then, let’s have a look at this, shall we?

We shall indeed.

Jesse finds a spot, and the two of us shoot pictures and marvel at things.

Until a group of particularly clueless tourists discover our little hidden vantage point, and come barging in, yapping mindlessly about “surfers” and destroying the ambience of the place.

We beat a hasty retreat, and head back to the car.

Down the hill, back into the snarled traffic, and try to head to the Bay.

But it doesn’t last long and we decide to pull over, park, and see what we can do from here.

We’re not that far away.

Through the pine trees, the water can be seen moving.

Underneath it all, The Sound permeates everything.

Out of the car and walk under the trees, and directly in front of us great walls of water are destroying themselves against implacable rock.

Down the coast, to the left, just visible, the pack sitting and waiting to take the next drop ebbs and flows with the surge.

Elemental..........................................................		..............................Waimea................................		............................................................Sequence

Another		sequence

Jesse is flipping out over the size and power of the waves.

And with good reason.

So we stay here a while and shoot more pictures, marvel at the size and power of the waves, and just generally take it all in.

Then we decide to walk the rest of the way to the Bay.

Cars and people are just JAMMED all over the place.

This is a real scene.

Waimea shorebreak, absolutely furious and much bigger than you might imagine.

Finally round the corner and the beach at Waimea Bay can be seen across the water in the distance.

People EVERYWHERE.

More scaffolding in the distance on the sand.

This stuff is for The Eddie.

Which was considered for today, but declined.

The waves are supposed to hold size overnight and into tomorrow, and they may very well run it then.

Waimea Shorebreak. Black hole in a white ocean.

We might get to watch, if that happens.

In the crush of people, finding a spot to see the lineup and get a decent picture will be difficult, but we finally succeed.

We’re alongside the highway, well above the water of the bay, a few hundred yards seaward of the beach sand, and have a pretty good view of the entire spectacle.

Outside, the waves are less than fully clean, but they’re clean enough.

It’s gray and gloomy.

And the lines coming in are relentless.

And it’s big.

It’s not closing out, but it’s walling up all the way across.

Paddling out through the maelstrom of Waimea Bay on a large day.

Lefts on the opposite side of the bay are occasionally encroaching into water where you hardly ever see a breaking wave, well clear of the large rocks over on that side.

It’s actually bigger over on that side, but the exposed rocks preclude any surfing, or at least any surfing by people who might wish to remain alive following their session in the waves.

The energy is more focused over there than it is on the lineup.

But there’s plenty of energy bearing down on the lineup, nonetheless.

More than enough.

Way more than enough, in fact.

Sets come warping in from outside, and when they do, it’s respectable Waimea.

People are taking insane drops.

Sometimes they make it, and sometimes they don’t.

The crowd groans and hollers when someone takes a fall.

Inside, on the beach, the lifeguards have cordoned off the sand with yellow tape.

Once you step beyond the warning tape, you're on your own at Waimea Bay.

A very small number of serious-faced guys with long needle-nosed surfboards are the only ones permitted beyond the yellow tape. Some are standing, boards under their arms,  and some are sitting on the sand or hunkered down, staring out along the rocks that line the north side of the Bay, contemplating, considering, making themselves ready to deal with the titanic forces of nature that are nakedly unloading, directly in front of them.

These puny creatures have the unmitigated audacity to actually believe that they might succeed in turning a force that is fully capable of leveling a city, to their own use, hurling themselves down and across death-dealing water gone mad, for no sensible reason.

Used to do it myself, once upon a time, and I’ve never in my life been able to properly explain why I might have chosen to do such a thing, when asked about it.

Making the sign of the cross, just prior to entering the water at Waimea Bay.

They come, singly and in groups of two or three, and ready themselves at the water’s edge.

Occasional signs of the cross are made.

Waiting, timing, not wanting to deal with the wrong wave in the wrong place, they patiently wait it out before finally running down the last bit of sand, pushing the board on to the water’s surface beneath them, skimming a bit, and then paddling furiously to get through the shorebreak and clear of things before the next one comes.

There’s a LOT of water moving out there, and the rip is nothing to trifle with.

Right in the near corner of the bay from where I’m looking, on the Sunset Beach side, where sand meets black basalt, the rip sort of does a little counter-swirl, and for a bit, wants to run the wrong way, directly towards the exposed boulders and then back out to sea along the line of rocks.

But just seaward of that, the main force of things pushes the water in, across, and then back out into the middle of the Bay in a mass of disorganized wavelets covered by old brownish-yellow foam floating on menacing gray water.

Outside, a large set pours through and rides the like of which I cannot properly describe are gotten.

Waimea is one of those waves that unloads in a hurry, and things go from fat and low, to vertical and extra-sketchy in just a couple of seconds.

The wave more or less stumbles across an abrupt shallowing of the deep-water reef beneath it. It comes in, fat and low as I said, minding its own business in water that’s plenty deep enough to hold it, and all of a sudden it finds itself disemboweled, with nothing of substance down in the trough in front of it to gather a sufficiency of water with which to continue propagating, even as the great mass of Pacific Ocean water behind continues to blunder shoreward without a clue.

The result is a wave that just kind of caves in on itself, before it even has time to stand up and react like most waves do.

The effect, when paddling into one, is not so much that of the wave standing up behind you as it gets ready to break, but instead you get this fairly benign, not-too-steep, wall of water that has a bottom that wants to abruptly fall away from beneath you just as you gain enough speed to come to your feet and begin your drop.

The sonofabitch is extraordinarily deceptive, and it’s trying its best to catch you off guard.

In one instant, all is well, with a manageable-enough wave having an easy-enough slope to its face. In the next instant, the bottom has fallen completely away beneath you, the wave is suddenly much larger, faster, and more powerful than you at first apprehended, and you find yourself irrevocably in its grasp as you contemplate a sickeningly vertical precipice that you must somehow find a way to get down while remaining in contact with a surfboard that’s falling away from beneath your feet, even as the water beneath the surfboard is also falling away from beneath the board. If you hesitate, even for a blink, you run unpleasant odds of taking an overhand throw into free space, only to land out on the flat water lying in front of the wave, or perhaps becoming entrained within the lip and going over the falls. A nightmare pounding and hold-down will be your just reward in either of these circumstances. So you commit, as you must, and you’re well and truly in it, for good or for bad. You feel things go all light as the plummeting drop begins and the wave starts to form a canopy above you. The board may or may not skip clear of the wave’s surface. Your feet may or may not remain in contact with the board at all times. You may or may not pull this off, and if you do not, you’ll find yourself contortedly skipping like a stone down the face until the whole goddamned ocean comes avalanching down on top of you. The worst wipeout I ever took in my life occurred in this manner and it was very unpleasant indeed. But if you make the drop, you’re golden. Generally speaking, anyway. There’s still room for a slip up here or there, but, presuming you did not take off too deep and must perforce deal with lip hitting base out ahead of you somewhere, once you’ve reached the bottom of the wave, your chances for survival go way up, and the level of punishment for a mistake begins to fall off in a most agreeable way once the main detonation has spent its energy. And in just a few seconds, it’s all over and you find yourself pulling over the top of a much smaller, fatter, backed-off wave, a wave so fat and slopey that it can barely even keep you up and riding. Funny how things can change so drastically, in such a short period of time. And then you realize that you’re paddling back out to try to do it again.

Why?

I do not know.

The riders spring to their feet as quickly as they can, but it’s never fast enough.

The wave ledges vertical beneath them before they can properly get down into it, and they are forced into half surfing, half flying, and half falling, down the cornicing face, trying desperately to keep an edge and some fin in the water as they do so.

Boards come clear of the wave face at times, for an instant, or for a long sickening free-fall, and the riders sometimes make it and sometimes don’t. When they fall, they skip and tumble downward until the lowering canopy descends upon them and they are gone in an instant.

The miracle is that any of them pull it off at all.

And of course many do not.

The crowd on the beach gives voice to triumph and catastrophe by turns.

The ocean just mindlessly keeps on coming.

And the surfers continue to do battle with it.

Jesse is enthralled with it all, and occasionally lets me know that this brand name surfer or that one has just walked by, or just entered the water.

With my advancing age, I no longer pay so very much attention to the names and faces who grace the work that the surf media endlessly churns out, so I recognize no one.

But I watch what happens on the waves with keen interest, nonetheless.

People finish their session and try to ride the backed off waves as far toward the beach as they can, hoping to exit the maelstrom cleanly.

Some do, and some do not.

A pair winds up more toward the middle of the bay than they should, and find themselves paddling for all they’re worth, against the current that runs along the beach headed toward the diving rock on the far side of the bay.

I’m thinking they should just turn around, flow with the rip, do a lap around the interior of the bay, and then come in again on the near side closer to the rocks, and take another shot at it.

But they don’t .

The paddling goes on for a long time, in a continuous energy burn.

Outside, sets come and sets go, rides are taken and falls are made.

One of the two paddling against the rip finds a little crease in things, and manages to make it to the sand unscathed.

His buddy, on a yellow gun, is not so fortunate.

A soup hits him and he goes under and is immediately at the mercy of that small counter-current, which is now pressing him dangerously close to the exposed rocks over in the corner on the bay’s north side.

He fights his way clear, paddling against and across the current by turns, but now has to try to get back into position and make another go at it.

And in this manner, he enters a cycle of attempts to make it to the shore that do not work, getting disrupted by the next impact in an endless series of soups, followed by another near-escape from the exposed rocks, and then repeats.

Up in the crowd next to me, tourist fools laugh and guffaw when he’s once again taken off of his surfboard by the next oncoming soup.

These coarse-witted people think it’s funny.

They have no idea what’s really going on down there.

If this guy winds up on the rocks, it could easily kill him, and I find myself growing angry with the laughing idiots, but say nothing to them. What would be the point?

Washed up safely on the sand

Finally, after I do not know how many attempts, he gets it right and is washed up safely on the sand.

The crowd of more knowledgeable people cheer and clap as he comes to his feet in the thigh deep water.

And then, knowing what he’d been through, and having a light attitude about it, he gives everyone a full two-armed claim, as if he’d just come out of a tube on the outside break.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

He gathers himself together, walks up the sand just a bit, and then kneels down and makes the sign of the cross on himself.

He’d just had a damn close call and he knew it.

Outside, the sets rumble on, and people are grappling with forces far beyond their power to do much more with than merely hang on and hope for the best.

Stoked

A rare female surfer at Waimea finishes her session and also runs into some trouble with the counter current, but only does two or three repeats before finally hitting it right. At the last bit she remains on top of her board, and along the back of a larger surge, a very small wave presents itself in a way that lets her catch it safely to the sand. And, at the very last, still riding this tiny wave just off the beach, she drops into a full headstand, rides for a bit, and then plops off the side in the sandy shallowness. Getting up, grabbing her board, and walking out, the crowd applauds and cheers her.

She looks stoked, coming in from her session out there.

Sets continue to pour through outside, and the spectacle goes on.

This place is really impossible to describe.

We spend more time marveling, and then it’s time to head back.

And we return the same way by which we came, around the North Shore by way of Sunset Beach and then down along the windward side of Oahu.

After what we’d seen, there really wasn’t much for either one of us to say about it, although Jesse manages to hand me a truly marvelous phrase that I immediately decide to steal, the instant it comes out of her mouth. As we were driving, somewhere around the area of Ehukai beach park, she’d asked me, as have many others over the years, why did I ever choose to go out there and ride those kinds of waves, and as I was stammering and fumbling through some kind of half-assed non-explanation, she offered that perhaps it made me feel like there was “lightning in your veins.”

Yes Jesse, that’s exactly it.

It made me feel like there was lightning in my veins.

Exactly.

The clouds lifted enough to see the Koolau’s clearly, and as we headed toward Kaneohe and Kailua, the Pali was it’s usual hulking spectacular self.

We took the Pail Highway back across, and down into town.

As we crossed the ridge line at the top, we passed into cloudless blue skies and sunshine.

The weather around here has a mind of its own, no doubt about it.

We’d wanted to surf at Waikiki, but by the time we got back to the hotel, it was closing in on sunset, and did not get to do so.

I’ve been holed up in the room writing, ever since, and Jesse has been taking in the sights and sounds of Town.

She’s back now, and I’m just about done with this marathon writing session. It’s time to download the pictures from my camera into this machine.

Haven’t even looked at ‘em yet.

Think I’ll stop now.

More tomorrow.

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Hawaii, December 2009, Contents MacLaren's Images & Stories