My family and I lived on Oahu from 2000-2005. We were able to explore the Big Island only once with a 2.5 year old Oliver in tow. Ben was also with us, but we weren’t aware of it yet. He was born 8.5 months later. My first observation of the youngest island of the Hawaiian archipelago is this….the Big Island is BIG! It is also wildly different from Oahu in countless ways. I’m excited about this. I am building a new life in a place that feels like home, but everything is new and there’s A LOT of driving involved.
Where Kings are Born
On my first trip out of quarantine I went to explore the Kohala region, the northern-most tip of the island. The Big Island is composed of five major volcanoes. The Hamakua section of coastline was formed by Kohala Mountain, the oldest and most eroded of the five. Aside from being breathtakingly beautiful, it is also the birthplace of the Great King Kamehameha – not a small detail. I won’t go into a Hawaiian history lesson here, but it isn’t a stretch to say this is sacred land.
The wet side of this region is marked by 7 distinct lush valleys bookended by the Waipiʻo (“curved water”) and Pololū (“long spear”) Valleys. My one day adventure to the end of the world took me to both. I drove through the town of Hawi – quintessential sleepy Big Island village. It looks like it hasn’t changed much in 50 years. When the sugar cane industry shut down, this little hamlet hung on with small shops and a thriving artist community. I’m sure it’s a tourist mecca on a normal day, but I’m grateful to be wandering during this odd and peaceful time. I stopped in to a local coffee joint for an iced latte with a compostable straw. The proprietor thanked me warmly for the business. Most shops are still shuttered.
Waipi’o Valley Lookout
Visiting Waipi’o Valley beyond the lookout involves a boss 4 wheel drive vehicle, a 40% incline and the possibility of unhappy locals scolding unwanted visitors. My borrowed Honda Civic and newbie status meant staying put at the lookout 500 feet above. I can’t fathom what a drive that steep actually looks like, but enjoyed pondering the lifestyle of the few who are blessed to live in its folds. I’ll make it down there at some point, but it will be a while before I’m considered a local. I will be a haole forever.
The Hills are Alive with the….
The drive from Waipi’o to Pololū winds through paniolo (Hawaiian cowboy) country. Apparently British Captain George Vancouver brought King Kamehameha a boatload of cows back in the day. Good ol’ European colonization at its best. Arrive bearing non-native gifts and what happens? They proliferate. This got sorted out eventually with some guest cowboy experts and this region now boasts a robust ranching industry amidst gloriously beautiful neon green rolling hills. I’ve never seen a landscape like it. I had to fight urges to pull over and run singing “Sound of Music” style through the hills. I’m clearly still giddy at my quarantine freedom. I’m pretty giddy about everything really.
The Magic of Pololū
The final destination of Pololū just about made my head explode. Is there enough room in there for all this tropical perfection? I’m alive to write this, so my skull has served the purpose of containing the overflow of joy. The tiny parking lot at the trailhead sits 500 feet above a black sand beach and miles of carved, curving, stark and wild coastline. An easy but steep hike leads straight down to magic.
An ironwood forest carpeted in thick green waxy undergrowth borders the black sand beach. A band of heavily weathered driftwood logs is strewn willy nilly along its entire length. I attempted to walk end to end on logs only without feet touching the sand – a most excellent balancing game. Essential to engage the core.
I had the entire valley to myself minus one or two human specks in the distance, but there is evidence of many playful visitors. Rounded lava rocks border ethereal trails through the forest, concentric rings, gigantic spirals begging to be yellow brick road followed. There are giant driftwood tee-pees, Gilligan’s Island huts, rope swings here and there, a cargo net hammock strung high in the canopy. It’s the kind of place where one might expect to see fairies flitting about, or a mythical creature or two. Menehune are the small tricksters of Hawaiian legend – they live there too, I swear.
Not once in my adult life have I felt so instantly whimsical and playful. The aforementioned urge by the roadside to run leaping and singing was indulged upon with complete abandon. When there’s a rope swing waiting in a magical land, you must swing.
