Big Island, Big Spirit

Sometimes the truest beauty is the least obvious,

especially on the Big Island, Hawaii.

By Terence Loose

M

y first sight of the Big Island was, I suspect, like most first timers to this island; confusing. As the Hawaiian Airline pilot banked for what was supposedly Kona International Airport I witnessed an island apparently void of more than 20 palms (and these were in suspiciously uniform patterns), but rich in barren dark rock and straw-like grass. My first thought was that the pilot had taken a wrong turn somewhere around the 23rd parallel and was now about to drop us on a desolate Mexican isle. This was not the Hawaiian paradise I had been playing through my mind for the past month - the one where I could get lost in tropical rain forests, sip mai tais under a coconut palm on an empty beach, or finally have time for that psychedelic tropical sunset.
But once on the tarmac, all signs confirmed that I had made it to the southern-most and biggest island of the major Hawaiian chain: An abundance of sunburned and lei-laden tourists wearing "authentic" Hawaiian shirts pushed around twice as much carry-on baggage as when they had arrived. I was in Hawaii, all right - tourists never lie.
I moved on, 20 minutes north along the west coast to the South Kohala District, along which the Big Island's premiere resorts exist. They take advantage of this coast's almost perfect weather. Thanks to the massive size of the Big Island - at 4,000 square miles, twice the size of all the other islands combined - the trade winds, along with the up-slope showers associated with them, are blocked most of the day. This results in virtually year-round sunshine, just 15 inches of rain per year and a consistent 80ish degree temperature. By contrast, it's the other side of the island, the windward town of Hilo, which averages 150 inches per year and holds the National Weather Service record for most rainfall in one year - a drowning 22.3 inches.
These five-star oases are few and far between, however - just eight resorts along 20 miles. The majority of the space is covered with the island's most predominant feature: acres of black and brown, jagged and tumbled lava rock. At times, the paths of devastating flows is evident and in places the sight of three miles of barren rock dead-ending into dark blue sea seems more desolate than any desert.
These dry lifeless sights drove me - as most things do - to the water. I pulled into the empty parking lot of Kukio beach, just south of the new Four Season's five-star resort. After a quarter-mile walk across a deserted crescent-shaped white-sand beach, I arrived at the edge of a lava rock point, studied the water and thought, "I bet I won't see ten fish." But the sun was still high and warm as I snapped my mask and snorkel into place, entered the 76 degree water and pulled on my fins.
Twenty minutes later, a few hundred yards offshore, I discovered just how wrong I can be. Hovering at 15 feet below the surface, I watched as rainbow-colored parrotfish, sunshine-hued butterfly fish, blue-finned trevallies and every other fish on the Hawaii Fishwatcher's Guide glided past me against a backdrop of yellow, green and purple coral fields. Minutes later I swam in sync with a green sea turtle for 100 peaceful feet.
Standing back on the beach two hours later, again staring at the point where massive brown lava chunks met the radiant blue sea, it all made sense. Those rocks weren't indicative of desolation or lifelessness; they were hard evidence that this island is still growing. Now, I saw an island erupting with what the Hawaiians call mana, or spiritual energy. They believe it exists in everything from man to rock, and the beauty of the Big Island's sharp contrasts was making me a believer. It was really no surprise that this, the chain's youngest island, had it's highest mountains and was the birthplace of its greatest alii (chief), Kamehameha the Great. Hawaii is, simply, a place of extremes; nothing is done on a small scale on the Big Island. And a lot can be done.

Day Two: The Fires of Pele
Each year, over a ton of lava rocks are returned to the Hawaii Volcanoes National Park office. They are sent from thousands of the over one million tourists who visit the park each year who tempt the temper of the goddess Pele and take a free souvenir. They come with stories of tragedy and bad luck and a request to give the stones back to their rightful owner. All this sounds ridiculous until you visit the park, which is located on the island's southern edge, and is home to the world's most active volcano, 4,000-foot-high Kilauea.
In spite of the hordes of photo-frenzied tourists, my first site of Halema'uma'u Crater was an isolating experience. I was lost to the ashy grays and blacks and crusty browns that stretched for miles to create a virtual moonscape. Luckily, there is more to do than just watch. Many hikes are possible, ranging from an easy one-miler along Devastation Trail to arduous seven milers that descend to the floor of Kiluea's summit caldera, visit the site of the '82 eruption and loop back through tropical rainforests.
Janet Babb, a geologist with Hawaii Volcano GeoVentures, lead me through the park. She pointed out the two different types of lava - 'a'a, which is rough and chunky and pahoehoe, which, because of its smooth crust, resembles Volkswagen-sized chocolate brownies fresh out of the oven - led me through Hawaii's largest lava tube, a quarter-mile black tunnel, and pointed out everything from "lava trees" to steam vents. But the most inspiring sight came again with a view of contrast, at coastal Kamokuna, where 90,000 gallons of 2,000-degree lava meets 76-degree ocean water every minute. A plume of steamy gas rises like a wildfire raging at water's edge, pushed along the coast by warm trade winds. Here, the Big Island is getting bigger by the day.
To get to the sight, a hike of at least four miles over jagged lava rock is required. Care must be taken, however. "The combination of the extremely hot lava and cool sea water results in hydrochloric acid," explained Babb. "Also, slivers of lava glass are released into the air." If the trade winds calm or an onshore breeze builds, the hiker is in danger of breathing this, so unless you're ready to smoke the equivalent of a couple packs of menthol cigarettes, go with a guide.

Going Higher on Day Three
The goddess' Pele's great rival, the beautiful snow goddess of the mountains named Poli'ahu, lives at the top of 14,000-foot Mauna Kea, home to some of the world's best telescopes and tropical skiing. The newest addition, the W.M. Keck Observatory, has the power to see stars 14 billion light years away and is revered by astronomers the world over. But this world above the clouds is not only for scientists to enjoy a clear view of the heavens. After an hour stop at 9,000 feet to acclimate, a drive through barren red, volcanic cone-rich land to the summit reveals a sky seemingly more populated with stars than dark space. Up here, in some of the earth's purist air, breathtaking sights of planets and distant stars are guaranteed to stun you into silence. In the true spirit of the island, it's a window to the past.

Back to the Source on the Fourth Day
One other underwater experience deserves mention: night diving with manta rays off the Kona coast. As with any adventure that depends on nature for entertainment, the risk exists that nature decides to sleep in. In short, we got skunked on our dive. But according to most dive operators, the chances are better than 50/50 that the mantas come out. And, in truth, the spectacle of 30 divers weighted down for negative buoyancy and huddled around an underwater light in prayer position was almost freaky enough to warrant the bumpy hour-long boat ride. The light attracts plankton and the plankton attracts mantas, explained the guide.

Day Five: Kayaking, from the Mountains to the Sea
On the Big Island, offshore kayaking can't be beat. Solitude and great views are virtually guaranteed, as is a good workout. I launched from the Mauna Lani Resort and was guided by Beach Boy (actual title) Gary Medina, a true waterman who competes in open ocean outrigger canoe races regularly. Unfortunately, we got a late start and by the time we left the beach the wind had switched: it was blowing from the exact direction we wanted to go. Fortunately, I'm a sailor, so I'm used to that sort of thing. For the next hour, we bashed to windward and finally landed at a little cove he calls Heart's Beach because it's a favorite with honeymooners. After a refreshing snorkel, we caught the tailwind back and I caught up on what I had missed: panoramic views of the coast, coral heads 30 feet below and a few sea turtles.

Flying High on Day Six
I'm not into helicopters; they seem uniquely designed not to stay in the air, so when I found myself relaxed 1,000 feet over the Pacific on a Mauna Kea Helicopter’s tour, I knew I was witnessing something special. It was the Hamakua Coast, on the windward side of the island, a place that easily rivals Kauai's famous Na Pali coast. Our pilot flew into V-shaped valleys in which waterfall-studded walls climbed to 2,000 feet. It's also the first place I've ever seen a waterfall actually fall into the sea. The pilot pointed out coastal lava tubes which he said were filled with human skulls and bones. "They are the sacred burial grounds of ancient Hawaiians," he told us, adding that Manu, the shark god guards them. By day, Manu is a shark, by night, a man. "They say a pilot tried to land his helicopter there long ago to let tourists explore. But he crashed." Somehow, in the shadow of one of the most beautiful coastlines I've ever seen, I almost believed in Manu.
On my last day on the island, exhausted and reeling from all I had seen and done, I went down to where I had first discovered the Big Island's magical diversity. I spent a few hours diving with the turtles and unicorn fish again. Then, as a fat bullethead parrotfish lazily swam into the crosshairs of my 38-inch speargun, I realized that I hadn't pulled the trigger once in a week. Mainly, I didn't have a way to cook the fish, and I couldn't imagine the Hilton chef - normally accustomed to lightly searing sushi-grade ahi - agreeing to fry up a parrotfish filet for a salty surfer. So, I watched as lunches and dinners swam safely by.
On the beach I met Pa'ea, a local teenager who was diving with his father and younger brother for taco (octopus) for an upcoming party. After transferring a net full of the animals into an ice chest, Pa'ea pulled one out and put it on his back. The octopus hung their like an eight-strapped Jell-O backpack as Pa'ea swam in the shallows. After a few minutes, with his younger brother looking on, he dove a few feet under the surface near a rock outcropping; when he came up the octopus was gone. I asked him what he was doing. "We caught too many," he said. "So we put one back. I take him for a little ride and when he sees a whole he likes, he just jumps off." He told me of fish that were kapu (taboo), when to watch for man-o-war jellyfish and the best times and places to hunt edible fish. I asked him about sharks. "You'll see reef sharks, but they won't give you any trouble. If you see a tiger shark, though, give him the fish and get out of the water," he said. His knowledge and respect of the ocean and its creatures was natural, not studied, and reflected the Hawaiian's historic reputation as a people in harmony with the sea. He understood moderation was a self-serving discipline, but wouldn't explain it that way.
I asked him about the resorts. He said he was glad there was still so much undeveloped oceanfront, but he was afraid of it becoming like Honolulu. "These resorts are okay," he said. "Since the sugar cane business left, we need them. They're mellow, the beach is still good and it's not overfished like Honolulu."
Above everything else, Pa'ea was truly proud of his island and his heritage. In one short conversation with him the welcoming spirit of generations came through. Even when confronted by an inquisitive haole tourist wielding a camera in one hand and a speargun in the other, he was eager to share.
Later, on the flight home, the truth hit. More than the warm water diving, the volcano hiking, the helicopter rides and the five-star resorts, the people are why you should visit the Big Island of Hawaii.

Going First Class?
The Big Island is "softcore adventure" at its best, a place where you can play hard by day and kick back in a luxury resort by night. Here's what to expect from each of the Kona-Kohala coast's resorts:

The Four Seasons
The 1996-built Four Seasons is the coast's newest and was carved from the rough landscape formed in the 19th century Hualalai eruptions. The Four Seasons boasts a Jack Nicklaus-designed golf course, eight tennis courts and everything from T'ai chi classes to traditional canoe sailing. (888) 340-5662.

Kona Village Resort
So you're looking to go native and escape the daunting pace of your mainland life? This 82-acre resort features 125 thatched-roof bungalows (na hale) that don't feature phones, TVs, alarm clocks, radios or air conditioning. Enjoy the first-class island sounds and breezes instead. A favorite since its 1965 opening. (800) 367-5290.

Outrigger Waikoloa Beach
Fronting the wide white-sand beach of 'Anaeho'omalu Bay, the Outrigger recently completed a major renovation. The Big Island Outrigger, which features golf, tennis, and every water sport imaginable, reflects an elegant deco style reminiscent of '30s and '40s Hawaii. (800) 922-5533.

Hilton Waikoloa Village
This resort is huge, weighing in with 1,240 guest rooms in a private fantasy world. From the lobby, electric boats or trams take guests to rooms and attractions, which include swimming with dolphins, a world-class art collection, a meandering lagoon, and many pools and restaurants. (800) 445-8667.

Mauna Lani Bay Hotel
With 92% of its 350 well-sized rooms commanding ocean views, this resort takes full advantage of Hawaii's favored feature, its coast. In addition, there are five 4,000-sq.-ft. bungalows with private swimming pools and butler service. Three miles of secluded shoreline fronts the hotel. (800) 367-2323.

The Orchid at Mauna Lani
A true contender for having the best beach - and coolest Beach Boys - on the Kohala coast, The Orchid offers guests easy access to all water sports. One truly inspiring feature is the traditional Koa double-hulled sailing canoe, a sight topped only by a sail in it. (800) 845-9905.

Mauna Kea Resort
Two world-class resorts - the original Mauna Kea Resort and the new Hapuna Beach Prince Hotel - are the result of Laurence S. Rockefeller's 1960s vision to build a first-class oasis on the then-unknown Big Island. He succeeded. The beach fronting the Mauna Kea is widely revered as the island's best, and for good reason. It's a perfect crescent-shaped soft-sand cove with bordering coral reefs. The completion of Rockefeller's dream is The Hapuna Prince, a modern version of the Mauna Kea just south. Both have accommodations that maximize breezes and views. (800) 882-6060.

For information on the Big Island of Hawaii, call The Big Island Visitor's Bureau at (808) 961-5797 (www.bigisland.org) or the Kona-Kohala Resort Association at (800) 318-3637 (www.kkra.org). þ

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