Enjoying the Scenery, Counting the Numbers

This morning's sunrise over Kauai

Today marks 50 days on the island.

Little did we understand the implications of a budding world-wide pandemic when we arrived. We soon found out.

"Kauai is now on vacation," pronounced the Mayor of Kauai several weeks ago when he initiated a night curfew. He subsequently closed resorts, beaches and placed any new arrivals on the island on 14-day quarantine. Nearly all businesses have shuttered.

Last Sunday there was not a single new arrival to the island.

Four cases of Covid-19 were reported here last week. That number remained the same as of yesterday. One Covid-related death has been counted.

We have been hunkered down under war-time restrictions in our little condo from which we have a glimpse of the Anini Reef some 200-feet below. North-easterly Tradewinds blow off the water, up the pali, to keep us cool, nature's own thermostatic air-conditioner.

We are surrounded by plumeria trees now flowering with springtime petals in shades of purple, white and pink. Two Puakenikeni trees with sweet fragrances oozing from yellow-orange flowers decorate our front yard. Plumeria and Puakenikeni flowers are the most popular for making beautiful Hawaiian leis.

Hedges with white, red and yellow hibiscus serve as landscape borders. Tall trees with bright green leaves and reddish-orange Poinciana and Lehua flowers brighten tropical forests that grow in culverts shaped by streams that tumble into the sea from the mauka-side green-blue carpeted mountains.

Sunrises are especially colorful. I rush outside early to capture their splendorous effects that shift as quickly and subtly as a shark moves through water. The photos, each of which is slightly different, never do justice to the real picture.

The photo I captured of the shark attacking the dolphin (see Mother Nature's Way) went viral on Facebook. That rare snapshot of natural predation has been "shared" by more than two-times the number of friends I have on FB.

Shark attacks dolphin in Hanalei Bay

I told Barbara, a FB skeptic: "My photo has been shared by 75 people!" That was Sunday afternoon.

She scoffed. As if to say, "So what?"

"I think it will reach 100 shares," I said. "Do you realize that means that each of those shares will reach all of the "friends" of those who shared it!"

By Monday morning the photo had been shared by 250 people.

"Look! It's going to reach 300 easy."

I felt as though I were playing a slot machine whose numbers were lining up with "sevens."

My skeptical wife began to take notice.

As of this morning that photo has been shared by nearly 450 people! I only have 200 friends.

I am just a simple man sitting on a tropical island enjoying the scenery, with nothing else to do.

When the Rooster Doesn't Crow at Dawn

The silence at night has become a black hole since our neighborly rooster has taken up residence elsewhere.

Wake up in the wee hours and it sounds as if the planet has stopped spinning; adrift in a netherworld between light and shadow, between sound and stillness, between thought and dream, where the subconscious is turned upside down and when you step out of your bed your feet land on a floating surface devoid of purchase.

At least that's the feeling.

The whole shebang -- from the quarantine wars to the topsy-turvy leadership at the helm -- would make the late, great Rod Serling raise a dark eyebrow and turn the corner of his mouth into a smug, sardonic smile.

Ladies and gentlemen, enter, if you will, The Year 2020.

The rooster who found a home in the fragrant Puakenikeni tree below our window has moved on, flown the coop. The 2:30 am cocka-doodle-do is no longer a lone cry in the night.

"Maybe chickens are nomadic," I offer.

"Maybe the Chicken Lady took care of him," Barbara replies.

One of the frequently discussed theories around here is that she relocates the roosters to control the prolific chicken population.

"Where does she take them?" I ask.

"I heard that she takes the roosters to the old Club Med ruins above the bay."

Concrete wall remains of Club Med Resort

Those ruins, concrete bulwarks tangled in vines, are found along a little-traveled path to a small beach mostly swallowed up by ironwood trees and their woody branches. It is also near the site of the once famed, now disappeared Hanalei Plantation resort.

If one believes in spirits of the past, perhaps ancestors who rued the oncoming of tourists during the Fifties and Sixties, this would seem a likely place for ghosts.

The path is one of our walking trails where we're more likely to see a lone surfer carrying a board or a local fisherman looking for quiet spot from which to throw his net.

"I haven't seen many chickens there,"I say.

"That is strange," she agrees.

"Maybe someone is smuggling roosters into the hills for cockfighting?"

We both look at each other without words, blank eyed, not wanting to go there.

This morning while sipping my first cup of coffee I see the familiar black-brown-and-white rooster strutting like he owns the place near our front door and the Puakenikeni tree.

I couldn't have been dreaming.

Mother Nature's Way

A shark strikes a dolphin in Hanalei Bay

The quiet beauty of a leisurely Friday on the shore of Hanalei Bay was suddenly and unexpectedly disrupted yesterday by a reminder from Mother Nature.

She refuses to comply with our thoughtful human considerations of social distancing, quarantine and all the rest of the protocol of living during a world-wide pandemic.

Although you can bet she's paying attention. Her children of the sea no doubt have noticed a quieter ocean. I'm sure they sense a difference, not having their kingdom ruffled by screams and shouts of frolicking humans near shore.

They likely appreciate the paucity of sea-going cruise vessels that appear to us like big buildings on water. In the vastness of the mighty Pacific, these ships must seem rather minuscule compared to what's going on in deep waters. Yet their approach to harbors must wreak havoc.

Now that the good vibrations we create for ourselves have receded, the ocean inhabitants must feel somewhat liberated, as though their neighborhood has expanded, or maybe returned.

Itching to break out from our overly familiar four same walls, we decided to walk the long strand of beach at Hanalei Bay. Walking is allowed. Spreading out a space on the sand or underneath the shade of an ironwood tree is not. Walkers may also take dips into the pristine water, now as clear as it was during my first visit in 1968.

The beach runs about one mile in length. A westerly breeze kept us from over-heating in the near 80-degree air. Still, a dunk in the bay was a mandatory refresher before heading home.

"What's that floating in the water?" asked Barbara.

"I thought it was an over-turned foam board, but it looks like a dolphin."

"You sure it's not a shark? Look at that fin. It's alone. Dolphins swim in pods."

There was no one nearby to ask for confirmation. We were alone with the floating creature with a dorsal fin pointed skyward.

We exited the water and stepped on the beach as a young couple walked by and entered the water.

Do they see the dolphin? I wondered. Should I point it out to them?

Soon it was obvious that they did not at first notice the sea creature. When the guy did spot it, he began to move toward it. Some people want to get as close to sea animals as possible. I've seen this in Santa Cruz when whales appear in Monterey Bay.

It's a wonder that more people don't drown. Most who do are visitors unfamiliar with the ocean.

Sensing the guy's approach, the dolphin swam slowly away from him in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, breaking the calm hula of gently swaying water, the dolphin was thrown above the surface amidst a shower of splashing red-tinged sea water. A cold-blooded shark had taken the warm-blooded mammal.

In less than 20-seconds the skirmish was over and a pool of blood spread as though gallons of red paint had been spilled into the blue water. It was as if we were watching a National Geographic special live and in person!

The couple scurried to the beach. Barbara watched. I grabbed my iPhone to get a photo.

It became obvious that the shark had one target in mind. It did have a choice. A lone swimmer had passed through just before the attack.

When a lifeguard arrived in a dune-buggy, he said it was likely the same dolphin that had been spotted earlier outside the bay.

"It already had a few chunks taken out of it." He guessed the predator to be a bottom-swimming Hammerhead Shark.

Following the attack, I watched the wounded dolphin swim slowly toward deeper water. The satisfied shark split the scene without a ripple.

It Takes Mana to Make 95

Bettelu turns 95

O Kalapana kai leo nui
Ua Lono ka uka o Holei
He ua la Kalapana e
Kuli wale, kuli wale y ka leo
He leo no ke kai e

It is Kalapana the great-voiced sea
the uplands of Holei listened
Roaring is Kalapana
Deafened, deafened indeed by the voice
it is the voice of the sea
                                 -- O Holei, translated by Pueo Pata, originally recorded by Hui Ohana


I heard this traditional Hawaiian song on the radio this morning driving home from Hanalei Bay amid the island's splendor. They say that every Hawaiian mele has a secret meaning.

I get chicken skin whenever I hear this rarely played mele sung in Hawaiian. The pace is slow. It reminds me of a religious hymn I may have sung in church when I was young. It imparts spirituality. The Hawaiians call it mana, an energy of spiritual power.

Coincidentally, today is my mother-in-law Bettelu's 95th birthday. One must possess a strong spirit, great mana, to complete 95 years on the planet. She's got it.

She is my favorite mother-in-law, and I remind her that I am her favorite son-in-law. Neither of us has another one.

We've had some great times together, playing ukulele, singing, laughing and drinking martinis. I'm usually the butt of our jokes. She can hardly say my name without laughing.

I should add that she laughs often. I think it's part of her secret to longevity.

When I was employed by a company based in Los Angeles and required to visit headquarters, she allowed me to stay at her place in Manhattan Beach. She's a chocaholic, so I usually brought chocolate for her.

She likes to stay up late and watch mysteries on TV. In the morning, every morsel of left-over chocolate, regardless of quantity, would be gone. If asked about that mystery, she replied without guilt or guile: "I ate it."

Sometimes we'd go see a movie together. Or watch a game on TV. She's a huge UCLA fan. Don't mess with her when the Bruins are playing.

She has an answer for everything. She's a talented painter and a world traveler.

Her daughter Barbara tells me about the trip to Egypt that she and her girlfriend took with Bettelu and  the girlfriend's mother, who was a rocket scientist. They had an agenda that left no historical artifact unseen or exotic food uneaten.

"They left us in the dust," says Barbara, who was in her early twenties at the time. They were galloping on camels and soaking up delights of the Sahara while the twenty-somethings were catching their breath.

Last year, at 94,  Bettelu flew to Kauai to visit her granddaughter and great grandkids.

No doubt she is enjoying a shelter-party today with her family in Southern California. (See photo above.)

Happy birthday, Bettelu! I will mix a martini in your honor. I will play a Hawaiian mele just for you.

Shelterin' Away in Princeville

Nibblin on grapefruit
Watchin' the chickens hoot
All of those tourists gone for a while
Strummin my four-string
Listenin' to birds sing
Watchin' the wave lines settin' up in file

Shelterin' away here in Princeville
Searchin' for my my lost bar of wax
Some people claim foreigners are to blame
But I know they just got to relax

I know the reason
We came here this season
To see our daughter an' grandkids behind the bamboo
They're real beauties
The little ones' such cuties
Never expected quarantine, not even a clue

Shelterin' away here in Princeville
Searchin' for my lost bar of wax
Some people claim there's someone else to blame
But hell, beginnin' to think it's time to relax

I blew out my slippah
Got a big blistah
Had to call off my walk an' cruise back home
But there's fresh fruit in the blender
And soon it will render
That island concoction that helps me hang on

Shelterin' away here in Princeville
Searchin' for my lost bar of surf wax, that's all
Yes it's, some people claim that there's someone to blame
But I know, it's a tiny virus's fault.

Surf's Up, Hula Down

Surfing is still allowed on Hawaiian islands.

"Giant surf is coming with life-threatening conditions," according to weather-guru-wave-shredder Guy Hagi.

"Don't go out if you're not an expert. There are not many lifeguards."

You can close the stores, shut down tourism, quarantine arrivals, cite those driving places on non-essential missions, but you don't mess with surfing.

It's like telling a Montanan he can't go trout fishing.

I paddled into Hanalei Bay yesterday under calm conditions. I heard it was fun earlier out at the Bowl, the main surf break in the bay. I stayed inside where waves were puny with no one else within 50 yards of me.

It felt good to be in the temperate water where it was clear enough to see the lines in the sand below me. Due to the crazy quarantine, I hadn't surfed in more than four weeks. Each week lost robs a bit more of your sense of feel.

The longer you don't surf the more likely you will not surf again. That is, if you're at the latter stage of the life curve.

Slow waves that turn to mushy white water are not thrilling and challenge your balance. Faster waves hold you steady.

I rode a few waves lying on my belly, not attempting to stand because I knew I would fall into the bumpy white water. The thrust of water with surrounding soupy foam was enough to achieve a child-like joy.

A longtime, accomplished surfer friend once told me that he plans to keep surfing as long as possible. "Even if I can only lie on a board and paddle." The smile on his face was infectious.

Scenes from the annual Merry Monarch Festival, canceled the week.

The annual Merry Monarch Festival in Hilo scheduled for this week is canceled. The festival is the major event of the year to celebrate Hawaiian culture including crafts and the all-important hula with its costumery, song and dance.
                                                                 
The mayor of Kauai has announced mandatory wearing of masks in public for everyone age five and over. He was the first to issue a night-time curfew. Kauai has become a leader in sheltering.

As of this morning, 517 cases of Covid have been reported throughout the islands, with nine deaths. There are signs that Hawaii's caseload has started to flatten.

The Governor asks people to remain vigilant.

Hawaii unemployment is skyrocketing.

The islands are a popular location for production of movies and television shows. These industries are on hiatus.

The trade winds return today to cool down the tropical heat and humidity.

When it's dark and still at night, the sweet scent of Puakenikeni flowers embraces the air.

Guy Hagi forecasts the weather to be "the best on the planet."

You are not required to wear a mask when you exercise. That includes surfing.

Light in the Middle of the Tunnel

Hanalei Bay yesterday with Bali Hai in background.

"Lots of walks. Talking to chickens. Drawing pictures of the monkey pod tree."

This morning I happened to eavesdrop on a conversation of Barbara's and her professional associates back home. She summed up our situation rather well. Another zoom meeting. They seem to turn into personal sharing sessions.

Yesterday I zoomed with my writers' group. I had the pleasure of listening to a nostalgic, mid-Western story about a blind piano teacher; an incredible account of the completion of a solitary walk across the Sahara Desert; and a poignant personal poem about dealing with the pandemic.

Fauci instructs
Trump confuses
Captain Crozier warns
The Queen encourages
Boris Johnson recovers
John Prine dies.   -- Nancy Lewis

On Sunday we attended a zoom party with our three daughters and their children. It was even better than last week. We all were a little looser and aching to laugh. It turned into a talent show when grandson Finn, ten-gallon hat on his two-gallon head, hit the dance floor, stepping out to "Old Town Road" by Nas x.

Whoa!

He's got da moves!

He pranced and hopped and flung his arms like a calf-roping cowboy. Being four-foot tall added to the fun. We were all hoots and smiles.

It felt good to laugh with our family again, as we did many years ago when we were all growing up inside a tiny house on a circle, then again when we moved into a bigger place on the creek.

Back then our family anthem became "Love Shack" by the B-52's.

Humpback whale breaches outside of Hanalei  Bay

Recently, I goofed off here in our condo. Suddenly at the behest of a Hawaiian mele (song) on the radio, I decided to dance hula.

I didn't know that Barbara had her iPhone camera on "video" until I turned toward her.

"Let me see that," I said. I looked, and I laughed hard.

Following serious and delirious thought, I decided what the hey, and posted it on Facebook. The shock effect, I think, created a long string of mirthful comments and self-assuring "likes."

There were jokes about it going viral, the idea of which, was even funnier.

We're all in our own little worlds, tucked away, sheltering, wondering.

I hope we can hold on to these simple, wonderful surprises that bring us together.

Call it the light in the middle of the tunnel.