There’s a fine line between helpful technology and technology that intrudes and disappoints. The pen and paper I use to capture these notes rarely fail. Though pens run out of ink, they are easily replaced. While an SD Card in my GoPro failing, taking with it snorkeling footage and a time-lapse of us driving from our cabin to Hanalei is a disappointment. The intrusion occurs when my mother somehow thinks it would be cool or helpful to let us know that our car that is camping at her place is having problems starting. Wow, is it the engine, battery, Mayan apocalypse? Why in the world does she think we needed distressing news texted to us? By the time we saw the message last night, it was already midnight in Arizona and so we got to go to sleep in worry.

From today’s sunrise, it wouldn’t be too far a stretch to suggest that Kukulcan, the Mayan feathered serpent god, had left the pyramid of the sun and was arriving to personally greet me in this new age; alas, it was just the patterns of the clouds allowing in patches of fiery light that stroked the imagination into fantasy.

This cock is relatively stupid while simultaneously protective of his hens; mine is out with her snorkel, scratching at the sea and pecking for fish. Sure this feathered specimen of maleness may look elegant, bold even, but at his core, he fertilizes eggs and battles for supremacy from any and all threats. Pardon the screed I’m about to share; it is my inner-cock mouthing off nonsense from my growing bias emanating from the encroachment of age.

Why wear a bikini for your cell phone when it’s for your boobs? Why wear a swimsuit that requires constant decracking? What’s up with the skimpy bikini top that forces you to dig your chin into your chest to ensure you still have nipple coverage? Small talk on beaches is highly overrated and most often inane. If the face can be an indicator of intelligence, it might appear that smarter women are more modest about their bodies and are dressed more conservatively out here. Those relying more on sex appeal than brains are flaunting a serious amount of butt cheeks along with more tats and piercings. I know I’m likely going to be accused of being sexist, but the same applies in other ways to the lunkhead men who are strutting their stuff in the same fury.

Older men still running on the high side of testosterone care little about the bulge of midriff fat or gratuitous amounts of body hair confronting others. Older men from professions tend to wear t-shirts out here, maybe due to the practicality of worrying about skin cancer. The higher the number of tattoos, the more cock-like the swagger. Forty with a rear-facing baseball cap? I can only wonder about the person’s carrying capacity that exists between their ears. ALL men check out young women’s rear ends, all of them. Muscular men travel in packs. Overweight middle-aged men travel with their spouses. Men who are traveling alone demonstrate some creepy anti-social behavior and the body language of lonely desperation, appearing sad and tragic. Strangely there are no solo women visitors to this beach. Hindus wear too many clothes in the ocean. I’ve only seen two hipsters over the course of our stay; I’m guessing they cannot afford Hawaii on coffee-shop wages. Not a goth in sight, I suppose the sun would foil their goals.

The other half of this Statler and Waldorf shtick has returned from the sea and kicks the pen from my hand, as she can tell by now when I’m channeling the grumpy old man routine.

The road to Waimea Canyon is paved with bananas and guava, along with a bevy of flowers, greenery, vines, and fields of coffee plants. These fruit, drink, and occasionally homemade baked good stands that work on the honor system are a real treat and a compelling reason you should travel with cash while on the islands.

Do you like beautiful, colorful spiders that try tricking you that they are not spiders by pairing up their legs, so you might think this four-legged yellow and black thing on the web is a trapped kitty kat? Then, venturing into the woods should be on your itinerary, too, because Hawaiians love their insects.

This orchard planted in red earth is growing some kind of stuff that is certainly not marijuana, coconut, pineapple, bananas, or corn. I’m wondering what it is, but I made no notes, nor do I remember going up to one of the trees to investigate just what they were.

We are 1,000 feet above the ocean and there is Ni’ihau again in the distance. In the foreground is Buffalo grass, which is invasive, but it does add a nice appearance to things. It is a shame how many species have invaded the islands; seems like everything and nearly everyone here is from somewhere else.

This is our first look into Waimea Canyon on this trip. This appeared much larger on our last visit, but back then, we hadn’t spent weeks at the bottom of the Grand Canyon or had just come off an adventure into the enormity of Alaska. Coming to grips with the nature of familiarity and how it alters our perspective might be a part of the maturing process, but there’s certainly a place for naivety and celebrating our first encounters with novelty.

Gaining elevation as we progress, the canyon grows in depth. Now, with our second visit to the area in pocket, we’ll have to consider hiking in Waimea Canyon should we find ourselves in Hawaii a third time. Upon searching for trails, it looks like the Kukui Trail would be perfect, especially if we could spend a night at the campground down there.

Here we are at the Kalalau overlook with the southern end of the Napali Coast over our shoulders. Down below are nearly ever-present helicopters that ply the airway to show others the spectacular part of the coast that we have yet to effectively visit. While last time we embarked on a hike out the Kalalau Trail, a broken toe that I acquired on Molokai in the days leading up to our time on Kauai thwarted our ambition under otherwise perfect weather conditions. One day, we will make it out there.

This is the Cliff Trail and is one of the shortest trails we’ve ever been on. A mere 1/10th of a mile is completed in about 4 minutes.

As we looked for vantage points to check out the view and consider trail options, this wild goat approached laughing out loud that we needed trails while it went where it pleased.

Before we get to the sunset proper I thought I’d try something different this late afternoon and share what the edge of a Hawaiian sunset looks like.

This was tough as one of my sunset photos had amazing god rays in the distance…..

….while this one is terrifically molten gold with a small boat passing by.

As we approached Waimea, the long string of parked cars was a good indicator of what lay ahead, so we simply pulled over and parked. So we wouldn’t miss a moment of the Christmas parade, we hoofed it and arrived just as the Waimea Canyon Middle School was turning the corner as the beginning of the festivities.

The parade is great with the spirit of the kids and families lining the street, making this into a party atmosphere. It all reminds me of another great parade when we were so lucky to be in Canadian, Texas, for a Middle of America Fourth of July celebration. Click HERE to visit that trip.

Along the parade route were plenty of food vendors to satisfy those of us who hadn’t set up a small BBQ in front of our chairs; as a matter of fact, Caroline and I were without chairs in any case, so where would we have set up a BBQ? The first thing I tried was some corn chowder, while Caroline opted for pasteles, a kind of Filipino tamale. After Santa passed and the parade ended, it took us over an hour to get to the other side of town. On such a small island with few roads, the people who live here full time are lucky that others allow them to pull in front of them instead of the mainland way of ensuring no one gets in. By and large, the atmosphere on the Islands is one of tremendous friendliness and people going out of their way to be polite.

It’s late, and yet it is still bright out, with the moon shining enough to illuminate the trees and our cabin from a distance. The stars are out in force and strangely enough, I wish for rain as I miss its sound on our tin roof.

We wake here at Fortress Kahili Mountain, where the hot water flows to the shower, the electricity is working, the temperature is perfect, and the sky is aflame in the glory of the rising sun. Uh-oh, the coffee maker is not functioning; we’ll have to venture away from our enclave.

The crowds are out at Poipu, with the beach overflowing as tourists flock into the sea……NOT. The clouds are lighter than on the previous days, with a brisk wind coming from the east rearranging them quite quickly. While a large cloud or two will come along to blot out the sun, casting the beach into shadow, it too quickly moves on, allowing the sun to illuminate the turquoise waters. Caroline has been out there snorkeling but comes back to report that the fish are far and few between and then runs back.

When my two-legged fish finally returns to shore, she is cut and bleeding from encounters with sharp volcanic rock, but she is all smiles. She wishes I was out with her but admits that the current is treacherous. With a sudden change of mind, Caroline decides she’s not had enough though she heads to the car first for her river shoes to better protect her already bleeding feet and then is back in the surf searching for sea life.

The horizon clears while behind me, the clouds pile up, hugging the mountains of Kauai. The molten silver sea seduces all who gaze upon it, eliminating tensions and leaving little for the mind to produce in the way of words. This likely has much to do with why Caroline and I return so frequently to the ocean that washes our brains with waves that hypnotize us into tranquility.

By the time we leave Poipu, we need that coffee we never had, and Starbucks will care for us on that front while another stop at Da Imu Hut Cafe serves us some fried seimen noodles along with a teriyaki fried chicken & steak combo. Learning that this inexpensive joint will be closed for the next four days as they are closed on weekends, plus the closure for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day we commit to return tonight for dinner.

At a fork in the road, it’s up to a proverbial coin toss if we will head to Waimea Canyon or Polihale State Park at the west end of the island. Left it is, and for the next 16 miles, we are on a paved road, but after that, it’s almost five miles on a washboard dirt road that feels like 80 miles of mainland dirt road. It is abundantly obvious by now that we’ve never been in this area.

Without knowing what was ahead, the primitive road was, at times, intimidating, especially not seeing anyone else on the road. We maneuvered the ruts and sandy spots with relative ease in our small rental car. Finally, at the beach and the end of the road, we found maybe 40 other cars parked down there. On our right is the mountain range that stretches across the Napali Coast, while on our left is the longest beach on all of Kauai.

This place is a treasure, and spending a day out here should be on everyone’s to-do list.

Caroline throws herself into the surf, or maybe more accurately, the surf pummeled her into submission, knocking her down. Having grown up in a world of flatwater, she is ill-equipped to deal with the crashing waves of the Pacific and is easily toppled by pounding surf, but as usual, she is having fun.

I instead opt for watching shorebirds, clouds, people, Caroline’s frolicking, and the dark green mountains with streaks of red earth cutting into them.

The air is so clean out here you can make out reliefs on the moon and almost believe you can see mountains rising off the surface. Behind me, the ocean gives no hint of its rise and fall other than what breaks at the shore. As that surf pulls back, the flat beach momentarily takes on the appearance of a mirror reflecting the few clouds that are overhead at any given moment. Surfers work the furthest set of waves in the distance while people on bodyboards are riding the next set. Waves at the shore are the domain of swimmers who are playing it safe where their feet are within reach of the sand below them.

We stay long enough for my face to start crisping, and that’s even with sunblock on and this hat that two years earlier was worn down the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon and just this past summer went with me down the Alsek in Canada and Alaska. The truth is that my complexion is an easy target for a wrathful scorching sun looking to victimize those of fair complexion. Even with the sunburn setting in, we hung out a bit longer, and lucky us as some whales not far from shore were spouting off, sadly though there were no breaches.

On our way out of town earlier, we would have been smart to pick up refreshments because the 16-mile stretch of road and five dirt miles are without services. By the time we finally do get back into the car, we are parched and race back to Waimea for a stop at Ishihara’s to rehydrate.

With our thirst quenched, the idea of giving in to a little something sweet was sounding quite appealing, so we stopped at JoJo’s Shave Ice for their famous #2 with macadamia nut ice cream topped with guava, lilikoi, and mango syrups on the shave ice. As we walk out the door, we are greeted by yet another glorious rainbow. This prompts me to wonder out loud if Hawaiians care about seeing these things when they probably see a dozen or more a day.

It’s the first day we have been bathed with perpetual sunlight, even when it’s raining in one direction or the other. As sunset falls upon the middle of the Pacific, we have taken up a vantage point that has afforded us a view of Ni’ihau over to the right, and while impossible to see in this view, we have been spotting the arched backs of passing whales and their spouts of mist shooting above the surface of the sea.

As the sun crawls lower in the sky, readying itself to dip below the horizon, our lonely spot on the shore is no longer so lonely, as others have recognized the location as a desirable one to be witness to the end of the day.

Suckers for local flavors and the knowledge that Da Imu Hut Cafe will be closed for the next four days, it was established earlier that we’d be back, and sure enough, that is exactly where we find ourselves for dinner. We split a Lau Lau and a Loco Moco. By now, if you haven’t picked up on it in previous blog entries from this trip or the many others, you will start to notice that food plays a large role in our travels, especially local fare. Maybe you could suggest we visit L&L Hawaiian BBQ in Arizona or California? Well, that’s like eating Chinese food in Alabama or Mexican in New York. Foods indigenous to one area are typically poorly represented in another, as local palates have expectations for authenticity. Even in these areas where a particular food originates, it is somewhat uncommon to see tourists in the local joints, as many of them require weak-tasting approximations, added sugar, a side of ketchup or ranch, and some specifically boring children’s dishes such as cheese pizza or chicken strips.

A few days ago, shortly after arriving on Kauai, we visited Talk Story Bookstore and learned that on Friday night, there was an Art Walk through Old Town Hanapepe; we had to come back. Strolling the streets sharing a citrus-spiced cup of hot tea followed by a slice of caramel pecan apple pie while window shopping the various art galleries made for a great way to spend the early evening.

We celebrated the end of the fourth world here on the 13th b’ak’tun, or Maya date 13.0.0.0.0, which we read as December 21, 2012, and take solace in knowing that the apocalypse was either narrowly missed or it is so insidious as to be occurring outside our consciousness. I’ve waited for this day for 20 years since first learning about the “Mayan Prophecy” from Terence McKenna, and while it might play well to the story if I could tell you that we are here in Hawaii just in case it was the end of the human reign of earth, that would be a lie. By the way, this is the historic swinging bridge that crosses the Hanapepe River and was our last stop of the night before heading back to Kahili Mountain and the beginning of a new Mayan calendar.