~aloft~

Seeking the elevation I knew in my last existence as an albatross, I drove up to the Pali Highway lookout this afternoon. Those unbelievably alpine trees in the middle of the pic are known locally as Norfolk pines, because people think they came from the Norfolk Islands, but actually they're Cook pines and came from New Caledonia. Genealogy in the Pacific is surreal.


From the lookout, you see the windward side of the island (the side opposite Honolulu). That's the pali (Hawaiian for "steep cliffs") and Kaneohe and Kaneohe Bay.



The tiny island in the middle of Kaneohe Bay is a UH Oceanography/Biology research station. Kids who forget their cigarettes or the beer are fond of swimming from the research island to the shore, where they buy their goodies in waterproof plastic bags. Sharks *have* been sighted occasionally in Kaneohe Bay, like most other harbors, but if you point this out to watery biology loving people, they look at you kind of strangely.



Behind that hill is Kailua and the very nice Kailua Beach Park at the edge of Lanikai, where reclusive movie stars live. And crowded, tropical Buzz's Steakhouse just across the street from the Beach Park, with its classic salad bar, orgiastic seafood, and killer desserts. Buzz's does not take credit cards, though they will take local checks. You have been warned.


The lookout was fine, but I wanted to hike the old highway a bit. Here it is.


A tree grows in Koolau. :-)


The gorge under this bridge is quite deep. I would like to have seen the graffiti artists who painted that beautiful stuff. I don't think it was done upside-down.


There's the new freeway, four lanes and separated. Incidentally, the Pali Highway is officially Highway 61. Like Bob Dylan said, "We'll put some bleachers out in the sun, and have it out on Highway 61." :-)


The pali.



I'm falling in love with this road at this point.



Ditto. That's an ironwood tree in the center of the photo.


And there's really Buzz's Steakhouse and ecstatic Kailua Beach Park and Lanikai, as well-- just to the left and right of, and encompassing, that gentle hill fronting the meditating Pacific Ocean. *bg*




The old highway. God Help Us All.


The new freeway, with tunnels, below the old highway, without. Having traveled both, I'm now happy. :-)

Albatross!

I ~love~ albatross. They are large white birds, about the size of geese, with very big feet and very, very long wings, which are dark on top and patterned on the bottom. Albatross are built like gliders and spend months and months at sea, alone, just gliding up and down in arcs above the waves, occasionally eating squid.

For a couple of months each year, however, they land on an island to nest. This is where my trek out to Kaena Point comes in.

Kaeana Point is the northwestern tip of Oahu. The paved road stops a couple of miles away, and then there's a very bumpy and dipping track for heavy-duty pick-ups, Jeeps, mountain bikes, and four-wheelers. I walked. Looking back from the first rise, I saw that my neighbor, an olive Toyota truck with gigantic tires, dissatisfied with the parking lot, had parked with both front wheels up on a three-foot tall volcanic rock. I thought about going back--a 10-minute hike--and then figured, "Hell, if he damages my car, he'll be easy to find."




After a mile or so, I began to lose heart, when I saw something far-off arc into the sky and down below the horizon. It could have been an eyelash. I knew it wasn't. I know an albatross from a figment of my imagination.




After a couple of miles of this, you come to a huge and immovable "fence" made of piles of volcanic boulders and the large, serious notice: "KAENA POINT NATURE SANCUTARY. DISTURBING BIRDS OR PLANTS IN ANY MANNER PUNISHABLE BY LAW. MOUNTAIN BIKERS: ALL MOTORIZED VEHICLES STRICTLY PROHIBITED BEYOND THIS POINT. OUT." (Okay, so maybe that wasn't the notice verbatim, but that sure was the impression.)

In the "fence," there's a small and narrow gate of metal posts that you have to squeeze through, kind of like the mediaeval entrance to a castle keep. On the other side, I met a dark-tanned guy walking beside a non-motorized bike. "Hi," I said. "Did you see any albatross?"
"Yeah," he answered. Realizing there was only one direction to point, but still wanting to be helpful, he pointed toward the end of the island. "That way."

"Thanks." I pressed onward, through a trail that soon melted into orgasmically soft beach sand meandering through the beach vegetation. I took off my slippers. (Yes, I hike in slippers.) NWS had thoughtfully pounded delicate gray iron standards into the sand by the path and strung a narrow wire between them--like a tropical version of a red carpet rope--with small pieces of blue survey tape at intervals, to make the wire visible to the birds. Along with the signs pointing out that it's against the law to disturb albatross, this was a hint to stay on the path. The hint was pretty laidback, since farther on they'd gotten as far as pounding the standards but hadn't strung the wire. It's incredibly difficult to disturb an albatross, anyway. They are quite curious in a quiet way and are extremely friendly. If you approach one calmly and pleasantly without exaggerated movements--in other words, like any housebroken guest at a civilized party--it will be happy to let you sit beside it, probably even let you touch its beautiful feathers with your fingertip, and it may even take your finger gently into into its graceful, narrow, serrated beak-- which is a way of discouraging you from becoming too familiar but uses a means that is considered a sign of affection in the albatross world.



Albatross!


This is the Kaena Point lighthouse:


Albatross were named "gooney birds" by 19th century British sailors, because they are not afraid of people. I should be so gooney as to be able to get a bunch of humans to block off the entire end of a gorgeous tropical isle for my exclusive nesting use and to expend considerable efforts making sure I'm not disturbed.



That's the Leeward Coast in those photos. I walked from the other direction, the North Shore side.

Land's end-- the ocean at the tip of Kaena Point.



A nesting albatross 8 feet from the path.


To the right is an adult albatross. To the left are three young adults, who were attempting to perfect the mating dance. Actual mating, nesting, raising the check, being paired happily for life, finding the same tropical island at the same time of year every year to meet up with your life mate, all of those are no-brainers for these birds. What MATTERS is the mating ritual dance. It involves high-pitched whinnying, very rapid beak clicking, and wings being spread open in an elegant, impossible manner. These activities must be engaged in with your partner with the precision timing and execution of Jerry Robbins's choreography.





At this point, a male flew over about 10 feet above my head at about 35mph. They *are* curious. No, he wasn't trying to land-- An albatross landing is unmistakable. Arched back, head intent, wings concave, huge feet splayed out and ready to Hit The Ground. Landing is a very active type of activity for an albatross.

Here are three more young adults, just nattering with each other. They aren't ready for the Ritual Mating Dance this year. The wind was strong enough here that a fourth albatross only needed about 10' of runoff before lift-off. That was nice. Incidentally, albatross (Laysan Albatross-- These are Laysan Albatross) live 40-50 years. (The Great Wandering Albatross of the southern hemisphere, which has the longest wingspan of any bird on the planet, lives 80-100 years.)





And after a 2-mile hike back, here's the gate by my car. Which was untouched.