Swimming with Giants

On my first deployment in 2007, I visited the islands of Palau and swam in Jellyfish Lake. Called the "Fifth Lake" it is a freshwater lake on the island of Eil Malk where millions of golden jellyfish slowly migrate around the lake to follow the sunlight. After hiking up a muddied, foliage shaded path to the lake, you simply jump in and start swimming towards the sunspots. Before long you can see the languid movements of jellyfish pulsing themselves through the water, moving in tangents to each other across beams of sunlight. Keep swimming, and you are literally surrounded by the jellyfish, to the point where you experience the sensation of swimming through a solid mass of jellyfish. They gently bump up against you, the cool film of their bodies, at first making you recoil, but then just making you laugh. The largest ones can fit in the palm of your hand, and all around you, in every direction they swim. Luckily, these creatures don't sting you, so you can completely revel in this surreal experience. 

I didn't think I would ever experience something so out of mind, until Sus and I swam with giant manta rays off of Kona on the Big Island. 

At dusk, Sus and I made our way to Honokohau harbor where we met with our guides, Super Dave and Craig with Sea Hawaii Rafting. Changing into fashionable wetsuits, the 13 snorkelers and 2 guides climbed into a giant RHIB and quickly made our way across the bay to Manta Ray Heaven. 

Riding swiftly across the open bay, we witnessed a water level view of the sun setting on the horizon. Every opportunity she gets, Hawaii reminds you of her beauty. Once we joined the half dozen other tour boats for divers and snorkelers, we were given a brief safety rundown. The manta rays are gentle giants, and will get close but generally never touch a diver or snorkeler. The most important rule was to not touch the rays, as this will spook them and cause the protective slime on their body to wear away, making them susceptible to disease or infection. 

The manta rays are attracted to this area for a specific reason: food. A few years ago, it was ingeniously thought of to shine bright flashlights under water, attracting masses of plankton who mistook it for sunlight. The giant manta rays, although they look like they can swallow you whole, feed entirely off of plankton. Needing to consume 10-15% of their body weight a day, and weighing more than a ton, that's a A LOT of plankton. 

We donned our snorkel gear and jumped into the dark water. Holding onto a surfboard laced across with PVC piping, with holes cut throughout to hold the flashlights, the excitement was palpable. 

I am on the left, with Sus holding on next to me.

Within one minute of being in the water, a large male manta ray named Grayer welcomed us. Out of the dark, a gaping mouth, flanked by gently flapping fins 12 feet long silently appeared. Brushing within inches of our surfboard, Grayer completed endless somersaults, scooping up plankton into his mouth. It was so unbelievable, so completely out of control, I just started laughing underwater, snorting saltwater up my nose. 

Underwater acrobatics.

Divers at the "Campfire."

For the next 90 minutes, we were towed by Super Dave on the surfboard around the "Campfire," the area where the divers sit 40 feet below the surface around lights that look like campfires. Swimming in and out of the divers air bubbles, with the four manta rays swimming loops all around us, I could have watched them all night. The largest manta ray had a wingspan of 14 feet. With some incredible sensory skill, they would come within inches of our outstretched bodies but not touch us...except once. A smaller ray was in its cycle of somersaults, when for whatever reason, he lost spatial reasoning and his fin smacked right onto my arm! Yes! I wanted to touch one, but restrained myself to keep them safe, but this one reached out and touched me! I loved it! 

Climbing back into the RHIB to hot chocolate and biscotti, wrapped up in robes, I just kept imagining myself still swimming with the dancing manta rays. They were so large and looming, yet so elegant and fine in their movements. I thought I would be caught off guard by their prehistoric appearance, but really, I just thought they were beautiful. 

Walking the Napali

I love the Hawaiian islands! Three epic days of adventuring with Sus began Thursday morning when we started our trek into Kalalau Beach via the Napali coast hike on the island of Kauai. The 11 mile trek each way takes you along the north shore of Kauai and is one of only two ways to access Kalalau Beach and valley (the other is kayaking). We saw goats, passed two completely naked hikers ("Just two harmless naked dudes" - I couldn't stop laughing, and Sus couldn't stop nervously laughing), helped Eugene from Philly navigate the steep drop offs, and stood in abject wonder at the intense beauty that is the land. 

Coastline = breathtaking.

Sus along the sketchy mile stretch of steep drop offs. This section made me happy. 

Aloha ocean!

Making our steep and winding way through the wind sculpted grooves of the mountains, we were presented with unbelievable vistas. Each time we rounded the outer edge of a groove, we saw everything from a new perspective. 

For me there is a feeling that comes with walking on dirt, standing amongst trees, hearing the wind, smelling guava, being within nature. Combing this abstract feeling of the wholeness of nature - a feeling that has been romanticized (rightly so) by so many artists - with physical exertion, and a state of "nature-high" sets in. The lactic acid in my legs, the sweat and grime, the ache in my back and shoulders - it is divine! I slip into meditation, into a state of thinking on the enormity of it all. As Sus and I neared Kalalau beach, I began to slowly become overwhelmed with this feeling.

Final leg to Kalalau beach, the strip of sand tucked into the mountain valley.

Leaping the river that feeds into the ocean by the beach. 

Sunset on sand.

The fresh waterfall to shower or fill up water bottles. Goats like to send rocks scattering down though, so beware.

We promptly stripped down upon our arrival at the beach and made a beeline for the ocean. Within seconds of warning each other about possible undertows, I was pulled underneath, tossed around, coated in sand, slammed by a second wave and unceremoniously deposited on my belly onto the beach. So...enough of that. Passing the river on our way to the beach, we saw a few other hikers (and a couple residents of the beach) bathing and soaking in the fresh water. We walked the half mile back to the river, and laid on smooth stones under the cool rushing water, feeling as refreshed as I believe it is possible to feel. 

The bathing river by the "Cosmic Aloha" stones used as as a gathering place for locals. 

Exploring the beach we waited for the sunset and stars that were surely going to eclipse all past night skies. This enormous beach, untouched by any industrialization, is like a kept promise to yourself. As the sun began setting, I tried to start releasing the doubt, the disbelief, the worry that I carry along inside of me. I willed myself to be as present as possible, opening my senses to where I was and the hugeness of life started to carry itself up within me. I felt the uncomfortable vertigo feeling of the smallness of myself against so much grandeur and wonder in the world. It is an immense effort of will to get beyond this overwhelming feeling and to emerge on the other side of introspection, maybe understanding our place in the universe a little bit better. At some point that night, it all just became so big and I had to take a deep breath and come back into myself. 

That night, looking up at the most incredible night sky I have ever seen (even better than quiet nights at sea), the deep purple of space seemed even broader and deeper. I wish I could have captured that night sky, with its swirls and dustings of stars. 

Friday morning, Sus and I caught the middle of sunrise as we started the 11 mile trek out. It seemed the hills were even steeper, the path even narrower, but we completed the hike quickly (relatively) and promptly treated ourselves to cookies (me) and Haribo (Sus). This was an experience like no other, alongside my friend and buoyed by nature's gift of peace incarnate. 

Sunrise.

 

Daylight streaming in. 

Hawaiian State of Mind

I was night walking on the beach, or rather, very early day walking. It feels simultaneously powerful and vulnerable to walk at night. The rare quiet, the aloneness of it. And on the beach, the trust of your bare feet in the sand and the roar of wind and wave pulsing adrenaline into you. Watching the sun rise murky and bright over the Mokes off Lanikai, I feel peaceful back here in Hawaii. 

Yesterday I arrived in Honolulu and made an immediate beeline for my favorite meal on Earth: an acai smoothie bowl with bananas, berries, granola and honey. The Health Bar, tucked into the base of Diamonhead is my favorite variation of this island creation. My hope is that I can eat an acai bowl everyday while I am here and store up the taste sensation until my next adventure to Hawaii. 

Driving from the airport to Diamonhead, I experienced the deeply satisfying sensation of returning to a place and knowing it. Which lane to be in, what exit to take, landmarks and senses working together. Brushing dust off my Hawaiin internal map and finding barely a wrinkle in the lines of memory, it makes me recognize the power of visual recall. I recently read Moonwalking with Einstein by Johua Foer, where the art and history of memory is explored, recognizing memory's elegance and lasting necessity. Coming back to a place is your "memory palace" at work, because, you may forget words, names or numbers, but you never forget a place. Windows down, Ziggy Marley's Beach in Hawaii playing, it was less than 30 minutes before someone flashes the shaka when I let him merge. I love this place.