Family

Surf Shop is Hidden Treasure 

Ambrose’s Kapuna Surf Gallery is a bright yellow-painted building with chipped edges and white-wash streaks that sits at an intersection on the edge of Kuhio Highway. It’s typical weather-worn entrance has doors propped open to catch a glimpse of area art pieces hanging throughout. We ducked inside to get a break from the noonday sun and catch a cross-breeze. A lean, mellow man with seasoned eyes sat behind the counter with fingers wrapped busily in untangling a wad of knotted fishing string. “I’m using this to sew stitches in a hat I’m making from dried coconut palm bark,” he volunteered. With that he stood up, walked over to a makeshift coat rack and pulled down a primitive looking wide-brimmed fisherman’s hat with an open top. “Here, try it on”, he said without leaving me a choice. “This is a first attempt at saving my old hat that has seen better days.” Without a will of my own, I complied a few seconds longer than I felt comfortable and then removed it. “I didn’t have the confidence to attempt sewing a top on it then”, he continued. “This time will be different,” he said as he took it from me and placed it on his own head. I shoved all thoughts of his disheveled thinning scalp from my mind. He handed me a piece of palm bark as his fingers brushed up and down the surface. “Here. Feel it. This stuff is durable and waterproof. It’ll be perfect when it’s done.” I nodded my head in agreement and wished him good luck. He smiled a coffee-stained grin and turned his attention back to the discarded fishing net. I had to admire him for recycling the knotted nylon mess and perhaps saving the ocean floor from one more piece of debris. Later, we heard through the grapevine this man is practically the “surfboard whisperer”. Like magic, he can repair dings, cracks, and shatters in any damaged surfboard. The guy is a master at restoration. Stepping across the threshold on that hot sunny day was like stepping into a treasure trove. 

Take a Walk on Hanalei Pier

The scenic view on the North Shore of Kauai is right out of a Hollywood movie. And that film is the 1957 Rodgers and Hammerstein classic, “South Pacific”. The Hanalei Pier was originally built in 1892, when it was used to transport taro and rice to Honolulu. Made of wood at that time, it became too difficult to maintain the pier in a tropical climate. Thus, it was replaced with a concrete finger deck and a framed shed roof in the 1940s until Hurricane Iniki damaged the 340-foot pier beyond use in 1992. Today, the local history and its iconic charm continue to lure curiosity seekers as well as vacationers and beach lovers. Hanalei Bay is the largest on the island of Kauai with its 2-mile long crescent moon and white sandy beach. Known to natives as Black Pot Beach, it can be seen littered with avid fisherman, energetic surfers, carefree picnickers, and leisurely landlubbers. We mustn’t forget the romantic lovebirds who stroll to the end of the pier, gaze into each other’s eyes, share a wet kiss, and then snap a Selfie against the opulent aqua-blue waters. Hanalei Pier does Hollywood proud. 

Invasion of the Boat People

A couple times a week the beach is inundated with tourists when a luxury cruise ship pulls into Nawiliwili Harbor and docks for a short period of time. Hoards of beach lovers pour down the gang plank to enjoy the pebbly soft beach of Kalapaki Bay. With colorful towels, bamboo mats, swim fins, and boogie boards in tow, families stake a claim along the shoreline to gather and sunbathe. Within minutes children squeal with laughter, splashing each other and running away. A slender middle-aged European man stands with feet firmly planted squinting out to sea. As if deep in thought, he raises a cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag before flicking the ash into the wind. Loose strands of black hair fall across his wrinkled brow causing him to pivot a half turn and then back again. Over his shoulder, an energetic group of millennials mark off the sand and choose sides for a pickup game of soccer. Shouting in an unfamiliar language, they slap each other on the back before aggressively kicking, chasing, and passing the ball back and forth toward the goal. So much activity. So much joy. This is how to spend a day in paradise. After awhile, short toots from the bridge of the huge vessel signal it’s time to head back. Beach towels are rolled up, soccer games disperse, umbrellas are left vacant, and the sand is brushed away as flip flops are slid into place. The boarding process begins for passengers to depart “Fantasy Island” and return to sea until we meet again. 

If Chihuahuas Could Talk

Just like people, I suspect not every dog automatically loves the beach. Take a chihuahua, for instance. Typically, they enjoy being cuddled, carried around in the crook of a young lady’s arm, or nestled in a canvas bag above the crosswalk of heavy footsteps. While rambling barefoot along the oceanfront this morning, I passed a gal sunbathing on a blue striped towel. She didn’t seem to mind reclining close to the shoreline beyond the reach of crashing waves. Like a sleep number bed, the sandy beach conformed to her body shape. The Winter sun was brightly shining. Although the temperature was rising, the cooling sea breezes felt refreshing. About six feet away the tiny brown dog was sitting with a look of displeasure on its face. One paw was raised above the beach as if to keep the fine, loose grains from getting between its toes. It slowly turned in my direction, blinked its eyes, and shifted uncomfortably as though a few light brownish pebbles had already lodged into the derrière folds of its short fur bottom. I could practically read the chihuahua’s thoughts:”This is ridiculous!”

“How much longer are we going to be here?”

“I’m thirsty and this ocean water tastes like salt.”

“I have sand in my ears.”

“I have sand between my toes.”

“I have sand in my butt cheeks.”

“And I want to go home!”

If only chihuahuas could talk. 

Fire on the Hill

What we assumed would be another day at the beach turned out to be the exact opposite. The tropical sun hung high in the azure sky as though it were a yellow yoyo suspended from a length of string connecting it to a fluffy white cloud. From our vantage point on the cliff, Kalapaki Bay offered its unbeatable ocean view. On the walk to the beach, just beyond the Pali Kai security gate closure, Gerald suddenly glanced backward, as if on instinct. Thick plumes of gray-blue smoke appeared to be pouring from the row of seaside cliff houses into the bay directly beyond the Lincoln condo. In an instant, we pivoted on our heels and headed in the direction of the smoke. As far as we knew, some of the cliff houses were not yet occupied for the winter months. This caused concern in our eyes…and dread as to what lie ahead. Passing each place brought relief, followed by curiosity. What was on fire? And where were the fire trucks? Finally, at the end of the road, where the cliff sharply drops off to a lighthouse beacon surrounded by jutting black lava mounds, the plumes of heavy smoke thickened like fog. Down the sandy path banked by tall dry grasses, past the 6th hole of the resort golf course, the sea turned a lush green. Unfortunately today, the sky appeared a hypnotic smoky grey color. As if from the depths of Hell, suffocating smoke plumes intensified like smog. Suddenly, the bleating, looping wail of sirens signaled help was on the way. A city fire truck followed by a reserve water tanker dispensed a crew of experienced firefighters to access the situation and quickly get it under control. In a marginal amount of time they had it sized up, contained, and extinguished. The investigating officer took it from there.