beach

Catch a Glimpse of Ancient Hawaiian Culture in Torch Lighting Ceremony 

The muscular native Kauaiian, dressed in traditional garb, slowly raised a scalloped conch shell to his lips as the audience at the Marriott Beach Resort held their breath in silent anticipation. A trumpet-like fanfare filled the air at the natural beachfront stage where ocean waves rushed to meet the sandy shore. An attractive female native, in a flowing Polynesian skirt, green leafy leis, and Kukui nut shell necklace, sat nearby on the grassy knoll. Gentle drum beats engaged melodic songs swaying the beautiful sinuous hula dancer to her feet. Rhythmic hip movements, accompanied by floating hand gestures, matched the drumming performance. Together they seemed to cast a magical flow that touched each heart. As the history unfolded, the contemporary hula dance of Kahiko (ancient) told a story that left an imprint on all who caught a glimpse of this exceptional dance form. 

It’s Not as Easy as it Looks

People on vacation take to the water like a school of fish. The trouble is, they’re still learning. Instructors make surfing sound so easy, forgetting it becomes second nature to them. A young couple stood at the water’s edge, ankle deep in sand, both bending over struggling independently with their own contoured surfboard. As we rambled by cutting through the waves and kicking sand up on our heels, Gerald nudged my elbow and said, “Look. Did you see that? She’s fallen out of her top.” I turned back to see, and there she was exerting all kinds of frustrated energy trying to get that surfboard to cooperate against the waves. Her bikini top had slid down under one breast which left it dangling like a piece of ripe fruit begging to be picked. Her partner seemed oblivious to her failed attempts of coercing the massive board into the water, let alone her bare breast flashing around for all the beachcombers to admire, since he was involved in his own tug-of-war with the tide. Suddenly she looked down, screamed obscenities, and raced ashore to restore things to their proper order. The last we saw of her, she was standing under a palm tree making amends as her partner stood at the seashore harnessing two surfboards between him. Four words of wisdom flashed through my mind for women who plan to take up surfing: one-piece bathing suit. 

On Golden Pond: The Nā Pali Coast

For the biggest white gold sandy beach in Kauai, offering a panoramic view from sea to coast, you must be determined to make the road trip real. Everything is fine until you hit the state park sign at the end of Highway 50. The arrow points west and promises to be nothing less than tough for another four miles. I have witnessed discouraged tourists reverse direction and head back to solid ground. I have also witnessed rental cars broken down. The old sugar cane road is unpaved, extremely bumpy with deep ruts, and a single lane trail of sand at best. And that’s if it hasn’t rained in awhile. But the adventurous spirit must know no bounds. You know you have arrived when the landscape beyond the windshield joins mountain and beach in an unforgettable breath-taking view. Forget cell phone coverage. Radio station signals are nil. And unless you park at the end, beyond Queen’s Pond, no facilities are available. On the endlessly long and wide beach, sweeping sand dunes and clusters of lava rock, are washed with powerful white-capped waves that roar like a coalition of male lions. And this is Paradise. You have arrived!

Not Your Ordinary Message on the Beach

Torn from a page in a spiral notebook was a handwritten note in purple ink. It read, 
“Dear Love, You are beautiful. If the shoe fits, wear it. 😇 This is for you straight from Heaven. God Bless You Always! 😇❤️😇”

The jewel-toned sandals were an extraordinary treasure that magically appeared overnight. Could they be left there by an angelic sea nymph? The crescent-shaped bay, although public, seems like a private beach for leisurely walks, sand castle creations, paddle boarding, and sunbathing. Sometimes the water is as calm as a lake; other times the waves are strong enough to make you stumble. The sand is sugar-fine, raked smooth, and gentle on the feet. Once in awhile, sea shells and broken coral appear overnight to remind you the tide changes daily leaving unexpected treasures behind. Like today. The inner child can hardly contain the curiosity and discovery of something left behind after high tide. At the end of the beach where the cliff meets the bank, random driftwood and polished sea shells, added to the mysterious appearance of a thoughtful treasure. Was I the gracious recipient of Cinderella’s beach slippers, you wonder? Not this time. Alas, I don’t wear a size 7. 

Quiet Zone: Do Not Disturb 

“It was like walking through a library,” I mused. Two minutes earlier Gerald and I took a shortcut through a coconut grove of vacationers. We just finished our daily routine of clocking miles along the sandy seashore. Needing shade and a drink of cold water, we made a beeline from the beach to the nearest coconut grove. Under the shade of palm fronds, chair after chair of resort loungers were filled, facing the sea for an up close and personal oceanfront view. Except for one thing. Every chair occupied seemed to accommodate a reading enthusiast. Heads were bowed deep in thought with attention focused on Kindle Fires, paperback novels, cell phones, daily newspapers, and glossy magazines. Not a single person noticed us until I said, “Oh, that breeze feels nice.” Then one clearly annoyed woman tore herself from the book she was reading, threw me a stern look, pursed her lips, and practically raised her index finger to her lips. (Sshh) The message in that steely gaze commanded silence. At that exact moment the feeling hit me. “It’s like walking through a library.” Three steps later Gerald and I set foot on the smooth walkway leading to the spectacular outdoor pool where adults were laughing, children were splashing, and the air was filled with music and glee. We had exited the Quiet Zone. 

Mermaid Tears at Glass Beach 

One can search for treasure without ever setting foot offshore if you believe in the legend of Mermaid Tears. Long ago, when pirates ran amuck and terrorized the sea, they ruthlessly pillaged cargo ships. Countless glass jars, perfume vials, wine flagons, and beverage bottles were cast overboard to lighten the load. Over time, the discarded glass became broken, weathered, smooth, and frosted in appearance. The edges were rounded and polished as the glass was tossed between the saltwater waves and the fine sandy beaches. Eventually the sea glass washed up and down the coast by longshore currents and ended up beached. What about the mermaid legend, you ask? Well, every pirate ship has a gangplank. Whenever a captured sailor was forced by a raider to walk the plank, he helplessly plunged into the water below and drowned. As mermaid tears were shed at their untimely fate, they magically turned into polished sea glass in hues of blue, green, amber, and red. Glass Beach, in Hanapepe Bay, is covered with thousands of colorful sea glass pebbles. Because of the rough waves and rocky shore, beach combing is permitted in this remote area, but swimming should be avoided. 

Fairy Dust, Diamonds, and Damask Roses

Azure waves swept ashore in a wall of magic bubbles playing leap tag with energetic surfers. In the blink of an eye, bubbles dissolved into foam as if transformed into fairy dust leaving the beach to sparkle like a cluster of diamonds. With the grace of a dancer, footprints in the sand were completely erased before swishing back out to sea. Just beyond the crashing waves at the lava mound, appeared a trail of delicate pink blossoms scattered in the sand. Each flower emitted a super-fragrance and looked as though it had been gingerly plucked from a heavenly lush rose bush. Hardly touched in unblemished beauty, their perfect state conjured images of sea nymphs frolicking on the beach serenading humpback whales into choosing a mate. How romantic! I later learned this breathtakingly beautiful ancient flower is called the Maui Pink Lokelani. It is native to Asia, but was brought to Hawaii in the 1800s by the Spanish. Now grown on Maui, the damask rose is popular for stringing leis as the Heavenly Rose of the Hawaiian Islands. 

Water Spouts on the Horizon 

“The whales are out! I’ll bring some binoculars to your table,” exclaimed the casually dressed blue-eyed waiter in flip-flops as he offered us two menus. It was “Happy Hour” at the Beachwalk Restaurant and Grill on the east side of the island and Markus wasn’t referring to the side effects of their signature Bloody Mary cocktails. He was all-Kauaiian native with his ivory-carved octopus medallion choker and long dark hair tied back into a knot at the nape of his neck. 
Humpback whales can be seen from shore at any number of locations around Kauai, but peak season is during the winter months of January and February when most of the calving occurs for them to mate and birth their young in the warm, tropical waters. It was a little premature for their inaugural appearance, but we still caught a glimpse of their water spouts on the horizon. 
Presently, we had a nice balcony front-row seat for watching seaside activities. When the humpback whales refused to make another appearance, we simply observed a class of elementary schoolchildren participating in Field Day activities as tag-team cheers exploded from the sidelines. 
Roosters with bright red combs and plumed tail feathers strutted back and forth demanding attention until an ambitious tourist tried to capture their images on film. Only then would they kick up their taloned feet and strut away crowing a “cock-a-doodle doo” in defiance. 
By now the famed fish and chips entree had appeared and we both sunk our teeth into the depths of pinnacle exclamatory utterance, practically rolling our eyes back in culmination. If this wasn’t a taste of Heaven, then we had no idea what was.   
We sat there until the afternoon delivery of sweet onions, fresh garlic, and garden produce arrived and our appetite had long been sated. Five bamboo swizzle sticks scattered topsy-turvey on the signature cocktail napkins were all the evidence left remaining of an afternoon spent in open-air tropical bliss and latter day delight. 

Dog-Day at the Beach 

Dogs love to play at the beach. Running through the water makes them very happy. As a master grabs a frisbee and tosses it across the shoreline to be retrieved by a shaggy red Irish Setter, it’s enough to pause a pick-up game of sand volleyball. Heads turn. Everyone waits to see it happen. When it does, you hear “Good boy!” as the dog races back, tongue dangling, and tail wagging ready to go again. I watched as two terriers fought over a piece of driftwood a guy tossed into the ocean. The smaller of the two was more aggressive, obviously the Alpha Dog, since it would clamp its teeth around the stick and shake its head back and forth until the larger one backed down and relinquished it. Napoleon complex? I thought all dogs loved water, but upon closer scrutiny, I saw a ten-year old girl cradling her pet spaniel as she stood waist deep with salty waves splashing her mid-section. This dog had a mortal fear of water and had no intention of entering the unpredictable ocean. I wonder if she assured it all dogs instinctively know how to “doggie paddle”. At least, I thought they did. On the other hand, maybe this species of man’s best friend tended to sink like a sack of bricks when submerged. I’ll have to ask “June” the next time I see her.