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Fri. January 14, 2000
Green beach. No white speedo.
Class today started with a brief, eleven question quiz which I presume I well on. Can't think of what I may have missed on it but I guess we'll just see. Dr. Benham taught us the basics of normal, reverse, and strike-slip faults to prepare us for our day's experience. The group headed out to the southernmost portion of the island (which also happens to be the southernmost area of the U.S.) where we first stopped at a moaning and screaming field of wind-power electric generators. The immense blades rotated above us, making me feel more than insignificant. Some of the towering propellers lay still and gathered a rusty covering, not able to add their own melody to the overall orchestra of fans. We soon left that sight and sound for our next, class related stop: the Kahuku Fault.
An old Coast Guard lookout station served as a parking lot for our convoy. We passed through a single barrier of tightly stretched barbed wire fencing then tromped across a vast, dry field. The hike held vistas of barren trees, bright fields, and dark blue sky that could easily be a target for Ansel Adams. Wind blew at our backs, helping carry us toward the very edge of the world. In this area bordered 700' below by the sea and a mid-1800s lava flow the view stretched seemingly forever and included most colors of the spectrum. The dizzying height from which we gazed is the product of the often violent geologic act of faulting. The end product of this tremendous movement is, as Dr. Benham would say, the most beautiful thing one may ever see. And I must concur. Although my fear of edges was strong in my gut, I endured more than normal to truly appreciate the serendipitous setting. Just another one of those times a person wishes they were a bird that could effortlessly soar from such a height and thumb its nose at gravity and its mortal consequences.
We hiked back to the vans against the wind and immediately drove down the road to South Point itself. There we had lunch and I had a chance to sit side by side with my most beautiful of friends near the border between roiling water and basalt. Nary a word was said but we were both very content with our surroundings and each other. The slightly pathetic peanut butter and jelly sandwich and curious flies soon gave way to yet another group departure toward our day's final destination: the green olivine beach of Puu Mahana.
Sights in the group were set on a unique place that held the promise of green sand and ample body surfing waves. A former heavily traveled 4x4 jeep trail served as our path toward the beach about two-and-a-half miles distant. Blustery winds and loose dust and field seeds slapped us across the face, visibly coating glasses and seemingly coating our clothes and bodies. One terrible part of the trek shocked some of us. A couple nearby rocky beaches had washed up on them piles of mostly plastic trash. Yards of debris washed ashore lay there as if a reminder of our wasteful and careless tendencies. Such societal feces is not a welcoming sight to my eyes. Nevertheless, we hiked on. Over hill and dale and just past grandma's house we went. Soon a sight of tilting beds of material jutted from the otherwise docile landscape, signaling the focus of our journey was present. The greenish yellow sand draped from the cove's walls, serving as a source for the beach's one-of-a-kind waterfront. We clamored down the steep sides of the nook so the watery fun could begin. Unfortunately for me, my fun partially ended when I hopped down from a ledge just after changing into my swimsuit. I had a good landing with only a little hop that allowed my foot to scrape against the one rough little rock within reach. The moderate tear in the side of my foot hampered my actively sharing in the dangerous glory of body surfing. My desire for joining in the sensational surf recreation faded as I found myself content watching others throw themselves at on-coming waves hoping to catch it just right so that they may then be thrown at the lovely green beach. Anyway, aside from the silly injury, I had a great time and was taken aback by the experience. Although pictures both on film and in my mind will help me recall the setting, some sand did slip into a film canister of mine — for scientific study only.
As 4 o'clock approached we scaled the sandy, stepped walls surrounding the beach and headed back along the trails toward the vans. Time hiking passed rather quickly due to the conversations had between myself and Cari. The topic of love can really be a great distraction while on a hike. It just goes to show how powerful love really is. Have I found it [love] yet? Ask me again sometime.
Time also passed quickly in our van as we returned to camp for the night. A vegetable soup dinner awaited us as did a small group bowling excursion lit only by black lights with accents of small red lights running down the lanes. Matt and I had trouble adjusting to the foreign environment brought on by the strange lighting while the others seemed only to excel within the adverse conditions. Nothing much else really came to be on this clear, Moonlit night. A television showing of Cocktail and a cheap frozen pizza are the only two things I have to digest while I lay typing just before I go to bed. Cheap pizza has yet to prove dangerous to my sleeping life. I say this because my lovely significant other Sarah proclaims that a certain pizza company's product literally always induces nightmares. We'll hope for the best for me tonight. Sweet dreams.
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