FROM MAUI, HAWAII

Lanai: A Whale of a Trip

MAUI, Dec 30 - It was a whale of a trip!  Literally.  After six more or less boring hours at sea, we hit a jackpot in the final 75 minutes of our return voyage from Lanai to Maui.  We found ourselves smack in the middle of four different kinds of sea mammals that were frolicking all around the boat.  Even our experienced Hawaiian crew were so excited that we spent an extra hour watching the scenes the likes of which they said they had never seen before.  But first, the more mundane stuff... J

For those of you who may not be familiar with Hawaiian Islands, the above three maps should serve to orient you about the destination of our today's sailing trip.  We left Lahaina harbor this morning... (below)

...on the west coast of Maui (above), and headed westward toward Manele Bay, on the south shore of Lanai.

Along the way, we enjoyed in our "rear view mirror" some beautiful views of Maui...

...and of some human mammals, too. J

Within 45 minutes or so, we were close enough to Lanai (above) to feel as if we could almost touch it.

But it was not until we reached its southern shore that the scenery turned really spectacular.  These vertically sheered cliffs were close to 1,000 feet high in some places.  Our boat captain, with whom I chatted during the journey, told me that the Hawaiian islands were broken apart by giant underwater earthquakes millions of years ago.  As parts of them split apart, vertical cliffs like the above were created.

And then I spotted this other rock that seemed to have decided it wanted to be an island all by itself.  Little did I know that that's where we were going to spend the next five hours, and that the location is famous and known as Sweetheart Rock.

Snorkeling in Manele Bay was okay, not great.  Not for someone that has snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef and other Hawaiian, Western Australian or Mediterranean sites. 

I took some underwater pictures but they are nothing to write home about.  Not like my "Mother-in-Law" fish story from Australia (1986).  Besides the coral, in the above shot it looks as if the little yellow fish is chasing the bigger turquoise one.  

But the turquoise one turned out to be a pretty iridescent green color.  And it easily "got away" from the yellow pursuer.

I tried to get some more fish snorkeling was so boring that I started taking pictures of people.  One of them (left) actually turned out like an abstract painting (if you have an abstract mind).  J After about half an hour of snorkeling, I got cold even in Hawaii's warm climate and got out.

Meanwhile, to my great surprise there was evidence of civilized life on this island that was once private property of Dole pineapple company.  The green roof buildings above this pretty beach are actually a fancy Four Seasons Resort.  The captain told me that Lanai now has about 3,800 permanent residents (I suspect that half of them work for this resort). J 

The lady holding her baby in an earlier picture told me that Rupert Murdoch now owns the island, having bought it from Dole.  I could not independently verify that.  I did come across another story, though, that Bill Gates reportedly bought a quarter of Lanai, including the location on which he and his wife Melinda got married.  So no matter which billionaire settled there, looks like the Dole pineapples have sprouted a lot of greenbacks on Lanai.

Of more personal significance to me was that this lovely beach reminded me of my favorite Western Australian beach - Meelup, "Place of the Moon" in Aboriginal language (also see "Once in a Blue Moon at Meelup").

As I used to do at Meelup, I spent a fare bit of time just watching the waves crash against the coral-encrusted rocks, such as the two above.

And then as I turned the corner of the little peninsula, I found myself gazing at Sweetheart Rock from the opposite direction.  "That is going to be my this year's Happy New Year-card," I decided, before climbing the steep cliff on the left...

...from where this photo was taken... (which comes as close second in my New Year's Eve contest)...

...as well as this one, looking further down the south coast of Lanai.

I walked back to Manele Bay (above) where I was hoping to get back on our boat and retrieve my snorkeling gear and some other possessions I had left on board.  Alas, there was no trace of it.  "They must have gone back to Lahaina," I concluded.  Which means I had nearly two hours to kill with nothing to do.

So I smelled the wild flowers, such as this beautiful specimen that looks like an orchid, but is obviously not.  Unlike an orchid, this flower also has a nice scent, not just good looks.  (Peter Campbell, my good Australia friend, informs me after seeing this picture that this is frangipani – in his opinion "one of the loveliest flowers of the tropics."  Peter adds that, "even though I was only small, I clearly remember my early days living in Darwin with the heavy scent of the frangipanis everywhere."

Not far from there, I did find this gorgeous orchid tree basking in bright sunshine.  Then I lay down on a picnic table and dozed off.  "When in Rome..." you know what they say.  The pace of life here on the islands is so slow that an afternoon siesta seemed perfectly natural.  It also rejuvenated and sharpened my senses for the excitement yet to come.

I was still pretty grumpy when we finally boarded (a different!) boat half an hour later than we were told by the captain who was long on corny jokes about punctuality and short of actually practicing it.  Plus all my stuff was back in Lahaina (Maui), instead of here.  The first boat reportedly developed mechanical problems, so they sent this one with a different (more interesting) Hawaiian captain.  Luckily, I still had my camera.  So I settled down at the back of the boat for another dull ride back, and snapped occasionally pictures, such as the one above, of the pretty views of Maui as we were approaching it.

"A whale!" screamed a lady (yes, the same one as before - with the baby), who was seated behind me.  "What?  Where?" I snapped to attention, suddenly fully alert and scanning the ocean around us.  "There," she pointed.  Indeed.  And not just one.  Three humpback whales were rolling around in the waves.  Captain Bill pointed out that the big one was a male, the medium one a female, and right next to her was her calf.  The presumed Daddy whale snapped his tail right after I had taken the above picture.

From that point on, everybody on the boat was watching for whales in all directions.  Then it was my turn to spot the next one.  "Oh, my God," exclaimed Captain Bill.  "I can't believe it.  These are killer whales.  I have not seen any killer whales in years."  

He went on to narrate what was going on, partially underwater, partly above, where we could see.  Two males were fighting each other.  "It's a real right, not just a ritual," he said.  "They fight for the right to mate with the female.  Sometimes the winner has to fight off several dozen contenders.  And just imagine, these are 50-ton animals wrestling each other to exhaustion."

"And then when the drained and spent male winner finally comes to the female and announces, 'I have won,' she says, 'I want to cuddle'."  J

I cracked up and doubled over laughing.  I thought it was very funny.  Then I looked around.  I was the only one laughing.  Guess the other men on the boat have had that happen to them so they did not find it so humorous.  Nor did the other women who night have wanted to cuddle.  Whatever... I had a hearty laugh.

Meanwhile, the marine world spectacle around us was reaching a crescendo finale.  Up ahead, we saw dolphins jumping playfully in front of the three killer whales embroiled in the fight.  Just to our side, there were several "false killer whales."  

"What's a 'false killer whale'?" I asked.

"It's a whale that looks like a killer whale but is not," Patty, a knowledgeable captain's assistant explained.

At that point, one of the "false killer whales" took a direct aim at our boat.  I watched him speed toward the starboard side of the boat like a giant torpedo.  And then he was gone.  Patty picked him up on the other side of the boat.  "There he goes," she said.  "He's just playing with us."

But Captain Bill had another explanation.  "He just saw you," he said, pointing to the lady in the picture, "and went for you."  J

Again, this lady, the captain and I were the only ones laughing.  "What's with these people," I was wondering about my fellow-passengers.  But my thoughts were quickly interrupted by another mammal.

"There is another one," I yelled, pointing westward into the sun.  Everybody turned in that direction.

"Wow..." Patty and Captain Bill said almost simultaneously.  "These are humpback whales.  Aren't they gorgeous."

Patty said they are known as "gentle giants."  Once upon a time, one of them swam right up to this boat and put the bottom of his jaw on the side of the boat, waiting to be patted by the passengers.  "At more than 50 tons (they are bigger than killer whales), he could have easily sunk the boat," she said.  "But he was just gently resting his jaw on the raft."

"This is incredible... four different kinds of sea mammals at the same time," Captain Bill was exalting.  "You guys have no idea how fortunate you are.  Sometimes we sail for days just to see one of them.  And I have never seen all of them at once."

Every good fish story calls for another.  And Patty was on a roll.  "I once saw a blue marlin get in the middle of a killer whale fight," she said.  "He was about to be eaten, so he was fighting ferociously.  There was also a group of marine biologists nearby (in the ocean) observing the proceedings.  Suddenly, the marlin charged one of the men and speared him in the chest.  He missed his heart by two inches.  The man had to be airlifted to the hospital.  He was lucky to have survived it."

Then she paused.  "I hate the marlins," the emotion poured out of her.  "I never want to catch one.  Even when they are on the line and half dead, they are dangerous."

And here I was, thinking the marlins were quite cute.  After all, my girls swim team was called "Arizona Marlins."  Up until now, that was my only exposure to a marlin (except perhaps on a plate).

After about an hour or so of zigzagging in between these interesting animals, Captain Bill (above) announced, "okay, folks.  Time to set sail for home."  Nobody objected.  Our sensory perceptions were overloaded.

As we were approaching the Lahaina harbor (above), Captain Bill said that the Lahaina high school dates back to 1831, and is the oldest private boarding high school west of Mississippi.  He said the large "L" (for Lahaina), carved into the mountain above the town (highlighted above), was the place where in the old days the locals would light a giant fire on commencement day, so that the parents of the kids from surrounding islands would know when their children graduated.  I could not help but think of the Indian smoke signals that were a form of communication on mainland at about the same time.

By the time our eight-hour adventure was over, this big Hawaiian and I were pals.  It turns out that Captain Bill (above) and his girlfriend had bought some land outside of Sedona, Arizona.  So I told him about horse racing in Prescott in the summer and Tammy's billiards bar in Sedona.  

Just before we reached the harbor, the captain stopped the boat.  "Ladies and gentlemen," he was about to start the usual commercial announcements.  "From this point forward, you have to swim ashore," I continued for him, standing right next to him and his microphone.  "Docking and disembarking in the harbor costs extra."

This time, it was the captain who doubled up laughing.  He put his microphone down and waited until he recovered his breath.  Then he continued.  "Ladies and gentlemen..."

After everyone had dispersed, a few minutes later, I came across the lady with the baby and her husband in Lahaina town's square.  We smiled at each other.  "It was a whale of a trip, wasn't it?" I said.  This time, the husband cracked up.  We waived goodbye to each other.

Old Town Lahaina

Last night, after a mahi-mahi dinner at a local seafood restaurant, I toured the old town Lahaina on foot.  It was close to 10PM and most of the stores were closed.  There were a few open galleries, so I had art for dessert.  I also noticed how interesting old town Lahaina was.  Dating back to about 1827, this fishing village has seen a lot of changes around it, yet it managed to preserve its basic character.  So I decided to walk through the town after the sailing trip and check out a few more galleries...

...starting at this little park near the town square.

I loved the marine-style architecture of some of these old buildings.

And then I remembered from my previous visits to Lahaina this giant banyan tree.  It is believed to be one of the largest in the world.  Believe it or not, what you're seeing is all one tree.  And you're only seeing about half of it.  Wish you could also hear the sounds.  There must have been hundreds of birds in this tree chirping all at the same time.  The noise was incredible.  It was quite clear that there are no parliamentarian rules of behavior in the aviary world.  It's each bird for himself.  And as loudly as possible.

One of the galleries I visited was this one - Maui Moon Arts.  A Hawaiian lady attendant struck a conversation with me.  She tried to get me to tell her what kinds of paintings I liked.  I replied that I could not describe it; I can just feel when a painting is right for me.  So I briefly relayed to her the story of my Russian Irene painting. 

"This lady is a Russian," the Hawaiian said, pointing to a young woman artist who was sitting on a stool and actually painting something.  "She just got in from Russia."

"Really?" I said, thinking that no matter where I go or what I do, I somehow always seem to come across something Russian.

"What's your name?" I asked the Russian painter.

"Ina," she replied.

"Ina?  That's a part of Irina."  I then shared with the two women the full story of my Irene nude.  

"That's an amazing story," the Hawaiian lady said.  "You have a real cosmic connection with Russia."

Then I said that the painter was from Krasnodar.  Suddenly, Ina, the young Russian, perked up.  "That's where I am from," she interrupted me all excited. 

"You're kidding."

"No, I am not.  I am really from Krasnodar."

"And don't tell you know the painter who did my Irene..."

"Tsukhanin," she said before I could finish the sentence.

"You know him?" it was now the Hawaiian lady's turn to be stunned.  "Is he famous."

"Yes, he is pretty famous," Ina replied.

But then I explained that it was actually his wife, Irene, that did my nude.

"You like nudes?" the Hawaiian lady pressed me unrelentingly hoping to make a sale.

"She is my only one," I replied.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed.  "We have lots of nudes."

"I see.  You do.  But there is only one Irene."  I smiled and waived goodbye to both of them.  "Happy New Year!"

Epilogue

MAUI, Dec 31 - I was treated this New Year's Eve to this view out from my condo's balcony...

The above image is a combination of two photos spliced together to try to give you a panoramic view a naked eye enjoys from my balcony.  The island visible straight ahead in the left half of the picture is Kahoolawa, disaffectionately called "Target Island" by the locals.  It is uninhabited because, for decades, it has been used by the U.S. military for target practice.  This stopped in 1993, but there is still a lot of unexploded ordinance on it.  Sad but true... that our military would wreak such havoc with nature in this beautiful part of the world, while our government, that runs the military, tells us that if our hats blew off accidentally while sailing, the boat has to turn around to pick up the "trash" (I am not kidding).  A bit of a double standard, wouldn't you say?

Closer to home, most kids make sand castles on the beach, but the author of this sand sculpture must have read my "Whale of a Story"-piece.  J  At first I thought it was a jumbo jet.  Then I realized its tail was horizontal, not vertical.

But my favorite New Year's Eve morning scene was this.  There was a special, almost ethereal quality to the light.  And the combination of the blues and the greens, rarely found together in nature, separated and joined together by the beige sand here, made it look almost as a painting.

The last day of the year was exceptionally clear.  The above shot was taken around noon when Haleakala is usually enveloped in haze and clouds.

And this was the last sunset of 2005.

Happy New Year! (again)

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