Hawaii Blue, Part Two: Rescuing a Plastic Camera

In old Hawaiian culture, there were certain laws, or kapu, that governed the functioning of society, the violation of which was a capital offense. Condemned Hawaiians had one chance: escape to a place of refuge, such as Pu'uhonua o Honaunau, south of Kona. If they made it, they could be absolved and re-enter society. Imagine that sort of dash for survival, pursued by the people who, stories hold it, beat Captain James Cook to death in the water of Kealakakua Bay.

So to be fair, the culture we overthrew at the behest of sugar farmers wasn't entirely pacific in any sense but the geographical.

The picture above is this place of refuge, lovely white sand, coconut trees, thick walls of a royal residence, remnants of a fish pond, a cove where green sea turtles--honu--will swim or crawl ashore: we did see a fast sideways ripple in the water, and then a small black head poking up curiously.

Here is a view from the sanctuary out into the bay:



Speaking of creatures in the water, not to mention a fear of death, there is a small outcrop of lava rock just around a curve of the shore from the sanctuary, just out of frame in this picture. This outcrop is called "Two Step" for a launching point for divers and snorklers, so called for one particular point where the rocks have been worn into two shelves on different levels that make a gradual transition into the depths.

Here there be fish. And big waves. And rocks. And here I would snorkel for the first time. Did I mention the big waves and the big rocks?

I am not a strong swimmer: if I were to participate in a triathlon--assuming I completed it, and you know what they say about assuming--it would look similar to the Evolution of Man, as in the length of time required for completion.

I was pretty calm about it, right up until we started walking over the hot black rock toward the water, at which point, I probably got a good understanding of what those condemned Hawaiians must have been feeling before they reached the sanctuary themselves. The waves looked much bigger. I remembered just how deep the water actually was out there--over my head in every sense. To the left, a fierce gush of water swept in and out of a stony gap, and I could just see myself haplessly flapping my way in that very wrong direction. When it comes to doing physical activity, if there is a chance to do the right thing or to do a very wrong thing, with me, it is a bit of a toss-up which path I'll choose.

Oh, also, I was responsible for holding on to the disposable underwater camera, simply because I had a pocket in my swimsuit. I just knew I was going to lose it.

So I let Marina go in first, and then I let a few other people go in first, while I paid thorough attention to getting my rented snorkel-mask untwisted. I couldn't well snorkel with a twisted band of plastic on my head.

I nearly chickened out, but that would be kind of lame for a romantic vacation in Hawaii, so I eventually lowered myself into the gentle sloshing of the water on the lower shelf, fit the flippers onto my feet, feeling how tight they were, sealed the mask over my eyes and nose, noted the Darth Vader-esque sensation of breathing through the mouthpiece and snorkel, and then before I could think any more about it, launched forward into the cool water.

As I paddled my way through the rising and falling waves to where Marina was treading water, salt water filled my mouth. I spit it out, cleansed the snorkel, and kept going. I repeated the salt water process, then kept going. I plunged my head into the water and looked down . . .

And wow.

Yellow tangs were the most prominent, but there were sundry other tropical fish, the most beautiful of which were Moorish Idols, with long white pennants streaming behind them. Sea urchins clinging to many rocks. Coral in magnificent colors and shapes.

And that was when I realized that I was floating on top of the water, easily buoyed up by the salt water, staring down through clear water at this world below. It didn't strike me here, but later in the trip, snorkeling at Kealakakula Bay near the Captain Cook Monument, I had this weird sense of the surreal, having to remind myself these were real live fish there, not a screen saver on a computer. It was also at Kealakakula that I floated above the edge of a coral shelf, and found myself staring down a long slope into empty blue far below, where light could not reach. That was amazing.

Snorkeling was something I never thought I could do, and then all of a sudden, here I was doing it. I've loved the ocean since I was a kid, but I have always been a little frightened of it, even as I've been drawn to it; when I was in Wales, I would spend hours at the shore, idly daydreaming about walking out into the water and continuing to walk indefinitely.

As time went along, I was able to relax and drift; we took pictures with the camera underwater, saw amazing fish and splashed around in a free world. The fish were not bothered by the presence of snorklers at Two Step; they carried on their business as if we were not there.

That was when I realized the camera was not in my pocket anymore.

I looked around, couldn't see it under water, not that there would be much I could do if it was gone. Then I surfaced, and there it was, floating two feet away from me, a Kodak kayak, apparently. Just like me, it floated much more easily than I had expected.

We snorkeled for an hour, I would say, and then dried off on the rocks, sitting and looking out at the waves, listening to a woman nearby saying how she had seen a giant "Aloha" spelled out in concrete bricks on a sandy space 'way over there,' and that a sea turtle had been hanging out in that vicinity. The first day of snorkeling was such a success that we came back the next day, and I swam directly to the irregularly shaped patch of light blue water where "Aloha" was to be found. No turtle, though.

We snorkeled throughout the week, at various locations around the island. We saw puffer fish, an eel, a crown-of-thorns starfish, a barracuda--must have been young, about a yard and a half in length, and typically of barracudas in the area, not aggressive unless provoked--and the reef triggerfish, the state fish of Hawaii, among with many other fish I have not yet been able to identify. It was seriously as good an experience as everyone told me it would be.

I would take the plunge again in a heartbeat.