Oh, jesus christ.
I would rather be infected with the swine flu than be a proud iPhone owner, but there is very little chance of either happening despite what the media would want you to believe!
Fucking ridiculous.
May 1, 2009
Apr 16, 2009
When the mice are away, the cat will play
I was released from work a few hours early on Monday, around 1:30 a.m. The sky was mostly overcast again and there wasn't much to see up there. All I did the whole evening was hang out in the lodge and imbibe mass quantities of caffeine anyway, so I was feeling restless. The early morning was also pretty gorgeous, and I was of an energetic and adventurous spirit, so instead of heading straight home I went exploring.
Across the main highway from the road leading up to the lodge and eventually to the summit of Mauna Kea where we work is another road making its way up the relatively gentle slopes of Mauna Loa, the neighboring massive volcano. I had never made it all the way to the end before so I've always wondered where exactly it leads to. I'm curious like a cat, and that's why my friends call me Whiskers. My goal that morning was to follow it to the very end, or at least as far as it was drivable for a passenger car.
Even the intersection at the highway is absolutely in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around for over 50 miles in any direction but a small Army field, a distant prison, and a few observatories and the dormitories for astronomers. The landscape looks otherworldly, especially when illuminated by the moon only partially obscured by high patchy clouds. It's composed of mostly barren lava rock, with only a few hardy species of vegetation growing in between the cracks. The terrain is also bathed in fog for what seems like 80 percent of the time, as it was that morning.
By choosing to set out on this route, I was only leading myself deeper into nowhere. No signage existed on this road whatsoever, aside from a preliminary sign warning of "EXTREME CONDITIONS AHEAD." It was narrow, one lane, and barely had any shoulder on either side for the most part. Navigating it felt a bit like riding a roller coaster, since it was constantly twisting and winding with not 50 consecutive feet of straightaway. It also carried on in consistent up and down fashion like a series of sine waves, to the point where anyone susceptible to getting carsick would have preferred to get out and walk. However, it was nicely paved for the first few miles, with two solid white lines defining both edges. It certainly deteriorated the farther I went, though. The pavement became rougher and more potholed, and only one squiggly line remained, appearing as if someone had stood over the back of a slowly moving truck splattering a bucket of white paint down the middle of the road. But even that was a hell of a useful guide, because in the murky darkness the road blended in so well with the rocky terrain, and it would have been all too easy to drive right off it into the lava.
I still hit one deadly 90 degree curve, the only one of its kind, going too fast. There was nothing to warn me to slow down, not even a chevron sign, and I was on it before I knew it was there. Trying to slow down and make the sharp turn at the same time, I went skidding off the pavement onto what was fortunately a wide gravelly shoulder. On the way back down, the corner surprised me just as much. That time I didn't turn the wheel, just slammed on the brakes and skidded past the turn, off the pavement again and stopping short of a bulldozed rock wall. This would have been such wonderful inspiration for a track in Mario Kart.
The experience of just driving the track felt surreal. I had no idea where I would end up or what I might find, as we continued climbing up steeply along an utterly unpredictable and dangerous road. The trippy music that boomed on the stereo only enhanced the dreamlike atmosphere, as did the dense fog and mist I had to navigate through. After awhile, as we rose above the clouds and left the fog behind, I noticed the landscape had become entirely devoid of life, and it resembled a scene one would expect to see in a photograph of another planet's surface. The elevation was marked on the pavement in white chalk at various intervals, and I noticed we had already risen above 11,000 feet.
It seemed to go on and on in a relatively straightforward manner, until after climbing another thousand feet, a sign jumped out at me that read, "PUBLIC PARKING." A hundred feet beyond that, I could make out in the moonlight a heavy iron gate restricting vehicular access. So I parked and got out, suddenly hit by 35 degree mountain air, which felt so pleasant and refreshing. The surroundings were also almost completely silent, save for the humming of machinery originating from just up the hill. I could make out a fairly large complex of buildings beyond the gate. At first, though, I was stricken by the view down the mountain. The entire south slope of Mauna Kea was visible, and I could make out a pair of headlights on the summit. A cluster of amber street lights from a town far, far away and beneath the clouds cast their subtle glow, mimicking a matrix of beacons situated on another planet. I was content to just stand there and take in the beauty for awhile, though I had to move around some just to stay warm.
Of course, I had to see what was going on just up the hill. It attracted me like a gecko is drawn toward an outdoor light. I left Petunia and made my way up the steep slope, walking around the gate, which seemed built to guard a fortress like Fort Knox- from vehicular traffic, at least. I had to take my time trudging up, since the oxygen-deficient atmosphere of such a high elevation can leave even the most fit out of breath quickly. I came upon quite an assortment of bizarre-looking buildings, some of them resembling the cylindrical or circular-shaped domes that house the telescopes I usually work amongst. On rooftop decks reached by rickety wooden stairs were arranged a variety of elaborate-looking instruments pointed towards the sky and the horizon. When I looked through the windows of a couple of the buildings, I noticed expensive-looking laptop computers left open and running in darkened rooms, but there was no sign of anyone around to operate them. Besides plenty of unusual-looking machinery, also filling the space were large electronic wall displays, scrolling all sorts of graphical scientific data. This was beginning to feel delightfully James Bondish, especially with my vivid imagination.
I was able to visually detect a few obvious security cameras, which I took care not to walk right in front of. I had no way of knowing whether they were equipped with night vision or if anyone might be watching. For all I knew, I could have been walking around on live webcam, though I doubt many people would be watching at 3:30 in the morning. The element of mystery was spoiled somewhat when I read a plaque that tipped me off: this evil lair belonged to the [url=http://www.mlo.noaa.gov/]NOAA[/url]. I knew there was an atmospheric research facility somewhere on the island, but this just goes to show how well they keep it hidden. Perhaps it was my fate to discover and foil some evil Blofeldian plot to send all future Atlantic hurricanes away from Florida and into Cuba!
After examining the website, I now recognize that most of those cameras can't see shit in the dark. Only the [url=http://www.mlo.noaa.gov/Live/mlocam/MLO360CAM2.jpg]Tower Cam[/url] reveals much detail at all. Speaking of which, when I first spotted the high steel tower rising mightily towards the moon, I figured I had to climb it. My obsession with climbing things is another feline quality about myself and I can hardly explain. Unlike Catcall Tower, I could see that I didn't require divine powers to climb this one; a series of steel steps led all the way to the very top. The only catch was that the tower's base was surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with barbed wire. I always seem to find an easy way around that sort of thing, however, as it usually seems someone else invaded before me. On one side I found a couple of cinder blocks stacked up, and the barbed wire on the top was mostly undone. So I climbed over without much trouble and began making my way up. It actually proved to be a bit of a workout, as the apex was even farther away than it looked, and I felt like I was climbing into the heavens.
The view for up there was positively jaw-dropping, well worth being out of breath for. I nearly felt as if I was flying, standing what seemed like 300 feet above the ground. I suppose it's no wonder I'm attracted to high places. I just let my imagination run wild for awhile in the cold morning wind as I surveyed from my perch the world I know, or think I do.
After making my way back down, I tripped around the facility and explored some more, until I realized the supply of caffeine in my body had pretty much been exhausted, and the physical effects of running, climbing, and snooping around above much of earth's atmosphere were starting to catch up to me. I still made it home before dawn, though. It's great to enjoy a unique and rejuvenating experience like that in a place where I often feel like I've already experienced everything it has to offer at least a few times before.
Across the main highway from the road leading up to the lodge and eventually to the summit of Mauna Kea where we work is another road making its way up the relatively gentle slopes of Mauna Loa, the neighboring massive volcano. I had never made it all the way to the end before so I've always wondered where exactly it leads to. I'm curious like a cat, and that's why my friends call me Whiskers. My goal that morning was to follow it to the very end, or at least as far as it was drivable for a passenger car.
Even the intersection at the highway is absolutely in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around for over 50 miles in any direction but a small Army field, a distant prison, and a few observatories and the dormitories for astronomers. The landscape looks otherworldly, especially when illuminated by the moon only partially obscured by high patchy clouds. It's composed of mostly barren lava rock, with only a few hardy species of vegetation growing in between the cracks. The terrain is also bathed in fog for what seems like 80 percent of the time, as it was that morning.
By choosing to set out on this route, I was only leading myself deeper into nowhere. No signage existed on this road whatsoever, aside from a preliminary sign warning of "EXTREME CONDITIONS AHEAD." It was narrow, one lane, and barely had any shoulder on either side for the most part. Navigating it felt a bit like riding a roller coaster, since it was constantly twisting and winding with not 50 consecutive feet of straightaway. It also carried on in consistent up and down fashion like a series of sine waves, to the point where anyone susceptible to getting carsick would have preferred to get out and walk. However, it was nicely paved for the first few miles, with two solid white lines defining both edges. It certainly deteriorated the farther I went, though. The pavement became rougher and more potholed, and only one squiggly line remained, appearing as if someone had stood over the back of a slowly moving truck splattering a bucket of white paint down the middle of the road. But even that was a hell of a useful guide, because in the murky darkness the road blended in so well with the rocky terrain, and it would have been all too easy to drive right off it into the lava.
I still hit one deadly 90 degree curve, the only one of its kind, going too fast. There was nothing to warn me to slow down, not even a chevron sign, and I was on it before I knew it was there. Trying to slow down and make the sharp turn at the same time, I went skidding off the pavement onto what was fortunately a wide gravelly shoulder. On the way back down, the corner surprised me just as much. That time I didn't turn the wheel, just slammed on the brakes and skidded past the turn, off the pavement again and stopping short of a bulldozed rock wall. This would have been such wonderful inspiration for a track in Mario Kart.
The experience of just driving the track felt surreal. I had no idea where I would end up or what I might find, as we continued climbing up steeply along an utterly unpredictable and dangerous road. The trippy music that boomed on the stereo only enhanced the dreamlike atmosphere, as did the dense fog and mist I had to navigate through. After awhile, as we rose above the clouds and left the fog behind, I noticed the landscape had become entirely devoid of life, and it resembled a scene one would expect to see in a photograph of another planet's surface. The elevation was marked on the pavement in white chalk at various intervals, and I noticed we had already risen above 11,000 feet.
It seemed to go on and on in a relatively straightforward manner, until after climbing another thousand feet, a sign jumped out at me that read, "PUBLIC PARKING." A hundred feet beyond that, I could make out in the moonlight a heavy iron gate restricting vehicular access. So I parked and got out, suddenly hit by 35 degree mountain air, which felt so pleasant and refreshing. The surroundings were also almost completely silent, save for the humming of machinery originating from just up the hill. I could make out a fairly large complex of buildings beyond the gate. At first, though, I was stricken by the view down the mountain. The entire south slope of Mauna Kea was visible, and I could make out a pair of headlights on the summit. A cluster of amber street lights from a town far, far away and beneath the clouds cast their subtle glow, mimicking a matrix of beacons situated on another planet. I was content to just stand there and take in the beauty for awhile, though I had to move around some just to stay warm.
Of course, I had to see what was going on just up the hill. It attracted me like a gecko is drawn toward an outdoor light. I left Petunia and made my way up the steep slope, walking around the gate, which seemed built to guard a fortress like Fort Knox- from vehicular traffic, at least. I had to take my time trudging up, since the oxygen-deficient atmosphere of such a high elevation can leave even the most fit out of breath quickly. I came upon quite an assortment of bizarre-looking buildings, some of them resembling the cylindrical or circular-shaped domes that house the telescopes I usually work amongst. On rooftop decks reached by rickety wooden stairs were arranged a variety of elaborate-looking instruments pointed towards the sky and the horizon. When I looked through the windows of a couple of the buildings, I noticed expensive-looking laptop computers left open and running in darkened rooms, but there was no sign of anyone around to operate them. Besides plenty of unusual-looking machinery, also filling the space were large electronic wall displays, scrolling all sorts of graphical scientific data. This was beginning to feel delightfully James Bondish, especially with my vivid imagination.
I was able to visually detect a few obvious security cameras, which I took care not to walk right in front of. I had no way of knowing whether they were equipped with night vision or if anyone might be watching. For all I knew, I could have been walking around on live webcam, though I doubt many people would be watching at 3:30 in the morning. The element of mystery was spoiled somewhat when I read a plaque that tipped me off: this evil lair belonged to the [url=http://www.mlo.noaa.gov/]NOAA[/url]. I knew there was an atmospheric research facility somewhere on the island, but this just goes to show how well they keep it hidden. Perhaps it was my fate to discover and foil some evil Blofeldian plot to send all future Atlantic hurricanes away from Florida and into Cuba!
After examining the website, I now recognize that most of those cameras can't see shit in the dark. Only the [url=http://www.mlo.noaa.gov/Live/mlocam/MLO360CAM2.jpg]Tower Cam[/url] reveals much detail at all. Speaking of which, when I first spotted the high steel tower rising mightily towards the moon, I figured I had to climb it. My obsession with climbing things is another feline quality about myself and I can hardly explain. Unlike Catcall Tower, I could see that I didn't require divine powers to climb this one; a series of steel steps led all the way to the very top. The only catch was that the tower's base was surrounded by a high chain link fence topped with barbed wire. I always seem to find an easy way around that sort of thing, however, as it usually seems someone else invaded before me. On one side I found a couple of cinder blocks stacked up, and the barbed wire on the top was mostly undone. So I climbed over without much trouble and began making my way up. It actually proved to be a bit of a workout, as the apex was even farther away than it looked, and I felt like I was climbing into the heavens.
The view for up there was positively jaw-dropping, well worth being out of breath for. I nearly felt as if I was flying, standing what seemed like 300 feet above the ground. I suppose it's no wonder I'm attracted to high places. I just let my imagination run wild for awhile in the cold morning wind as I surveyed from my perch the world I know, or think I do.
After making my way back down, I tripped around the facility and explored some more, until I realized the supply of caffeine in my body had pretty much been exhausted, and the physical effects of running, climbing, and snooping around above much of earth's atmosphere were starting to catch up to me. I still made it home before dawn, though. It's great to enjoy a unique and rejuvenating experience like that in a place where I often feel like I've already experienced everything it has to offer at least a few times before.
Apr 14, 2009
Changing with the weather
I haven't been working much at all the past couple months. It isn't due to the gloomy economic climate so much as the very unstable tropical climate. There isn't much point in sending me up to the summit to work if the sky is completely overcast with a chance for snow and ice, since the telescope isn't even going to be able to operate. The extremely delicate mirrors of the telescope cannot be exposed to high levels of humidity lest hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage occurs. Hence, the domes housing them must remain closed in such conditions, and no observational work is done.
The weather has been very unusual; frequently storming over the summit and dropping at least a couple inches of snow every other day, which add up over the span of several weeks. The summit of Mauna Kea is typically an absolutely bone dry and very cold region with absolutely zero humidity- the textbook definition of "alpine desert." It seems however that the harshness of winter carries on a little longer each year. I do suspect the weather will settle down by May, allowing for more laser guide star operations to be done, but one never knows. The climatic patterns that govern the weather on this island are probably as quirky as anywhere else in the world, which is why we have rain forests, hot deserts, steppes, alpine deserts, sub-alpine zones, mesic woodlands, cloud forests, marshes... the list goes on and on.
Even before the economic recession began cutting in deep, worthwhile employment opportunities were scarce on Hawaii Island. Now they're practically non-existent, as either no one is even considering the possibility of hiring, or managers are extremely selective about who is hired for a position. There isn't much going on around here to begin with, besides the retail, hospitality/tourism, agricultural, and usual education/medical industries. And those jobs are pretty much all locked up by people who are very well established on the island. Fewer people traveling to exotic isolated locales translates to fewer jobs here. It's quite a dismal situation. I just take what I can get with the extremely unique part-time job I have now.
I've lived here for maybe 12 or 13 years of my life, and I still don't feel quite at home in a social or professional sense. I probably never will. The most redeeming quality of Hawaii is its natural and cultural beauty and lushness, and its natural environment is what I have always taken to- probably due in part to the absence of much else. I have come to firmly believe that being raised in such a special place has significantly shaped who I am and what I value. Hawaii is what I know best, and the spirit of Hawaii will always be in my blood and something I most strongly identify with, no matter where I go. I wonder how much of a different person I would be if I was raised in a place like, say, Chicago. I'd probably be a city slicker without much appreciation for nature and outdoor recreation but a strong affinity for fine dining and fashion. It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, just very, very different.
Given a choice, I wouldn't change a thing. My childhood and adolescence is full of unique experiences here in the islands that have left me full of stories to tell. Such as the time we navigated a couple small inflatable rafts through several miles of underground irrigation tunnels, wherein our flashlights died, leaving us helpless but to slowly drift along for hours with the lazy flow of the water. When we first spotted the literal light at the end of the tunnel, we were overwhelmed with relief, but it took us another 45 minutes of shivering in the dark and floating idly along to reach the end of the tunnel.
There is also a certain amount of pride that comes with being from such a unique and enchanting place. I'll always have plenty of Hawaiian in me no matter where in the world I end up.
I still feel the time is coming to leave this paradise behind in search of greater opportunities elsewhere. It's difficult to leave behind almost all my familiar possessions and a place so deeply familiar to me, but I believe greater promise lies elsewhere, and I don't believe I can realistically realize my dreams in such a constricting, isolated place. I seem to want more out of life than the average person. I don't want a wife or kids or a perfect little house in the suburbs or a necktie job, but I do want to be closer to my pack of soul family. Money is of little importance to me so long as I have enough to comfortably survive. Ultimately, I want to be able to finance my survival doing something to help the natural environment, but I don't wish to remain thousands of miles away from those that are dear to me. Something I crave most is the freedom to travel, which is horribly limited in a small archipelago almost humorously located smack dab in the middle of the Pacific. My strongly adventurous spirit becomes more and more restless for new experiences, and everything here is pretty much same ol' same ol'.
I believe I'm just waiting for the right time and the perfect excuse. I just find it ironic that so many people consider Hawaii to be an unforgettable once-in-a-lifetime escape... and here I am looking to escape Hawaii.
The weather has been very unusual; frequently storming over the summit and dropping at least a couple inches of snow every other day, which add up over the span of several weeks. The summit of Mauna Kea is typically an absolutely bone dry and very cold region with absolutely zero humidity- the textbook definition of "alpine desert." It seems however that the harshness of winter carries on a little longer each year. I do suspect the weather will settle down by May, allowing for more laser guide star operations to be done, but one never knows. The climatic patterns that govern the weather on this island are probably as quirky as anywhere else in the world, which is why we have rain forests, hot deserts, steppes, alpine deserts, sub-alpine zones, mesic woodlands, cloud forests, marshes... the list goes on and on.
Even before the economic recession began cutting in deep, worthwhile employment opportunities were scarce on Hawaii Island. Now they're practically non-existent, as either no one is even considering the possibility of hiring, or managers are extremely selective about who is hired for a position. There isn't much going on around here to begin with, besides the retail, hospitality/tourism, agricultural, and usual education/medical industries. And those jobs are pretty much all locked up by people who are very well established on the island. Fewer people traveling to exotic isolated locales translates to fewer jobs here. It's quite a dismal situation. I just take what I can get with the extremely unique part-time job I have now.
I've lived here for maybe 12 or 13 years of my life, and I still don't feel quite at home in a social or professional sense. I probably never will. The most redeeming quality of Hawaii is its natural and cultural beauty and lushness, and its natural environment is what I have always taken to- probably due in part to the absence of much else. I have come to firmly believe that being raised in such a special place has significantly shaped who I am and what I value. Hawaii is what I know best, and the spirit of Hawaii will always be in my blood and something I most strongly identify with, no matter where I go. I wonder how much of a different person I would be if I was raised in a place like, say, Chicago. I'd probably be a city slicker without much appreciation for nature and outdoor recreation but a strong affinity for fine dining and fashion. It wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, just very, very different.
Given a choice, I wouldn't change a thing. My childhood and adolescence is full of unique experiences here in the islands that have left me full of stories to tell. Such as the time we navigated a couple small inflatable rafts through several miles of underground irrigation tunnels, wherein our flashlights died, leaving us helpless but to slowly drift along for hours with the lazy flow of the water. When we first spotted the literal light at the end of the tunnel, we were overwhelmed with relief, but it took us another 45 minutes of shivering in the dark and floating idly along to reach the end of the tunnel.
There is also a certain amount of pride that comes with being from such a unique and enchanting place. I'll always have plenty of Hawaiian in me no matter where in the world I end up.
I still feel the time is coming to leave this paradise behind in search of greater opportunities elsewhere. It's difficult to leave behind almost all my familiar possessions and a place so deeply familiar to me, but I believe greater promise lies elsewhere, and I don't believe I can realistically realize my dreams in such a constricting, isolated place. I seem to want more out of life than the average person. I don't want a wife or kids or a perfect little house in the suburbs or a necktie job, but I do want to be closer to my pack of soul family. Money is of little importance to me so long as I have enough to comfortably survive. Ultimately, I want to be able to finance my survival doing something to help the natural environment, but I don't wish to remain thousands of miles away from those that are dear to me. Something I crave most is the freedom to travel, which is horribly limited in a small archipelago almost humorously located smack dab in the middle of the Pacific. My strongly adventurous spirit becomes more and more restless for new experiences, and everything here is pretty much same ol' same ol'.
I believe I'm just waiting for the right time and the perfect excuse. I just find it ironic that so many people consider Hawaii to be an unforgettable once-in-a-lifetime escape... and here I am looking to escape Hawaii.
Jan 5, 2009
All U Can Eat
Son look at all the people in this restaurant
What d'you think they weigh?
And out the window to the parking lot
At their SUVs taking all of the space
They give no fuck
They talk as loud as they want
They give no fuck
Just as long as there's enough for them
Gotta get on the microphone down at Wal-Mart
Talk about some shit that's been on my mind
Talk about the state of this great of this nation of ours
Poeple look to your left, yeah look to your right
They give no fuck
They buy as much as they want
They give no fuck
Just as long as there's enough for them
Son look at the people lining up for plastic
Wouldn't you like to see them in the National Geographic?
Squatting bare-assed in the dirt eating rice from a bowl
With a towel on their head and maybe a bone in their nose
See that asshole with a peace-sign on his licence plate
Giving me the finger and running me out of his lane
God made us number one because he loves us the best
Well maybe he should go bless someone else for a while, give us a rest
Yeah and everyone can see
We've eaten all that we can eat
Lyrics © Ben Folds, 2006
What d'you think they weigh?
And out the window to the parking lot
At their SUVs taking all of the space
They give no fuck
They talk as loud as they want
They give no fuck
Just as long as there's enough for them
Gotta get on the microphone down at Wal-Mart
Talk about some shit that's been on my mind
Talk about the state of this great of this nation of ours
Poeple look to your left, yeah look to your right
They give no fuck
They buy as much as they want
They give no fuck
Just as long as there's enough for them
Son look at the people lining up for plastic
Wouldn't you like to see them in the National Geographic?
Squatting bare-assed in the dirt eating rice from a bowl
With a towel on their head and maybe a bone in their nose
See that asshole with a peace-sign on his licence plate
Giving me the finger and running me out of his lane
God made us number one because he loves us the best
Well maybe he should go bless someone else for a while, give us a rest
Yeah and everyone can see
We've eaten all that we can eat
Lyrics © Ben Folds, 2006
Dec 31, 2008
Users baffled as Zune MP3 players freeze up
http://www.cnn.com/2008/TECH/12/31/zune.player.failures/index.html
Some things never change, eh Microshaft? Nothing celebrates winter like technology that freezes.
Most of us are already forced to use their operating system at home, school, or work, so I can't imagine why anyone would want to go out and willingly invest in another product of theirs for themselves when many other options are so readily available.
Some things never change, eh Microshaft? Nothing celebrates winter like technology that freezes.
Most of us are already forced to use their operating system at home, school, or work, so I can't imagine why anyone would want to go out and willingly invest in another product of theirs for themselves when many other options are so readily available.
Dec 30, 2008
Mother Nature's fury knows no boundaries
A couple days ago, on another refreshingly dim, cloudy, and very windy afternoon, I took another trip down to one of my favorite spots on Earth, Pololu Valley. I encountered more crowds of tourists that I expected for such a weekday (there were actually only around 20 people down there, but even that seems excessive for such an isolated locale that I'm used to seeing so deserted). Craving absolute solitude as usual, I opted to leave everyone behind and go somewhere... well, no one else ever goes.
And it's a place no one ever goes for a reason. Most people wouldn't even dream of going that way, and even if taking the risk crossed their mind, wouldn't be stupid or gutsy enough to try it. I have been stupid or gutsy enough to do it several times, and have always been rewarded with complete isolation and a slight sense of satisfaction for testing nature and prevailing.
The coastline is comprised of sheer, vertical cliffs, at the base of which lies a narrow stretch composed of round boulders between Pololu Valley and the next valley mouth about half a mile away. There are basically two ways of reaching that remote second valley- take the switchbacking trail that ascends up the wall from Pololu Valley, traverses the ridge, and descends down the second valley wall, or take the route that is much shorter and easier, but much more risky, and hop along the boulders at the base of the cliff.
The trail used to be the much easier way, before "The Big One" of '06 triggered a rockslide that undermined a significant portion of the trail, and necessitated a detour which involves scrambling down a very steep, slippery slope while holding onto tree trunks and a network of strategically placed ropes. It's exhausting, to say the least, whether one is headed up or down.
Most of the shoreline route actually isn't that bad, as long as one is physically fit for half a mile (seems like much more) of unstable, slippery boulder hopping. The first couple portions are the worst, though, as the going is so narrow that practically nothing lies between the raging ocean and the cliff. One has to proceed with just the right timing to rush on through between waves rolling in, so as to avoid being pounded by one against the cliff face. The worst I always get is a bit wet with salt water, but it's always a gamble.
After I made my way around the point and left the mouth of Pololu out of sight, I suddenly came upon the majority of the wreckage from the boat I mentioned a couple entries ago- a wide variety of objects the ocean simply deposited on the shore. And this wreckage was far more interesting, because it apparently had not been picked over at all, and I was likely the first person to investigate it from anywhere but in the air.
The first object I stumbled upon was the craft's steering wheel, all bent out of shape but still intact. Nearby were several fragments from the engine system, though the engine itself was probably lost somewhere out at sea. Four bright red gasoline containers were strewn about the rocks, a couple of them still retaining fuel.
Here are some of the other odd, random little items I discovered amongst all the sea-logged fragments of lumber:
-fire extinguisher
-wheel from a child's bicycle
-couple of children's life vests
-a battered VCR
-self-inflating bed roll with a name and phone number on it
-grey Zodiak boat that appeared in reasonably decent shape, but not necessarily related to the wreckage of the other boat
-couple of chair cushions
-the nautical compass
-the muffler
-a flare gun set with flares
I took the nautical compass and the flare gun set home as souvenirs. Finders keepers.
If I was a cast away out there, I would have been delighted to discover such a wreck. The things I could do with all that wood, plastic, and rope, not to mention a functioning flare gun! As it was, though, I found it fascinating, surreal, and creepy all the time. I couldn't help mentally inquiring as to how it happened, or whether any fatalities occurred because of it. It's not everyday one simply happens upon such an accident, but it just goes to show the ferocity of the rough seas out there, and that Hawai'i isn't nearly as tame as many people seem lulled into believing.
Photos
And it's a place no one ever goes for a reason. Most people wouldn't even dream of going that way, and even if taking the risk crossed their mind, wouldn't be stupid or gutsy enough to try it. I have been stupid or gutsy enough to do it several times, and have always been rewarded with complete isolation and a slight sense of satisfaction for testing nature and prevailing.
The coastline is comprised of sheer, vertical cliffs, at the base of which lies a narrow stretch composed of round boulders between Pololu Valley and the next valley mouth about half a mile away. There are basically two ways of reaching that remote second valley- take the switchbacking trail that ascends up the wall from Pololu Valley, traverses the ridge, and descends down the second valley wall, or take the route that is much shorter and easier, but much more risky, and hop along the boulders at the base of the cliff.
The trail used to be the much easier way, before "The Big One" of '06 triggered a rockslide that undermined a significant portion of the trail, and necessitated a detour which involves scrambling down a very steep, slippery slope while holding onto tree trunks and a network of strategically placed ropes. It's exhausting, to say the least, whether one is headed up or down.
Most of the shoreline route actually isn't that bad, as long as one is physically fit for half a mile (seems like much more) of unstable, slippery boulder hopping. The first couple portions are the worst, though, as the going is so narrow that practically nothing lies between the raging ocean and the cliff. One has to proceed with just the right timing to rush on through between waves rolling in, so as to avoid being pounded by one against the cliff face. The worst I always get is a bit wet with salt water, but it's always a gamble.
After I made my way around the point and left the mouth of Pololu out of sight, I suddenly came upon the majority of the wreckage from the boat I mentioned a couple entries ago- a wide variety of objects the ocean simply deposited on the shore. And this wreckage was far more interesting, because it apparently had not been picked over at all, and I was likely the first person to investigate it from anywhere but in the air.
The first object I stumbled upon was the craft's steering wheel, all bent out of shape but still intact. Nearby were several fragments from the engine system, though the engine itself was probably lost somewhere out at sea. Four bright red gasoline containers were strewn about the rocks, a couple of them still retaining fuel.
Here are some of the other odd, random little items I discovered amongst all the sea-logged fragments of lumber:
-fire extinguisher
-wheel from a child's bicycle
-couple of children's life vests
-a battered VCR
-self-inflating bed roll with a name and phone number on it
-grey Zodiak boat that appeared in reasonably decent shape, but not necessarily related to the wreckage of the other boat
-couple of chair cushions
-the nautical compass
-the muffler
-a flare gun set with flares
I took the nautical compass and the flare gun set home as souvenirs. Finders keepers.
If I was a cast away out there, I would have been delighted to discover such a wreck. The things I could do with all that wood, plastic, and rope, not to mention a functioning flare gun! As it was, though, I found it fascinating, surreal, and creepy all the time. I couldn't help mentally inquiring as to how it happened, or whether any fatalities occurred because of it. It's not everyday one simply happens upon such an accident, but it just goes to show the ferocity of the rough seas out there, and that Hawai'i isn't nearly as tame as many people seem lulled into believing.
Photos
just an annual excuse to get wasted
I was hoping I would get the chance to work up on the mountain all night on New Year's Eve, but it appears wintry weather might again prevail and the shift will be canceled due to an excess of snow and ice on the summit.
All that happens in this neighborhood on said holiday are billions of firecrackers going off, as well as equally as annoying whistling fireworks. This is the perfect time to make a bunch of obnoxious, unnecessary noise and do it legally, so why not take advantage of it? I hope it's windy enough so all the smoke doesn't linger, and damp enough to minimize people's willingness to make as much noise as they humanly can just for the hell of it. Up on the mountain, it would be a peaceful, surreal snowy winter wonderland, an environment I wouldn't mind spending all night in as everyone carries on with their mindless partying and boozing and noisemaking somewhere thousands of feet below the clouds.
I can hardly wait for this holiday to be over, too. Then soon thereafter the old, stale president will be out and replaced by someone who shows a lick of promise, and we can all try to move on with our lives in relative comfort. Or maybe not; who knows how much worse it will get. I try not to depress myself with such thoughts. At least the dawn of a new year feels like somewhat of a fresh start. Actually, it will probably just feel like business as usual, which is actually welcome after how I've reacted to the holidays this year.
If I don't get the blessed chance to work tomorrow night, I'll likely just stay in the warmth and coziness of my room and listen to music, indulge in playing my recently acquired copies of Okami or Galaxy on the Wii, and maybe watch some movies. For someone as willfully introverted as I am, who experiences the most pleasure in doing solitary activities, having one's private little oasis to hide out in where no one can intrude without permission is extremely important. I'm glad I have that, especially on occasions like New Year's Eve.
All that happens in this neighborhood on said holiday are billions of firecrackers going off, as well as equally as annoying whistling fireworks. This is the perfect time to make a bunch of obnoxious, unnecessary noise and do it legally, so why not take advantage of it? I hope it's windy enough so all the smoke doesn't linger, and damp enough to minimize people's willingness to make as much noise as they humanly can just for the hell of it. Up on the mountain, it would be a peaceful, surreal snowy winter wonderland, an environment I wouldn't mind spending all night in as everyone carries on with their mindless partying and boozing and noisemaking somewhere thousands of feet below the clouds.
I can hardly wait for this holiday to be over, too. Then soon thereafter the old, stale president will be out and replaced by someone who shows a lick of promise, and we can all try to move on with our lives in relative comfort. Or maybe not; who knows how much worse it will get. I try not to depress myself with such thoughts. At least the dawn of a new year feels like somewhat of a fresh start. Actually, it will probably just feel like business as usual, which is actually welcome after how I've reacted to the holidays this year.
If I don't get the blessed chance to work tomorrow night, I'll likely just stay in the warmth and coziness of my room and listen to music, indulge in playing my recently acquired copies of Okami or Galaxy on the Wii, and maybe watch some movies. For someone as willfully introverted as I am, who experiences the most pleasure in doing solitary activities, having one's private little oasis to hide out in where no one can intrude without permission is extremely important. I'm glad I have that, especially on occasions like New Year's Eve.
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