February 29

Leap babies celebrate.

Brazilians on Mauna Kea

In the front the girls: Amanda and Iara In the back: Yule, Woody, Andre, Mateus and Kiko

At Visitor Center telescope.

Dad at the top of Mauna Kea with observatories in the background. A balmy 47 degrees, much warmer than the last time we were at the top.
I made my way to the summit ahead of everyone else. I noticed the group's excitement had calmed down as they experienced the reality of living off an atmosphere 1/2 what is is at sea level. The effects of the altitude - lightheaded, dizzy and weak.

Iara never made it to the summit. I came off the summit to pick her up off the snow field. I put her arm over my shoulder, and calmly encourage her back to the Expedition. She dropped to her knees several times exhausted. Once we returned to the truck I got her to sit inside to warm up (jeans and sneakers were wet), drink some fluids and rest. Then I rounded up the group to go back down to 9000 feet. Iara never lost her positive attitude about the situation. My ill effect brought on by higher altitudes is to swear like a sailor.

The snow was at least two feet deep in places.

One Rule

I told them to make themselves home. Feel free to help themselves to anything, use anything. Be comfortable. Only one rule. No one could run around naked.

Although there was breakfast and packing and nine people to get through one bathroom we were only 15 minutes off our departure time. Have you ever seen a nineteen year old get up at the crack of dawn? These seven did so, managing tasks and time in a very effective and efficient manner.

Although conversations between them were in Portuguese I could tell when they were in the middle of making a decision. I asked Francisco if living together for three months caused any tension. He said nothing that lasted. I even watched them play Rock-Paper-Scissors for seat assignments. The loser taking his seat without a word, moan or display of any disappointment.
I only have four bowls and four spoons, so we ate in shifts standing around the kitchen bar where I only have two stools. No one was ever idle. Packing, eating or in the bathroom, or doing dishes or sweeping the floor, or loading the Expedition.
I told them that when we have snow days in New York, we cancel school due to the bad weather and roads. But today is a good snow day.
A brief stop in Kona to see downtown and we were off to Mauna Kea.

Volcano National Park

They sat at the curb waiting for my arrival. The Expedition handled eight, but we were nine – seven of them, Dad and me. I told them to bring sleeping bags, towels and warm clothes. When I saw the amount of luggage I never thought we would get it into the small storage space behind the third row of seats. Or if we got the luggage stowed, the kids would be left behind. Surprisingly, everything fit.

Off to Volcanoes National Park, a short 30 miles south of the Hilo Airport.

Promotional literature gives the impression that a tourist will witness earth being born as red lava flows from the depth of the planet. No such thing. Yes, there is lava, but... Three years ago, I hiked four miles over black sun baked barren lave fields to see the red glow of hot rock. The red glow was as impressive as the hot burners on a George Foreman grill. But I saw it and felt the heat, a few degrees hotter than the surrounding terrain. If I had a hot dog I would have cooked it.

Presently, lava flows on state land, not in the park; therefore, it isn't accessible to the public. Only by air can you see the red lava, and I am going to assume it is not flowing. Nothing is reaching the ocean at this time. However, Kilauea is spewing so much noxious sulfur fumes that the road around the crater is closed, and at times, the visitor center and museum are also closed. The rangers are conducting no outside activities.

I was disappointed that my Brazilian friends would not be able to see Hawaii growing at their feet. Nevertheless we made the most of the day, the highlight being the walk through the lava tube.

We made South Point just before sundown. They asked me what was there and I said, “Nothing really.” Not even a sign that identifies it as the most southern place in the US. I had to explain the words most southern. The sunset was spectacular.

It is a dark and windy road home. Dad was nodding off. After all, we had been up since 5 am in order to drive to Hilo and pick up the Expedition at Harper Rentals and be at the airport by 9:50. We had time to that morning so I showed him David and Kate’s fourteen acre spread and we bought sandwiches for lunch, thus avoiding the snack bar prices at the Kilauea Lodge.

We arrived at my condo. they tumbled out of the vehicle and rallied to unload the gear. We cooked three pizza, exchanged photos, put together a morning departure time to Mauna Kea and went to sleep.

Reminded me of Micronesia. Everyone sleeping on the floor. Except me and Dad.

An Experience

The light rays rose over the Kohala Mountains and spilled over the Waimea Valley. In the distance sat Mauna Kea, without a cloud on the summit. The December snows glared like a white blank canvas, empty of detail, places where God had forgotten to paint. The Bee Gee lyrics “How deep is your love, I really need to know” played on the stereo mixed with the excited conversations of seven young Brazilians. I commanded the Ford Expedition, driving the behemoth vehicle through old lava fields far above the coast line, where a rich blue collided with the black lava in an explosion of foaming white.

We were headed to the tallest mountain on earth. Destination: Summit of Mauna Kea. Purpose: to play in it, to slide on it, to rolling in it, to touch it, to throw it, to examine it, and to eat it. It – snow. They had never seen It before. And back home in New York eleven inches of It was falling in Saratoga. Last week I invited the Brazilians to come to The Big Island.

In December they came to Maui, to work and study as part of their college education and a International YMCA counselor program. Their parents loaned them the funds, but to reimburse the money they worked with an entertainment company setting up banquets – everything from ironing the linens to staging.

Amanda and Woody came first, as reconnoiters and negotiated a deal for a place to live and a car. They resourcefully supplemented their needs by perusing garage sales. Budgets were tight.. Early hours and long days. For three months they tried to get to the Big Island. Tickets were too expensive and it was impossible to rent a car since they were all under twenty. It looked like the opportunity would slip away, until we met on the snorkel boat. With only five days left on Hawaii before they had to return to their classes in Brazil to become engineers, teachers and doctors, they came to the Big Island.

When I was in the Peace Corps I had such a privilege to work and become friends with many fine young Americans, fresh out of college. Their enthusiasm, work ethic, and raw optimism left me with no doubts that America’s future would some day be in good hands. After being with the Brazilians for two days I know Brazil’s future is just as bright living up to its motto – order and progress.

The Brazilians Are Coming

The next two days will be hectic, but Im looking forward to hosting seven students from Brazil. Stay tuned. They arrive in Hilo tomorrow morning. First destination - after renting a 4WD - the volanco.

Blinded

Never turn your back on the ocean. I know this. So I didn’t. The wave rolled in and crashed over the lava rocks. It surged higher than the rest filling the secret pool I had been looking for this morning. I expected to get wet, but the wave was bigger than I expected. I got drenched. Small wonder I wasn’t knocked off my feet and into the pool, which was about six feet deep. I tasted the salt of the ocean on my lips and before I could focus my sight on my predicament I knew I had lost my glasses.

I couldn’t believe I had done such a stupid tourist thing. And I wasn’t positive my glasses were even at the bottom. A shadow float by. A fish I presumed. Nothing but a blurry shape. If I couldn’t see if was a fish, how would I find my glasses? My six hundred plus dollar glasses after insurance.

Two local men, who had been standing near the shore heard me yell to Dad I had lost my glasses. They strolled over and scanned the pool. “What color are they?”
“ They are clear, frameless.” How many times had I searched my apartment looking for the damn things, unable to see them sitting on the table unless my face was only a couple feet away. Now the nearly invisible specs lay on the bottom of some swimming hole among the spiny sea urchins. Or maybe they fell to the other side. I tried to remember how the wave hit me. Which way had I turned?

I needed an optical mask, snorkel and fins and a couple of hours to scour the bottom. If I was lucky I’d find them and maybe if I was even luckier they wouldn’t be damaged.

One guy volunteered to get his mask, but I later learned he trotted off to his massage appointment. Christopher a lanky fellow with long red hair and surfer trunks to match that barely clung to his hips took a long drag off his cigarette before offering to help. He seemed reluctant to get wet, but might have been more inclined not to want to chase his morning beer with sea water. I told the gathered men I’d be back after I got my mask and I trudged up the hill to Boss Frog.

Boss Frog was just up the street and since I had been snorkeling two days ago I knew the 3.5 optical correction would give me a clear enough vision that I could spot an octopus camouflaged in the sea bottom waterscape. Maybe I could run around with a dive mask on for the next week. Picture me driving a car…

Still dripping we, I stood in the door way of the surf store, reluctant to walk in. The young man behind the counter said, “We get that all the time?” and waved me in. What? People looking like drowned rats in street clothes?

“Do you want to rent them for the day or for the week?”

“I just need to find my glasses. Hopefully, just for fifteen minutes.”
“Twenty four hour minimum.” I could tell by his look he thought I was crazy and the chances of finding them were slim. Ka-ching! Minus glasses and minus 10 bucks.

I trudged back down the road toting my blue bag filled with snorkeling gear. It was a little after 9 am and I wanted to be buying papaya at the local farmer’s market. Not this. And if I don’t find them? I didn’t want to think of my options. I had an old pair of contacts that could keep me from being declared legally blind, but I couldn’t remember when I wore them last. Eye infections?

I concocted a plan. I could get those guys to go into the water and look…maybe offer a finder’s fee. Yes, that is worth it. $50. The more people searching, the better. It’s a lot cheaper than buying new glasses, going without glasses for a couple of weeks, or spending the next five hours in an exhaustive search than could prove fruitless, frustrating and make me evil!

Only Christopher was there. “I think I found them.” His manner was so matter of fact, you would have thought he found my socks.

“Serious?” I nearly jumped in excitement.

I followed him to the edge of the pool, watching my step and keeping an eye on the surf. I couldn’t recall any other waves breaking over the lava as high as the one that hit me. I hopelessly stared into the water.

“There.” He pointed to a blurry location on the floor about three feet from the wall. Hell, I couldn’t see an anchor if it had been sitting there. I sat down and dropped my feet into the water. It was just that two to three feet drop in altitude that made it possible for me to see a straight stick-like feature below the surface.

“You mean sort of down that hole-like thing?” not too sure is I was seeing anything but a stick.
“Yeah,” he nodded.

“It looks different than anything else down there.”

I prepared my mask and was about to spit in it when I heard Christopher say, “Well, it is only a cigarette butt.” One last drag, flung it into the open sea and he jumped into the pool, smoked-filled lungs and all.

A few seconds later my glasses sat on my nose. I never bothered to wipe to water off them.

Shortly after I returned the mask to Boss Frog and got a refund for not even using the gear, I went back to the pool with fifty bucks in hand. Instead of just finding just Christopher four other guys were sitting around the rock wall. I nodded to Christopher so I could discretely hand him the money, but it wasn’t any secret.

“So those are 600 dollar glasses?” the toothless Filipino asked. “Nice specs.”

I handed my hero the cash. “I’ll share the money with all the fellows,” Christopher said.

“Well, just don’t get too ripped before the day is over.”

They all laughed.

I went back my condo and suggested to Dad that the rest of the day should have less drama. We went shopping for a waste paper basket for the bathroom.

Snorkle Trip

My whale photo. I need a better camera! Or a quicker finger.

Destination, Molokini.
Best part of the trip. Six students from Brazil. What a great group of kids.
On board lunch? Noodles.

Dad's dream vacation. Amanda mugs it up with Dad.
Matthew and friend munch on hamburgers after a morning of chasing fish and turtles.

Oh, yes, my dream vacation.

After a long morning on the water, I think we all felt a little tired.

Lanai

Weather held only what is expected in paradise - sunshine. The channels between the islands have been flat with rolling swells that flow as smooth as a hula’s story, perfect for whale-sightings on a morning ferry ride to Lanai.

Tourist fingers stretched out pointing to the dark backs of the humpbacks that broke the ice blue waters. Excited frenzy hung on the rails when white puffs drifted in the light winds before dissipating. "Where?" Ah, another whale missed. I caught a small whale breach and another slap its tail at least seven times before doing a head pop, checking to see if we were watching his antics.


Dad and I hiked the remote Jeep trail attempting to make the lookout to see panoramic views of Maui and Molokai rising gently from the horizon. Except we never made it. After wandering down a muddy trail to a gulch filled with Eucalyptus Trees, we stopped for chicken sandwiches I packed the night before. Several mountain bikers were surprised to see two people sitting along the side of the trail. The place seemed quite remote and far from civilization. Then two hikers came up from around the corner and suddenly nine people were clustered in the middle of a two lane Jeep trail. Fortunately, no Jeeps came careening around the bend.

We made good time, even caught a ride from a local who offered to take us to the trail head. We were marching up Cemetery Road, looking like two out-of-place tourist, map in hand.
Richey Carlos, a Filipino whose ancestry was peppered with every North American tribe imaginable was now about to offer his children pure native Hawaiian blood. He claimed his third wife’s lineage descended from the first Maui family to come to Lanai to work the island’s ranch.

Our turn-around-time of 1PM came up quickly, but I calculated we needed an hour and a half walk to the lodge where Clara and David relaxed in the lobby of a beautiful five star hotel. Then I realized we were hiking parallel to the golf course. It seemed silly to walk all the way around the course, the cemetery, the stables and then some, so I suggested we shortcut through the plush greens.


Being careful not to get plunked by the way-too-serious golfers who paid way-too-much to chase little white balls, we “played through” the 11th and 10th holes and found the cart path that lead down to the club house, a steep drop through a forest of Notfolk Pines large enough to replace the mask on Captain Cook’s ship.

The short cut saved a good half hour,leaving plenty of time to walk into town and grab an a scoop of chocolate and butter almond ice cream before shuttling to the lower hotel where we wandered to the beach and eventually to the ferry back to Maui.

Whales

We came here to see the whales.

Whale Quest was happening in Kapalua at the Ritz. The expo was a unique opportunity to meet world renown researches and writers from leading scientific and educational institutions. Or bid on a National Geographic Expedition trip to Antarctica. Market value was $20,000. Minimum bid was $15,000. I didn’t bid, but boy I would love to go.

On The Beach

"What is the worst thing you’ll run into?"

"Where?" I asked.

"In the bushes. In New York, you have to worry about the snakes."

Dad had gone after a plastic bag that had gotten away from him. It went tripping over the sandy beaches of Kailua before disappearing over the dunes. He fished the bag out of the bushes.

"Oh, I don’t know Dad. Maybe just the spiders and the homeless."

Dad wanted me to take a photo of his shadow. I couldn’t figure out why.

“My shadow still looks like it is nineteen.”

Tourist

If you visit Paris, you go to the Eiffel Tower. If in Seattle, the Space Needle and New York City calls with the Empire State Building. It is the tourist thing to do.

Tourist swarm the sandy beaches of Waikiki. From the warm waters and their reclines on the hotel verandas, Diamond Head beckons them to come for a short hike on a narrow trail. To see the view. To spot their hotel.

It is only a short 561 feet up from the parking lot which sits in the floor of the Le’ahi Crater.

The little trail begins on the street and trickles up the road that leads to the parking lot, where tourist don ball caps, take off their shirts and slather on sun screen for the short trek. At first trekkers are nicely strung out along a paved trail resembling a sidewalk in Anywhere, USA. Three tourist here. A solo hiker here.

Destination – the summit. As the trail narrows, leaving the pavement behind, it rises to the bunkers built along the rim in 1915.

The tourist treks a thin path that begins to choke when those with less stamina slow their pace, take in a view, dab sweat from their brow. Those descending compete with those who are ascending for the uneven footing along the narrow trail. As the climb up the first set of stairs begins people begin to stack up. 74 stairs lead to the first tunnel, a small dark 225 foot passage through lava. People pause to catch their breath.

Ants. Like an ant trail leading to the crumbs on a counter top, or to the bowels of a kitchen cabinet, the clog of humanity threads its way to the ultimate sugar cube – the view of Waikiki. But first another set of stairs. 99. Next a 54 metal spiral staircase to emerge in a bunker before the tourist is released to the summit. Tight quarters with too many people. I tried hard to ignore the swarm.

Sometimes traveling with Dad is like traveling with a mini-celeb. Wearing his Battle of the Bulge hat attracts attention, but so does the little gray haired man who doesn’t seem to be puffing any more than the average climber. In fact, he seemed less winded than some, although his climb to the summit was at a slower pace.

When we reached the top, a woman who had seen us at the bottom exclaimed, “You made it.”

Several asked Dad how old. Eighty-four got a small round of applause. And so did the fact that he was a WWII vet.

Minus 9

So cold it makes the snow squeek underfoot. Need I say anymore about going to Hawaii? After shoveling the driveway twice yesterday and scraping, or was that hacking, the ice off the windshield on the Jeep, I’m ready to go. I put the Jeep in the garage before leaving this morning and could not get the key out of the ignition. Frozen. Got out the hair dryer to blast the switch with warm air. Yes, do I need to say any more?

10 AM flight to my favorite airport, Newark. Yipee!

Snow Before Hawaii

Paroxysmal Atrial Tachycardia

It looks like this.

The name may escape you, but it's a condition that's estimated to affect as much as 40 percent of the U.S. population. And if you're among them, its an experience you'll never forget: Your heart rate suddenly shoots upward to 220 beats a minute, and it feels like it won't slow down. You feel flushed and have body chills. You may also feel nauseated and dizzy.

It's basically a temporary internal "electrical malfunction" that throws the heart's pacemaking system out of sync, causing instantaneous rapid heartbeat and the sudden release of adrenaline.

Seldom life-threatening.

For me, it has been going on for six weeks. Happens when I eat or swallow something. Causes me to get light headed and dizzy. Must decide to just put up with it or begin to take beta blockers.

Hero

The Friday before last, I was in New Orleans. The beginning of Mardi Gras weekend. Parades had been meandering through the streets of the city since the Twelfth Nite and the weekend promised more as the city headed into the final festive weekend before the Fat Tuesday blow out.

But there was one parade that should not have happened.

New Orleans motorcycle police officers saluted as bagpipe player who lead the funeral procession for police office Nicola Cotton. The hearse passed the 6th District police station where the officer volunteered to serve after graduating from police academy two years earlier.

Young Cotton grew up there. She knew the neighborhood and often peeled small bills from her pocket to give to the homeless. This was where she worked, where she lived and where she died when one homeless man with a mental illness took her life.

To the city, Nicola Cotton was a hero. She was a hero whose parade came too soon.

Learning a New Skill

When I iron a shirt (quit laughing), I start with the yoke and collar. Then I press out the sleeves. Once that is done I begin working around the body starting with the right side of the front. That is the step by step process, but it doesn’t explain the temperature of the iron, use of stream or dry, the fact that the tip of the iron is hotter than the heel, whether the board is faced to the left or right, how much pressure to use, how to handled the buttons, the trick of keeping the cord out of the way and many more little tips that for years I took for granted.

When I was a kid ironing happened on Saturday. First the clothes had to be sprinkled with water. Yes, the days before stream and spray irons but after the day of laying the cast iron in the fireplace - hell I ain't that old.

When I joined the Army I was amused by the number of young women who didn't know how to iron their uniforms. I even had a Drill Sergeant comment that once we left basic training most of us would end up ironing only the front part of our shirts leaving the rest of the shirt to hide under the dress uniform jacket. I never fell into that league.

This morning Dad asked me to show him how to iron a shirt he planned to wear in Hawaii. While demonstrating this skill I asked him if he ever ironed. I suspected not, Mom pressed his shirts.

At 84, my father learned how to iron a shirt. Wonder what I will learn when I’m eighty-four.

40 Million

I’d be a little upset if I spent forty million dollars on a campaign for the presidency, only to go home empty handed seventy-two hours after Super Tuesday. After all, I vowed not to send out Christmas cards next year after spending $43.00 on postage and only to get 20 cards.

I’ll get over it.

Arrival

If the worst part of executing my move was to leave a box in Tennessee that should have come to New York, then I did well.

I’m missing two pairs of jeans and a river driver shirt, at least that is what I am aware of. I noticed the jeans because I’ve been running around in the same pair since I left Florida on Monday. Not really that bad, except I was cleaning gutters at the apartments after a hard rain and got a bit muddy.

I hadn’t been home an hour when I got a load of laundry done and started looking for my jeans. Couldn’t find them in any of the nine boxes I unloaded from the Jeep. I am assuming I put the box in storage in Tennessee when I unloaded the U-Haul. Despite marking boxes with TN and NY to indicate their destinations and keeping NY boxes in the Jeep and TN boxes in the trailer...well, something went wrong. Not terribly wrong, but will need to pick up another pair in town tomorrow after my doctor’s appointment.

Weather Run

Woke up with a head cold. Crap! The last time I went to Hawaii with Dad, I had a cold. This so sucks. Ear ache too. Fortunately, I have a doctor’s appointment Friday morning, should I live so long.

Left Tennessee ahead of the weather and raced up Interstate 81 an hour ahead of the cold front. Sunrise over the Smokies was spectacular, and the rain caught me briefly in Maryland. Ten minutes after I unloaded the cats in Harrisburg, PA and got all my junk inside, it started to rain. Beautiful.

Rest stop. It was so warm, I decided to eat some ice cream to sooth my sore throat. Diablo gets to lick the stick.

Typhoon Tuesday

I made it home to Tennessee to vote. That wasn't planned. It just happened. Voted early for Huckabee. And he takes Tennessee. Nobody ever asked me.

My question is, what happens tomorrow? After the Super Bowl and Super Tuesday, what have we got to look forward to? Wipe out Wednesday?

By the Numbers

Packed and on the road by 3:39 AM.

First stop Exit 1 in Georgia.

Almost 7AM and the sun isn't up yet.

Gas $2.89. Cheapest is $2.75 in North Georgia. Crap, my tank is full.

400 miles by 10:39AM. Making good time.

Exit 378, I realized how much I am going to miss Bob.

12:05PM. Relay message that the carpet cleaners are going to be 30 minutes late. I'm north of Atlanta.

1.75 inches of rain in Knoxville. What drought? Drive through Knoxville with one eye closed. Too scary! Slow down to 35 MPH.

5 car pile up on I-40 going east. Its happens behind me.

4:25PM Two good cats sitting on the double beds in the Comfort Suites, Morristown, Tennessee. They got this routine down.

Realize I have less than four hundred dollars worth of crap in the U-Haul, if you don't count my bike. Cost $403 plus tax to rent the damn thing. Should have put the bike on the roof and left the chair by the side of the road.

Nothing Easy

It must be human nature to stare at those things that are deformed, disfigured, scarred or otherwise twisted out of shape. This explains car wreck rubbernecks and the uncomfortable uneasiness that falls upon a person unfamiliar with someone with a severe disability. We want to stare, if to reflect, to understand, to imagine…

So I was drawn to see the backside of New Orleans. And I felt as if I was impolitely gawking at a tragedy that can't go away. Was this America? And I know I didn’t see the worst.

In the early morning glow of dawn I sought the bleak streets. But when I walked the streets in the French Quarter and had some degenerate ask me to....well, I decided to head back to the airport.

1978

The last time I was in the Sportsman's Paradise the Grammys awarded the Eagles Record of the Year for Hotel California. Thirty years ago. In Louisiana a call from a phone booth was just a nickel. Now I’m feeling old. Could Superman even find a phone booth anymore?

I am in Harahan, Louisiana a ‘burb west of downtown New Orleans and off the eye sore corridor named Airline Highway. The hand of Katrina had nothing to do with the run down look. This is Louisiana. It was this way before Katrina. Also known as Route 61, it’s a pipeline of cars running more east and west, but nevertheless named north and south. I took a wrong turn out of the airport and went two and a half miles toward Mississippi before I felt I had erred in my ways. No sun, no direction. I will forever be lost in New Orleans, a providence similarly shared in Cleveland when on my first trip there an overcast day caused me to lose my orientation. Once I get turned around it is hard to recalibrate.

I profess that the best thing about Louisiana is the sign that says “Welcome to Texas.” I spent eighteen months here in the seventies. Fresh from Alaska, I got acquainted with the state just outside of Ft. Polk. There was the distinct smell of paper mill, and never has there been a place where more cockroaches fell on my head than in DeRidder. So many that the roaches in Micronesia look like an endangered species.

In 1978, it took twenty dollars to fill the gas tank in the Dodge B200 van. Gas prices had rocketed to forty eight cents a gallon. We bought the van new in January 1977 and had 12000 miles on it by April. I saw that sign welcoming me to Texas quite often. God, I hated this place.

I’m not exactly back. I’m just outside New Orleans on Mardi Gras weekend. I’m not too interested in mingling with revelers, but I would love to see the destitution of Katrina.