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Readying to Kayak Napali Coast

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 21 May 2013 00:00:00 -1000

One month from today, I will spend five days kayak-camping along Napali Coast. That means, I have 30 days to get in shape.

The trek will involve kayaking 17 miles along the majestic Napali Coast, one of Hawaii's most scenic vistas. We will explore sea caves and dip into waterfalls. We will gawk at the line-up of cliffs that gives this coastline its name--Napali translates to English as "the cliffs." At the start, these cliffs look like a series of dominoes set up one after the other, some father apart than others. As we paddle closer, we will realize the areas "farther apart" are really valleys, some with beaches at their mouths, some not. We will camp for two nights each at Kalalalu and Milolii.

On our non-kayaking days, we will explore these valleys, swim in streams, shower in waterfalls, pick wild fruit, and whenever possible, stop and smell the ginger. I will pack a waterproof camera and take underwater photos of turtles, colorful sunsets and those waterfalls I've mentioned a couple times. Who knows. I may even find a sunrise shell.

I remind myself of all these points--Kauai Visitors Bureau selling points, if you will--because it's been eight years since I "took a break" from paddling to help my husband build our house. Eight years since I held a paddle in my hands. Eight years since I stroked the water again and again and again and again. Eight years since I used my core body and shoulder muscles to move a boat across the water.

I sure hope the wind and waves are favorable on the day we disembark.

Not that I've been a complete slug in those eight years. I started and finished a graduate degree in creative writing. I started a full-time (great) job that takes me around the Hawaiian Islands doing what I love, writing and photographing. And we built that house. (Technically, it's 98.5% complete.)

But most of my physical activity these days involves wresting my wrists on a keyboard and exercising my finger muscles. It involves bending over a tripod to peer in a camera's viewfinder and depress a shutter button again and again and again.

And, then, earlier this year, I had a birthday. That birthday. The big one.

At my age, the body isn't the same. The muscle memory from the half-dozen years of paddling outrigger canoes--crossing even the Ka Iwi Channel from Molokai to Oahu--has left with the other memory--the one that cannot remember what I did with my sunglasses. Oh, yes, they're on top of my head.

I've started my sit-ups and push-ups. Next, I will get back in the water with a paddle in hand. Tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow. I will. Really.

Oahu Beach Infographic

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 17 May 2013 00:00:00 -1000

It's here. When the first big south swell arrived this week, we got our first hint: Summer has arrived.

I flew from Lihue to Honolulu yesterday and could see the ripples forming into white ribbons into waves crashing on shore. It was quite a sight.

Another indicator that summer has arrived is graduation. I sat next to a grandmother on my flight into Honolulu. She carried a bag with stacks of lei for her granddaughter who graduates from high school this weekend.

And just in case I didn't believe those two rather obvious signs from nature and society, I realized another one today: It's hot.

Just a couple degrees is all it takes, but you can feel it. The northeast trade winds aren't as strong. The sun is more intense. All this adds up to one thing: Time to hit the beach.

To help, here's our latest infographic for Oahu beaches. Download this onto your mobile device of choice, pack the sunscreen and head for the ocean. But, as always, be careful. Spend some time observing the quirks of the ocean and check with a lifeguard. If in doubt, as they say, don't go out.

The People You Meet on Planes

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 14 May 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Last week, en route to Oahu on Hawaiian Airlines, I sat in the window seat on the “three side.” That meant two others blocked my route to the aisle. They turned out to be husband and wife, born and raised on Kauai, high school sweethearts and married for 27 years. He had recently lost 50 pounds, and they were heading to Sacramento for their son’s college graduation, a son whose future concerned them, because he was a bit of an introvert and, well, a “gamer.” The husband spoke with his arms and punctuated the end of each and every sentence with a laugh--a laugh that erupted over the drone of the airplane’s engines. He was mostly Hawaiian but pulled his fair complexion from a Chinese ancestor somewhere on his family tree. He laughed so loudly that the lady in front of us turned around to glare on three occasions. Not that the wife noticed. She was as happy as a clam in the aura of her husband’s energy--he wasn’t an introvert. Their son, they said, must have inherited his inward tendencies from the wife’s Japanese ancestry. Her parents sat across the aisle from us. After their grandson’s graduation, they would head to Vegas for a few days.

You know how I like to read on airplanes and come prepared with a magazine—for the few minutes during take-off and landing—and whatever book I’m reading at the time. These days, that means I’m toting a Kindle when I travel. Well, lately, I haven’t gotten much reading done.

After the Honolulu flight, I boarded another plane, sat in another window seat—for the picture-taking opportunities—and was joined by a woman from Oahu. Rotator cuff surgery made it difficult for her to stow the soft-sided cooler that she toted, so I stashed it in the overhead for her. She was headed to Seattle for a ceremony celebrating he son’s promotion in the Army. He’d returned from Afghanistan recently, underweight, after his base’s commissary had been blown up in a fight with “insurgents.” She’d spent his leave fattening him up on visits to his favorite Oahu eateries--L&L, Rainbow Drive-In, and Nico’s.

Earlier this week, en route home, I took my usual window seat. A man toting a big cowboy hat sat next to me. He didn’t cram a suitcase into the overhead compartment. He didn’t shove a bag under the seat in front of him. In his pocket, he carried a cell, a packet of Hall’s cough drops and a roll of wintergreen mints. “I travel light,” he said. Not even a book. He didn’t flip through Hana Hou, the in-flight magazine. He didn’t watch the movie. “I’m Portagee,” he said as if to explain. By the end of the flight I’d come to believe in the stereotype I’d always heard about the Portuguese and how they liked to talk. He told me about his commercial fishing adventures off Molokai and how he used to sell his catch to Mama’s Fish House in Paia on Maui. How he spent his youth on horseback roaming the hills of Haleakala—pre-national park days—hunting goats. How his granddaughter started riding when she was two. That he was returning to Maui after a couple decades on the mainland, where he’d moved to better his children’s education, and would be selling his auntie’s old plantation house, because after a lifetime of 16 surgeries, she’d finally died at the round age of 100. And when he didn’t talk, he dropped his head back against the seat, closed his eyes and snored. The man was never quiet.

In my lifetime of flying in commercial planes, I’ve sat next to an ex-con just released from a six-year prison stint that morning. I’ve debated the merits and aspirations of a good wife with a decorated Air Force pilot en route home after he’d delivered a Stealth Bomber to a new base. And on my last leg home from Seattle last week, I sat in seat 6A and waited to see who would join me. But the flight wasn’t full, and I had the row to myself. So, I finally opened my book.

How about you? What stories can you tell about some interesting seatmates and/or plane conversations you'd experienced during your travels?

Why I Don't Write Best Beach Lists

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Thu, 09 May 2013 00:00:00 -1000

My cousin who flies from the mainland to dog-sit for us while we vacation doesn’t swim. She has a healthy respect for the ocean, but she loves beaches. So, while I might suggest she pack a beach chair, good book, cooler of snacks and beverages and spend the day walking the long beach at Polihale on Kauai’s west side, I wouldn’t suggest the same beach for my college friend with the three children whose ages are still in the single digits. Because while those kids love the ocean and swim like fish, they are too young and inexperienced for the on-shore break at Polihale. I will, however, send her and the kids with their snorkel gear and boogie boards to Haena. But only in the summer.

That’s another thing. Some people say there are no seasons in this string of islands that sits 19 to 22 degrees north of the equator in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And while it may be true that our temperatures don’t swing 50 or 60 or, even, 70 degrees from winter to summer (unless you go from sea level to the summit of Mauna Kea), we do have seasons in Hawaii. Because “season” is much more than just a thermostat reading.

There’s what’s blooming, what’s fruiting, what’s nesting, what’s mating and there’s what’s breaking. As in, waves.

Hawaii’s airport baggage carousels clog with slim but oversized bags each winter. Inside? Surfboards. Known as the birthplace of surfing, Hawaii is famous for its winter waves along the north shores of the islands.

And that’s why I don’t recommend Haena in the winter to my friend with the water-loving kids. Then, as the surfers sash their boards to the roofs of their cars and head north, I send my girlfriend south to Poipu.

That’s the thing about Hawaii’s beaches. Like fashion, they change.

Personally, I think that’s what makes Hawaii’s beaches so special. They are never boring.

There’s another factor at play here, too, besides the seasonal variations of the beaches themselves. And that’s the personal tastes of the beachgoers.

My cousin doesn’t swim, so I can safely send her to any beach, the ones with more scenic beauty, the better. She’s young, too, so can handle a long hike to reach one. And when she arrived last winter to get married on the beach, a sunset view was important.

I’m trying to think of a beach I don’t like in Hawaii.

I can’t.

If you ask me to name the best beach on Kauai, I won’t give one answer. Instead, I’ll ask you a question--or twelve. Like do you want to swim? Snorkel? Surf? SCUBA? SUP? Float on an inflatable? Or do you want to see the sunset, sunrise, waterfalls, big waves? Do you want to look for Niihau shells? Pick limu? See turtles, monk seals, whales? Take pretty pictures? And who’s going? How old are they? Can they swim?

Because the “best” beach depends. On you.

To help you create the perfect beach experience, we’ve created an infographic for four of Hawaii’s islands—Oahu; Maui; Hawaii, the Big Island; and—below—Kauai.

Hawaii Beach Guide and Infographics

Fri, 03 May 2013 11:57:00 -1000

Free Hawaii beach infographics! Save. Pin. Share!

What’s your perfect beach experience? Are you an adrenaline junkie looking for the perfect wave? Celebrating love with a memorable sunset? Seeking calmer shores to build a masterpiece sand sculpture? Use our Hawaii beach infographics to help you find your perfect beach experience on Oahu, Maui, Kauai and Hawaii Island.

For more great beach choices, check out the list below and our custom Google maps: Oahu Beaches, Maui Beaches, Kauai Beaches, Big Island Beaches.

	OAHU	MAUI	KAUAI	BIG ISLAND
Family	Kailua	Kaanapali	Lydgate	Spencer
Picnics	Kaiahalulu Beach	Kamaole	Poipu	Kolekole
Scenery	Makapuu	Kapalua	Tunnels	Kaunaoa
Star-spotting	Lanikai	Wailea	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Snorkeling	Waimea	Ulua	Tunnels	Kahaluu
Stand-Up Paddling	Haleiwa	Kalama	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Sunrises	Diamond Head Beach	Makena	Kealia Beach	Onekahakaha Beach Park
Sunsets	Sunset Beach	D.T. Fleming Beach	Kee	Hapuna
Surfing	Kuhio	Launiupoko State Wayside Park	Poipu	Kahaluu
Swimming	Ala Moana	Puamana	Hanalei	Napoopoo
Turtles	Mokuleia Beach Park	Napili	Brennecke Beach	Punaluu
Walking	Ft. DeRussy Beach Park	D.T. Fleming Beach	Hanalei	Kekaha Kai State Park

A message about ocean safety:
As the lifeguards like to say, if in doubt, don't go out. And speaking of lifeguards, it's always good to consult a lifeguard about ocean conditions before entering the ocean. Our ocean changes daily. That beautiful, placid lake you might remember from a summer vacation years ago could be a big wave surfer's dream come true during a different time of year. Here are some basic safety tips to keep in mind:

1.	Swim at lifeguarded beaches only.
2.	Spend a minimum of twenty minutes observing ocean conditions before hitting the water. Waves come in sets, and the ocean may appear calm between sets of waves.
3.	Be observant of wet rocks. They are an indication of how far the water may run up on the beach.
4.	Do not fight a rip current, if you get caught in one. Go with it. Wait for the current to dissipate; then, swim back to shore.
5.	Watch river mouths and stream openings for strong currents.
6.	Use the buddy systems. Do not swim alone.

Winter Hawaii Beach Guide and Infographics

Fri, 03 May 2013 11:56:00 -1000

Free Hawaii beach infographics! Swim. Snorkel. Paddle!

Sun. Sand. The Pacific Ocean. Nothing beats a day at the beach, even during winter. And, boy, do the Hawaiian Islands offer up a selection of beaches. There are hundreds that dot the coastlines from Hilo to Haena. Some change with the seasons. Each has its own story. Find your perfect season and create your very own beach story with the help of our Hawaii beach infographics. There's one each for Oahu, Maui, Kauai and Hawaii Island.

For more great winter beach choices, check out the list below and our custom Google maps: Oahu Beaches, Maui Beaches, Kauai Beaches, Big Island Beaches.

	OAHU	MAUI	KAUAI	BIG ISLAND
Family	Kailua	Kaanapali	Lydgate	Spencer
Picnics	Kaiahalulu Beach at Turtle Bay	Kamaole	Poipu	Kolekole
Scenery	Makapuu	Kapalua	Tunnels	Kaunaoa
Star-spotting	Lanikai	Wailea	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Snorkeling	Hanauma Bay	Ulua	Poipu	Kahaluu Beach Park
Stand-Up Paddling	Ala Moana	Puamana	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Sunrises	Diamond Head Beach	Makena	Kealia Beach	Onekahakaha Beach Park
Sunsets	Sunset Beach	DT Fleming Beach	Kee	Hapuna
Surfing	Kuhio	Launiupoko Beach Park	Poipu	Kahaluu
Swimming	Aa Moana	Kamaole	Poipu	Spencer
Turtles	Mokuleia Beach Park	Napili	Brennecke Beach	Punaluu
Walking	Ft. Derussy Beach Park	DT Fleming Beach	Hanalei	Kekaha Kai State Park
Winter Waves	Waimea	Honolua	Hanalei	Hapuna
Whale Watching	Haunama Bay	Papawai Point	Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge	Kapaa Beach Park

1.	Swim at lifeguarded beaches only.
2.	Spend a minimum of twenty minutes observing ocean conditions before hitting the water. Waves come in sets, and the ocean may appear calm between sets of waves.
3.	Be observant of wet rocks. They are an indication of how far the water may run up on the beach.
4.	Do not fight a rip current, if you get caught in one. Go with it. Wait for the current to dissipate; then, swim back to shore.
5.	Watch river mouths and stream openings for strong currents.
6.	Use the buddy systems. Do not swim alone.

Summer Hawaii Beach Guide and Infographics

Fri, 03 May 2013 11:55:00 -1000

Free Hawaii beach infographics! Family. Romance. Adventure!

Islands and beaches. Some things just go better together. Macadamia nuts and pancakes, for example. Tropical sunrises and Kona coffee. In summer, nothing beats a day at the beach. And, boy, do the Hawaiian Islands offer up a selection of beaches. Practically no two beaches are alike, the best beaches vary by season and reason. Use our Hawaii beach infographics to help you find your perfect beach experience on Oahu, Maui, Kauai and Hawaii Island.

For more great summer beach choices, check out the list below and our custom Google maps: Oahu Beaches, Maui Beaches, Kauai Beaches, Big Island Beaches.

	OAHU	MAUI	KAUAI	BIG ISLAND
Family	Kailua	Kaanapali	Lydgate	Spencer
Picnics	Kaiahalulu Beach	Kamaole	Poipu	Kolekole
Scenery	Makapuu	Kapalua	Tunnels	Kaunaoa
Star-spotting	Lanikai	Wailea	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Snorkeling	Waimea	Ulua	Tunnels	Kahaluu
Stand-Up Paddling	Haleiwa	Kalama	Hanalei	Anaehoomalu Bay
Sunrises	Diamond Head Beach	Makena	Kealia Beach	Onekahakaha Beach Park
Sunsets	Sunset Beach	D.T. Fleming Beach	Kee	Hapuna
Surfing	Kuhio	Launiupoko State Wayside Park	Poipu	Kahaluu
Swimming	Ala Moana	Puamana	Hanalei	Napoopoo
Turtles	Mokuleia Beach Park	Napili	Brennecke Beach	Punaluu
Walking	Ft. DeRussy Beach Park	D.T. Fleming Beach	Hanalei	Kekaha Kai State Park

1.	Swim at lifeguarded beaches only.
2.	Spend a minimum of twenty minutes observing ocean conditions before hitting the water. Waves come in sets, and the ocean may appear calm between sets of waves.
3.	Be observant of wet rocks. They are an indication of how far the water may run up on the beach.
4.	Do not fight a rip current, if you get caught in one. Go with it. Wait for the current to dissipate; then, swim back to shore.
5.	Watch river mouths and stream openings for strong currents.
6.	Use the buddy systems. Do not swim alone.

April in Photos

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 01 May 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I always used to chalk it up to my BFF's childhood in the south. When she would say something to the effect, "I had my picture made," I would look at her like she had horns growing out of her head. Now, that would be an interesting photograph.Especially because she's an Aquarian, not a Taurus.

I grew up in Chicagoland, but I'm not sure that explains anything except that as a child--in particular a little sister to two older brothers--I was a stickler for grammar. I corrected them all the time. As a result, they'd teach me a new wrestling move--whether I wanted to learn it or not.

And, so, whenever Tommye would say she had her photograph made, I'd respond with, "You mean you had your photo taken." Thankfully, my snarkiness didn't get her to retaliate with arm twisting and head locks. But she did wreck havoc on my body whenever she turned an age that ended with a zero--by inveigling me into the latest exercise craze, be it step aerobics, rollerblading or simulated cross-country skiing on a NordicTrack, which she called Nord-a-Track or maybe Nord-i-Track but certainly not NordicTrack. Or maybe it just sounded that way, again due to her southern heritage.

Make vs. take. When I first got into photography with a Kodak Pocket Instamatic 110-format camera--about the size and shape of a TV remote--I was most definitely taking pictures. Apart from choosing when to turn on the flash, all I did was point and shoot.

From there, I graduated to 35mm Minolta with a pop-up flash and a snazzy leather case. But still pointing and shooting.

I entered the world of interchangeable lenses and manual exposure settings--but didn't get off "P" for 10 years--with the purchase of my first Big Girl Camera, a used Canon EOS Elan. My first camera crush, I cherished that camera, now lovingly tucked away in its original box in my closet today. When I finally got off program mode (thanks Nevada Wier), I learned how a camera feels in the hand, how my fingers knew just where to go to change shutter speed and aperture. I opened the aperture to change depth of field. I thought about composition, the rule of thirds, patterns, color and layering elements. I slowed the shutter speed and panned to add motion to my images. It was about this time that I started calling my pictures "images," as my husband was quick to point out. "Images?" he said, cutting me down to size. "Do you mean pictures?"

Then, enter the DLSR. (I was forced into digital when film labs on Kauai started sending slide film to the mainland, requiring two-week turnaround times.)

Shortly thereafter, Photoshop made its appearance in my life. But I only used about 3% of the software's capabilities. "I prefer to capture the image in the front of the camera," I would say. But, really, I didn't have the patience to learn--or, perhaps, it was the mind to understand--how to do the heavy-lifting that Photoshop can do.

But I did learn layers and started blending digital infrared images with color infrared. (Shout out to Dewitt Jones for that.)

And, recently, I took to Lightroom (fist bump to Jack Davis) and HDR Efex Pro 2 from Nik (cheers Rik "Bear" Cooke) like a duck to water.

Now, it's the iPhone and Snapseed. And Instagram. And Photogene and Blender and Painteresque and PhotoForge2 and Aquarella HD and AristaOil HD. And more. (So, I had to buy an iPad;-)

Merriam-Websters offers many defintions of the word "take," but only one is really right for this topic--"to get by drawing or painting or by photography," as in to "take a snapshot."

But when I look up "make," I find numerous possible definitions applicable to photography:

-to bring into being by forming, shaping, or altering materials
-to put together from components
-to cause to exist, occur, or appear
-to produce as a result of action, effort, or behavior

When I travel around the Hawaiian Islands these days, I drag a backpack full of photo gear, from a mini tripod for my iPhone to a long telephoto lens for my Big Girl camera. I take fast action shots of Laysan albatrosses and humpback whales. I slow down the shutter to paint waves at sunset. I pan with a hula dancer. I blend under- and over-exposed images to create a high dynamic range. But that's not all. Now, I look forward to downloading my images and playing with them in the variety of software on my iPhone, iPad and laptop. Sometimes, if I really get carried away with myself, my photographs end up looking like abstract watercolors or oil paintings. And, then, it's like, "Whoa, look mom, no hands!" That is, I get a tad bit excited.

And, so, finally, I get it. I embrace it. I admit it, Tommye Lou. I really am shaping. I am combining. I am forming. I am making photographs.

My Earth Day Celebration

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Hawaii is nature and nature is Hawaii. You've got your turquoise blue ocean with beaches of black, green and red sand. You've got your green mountains striated with hiking trails. Your rivers and streams ripe for kayaking explorations. Waterfalls. Botanical gardens. Nature preserves, wildlife refuges and national parks.

With so many choices in which to spend Earth Day, how was it that on Monday, April 22, I found myself sitting in an air conditioned office building with fluorescent lights making my eyes burn?

I pondered this thought all week, even going so far as to post Earthy-related things on the OutriggerHawaii Facebook wall. "Mahalo Mother Nature," I wrote. And I noted all the other Earth-friendly activities that I missed--beach clean-ups, tree plantings, saying no to plastic and yes to bicycles for transportation.

When I played the word EARTH in game of Words with Friends, I knew it was time to stop thinking and start doing.

So, this afternoon, with no hint of rain in the sky to dissuade me, I headed north for Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge. There weren't any organized events going on to celebrate Earth Day, per se. But there would be several hundred visitors walking the grounds, enjoying the views and--most importantly--in need of an education.

They just didn't know it yet.

I've been known to say, "When I get through with them, they'll be hugging trees and kissing the ground."

My point is that I can get a little passionate about the amazing and awesome ways of the natural world. And this time of year, our wildlife at Kilauea Point makes it easy for me. In fact, it's almost a well-timed performance, complete with practiced entrances and exits and, believe it or not, perfectly executed lines.

"What are those flowers?" a visitor asked, pointing across the cove to a cliffside covered in ironwood trees and dotted with white.

"Those aren't flowers," I said. "They're red-footed boobies, our only seabird that nests in trees here at the refuge." Red-footed boobies are primarily white, with black trim on their wings and, of course, their striking feet, for which they get their name. "Their feet are the color of a stop sign, and they wrap them around their eggs to incubate."

We stood on the edge of the peninsula that makes up Kilauea Point, where the nearly 100-year-old lighthouse stands. Naupaka bushes lined the steep slope to the sea. Beneath the bushes, in ground burrows that may extend four or five feet, another seabird nests. They have an unusual courtship call.

I can always tell by a visitor's face when they are working up the courage to ask me what they think is a silly question. I watched as a couple leaned over the fence. I watched as the woman bent down to ground level and peered through the naupaka. They looked at each other with concern, and I waited for one of them to turn to me. When he did, I said, "Wedge-tailed shearwaters."

"Is it O.K.?" she asked.

The call of a wedge-tailed shearwater cannot be described as a song.

"It sounds like someone's moaning in pain," he said.

Wedge-tailed shearwater are crepuscular in nature. They come and go at dawn and dusk. Later, after the refuge closes, when hundreds of wedge-tailed shearwaters return to their ground burrows to meet up and take care of the business of making new wedge-tailed shearwaters, the call will intensify. It will sound like a giant nursery of bawling babies. Or dozens of cats in an epic battle for survival.

Just then a rather large bird with a six-foot wingspan buzzed the point, so close it felt like we could reach out and touch it.

"Is that..."

"A Laysan albatross," I said. They have white bodies with brown-grey wings. They don't fly; they soar. They are the hang gliders of seabirds. "They'll fly clear to the Aleutian Islands, a couple thousands miles away, for a meal. Then, return here to feed it to their chick."

In the span of, perhaps, sixty seconds, this couple had added three new birds to their life list. In the next second, they added a fourth.

In the past year-and-a-half, the historic lighthouse has been encircled by a temporary fence, as workers completed the renovation on the concrete tower that was, when it was built, made with pioneering construction material--reinforced steel. During this renovation time, our resident nene, the Hawaiian goose, figured it was a safe place to graze without being chased by toddlers or having to pose for keepsake photographs.

"And those are nene," I said. "Spelled n-e-n-e. A good word to remember for crossword puzzles, Scrabble and Words with Friends."

I looked up into the blue sky, shading my eyes from the bright sun. "Now, where is a Great frigatebird?" But, instead, I pointed out three red-tailed tropicbirds, performing their signature courtship dance--by flying backwards in a circular formation.

By now, I had them. If I had asked this unsuspecting couple, I am sure they would have wrapped their arms around the nearest tree.

It's easy to celebrate Earth Day in Hawaii. All you have to do is step outside.

This Wednesday, May 1, 2013, marks the 100th anniversary of the Kilauea Point Lighthouse. For five days, the Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge will celebrate with tours of the lighthouse, a parade, an art show, special talks by lightkeepers and other activities.

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Chinatown: More Than Just Chicken Feet

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

We stood on the corner of Nuuanu Avenue and Merchant Street in Honolulu—the very edges of Chinatown.

Most people come to Chinatown looking for dim sum, noodle houses, flowers, fruit, bootleg trinkets and your more unusual ingredients for Asian recipes. Chicken feet anyone? On the first Friday of every month, there’s also Art Night—with street food, performance artists, Taiko drumming, and art gallery showings. But I found myself in Chinatown on an architectural tour.

Once a month, the Honolulu chapter of the American Institute of Architects conducts two-hour, walking tours that point out buildings of interesting in the city. Every April, in celebration of National Architecture Month, the tours—which require advance registration because they do sell out—hit the streets of Chinatown.

With the sun high overhead, the two-and-three-story buildings around us only offered a few slivers of shade, and I thought this wasn’t exactly the way I wanted to spend a Saturday afternoon in Hawaii.

Our assigned AIA volunteer pointed out the Wing Wo Tai Building, built of basalt stone in 1877 by a Chinese import business that sold teak furniture, silks, embroidered materials, ivory, liquors and groceries. He said that in 2009, The Nature Conservancy retrofitted the structure according to LEEDS “green” standards and became the first existing building in the state to do so.

Across the street, in 1891, the Inter-Island Steam Navigation Company built the T.R. Foster Building, made in the tradition of 19th century Italianate brick design.

As the guide pointed out the pilasters, cornices, balustrades and other architectural nuances of the T.R. Foster building, my mind wandered. I fixated on the current tenant of the building: O’Toole’s Irish Pub. What’s an Irish Pub doing in Hawaii? I thought. And in Chinatown, at that? It felt a little odd. Maybe it was the sun.

As the rest of my group ambled off to our next stop on the Chinatown Architectural Tour, I finally came to life. “Wait. Wait.” I called to our guide. “But where did they get the brick?”

I grew up in a part of the country where contractors commonly specified brick construction in older homes and businesses. In fact, a portion of all three of my childhood homes was made of red brick. So, at first, O’Toole’s Irish Pub looked very familiar to me. But something in my sun-soaked brain addled me. There is no brick manufactured in Hawaii—not in 1891 and not today. The Wing Wo Tai Building was made of basalt—lava rock from these volcanic islands. A short ways away, the historic Kawaihao Church was built of coral mined from the reef.

And, so, our guide shared a fact that sticks with me today. A fact that whenever I pass O’Toole’s Irish Pub, I cannot help myself. I turn to whomever I am with and ask, “See that brick building?”

“Yes,” they obligingly respond, probably thinking I’m going to tell them about the great Guinness the pub serves.

“Do you know where they got the brick?” I ask.

No one I’ve yet asked has known the answer. In fact, they usually make me repeat the question twice.

Here’s what I learned on my AIA tour about the brick buildings in Hawaii: The brick came to Hawaii as ballast on boats.

In the 1800s, brick was commonly placed in “light” boats. Boats that weren’t filled with cargo coming into Hawaii were weighted down with bricks. Once the boats arrived in Hawaii, the bricks were replaced with sugar cane.

For some reason, I was fascinated by that fact, and the experience reminded me why I’d signed up for the architectural tour in the first place: I dig history.

Today, the corner of Nuuanu Avenue and Merchant Street may cater to diners and drinkers, but it got its start as Hawaii’s first business district, now registered as the Merchant Street Historic District. The Inter-Island Steam Navigation Company that built the T.R. Foster Building went on to become Hawaiian Airlines. The original owners of various other nearby buildings eventually led to other institutions we know today: First Hawaiian Bank, Alexander & Baldwin, Bank of Hawaii, the Bishop Estate, and the Bernice P. Bishop Museum.

And that’s why architecture is so cool. It’s another view of the history of a place, giving it more meaning, and allowing me to connect even more deeply with it. I’ve driven by O’Toole’s Irish Pub hundreds of time, seeing it as just another building in Chinatown. But it seems that buildings, like people, have another side to them, another story behind their closed doors—and, apparently, in Honolulu, behind their brick, too.

Keepers of the Light, Land and Life: A Look at Kilauea Point over 100 Years

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

As a volunteer at Kīlauea Point National Wildlife Refuge on the north shore of Kauai for many years, my interest and body of knowledge tended toward the wildlife—that is, the science of biology and living things, like monitoring Laysan albatrosses, banding red-tailed tropicbirds and studying visiting humpback whales. I noticed and appreciated the big, white tower in the middle of Kīlauea Point with its priceless “crown jewel” sitting on top, but I left the intricate details of the second-order Fresnel lens and its mysterious inner workings to people more interested in engineering and that kind of science. Then, I was asked to write a book in celebration of the 100th anniversary of Kīlauea Lighthouse this May 1, 2013, and in doing so, I learned a whole host of cool, new facts. Like it took nine years to decide where on Kauai to build it. And the plans for the round tower we know today once called for an octagon shape. And it was originally to be built on the rock islet off Kilauea Point known as Moku`ae`ae. And it wasn’t painted until 1923. But perhaps the most surprising gift I received in writing this book was getting to know three dedicated people: Gary Smith, Nicki Pignoli and Don McConnell. Without them, this book wouldn't exist.

The following is an excerpt from the book. Keepers of the Light, Land and Life: A Look at Kilauea Point over 100 Years is available for $21.95 at the Visitor Center at Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge on Kauai.

The decision to build a lighthouse atop the 180-foot bluff at Kīlauea Point wasn’t a quick one. Even though, as the first landfall site for ships coming from Asia—as far as 4,900 miles away—it seems like an easy one.

Five years after the 1898 annexation of Hawai`i by the United States, the U.S. Lighthouse Board extended the boundaries of its 12th Lighthouse District to include the Hawaiian Islands. Soon after, the board made Hawai`i its own district and quickly recommended the construction of three new light stations. No one questioned where the first two would go. Incoming ships from North America followed a well-established route to Honolulu Harbor that made the northernmost point on Moloka`i and the southeastern tip of O`ahu landfall sites. Kalaupapa and Makapu`u were natural choices for the modern, rotating beacons. Easy choices.

A third lighthouse was deemed necessary on Kaua`i for those ships coming from the west, Asia. But it would take another nine years to decide exactly where on Kaua`i to build it. Kīlauea Point with its jutting finger of land elevated above the ocean on Kaua`i’s north shore was on the list. So, too, was Mānā Point on Kaua`i’s west side. In the end, it came down to these two locations.

In 1895, Prince Kūhiō, born in Koloa on Kaua`i’s south shore, participated in an unsuccessful coup to restore the monarchy of the Kingdom of Hawai`i to his aunt Queen Liliuokalani. He was arrested for his actions and imprisoned for one year. A short seven years later, Kūhiō was elected Territorial Delegate to the U.S. Congress, and in 1908, as a representative of the territory of Hawai`i , he sponsored legislation to authorize construction of a lighthouse on Kauai’s north shore at Kīlauea Point.

A year later, A.B. Spreckels, of the Kīlauea Sugar Company, sold the remote 31.4 acres that comprise Kīlauea Point to the U.S. Government for $1. That $1 purchase price also included a 20-foot-wide right of way to the nearest public road--then 1.6 miles away and a federal land withdrawal added the rock island of Moku`ae`ae, just off the tip of Kīlauea Point. Today, we might view the value of the land differently. The views from the point are some of the most scenic on the entire island. But around the turn of the 20th century, when the sugar boom tantalized businessmen, Kīlauea Point might be called `ōpala land—rubbish.

“The sugar plantation really didn’t use Kīlauea Point itself,” said Gary Smith, Kīlauea resident and local historian. The terrain did not make it easy to get to, and there was no road there. I’m sure some people went horseback riding to see the wonderful view there. Like most of the `ōpala land in the old days, it might have been used for grazing cattle.”

It looked like Kīlauea Point was all set to see a lighthouse built on its grassy plateau. Yet, as late as May 1912, the U.S. Commissioner of Lighthouses, George R. Putnam, wrote a telegram to the Hawai`i district, “Bureau informed transpacific navigation routes are south of Kaua`i Island, proposed Kīlauea site apparently not most useful, investigate and make recommendations.”

The debate, it seems, came down to windward or leeward.

The island of Kaua`i is relatively round, ranging in diameter from 25 to 33 miles wide. Superimposing the island over the face of a clock, with north being 12:00, ships coming from Asia approached at 11:00. The debate to build a lighthouse and guide ships around Kaua`i to Oahu’s Honolulu Harbor centered around whether the preferred and safest route would be to direct ships clockwise around the north shore and down the east side of Kaua`i--the windward route. Or, whether the counter-clockwise western and southern route--leeward--made more sense. The north route was shorter. But in winter, with storms generating waves from as far away as the Aleutian Islands, some 2,000+ miles due north, it was also rougher.

In Old Hawai`i, at a time when Polynesian voyagers read the night sky as if it were a printed map, perhaps they didn’t need tall lighthouses for long-distance navigation. They had skills galore. They did, however, use more modest means to guide fishermen, warriors and seafarers around the near-shores of Hawai`i ’s reefs and rocky coastlines.

In Hawaiian Antiquities, David Malo writes about night watch parties. These fire tenders stoked kukui ahi, or fire lamps, in which the oil from the nuts of the kukui (Aleurites moluccana) tree were burned in large, stone bowls throughout the night. Interestingly, neither Kīlauea Point nor Mānā Point is known as an ancient Hawaiian light station, perhaps more likely a reflection of societal needs than anything. Or, perhaps, a simple loss of history. But signal fires could have easily moved around the island as seasons evolved, as settlements moved or grew, and as society dictated. Kīlauea’s prominent point may have been used to guide seafarers. But, then, as now, life evolves. Needs change. The meteoric rise in the sugar cane industry swept in a whole new unique set of needs.

By the time the U.S. Lighthouse Board requisitioned the construction of three modern lighthouse towers outfitted with ground-glass, rotating lens beacons in 1903, there were already an estimated 75 fixed lights or daytime landmarks throughout Hawai΄i. Most of these arose from the needs of private business and burned only when it came time to ship sugar. Perhaps one even burned off Mokolea Point, another prominent jutting finger of land to the east of Kīlauea.

Finally, after all the reports and surveys and testimony and debate, on May 29, 1912 the Secretary of the Department of Commerce and Labor issued a telegram to the Bureau of Lighthouses in San Francisco, saying, “Concur in recommendation Hawaiian District officers...that light be located Kīlauea Point. In good weather some masters use route north of Kaua`i...in bad weather majority masters favor light north side of Kaua`i and best landfall.”

One such master, Captain A.W. Nelson of the steamer Korea, favored Kīlauea, saying, “It is customary to pass Kaua΄i...at a distance of five miles on completion of the Great Circle course.... A light on the extremity of Point would show an unbroken arc to the westward, which can also be seen from the eastward soon after passing Kahala Point, the present lighthouse on the eastern extremity of the island.”

The final report showed that eight out of 12 masters of trans-Pacific vessels surveyed preferred the northerly route of Kīlauea Point. First, it was nearer the “Great Circle” route. Second, the route involved fewer adverse currents.

The third point in favor of Kīlauea spoke volumes to Congress, then as it would today: It would cost less to build. At 180-feet above sea level, the tower at Kīlauea Point would not need to be as tall as one at the low-lying point of Mānā, nor would it require a foundation to be built below water level. And, thus, $75,000 was appropriated for construction at Kīlauea Point.

Talk Story with Maui Author Toby Neal

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 16 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

When feisty Detective Leilani Texeira--with unruly hair; a runner’s, lean body; and a penchant for going rogue--winds up in a cave that requires a stretch of underwater swimming to access, I suspected author Toby Neal had lived on The Garden Island at one time. She knew the hidden folds and nuances of Kauai just a little too well.

I didn’t read Nancy Drew as a girl, so I never graduated to Agatha Christie. Some time in my 20s, I discovered Sue Grafton but only got to “H” or so in the series. When it comes to TV, I don’t watch all those CSI crime dramas, but I do admit to setting the DVR to record Hawaii 5-0. And I just finished season two of Homeland over the weekend. So, I cannot call myself a huge fan of mysteries and/or crime dramas, be them in print or on screen, but I read Toby’s Torch Ginger in about 24 hours. Or maybe 28. And, now, her latest in the Lei Crime Series, Broken Ferns, set on Oahu, is available through Thursday for download on www.amazon.com for free. Free, I said. I love books that I hate to put down and cannot wait to pick up again. More, I love books that I hate to finish.

It didn’t take much digging to discover Toby was, indeed, raised on Kauai. Nor was it hard for me to find her email address, so, of course, I reached out to her. She responded in less time than the length of my morning meditations, which is about the time it takes to brew my tea. We fired off emails, and now I feel like an old friend. Toby lives on Maui these days, and I plan to sit down across a table with her on my next trip to the Valley Isle. Until then, download Broken Ferns but don’t start reading it until you finish reading this blog post. Please.

Kim: How did you come to write the Lei Crime Series?

Toby: I always wanted to write and originally went to college for journalism, but didn't really get going until two young girls drowned here on Maui, and I was part of the grief response team working at the high school. It was so disturbing that I started writing a story about it on my anonymous online blog. I invented this damaged cop whose personal issues were activated by the case. I kept adding chapters, and my readers were rooting for me. About 100 pages in I realized I was writing the kind of book I loved to read but never found set in Hawaii: fast paced, suspenseful, "real Hawaii" and with a twist of romance. I took two weeks off and went on retreat and finished it, and that was to become (many edits later) Blood Orchids. I am a mental health therapist but there's always been a part of me that wants to do something more active than mop up the tears of victims--and Lei actualizes that side of me.

Kim: I’ve read that one of your childhood fantasies was to be an FBI agent, and I love how you’ve made that happen in a way that’s perfect for you. You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Lei. Since you’re wrapping your fifth book in the Lei Crime Series, I’m wondering if you find any of Lei’s personality traits—good or bad!--rubbing off on you in real life?

Toby: I don't actually have much in common with Lei other than a tendency to nervousness and a need to run and move when I'm upset or agitated. I have a bubbly personality and quick wit and I laugh a lot, I think I have more in common with Dr. Wilson, Lei's therapist, than any other character. But Lei is physically brave, a characteristic I admire and seek to cultivate in myself, and I've become braver, more daring physically since the Lei books.

I think I always have had a brave streak physically, growing up on Kauai I played hard, ran hard, surfed, climbed trees and waterfalls, all that. But I lost touch with it in middle age. Lei has revitalized me and made me more aware of actualizing that.

Kim: Are you a fire sign? Aries? Leo? Sagittarius? Because you seem to be on fire with this writing thing, and I’m wondering if that’s just how you walk through life or if this is something different that’s got you inspired.

Toby: Believe it or not I'm a Capricorn. But a friend did my chart and said I have a Leo rising or some such. I'm a planner and a hard worker, and tenacity is my middle name--but I've always been super creative. I did dance, drama, painting and jewelry design in other incarnations. I always wanted to be a writer, and my first stint at college--full scholarship to Boston University on my own! From Kauai!--I was a journalism major and wanted to be a TV broadcaster. I soon saw what they actually had to do and also got homesick for Hawaii, dropped out and ended up getting married, having babies, and returning to college in my mid-twenties to do psychology. Twelve years later, I had all my degrees and licensure! My kids were graduating high school, and I was still young. Then, the girls died, and I wrote about it. In a way, everything I've done has contributed to what I'm doing now. Nothing is wasted. All is life experience and grist for the writing. It seems like I've come blazing out of nowhere with all these books, but I've been writing my whole life and wanting to do what I'm doing now. I feel like I've tapped some Jungian well of creativity and story that actualizes all I care about. I'm on fire, all right, and I can't stop writing!

Kim: So what is your writing day like? Are you up at dawn and burning the midnight oil? Reeling off 20-hour writing days?

Toby: I do some marketing first thing in the morning (my FB, twitter, etc) then I exercise, then I get to work and try to do 1200 to 2000 words a day, and then I do rewrites. I go do therapy with private practice clients in the afternoons/evenings. It's an amazing life, all I dreamed of, and I worked very hard for a long time to get to this place in my life.

Kim: It seems that you draw your plotlines from real life, be it your own experiences, things ripped from the headlines and whatnot. I’m wondering if you ever encounter writer’s block in some form, and if so, what? And if not, why do you think that is?

Toby: I did a lot of work around creative recovery using the Artists Way in the 1990's, facilitated a creativity group, and learned to outwit the blocks. This is a specialized aspect of my mental health practice I make available to artists. So far, I don't get writers block nor do I expect to. I am having too damn much fun!

Kim: Also, it seems you take on some bigger issues with your novels, be it the sex trade or sexual abuse. Is it important to you to draw attention to or bring to light certain issues in our world and, if so, why? Which ones, in particular?

Toby: I'm a clinical social worker. I believe in speaking out for change, and I love having a platform to do it that's not preachy but engages through entertainment and makes you stop and think. I care about a lot of kinds of suffering and I turn the lens of my writing on the issues I want to raise--remember, I was almost a TV journalist! (I knew Keahi Tucker back in the day, too!) Coming up in future books: right to death, the repercussions of Cloud computing, the buying and selling of influence, the F*cked up healthcare system. Whee-ha! It's a blast.

Kim: Let’s talk craft for a second. In Torch Ginger, why did you choose to write the hero’s storyline in the third-person and the villain’s in the first-person? It totally works, but I’m just curious what your motivations were. (Just finished Black Jasmine, by the way.)

Toby: I wanted to do something I'd never read in a mystery suspense--I'd never seen third person paired with first person present. I wanted to give a glimpse into the mind of a sociopath. It's weird, I don't always know why I'm doing something until it reveals itself in the twist. (And they all have a twist) That book was all about strong female characters. Readers didn't seem to love it as much as I did, a lot of them got pissy with Lei choosing the FBI. To me, it was an inevitable path of her character development, as the woman she was--hardworking, ambitious. It had to end that way--the best endings always feel bittersweet and inevitable.

Kim: Great dialogue, by the way. What tips can you give about writing authentic dialogue?

Toby: I have an unfair advantage--as a therapist, much of my day is spent deeply listening to people talk, and reflecting back to them what they said paired with their emotions. I've begun to almost have a perfect ear to hear and remember dialogue word for word. My characters, this many books in and writing them almost constantly, have become very "real" to me, and I track their conversations just like my clients. Tips? Tape people talking, listen to people talking, the pauses, the repeats, the odd beats. And "hear" the voices of characters the same way, and simply record them.

Kim: I’m curious: why did you decide to self publish?

The Lei Crime Series was actually offered for by Pocket Books, but the advance was pitiful and they wanted all my digital rights; I had Blood Orchids out by then and was earning more in a month than they offered for the whole series, so I turned it down.

I do have a New York agent, who tried to sell the Lei Crime Series (I gave him six months) but he wasn't able to and in the end, I'm super happy he didn't. He's still trying, though, with a dystopian YA survival novel I wrote set on Lanai. Written in the spirit of the Hunger Games, with a badass female teen protagonist who rides and shoots and builds a boat. It's a unique story of modern and Hawaiian culture juxtaposing, called Path of Island Fire. It's out there collecting rejections, but I'm more patient with that because I want young readers to find it, and that will be hard with self pub.

My "big author dream" is to be able to negotiate my own print deal and keep my digital rights. But it's a long-term dream. Only a few, like Hugh Howey's Wool series, have been able to pull that off currently. Still, we are living in changing times, and I've learned to trust my instincts--and right now my instincts are to write as hard and fast as I can while keeping the quality high. I think I'm improving with each book, and that keeps readers coming back.

It turns out, once I started writing I've been prolific as hell, and the self pub thing really has worked for the speed of my writing. I'm doing about three books a year, and the stoke is just spreading by word of mouth!

Kim: As a self-published author whose work is “tight,” how do you do without a traditional editor? Do you have so-called beta readers? A writing group? Who proofs your book for you to ensure there are no/few typographical errors and such? Especially since it seems you are cranking them out.

Toby: I have a team of top quality professionals, my book production team, who work for me. I have a traditional editor, Kristen Weber who used to work for Penguin in their mystery imprint and now is a freelancer. She does developmental editing on every book. http://kristenweber.com/

Kristen turned me on to her copyeditor, Penina Lopez, who also works for Big Six and accepts freelance jobs. She does all my books before they go to the formatter.

Then, I have the amazing Linda Nagata, http://mythicislandpress.com/ who does my formatting and book design. She's an incredible sci-fi writer and only does my books cuz I beg, plead and pay well.

I have my pro photog husband do my photos for covers: http://nealstudios.net/

And to top it off, I am one of the only indies to have cover design done by the incredible Julie Metz, a New York cover designer. http://www.metzdesign.com/ She works for Big Six too.

Because of all of these true professionals and keeping my quality as good as any trade pub book out there (my goal with every title) every book costs me between 4-6,000 dollars to produce. I'm a startup business, and I plow everything I can back into the next book. Fortunately, this approach is paying off. Currently, I've had around 300,000 digital downloads of the books in the series and 5,000 hard copy sales, very good for self-published.

Kim: Do you have any idea at this point how many books will comprise the Lei Crime Series?

I am working on Twisted Vines, the 5th Lei book. I plan to tie up a lot of the "loose ends" of character and plot arc/romance that go from book to book. My next two coming out are what I'm calling "Lei Crime Companion" novels: Stolen in Paradise, with Lei's friend FBI agent Marcella Scott as protagonist, is a romantic suspense mystery (great plot involving GMOs and UH!) and Unsound, a psychological suspense set in Haleakala Crater with Lei's therapist Dr. Wilson, will come out this summer.

How many in the actual series? I have no idea. I plan to wrap things up in Twisted Vines with Lei's subplots, but I may do more. I love the world I've invented and the characters I've created; they can go on in all different directions to different islands.

Kim: Have any movie producers approached you? With the current success of Hawaii Five-O, your series seems like a natural for the big screen!

Toby: Many, many people have said that to me. There are even lots of suggestions for actors/actresses! I am hopeful someone will read the books and fall in love with the premise and option them--I have an agent who handles film and TV rights! It would be great to have Lei Crime Series as the next show to replace H-50, with a kickass female protagonist--Grace Park could play Lei! I think she's underutilized in H50, I loved her in the new Battlestar Galactica, (a great series BTW) and she has an amazing range as an actress.

I am visualizing the success of these books, not just for me but because they represent a clearer picture of the "real Hawaii" with its complex cultural and social issues. Issues I care about as a third generation kama`aina who`s chosen to be a part of speaking up in my own way, for all the things I love here.

The Trail to Kaniakapupu Palace

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Facebook has nothing on Hawaii.

When you live in Hawaii, it’s not unusual to receive emails from friends that say, “My brother’s daughter’s boyfriend’s family is coming to visit. Can you tell her what to do?” And by “friends,” I mean ones who were in your wedding, ones you work with, and those you haven’t seen in 25 years when you were both trying out for the a part in the school play. When you live in Hawaii, high school classmates look you up and want to get together for a drink or coffee or to stay in your guest bedroom for a couple weeks. “What are the things that cannot be missed?” I am asked. Again and again. Be it Kauai, Oahu, Maui or Hawaii Island. Because when you live in Hawaii, you are the expert on all things Hawaii, and all sorts of people from your past pop up--like that long lost boyfriend on Facebook.

Thank goodness I write this blog, because I have a graceful answer to these kinds of inquiries. See the guide on hiking that I put together, I write. Read this profile I wrote on Farmer Otsuji, I suggest. Subscribe to my blog and keep in touch with what I’m doing in Hawaii, I encourage.

So, imagine my surprise when my new friend Melony invited me to go photographing on Oahu, and she put together the shot list. She punched in addresses on her GPS and directed me to sites I’d never heard of before.

Like Kaniakapupu, the summer palace of King Kamehameha III and his wife Queen Kalama, in Nuuanu. It was built in 1845. According to the plaque in front of the crumbling rock wall ruins, the palace—a term to be taken loosely—was a place for parties. The biggest of which took place in 1847 to celebrate Hawaiian Restoration Day.

Hawaiian Restoration Day? Mark Twain wrote about a brief and illegal occupation of Hawaii by Great Britain. Could that be what the plaque was referencing?

So, upon my return from Kaniakapupu, I did some research. That is, I did a simple Google search.

According to a Hawaiian Airlines’ Hana Hou magazine article, “Kaniakapupu” translates to English as “sound of the land shells,” suggesting the palace was most likely named for the native land snails with a cricket sounding call that inhabited the area.

And, indeed, a magnificent luau hosting some 10,000 people was held here to celebrate La Ho`iho`i Ea, when the Hawaiian lands were restored to the Hawaiian Kingdom.

The area may have once come alive with singing land snails, and the place may have hosted some magnificent parties back in the day, but when I visited with Melony, it was peace and quiet that greeted and impressed me.

There were no tour buses stopping to have a look. No Oahu Visitors Bureau signage marking the place as a historical site. The narrow trail leading through a bamboo forest was maintained, but it was more like a discreet walk in the woods than a procession to a royal residence. We didn’t run into a single person on the trail or during the hour-and-a-half we spent photographing the grounds.

And this on the supposedly busy and crowded Oahu.

Someone had obviously been here, cutting back weeds, keeping the ever-present, ever-encroaching tropical rain forest at bay. A few offerings had been left on the plaque in front of the house, bits of change, a kukui nut lei, costume jewelry, something wrapped in ti leaves. According to Hana Hou, the site is maintained by A Hui Malama O Kaniakapupu, and while the remains of the simple four-walled cottage are not engulfed by tropical vines or damaged by vandalism, it’s clear the rock-and-concrete construction is slowly eroding. There is no rebuilding going on here. And, truthfully, I like that.

I’ve just participated in the restoration of Kilauea Point Lighthouse on Kauai, where, after numerous years, the lighthouse stands in more pristine shape than ever, including when it was first commissioned. The restoration effort ensures that the lighthouse will continue to stand sentinel, if in memorial rather than actual duty. It’s a beautiful monument to a time gone by.

Seeing Kaniakapupu in decay makes a bigger—no, different—impression on me than if it was restored to its original state. Maybe it’s the romantic or sentimental in me.

I looked at the remaining structure with its crumbling walls, windowless windows and open ceiling, and I tried to imagine the place in its heyday. What would it have looked like 168 years ago? Would the grassy clearing have been bigger to accommodate those 10,000 revelers? Would the towering trees—eucalyptus, perhaps—have been planted then? What about the bamboo? When did the land snails go extinct?

The crumbling walls evoke a mixture of more philosophical thoughts in my mind, as well, having to do with legacy and mortality. The very mortal people who built and lived in Kaniakapupu are no longer around, but something of them remains. It makes me wonder what will become of my creations in this lifetime of mine. I play with words, not brick and mortar. And those words are primarily found in this form—in the ethers of the Internet versus printed paper encased in book boards. If the Internet is forever, maybe something of me will stick around after I am gone. Maybe someone will read these words in a hundred years and think I wonder what she looked like. Oh, wait, if they are reading these words at all, that means all those self-portraits posted to Facebook will be around, too, and they won’t have to imagine me with my brown eyes and grey-streaked, medium-length hair.

Waves of Waimea Bay

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Beyond the always crowded parking lot. Past the sticks of showers circling the public restrooms. Far to the south of the command center that is the lifeguard tower in the center of Waimea Bay is a rock jutting into the ocean at the edge of the beach. It’s more than twice my height and where I wanted to be to photograph the surf rolling into Waimea Bay—surf so big that lifeguards had closed the beach to swimming and alerted beachgoers on a public address system whenever ripples on the water’s surface far on the horizon, made their way to shore, hit the steeply rising land, and pitched into the monster surf for which Waimea is famous. The right-breaking waves off the point at the north end of the bay can grow to 50 feet. That’s no small thing. In fact, that’s the height of a five-story building.

“Lady in the black and white swimsuit. Get back from the shoreline,” a lifeguard, his hair cut in a Mohawk, cautioned. “The guy about to get in the water without fins. Yes, you. The beach is closed to swimming today unless you’ve surfed here your entire life.” And “Hey, mom, get your two kids onto dry sand. Go only where you can see footprints. If there are no footprints, you are too close.”

The lifeguards at Waimea Bay Beach Park don’t just kick it–Spicoli-style. They are not just muscle heads more interested in flexing their impressive bodies. They take their responsibility seriously.

The most famous lifeguard in Hawaii was none other than Eddie Aikau, the very first, county-appointed lifeguard at Waimea Bay, hired in 1968. He’s credited with making thousands of rescues, often paddling out when no one else would. In his off time, Eddie pioneered big wave surfing.

In 1978, Eddie made his most daring rescue attempt. While aboard the voyaging canoe Hokulea in big seas some 12 miles south of Molokai, the canoe capsized. Eddie volunteered to paddle to shore for help. Eventually, the U.S. Coast Guard rescued Eddie’s crewmates, but Eddie was never seen again.

After his death, a saying started circulating about Eddie. It implied a certain heroism and bravery. You may see it on t-shirts and bumper stickers around Hawaii. It says: Eddie Would Go.

Eddie is a modern day Hawaiian legend. In his honor, the Quiksilver Big Wave Invitational in Memory of Eddie Aikau at Waimea Bay got its start. It’s a big wave invitational tournament that runs only when open ocean swells reach a minimum of 20 feet. That translates to 30-foot or bigger wave faces inside the bay. This is a rare event. The surf competition has only taken place seven times since its inception in 1986, when, appropriately Eddie’s younger brother Clyde won.

According to today’s Mohawk-inspired lifeguard, the waves crashing on shore were 20 to 25 feet. As much as I would have liked to clamber atop the rock at the far end of the beach, known as “Jump Rock” to locals, because in the summer when the waves swing around to the south side of the island, the bay is as flat as a pancake, I didn’t. I could see the spray of the surf as it hit land and long tendrils washed the top of the rock in water, and I didn’t want to hear Mohawk man on his bullhorn yelling, “Hey lady with all the cameras hanging around your neck. Get off the rock, you stupid idiot.”

Instead—and contentedly—I set up on dry sand next to a cliff wall, in the shade, and aimed my camera down the beach with the white tower of Saints Peter and Paul Mission in the background.

Hookipa Beach

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 15:28:47 -1000

There's no better place on this or any other island to watch the world's finest windsurfers and kitesurfers in action. They know the five different surf breaks here by name. Unless it's a rare day without wind or waves, you're sure to get a show. It's not safe to park on the shoulder. Use the ample parking lot at the county park entrance.

Spices

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 15:26:45 -1000

Created by a trio of well-traveled friends who enjoy the foods of Southeast Asia, Spices is alluringly decorated in spicelike oranges and reds and offers a lunch and dinner menu far from the beaten path, even in a city rich in the cuisine of this region. Leave room for dessert, as their exotic ice cream is to die for. They claim inspiration but not authenticity and use Island ingredients to everyone's advantage. The menu is vegetarian-friendly. www.spiceshawaii.com. Credit cards accepted. Closed Mon.

March in Photos

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 05 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

My first foray into a trend I’ve just discovered that’s called “urban exploration” unwittingly took place in March when my friend Pam and I photographed Ahukini Pier. That is, the remains of Ahukini Pier, which is now called Ahukini State Recreational Pier.

This was once the hub of Kauai’s inter-island shipping commerce--where much of Kauai’s sugar harvest left the island and where passengers came and went. Then, after World War II, Nawiliwili Harbor was constructed and that was pretty much the end of Ahukini Landing. It closed in 1950.

While we were there, a throw net fishermen worked the coastline. A tour van pulled up and, then, a pick-up truck. A older couple emerged from the truck and spent the early morning pole fishing off the ruins of the pier. A few years back, the state swooped and shored up a walkway and railings, leaving numerous concrete pilings in place.

As I understand it, “urban explorers” seek out abandoned structures, be it buildings, underground tunnels, subway sections and/or sewer systems. I think a pier would qualify, but I’m not sure if it falls under the “urban” category. I mean “urban” and “Kauai” are not words that go together. But, then, neither do “jumbo” and “shrimp.”

In March, I also participated in the third and final “Ocean Count” of the season, on behalf of the Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale Sanctuary. Not that you’d be able to tell by my photos in the above slide show. Even though we had a healthy number of whale sightings, I was mesmerized by the waves crashing ashore some 380 feet below me at the foot of Kilauea Crater. (Don’t worry, I wasn’t shirking my duties, either. I took these during my “breaks” between counting blows, breaches, and tail slaps.

I threw in a few other shots of some seabirds I happened upon in March, too. I think one Laysan albatross chick looks a little like a Kiwi, if you ask me. Not that I've ever seen a kiwi up close and personal. And the horse? Just one I saw in a pasture.

How I Learned to Meditate

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 00:00:00 -1000

We all know Hawaii excites the senses. Travel writers galore have written about the comforting blanket of warmth that envelopes a body after stepping off a trans-Pacific flight. Even though they are only starting to blossom this spring, we can all pull the heady scent of gardenia from our memory bank and imagine the tapestry of bougainvillea draping a hillside. And the ocean. Her sounds run the scales, from kissing our toes in a frothy shoreline to droning her engine in a hard-pounding northwest winter swell.

What I’m talking about here is, at its simplest, is nature in full bloom.

The natural world, I have found is the perfect place to learn to meditate. And, in doing so, even though the objective may be to empty the mind of all thoughts, I made up a new word. At least, I think it’s new.

The last time I created a new word, I later found it in the dictionary. The word—roiling—came to me as I as sitting seat four in an outrigger canoe on a particularly rough day on the water. My job—besides paddling like a bull—had been to ensure the boat didn’t huli—flip. If the ‘ama, outrigger, popped up, I would “give it a look” to settle it back down. But on this day, a mere shift in my weight generated by the turning of my head, didn’t settle the ‘ama. I was constantly swinging my arm and jerking my body to my left. The water was boiling. The Joy of Cooking may even have referred to it as a “rough boil,” and in that moment, I came up with a new word. At least, for me.

A couple months ago, my husband made up a word. A truly new word, as far as I know. He was talking about something he’d read in a letter to the editor, the source of all that’s really going on here on Kauai, and he said, “I read it in a leditor.” That day, that word—leditor—entered our lexicon for good. In fact, he just used it again last night.

This time, I think my new word really is a new word. Last week, as I was getting ready to settle into my morning routine on the lanai, in which I wait for my tea to steep by meditating for 10 minutes. Before I forced my eyes closed, I turned to my right to see two Shama thrushes sitting on a railing, and the thought that was supposed to go through my mind was: Hawaii is a great place to meditate in nature. But the thought that formed into words in my brain was: Hawaii is a great place to medinate. Med-i-nate.

I am a writer. My brain works in words. It continually wraps words around sights and sounds and experiences into sentences and paragraphs. I fall asleep “typing” them in the air, and I wake up crafting them in my mind. I use the Voice Memo app on my iPhone to record these thoughts as I walk my dogs on the beach, hike in the mountains and drive the short mile into town to retrieve my mail. I write words on index cards that I fish out of my pockets and backpacks and purses. I have even been known to craft a haiku on my calf using a Sharpie while hiking Sleeping Giant with my friend Pam.

In meditating, we are taught to empty our mind of thoughts. Me? Empty my mind of thoughts? This is me guffawing. Me snorting tea through my nose. Thoughts are my lifeline. Thoughts provide me a paycheck.

I’ve meditated on and off for years, but I’ve only just discovered the key to emptying my mind of my river of thoughts--and that’s to focus my mind on sensual Hawaii. Instead of “going within,” as meditation practitioners might say, I am training my attention on the melodic Shama thrush. I am closing my eyes and opening my ears to the layers of sound at the ocean. I am drinking in the scent of plumeria and gardenia and puakenikeni. I am luxuriating in the sun’s touch on my skin and the trade winds’ dance around my body.

And, so, I offer this word:

med•i•nate

[med-i-neyt] verb, med•i•nat•ed, med•i•nat•ing.

verb (used without object)
1. to engage in thought or contemplation in nature; to reflect while immersed in nature.

Now, I may just sit down and write a leditor about it for the local newspaper.

A Shama Thrush Builds A Home in My House

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

The skies were blue when I retreated to the lanai with my morning tea. At the foot of the stairs, a rooster stretched his head and let out his best crow. A few seconds later, another rooster on the other side of the house responded, and the domino effect made its way down the valley. Other birds were singing, including a Western meadowlark, its black V set on bright yellow breast. A Zebra dove cooed.

I start my day in meditation in this fashion, facing Kalalea, a distinctive mountain that seems to wrap around me. As I settled in this morning, before letting my eyelids drop, I turned to my right to see two White-rumped shama, a male and a female, perched on the copper railing at the end of the lanai, maybe 20 feet away.

Also known as the Shama thrush, the bird was introduced to Kauai in 1931 and can be seen from one end of the island to the other, from Hanalei to Kekaha. They just may have the most beautiful song of all the birds, natives included, in the Hawaiian Islands. Its voice is loud and clear and moves through a variety of phrasings. I’ve been known to carry on a conversation with a Shama a time or two. They are excellent at mimicry.

They’re also quite friendly. Once ,when I was camping in Kalalalu Valley along Napali Coast, a Shama would alight on a tree stump every time I returned to my campsite, as if to welcome me home, and we’d talk.

But, today, with two present, something about their behavior made me keep quiet.

He looked at her and, then, up at a spot in the rafters. He looked back at her, and while she watched, he made a decision to fly a few feet above into the rafter. She sat still, and I noticed she had a small twig or piece of grass in her bill. They’re building a nest, I think, and a flutter of excitements tickled the inside of my chest cavity.

He flitted back down to the railing, looked at her and back at the spot. So, she spread her wings and with minimal effort hardly flew at all but hopped up to the spot. A few seconds later, she returned to the railing, the piece of grass still in her bill. They looked at each other. He flew off.

She waited a bit and flew back to the spot. Returned to the railing, with the grass. Looked up at the spot.

This is an important decision choosing where to build a nest, where to start a family, a place to call home. “It’s a good spot,” I think, doing my best at cross-species communication. “I know.” And, then, I turn away, not wanting to invade this private moment any longer.

The Inspiration of a Master Canoe Shaper

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I spent an afternoon last week in an industrial area a few miles from Honolulu International Airport, past a sand and gravel supplier, a drywall contractor and a cabinet re-facing company, in a setting that made me wonder whether Hawaii Five-0 had filmed here.

The place was hot, reeked of migraine-inducing paint fumes, and everything was coated in layers of dust that you could measure in quarter inches, and for Tay Perry, this is his office away from the office. Amidst the sounds of power sanders and paint guns, this is where a lifetime of passion and sweat go into creating Tay’s work—shaping canoes.

“This is what I do in my full spare time,” he said.

Right now, he’s restructuring a canoe that someone else started and never finished. There’s another waiting for him that’s basically a squared-off log with a little bit hollowed out of the center.

You could call him the plastic surgeon of canoes, and while there is some fiberglass work going on in the airplane-hanger-sized workshop that is lined with canoes of varying states, Tay specializes in wooden canoes, be it bringing a neglected 100-year-old fishing canoe back to life, re-modeling a present-day racing canoe or selecting a tree and creating a new canoe out of a full log. Tay learned his craft from his father, a well-known beach boy and canoe shaper who founded the Lanikai Canoe Club in 1953.

When I arrived, Tay was wearing his day uniform of muted Aloha shirt tucked into belted khaki pants and brown, leather loafers over dark socks. When I left, he had changed into his canoe paddling gear, a tight-fitting polyester red jersey and surf trunks—and yet still the brown, leather loafers over dark socks. And I wanted to join him, to slip my hips inside the gunnels of an outrigger canoe and paddle out into the Waikiki sunset. It’s been years. Too long. I miss the movement of the ocean and my body’s response. I miss the salt water mixed with sweat on my skin.

Tay has crossed the Ka’iwi Channel racing in the famed men’s outrigger canoe race Molokahi Ho’e some 30 times.

Tay and I parted ways—he to paddle and me to attend a farm-to-table dinner at Hula Grill in Waikiki, where I looked up between my pupu of smoked tomato and crispy tofu and, there, hanging from the ceiling was a beautiful outrigger canoe.

And, now, I am seeing canoes everywhere, including the lobby of Outrigger Waikiki on the Beach, the Kaukahi, refurbished by none other than Tay Perry himself.

The 100-year-old Kaukahi, rescued from Hawaii, the Big Island, where it was forgotten, ravaged by termites and mistaken for firewood, shines today, showing off the beauty of Hawaii’s native koa and wiliwili woods.

When I return home to Kauai, I see my own OC-1 canoe hanging from the rafters of my lanai, in need of a good cleaning and waxing. And I run into old paddling teammates. Is this how it works? Is this the seed being planted that will burst its little head through fertile soil? Will the canoe call to me, as it has called Tay for his entire life? Will I find myself on the open ocean this summer, the salt gumming my hair, a smile plastered on my face, as I ply the waters of the Pacific off my home island of Kauai?

I hope so.

My Own Personal Chef at Hula Grill Waikiki

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

As the sun set on Waikiki, the rest of our table, some 20 diners, received their pupu, appetizer, before Lisa and me. It wasn't that the courteous servers at Hula Grill hadn't tried to place the dish they called "Smoked Big Island Abalone BLT" in front of us. More than one server tried. "No," we said again and again, shaking our heads. "We ordered vegetarian."

I've perfected a lifetime of disappointment by way of resigned acceptance when my vegetarian ways are "accommodated" at restaurants from East Coast to West and most especially in my homeland of middle America. That is, I don't expect much.

It's not like I'm making some political or environmental or ethical statement. (At least, it didn't start out that way.) I simply don't like beef, pork or poultry. Never have. Not even as a baby. And, for decades, I didn't like vegetables, either. You would be rightly accurate to say I was a picky eater. My poor mother.

Finally, our specially-prepared dish arrived, handmade by the sous chef himself, Matt, who also delivered it to our table. A simple platter of tomatoes and fern shoots on slices of toasted baguette bread topped with bits of feta cheese. "What do you think?" he asked. "Is feta O.K.? Do you do dairy?"

"It's fine," I said. The dish didn't have to be perfect. I was just happy that the restaurant had even offered a vegetarian menu for the farm-to-table dinner that would raise over $800 on behalf of Paepae o He'eia, an organization committed to restoring an ancient fishpond on Oahu's North Shore.

He must have read something in my face. Or Lisa's. "I can do it over without the feta," he said.

There were a total of three people who opted for the vegetarian menu last night. Out of 100. Three percent. I wonder how that compares to the percentage nationwide?

We convinced Matt a little feta was fine, but we accepted his offer to prepare the rest of our dishes in a vegan manner--all plant-based, no dairy, no eggs, no meat. He seemed eager to do so. Probably because he had a few tricks up his sleeve that he wanted to try on us. And let me say right here: They worked.

The farm-to-table dining experience isn't new. Not even for Hawaii, way out in the middle of the Pacific. In fact, it can be said the locavore movement started here 20+ years ago when 12 local chefs founded what's come to be known as Hawaii Regional Cuisine. Most of those chefs are household names in Hawaii today--Sam Choy, Mark Ellman, Beverly Gannon, Peter Merriman, Alan Wong, and Roy Yamaguchi. In fact, last night, Alan Wong was holding his own farm-to-table dinner.

But what made Hula Grill's farm-to-table dinner different, in my mind, is that the oceanfront restaurant is part of a chain--owned by TS Restaurants, operating numerous other restaurants in Hawaii and California with recognizable names like Duke's, Keoki's Paradise, and Sandy's Beach Grill--and not anchored by a celebrity chef. Chef Paul Rivero is probably not a name you recognize. Unless a) you're related to him; or b) went to school with him, which in Hawaii is a good possibility. But I don't know where Chef Paul was raised or went to school, because I was too busy asking sous chef Matt, who was dedicated to us veg-heads, all kinds of questions. Like how did he make such a simple dish of tomatoes and greens on bread taste so dang good? Because it was good. Beyond good. The answer: He smoked the tomatoes. Smoked them.

The fact that Hula Grill Waikiki hosted a farm-to-table dinner illustrates just how far the movement has come. Showcasing local growers, fishers and providers is practically mainstream. (Well, main stream would be McDonald's, I suppose. Maybe Applebee's. Give it time.)

There was Kahuku sea asparagus, Kaiulani Spice's exotic curry, Kona coffee spices, Maui onions, Mauna Loa mac nuts, Hawaiian Heart of Palm, sweet potatoes from Twin Bridge Farms, banana and papaya amber glaze from North Shore Hawaiian Honey Bee, Nalo Farms micro arugula, Hamakua Farms tomatoes. Each of the five courses was even paired with a locally made beverage from Koloa Rum and Aloha Beer Company.

The dish that I quietly tried to weasel the recipe out of Matt was the gnocchi, made with roasted kabocha and potato that Matt finished in the sautee pan and served with asparagus, fern shoots and mushrooms. This dish appears on the nightly menu--with a cream sauce. Order it, I say, order it. Hurry.

Thanks to my experience at Hula Grill, I've suddenly got a new attitude about making special dietary requests when I eat out. I've realized I'm not the only one. I'm no longer the odd ball. There are people with gluten intolerances. Peanut allergies. Dairy discomfort. And life-threatening shellfish allergies. All requesting--and receiving--special treatment, even their own menus.

What's more, I think Matt enjoyed the challenge. Lisa and I were Matt's creative culinary opportunity. We broke up his daily routine in the kitchen and gave him permission to try something different. We gave him an opportunity to flex his culinary skills. And, based on the results, be forewarned, Matt, I'm coming back.

The Crazy Chicken Lady

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I am the crazy lady in the neighborhood--the one who feeds the chickens.

It wasn’t always this way. There was a time I thought the woman down the street who foraged the mounds of yard waste at the county dumpsite as an economical way to landscape her yard was the crazy one. Around the neighborhood, amidst eye-rolls and head-shakes, word spread one summer that the crazy plant lady was feeding the chickens. I’m talking about the feral chickens that roam the island in place of our wildlife, not the laying hens that provide us nourishment in the form of eggs. The same chickens and roosters that crow at all times of the day and night, not just dawn. The way in which the news of the then crazy lady spread from household to household as we passed each other on our morning walks or at the post office collecting our mail was something like the childhood game of telephone with tin cans attached by string. I am sure the story—complete with an arm-waving, dog-chasing, name-calling confrontation–changed with every telling. It was as if that crazy lady had 317 cats living in her house, as well. And she probably did. There’s such a neighbor on every block, isn’t there? And, now, I am her.

Today, returning home from the Anahola Post Office, where I learned that after a couple dozen years with the USPS, my buddy Brian retired without telling a soul, I pulled into our driveway and no fewer than six “yard” chickens ran up to greet me. Let’s see, there was Hoppy leading the charge. Blackie. Little Blackie YL. Blondie. Green Legs. And Ham. Did you know chickens can run at speeds of up to nine miles an hour?

I like to think we have my husband to blame. If he wasn’t such a softie, I’d never be wearing this metaphorical sign around my neck. You see, before we moved into this house that he built me, I wasn’t feeding chickens. I wasn’t even feeding my husband. He’s always been the cook in the house. Then, in addition to building me a house--in Hawaii, of all places—and cooking me gourmet meals, he went and rescued three orphaned chicks and put them in a box with a dish of water and a light bulb to warm them.

Eventually, after he built them a chicken coop, it fell to me to feed them. I’d rise every morning, leash up the two dogs and head outside for their morning walk. Along the way, I’d scoop up a dish of Egg Layer Pellets for the three girls in the coop. Like any good chicken, Friendly, Patches and Snitchy scratched and pecked through their food, kicking a few nuggets of goodness outside their coop. This is where Hoppy and crew come into play. They soon learned a bounty of goodness awaited them at the seams where the coop met the yard and came running every morning when I’d emerge from the house. I felt a little like a rock star on stage being rushed by her fans. In a weird way, it felt good. “Hi, friends,” I’d say. And, then, we started naming them.

Have you ever heard the boiling frog story? Any frog tossed into a pot of boiling water will immediately jump out. But put a frog in room temperature water that is slowly heated, and the frog will sit there and allow itself to be cooked to death.

Of course, the story is a metaphor for human behavior, right. Case in point, mine. Once I started tossing a few pellets outside the coop to the yard chickens, my fate was sealed. Then, our dog Lulu gave Hoppy her nickname when Lulu decided Hoppy needed a good shaking. We tried to give Hoppy a leg up--I know, I know—with some extra handfuls as she recovered. But my story is also about chicken behavior. Or intelligence. Here’s the thing: Last summer, the last of our three rescued chicks died after some seven years in our lives. And those darn yard chickens, as we have taken to calling the regulars who roam our neighborhood, still rush me every morning and know my car when I pull into the driveway. I admit my mistaken interpretation of their excitement to see me—they’re really just looking for a handout, right—often gets me to dig into the bucket of leftover chicken pellets and toss a handful into the yard. I’ve even been known to scoop out the innards of a papaya and open a window or door to toss the skin their way. The yard chickens like bananas, too. And apple cores. Mango. But they don’t like mushrooms or onions.

They could be the best fed yard chickens on Kauai.

My friend Michele just started a business—BowWow Kaukau. She makes homemade dog food from scratch using locally sourced beef, pork, poultry and organic veggies. Some people—maybe even a neighbor or two--have suggested that I invite Michele to my yard the next time she makes a batch of dog food.

Celebrate Pi with Pie

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Today, I discovered, is National Pi Day. Not a celebration of the Great American Dessert but more what the Great American Genius, who went by the name of Albert Einstein, represented: mathematics. In fact, Einstein's birthday is today and represented by numbers that also symbolize the mathematical constant: 3-1-4.

But I'm not much of a math person, and, honestly, I'm not much of pie person, either. Except for my grandmother's lemon meringue and its cousin, lilikoi chiffon made famous by Hamura's Saimin Stand in Lihue, Kauai. Oh, and a recent discovery of mango pie at the Right Slice in Puhi, Kauai. Pie may not be my favorite dessert, but I like sweets. Sugar and I go together like Hawaii and beaches.

Earlier this week, while on Oahu, the City Girls (plus John) and I went to lunch at a new restaurant at the intersection of Ward and Kapiolani in Honolulu, and I found a dessert I could crave. One that could get me to swing the rental car on a slight detour on my next Oahu visit. While the tasty treat is called "cheesecake," it's nothing like cheese or cake. It fits much more squarely in the pie category. (Leeway, please.) What's more, it's vegan, made entirely from plant-based ingredients. And raw, not cooked over 115 degrees to keep the health-giving nutrients and goodies of the plant.

Did you know Albert Einstein ate a vegetarian diet?

Sylvia Thompson opened Greens & Vines in late October 2012 after selling her raw-vegan gourmet-packaged foods under the Licious Dishes label for five years at Oahu farmers markets and a shop at Dole Cannery.

The restaurant is bright and clean, much like her food, with hip artwork decorating the walls, fresh flowers on the tables, and an outdoor courtyard where musicians will some day soon entertain guests.

There are other dangerously good desserts here, like the Wicked Chocolate Tart and Organic Coconut Chocolate Truffles.

It could be argued that Sylvia's entire menu is a guilty indulgence. At least, that's the way I felt when I savored my Living Lasagna, with layers of seasoned zucchini instead of pasta, layers of pesto, sun-dried tomato marina, macadamia nut "ricotta," spinach and sliced kamuela tomatoes.

I felt the same way when I sampled one of the City Girl's Zucchini Fettuccini and John's Kaffir Miso Pad Thai.

When I was a young girl, my grandfather would take my brothers and me to the general store and buy us big brown bags of candy. For Easter, he'd hide so many chocolate eggs that we'd still be finding their foil wrappers, all the chocolate seeped out, in the hot sun of the Fourth of July. For me, eating vegan is like letting me loose in that childhood candy store. For the first time in my life, I want one of everything on the menu.

Sylvia adopted a raw vegan lifestyle after her then-51-year-old husband had a heart attack two days after Thanksgiving in 2003. A couple years later, the couple invited a friend over for dinner and served the raw vegan dishes that Sylvia had been tweaking to perfection. When her guest asked, "Oh, can I get that recipe?" she knew she was getting it right. When he said, "What? You gonna make one restaurant?" her guest planted a seed. The guest was none other than Alan Wong, chef, restauranteur and co-founder of the Hawaii Regional Cuisine movement.

It would take eight years before the seed that Wong planted would blossom into Greens & Vines. Now, I'm hoping Wong will pop in Sylvia's restaurant one day soon, order the Tangerine Cheesecake and ask, "Can I get that recipe?"

Because I'm planting Sylvia's next seed with this blog post. One that I hope will germinate into a cookbook, so I can make my own Tangerine Cheesecake.

In honor of National Pi Day, what's your favorite pie?

The Amazing Longevity of Laysan Albatrosses

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

These Laysan albatross chicks spent 65 days inside a calcium closure before pipping their way to freedom several weeks ago. And, now, if they are able to steer clear of the hooks belonging to long-line fisheries, to evade eager sharks swimming below the surface of the ocean and, more devastating, to resist ingesting plastic that can be mistaken for food, these three Laysan albatrosses just may live to be older than I am. In fact, old enough--if they'd been contributing--to collect social security benefits. The oldest known living wild bird happens to be a Laysan albatross, named Wisdom. She nests at Midway Atoll National Wildlife Refuge, the location of the largest Laysan albatross colony in the world.

Click on this link to hear Deputy Refuge Manager John Klavitter speak with Steve Rice of Radio Australia's Pacific Beat about Laysan albatrosses in general and Wisdom, in particular. She has an amazing story.

Our Insatiable Need to Collect Things

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Beaches are a magnet for shell seekers, for people with a collection of heart-shaped bits of coral, for those looking for broken and ocean-smoothed pieces of glass. Creative types may convert their finds into long strands of necklaces or wire-wrapped earrings. Or they may glue them to picture frames or decorate scrapbooking pages with their treasures. But just as likely, as I can testify, goodies collected from the beach wind up in a dish or jar or coffee can (do they still exist?) that, over time, gets moved to a cabinet and, then, pushed behind an old board game, an electronic picture frame with dead batteries, or, maybe, a kitchen gadget that used to work, all completely forgotten.

We are a people who like to collect things, especially mementoes from special places like beaches and, well, anywhere in Hawaii.

You’ve heard the story of people taking rocks from Kilauea, the active volcano on Hawaii (Big) Island, right? The memento-seekers get home and start experiencing a string of bad luck and blame it all on the age-old Pele’s Curse—that prophesied bad luck for anyone taking rocks from the volcano goddess’ home. So, these people, the cursed ones, hoping to change their destinies, returned (by mail, in person, via special delivery) the rocks to Hawaii. At one time, more than 2,000 pounds of rocks and thousands of letters filled the mailbox of Volcanoes National Park each year.

But, later, it was revealed that the curse was really a hoax, that a ranger at the park invented it in the 1950s as a way to discourage people from desecrating the landscape. I’ve also heard that rangers today deny their predecessor’s involvement in the creation of the curse. Not that it mattered. It was too late. The belief took root. The curse morphed into a convenient explanation, excuse or last-ditch reversal for failed marriages, car accidents, health issues, natural disasters and more. More as in the good in one person’s life wasn’t quite good enough. A package or rocks came winging its way back to Hawaii with a note that said, “We won the $600,000 lottery—we would have won the $2,000,000 one if it wasn’t for this. Please take the rocks back before more bad luck.”* Huh?

Bad luck or not, it is illegal to take rocks (anything, really) from national parks. So, there’s that. And ethical outdoor principles suggest, “Leave No Trace.” In fact, the fourth of seven such principles says, “Leave What You Find.” Because there is only so much of our finite world to go around.

But I’ve got an idea for something you can collect from the beach.

Last week, after trekking the north shore of Kauai while surveying Laysan albatross nests, I backed up my truck to a stash of marine debris. My friend Daniel combs this stretch of coastline every day, collecting wayward water bottles; scraps of fishing nets gone awry; chunks of plastic from eel traps, laundry baskets, bleach bottles, buckets, tooth brushes, flip-flops and baby dolls. Yes, baby dolls. And more.

And, finally, nearly full two years after the devastating Japan tsunami—March 9, 2011—the waves are bringing a few items from Japan. Mostly plastic floats used in fisheries, thus far. But other things, as well, like refrigerator parts. Even a whole refrigerator.

Now, I’m not suggesting you haul out a refrigerator. Unless, of course, you want to.

*For more information, read Powerstones: Letters to a Goddess by Linda Ching and Robin Stephens.

February in Photos

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 00:00:00 -1000

For a month with only 28 days, I managed to pack in quite a bit. Even with five days of vacation in there. Whales. Monk seals. Laysan albatrosses. Nene geese. Waves. Hula. And more. There are quite a few images in this slide show, so I'm keeping this part short. Here it is, my February in photos. Enjoy.

My Big Birthday Weekend

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 27 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

“Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.”

John Muir.

And I might add “places in nature to celebrate” to this list.

When I parallel-parked the rental car and emerged from its confines of two hours, I discovered I had chosen a spot smack-dab in front of a bookstore a couple blocks off the main drag in Carmel-by-the-Sea. The town is known for artists and dogs and Clint Eastwood and quirky laws like one requiring a permit to wear high-heeled shoes. I wore a pair of lime green, high-tech running shoes.

“Look,” I said, my finger pointing. A big smile crawled across my best friend’s face. It could be said that my passion for books is only equaled by Tommye’s.

“Of course,” my husband said, his own grin more of a smirk. He probably thought I’d orchestrated the whole thing on purpose, searching for “book store” on my iPhone as soon as our plane had landed in San Jose, California. I hadn’t.

And there’s more irony: On the featured table at the front of Pilgrim’s Way bookstore, I spotted a book by fellow Kauai writer Pamela Varma Brown—Kauai Stories: Life on the Garden Island. My eyes next fell on another familiar book cover--Ho'oponopono: The Hawaiian Forgiveness Ritual as the Key to Your Life's Fulfillment by Ulrich E. Dupree.

Here I was a five-hour plane ride from home, and I was running into the place--Hawaii.

It would happen all weekend.

We continued down the coastline to Big Sur, stopping en route at scenic viewpoints. At a lookout above an ocean cove, I spied three harbor seals sleeping on some rocks. Their small heads and big bodies didn’t much resemble the monk seals we have in Hawaii. At Big Sur Point, a first-order Fresnel lens still sat in its lighthouse. My Kilauea Point Lighthouse with a second-order Fresnel lens will celebrate its 100th anniversary this May 1st. High above the famous Bixby Creek Bridge on Highway 1, I spied cormorants. They reminded me of red-footed boobies. And, then, a big bird cruised over a mountain ridge.

“Look at that,” Tommye said.

Living in Hawaii, I’ve seen my fair share of endangered species, where fully one-third of the country’s protected plants and animals reside, including the aforementioned Hawaiian monk seal and humpback whale, Hawaiian crow, Newell’s shearwater, Hawaiian goose, false killer whale and oh-so-many more. Shoots. Until very recently, when some invasive land snails burrowed tunnels through its base in something like two nights, I had an alula growing in my backyard. The rare plant, Brighamia insignis, was saved from extinction by some botanists from the National Tropical Botanical Garden who rappelled down steep mountain ridges to hand pollinate it. I purchased mine from Home Depot. Thanks to those botanists’ efforts.

Another species saved from extinction due to some ingenious and heroic efforts is the California condor. And on this weekend, I thought it would be cool to add another endangered species to my life list.

The condor is the largest land bird in North America, weighing in at 26 pounds and measuring some nine-and-a-half feet wingtip to wingtip. Its population dipped to 22 individuals when in 1987, they were all captured and put into a captive breeding program. Since then, the species’ numbers have risen to 400+ with more than half that released along the central California coast.

But the bird that Tommye saw was not one of the 226 individuals living in the wild, although it was a vulture—a turkey vulture.

I didn’t journey to California just for the condors--which is a good thing, because I never did spot one.

I went to celebrate what I have dubbed My Big Birthday Weekend in Big Sur. This past Saturday wasn’t just any birthday. It was one of those that end in a zero. And its first digit put me at the half-century mark. I believe in marking occasions with new experiences. Sure I could have island-hopped to Maui and witnessed the start of my second 50 years with the rising of the sun over Haleakala. I could have trekked across barren lava fields to watch molten rock slither down Hawaii (Big) Island into the sea. Or toasted my birthday with champagne aboard a sailboat charter off Waikiki at sunset. And any one of those adventures would have been magnificent. But I wanted to get outside my comfort zone. I wanted to leave my home and venture into new territory.

What’s funny is so much of Big Sur reminded me of home. From the rugged coastline and beaches to the striations of mountain ridges cupping the valleys. From the magnificent sunsets over the ocean to the full moon rising over the mountains. Right down to the quirky personality of Big Sur itself.

I also discovered just how easy it is to travel to and from the West Coast these days. We didn’t have to take a red-eye out of Lihue and lose precious sleep, requiring a couple days recovery. Not only that but we booked very affordable flights through Hawaiian Air, making a long weekend to/from Hawaii a very real possibility.

That’s not to say I’m done marking my momentous birthday. There is also a kayaking trip planned for Napali this summer. Because I also believe birthdays that end in zero should be celebrated all year long. Look out.

My Love Affair with Lahaina

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

For a week earlier this month, I would slip out my two-bedroom condo at Aina Nalu and walk down Hale Street, a quiet alley of a road with plantation-style homes, some refurbished and others not, in the heart of Lahaina. I would walk through Wharf Center and its collection of gift shops that center around a courtyard bar and grill and emerge in front of the famous banyan tree on Front Street, the main drag in this one-time whaling town.

Here's an interesting tidbit of fact: The predecessor to the 55-foot white obelisk of a lighthouse that serves as navigation for whale watching boats returning to Lahaina Harbor was first built in 1840. It was not only the first modern-day lighthouse built in Hawaii but all of the U.S. West Coast. And it was built in response to the whaling trade.

This is one of the things I love about Lahaina: the depth of the place. You cannot walk down Front Street without running into it. The town has history. It oozes from the break wall running in front of the wooden storefronts. It seeps from the rock and coral Masters’ Reading Room, built in 1834.

We like to say Lahaina used to be the whaling capitol of Hawaii, but the truth is that it still is. This time, though, not for oil but for research. Humpback whale scientists migrate to Hawaii with their research subjects each year in an effort to learn more about behemoth marine mammal. Ironically, some of what we know about humpback whales today comes from whalers themselves--and their meticulous note-taking.

Another thing I love about Lahaina is its pedestrian nature. This is a town that is meant to be walked. Walk to dinner—Lahaina Grill (save room for the triple berry pie), the new Fleetwood’s (try the rooftop for its views—ideal for whale watching) and, although it’s a long jaunt, Aloha Mixed Plate (fresh fish AND garlic furikake fries). Explore the many galleries—Peter Lik and Thomas Barbey are two of my favorites. The enticing scent wafting out of the front doors of Lush drew me in where I discovered my new favorite lotions and potions. I walked every morning to my whale watching boat tour. Took a stroll for an afternoon ice cream cone. Sauntered under the banyan tree. Took a self-guided history tour by reading the many bronze metal plaques around town—known as Ala Hele Mo’olelo O Lahaina, or Lahaina Historic Trail.

I parked my car at Aina Nalu when I arrived, and I didn’t start the engine again until I left. At that, I had to run the wipesr to clear the windshield of monkeypod tree and bird droppings! And I was sad to leave.

What about you? Do you have a love affair with a particular place in Hawaii? Tell me about it.

Hooking More Than Just Fish. Hawaiian Monk Seals At Risk.

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I’m thinking about the phrase, “Hana Pa’a.” It has many meanings for me.

The literal translation to English is, “to make secure or fasten.” In Hawaii, it’s a phrase you might hear cried from the mouths of fishermen. “Hana Pa’a,” they will holler when a fish strikes, and their line screams from its reel. You might even see “Hana Pa’a” painted on the stern of a boat, and you can rest assured it’s a boat used for fishing. The colloquial translation is, “Hook up,” and that makes me think of today.

Even though this won’t publish after, I am writing these words on Valentine’s Day, a notorious day for hook ups.

When I think of hooks, I think of the demi-god Maui and the magic hook that he used to pull up the Hawaiian Islands from the depths of the ocean. You’ll find a replica of that hook for sale throughout Hawaii—made of plastic and sold at ABC stores and made of cow and more exotic bone and sold by local craftsmen at fairs and markets and galleries, including Front Street in downtown Lahaina by Pioneer Inn.

Fish hooks. In the case of Maui, a fish hook was used to find land. For most, though, fish hooks are used for sport and sustenance. That is, as the name implies, fish hooks are used to catch fish. But sometimes, fish hooks catch more than fish.

Last week, as I canvassed a Laysan albatross colony--and to my glee, identified a high number of successful chick hatchings--my phone rang. My current ring tone is “She’s a Rainbow,” a little-known song by the well-known band, The Rolling Stones. It makes me happy.

I don’t usually answer my phone when I am in nature, preferring the connection with Mother Earth to that with humans. But it was Mimi. She heads up our efforts in conservation for Hawaiian monk seals on Kauai.

“Are you on island?” she asked. She knows I travel around the Hawaiian archipelago and cannot always respond to her requests. As it turned out, I was not only on Kauai, but I was above the very beach a male Hawaiian monk seal needed help. I knew this monk seal, flipper-tagged T12, and born three years ago to a regular, productive mother, known as Rocky. The juvenile seal had recently molted, and sported a beautifully, clean coat of silvery-grey and milky-white stomach.

But the bad news was another volunteer reported a length of fishing line trailing out of T12’s mouth and a fish hook embedded in his front flipper. What’s worse, this was T12’s second hooking in two weeks.

With a special permit—because T12 and his kin are protected by the Federal government under the Endangered Species Act—a team of us herded T12 to a safe place on the beach where Mimi and her cohort Jamie could carefully peer down T12’s throat—while keeping their fingers out of his mouth. We hoped they’d see the terminus of the fishing line and could extract that hook then and there.

If monk seals were typical, we’d say they forage for food far off-shore at depths of 300-500 feet, where they flip over rocks with their thick-muscled necks and fill their bellies with lobster, eel and octopus. But not all monk seals are typical. Who is? And they’re known as opportunistic. That is, if they’re returning from a big feed in the deep, blue ocean and find a fish wiggling on a line, swishing in front of their face, as tempting to you and me as a juicy ripe mango dangling from a tree, they’ll open their powerful jaws and snag it. Who wouldn’t?

Sadly, though, as the population of Hawaiian monk seals increases in the main Hawaiian Islands, more seals are getting hooked.

Just the week before, this very same seal, T12, turned up on the same beach with a large, ulua fish hook in his tongue. Elsewhere, on Hawaii (Big) Island, another hooked seal was discovered and flown to Oahu for surgery and a different result. Whereas T12’s ordeal ended with the successful removal of his hook, K68 died as a result of his injuries, a fish hook ingested weeks, perhaps months earlier.

In 2011, a total of nine monk seal hookings were reported, none of which resulted in deaths. Last year, 15 hookings were reported, resulting in three deaths.

And here was T12 again with a hook in his fore-flipper and fishing line flowing from deep within his throat. There would be no removing this hook on the beach. He would need to be sedated and anesthetized. A marine mammal vet would have to fly over from Oahu. Another team would mobilize to assist. And T12 would once again, for the second week in a row, be de-hooked and released to roam the seas again.

The Hawaiian word for monk seal is ’ilio-holo-i-ka-uaua, or “dog that runs in rough waters.” But this wet dog must think he’s a cat. And he’s used up two of his nine lives.

The vast majority of endangered Hawaiian monk seals ply the waters of the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands in the marine sanctuary known as Papahanaumokuakea, but a growing percentage, perhaps 15%, live in the Main Hawaiian Islands. Strangely, survival rate of Hawaiian monk seals is greater here, where there is a greater possibility of interaction with humans—and fishing hooks and gill nets and boat propellers. Whereas only one in five pups survive to adulthood in the sanctuary, four out of five thrive in the waters from Kauai to Hawaii (Big) Island.

Is this rash of hookings an indication of things to come or an anomaly? We’ll see. In the mean time, I’ll be toting my binoculars with me on beach outings, and you might want to pack yours, as well. There are a few things you can do to help the long-term survival of Hawaiian monk seals—and reverse the decline of some 3% each year to a population numbering just 1,100.

1.   Do not disturb monk seals on the beach or in the water. Give them space. If they’re on the beach, they need their beauty rest just like you and me. Do not chase, approach, surround, feed, swim with, throw rocks at, or attempt to touch a monk seal or any wildlife, for that matter.

2.   Do not attempt to push seals back into the water. When they are on the beach, they are not stranded. They are there to sleep.

3.   Be extra careful around mothers and their young.

4.   Keep your voices down.

5.   If you have a pet with you, please keep them on a leash and give each animal wide berth of each other to prevent injury to ensure the cross-species transmission of disease does not occur.

6.   Help prevent marine debris—dispose of rubbish carefully. Reduce, reuse, recycle. And pick up after others. It’s good karma;-)

7.   Finally, if you have binoculars or using a long telephoto lens, conduct a health assessment of the monk seal, paying particular attention to its mouth area. If you see fishing line coming out of its mouth or plastic rings around its neck or anything but seal bits, call 808-651-7668.

8.   And, always, report any sightings of monk seals by calling 808-651-7668. This is very important.

Saving the Seas of Sea Monsters

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

When I arrived at slip number 17 at Lahaina Wharf to check in for my whale watching boat tour, it was mid-morning and clouds drizzled down the West Maui mountains behind me. It had rained hard overnight. But looking out to sea, the sky was blue. I hoped the skies would remain their blue color, but the bruised clouds were making a convincing argument otherwise.

There are a line of wooden booths fronting the harbor here in Lahaina, the one-time whaling capitol of Hawaii. Some have colorful, hand-painted signs advertising fishing charters. Other booths just sport a painted number across the top, identifying the slip for the accompanying boat. The one I headed to featured a carved and painted whale breaching out of a splash of water.

These booths serve as dock-side offices, wooden structures on which to hang a business shingle and sell whale watching or sport fishing tours and/or to check in guests for such adventures. A man named Eric with startling blue eyes worked the booth the day before this visit, but, now, the booth stood empty.

"He went after his dog," another whale watcher standing in the shade of the booth said. The air was close and humid and transformed standing still into a hot, sweaty sport. The man wore an Oakland fire department t-shirt and Cape Cod ball cap and carried a camera bag. A fellow photographer.

"Pono?" I asked. When I travel, I miss my dogs, two rescues from the Kauai Humane Society. That means whenever I run across another dog, I usually stop to give it a pet and learn its name. Pono was a rescue himself, part Labrador retriever, part Pit bull and part Rhodesian ridgeback.

It's the last part that's important to this story. In Africa, Rhodesian ridgebacks are known to face off against lions in order to protect their responsibility, their people.

This was my third whale watch in as many days, and I was hesitant. My second outing was a gift, a spectacle not often witnessed. Two non-stop hours of breaching by the same whale are highly unusual, even according to our captain who has spent years on the water during numerous whale seasons. Should I even bother going out again? Had I used up my whale watching karma? Was I tempting fate? Would something bad happen now? Would the boat break? Would the weather turn bad? Would the next breaching whale land in my lap?

I'm not much of an alarmist, and I don't believe that bad follows good. I am a glass is three-quarters-full kind of girl. And I certainly felt sated. I'd been given my share of breaching whale photographs by Lola, as our grateful boat of whale watchers had named the marine mammal who had propelled herself out of the water some 40 times by our count. The breaches had been so regular and so close that I'd even started experimenting with my photographs. I zoomed out and composed for a scenic background. I even tapped a few breaching images with my iPhone--my iPhone for gosh darn sake. I suppose I could hope this time around for a double breach, but, seriously, that was getting greedy. I felt no need to go whale watching on day three. But I went anyway, partly to say thanks and partly because I’m a big believer in “time in the saddle.” That is, the more you do something, the more you’ll learn, the more you’ll witness, the more experiences you’ll wrack up.

Eric returned to the booth at Ultimate Whale Watch. He was out of breath, beads of sweat on his brow. Pono sauntered along far behind him.

"What happened to Pono?" I asked and craned my neck to see if the dog was limping or injured or something.

Eric shook his head and rolled his blue eyes. "Chasing sea monsters."

"Sea monsters?" I asked.

"Sharks. Turtles. Whales. He protects us by clearing the harbor of them."

Apparently, on Pono's first and last whale watching boat adventure, he herded the six or so passengers to the bow of the boat and, taking a running start, launched himself off the stern, chasing after a whale, even free diving underwater in his heroic effort to save his boat. It took 10 minutes to fish Pono out of the drink. The hilarity of it all is that the whale was hundreds of yards away, but Pono could smell it. He knew it was there. Somewhere.

No doubt Pono has a snout full of whale these days. The waters of the Maui triangle are teeming with humpbacks. As I left West Maui, driving to Kahului, I saw one breaching whale after another along the coastline. The humpback whale's recovery is so great--from an estimated 1200 in 1966 when whaling was banned internationally to an estimated 25,000 now for the North Pacific stock--that some are suggesting it might be time to remove humpbacks from the endangered species list.

And, so, our whale watching adventure pursued without Pono yesterday. And we saw whales, lots of them. But instead of a breaching female being pursued by two males in an all-out courtship dance, this time we witnessed the tenderness of mothers with their calves. One mama supported her baby on her head. Another mama demonstrated how to use her pectoral fin, slapping it on the water until her baby mimicked the behavior. Another calf threw its tail fin around in a pseudo caudal-peduncle throw.

What I love about going to Maui every year to go whale watching is hearing from the captains and naturalists. Even though I’ve been trained as a naturalist by the Kauai office of the Hawaiian Islands Humpback Whale Sanctuary, I like talking to those people who spend time 12-hour days on the water during whale season in the Maui triangle. While there are humpbacks all throughout Hawaii’s waters, encircling the entire Hawaiian archipelago, they particularly like the sheltered waters off Maui.

Today’s naturalist, Lindsay, spends her summers in Alaska researching whales up there and working on whale watching boats off Maui during the winter. She reeled off one tidbit after another about humpback whales, and I was glad to learn the information that I share during my volunteer stints at Kilauea Point National Wildlife Refuge was still accurate—because science does change from time to time. Toward the end of our whale watching trip, Lindsay let slip a fact that I’d never heard before. One that would prove very important for Pono.

According to Lindsay, humpback whales have a throat the diameter of a grapefruit. They also do not have teeth. That's why they are filter-feeders, using their baleen to sift small bits of food the size of krill and herring from the big gulps of water they take. That means we humans are not a food source for humpbacks. We are not their prey. And neither is Pono.

So, there is no real need for Pono to go to such heroic measures to protect us. But he doesn't know that. And that's why he's sidelined to the dock these days.

[Note: This blog post was written one week ago on Friday, February 8, 2013. Unfortunately, technical issues with the website prevented its publication until today.]

Whale Lola-Palooza

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

My awesome card is full.

It was a Lola-palooza whale kind of day.

I am numb.

These are the words that escaped my lips during the two hours I spent aboard the Ultimate Whale Watch with Captain Ryan and his crew of one, Noni.

My friend Bryan kept exclaiming, “Oh. My. God.” And “Oh. Oh.”

This is highly unusual. This is not the norm. I am almost afraid to publish this experience.

The most often heard word on most whale watches is, “Blow.” And, indeed, that was the word I heard repeated again and again last night. As in, “Single blow. Three o’clock.” Or “Double blow. Ten o’clock.”

But today was not a usual day. It was highly unusual. Bizarre, really. So bizarre that neither Captain Ryan nor Noni, the naturalist,” shared more than 10 facts combined about the humpback whales populating Hawaii’s waters during our winter season. Truth be told, I can only remember one morsel of fact. And it had to do with breaching.

Because “breach” was the word for today—Tuesday, February 5, 2013. A day I will never forget.

I filled one memory card and had to borrow a second from Bryan. I captured images of Lola—the boat named her Lola—breaching away from us, breaching toward us, breaching down the coastline, breaching left, breaching right, breaching completely out of the water, breaching halfway out of the water, breaching, breaching, breaching.

Let’s talk about what it takes to propel a 45-ton, 45-foot animal about the size of a school bus out of the completely water: About two flicks of the tail. From as little as 100-feet of water. I know. I saw it.

Good golly. Holy guacamole. There are not enough adjectives. Not enough exclamations. Not enough words.

We caught images of the underside of her tail again and again. So many times that the picture of her unique pigmentation--her thumbprint, as it were--is etched into my mind, an image that requires no pixels for me to remember.

It’s still a little hard to imagine. “This is so surreal,” I said. Again and again. Pinch me, someone.

Our two-hour whale watch ended before Lola did. We saw her breaching in the distance as we motored back to Lahaina. We got out-whaled by the whale.

Oh, the fact that Ryan and Noni shared was that when whales breach, in the process, they slough off pieces of dried skin. Breaching, it seems, is a kind of exfoliation. Because for humpback whales, Hawaii is like going to spa. Other fish—like the flying kind known as malolo—follow humpback around, just like we do, waiting for them to breach. Flying fish, just like us, live for whales to breach.

If I never see another humpback whale gather and launch its whole body out of the water again in my whole entire life, I will be just fine. Really and truly. Because I had today.

But I’m going back tomorrow. And Thursday. And Friday. Because it’s too late to cancel. And, why not. I’m here.

One last thing: Thank you, Lola. Thank you. (But it is going to take days to process all the images—more than 1,200.)

Here fishy fishy fishy. Gone whale watching.

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Mon, 04 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Travel is hazardous to fingernails.

I've only just sat down in seat 6B, and I've already ripped off two, one from each hand. But I don't mind. I've come to see my ragged fingernails as something else--a sign that I am once again doing that thing I love: traveling.

Besides snagged fingernails, there are several other reasons why Hawaiian Airlines non-stop flight #508 out of Lihue, Kauai to Kahului, Maui is a tad annoying.

First, the flight departs mid-morning, after the early morning rush and before the lunch time one. That means there are no lines. No wait at TSA to have my ID and boarding pass examined. No wait for bins to unpack my plastic bag of toothpaste, facial wash and sundry liquids. No wait to dig out my laptop from the nether regions of my backpack. No time to untie my hiking shoes. No time to re-pack my ID and boarding pass in its proper place so I don't have a minor panic attack later when I think, for the briefest of seconds, that I've left it behind in a plastic bin.

I hate not being prepared when I hit the conveyor belt at TSA. Well, truth be told, I hate that today I am the person I silently chide on busy days.

The second surprise that makes me grimace is that TSA has plenty of time to give me the whole run-through of no liquids, no water, no melted chocolate. Remove your shoes, belts, laptops and everything from pockets. That includes the sunglasses atop your head, mam.

Mam?

A few TSA agents know me by face, but this is a new guy, young, and I wait patiently as he goes through his spiel. When he pauses, running through the canned speech in his head again, making sure he checked everything off his mental checklist, I do it for him. "I think you got it," I say and push my bins from the metal rollers onto the rolling belt.

The other surprise is they are nice.

TSA?

"Careful," a TSA regular says of Audrey, my traveling companion. “You almost squished her.”

Audrey gets all the attention today, as usual. "Cute," I hear people say as I pass. If I didn't like Audrey so much, I'd be jealous.

I had about 30 minutes before my flight started boarding. If I was lucky, the newsstand would have peanut butter mochi. It’s not a staple product for sale in the small, corner shop. The cashier places the order when her manager isn't around, because, for some reason, he doesn't want to carry it. Even though it always sells out. But I’m not lucky today. There was no peanut butter mochi.

I’m headed to Maui to go whale watching for five straight days, because as the captain of my whale watching boat last year said, “Whale watching is a cumulative sport.”

January in Photos

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 01 Feb 2013 00:00:00 -1000

It happened again last night.

January bestowed Hawaii with the gift of rain for much of the month. And, then, once the air had been scrubbed clean, the interior mountains stood tall for whole days on end without a single cloud circling their peaks. When this happens, the folds of distant ridges and valleys sizzle with clarity and nature's artistry is so perfect that we could be living inside a Hollywood set. It's worth the weeks of intermittent rain and cloudy skies. It must be what Punxsutawney Phil will feel like tomorrow, Groundhog Day, when he emerges from his burrow.

According to Walt Whitman, "The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants."

I've known both. Excitement buoyed up with the help of, say, wine. Sometimes tequila. And another kind. I've found the first to be more socially acceptable. But the second, the high that comes from solitary time in nature, I've found that particular high makes people look at me funny.

I returned home last night from a long walk on a remote beach on Kauai's north shore, and my husband's gaze sent me to the mirror. Was there sand plastered to my cheek from laying face-down on the beach to get that Hawaiian monk seal picture? Were there ironwood needles sticking out of my hair from where I reclined on my back to capture Laysan albatross soaring overhead? Or were there horns growing out of my head? Because that's how I felt. As if I had to contain my excitement. Because it was wrong. My altered, non-drug-induced high was a little off, wasn't it? Doctors don't prescribe nature for depression. We don't rush to the woods when Friday night rolls around, and it's time to party.

Maybe we should. In fact, isn't that why we flee to a tropical paradise like Hawaii for vacation? For adventure. For relaxation. For our mental health.

According to a Natural News article published last fall, numerous scientific studies point to nature as a way to relieve depression and stress while increasing self esteem. The article's author, Ben Hirshberg, wrote, "A 2009 study from the University of Rochester found that when study participants were exposed to pictures of nature, they were more likely to list connectedness and community high as life aspirations over wealth and fame than when the participants were exposed to urban pictures."

Another study cited by Hirshberg, from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, found that study subjects who were assigned to rooms with a view of nature reported less aggression and greater productivity in their lives.

As the slide show of images from January illustrates, I manage to seek and find nature in my life here in Hawaii, and after reading of the benefits, you can rest assured I'll continue to do so. Pfft. I didn't need any scientific studies to tell me this. Although they are a comforting justification.

And the next time someone looks at me as if I have horns growing out of my head, I'm going to refrain from checking my reflection in the mirror for defects. Instead, I'm going to say. "Nope. Not horns. It's a unicorn."

The Stories of Makapuu Point Lighthouse Trail

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 30 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

The pedometer app on my iPhone reports that my hike up Makapuu Point Lighthouse Trail took 10,860 steps over two miles and gained 500 feet in elevation.

The photographs on my camera reveal the tidepools of Ka Iwi State Scenic Shoreline, the volcanic remains of Koko Head and Koko Crater, seabirds like the great frigatebird and tropicbird soaring over offshore islets, the near beach of Waimanalo, and the shores of Lanikai and Kailua around a distant point. There are photos, too, of whales—blows and tails. These are distant images, as I didn’t have my telephoto lens with me, so I’d probably have to point them out to you. But what you can see with ease is the lighthouse. Makapuu Lighthouse was built in 1909, restored in recent years and makes a great object on which to train your camera. Indeed, this hike makes the seasoned photographer giddy, because you’ll use all the lenses in your camera bag and all the apps on your iPhone. And don’t forget your Olloclip.

But in addition to stats and photographs, the paved hiking trail that switchbacks up Makapuu in one big “z” holds stories.

Like the one about the distinctive opening of Koko Crater, known as Kohelepelepe, which translates to English as “traveling vagina.” The story goes that the clever goddess Kapo exposed her private bits in order to save her sister Pele from the clutches of Kamapuaa, the pig god. Is anyone surprised that this diversion tactic worked? To celebrate, Kapo left her mark—the rocky cliff in the shape of, well, you get the idea.

There’s also a less racy story of Manana Island, which received its modern nickname of Rabbit Island, because some folks think it resembles the head of the mammal that was introduced to the island in the 1880s, left to proliferate for some 100 years when it was finally eradicated. Today, Manana Island and its neighbor, Kaohikaipu—sometimes called Turtle Island—are state seabird sanctuaries, requiring special permits to visit.

And, then, there is the story of the City Girls and me. We hit the trail one Saturday in late January. By the time we arrived at 8:00 a.m. all the parking spaces in the lot were full and cars lined most of the sides of the park’s road from the highway. A high school hiking club toted video camera gear. A group of Boy Scouts and their portly pack leader chugged up the hill. A van of Japanese visitors and their tour guide disembarked. And babies in strollers and packs; and children and adults and grandparents; and dogs and walkers and runners and one man walking backwards headed up Makapuu Point.

As the sun crested the peak for which we were headed, the City Girls and I took off. We hoofed it straight up, pausing to take various pictures and catch our breath. At the summit, we snapped and posed. We pointed out the “blows” and “flukes” of whales. We discussed the “locks of love” on the fence at the very top, overlooking the lighthouse. We identified Manana and Kaohikaipu Islands, the shores of Waimanalo, Lanikai and Kailua and, in the far distance, Kaneohe.

On the descent—no huffing here—we pointed out more whales, we chuffed a few dog chins, and we stopped to admire Kohelepelepe, or, as we dubbed it, the “flying vajayjay,” in the startling crisp, clear air we enjoyed that day that revealed every fold and valley of Kapo’s handiwork.

I have a hard time calling Makapuu Point Lighthouse Trail a hike. The path, after all, is wide and paved. No, the journey is more a walk. A walk with a good, strong hill to conquer. It’s also a walk to be shared, no matter if you arrive alone or with a group. There will be people. So, instead of a contemplative outing in nature, you’ll commune with nature in the company of people. Make that, you’ll revel in the beauty of nature and be able to express your corresponding awe with the people around you who will be doing the same.

And, then, you’ll go to breakfast and review the photos you took, maybe even to Jack’s in Aina Haina Shopping Center, where you will most assuredly order their famous biscuits and top awesomeness with awesomeness.

Sources:
James, Van. Ancient Sites of Oahu: A Guide to Hawaiian Archaeological Places of Interest. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1991.

Food Photography? Are You a Nuisance?

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Here’s what I know about food photography:

1) The trend baffles me.

2) I’m not very good at it.

My quick historical review of the trend to photograph meals—from bacon frying in the pan to hotdogs slathered in relish, onions, mustard and ketchup at a place as non-food interesting as Costco to the tantalizing poke nachos at Hukilau Lanai on Kauai to Roy’s signature chocolate soufflé at Roy’s Waikiki Beach—tells me the advent happened around the rise of social media. Facebook. Twitter. And, now, Instagram are to blame. Oh, we mustn’t forget the zillions of food bloggers, either.

I wrote about the trend almost three years ago to the day, when I asked, “When did picture phones become a standard place-setting at restaurant tables?”

Picture phones? Did I really write “picture phones?” Maybe I meant “camera phone.” That archaic choice of verbiage alone illustrates how far our mobile phone technology has evolved in the past three years, during which time I’ve owned three different iPhones for my personal use and one Blackberry for this here job and for which I recently and happily off-loaded. Indeed, the camera is as integral to a phone today as shoyu is to sushi in Hawaii.

I recently stopped following someone on Instagram, because he posted one too many greasy hot dog photos. Really? A hot dog?

In my three-year-old blog post, I acquiesced to the food photography trend by taking my own and allowing that the act of photographing food was akin to photographing a beautiful Hawaiian sunset or Hawaiian monk seal snoozing on the beach. It captured a moment in time. It served as a keepsake. It recorded a special moment.

But hot dogs?

And, now, in the venerable (this adjective always precedes the following noun) New York Times, I discover that some restaurants are discouraging people from pulling out their “picture phones” and snapping photographs of their entrees. Others are implementing stipulations, like banning the use of flashes. All because some people have tread over the line of acceptability in food photography.

It seems some people are hauling in tripods and flash strobes to get their perfect capture. They’re standing on chairs to go for the overhead shot. In short, they’re making a nuisance of themselves. (Not me. I swear.)

Restaurateurs say these people defile the ambiance they work to hard to achieve. These photographing-crazed customers are ruining the dining experience for other diners.

What about you? Do you participate in the food photography trend? Why? Why not? Has your dining experience ever been violated by a food-photographing zealot? And for those of you who do, ‘fess up, have you ever posted a photograph of a hot dog?

Glenn Poulain's "Honu Ascent"

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Glenn Poulain titled this image, "Honu Ascent," and he's giving it away. Join us tomorrow, January 22, 2013 from 1:00 - 4:00 p.m. HST on our OutriggerHawaii Facebook page, and one day soon this 20x30" canvas print framed in Koa veneer might be hanging in your home.

I'm always amazed at the clarity of Glenn's underwater imagery. I'll be asking him about that tomorrow during our Talk Story event. And, of course, I'm always interested in the story behind the image. So, I'll be asking him if he remembers the events surrounding the capturing of this image. I have a dozen more questions in mind, but I'll save them for Glenn. I hope you can join us, but if not, feel free to add your questions for Glenn below, and I'll ask them for you.

Talk Story with Glenn Poulain

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

Glenn Poulain is an underwater photographer who moonlights as a chiropractor. At least, that’s the goal. Glenn’s underwater images of Hawaii’s fish and marine life decorate the walls of two Outrigger properties on Oahu--Outrigger Waikiki on the Beach and Outrigger Reef on the Beach. And once the renovation at Outrigger Waikiki on the Beach is complete, you’ll find his artistry on display there, as well, in rooms and hallways. We caught up with Glenn minutes after a big dive trip to Hawaii (Big) Island to talk about his passion of underwater photography—a hobby turned business that’s starting to take a chunk out his day job.

Outrigger: How did you get involved in underwater photography? Were you into photography above water first—shooting landscapes or wildlife photography or such?

Glenn: No. I got into photography shortly after learning to dive. My intention initially was to show my kids what I was seeing and experiencing underwater. Then, it started to become an obsession. I couldn't wait to get back in the water to take more photos, and it's still that way after 12 years of diving. Eventually, I did get into landscapes due to requests from clients.

Outrigger: What are some of your favorite critters to photograph and why?

Glenn: Always the honu—turtle. However larger creatures get my juices flowing, too, such as Hawaiian monk seals, sharks, dolphins and rays.

Outrigger: Where are some of your favorite underwater haunts?

Glenn: I love the North Shore on Oahu, because there is much to see and many underwater trails and caverns to explore. I also love the "refuge" on the Big Island. It’s so peaceful and tranquil, plus there's something magical about the Big Island to me.

Outrigger: What recommendations would you give to aspiring underwater photographers?

Glenn: Just go out and shoot. Shoot for the passion of the ocean, the creatures within it and the desire to share your vision. The technical side will come. Just shoot!

Outrigger: Do you have an ultimate goal to achieve as an artist?

Glenn: Certainly I would love to have a gallery at some point, as long as it doesn't keep me out of the water and I don't have to run it. I have never really had a goal with regards to my photography other than to share with other my visions of the underwater world and the Hawaiian Islands. I would love to have an opportunity to travel more to other oceans and regions as well, however Hawaii is home and I'm happiest here.

Outrigger: Is there an elusive animal or critter that you’ve yet to photograph that keeps you strapping on the scuba gear?

Glenn: The humpback! I hear them all the time underwater, have seen them on top of the water, but I have yet been blessed with diving with and photographing them underwater.

Outrigger: Is there a particular photographer whose work you admire?

Glenn: I do admire good photography and art and have many friends that are really talented with a camera both above and below the water. I'd have to say the work of some National Geographic photographers makes me envious. To be able to get to remote places and shoot nature as raw as they do is beyond words to me.

Outrigger: Did you study photography or are you self-taught? How did you learn the specific skills and techniques necessary to shoot underwater?

Glenn: Self taught. I just started shooting and actually learned underwater. Initially I would shoot in automatic mode. I started paying attention to settings once my images started getting better. Then, I read more about the technical side. Underwater shooting has its challenges for sure and that's probably one of the reasons I like it so much. There’s a draw to going after a specific shot you have in mind, searching and waiting for the right opportunity.

Outrigger: What do you consider the most important qualities of an underwater photographer?

Glenn: Passion, respect for the creatures of the ocean and a lot of patience.

Outrigger: What’s one thing you don’t love about underwater photography?

Glenn: Not being able to be out there every day! I love all aspects of it.

Outrigger: You’re a chiropractor and a father of two, so how do you find time to go diving? Do you sneak in a dive here and there? Or, do you plan long weekends? Just how often are you diving? And speaking of the kids, have you taught them to dive yet?

Glenn: My wife Angie and I have two kids, Adrienne & Austin, 23 and 24 years old. We're officially empty nesters now as of this past November. So we're honeymooner's again! I tried to get the kids to learn to dive, but they never bit. As far as my practice, I'm in the office only 3 day per week and the rest of my time is photographing in and out of the water. I have been pretty fortunate to be able to dive nearly every week for the past 12+ years. I have been slowing down a bit--getting old you know!

Outrigger: How do you choose where to go? Are you going after a certain species and select the dive spot based on its history? Or, do you just pick a dive spot, descend and stay put, waiting for whatever comes by?

Glenn: As far as dive spots it is generally dictated by the season. Summer time is north shore when it's flat and winter time the west and south sides due to wave patterns. As
far as descending and sitting in one spot, I'll only do that for the manta rays off Big Island, otherwise we are off and running, checking out the usual routes we have developed over the years or trying new paths. Exploring and discovering new dive routes is always fun, plus it keeps things interesting. While out on the dive, I look for

photo opportunities as we go. Most of the fish are pretty bashful, very few are camera hogs. It’s all about being in the right spot at the right time.

Outrigger: An additional factor that photographing underwater presents is the life-risking aspect. Have you had any harrowing adventures? Or, on the other end of the spectrum, have you had any madcap mishaps?

Glenn: Like anything I suppose, there are inherent risks with scuba diving. And, then, there are equipment mishaps--leaks in your air hose, flooding masks, and running low on air. There are also changes in the wave/water patterns that occur and can catch you off guard. The biggest thing is not to panic. No matter what the situation is, never panic!

We did have on incident that was fairly serious some years back when I was diving with a friend at the Blow Hole one December. The water was fairly choppy and the current was running against us. Half-way through the dive, my dive partner signaled to me he wanted to ascend from about 60 foot. I waited on the bottom for him, but he never came back down. I found him on the reef, his face bloodied and his nose nearly sliced off. Long story short, a rogue wave threw him against the reef. Lucky for us there were fishermen there who called the life guard rescue team that happened to be training at Sandy Beach, and they pulled us out one at a time. My friend ended up fine—after some plastic surgery. About six months later, he was back in the water. Again, the point being, don’t panic:-)

In addition to the rooms and hallways of Outrigger Reef on the Beach and Outrigger Waikiki on the Beach, you can find Glenn's artwork at his website . To hear more from Glenn Poulain, we'll be conducting a talk story, question-and-answer session live with Glenn on our OutriggerHawaii Facebook page this Tuesday, January 22, 2013, from Noon to 4:00 p.m. HST. Please join us there.

Species Spotlight: Hawaiian Moorhen

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

We wove our way down the curvacious road that descends from Princeville into Hanalei and, already, from this side of the river, I could see the bird. A moorhen. Also known as a mudhen and gallinule and, in Hawaiian, 'ale 'ula.

The road into the town of Hanalei on Kauai’s north shore bends to the right after crossing the historic, one-lane Hanalei Bridge, and an anecdotal 99 percent who cross the bridge in polite groups of six or eight vehicles at a time head this way. But for taro farmers, hikers, select homeowners and a few early morning photographers, the slip of a road that drops to the left dips into the valley of Hanalei. And here, in the Hanalei Valley National Wildlife Refuge, at the base of waterfall-laced mountains and among ponds of leafy taro, are birds that possess the secret of fire.

Myth: When the Hawaiian demi-god known as Maui was a young man, he and his brothers would go fishing. From far off-shore one day, they noticed smoke from a fire billowing into the air. They knew the benefits of fire. They knew they could use a fire to cook food. They knew that food would taste good. But they didn't know how to make a fire. They didn’t know to rub two sticks together to create a spark that would ignite dry leaves and the spongy matter from the insides of tree bark. So, Maui and his brothers paddled like mad to return to land and investigate, but they discovered the fire had been smothered out with dirt.

This series of events--the spotting, the rushing, the discovery of a cold fire--happened again and again, until one day, the wily Maui got an idea. He sent his brothers out in their fishing canoe, but he stayed behind. In his place, he crafted a dummy of sticks and kapa, cloth. Soon enough, he saw a fire going and, at its source, some birds. After some debate with the birds that involved the threat of death, the bird told him to rub two stalks of kalo, taro, together, but the wet kalo wouldn’t ignite. Neither would the other living plants that the bird instructed Maui to rub together like you or I might take the edges off a pair of fresh chop sticks. Finally, after more threats and surely a scuffle that sent feathers flying into the air, the bird gave up the secret. In return, Maui knighted the bird with a hot coal to the top of its head.

And that’s how Maui discovered fire for his fellow Hawaiians and how the ‘alae ‘ula got the red shield on its noggin.

Science: The Hawaiian moorhen (Gallinula chloropus sandvicensis) is not only endemic to Hawaii, it is also endangered. Endemic means the species is found in Hawaii and nowhere else in the world. Hawaii’s moorhen descended from the Common moorhen of North America and today is only found on Kauai and Oahu. That’s the endangered part. The Hawaiian moorhen is known for its secretive ways (just ask Maui) and as such population counts are estimates at best. Between 1993 and 2003, water bird counts put the population at 300 individuals.

Adults are black above and dark slate blue below, with a white stripe on their flanks, and grow to approximately 13 inches. A red frontal shield extends from between their eyes to nearly the tip of their bill, which is yellow. Their large, greenish feet are not webbed, even though they are good swimmers and are found in freshwater marshes, taro patches, irrigation ditches, reservoirs and wet pastures. Once common on all the main Hawaiian Islands, their numbers have dwindled due for a variety of reasons, including the loss and degradation of wetland habitat, introduced predators (rats, dogs, cats, mongoose, bull frogs) and invasive plants.

As mentioned, the moorhen’s behavior is quite secretive. They tend to stick to the ground, opting to walk and swim, rather than fly, taking cover in vegetation. Before human arrival in Hawaii, numerous flightless birds existed here. As I like to say, nature is the greatest conserver of energy there is. If a bird didn’t need to fly to find food or evade predators, it quit putting energy into flying and, hence, making wings that flew. If it weren’t for the introduced predators that today encourage the moorhen to take to the air, it makes one wonder whether this bird was well on its way to flightlessness.

Generosity in Abundance

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I am feeling so grateful and giddy with life. Maybe the stars and planets are aligned for me right now. (Astrologer Deb, you could weigh in here.) The words that follow could be called a gratitude journal--a popular tool these days for shifting one’s outlook in life from what’s not working to what is.

Last night, trying to wedge a chore between my Outrigger day job and an evening dinner appointment, I fired up the riding lawn mower. Well, truthfully, the husband fired up the mower, and I hopped on to swing around the yard, listening to one of my favorite podcasts--Writers on Writing—as I did so. My window of time for mowing was exactly two hours, and I quickly realized I would need two to three times longer than that to cut back the weeds that make up my yard and sprinted to knee-high height during recent much-needed rains. My mind ricocheted ideas on how to solve the problem.

I could cut only the really tall stuff. But that would look funny. I could focus on the yard immediately surrounding the house and leave the rest. Yet every solution running through my mind required another chunk of time for mowing, and the problem with that was I didn’t have any available chunks of time for another four days. (Because I’m spending the weekend in Hanalei holed up in a writing retreat. Fun.) Yes, I could have asked the husband to mow, but he already does enough work around the house, leaving me basically one responsibility. And as was becoming imminently clear as the mower shoot clogged with wet grass, I was failing in my one yard chore. Sigh. That only left a miracle.

It arrived riding a ginormous lawn mower. As I steered the mower around a corner, I looked up to see an approaching man. He wore a big smile on his round face, a mop of dark hair flapping in the breeze. And here’s the good part: He was driving a lawn mower with a cutting deck wider than I am tall. (And I'm tall.) I suddenly felt like I was sitting on a tricycle. We both cut the engines on our individual machines, as we rolled to a stop.

“Want some help,” he asked?

“Oh, no,” I said. Of course, I said no. My parents raised me to be independent, not to sponge off others. He ignored me.

“I’ll just do this part,” he said and swept his arm in the general direction of the front yard.

But he did the entire yard. Almost two whole acres. He even re-did the slender paths I had mowed, because the blades on my trike left sprouts sticking up all over the place.

The best part: we finished in an hour-and-a-half. The hubs and I made our dinner reservation, and we were only 10 minutes late.

Dinner. It was amazing. Have I recommended the Hukilau Lanai before? It’s located on Kauai’s east side and is owned by Ron and Krissi Miller. He runs the kitchen, and she runs the front of the house. They source locally—from produce to beef to fish and beer. Even rum. They recycle waste. They conserve energy. They are, in two succinct words, good people. Make that Good People. Capital “G” and “P.”

This place buzzes. You can hardly get a table there without a reservation. Is this Kauai? Indeed, I had made our reservations the night before through a handy thing called the Internet. In the notes section of my reservation, I added, “Some vegan options would be nice.”

When I arrived, Krissi said, “Ron’s prepared a couple vegan options for you.”

My head swiveled--left to right, right to left, left to right?

“What? Really?”

I chose the quinoa with roasted vegetables and drizzled with a spicy, non-dairy sauce. When the dish arrived, it didn't look like I'd imagined. There were more vegetables than quinoa, and there were a pile of vegetables. I made sure not to forget the doggie bag.

For the non-vegans, I recommend Adam’s Poke Nachos, Lobster & Goat Cheese Wonton, Lobster Curry Bisque. And that’s just the starters. The fresh island fish are always winners, and the husband cannot pass up the—are you ready for this—Awesome Local Mushroom Meat Loaf. What?

They even have a gluten-free menu. My bestie from Colorado who spent the holidays with us would have loved that.

But she and I (and astrologer Deb) discovered a gluten-free menu at The Dolphin in Poipu. Our server Karen (sassy, funny and socially-conscious; ask for her) inveigled the kitchen staff to prepare a sushi roll for us before they were officially open--the You Megan Me Crazy roll. Order two. On the non-vegan and non-gluten-free side, there’s the mushroom caps. O-M-G. And the artichoke. We went twice within one week and ordered the exact same meal.

And we discovered gluten-free and vegan options at the yummy, open-air Garden Café at Common Ground in Kilauea. I salivated over the veggie tacos, and my bestie did the same over the fish nachos. For both, the restaurant used baby kale instead of cabbage. Baby kale! Good and good for you. What a concept. For dessert, we mopped up the ice cream sandwich. Get this: the ice cream was made from cashews and coconut milk. The things creative people can do with food.

There are two more reasons I appreciate Common Ground.

One, they support local businesses. They have a market store with locally-made chocolate, honey, spices, hot sauces and a whole lot more. Definitely a place in which to get lost while you wait (even for lunch!) for you table.

Second, the owner of Common Ground allows and encourages people to walk through the 40+ acres of what was recently a guava plantation. They’ve even groomed a five-mile, walking loop that includes a pass by the 100-year-old Kilauea Stone Dam. It’s a place of serenity, energy, play and meditation—all in one.

Such abundance and generosity in my life. No wonder I’m giddy with happiness.

What about you? How is your 2013 treating you so far?

FREE Desktop Wallpaper

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

This lovely image by my co-worker Nancy Daniels was taken on Oahu. Can you identify the location? What I like about this image is the absolute stillness it evokes--of the tempestuous Pacific Ocean, no less. For the third year now, Outrigger is making available images like these to keep Hawaii close to your heart--and hand and eyes. These images are available to download and use as your computer's wallpaper here.

Resolve to Fall in Love with the World

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Thu, 03 Jan 2013 00:00:00 -1000

I had this epiphany in the shower the other day. That's where most of my brilliant thinking takes place. It's an outdoor shower, encircled by bamboo with a view of the beautiful, usually blue sky above. On this day with cool breezes wafting out of the north and plenty of warm water flowing from the solar hot water heater, the clouds mesmerized me. Like curlicues of lace, the kind my grandmother used to crochet onto the edges of pillowcases, they adorned the sky.

And here's what came to me: I have the best job in the world.

I know what you're thinking. You're just now realizing that you have the best job in the world? No. I've always known I've had the best job in the world. I just try not to flaunt it. And one of the reasons it's the best job in the world for me is that I am one of those weird people who thinks the best thing in the world is to board a plane.

This is the time of year when some of us make resolutions. Take the dogs for more walks on the beach. Stop noshing on malasadas for lunch. Start meditating. Read the classics. What we're talking about here is some kind of behavior change.

Have you ever made the same resolution two years in a row? How about three? I certainly have and after reading an article in O Magazine by Rebecca Skloot about why it is so damn hard to change, I understand why I can't seem to conquer some resolutions. Even me, a double Pisces, finds change hard.

The short answer is dopamine. When we experience pleasure, a surge of dopamine triggers an area of the brain where memories are formed, so that, eventually, even a flash of red and yellow makes us crave McDonald's french fries, to borrow an example from Skloot. This can make kicking a behavior flat-out hard.
So, what can we do?

Skloot's article suggests marrying pleasure with a desired behavior to effect permanent change. Rewards can work, especially immediate ones, and repetition is critical. After about two to three weeks of "forced" behavioral activity, our noggin starts producing a protein called brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), which one scientist in Skloot's research called Miracle-Gro for the brain. It actually increases the dopamine push. Yeah for the Big Gulps of dopamine.

But there are variables, prime among them is stress. Stress mucks everything up.

I read another of the many articles being published right now on the topic of resolutions. This one by Mike Maddock in Forbes, titled, "Ten Resolutions The Most Successful People Make and Then Keep."

The 10 fall into two categories, both potent for self-transformation into the best possible humans we can be. One, falls in the realm of simple, little things. Simple, little things that are profound. Like spend more time on the not-to-do list. And essential first, email second.

The other category is the biggie--resolve to find your purpose, for example. That took me probably 15 years. It's this. Writing.
But the one that made me sit up in bed--yes, I was checking email and Facebook in bed. Tsk. Tsk. Never again.

That one that struck home was this: Resolve to support a cause.

Now, if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you'll probably be scratching your head again. She must be really dense, you're thinking. She's just figuring out she has the best job in the world AND she's just realizing her cause. Duh.

Sure I write about protecting our oceans. I share about plastics ingested by Laysan albatross chicks. I cover the plight of the critically-endangered Hawaiian monk seal. I shout about the glories of hiking Alakai Swamp Trail on Kauai and backpacking through Haleakala on Maui. I post photographs of some of Hawaii's colorful sunsets. Yep, my beat is nature.

So, here's my intention here for 2013: To help you fall in love with the world--the amazing natural world, the way of the watery world, the magnificent mountaintops, the rarest of rare plants, and the most amazing birds of the world. All right here in Hawaii.

And that's why I have the best job in the world. Because I get to write about these topics, and I get to write them in this forum--in these kinds of blog posts and personal essays. This, for me, is a big, blast of dopamine larger than any Grande-soy-five-pump-no-water-chai latte ever gives me.

The 10th resolution that Maddock lists as one he's identified as key to the most successful people is this: Plan vacations (now).

I can help with that, too. In fact, Outrigger Hotels is running a limited-time special to help you do just that. How convenient, yes?

December in Photos

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 28 Dec 2012 00:00:00 -1000

I'm like a photographer (beast) unleashed with my pocket camera (that's also called a phone) these days. Hoarding photography apps likes crazy. Not that the DSLR is getting any rest. It goes everywhere with me, as well. Including that darn cumbersome tripod. But when you live in Hawaii, it's a crime not to tote every possible piece of photography equipment around. Because the scenery just doesn't stop. And you never know when you're going to run into an amazing flower. Or giant surf.

2012 in the Rearview Mirror

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 26 Dec 2012 00:00:00 -1000

I just recently lost the last of four toenails that rammed the front of my hiking boots for 20 miles while trekking in and out of Haleakala Crater. That adventure took place some four-and-a-half months ago. I’d purchased new hiking boots—going up a full shoe size—earlier in the year and put plenty on miles on them, but I didn’t know to tighten your shoe laces on the downhill and loosen them on the uphill. Apparently, that’s the trick to keeping toenails. Now, I’ve backpacked through half a dozen national parks and umpteen national wildlife refuges, national forests and wilderness areas. Not to mention local hiking trails, fields and parks. I am about to celebrate a half century on this earth. And I never knew that hiking tip before, proving there’s always something new in this world to discover.

One of my favorite photographs from the year was taken at sunset on the beach, and no, the image is not of a setting sun over the ocean. (Although there is one of those, too.) No, I’m thinking of the picture that I took when I turned my back on the sun. What I discovered was the beautiful evening light embracing three hula practitioners who were dancing along the waterline, their reflections shimmering in the retreating surf.

What I discovered in this experience is the importance of turning around. Yes, move forward in the direction of your dreams, keep your eye on the prize and all that. But stop periodically to look back.

We have only a few days left of 2012, and so I am reflecting.

I could list here those top 10 blog posts for 2012, based on analytical data that tells me which posts got the most page views. And I’ve done that in prior years. But this time, I decided to re-read all my blog posts for 2012 and make a list of those events, people and experiences that made an indelible mark on me in some way.
So, in addition to discovering what it’s like to lose toenails for the first time in my life, I also:

1. Visited Kalaupapa Peninsula on the island of Molokai. This was an adventure—mule ride down a cliff!—and history lesson in one. The tour of Kalaupapa serves as its own kind of reflection--on humanity, both the good and less-than-good sides.

2. Rescued a lost cat and reunited it with its owner at the beginning of the year and helped find a home for a shelter dog at the end of the year.

3. Adopted a plant-based diet. I have never before done something in my life that has transformed my health for the better. Until this.

4. Read Paddling my Own Canoe by Audrey Sutherland and re-kindled my passion for time in nature. And I’m not just talking about taking a walk on the beach. I also stalked a 90-year-old woman. But we don’t need to elaborate on that.

5. Spent a day at the World War II Valor in the Pacific National Monument. I have many feelings and emotions from this visit, many of which reside below the level of consciousness, thoughts I haven’t been able to catch and wrap words around yet. But I distinctly remember crouching to walk through a doorway in the USS Bowfin. I remember my eyes taking in the submarine’s innards and wondering how in the heck the antique survived hundreds of feet below the surface of the ocean. Bravery. Courage. Luck. Those are the qualities I figure the men who served on our country’s earliest submarines possessed.

6. Flew to Oahu to hear the Dalai Lama speak. He’s as cute as he looks in all the pictures. And funny. And smart. And so comfortable in life. (Or, at least, on stage in Hawaii, surrounded by hula dancing children.) Months later, after recently attending the Honolulu performance of Wicked, I think about the question presented in the musical: Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? Now, as I write this, in thinking about His Holiness the Dalai Lama, a man who was born Tenzin Gyatso in northeastern Tibet and told he was the 14th reincarnation of Tibet’s patron saint, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, I think about the flip-side to the question posed in Wicked. Are people born with greatness? Or do they have greatness thrust upon them? And what would our world be like if we told all the babies they were funny and smart and holy from the time they were born?

7. Hiked. I hiked the Alakai Swamp Trail on Kauai, the Kuliouou Trail on Oahu and the Halemauamau Trail on Hawaii (Big) Island. And, then, I hiked into the crater known as Haleakala on Maui. It was a long hike. It was steep. It rained. I eventually lost four toenails, as a result. And I loved it.

8. Flew back to Molokai and attended a photo workshop with Rik Cooke, Dewitt Jones and Jack Davis. In reviewing this list, I smile at many of the experiences. I nod my head as I read my words about them. But, truth be told, I needed a little prodding to remember most of them. Not so with my end-of-the-year trip to Molokai. This week-long experience inspired me in a profound way.

What about you? Have you reflected on where you’ve been, what you’ve learned and who you’ve met in 2012? I encourage you to do so. We’ll get to the New Year’s resolutions later. For now, allow yourself time to reflect, to look back, to remember. It’s a fascinating exercise.

Shrimp Snacks

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 08:59:24 -1000

No drive to the North Shore is complete without a shrimp stop. Shrimp stands dot Kamehameha Highway from Kahaluu to Kahuku. For about $12, you can get a shrimp plate lunch or a snack of chilled shrimp with cocktail sauce, served from a rough hut or converted van (many permanently parked), with picnic-table seating.

The shrimp-shack phenomenon began with a lost lease and a determined restaurateur. In 1994, when Giovanni and Connie Aragona couldn't renew the lease on their Haleiwa deli, they began hawking their best-selling dish—an Italian-style scampi preparation involving lemon, butter, and lots of garlic—from a truck alongside the road. About the same time, aquaculture was gaining a foothold in nearby Kahuku, with farmers raising sweet, white shrimp and huge, orange-whiskered prawns in shallow freshwater ponds. The ready supply and the success of the first shrimp truck led to many imitators.

Though it's changed hands, that first business lives on as Giovanni's Original Shrimp Truck, parked in Kahuku town. Signature dishes include the garlic shrimp and a spicy shrimp sauté, both worth a stop.

But there's plenty of competition—at least a dozen stands, trucks, or stalls are operating at any given time, with varying menus (and quality).

Don't be fooled that all of the shrimp comes fresh from the ponds; much of it is imported. The only way you can be sure you're buying local farm-raised shrimp is if the shrimp is still kicking. Romy's Kahuku Prawns and Shrimp Hut (Kamehameha Hwy., near Kahuku) is an arm of one of the longest-running aquaculture farms in the area; they sell live shrimp and prawns and farm-raised fish along with excellent plate lunches. The award-winning Mackey's serves some of the juiciest, tastiest plates on the North Shore; if you're lucky, you will be greeted by the gregarious Mackey Chan himself.

Waikiki Beach Walk

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 08:59:21 -1000

This open-air shopping center greets visitors at the west end of Waikiki's Kalakaua Avenue with 70 locally owned stores and restaurants. Get reasonably priced, fashionable resort wear for yourself at Mahina; find unique pieces by local artists at Under the Koa Tree; or browse locally made gifts and treats from Coco Cove. The mall also features free local entertainment on the fountain stage at least once a week. www.waikikibeachwalk.com.

Big City Diner

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 08:59:11 -1000

Part of a chain of unfussy retro diners, Big City offers a short course in local-style breakfasts—rice instead of potatoes, option of fish or Portuguese sausage instead of bacon, roasted macadamia nut pancakes smothered in haupia (coconut) sauce—with generous portions, low prices, and pronounced flavors. Lunch and dinner focus on local-style comfort food—baby back ribs, kimchee fried rice—and burgers. There are always daily specials. www.bigcitydinerhawaii.com. Credit cards accepted.

Maui Arts & Cultural Center

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 08:58:32 -1000

At the MACC (as it's called) you can enjoy a concert under the glass-capped Yokouchi Pavilion, rock music at the A&B Amphitheater, or theatrical and dance performances in the multitiered, 1,200-seat Castle Theater. A major draw is the free Schaeffer International Gallery, which houses superb rotating art exhibits. The complex, surrounded by a lava-rock wall, incorporates works by Maui artists. www.mauiarts.org. OPEN: Weekdays 9--5.

Cilantro

Mon, 24 Dec 2012 08:56:53 -1000

The flavors of Old Mexico are given new life here, where no fewer than nine chilies are used to create the salsas. The owner, a former high-end food and beverage pro, spent three years visiting authentic eateries in 40 Mexican cities before opening this place. Tucked into an older and unfancy mall, the restaurant requires you to order at the counter and fill your own disposable beverage cup at the soda fountain. But as soon as you bite into a chipotle-citrus rotisserie chicken plate or, really, anything on the menu, you'll forget all about the plastic cutlery—and the fact that the only view is of a parking lot. The brilliantly colored, clever decor—a collection of worn-from-duty tortilla presses, now hand-painted—coupled with consistently excellent food makes up any deficiencies. www.cilantrogrill.com. Credit cards accepted.

Wicked Brings Broadway to Honolulu

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 00:00:00 -1000

I must be the only woman in America who has yet to see Wicked.

That was my conclusion after asking about a dozen girlfriends if they wanted to go see the play running in Honolulu through January 12, 2013, and they all said something on the order of, “I’ve already seen it in New York, London, Chicago, Los Angeles, _________.”
To be fair, Hawaii is a bit of a distance from the epicenter of theater in the United States, and I hadn’t ventured to Broadway since moving to Hawaii right before that other end-of-the-world scare—Y2K.

But just because I prefer the sands of Hanalei Bay, the thin trail of Kalalau, and the velvety mountains of Napali Coast doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy theater. I can wash the sand off my feet and the dig the red dirt from beneath my toenails every now and then and look somewhat presentable.

After all, I have darkened the doorways of Manoa Valley Theater and Kauai Community College's Performing Arts Center. But the first was a community production, and the second a movie showing of the entirely offbeat comedy filmed in Hawaii called Get A Job.

Some girlfriends I asked had seen Wicked more than once. One girlfriend informed me she’d actually seen the show on Broadway with Kristin Chenoweth in the role of Glinda. My friend may have even raised her nose in the air when she said that, and I may have wanted to call her a name that rhymes with witch. But I didn’t.

And so I went alone. Boy, am I glad I did. Tickets were mostly sold out. Those remaining seats were sprinkled throughout the theater, some surprisingly close to the stage. And that’s how I ended up in the second row. The second row, I say--and texted as much to the high-nosed, name-dropping friend. I could see body microphones stuck to the center of the actors’ foreheads. I could see the seam where Elphaba’s green bodysuit met her green painted hands. I could see a thread hanging from Glinda’s party dress. And I could stare at all of the actors’ and dancers’ boots. Leather boots. Buttoned boots. Heeled boots. Laced boots. I experienced major boot envy.

In full disclosure, I didn’t know the plot of Wicked before I purchased my ticket. I just knew it was a long-running Broadway musical that had won awards and set box office records. And it was the talk of Honolulu town. At the Lihue and Honolulu airports, I kept hearing snippets of other travelers’ conversations. “I’m meeting my sister in Honolulu and going to see Wicked.” I saw Facebook posts with photos and the status updates, “Taking my daughter to see Wicked.” Everyone was talking about and going to see Wicked. My Dollar Rent A Car agent, Pat, who knows I like a Star-Advertiser and rental cars with real trunks, said to me, “You know there’s a line in The Wizard of Oz that says they were friends.”

“The Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch?” I asked.

I knew Wicked was somehow related to the Wizard of Oz. But I didn’t know it was about the friendship of two women. I didn’t know it was about bully disguised as goodness and the nerdy, smart kid from grade school who is taunted because she is the wrong color. In this case, green.

“She’s actually green?” I asked my friend, who was, by now, probably pen pals with Kristin Chenoweth.

Five days after I saw Wicked, a young man in Connecticut shot and killed 20 schoolchildren and six schoolteachers. I read he was aloof and carried a briefcase instead of a backpack in high school. I can only guess he was ostracized and, perhaps, bullied. I couldn’t help but think about Wicked again and again as the sad and horrifying story played out in Connecticut.

When Wicked debuted on Broadway in 2003, it did so amidst mixed reviews. Some theater critics called it overblown and preachy. But it collected scores of awards and filled the theater night after night. Wicked is the 12th longest-running Broadway show in history, and its touring productions have taken the show to almost every continent on earth. And, now, to Hawaii.

We may never know what motivated the shooter in Connecticut, but I hope Wicked runs forever, spreading its message, because as the packed houses around the world suggest, it is a universal message. And, I would add, a decidedly necessary one. The question raised by the musical--Are people born wicked? Or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?--may be impossible for us to answer. But what we can do is remember our humanness. To see ourselves and others in the best light possible. When Fiyero is transformed into a scare crow and Elphaba tells him he's still beautiful, Fiyero tells her she doesn't have to lie to him. "It's not lying," she says. "It's looking at things another way." Wayne Dyer says it this way: When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.

I slipped out of The Blaisdell Concert Hall and hopped in my car, dialing my friend. “It’s my favorite play ever," she said. "I should have gone again.”

The irony is I wasn't without a friend in the theater. Turns out, without planning it, I sat right next to a fellow Outrigger employee. “Hi Kim,” she said, as I took my seat. "Hi Char."

A Cazimero Christmas

Kim Steutermann Rogers — Wed, 19 Dec 2012 00:00:00 -1000

Last week, as I attempted to dislodge a coil of catalogs jammed inside my mailbox at the post office, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. “I was just thinking about you,” she said, and we hugged. “How are the kids?” I asked, and she rolled her eyes. She has seven, all teenagers. I cannot imagine. “I much prefer Thanksgiving,” she said.

Some might think that the holidays don’t extend to Hawaii. That palm trees are not the same as Christmas trees. Sand castles not the same as snowmen. And, sure, those people might have a point.

But I’m here to tell you that even in Hawaii, it’s hard to escape the holidays. And by holidays, I mean the cheesy Christmas carols blaring as background music in grocery stores, coffee shops and banks. I mean the circulars falling out of thin newspapers. The inundation of sale offers clogging email inboxes.

To be honest, I’m not entirely opposed to the commercialization that goes on around the holidays. If pressed, I’ll admit I’ve benefitted from a few online sales, some for those things I needed, or thought I did, and others for those things I clearly didn’t need. But, hey, the price is too good to pass up, I say to myself.

When I was on Oahu for the Honolulu Marathon last week, I decided to balance my physicality with some art and culture. That is, I went to see Wicked playing at the Neal Blaisdell Center. I also went to see A Cazimero Christmas starring The Brothers Cazimero at the historic Hawaii Theatre in their three-show, one-weekend-only annual production.

Sure the semi-slapstick, music routine of Robert and Roland Cazimero doesn’t exactly qualify as high art, but it does land squarely in the ranks of culture--Hawaii culture. In that, they are a class act.

Since coming of age during the Hawaiian cultural renaissance of the 1970s, the brothers have received numerous Na Hoku Hanohano Award nominations and, appropriately, won the award for Christmas Album of the Year for Caz Christmas. Their work has been recognized with Grammy® nominations. They have been inducted into the Hawaiian Music Hall of Fame. They have received the David Malo Award and Lifetime Achievement Awards from the Hawaii Academy of Recording Arts.

This just goes to show that the brothers have their routine down, with Robert playing the straight one and Roland, wearing only socks on his feet, playing the goofy, daresay, dumb guy in the comedic duo. You thought they were just musicians? Like all the other Hawaiian musicians I’ve witnessed, these two do more than strum a guitar and sing. They crack jokes. They tell stories. They perform.

The show opened with a full stage—both brothers, the Ladies of the Royal Dance Company and Halau Na Kamalei O Lililehua—performing the song, “It’s Christmas Time.”

That rolled into a litany of Christmas songs and while the holiday is a Christian one, the song selection turned out to be quite secular, celebrating Santa more than Jesus. Santa Claus, Santa Claus. Holly, Jolly Christmas. Well, Hello Santa.

The brothers performed their comedy routine between song medleys.

“I think for all of us born and raised here in the Islands, snow is a fantasy,” Robert said by way of introduction to a medley of snow songs. “We, of course , don’t think about shoveling the snow so you can get your car out of the garage, we think about snow cones and shave ice. Brother, tell them about the first place we saw snow.”

Roland looked up from his guitar, a blank look on his face. There was a long, silent pause. Then, Roland leaned into the microphone and played the “mouth horn,” a sound he resorted to throughout the evening--to rounds of great guffawing--whenever he wanted to divert or attract attention.

The answered turned out to be Mauna Kea. “We went up there to make a snowman,” Robert explained. “But it turned out to be the size of snowman.”

They played Snow, Snow, When Are You Falling? Let It Show. Winter Wonderland. Merry Christmas Time. White Christmas.

It was during this medley, as barefoot men and women performed hula to Christmas songs that I came to understand something about Hawaii and, perhaps more so, something about the image I’ve held about Hawaii during my 24-year relationship with the place.

In my mind, I realized, I’ve naively tried to separate the real Hawaii from the real world of Hawaii today. That is, I romanticized pre- contact Hawaii. For two hours with The Brothers Cazimero, though, I witnessed how Hawaii has blended her indigenous culture with that introduced by the missionaries in a real and beautiful way that is wholly and uniquely Hawaii. Hula dancing to Christmas carols? It can’t get more Hawaii than that. And some icy judgment about how Hawaii should really be thawed within me. I think that might be called acceptance.

The brothers sprinkled a few Hawaiian songs with the Christmas ones, including ‘Olu O Pu’ulani, Waiahole E, My Sweet Pikake Lei, and ‘Ala Pikake. And, they finished, of course, with Mele Kalikimaka.

For a couple hours with The Brothers Cazimero, I escaped all that we spurn about the holidays, and I found the spirit of Christmas. The Brothers Caz make for a good holiday tradition.