On Friday 17 November, I hauled my sorry arse out of bed and headed for Mahai‘ula Beach in Kekaha Kai State Park for my second attempt at accessing Makalawena Beach.
This time, I was successful!
The drive into Mahai‘ula Beach was … interesting.
I arrived 20 minutes before the gate opened, and the ranger sped off ahead while my Jeep Wrangler bumped along the road behind him, but then he was gone. I’m not what you call an off-road enthusiast. I don’t mind gravel roads (I’m a country gal, after all), but this was more than a gravel road. (Or should that be “less” than a gravel road?) There were potholes and ruts big enough to swallow a hatchback, so I took my time navigating the best route, and the Jeep handled it superbly. There was one section where I balked, but thankfully, the driver in the pickup truck behind me took the lead. Watching the wheels spin on his vehicle showed me what I was in for, and I took a deep breath and powered through. He took the rest of the route fairly slowly, and I kept up and followed his navigation. We pulled up side by side in the parking lot, and he said you could drive even closer to the beach, but he would never take his pickup truck that far, so that sounded hectic. The signage on his vehicle said “Marine Mammal Center” with the image of a monk seal.
From the parking lot, it was a 200-metre walk to the bottom of the curved bay that creates Mahai‘ula Beach.
While it’s a much shorter and clearer hike across the lava field in the Mahai‘ula to Makalawena direction, compared to the Kua Bay to Makalawena direction, it wasn’t without its challenges. It was high tide, so traversing the sand meant racing around a sprawling, overhanging tree in time with the waves to avoid getting my shoes and socks wet. I mostly managed this fancy footwork, but the sand was soft and saturated, so I got wet anyway. Oh well.
From there, I headed towards a small grove of swaying palm trees that is mentioned in By the Eye, By the Hand, and the sandy path eventually gave way to centuries-old lava. I was still sick with my head cold, so the walk to Makalawena was difficult because I was tired, my legs felt heavy, and I kept stumbling over the loose lava trail as the soles of my shoe gripped inconveniently. And I swore. I swore a lot during those 650 metres or so. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be filled with the spirit of aloha, but “motherfuckingcunt” kept slipping out with every stumble. It’s a hard habit to break. I took many deep breaths and chastised myself for being in such a shitty mood in such a beautiful place.
I got there eventually, tired and irritable, but once I slipped off my shoes and damp socks and peeled off my sweaty hiking pants and linen shirt, I zipped up my rashie and dived into the clichéd clear turquoise water and washed away the tiredness and irritability in just a few seconds. I spent about four hours there, set up under the shade of a couple of trees, which are also mentioned in By the Eye, By the Hand. I’d done my research. I knew the two trees were there, and I secured my shady spot as the first swimmer/snorkeller on the beach (there were a couple of surfers when I arrived, but there were no waves to catch).
I didn’t snorkel as far out as Imogen and Herd in the novel, but I immediately regretted not taking the underwater camera with me to Hawai‘i. All the more reason to return another time.
The experience was therapeutic; the irritability stayed away, and the tiredness didn’t feel so heavy after a while. I exchanged a few text messages with my husband, and he asked me for a selfie, which you can see in the photo gallery below. I was worried about how I would manage the hike back to my car, but it was much easier. I felt stronger and somehow energised by the water.
Again, this was something I predicted in my novel. Don’t ask me how I knew this. Maybe I’m just a brilliant, underrated writer…?
There’s a paragraph in Chapter 3 that I’ve screenshotted below, and you’ll notice the yellow highlighted text because I knew I wanted to expand on Imogen’s experiences. In this chapter, Imogen is swimming at a different beach further north, and she’s not sick with a head cold, but she feels an intangible sensation that unsettles her.
So, anyway, the walk-out was so much easier than the walk-in. And there’s a lesson to be learned in there somewhere.
I’m not saying I was cured, but I definitely felt better. Enough to drive almost 30 miles (almost one hour) to Kaaloa's Super J's on the side of the Mamalahoa Highway in Captain Cook (a census-designated place in South Kona) for lunch.
Was the journey worth it?
Abso-fucking-lutely!
I opted for the combo plate of chicken laulua and kalua pig and cabbage, served with rice, potato and macaroni salad, and lomi salad, and a can of passion orange drink that — much to my surprise — wasn’t carbonated. I was indescribably happy eating this meal. It filled my stomach and my soul.
Although it is unnamed, this roadside institution features in By the Eye, By the Hand. But anyone who is familiar with the Big Island will know exactly what I’m writing about. Imogen and Herd eat here in Chapter 6, and again, I seem to have nailed the atmosphere through meticulous research. Visiting and eating here only served to strengthen how perfect it is as a setting in the novel.
It was comforting, and I felt privileged to eat food that had been prepared and served with so much aloha. A handwritten sign at the front counter said something like, “We return the energy we receive.” In other words, “Treat us like shit, and we’ll treat you the same way.”
There were two long communal tables, each surrounded by about a dozen chairs, and a bench that looked out at the parking lot. There were glass-fronted fridges and shelves stacked with tubs filled with merchandise, and now I regret not buying something as a memento. There were two couples lined up at the counter in front of me and a couple behind me. Ordering was a slow process. There was no programmed register, and each order was tallied on a calculator. The couple behind me were rushed and irritated by the slow pace. She grumbled to him. He capitulated to her. And they left in a huff.
Rushing on the Big Island is the recipe for a disastrous holiday. Never has the phrase “go with the flow” been more appropriate. “Aloha” is not just a word for saying hello and goodbye. It is a way of life. A lifestyle to be embraced. A way to treat people and ʻāina, and a way to be treated in return. This is why I was so disheartened by my *a-hem* potty mouth every time I stumbled during my walk to Makalawena Beach.
I didn’t want to be that person. Not in Hawai‘i, anyway. Back home, my potty mouth is one of my biggest assets. Sure, I brought a little bit of aloha back home with me, and I draw on it when I feel myself growing irritated by people’s inconsideration in the aisles of my local grocery store, but I still say “motherfuckingcunt” … silently.
