Wild isles
Somehow, this wasn't how I'd long imagined my tropical-island getaway: staring into a steep gully, about 100 feet deep, filled with jungle flora, a narrow creek, and some very jagged-looking rocks.
This was billed as a Zip Line Safari, and my entire family was about to cross to the other side of the ravine, half a football field away, with the help of a harness, a pulley, and a thin-looking overhead wire - and possibly a prayer.
"Whoo-hooo!" That was my 11-year-old son, Jesse, sounding like Bart Simpson while flying like Peter Pan, if Peter Pan had worn a red plastic hard hat. Next was my silently stoic 13-year-old daughter, Julia, followed by my wife, shouting (later emphatically recanted): "I don't like this!!"
Now, it was my turn to walk the plank.
This was Kauai - not exactly the Hawaii I had imagined in a youth of watching Hawaii Five-0 and surfing competitions on ABC's Wide World of Sports, but exactly the Hawaii we wanted for an action-filled family vacation with two kids. Indeed, in looking into a Hawaiian vacation, we had ruled out the better-known islands, including Oahu, home to the high-rise hotels of Waikiki, and the now trendier Maui - too much development laced among the volcanoes and the greenery.
That's why we'd set our sights instead on Kauai (or, locally, Kaua'i), the westernmost of the populated Hawaiian islands - developed, yes, but not too much so. Here, on a lush, mountainous isle with just 55,000 residents, we were still able to experience all the things you'd want guaranteed in a Hawaiian vacation: the amusingly tacky excess of a beachside luau, riding the wild surf (on a boogie board), island sunsets, even an all-instrumental "surf band" pounding out surfer goldies like "Pipeline."
But Kauai offered us something more - more outdoorsy, more adventurous, less claustrophobic. We called it, only half-jokingly, "Extreme Hawaii." In one event-filled week, we snorkeled in the clear waters underneath spectacular and inaccessible (except by boat) sheer cliffs. We kayaked, then hiked, deep into a rainforest to swim under a 150-foot waterfall. We bicycled down a steep and sharply curving canyon road.
We lifted off in what was, for Jesse and me, our first helicopter ride, in and out of the steep canyons created by the runoff from the rainiest spot on Earth (really), Mount Waialeale. And last but not least came the family zip-line outing.
Oh, and also my up-close and personal encounter with a large stingray - but more on that later.
Our adventures took place for the most part in exotic locales that felt like settings for Hollywood movies. There's a good reason for that: Most probably were. Among the movies filmed here, at least in part, were all three Jurassic Park flicks; the middle King Kong; Harrison Ford's Six Days, Seven Nights; Hook; Outbreak; Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii; and the granddaddy - South Pacific. (Also, the pilot for the TV show Gilligan's Island, which explains why my son kept singing its theme song, in full operatic glory, in the shower each day.)
•
In an age of high-tech travel, Kauai is not easy to get to. In part because of an airline schedule change, it took us one entire day (yup, I mean 24 hours) from the time we awoke to drive to Newark Liberty International Airport before collapsing into our beds at the Sheraton Kauai, literally five minutes after we checked in. (Getting home was better, a wind-aided 18 hours or so.)
Upon arrival, we learned that an island so far from home, yet still part of the good ol' U.S. of A., makes for an odd duck, or, more appropriate, an odd rooster. Some parts of the roadscape are almost too familiar: There are now a Wal-Mart and a Starbucks, although you're likely to also see a flock of wild chickens on the road outside. While some of the locals we met complained about overdevelopment, my sense as a first-timer was that Kauai is still a lot less built-up than it could be, helped in part by a local law essentially barring high-rises.
One reason for its rural nature is that much of the land remains locked up by large agricultural owners, including the perfectly named Robinson family, which owns several big pieces of Kauai - including the last remaining sugar plantation - as well as Niihau, the 72-square-mile so-called Forbidden Island for cattle farming that looms off Kauai's western coast and houses residents who want to maintain an old-time Hawaiian way of life. There's actually not much farming left in Kauai; pineapples left for the Philippines years ago, although there is a coffee plantation.
Midway through our trip, Jesse and I got the lay of the land from the air, circumnavigating the island by helicopter in roughly an hour. Just the sight of my son sitting next to our pilot with his headphones on, a half-mile over the breathtaking cliffs of the western shore, was worth the fare, but so was the panoramic view of inaccessible waterfalls and canyons.
"This is what I call 'the Imax moment,' " said the characteristically chirpy pilot, Jim, as he rose over a mountaintop to reveal the splendor of the early-morning surf on the west shore.
We had met that surf up close two days earlier, on our boat tour aboard a large catamaran with about 30 other rough riders. After 10 minutes of snorkeling on the island's Na Pali ("pali" means "cliff") Coast, my daughter and I decided we didn't really want to know that fairly large fish were swimming just a few inches from us, so we kicked back to simply enjoy the thrill of swimming underneath sheer cliffs etched with spectacular caves and natural arches.
The cool waters also helped us break up the rough bobbing of what was billed as a "sunset dinner cruise" - although the folks in our party of four were either sick or nursing the motionally challenged, so no one ended up actually eating.
That night of fasting was the exception, though. Kauai, it turned out, specialized in meals that tend to fuel our family vacations best, including what we think of as our two basic food groups, pizza and burgers. In fact, the Bubba Burgers on the main drag in Hanalei - the north shore mecca for aging surf-hippies (top-selling T-shirt: "Old Guys Rule") - were simply the best ever in a long lifetime of burger-eating, two perfectly grilled patties.
Foodwise, the Bubba Burger was even more memorable than our pig-and-taro luau, one of two held weekly on the grounds of our moderately luxurious resort, the Sheraton Kauai, in the pleasant and not overly built-up resort area at Poipu Beach, on the island's south shore.
In fact, a "resort potato," someone without a car or the inclination to move much, could be entertained quite nicely at the Sheraton, which also has a nightly mai tai reception, the bar that featured the above-mentioned surf band, a funky (but small) pool with a waterfall, and a white, sandy, surf-battered beach.
But we prefer to get out, which is why we assaulted most of Kauai by land, sea and air.
•
We headed all the way north to Hanalei and its funky shops a couple of times, stopping to tour the tropical flora of Na 'Aina Kai Botanical Gardens, a 240-acre garden and preserve where owners Ed and Joyce Doty (the ex-wife of late Peanuts cartoonist Charles M. Schulz) highlight native plants, often accented by whimsical sculptures. We also explored Waimea Canyon on the west side of the island, said to be the largest in the Pacific Rim. In fact, the winding and relentlessly steep 12-mile drive to the main viewing site was a bit like our boat ride - not for those with a weak stomach.
But the same can't be said of our breezy trip downhill - on mountain bikes. On our last morning in Kauai, we arose at 6 (an ungodly hour, especially in a tropical paradise) to hook up with Outfitters Kauai. They drove a dozen people and bicycles to the top of Waimea. The swift (and largely pedaling-free) ride - illuminated by the rising sun behind us and sweeping views of the ocean surf pounding Niihau on the far horizon - was a daybreak I'll never forget, although in our adventure-laden tour it actually wasn't even the most memorable event of that day.
That would be our Zip Line Safari, over steep gullies and waterfalls in a rugged, junglelike setting on a private plantation - a tour also arranged by Outfitters Kauai. Over a couple of hours, we zipped, and occasionally screamed, as we glided over a couple of gullies, used a rope to rappel down a steep cliffside, and dangled high over a stream.
To the uninitiated (me), it may sound a tad terrifying, but the presence of a 7-year-old girl in our group helped to stifle any fears. The trip was capped with a dip in the chilly waters under Kipu Falls, where the more adventurous plunged from a rope swing atop a 20-foot cliff.
I passed on the rope swing; I'd already proved my adventure mettle for the week. A couple of days earlier, my kids and I were boogie-boarding and bodysurfing at Poipu Beach, a state park just five minutes down the road from the Sheraton. The rough, salty surf was everything I'd imagined a trip to Hawaii would be, so much so that the opening instrumental riff of Hawaii Five-0 steadily played through my head.
Suddenly, my legs and stomach felt as if they were enveloped by rubber. I looked around for a raft, or a small child, and felt a pang of horror to see none, just a floppy shadow that splashed away and darted near other swimmers. "A giant sea turtle!" several exclaimed, erroneously: A day or two later I confirmed that it had instead been a close encounter of the stingray kind.
Normally, I'm the kind of person who gets weirded out by fish just touring an aquarium - but I was strangely calm about the incident. This was our "Extreme Hawaii," after all, and for one week the extreme came to feel surprisingly normal.
This was billed as a Zip Line Safari, and my entire family was about to cross to the other side of the ravine, half a football field away, with the help of a harness, a pulley, and a thin-looking overhead wire - and possibly a prayer.
"Whoo-hooo!" That was my 11-year-old son, Jesse, sounding like Bart Simpson while flying like Peter Pan, if Peter Pan had worn a red plastic hard hat. Next was my silently stoic 13-year-old daughter, Julia, followed by my wife, shouting (later emphatically recanted): "I don't like this!!"
Now, it was my turn to walk the plank.
This was Kauai - not exactly the Hawaii I had imagined in a youth of watching Hawaii Five-0 and surfing competitions on ABC's Wide World of Sports, but exactly the Hawaii we wanted for an action-filled family vacation with two kids. Indeed, in looking into a Hawaiian vacation, we had ruled out the better-known islands, including Oahu, home to the high-rise hotels of Waikiki, and the now trendier Maui - too much development laced among the volcanoes and the greenery.
That's why we'd set our sights instead on Kauai (or, locally, Kaua'i), the westernmost of the populated Hawaiian islands - developed, yes, but not too much so. Here, on a lush, mountainous isle with just 55,000 residents, we were still able to experience all the things you'd want guaranteed in a Hawaiian vacation: the amusingly tacky excess of a beachside luau, riding the wild surf (on a boogie board), island sunsets, even an all-instrumental "surf band" pounding out surfer goldies like "Pipeline."
But Kauai offered us something more - more outdoorsy, more adventurous, less claustrophobic. We called it, only half-jokingly, "Extreme Hawaii." In one event-filled week, we snorkeled in the clear waters underneath spectacular and inaccessible (except by boat) sheer cliffs. We kayaked, then hiked, deep into a rainforest to swim under a 150-foot waterfall. We bicycled down a steep and sharply curving canyon road.
We lifted off in what was, for Jesse and me, our first helicopter ride, in and out of the steep canyons created by the runoff from the rainiest spot on Earth (really), Mount Waialeale. And last but not least came the family zip-line outing.
Oh, and also my up-close and personal encounter with a large stingray - but more on that later.
Our adventures took place for the most part in exotic locales that felt like settings for Hollywood movies. There's a good reason for that: Most probably were. Among the movies filmed here, at least in part, were all three Jurassic Park flicks; the middle King Kong; Harrison Ford's Six Days, Seven Nights; Hook; Outbreak; Elvis Presley's Blue Hawaii; and the granddaddy - South Pacific. (Also, the pilot for the TV show Gilligan's Island, which explains why my son kept singing its theme song, in full operatic glory, in the shower each day.)
•
In an age of high-tech travel, Kauai is not easy to get to. In part because of an airline schedule change, it took us one entire day (yup, I mean 24 hours) from the time we awoke to drive to Newark Liberty International Airport before collapsing into our beds at the Sheraton Kauai, literally five minutes after we checked in. (Getting home was better, a wind-aided 18 hours or so.)
Upon arrival, we learned that an island so far from home, yet still part of the good ol' U.S. of A., makes for an odd duck, or, more appropriate, an odd rooster. Some parts of the roadscape are almost too familiar: There are now a Wal-Mart and a Starbucks, although you're likely to also see a flock of wild chickens on the road outside. While some of the locals we met complained about overdevelopment, my sense as a first-timer was that Kauai is still a lot less built-up than it could be, helped in part by a local law essentially barring high-rises.
One reason for its rural nature is that much of the land remains locked up by large agricultural owners, including the perfectly named Robinson family, which owns several big pieces of Kauai - including the last remaining sugar plantation - as well as Niihau, the 72-square-mile so-called Forbidden Island for cattle farming that looms off Kauai's western coast and houses residents who want to maintain an old-time Hawaiian way of life. There's actually not much farming left in Kauai; pineapples left for the Philippines years ago, although there is a coffee plantation.
Midway through our trip, Jesse and I got the lay of the land from the air, circumnavigating the island by helicopter in roughly an hour. Just the sight of my son sitting next to our pilot with his headphones on, a half-mile over the breathtaking cliffs of the western shore, was worth the fare, but so was the panoramic view of inaccessible waterfalls and canyons.
"This is what I call 'the Imax moment,' " said the characteristically chirpy pilot, Jim, as he rose over a mountaintop to reveal the splendor of the early-morning surf on the west shore.
We had met that surf up close two days earlier, on our boat tour aboard a large catamaran with about 30 other rough riders. After 10 minutes of snorkeling on the island's Na Pali ("pali" means "cliff") Coast, my daughter and I decided we didn't really want to know that fairly large fish were swimming just a few inches from us, so we kicked back to simply enjoy the thrill of swimming underneath sheer cliffs etched with spectacular caves and natural arches.
The cool waters also helped us break up the rough bobbing of what was billed as a "sunset dinner cruise" - although the folks in our party of four were either sick or nursing the motionally challenged, so no one ended up actually eating.
That night of fasting was the exception, though. Kauai, it turned out, specialized in meals that tend to fuel our family vacations best, including what we think of as our two basic food groups, pizza and burgers. In fact, the Bubba Burgers on the main drag in Hanalei - the north shore mecca for aging surf-hippies (top-selling T-shirt: "Old Guys Rule") - were simply the best ever in a long lifetime of burger-eating, two perfectly grilled patties.
Foodwise, the Bubba Burger was even more memorable than our pig-and-taro luau, one of two held weekly on the grounds of our moderately luxurious resort, the Sheraton Kauai, in the pleasant and not overly built-up resort area at Poipu Beach, on the island's south shore.
In fact, a "resort potato," someone without a car or the inclination to move much, could be entertained quite nicely at the Sheraton, which also has a nightly mai tai reception, the bar that featured the above-mentioned surf band, a funky (but small) pool with a waterfall, and a white, sandy, surf-battered beach.
But we prefer to get out, which is why we assaulted most of Kauai by land, sea and air.
•
We headed all the way north to Hanalei and its funky shops a couple of times, stopping to tour the tropical flora of Na 'Aina Kai Botanical Gardens, a 240-acre garden and preserve where owners Ed and Joyce Doty (the ex-wife of late Peanuts cartoonist Charles M. Schulz) highlight native plants, often accented by whimsical sculptures. We also explored Waimea Canyon on the west side of the island, said to be the largest in the Pacific Rim. In fact, the winding and relentlessly steep 12-mile drive to the main viewing site was a bit like our boat ride - not for those with a weak stomach.
But the same can't be said of our breezy trip downhill - on mountain bikes. On our last morning in Kauai, we arose at 6 (an ungodly hour, especially in a tropical paradise) to hook up with Outfitters Kauai. They drove a dozen people and bicycles to the top of Waimea. The swift (and largely pedaling-free) ride - illuminated by the rising sun behind us and sweeping views of the ocean surf pounding Niihau on the far horizon - was a daybreak I'll never forget, although in our adventure-laden tour it actually wasn't even the most memorable event of that day.
That would be our Zip Line Safari, over steep gullies and waterfalls in a rugged, junglelike setting on a private plantation - a tour also arranged by Outfitters Kauai. Over a couple of hours, we zipped, and occasionally screamed, as we glided over a couple of gullies, used a rope to rappel down a steep cliffside, and dangled high over a stream.
To the uninitiated (me), it may sound a tad terrifying, but the presence of a 7-year-old girl in our group helped to stifle any fears. The trip was capped with a dip in the chilly waters under Kipu Falls, where the more adventurous plunged from a rope swing atop a 20-foot cliff.
I passed on the rope swing; I'd already proved my adventure mettle for the week. A couple of days earlier, my kids and I were boogie-boarding and bodysurfing at Poipu Beach, a state park just five minutes down the road from the Sheraton. The rough, salty surf was everything I'd imagined a trip to Hawaii would be, so much so that the opening instrumental riff of Hawaii Five-0 steadily played through my head.
Suddenly, my legs and stomach felt as if they were enveloped by rubber. I looked around for a raft, or a small child, and felt a pang of horror to see none, just a floppy shadow that splashed away and darted near other swimmers. "A giant sea turtle!" several exclaimed, erroneously: A day or two later I confirmed that it had instead been a close encounter of the stingray kind.
Normally, I'm the kind of person who gets weirded out by fish just touring an aquarium - but I was strangely calm about the incident. This was our "Extreme Hawaii," after all, and for one week the extreme came to feel surprisingly normal.
posted by ams at 3:58 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home