Diamond Head

Diamond Head is a large volcanic crater that is believed to have formed over 300,000 years ago during a single eruption. The crater spans approximately 350 acres, its depth greater than its width. Originally called “Le’ahi,” which means “brow of the tuna” or “too damn hard to pronounce” garnered it’s most current name from…who else…gullible British sailors in the 1700’s, who upon sailing around Oahu shores, mistook the calcite crystals embedded in the rock for diamonds. But you won’t hold this against them since they likely all had scurvy.

Along the way you encountered a rather smattering array of exotic birds, volcanic rock, and dumb Japanese tourists. You shouldn’t pick on the Japanese, really. But who else voluntarily hikes up a volcanic crater in high-heeled sandals and Hello Kitty tube tops?

You climb a series of switchbacks which afford gorgeous views of the island and then come a punishing amount of stairs (77 on one flight, then 99 on the next, but who’s counting?) The super fun part is a dark passage through a 225 foot long tunnel which if one has an overactive imagination, one can swear she hears bats (but such is not the case). For those of you who are coming to visit (Da, Petit, John, Lawless, O Town, and Aaron), if you are claustrophic, afraid of small dark places, then maybe we leave you at the cabana that day with no judgment passed.

Eventually you crouch and pop out this crawl space and forget the stairs, the creepy passage way and dumb Japanese tourists because you are standing 761 feet up, the gentle trade winds are hitting you erasing the semi-arid sweat you are covered in and you can see miles and miles of turquoise ocean in front of you and green hills that have pockets of houses spilling down them like lava flow behind you.

You wind around until you can spot the Diamond Head Light House, Koko Head, Waikiki and Chinaman’s Hat (I’m not being un-PC, that’s what it’s called). And at the top of the lookout you find yourself listening to the one person using his cell phone on top of a natural wonder, wrecking everyone’s quiet enjoyment and you know, even before the accent really comes through, that you are standing next to a New Yorker.

Luckily, you are wearing your green Irish Red Sox t-shirt that your dad bought you, and lucky for you, you have a sense of snarkiness that surpasses even this New Yorker’s. So first you thank a higher power for this opportunity, then you wait until he finishes his phone call, and you walk over to him with the biggest friendliest smile you can manage and ask him to take your picture. At first he agrees, and then you can see his eyes moving down over your shirt, and he is immediately annoyed. Smile real pretty for the camera. Then you ask where he’s from, he replies “Manhattan” in a sulky tone, and because you are your father’s daughter, you pause, wait and then ask innocently, “how bout them, Yankees?” Then you retrieve your camera and skedaddle down the mountain before he can throw a battery at you.

(Also, more pics on facebook in Hawaii album, the blog only lets you post 5 per entry).