Airborne

It was my last morning in Kauai, which meant it was my last day in Hawaii.  By mid-afternoon I’d be back on Oahu for one more sunset and one more night of revelry, luau style, on the beach. 

I quickly packed my bag, checked out of my beautiful spot on the beach, got in the rental car and drove it to the airport.  Only, when I reached the airport, I didn’t turn left for rental car drop off, I turned right for the airfield. 

The morning was gray, windy, and rainy.  It was afterall, winter in Kauai, which was still a billion times better than winter in Boston because I could still wear flip flops.  I parked and walked nervously up to the small office with wooden shingles.

“Checking in, sweetie?”  A woman with a bouffant hair style out of the fifties, horn rim glasses with rhinestones, and a little pink sweater greeted me.  She immediately won my good favor because she didn’t ask for a parental release form.  But then she killed it when she added, “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to fly today, the conditions are really terrible and it makes for a choppy ride.  You don’t get sick easily, do you?”

Not unless it’s a shaved ice.  “No, I don’t.” 

“You don’t have a fear of heights or flying, do you, sweetie?”

A rampant, crippling fear of both, actually, that I’ve been diligently suppressing since the age of 9.  “No, I don’t.”

I sat there looking at the glossy photographs of the Na Pali Coast on the wall.  This was where I had wanted to go and had tried to raft three times, but my expedition had now been cancelled each time.  If couldn’t raft it, the second best thing was to fly over it, just to see it.

A pilot came in, don’t ask me how I knew he was the pilot, but I think it was the cockiest walk I’d ever seen that tipped me off.  And he was hunktastic, like Top Gun vintage Tom Cruise.  There were eight other people in the room waiting with me for a helicopter ride and the five who were ladies sat up straighter in their chairs, smoothed their hair etc. 

Adele, the woman who looked like she had been sealed away in the fifties time capsule, began a deep earnest conversation with gorgeous pilot man.  While this conversation was going on, another pilot entered.  He wasn’t young or gorgeous like Pilot #1, he was tall with grizzled iron-short hair and creased skin.  This was Gary, the seond pilot.  He let the door slam behind him carelessly and winked at Adele.  “What’s shaking, baby?”

“Oh, Gary.”  Adele shooed him with her hands, but you could tell she liked it.

Gary joined Adele and Maverick at the desk and they really had a heated conversation that none of us could hear but that all of us were watching. I had a sinking feeling this was going to end in me not being able to see the Na Pali Coast for the third time in two years.  Epic fail.  Not by sea or by land.

After much discussion, Adele stood up and came over to us.  She kept pushing her glasses up her nose.  “Now as you can see, it’s not a very nice weather day.  Visibility is poor and it’s raining and windy, which can make for an unpleasant ride.”  Her clasped hands broke into a nervous flutter.  “Now, we’d like to offer a full refund for those of you who would like to cancel your trip today or we suggest that those of you who have more time with us on Kauai reschedule for tomorrow.”

There was some murmuring.  The two older couples (probably from Minnesota or Wisconsin or somewhere wholesome like that where fannypacks are always in style), immediately got up and went to the desk for refunds and rescheduling.  A newly wed couple (and yes, they’re always newly weds, and you can tell because they still like each other, they’ve always got that FF glow and oh hey, it’s Hawaii.  Honeymoon capital of the word, every third person is a newly wed) asked if we could still go out.  Maverick shook his head and at the same time Gary said, “I have room for 5.  Four in the back and one up front with me.  It’s not going to be a smooth ride, but Uncle Gary will still show you the island.”

I immediately put my hand up.  “I’m in,” I said.  I liked Uncle Gary.  He didn’t look like the kind of guy who crashed planes.

“You all by your lonesome?”

All my life.  “Yep,” I said brightly.

“Afraid of flying.”

“Nope.”  Liar.  Liar.

“Weak stomach?”

“Never.”  Unless you’re serving hallucinating-inducing shaved ice on our in flight beverage service.  Snark snark.

“How much do you weigh?”  I gave him my actual non five pound subtracted weight without blinking.  No, I’m not going to list it here.  He was a pilot.  You’re not.

“Then you can ride up front with me.  What’s your name?”

“Jessica.”

“Like the rabbit.”

Yeah sure, Gary.  Whatever lights your torch.  As long as you show me the Na Pali Coast you can make as many pop culture references as you want. 

The newly weds put their hands up.  Gary went through the same set of questions with  them.  Although, I’m pretty sure Ms. Newly Wed lied about her weight.  For shame. 

Then we looked at the remaining couple.  Their faces clearly said they were in disagreement, he really wanted to go up in the air and she didn’t.  So  hubby said, “why don’t we just go back to the hotel and snorkel, hon.  I don’t want to go if you’re the least bit uncomfortable.”  He put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

Obviously she agreed to go.  Men are geniuses. 

“It’s settled then, let’s go,” said Gary and we moved toward the door where beyond lay a helicopter.  But Adele now blocked Gary’s path in a formidable fuzzy pink barricade.

“Gary, I’d like a word with you,” Adele said, her voice like a disapproving school teacher. 

“Adele,” he said.

“Gary.” 

In these one word exchanges there was a lifetime of meaning: tussles, harried exchanges, jokes and battles that had been waged and fought in this very small office off the airport.

“Maybe these folks can wait an hour for the weather to clear.  We’ll bump up the noon people and…”

“Don’t you sass me, Adele.”  Gary through his arms and turned to the two men in our party.  “Women.  Can’t live with them, too pretty to live without em.” 

Adele blushed and let Gary pass.  On one hand, I was glad I was getting to finally see Na Pali.  On the other hand, I wondered if Adele hadn’t made a fairly good point in the name of safety.  It was too late now.  And it was definitely too late after we strapped on these bright yellow safety packages to our waists.  They were standard issue, ‘please don’t inflate these inside the cabin because only morons do that,’ packs.  

We climbed in, the two couples in the back, Snarky in the front.  Gary helped strap us all in and then we got really sweet BOZE headphones.  The banging, strings heavy theme from James Bond was playing and I relaxed just a little.  Gary had a sense of humor.

Once we were all strapped in and secure, Gary came over the headsets and explained to us where we’d be heading (the Hanapepe Valley, Waimea Canyon Na Pali Coast, the volcano and Hanalei) and the issue of potholes.  Potholes, because it was windy and gross out, would occur frequently.  Gary didn’t explain anything else about them other than they weren’t like hitting a pothole in your car.  I didn’t like this.  That meant they were really bad.  But the theme to 24 with Keifer’s voice over, “my name is Jack Bauer and today is the longest day of my life” started playing.  I did like this.  I forgot about potholes.  I have the attention span of a zit.

Then we lifted off, an uncomfortable lurch forward, a dip back and we were up.  You will not throw up on Gary, I told myself sternly.  Gary is a bada$$ and he deserves better.  But for the first thirty seconds or so, the likelihood of Gary wearing my breakfast was quite high.

“Anyone seen the movie, Jurassic Park?”  Gary asked.  Everyone nodded.  “Anyone want to see where all of the opening shots were filmed, including the waterfall in the opening scene?”  Round of nods.  The opening strains of Jurassic Park came over the headsets.  “Okay, that’s what I hoped you’d say.  Now we’re just going to dip into the Hanapepe Valley over here to get to Manawaiopuna Falls.  Get ready for some potholes.”

Potholes suck the big one.

You know those rides like the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, where you climb up to some great height and the floor drops out from beneath you, your stomach is instantly in your mouth and have just experienced the feeling of what it would be like to hanged (think about that one for a minute).  That’s what hitting a pothole is like only the floor keeps dropping out from beneath you.  My knees were jelly, but my determined smile was still plastered on my face.  But then there we were just yards away from the waterfall (Gary got close, really, really freaking close to the waterfall) and it was just beautiful.  Potholes be damned, the coolest dinosaur film of all time was filmed here.  The soundtrack in our ears was reaching the majestic main theme with the strings and trumpets.  

Gary spun the plane around 360 style and we flew up the valley wall and over, headed for Waimea.  I had certain fondness for Waimea, this is the canyon, the “Baby Grand Canyon” as it was called because this was the site of my infamous bike ride down with Kauai’s favorite stoners, the Roach brothers.   

The light was gorgeous over the canyon and Gary was playing “Southern Cross” over the head set.  We were musical soulmates, Gary and I.  If only I’d been born twenty five years earlier and wore my hair in a bouffant with accompanying pink sweater.  Sigh, Adele was a lucky, lucky gal.

Then we were off to the Na Pali Coast.  I was kind of breathless as we headed toward the coast.  This is what I had waited three years for.

It was a take your breath away kind of place.  Grand and gloomy in the weather, which gave it an even more mysterious look.  There is something so unspoiled and untouched about Na Pali.  There are no access roads in, if you want to reach the wild coast, you have to hike in 11 miles over rough, dense terrain.  And someday when I’m not traveling solo, I’ll do it.  Even I won’t hike in eleven miles myself.  That just seems like inviting trouble of all sorts.  Although, the thought of me slashing through the undergrowth with a machete, dressed in sweaty stained khakis and binoculars, was kind of appealing.  

The water on the coast was turbulent sea blue with lots of froth that crashed up against the dark cliffs.  Na Pali looked like a place where things have happened, old things, dark things, secret things.   

In the more temperate weather, you can raft here and explore the sea caves (which is what I’d been trying to do for two years now), but now she had her winter game face on and there was no boating near her shores.  Gary played music from the Lord of the Rings (The Fellowship of the Ring).  I waited for orcs to start storming the beach but no such luck.  It was okay, Na Pali didn’t near orcs, it was cool just the way it was.

And here the sun picked this moment to break through the clouds and the rain and it too was lovely, though I had liked Na Pali in the gloom just as much as in the light.  

Seeing Na Pali made the trip for me.  The potholes no longer bothered m (liar, they just didn’t bother me very much after that).  My fear of flying in a small craft and crashing into the canyon walls, my remains pulverized into bits, became a distant memory I’d left back at the launch pad.  This was so flipping cool.

You might ask what could top Na Pali for me.  Well, nothing.  But a close second was our next stop: Mount Waialeale.  Waialaeale (which is a real b**tch to spell by the way) means rippling or overflowing water in Hawaiian.  Aptly named, it is the rainiest spot in this hemisphere receiving anywhere from 400-600 inches of rainfall a year.  Compare that against Seattle, between 52 and 70 inches a year although the Olympics get up over a 100.  That’s a whole lot of rain.  So of course it was raining when we got there.  But it’s not just a rainy summit.  Mount Waialeale, a shield volcano, birthed the island of Kauai.  So for the birthplace of Kauai Gary brought out the Braveheart soundtrack.  Whoa.  For the Love of a Princess.  Oh hey now.

Gary got us awfully close to the volcano wall and mumbled something about “them not liking us to do this.”  I can only assume by “them” he meant Adele.  Surely, she was formidable enough in her fuzzy pink sweater to warrant the use of the plural pronoun “them.”  

The cloud cover had moved across the peak, but it was still a heart in throat moment as we climbed up it, my whole body pressed back against the seat by gravity (and if there were anytime we were actually in any slight danger of crashing, I would say this was it.  If I had to guess).

After Waialeale, we headed out toward Hanalei Bay, our last stop, the home of Puff the Magic Dragon and stoners the world over.  Flying over the area was just like driving through it, everything was electric shades of green and there were taro fields everywhere  (purple potato like plant that is ground up to make poi).  Gary flipped a switch, “this is me improvising for our little gal up front,” he said over the head sets. And he put on “Jessica” by the Allman Brothers.  I grinned and gave him the biggest thumbs up I could manage.  Adele had better watch out.  

We touched down, took pictures, and said our good byes.  That’s Gary behind me giving the shaka, which is still better than bunny ears.  

These were my last glimpses of Kauai, a beautifully musically narrated and expertly flown chopper ride piloted by a roguish cowboy of the skies.  Not a bad way to say good bye to Kauai.  But there was more island left to make my farewells to and so I made my way back to Oahu, the Gathering Place, for one more night...