We thought we had seen all the faces of Oahu, but the storm tossed windward side was something different. It only took a tiny bit of imagination and childhood devouring Jurassic Park, Lost and Castaway to be transported to a wild desert island. Vines reaching for throats, rocky shores and impenetrable jungle, mountain tops clouded from view.
Kualoa ranch stretches around the coast and out of site, one families gold mine for Hollywood blockbusters and small screen sci-fi. Maybe it’s the weather, or perhaps it’s Hollywood’s appetite for pristine tropical island adventures that has saved this part of the world from over development.
It was the perfect rainy day to explore the coast road, jumping out at secluded beaches when there was a break in the rain. We drove until we reached sudden suburbia and turned right around to get the hell out of there. Shrimp vans littered the coast, butter with a side of butter, delicious at first bite, queasy at last.
When we hiked into a tiny settlement below a waterfall, we ran into a white haired resident shack dweller who gave us map to a walk to the falls with recommendations to bring wine if you’re going halfway, and none if you;re going further unless you want to find the way back down by rolling there. He then began hacking away at his overgrown garden to get me a better view of the falls. A Hawaiian youth pulled up in a hotted up car to which our new mate playfully told him to “get that thing the hell outta here”, countered with “this is my land brother”, “you ain’t got two quarters to rub together (I’ve know him since he was this big)”.
Daylight fading we wound our way back toward the North shore and home, pebbled beaches looking as if no one had ever tread their shores.