The Log Book
Tales of an Artist Afloat
Our first few days in Hilo, Hawaii were pleasant. After checking in with customs- who were very pleasant and easy to deal with- we made our way to Walmart to buy me a cheap bike. Wheels opened up the city, and we began to explore.
The waterfront is beautiful. Devastated by two tsunamis, the locals didn’t want to move back in so it’s now mostly parkland. A string of parks run along the coast, some with wild surf and other more sheltered and suitable for paddling amongst the rock pools. We fell in love with Banyan Drive, dotted with trees planted in the 1930s by figures such as Amelia Eaheart and Babe Ruth. Jim insisted on pedaling through it any time we went to or from town- and Suissan restaurant and its excellent raw fish salads- known as poke- was a draw as well. To celebrate our wedding anniversary we cycled north to the gorgeous tropical botanic gardens, and pedalled the lush rainforest and tumbling waterfalls of Four Mile Drive. The people were friendly, and slightly offbeat. We were invited to join in an anti-nuclear sit-in, and saw downtown bustling on the day of the women’s march. The anchorage was calm and secure and we only shared it with a couple of other boats. There were even warm showers ashore.
And then it rained. Not just showers but ten days of constant downpours, and so humid that everything on the boat felt sodden. Drying clothes was impossible, and even clean things from the wardrobe felt moist. The intense humidity had my computer going haywire, and watercolours took all day to dry. We even fired up the diesel stove as I shivered in my jeans and jumper, feeling damp and not at all as if I was I the tropics. Despite ten years of disuse, the stove fired up well and heated the boat nicely. We opened a tin of duck and roasted some carrots and potatoes- very tasty, but not how we’d envisioned spending our days in this island paradise.
By day ten, Jim and I were fed up of being cooped up. There is no public access to the mooring area at Radio Bay, which is next to the cruise ship terminal and container port. Cutting through the port was forbidden, and so any trips ashore involved rowing the dinghy to shuttle the bikes to the nearby public beach. Keeping the bikes ashore was not an option due to the high risk of theft. We ventured through the rain to the Astronomy Centre, feeling near to hypothermia under their blasting air conditioning, then dripped our way round galleries and museums. We were about ready to give in and endure a soggy sail to Kona, reputed to be the sunny side of the island.
Then I checked the forecast- a single solitary sun icon for the following day! We decided to seize it, hastily booked accommodation and woke up bright and early the next day. And it truly was bright- the sky was free from clouds and for the first time we saw the full bulk of Mauna Kea- highest volcano in the world- towering over Hilo. Shouldering our backpacks, we pedaled down to the bus station and loaded ourselves and our bikes on the bus to Volcano National Park.
The bus dropped us off at the visitor’s center on Mount Kilauea. It was a very short cycle to reach the first viewpoint on the rim, looking down into a huge caldera of black, red and ochre with smoky plumes rising from it. A sickly yellow cloud hung above, to be blown down the mountainside as ‘vog’- volcanic fog which often obscures large parts of the south of the island, even when the weather is clear. Vents puffed away around the crater rim, giving a sulphuric tinge to the air. The most prevalent plants were ferns and the ‘ohi’a, with red flowers almost identical to New Zealand’s endemic pohutukawa. This clever plant was able to close the pores on its leaves, holding its breath whenever the vog became stifling. Between the ferns, vapours and scarlet blossoms, we could have been in Rotorua.
Kilauea’s most unique point is best visible at night. It is the world’s most active volcano, and at night its lava lake can be seen spitting molten rock up into the sky. Once, visitors were allowed onto a lookout right above the lake. A great experience- but one night the volcano went ballistic and the lookout was destroyed- what wasn’t instantly burnt was hurled across the park, with lava bombs literally hot behind it. Thankfully, being 2am, the park was deserted and nobody was hurt- but if the eruption had taken place in the daytime it could have been a very different story. Crater Rim Drive was soon truncated to avoid barbecuing visitors. Definitely a safer choice, but I was disappointed that I could not gaze down into the turbulent heart of Pele’s realm. After the up-close theatrics of Mount Yasur in Vanuatu, Kilauea felt like a distant show- the difference between standing front row in a stadium concert and being so far back that the main act is little more than a dot on a stage. But it was still much better than watching it on YouTube the day after- so I’ll be happy with what I got. After all, you don’t get to see flying lava in Rotorua (for which the locals are probably very grateful).
We spent three full days up at Kilauea, exploring lava tubes, cycling the wel-named Desolation Road and enjoying countless breathtaking views over the craters. I walked across the caldera Kilauea Iti whilst Jim attempted a strenuous uphill bike ride towards Mauna Kea. We extended our trip by a day, met some local artists and found a fabulous Air BnB to spend our final night. Rather reluctantly, we eventually loaded our bikes back onto the front of the bus and headed back to Hilo, to return to the banyans and contemplate our next adventure.
An Artist Afloat- Painting the world one anchorage at a time.