Into the Wild

My group and I have gone our separate ways, allowing me to once again try my camping excursion. My sublease is up and my bags are packed. The weather claims a rain free week, but in a jungle, I won't count on it to actually be dry. My destination, Waipio Valley. It is a sacred land from ancient times. The first king of Hawaii marched his army through this valley during the season of war. I have been told that if I hear the drums of the "night marchers" and see them in the darkness, I must look down and not make eye contact. If I see them, I doubt that is what I will do. I figure there is a better chance I will find wild boar or turkey than the ghosts of an army long past. However, to say I am not crossing my fingers would be a lie.

I have a little under a month before I return home, there are options of places to live, rent free at that. However, the photo shoot that was going to supply food money, did not get fully organized. In Hawaii, a week means a month and a month means this year. There is no hurry, nor any urgency for anything. They even have bumper stickers to reenforce the idea. The silver lining to being broke in this state is that you would have to be ignorant or clinically retarded to starve. There are fruit trees every where. Literally 50 paces outside my door is an avocado tree, a dozen banana trees and a seedless orange tree. Yes, seedless. I ate 7 of them in one sitting when I discovered they were seedless. Washed it down with a dozen half size bananas. So you really do have to be a fool to starve here.

Anyway, I do not have a return date for coming out of the jungle. I have to meet someone about a gig on another island (not Hawaiian) by the 15th. So I figure let's see how long I can last in a jungle with ghosts, boars and mosquitos, before I run out of food (or toilet paper). I will write on paper and photograph this part of the journey, possibly make it a coffee table book. Either way, I'll post up a new entry when I get out. It's time to take back my Garden of Eden in an island paradise. If I am lucky, I may find an Eve... or a group of them.

Rain and Surf

Living in a rain forest has it's perks. There is a lot of luscious vegetation, the farmers market is filled with the best produce and waterfalls can be found any where there is a creek. The rain falls daily in the afternoon and temperatures never break 80. It is amazing. However, when you want to go camping, the rain is your enemy. I planned and prepped for two trips last week and they were both rained out. I even rode a bus to a sacred valley that holds some of the most jaw dropping beauty on the island for a 5 day, 16 mile round hike to a 1600 foot waterfall and 10 miles from the nearest town.

When I got off the bus, it was as it the skies had ruptured and every drop of water from the ocean found its way to me. I rode the next bus to the other side of the island to a town called Kona (where I will be later on this trip) because they rarely have rain. No such luck. The entire island was under one massive grey cloud. Instead of a camping trip to seek out mind blowing photographic locations, I found myself spending the day riding busses around the island with 40 pounds of gear and supplies. That's one of the best ways to spend a day, right? I figured you were wishing that's what you got to do today as well. Want to know the gem in it all? I spent 10 hours bus hopping in the rain, but when I looked out the window and stood outside while that water fell on me... I was still in Hawaii. Which in my opinion, makes for a good time, even on a rainy day. At least I have the supplies and knowledge if where to go for this adventure, and the images will be even better knowing the effort to capture them.

As for the surfing, I finally got to give it a try. It wears you out fighting through the waves to sit in a board scanning for the right one to ride. On the first run, I was full of energy and was learning how to balance in the rough water. It took a few moments to get my balance steady to even think about trying to surf a wave. I was informed of the best way to start and not to stand on the first wave, just feel the motion. So that's what I did and it was an awesome rush. I turned around and fought the ocean to get back into position to ride another. While floating and watching the other surfers, I starting seeing turtle heads break the surface around me. I counted five and enjoyed observing them as they swam in my proximity in search of food. After a few moments or serenity, I got back to the surfing. I spotted a wave and rode it, getting up to my knees before getting into shallow waters.

At this point, energy was getting low. I had been in the ocean for about 35 minutes but wanted to get to my feet. My chest was sore from the board wax trying relentlessly to tear my nipples off as the ocean battered the board from side to side and top to bottom. All I tasted and smelt was the salt of the ocean. It took me 15 minutes to get back to the starting position, I decided this was my last run.

After a few long moments trying to stay on my board, I saw the wave with my name on it. I was ready, started paddling and put all my energy into getting up to speed. I caught it right and got to my knees, kept my balance and got to my feet while still grasping the sides of my board. I was almost standing for the first time, about to truly ride my first wave! Then, out of no where, it surfaced.... a damn sea turtle, directly in front of me.

Needless to say, I did not get to my feet. For dinner though... I opted to eat turtle soup.


(I didn't eat a turtle, just wanted to express my new found dissatisfaction for sea turtles.)

Aloha, Hilo!

After several days of stressful travel, we have landed in a good spot in the town of Hilo. Things were rocky when we first arrived, tensions were high as we had to move from hostel to hostel in search of cheaper or more adequate lodging. The first hostel was perfect for the night, since we were under the impression we were only needing to stay a night or two, until we could get set up with the next farm. However, we needed to find a cheaper place for the next night. We were told about one only three blocks down. It had space for us and was half the price. In this case, cheaper was most certainly not better. There were cases of assault, theft and rampant drug usage among the folks living in the surrounding buildings. A fella who was residing at the hostel told us of the problems and suggested we got a secure room. Instead, we opted to sleep with our knives and one eye open.

The next day I went on the hunt for a better place, and that's exactly what was found. Beautiful Arnott's Lodge a few miles outside of town. The ocean has a sweet lagoon that is perfect for watching the waves display their awesome power on the outer rock wall. Its a short 90 second walk from our door. We are checking out this morning after the last 4 nights of peaceful living. Now for the next leg in this adventure....

While in Hilo, I have met several people who have offered potential jobs, booked a photo session, met a woman who has rooms to sublease and locals who want to teach me how to surf. So today, I say aloha, Hilo. For the next month, you are my new home. After April 4th, we will have to see what this trip has in store for me next. Will it be more farms or a new apartment? Since 5 days ago I found us all sitting at a bus stop with no where to go, and now we are integrating into the town, I cannot begin to guess what will happen next...

The Wild Chicken Hunt

In the early days of this macadamia farm, there was a lack of meat. However, there are several wild chickens in the area. When I want meat, I will find it. I figure, how hard can catching a wild chicken be? You would be surprised. These guys fly much better than farm poultry. Allow me to set the scene for you...

The work day is over, clouds are rolling in as they normally do. I can hear the roosters in the area. Several of them in each direction. The air is thick and cool with the aroma of rain coming off the volcano. The only tools to hunt with are a sling, knife and some rope. I suit up and get into the thick of the land.

First step, make a spear and small fire to harden the tip. If I can get to one, I want to make sure it is a solid and fatal strike. Amazingly, nothing seems to burn. Not dry leaves, nor kindling will catch a flame as I shield the warm breeze with my leather hat. Finally, we get a small fire rolling with palm leaves and our spears are ready to go.

Another fella from Montana has joined me on this hunt, for we both want some fresh meat. We start in the direction of the closest rooster crow and hop an ancient stone wall into a coffee field. The wind begins to whip up stronger, blowing the flowering coffee buds into the air like a light dusting of snow. We are on a private farm and in this area of the island; cops don't get called, locals deal with problems themselves. Stealth is a must, as the dense areas can quickly open up into a camp site or house.

We follow the calls around the coffee groves when the rain begins. A drizzle at first, so we continue into denser areas of macadamia trees and sprouts (which have leaves like thistles). We speak with our hands and keep low to avoid being seen. In the clearing ahead we can hear the rooster seemingly taunting us and it's hens jump a wall into the sight of a house. We have to find new prey.

We track another group to the backside of our farm when the sky opens up and the rain pours down. At this point, we have been in the slow rain for a hour. My buddy heads into shelter and calls it a day. I refuse to go without a kill. I lay low and let the rain roll off my hat while listening to the cadence of water falling on the leaves. I spot my prey wandering into thick, tall grass, easily the height of myself. My only option is to crawl on the rocky soil and leave my spear behind. The parted grass makes a tunnel way where wild boar have traveled. As I get deeper into the density of the terrain, I can no longer move and have to turn back. After another hour, soaked in rain with cuts on my arms and dirt on my face, the sun falls low and the last days of light are all that I have to make it back.

When I emerge from the tunnels, I see the chickens. I pull out my sling, picked up a lava rock and load my weapon. It is perched in a palm tree and staring me down. It is in that second that hunter and prey connect. It's fait is in my hands as I twirl the rock around my head and launch it at my dinner. She flinches and cries out as my lava stone speeds towards her. A palm leaf dips down in the wind and alters the path, missing my target by only inches. She flies away with the others as I load and fire again. I watched my meal take to the sky as the clouds parted and the last bit of sun shines on the wet ground as the dark lava stones dully glisten.

I walk back to my yurt with only a few fresh oranges that fell in the rain storm. Something catches my eye, low on the ground and motionless against a macadamia tree. A hen, watching as I pass by. I pull out my knife and slowly lower myself, only feet away. I could have lunged out and easily grabbed it by the neck, when I thought it odd that it would remain so still while I was so close. That's when I saw the egg protruding from its side. It was nesting with over a dozen eggs. I staired into its dark tiny eyes and thought about my next actions.

I stood tall, sheathed my blade and returned to my yurt. Accepting that my dinner was not worth the cost of a dozen chicks.

The First Farm

After 4600 miles, four nights sleeping in airports and a missed flight... we finally arrived at our farming destination on the Big Island of Hawaii. The welcoming from locals was one of warm words and hospitality that could almost rival a southern town.

Then when we got our bags from the carousel, we did not find our hosts. Traveling with two hungry and sleep deprived women who were ready to sink teeth into the first unknowing victim, made the day of laying in baggage claim a more than exciting experience. After such a journey to arrive, our farm host had the incompetence to hold up their end of the agreement. After 8 hours searching for alternative options from hostels to camping and Craigslist sublets, we picked up a taxi to jump on a bus. We (the girls) decided that we were getting to that farm to make a point of commitment and find out why they did not show up. To make this short, they failed to have a good reason. I stuck with it to see how it was going to work out. Plan B would have been a better choice.

The first day was revealing to the lack of communication between the hosts. She is a New Yorker and has the hospitality of one. So far, I have not told her off, but we are only on day two. The man who works the land is naive to safety. He tells one worker to climb a tree to fix his mistake of improperly sawing down a tree. Saying he will toss up the chainsaw for the farm hand to cut the remaining tree in half. Needless to say, that idea failed. So I stepped in and showed a way to bring it down with out the chance of amputation. At the end of the day, he wants to show off his ignorance by having us toss machetties at him to catch them. Fail. This man is alive is purely by the grace of God.

Needless to say, this farm will be short lived. The lack of safety and gratitude towards the people who make the farm function is its downfall. Lucky for me, I found a better farm on the north shore in an old sugar plantation town... next to a rainforest. Awesome? Indeed.

I will be traveling there on the 1st of March. Possibly sooner if the New York woman says the wrong thing, which is getting close. This would cause me to leave my group behind, but in all honesty, I do not frown at that idea. For now, I'm simply going to enjoy the sun and surf.

Problems in Hawaii are much better problems than most. There are wild chickens, boars and fish. So if all else fails, I can walk into the jungle and be a wild man of nature! This could turn into quite an adventure...

The French Quarters

Never in history has such words been spoke , so I will the the first and only... The French finally saved something! New Orleans was low on my list until I spent the day I the French Quarters. The buildings are beautiful, the air smells of food, plants and pastries. People seem to be generally kinder as well. There is more history to read, more statues and gardens to enjoy. I would recommend this to be the first (and possibly only) place to explore in the city. Of course there are always people out to scam tourists, so do not shake hands with anyone that talks about shoes. They are normally dirty and unhygienic anyhow.

My number one suggestion for this entire city, do NOT drive. People are walking drunk. Drivers are idiots and the roads make Incan foot trails look like paved high ways. Save the head ache and buy a day pass for the busses and trollies.

This ends the short journey in New Orleans. For those keeping count, I did not explore the third day. After eating bad eggs at 2am, I opted to lay on the couch and not vomit all over the town... although depending on the area, no one may have noticed.

To Hawaii!

Day 1 - New Orleans

My first impressions of The Big Easy lead me to believe that such a resilient town would have excellent character. It does indeed have character, but the excellence is a bit lack luster. Right from the start, the filth lines the streets on every block. This is only the first day, but I have yet to find a n intersection that does not have trash or foul odors. The locals working in customer service positions are rude and testing of patience. So when you come to this town, lower your expectations to zero and leave your manners in the street when ordering your food. This does not apply to real sit down restaurants.

This city does love its music and booze though! The air is filled with live music in every bar and on most the street corners on Bourbon Street. There is a liquor stand or hole in the wall vendor every hundred feet and most places take happy hour to the extreme. Several places advertised all drinks, buy one, get 3. I would expect the pours to be a bit on the short side, but I am not indulging on this expedition for the sake of cost. I would recommend a nose plug, because your ears will rejoice to the sounds while your nostrils cry. Also, watch out for horse shit and do NOT step in the water puddles. One child ahead of me did just that and the parents had to suffer the stench. Side note, you're a terrible parent if you walk your kids down Bourbon Street. Seriously, nothing about strip clubs, loose women or water falls of booze screams child friendly.

New Orleans is the Vegas of the Southeast with less Elvis and more open containers.

I will say this, the hostel I am staying at is awesome. I will post a separate entry for them. I recommend the Indian House Hostel to anyone wanting a fun place to stay and don't mind company.