Waimea Canyon

Let's go exploring!

A friend was keen to show me the first part of a route he'd planned, having judiciously stepped back from his intended pilgrimage to the summit of Kauaikini. A key skill for off-roading, I learned, is to tilt forward a bit and let your body sway freely as the vehicle bumps and bounces along.

We made it as far as the Kauaikoi Stream, and stopped; although he'd driven through yesterday, rain had since swollen the creek considerably.

Lots of greenery, lots of mud, very few flowers.

Back to the main road, we enjoyed sweeping vistas of Waimea Canyon.

Clouds blocked our view at the Kalalau Lookout, but we were rewarded after waiting out the rain. (Flood damage has closed the Kalalau Trail.)

The foraging bird in the foreground is a (non-native) Erckel's francolin. But you had your eye on the sea, didn't you?

There are only so many roads here, so of course we headed down Makaha Ridge for a look-see.

I'll never forget a local's reaction to a spectacular rainbow the first time I visited Hawaii: “Well, it rains in the hills in the afternoon, and the sun is in the west, so ...”

“Oh, wow!” Should I pull over? “Yes!”

There's a double rainbow here, if you look hard enough.

Waimea Canyon, a waterfall, and a rainbow. Kauai.

Beached

The forecast showed an increasing chance of rain as the week would progress. How disappointing it would be, to be here for a week of rain.

Wednesday, I resolved, would be a beach day. [Good call.] Most of my colleagues opted for the pool. And yes, it's a pretty cool pool at the resort, but ... the beach is right there and pools are, well, anywhere.

Some snacks, some cold water, a book to read. No swimming at the hotel's beach—conditions are too treacherous. I decamped to Poipu Beach and spent most of the day with two colleagues who'd chosen to snorkel there.

There were fish!

Swimming all around me! First test of my underwater camera. I wasn't snorkeling, but it was easy enough to submerge it, point it (more or less), and snap away.

Later I offered it to my snorkeling friends. “Are you sure it's waterproof?” he asked. “Well, if it's not, it's worthless—because that's what I bought it to do.”

A sea turtle came ashore and remained indifferent to all the selfie-seeking tourists. Eventually some conservationists showed up to plant warning flags on either side of the creature, but everyone had been well-behaved and stayed a few feet away.

A pair of lifeguard towers make this beach a good (safe) choice for playing in the water. The currents are ... tricky. And surprisingly powerful despite the shallow depth.

Later in the afternoon, another sea turtle came to visit, clambering well up onto the beach amidst the human sunbathers. “KA 8” was marked on the right side of its shell, but I haven't been able to find a reference online.

Back at the hotel, I was early enough to enjoy dinner at a table with a view.

And thus ends a lovely day, indeed.

Hanalei Bay

There is a surprising amount of traffic in some places on Kauai. When I saw how long it would take to transfer from Kapa'a to Poipu, on a whim I turned north instead. I was intrigued to get a closer look at some jagged peaks, and then ... I just kept driving, to the end of the road at Hanalei Bay.

Had I noticed the path along the coast sooner, I would have rented a bike. [Next time.] I had scoped out a park where I thought I'd enjoy my picnic lunch, only to find the local denizens passed out drunk under all the shade trees. The picnic tables had all been claimed, but I perched on a log and took some trash [a discarded AA battery, go figure] with me when I left.

I passed through Princeville, busy with tourists, and found a parking spot in a residential neighborhood. Living a block from Hanalei Bay has its downside.

The color of the sea was mesmerizing, the waters confused and unpredictable.

A red-crested cardinal teased me, darting in and out of the branches above my head. The beach was sunny, the hills were rainy—it is ever so.

An overlook offered an expansive view of the Hanalei National Wildlife Refuge wetlands.

I stopped along the way to stroll along the path near Kapaʻa; most people, it seemed, venture no farther than the vista's parking lot.

I arrived at the hotel with just enough time to get cleaned up before joining my colleagues for a celebratory dinner.

I stepped into that open-air lobby with its view to the sea, and ... yes, I remembered. Twenty-three years since that first visit, I still feel like I'm crashing the party; but that's okay. I'm here. For three glorious nights.

Kauai

Once upon a time [1996], an ordinary young woman [me] was invited to speak at a gathering of chief executives in an extraordinary place [Kauai]. When the organizers sent me the form to choose my room and an activity, my eyes popped at the price tag. “It's okay,” they assured me; “just pick one.”

The execs, you see, would be staying at the Grand Hyatt Resort and ... so would I. Not down the road in some ordinary hotel. In a palatial room with a full ocean view, just like the execs.

I could see whales from my room. Not being a golfer, I chose the helicopter tour.

There I found a level of luxury, of service, that I had never come close to experiencing. And expected I never would again. [Wrong.]

This week, I have no obligations other than to relax—a reward for a difficult job done well. This time, I could take the time to extend my visit—more modestly, I'll admit. [I'm the frugal type].

Stress evaporated the moment I stepped into the tropical breezeways at the airport. [That was easy.]

Tired and jet-lagged, I didn't stray too far from my home base. [I didn't have to.]

I found my way to Wailua Falls.

And a view of the Wailua River, which is across the road from ʻŌpaekaʻa Falls.

I walked to the nearest beach, pulled off my shoes, and ... ahh, I'd forgotten the feel of warm sand on bare feet.

Rain was pouring down offshore, in the distance.

I walked as far as I could, ending at Kukui Heiau.

There I watched a young feral cat dart into the rocks and peer at me before disappearing, leaving me to admire Wailua Bay alone.

Oh, how lucky I am!

Calaveras, Take Two

We're back! The hills are still green, and this time we will head down the back side! Yay!

The group was larger this week, and the only rider I knew at the outset was the leader. Despite agreeing that they understood the plan (there would be only four turns to reach our turnaround point), the group shattered at turn number two. “Right turn!” I shouted as they headed left, falling in with a Team in Training ride.

They'd catch up, but I would not be last today. I discovered another bird lover in the group when I assured two riders that the birds circling overhead were not condors, but common turkey vultures. I talked about the bald eagles that formerly nested on a tower we'd pass, before years of dam construction and drought left too little water in the reservoir.

Some riders missed turn number four, too, into the Sunol Regional Wilderness area. I had never been back there—it was a surprisingly long way to the visitor center. A friendly ranger was impressed to hear we'd ridden from San Jose, up the wall, and encouraged us to fill our water bottles from the jugs they'd set out. I see a hike in my future—though definitely not during the heat of summer.

I was content to be off the back, today, with creamy fresh pavement and long-unseen vistas to savor on the back side. Including the site of the slide that kept the road closed for so long. [Okay, I see now. It was big.] They seeded the hillside after stabilizing it.

36 miles, 2,800 feet of climbing, and a peak of only 179 bpm climbing the wall. Better.

Emerald Hills

All too soon emerald will fade to olive, olive to gold, gold to brown. The rains will stop. [Right?]

This could be it: the best chance to enjoy Calaveras Reservoir and the surrounding hills at their peak.

Up the wall, which has become less daunting after so many ascents. My heart rate topped out at 181 bpm.

The hills did not disappoint, but there were fewer wildflowers than I've seen here in the past.

How I wanted to drop down the back side, now that the road is (finally) open again! And I would have, had anyone else in the group chosen to continue. But not alone, not today; not without more riding in my legs this season.

Loitering at the turnaround point paid off, as a long stream of motorcycles thundered past; we were grateful not to be sharing the narrow curves with them.

A modest 2,070 feet of climbing over 27 miles, on a shimmering clear day.

Sun Day

It had been a month since I'd joined a club ride. Finally, a weekend day without rain, with no other commitments! A ride that would follow a local loop. A ride with a leisurely start time—I could bike to the start! Not too hilly. Not too flat. Not too long. Not too short.

The challenge was to stay with the group, as our (unspecified) route twisted indirectly through unfamiliar neighborhoods. No worries, though; I knew I could make my own way easily enough if I fell behind.

We regrouped in Saratoga at the always-impressive Villa Montalvo after climbing the first of the four hills we'd tackle today.

I suffered less than I'd expected I would; a little cross-training and a little fair-weather bike commuting paid dividends. And spring flowers perked up our spirits.

For the day, 28 miles with 1,960 feet of climbing.

Just right.

Wintry Fun

My recent Heavenly trip whetted my appetite for more. I have some (very!) good friends in Utah, with a standing invitation to visit. Somehow I keep letting each winter slip away without planning a trip. Work interferes, and then there are social commitments—like season tickets to San Francisco Ballet.

March, already. Was it too late? [No!] It has been a good year for snow in Utah, too.

I continued warming up at Deer Valley. Although I picked up my skis (Völkl Aurora) a few years ago, they are still “new” to me. The first time I took them out, I worried that my friends had overestimated my skills in recommending these. After reading some reviews this year, it clicked: be more aggressive. Words from an instructor at a long-ago Snowbird Women's Ski Camp echoed in my head. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is.

Biking, hiking, skiing—all involve lots of leg muscles. But not the same leg muscles. I took a day off, joining my friend on a short, snowy hike in the neighborhood—before spending the next three at my favorite place to ski: Alta.

So much snow! Fresh snow, just before I arrived in town. Picture-perfect skies. No crowds.

No snowboarders. [Sorry, not sorry.]

My confidence returning, I turned onto a black diamond slope after lunch. Pep is a better skier than she thinks she is. It was fine.

I picked up enough speed to make it, easily, uphill to the top of Razor Back. Several times. [I'm likin' these skis.]

I was also liking the lack of bumps. I mean, they're there if that's what you want. And I don't mind flirting with them, now and then. But they're not my thing.

I'm in it for the sheer joy of gliding down the hill.

And the views.

“If you've left anything behind,” my friends warned, “you'll have to come back for it.”

Deal!