Camping in the Cradle

Camping in the cradle of Pololu'u Valley was the restful reward for making the trek down into its soft belly. The whole journey was a practice in sensory indulgence of the feet; a visual feast; a lullaby emanating from both the ocean and the slowly-swaying forest trees. Hiking down from the top, where hoardes of tourists gathered at the "lookout point" to shoot postcard scenes for their memory albums, Chris and I each carried half our weight in gear. We had a cooler stocked with food and drinks and water to last two days; hot-dog skewers, newspaper for burning, three bottles of lighter fluid, sleeping bags, an enormous tent. I even remembered mustard this time. And Chris remembered Oreos.

We brought food and water and dishes for the dog. And Maybe a few items that wouldn't qualify as utter "essentials" to a mere survivalist, but were a must for us. For the essential fun we had planned, we carried a football, several big dive lights for nighttime escapades, and two extraordinarily long & strong ropes for making new rope swings. Finally, a large bottle of wine, and a pellet gun - complete with styrofoam bullets and a little plastic man sporting a target across his chest - which I had grabbed from the toy aisle at Foodland when we stopped for snacks.

Equipped with our huge backpacks, other awkward acoutrements, and a happy golden retriever at our heels, we began the descent into the Valley. I'm sure it was a beautiful walk, though I can't say I paid attention to much but my focus on GETTING THERE with back and neck muscles at least somewhat unscathed.

Twenty or so heavy and sweaty minutes later, I staggered onto the black sand beach that opened the Valley to the ocean, and swallowed whole the incoming tide. While Chris disappeared up ahead of me, Ginger backtracked to find me and show me where the trail continued on into the forest.

We found the perfect spot, and set up a fantastic camp, nestled in the midst of a thousand tall trees. The ocean roared just over the dirt-dunes, and a beach full of shiny black rocks and tangled driftwood. By the time we were all set up, we were jumping out of our skin to go and explore! So we set off, having decided to wander up the Valley's gullet: a dense brackish waterway that flooded a backdrop of mist-covered green hills.

With our bathing suits on, (and shoes off), we headed deeper into what appeared to be
the prehistoric past; a marshy, swamp-ish, brown river that got wider, drier, and muddier the farther back we traveled. There came a point when the water across the mud flats became at least waist deep. Not quite deep enough to swan dive into, but certainly not shallow enough to walk through without full immersion. So I ran for it, plunged into the stream made of murky muck, and swam until the water thinned out and its level fell. Without hesitation, Ginger plopped in beside me, and we half-doggy-paddled, half pulled ourselves through the bog like mud-gripping amphibians.

Looking behind us - far behind - we noticed that Chris was still standing on the bank, trying in vein to find a less grimy route to the other side. His quest was to no avail, nor could he resist my urging and egging him on to come in after us. So before long, the three of us were making our way across the water, and onto a gaping field of mudflats. We walked, ran, crawled and swam -three completely free animals - against a canvas richly smeared with earth tones and lush globs of green.

Soft mist hung above the back of the Valley. Looking the opposite direction, the sun shone crayon-yellow from a sky-blue sky dotted with little fluffy clouds. Ecstatic to be alive, we galloped, like tiny webbed-footed dinosaurs, falling over ourselves into slimy mud puddles the size of hot tubs.

We ambushed each other from behind clumps of tall grasses with sloppy mud balls, that made a delicious SPLAT when they hit the skin. I creamed Chris in the back of the neck, to which he grabbed blobs of mud and made streaks of brown across my cheeks like war paint. He mushed it all into my hair! After our child-like rampage, we relaxed for a bit.
We sat in the middle of the mud field and talked about how humans might evolve to be mud-crawlers if the environment broke down into this kind of glorious mess. As we clumsily emerged from the world's biggest mud bath, a couple looked on with a mixture of surprise and disgust on their faces. Looking like creatures of the Black Lagoon, we splashed in the monstrous ocean waves to rinse off. I even exfoliated with rough sand, and washed my hair with a sea full of divine minerals.

We talked about coming back later for midnight mud football, but that never did happen. Instead, we dried off and chilled at our campsite for a while. We ate hot dogs and drank Gatorade. Ginger lapped water from her little plastic bowl. And then we set off once more, with ropes in tow.

We surveyed the areas surrounding our camp for a good, strong branch. It had
to be one that arched out over a ravine, as from a tree situated on a steep slope. When we found one with promise, Chris tied one end of the rope around a heavy, arrowhead-shaped rock, and threw it high in the air toward the branch. He Came close several times; and several times, painstakingly tried newer & more efficient modes of tying and catapulting rocks. But to no avail. He even tried to climb the tree, but it turned out to be a fruitless endeavor. So we found a different tree. This time, Chris used a big stick instead of a rock. And he got got it over the right branch after only two javelin-tossing attempts.

Chris tied several knots in the rope, beginning with a noose knot- which would hold the swing in place forever. This was the newest in a series of swings Chris had made for himself and others to enjoy in Pololu'u Valley. He made seven or eight loop holds, so that the higher up one held the rope, the more tame the ride would be. And thusly, the lower along the rope one gripped, the bigger (and faster) the crescent they would make in swinging from one side of the slope to the other. Chris excitedly ran at full speed, over and over, shoving off and jumping out over the ravine, careening from place to place like Mogely from The Jungle Book. I was apprehensive, but finally took a leap of faith, and squealed as the floor dropped out from under me; and my stomach spun and rushed.

After swinging, we hung out on the beach and played the "Who can hit that object over there with a rock first" game. We sat under the eave of a small driftwood shelter someone who'd come before us had built.

We returned to our camp, lugged logs across the fire pit, and toasted the sunset with our chablis sloshing in red plastic cups. Chris got a fire crackling, and we ate two hot dogs a piece, straight from the skewer to the bun. I fiddled with the $2.50 toy gun, trying to load its soft yellow bullets, but immediately broke it in the process. We threw the whole thing in the fire and watched the little plastic man melt into the savage flames.

Later, we visited a neighboring camp where some of Chris's friends from school had set up. Upon returning to our own spot an hour or so later, I found the charred remains of my muddy white tank top, which had been burned to shreds when I had set it on a rock outside the fire pit to dry. We hung it on the tall branch that held our trash bag and called it the camp flag.

Sleep was restless and uncomfortable, as hauling in air mattresses wasn't practical, so we slept directly on the ground. We were up at the crack of dawn, feeling sore but happy in the glow of morning over the ocean • We ate hotdogs for breakfast, (saved the Lunchables for lunch). We had planned on taking a trecherous hike over one or two more valleys, but neither of us felt up to it. We decided we 'd go play around on some of the other swings set up like hammocks by the beach, and generally take it easy.

When we reached the end of the beach, and the continuation of the trailhead into the next valley, Chris decided he would venture around the point as far as he could go before the waves got too
big to be reckoned with. Meanwhile, I walked on in my bare feet, scaling a steep hill and then catching the trail again, with Ginger alongside. We kept expecting Chris to catch up to us, but he never did follow. Ginger and I made it as far as the second overlook,

then returned to a quiet camp, the fire gently simmering its neon-orange coals. An open bottle of sparkling apple cider sat on top of the cooler. And Chris lay sleeping peacefully on a pile of blankets in the tent.

After watching an episode or two of Adult Swim cartoons on The i-pod,
(and drifting in and out of consciousness), we decided it was time to pack it up, and begin the dreaded ascent back to the car. Although we had rid ourselves of some weight, we still carried back-breaking loads. Slowly and with grit and determination, we went up and up and up. At the car, we rested and drank water. And felt accomplished for conquering the brutal climb.

We drove for a bit, stopped at an outdoor shower (complete with soap) to clean up,and drove some more before discovering a whole area as yet unknown to either of us. We
came upon a grand lighthouse at the edge of a rugged cliff, whose walls were being infinitely worn down by the beatings of relentless, wild waves.
Tired and hungry, we ate greasy burgers and drank sweet iced espresso on the way home.
Upon our arrival at the house, we left the campfire-smell to sit in the car a while longer on all our stuff. We showered, played Rock Band, watched a movie, then finally- having stretched the day out as long as we could - closed our eyes on another wonderful adventure.
SIDE NOTE: The scribbled images below are THIS story, before it became print! My Dad got me this AWESOME Flyworld Pentop computer for my birthday...It's like a regular (though kind of big) pen; you write with it in a special notebook. Then you upload the data from the pen into your computer, and you can save the text as "images", (which I did with these). And you can also save the files as TEXT, and the program converts your handwriting into a Word document! It's so cool, and even good for a few laughs, because when it can't tell what you've written, it makes up hilarious things on its own. For example, it kept "calling" Ginger, the dog, "Finger". And instead of Pololu'u Valley, it came up with "Phobia Valley". And so on!