Kahalu'u in May

    On Saturday morning we got things squared away around the house rather early and I began muttering about going snorkeling.  Sandra was deeply involved with a book about integers, of all things, and was perfectly happy to have me wander off by myself for a while.  Free as a bird, I headed

The salt and pepper cone not found in the books.

down to Kahalu'u for a swim, my first visit to good old K Bay since our return from the lower 48.

   Before I proceed, I must warn you that you will find here a few good photographs and one or two that are truly abysmal, but crucial to the story.  For my human and technical frailty I am truly regretful.  

   The vog wasn't too bad, visibility in the three mile range, and the group holding a baby luau in the shelter at Kahalu'u weren't excessively possessive about their rented space.  So we were off to a good start.   The water is getting warmer ... getting in wasn't too painful and there were a manageable number of bodies to slither between as I made my way out to the bay.

The light spotted sea cumber, H. hilla.  Kahalu'u 2016

   As I swam away from the entry the water changed from remarkably turbid to just a little cloudy with patches of real clarity.  Not too far along I spotted an unusual cone shell.  He was a salt and pepper gray with a rounded crown and sides.  I couldn't identify him from memory, so I decided to take his picture.

   This carnivorous mollusc was between two rocks, seemingly with the snail's head buried in the sand.  Times were when I would have plucked the cone heedlessly, but experience has taught me that I would risk killing the helpless animal, virtually decapitating him as I pulled the snail from the sand.  That is enough to make the Buddha cry.  Instead, I moved the rocks around him and then grabbed on to a larger rock in hopes that I would be anchored near the object of my desire, well positioned for the shot. The rock I chose as a hand hold was not large enough for my buoyant bulk and moved as I grabbed it.  To my surprise, hiding under this larger rock was a light spotted sea cucumber,  H. hilla.  I shot a quick picture of this surprised holotuurian and put the stone back as best I could.  These relatively small pappilated sea cucumbers with the pretty

Irridescent Bristleworm Kahalu'u 2018

buttterscotch colored skin are fine eating for the wrasses, which, having noticed my rock moving activity, were already congregating.  Luckily for the cuke I got the stone back in such a way that his tasty presence went undetected.

   As I was looking for another rock to hold on to, having taken a couple pictures that I wasn't very happy with, I spotted an iridescent bristle worm.  This animal is not terribly uncommon but proved irresistible.  By the time I was done photographing the worm, I was unable to find that cryptically colored cone shell again.  Science is the poorer for my distractability.

    Leaving that episode behind me, and dodging a full complement of fellow snorkelers,  I headed into the middle of the bay.  There I found a great number of orange spine unicorn tangs, perhaps a couple hundred in a school that stretched out twenty yards at least.  This made an interesting sight,

Hundreds of Orangespine Unicornfish

but what was even more interesting was a single more mature individual with lighter sides and long streamers from his tail.  His bright yellow forehead indicated an emotionally charged state and he was racing back and forth, seemingly chasing the dogies back into the herd.  Boy howdy!  With such a large herd he had his work cut out for him. But his interest didn't flag in the time I watched him and, when I eventually left him, he was still chasing the stragglers back into the school.

   I swam across the bay to the east, over by Rescue Beach and there I encountered the studliest Yellowtail Coris ever.  As you can see, this guy was really broad from top to bottom.  and look at that rainbow of colors on his flank.  This guy does not need the Men's Clinic.  In fact, I'm not sure that pack of charlatans even takes wrasses.

Boy Howdy! Chasin' down the Dogies.

    I addition to the coris there was a very cooperative I'iwi that wandered in to photographic range just at the correct moment.  A good close shot of the male bird wrasse is unusual, so I felt pretty lucky.

   As is so often the case, the best was to be found on the beach.  As I slithered my way into the makai sand entry, I passed by an Indian father with his son.  I stood up and said hello.  The daddy was a proud father.  His son is two and a half, same as Colsen back in Camas.  He had his son say mahalo to me, although I don't think I had done anything worthy of thanks, unless you count not knocking him over as I struggled to my feet.  And then we all exchanged shakas.

   On a rock by the entry was an Indian looking young lady and I took a chance, asking her if she was the mother.  She was and we had a nice chat.  Her name was Rada something.  We agreed that my

The Bull Goose Yellowtail Coris

name, at a single syllable, is a lot simpler. They were originally from Hyderabad, in southern India, now living in Folsom, home of that prison made famous by the Man in Black.  he works not at the big house but in some tech enterprise in Vacaville.  I can remember when the only thing that was important about Vacaville was the nut tree restaurant.  Those were the days. Her son is Brandurian and I'm sure in about ten years he will be winning the National Geography Bee.  At about the same time his boreal peer, my grandson, will be slaughtering his first large ungulate.

   And so I leave you under the steely gray sky of Volcanoland.  The fish are here to please but our friends on the beach, past present and future are the best.  E komo mai.

Namaste,
jeff

Friends on the Beach Are the Best.

Shark Alert!

   All too often I find myself apologizing for a hiatus between blogs.  In this instance, the hiatus must have stretched to damn near six weeks.  As the Mexican gardeners next door might say, "Lo ciento." 

This bank was recently a forest of Monstera

   The first four weeks, give or take, were taken up visiting our children and grandchildren in the greater Portland area. The last four days of that off island excursion were devoted to my one and only nephew's wedding in San Rafael, California.  The penultimate point of the latter was a conga line, led by my nephew Andrew,  to a stirring Celtic rendition of Scotland the Brave and Smoke on the Water.

   Here is a link to the Youtube video which you migh find useful as a musical backdrop to the rest of the blog.

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4aUPC0zMok

   My sister in law claims to have a video of the actual conga line, but it is apparently being with held to protect the innocent.

   Having escaped the redwoods, we made it back to Casa Ono where our worst fears were realized.  During our absence, Beelzebub, who just happens to live next door, had his Mexican gardeners uproot and remove the plantings five feet deep into our yard.  You may recall the previous entry on the coqui frog.  He explained to our house sitters that, in the name of coqui prevention,  we actually wanted him to do

"Menpachiland, Menpachiland!  God shed his grace on thee."

this. A few days before we returned, Old Smoky departed for Japan.  With any luck, a latter day samurai has thrown him into a wok, stir fried him with some ginger and onions and fed him to Godzilla.  That's what I call justice.  Which would be good, because we ain't gettin' any here.  When appraised of the devastation, the local constabulary said that they don't know nothin' 'bout no property lines and they couldn't care less.  But just in case, they took down my name ... as if I was the transgressor.

   Suffice it to say, for the last week we have been doing some gardening in lieu of snorkeling.  We did get to go swimming once, a few days ago at the pier.  The water was cool and cloudy, as until today the surf has been up.  We saw little, literally, except for right by the pier itself, where a family of menpachi has established a stronghold.  Those epaulette soldierfish are living in the no fishing zone created by the Department of Homeland Security.  They, at least, have something for which to thank President Trump.

Swim through El Tenedor del Diablo at your ow risk.

   In consideration of this boon, the soldierfish wrote a little anthem:

Menpachiland, Menpachiland!  God shed his grace on thee.
And shove a stump up Donald's rump from sea to shining sea.

   You should hear them singing on a moonlit night.  Its enough to bring a tear to your eye.

   Before we get too far out into left field, let us give a brisk tug on the line, set the hook and haul the action back to this morning where the vog from Kilauea was no worse than usual and our aforementioned deity had spread oil upon the waters.   The Redoubtable SKG and I sped south, spurred by the observations of Gail DeLuke, who swore that a shark could be found at City of Refuge.  She may not recognize a devil when she sees one, but she not only had identified a shark but
had sent us a photograph of her very own making.

Sandra and Jeff fly through the Colombian jungle

    When we arrived at the beach at Honaunau, there was a tribe of divers crowding the beach and the area around the Two Step entry.  We were later to find that these were young scientists and this was their final day of the course on underwater science in which they were actually take a dive and make observations.

   The thirty or so wet suited Sheldon Coopers kindly gave way and Sandra and I were soon launched on our quest.  Sandra has made a firm request that what follows be not too specific in the way of location, so if it seems that I am obfuscating, that's not just the vog that is producing the murk.  We headed in the direction that Gail had suggested and without too much difficulty found the rock with the hole in it through which some swimmers dive.  Or is it divers swim?

   I assume that you have all watched Romancing the Stone.  This fenestrated bit of lava serves as the watery equivalent of El Tenedor del Diablo.  Diablo, of course, being my next door dickhead.  Oops.  I mean neighbor.

A Southbound Reticulated Butterflyfish

   Anyway, for the girls in the audience you can imagine you are completing this swim with a younger Michael Douglas, while us guys will imagine we are swimming with the lovely (and prone to unfortunate choices)  Joan Wilder.

   Beyond El Tenedor, we spotted a fine pair of Reticulated Butterflyfish.  What you see is the north end of a south bound retic.  I chose the picture that was in focus as opposed to the one that showed the fish in profile but wasn't in focus.  If you want to look at the whole fish, search Google images.

   At about this point, Joan Wilder runs into Juan.  In the movie Juan is played by Alfonso Arau (perhaps best remembered as El Guapo in the Three Amigos )  Here Juan is played by two chubby young women who have heard of the shark, looked for it on several occasions, but never found it.  

Slumbering White-tipped Reef Sharks

Just after the two Juans swim away,  Michael Douglas finds the shark.  He tries to call back the Juans, but they have gone in search of something sweet and edible.  Joan Wilder is at hand, though, and this is her first shark sighting in Hawaii.  Hurray for Joan!

   But wait!  There is not just one shark but two, lying side by side on the sand.  How womantic.  The larger is perhaps six feet in length.  Joan and Michael assume they are sleeping, because they are still except for the occasional open and closing of the gills and a bit of tail movement caused by the current.  We had expected to find a single shark much covered by a ledge.  Although this duo is in a crevasse between two parallel ridges, only their heads are truly under cover.  The water was clear and this was a wonderful look, a great opportunity for a photograph.

   Another couple shows up.  This girl, perhaps recovering from recent head trauma, sees four sharks.  Or possibly in our little screen play, she is portrayed by that wacky comedienne Goldie Hawn. That Goldie!  What a ditz.

   Try as we might, we were unable to wake up the sleeping sharks and so we bid them farewell.  On the way in, we saw an unusual sea cucumber.  This guy had well demarcated black patches.  When we got home we referred to john Hoover's critter book.  Hawaii's Sea Creatures and Other Delights shows 18 cukes in his critter book, this one is not in there.  Hmmm.

 John Hoover, by the way, lives way too close to Kilauea ... half way between the Halemaumau Crater and the twentyone lava spewing vents!  One might suspect that things are gettin' a little hot in Hooverville and we wish John and Marcia our best.  With luck they are riding out the eruption with friends on the mainland.  

Jackson's Chameleon. SKG and her Sanyo cell phone

   On the way home, we stopped by Greenwell's Coffee, which would probably not have made the blog except for a cracker jack look at a female chameleon.  We took a picture with Sandra's cell phone and a few with the water camera set on close up, so one gets that distance metered flash.  The judges have to give this one to the cell phone.   Regardless of one's choice in camera, she was a lovely animal and my only regret is that I am not a male Jackson's chameleon.  Which, of course, is a regret held by many of the people who, by the vicissitudes of fate, are thrust into my wayward orbit.

   You guys be happy and may all your sharks be sleepy ones.

 I can see the palm trees swaying, on the beach at Honaunau.
I can hear the Reef Sharks singing, "Komo mai, no kauai, wanna bitecha welekahau.

With thanks to  Johnny Noble, composer of Little Grass Shack in Kealakekua, Hawaii

The editorial staff at the blog gives a Get Well Soon shout out to our compadre Peter, who is one coronary stent to the good.  God bless ya, laddie.

Black-spotted Sea Cucumber

 
   

Wir Müssen Einen Schnorchel Gemacht

   Before the recent deluge, in which we had two banana trees and  our ornamental taro collapse (requiring an excessive amount of gardening) I snuck in a quick swim down at the pier.  The water was a teensy bit warmer, modestly cloudy and contained only one fish of interest.  This was a pebbled butterly who had a huge chunk taken out of his back.  It looked like he had been chomped on by a pit

Monogamous mating, A pair of  Pebbled Butterflyfish  

bull.  In truth, I don't know what sort of predator would take such a semicircular chunk out of the back of a butterflyfish.  One would think that most large carnivorous fish, a barracuda, for example, would take a wedge shaped chunk.  So maybe it was a pit bull.

   Aside from the size and shape of the missing chunk, there were two interesting aspects to this fish.  First, it was amazing that a bite of this size was not fatal.  I'm going to guess than in one fell swoop he lost 10% of his body mass.  Fish must have a mechanism to quickly close off the arteries supplying the outer muscles unlike that in humans.  One might also wonder if that chunk is going to grow back.  we see geckos in our yard regrowing their tails.  Is the same true for butterflyfish?

   The second thing that I observed, was that the mate of this fish was swimming along with his

It is a very attractive swim buoy!

injured partner as if nothing had happened.  They were swimming a little slower than usual, but there was no indication that, despite this catastrophe, the better half was looking for a new mate.  This is clearly a degree of fidelity, known as monogamous mating, that does not exist in humans.  Only three percent of mammals (according to our friends at wikipedia) engage in monogamous mating.   Obviously not all fish are paired up in such a dedicated fashion.   

   This information may come in handy if anyone asks you, "What is the biggest difference between Donald Trump and a butterflyfish?"

   The more interesting aspect of my day at the beach involved my fellow human beings.  On arrival I encountered three recreational swimmers attached to snazzy new buoys in designer colors.  Do you remember the day when you saw your first tennis ball that wasn't white?  Now they come in optical green, yellow and orange.  And so do swimming buoys.  Variety is nice, and the girl in the add looks pretty good with her yellow buoy, but is looking good really the object?  The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.   There is a perfectly good reason that it is called Coast Guard orange, and it has little to do with complementing

Crystal Charges by with her Powerbreather.

a pretty lady's swim suit.  Yellow is bad enough, but a green swim buoy?  For crying out loud, the water is green!

   As I swam, I realized that if I was towing a swim buoy I would not be able to free dive.  Remember how Jaws was able to pull those air filled kegs below the surface?   Simply amazing!  Mr. Google doesn't hop right on this question, so I'll have to ask around and get back to you.

   As I began my swim, a lady entered right behind me using a device that I had not previously encountered.  She had a double barreled snorkel.  Tubes went up on both sides of her head joining at a central mouthpiece.  She wore fancy swim goggles which were not attached to the snorkel... the double barreled snorkel was secured by a strap that went around the back of her head.

Frodo says, "If you want to defeat the Dark Lord get a Powerbreather."

    Lucky for you, I met the double barreled snorkel lady après swim at the showers.  Her name is Crystal and she attests that the double barreled snorkel, known as Powerbreather, is just the thing.  It was designed in Germany and can be set to provide an incredible amount of air exchange.  But wait!  According to Crystal it can also be set to provide resistance to air exchange, in case you want to improve your lung function, exercise those muscles of respiration.  Ausgezeichnet!  You can see the snorkel at the Powerbreather website (https://www.powerbreather.com/en/)  where it is endorsed by none other than Jan Frodeno, our very own two time Ironman champion.  So beloved is Jan, that here in Kona we call him Frodo.  Maybe the next time I go snorkeling I'll put a wad of plastic in my snorkel.  Then I'll be the best breather on my block. 


Editors note.  Our photo processor is currently hors de combat.  Thanks to Ryan Photographic for the picture of the paired butterflyfish

The Coqui Frog Dilemma in Holualoa Heights

A Coqui Frog from Puerto Rico

      Over the last couple of weeks the palatial grounds of Casa Ono have been invaded by one or more coqui frogs.  Before we moved up to Holualoa Heights, I'm not sure that I knew a coqui frog from from a kinky blog.  Like virtually every other animal and plant that occurs at this elevation, the coquis are introduced. Eleutherodactylus, the genus whose members are collectively known as coqui frogs, have been introduced from Puerto Rico.  Back on their native island,  some of them are endangered and active measures are being taken to ensure their survival. These are small frogs and one clever writer notes that the genus name, Eleutherodactylus, is bigger than the frog.  As a matter of herpetological interest, frogs of this genus pass through the polliwog stage inside the egg, intra ovum as it were.  As such they do not require a pond to slosh around in while they prepare for adulthood. 
As they were introduced to Hawaii, in this case from Puerto Rico. I assume that there is only one species living here in Hawaii, but that may not be true.   In Puerto Rico there are 17 species in the genus.

     By and large, all of our introduced species get along with one another in a freshly formed

Its easier to kill El Guapo than a plethora of coqui frogs

ecological balance.  Coqui frogs undoubtedly fit into this mix and were it not for a single undesirable characteristic, they would go unnoticed by the general population of Homo sapiens  and there would be no need for this blog.   When Steve Martin, in the guise of the amigo Lucky Day, asked the people of the village of Santa Pulco what they do really well,  they looked at each other and replied, "We sew."

    Well coqui frogs sing.  One small frog creates such a racket that it can be heard for a long distance.  "Ko-Kee!"  This song is loud enough and persistent enough to keep the citizenry from a proper night"s sleep.  Not even Mike Lindell and his (expletive deleted) pillows could get my sweetie back to the land of nod once the coqui starts singing.  There is a neighborhood another 700 vertical feet uphill from our humble abode where these singers are so plentiful that no one sleeps and the citizenry wander around like zombies.

Your that guy.  The My Pillow guy!  Did you bring the citric acid?

   You might reasonably think that I am making an ocean out of a frog pond, but there is one aspect to the coqui situation that I have yet to reveal.  When one sells a house on this enchanted emerald isle, he is required to declare on the disclosure form that his property is free of coqui frogs.  Anywhere else, you must attest to the solvency of your roof...here its da frogs.  I suppose if you were Donald Trump (or his lawyer Michael Cohen) you would disregard the amphibious truth and check "of course not".  My law abiding neighbors, however, take a vastly different position.  I suppose that virtually everyone who lives in Holualoa Heights anticipates the day when he or she will face a situation requiring him to return to the lower 48 and, therefore, force the sale of their home.  Hence, maintaining property value is regarded as a holy tenet.

    With this in mind, there has been a modest war waged over the last two weeks.  Plants have been cut to aid in the finding of the singing frog.  Citric acid has been sprayed.  Supposedly the acid passes

When you hear a coqui its time to call in the Valkyries to defoliate.

through the pervious skin of the frog and he dies of acidosis.  Perhaps there is a frog ICU somewhere in our garden, where coqui frogs survive on itsy bitsy ventilators until their amphibious kidneys are able to overcome the pH imbalance.  This would explain why, two or three days after a seemingly successful spraying, the frog resumes his serenade.

   Citric acid isn't supposed to harm the plants, but that has not been the case in our yard. Many a monstera has turned brown and withered.  This is Hawaii, so as long as the cord like vines exist, new monstera leaves are sure to grow.  Yesterday, however, in the process of removing the dead leaves, I contrived to spear myself with the long pole pruner.  But what's an abdominal abrasion among friends where coqui frogs are concerned?

   So as of today, the singing grounds of Casa Ono looks like the DMZ and my upper abdomen is decorated with an angry red welt.  The Puerto Ricans claim to enjoy the nightly serenade of the coquis.  If only we could make that nasty disclosure form go way, I might learn to enjoy them as well.  As for Sandra, I have referred her to Mike, the my pillow guy.

 

Springtime at Kahalu'u

Napoleon Escaping Calvary.  Or No More Plays for You

   This morning we awoke to thunder.  We didn't see any lightening and it only rained a modest amount, but the rolling cannonade lasted for at least an hour.  Perhaps Napoleon  had returned from the grave and, with a battery of twelve pounders,  he was demolishing  Kainaliu.    Depending on your religious persuasion, this may not be so far fetched.  I mean, it is the season.  Right?  And who's to say that the Little Corporal, apparently as charismatic a fellow as one is likely to meet in this lifetime, had less of a shot at it than JC.  So good bye Aloha Theater.  No more plays for you.  Ka boom.

   We have relatively few rules here in Holualoa Heights, but one of them is, "Don't go snorkeling in an electrical storm."  Lucky for you guys out in the blogospere, I got a nice swim in at Kahalu'u two days ago.  We had been experiencing a hot sticky spell (winter is apparently over) so a swim seemed like just the thing.  The tide was way out so I crawled, more than swam, through the rocky gap in only three inches of water.  Once free of the congestion at the entrance, the water, while shallow, was not particularly cold.  In fact, there was an area over by what used to be the hotel that was down right warm...possibly around 85 degrees.

I'm gonna bite you.

    Early on I had an encounter with a male humu humu busily protecting the family nest.  When you think about it, there really aren't that many animals that have an interesting egg protecting strategy.  Killdeers come to mind.  I was barely aware of those small inland plovers when I was a child and I suppose that was a good thing.  Once you get the knack of finding those rufous pipers, you can drive the male killdeer completely bats by repeatedly entering the nesting territory.  And the broken wing display is pretty fun to watch.  This is not the sort of temptation with which you should confront an adolescent male.  He has enough problems as it is, without harassing helpless birds.  

   The deal with the triggerfish is different, of course.  Not possessing the requisite equipment for a broken wing display, he has to be a bit more straight forward.  First he threatens to bite you and if that doesn't work, well, what's a daddy triggerfish to do?  I would suppose that most of us who snorkel regularly in Hawaii have experienced  the business end of a humu.  Luckily it only hurts a little bit.  I let this brave father threaten me

Its over here!  Over here, I tell ya.  Over here, over here, over here...

a few times, took his picture and headed off, unbidden and unbitten.

   Shortly after my triggerfish encounter, I saw something unique in my experience.  A pair of sailfin tangs swam by, very close to me and very, very close to one another.   The thing is, that for a moment I didn't realize that they were both sailfin tangs, as the smaller of the pair was completely black.  I tried to get a picture of this unusual pattern, but by the time I took my shot the fish was already returning to his normal striped pattern.

   John Hoover tells us a few things.  First, the smaller member of the pair is almost certainly the male.   For those of you who don't see sailfin tangs every week, let me assure you that as much as any fish in the Hawaiian sea, the sailfin tang always occurs in pairs.  Always.  And one is always significantly larger than the other.  One might say, apparently, larger than her mate.

Tangus Interuptus.  Que Triste.

    Hoover goes on to say that sometimes a sailfin tang will turn almost black when "driving off an intruder."  John doesn't specify if the intruder is an unaffiliated SFT or some other species that is interfering with the plan.  Whatever that is.

    On our reef,  the comical orangespine unicorn tang is commonly seen driving off an intruder while exhibiting a remarkable color change.   The fish darkens from gray to black and both his pectoral fin and the spot on his forehead turn bright yellow.  And invariably the guy with the yellow forehead is chasing away an intruder.  

    That was definitely not the case with this pair of SFTs.  It was springtime, dammit, and they were going to make the two headed beast.  Unfortunately, after they almost bumped into yours truly, their ardor cooled and, as I stated above, the male rapidly returned to his striped color pattern.  I apologize for the poor quality of the accompanying photograph.  I certainly have lots of better pictures of sailfin tangs, but I thought you might like to sympathize with the obviously frustrated male. Once every six

Orangespine Unicorn Tang Aggresive Coloration  Kahalu'u 2014

months or so, John Hoover reads this blog and perhaps he will include this sexy information in the next, dare I say, Penultimate Guide.

    There was one more good thing to be seen in K Bay on this warm day.  Just as I was making the clubhouse turn I saw a humongous dragon wrasse.  He was probably only four inches, but I would swear he was five.  If I'd had a net I could have scooped him up and he would have fed an entire family of four.  What we had here was the bull goose looney of dragon wrasses.

    As you all know, the dragon wrasse attempts to fool predators by flopping this way and that in an attempt to imitate a tattered leaf.  This Baby Huey wasn't fooling anyone, least of all your humble correspondent.  I got a few pictures from the surface.  The best of that bunch you see here.  When I dove down for a better shot, he flopped away, never to be seen again.  If Randle McMurphy, the true bull goose looney, could have flopped so effectively, he might have saved himself a few volts and

"But its the truth, even if it didn't happen."

possibly a lobotomy.  As for the bull goose dragon wrasse, I predict he will turn into a Fine big rockmover and that nurse Ratched will rue the day that she went snorkeling at K Bay.

   As for the rest of you, come on in,the waters fine.

jeff

Hooking Up with the Honu Divers

    For the last few months, Sandra and I have been exercising at Pacific Island Fitness, not the fanciest club in the world, even here in Kailua Kona, but it is included as part of our Kaiser Permanenete insurance plan, which makes it significantly more attractive.

Worldwide Distribution of the Green Sea Turtle, aka the Honu

   Across the parking lot from the fitness club, which is in the hillside mall directly below the Queen Ka'ahumanu expressway, is the shop of Kona Honu divers.  As you may recall, elsewhere on our emerald orb the honu is known as the green sea turtle.  Although Hawaiians would have you believe that this is an animal unique to our archipelago (an endangered species no less),  the green sea turtle is the most widely distributed of the sea turtles.  If you have ever had sopa tortugua anywhere from Boton to Buenos Aires, you were probably dining on a GST.

   Regardless, the honu holds  special fascination for those of us in the Sandwich Islands.  Up in Kohala, the honu is found on ancient petroglyphs, while down here in Kailua, tourists delight in
seeing one at Kahalu'u. Even your humble correspondent experiences a small thrill when seeing a turtle swimming free along a deserted shoreline.

Honu Libre  Ho'okena 2012

 But setting the turtles aside for a moment, let us return to the dive shop. These are the nice people that sold me my current mask and snorkel, and they run a shop full of goodies that appeal to the water minded.  Thus, from time to time, after pedaling the stationary bicycle for half an hour, we have wandered in for a chat and a look about.

   On Monday I found myself conversing with a pleasant young lady by the name of Shel.  One has to assume that her given name is Michelle, so in a different place and time she might be known as Shelly.  But if one thinks about it, there is something rather poetic about a girl named Shell working for an establishment whose name celebrates the sea turtle. She shared some of her favorite snorkeling spots, which, of course, are similar to mine.  Shel had one spot on her list that I found very interesting.  She

goes in to Pawai bay, at the end of the runway at the old airport. I have read about people entering there, but have never felt up to it myself.

Indigo Dartfish Courtesy of John Spears

    Not only is Shel a scuba diver, but a talented free diver.  She said that in that location, over rubble 40 feet below the surface, she sees indigo dartfish.  This fish, according to John Hoover, is found over sand or rubble below 30 feet.  About thirty years ago I took the boys on an early morning snorkel to Kahalu'u, squeezing in one last swim before we headed back to the mainland.  That morning we saw a pair of indigo dartfish, my only ones.  Having an attention span only slightly longer than Donald Trump, I had not read Hoover's piec on the dartfish in the Ultimate Guide.  Therefore,  I didn't realize how lucky we were that morning so long ago.   I have often wondered why, despite my vigilance, I didn't see another pair of dartfish...now I know.

   But getting back to Ms. Shel, noting my interest in seeing new fish and going to new places, she directed my attention to the bulletin board by the door where the dive shop advertises their upcoming trips.  Low and behold, they are going to Bali.  But wait!  They are also going to the Philippines and the Solomon Islands.  Their trip to the PI is divided between a  week on a dive boat and a week at a dive resort on Negros Island, near the southern end of the archipelago.

     Being much like Mr. Toad from that charming children's classic, The Wind in the Willows, I left

Off to Dumaguete.  Mole, Badger and the Water Rat bid Mr. Toad Bon Voayage.

the shop bedazzled.

     The next morning we went to Walmart, the employer of choice for recently arrived Philippine girls. While Sandra was shopping for paper towels and pill containers, I went to the photo department where one of my Philipina friends redirected me to the seasonal department.  There I tracked down a young lady named Thuma, who was kind enough divert her attention from the Easter supplies to talk to me about snorkeling in the Philippines. Thuma is not a diver and she didn't know too much about Dumaguete, where the dive shop is going, but she did know that there is good snorkeling at several places on Luzon, the island home of Manila and hence the international airport which can be reached non-stop from HNL.  The names she gave me were Subic (the home of our former naval base, still inhabited by Americans), Thousand Islands and Batangas.

    A little research revealed that she is right on.  There are, indeed, dive resorts in all those places.  

Subic Bay upper left, Batangas lower right.  Next stop Danang.

    Thuma had to get back to stocking her shelves, but her parting words regarding travel in the Philippines was to be careful and stay safe.  On the plus side, travel time to Manila is about 9 hours less than that to Denpassar.  And it is possible that we would add a few species, both fish and invertebrates, especially if we went to Dumaguete.

    The negatives are not inconsiderable.  Travel on Luzon may be tricky.  Strange as it seems, I believe taking a bus in Mexico may be safer than in the PI.  Things like lodging are twice as expensive in the Philippines as they are in Bali.  I don't understand why this should be so. However, we had lunch with our traveling companions Peter and Marla this week and when she heard this , Marla wasn't surprised at all.  She said that American Samoa is terribly expensive...90 USD per night for a dump.  Perhaps prior exposure to the US economy has had a lingering effect on the Philippine prices.

  More investigation is warranted.  Virginia at Hone Divers is going on the Dumaguete trip and she promised to keep a list of the cool stuff that she sees snorkeling.  I can hardly wait for her report.

jeff


   

Swimming With the Hokulea

  Amazing as it may seem, we almost missed the Hokulea during its' Mahalo Tour stop over at the Kailua Kona Pier.  Hokulea is a 76 foot catamaran with Polynesian-style lateen rigged tan bark sails redolent of craft that the native Hawaiians sailed prior to contact with western civilization.

Hokulea rests quietly by the pier Friday evening.

    Had my son, Charles, not texted us an Instagram  picture of the Hokulea tied up to the pier, we very well might not have known.  As Hokulea has been in Kona since Monday, you might ask  "How can this be?"

   First, I have been swimming at the pier one day this week, on Wednesday.  If you live in Kona, or you are a faithful reader of the blog, you will know that Wednesday is the day that the Carnival cruise ship comes to Kona.  So on the day I snorkeled the pier, the Hokulea moved up the coast to Honokohau.  Nobody at the pier, before or after my swim mentioned the voyaging canoe.  And the glad handers that meet the sea going Carnival rats were not offering taxi service out to the Honokohau marina for a look at the famous (at least here in Hawaii) craft.  How

could they take a pass on such an opportunity? 

Hula Keikis and Moms Waiting for the Hokulea

    I will parenthetically note that on that swim I didn't see diddly in the way of interesting marine life.  However, coming ashore I did see Flipper.  This was not the trained dolphin of TV fame, but a young lady of 20 or so.  Fit and trim in a black sports two piece, she took a run at the sea wall and did a back flip onto the sand. If only she had told me what was coming,  I would have taken a movie of this athletic, latter day Donald O'Connor.

    But wait! We have yet another excuse.  A moderate amount of our social contact with the village involves the Hawaii Public Library down on Hualalai Street.  Perhaps you will recall our prior observation that these librarians get as many holidays as the Pentecostal Russians that live in Woodburn, Oregon.  In this instance, in a seven day period they received two paid holidays, one for

Whitemouth Moray Lunges at your Faithful Correspondent

Prince Kuhio Day and one for Good Friday.  Hence, the library was only open three days this week.  And one of those was Wednesday.  So we didn't make it in to kibitz with our friendly librarians.  Surely one of them would have asked, "Have you been aboard the Hokolea?"

   On the other hand, we did drink a lot of Hawaiian punch on Prince Kuhio Day.   Don't try that at home.  You wake up with your head feeling like a coconut and every time you move you hear the coconut water sloshing back and forth inside.

   So thank goodness for Charles.  Following Jeopardy last night (the only state admitted during the Grant administration was Colorado, the Centennial State) we motored down to the pier, took a few pictures of the sailing canoe, made friends with the security guard and ascertained that Hokulea would still be there this morning.

    Which brings us up to date.  It was a warm, sultry morning in Kona, the air so thick you could cut

Is it a Juvenile Spectacled Parrotfish?

it with a canoe paddle.  The Hokulea was right where we left her, tied up to the pier in the area used by the cruise ship tenders.  Thanks to the Department of Homeland Security, this area has a fine eight foot security fence, the better to keep Mexicans and Iranians from sneaking in to Kona, which, somewhat to the embarrassment of the Hawaiian community, is still part of Donald Trump's United States.

    While I was putting on my snorkeling gear a contingent of white keikis under the control of their ha'ole maternal units filed by.  One and all were wearing black Ts celebrating the hula.  The inscription was in Hawaiian, wouldn't you know, so I am unable to tell you exactly what it said. 

    Bidding the hula-ettes Aloha, I plunged into the cool clear water.  Almost immediately, I saw a very large whitemouth moray hunting.  he curtailed his free swim and curled into a nearby coral

Badgered Bigeye Bugs Out

head.  I waited for him to come out, but all he did was look at me from his refuge.  Determined to get a shot, I put the camera on macro, which doubles as a telephoto, and dove down for a handhold about three feet away.  Just as I got my grip, the moray lunged at me.  Simultaneously I snapped a picture.

   I wasn't especially worried, as this is, by reputation, not an aggressive species.  A bit further on, I saw a six inch segment of a classic dark chocolate undulated moray in a coral a couple feet down.  This species is renowned for its aggression, but lucky for me, this guy was taking a nap.

   It being relatively early in the morning, I was hoping for an octopus.  There were no cephalopods to be seen, but out by the fourth swim buoy I spied an unusual juvenile parrot.  We will wait for our diligent fish wallah, Peter Kroppje to bless our identification, but it is at least possible that this dull

Raise the sails!

fellow with the yellowish tail is a juvenile spectacled parrotfish...a very unusual species for Kailua Kona. I found a bigeye hiding under a coral.  My efforts for a photograph were sufficiently aggressive ( perhaps I took a lesson from Mr. Whitemouth) as I chased the bigeye into the open for a quick shot.

    Of course the swim was mostly taken as a chance to get pictures of the voyaging canoe from the water.  While I was swimming, the crew raised both sails and we got a few pictures which I hope you enjoy.

    As I got out, a troop of hula dancers filed by.  Sandra was all over the dancers, who were involved in a ceremony to bless the canoe.  Luckily I finished changing before the beginning of the ceremony.  Sandra and I listened to the chanter chant, the dancers responding  in their inscrutable tongue and watched them dance a bit. 

Both of them!

   For those of you who don't live in Hawaii, you may be unaware of the movement to reestablish the Hawaiian kingdom.  Both the hula and the voyaging canoe Hokulea are symbols, to those who claim
Hawaiian heritage, of  this movement.  For those of us who are on the ground here in the 50th state, we have noticed a difference in civic attitude in the last couple of years.

     One might reasonably wonder just which point in history the Hawaiians would like to return to.  I would love to write you a brief history of the Hawaiian Kingdom, but it is clearly beyond the scope of this blog.  Sandalwood, smallpox, syphilis, two strong Christian women (Ka'ahumanu and Kina'u) and a succession of feckless kings saw the Hawaiian population drop from 400,000 to 40,000 in only 50 years.  By 1840 political control had passed to the unscrupulous businessmen who were the sons
of the original missionaries.

The Flag of the Kingdom of Hawaii Movement

    In an amazing turn around, fueled in large part by the native race mixing with other ethnic groups, native Hawaiians have rebounded.  If one includes these mixed race people, the number of Hawaiians in the state is estimated to be between 145,000 and 289,00. (I realize that is a huge difference of opinion, but this is Hawaii, where facts are up for grabs.) In the United States as a whole the population of mixed race Hawaiians may be as high as 560,000.  (The population of our state is currently 1,400,000.)  The survival of native Hawaiian blood appears to be guaranteed.  All of us who live here are grateful for this and hope that our community continues to live in harmony.

     Enough about demographics and the Kingdom Movement.

Hula Dancers in Fancy Dresses Bless the Hokulea

     Due in part to their intimate contact with the sea and the vast separation of the Hawaiian archipelago from any other major island group, those stone age people were able to navigate using the sun, moon and stars, and their knowledge prevailing winds and currents.  For several centuries prior to the arrival of Cook, Hawaiians were sailing regularly to the islands we now call French Polynesia,  2,600 miles as the crow flies.  The current crew has navigated the Pacific for three years without power or modern navigational devices, like GPS.

    So hats off to the crew of Hokulea and the boat herself.  And while were at it, let's raise a glass of Hawaiian punch to the  the population of the 50th state, the most diverse of them all.

jeff