Friday: The big swim and the big storm.
The Ironman course in Kona, Hawaii is legendary among swimmers and triathletes. It starts from the town pier and heads south along the coast for 1.2 miles, then back to the start. The competition course is shorter than the pedestrian course by a bit because of the race setup, so it swims closer to 2.6 total for us. If you swim straight. The course is lined with buoys to the “King’s buoy” at about .6 miles, then it’s open ocean to the turnaround buoy with the signature Ironman logo.
Thank you for the group photos at the start Brendan! - HP
Ryan and Kekau, our trusty Hawaiian lifeguards, are both atop standup paddleboards for this adventure, and they wear canary yellow shirts so we can sight on them to go in the right direction. The swell was up, so we plotted a course just outside the buoy line to avoid the crashing waves. I’m always anxious as we arrive at the pier, hoping our guests will have a good experience. Samantha, Amanda, Myssie, Miriam, and Tara jumped in and stroked their hearts out while Heather and I swapped out swimming in the front and rear of the pack. We experienced a little current in a couple of spots, got pushed out to sea a bit, then back in, but our swimmers toughed it out and returned to the pier, triumphant.
Even our hula girl made it to the turn around buoy!
Before and after our swim, Brendan took photos of us from above the start beach. Then he went for a run along Ali’i drive - parallel to us - while we swam, so we are calling it a group finish.
As we were getting out, a group called 5 Islands Challenge was setting up. They support triathletes in an adventure where they do a FULL LENGTH IRONMAN (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run) every day for 5 days on 5 Hawaiian Islands. They hogged up space on the pier and blocked the dropoff parking spots and made a big deal of themselves, so I have to say that I was less inspired than I may have been otherwise. I also can’t really be interested in an experience that uses a place without an opportunity to really sink in and get to know it.
After lunch on our own in town, which included some very fine shave ice, we headed back to the hale for some well deserved naps.
Heather, Amanda, and I jumped in for what would be our last splash of the trip. Everyone else took naps and I can’t say I blame them.
I made a bunch of different cocktails, asking everyone to choose their favorite from the week. POG with lime and dark and light rums was popular. Sashimi appeared. We ohana 6 took a break from pre-dinner operations for a brief photo shoot in the back yard. For dinner, Dan had prepared a seared Ono with a local salad, bok choy, and vegetable fried rice. Clare and Dan can both recite the name of each farmer, rancher, or fisherman that they procured the ingredients from, and I swear it makes the food taste better.
As we slurped up a mango crisp with ice cream and watched Heather’s slideshow of our fantastic week, lightning flashed in the distance. Flood warnings appeared on our phones. We went off to bed curious, but not too concerned. As the night wore on, the storm intensified, and the rain was coming down really hard. More thunder and lightning shook the hale. Floodwaters flowed beneath and around the structures, mostly invisible to us in the pitch black. Flood alerts kept extending from midnight to 3am to 6am when the rain finally stopped.
As the sun rose, we realized how serious this storm had been. Floodwaters still flowed around the hale, the landscaped grounds in tatters. A tree was down over one of our driveways, the other driveway was blocked by a raging stream, trapping us on the property. The beach was badly damaged by erosion, and most of the white sand we enjoyed all week was washed away. Silty floodwaters from the south end of Puako to the north end of Hapuna and beyond stained the ocean brown for miles along the coast and miles out to sea. A heartbreaking scene.
These before and after photographs - the top two of Waialea Bay by Kekau with his drone, the bottom two of our beach just 14 hours apart - show some of the extent of the damage from the rushing runoff from likely 12” of rain. I would estimate there was a loss of about 3-6 feet of sand depth on our tiny beach alone. Along with it into the sea went tons of ground cover from shore.
Our boys Ryan and Kekau arrived, having driven around and through the flood, and got to work right away with a hand saw on the downed tree blocking our exit. Brendan and I also took turns, but the guys made quick work of it, and we got everyone to the airport and the day resort on time and safely. Our guests were as stunned as we were with the severity of the damage. They were all supportive helpful and ready to go as we made our slow way out of Puako and toward their departures. After a night of worry about them, their safety and happiness, it was such a relief to feel their support. No storm can erase the closeness they developed this week. It’s possible it made the bond stronger.
If you’ve read this blog in the past, you know that we at SwimVacation have been witnessing first hand the volatile and more frequent weather caused by climate change. From supercharged hurricanes and storms to wildfires and coral degradation, the people and the environment in the places we visit are suffering. I am hopeful that the leaders of the world can do more to greatly reduce the amount of carbon dioxide and methane being emitted into the atmosphere, ramping up weather patterns that harm such important ecosystems.
On a lighter note, working in Hawaii with this team of Clare, Dan, Ryan, Kekau, both Amandas, Momi and Mikey, and the women of the halau has been a richly rewarding experience for me, yet again. Heather and I are grateful for their authenticity, their commitment, and their passion for Hawai’i and sharing it with us. Thank you especially and always to our guests - for trusting us, for being game, for loving what we do and loving the ocean as much as we do. Heather’s photos from this week’s photo session demonstrate how comfortable they are in the water (Samantha and Brendan didn’t get in this time, but next time for sure!). A love like this for the ocean is what keeps us going at SwimVacation. Mahalo.
Hopper
Post script by Heather: Of all of the amazing places I have traveled, photographed and swum, Hawaii is usually top of mind when I’m asked my favorite place in the world. It’s not just the spectacular sea life to witness in this part of the Pacific, it’s the Big Island itself - its mystique, its mana. My favorite stretch of road leads north from Kona up the Kohala coast, where I can feel the pull of both Waialea Bay and Mauna Kea. The landscape is severe - lava beds with various stages of green gold life atop for as far as the eye can see. I’ll never tire of it. Hawaii presents life in its most creative, powerful and resilient form.
Having explored oceans for over almost 30 years, I have seen first hand the changes to marine ecosystems - some subtle, like the quietly but quickly growing populations of invasive species like lionfish in the Caribbean or Crown of Thorns sea star in Hawaii, but some more severe, like the stunningly quick bleaching of the BVI that seemed to simmer for decades then exploded to total in the 11 months between my last two visits. These changes are epic and significant. Their causes and degrees of permanence are often the subject of debate.
And after the supreme hurricanes endured by the British Virgin Islands and Abacos, the annually destructive wildfires in Greece and the aftermaths to which I’ve bared witness, when the surprise mega-cell storm hit us on Friday night and took Beach 69 away with it, I broke a little inside. My heart cannot take watching these places I love, where I feel so at home away from home, be destroyed again and again. It’s one thing to read about the destructive force of an angry Nature, it’s another to witness it, swiftly, surprisingly and first hand.
Clare and Dan, Ryan and Kekau have all assured me that the sand will come back to Beach 69 and the view I am accustomed to will be restored - in fact, the winter swells of the Pacific steal the sands from this and most of Hawaii’s beaches every year, then returns them, freshly laundered, each spring. The transformation of these beaches is constant and part of this ecosystem. But what is also true is that a silt bloom from run-off due to something like 12” of rain overnight is potentially lethal for a coral reef system offshore. What is also true is that events like this are getting more severe and are happening much more often.
Hawaii is a robust, hearty baby accustomed to change and resilient in nature, as are her people. Long (long) term, Hawaii will survive these changes in our climate in spite of the ravages that accompany them. Just like the golden grasses that find purchase in the impossibility of miles of lava, life always finds a way. And it will, long after we are gone. What’s less resilient is our humanity and our life-or-death dependence on an environment we have a habit of taking for granted. The intrinsic and biological value of diversity, and of sharing the world we temporarily inhabit. The human heart’s capacity to be broken by loss of places and species important to us and our animal neighbors. I feel some grief out in the natural world. I am not alone.
I have no answers for the question of our heating planet. I do believe responsible travel results in more benefit than harm - loving people across cultures and understanding natural systems leads to a wisdom I have faith will make our time here richer and less destructive. I know for certain I love the places I have been and will continue to visit. I am deeply appreciative of the incredible things the natural world has offered me and the human connections I have made along the way. Your heart can’t break if you’re not in love.
I struggled to leave Hawaii this time. Seeing the Kohala coast so brown and battered is not an image I’ll soon forget. And when we return next May, and the beach is hopefully intact and the turtles are hopefully bobbing around in a hopefully turquoise Waialea Bay, I’ll whisper Mahalo at the water’s edge with even more conviction than before. Every visit is a meaningful one, and a piece of me stays behind when I go home. Thank you to my Hawaiian ohana. Be well till I hug you next. - HP
