Polihale Beach Camping

Polihale Beach resides just south of the dramatic Na Pali coastline, where begins a seemingly infinite stretch of fine, white sand and gradated green/blue/purple sea. This is why/where, we decided to go camping for the weekend. Along with our travel companions (Joseph, Annalee & Tigerlilly) we departed Friday afternoon.

Background:
Polihale is effectively, the furthest away that one can travel from the Range and still be on the island. Although Polihale is only 60 miles away, do not be mislead, we're talking island miles. What would be at most an hour jaunt on your local interstate, becomes a nearly 2 hour journey - or if you consider the dynamic scenery, more of a sightseeing tour.


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Not to mention (although I'm about to mention it) our stops at Walmart & Costco which are surprisingly hectic at all times for such a small & laid back island. I guess the only thing laid back about these places are the people that work there - contributing to delays in line, but that's island style bra.

We arrived to catch the last glimpse of light of the sun setting (over the water - now that we're on the west coast). The following picture was taken whilst still unloading, let's call it Exhibit A:

(ain't she a beaut'?)

We quickly set up camp, made dinner, attempted to use the 4WD on the VW Synchro only to find that the sticker on the side is really not much more than a sticker (sorry Bucduke, still an excellent ride) - and finally relaxed, which is really what camping should be about right? This was unfortunately a fleeting period of relaxation, quickly interrupted by a series of bright lights and revved engines approaching the camp site. Within minutes, we realized we had posted up next to the entrance to...the beach. Apparently Polihale beach, known for it's serenity during the day, transforms into the strip on Friday night. Locals come out to show off their rides to their underage passengers, bump Madonna's newest single (which, not surprisingly, incites a rave), break bottles and curse & scream for no apparent reason. This event, (which I like to call the 'ICE'capades) lasts until sunrise on Saturday morning; slowly descending from all out rave party to a "where should I throw up" and "it's cool, I know I'm young but my last boyfriend was 21" party.

The result for us naive campers was a restless night. As the next day unfolded we ventured to the beach, encountering fresh tire tracks and avoiding the vampire-esque ravers as they escaped the suns harmful rays and B-lined it home. The morning was gorgeous, the water was warm and reviving, and the scenery even better than I had imagined. And then it rained - off and on - all day. So we left, cutting short our camping trip mostly out of fear, of what may happen after the sun went down.

We made it home by sunset and it was eerily quiet & dark (with the exception of moonlight) all night long. This prompts the question: why did we leave? Exhibit B:

Pictures from the Range

Hint: Click to go to album.

We got a chainsaw!

This is a much more enthusiastic blog then my previous "we got a washer" blog. Why? Because I've never had a chainsaw, have you? If you answered yes, then you are bad ass. From the day I was born, I had a washer in my home; I even learned how to use it when I was 9 and I'm pretty proud of that. Now, at 27 years old, I will yield a chainsaw in one hand and be flipping the bird to Bob with the other.

Let me tell you about our orchard

We're at our favorite beach, fresh out of the sea heading back to our post through the nearly too hot sand we meet this girl, Malia. She's got a dog that's cute - some obscure combination of two small adorable breeds which has resulted in a mutt that can be sold for way too much money, Max. And after exchanging about as much personal information with Malia as one tends to post to their Facebook page we meet her boyfriend, Peter.

The Bucduke refers to Peter as "the Tree Whisperer," although he pauses before he does as if he's not quite settled on that name. The very next day Peter invites us on a trespassing tour of orchards he's planted for the E-trade guy and the guy who created the bachelor. By noon, we've agreed on planting an orchard. It all sounds like some elaborate scheme cooked up in Bangkok, but this is Kauai, and within three weeks we've got an orchard planted in the ground and we're watering plants for an hour every day.


You've heard of an apple, you've heard of a banana, well we got apple bananas - three different varieties and way too many to count. There are Avocados - 10 of them in 6 different varieties, none of which are Hass. There are Mangoes - 10 different varieties - and I'm guessing that because they're mangoes, they'll be crazy delicious. Then, there are the trees whose names I've never heard of and whose fruit I've certainly never tasted, here are a few:

The Rambutan, has the appearance of a hairy strawberry...mmmm. It also comes comes in a ridiculous 167+ varieties; I know this because in our orchard, we have varieties #123 and #167. However, my favorite variety is the Jett Lee - not that I particularly like Jet Li, I'm more of a Van Damme type of guy, but that's just funny.

The Soursop I'm sure tastes better than it sounds, or looks. The Egg Fruit looks like the yolk of an egg, and it's a fruit...yum? The Mamey Sapote (what'd you say?) fruit is described as a combination of pumpkin, sweet potato, and maraschino cherries with the texture of an avocado...sounds like a delicious mistake.

Heading for the stars

The round house is rising. We've got the deck structure established. A couple of rows of wall have been installed and now we're focusing on Door and Window location and framing them in. Again, the "round" thing is presenting a problem. Nothing is easy when one gets artistic and it's also been hot. The sun is intense. Grasshopper and Boy are out scouting for awnings or umbrellas on their day off. We got a bit sidetracked as well. Lauren met a stranger on the Beach. All of a sudden, we've invested $15K in a fruit orchard. Exotics, like her...the Island girl from inland. We're all actually excited about this new venture. The property will be productive. We will become farmers of fruits and vegetables as Blake is designing the new garden area as well. The old one is still producing. Asparagus is happening almost daily. Unreal. So good you eat it raw. Come on friends. The "Range" is alive again. The new golf course is laid out. We've eating out of the garden and "Sanctuary" is almost finished. To partake, you must participate in it's construction.

We got a washer

The Bucduke and Lauren couldn't live a day longer without the modern luxury of a clothes washer. I'll agree, hand washing clothes is a pain in the ass - because I'm the only one that did it. So we bought one from Curt - a repairman in Wailua. It even comes with a warranty, from Curt, which is nice.

This acquisition raises an interesting question: at what point is camp no longer considered to be a camp? When we get a washer, that's when.

"Get Jiggy Wit it"....it's Hammer time.

The Bucduke has landed. Blake and Grasshopper are packing. Time to finish the "roundhouse". Camp took a small Winter hit...which is to say there was a little rain damage and the bugs kind of moved in since no one else was around. They are quickly realizing that the 'humans' are back so they are retreating and the water damage was nothing more than a water logged countertop. As usual, remodeling is taking place. I need a place to sleep and I'm thinking it's time to move my part of camp into the big house and start "feeling it". An essential element of creativity. We are also totally flying solo electrically. Nothing but battery power. No problem-o. Beer on ice works just fine!

Next door neighbor Dick, although his name is Bob, came over again nostrils flared.... demanding that we tear down camp. "It looks like the Beverly Hillbillys! You're dragging down the neighborhood property values". He's probably a little pissy thinking he's not going to get laid until he gets back the meadow view he and his wife enjoyed for years until we showed up. He is probably jealous of our lifestyle and the likelyhood that our house will be more attractive than his shit hole. For his age, he has an embarrassingly adolescent maturity level. Some professional help with communication skills might be a beneficial acquisition for his toolbox.

The "Range" is happenin' again. We need visitors. There are no excuses!