But Enough About Me!

As many if not most of you already know, there's been a major earthquake in Japan, followed by devastating tsunamis in that region.

Tsunami watches and warnings have been posted for across the Pacific Rim, including a tsunami warning in the state of Hawaii.

In other words, the civil defense sirens are going off. Coastal areas are currently being evacuated in the state of Hawaii. This is a serious situation, although ultimately of course unpredictable in outcome.

I would like to note for those concerned (who are not on Twitter or Facebook, where I've already tweeted and posted this) that I am NOT in the evacuation zone, so my house is safe. My son's apartment is also outside the evacuation zone.

I'm quite concerned about my canoe club and all the canoes, because everything is right on the beach in Hale'iwa. We would drive down there, but doing so would just add another car on the road into an area where people are almost certainly evacuating inland.

We'll know in a few hours. Here's hoping for the best.

The daughter of one of my crewmates posted on my Facebook wall to say that she thinks it is our crew (or some of our crew, at any rate) in a quick 2 - 3 second dusk shot in the most recent episode of Hawaii 5-0, the one called Ho'olaulea, I think.

I find this pretty amusing.

The clip is at about 24:30 or thereabouts: there's a setting sun, and then a canoe being paddled by what is quite likely some elements of our crew (the show is meant to take place at the North Shore), and then it goes to a kid playing the ukulele and singing while there is a pretend gathering going on that looks kind of weird to me, but whatever.

Anyway, I cannot tell you that it absolutely is me in that shot -- it could be Karen -- or someone else -- and there is no telling when that particular bit of extra business was filmed, but I think it is quite likely that is a Manu boat and Manu Senior Masters women.

What I can say is that looks like a canoe coming in at the end of its run, kind of a warm down, as it were. Water is gorgeous, yeah?

Also: I am mostly on twitter right now as I am trying to finish the first draft of this book and I am oh so close but not close enough.

Here's where the modern incarnation starts, taken from the Molokai Hoe web site:

On October 12, 1952, three Koa outrigger canoes launch through the surf at Kawakiu Bay on Molokai's west side. Powered by six paddlers, each of the canoes was bound for Oahu across 38+ miles of open ocean in the Ka'iwi Channel. Eight hours and 55 minutes later, the Molokai canoe, Kukui O Lanikaula landed on the beach at Waikiki in front of the Moana Hotel. Thus began the world's most prestigious outrigger canoe race, the Molokai Hoe.

The Molokai Hoe has become one of the longest running annual team sporting events in Hawaii, second only to football. The Moloka'i Hoe perpetuates one of Hawaii's and Polynesia's most important and historic cultural traditions, while honoring outrigger canoe paddlers around the world. The Molokai Hoe tests the limits of physical and mental strength and endurance, courage determination and teamwork, and paddlers must also battle nature's most extreme elements.

Each year over 1000+ paddlers from around the world compete in the Molokai Hoe, the men's world championship in outrigger canoe racing. This year marks the Molokai Hoe's 58th crossing of the treacherous Ka'iwi Channel.

In case you didn't notice, this refers to a men's race. With changes in the course's starting and ending points, the race is now 41 + miles (the + depends on what line you take as you cross the channel, and how conditions increase your travel distance depending on swells, winds, currents, and tides).

But what about women, you may ask?

The dream began in 1954, two years after the first men's Molokai-to-Oahu Canoe Race took place. Waikiki Surf Club's Senior Women's crew proposed for consideration a race for the women also. Coaches and officials insisted the women couldn't handle the treacherous channel. It took years of patience and persistence to convince everyone that it was possible for women to paddle across the Kaiwi Channel. In October of 1975, the first unofficial crossing was made by two crews of 18 women each. One crew was incorporated from four canoe clubs: Kailua, Outrigger, Lanikai and Waikiki Surf Club and was spearheaded by Donna Coelho-Woffe. They named themselves "Onipaa". The other was from Healani Canoe Club, coached by Babe Bell. They proved that women could paddle across the Kaiwi Channel. Part of the dream had come true. Hannie Anderson and the late Leinani Faria, another colleague who shared the dream, officiated this first crossing.

The women's Molokai to Oahu Canoe Race, which is organized and conducted by race director Hannie Anderson and the Na Wahine O Ke Kai Association - Shelly Gilman, Haunani Campos-Olds, Carleen Ornellas, Sig Tannehill and Rosie Lum - was founded in February of 1979. At the '79 election meeting, Puna Dawson christened this event Na Wahine O Ke Kai (Women of the Sea) which took on a new meaning on October 15, 1979, the date of the first women's Molokai to Oahu Canoe Race. [history quoted from the web site of the Na Wahine O Ke Kai]


This year, in 2010, 82 canoes (therefore 800+ paddlers) completed the Na Wahine O Ke Kai, which took place yesterday, Sunday 26 September, starting from Hale o Lono Harbor on Molokai and ending in front of the beach at the Hilton Hawaiian on Waikiki, with an announcer calling out the name of the club, the names of all the crew, and the name of the canoe (I think), as each canoe finished.

I paddled this race, unofficially known as the "world championship" of outrigger canoe paddling, for the first time this year. I went with a Senior Masters Crew (50+) of the most fabulous women imaginable ranging in age from 52 (the youngest -- that was me) to the eldest at 64, plus a great, calm, and extremely experienced coach who kept us on the best line possible as we crossed the channel, departing Molokai at 7:30 am and keeping our eyes on the iconic Diamond Head as our point of reference.

41+ miles through open ocean. At this point, we are getting close (Molokai is far behind; ahead is, of course, Diamond Head in the middle distance).



Here's how it works:

Clubs put together crews. Open and Masters (40+) crews get 10 paddlers each, 6 in the canoe and 4 in the escort boat waiting to swap out at intervals (called changes). Senior Masters (50+) crews get 12 paddlers. Grand (55+) and Platinum (60+) Masters crews are not officially recognized for this particular race) but there was at least one 60+ crew that made the crossing this year.

Our crew was put together by Oahu canoe club Ka Mamalahoe from women from 3 different islands and the Mainland. We had not all paddled together before the race. All but one of us arrived on Molokai on Thursday and had two days (Friday and Saturday) to get to know each other before race day. We cooked ono (delicious) meals that had been planned and shopped for by our wonderful crew captain and head steersman; we cleaned up; we rigged our canoe and went out for a short test run; we went to the beach or went shopping; we laughed and talked story and had a few beers. Okay, maybe more than a *few* beers.

Then we drove over a rutted dirt road down to Hale O Lono harbor for the start of the race, leaving our rental house at 5:30 am on Sunday morning down to the rocky sand point where 82 or 84 canoes and their crews were waiting to go together with the escort boats and official boats gathered to accompany us. There was also a helicopter. And the first webcast of the race ever.

You know, I love seeing the young women headed out on this race. They are so strong, and so unselfconscious about being athletes, and so focused and powerful and beautiful. And they *are* beautiful, these paddlers; they are stunning; they are mighty.

I also love seeing the older women make ready to go, because they are so strong, and focused, and if not as physically powerful as they once were, they have the experience to be tough and calm and pure stubborn persistence. They, too, are beautiful. They are magnificent.

When I look at those two quoted histories above, I reflect that when I was a girl, I couldn't even have hoped to paddle in such a race; it wasn't allowed nor was it thought appropriate. But women made it happen; they made it happen for themselves and they made it happen for their daughters and granddaughters and those to come.

They made it possible for us, our 12, to head out early on Sunday morning and switch crews and paddle a grueling race with determination and joy and camaraderie and pride. We were not the youngest, obviously, and we were not the fastest (not even among the 9 Senior Masters crews entered in the race). But we got there and, frankly, we were awesome.

Conditions made it a slow race this year. The course record for women's crews is something like 5 hours and 22 minutes. This year the winning time was 5 hours and 54 minutes. We completed the course 75th out of 82, in a time of 7 hours and 38 minutes. Paddling the whole way, switching off crews every half an hour (half an hour in, half an hour out).

The ocean is an amazing place; deadly as it can be, it is also a healing place.

When you make a change, if you are paddling, you jump out of the canoe as another person hauls themselves in to the seat you just vacated. Then you float in the ocean as the escort boat comes up to pick you up. After your rest, you jump off the escort boat, which by this time has swung around in front of your canoe, and you float in the ocean with a hand raised, and the steersman brings the canoe right up alongside you. You pull yourself in as the person you're relieving jumps out the other side, and you start paddling all over again. All the way from Molokai to Oahu you touch the ocean, and the ocean touches you.

Yes, it is hard and exhausting, but when you have a fabulous crew, as we did, none of that matters.

Truly, one of the most amazing things I have ever done. Even if I am a bit stiff and sore physically as well as mentally exhausted today. Will I do it again next year? I just might.


Here is the Honolulu Star-Advertiser article, focusing, naturally, on the top teams.

To KarenS, KarenW, Julie, Robyn, Lynn, Suzanne, Jeannie, Lorna, Puanani, Cherie, Kim, and coach Mike: you guys are the best. We crossed in the canoe Papa'i.

Our crew caught a couple of waves, yes, thanks to our steersman. Conditions awesome. Yes, that is Diamond Head, because the regatta today was in Waikiki.

Too exhausted to post. Thanks to Faith for taking the photo with my new camera.

Oh: and Happy Birthday, Dad.

I bought a camera, waterproof and shockproof, because I want to try to take some photos from out in the canoe so you can see what the island looks like from offshore. Thus, my first attempts to take photos, at the regatta yesterday.

The men in the medium ground (four in oranje shirts and one in white--who is, by the way, with his wife the club's founder) are part of the Platinum Masters, that is, over 60. The women in the canoe, about to go out to race, are some of the women's Platinum Masters (that is, over 60). This is a sport you can go on doing for a long time. [there are also two guys sitting on the canoe; they're the boatholders who hold the boat at the start flags; also, obviously, various people are enjoying the water; the empty canoe--by its colors belonging to Windward Kai--means that club does not have a crew in the upcoming race.]

The Pacific Ocean, of course, needs no introduction.

My friend Julia and I went to Moonlight Mele on the Lawn, a concert series held on the lawn of the Bishop Museum. The weather was partly cloudy, giving us a few spatterings of mist, but the rain held off. We grabbed something to eat at one of the food booths and spread a blanket on the grass and settled in for 2+ hours of music, local style.

Off to the right, one could see the occasional jet lifting into the sky from the airport. The sky here is vast and open because it drops away into the water, which is, of course, everywhere. Hawaii is of course inextricably linked with the ocean; I suppose that the salt water permeates everything, every bit of air we breathe here, for we are never far away.

I lay back on the blanket and watched the palm fronds waves in the trade winds. The performers played their lovely music, and made local jokes, and sang sometimes in English and sometimes in Hawaiian and talked story (told an informative tale) about every song before they sang it. You just have to do that here, because a mele (song) is more than words and music, here anyway. It is always more, because of the way Hawaiian tradition is structured.

Hawaii is not only Native Hawaiian, though; with the influx of so many immigrants for work during the plantations years, it has developed its own distinctive local culture which is, as many of the people are, a mix of disparate elements. One thing that remains stable throughout is the pervasive sense of humor.

Tomorrow I will drive to the North Shore and paddle with my club, depending on who turns out for a morning practice on July 4.

We moved to Hawaii eight years ago because my spouse got work here. I would never have come otherwise: as a teen, I had come on vacation here one time with my grandparents and cousin and we stayed at resorts and even back then I disliked resorts, so that vaguely negative impression of Hawaii (pretty but artificial) stuck with me.

But I fell in love with this place on the 3rd day I was here, and I haven't looked back. If I never lived anywhere else from now, that would be fine. If you told me I would feel this way, lo any time before we moved here, I would not have believed you. I actually literally don't understand how powerfully I connected with this place.

Not everyone does feel that connection. There are many reasons to struggle in Hawaii, which I won't list here. But I think some forms of connection are not quantifiable; I don't think we can predict or describe things like 'resonance' (in terms of something "resonating" with you but not with someone else) and 'connection.' They can't be held or measured but they exist.

I have traveled a fair bit. Some places I am happy to have visited, and might even want to go back to, to see more, but I wouldn't want to live there. Some places I wish I could live for a few months to get a better feel for them. Some places I felt no connection to at all. Others, like Copenhagen, where we lived for four months in 1999, I think we could have happily stayed. I grew up in the Willamette Valley in Oregon, a place that still grounds my heart.

And yet every day when I wake up, I think: lucky we live Hawaii. I hate leaving, and can't wait to come back, even though Oahu is a tiny isolated rock in a huge ocean. Every time I go out on that ocean, and look back at the land, I think that we are an island on an island, and this place is a refuge.

Not everyone is fortunate enough to live in a place they love.

Do you live in a place you love, or one you only tolerate? If you love it, why? If not, where would you rather be?

This lip dub is from Kamehameha Schools (Oahu campus). If you like this kind of thing, you'll like this. It's very cute.




By the way, Kamehameha Schools is a private school established and endowed from the estate of Princess Beatrice Pauahi Bishop (thus the note at the very end).

When we moved to Hawaii in 2002 we were advised frequently to avoid the public schools here. In the years since, we are not infrequently met with surprise when we mention that our children attended public schools here. I admit, we chose to live in Mililani in part because it has a reputation for having a particularly good set of neighborhood schools. Was the middle and high school here perfect? No, not by a long shot. Did my children have a few mediocre teachers? Yes.

But they also had excellent teachers.

Like this one (the twins' senior year AP English teacher):

Mililani High School teacher wins national honor

Yeah, totally deserved and earned.

For me, reading a really good novel is like racing: while you are in it, you are living so entirely in the moment that your thoughts are nowhere but on the next word, the next page, the next stroke with your blade (paddle). You are nowhere but there; the mind is fully in the present experience.

That being so, when you finish it's almost a shock. Suddenly you are back in the world where your thoughts wander forward and backward and elsewhere and inward and outward; such thoughts are my normal mode of being, so not being in that mode leaves me in a place of timelessness (the present, which has neither past nor future), and when I am finished it is *almost* as if the race, or the novel, never happened, except for the ripples and repercussions left with me by the experience.

Yes, this is what I did today.

The state of Hawaii's official team sport is outrigger canoe paddling. Although there are OC-1 and OC-2 canoes (small canoes seating, respectively, 1 or 2 people) and a whole set of races for people who do that, and although there are also some OC-3 and OC-4 (the latter good for surfing), the team stuff is done in the OC-6.

Regatta season (March - July, with races held on consecutive weeks from late May to late July) are sprints of 1/4, 1/2, one, and on & a half miles. Which distance you race depends on what category you're racing in. There are Youth categories, divided by age and gender; there are Masters categories, likewise, and there is Open which is generally meant to be your strongest teams. There are also a few "mixed" races (3 men, three women); otherwise, you're either in a female or male team, (depending on what you qualify for!).

After regatta season is over comes Long Distance, which culminates in the unofficial World Championship of long distance outrigger paddling, the Molokai to Oahu 41 mile race (there's a women's race one weekend and a men's race two weeks later).

Before that come a variety of long distance races, including the Na Pali Challenge along the North Shore of Kauai (considered to be perhaps the most beautiful vista in the state of Hawaii, although I can only report as I have never seen it); the Duke/Dad's Center race (consecutive weekends); the Queen Liliuokalani Race in Kona, Big Island, which is often done "iron" which means 18 miles no changes; some 32 mile race along the south and west facing shore of Oahu; and then Molokai Hoe itself.

In long distance because of the distances involved, you go out with 9 or 10 paddlers, 6 in the boat and 4 in the escort boat). At intervals, the paddlers in the escort boat jump into the ocean and then the canoe is steered over by them and, without stopping, some paddlers from the canoe jump out and the replacement paddlers get into the moving canoe. The resting paddlers get into the escort boat, and so it goes.

This You Tube video of a women's crew doing the Molokai shows them doing changes, if you watch it for long enough (there's a good example at 1:30 - 1:55.) (I've highlighted this video before, so some of you may have seen it already.)

I've paddled two regatta seasons now so far. I've also paddled some "short" long distance races (about 6 miles, done with a single crew the entire way). But I've never done proper long distance with changes.

Until today.

Today: Dad Center Race, for women's crews (a week after the Duke Kahanamoku race which is the same course, for men's crews).

You've seen this course, when I highlighted this fabulous video. That's the course we ran today, from Kailua Beach Park south along the coast and around Makapuu Point (headland) and then up the other side to Waikiki (Kaimana Beach, to be exact). 25 miles.

And let me just say that the water conditions today were, in the local parlance, gnarly. We had 4 - 5 foot wave heights, plus the trade winds, plus when you go around Makapuu you are getting swells from three directions, transitional currents, and wave backwash off the sheer headland cliffs (which go straight down quite a ways underwater as well).

It was awesome. Crazy exciting, as well as exhausting.