Wrong Turn Becomes The Right Turn

Dude, we’re on the wrong island.

The pilots look at each other, a little unsure of how to respond. After all, I am the one who asked Dylan and Charlie to fly me to Kauai on a clear Tuesday morning. Minutes earlier, the tiny Cessna slowly floated down upon Kauai as I tried to snap pictures of the whales jumping just off the point where runway meets ocean. We stretched our arms towards a clear sky after taxiing to the small hut that serves as the commuter terminal. There, I called my friend from Chicago after checking for him on the street out front.

“I’m sitting under a sign that says Maui Air,” Vinnie says. The sign says Maui Air, I repeat back questioningly and look up at the pilots as the words hit the three of us simultaneously. Clearly, there has been a communication breakdown in the emails and text messages that have mapped out Vinnie’s end of vacation visit to Oahu to meet up with me. Let me call you back, I tell him and look to the pilots for suggestions.

One thing I learn on this day is that pilots love to fly, anytime, anywhere. A few quick calls and the decision is made to fly back across Oahu and head to Maui to grab Vinnie. The pilots are excited to get more airtime and we climb back into the plane and then the sky. Mount Wai’ale’ale peaks through the clouds giving us a rare peek at the wettest spot on earth as we head back towards Oahu.

Kolekole Pass sits in our sights as we cross over North Shore and the surf town of Haleiwa. The waves are pounding the shore and we fly low above a set that would set a surfer’s heart racing. The legend of Japanese warplanes sneaking through Kolekole Pass as they descended on Pearl Harbor weighs on my mind as I watch that landscape change from blue to green. A cell phone rings and the aviation office needs the plane back earlier than planned. Rather than a straight shot over Oahu to Maui, we touch down back in Honolulu to trade in the Cessna for a smaller Piper. On Maui, Vinnie still sits beside a runway on his golf club travel case.

            The plane dips below a few wandering clouds and stays a few hundred yards off shore as we pass Molokai. To our right, three thousand foot cliffs rise from the ocean as perplexed waves slam into them, not expecting to bump into something so large out here in the middle of the ocean. Up ahead, Kalaupapa juts out from the rock cliffs, forming a flat peninsula of lush green. The pilots want to touch down for a brief stop but I remind them of our original mission who has been now waiting three hours outside in the Maui sunshine. We come in low of Kalaupapa regardless and the pilot points out the few landmarks that remain of the infamous leper colony formed here in 1866. For the second time today, the sobering weight of history is felt through the plane’s cabin.

            The sun reaches its apex as we approach the Maui runway. I text Vinnie to look for our blue Piper and he excitedly messages back that he sees us as the wheels touch down. We taxi to the fence where he sits and take inventory of his luggage, how much we weigh, and the lack of space in the plane. The backseat becomes a trunk with Vinnie and I wedged to each side and bags stacked to the cabin’s roof. In the front seat, one pilot holds a bag to his chest so the other can pull all the way back on the yoke and get us back in the air. Overloaded and tired, there seems like only one logical thing to do. We point the plane towards Lana’i to seek out a cheeseburger that is legendary in these islands.

            Crossing the channel between Maui and Lana’i, we fly over a shipwrecked oil tanker from World War II. The ship still sits on the reef; its concrete hull withstanding both the pounding currents and the erosion that eats away at most ships. More than anything, it looks like a set piece from Waterworld, the infamous Kevin Costner film that was shot on and around these islands.  Turning our attention to the land ahead, we cross the secluded island and pass over its only town. The plane lands heavily, happy to get a breather after carrying more weight than usual.

            Keola emerges from the fire station and welcomes the pilots. His fire truck lazily keeps an eye on the runway and the three or four flights that arrive each day.  He quickly offers us his rusted but strong truck to head into town and grab lunch as long as we promise to wave to every car so they don’t think he’s being rude. Missing a back seat, we crouch down and bounce along the twelve miles of road that encompass the island, waving to everyone and getting smiles and waves in return. Descending towards the shore, the Four Seasons resort sparkles like a diamond ahead.

            We wander into the lobby of a magnificent hotel that opens to a perfect crescent of white sand and calm, clear water. We sit near the pool and order drinks as a pair of whales breach just outside Hulopoe Bay. The only things that can pull our attention from the whales are the cheeseburgers that soon arrive. Exceeding the hype of the pilots, these burgers and the view accompanying them brings a deeper meaning to the phrase cheeseburger in paradise. With some regret, we drive back to the airstrip and thank Keola for his hospitality.

            Climbing into the sky for the final time, we race the sunset to Oahu, keeping the plane over water to avoid the trade winds that could give a “slightly” overloaded plane some trouble on approach. The landing comes off smooth and we disentangle ourselves from the backseat of the Piper. The fuel usage numbers are crunched and just for laughs, we weigh the luggage and ourselves to see how hard the little plane worked. The pilots look at each other concerned about the total and I take that as our cue to head for Waikiki.

            Ten hours after arriving on Kaua’i and realizing I flew to the wrong island to pick up Vinnie, we are finally in Waikiki, enjoying Mai Tai’s on the beach at Duke’s Canoe Club. The last hint of pink fades from the sky as night falls over Hawaii. Nothing went as planned today and our trip to North Shore and Pearl Harbor would have to wait until tomorrow. As I’ve learned many times in Hawaii, it’s when things go nothing as planned that the beauty and adventure of living in these islands is fully realized. Waitress, two more Mai Tai’s please.