Not the Yellow Brick Road of Big Island

It was not what I had bargained for. The day started out on journey to one of Hawaii's famed black beaches. I imagined soaking up the warm, moist Hawaii air while toasting my backside from beneath by heat-retaining coal-black sand. My mind imagined the cool breeze and dip in the ocean cooled by natural springs. The only company I wanted were the Honu's I expected to see doing likewise: basking.

Our trip to Kona had so far been below the surface; with three dives in one day, including a night dive with over 16 enormous Manta Rays, I was in the mood to relax.

Passing lava flows of old down the coast on the Kona side, we discussed the murmurs we heard of the green beach not far from South Point (the most Southern point in the USA). My husband's sudden South Point curiosity foreshadowed our excursion, but I was too busy imagining my sun worshiping to pay attention.

I was rudely ripped from my day-dreaming by a sudden right turn at South Point. "Where are we going?!" I asked with mounting anxiety. "I think it will be neat to stand at the most southern point of the United States." my husband replied coolly.

Past horses and cows out to pasture, past abandoned windmill farms, past gigantic satellite receivers we drove and into what seemed to be another dimension. We could have been in any number of isolated not-over populated places in the USA. Depending on which way you looked, you might have been in the midwest, central coast California or even Hawaii.

After driving for what seemed like days, but was probably more like 15 minutes, we reached a fork in the road. Our rental car not being a 4WD, we opted for what seemed like the "safe bet". As is often the case, however, the "safe bet" was quite boring although it did reveal our true reason for being here: the elusive green sand beach. While admiring the rugged coast line of South Point, my husband casually asked another non-4WD admirer about the green sand beach. We were instructed that it is exclusively 4WD and about about 3 miles from where we stood. My husband's puppy dog eyes pleaded with me, but I simply said "no, that's a long walk.", without revealing the true depth of my hang-over from the night before. A small random sign beckoned me, as my husband mulled over our options, revealing that the land on which we stood was a burial ground. I secretly wished to be among them.

Back in the car, we discuss our options. "Let's take the road less traveled" I suggested, secretly thinking it would lead to a similarly no-where place. We journeyed down a one-lane access road. Actually calling it a road would be an exaggeration. We past seemingly random boats on trailers, until we reached a stopping point, and coincidentally, a boat put-in. Here we learned that the green sand beach was tantalizingly close at only 1.5 miles.

In a total collapse of resistance, I agreed to the hike.

Despite my hang-over status, I carried no water; 1.5 miles is a cinch, even in my state.

The path itself was a mixture of super-fine lava dust and lava rock; a combination desert and moonscape. The swift breeze sweeping through my hair and the crash of the Pacific on the coast were my only reprieve. After walking in flip flops across this hazardous and dirty terrain for about 1/2 hour, we came across three hikers (in hiking boots!) carrying walking sticks (we had no walking sticks!). However, one of the hikers was quite elderly, lulling me into a false sense of security (false as undoubtedly, this gentleman hadn't had numerous flavored vodka drinks at Lulu's during Karaoke night the preceding evening). They urged us along on our hike and said it was "only another 1.5 miles."


"1.5 miles from here?" I screeched. Knowing how to exact inspiration, my husband encouraged me "you don't want to walk all this way and turn around now, do you?" Actually, I did, but as they say "never let them see you sweat."

We trod on, over every hill, we saw more lava fields; the yellow brick road this path was not. I began to get very thirsty and the salt water surrounding us mocked me relentlessly. There was almost no wild life except for other people occasionally appearing in the distance. All, appearing to be heading back to where we had just came. The next group of hikers told us we were "almost there" about another "1.5 miles to that giant rock" they cheerfully stated. My husband carefully smiled and kept putting one flip-flopped foot in front of another.

After another 25 minutes I screamed "Its a mirage!" stopping in my place, dirty hands on hips I stated "There is no giant rock! It's a cruel joke." The path crept in multiple directions, leading me to question whether we were going the right away. But despite my entreaties, even I knew there was no turning around now. I entertained myself by watching the powerful ocean forces slam into the coast and imagined the earliest Polynesian settlers who came here. I wondered what they thought as they made ground in this wild and desolate section of the island. I wondered what they did for water and if they felt vindicated by discovering what I had yet to see that day: a beach of any sand color.

As we approached the "giant rock", I began to anticipate the sand color. Exactly what color green would this sand be? Would it be like the Emerald city in Wizard of Oz? Would it be the gritty green color of the military helicopters flying overhead? What exactly does a green sand beach look like? Getting closer to the edge, I anticipated seeing it for myself...then, once again, I was jarred back into reality. The green sand beach stood tantalizingly close, but as I looked down into the cove and around its edges, I could see no way down. Every edge looked dangerous. Yet, there were people down there - frolicking in the waves. Running through the exotic sand, unknowingly testing my resolve.

Like crabs, we crawled around the uneven and sheered edge, we discovered the small miracle of a ladder, though short, it encouraged me to move towards our mighty goal: the beach of a golden green color I couldn't have imagined. Ironically, walking barefoot down into the cove proved to be my best option.

Finally. There I was in a small, desolate cove, with 4-foot waves crashing onto the most pristine and glorious beach I had ever seen. I tore off my sweaty, dirty clothes, ran across the mineral sand and jumped into the blue water and green sand consomme. Thus relieved, I looked at the cove from the water, the steep climb in and out, and across the smiling faces of the wise ones who had been here before, I knew.

I knew it was worth it.

We snarled in and out of the waves, beached ourselves in the precious sand. Collapsed in laughter beneath the cliffs surrounding us. After exhausting ourselves in the currents and rolling around in green sand, I realized I had kicked my hang-over. The sun was out...and had discovered a place that didn't even have a paved road.

I did make it to the black sand beach that day, in time to watch the sun collapse into late afternoon shadows. But somehow, the fact that we drove up to the beach took some of the excitement out of it.