Ocean Watch

I'm writing this column from Maui, where I have spent the last three weeks on a writing retreat.

It's been quite an experience living among mostly visitors and newcomers, because they share their ideas and impressions of Hawaii. Early on, I decided to not reveal my home address and just listen. That, however, turned out to be harder than I thought.

My first morning in Kihei, I took a walk on Kamaole Beach. As I admired the symmetrically spaced holes and hills made by a large community of ghost crabs, an enthused man approached me. "Look," he said, "there are two manta rays right there. I've been watching them from my lanai."

Sure enough, two mantas swirled at the surface within shouting distance. And that's exactly what another man began to do, shout. "Get out of the water!" he yelled to his adult daughter, who was snorkeling nearby, "Hurry!"

"What?" she called.

"STING RAYS! RIGHT HERE! GET OUT OF THE WATER!"

I couldn't stand it. I confessed -- and the guy argued with me. OK, he feared for his daughter, but I had a solution. I trotted to my condo for mask and snorkel, and soon the woman (who was not the least bit afraid) and I were snorkeling in flat, calm water looking for the rays.

The rays took off when we approached, but that was OK. Dozens of slate pencil sea urchins littered the submerged rocks beneath us. In that clear water and morning light, those bright red urchins looked like shimmering flowers in a basalt garden.

When I came back to the beach, a group of people stood slack-jawed, staring out to sea. I turned in time to see two explosions of water as first a mother humpback and then her baby breached just offshore.

The sun peeping over Haleakala warmed my skin, and the animals warmed my heart. It was one of those perfect mornings that made me really appreciate living in Hawaii.

"You live here in Kihei?" the now-calm father asked me.

"No, Oahu," I said.

"Too bad," he replied. "But I suppose you have to live over there to get work."

I try to let statements like this go -- but the things people say. A woman cutting my hair told me that Oahu has no good places to go snorkeling. "There's Hanauma Bay," I offered.

"It's wrecked," she informed me. "The fish are almost all dead there from people walking on the reef." That's what someone told her. She'd lived on Maui for three months and hadn't been to Oahu.

One visitor told me that she and her family vacationed only on Maui and would never go to another island. "But each one is different," I said, "with its own beauty and charm."

"But Maui is no ka oi," she said, and then added, "That means it's the best."

During my daily walks, I discovered a corner of sandy beach where several hunakai (sanderlings) hang out. This place is noisy with traffic and not pristine, but those little shorebirds love that spot, running tirelessly up and down the break collecting food. They found a good niche.

I have, too. For me, Oahu offers the perfect blend of city, country, nature and culture. I like Maui and the other islands, but when I go home, I'm happy that it's to Oahu. It may not be no ka oi for everyone, but it sure is for me.