Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
November 3, 1997
I recently returned from a trip to San Francisco, where I spent most of my two weeks wondering why I don’t live there.
I love this place, I told myself as I hung over the railing at Fisherman’s Wharf watching California sea lions rest on the docks. These marine mammals have boldly staked a claim on a portion of the public boat harbor, ignoring passing boats and gawking tourists.
We Hawaii folks are used to tiptoeing around our shy, skittish seals, but California sea lions don’t require such coddling. Instead, these brassy animals constantly test the limits of human tolerance.
“Brawwwwk!” a big guy roars at the people.
Up he rears, brazenly waving his furry head back and forth. You have to admire such pluck.
I have to drag myself from this choice viewing spot to check out a new aquarium down the street. The entrance fee is $13, a bit pricey, I think. Then I get inside.
A worker hands me a page of colorful fish drawings, each numbered, then hangs a compact disk player around my neck and places earphones on my head.
If I’m interested in a fish, I’m to enter its number on the player.
As I’m fiddling with my gear, an elevator, decorated like the interior of a submarine, descends. We’re diving now, my disk tells me.
When the doors open, I discover I am indeed underwater, but in an odd way. I’m inside a glass tube, standing on a conveyor belt that runs through an enormous, busy fish tank.
This is great fun, especially when big sharks and rays pass overhead. I’m especially impressed with my compact disk, which receives signals from various locations and plays appropriate information for wherever I happen to be.
I forge on, renting a car and driving to Point Reyes National Seashore, an hour north of the city.
Once there, I meet a surfer who tells me of a trail that ends in marine heaven: great surf breaks, a harbor seal hangout and tons of seabirds and shorebirds.
I’m there the next morning and find everything he promised.
Harbor seals doze by the dozens, and marine birds entertain me for hours.
I even witness one of nature’s best recycling systems in action: turkey vultures devouring the carcass of a dead seal.
My favorite saltwater experience during this California vacation, though, occurred in the most unlikely of places: Death Valley National Monument, hours from the ocean.
There, a ranger tells of the Death Valley pupfish, a saltwater species that lives only in the park. Over geological time, the fresh water of the area’s former lakes evaporated, eventually forming puddles about as salty as the ocean.
The 2-inch long pupfish was the only fish to adapt and survive.
Off I go to check out Death Valley’s wetlands. Like most park wetlands, the place has a boardwalk with interpretive signs. However, there’s one missing ingredient: water. The place is bone dry.
OK, so it’s their dry season. But that’s what is so amazing about the pupfish. During such dry times, the fish burrow deep into mud formed by underground springs. When winter rains fall and create pools, the fish pop out and reproduce like mad. Come spring, the water evaporates and the little fish head back down.
I didn’t see any pupfish, but knowing they were down there, wallowing in the salty mud, was nearly as good.
I got on the plane to Hawaii a few days ago marveling at my California experiences and wondering if perhaps it’s time to consider a move. Then we landed.
The warm breeze, the flowers, the ocean, the mixed plate of people . . . Oh, it was good.
Traveling, exploring and dreaming is fun, but for me, there will never be a better place to call home than Hawaii.