Pohue Bay

We were camped out at Pohue Bay, one of the remote beaches we monitored for sea turtle nesting activity as interns with the Hawksbill Turtle Project. It was 4 days on, three days off, but Daniel liked to pull a double shift, he’d be out there for a week straight. He just loved nature that much. I’d never met a kid our age with his quiet self confidence, like he was at peace with himself and the world. Jan, on the other hand, was cheerful, talkative, quick to crack a joke. She’s come out from the Mainland with her sister to do this work, but her parents were from Hawaii; the two of them were here to connect with their roots. 

The work was equal parts adventure and boredom. We were on the beach every night 'til 1am, on the lookout for sea turtles, no lights allowed, only the moonlight to aid us. It would be hours of sitting on the sand in the dark trying to keep each other awake by telling stories, cracking jokes, spotting constellations and inventing our own. We hadn’t seen a single turtle on this trip, though we were keeping watch over a nest marked out in the sand above the high tide line.

Despite the late nights, we were up at the crack of dawn every morning to spend most of the day hiking down the coast checking other potential nesting sites. This area was all recent lava flow, a monotonous landscape until it met the ocean, where waves had carved it into dramatic formations. We spotted sea arches just off shore and paused to admire a water spout, waiting for the biggest waves to push through an unseen sea cave and blow a pillar of water high up into the air through a hole in the lava. After four days of this routine we packed up the big white ex-military Suburban and headed down the road.

Well, I say road. Getting to this beach required over an hour and a half drive down the highway that circles the Big Island. After that you turned onto what you might call a lava rock road. Not a dirt road. There’s no dirt. It was a lava field, hardly any vegetation. At some point a rock-breaking machine came through and pummeled out a path through the lava, leaving a trail of fist-sized loose rocks that could be traversed by a 4-wheel drive vehicle if you knew what you were doing and you didn’t mind a very bumpy ride at low speed. This part of the journey took another hour and a half over the barren landscape. At the end you reached Pohue Bay, the most beautiful little half-moon curve of white sand beach with a scattering of coconut trees and scrappy coastal foliage.

But now it was time to head back to our cabins at Volcanoes National Park where we lived on our days off. We rumbled and rattled slowly through the lava field. We were halfway back to the highway when the car crapped out. Engine died and it wouldn’t restart. We pulled out the for-emergencies-only cell phone. It was 2001; it was no smart phone. The reception was practically nonexistent out there so we had this little signal boosting antenna with a magnet in it that you stuck to the roof of the car. We got that all going but it was no good. We couldn’t get a call through to our supervisor back at the Park.

We all looked at each other, trying not to panic. What now? None of us knew a thing about fixing cars. Then someone remembered we had seen a family camping at the little lagoon near the beach. It was noteworthy; usually we were the only people for miles around. Maybe they had a cell phone with better reception. Maybe they could help us fix the car. Maybe they could help. We decided to split up. Daniel and I would walk back to the coast while Jan stayed with the car. By now it was nearly mid day. It felt like a long walk on that hot, dusty road, the loose rocks turning under our feet.

When we got to the lagoon, it was like stumbling upon a little slice of civilization. The lagoon was shaded with pandanus trees. The couple and their two kids were just sitting down to have lunch. They had a folding table spread with food and a camp stove. They saw our sweaty, exhausted faces and insisted we join them. They sat us down in their camp chairs and gave us cold drinks, plates of fruit, potato salad and grilled burgers. Over lunch we told them our predicament.

They lent us a cell phone and Daniel tried to make a call. Miraculously, he got through to Mat back at the Park. He would send someone to come pick us up. Daniel and I thanked our new friends and reluctantly left our shady little oasis for the long, hot walk back to the SUV. When we got there, Jan had set up the camp stove on the rocky road behind the vehicle and was crouched next to it heating up whatever camp food she had fished out of her backpack. Despite the long walk, I felt we had gotten the better part of the deal.

Long hours passed while we waited by the car, sitting on lava rocks, surrounded by more lava rocks in every direction. We amused ourselves seeing who could throw rocks to hit targets composed of more rocks. Eventually we spotted our rescuer: a big white pickup truck rumbling slowly down the rough road. He was a young park ranger, a local guy, strong and handsome and in good spirits considering this was probably not in his plans for the day. 

After we got all our gear loaded in the bed and ourselves loaded into the cab, the guy said, "It’s been ages since I’ve been to Pohue Bay. It’s a beautiful spot, really special.”

 Yes, we all agreed, it is. 

“You wouldn’t mind, would you, if I just had a quick swim before we head back?”

It was late afternoon at this point and we’d spent all day stranded on this dusty road. After four days of camping, I couldn’t wait to get back to my cabin and get a shower. But none of us felt like we could say ‘no’ to this guy, our hero. So we rumbled on down to Pohui Bay once again. At least this time I wasn’t on foot. When we arrived, I was too tired to want to get out of the truck. I just sat there and watched him strip down to his boxer shorts and go for a swim in the unquestionably beautiful bay. I had to admit, it really was a special place.  

 

Self portrait at Pohue Bay

 

Skull Cave

Kevin’s dad dropped us off 

At the end of the road

So he could show us the Skull Cave

You have to know where to go 

In the sea of uluhe, ohia, wild orchids

How to look for the crumbled rock entrance

And climb way back where

the day’s warmth never reaches

And there on a rock shelf,          

some ancient skulls rested

We turned the flashlight off

There is a kind of dark

that exists inside caves

It’s not the dark you get 

when you close your eyes

or in your bed at night

when the lights are off

It is the total absence of light

You start to feel you are floating

In the centre of the Earth

or inside your own head

When we climbed back out

we waited to be picked up

We laid down on the hot, cracked tarmac

at the end of the road

the dense jungle smells blowing over us

We showed Kevin the game

Where you close your eyes

And you press the heels of your hands over them

And you start to see things

We laid with our heads on each other’s stomachs

so we formed a sort of human trinity knot

and told each other our visions

until the images inside our heads

started to converge 

I reached for that Skull Cave so many times

in the years of adolescent turbulence

Sometimes I could travel all the way down

to that darkness, that stillness, that quiet

But it's the glow of connection I reach for now

our hands pressed tight against the sun

our heads resting on each other

trying to weave together our very thoughts

Time Warps

13: Dammit, Janet 

My cousins are visiting from Florida and they say they went to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show and they did audience participation. They try to explain what that is but I can’t make any sense of it. The next time I’m at my aunt’s house I mention it to her. She says that I should really see it. She says that she saw that movie as a young woman and it changed her life. So I have to find out what it’s all about.

I ask my parents to rent the video the next time we are at Blockbuster and I sit on the carpet in our living room and watch it and it’s confusing and exciting and weird. I feel like Janet, thrust into a world I don’t understand. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. My mom comes in toward the end and switches it off when she sees the orgy scene in the pool. I am shocked that my auntie encouraged me to watch this. She seems so normal, so domestic. And I still don’t know what audience participation is. 

15: There’s A Light 

They’re showing the Rocky Horror Picture Show for Halloween. With audience participation! Me and my friends - we are prepared. We looked on the Internet and we found a list of what to shout and what to throw and when to throw it. We printed out the list and rented the video and practiced. I’m going to be Magenta because I’ve already got the frizzy hair and I’ve still got my white apron and black mini skirt from a play I was in last year.

Vincent shows up at my house dressed as Brad, looking awkward with his scruffy mullet and an oversized suit he probably borrowed from his dad. I can’t imagine why he’d choose the most boring character in the whole movie. But I guess it was the safe option.

We have to get my parents to drive us out to the little hippie town of Pahoa to the ancient Akebono Theater with its creaky wooden seats. We have got our costumes and our makeup, our toilet paper rolls and newspapers and water guns. There’s no shadow cast, no virgin initiation. But we get to shout rude words and throw things and it’s amazing. We can’t really explain why but it’s important. We are all weird little theater kids. Probably a lot of us are queer, but we don’t know how to talk about it yet. We don’t have queer role models. We don't have Chappell Roan or Heartstopper. But once a year, we have the Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

17: Don’t Dream It 

It’s my senior year and the Akebono is doing something different this time. They are doing the actual play of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Not a screening, not a shadow cast. Only last year we begged our drama club teacher to let us do this play and she said it was really hard to get the rights. But maybe she just thought it was too risque for high school. We get all dressed up and bring our props; they are still doing audience participation. The experience is magical. They guy playing Frank-n-Furter is glorious. There’s a moment near the end, after all the chaos and murder. Things get quiet and the lights go down and he’s in the spotlight singing “Don’t dream it, be it,” sweat and glitter shimmering on his face. There’s toilet paper trailing off the ceiling fan making slow swirls above us through the warm night air. 

28: I’m Going Home 

It’s only been a year since me and my partner moved to New Zealand but it's already starting to feel like home. When I hear that Rocky Horror is playing at the most beautiful grand old theater in Wellington, of course I have to go. My partner and my new friends are coming with me. I’m going to be Columbia because I’ve got the right hair - cropped short year round. I’ve dyed it red for the occasion.

When we arrive at the theater we are handed prop bags. The Embassy is big with ornate carved wood paneling. The chairs have plush upholstery and cup holders. I have a great time, though my friends don’t have the same connection to the experience that I do. There’s a shadow cast which really does add another dimension. My high school friends would have loved it.

I used to go as Magenta because I wanted to be her - wild, bold, bad-ass. But I can admit now that I’ve always been more of a Columbia. She acts cool and terrifying like the rest of her crew, but deep down she’s kind and sensitive and quick to love and sometimes that gets her in trouble. But I’d like to think I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m more comfortable being myself these days. 

44: Super Heroes

I talked to a friend about this thing I'm writing, and it turns out they have a history with the show too; they get it. I found out that the Embassy is still doing a show every September. We’ve just missed it, but maybe we’ll go next year. I’m feeling thankful for the organisers who have been keeping the show going in Wellington. The Akebono is long gone now, closed down and then torn down, but something occurs to me that I’d never thought of before. All those years ago, there must have been some Rocky Horror fanatic that made it all happen. I thought we didn’t have any queer elders looking out for us, but there must have been someone working behind the scenes, conjuring that space for us, a fairy godmother we never met.

All I Saw When I Didn’t See The Aurora

Searching for a shimmering dream

turquoise, peach and tangerine

Danced across our dreaming minds

Wonders which we hoped to find

All we found - a darkened beach

Grey and silver light had bleached

Strewn like driftwood ‘long the coast

People perched like watchful ghosts

Stopping later 'top the the hills 

One more chance to see it still -

Gentle teal and azure blue

Softest pinks, a hazy hue

Only city lights below

Beyond, the harbour’s tranquil glow

Other seekers strolling by

Searching grey and dusky sky

Woke up feverish from my dreams

Of elusive vivid streams

Emerald, chartreuse, key lime pie

Snaking phantoms up the sky

Outside nothing there to see 

Shivering down a dark wet street

Dove and charcoal, silver, smoke

Glint of light the wind can stoke

Son and I strolled down the street

Darkened schoolyard - there to seek

Amethyst and autumn reds

Lavenders in silky threads

Only saw what streetlights show

Urban lights set clouds aglow

Starlight danced across his hair

Dancing, humming, spinning there

Stood under the sky alone

Just beyond the glow of home

Didn’t think of vivid greens

Subtle shades of salmon’s sheen

Watched the stars spark smokey sky

Clouds behemoths drifting by

Thought of all that’s left to seek

Crept back in and went to sleep

 

 

 12 May 2024 

That we can still dance

I stood just outside the door

Where the air was cool

I stood, mask off, face hot

I saw my friend dancing 

Trying something new

I saw an elderly couple dancing

Even when the music stopped

I saw a mother dancing 

Spinning her daughter round and round

I saw everyone dancing

And my head was spinning

But I couldn't stop grinning

That we can still dance

Even when the day was lost

And we face impossible odds

We can still dance 

That I can still dance

Even when my breath betrays

And my hope has flown away

I can still dance

We started in a circle

It felt like figure dancing

And line dancing too

Step, step, clap, spin

Change of partners

Hello, it's nice to meet you

Like when we danced a jig

At the Starry Plough

Like the electric slide

In middle school 

A spinning, dancing line

Following me through time

That I can still dance

The world forever changed

My heart feeling this pain

But I can still dance

That we can still dance

Outside the freezing rain 

beats at the window panes

But we can still dance

 

 15.5.23  

Do not become a tourist

Do not become a tourist 

in your own life

Rushing from one attraction

to the next

Ticking off every destination

In the book

Be an explorer

Wander off the page

Be curious

get lost

Do not take pictures

Of the view

Flatten the landscape

Between the pages 

Of your book

You are not here

To make memories

 

Instead make mistakes

Make friends

Make a mess

Make the best of it

Make it up as you go

 

17.7.23 

In The Tall Grass

 I just came across an old journal entry that explains a bit about what In The Tall Grass means to me. It's not a poem, though maybe I should turn it into one. Here is an extract from that journal entry:

A catcher in the rye is like a teacher, creating a safe space for children to be free, to be wild, to be themselves. We gathered the tall grass in the field next door, because ours was too short, and we hung it up around the hosue. I want a house where I can let the grass grow tall, and plant what I like where I like and not care what the neghbours think.

A front lawn, in our society, is like a woman's body, subject to public scrutiny, fair game for comment and criticism by anyone viewing it. It never just is. It is always on display. A well kept lawn is a landing strip. Is a Brazillian. A meadow is a bush.

Grass let grow tall is free to reveal it's true identity, it's full height, its shape and colour, grow seeds and be fertile, the seeds grow in such a beautiful diversity of shapes and patterns. A lawn let grow wild becomes an ecoystem, with buttercups, little white daisies, sturdy dandelions, and so many other things. One can lie in the tall grass and watch the butterflies. In a meadow, one can be wild and free. One doesn't need to do anything to justify being in a meadow. 

One is ON a lawn, and one might feel the need to play croquet or barbecue or throw a frisbee or play catch or… One is IN a meadow and all that needs doing is simply being there. Looking at butterflies perhaps. Laying down, one is surrounded by the tall grass, embraced by nature, and one can simply be satisfied to look at the sky.