I used to scale these sheer cliffs in Waimanalo, when we lived here on O'ahu.

November 28th, 2013, 1pm

It was 27.4°C with few clouds. The breeze was light.

There’s a trail that leads up one of those ridges to the sawtooth summit above. No ropes or cables to aid the ascent, just one’s judgment on which rock or root outcropping is solid enough to bear one’s weight.

Also, avoiding guard dogs on someone’s marijuana patch at the foot of the cliff is essential. They were eerily quiet, too. I only noticed them when I heard the ominous growling when I was close enough to see their raised hackles. Fortunately for me that one time, the owner was also there, and somehow quickly ascertained that I wasn’t there to make off with his plantings.

This was back in the early ’80s, and I had no idea that, a quarter century later, I would be hanai to someone who grew up in the neighborhood. The stories I would run into were far more interesting, and deadly, than my thankfully innocent encounter with those dogs that one time.


Cassie and Chris said thanks.

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Lloyd Nebres

I lived in a village and homestead set aside for people of Hawaiian ancestry. I am not Hawaiian but had been adopted into the culture—to my profound gratitude.

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