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I was naked when I wrote this. Forgive me if it goes astray…

If you’re reading this you’re most likely on your computer right now, unless of course you have a kind friend who printed it out and posted it on the restroom wall to browse like a stall street journal. I myself am on the computer since I haven’t figured out a way to reverse the process of writing on a bathroom wall and getting it on the Internet. Perhaps digital panels next to public toilets are in our future to save the poetry that floweth from our fingertips while we flush toxin and waste from our bodies. Currently I’m consuming toxins by staring at this laptop and sipping Kona Coffee simultaneously. The result is temporarily uplifting because it compares not to the scenic overview of my surroundings. I’m in Hawaii in search of the perfect desktop image and/or screensaver and to study that which is what makes me wonder the why and how of the peaceful chaos that is the island sound paired with hula style dancing. [editor’s note: this entry will take up your entire Friday]

We all customize our computer screens with personal pics of friends and locations sometimes to outdo others or remind us of good times in recent past. I’m all about this side project since I use my computer so much when I’m on the mainland. When I return home I’ll have hundreds of shimmering images to share with my friends, neighbors on airplanes, and my heart of course as high-resolution photo-documents lay before me like a placemat for devouring future writings. [editor’s note: if you use a standard default backdrop and don’t wish to customize or Feng Shui your digital environment, may god help you.]

Before I move on to tell you about the naked adventure I should backtrack a little and thank everyone who wrote and called back in June to wish me a happy birthday. I even got a call from John Mayer, which brings regret for writing once that he’d never return my call. I didn’t call anyone back so what does it matter. It’s best I do a mass blast to say Mahalo for the kind words and gifts of love, gadgetry and wasabi peas. I appreciate the friendships I have all over the world and your blessings warm my soul like a towel fresh from the dryer. [editor’s note: socks from the dryer also warm my soul but this is flip flop season.]

I also wish to thank everyone who worked on Mr. A-Z inside and out, on the front end as well as everyone on the back end that purchased it so far. The results from the first weeks were astounding and remind me to walk softly and live humbly as they do here in Hawaii. I forget sometimes that so many people are into the little ditties I craft around my adventures. The support is encouraging and I shall do my best to continue because of your interest and love of the art. [editor’s note: remind me never to refer to my songs as little ditties again.]

I’m not blingin’ out by the way being in Hawaii. This is no top down drivin’ around with chrome rims and gold chains kind of retreat. We’re not sippin’ fruity cocktails with umbrella’s yet, nor are we making love of piles of cash. Heck no. What I’m doing out here is primitive and a way to reconnect with the Mana (energy of the earth) and remind myself where I am, where I came from, what I’m doing here, how small I am, how important I am, how unimportant I am, how unimportant everything is, how amazing life can be, how simple life should be, and so on. I have as many insecurities as the next person so it’s vital to my health that I feed on raw nature every once in awhile, frolicking in the nude, and accepting that I am the way mother nature intended and there’s little I can do about it. I work in a business that’s eager to define us and make us into a character that operates like an enormous soap opera of gossip in a cyber-reality based program. It moves so fast these days that the reality becomes an exaggeration of who/what we truly are, turning ordinary people into stars. If you should become affected by this manifestation it’s best to believe it only to an extent that your heart knows how to cope with it while not hurting others in the process. Everyone rides they’re own ride and shouldn’t let the opinions of others deter them from making decisions they’re naturally drawn to. This was my mission over here and why I lived in the valley for three days with little food and only a chance meeting with a boat to bail me out. [editor’s note: I’d like to buy a boat. And give it to the homeless of course.]

At this point I’m just going to copy from my hand written journal. I think the repetitive and sparse sloppiness along with my vulnerable spirit of trying makes for a more interesting read. Enjoy.

FRIDAY:

Invisible in Kalalau Valley, Northwest Kauai

Naked on bench of fallen stones. River boulders carved from ancient lava. I am liberating. I am me chosen not by me physically speaking. I’m just another creature when you get down to it. Yet I still tip toe around nudity even among the no one-ness of paradise. But I am learning.

We are 11 miles west of Ke’e on the coast of Na Pali. It is August 4th or 5th I think. Yes. The 5th, a good date to be here and good number to plea to justify my invisibility.

We hit the trail at 7am. It was still evening when we left home an hour away.

The first two miles were nothing. We breezed over Hanakapi’ai without ever removing our shirts. The morning sun hadn’t found us yet hiding in the shade of the forest. The 4 miles of morning that followed us through the varied terrain, mostly dirt narrowed by thick brush and near death gave way to the pace we were hoping for. By 11am we were 6 miles in at Hanakoa valley for lunch. We pumped water and dried our feet. My companion, Billy Bush and I bought 20$ recommended footwear, an identical set of stretchy stretch pant fabric or wet suit like material over a sole shape of brillo, ideal for rock hopping and water skimming as if barefoot. Our friend and planner, Paolo, back in town thought we may push through this area but we are different than he. We needed the short rest and sustenance. Paolo chose not to come with us since we would do what he does and insisted we have our adventure and fix our own mistakes. We agreed as he high fived us and told us how stoked we were.

Mile 7, 8, and 9 were horrendous. 7 is nothing but desert cliff and bare rock with little shade about 600 feet above ocean blue, home to sea turtles and vertigo. 8 & 9 were blow throughs with head spins, delirium, and the acceptance that our dogs were getting tired.

Our toes were pink and wrinkled more so than the dried grapes and nuts in our trail mix. Soft sweaty feet have no compassion for a stone in the road.

My pelvis buckled on the inclines of 8 & 9. I was sure my head would explode and toss me over the edge towards the sea turtles, knocking the goat family out of their way. They were fancy steppers those goats, skipping nonchalantly on the brink of existence. One false move and those goats are divorced.

We also saw frogs in a still pool below a dried stream. One was riding the other’s back. They seemed pretty chill and didn’t mind our stares. Also saw pheasant, colored birds a plenty, and a few hikers coming back, most of whom had me gender confused. We call them Pat. One Pat gave Bush some duct tape since his super shoe split open at the seams only 20 minutes into the 7 hour trek. She/He recommended we not go further with his shoes like that for the cliffs would not be kind to his balance and traction. Bush said he was going no matter what so we’d gladly take the duct tape and be on our way taking no more harsh criticism from Pat who was quickly bumming us out with Its wisdom of what lie ahead.

Other Pats passed by or stopped for water when we did. I threw one the Shaka while I dipped my dong in the song of the babbling stream. This was my first attempt at public nudity but had the bubble of the river current to cover me so it didn’t really count. Plus, I wouldn’t really call this being in public.

Mile 10 was well worth the run. A little after 2pm we’re dirt dead and ready for the bath. The icy mountain water was heaven to my legs, dry skin and sunburned areas. We pumped more water, dried our clothes and snacked mix.

There is a fork in the road at mile 10 where you must choose the beach or become invisible. Being spotted on the beach could mean getting fined since neither of us had the permits to be there. It’s a state park after all and they do what they can to regulate the amount of visitors to preserve the natural beauty of the oldest settlement in Hawaii.

Less than a mile up the Kalalau Valley Trail we find solace next to the rushing mini river of the same name. This is where we decide to pitch our tent, hang our clothes and soak up the spray of a natural spa, basking in the spotted rays of sunlight through the trees with a baby waterfall massaging your shoulders and tired feet. It is here I begin my liberation. I have no towel and only one pair of shorts that I choose to keep dry and must dry myself in the breeze that the trees make. Only Bushwalla has to choose whether he’s comfortable with my standing free or not. It’s a 10-year friendship already so it doesn’t really matter.

Soon we’ll eat our feast of beans and cucumber and sip hot tea like civilized libertarians. We’ll discuss the wonder of what we chose to do with our weekend. We are off the deep end. We are in the thick end, hardened by our might and plight of a state park trail. This will be remembered and I will sleep my best tonight.

SATURDAY:

I slept my worst last night. We should’ve brought more blankets or padded under our tent with leaves or straw. Although we slept for nearly 12 hours, 7pm to 6:30am through the darkness of jungle night, we woke twice an hour to roll over and do what we could to ease the pain of a shoulder or hip suffering the affects of gravity and gravel.

Bush was attempting to spear Crawfish while I slept an extra hour using his portion of the blanket.

At 8:30 we enjoyed more tea and yoga and agreed we’d save our little bits of food before the day’s big hike.

Last night while washing the pot after burning the beans and rice, I accidentally dropped it into the current of the stream and reduced our load. Luckily we still had a small pan. Otherwise there would be no more hot meals or beverage. I’m an idiot. But this is camping.

Our campsite is beautiful. The running water never lets up. The sun shines through exactly where and when you want it to. Up stream about 50 yards is a charming pool about 4 feet deep with an open invitation for a bath.

Today’s hike is entirely Valley based and we should’ve worn flip-flops. Our dime store amphibian shoes do work well, it would just be nice to stroll casually next to barefoot without worry of soft pink toes or Bush’s blisters. We are very sore from yesterday.

Things to bring next time:
-Flip Flops for camp and easy, dry trails
-Oatmeal for breakfasts, teapot if more than 2 people
-More blanket and padding for sleeping/sitting (small pillow)
-Tristan Prettyman
-Compass

What we do have:
-Tent with small candle lantern for illumination
-Camping stove, 1 pan
-Timepiece to meet the boat at exactly 4pm
-Divers knife
-Sunblock
-Trail Mix, A few oranges, a cucumber, 2 vegan bread things, dried beans and rice
-Water Pump and 2 Nalgene 32oz bottles.

Wow was I cramped when I woke up. Yesterdays 11 miles manifested into my bones a scarring and jarring souvenir I’ve never acquired before. We’re two stretches/meditations into our day already and I’ve promised myself at least one more before we move from this site. My calves, back, fingers and lips all seem to ache in an appropriate way for this kind of travel and leisure. I’m assuming it’s all good ache and nothing harmful. My legs and arms have a lot of abrasions on them from the brush of yesterdays climb but nothing looks infected. I’m not too burnt anywhere either which is a good sign. Bush has a white cross on his back from his knapsack and my poor application of lotion on his sweaty back. He put it nicely this morning when he said, “camping is kicking my ass.” We’ve camped plenty of times before but this is the first time we’ve camped without our car in the general vicinity of our site.

We’re going for Day 2 now, up or down into the valley whichever way you look at it. The map tells us we should visit Big Pool and Paolo said that’s where we should leave the trail and investigate our own adventures, seeking ridges and bluffs and outlaws, people who live in this valley full time without the permission of park officials. These people seem to be spoken of as if they are characters in local folklore, but I’m with Bush and he’s the perfect guy to sniff out these tree-huggers in hopes to uncover a better understanding of this historic valley and learn how to tap into the Mana and/or determine which frogs are psychedelic.

My pen and pictures do this place very little amusement. Ask me anytime about it and I’ll do my best to rewind my mind and offer you a reflection of this paradise by the look on my face.

A few short hours and 2 miles into the Valley Trail we find ourselves at Big Pool, the end of the line for regular day hikers who Kayak down the coast to this remote region. This is where we’ll get lost in search of the outlaws.

We stopped complaining about food as soon as we discovered the trees of Lime, Guava, Mango, and Plantain even. We knew lunch would be trail mix but this is a better version of the snack. It’s more like a fruit salad.

We passed thru obvious man made ridges and outlines of stone homes, ruins of the 1st Hawaiian settlement said to have inhabited this Valley as early or recent as 500AD.

Paolo said we’d be stoked at this point as this would be a playground to us, our garden of Eden. He was right. We’re glad to have tortured thru the cliff trails of yesterday to be where we are today.

This place is naturally hugged by the most prestigious Pali, or mountain peaks as high as city skyscrapers lush with vegetation and green. Standing in the middle of the valley, it would feel like being at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, only there’s an ocean on one end.

Bush and I really want to swim naked here at Big Pool. We’re just waiting for a family of four to wander off before we do. We have made our peace. It’s the peace of other’s we wish not to disturb yet. Especially when there’s kids involved. I pump water in the wait.

Four hours later we’re back at big pool. Bush is pumping the water this time. It takes about 15 minutes to pump 32oz. But it’s worth it and the water is always icy cold.

Since we left Big Pool the first time we walked straight thru the valley on our own made up trail until we couldn’t go any further, unable to pass due to a sheer rock wall standing about 800 feet large. Below was laden in boulders and it scared us to make noise since other’s could tumble at any moment. In my silence while trying to snap a picture I took a spill on the rocks and injured my left foot to a good smart.

We were in the thick of the thick with no path to follow but a dried stream. We saw an abandoned dwelling and a few places that looked like freshly farmed gardens, but seemed to miss Pat’s Garden by not backpedaling Big Pool or reading the topography map correctly. Apparently there is only one waterfall in Kalalau and tracing our map we understood what nature girl was trying to tell us. This was a girl that came out of nowhere and asked if we’d seen plantains on our walk. She was singing to herself and swinging from trees dipping in and out of the stream like a forest ghost since she strangely had no tan. We asked how far the falls were and she actually said, “2 backspins, a wink and meow” as if those were actual units of measurement. All we needed to do was hike back down the main trail, turn right after a few minutes, climb the rope into Pat’s Garden and follow our hearts to the splendor. Does this Pat have any significance to the Pat that gave Billy the duct tape for his shoe? Either way we are an hour from sunset and nowhere near a place we’d like to camp.

At 6:30pm on day 2 we are halfway back to the beach from Big Pool, about a mile inland in the exposed center of the valley. This lookout hugged by fern grotto and big brother Pali will make the perfect camp. Loose brown soil cushioning the earth with extra piles of straw we gathered will make tonight’s bed a bit more bearable.

We share duties and make camp quickly while preparing dinner before the darkness arrives. A light mist evolves from our sweat to cool us during the intense sunset and after dinner stretch. I completely understand Yoga now.

Within this valley my legs boil with powerful life energy. Although I injured my foot a few hours ago I feel it’s already healed by the Kundalini breathe of fire, or the manufacturing of Chi, or simply by just being, and/or that I’m in harmony with the world’s ferocious orbit somehow.

I asked a family of 6 (no children) if I could swim in the buff today. I need more of this in my life. Honesty. The simple act of asking permission and acceptance. I am who I am and there’s not much I can do about it. I really liberated my soul today. After all this is my adventure and I’ll not take it personally if other’s don’t agree with it. I’ll be happy to share secrets of success and happiness as I find it, but this is still my trip and I won’t let my preconceived notions that other’s don’t like it affect me.

Something called me here. That’s for sure. I know not what it is, yet I follow the directions. I hear this voice clearly only on occasion and when it’s obvious that’s it’s talking to me, I listen, don’t lead.

I’m coiled up in the backside of the tent below the candle lantern. We tripped for the last three hours under the stars, high on fresh air and hunger pangs that barely exist anyway. Maybe I ate a bad mango. Bush is asleep already. I think it’s 9.

There are strange noises around us that sound as though someone is creeping up on us and we are far from our car or being rescued yet I have no fear and I experience no pain, no regret. The jungle sounds are joyous candy to my ears. The combo of crickets, birds and wildlife sound like electronic music at times, sometimes painfully loud. This is my second and last night in the Valley sadly, but a blessed way to end an organic orgasmic adventu-drama. Perhaps this tent needs more ventilation. I’m still sweating.

SUNDAY:

Woke up at 8am. Had to. The sun was only minutes away from cooking us, turning our sleep haven into a sweat lodge. The vinyl manmade cave is a perfect nocturnal dwelling but not so when the sun rises in the open plain.

Bush woke up with a rash that oddly resembles the map of Hawaii. I think its mosquitoes and feel guilty for leaving the tent open last night for air. I didn’t get one bite funny enough. Bush thinks it could be the spirit of the leper who fled to this region many years ago to escape being sent to a colony on another island. The bruise on my foot has swelled to a nice deep purple as expected. So much for the miracle of healing I swore to last night.

We had just enough water to make tea as we packed up our camp for today’s hike. We drank Redbush Chai appropriately under a bush where it was still shaded, our backs to the sun and our eyes facing the sea in the northwest. There we planned what to do with our remaining 8 hours in Kalalau and high fived each other. We would high 5 at precise moments when we felt a strong decision had been made or a mission well executed, except for when I had to use the bathroom along the trail. I spared Bush the high 5 until after I had washed up.

To waste in the woods means to dig a six-inch hole and bury your matter, then either burn the paper or carry it out. I of course chose the smoke signal approach and buried the mango colored feces under a boulder. Liberation.

Breakfast today consisted of our last of four oranges, fresh mango, a visit to the lime and guava trees, and the last vegan bread item rich with protein. I realize now I would’ve been fine traveling in with no food and use what was available in the trees and streams. Of course I would need a lesson in preparing crawfish once I caught them.

We met another Pat today. This time his name really was Pat and he was one of the outlaws we were hoping to meet. He knew of the back wall where we had been the day before and asked if we’d seen anyone else back there, namely Mike. We didn’t know much nor Mike but pretended as if, as this guy was handy with his knife as he tore open a fresh mango of his own. He was in a bit of a hurry to collect his belongings scattered about in the Valley because of the hunt coming up in the next week. Not sure what the hunt is about but we saw signs for it and didn’t ask questions. He has never heard of Pat’s Garden and got pissed that city slickers had names for these places out here, always coming and going, borrowing and burrowing, growing and stealing from the rich grounds. He had a style about him not unlike the orchid thief in Charlie Kaufman and Spike Jonze’s film, Adaptation. He held a passion for this Valley few would understand, especially those law abiding and enforcing few. He sliced thru his sermon the same way he carved his mango, without shame or remorse for the life of the fruit.

Found another natural spa suitable for swimming a little after 10. By now we were comfortable with the temperature of the water and it felt better and more natural to shed the clothes and dip this time, probably since we didn’t camp anywhere near water last night. This pool had rock seats facing the falls and underwater a natural current to clean us and massage our sorry parts. We decided to stay in this location all day and make a vacation of it, allowing the water to soothe our swollen muscles and throbbing feet.

A spray of mist finds me in the shade and reminds me of last night’s rainfall on my face as I was drifting off to sleep. Last night’s sleep, even with the added straw beneath us was still somewhat uncomfortable. But this time I could feel the earth caring for my being there, as if I was absorbing some of its energy in my sleep, adapting to this way of life. It was like I was growing roots or something, a feeling hard to describe.

We eat from the trees, wash and drink from the river and sleep under the stars above sacred earth. These writing are sorry for one reason only. That I can’t look up and enjoy the view. And right now that’s what I would rather do.

2pm – ready to go but so ready to move into this beautiful new home carved out by Mother Nature. Took many swims and didn’t give a shit for the 2 small groups that passed us. I was busy pumping water anyway which probably looked like masturbation to those who didn’t see the pump below the water surface. Bush chatted it up with one person who was interested in our boat escape since they were not too keen on having to walk out of this place. We shared out little info and said to meet us on the beach at 4 if they really wanted to flee. One will show without their belongings and we will deny them the free ride due to time, space and rough seas.

Today has been the paradise we were looking for. We made a village of our own where the water is always cold and generous and the rocks inside are always as polite and considerate as the shade. This area has welcomed us nicely. That probably has something to do with our development on the trail and acceptance of the way things naturally are. We have surrendered to Hawaii, walking softly and living humbly. Taking our time…

We spent the last hour counting crawfish and listening to Billy’s brilliant schemes such as, “next time I’m catching these things and eating ‘em.” Good plan Bush. We skipped rocks like classic storybook characters with our shorts rolled up as high as they could go to prevent chaffing just inside the knee. We were both fairly red and spent this day in the shade as we only had enough lotion left for the time on the beach trail towards the boat. We figured there would be little shade in that area and did a good deed by saving it. high five.

We begin the final descent to the beach for our rendezvous with Paolo. We must remain hidden until we are sure he is there. I am stoked for the swim in the ocean. I am stoked to be here. Yabba dabba doo. Time to wrap my stuff up in zip-lock before the swim.

------------ End of Valley journal.

The swim was like the show survivor but backwards. We were done along the trail and now we were on a small ski boat cruising the coast sipping cold beer and eating spam and rice wrapped in seaweed. This was food Paolo had brought for us in case we wanted to stay an extra day. We did but we didn’t. I wanted to surf and still have one of those days in Hawaii where you did drink fruity cocktails with umbrella’s in them along a touristy walk where Billy and I could look at butts and feel like men again, no longer nude around only each other. We succeeded on all levels even if the agony of the trail isn’t apparent in the travel log. What’s important is that when I close my eyes I have a new place to go. I’m refreshed again and I’ll take these picturesque memories back to the mainland for a long season of touring new music with new ideas and a great tan.

Thanks again for affording me adventures like these. [editor’s note: camping is free.]