Enjoy
I'll start quite simply; I am NOT on
vacation.
You will not see any photos taken by me of Kailua, nor of downtown Hilo, and you most certainly will not come
across any images of me appropriating an ancient Polynesian culture by wearing
lei and a hula skirt (not that anyone would even want to see such a dreadful
thing anyway).
I am on the largest island in Hawai'i: Kona (also cleverly called 'the Big Island'
or the even more creative name 'Hawai'i'. It is geographically accurate to say
that I am in Hawai'i, Hawai'i. Fucking Hell.). The cities of Kailua and Hilo are
nice, but I did not come to this chunk of rock in the middle of the largest
ocean on our planet for cities. No, I came to Hawai'i, Hawai'i banking
on what the adventure would be actively avoiding them. Besides Hawai'i Volcanoes Nat'l Park
I knew very little about this island before stepping onto its beetle-black lava
rock, save for its size. The uncertainty, the prospect of mapping out this
foreign territory (alone), hosting its own terrors and dangers, fortunes and
wonders, has set my teeth on edge. It has my hands shaking on the steering
wheel, doing 80 on the coast with the roof down in my Camaro. It has me forgoing coffee, for fear my
heart is going to burst from its cavity, something I imagine to be like giving
birth to an Alien hopped up on methamphetamine. It moves my legs for me, after
hiking 14 miles through the wastelands of previous lava flows an through the
absolute labyrinth of the thick, thriving rain forest the fertile volcanic soil
has created. It forces me to deny acknowledgement of the blood on my legs from
the cuts of vengeful branches and to endure without a single complaint the
constant veneer of sweat, dripping onto my glasses and drawing all the fabric
of my clothing to hug my skin. The drive, and the excitement and anxiety that
come with it, are so unbelievably strong, that I cannot help myself from
succumbing to it. So hopelessly bound and chained to this monster am I, that I
lie in the back of my car trying to sleep, and repeat the inquisition to myself
over and over, like a chess game whittled down to king-upon-king: What's next?!
What else is there to see? And probably the most important, and most ominously
impending, worry on my mind: what is going to dare try and stop me from getting
there?
No, haha, I am not
vacationing.
I have not had a day off since I left Yellowstone, in fact,
in some sense this is the hardest I have worked my entire life. And in a sense
this is the most I have ever been paid!
I have raked my fingers across that rock wall, eternally
damp with the inevitable condensation and underground tube acquires when super-heated
with sunset-orange lava still further beneath it in the Earth's crust.
Listen to me, going on about volcanoes and lava- it does
appear that I have a thing for them. What, did I not get enough of a thrill
living atop a super volcano for the past year and some-odd months? Maybe my
ambition was there, ecstatic about the idea of residing on the brink of a
caldera that stretches 45 by 60 square f@%king miles in dimension, but my
practicality (the side of me that knew it wasn't going to be enough, that I
would have to see the lava, and smell the deadly volcanic gases) was not.
Regardless I have hopped from one park to the next, both of which contain
volcanoes. Can you not think of a more adept testament to my character? I gorge
myself on experiences, and spread myself like butter over new places. Hawai'i is
a feast, and I liken my insatiable appetite for adventure to the bubbling lava
that consumes everything in its path. I am exactly where I need to be right
now.
Have you heard of the term 'Touron'? If not, it's a term
that's tossed around quite a bit, not only in Yellowstone but in all the Nat'l parks
I've been to. A Touron, in
essence, is a tourist. But that have somehow hideously mutated into a
frightening (albeit unintelligent) FUCKHEAD with no respect for anyone but
themselves and their possessions. They also have the uncanny ability to clone
themselves and show up at your favorite Nat'l park in hordes! I wouldn't debate with
you if you decided a better term for these people is 'The Walking Dead':
they're brainless, spineless human beings who also can't drive worth shit. I
thought I had evaded their clutches by flying through, not one, but TWO time
zones, but alas. Just two days ago I saw several Road Scholar individuals (a
tour-group from the seventh Circle of Hell; Satan's most trusted and loyal
compatriots) absolutely berate the assistant manager there for something he had
no control over! It was like watching a bunch of preschoolers beat up a fish-out-of-water with
sticks. I wanted to vomit.
One of my first days here a somewhat elderly white woman
snapped a pic on her phone of a Hawaiian girl and exclaim to her husband "OOO LOOK! CULTURE!" The girl was
around 16 and was eating a brightly colored Shaved Ice cone and was sporting a
Slipknot T-shirt. The deadpan expression on her face as she stared back into
the soul-less eyes of that Tour-rorist was
so priceless I burst out laughing. The girl caught my eyes and laughed with me,
raising her cone to me in acknowledgement of our shared hatred of stupid
people. I began thinking, she could have reacted with anger to what that woman
did but she didn't. I wondered why for a while, and then I realized: she has to
deal with this. every. day. It's different for me in Yellowstone because I
elected to be there and I am proud to associate my name with America's first Nat'l Park,
but she has no choice! It's been so disconcerting to think that the lower-48 is
being represented to native Hawaiians by these disgusting individuals.
So while I normally reject the idea of joining general
civilization, I genuinely connect with the people of Hawai'i and
that has made this experience all the more interesting and enjoyable.
Especially considering I don't have that awful mutation from tourist to Touron; I hardly even consider myself a
tourist, I'm not on vacation, remember? Not to mention, I think the language is
beautiful and their music is awesome. If you know me, you know I'm pretty much
glued to my Ipod, but
listen to some of this!
Tracks like these play on this station 24/7 and there have
been times where I have gone for a 2 hour drive with the radio playing the
entire time. In the entire history of Rob Kelly that has never happened. I
can't keep from smiling with this reggae-esque stuff
playing. This place makes me so happy.
Really I could go on for days and days but I won't talk
your ears off. If readers of National Park Bum are interested in hearing more I
won't object to sharing more stories with you, they keep adding up as the days
go on and I have no friends here to share them with. I'd like to thank MacKeag Resh for asking me to share some of my
thoughts and not just some photos or a little status update on Facebook. If anyone has any questions or wants
to hear about anything specific, direct your thoughts to either him or
myself.
Mahalo!
-Rob Kelly
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