We are enroute to the South Pacific. 110 miles from Hilo. Only 987 miles to go, which means that we’ll be entertaining ourselves shipboard for the next two nights and all of one day. Seas are reported ‘Rough’ which equates to 7.5 to 12 foot swell. Sure doesn’t look it from our station, deck 11. The wind is piping, however. 32 knots from the NE. You can see the spray blown off of some of the whitecaps in the turbulence of the lee side of the ship. Even still the boat is making 23 knots. Not too shabby.

AR standing amidst the carnage takes a healthy power bar break. Slipstream from a passing tourbus caused a little wobble from her front wheel. ‘Course, it didn’t help that she’d left the handle bars unattended while making a friendly wave and salute. (Don’t scare me like that next time 🙂 We enjoyed a beautiful ride on the crater rim of the Kilauea Caldera passing through rainforest and desert. Included was a side excursion tip-toe through the dark Thurston Lava Tube. Our guide described a lot about what makes the earth tick and offered up many explanations for what we saw before us. (Pele’s fault mostly) The desert area was in stark contrast to the typical and expected Hawaiian lush green tree fern flora. This devastation trail resembled a rock strewn Martian lunarscape. Steam, volcanic smoke, and sulfur gas oozed from primordial rocks. I overheard a bit of humor on the trek out of this historic natural hell. A woman perceived the volume of steam to have intensified from her observations when going in. Someone, in his calmest gentlemanly school teacher voice assured her: “okay everyone — let’s hurry back to the bicycles…”

Surfs up! I tried to catch the BIG ONE this afternoon and got beat up. I was a little late on the timing. The wave made an abrupt break and I fell over the top. Luckily I was spun broadside and thereby avoided the dreaded break-your-neck-head stand, but ended up body slammed on the shallow seabed just the same. The final insult before being held down, pummeled, and then raked across the rough sand by its turbulence. I have tender ribs and skin removed from my arm (roadrash) to vouch for my performance. Oh! Did I not mention that when I came up for a look around, the LEASH tethered to my boogie board (the other end is velcroed to my wrist) had somehow taken a dally around my neck? Talk about crossed up. Mother nature must have been ROTFL.

The Captain’s Choice SCUBA was a real highlight although sometimes the adventure is in the journey and this proved true today. Our Mexican piloto was a newbie and didn’t quite have the hang of the docking approach procedure. It was painful to watch as he would maneuver parallel to the pier but then was unable to raft up close. He would sea saw forward and reverse trying to close the gap but his technique wasn’t working. For one thing, the single screw craft (due to the direction of shaft rotation) would not back-to-right. If he’d only swing his vessel around he’d look like a pro. Heck, with the prevailing wind he could relax on the controls and drift down on it. Finally, after many tries his deck crew get a line ashore and I’m having my doubts, knowing that we will have to go through this same chinese fire drill to get back!

The reef that we dove was very fine. I saw some large snapper a few barracuda, an eel, and an extremely large lobster along with the usual grand colorations and schools of angel fish. Our dive master was careful to make sure that we respected this protected area. My old school understanding was that this meant that you couldn’t take items or game, but these days it also means ‘don’t touch/disturbe anything’. Those who so much as kicked up sand on the bottom were chastised. That’s okay but whereas you’d grab hold of a rock piece or corral head to steady yourself (to better view the reef in close up perspective) we could only drift with the current and float on by. 40 minutes later, when our air supply was exhausted, we’d surface and set a red diver balloon. Luckily our Mexican skipper would come find us.

Jeff, is careful and precise when handling our aircraft. Your initial impression is that he’s young and reckless, especially when you learn that he has a dare-devil-may-care hobby. Exhibition motorcycle riding. That’s him — armor clad in racing boots helmut and full leathers, and he makes some pretty pocket change performing for and wowing the crowds. Heck! I’m impressed too. I told him that I expect the same deft control with his landings as he has demonstrated in the pictures 🙂 MotoPsychoZ.com

E X T R E M E ! ! and a most awesome experience. I must say that I have landed with a new outlook and enjoyment for life. I would equate that part where –you step out into the open fresh-air at 12,000 feet– with a mental struggle no greater or worse than strapping into the latest roller coaster theme thrill ride. It is actually most pleasant (the floating feeling) and serene save for the massive adrenalin cocktail rush. You reach terminal velocity quickly and feel buoyant and stable. I made a few turns by dropping a shoulder. The hired camera arrived in our face moments later for a photo shoot and then fell away as my tandem instructor pulled the ripcord. The last mile was a lazy 14 feet/sec cruise with an unbeatable perspective view and return to warm earth.