Hawaii's Hidden Treasures

My arrival in Honolulu could hardly have been less auspicious. Oh, the plane landed on time, and the requisite lei was duly draped around my neck at the airport, but as our car pulled up in front of the hotel, the sound of shots was heard echoing through Waikiki's concrete canyons.

It turned out to be a typical urban misadventure: A recently released mental patient turned sniper was firing at nobody in particular. He was quickly subdued and taken off by the local police, and no one was seriously hurt. Yet it got the top spot on the evening TV news and the local newspapers played it for all it was worth. I suppose when you bill yourself as paradise, you've got to expect that even an unspectacular urban ruckus will get lots of ink.

That Honolulu in general (and the Waikiki area in particular) is no longer paradise is as obvious as the long shadows cast by the nearly impregnable wall of beach-front high-rises. Even the pure-pink Royal Hawaiian Hotel, (text continued on page 190)Hawaii(continued from page 110) a notable Waikiki oasis--albeit a very pompous one--barely escaped a recent scheme calling for its demolition--or at least a tall concrete graft. Everyone agrees it's inevitable that the one remaining place where the sun still shines beyond the beach-front lanais will soon be filled in.

At least as unalluring as this concrete curtain are Honolulu's vehicular traffic patterns, which are enough to give Mario Andretti hives. Determined masochists achieve the ultimate in frustration by merely trying to get close to Waikiki, since the one-way signs turn access into a kind of motorized carrousel, one on which you just can't get where you're going from anywhere.

And if it's hard to get around in daylight, it's nearly impossible to navigate Honolulu's streets after dark. Peddlers of every sort create a kind of human obstacle course, through which pedestrian traffic must wend its way. Then there is the nearly ubiquitous corps of "sidewalk stewardesses," who seem to be offering a cornucopia of sensuous delights at every crosswalk. Their price verifies that the cost of living--and loving--in Hawaii is the highest in the nation.

All this in what is America's second most popular tourist destination, after Las Vegas, and comparisons between the two are inevitable. As in Vegas, larger and larger (and more anonymous) hotels have been built to accommodate the tourist hordes, offering more and more antiseptic rooms and service, less and less personal contact. Unlike Las Vegas hotel staffs, however, Hawaiian hotel personnel are almost uniformly friendly and forthcoming--despite some very serious reservations that the population seems to be developing about further growth of island tourism. Yet there's only so much that even the most willing residents can do with the unceasing waves of visitors, and there is just no way that Honolulu can hope to deliver on its promise of island Eden.

So the best advice to a Hawaiian visitor, even one determined to remain on Oahu, is to get out of town. Use Honolulu for bed and board, if pressed, but high-tail it beyond the city limits at the first opportunity. For Honolulu no more represents the rest of the island of Oahu--to say nothing of the other islands--than New York City is an accurate barometer of most of the mainland.

On your way out of Honolulu's concrete sprawl, you may want to stop at Pearl Harbor for a look at the Arizona Memorial, but even that experience will depend a lot on the feelings you take with you. The tour boats do little to foster any emotional response (after dispassionately tossing a lei on the waters, they soon get down to the serious business of hawking souvenirs). But perhaps the most disorienting note is the vast preponderance of Japanese tourists heading out to the Arizona. I know that World War Two is long over, and that we and the Japanese are now great friends and trading buddies--to say nothing of the potent cadre of Hawaiians of Japanese extraction who control so much of the politics and commerce of the 50th state--but, recent history notwithstanding, you're going to be hard pressed not to tilt an ear toward the middle-aged Japanese tourist talking to his young son to hear how he's describing the Pearl Harbor scene.

A few years ago, I might have suggested a westward course out of Pearl City, toward Makaha and along the Waianae coast. At the moment, however, that's a place to avoid. The surf around Makaha is certainly big-league--30-foot rollers are not an infrequent phenomenon--but this coast has been the scene of lots of recent problems for tourists and U. S. Army and Navy personnel. These incidents include muggings and petty theft, so since this area is not exactly top-notch tourist turf, anyway, skip the ride to Kaena Point and forget about Mokuleia Beach as well.

Instead, head due north out of Pearl, through Mililani Town and Wahiawa. You'll pass very close to Schofield Barracks--focal point for much of the From Here to Eternity fireworks--and you'll suddenly discover yourself in a pastoral scene that says "Hawaii" as graphically as you could wish. Here are endless fields of pineapple in various stages of cultivation, and your route through these miles of succulent fruit will put your Hawaiian holiday firmly back on track.

A good first destination on the north coast is Haleiwa, gateway to Oahu's best beach fronts. And you'll know you're near the big waves when you see the signs (posted by the Oahu Civil Defense folks) that say, High Surf Area. The names of the beaches read like the location credits on a Wide World of Sports segment, with Waimea and Sunset Beach the best known. Be aware, however, that the heaviest surf thunders onto the north shore in wintertime and that summer is the wrong time to haul your surfboard to these shores. In midsummer, the surf is nearly nonexistent, though the beaches are no less enticing: This is also terrain populated by the most beautiful humans on the planet--male and female--with the bikinis on the latter coming in just three sizes: teeny, teenier and teeniest.

As you swing along the north shore, you might stick your head into the huge Hyatt Kuilima Resort, beside Kahuku Point, not a bad place for a civilized lunch. Although the golf course here is only ordinary, it's just about the least crowded layout on the island.

There's even more to marvel at as you swing down Oahu's east coast (the windward side of the island), and one of the bits of island lore you'll discover is the weather pattern that's prevalent on every Hawaiian atoll. That is, when you begin to see lush landscape and deep-green mountainsides, you can be sure you're on the rainy side of the island. This is very important data to have for Hawaiian holiday planning, since nothing so dampens a vacation as a gift from Jupiter Pluvius. But don't despair if you run into precipitation; it's usually short-lived: and if it does persist, you're only a short drive from the leeward side of the island, where the sun is almost always shining brightly.

The Polynesian Cultural Center, down the road at Laie, is worth a visit, for the Mormons have created a baker's half dozen of Pacific island-village replicas to dramatize Hawaiian history. Though a little contrived (and too much like a stage setting), they do give a very dramatic view of the forebears of the modern Hawaiian population.

The east coast is chockablock with public beach parks (there are more than 50 on the island of Oahu alone), and the beaches at the foot of the Koolauloa hills offer a very pleasant contrast to the tourists-only strands directly across the island. The beaches here (Punaluu is a good example) are full of vans, and the local citizens fish in groups. If you want to see a little local color on Oahu, this is not a bad place to take notes.

Kaneohe and Kailua are the major towns of windward Oahu, and it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. This is also not a bad place to make a short inland detour, through the Pali Tunnel, for a panoramic view of much of the island at Nuuanuu Pali. It's becoming an obligatory stop for the tour buses, but its scenic lookout is still the best natural viewing point in these hills.

Heading back to the east coast to continue the circuit around Oahu, you're in the part of the island that seems to be most popular with the islanders themselves. If you can get your eyeballs open early enough in the morning, you should absolutely make the run to Makapuu Point (and Makapuu Beach) just about at dawn, to see hang gliding at its most breath-taking. Hawaiian sunrises are the sort of stuff that drives writers back to their thesauri, and the sight of a multicolor kite rising up into the thermals as the sun sneaks over the far rim of the Pacific will keep you staring. As a matter of fact, dawn is not a bad time to see Waikiki as well, since most of the tourist minions are still tucked under their polyester blankets, and it's a chance to get a sense of this fabulous beach front as it once was. The hours between dawn and the time the sun reaches the tops of the palm trees are the very best ones to walk Waikiki's sands.

There are a couple of other noteworthy beach fronts along the southern shore of Oahu, and Sandy Beach has good surf even in summer. The locals consider it the best body-surfing beach on the island, but it's for experienced hands (or torsos) only. And I suppose you ought to see the Halona Blowhole (to get a sense of the power of the Pacific surf) and make the obligatory pilgrimage to the great beach at Hanauma Bay. After all, you wouldn't want to miss the site where Elvis made Blue Hawaii.

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They don't call Oahu The Gathering Place for nothing, and even if you get out of Honolulu, you are still sharing Oahu with about 75 percent of all the residents of the state--to say nothing of the bulk of almost 3,500,000 annual visitors. So it may be that the best way to discover the Hawaii for which people cross the Pacific is to get off Oahu entirely. Fortunately, that is made very easy and economically appealing by the existence of subsidized flights to the outer islands on Hawaiian or Aloha airlines. For visitors holding a return ticket to the mainland, these so-called common-fare flights are short and inexpensive ($27 per island leg). The islands of Maui, Kauai and the Big Island of Hawaii will delight you in the extreme and show you a face of Hawaii that's hard to find on Oahu.

Maui

There are lots of reasons people visit Maui. Some say the scenery is the most verdant in the islands: others carry on about the isolated stretches of beach where no other human hoofprint is visible, while still others nod dreamily in anticipation of the potent strain of pakalolo (pot) that grows among the cane fields. Frankly, I go for the potato chips.

As a matter of fact, an island odyssey that begins at the airport in Kahului can be so constructed that your fingers never need be far from the Kitch'n Cook'd brand that are the only Maui potato chips worth nibbling. Wise Maui sojourners climb into their cars in the airport parking lot and immediately motor the couple of blocks clown to Dewey Kobayashi's chip works. Since Kobayashi's appearance on the front page of The Wall Street Journal, many imitators have attempted to grab a piece of his Maui market, but there's no need to subject yourself to the threat of bogus goodies. Buy your bags--better yet, buy a case--the minute you hit the island and assure adequate sustenance during your stay.

Once you've said mahalo for the potato chips, head directly east on the so-called Hana Highway, driving first through about 40,000 acres of prime sugar-cane land. All this fertile turf is owned by Alexander & Baldwin, one of the half-dozen commercial enterprises that dominate island life. Lovers of exotic engineering might be interested to know that these fields are irrigated by water brought 70 miles or more from the slopes of the Haleakala volcano, via tunnels and ditches (they work on gravity flow) built in the early 20th Century. Descendants of the early builders--most of Portuguese extraction--still maintain these extraordinary conduits.

While the Hana road remains conventionally passable, take a look at old Paia town, with its contrast of old plantation storefronts and at least one well-stocked surfboard store. But once you reach the 20-mile mark, be prepared for some hair-raising hairpins on a road that literally has been left unimproved to discourage tourists.

For the bold driver, however, the sharply twisting turns also offer the kind of scenery of which island dreams are made. It often seems that every turn reveals another bright waterfall cascading down into one of those solitary mountain pools you thought existed only in airline ads. There are so many idyllic oases that it's silly to single out any special site, so you should stop wherever and whenever the spirit moves you, or where the resident population of a particular pool proves irresistible.

The hillsides are full of African tulip trees and orange blossoms, and the yellow-and-white wild-ginger blossoms that make the most fragrant leis. Every once in a while, you'll spot a cookie-and-juice stand, set up by a youthful entrepreneur, and you might stop and encourage free enterprise--especially if you're getting tired of a steady potato-chip diet. Norfolk and Cook pines--those loony-looking trees that seem to be growing upside down--are everywhere; and if you happen to make your trip at Christmastime, you'll find them decorated much the same as mainlanders mess with indigenous evergreens.

For those with no real driving spirit, there's a small airport at Hana that actually has scheduled (if erratic) flights, but not to drive is to miss all the anticipation that makes your ultimate arrival such a significant accomplishment. The main focus of tourist life in Hana is the Hotel Hana-Maui, which looks like the white-bread capital of the planet and conducts itself accordingly. The buffet lunch here is worth a stop, and you'll surely get a giggle out of reading the activities list posted in the hotel lobby. When I was last there, the day's schedule read as follows: "9:30 a.m.--Feed the Fish; 1:00 p.m.--Kite Flying; 1:30 p.m.--Lei Making; 3:30 p.m.--Rock Painting." I guess you get the picture.

If you can't handle the assemblage of guests all wearing apple-green pants and Gucci loafers (with no socks), head for the Hasegawa General Store--now famous in song and story. The area around the cash register is the local headquarters for shuckin' and jivin', and you're sure to come up with a companion with whom to head down to the gray-black sands of Hamoa Beach.

They separate the men from the boys on Maui by discovering what road you took leaving Hana. Mere mortals just retrace their steps, but those with a greater sense of adventure (read mindless about personal safety and uncaring that their auto insurance becomes null and void if they head south) opt for the complete circuit around east Maui. It's a little hairy, and pavement is often an unknown commodity, but we pushed a '74 Ford around last summer and came out with springs, oil pan, suspension and transmission all intact. More important, what we found was worth every bit of the bouncing.

You don't run out of road immediately, though there are some not-so-subtle hints that you aren't exactly heading for a turnpike. First comes the sign that says, Caution: Baby Pigs Crossing. Then there is a trio of successively more narrow (and more rickety) bridges that moved me to ask my native companion if they had names. He said the first one was called the Near-Hana Bridge, the second was known as the Not-So-Near-Hana Bridge and the last was known as the Where-the-Hell-Is-Hana Bridge.

Just beyond the last of these is a relatively well-known series of swimming holes that are officially known as the Seven Sacred Pools. I suspect that the Hawaiian Visitors Bureau didn't think it would entice too many tourists with its legit moniker--Oheo Gulch--and though nobody knows exactly what's so sacred about the pools, the wahines we saw splashing around could certainly qualify as heavenly.

Just beyond is the grave of Charles Lindbergh; but if you're planning to pay your respects, be aware that access to the site is unmarked and that you should look for two green gates that mark the pathway in.

It's just about here that the going gets really bumpy, and a warning sign says (accurately enough), Rough Road: 7 Miles. That may be the single greatest understatement in the whole state. Hang onto the wheel with both hands and go slowly, and keep remembering that there is a succession of isolated coves up ahead that are void of other humans. You also get the chance to stick your head into such seldom-seen sights as the Kaupo Store and the Huiloha Church, which are worth the price of a black-and-blue butt. And, to tell the truth, the nonroad doesn't really last all that long: the pavement picks up again at Nuu Landing. There the surrounding scene suddenly changes from verdant rain forest to lunar-looking landscape as you make your way from the windward (wet) to the leeward (dry) side of the island.

The ride from Hana to the center of the Ulupalakua Ranch is only 37 miles, so be sure to stop at the Tedeschi Winery. Emil and Joanne can tell you their plans for a Maui wine industry anchored on these volcanic slopes, though you may be more struck by the ranch activity all around. This is real range land, staffed by real cowboys, and the coolish breezes suggest that the idea of growing fine wine grapes here is not totally insane. Yet it will be a while before the vines mature enough for even the first tentative vintages to be tested; so, for the most part, the local libations have been limited to the creation of a rather cloying pineapple wine. It's not destined to be a staple of mainland barrooms, but somehow sitting and sipping this odd concoction--while nibbling on Maui potato chips, Maui onions, Maui shrimps and Maui avocados--is not a bad way to watch the sun set between the islands of Kahoolawe and Lanai.

The eastern half of Maui--actually, more than three quarters of the total island land mass--is the least developed part of the island, and the enormous resort complex around Wailea is the class of this end of the island. There are two first-class hotels--the Inter-Continental Maui (by the Pan Am hotels division) and the slightly tonier Wailea Beach Hotel (run by United Airlines' Western International hotel division). The major phenomenon hereabouts, however, has been the incredible growth in the value of island condominiums--a two-bedroom unit that sold for slightly less than $100,000 a few years ago is presently bringing as much as half a million bucks. Even better is the opportunity to rent one of these lush igloos through a central rental system that puts you into a two-bedroom unit for around $150 a day (including daily maid service). Shared by a couple of couples, this is a hell of a bargain.

There are two other reasons to stay awhile at Wailea: The resort itself includes fine golf and tennis and other sports activities, and it's a perfect point from which to launch an assault on the Haleakala Crater. If you're pressed for time, you can elect to make a helicopter assault on the summit and enjoy a brief flight around a crater larger than the island of Manhattan. But if you'd rather try to understand a bit more about the soul of Hawaii, leave a wake-up call for four o'clock one morning and drive up near the crater rim before dawn. This is almost a Maui ritual, and the experience of seeing the sun rise over the Pacific from this unique vantage point is well worth the loss of a little sleep.

As will become quickly obvious, I'm not a major fan of West Maui, where substantial resort development has sent at least part of this coast line on its way to becoming an out-island Waikiki. Once upon a time, the restoration of Lahaina was justly considered the Williamsburg of Hawaii, and this former whaling capital of the world--whale oil from Lahaina lit 19th Century lamps as far away as Massachusetts--held real allure for visitors interested in Hawaii's heritage. The careful restoration of the storefronts and buildings remains, but they are mostly filled with "shoppes" of the "Apparels of Pauline" mentality, and the most popular local souvenir seems to be a T-shirt announcing, I Got Lei'd in Hawaii. That the major refreshment stand is Gary Burghoff's (Radar in TV's M*A*S*H) frozen-yogurt stand gives you further insight into the level of local commerce. It's not that the city's all bad--see it at sunset to see it at its best--it's just that you have to be very selective about how you manage to block out the tackiest of the tourist incursions.

Just up the road is the Kaanapali Coast, where the most concentrated of Maui's development has produced a platoon of concrete towers by the sea. A huge new Hyatt opened last April (and a new Marriott installation will debut soon), and this is the place where tourists come to rub up against other tourists.

A bit beyond Kaanapali is the crescent of Kapalua Beach, which is now the site of the sole Rockresorts enclave in the islands. Since selling Mauna Kea Beach (on the Big Island) to Western International, the Rockresorts organization has set up camp on Maui and produced a hotel with its classic chic and style. Prices are high, but this is the premier pad on the island, and even if you can't afford a long stay, don't miss the buffet lunch. It makes the wedding scene in Goodbye, Columbus look like a bread line.

And, just as at Wailea, there is a host of posh condominiums for rent all around the hotel, and the price for those posh digs is among the best island bargains. The golf here is also top-notch.

If you have managed to make your way all around East Maui, you may want to tempt the insurance furies further by trying the even more treacherous West Maui circuit as well. In certain sections, the route is not just an unpaved road, it's no road at all, and the long slope down to Kahakuloa Head will test every bit of your nerve. It's best navigated in a small car, and the sights are worth the perspiration. Lots of surf crashing against high cliffs and desolate beach coves available to those willing to climb down (and up again) the steep paths. It's not a place you'll find many other Maui visitors.

The Big Island

Let me try to resolve the geographic confusion first. Tourists coming to Hawaii generally land in Honolulu, which is on the island of Oahu. So when you ask them if they've been to Hawaii, they routinely answer in the affirmative. The truth is, they've been in the state of Hawaii but not on the island of that name. The island of Hawaii is the largest and most southern of the Hawaiian group, and to keep this identity crisis from becoming chronic, natives refer to it simply as the Big Island.

It's too bad that visitors seldom see what's best on the Big Island. Most of the interisland air traffic arrives at Kona Airport at Kailua, and dedicated sun worshipers seldom conquer their inertia long enough to hoist anchor off the Kona Coast. The result is that listening to one of those sedentary visitors describe the Big Island is a lot like hearing a blind man describe an elephant. They've seen nothing beyond the unlovely lunar landscape that stretches almost the full length of the Big Island's west coast, and while the terrain and climate may be great for growing coffee, aside from half a dozen prime beach sites, the best of the Big Island is elsewhere.

You'll find that many frequent visitors to Hawaii gravitate toward the Big Island because its topographical variety is nearly infinite and its people the friendliest of all Hawaiians. Two huge volcanoes dominate the scenery: Mauna Kea (13,796 feet) to the north and Mauna Loa (13,680 feet) to the south. And these volcanoes do more than just dominate the landscape: Mauna Loa in particular is a seething volcanic mass that's more active than even the local residents care to admit. As a matter of fact, it's not a mistake to make a beeline for Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, where your nerve may be tested by the distance you care to keep between you and one of the still-steaming fire pits. And, remember, the last major eruption on the Big Island took place as recently as 1977.

The park headquarters in the middle of Volcanoes Park has as much data on lava flows and eruptions as exists anywhere, and it even shows a movie every hour of the most dramatic recent fireworks. It's a little incongruous that a Sheraton outpost called Volcano House sits right on the rim of the Kilauea caldera and has become a favorite watering spot for the white-hair-and-Wedgie set. They nibble on lunch as they look out onto the vast crater. A much better idea, however, is to leave the hotelniks behind and head out (on Crater Rim Drive) to the far end of the Halemaumau fire pit. When we last stood beside the roadside, the damn thing was spitting steam, and it's more than a little disconcerting to realize that an eruption wouldn't surprise anyone.

Beyond Volcanoes Park is the windward (remember, that's the wet side) coast of the Big Island, including the Olaa rain forest and some orchid and anthurium gardens that'll knock your socks off. These picture-postcard backgrounds are as colorful as you could wish.

Hilo is the only important city on the Big Island, and although direct air service from the mainland has been reduced, it's still possible to fly directly to Hilo from the West Coast. So many sophisticated travelers adjust their schedules to go directly to the Big Island, avoiding all the noise and nuisance of Honolulu.

Hilo looks like a town out of the Southwest during the Depression: a lazy place that appears to be only half awake. Pedestrians seem equally divided between those wearing shoes and those carrying them, and the town is almost the perfect evocation of mellow and laid back.

North of Hilo is the Hamakua Coast, as green and lush as the Kona Coast is barren and uninviting. Nearly every bend in the road sticks your nose up a rift of mountain valley that promises cascading springs and some lovely, lonely river swimming. Any one of them makes a superb detour.

On a first pass around the island, turn west at Honokaa, where you're likely to come in contact with the biggest surprise of your Big Island visit. You're about to discover that this is some of the richest cattle-grazing ranch land in the U. S., and the incongruity of seeing cowpunchers in the midst of a Polynesian paradise will not escape you. It's also a little tough to describe your first peek at a typical Hawaiian ranch hand, all decked out in leather chaps, ten-gallon hat and aloha shirt.

But ranching is serious business on the Big Island, and the Parker Ranch here is second in size in the U. S. only to the King Ranch in Texas. And as you traverse the northern tip of the island, you might swing south (below Waimea/Kamuela) to see if there's any action going on at the rodeo ring on Route 190.

At the end of the northernmost cross-island road, turn south for a short distance to the marvelous crescent of beach called Mauna Kea. Not only is this the best beach front on the Big Island, but it's also the site of the best hotel, the Mauna Kea Beach Hotel. The golf course is a nearly legendary layout that makes maximum use of both ocean scenery and the Mauna Kea crater looming in the background, and it takes a real act of will to keep your head down on those links. I'm not sure it's worth the effort.

This hotel was originally the inspired work of Laurance Rockefeller's Rock-resorts organization, and it's among the most notable examples of resort architecture in the world. It's not so much that the concrete configuration is so special--though the breezy hallways and open atria rate special praise. More spectacular is the collection of priceless Pacific art and historic artifacts that decorate the walls, fill the hallways and make the corridors of the hotel more a museum than a mere nesting place.

Once upon a time, the food at Mauna Kea was the equal of the architecture, but the Western International management hasn't managed to keep up that level. Allowing busloads of tourists to stop just for lunch has not benefited the formerly opulent midday buffet, and the Kapalua Bay kitchen (on Maui) is now a far better example of noontime excess.

When you read about the Hawaiian Islands, the last thing you expect to see is stuff about skiing--at least of the snow-and-slush variety. But more than one Hawaiian Islands visitor has marveled at the ability of the Ski Shop Hawaii folks to haul dedicated schussers up to the often snowy cone atop Mauna Kea for one of skiing's most unusual runs.

And even when snow is absent from the crater, the ride from Waimea to Hilo (on the Saddle Road) is well worth a visitor's time. There's a detour at Humuula onto the Mauna Kea Summit Road, and we got up to the 11,000-foot mark in a standard rental car. We literally were above the clouds, and it was the kind of scene that made the word heavenly seem more than mere hyperbole.

Kauai

The incredible lure of Kauai is very real and not entirely unknown. It's not for nothing that Kauai is called the Garden Island, and its reputation as the Bali Ha'i of Hawaii was duly enhanced when it was used as the background of the film version of South Pacific.

It's an island of nearly infinite contrasts--the world's wettest spot is on Mt. Waialeale, while the beach at Poipu hardly ever is sullied by a shower. But the contrasts on Kauai are much deeper than the differences between wet and dry. The habitable tourist oases circling the eastern end of the island are more than balanced by the wildly inaccessible canyons and coast line of the wild West. And the aloha-shirt set of Lihue and environs almost never meets the near-naked squatters of the Kalalau Valley who grow the stuff called Kauai electric.

It's probably a good idea to get the civilized segment of your visit behind you so you can devote your total concentration and energy to the far reaches of Kauai later on. So if you're heavily into sun worship, your route out of Lihue should be nearly due west. Maluhia ("serenity") Road runs through a wonderful tunnel of towering eucalyptus trees on the way to Koloa, and this route gives you a sense of what virtually every town on Kauai once looked like. And Poipu Beach at sunset is also not a bad place from which to contemplate the Hawaii of long ago. Remember, too, that this is the oldest island of the Hawaiian chain and that when the first Polynesians dropped anchor here about 12 centuries ago, they were greeted with tales of the Menehune, Hawaii's "little people." This ancient tribe is supposed to have been particularly talented at creating stone structures, and that may account for the existence of old stone ruins on Kauai and few other places in these islands.

While exploring Kauai's south coast, you may want to stop in Hanapepe, the so-called "Biggest little town on Kauai," but you're more likely to be guided toward the detour (along Highway 543) to the ultracalm beach beside some ancient salt ponds. There are lots more potential beach stops on the road to Mana Point, though the fine beach at Barking Sands is off limits (something about its being a missile-testing range). Then, when you've had your fill of rays, turn north at Waimea and prepare yourself for some scenery that just doesn't exist anywhere else. Mark Twain called the Waimea Canyon the Grand Canyon of the Pacific, and you'll have no reason to disagree with his assessment. Wear your hiking shoes, because you're going to want to do as much rambling around as you have time to do. The Waipoo Falls alone (which drop 600 feet over a sheer cliff) are a magnet for trekkers.

Furthermore, if you'd like to get together with the leading "heads" of Hawaii, you'll have to plan a several-day hike into the Kalalau Valley. It was initially immortalized by Jack London but has become far more famous as the only remaining hippie stronghold in the islands. Kalalau runs up from the Na Pali coast line, but it's far more common for visitors to walk in from the east.

This wild, fertile land not only provides sustenance for the most potent marijuana seed in the islands but is also home to a whole community of crazies who cultivate the stuff and live in the caves that dot the hillsides. The local rangers use helicopters and jeeps and sophisticated spotting devices to try to spook these squatters, but so far, the terrain has proved too wild for them to have widespread success.

If you turn your back on Kalalau from the Waimea Lookout, you're looking up at Mt. Waialeale, which boasts nearly 500 inches of annual rainfall. This is an obligatory stop only for lovers of mildew, and you'd do better to head back to Lihue for a run along the alternate route around the island.

The north-shore beaches on Kauai were the ones used for the South Pacific filming, though before you get to these sands, make a stop in Kapaa to check out the wonderful weather-beaten facades. Just up the Kealia Road is the Waipahee Slide, where you can (if you dare) shoot over a natural volcanic-rock sluiceway into a pool of ice-cold water 18 feet below. This is not, however, a detour to take when the roads are muddy.

The most opulent of the Kauai resorts is at Princeville, just east of Hanalei, and the fine facilities here (including 27 holes of golf) have received much deserved publicity. The problem is that it rains a lot, and it's tough to tee up when the squalls are blowing in from the Pacific. There also used to be a Club Med enclave here, but that folded in the face of poorly maintained premises and excessive dew.

Whatever the weather, make sure to make it to Hanalei. Despite the fact that it sits in the middle of the north-shore rain belt, the city is dry through most of the summer and retains its allure even in the middle of a downpour. Hanalei had a brief moment in the sun when it served as one of the prime hiding places for Liz and Dick (remember them?), but it's got a lot more going for it than that. Most noteworthy is the fact that it serves as dual headquarters for both members of the youthful counterculture and more privileged (read rich) escapists.

Hanalei itself is virtually a living museum, and just walking through its streets is reason enough to make the trip. Swimming in Hanalei Bay is also not too shabby, though if you're not a strong swimmer, make sure to stay near the old pier, where the undertow is least clawing.

Lumahai Beach is just beyond Hanalei, and this is where Mitzi Gaynor washed Rossano Brazzi out of her hair. Swimming is safe here only in the summertime, and there's no swimming whatever at Haena Beach Park. That is no great hardship, however, since you're heading for the most striking coast line in the islands, the staggeringly beautiful cliffs and coves of the Na Pali Coast.

It's appropriate that the road ends just beyond Haena, for it would be a crime to have vehicles interrupt the most dramatic and otherworldly scenes on this globe. It makes access a bit strenuous, but the effort required to get to the most compelling reaches of Na Pali only increases a visitor's appreciation once he gets here.

There are also helicopter flights available out of Hanalei (at about $80 an hour), and they're a worthwhile alternative if time is tight. Swooping into the steep, sheer canyons is pretty breath-taking business, though it's very much a second choice to walking in to explore this nonpareil region.

There are countless trails into and through the coast line and canyons, and at the very least, plan to walk the two miles from road's end to the beach called Hanakapiai. Not only is the natural scenery spectacular but the human sort is only marginally less so, and nude bathing here is more the rule than the exception.

Save for Alaska's Aleutian archipelago, this area is the westernmost outpost of America. Most of the time, it looks just as lonely as it is, and there's an irresistible feeling of disconnection from the world. If you can spend a few days hiking through this area, take the time to camp in the canyons. It's a treacherous, unforgiving place (especially for the unfit), but if you've got the will to do some fairly strenuous wandering, there's no better place on earth to invest your energy.

The Other Islands

There are at least four more islands in the Hawaiian group that legitimately qualify as "major," though they are of sharply diminished visitor interest. Of these, Molokai offers the most promise of a pleasant tourist reception, but that is more accurate in anticipation than in fact. There's a Sheraton hotel on the island, and that just about sums up the spectrum of tourism development. Under certain circumstances, that could be considered a significant boon, except that a group of determined native Hawaiians have settled in the western region of Molokai and have promised to greet any incursion by visitors with gunfire. The island does have some lush beach settings, but they are probably more appropriate as backdrops for pictures of pretty girls than as destinations.

The historic leper colony at Kalaupapa is of more than passing interest, though even that somber haven has been commercialized to the extent that there's now a rent-a-mule trek to take visitors down the mountain to the once tragic settlement. It's hardly a sojourn designed to set your spirits soaring, though it does provide a telling insight into a very sad chapter in Hawaii's history.

Lanai is far less forbidding, though it has suffered from a fairly negative reputation. There's a seldom refuted feeling that the island is paved with pineapples from coast to coast and that it's a salutary environment only for wild goats. With very few paved roads, access is hard, though campers find that the major appeal of the island.

The two other Hawaiian Islands of note are Niihau and Kahoolawe. The former is owned by a single family and it's maintained as a strictly private province where the local population maintains historic Hawaiian ways and converses only in native Hawaiian. It may be the most intriguing of the whole Hawaiian group, but it's strictly off limits to visitors.

The same is true of Kahoolawe, though for a sharply different reason: The island is used for artillery practice by U. S. Navy warships.

So, for all the overdevelopment and the hordes of tourists, it turns out that Hawaii is more paradise than population center. In fact, there's so much here that's spectacular that all you really have to do is get off your duff and go find it.

"The cost of living--and loving--in Hawaii is the highest in the nation."