Haleakala Crater, a Hymn to the Sun

It's evening now and I'm sitting on the patio of our condo in Maui in a small complex called Kuhleana. You can't see the complex from the road, but from the beach we can see our patio.

There is a gentle breeze and I listen to the crescent sound of the waves drawing out from shore, swelling, then rushing back up the beach to gently crash onshore. It is an archetypal sound related to a theory I can't grasp this moment, for today has been very long, filled with adventure and my mind has nestled into the rhythms of the watery sounds, here in gentle Maui.

A couple of evenings ago while reading the in house resort literature I read a story out loud to my husband about a local writer who biked up Haleakala, (altitude 10,000 ft) hiked into the crater, spent a night in the national park cabin on the surface of the basin, immersed himself in the sight of billions of stars, awoke, hiked out of the crater and road his bike back down to Paia.

Paia is a groovy hippiesque beach town in Maui where Eddie and I ate ate at Big Mama's Fish House when we first landed on the island (we watched the windsurfers catching currents while I ate fresh chilled mango-pineapple soup and Eddie had Macadamia Nut Crusted Mahi-Mahi).

After listening to the biker's story, Eddie decided to take the ride. He was going to drive over to Paia, get on his bike, ascend 38 miles to the top of the crater, ride back down, drive home to our side of the island. Unless he left at one o'clock in the morning he would miss the sunrise on the crater. I decided to join him and help get everything packed into the trip (except spending the night on the crater's bottom).

I'd drive over with him at three am, arrive in Paia at 4 am, take the car up to the summit arriving about half hour before daybreak. I'd capture the sunrise on camera, take a hike down into the crater a bit, climb back out and greet him when he arrived. We both studied our maps carefully on our phones as cell service would probably end at about eight thousand feet.

After I dropped Eddie and bike off I found my way with the help of the gps on my phone to the park. Close to the entrance, there was little coffee wagon, where I fueled up with caffeine for the cold windy summit I knew would be waiting for me.

I reached the summit about 20 minutes before daybreak, got my camera, put on several layers of clothing, a hood, and plodded out to the rim of the crater to join about fifty others who had arrived for the same event. It was really cold and windy and my hands turned to wooden blocks before long without gloves. As the sun filled up the sky before breaking, the sky of clouds billowed in a myriad of dark hues and shapes.

When daybreak arrived, 6:03 am this morning, two Forest Service women began chanting and the whole crowd was silent as we watched the sun climb up behind the clouds and grasp the day with a wild burst of orange. I still don't remember any sound except the chanting of the two women, not an ooh, ahh or brrrr, just this gorgeous hymn to the daybreak. Within twenty minutes of day break after we had all gotten our fill of pictures and eye candy, the summit was empty again.

I went back to my car and turned on the heat full blast to warm my numb hands and then returned to the heated station to figure out with the help of the forestry service, when I might expect Eddie to arrive. It's not the most common ride in the area, most bikers go down hill as part of a tour group, or down into the crate as part of a horseback riding expedition.

We figured that Eddie should arrive between nine and ten depending on winds, and his conditioning. It was 7:30 am now and there was a hike down in the crater to a lookout. It took about 20 minutes down and 45 back up on the hard pebble covered surface.

I hiked out the trail onto the moon scape of the crater, it was windy but not cold but I could tell that the altitude was having a bit of effect upon me, The vast stretch of the crater before me and the gusting winds caused a dizzying sensation and for several moments I sat on a boulder and pondered the infinite mythic quality of time here in the vastness of geological time.

The haunting and joyous chanting to the sun echoed over the barrenness of the crater. A native Nukupu'u bird with two fledglings crossed my path and below me several thousand footsteps below two hikers with backpacks stepped over the lip of the crater and disappeared. I turned around and ascended back up to the station.

Not long after that Eddie showed up, grinning ear to ear and justifiably cold. We spent a few moments exchanging notes on our mornings and then headed back to Kaanapali coast and the warm sunny beaches.

Tonight I am sitting on my porch drinking macadamia and coconut tea, Eddie is reading a crime novel and we are listening to the shore break, while others lay on the basin of Haleakala watching the night sky.

Beauty surrounds us. It is times like this that we appreciate how blessed we are to live in a country where dreams are defended and deemed inherent in our human rights. Chaos theory is that theoretical explanation I might have been trying to grasp earlier, where the predictable is unpredicatable by nature.

Today, now, this moment, does not deny the tragedy or mistakes, we have witnessed in our lives or may experience again. For now, I just hear the sound of the sea chanting, Take that ride, share that dream, live fully, rise like the sun each morning, grasp the day.

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