Be Kind to Strangers Because You Never Can Tell…
(Part One of a Two-part Story)
It was our 46th wedding anniversary. We had been in Honolulu long enough to know our way around but not so long that a lot of Hawaii was still new and explorable to Mimi and me. It was a perfect time to take a long weekend with a short flight to the Big Island, Hawaii, to which we had never been before and do two things — visit arguably the world’s premier observatory on Mauna Kea (my desire), and see molten lava flowing into the sea from the live volcano Kilauea (Mimi’s yearning desire for years).
We rented a jeep and drove as far as one could drive up Mauna Kea — all the way to the big telescopes. With the wind chill, it was almost freezing even in June but it a was a great experience. I got a little dizzy at near 14,000 feet but I loved it just the same. Up there we met a park ranger who had just been in touch with the ranger at Kilauea Park. We told him our plans to visit Kilauea that very day. He had good news and bad news for us. His good news was our timing was just right as we would get to Kilauea National Park just ahead of the crowds who would be coming at dusk. His bad news? The forecast was rain.
He told us where and how to park. We were glad he did. We located the narrow road that runs along the edge of the island, and we drove between the rows of cars parked on both sides of this road which leads to the park ranger shack — wondering all the while what it’s like when you don’t get there ahead of the crowd. Not wanting to walk an extra half mile, we drove almost to the shack which is the beginning of the trail. We waited a very long time until a space became available.
It was now dark. That was fine with us. We had planned to see the lava flow — and glow — at night, and were equipped with two new flashlights for the journey. It was cool and breezy. We slipped on extra clothes and even some rain gear. I had film ready for any exigencies along with an additional 40 pounds of camera equipment — all in a knapsack. I slung it over my shoulder, and we were on our way.
We were told it would be a 45-minute walk. Maybe longer. We were prepared. We had actually been preparing for several years. After all, this is probably the most active volcano in all the world. The first fifteen minutes was easy. A lot of people were heading out on the trail with us, and a lot of people were returning. Flashlights were flickering all up and down the trail like fire flies. And that’s the way it looked almost as far ahead as we could see. And if you looked way up ahead beyond the trail of lights you could see it in the far distance — an orange red glow about the size of your fist if you hold it way out in front you. We looked at each other in the beams of our flashlights and we smiled at one another with eager anticipation. This was fun! It doesn’t get much better than this.
About that time, we noticed the lights around us began to thin out. The trail grew less clear and harder to follow. I realized it wasn’t just dark. It was black dark. I looked up. I wondered, “Where did the stars go?” Just then the rain started — a drizzle at first then a steady increase. Our feet now slipped more than they grabbed. There was no longer a path, just a jagged up and down lava field with a large smooth rock every now and then that we’d have to somehow get around. It was only the fist-size glow that told us if we were headed in the right direction.
The rain was now coming down in buckets. I was soaked to the skin. Not with water; I had a rain suit on. It was sweat. My camera bag was soggy and felt double the weight. It was the first time I ever thought of inventing glasses with little windshield wipers. I was miserable. We said nothing to each other. We knew what the other was thinking. We were almost an hour out. The glow in the distance seemed no larger. We found ourselves totally alone, no lights in sight but our own. We were working hard, but going slow. Would we make it?
Then a wonderful thing happened. A little group of people — a family, apparently, laughing and happy — came by us on their way home. They had a good word. They said in one accord, “Are you guys ever in for a treat. It’s worth every bit of the struggle. It is absolutely beautiful! Enjoy!”
Be Kind to Strangers Because You Never Can Tell … (Part Two)
We stood there motionless in the rain as the happy group disappeared leaving us alone again. But that did it for me. I was pumped, ready to go. “We’re gonna’ make it!”, I tried to convince myself. And then I tried to convince Mimi. She said nothing but she looked determined. We started out again into the night. It was a strange sensation: Two geezers, one not a hiker, the other a has-been hiker; alone in the black dark; in the middle of the night; leaning against a wind driven drenching rain; hoping whenever we lost sight of that glow (which BTW had gotten no larger) that we weren’t headed toward a precipice over the ocean; and battling a lava field knowing that a false step could mean a turned ankle or broken bone.
We trudged along like this, silently, for another 20 minutes when we saw another group approaching from up ahead. They were coming back from having seen the lava. They were a sullen group. Only one of them spoke as they passed by. She said, “You people, it’s not worth it! You’ve got a loonnngggg way to go. You aren’t half there yet, and when you get there it’s a real let down. There’s nothing to see!” It was then that I knew it was over. I was angry at that woman. I was angry at the world. I was already angry at my wife because I knew what she was going to say, and she said it. “Sim, I’m going back to the car. You can go ahead if you want to, I’m going back to the car.” She knew I would be unhappy, but for her enough was enough. I was really mad at her. This was HER trip. This is really why we came to the Big Island — to make HER happy. It would make her so happy to see the lava flow, and when mamma’s happy everybody’s happy. She was taking away all our happiness. Boy, was I mad at her. Maybe she’ll fall and break something. That’ll show her! Wonderful anniversary!
I sat on a rock in the rain as she disappeared. I was so disappointed I thought of crying. If a man’s gonna’ cry this would be a good place. But I was too mad to cry. I thought of going on ahead to the lava flow. It couldn’t be that much further. I could take pictures and show Mimi. Maybe that would make her happy. Then I remembered my camera was empty. I had a lot of film with me, but how could I load it in the blowing rain with water dripping off my eyebrows? I thought of praying. It was then that I think I imagined God looking down smiling at me like I used to smile at one of our children going through a temper tantrum. So, if God wasn’t going to take me seriously, I would return the sentiment. I decided I wouldn’t talk to God or my wife — maybe not until the next day even.
I was on that rock alone a very, very long time. I was stiff when I got up and slowly headed back to the car. I was cold. My feet were numb. My glasses were totally dysfunctional. There was nothing dry to wipe them with. Everything was a blur. But it didn’t matter. Not much matters when you’ve lost the big one. But all that was to change with my next encounter. After stumbling along for a good while, I saw a little lady struggling to find a foothold. It was a pitiful sight. She was all alone, all bent over, her full concentration on each little step. She was headed far off the path as if disoriented. I went over and offered my hand. I spoke kindly to her and encouraged her. I told her that she was doing fine, just to keep it up. Not wanting to leave her alone, I walked by her side shining my light on the path in front of her trying to say pleasant things to lift her spirit.
For the longest time she said nothing. Then she finally spoke. Her simple words hit like a hammer blow. To this day I’m still recovering from those words. She said, “Sim, how much further to the car?” As we hiked back to the car Mimi began to realize that I had no idea who she was until she spoke. It was then she wanted to know, why was I so nice to the little lady. I said, “I didn’t know the little lady was you!” Right then, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain, we had a great laugh together. We still reminisce and laugh out loud at one of our most memorable anniversary trips ever. And still, every now and then, Mimi asks, “Tell me again, Sim, why were you so nice to that ‘little old’ lady?”
The two takeaways for me from that whole episode (besides the muddy pants that never came clean) were one: The strengthening power of encouraging words and the crippling power of discouraging words; and two: That which could be called the Marriage Moral of this story — What seems at the moment to be the worst of times often turns out to be the best of times. God be thanked!