I’ve now been to Maui 9 times. Maui – the Valley Isle, or the Magic Isle. Magic usually requires a sense of wonder or newness. Now that I know right where the Jamba Juice and Safeway are, now that I know what’s up country, what Paia is like, where to find Green Turtles off Kihei, what burning cane smells like, what a Kona wind is, what … I feel like I’m ready to write a guidebook.
On my most recent trip, I stripped all the tourist off of me, and got down to the three things I really like to do there: swim in the ocean, watch the sun set at South Maui, and race the Xterra. No trip up Haleakala, no cruise through the wine country, no winding drive to Hana and beyond, no walk past Lahaina wharf, no hike in the Iao valley, no search for secret snorkeling spots (like La Perouse), no … whatever. I didn’t do any of it. Just swam, watched the sun set, and rode the Xterra practice and race courses. Oh, and ran along the beach from Wailea to Kama’ole. Swim, bike, run. And lounge. It’s what I do.
The first day I arrived, the trades were blowing briskly. I tried an afternoon ocean swim, but the afternoon winds were kicking up not surf, but ragged whitecaps, the random triangles rising and falling, no pattern. Jet lagged, I didn’t try to fight it, and begged off after fifteen minutes.
Next morning, the sea had calmed down, and I walked right in at Kam III, the very southern little crescent just before the lava outcrops surrounding the marina that separates the chaos of Kihei from the manicured luxury of Wailea. My condo complex, Hale Kamaole, is right across the street from this little beach, so it’s ground zero for my swimming, running and ocean viewing. King Kamaole Park runs north from here, along the ocean (Mauka) side of the road – nearly a mile of grass, trees, and basic park amenities. It’s where the locals come to hang out, or where the retired condo dwellers trek when they want a beach with no travel time.
All along South Maui, from North Kihei to La Perouse, including Wailea, Makena, and Big Beach, the combination of the prevailing winds (coming from the other side of the island, blocked by the mountain), and the protection from smaller islands like Lanai and Molokai, there are no real waves or swell to speak of. Every morning, paddle boarders, dragon boaters, other canoeists, and a few swimmers venture past the “surf line” (such as it is) to cruise up and down parallel to the coast. South Kihei nestles against a very shallow bay, just the lightest curvature of land giving a hint of protection to the north and south, from Cove Park to the Marina. This is just about a mile long, a good distance for an hour + swim (Ironman is 2.4 miles; up and back here can mimic that).
Now, I’ve been a serious swimmer for nearly 50 years. When I first swam in the ocean, back in LA, I realized why I’d been doing all those laps back and forth for years in monotonous pool lanes. The ocean is such a free place to swim. It is endless, and offers a sense of power over wilderness, like you get from a good hike in the mountains. I like to swim in lakes, and some reservoirs are OK, but there’s nothing like the ocean for its sense of freedom and endless possibility.
And there is definitely nothing like Hawaiian water. It’s the temperature God intended for us to swim in when he designed our bodies. Goggles are nice, and a swim suit helps a bit, but mostly it’s just skin on water, neither cold nor warm. Saltiness helps buoy the body, so for someone fat-challenged like myself, I can actually swim better there than in a pool or lake. And the clarity – fish, turtles, rocks, and coral are all right there for the viewing. I keep my head and eyes down, mostly (that’s the best way to swim anyway), and as long as I stay within a few hundred meters of shore, I can still see the bottom 75 to 80 feet down. The sand ripples here are parallel to shore, so I just follow them – no need really to sight landmarks on shore.
In the morning, with no wind and few clouds, and the sun not yet baking the air, the water actually feels the best place to be. When I start out, my arms cool off when I bring them forward in recovery, and driving my hands back in warms me up. Once I get going, and the sun has crested Haleakala, I am free to mentally wander, relying on my five decades of motor memory and 10 years of triathlon training to power me forward while I idly ponder whatever pops in my head.
Which is mostly sightseeing. The palm trees, the hulking mountain, the paddle boarders, the catamarans bobbing off shore at the north end of the bay, the boats speeding tourists out for morning snorkeling at Molokini – all of these surround me. And no walls to stop my flow every 25 seconds, no flip turns to make me dizzy, no other swimmers to get in my way. Just me, and the gentle slightly bobbing surf – and, What’s THAT!? A huge submarine form rising up beneath me, hulking, rotating, an oval shape … I’m startled for a half-second, until I recognize the ancient moss covered shell of an Hawaiian Green Turtle. They are a little scary, because, as I race after one, sometimes they come up TOWARDS me, not away (they don’t do anything quickly, but they are quite hydrodynamic and move very fast – faster than me, at least). And then I wonder about the beak, what would happen if I got to close. Would the head retract? Or would he reach up and nip me, and what would that feel like?
The faster I approach, eventually, the quicker he dives, and I redirect myself back towards home, the beach named Kam III. It’s quite small, with lava outcrops marking the entrance about 50 meters across. Underwater, the lava juts up erratically, making just a narrow little entrance at an angle form the south. If there were waves or a serious current or rip tide, this would be a problem, But the shore is gentle, the waves and wind don’t come until the afternoon, and I can swim all the way to shore, Eventually I pull myself along the sandy bottom before rising, like some Darwinian walking fish, onto land.