Tropical Exposures (Digital Images and Blogs)by Douglas Walch, Kailua-Kona, Hawaii. Photography

Public Access

Cabana Boy wiped away the thin film of sea salt that had accumulated on his Ray-Bans so he could better assess the scene unfolding in front of him. It was New Year’s Eve morning and Public Access 41B to Lanikai Beach was choke full of Ecotour clients and their sea-kayaks. Three independent groups were waiting patiently for their turn to launch out into Lanikai Bay and begin their deployment east onto the Mokolua Islands, a Bird Sanctuary.

Adjacent to the public access, a Ford Econvan was blocking traffic as another dozen customers disembarked with coolers, cameras, hats, life jackets, and paddles. All along the left side of the access, the red team had lined up their kayaks, end-to-end, next to the fence. In the center of the path, a group of Japanese were getting instructions from one of the yellow team’s staff. All their colorful paddles were pointing up towards the rain laden clouds, like flags in a parade. Sequestered along the right side of the pathway, members of the green tour group were locked in the grips of confusion with no apparent game plan in place, their kayaks and guides yet to arrive.

The only thing missing from the scene was a Sani-can. "Surely", thought Cabana Boy, "someone besides me has to pee."

Looking out to sea, past the Mokolua Islands, Cabana Boy could see that another heavy, dark squall was building, pushed towards shore by the growing trade winds. The previous night a heavy rain had inundated a 12-inch sewer line in Kailua, creating a thirteen-thousand gallon sewage spill which had found its way into the storm drain system. The spill was now flowing into Kailua Bay and the ocean’s currents were streaming the raw effluent down Lanikai Beach towards Public Access 41B. The dark brown effluent spilling into the bay was in stark contrast to the rich turquoise ocean.

The news of the spill had made the morning paper but the state Department of Health had not yet posted warning signs. Perhaps they had not yet been contacted and were simply unaware, or perhaps it was that someone's palm had been greased. Either way, in the mean time, the Eco-tour proprietors were trying to squeeze in one last tour, and dollar, before the Warning actually did go up, or before the incoming squall dispersed and wreaked havoc onto the aspiring fleet of kayaks, pushing them back into the incoming effluent like the storm that sank the Spanish Armada in July of 1588. The irony of the affluent paddlers unknowingly sailing out into their own effluent made Cabana Boy smile.

That’s how Cabana Boy’s year ended. He knew that in the end it wouldn’t make any difference. But at last, he’d stumbled onto his New Year's Eve resolution; “document the decline of paradise.”