Trifter

When visiting Hawaii with my husband, Jon, for our fifth anniversary, I had two dreams: to go snorkeling and to see the famed Na Pali Coast, which I’d been told was one of the most beautiful natural sights in the world. By the time we made it to Kauai, after having visited Oahu and the Big Island, I’d already chickened out on the former; while Jon enjoyed an afternoon snorkeling with sea turtles — or “honu” as they call them in Hawaii — along the coast of Kona on the Big Island, I’d sat on the sidelines dunking my feet. I was angry with myself for giving in to my fears and missing out on what he’d described to be one of the best experiences of his life. We had one more island to visit before we headed home to New York City — Kauai — and I vowed to get underwater … no matter what it took.

Once on Kauai, we immediately booked a boat tour. We decided to go with Blue Dolphin Tours because their trips are decidedly longer than most other companies’ at seven hours, and they travel to the privately-owned “forbidden” island of Niihau.

We awakened the next morning when it was still dark out and headed to the docks in a daze. Thankfully, they offered coffee on board and the promise of a sunrise unlike any we’d ever seen. They were right! After about a half hour of cruising past relatively flat lands and empty seas, our boat was suddenly flanked by turtles, dolphins and flying fish. We then got our first glimpse of the Na Pali coastline cliffs, which were green and majestic, like jagged pieces of jade emerging from the ocean. From our vantage point at sea level, these mountains stretched into the heavens. As the sun rose, lighting up the sky with pinks and oranges, the deep hue of these mountains transformed through several shades of color.

The complexity of these cliffs was truly understood only after we floated right along the base. From a distance, they looked as if they’d been painted a bright green, but as we got closer, we had a better view of the lush rainforests covering them. Deep rivets cut into the rocks from where the rainwaters slid into the sea, making the cliffs appear as if they’d folded onto themselves. At the bottom were networks of caves and tunnels, in which lived turtles, sea lions and other wildlife. If you looked closely enough within the cracks of the rocks, you could spot a lone waterfall or two.

For about two hours, we slowly made our way down the 17-miles of coastline. The boat then turned toward Niihau, which we could now see in the distance. At this point, I began to feel nervous, especially when our captain explained that we’d be snorkeling right off the coast of that island — in the middle of the ocean! What if I got sucked under by a current or into one of the sea caves? I’d heard many stories about how dangerous Hawaii’s waters are and didn’t want to become a cautionary tale.

We ended up docking by an ancient caldera, which was across from Niihau. Our captain explained that because the area was relatively enclosed and warm, it was the perfect breeding ground for fish. Plus, the currents were gentle so we’d be getting a clear shot down the bottom of the ocean, 30 feet — gulp! — below.

Jon quickly slipped into his snorkeling fins and mask, and jumped into the inviting waters. However, I stood on the deck, staring into the turquoise seas beneath me. An eldery passenger shoved past, sliding into the ocean with no hesitation; her grandkids then followed suit, laughing and pointing to the various fish. By now, I was one of the last passengers still on board, but was determined to get in the water. And so I put on my snorkel mask, sank into the sea …. and promptly choked on a mouthful of salt water.

As I sputtered and gasped for air, I considered returning to the boat, but then something stopped me. A small school of yellow and black fish swam by, clear as day, even without me looking at them underwater. Now more curious than frightened, I put my mask back on and slowly followed them — and was rewarded with a sight I’ll always remember. Crystal blue waters hugged rocks and cliffs; around them swirled thousands of fish in every color from yellow to orange to blue. It was a scene so amazing and surreal that I almost forgot I was snorkeling. It seemed as if the fish were flying and I was along for the ride.

On our way back to shore, we passed by the Na Pali cliffs again, only this time the afternoon sun cast shadows across them. They were just as beautiful as they’d been earlier in the day — but after beating my fear, they somehow seemed to be a little less mysterious.