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As told by Kai
The fastest canoe in the Pacific (probably) tells you everything. Honu the turtle is not convinced.
Kai is a red outrigger canoe who lives on the water off Waikīkī. He seats six paddlers, he is longer than a city bus and he is the fastest canoe in the whole Pacific Ocean. Some of that is true.
His friend Honu, a green sea turtle, answers every story with a single "Mm-hmm." So when Kai announces he is going over the mountains to see a red temple, nobody believes him. Honu is in for a surprise.
Five photographs of Waikīkī, Diamond Head and the Byōdō-In Temple by Robert Goldston, Sr. A short, sunny read for all ages.
Every photograph in this book is real, taken by Robert Goldston, Sr. on his travels. The stories are fiction, written as a gift to the photographs; the italic line under each story title tells you what the photograph actually shows.
Prologue
Aloha. My name is Kai, and I am a red outrigger canoe. I seat six paddlers, I am longer than a city bus, and I am the fastest canoe in the whole Pacific Ocean. Some of that is true.
I live on the water off Waikīkī, on the island of Oʻahu. On my left side I carry my ama, a float held out on two curved arms called ʻiako, so that I do not tip over. I have paddled every inch of Oʻahu's coast. Twice. Once backwards, in a storm, with my eyes closed.
My friend Honu does not believe a word of this. Honu is a green sea turtle who has been grazing these reefs since before most of the hotels went up. Every time I tell a story, Honu says, “Mm-hmm.” That is all. Just “Mm-hmm.” It is very annoying.
Then there is the Sleeper. Nearly every day somebody floats out on a pink raft, lies back in the sun and falls fast asleep. It is never the same person, but it always seems to be the same raft. I keep an eye on them. That is part of my job too.
This is the story of the week I went over the mountains to see a red temple. Honu says I made most of it up. Honu is in for a surprise.
Three spreads from the book: the photograph on one page, its story on the other.
No. 2No. 2
Paddlers in a red outrigger canoe off Waikīkī, with sailboat masts and Diamond Head behind them.
Now this picture I really am in. That long red shape on the water is me, Kai. The people sitting in a line are my crew. Diamond Head rises behind us, and the masts of the sailboats stick up like toothpicks along the breakwater.
“We had just come back from a very long paddle,” I told Honu. “All the way to Molokaʻi and back before breakfast.”
“Mm-hmm,” said Honu.
It was a short paddle, out past the reef and home again. But it was a good one. In a canoe like me the paddlers sit one behind the other. They pull their hoe, their paddles, at the same moment, and switch sides together when one of them calls out. When it goes right, it feels as if the whole canoe is breathing.
That afternoon one of my paddlers, Auntie Lei, said something that changed my week. “Saturday we take Kai over the mountains to Kāneʻohe. Paddle the bay, then visit the Byodo- In.”
… the story continues in the book.
No. 3No. 3
Swimmers and pink floats in the calm water at Waikīkī Beach, with hotels along the shore and Diamond Head in the distance.
On Wednesday the beach was busy, so I did what I do best. I kept watch. Inside the reef the water was as calm as a bath. People bobbed everywhere, swimming and splashing and floating. The hotels stood behind the palm trees like a row of tall, polite giants, and Lēʻahi peeked in from the far end, keeping an eye on things too.
And there was the Sleeper. Pink raft. Arms out. Mouth open. Snoring, I am almost sure, though it is hard to hear a snore over the surf.
A gentle breeze was blowing out to sea that day, and a sleeping person on a raft can drift a long way while they dream. So I slid over, quiet as a fish, and gave the raft a nudge back toward the sand. Then another. Then one more.
“That makes four hundred people you've saved,” said Honu. “According to you.”
“Five hundred,” I said. “But who's counting?”
… the story continues in the book.
No. 4No. 4
The Byodo-In Temple in the Valley of the Temples, Kāneʻohe, beneath the green cliffs of the Koʻolau Range.
On Saturday I went over the mountains. I would like to tell you I paddled all the way around the island, past the North Shore, through waves as tall as hotels. That is my story, and I am sticking to it. Honu, when I told it later, wanted you to know that I rode on a trailer behind Auntie Lei's truck.
After our paddle on Kāneʻohe Bay, the crew drove up into the Valley of the Temples, and I came along on the trailer. From the parking lot I could see everything. The temple sits at the foot of the Koʻolau, where the cliffs rise straight up, green and folded like a curtain, with clouds resting along the top.
… the story continues in the book.
17 pages, 5 photographs, one storyteller. Digital PDF for $2.95.
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As told by the Needle
A brass needle that never points north, and the great machines it leads to.
