"Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex."
~ Oscar Wilde ~
Waking one morning before sunrise, I feel disinclined to be indoors or around other people. Slipping quietly into the kitchen, I grab a carton of yogurt, then my binoculars and bird guide. After scribbling a note, I ease my way out the door. It’s time for one of those simple pleasures.
These are the golden hours, initially dark and misty though they may be, when I feel as if I have the island to myself. The birds know this secret, too. I set out for an isolated spot overlooking the Hanalei Valley, known as the "bird view," to join them at sunrise.
This place is easy to find, but for some reason seldom frequented. Rather than making a right turn toward town after crossing the bridge leading to Hanalei, go straight, down a narrow lane running between taro patches and the river. The road passes historic Higuchi Rice Mill, which is being restored, and then soon after that are designated parking spots on the left across from a small footbridge leading to the Bird View trail.
The way to the Bird View is slightly overgrown; don’t be mislead by a prominent left fork up a steepish muddy path. Stay to the right, which provides a quick, easy climb to a flat, grassy summit some 125 feet above the valley. Below lies the patchwork of fields where taro has been grown for over 700 years. It was all slated for development, but the happy decision was made to turn it into a wildlife refuge instead, still keeping it under cultivation. Today, taro farmers work the fields which also provide a near-ideal habitat for wetland birds.
From this modest aerie, it’s easy to spot the aquatic birds below, while nearby forest birds flit through the trees. Japanese white eyes, red-crested cardinals, Japanese bush warblers, and white-rumped shamas are here in abundance. These were once prized songbirds, brought over in cages by Asian immigrants from places such as Japan and India, but their descendents now thrive where the less disease-resistant endemic birds, some of which survive only at mosquito-free higher altitudes, cannot.
Speaking of mosquitoes, I neglected to bring bug spray. After enduring a dozen or so bites and having my fill of the view, I descend to walk along the road. The taro workers are entering the fields, but the birds seem unperturbed by their activities. Black-necked stilts, with their comic gait, wade alongside them, while cattle egrets lurk in the tall grass growing along the riverbank. Various ducks paddle on the river, and the ever-present raucous mynas, close kin to starlings, congregate on telephone wires. A lone Hawaiian goose grazes on new shoots of grass in an open field, seeming not the least bit diffident as I stand watching close by.
These are the sights and sounds I hold fast to, walking back to my car, driving home, and rejoining my family for breakfast.