The day we became the Southernmost People in the entire 50 States.
A lot of driving down long, winding dirt roads, to Ka Lae, until we almost drive right off the edge of the world.
The wind nearly blew our hats sunglasses shirts dresses all off into the ocean as we walked over dunes and grasslands, passing the remnants of the Hawaiian city of Kalalae Heiau, nestled below the light tower. Offerings to the god Ku’ula ensure good fishing for those who come for solemnity.
We walked to the edge and peeked over into the turquoise nothing, imaging giant squids and Captain Nemos and endless ocean prairies of sea monsters below.
And then we noticed a fisherman, lounging next to his cooler of beer, sitting just south of our perch. No! we thought. We must be the southernmost people!
So we hiked and stumbled over the tangle of volcanic jumble, stubbing toes and ruining our good flip-flops, and…. success! We are the southernmost people in the 50 States!
As we made our way back from the World’s End, a body swooshed passed us and slammed into the ocean with a muffled whoop. Along the cliff, a group of adventurous 20-somethings, dressed for underwater success in wet suits and bikinis, gathered to cliff dive, ignoring the currents that could take them all the way to Japan and the swells that could smash them violently against the rocks.
Care for a swim?
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