The Pylon

Oahu, Hawaii 1984.
This was at a beautiful lookout on Oahu called the Halona Blowhole, which is a underwater cave and tunnel system that forces great amount of seawater through a very narrow exit, causing the water to shoot high into the air, maybe one hundred feet. It is a wonderful, thunderously loud sight, so it is no surprise that the State of Hawaii built a nice pull out for traffic to park and an observation platform for tourist and photographers. This part of the island’s coast consists of lava cliffs and the observation deck was perhaps thirty feet above the surf and the blowhole.
I spent some time watching this natural exhibit, thrilled with this display of the Pacific Ocean’s power. It was then that I noticed, down near the surf and surrounding the blowhole area, some clearly man-made structures. My mind could not make sense of them…about six feet tall they looked like sticks standing straight up, stuck in the lava. I think that there might have been a dozen of these, maybe even more. As closely as I looked I could not see anything to identify these things. Finally my curiosity got the best of me and I decided to climb down for a better look.
While it was true that the Blowhole was working nicely this day, shooting high into the sky in a rainbow spray, where I was going was inland some distance. Even still, I descended quickly to avoid getting wet and made it to the nearest pylon. They were made of wood and pointed at the top and as closely as I looked I could not see any writing or marking on them. I was dumbfounded as to why anyone would go to the trouble to secure these wooden posts to such an unusual spot. And then I heard a man screaming.
I looked up to the voice, just because that is what a person does when they suddenly hear this kind of loud, hysterical yelling from another person. It was coming from a Japanese man up on the observation platform. I knew he was Japanese because of his language, I understood none of it. He was clearly upset, panicked even, and he was gesturing wildly over my head, pointing at something behind me. Again, my head turned and I looked only out of instinct; my mind had not yet had a chance to formulate any kind of thoughts or judgement. And then I knew what these pylons were for; these were grave markers.
The Japanese man had been pointing straight out from his location, over my head because that is how high the wave was that was bearing down upon the rocky coast. I had just enough time to wrap my arms and legs around the post when it hit. It felt as though someone was pounding the top of my head and I could feel the rock below cut into my skin, through my blue jeans. The downward push lasted only a few seconds and then the wave pulled back out to the ocean with a force that I would not have thought possible. I don’t know why this seemed to take so long, but it did. I had time to think of, and thank, the person who owned this pylon, who had last been seen standing in this spot and it was their grave marker that was saving me now.
The Japanese man had been the only one on the platform when this had happened; I had run to safety as soon as the wave receded, and scurried back up to the platform, and he ran to meet me, surprising me with a genuine hug. He had tears in his eyes, and I am not sure who was more upset. He spoke quickly, and gestured to his camera, and back to the sea, letting me know that he had gotten it all on film. I wished I could have seen those pictures.