Deep Inside Waimea Valley and a Deadly Game of Checkers
I was deep inside the Waimea Valley, and beads of sweat streamed down my brow as I carefully plotted my next move. If I moved diagonally to my right, I could capture my opponent’s stone while landing on a square beyond the reach of his advancing pieces. My options were rapidly disappearing, so this move had to work. If it did, I would force him into a corner, leaving him to play purely on the defensive. He would be pinned against the ropes, and victory—along with that sweet taste of freedom—would finally be within my grasp.
Big John keeps his poker face as he plays a very deadly game of checkers.
With a trembling hand, I gingerly lifted my white coral stone from the slab. I paused, just long enough to steady my nerves and lock eyes with my captor. I wanted to witness the humiliation on his face as his lowliest prisoner defeated him at his own game. I wanted every member of the tribe to see the mighty warrior humbled by the village waterboy.
Oh, he would be sorry.
Sorry he had taken me prisoner.
Sorry he had forced me to haul water down from Holik Amoli Mountain during the hottest part of every day.
Sorry he had made me dance each evening in that scratchy grass skirt and coconut bra simply to amuse the village grandmothers.
Yes… he would be very, very sorry.
Back during my dancing days (I’m really not proud of this).
My opponent met my gaze, and our eyes locked for what seemed an eternity. Then, in a single strategic leap, I bounded over his black lava stone and triumphantly swept it from the board.
Had I detected a flicker of fear in those dark, mischievous eyes?
No.
What I did detect was amusement.
Leaning back in his seat, the powerful chief threw back his shoulders and erupted in booming laughter. Calmly, he picked up one of his stones from behind my own, hopped backward over my remaining coral pieces, and began clearing them from the board one after another.
“Hey!” I protested. “You can’t move backward. I never kinged you!”
“Can’t I?” he replied with a grin. “I didn’t need you to king me. I have been king of this village long before you ever arrived.”
Much as I hated to admit it, his logic was flawless.
King Moku Loko was, in fact, the king.
That meant we were playing by the king’s rules.
Unfortunately for me, King Moku Loko’s version of checkers carried rather higher stakes than the one I had grown up with. For centuries, the people of Waimea Valley had observed a simple tradition. When a captive had outlived his usefulness—or, worse yet, ceased to be entertaining—he was invited to challenge the king to a game.
Win the game, and you won your freedom.
Lose…
Well, let’s just say there was never a rematch.
The next thing I knew, I was blindfolded, gagged, and hog-tied to a pole like the featured entrée at a Friday night luau. To the pounding of drums and the glow of flickering torches, a procession of villagers carried me up the winding trail toward the summit of fiery Mount Chilichanga.
With every step, the air grew hotter.
The smoke grew thicker.
Breathing became nearly impossible.
As I drifted in and out of consciousness, only one thought remained.
Was this really the end?
Will Big John face an agonizing death by being cast into the mouth of Mount Chilichanga? Will he fool the King and completely turn the tables around? You’ll just have to keep reading to find out more!
Having never been much of a fan of human sacrifice—especially when it involved me plunging headfirst into a pool of molten lava—I had only seconds to devise an escape. Fortunately, there was still one trick hidden inside my trusty little…
Okay… okay… I’m sorry, but I have to stop the story right there.
Some of you may already know there aren’t any active volcanoes anywhere near Waimea Valley. I’ll admit it—I made that part up.
The rest, however, is mostly true.
To be completely honest, Rebecca warned me she wasn’t going to let me publish these photos if I kept “bending the truth.”
The funny thing is, Rebecca doesn’t even know the whole story.
She has absolutely no idea what happened.
While I was falling victim to what can only be described as the crime of the century, her greatest concern was whether the food truck would still be serving kalua pork by the time we finished hiking.
Yes, she entered Waimea Valley with me.
Yes, she walked most of the trail toward the falls.
But somewhere along the way she managed to miss every single important event.
It really is quite remarkable how Rebecca always seems to know everything… considering she spends so much time missing all of the important parts.
Rebecca standing at the entrance of the Waimea Valley Visitor’s Center
As is evident from the photograph above, Rebecca did accompany me into Waimea Valley. What the camera failed to capture was that she spent the entire hike suffering from what medical professionals refer to as “pregnancy brain.” It’s the only logical explanation for how she managed to overlook everything that happened to me that day.
I captured this photograph deep inside King Moku Loko’s village. Rebecca wasn’t with me because, being rather great with child, she had made the long journey back to the visitor center to use the potty. Thus, by one unfortunate twist of fate, she managed to miss the single most important event of our entire vacation.
Rebecca was still nowhere to be found when King Moku Loko and nearly fifty of his fiercest warriors burst from this humble hut and captured me at spear point.
Okay, I was never bound and dragged to the top of a volcano. But King Moku Loco did take me captive as he liked the way I moved in a grass skirt. As you can plainly see, Rebecca was still nowhere in the vicinity when King Moku Loko ordered his men to bind me with ropes and drag me over those very boulders toward my bamboo prison. It’s amazing what a person can miss during a simple trip to the restroom.
Rebecca may very well have reached the village by the time this picture was taken. Sadly, she was engaged in a desperate race against the Hawaiian sun to save her rapidly melting shave ice. As a result, she failed to notice my abduction.
This is just the hut where King Moku Loko’s men built their canoes. Nothing remotely sinister ever occurred here. In fact, I have absolutely no recollection of this place whatsoever. Let’s move on.
Aha! At last, photographic proof. This is the very hut where King Moku Loko held me prisoner. Had the camera been just a bit better, and had the lighting cooperated, you would plainly see me tied to the center post inside. he only thing you still wouldn’t see is Rebecca because, as fate would have it, she had once again wandered off at precisely the wrong moment.
A picture of Big John’s former prison (after making his escape).
It was near this very spot that I was first forced to dance for the village grandmothers. The truly remarkable part of the story is that Rebecca never once wondered where I had gone during the several days I was held captive.
I could go on and on, presenting one disturbing photograph after another documenting my captivity. But to what end? By now, I think the evidence speaks for itself. Any reasonable person can plainly see that something very ugly—something very sinister—took place here in Waimea Valley.
Rebecca, of course, remains convinced that we simply enjoyed a pleasant hike to a waterfall.
This was the very last photograph I managed to take as I fled that ancient village. I am not ashamed to admit that, even after all these years, the place still haunts my dreams.
I finally caught up with Rebecca just a few hundred feet farther up the trail. Apparently, while I had been fighting for my very survival, she had been chasing rainbows and Kamehameha butterflies.
After making my harrowing escape (the details of which I may someday disclose for the benefit of the skeptics), the remainder of our hike to Waimea Falls was peaceful and uneventful. Thankfully, King Moku Loko and his warriors appeared content to let bygones be bygones.
With my captivity finally behind me and my freedom restored, I was at last able to pause and admire the spectacular tropical beauty of Waimea Valley. Along the way we viewed alluring red flowers blooming amongst the ferns.
We gazed across a lively pond teeming with lilly pads.
We walked under the boughs of a great banyan tree and found some relief in the shade.
We even found bunches of bananas ripening in a tree.
We glimpsed palms that stood over the jungle like the necks of great dinosaurs.
And other great palms with branches that spread out like magnificent fans.
We even encountered a talented artisan who fashioned some of God’s most beautiful creations into exquisite Hawaiian leis.
Near the end of our trail, we encountered two women weaving some lovely baskets from the nearby reeds. Lucky for me, these were not any of the woman who witnessed me dancing.
Our hike through Waimea Valley was, for me at least, considerably more eventful than the average visitor’s. Since Rebecca remains steadfast in her refusal to acknowledge my captivity, I suppose it’s best to conclude with photographs of the valley’s more peaceful side. Should you care to investigate the rest of my improbable adventures, you’ll find them filed away under Tall Tales & Big Fish Stories. Read at your own risk.
Big John and Rebecca at Waimea Falls
Thank you for visiting Big John’s Adventures in Travel! I hope this post inspired you to pack those bags and set out on an adventure all of your own making.
Mahalo and happy travels,
Big John
Posted in Adventurous Places, Hawaii, North America, Tall Tales and Big Fish Stories and tagged Hawaii, North Shore, Oahu, Waimea Falls, Waimea Valley
Leave a Reply