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When our alarm went off at 5:30, I was feeling pretty awful. I wanted more sleep, I was sore from the kayak trip, and my cold was hanging on with a vengeance, no thanks to the coughing aching etc. etc. medicine. At some point a few minutes later I had a sudden change of heart, threw back the covers, and leapt to my feet. My sinuses, as if on cue, cleared, and I started throwing on clothes.

After all, when was I ever going to have a chance to see the sunrise from the top of Diamond Head?

We rushed to get clothes on, and a backpack loaded with essential supplies: bottle of water, flashlight, binoculars, sun screen, camera, and two loaves of banana bread that came with our room. We hurried downstairs, picked up the Mustang, and drove off through the dark to Diamond Head. The traffic gods smiled upon me, and I caught green lights the whole way through Waikiki.

To get to the trail, you drive up along the north face of Diamond Head, then take a tunnel that passes through the side of the mountain, and park in the bowl of its crater. It was a little after six when we arrived and started up the trail, dark enough to still be night, but, thanks to the ample moonlight, just light enough to make out the trail.

The concrete path quickly gave way to a rough, rocky trail, and that’s about where things start to get steeper. We made our way quickly but cautiously up the winding path, navigating switchbacks and the ever-increasing slope. We passed a family of Japanese hikers, greeting them with a warm “Ohaiyou!” The sky grew lighter and lighter as we hiked, shifting from pitch black to a deep midnight blue.

The rocky path ended abruptly in a set of stairs. This is the point at which things start getting serious. The first set of stairs, the total of which I did not count, got a nice burning sensation going in my thighs. The stairs delivered us straight into the mouth of a long, narrow, steep tunnel, reason number one to bring a flashlight. I made a crack to Liz about our trek through Moria, and since the tunnel was so narrow, “Yoooooouuuu shall not paaaaass!” Liz bopped me on the head, and we kept walking.

Finally we saw that the light at the end of the tunnel was not an oncoming train, and emerged out onto a small rest area. We puffed a couple times to catch our breath, turned to the left to see the ever-approaching dawn, then turned to our right to see the next phase of our ascent — 99 steep stair steps. Joy. And I thought my legs were on fire from the first set of stairs! Ha! Neither of us were willing to miss the sunrise, though, so we pressed on, trying to keep a steady pace, focusing on just taking each step at a time. Each step was one step deeper into pain, but also a step closer to victory.

Where the stairs end, the old Army bunker begins. We took a minute to rest after the climb, then headed down the passageway. This led us to a pitch black shaft which houses a rusty spiral staircase, reason number two for the flashlight. We trudged up the stairs and were rewarded with a former gun enclosure with a view to the south and west. We could already see the hardcore surfers out at the beaches below, and the daylight was fast approaching. Time to keep moving.

We crawled out through the now-empty artillery slot and onto a very narrow path along the face of the mountain. We followed the path east along the side of the mountain, which brought us to the final set of stairs. From here we could see the lookout station at the top of the mountain, and that gave us all the encouragement we needed to scurry up and find a place to take pictures.

There were already twenty or so hikers who had arrived before us, and there were more behind. We snapped a few pictures before the “show” started, broke out the banana bread, and got caught up with our friend the water bottle. Below us, the island of Ohau sprawled, stretching and yawning as dawn approached, and the ocean’s tireless caress washed in against the shore. The breeze was cool, and persistent, but none of us really cared about the cold.

First came a hint of yellow on the eastern horizon, a thin band of delicate gold, tucked between the ocean and the clouds. Then a little sliver of fire peeked up from the sea, almost hesitant at first, but then boldly, inexorably progressing forward, blazing into the morning sky, painting the clouds with vibrant orange, pink, and yellow colors. It washed over us with a radiant warmth, and the light was thick and delightful. We all ignored what our mothers had told us as children and stared into the rising sun.

As the sun continued its ascent, the light began to spill over the mountaintop and into the west, first lighting up Pearl Harbor, then progressing slowly through downtown Honolulu and last onto Waikiki Beach directly below us. West north west of us, toward the interior, the rain clouds smiled, and we were treated to a series of rainbows, sometimes coming in sets of twos and threes.

After giving ourselves a sufficient time to be awestruck, we hiked back down the mountain in jubilation. With the light, I was able to get pictures of the parts of our ascent that would not have shown up before sunrise. As we neared the start of the trail, we passed a family going the other way; the mother was practically dragging her daughter, who must have been about nine or ten. Mom was saying, “See, we’re going to hike up to the top there,” and the daughter was whining that, “Nooooo, it’s too lonnnnng, and steeeep, I don’t want to go up there.” After they passed, Liz and I both started laughing; they had no idea what they were in for.

We drove back to Waikiki and, basking in the new day, returned the Mustang, walked back to the hotel, and got cleaned up. Liz got us a table beachside at the Surf Room, and I met my parents and mother-in-law at the door. We all had a lovely brunch, enjoying the breeze, sunshine, and beach activity. After brunch, we split up again; my parents had to return their car, and we needed to check out.

Once checked out, we took a cab over to the Aloha Tower Marketplace, where our ship, the Norwegian Star, was moored and ready to board passengers. We checked our luggage, then took a quick walk around the marketplace to kill a little time. Then it was time to get in line and board.

Things moved fairly efficiently, in spite of the extra security since the last time we had cruised. Our bags were X-rayed, and I got the royal treatment with the metal detector wand. We moved swiftly through the rest of the process, checking in, obtaining ID cards, and having the obligatory “look at us boarding our ship” photos taken. I noted with some amusement that a green screen was being used for the photo background; I wondered how many people would end up with transparent shirt syndrome when their pictures were completed.

As we boarded, a crew member showed us to our stateroom, where we set down our bags and let Liz bounce with excitement for a few minutes. We then headed out on our mission to locate everything aboard, starting at the top decks and working our way down. We paused at the spa to make a couples’ hot stone massage appointment, and Liz oohed and aahed over the fitness center’s array of goodies, then we pressed on through the ship. The Star is brand new in 2002, the biggest thing in the Pacific, and the interiors are lusciously art deco, filled with elegant, warm woods, and plenty of clean lines. I took lots of pictures along the way, since I am that compulsive about documenting our explorations.

We met up with my parents and did the last bits of deck six and seven with them, then turned them loose to explore on their own. At five o’clock, we had our mandatory all-hands emergency drill. Following the drill, Liz and I went up to the front of the ship to take a dip in the hot tub and watch the beginnings of the sunset. After our soak, we got dried off and rendezvoused with our respective parental units by the pool for the barbeque sendoff party. It was pretty packed with revelers, so the first table we were able to find was several decks up at the Bier Garten, looking down at the festivities below. Even that far away from the water slides, food, and party, we still had to shout to hear each other over the band.

Liz and I took off to take some pictures once we finished with dinner. We went down from the Bier Garten’s lofty perch and headed aft to get some shots of the Aloha Tower, where the large clock faces were lit with red and green to celebrate Christmas. Along the way we discovered the oversized deck chess set, with pieces about two feet tall, and made a mental note to come back for a game sometime.

As we moved aft, the sound of the band faded away and was replaced with traditional Hawaiian singing and music. Where was it coming from? To our surprise, there was a mini-luau at the pier, where the Aloha Boat Days group performs traditional music and dance to greet and send off cruise ships. We listened for awhile, then went down to the promenade on deck seven for a better view. We applauded between songs, and waved when appropriate, fully aware of our part in this little tourist/native symbiosis. We watched the moorings slackened one by one, and dock hands in Hawaiian shirts unhooked the mighty ropes from the pier. We started to pull back and away from the pier; the musicians shifted into serious Aloha mode, and their dockside audience turned to wave goodbye to us. We waved back, grinning, excited by the prospects of the journey ahead.

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