From the journal of Minnow Gray
December 6, 1991
I came across a term today that stopped me in my tracks. I’ve never heard the wordsoundscapeuntil this moment, and knowing that a word like this exists makes me feel seen (and heard, ha). The definition is this: the full range of sounds present in a particular environment, such as crashing waves, seagulls, dogs barking, and every acoustic phenomena one might find at the beach, as perceived by the listener. It turns out some people are extra attuned to soundscapes (that would be me to the extreme). Even more intriguing is the idea of asoundmark, a sound unique to an area (like landmark). Oh my God, I love science.
Chapter 8
The Boat
Mauna Kea: the highest mountain on Hawai?i; literally, “snow mountain”
Sometime in the night the surf picked up. Minnow could hear the water raking in over the rocks, pounding. But when she woke in the morning, the waves were only shoulder high at their largest. On the south end of the rocky bay, a wave peeling left broke in only a couple feet of water. Waves meant surfers in the water and she prayed for no more mishaps, for the sake of both human and shark.
The sun was still behind Mauna Kea, and she walked out to the small pebble beach so she could get a better perspective of the mountain. It was hard to imagine snow on any of these peaks, but she knew it happened. Her cheeks cool in the early morning air, she closed her eyes and thought of her mother. Her long blonde hair and saltwater eyes, and how the light had never returned to them after Minnow’s dad died. There were people who had lived this same horror in the past few weeks. Going about their lives one minute—blissful under the Hawaiian sun, enjoying the white sandy beach or the balmy sea—and the next, experiencing every person’s nightmare.
When she arrived at the pier, Nalu was already in the boat, fiddling with the engine, and had a yellowed surfboard propped up against the gunwale. The harbor seemed extra quiet, and she realized it was because the crows and seagulls were absent. The only birds around were doves, cooing softly in the nearby kiawe trees.
“Morning,” he said, hair wild and eyes bloodshot.
“Morning. Rough night?”
He’d either been partying or with a girl.
“Nah, all good.”
Girl, then, most likely.
“You planning on surfing today?”
“It crossed my mind. Why?”
“Where you going to go? Bird Rock?”
His face paled slightly. “That would be a negative. But there’s a break up north less exposed, shallow water. I figured if we were in the area, may as well check it out.”
“I’d love to talk to any surfers we see up and down the coast, and fishermen too. See if anyone has seen anything.”
“Good idea. Any luck with Angela Crawford?”
“No, but I’ll go up there later today or tomorrow. The nurse stonewalled me.”
“Understandable. That kind of fame—and injury.”
Even with the swell, the ocean was mirror slick. They made good time, but still, driving so far burned a lot of gas. And time.
“What do you think about anchoring in the bay outside of Hale Niuhi? It was calm even with the swell. You could stay in the other cottage if you wanted to.”
“Anchoring, yes. Staying there, probably not.”
“Not enough girls here?”
He shot her a look, a smile cracking his face. “Something like that.”
It was pretty obvious. With looks like that, he probably had half the girls in Kona lined up outside his hotel.
They came upon Bird Rock, and to her surprise four surfers were out. Three guys and a girl. Two were inside, two farther out, where Stuart was ambushed.
“Brave,” she said.
