Snow In Hawaii

It’s snowing in Hawaii. As we sit by a fire at the base of Mouna Kea watching the mounds of powder build up it never ceases to amaze me how things have changed. It has been five years since the world climates fully realized their shift. The palm trees that once covered these islands have fallen under the weight of a seemingly endless winter and the formerly green mountains now sit covered in a heavy white year-long glaze. Sweat is replaced with shivering, humidity offered up to cold dry air. The iconic beauty has changed but not abandoned us. 

Most of the world kept up with how the planet was choosing to evolve and Hawaii was no different. Ever the opportunist, investors saw the chance to turn this island paradise into a winter adventure haven and we are some of the first journalists to take in the wonders of this new far flung ideal. 

The chalet we are housed in romanticizes the structures that long lined the base of the Swiss Alps. Rough hewn pine logs inside and out. A heavily sloped roof supported with eaves and a large stacked stone lit fireplace chugging along. Black and white photos of hula dancers and bronzed pineapple décor leave the entire scene both relaxing and confusing simultaneously. This place shouldn’t be as it is. It should be as we remember it. I shouldn’t be able to look out on the Pacific Ocean and see glaciers. Where are the tropical flowers? The fire dancers? The luau’s? Warm breezes? It shouldn’t be like this.

Then again, my home back in Quebec shouldn’t be an inescapable furnace. Heat so unbearable that half the city has fled to the countryside. Anywhere to escape the beating, unrelenting sun. Our winters used to be harsh, now the “winter” months come and go as if they never existed. Temperatures never change except to go from hot to hotter. Power grids never fully keep up and rolling black outs have become standard for those who chose to remain. 

But Hawaii. Something about how much the world has shifted only hits me fully when I see this for myself. I had seen reports from our other travel staff: the polar bears in Thailand, the endless summer in Greenland, the countries laying claim to the new habitable land of Antarctica, but Hawaii hits the soul differently. Perhaps it is the memories my parents shared with me of vacations here; photos they still have hanging in living rooms that vicariously invite me into glorious bikini-filled winters sipping piña coladas while watching dolphin pods and surfers. Rains that would drench the islands in a sticky warm hug. Natives who had mastered their land and lived among the tropical majesty, partnering with and protecting it. 

Now those who have remained are learning a new way. 

When the first snow fell across the islands a decade ago, it was called a fluke. Many were quick to remind islanders that dustings of snow could often befall the peaks of Mauna Kea when the Kona Low would blow. People would murmur to themselves about how that might be normal for the ‘Big Island’ but Honolulu having six inches of snow was nothing to overlook. Yet they resigned themselves to trusting the calm of others around them and waiting it out. When the dead of summer rolled around snow kept falling. No one could spend more than ten minutes outside unless abundantly dressed. Sea turtles and marine life had long left. Concerns moved to outcries. What was becoming of this island paradise? What was becoming of the world?

Looking back now, it all happened so fast. It only took three years for the world to completely change and a subsequent five years for scientists and governments to confidently announce our new normal and build most of the required infrastructure to allow life to continue. There was a certain amount of panic that understandably began to take hold at first. Land grabs surged for what had historically been the most volatile climates on earth, cattle ranchers and farmers rushed the government to relocate their industries, world aid groups threw together emergency shipments of warm clothing and building supplies to countries with no knowledge of how to live in the cold, hundreds of millions relocated their families. As snow melted, pristine lakes formed and new rivers were created. Frozen earth thawed to reveal some of the most mineral rich farmland the modern earth had ever known. Palm trees thrived in Iceland. Depending on where you were, land that was once tropical was now a frozen tundra, land that was once frozen was now perfectly temperate and land that was historically temperate was now blisteringly hot. Unprecedented didn’t even begin to describe it.

Ever adaptable, humanity has evolved. I was actually a bit surprised to see how quickly people stopped asking when it was going back to the way it used to be. They either moved to more hospitable climates or got on with their new existence exactly where they had always lived, albeit more self-reliant than ever before. 

The freeze encapsulated the world north to south from Virginia to central Brazil, and west to east from Hawaii to Papua New Guinea. The heat took everything else. Ocean levels rose over those three years but the glaciers that formed from the perpetual snowfall just north of the Equator and across the old latitudinal torrid zone seemed to offset the expected flooding. The frigid zone seemed to simply…move.

But despite the inhabited world being sliced in two with the Hawaiian Islands stuck in the middle, this place is determined to survive. Determined to master this new climate of theirs, or so we’ve  been told. 

It’s February and we’ve flown from the baking sun of Quebec to the bitter cold of Los Angeles, then from there to the frozen tundra of Honolulu International Airport. We embarked on a seaplane ride to Hilo on the Big Island where dog sleds awaited and took us the rest of the journey to the base of Mauna Kea. And here we are now, sitting in this chalet, frozen to the bone, wondering if this place will ever be what the investors hope it will. The slight snowmelt every “summer” is hardly enough to keep the constant nine month piling of powder and below freezing temperatures at bay enough to entreat world travelers. The newly built ski resort along the mountain grinds to a halt when the frequent blizzards hit. The reality that Hawaii is essentially the new, much smaller, version of Antarctica seems to be lost on these investors. 

In time, the islands and islets that make up this region will be connected by ice sheets and it is unknown how long from there it will take before it becomes its own desolate snow covered continent. 

But for now, I am here to do a job. I am here to tell the world about the adventure that awaits them on these frozen islands. I am here to sell the dream of a new type of winter wonderland. “The Icey Isles”, a chance to “face the new Everest”. It's “A New Antarctica for the people” or at least wealthy people. This may be the dawn of a new era but some things will never change. The rich are still amongst us looking for ways to spend their money. Everything is marketable.

So, just like any other time in unprecedented human history, I will do my job and the rich will play. C’est la vie.