Gun Pointed At My Head

Waimea Canyon
Kauai, Hawaii

While hiking through the thick vegetation, I admired the canyon's
colorful rock strata as it decorated the canyon walls. When I came to
a solitary picnic table situated in a clearing, I did not hesitate to
take a load off. The sun was setting, so the softening colors made the
spectacle of the canyon walls even more beautiful. Fortunately, I had
remembered to pack in a couple of beers. "No time like the present," I
thought. While drinking my first beer, I saw three mountain goats
moving up along one of the canyon ridges. While drinking my second
beer, I found out that those goats were not a protected species.

Seven male teenage boys passed by my picnic table about twenty yards
from where I was sitting. I nodded my head at them, but no
acknowledgment was given back. By the expressions on their faces, I
could tell that they were not happy to see me. They kept walking
single file along the path. Three of them were carrying rifles. After
the front of the line had passed by me, and just when I started to
breathe again, the kid second from the rear stopped and stared at me.
When he stopped everybody stopped. He couldn't have been a day over
twelve years old. He looked at me and said, "What the fuck are you
doing here?" The whole group was looking straight at me when I said,
"I'm here to see the canyon." "The canyon is ours," the kid replied,
"and we don't like your kind in our canyon." I didn't know what to
say. I just looked at them and said, "I'm sorry.” The kid put his
rifle to his shoulder and drew a bead on my head. I didn't say a word,
but I never took my eyes off his face. Nobody moved. After some very,
very, tense moment(s), the kid turned his rifle thirty degrees off
center and fired into the bush. I didn't flinch. Everybody started
laughing; that is, everybody but me. Giggling and smiling, the seven
mokes disappeared down the path and into the jungle. It was already
getting dark, so I retreated to a safe place to camp.