taylor camp, kauai

When I lived in Kauai in 1973, there were a lot of other hippies there "living off the land"—i.e. on food stamps, other people's papayas, stolen pineapples from the Dole fields, coconuts from the palms in the graveyard, panhandling. I lived on the beach way at the end of the road on Waimea side. But when the park ranger would run us out of there, our little group (blonde Krishna, ex-prostitute John-John, queen Marty and the two Vassar girls) headed for Taylor Camp, way at the end of the road on Hanalei Side. There a bunch of hippies had fabricated fantasy treehouses of tie-dye and wood and found objects, and we could set up our little tent in peace.
   However, I am the person who, famously, hated the Woodstock festival, and I was not all that fond of the camp reputedly owned by Elizabeth Taylor's nephew either. For one thing the other folks  were not all that welcoming. Then there was the camp facility. I don't recollect the privacy wall presided over by Frank Zappa on the krappa above. All I remember is a toilet mounted on a platform in the middle of an open field. And the hepatitis shots we all had to get at the clinic after drinking from the stream nearby.
   But the worst part was the weather: Hanalei is the rainy side of Kauai, and we were living under an Indian print bedspread. Damp. And chilly since we didn't wear any clothing except maybe a shell lei or, for formal occasions, a loincloth. Bummer! So after a couple days we would pour water into the radiator of the Midnight Rambler (bought for $25), light some incense in the ashtray and head back to Waimea Side, home and dry, where the rangers were waiting.
   You can see possibly more accurate reports—yes, we were all on drugs—in a new book about Taylor Camp. There is also a documentary. John-John, Krishna, Marty—where are you now? The other Vassar girl I can locate.

pig trouble

photo by Douglas Gasner, text by Claudia Dowling LIFE 1986

Checking out the West Plains Daily Quill yesterday, I found the following:
     Feral hogs are bad for Missouri. The Missouri Department of Conservation (MDC) continues to work towards eradication of the hogs that decimate wildlife habitat and crops. But, a spokesman said, when asked where to hunt feral hogs in Missouri MDC’s standard response is, “If you want to hunt feral hogs go to another state.’’
      He said well-intended “hog hunters’’ typically are unsuccessful or may remove only one or two hogs in multiple attempts. The hunters’ presence and activities may cause feral hogs to leave an area, which can disrupt many weeks of baiting and trapping efforts by MDC staff, he said. “It causes us to have to start the process of scouting, surveillance, pre-baiting conditioning and trap building all over."
     They should have imported Pepito and his pack of pig dogs from Kauai, Hawaii. The boar jaws on the door of his shack were testimony to the animals that met their end at the point of his knife.
     And yet, I can't help wanting a wild piglet like the one my friend Jim had in Hawaii. He named him Pepito, and Pepito the human returned the favor by naming one of his dogs Jim. Pepite was the smartest animal I've known—smarter than the dogs he thought he was, a better swimmer, a more interesting and faithful companion.
    It was a terrible thing when he hit puberty. He trotted down to the nearest canine neighbors for a hookup. They were Kala Kapa'hoo's pig dogs, and they tore him to pieces. My friend Jim, himself a pighunter, wept as he butchered his pet. He gave all the smoked meat away.
   Note to MDC: If you catch a piglet, I'll take it. Female preferred.