Nathan from Nebraska

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• January 24, 2026

“No alien land in all the world has any deep strong charm for me but that one, no other land could so longingly and so beseechingly haunt me, sleeping and walking, through half a lifetime, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but it abides; other things change, but it remains the same. For me its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun; the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ear, I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud wrack; I can feel the spirit of its woodland solitudes, I can hear the splash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of flowers that perished twenty years ago.”

― Mark Twain, from “Mark Twain in Hawaii: Roughing It in the Sandwich Islands: Hawaii in the 1860s”

Like most of the hikes I’ve done in Hawaii, I started the trek alone. It was moderately rated difficulty wise, and since the broken foot incident in Italy last year, I was a more cautious human now. Cautious doesn’t mean any less daring, or flat out reckless, but more consideration in each step, as I could still hear the sound of my bone cracking, caught in the lava rocks on the shore of southern Sicily— followed by the swell of pain.

Waimano Falls is located in Pearl City. It’s a traveled hike, and you’ll no doubt pass fellow hikers, but it’s not super touristy either. Waterfall hikes are my favorite. I’ve done most of the known waterfall hikes on Oahu at this point. There are, I’m sure, hundreds of hidden falls in the jungle, pockets unknown paradises. In a revere I found my thoughts wandering with a fictional partner with a machete, trying to find a place only we would know, us against this whole goddamn world, even if in Hawaii the world doesn’t seem much against you at all.

Many hikes in Hawaii start off easy, but quickly ascend, with natures root steps, often accompanied with mud, so you’d best wear proper foot gear and use tree branches as hand rails. The trail splits to an upper peak trail that is a few miles, and down to the waterfall which is about a mile. When you’re sweating and muddy, there is nothing more satisfying than coming to a waterfall with a natural pool and going for a swim.

It was when I was taking some video for Instagram content that I noticed him first. At this point, the hike was getting more challenging, which I found fun. You know a hike starts getting legitimate when ropes are tied to trees for one to help themselves down or up. It should be noted to always test these ropes before relying on them, as you don’t know how long they’ve been there or if they’ve been properly set up. When taking the video, I saw another lone hiker in the distance behind me and made a joke, “oh, there’s a man there, I hope he doesn’t murder me.” From a distance, I could see his moppy Bob Dylan like hair. He was either rapping to some music he was listening to or talking to himself, which I took as a sign that he was crazy, even though on hikes, I always spoke to myself or the trees or sung songs or even howled like a wolf. What I’m saying is, there is no reason for anyone to believe I was anything but crazy, a solo female hiker, with an adrenaline addiction that usurped my fears which I did, indeed, have. A friend of mine here in Hawaii told me he could never picture me being afraid—whether I was in the ocean, on a mountain or walking on stage to tell jokes. A compliment, I’ll take, but not an honest version of me. Fear always shadowed me. It taunted me. There was a static fear, lingering in my energy. It was my constant battle to drown it out.

I’m a pretty speedy walker and climber, so it was easy to keep a distance from this stranger for a while, until the hike becomes a straight up rock scramble and you have to climb down wet rocks, which requires skill and most importantly, not rushing. As he got closer, I could see he was quite young, younger than me by a decade. He wore white Nike’s that were now covered in mud. He had a scruffy beard that wasn’t quite full, another tell of his youth.

After the scramble, there was another fork. Left or right? The right was more overgrown with brush, and I chose that way not because I thought it was the right way, but because I thought that he would be deterred to follow me. He did anyway, and it was then I said, “I’m not really sure this is the right way,” hoping he might try the other way. The path got narrower and narrower. If I were Alice in Wonderland, I’d opt for a shrink me potion as you were practically crawling through a tunnel of shrubbery. It was here we started to make conversation. Start with where you’re from, how long are you in Hawaii, have you been here before.

His name was Nathan. Nathan from Nebraska. He was wearing a Jesus t-shirt. Given his Midwestern manners, he was not wearing a Jesus shirt out of irony. Nathan’s trip was almost over, a quick week (a week in Hawaii is not enough time). He also came alone. As we talked and traveled the questionable path to the waterfall, in my mind I redacted my initial assessment of him and I found myself enjoying chatting with him as he somewhat reminded me of my friend Igor back home, another free spirit. It wasn’t the first time I befriended another solo traveler on a trail. As a woman, it’s best to be dubious of male strangers. My radar for quality character is usually pretty spot on, and if I deem someone a good soul, I was indeed happy to have the company. Even he said, he felt blessed to have run into me, in case either of us got hurt, we wouldn’t be alone.

People are always intrigued by a writer from New York. There was no illusion in my mind that I wasn’t unusual. Hell, I was even charming in a quirky way. But since my career was in turmoil I didn’t really have any desire to think of New York, where the fear rendered me a failure. Lori’s limbo in the saturated green mountains of secret waterfalls and turtle filled line ups of surf swell was a fantasy, but here I was living it. Nothing felt more real to me.

Pivoting the conversation back to him as I tried to find trail markers (pink electric tape tied to trees, extremely helpful), he said the first time he saw the ocean was on the plane ride descending here in Hawaii. “WHAT?!” I exclaimed, with genuine shock. It was so easy for me to forget how big our country was, and that the beaches of the Midwest were lakeside. That people lived decades, if not lifetimes, never seeing the ocean. The notion was abominable to me. Born at Good Samaritan hospital in West Islip (a hospital literally on the Great South Bay) in May, I was on the beach less than a couple months old, safe in the arms of my mother, bewitched by the sand and sea like every baby is. There was no first memory of seeing the ocean. My relationship with the ocean predated when I was able to form memories. Hell, I could swim before I could walk or talk. A sea witch from the start. Nathan from Nebraska was practically a different species to me.

“You might have ruined every ocean you see after this,” I told him, “Hawaii has the most beautiful ocean and beaches I’ve ever seen. And I’ve done been around.” It was hard for me to imagine the majesty of never seeing the ocean until adulthood and then seeing it for the first time. It was even harder for me to imagine what my life would be like without the ocean playing such a pivotal role. No matter how well someone knows me, if they’ve never been in the water with me, you’ve never known me fully. Mother Ocean is divine. Not just a place for fun, but of immense power and life. In the arms of the sea, the salt water washed away a no longer existing past, and the future didn’t matter at all. You were connected to the earth here and now. You are mostly water. And water is the most precious thing in the known universe. Earth, a rare water planet, flourishes with life because of water. Water planets, however, are finite. Eventually they turn to dust or ice. Such was our planets fate, with or without humans. You can only grasp just how special that is in the water. And here I was following a stream to a waterfall with Nathan from Nebraska who only just had his first taste.

In some ways, I was too spoiled. To have grown up in a beach town. To have grown up near New York City and haplessly pursue giant dreams. To have jumped on a plane at every chance to see a different beach, eat dinner in a different city. Make no mistake, life as a bohemian artist is challenging at best, impossible at worst. You have to be at least half a psycho to attempt to be a writer and comedian and live in the uncertainty of freelance and hope against all odds (100 to 1) that you will be the one to sell a screenplay. Still, I was living life beyond well in my unemployment, much of it thanks to the generosity of friends. This is not lost on me. It is not lost on me, my good fortune. How could the rest of 2026 possibly live up to this January? Just the other day, I surfed some of the best waves and then killed at the Blue Note doing comedy. It was the best day ever. I was setting myself up to be depressed for months returning from this trip. I’d do it again over and over. I was having so much fun, it seemed like a sin to be this carefree, this drenched in natural beauty, this ignoring of adulthood. Long ago, I understood that living a life of sin meant you would demise in the same way… the cruel part was the saints went the same way too. 

Waimano Falls is stunning view when you happen upon it. Your heart skips a beat like when someone you have a crush smiles at you. There are two tiers to the waterfall. The big waterfall cascades into a pool, and then drops off into another pool where a rope was installed where you could swing like Tarzan (of course I was going to do this). There was a group of five (three guys, two girls) bathing in the pools. They too seemed about ten years younger than me, but I doubted anyone suspected I was old lady of the group.

We dropped our backpacks and stripped down to swimwear to bathe in this scene so divine, it felt fit for gods. The sun shone through the palm trees creating this golden stream of light shimmering on the water. The fresh water was cold but refreshing. First, we dipped in by the waterfall. The others started gathering at the lower pool where the rope swing was. The boys were afraid to go, so I showed them how it’s done. Nothing pressures a man into doing something half idiotic like a girl half their size going for it.

Nathan and I hung at the falls for sometime, alternating swinging from ropes, snacking on protein bars and hydrating. The climb back would be just as muddy and just as unforgiving.

Nathan from Nebraska and I would head back together. It was late afternoon and neither of us wanted to be caught in the jungle in the dark. It gets dark quickly, as most of the hike is canopied by trees. He was only in Hawaii another couple days, otherwise I would have invited him to one of my comedy shows. I made some suggestions on what to do for his remaining days. It’s a long hike back. I was happy to have his company. He told me that his mother and father were never married, that his father had a drinking and drug problem so his mom married someone else and in his senior year of high school he moved from just outside of Omaha to a farm town of less than a thousand people. Another thing I could hardly fathom, just as much as he couldn’t fathom living in New York City. He moved back towards Omaha and was a waiter in a steak house. Based on the dishes his boss/chef created, it sounded like a great restaurant. He had fallen in love with Hawaii, just as I had over a decade ago when I first came here, and why I keep returning, and am tempted to never leave. But commonly kind Midwest people leave their grandiose dreams for dreaming. They found satisfaction in commonness. Their simplicity isn’t a weakness, however. I find it charming. They were happier with less than everyone I knew in New York. He spoke, with no irony, about Hawaii being definitive proof of God. I couldn’t argue with it.

“I’m a positive person,” he said, and he certainly was. Even despite his upbringing. His outlook was almost naive, like a child. His energy was true and pure. New York would destroy someone like him. I thought if he shaved, in a few years he would be quite handsome when he grew into his looks. It was my deepest hope he would one day find a nice girl and they would have children and adventure in the great American West.

Our crossed paths would end at the trailhead where we returned to our vehicles. Fairly certain we’d never meet again, we shook hands and expressed gratitude for the others company. It made me think of a quote from Kermit the frog from “The Muppets Christmas Carol.” “Life is made up of meetings and partings,” which is actually a nod to Dickens “Great Expectations,” who writes, “Life is made of ever so many partings welded together.”

That’s one of the things about being a frequent traveler. I’ve met people all over this country and in others countries that I bonded with quickly. I suppose it is partly knowing that your window is so short when you happen on these people that you become open and honest. Why not? Raw moments lead to a quick bonding. And then we become footnotes in each other’s traveling stories. Cameo characters as fleeting as water flowing from a waterfall.