Hawaii in a wheelchair: Dancing, snorkeling and, most of all, relaxing

It took about an hour for T.J. to figure out that I wouldn't be able to use the sea kayak.

The two-person boat requires you to sit up without bracing your back. If I could do that, then I probably wouldn't have to use a wheelchair as my chief mode of transportation in the first place.

But I have to give T.J. - and the other guys working at the Beach Shack at Hawaii's Kona Village - credit for trying. He pushed and pulled and got me into the rear seat of the kayak, but as soon as someone stopped holding me up, I tipped over backwards.

"I can get anyone or anything into a boat," T.J. told me as we struggled to get me upright. "Even a grizzly bear."

For some reason I believed him, but his efforts were draining my energy, and I was afraid once I was put out to sea I wouldn't be much help to my wife, Nancy, when it came to paddling.

Instead, the guys at the Beach Shack rigged me up for snorkeling along the reef that runs in front of Kona Village, a luxury resort on the Big Island of Hawaii, where my wife and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary (and spent most of the money we ever thought about using on future vacations).

The reef-viewing gear included a face mask with a snorkel and a large life vest so I couldn't go under even if I wanted to. They also supply flippers, but they are useless on my feet because multiple sclerosis has me unable to do the required flipping.

Once I paddled over the reef, the view from above was so perfect that it looked like an amusement ride in Disneyland. There were more than 70 different kinds of fish along the reef as well as moray eels, a dozen sea turtles and giant manta rays that come close to the shore to feed.

All of this sea life was almost at my fingertips in the crystal-clear, 80-degree waters.

We decided on Kona Village on the recommendation of a friend. Most of the bigger Hawaiian resorts are wheelchair-accessible, but once outside the immediate hotel grounds, it is a tough go.

Kona, located in the middle of a 200-year-old lava flow, is completely accessible, including six of the 120 thatched cottages scattered around the 82-acre complex. The pathways are paved with stones or crushed gravel to allow a wheelchair to roll over (although you can't roll over some of these paths without someone pushing the chair), and the huts for wheelchair users include ramps to the front doors and beautiful roll-in showers and bathrooms.

While I could get almost anywhere in the resort in a wheelchair, there were electric golf carts available for picking me up from our hut. We used one for the Friday night luau, which was far from the main dining room.

At Kona Village, we were isolated from the outside world. The only way to get news was via a six-page fax of highlights from the New York Times. No television or radio.

At first I thought I would be bored out of my mind. What would I do with all my free time?

For starters, Nancy and I talked. After the second or third day, we didn't talk only about our kids back home. About the same time, I stopped missing the TV and newspaper. Instead, we fell into a daily routine that began around 7:30 a.m.

We would wake up and mull over a major decision. Would we swim over the reef to check out the fish and work up an appetite? Or go to breakfast first, sit in the sun and order a fresh fruit platter (or cereal or macadamia-nut pancakes) while we talked about the day?

To get me into the ocean, T.J. or someone from the Beach Hut brought a wheelchair equipped with wheels that looked like giant balloons. This would get me over the sand and into the water. Once I was in the water, the balloon tires would keep me afloat until it was deep enough for me to roll off the chair and float away. Then the life jacket would keep me on top of the water.

My wife stayed close because I couldn't lift my head to see where I was going. I tended to drift too close to the reef, or start heading out to sea. She pulled my legs to get me going in the right direction.

Mid-morning, we would go to one of the two swimming pools - both equipped with lifts for getting disabled people in and out. There we relaxed until lunch. Afternoons were spent napping back at our Tahitian-style hut, or getting a massage.

The one thing I couldn't do in a wheelchair was the petroglyph tour, on the edge of the resort, where there are more than 400 100-year-old carvings etched in lava. To see them you have to hike over the lava field - even if you aren't in a wheelchair, the staff warns you it's a difficult hike.

Evenings were capped off with dinners of fresh fish, pasta, fruit and vegetables. After dinner, Nancy and I would wheel my chair down to the ocean and feed bread crumbs to the fish. Every once in a while, a manta ray the size of a dinner table would sweep through the area and cause quite a stir.

Then maybe a nightcap at the outdoor bar to listen to a small band play native music. I even danced with my wife (she sat on my lap while I twirled around the dance floor in my wheelchair). The band played requests, and we danced to the Hawaiian version of "Send In The Clowns."

Later we headed back to our cabin. Through its huge glass doors, we could look at the full moon over the ocean and listen to the waves crash on shore.

Sound boring? You betcha! My idea of a vacation.

If you go

During our recent visit to Hawaii, my wife and I were impressed with how easy it was to get around in a wheelchair. The only problem we had was getting to our seats on the plane. I could wheel my chair to the airplane door, but getting to my seat took my wife and a couple flight attendants at my side.

The best advice for people with disabilities who are thinking about traveling is to ask a lot of questions before you go.

Call your hotel and ask how accessible it is for wheelchairs. Are the rooms accessible? How about the bathrooms? Are there roll-in showers? Are the doorways more than 32 inches wide (the width needed for a wheelchair)?

Patricia Smithers of Walnut Creek, Calif., writes books on traveling with disabilities. Especially useful is "Hawaii: A Guide for Wheelchair Users" ($20. Available by calling 925-932-9001 or through Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble).

Smithers, whose husband is a quadriplegic, favors Maui because there are a lot of paved sidewalks and curb cuts.

The Big Island of Hawaii is fairly accessible (you have to be removed from the airplane by a lift because they don't have a ramp to the door), and you can get a van to take you to your hotel. At Kona Village, six miles from the airport, a driver is provided as part of the package.

Room, meals and entertainment are included in the prices at Kona Village, which start at $450 a day per person. Package deals are available, starting at $1,295 for three days to $5,395 for seven days. Drinks and tips are not included. For information on Kona Village, call 800-367-5290.

Vans to accommodate wheelchairs can be rented for sightseeing. Contact Accessible Vans of Hawaii at 800-303-3750.

We also drove around the island in a rental car. Hawaii Volcanoes National Park is about a four-hour drive from the resort. For information, call 808-985-6000. Web: www.nps.gov/havo. The visitor center is wheelchair-accessible.

If you plan to take a helicopter tour, be sure to mention your disabilities. Some operators cannot take you, or require that you bring an attendant.

For more information on accessable Hawaii, contact the Hawaii Center of Independent Living: Guide to Accessibility, 808-537-1941, for information and a guide.

Steve Johnston's phone message number is 206-515-5634. His e-mail address is east@seattletimes.com.