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Posted by Bamboo Buckaroo
Thursday, May 10, 2012 9:19 PM
April's winner has won 10 Bamboo Bucks to use in the BR online store.
Da mos Serious Kine, Serious Award:
"Seriously," by EIJI
http://www.bambooridge.com/bambooshoot.aspx?bid=1233
Congratulations to you, EIJI. Everybody keep on posting those contest entries.
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Posted by Bamboo Buckaroo
Friday, May 04, 2012 8:40 AM
Welcome to the May edition of The Great BR Year of the Dragon Contest:
Here are the two trigger pieces for May:
From Issue Number 27, an excerpt from "The Night of the Kepalo," by Michael R. Sakamoto.
From Issue Number 28, an excerpt from "Nou O Makana," by Frederick B. Wichman.
Unlike The Great BR Fishing & Wishing 100 - 100 Contest, there are no theme choices, and there is no upper or lower word limit. After reading the pieces, YOU decide on your writing theme, and YOU decide whether you want your piece to be 15 words, 150 words, 1500 words -- well, you get it, right?
For anyone who may have trouble choosing a writing theme, I'd suggest possibilities such as "myths," "chicken skin," or "night fishing."
Da Rulz an Stuffs:
1. You can submit one entry per month. All May entries must be posted on the Bamboo Shoots page of the BRP site between May 1 and May 31 at 2:00 p.m. HST.
2. Entries can be prose (including short stories, nonfiction essays, or whatever you come up with), poetry, or plays -- or any type of hybrid writing you dream up : )
Remember if you want to do paragraph indentations to make it easier for the judges to read your piece : ), put the [sp5 ] tag -- no spaces -- in front of the line you want to indent five spaces.
And don't forget to click the "Year of the Dragon Contest" button for your entry.
3. Every entry must have a title.
4. In the section below the title where it says:
A blurb about your piece or a good quote from your piece:
You MUST include Year of the Dragon Entry to help the judges distinguish between contest entries and all other entries.
Your entry should look like this:
Title: Menehune Magic
A blurb about your piece or a good quote from your piece: Year of the Dragon Contest
Body:
Well, he was very short, and he seemed different . . . blah blah blah . . . And that was no simple trick.
5. Winners will be announced with all possible BR speed after 2:00 p.m. HST, May 31st, and they'll win Bamboo Bucks credit to spend in the BRP online bookstore.
6. Don't forget that 29 entries from July 2010 through June 2011 were selected for publication in the upcoming landmark 100th issue of BAMBOO RIDGE. So you never know. Your piece might be published in a future issue of BAMBOO RIDGE : )
Good luck to you, and let's write!
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Posted by Bamboo Buckaroo
Friday, May 04, 2012 8:24 AM
From "Nou O Makana,"
by Frederick B. Wichman
When the Menehune still lived on Kauai, a high chief of Hale-le`a and his followers came to visit the sandy plains of Ha'ena. He came to catch a firebrand from the fireworks cliff of Makana to prove his affection for a woman who did not believe he loved her. If he could catch a firebrand before it fell into the sea, his love would be unquestioned. And if he could catch that one brand that flew the farthest out he would prove his feelings beyond all doubt.
So Kahua-nui, high chiefess of Ha'ena, ordered the firethrowers to wrap dry branches of hau in twine made of the silver-gray hinahina. These they would carry on their backs up the Limahuli valley and climb the steep slopes to the top of Makana. There, standing at the edge of the thousand-foot cliff, they would set the brands on fire and throw them out over the edge. These small logs, c.aught by the wind currents, would swirl out over the land into the sea, leaving a trail of glowing embers as they rose and fell like sea birds soaring in the wind.
Nou had always wanted to go to the top of the cliff, to Makana, with the firethrowers. His dark eyes had often watched the firebrands sailing across the dark skies of night and in his heart the dream of being a firethrower burned as brightly as the embers themselves.
"Let me go with you," he begged the busy firethrowers. "Please let me go with you."
"You are still too young," the leader of the firethrowers said. "Stay here and practice throwing twigs until your arms grow strong and your wrists supple. This is no boy's play we go to do." The leader's thoughts turned to the rich gifts the chief of Hale-le'a had promised to the man whose brand he caught that night. So each firethrower was intent on tying a knot different from any other man's and his thoughts were not upon the hopes of a youngster.
The men picked up their bundles of wrapped hau and set out to climb the steep trail. Nou watched them go. But this time he was not content to remain and watch from the beach. He began to follow the men up the steep path to the top. Once there, he hoped, perhaps they would let him throw one log, even a little one. At least then part ofhis dream would come true. He wanted to tell his friends, "I threw a log from Makana and it went far out to sea, farther than anyone else's! I did that!" But how could he get to throw anything over the cliff if the firethrowers would not let him go with them? So Nou followed without permission and climbed the steep trail.
Nou struggled up the path and soon his breath came in painful gasps. He could not step from toehold to toehold as the men did for his boy's legs were too short. He had to climb over and around rocks and boulders, grasping handfuls of the coarse grass to keep from falling over the steep cliffs. At last he was forced to rest.
As he sat, Nou heard someone calling over the wind that hummed about his ears.
"Help me!" the voice called. "I am caught and cannot get free!" Nou looked around. He could see no one. "Help me!" the voice groaned.
Guided by the broken call of the strange voice, Nou found the caller, a tiny man, hardly taller than Nou, with a long, brown beard and friendly eyes. A large rock had rolled across the little man's legs. He was caught on the edge of a steep drop and could not free himself without falling.
"Help me!" called the little man once again. "Come, I will not hurt you."
Nou approached, undecided whether to help the man or run away. "What can I do?" he asked doubtfully.
"Push at this rock," the little man said, "as I hold onto the grass."
Nou did as he was asked and shoved against the large rock. It tipped and fell
over the cliff and the man was free.
The little man stood up on his uncertain legs and thanked Nou. "I am a Menehune," he said. "Tell me one thing that you wish for and I will do it in thanks for what you have done for me." The Menehune shuddered and said, "The morning sun would have turned me to stone. Please tell me what I can do for you."
Nou thought for only a moment. "This is my dream," he said. "I want to throw at least one log from Makana, even a little one, so I can say I threw a fire brand and it went far out to sea, farther than anyone else has ever thrown it. This is what I wish."
"It is a little thing," the Menehune said. "I can help you to throw those logs so that you will always be the best thrower. You shall do this tonight. But you must do as I tell you." The Menehune whispered in Nou's ear so softly that not even the birds that flew low over them could hear what was said. "Follow closely what I have told you," finished the Menehune, "and your dream shall come true."
Nou continued to climb the rest of the way to the top of Makana. As the Menehune had told him, the firethrowers were very angry with him.
"Go home," they ordered. "This is no place for you. Even if it were, you brought no firebrands with you. Here one throws only what one brings."
Nou stepped forward and spoke to the men preparing the fire. "Let me stay," he said quietly but firmly. "I will make a bet with you. I will give my life against anything you care to wager that I can throw a firebrand farther out to sea than any of you."
"You have nothing I want," one firethrower said.
"Take care," growled another. "It is a dangerous thing you say."
"The chief of Hale-le'a has offered a prize to the man whose brand he catches," another man said. "We do not have time for a boy's silly game."
"I will take only one of the brands and I will win my life back," Nou said. "Will you let me throw?"
"So be it," said the leader of the firethrowers. "If you are stupid enough to make such a bet, you who have never done this before against we who are experienced, and wish to lose your life, I shall not stop you. I will even give you one of my firebrands."
The men ignored Nou and silently prepared for the fireworks display of Makana. The hau logs, tightly wrapped in hinahina, were put into the bonfire so that the soft centers would burn. Nou untied the end of the hinahina rope on the brand the leader gave him, and retied it in the special knot the Menehune had taught him.
Then, on top of Makana, it was time. The first man threw his log. All his skill, all his experience guided the fiery brand. It went far out over the ocean, sparks marking a trail against the night. Another and another man threw. Never had the people below seen such a spectacle as log after log soared, now low, now high, and flew far from shore to drop at last into the sea.
Then the leader of the firethrowers threw and the log went far, far out to sea. It was against such a throw that Nou must do his best.
. . .
Bio: Frederick B. Wichman was raised on Kauai and in central Oregon. He had taught upper elementary school but had retired to follow interests in tales and legends of Kauai and in the village life of Sixteenth Century New England.
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Posted by Bamboo Buckaroo
Friday, May 04, 2012 8:13 AM
From "The Night of the Kepalo"
By Michael R. Sakamoto
. . .
Wes pushed his way through the overhanging bush, flipped the hood latch and pulled at the trunk's hood. The hood opened and he fumbled for the retaining bar and finally got it inserted in the hole which held the hood up.
"Where's that oil stick?" he said, trying to comfort himself with his voice. The thick silence enveloped him quickly and seemed to make his voice sound foreign to him.
"Where are you, you bastard . . . ," he said under his breath. Finally his hand touched the ringlike hook of the oilstick and Wes pulled it out carefully, trying to keep the precious oil from dropping off. Gently he pushed the oil off of the stick making sure that as much of it would hit the leather bushing and not fall on the fender of the pickup. Suddenly the pickup shook gently. The valve stem rocked on the slick curved fender. The movement caught him totally unprepared and the largest drop of oil missed the leather bushing and dropped on the fender. Again the pickup shook, this time violently.
Wes' arm hairs bristled. He looked up only to see the images of the pipe racks and total darkness around him.
"Who's there!" his voice came out weakly. Nothing but the darkness answered him. He stood stone still listening with all of his senses. Then the sound of something moving through the bush caught his ears. It stopped and moved again. Without thinking he picked up a rock and threw it in the direction of the sound. The movement stopped. He picked up more rocks and threw it in the same direction.
"Damn dogs," he said, trying to convince himself as to exactly what it was. He could hear the rocks land but the sound of movement was nonexistent.
Without hesitation Wes scooped up as much of the spilled oil as he could get and smeared it onto the leather bushing. "I hope that's enough," he said, almost pleading. He struck the match and then realized that he hadn't even tried pumping the lantern. He flicked out the match and pumped the lantern with a few quick determined pumps. The swollen leather bushing missed on the first and then second stroke, but grabbed at the walls of the pump and then started to build up the badly needed pressure.
Wes struck another match, turned the valve and the lantern burst with comforting light. The lantern pulsated for a while, alternating from an odd orange to a full white light.
In a minute the lantern settled down and the light became steady. He held the lantern up high as he worked his way down the trail. The spiderwebs were amazingly abundant and several times he stopped to check if he was still on the trail. One especially thick web blocked the way at about the middle of the distance down. Well formed and with a big yellow headed spider perched in the middle. Wes couldn't find a way around.
Carefully reaching down he looked for a stick to tear at the web with. A crunching sound reached his ears and the hairs at the back of his neck bristled. Again the sound moved and then stopped. Still in the crouched position he picked up a rock, turned and tossed it in the direction of the sound
Nothing. He could hear the rock tear through the foliage and then hit the ground, but nothing moved.
Holding the lantern high the sound once again moved, this time it moved hurriedly through the bush to his left and then stopped. More rocks went flying in the exact location of the sounds but nothing moved.
Again the sound of movement in the dry underbrush could be heard making its way. Wes stood mesmerized trying desperately not to listen but he couldn't help but hear as it made its way through the bush. Again it stopped this time only ten feet away from him in the bush.
Frantically Wes picked up a dry branch, tearing at it to get it broken off the thick floor matting. The branch would suffice and he quickly started to tear at the mass of webbing. The sound once again moved toward him. The huge yellow spider grasped the end of the stick and was tangled up in the mess of webbing. It slowly unraveled itself and started to work its way down to his hand.
The sound of the bush moving filled his mind as he tore at the webbing. By the time the webbing was sufficiently destroyed the spider was almost at his hand. Once done Wes frantically ran down the trail still clutching the stick. The light of the lantern fully illuminated the thinning trail and the sounds of his labored breathing filled his ears.
Siu's lantern light was clearly visible as he made for the high lava bluff. The ohia trees were all gone now and the pahoehoe was the only thing left. Wes stopped at the bluff panting heavily, dropped the stick and switched his lantern to his right hand. He held the lantern high and could now see Siu and Leiola in the encampment.
The movement on his right arm made him see the spider. By now it was at his elbow, huge and slowly moving. Stunned and almost hypnotized by the spider, he screamed. The spider stopped and dug in its legs and lunged for the flesh of his arm. The sting of the bite instinctively made him recoil and he frantically wiped at the spider. The spider hit the ground and quickly made for a crack in the lava and disappeared.
Wes stomped at the crack madly trying to kill the spider. He winced at the sting and watched as the swell increased in size in a matter of seconds. He started down to the camp.
Leiola greeted him with her limited amounts of sympathy and failed to notice the beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead.
"Found the lantern, huh," she said with a false concern.
"I guess that I did leave it in the pickup after all."
"What took you so long?" Siu asked as he still fumbled with his tackle.
"Shaddup!" Wes said as the pain cruelly worked its way up his now swollen elbow. His face was ashen white and his knees felt the unsteadiness of semi-shock, saliva dribbled down his half open mouth and his brow was gnarled and beaded with sweat. He put the lantern down by his pack and sat down with his back to them. His mouth tasted of brass, the swelling had grown and his hand was beginning to tingle and feel a little numb. His breathing was still labored and it took him several minutes before he had the breath to try and turn to face them.
Wes tried to turn, but he lacked the composure so quickly changed his mind. With his left hand squeezing down on his right arm he sat on the lava for an hour before the dizziness came. The piercing pain was now gone, but the lantern in front of him swayed on the ground as if on a pendulum. Periodic blurring of images followed and he began to feel sleepy, his eyes felt like lead curtains.
Through the garbled night sounds he could barely see clearly. The ground moved as if it were smooth waves of rock. And the sounds of the night began to sound like talking people, sounds of arguing people, people in a violent confrontation, and finally a windswept scream of a man.
He suddenly felt the warmth of blood on his right ear. Unknowingly he had fallen to his right side and torn a portion of his scalp on the sharp pahoehoe. The deep head wound gushed copious amounts of blood, neatly coating the lava rock and then slowly seeped down into one of the lava cracks. Wes felt nothing but the warmth of the blood on his now soaked collar.
Deep down the small red channel wound itself down the column of lava. It worked itself down dropping some fifteen feet at a time till it reached the end.
The small red drop struck the bottom of the cave landing in a small puddle of water. The thick blood smeared itself in the thinning water turning into a warm orange. More drops worked their way down the crack to be splattered on the white skull that lay in the narrow confines.
"He must be tired," Siu said as he turned around and checked his leader. Both Leiola and he were still at the edge trying desperately to ignore Wes. The fish weren't biting so their boredom was beginning to get to them.
Leiola turned and looked and saw Wes lying on his right side with his back to them.
"Hey, never mind sleeping now," she called out to him.
Not getting any response she turned and cranked on her bait. She jerked once and felt the lead embed itself in the coral bottom.
"Oh, no . . . I'm stuck!" she said as she jerked back on the rod several more times. Siu looked at her and knew the ritual complaining that she would go through because of this and simply chose to ignore her tantrum.
"Shit, I just retied this leader and now look." She pulled on the rod steadily and watched the full bend of the rod. Nothing happened and the rod remained fully bent.
"It's stuck for sure," Siu said as he cranked his bait up the cliff to help Leiola break the line. After dropping his rod, Siu grabbed the tip of Leiola's rod and pulled on the line till he felt the line break.
An intense coldness rose up and suddenly enveloped them. Siu looked at Leiola and saw that frost was coming out of her nostrils and mouth as she breathed.
. . . .
Bio: At the time of publication, Michael was a freelance writer, photographer, illustrator, and video photographer living in Hilo. The cover of this issue illustrates his story.
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Posted by Bamboo Buckaroo
Thursday, April 12, 2012 9:28 AM
Congratulations to March winners in The Year of the Dragon Contest. They've each won 10 Bamboo Bucks that they can use in the BR online store. Here are the winners and the awards they've won:
Da mos Croaking Bufos Award:
"Bufo Season," by BETWEENWATERSUNSEEN
http://bambooridge.com/bambooshoot.aspx?bid=1225
Da mos Just Friends? I Tink Not Award:
"Just Friends," by A. Soyama
http://bambooridge.com/bambooshoot.aspx?bid=1227
Da mos Value Versus Value Award:
"Kamaile Hanai," by MAKAIO
http://bambooridge.com/bambooshoot.aspx?bid=1223
We're looking forward to more entries from everyone. Keep up the writing : )
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