It wasn't supposed to be a romantic getaway. In fact, quite the contrary — we were going camping as a family, joining a bunch of other families from the last soccer season. The weekend was intended to be more summer camp than summer love. As it turned out we got both. Our daughter got to hang out with the girls and make some new friends, while I got to cruise with my wife, an old friend who stands in the center of my world.

Still, this camping trip was not without its share of problems, none of which had anything to do with camping itself. The weekend getaway could not have come at a worse time. I was up against some major deadlines at work and my wife was just about to go on her own vacation and needed to get her school in order before she checked out for the month. In addition to my work responsibilities, I was also co-chairing the bowl-a-rama for my high school alumni week.

We had ample notice; our daughter's soccer coach had reserved a spot at Malaekahana weeks ago and invited us to join her and a dozen or so of her closest friends. Being the camp lovers that we are, we immediately agreed, giving little heed to the timing of the trip.

But the die was cast. We were invited and we accepted, so late Friday afternoon I made the trek to the North Shore with a full SUV and a bucketful of questions in my gut. "Did I get everything done? Was there something I missed? Will I get phone reception at the beach?" The answers came as quick as the questions, "Yes! Yes! No!" By the time we got to the country I was exhausted.

After setting up camp and meeting the gang, I grabbed my wife, fishing pole, sand spike and cooler of bait and headed for the shoreline. I needed to unwind, and nothing cleanses the soul like a salty breeze. So I cast out my rod, hung a small bell and waited for a bite. As the waves rolled in I felt my heart rate slow and my wife and I fell into gentle conversation as the tide rose and kissed our toes.

My wife and I have been so busy with the stuff of life that we've had little time for each other. So we talked. And our words drifted down and rested in the troughs between the waves and came back to us on white ocean foam. I felt her hand in my hand, her head on my shoulder and our shared history in my heart. When the rain came we huddled close, and I whispered a prayer of thanks.

By the time we packed up the gear, the other campers had finished dinner and were sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows. Despite some rain and a heavy breeze, I was already warm. Naturally everyone wanted to know what I caught, but I knew they wouldn't understand, so I lied and said that I had been whitewashed.

But I knew the truth. I did catch something that night: a shooting star, some ocean spray, and the woman who has been walking my beach for the last 20 years.

Michael C. DeMattos is on faculty at the University of Hawai'i Myron B. Thompson School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs, two mice and 1,000 worms.