The beach…

We spent the next two days enjoying the beach that we had worked so hard to reach. It felt incredible really, not to be packing up the tent and rolling out onto our next hitching/hiking marathon for the day. Instead I slept in, enjoying just lying there warm and dry, listening to the sound of the crashing waves. I got out of bed, stretching and jogging lazily down the beach before going swimming, plunging into that beautiful clear water. The waves were pretty wild so for most of it, I bodysurfed, getting pummelled and slammed into the sand by the pounding surf. At one point, I even found the top third of a snapped surfboard which I used (or attempted to use) as a bodyboard. Leigh Anne and I made a fire pit from the rocks and boulders surrounding our campsite and went on a firewood mission, real hunting and gathering stuff.

I ran down the beach to fill our water bottles in the waterfall, a beautiful two-tier set of falls trickling down the cliff at the southern end of the beach. As I made my way up the little trail, I saw two beautiful and very naked women bathing in the falls, like a pair of nymphs. Not knowing where to look, I waited before refilling the water bottles after a stuttered greeting. I would become very used to this over the next two days. It seemed like the residents of Kalalau Beach preferred nudity to the hassle of clothes, and would sunbathe, swim and just hang out naked much of the time. I felt almost over dressed in just my shorts.

The rest of the day was spent swimming, reading and writing. As the sun went down, we lit our bonfire, which we felt somewhat proud of as it blazed away. We boiled three pots of water for drinking, and I would run down the beach in the moonlight to fill the water bottles in the waterfall. I felt like a wild animal running down that beach, barefoot, to the watering hole, the milky stream flowing endlessly under the light of the moon.

The next day was almost identical. I wondered if the people here just lost track of time, days, even weeks. We lay in the tent with the flaps down, reading, the lightest of warm breezes flowing through. The only sound was the ocean and the light disturbance of the leaves from the wind. From where I was lying, I could look out at lush vegetation, first, the tree over the tent with large oval waxy leaves, and then palm fronds clacking behind it. In amongst the palms were noni trees with their ugly misshapen fruits hanging awkwardly from the branches. Then behind, as always, those giant faded green pinnacles against the cloudless sky. Eyes drooping, I fell into a blissful sleep.

I woke again to a call from out to sea. I stumbled out of the tent to see a little skiff with an outboard motor pulling in just behind the break. I recognized its captain to be the same guy I had seen yesterday who had been launched off with his fishing net and kayak by a tribe of naked men pushing the kayak off like ancient Polynesians. In fact, they reminded me of the Maori launching their waka in New Zealand. But this morning he was sending out the call to the people off Kalalau, who emerged from the bush like insects from the woodwork. They were running down the beach, stripping off and diving into the ocean to retrieve big plastic bags that were being thrown overboard by the captain. I assumed it was the weekly or monthly food drop and the bags were filled with items that they couldn’t grow or hunt for here. Everyone was helping out, even a little blond girl who I had seen around the place. A dog leapt around barking at all the excitement.

The rest of the day was again spent either swimming or reading. I went for big long solo swims in the pounding surf and while I was underwater in the calm, I could hear the whales singing out to sea in their disjointed whines and clicks. Before sunset, we decided to really experience Kalalau as the locals did and stripped off for a naked swim. We splashed around, diving underwater and wriggling to the surface before running up the beach to our clothes. Even though it was a small period of nakedness, we still felt liberated and wild. We enjoyed our last sunset and looked around us, trying to remember, or to soak up every little piece of this paradise that we had called home for a while.

The way back…

We were back to waking up to alarms at 6am. I peeked outside to see the dark cloudy skies and wild ocean, only the faintest of light letting us know that morning was on its way, albeit still a fair way off. We ate the last of our blueberry bagels with the peanut butter and jelly “goober” spread. We broke camp and rolled up our tent, and with one more look out across the empty Kalalau beach, we were off. We walked in relative silence, still waking up, as we made our way down the first section of the track which cut alongside the ocean on one side and the sleeping tents on the other. The walk reminded me of waking up for a dawn surfing session, when you are making your way through sandy bush tracks before your body or mind have really woken up. I was just moving by muscle memory, as if sleep walking but someone had dressed me and put this enormous pack on my back.

We had been dreading two parts of the trail for the way back, the first of which was looming ahead of us now in the early morning sun which had just broken through. It was the same endless slope of crumbly red clay up out of Kalalau that I had thrown myself down in a halted jog on the way to the beach. In the lead up to this mammoth hike back, we had pre-arranged how it would go. I would plow ahead, head bent and legs going in a steady rhythm, which was the only way I knew how to approach such strenuous uphill climbs. Leigh Anne would focus her eyes at the top and begin her mental pep talks to get her to the end. And so, with no further ado, I propped my bag on my shoulders, tightened my waist strap and dug in. It’s funny where the mind turns on these continuous rhythmic climbs. I conducted a whole interview with David Letterman in my head as I climbed on up, joking with the audience and being generally witty and academic in my answers, as well as sharing a scotch with Dave himself. Before I knew it, I had reached the top. I was soaking with sweat and groaned as I swung off my pack, my fingers shaking to undo the clasps to get out my water bottle. I cheered as I saw Leigh Anne rounding the bend. After a quick break, we continued on our way laughing and relaying our mental journeys up the hill. It turned out that while I was shmoozing the audience of Letterman, Leigh Anne was channeling the determination and willpower of the old man from the book we had completed reading aloud the night before.

We carried on past the familiar twists and turns, the weather holding up with patches of sun breaking through the clouds. In fact, if we weren’t being drenched by a momentary downpour we were becoming drenched in sweat from the uphill slogs in the sun. We had been approaching such an uphill climb with a certain amount of dread. It was the endless zig-zag up shingle after the little goat track cut into the cliffs. But again, head down and falling into a rhythm, I made it to the top, surprising myself with the small amount of strain it took. We were just chatting away as we passed back through the campsite in Hanakoa valley around the 6 mile marker. Although we were making great time, it was very apparent that we hadn’t eaten since 6:30am and so decided to lunch at the big rock that jutted out over the water before the descent down to Hanakapi’ai. However, with the lead up to those first two climbs that we had mentally prepared for, we had somehow omitted the mammoth climb that was ahead totally from our memories. In fact, that initial climb out of Kalalau seemed like child’s play in comparison to this endless uphill schlep. It was unrelenting, not giving us any relief until the rock, which I reached in a shower of sweat, my legs screaming for a break. I eased my pack off with a groan, stretching out my neck and shoulders and taking a seat on the rock. After a short while, Leigh Anne came around the corner, grimacing as I’m sure I had done. She gave me a look that said, “Where the heck did that come from?!”

We sat out on the small grassy ledge that dropped down on all sides to the sea. We ate our tuna snacks, watching the whales perform and soaking up the sun in an effort to dry out our sweat soaked shirts. We reluctantly got to our feet, now more than ever feeling the 8 miles we had walked. We trudged on until we reached the switchback track down to Hanakapi’ai, which was still a muddy mess. We skidded and slipped our way down, laughing and knowing in our minds that we were approaching the 2 mile marker, which would bring us back to civilization. The river seemed unrecognizable. It was like a trickling stream, in comparison to the raging torrent we had crossed days before. Once on the other side, we tied on our wet and muddy shoes and started on our way to the end of the trail.

There was a sense of redemption for Leigh Anne as we made our way up the steep climb out of Hanakapi’ai. She had done the Kalalau Trail years before, at a time when her health wasn’t at its best. She recalled the heartbreak and disappointment she had felt on this leg back then, stopping every few steps to catch her breath. She told me that at various points, she thought that she actually could not go on. And now, here we were on the home stretch, her legs strong, her breathing consistent. She had finally tamed the beast and I could see how proud she was, and I felt the same. In fact, we had both made our way out of Hanakapi’ai with ease, it being evident that our legs were stronger and the last few weeks had increased our fitness to a new level. We reached the last lookout before we would dip down into Ke’e Beach and the end of the hike. We stood for a moment, gazing out at the endless Na Pali coast, retracing where we had come from since that morning. The sky was now an intense blue, matching the ocean in color, which crashed against those wild magnificent ridges. I became overwhelmed. I felt a strange but powerful connection to that place, like there was an unspoken mutual respect between us. We had been tested to our extreme and we had passed the test. The hills seemed to arch their backs and stretch their shoulders, lifting their peaks to meet my gaze. I silently thanked the whole stretch of coast. When Leigh Anne turned to me her eyes were moist. She too was farewelling the place that was our home for a time.

We walked the remaining mile in silence, not looking back, as we both reflected on not only the Kalalau but the entire trip. We reached the end and embraced in a long hug. We walked down the road, past all the cars and people with beach towels and umbrellas. We marveled at the state of ourselves, haggard, drenched in mud and sweat and it would be a minor miracle if we were picked up. And yet, amazingly, we were. And it would be that very ride which would lead to great things. As we stood there and assessed our mud-caked legs and pruned feet, we heard a call from the other side of the street. An older guy was getting out of the car, grinning wildly and waving us over. He introduced himself with a hearty handshake as Tom Hardie. Tom and his wife Barb were from Minnesota, but had once lived on Oahu where they had raised their kids. They had been coming to Kaua’i for 15 years. They dropped us right at Bubba’s Burger and wished us luck, and that was the end, or so we thought. We devoured our Triple Bubba burgers, onion rings, fries, hotdogs and sodas. It was the most we had eaten in weeks and we were stuffed to the hilt. In our post-feast coma, we could do nothing but lie down on the benches and let it all digest. It was then that I heard Leigh Anne yell, “Barb!” And I looked up to see Leigh Anne giving her a big hug. Barb then proceeded to tell us that she and Tom had been talking. They had an extra bed at the Marriott in Poipu if we would like to take it. It seemed like such a generous offer that we couldn’t quite fathom it, and we just looked at each other dumbly. Although my mind was screaming: “Yes! Yes of course we’ll take it!” Instead, I heard myself explain that we still had one more hike we had to do the following day and that we would take their number and call them later if we decided to take them up on it.

We were left to assess our next move, and as we made our way to the beach to set up camp, some big clouds were rolling in off the sea. It was already late in the day and our bodies were aching. We found the spot we had camped at previously and rolled into our sleeping bags. We laughed again at the state of ourselves. We had become so used to sleeping in our tent which was now muddied up and encrusted with sand, much like our bodies. It was simply how we lived now. We both knew that we could have been sleeping at the Marriott after a hot shower, but neither of us mentioned it. The rain began to fall as I drifted off to sleep.

The rain fell hard throughout the night and didn’t stop until the morning. Not long after we had broken camp in the downpour, we found ourselves once again soaked to the bone. We made the easy decision to head to Kapa’a where we would ring Tom and Barb to see if the offer still stood. It wasn’t hard to hitch out of town, but we only got a ride up to the bus stop in Princeville. By now we both were shivering, and every inch was soaked through and the rain wasn’t letting up. There was one moment when I wondered to myself if there would ever be a time when I would be warm and dry. It seemed like it was a state that was so far off that it was difficult to imagine. The bus stop itself was full, so we were forced to stand outside, trying to take shelter under the little overhang of tin roof that jutted out above, spilling over with rain water. There was one disheartening moment as we attempted to hitch, when a car pulled up and overjoyed we approached it. But a girl got out and sheepishly said “Uh…my mom is just dropping me at the bus station.”

When the bus came, everyone crammed on and we thankfully found a seat. We drove all the way to Kapa’a where miraculously the sun was out, a far different scene from the one we had left in Princeville. We lay all our stuff out on the ground to dry and called Tom. It went straight to voicemail. We could do nothing but wait.

It was getting later in the day and about an hour had passed with no word from Tom and Barb. We began to plan where we would camp and which Safeway sandwich we would half for dinner. Then, Leigh Anne’s phone came alive, the name Tom Hardie flashing in green. Leigh Anne ran to talk in a corner while I stood biting my fingers in anticipation. She came back a few moments later with unsuppressed joy.

“They said of course the offer still stands…that we should make our way over, that they had been expecting our call!” She was almost jumping up and down as we hugged then hurriedly started to get our things together to make our way to Poipu.

It took 6 separate rides to get there. But most of them were in the tray of trucks, and as we sat in the back racing closer to our destination, with the warm wind all around us and the blue sky slowly changing color, it felt like a different island to the one we had left in Hanalei. After about 4 rides, when we had passed Lihue, we were picked up by Pe’a who had given us the second ride of the entire trip to the foot of the canyon three weeks before. He was amazed to see us still on the road and congratulated us on the journey so far. We were dropped at the entrance to the tree tunnel, a beautiful stretch of road which was flanked on either side by tall trees which arched over forming a tunnel of trees, hence the name. The sun was now sinking behind the horizon, what was left of it burst through the trees in dappled light on our faces. The sky was pink and we could see through the trees to the vast pastures on either side, with cows with their heads bent, apparently oblivious to the beautiful evening that had erupted around them. I closed my eyes momentarily, realizing I had found what had seemed impossible while shivering under the bus stop roof in the rain. I was dry and en route to a bed, with the warm evening air all around me.

We had made it to Poipu and called Tom to say we weren’t far away. “Stay right where you are,” he instructed “I’m coming to get you.” As we waited on the side of the road, I felt out of place, not only for the Marriott, but for the whole town of Poipu itself. It was an insane contrast to everything we had seen before it in the past three weeks. Little bulbs of fairy lights were coiled around well pruned trees and impeccably manicured hedges and lawns. Signposts to the Hilton, the Hyatt and the Marriott stood by the roundabout, which featured a sandstone water sculpture. Before long, there was Tom and Barb once more, helping us get our packs into the back. A flood of thanks and gratitude poured from our mouths, but were waved off. “You just relax and enjoy yourselves” they laughed. “I think you’re gonna like it,” winked Tom.

We pulled up to the Marriott. Endless nights before, we had camped without another soul or man-made structure to be seen. And now, as we drove down a wide driveway lined by stone walls, flowers and flaming tiki torches, a series of beautiful buildings came into view. We parked the car and made our way to the magnificent entrance with soft Hawaiian music being plucked away on the guitar. Marble tiled floors led to high walls with portraits of Queen Kapiolani and other royals. The woman at the desk looked up with a smile and a gentle “aloha” as we passed. I felt like I simply shouldn’t be allowed to enter. Noticeably muddy and bearded, our packs still sandy and muddy and wet, I thought we were infecting everything we touched with our filth. Tom and Barb led us to the room, which turned out not to be a room at all, but an enormous apartment with a kitchen with black marbled counters and a grand living area with a giant flat screen TV, and a series of couches and lounge chairs around the place. When they had offered us a bed earlier that day I would have never imagined the Californian king size bed that stood before us in our own room, with private ensuite bathroom complete with washer and dryer. We were not hiding our joy and overwhelming excitement too well, with every other sentence being a stuttered version of, “Oh my god! Look at the…”

It wasn’t until we were left in our room that we silently squealed in excitement at one another, jumping up and down, hugging and on the verge of tears, pointing at all the features of the room. Tom told us just to relax and have a shower, Barb would make us dinner. He then offered us a beer – the frostiest, tastiest IPA I have ever had to this day. Of course, it went straight to my head having not had a beer in three weeks. It was then time for a shower. I stood under those streaming hot jets for what seemed like hours, scrubbing every inch of my body, causing the pool at my feet to turn a dark brown. I washed and re-washed, scrubbed and scraped, and then just stood there with my eyes closed feeling the hot water pulse against my back.

When we had showered, Barb made us a feast of chicken sandwiches and salad, and then said that we still had time to make it to the hot tubs before ten if we hurried. So Leigh Anne and I, without a pack on our backs, strolled with our plush white towels with the Marriott emblem on them to the bubbling hot tub and soaked our weary bodies under the lights of flickering tiki torches. We went back to the room, thanked Tom and Barb a thousand times over and retired to bed. We approached the bed and its mound of six pillows. I crawled under, unable to hold back my exclamations of comfort. We lay there facing each other. After three weeks in a tent, sandy, muddied and wet, we were now dry and under the soft layers of pure white Egyptian cotton sheets, having washed and eaten at the Marriott in Poipu. It was our last night and there was too much to say. We tried to say it all – recounting every hike, every trouble or cold night, every hungry climb, every muddy fall. We kept telling and re-telling stories with smiles on our faces until our eyes shut and our voices petered out. The next day we would be flying back to O’ahu, back into the city of lights and high-rises and people. Back to the shopping bags and Taco Bells, back to the bars overflowing with drunken tourists, back to the homeless sifting through garbage cans next to Prada and Gucci shops. But here we lay, without a sound, our bodies finally at rest after an adventure of such a scale it couldn’t be retold. Leigh Anne and I both knew that this was the end of it, and we fell asleep that night with images of those great Na Pali cliffs imprinted in our minds.

CHAPTER 3: KALALAU

It rained heavily throughout the night. At times I wasn’t sure if the tent would be able to handle the amount of water that was being dumped on it. I lay half-awake waiting, just waiting, for the poles to snap or the whole roof to cave in. But we survived the night; it was today we had to worry about. The rain hadn’t let up and half our stuff was still soaking from ‘Okolehao. I looked outside and cursed a bit.

“What do we do?” Leigh Anne asked. I could tell her spirits were diminishing as rapidly as mine were. I looked at Leigh Anne and looked back at the sky.

“We hike,” I said decisively.

We solemly ate our bananas and packed up our gear. The rain had subsided momentarily, so we used that opportunity to break camp. But the next rainstorm arrived anyway, soaking everything again. It seemed as though we had been wet for days now. I was fuming as I rolled up the tent, which was covered in wet sand, the rain pelting the back of my head.

We walked in relative silence to the main road where we waited under a sad little tree. It barely offered any shelter from the incessant rainstorm that wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. I couldn’t believe the amount of cars that drove past us, big empty vans with warmed-up Americans sipping their frothy cappuccinos. “Who the hell doesn’t pick people up in this weather?!” I asked out loud for anyone to answer.

We decided to just bite the bullet and call a taxi. He came in a few minutes, blasting some dramatic and foreboding classical music as we piled in, as if foreshadowing the doom that lay ahead. He dropped us at Ke’e Beach and wished us luck, which we would need…every ounce of it.

The rain simply wasn’t letting up. We stood under the veranda of the bathrooms at Ke’e Beach and ate another mushy banana, as leaves were whipped into a frenzy by the wind and large puddles were splashing about as the rain constantly refilled them. We gave each other a look as if to say, “Well, what else is there to do?” Then we smiled. I think we were both thinking at that point what an insane adventure this had been so far, and how much we had wished and dreamed of a trip like this. That the rain and endless days of rolling out at 6:30am and hiking, hitching, rationing had hardened us to a state where we were ready to tackle this last beast. And so, with that in mind we started in on the first leg of the Kalalau.

The way in…

The first section of the trail is the 2 miles to Hanakapi’ai Beach. Due to all the rain, the first steep uphill climb over rocks had a small stream running down it, causing us to pay extra attention to footing. At the various viewpoints, the Na Pali coast was shrouded in cloud, offering limited views. The track itself had had some maintenance since I had last hiked it three years earlier. There were some wooden railings, mile markers and signs, and in some part, “steps” had been put in to make the steep descents easier to negotiate. But the rain and mud was still unavoidable as we carved our way around the valleys, dripping and lush, palms and breadfruit trees crammed together for miles up into the hills.

The second mile was a tricky descent down through the mud to Hanakapi’ai Beach, which in the summer is sandy, but on this day was a mess of whitewash, throwing itself down on the boulders which lined the shore. In any case, whether sandy or not, one should take extra care swimming at Hanakapi’ai, if the sign with prison-like tally board counting all the people who have died at the beach is anything to go by.

I remembered a gentle river which I had bathed in after a fairly easy boulder hop across at the entrance to the bay, but now what lay before me was a raging torrent of muddy water, making the crossing much harder that I remembered. I walked across first with the big pack. Things became trickier as the river came up to my waist and I reached the part of the river where the rapids and subsequently strong currents had the reign of the river. I almost lost my footing, receiving gasps then cheers from onlookers after I regained my balance and made it to the other side. I went back for the smaller bag and the cameras, and then back again for Leigh Anne, whose river crossing came up to her chest, her face squinting in full concentration as I passed her on to another traveller who plucked her from the rapids and onto dry land.

We hiked up through the flaxy breadfruit trees to a spot where we could set up camp. Nothing was dry so we chose a spot as good as any under some trees and put up the tent. The rain had ceased for the moment, but as I rolled out the tent, it was evident that it had been packed in a monsoon. It looked like a butterfly that had just climbed its way out of the cocoon, wings still wet and crumpled. We put it up and looked at it pitifully, soaking wet and encrusted with sand. Now I must take this time to sing some praise for my Bali rag. The Bali rag had been given to me in Lombok, Indonesia 4 years before. In the time that has passed since then, it has travelled with me everywhere, serving me as a towel, bed sheet, pillow, sarong, cleaning rag and bivouac. It is, without question, the best travel item I have ever had. And once again, in a time of great need, Bali rag saved the day, transforming the disgustingly wet and sandy tent into a clean and dry home. Bali rag, I love you.

We had the afternoon to make it to the Hanakapi’ai Falls, which was another four miles round trip. It was a slippery climb up to a bamboo forest. The bamboo here shot up like huge thick construction poles with people’s names etched into them. We continued on until we reached a river we had to ford to the path that continued on the other side. The water, though high, was nothing compared to the raging river we had crossed before. We crossed two more rivers, both reaching up to my thighs and wound our way up the valley through the dripping leaves, as the light rain came and went. The river had widened and there were now a series of large swimming holes and small waterfalls as we made our way further up. And then, without warning, the main waterfalls, the Hanakapi’ai Falls, came into view. An enormous towering mass of white water was spewing, thrusting, exploding from the top of the cliffs. We had to shout as we neared it, the thunder of the falling water was almost deafening, and the spray was flying out soaking us instantly, the power of the falls making it seem like a helicopter was taking off. The sheer force of the thing was incredible. Our hair was being whipped around and we covered our things behind a rock, the only semi-dry spot in the area. We approached the falls, whooping and yelling while our faces were blasted by wind and water. We were both so exhilarated, letting out wild animal calls, unable to control ourselves, unable to withhold the howls and screams that were involuntarily being emitted. I plunged into the freezing water, which was choppy like the ocean from the endless tons of water pounding the pools surface. I broke the surface and looked up through squinted eyes to the towering falls feeling so animal, so alive, so vulnerable, so small, and so free.

After exhausting ourselves of adrenaline, we made our way soaking wet back to camp. We dried off, changed into warm, dry and clean clothes and boiled some water for the best freeze-dried garlic mashed potatoes this side of the island. The rain had stopped and the sun, albeit low in the sky, had made its way out. It felt like we were through the worst of it, that we had survived those few days of rain and discomfort, that we had made it out the other side. We felt optimistic, as we got into our sleeping bags to read aloud Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, ready for the 9 miles ahead that we would conquer tomorrow.

We woke overjoyed to see blue skies. We ate a blueberry bagel with peanut butter and jelly (a controversial purchase at the time, but eventually became one of our most precious commodities) and broke camp before starting on our way up the steep muddy climb out of Hanakapi’ai Bay. It wasn’t the best start to a nine mile day; the track was still pretty wet from all the rain that had fallen in the previous days. Eventually though, the track dried up with the morning sun and we were in excellent spirits once we had conquered the endless switch backs to get to the top of our first ridge. The rain forgotten, we hiked along under an unblemished blue sky, staring out at the endless ocean. We continued on under a canopy of flaxy breadfruit trees we had come to nickname “Dr. Suess trees” for their similarity to his illustrations in their cartoon-like appearance.

We reached the sign telling us we were now entering Na Pali State Park. We threw off our packs and scrambled around a big rock on the bend of the trail before it opened into a massive valley. Around the other side, there was another flat rock which jutted out over the cliff which just fell away, dropping all the way to the incredible azure sea swirling around the base of the cliffs below. I lay face down with my arms folded under my chin and gazed out to sea. I was wildly happy at once again finding myself perched out there at the end of the world. Each way I looked, the endless coast drifted away into the distance, those huge jagged cliffs of the Na Pali like a line of spearheads, cragged and creased from rain that had been falling on them since the beginning of time.

We continued on around the bend into the enourmous valley with a waterfall in the distance, plummeting down into the basin. It felt insane to be hiking through such wild and untouched land. We scrambled down and climbed back up through each glorious valley over the next four miles before lunching by the river in Hanakoa valley. We decided to take a quick detour up to the Hanakoa Falls since we were here. We hiked up a mile into the valley, following pink flags on the trees before breaking out onto the falls. They didn’t have the power of Hanakapi’ai Falls, but it certainly was beautiful. Surrounded by huge towering mossy cliffs, the falls fell prettily like a veil down into a large glassy pool at the bottom.

With our bellies still not quite full, we carried on with enough protein and renewed energy for the rest of it. We continued on, still awed and pausing from time to time with our hands on hips whenever we broke out onto yet another intensely lush valley, or a peak that made you feel like a conductor standing on their perch with the endless ocean as your orchestra. We reached the precipitous downhill cutback, which was basically a loose shingle scramble down to a skinny little trail that was cut into the rock face, resembling more of a little goat track than a trail. The wind picked up on these exposed peaks of the valley and it seemed like one slip at this point would mean falling hundreds of feet down into the sea which was raging below. I stood at the very farthest point before the track cut inland. My toes were jutted out over the edge and I was feeling wild and lyrical as the wind whipped my face.

After tackling the rugged rocky cliff, the earth turned into rich red clay, lending one more color into the landscape which already had been a striking contrast of vivid greens and intense blues of the sky and ocean. We reached the sign welcoming us to Kalalau, at which point our backs, shoulders and legs were begging us to stop, yet we mustered the energy to climb up the red dirt mound which looked out over Kalalau Beach. It was as if we had finally found the mythical land which we only half believed existed, and we both stood there smiling at each other now that our destination was in sight.

I half ran down the steep red cliffs that brought us back to the trail, which cut through thin trees and scrub. We made our way to the river past various camp spots. Many of the encampments gave me the impression that the inhabitant had been there for quite some time. One camp particularly looked as though it had been there for a number of months, years even. It was quite large and was made up of a series of tarps which almost broke up the camp into different “rooms” or areas rather. Inside, there was a collection of jars, pots and pans, a crate of tattered dog-eared books, mats were laid out on the dry dirt floor, there were hammocks, a bed and a series of items for leisure such as digereedoos, jimbae drums as well as fishing equiptment, cooking equipment and a pile of neatly folded clothes. I wondered who lived there and for how long they had been camping out here at the end of the world. We trotted past this camp and many others of similar style, some with hammock chairs set up under a frame of driftwood, some with a few logs acting as benches around a fire pit, some even with a makeshift little garden out front. It seemed everyone here had found their little slice of paradise.

We spent the next hour or so next to the river where I swam and we boiled some water for drinking. We ate Mountain House® spaghetti that I would recommend to anyone who deserves a good feast after a long hike. The day of hiking had caught up with us and after a while without our packs in the late afternoon sun, it was difficult to throw the load back on and hike another mile. But the sun was low and we wanted to get to Kalalau Beach before sunset. We repacked and crossed the river making our way up to a little bluff which was hosting a small crew of long-haired, bearded men and topless women, the first of many as it would appear later. They were all lounging around, laughing and eating as the sun went down.

There was a beautiful light that was cast across the ocean and trees as we made our way down the little track that hugged the beach. We had picked up our pace and I kept turning around grinning wildly at Leigh Anne as we made our way nearer and nearer to the beach and our eventual camp spot. Various bodies were scattered down the beach to catch the sunset. Some fished, many prepared bonfires, a few were lazily slapping away on bongo drums and others just watched, gazing out to sea. There was almost an immediate camaraderie among us all. We had all worked hard to get here and this was our reward: a beautiful beach all the way out there by itself, only accessible by hiking 11 miles in.

We kept pushing on past the little camps that were dotted throughout the forest, some already with a smoky bonfire crackling away. We went on until we broke out onto the beach and found a spot that seemed like it had been waiting for us. With no other visable camps on the beach, it was a miracle to have found this one uninhabited. It was a sandy little cove right on the beach under a leafy tree, surrounded by boulders that formed a perfect little half circle a little bigger than our tent. We threw down our things, laying claim to the spot. I grabbed the long awaited bottle of red and we found a place on the beach to sit and watch the sun go down.

We swigged straight from the bottle, our eyes glued to the huge orange sun that slowly sunk down to the horizon. We talked and talked, immensely happy and self-congratulatory at having made it here, through all the hikes, early mornings, hitches and storms. The cliffs off at the far end of the beach turned into jagged silhoettes like a torn sheet of paper. Behind us, the last of the sun caught on the giant accordion of ridges, casting long shadows into their many creases and valleys.

We set up our tent in the dark and I went on a wee jaunt to find the longdrop toilets about ten minutes back down the track. It turned into a nice nighttime walk down the little sandy track, with endless bonfires dotted in and around the forest, each with their small band of travellers circled around them like a tribe of gypsies. Once back, Leigh Anne and I lay on the beach and gazed up at the endless multitude of stars that were cluttering up the night sky in their unorganized but somehow prearranged constallations and groups. We talked and talked about plans and dreams until all words were exhausted and we just lay there in silence gazing up into it all.

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: Kalalau – Part 2“

The Powerline Trail

I woke at 6:30 to the alarm, and for the first time this trip, I rolled over and pulled my sleeping bag up over my head, denying the days approach. I had been having a fantastic sleep from the utter exhaustion of Makaleha and could barely bring myself to think about doing it all over again. The Blue Hole hike we had planned that day sounded essentially like another river scramble, and everything was still pretty wet and muddy from the day before. As we sat up and had a banana, Leigh Anne voiced similar concerns.

We decided that it was going to a big enough mission to try and get to the Tunnel Hike trailhead, which was up in the middle of the island. So instead of Blue Hole, we decided to spend the morning drying out our things and then hitch to the trailhead for the Tunnel Hike where we would camp that afternoon, ready to hit the trail first thing in the morning. With the new plan in place, I had a blissful morning sprawled out on the beach surrounded by shoes, socks, the tent, shirts all drying out. I read and swam in the beautiful, clear waters of Kapa’a Beach, and for the first time since coming to Kaua’i, I felt like I was on vacation. We made our way to Kuamo’o Road at the southern end of Kapa’a, the top of which would be the start of the 4WD road out to the Tunnel Hike. We were both in high spirits – it’s amazing what being dry and a little rest will do for one’s state of mind. After a few rides, we were eventually picked up by Nishelle who was only going a block up, but offered to drive us all the way to the Keahua Arboretum, which was the start of the 4WD track that would lead us to the trailhead.

We roughly had about 4 miles ahead of us, so we started on our way. The going was muddy and damp with a river crossing straight off the cuff. The mosquitos were out in full form and I think we were both thinking back to our morning when we were dry and warm on the beach. Instead, we were walking towards the world’s wettest spot…literally. We were both feeling a little disheartened by the lack of camping options. In fact, the bumpy marshy road was flanked by intense bush, and from time to time a light rain would come through sinking our spirits further. It was a generally pretty dark and dank area. Then we reached the start of the trail, to get a glimpse of what tomorrows hike would entail. I peeked down it to see the bog of eternal stench – intense mud spread out in all directions. Puddles, no, lakes of mud lay before me. I walked back to Leigh Anne who was as disheartened as I was. “Does the book say that the start of the trail is as muddy as hell?” I asked. “Yep” she answered.

We were at a loss. We had already given up the Blue Hole hike, so it felt like we were wimping out due to a bit of mud if we didn’t follow through on this one. We started back to look for a place to camp when we heard voices coming from the track. A couple emerged from the bush, muddied and cut. I decided to approach them.

“How was the hike?” I asked, hoping that it was amazing to warrant the mission out here.

“Worst we’ve ever done.”

They were Paul and Annie from Prince William Sound in Alaska. They were seasoned hikers and had in fact done most of the hikes we had done or were planning to do. They said that the mud didn’t stop at the start of the trail, but that it continued throughout the entire hike. The scrub closed in low so that Paul was constantly ducking and bent over to avoid being struck in the face by twigs and sticks. But a few bleeding cuts on his forehead suggested that even this didn’t prevent contact.

“What about the tunnels?” Leigh Anne asked, glancing over at me as Paul responded.

“The tunnels? Nothing special about them! They were just regular wet, dark, manmade tunnels.” said Paul assessing his muddied up legs.

“Wasn’t there a waterfall or an epic view at some point?” I asked, trying to find any reason to stick to our original plan.

Turned out it was just a muddy scramble and what they categorized as “a hike from hell.” Paul and Annie did a pretty good job of deterring us from the hike, but now we had to come up with yet another new plan. They offered to give us a lift back to a camping spot we had spotted near the beginning of the 4WD road and pretty close to the start of the Powerline Trail which we decided to do the next day instead. We thanked them profusely and started down the bumpy potholed road, having to jump out every few minutes so Paul could negotiate particularly tricky parts of the road without our added weight. They were a great couple, who kept starting anecdotes with, “when we were driving through Baja California” or, “when I was hang gliding in Washington” or, “back when I worked on the crabbing boats” etc. Leigh Anne and I were all ears, and we swapped information receiving an open invitation to stay if we ever made it to Alaska.

And so with our new plans set, the tent under a huge tree on a small grassy field, we boiled up some water and noodles for dinner and had an early night, all set for the Powerline the next day.

But it wasn’t to be that easy. Before the alarm even went off, Leigh Anne was bent in pain. Of course, Leigh Anne, being who she is, didn’t voice her concerns until we had packed up the tent and begun on the walk to the trailhead. She was hanging back, head bent as I walked ahead. I had seen it before and I knew something was off, but again, knowing Leigh Anne, I wouldn’t say anything, and she would let me know if it was too much. She stopped. I turned around.

“I’m just gonna say it Av,” she said clutching her lower abdomen, “I’m hurting.”

“How bad?” I asked choosing my words carefully.

“Bad…something’s not right,” her eyes cast off, as if focusing on something in the distance.

I had already decided that Leigh Anne wasn’t going to do the Powerline Trail. If you aren’t feeling at least 100% then you shouldn’t think about doing a trans-island 11-mile hike. But Leigh Anne would have to come to that conclusion herself. We sat at the foot of the trail in silence.

“I mean…I think I will be able to do it,” Leigh Anne said, trying to convince herself that she could. But she would wince and involuntarily clutch her stomach, making it impossible to mask her pain. I could just offer words of comfort. Leigh Anne, in all the years I’ve known her, has never admitted defeat. She did the whole Maui trip with a fractured elbow. And even then, she had tried to paddle out and surf. Admitting any weakness was such a harsh and heavy blow to her, I couldn’t really comprehend what she was feeling at this moment. It wasn’t until I noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek that I knew she had made up her mind.

“Take the camera and compass” she said, not looking at me. I silently followed her instructions. “You take the rations; I can take the sleeping bag and tent. We’ll aim to meet at Hanalei Pier between 4 and 5 this afternoon.” She then looked at me. “Sorry Av…I…” before trailing off. We had a long hug, and one of the saddest things I’ll ever see, Leigh Anne, head bent once more, not looking back, trudging off down the road – alone.

And so for the first time in two weeks, I would embark on a lone hike without Leigh Anne by my side. I was left with my thoughts as I started on the slow ascent, and would be stuck with them for the rest of the day, not seeing another soul until Hanalei.

The track is a dirt road that has been cut through the bush for the powerlines to run through the island from northern Kapa’a to Princeville. The powerlines, though never far from sight, were hardly a hindrance to the magnificent views on either side as I climbed. Majority of the ascent was fairly easy, with a couple of more difficult climbs up the red clay, but nothing too harrowing. The track alternated between a skinny mud path surrounded by grasses and ferns, and the aforementioned red clay on the uphill slogs. To my right, large valleys opened up, incredibly lush, with the occasional waterfall spilling off a faraway cliff. To the left, the mountainside fell away to the coast south of Kapa’a, and I would look back to see the powerlines swinging away, marking my trail thus far. It really was an enjoyable walk, just me, enormous valleys on either side as my company. I reached the top after a steep little climb to awesome views of lush valleys folded all around me.

The sun had come out, so I took the moment to lie in the grass and have lunch on a little sheltered bluff on the other side of the summit. The way down was a little harder to navigate my way through the tall grasses and the often disappearing trail. In parts, it appeared as though there was no trail at all, but instead that a solitary cow had meandered through the grass. Eventually, after climbing down, the path turned virtually inaccessible unless you were willing to walk through a deep, muddy swampland, which in places came midway up my shins.

I had no choice but to continue and so I forged ahead. Drenched, and getting a little tired of the endless marsh, I sloshed onwards, often falling into the long grasses which bordered me on either side. At times, the path would open up onto gravel or hard clay, but before long it would delve back into swamp status and my eyes would be glued to the path, trying to find a dry route which was, in the end, impossible. At one point, an entire chunk of the trail had fallen into a deep ditch, probably from flash flooding, causing me to scramble/fall into the ditch and climb back out. And then it started raining.

Still, with the marshy trail and the rain coming down, I was in excellent spirits, enjoying the fact that it was just me out there, in the middle of this entire island, not another person or thing for miles, just the powerlines guiding my way. After a while, the track made itself a little more trail-like and walkable, and it felt good to be back on firm ground. Wild orchids burst out from the bush on both sides and the valleys fell away revealing an ocean in the distance. The north shore was in sight, I just had to keep going. I walked on, my leg and back muscles making it known how hard they had been working. I eventually reached the end, congratulating myself at completing the 11 mile crossing solo.

But it didn’t end there. I still had to make it to Hanalei to meet Leigh Anne who, after going to the clinic, was hopefully cured of all the pain and nausea that she was experiencing earlier that morning. I was on the outskirts of Princeville out in the country with houses and farmsteads spread out about ½ a mile from eachother. After a brief time sitting down without my pack, I found it painful to get moving again. I felt like the tin man in great need of his oil can. I walked in the brief spells of rain and sun, a few tractors buzzing lazily a few fields over, horses looking at me curiously as I passed. I imagined what I must look like to them – this soaking wet, muddy creature with his life affixed to his back and walking aimlessly down this forgotten country road. I was good material for a John Denver song as I ambled on, waiting for a car to pass, to take pity on this poor country soul.

Luckily someone did. A young couple pulled over, a girl leaning out the window. “You need a lift” she said, not so much as a question but a statement.

“Yeah. I do.” I laughed and hauled my stuff into the back of the truck with help from the guy.

“You just come out of the 11 mile?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“All the way from Kapa’a?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I laughed, hands on hips.

“Dang.” He took his hat off and wiped his brow, as if just the thought of the hike exhausted him.

They took me all the way to the campsite by Hanalei Pier, which as it turned out only allowed campers in the weekend…by permit. It wasn’t the weekend and we didn’t have a permit, but it was the rendezvous point for Leigh Anne and me, so I decided to just wait and we would discuss our next move when we met up. I sat down on the beach and once more peeled off my socks and shoes, revealing once again a dead man’s feet. They were severely white and wrinkled. It hurt to curl my toes and deep creases filled with red mud lined my soles. Time passed and I walked down to the end of the pier, scanning the beach for any sign of Leigh Anne. I walked back and took up a spot on a log, willing to wait there all night if I had to. I started to panic, going through every scenario possible, conjuring up terrible possibilities in my head. Just when I was imagining Leigh Anne in a hospital bed after some emergency surgery, I saw my old friend ambling down the beach. Both our eyes lifted as I ran to her, hugging her in a tight embrace. It had only been a day and I couldn’t believe how much I had missed her. We were talking over each other, an endless flow of questions and stories on what had happened in our day of separation. We ate at Bubba’s Burger in celebration of our reunion and walked down the beach to a spot sheltered by the trees. It felt amazing to be back on the beach with the pounding surf under a blanket of stars with my travel buddy, safe, medicated and cured of all discomfort, sleeping soundly by my side.

‘Okolehao

We decided on a day of rest to allow Leigh Anne to relax and a chance for my legs to recover from the long haul of the Powerline Trail. It was much needed, and I revelled in the sun and surf, writing and reading to pass the day. We were meeting up with a family of Leigh Anne’s friend David that evening, where we were to get a bed and a shower, both greatly needed as we neared our second week without either.

As the sun set over the epic Na Pali cliffs to our left, it cast an orange glow across the ocean, causing the stand-up paddle boarders to become silhouetted as they glided across the surface of the sea. Dogs roamed, kids scrambled in front of each other to leap of the pier, surfers caught their last waves in, the spray from the waves breaking off the point fanned out into the sky. We walked past lazy cyclists and people piling boards into the tray of their trucks, wrapping themselves in towels to change as the sky turned purple. A little group played ‘ukulele and guitar in the small park by the beach.

We met the Miles clan at a community outreach barbeque by the pier and settled into an evening of barbeque, guitar and bonfire, everyone eager to hear our stories of the trails we had hiked so far. We feasted on burgers and hotdogs, unashamedly going in for seconds and thirds. It’s just one of the things about travel, these little scenes you find yourself part of. People can be so generous to someone who they have never met. I fell into a conversation with Ian, whose house we were to stay at that night. He was a really interesting guy with a whole lifetime of stories to tell. Tall and wiry with a massive grin and a weathered face, which showed he had spent much of his life outside. His eyes disappeared into wrinkles when he laughed which was often.

As the fire turned to embers, we leapt into the back of the truck and drove under the starry skies to Princeville in the cool night air. Leigh Anne was shown to her king size bed, and I was shown to my little roll out mattress outside on the porch. The disparity in sleeping arrangements was hilarious, but I was truly happy with anything. I had a much-needed and long-awaited shower, scrubbing myself down, trying to remove two weeks of mud.

In the morning, we woke to grey skies and the outlook for the weather was questionable. However, we had wanted to get ‘Okolehao Trail in before Kalalau, which was to be our final and climactic hike. We got a ride with a father and son team named Shaky and Jojo, who picked us up in their big old van filled with boxes, books, a surfboard and a cello. They had played on the radio the night before and had told us how they had dedicated a song to their friend who had just died. They told their own stories of Kalalau, how they had hiked the trail with easels and canvases to do some painting. They dropped us at the trailhead where we were farewelled with a shaka out the window. We once again cast our eyes to the sky, which was still grey, before choosing our walking sticks and plowing on.

As our guide had indicated, ‘Okolehao was just a 2 mile uphill slog. It was nice at times, climbing up through the eucalyptus trees on the steep uphill ascent. We reached the first viewpoint by my old friends, the powerlines, dropping down into Hanalei. We continued further up until reaching the second viewpoint, which had a little bench with views stretching out from Hanalei to Kailua. We should have just stayed there, but our guide said that there was almost another mile ahead of us to what they promised as “grand views.” Not to mention, the rabid rat where we were currently standing was giving us the eye.

Still, we should have stayed. Not long after we continued on, the rain started to fall. It was only a light shower but more would come. The trail turned narrow and muddy in places, forcing us to climb up using roots and trees for leverage. Once again, the native ferns of the Honopu ridge trail were back closing in on all sides. Between my pack and my walking stick, it was nearly impossible to pass through them as they constantly clawed at me, dragging me back. The trail worsened, the weather worsened, and my mood worsened as we continued on. I was swearing and fed up, slipping in the mud. We reached the “viewpoint” which offered nothing, as we were clouded in. Dissappointed, we made our way back. Not long after we had turned around, a low rumble rolled across the valley and the heavens opened up as monsoon conditions started down upon us. Raindrops which seemed like the size of my fist hurtled down, making the already difficult descent nearly impossible. The track was now a river, a deep muddy river, making the steep parts turn to waterfalls.

To protect the equipment, we had to sacrifice our rain jacket and poncho, wrapping the cameras in a tight waterproof bundle, causing us to be soaked to the bone in seconds. At certain parts of the trail, there was nothing we could do but to slide down on our asses, making us not only soaked but covered in mud. Leigh Anne had a particularly well-executed slide which took her quite a fair way down the hillside, as she was simply unable to stand on the slippery slope. Once she did, there was a deep bow, and a roaring applause from me. All we could do was laugh, but pretty soon the joke was over as we trudged on, heads bent against the rain, eyes glued to the trail, trying to navigate the safest, easiest route. We made our way down the last switch back section; the middle of the track was flowing quite fast by this point. We reached the trailhead; Leigh Anne tossed her walking stick to the side and walked onwards without looking back.

As we walked to the main road in the pouring rain, hoping to get a hitch, Leigh Anne kept saying, “people must have compassion” over and over. We got to the main road and were eventually picked up by Stephanie, who I assumed was Buddhist due to the prayer beads and flags that adorned the car. She had even said, “I could see your spirit in your eyes, maybe we’ve met in a past life.” I couldn’t help but find it perfect that after all Leigh Anne’s wishes for compassion, we had been picked up by a Buddhist, who practice above all compassion for others.

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: Kalalau – Part 1“

CHAPTER TWO: CHAOS

It started with our bank balances. We had gotten two small sandwiches to share for dinner and some groceries for the following week. Then we checked our bank accounts and to our immediate horror, neither of us had quite the cash flow we had thought. That night, we had been planning on a nice night in a backpackers’ hostel and a meal out. After all, we hadn’t showered or slept in a bed or washed our clothes in almost a week and we were counting on this one night in Kapa’a to refresh ourselves for the mid-island jungle hikes we had scheduled for the next few days. But as we sat at a small table by the Safeway grocery store parking lot, we quickly had to reassess our situation.

“No dinner at Wahoooo’s tonight” Leigh Anne said. I knew she had been looking forward to her fish dish that she had talked up since even before our departure.

“Ya know what bud? Not even the Backpacker’s,” I said slowly, testing it for a reaction.

We both knew that from here on out we would have to really tighten the purse strings and really rough it. We agreed that there would be only two reward feasts: one, at the end of the Powerline trail; and two, at the completion of the Kalalau. And so, with the new rules set out and the resolution that this was the way it was going to be firmly set in our minds, we set out for the first mission which was to find somewhere to camp for the night. We walked down the main road before turning down a side road that lead to a big, beautifully manicured resort. We felt like we were committing a crime just by being there, like a blemish on an otherwise perfect façade. We lumbered past with our heads bent, packs on our backs, dirty and scraggly. I felt homeless as I saw couples dressed up and newly showered on their way to dinner. But Leigh Anne and I would sneak little cheeky grins at one another and I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

We made our way down to the beach where it was a little after sunset. A bit further down the beach was another big hotel, so we found a place behind a row of pine trees that lined the beach, separating it from the golf course behind it. There was also a little group of bushes that would hide us from sight. It was just far away enough so that we would be relatively hidden from both of the hotels that flanked us on either side. We decided to wait until it was fully dark to put up the tent just in case we were spotted, and there were to be no headlights inside, as headlamps caused the tent to become a luminous sphere visible for miles around. We stayed up talking and laughing, trying to get excited for the rugged road that lay ahead. I lay awake hearing the slow roll of the ocean on the sand thinking that this will undoubtedly be, as it already has been so far, the adventure I’ve long awaited for. I didn’t know then how difficult this next chapter would be.

Makaleha

There were few hikes over these three weeks that really pushed us to our limit. The Makaleha hike pushed us beyond. The alarm went off at 6am and we silently woke and sat up. I turned to Leigh Anne and croaked “one week down”, she smiled. We ate a banana and broke camp once again in the pre-dawn light. We walked to the northern end of Kapa’a to Kawaihau Road, which would turn into Kahuna Road, at the end of which the trail would begin.

We waited for a long time, already sweaty from the hot morning hike to the start of the road and already hungry since the energy from the banana that we had at 6am was long gone. Finally a truck pulled up and a rough as guts local woman with sunglasses, a braided rat tail haircut and tattoos up and down her arms rolled down the window and told us to jump in. Leigh Anne jumped in front and I jumped in the covered tray. She dropped us off by a soccer field up the road. I turned to Leigh Anne smiling. “Interesting conversation” she said and we laughed.

The area seemed pretty residential, but we were happy to wait in the sun by a little shack surrounded by fruit trees. The smell of ripe fruit was in the air and the small neighborhood houses were just waking up. After a long while, we were picked up by a nice fellow named Parker who drove us right to the trailhead, which was somewhat out of his way. Once again, Leigh Anne jumped up in the cab and I took up my spot in the tray of the truck. It was a beautiful drive through this little town of brightly colored shacks, which were almost swallowed by the lush overgrown flowers, fruit trees and vines. Huge towering trees that looked like they had about twenty sub species of plant growing out of them lined the street as we wound our way up. The houses slowly stopped coming and instead there were vast farmlands that faded into a dense jungle, a waterfall dead ahead falling from some place high up in the cliffs.

It was a pretty good feeling that we had arrived at the difficult to reach trailhead this early. It must have been around 9 when we strapped on our packs and headed down the path past the big water tanks to the start of the trail. The trail itself started as a nice wide path, but before we had even walked a ¼ mile we had our first intersection with a false trail off to our right and a river to our left, with what looked like a path continuing on the other side. Straight away, Leigh Anne wisely figured that she was in for a pretty wet hike, so she rolled on across the river, soaking her hiking boots and pants. I was more careful, removing my shoes and wading across before drying my feet and putting my shoes back on. I should have just gone for it as Leigh Anne did, because in the end, it wouldn’t matter.

We decided to ditch the big backpack in the bush and covered it with big Jurassic Park leaves before continuing on our way. We reached the great bamboo forest, thousands of huge skinny poles jutting up vertically into the sky. We came across three large trees and it was about here when we started having to check our guide regularly at every single turn to ensure we were on the right track. Behind the third big tree, the path continued up and the bamboo became curiously smaller and thinner so that our heads almost reached the top of those leafy sticks. It was still early morning, so the bamboo was covered in dew. Every time my arm or bag would hit a pole, a shower of rain would pour down on me. The bamboo shoots were close together like prison bars, making it impossible to stray from the path. The trail led us up until we reached a cliff with ropes tied to trees that we had to scale down. Again our guide gave us cryptic clues such as “there are multiple ways to reach the river with a number of side tracks leading down through the bamboo. Take the third one.” There were too many, some vague, some clear but we assumed this one with ropes was the correct one, so we half slipped, half abseiled down until we found the trail that followed alongside the river. The path turned into a deep muddy bog, soaking my shoes instantly.

We followed the vague and muddy trail until it just ended at the river, with a pink ribbon on the other side. By now I had decided that there was no point gingerly jumping from rock to rock and just waded to across. My shoes were soaked through anyway. We picked up the trail which fell in and out of view, forcing us to bushwhack and river wade until we saw the track continuing once more on the other side of the river. If we thought it was bad now, then we couldn’t imagine what was to come.

We entered a dense forest of hau trees whose branches and roots struck out in every direction like a game of pickup sticks. It was such a mess of branches and the only way we could know that we were going in the right direction was a series of machete marks slashed every so often into a branch. And in this jungle of branches reducing visibility to a couple of feet, it was easy to miss them. For the next hour or so we had to contort our bodies like a spy maneuvering around a spider web of laser beams. Climbing over, bending under and squeezing through really took its toll physically. Often, we would get lost and, like an aboriginal tracker, I would look for a snapped branch or leaves that had been trodden underfoot.

We finally broke free from the claustrophobic grasp of the hau tree jungle and basically got dumped in the river, forcing us to boulder hop and wade the last 50 yards before coming upon the view. It really was beautiful, three waterfalls up in the valley and three streams converging where we stood. But we were so exhausted, having only eaten a banana at 6am and then halving a Clif® Bar at the start of the trail hours ago. I felt like I could hardly appreciate it, bending over to rest my bag on my back giving my shoulders a rest. We were soaking wet, exhausted and aching all over. We had to stop and recharge, so after some dried apricots and nuts, we charged on with a little fuel in our tanks. We took the river to the right and followed it up an additional 20 minutes, the huge towering cliffs leaning in on us until we were making our way up the riverbed with these imposing narrow rock walls squeezing in on us from both sides.

We reached the waterfall, the grand finale. It was a nice, two-tier waterfall enclosed by the massive cliffs with a descent pool at the bottom. Whether the half day battle to get there was worth it is hard to say.

A little pile of rocks adorned in flowers and leaves had been left there as a sign of respect…and probably as an offering plea for guidance on the trail back. I stripped off and dove into the refreshing pool. It felt good to wash off all the sweat and mud that covered every inch of me from the trek up here. We couldn’t stay long, as it had taken us four hours to get here and dark clouds were forming overhead causing concern for time and conditions for the hike back.

We were making good time, although I could already tell I was getting clumsy with fatigue. We made our way down the river before once more entering the dreaded Hau tree jungle for the hour long battle through it. We were doing okay when I heard a loud crash then thud echo through the forest. I looked behind me and there was Leigh Anne, in a small pile, soaking wet, cradling her wrists and knees in a muddy ditch. I ran back to her assessing the damage. Shaking it off, she said she was fine, but I could tell that this trail had begun to test us. We were being worn down by it, and it was definitely a hike where you had to concentrate closely on footing.

As banged up and exhausted as we were, we made stellar timing as we noted all the landmarks we had passed by on the way up: through the maze of hau trees and machete marks, down the muddy scramble, across the river time and again, up and over the bamboo forest, retrieving the hidden backpack and in record time broke out at the trailhead exhausted and overjoyed to have beaten the beast.

But the day was not over, and there would be more hiking to come. We sat in a patch of grass in the sun on the side of Kahuna Road to peel off our socks and shoes revealing corpse like feet. I felt like I may never want to leave, my feet finally free from those wet shoes, and the sun slowly drying me out. But it was late in the day and we had to make it back to Kapa’a to set up camp for the night. We were both hurting, but there was no traffic so all we could do was keep making our way down the hill and try to get a lift. Immediately around me was silent, not even a breeze to lift the leaves. We walked on and on without a car passing to pick us up.

Eventually, we got a ride from a bunch of hippies who dropped us at the bottom of the hill. We had just been walking for 7 hours, but this last mile to Safeway was the worst. Our legs, shoulders and empty stomachs were not letting us forget what state we had gotten them into as we trudged on, both completely sure that the walk from Safeway hadn’t been that long on the way here. Coincidentally, it was Valentine’s Day, so we were forced to walk past couples sharing a bottle of crisp white wine, my eyes momentarily resting on the bottle sweating in the ice bucket as they shared a sizzling mound of appetizers. Once or twice the diner’s eye caught mine and I had to look away quickly, feeling like a stray dog who had to scamper away to avoid a kick. We walked past smoky burger joints and sizzling shrimp huts, the never ending tease continuing on. Once at Safeway we bought a giant sandwich to split and a can of Coke each. We once again sat at the small tables next to the parking lot, sweaty, muddy and completely spent. Smiling at Leigh Anne, I tapped my Coke can against hers as the sun sank down over Safeway. “Happy Valentine’s Day bud.”

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: CHAOS – Part 2“

Polihale

We had been let out in Waimea town and gravitated immediately to the nearest place to eat. At a little taqueria, we indulged in some delicious burritos. They were such a shock to our malnourished systems, but there was no way I wasn’t going to finish it. I inhaled every scrap piece of lettuce and rogue piece of chicken that had fallen out. After restocking our food supply at a supermarket, we walked to the edge of town and got a lift with a local in the bed of his truck in an effort to make it to our destination by nightfall. Riding along the coast with the warm wind whipping our faces, the cold nights of the canyon seemed like a world away. Our driver dropped us off at Kekaha Beach Park, which was the first region in the 15 mile uninterrupted sand beach constituting Polihale. Our plan was to make it all the way to the end.

This was probably our longest wait for a ride in the entire three weeks. We joked while waiting on the side of the road saying we should be carrying a number of placards with a series of sayings depending on the type of car that was approaching such as: “We love dogs!” or, “C’mon tourists! Don’t you want an adventure?” or, “We’re small! We’ll fit!” or, “This could be your kids!” We waited and waited until a guy called out from the other side of the road “C’mon over! Hop in. We’ll take you to where you need to go!” Another pity ride! Success! They were a nice couple from Alaska, concerned about some corn conspiracy of which I only half understood. They took us to the end of the line where the rugged dirt road began its potholed dusty track 4.5 miles to the end.

“Well, this is as far as we can go, you kids take care.” He waved out the window and drove off in a cloud of dust. We readjusted our packs and were left standing in the blazing sun with this great dirt road ahead of us, the fields of corn and other crops stretching off towards the hills. We started walking down the road, with fried toads dotting the earth and dry wiry trees lining the dirt. With no one around, it felt like a brand new adventure, back out into the unknown.

We walked for a while before we heard a car pull up behind us. “Ya’ll wanna ride?” It was a hippie couple from Philadelphia who now lived on the Big Island. The woman had long hair and her legs were tucked up like a schoolgirl in the front seat. The guy, skinny with a wide brimmed hat, glasses and a big grey handlebar moustache began telling us about the Rainbow Festival on the Big Island, where everyone prayed for world peace. Acoustic guitar plucked away on the stereo as we pulled up to a huge monkeypod tree. The path to the left would take us directly to the beach. To the right, the dirt road continued to the campsite. We were eager to get to the beach after 5 days in the canyon, so we took the right on a pretty little dirt path that cut in around dry scrub and leafy trees to the signposts warning of dangerous currents and giants swells.

We walked past the signs, up over the huge sand dunes and down onto Polihale Beach. The beach seemed as endless as the canyon, and it was being pounded by some serious swell. We started down to the northern end where the Na Pali coast began with its huge rippling cliff faces. On our left, the ocean never ceased in pounding the shore with a mountain of whitewash. On our right, the sand dunes stretched out like a miniature version of the Kalalau. Although I say miniature, it’s only comparatively, as they reached up to 100 feet each.

I had camped out here a number of years ago on a rough-ish, surfing/hitching misadventure with a friend of mine, and I could remember a nice little spot where a few other tents had been put up in and around some pretty little trees in the sand dunes. It must have been after 4 o’clock, but the sun was still blazing as we trudged down the beach in the deep soft sand, our packs weighing us down. I felt a little bad for Leigh Anne – I had been doing the, “Just a little bit further matey! I definitely recognize that tree, we’re almost there!” routine for quite some time now, as we practically waded through the sand, sweat pouring off us. As hot as it was, I was happy to be on the beach, with soft white sand under foot as I sunk off towards those hazy cliffs in the distance.

By the time I reached the little shelter, which was the start of the trail inland that would take us to our camp, I was panting and dripping throughout with about equal force. Poor old Leigh Anne came trudging along like the little soldier she is a bit later.

“This is it!” I cried triumphantly and she gave a vague smile, shaking her head and laughing.

We walked along the dirt trail, which cut in behind the dunes, until a few tents started to appear. We took a sandy path towards the sea and there she was – the exact same little spot I had camped at all those years ago! There was the very same sun-dappled shade under a twiggy umbrella of branches which opened up to a sandy trail up over the sand dune and onto the wild beach. We set up camp, including stringing up some rope between the trees to dry out everything that had gotten so damp up in the canyon. I threw on my boardies and ran up over the sand dune and bluff with an old fire pit on it overlooking the beach. I continued running down the dunes onto the wild stretch of sand. I was tossed around and pounded by the shore break but so happy to be back in the ocean. I would run out of the water, then do a big loop back and dive under like a dog that had been kept in the car all day.

As the huge, hazy orange sun sank down turning all the salty mist yellow, I collected rocks and wood for a small fire on the bluff. The sun was low now and we could see the island of Ni’ihau silhouetted against the dark sky. I sat on the bluff, still in my boardies, gazing out at the vast ocean smiling to myself.

Polihale to Kapa’a

I slept in! The sun was out! It wasn’t 6.30! I woke up and noticed something else was different too – I was warm and dry, well-rested and not aching. I sat upright in a slight panic, as if I had missed my bus. It took me a moment to realize that it was okay, I was allowed to sleep in today. I smiled and lay back down.

Last night, we had lit a bonfire on the bluff and watched as millions of stars emerged one by one until the sky was littered with them. It’s those moments in which I am unabashedly happy, simply stargazing to the soundtrack of the crackling fire and pounding surf.

I stumbled out of the tent in my shorts and jogged lazily down the beach, which turned into a pretty hard work out in the deep sand. I swam and spotted Leigh Anne who had woken up earlier for a jog and some stretches. We had breakfast on the sand dune by our camp. We looked out to sea to first spot a pod of dolphins and then whales who would throw themselves out of the water, causing their entire bodies to be suspended in mid air before crashing back down, sending out a massive fan of white water.

We discussed our plans for the next few days, packed up camp and then hit the road along the sandy path that joined onto the dirt road, leading back to the monkey pod tree. It was still relatively early and there were little to no cars passing us, but we enjoyed the flat walk on a hard surface (after the intense climbs up and slippery descents of the canyon and then the incredibly soft sand we had hiked along on Polihale.) The sun was out now and it was hot. Dead toads littered the road and had been caked by days of hot sun after the rains that had bought them out. After a few miles, we were beginning to think that we would have to walk the full 4.5 miles out to the main road. It was nice though, walking along that endless dirt road with corn fields and almost desert-like terrain stretching out to the hills in the distance, but it was getting hot and we had already began streaming in sweat.

Not long after, a black jeep rattled to a stop. The driver, shaggy hair, shirtless, wearing sunglasses, told us to jump on in, as he cleared trash from the front seat and tried to make room in the back moving fishing poles, coolers and bags to make room. He said he was going to Kalaheo, which was a big chunk of the trip to Kapa’a where we hoped to camp that night. He was from Kentucky but had been in Kauai for a year now, “enjoying the pace” as he told us in his southern surfers drawl. He was working for a four wheel ATV tour company.

He introduced himself as Jason and pretty soon we were all laughing and swapping stories as he drove on. He would tell us about small towns and roads as we passed them and inform us of local legends and folklore of certain spots, like a bridge that you can’t drive across with fresh pork if you want to avoid the wrath of the goddess Pele. At one point, he turned around to me grinning, “Hey, you guys like coffee?” In fact, I had been craving coffee for days now and I said as much. Turns out that the Kauai coffee plantation had about three tables with five canisters on each for free coffee tasting. So we pulled in and spent the next 20 minutes joking around as we tried the different blends. Notable brews were “Blue Mountain Kauai,” “Kauai sunset,” and “Big Bruddah,” which was the strongest of the three.

With the caffeine pumping in our veins we hit the road, all becoming noticeably chattier. Jason then offered to take us all the way to Kapa’a, as this was his day off and he had nothing else planned. Many times he would say “Oh! We should take this back road, it’s super nice.” I think he was enjoying himself as much as we were. We stopped at the Menehune fish ponds, which according to myth had been built by the Menehune (ancient, magical Hawaiian midgets) as contracted by the royals. The Menehune agreed to do it on the condition that they were not to be watched. On the second day, the royals were surprised to see that the job had already been half completed with materials that were impossible to haul to this part of the island, such as large stones from the north shore. That night, the roals snuck out to watch the Menehune and determine how they were making progress so fast. They were spotted and turned to stone. Today, up to the left are two stone pillars, the royals, still standing where they were spotted overlooking the ponds.

It had been an excellent ride, and Leigh Anne and I were in high spirits as we shook Jason’s hand and took off to Safeway grocery store to shop. We didn’t know it then, but what was to come would be that start of a new chapter, a chapter without the structure and planned nature of the canyon hikes and without the comfort and ease of Polihale. What was to come was chaos.

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: CHAOS – Part 1“

Alaka’i Swamp Trail

It had been an uncomfortable night. The temperature was torturously cold and I woke with chattering teeth. I had been sleeping on the hard-packed earth making it feel like I had spent the night on a cold slab of cement. No matter how I turned, I could simply not get comfortable. Forcing ourselves awake with the alarm, we sat up at looked at each other finding it impossible not to break into a smile both thinking “well, were still here then…”

We had an apple and a Clif® Bar for breakfast before waking up our joints and muscles which were still tight from the hike up and out of the Kuku’i trail the day before. I did some star jumps, jogged on the spot and did some push-ups in the pre-dawn light to get the blood pumping. We broke camp and hit the road. As the sun rose and flecked the roads in a dappled light in between the trees, I was in excellent spirits. We hadn’t walked a mile before a friendly couple from Kansas City, Missouri picked us up in their rental car. The husband was telling us that he planned to play golf in 50 states. “Already up to 30,” he said proudly glancing up into their rearview mirror. The wife patted his arm and turned around to us saying, “we all need goals.”

They were planning to stop at the Kalalau Lookout, but Leigh Anne did an excellent job of convincing them to keep going up to Pu’u o Kila Lookout at the end of Waimea Canyon Drive instead, where we needed to get to for the start of our trail. However, it wasn’t a purely selfish act – the Pu’u o Kila Lookout offers far better views than the Kalalau Lookout. We walked around the ramp up to the lookout and passed the sign pointing to the Pihea trail which would connect to the Alaka’i Swamp trail after a few miles. I walked up to the ridge and the wind was knocked out of me. Before me lay the entire Kalalau valley, with towering jagged cliffs draped in dense jungle that plummeted down in deep creases of rock. The valley floor led to a beach with perfect waves rolling in and beyond it was the endless, intensely blue ocean stretching out into infinity. I was speechless. Overcome and moved. It was so insanely beautiful and the sheer scale and grandeur of it was so immense that the greatest fabulist could not have invented it.

We stood in silence, awed for a moment before continuing on our way down the steep bank of packed red clay. The whole first portion was a wide plain of red dirt which required delicate footing. As we skidded down, I kept gravitating back to the edge of the trail to once more gaze out at the epic view. The path led down to a narrow ridge with the valley to our left, and the right fell away to endless miles of tightly packed forest. The track got more difficult the further we went and seemed after a while to consist primarily of steep climbs and slippery descents, causing us to skid and grab onto exposed roots for support. Parts of the path were extremely muddy and had logs thrown across it acting as balance beams, allowing us to pass without getting mud up to our knees. Then, after about half a dozen such climbs and marsh crossings, we reached a T junction.

The left went up to the Pihea Lookout and the right continued down to join up with the Alaka’i Swamp trail. After more downhill skidding and sliding, swinging from roots and trees, we became enveloped in dense bush dripping with shawls of moss. It was at this point that the boardwalk, which is one of the most noticeable characteristics of the trail, started. The boardwalk which was built in the late 90’s was covered in wire mesh which made the going easier and had been fairly well maintained. We reached the signpost directing us left to the Alaka’i Swamp. The trail started with a never-ending staircase descending down, making us dread the hike back up. We broke out on a fairytale river, flanked with grassy lawns and almost man-made boulders to hop across. We made our way up the other side once more using roots and trees for leverage on the steep ascent. After a brief time in the forest we once again found ourselves on the boardwalk which led us out onto Alaka’i Swamp, the highest swamp in the world. By now the sun was out in full force and beat down on us as we hiked on. Exposed to the sun, we were no longer surrounded by tall trees but scrub and tussock-like grasses lending the landscape an almost-alpine feel.

Although the word “swamp” conjures up unattractive images, it was truly beautiful, the light ochre and sandy brown grasses contrasting with the unblemished blue sky and the striking red flower of the ohi’a tree. We stopped from time to time to take in the view and feel the sun on our face. After being enclosed on a tight little bush path, it felt liberating to be cutting through this vast swamp that seemed to stretch on forever. At one point I looked to the sky and closed my eyes, hearing the light twitter of birds and feeling the warm breeze on my face. Supremely happy, I thought, not for the first time on this trip, “this is why I’m here; this is why I do this.”

The boardwalk had brought us along through the swamp before breaking out onto the Kilohana Lookout, offering yet another incredible view. The day so far had almost been a sensory overload, but this really did it. A truly breath-taking panoramic vista lay before us, the huge accordion-like peaks dropping almost vertically into the majestic valley with Ha’ena, Hanalei Bay and Kilauea stretching out into the distance.

It felt amazing to take off my pack, shirt and shoes, and to just be sitting on this little wooden platform out there in the middle of the mountains, perched out over this vast valley of indescribable scale. We stayed for a while at the viewpoint, soaking up the sun unable to tear our eyes away. We bumped into a local guy before heading back and he said in the 9 or so times he had done this hike, this was the clearest he had ever seen it.

We reluctantly decided it was time to head back before sundown, so after a pretty pitiful lunch (almost laughing as we discussed our rations and counted out peanuts) we threw our packs back on and headed back. We got a ride from David and Alice from Montana who we had chatted with on the trail and they had decided to wait for us at the parking lot. They drove us straight to the lodge and that evening, and as the sky turned orange, we cooked up the first of our Mountain House® freeze dried meals. Never has teriyaki chicken and rice tasted so good.
We set up camp in a new spot, about as far from the hard packed earth and freezing shady spot we had slept at the night before. This was in a pretty little clearing in the middle of what looked like a miniature corn field, the ground of soft cushy grass a welcome change. Feeling ragged and tired, we fell asleep after some hot tea, both feeling content and happy with our aching bodies.

Honopu Ridge Trail

We woke at 6:30am in the dark to a dew-drenched tent. We decided to leave the tent and sleeping bags in the same spot and return to them that afternoon. We took off, still half asleep, with the early morning mist rolling across the field adjacent to us, the moon still high in the sky. We silently climbed up the hill as once again the sun rose, causing us to come alive. We walked 2 miles until we spotted what we assumed to be the trailhead about halfway between mile markers 17 and 18. There was a big turnout on the curve of the road with a small trail winding into the bush, left, towards the coast. From there we followed a maze of goat trails and it was nearly impossible to tell if we were going in the right direction. The only clues were fluorescent ribbons tied to trees that thankfully were relatively new and frequent enough to ensure we didn’t wander off into the canyon. Apparently this track was just maintained by volunteers, so the state of the trail was anyone’s guess, depending on when the last volunteer decided to trim back those pesky native ferns…but we’ll get there. A general rule of thumb is that obviously the best worn trail is most probably the right one. The hunters’ trails also usually had logs thrown across them to deter hikers from entering.

Our guidebook told us to “look out for the native pacific false staghorn ferns,” so when we spotted the scrubby ferns, we were overjoyed that indeed we were on the right trail after all. Our enthusiasm for the ferns soon turned to dread as they began to scratch at our legs, causing them to look as if they had just survived an attack of feral cats. They were still wet from the morning dew and it was impossible to get through without them soaking us through and clawing at us like desperate beggars. A word to the wise: wear long pants. For what seemed like whole miles we battled through the domain of the ferns before reaching the start of our 1,000 foot elevation loss. After a brief respite in the sun as the trail broke out onto a ridge exposing a lush valley, we were plunged once more into the mercy of the ferns and a long disorientating jungle descent. We found ourselves scrambling over fallen trees and trying to keep our eyes out for those ribbons to ensure we weren’t bushwhacking blindly to some unknown destination. After a while, the ferns brought us out into a tree-filled valley, and after a hefty climb through the ferns the trees fell away to reveal the grand Honopu Valley. Once more, those epic valleys and rippled ridges lay out before us like a green cloth had been laid across a jagged piece of wire, with the sun just so that every crease and fold was accentuated by shadow. A tiny, thin line of white water threw itself over the cliffs while sea birds circled down below us.

We cut along a little ridge path that led us to a small grassy viewpoint, but we knew that if we pushed on, the panoramic view would reveal itself further with each step. As this happened, the track narrowed, giving great views of Honopu on one side and Awa-’awapuhi on the other. The trail was pretty hard to negotiate, and in parts I found myself ducking low to avoid the wiry overhanging trees while trying to keep my footing on the crumbly steep path. By now we had both heartily agreed that this was a “destination hike,” but boy would the destination be worth it.

It got to the point where the track kind of petered out and we were left to walk on the narrow ridge across a plain of red clay with the grand valleys on both sides. As we walked further on, more and more of the Na Pali coast would emerge, adding a whole other dimension to the vista, with each layer of its jagged green cliffs fading away into lighter green then grey beyond. At one point, we reached a spot where a whole portion of the cliff had recently fallen away, forcing us to hug the treeline as we shimmied across. We made our way up the almost volcanic red soil to the highest peak. We stood there panting, backs bent and hands on knees to take in the wild scene that had slowly been revealed to us: the enormous cliffs, waterfalls, the river which led to the pounding ocean 3,000 feet below with a pod of Humpbacks thrashing and fluming out to sea. The Na Pali lay dramatic and dangerous behind it. I simply didn’t know where to rest my eyes.

We began on the trek back, a strenuous mission climbing up those mighty inclines. It felt almost as amazing as reaching the viewpoint when we had finally passed the end of the ferns, which both of us were ready to take to with a weed whacker. It certainly hadn’t been an easy trail. We reached the trailhead and it didn’t take long for us to get a lift (in a mustang convertible) with a nice couple from Oregon. We ate some early dinner, filled our water bottles at the same stone pavilion we had been using, and made our way back to camp. We were both exhausted, so after some hot tea we faded off to sleep, giving our fern-scratched and aching legs a chance to finally rest.

Waipo’o Falls

It now seemed routine to be freezing and a little damp when we woke up, and today was no exception. The tent was soaked through with dew and condensation, my nose was blocked up (I had felt this coming) and my body was aching. I limped outside which revealed an uncomfortable pain from my Sciatica, which I had never heard of but that Leigh Anne told me was the pain in my hip, ass check, upper thigh region, probably from night after night sleeping on hard surfaces. It seems like every time I go on a really lengthy camping trip, I always come out of it saying, “Alright Avi, next time you definitely need a little air mat to sleep on,” because man, they actually make a world of difference. Of course, that little reminder was forgotten by the time this trip had come around.

Once more we had the silent routine of the tying on of wet shoes, star jumps to warm up, and the break down of camp with numb fingers. We walked down the hill for a mile or so until we reached the trailhead for Waipo’o Falls between the 14 and 15 mile markers, which started as a long downhill 4WD track with a 240 foot elevation loss. We had munched down an old granola bar first thing that morning and already had little fuel in the tank, but it would get much worse.

Once we reached the turnoff from the 4WD track, the trail became a nice trek through gum trees, making it reminiscent of an Australian trail I might have done once. I half expected to see koala bears lounging in the branches. We zig-zagged down to a ridge trail, catching glimpses of the canyon through the trees before breaking out onto a stunning view of the full canyon in all its glory. We were standing on a plateau of red clay taking in the awesome 360 degree vista surrounding us, massive canyon walls plummeting down all around us. As we made our way across the plateau, the view opened up even more (if possible), so we could see the canyon floor stretching off into oblivion, even identifying the unique rock formation far down the valley where we had camped on night one. The plateau turned into a steep decline that took us around to the first set of falls. They were small falls, pretty and surrounded by wild ginger with a good swimming hole, but it wasn’t until we made our way to the waterfalls further down the trail that we found out why this was considered to be a favorite of the canyon hikes. It happened quite suddenly when we realized we were standing at the top of a massive two tier waterfall that plummeted at the cliffs’ edge 800 feet down to the canyon floor.

We scrambled down the river to a flat rock that we stood on; only big enough for one person at a time, that jutted out over nothing, air, with the waterfall falling down beside us to the right. I stood there, legs trembling a little from the sheer drop around me on all sides. I felt like yelling out, like this great force inside me couldn’t handle looking at such a scene. The painted rocks towering in all directions, rock arches and pillars, the green scrub against the red rock, the layered ancient cliffs that just went on and on and on before fading in a haze…and here I was once again at the edge of the earth looking out over all of it.

We couldn’t help but stay in the spot for a while. I took my shirt off and lay on a rock in the sun while Leigh Anne took a bath in the icy pool and washed her hair in the little sub falls. We made our way back up to the plateau, only now realizing how damn hungry we were. In fact, as soon as we realized it, the hunger and the fatigue came in full force. Yet, as hungry as we were, we still took the time to soak in the canyon views as this would be the last of it. It was a pretty rough struggle to get back to the main road, our legs clipping exposed roots and we simply couldn’t lift them higher. We had reached the end of our rations. After 5 days of light snacking and intense hiking, it had all caught up with us, especially as our only fuel for the day had been that little granola bar that we dug out from the bottom of Leigh Anne’s pack.

It seemed like a minor miracle when we reached the road and groaned as we slowly eased the off the backpacks. We got a ride fairly easily in the tray of a truck. It felt great. It felt like we had successfully completed chapter one, and we grinned at eachother as we passed mile marker 9 where we had first set out down into the canyon 5 days earlier. The air turned noticeably warmer as we made our descent and I looked out silently thanking and farewelling the canyon. Now we could see the sea, the sun was hot on our faces and it felt like the start of a new chapter.

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: POLIHALE“

The evening went on and we talked of adventures past and those to come. As we bustled out the doors of the NYC theater commenting on favorite songs from our glamorous night out, we realized that the last train to Connecticut was leaving in 20 minutes. We ran through the busy streets of New York to get Leigh Anne on her train home. During our day together we had hardly had a chance to solidify our next trip together. Once we had reached the gate at Grand Central Terminal, there was a pause.

“Leigh…when are we going to see each other again?” I was now used to months, even years passing between our travels.

“Hiking all we can in Kaua’i, a full-on three week adventure…lets say January or February?” She grinned.

“I’m there” I said. We hugged and she ran off down the tunnel to catch her train.

CHAPTER 1: CANYON

I woke to Leigh Anne nudging me gently at 4:30am in her apartment in Ala Moana on O’ahu. I rolled out of bed and met her in the still dark living room. We grinned at each other and embraced in a sleepy hug without a word. Six months after we had said goodbye in New York, we were now embarking on our three week trip to Kaua’i. I thought back to our farewell and brief correspondence that followed when Kauai had just been a fledgling idea. And now, the time was upon us and our backpacks were full and leaning against the wall.

Leigh Anne’s roommate woke and drove us to the airport through the dark streets of downtown Honolulu. At the airport we gravitated to Starbucks to wake ourselves up before boarding our flight. The inter-island flights only take about half an hour – an ascent and descent really, a precursor to all the climbing and scrabbling back down trails that was to come. The sky was still dark grey as we landed in Lihue, but the horizon held a faint light indicating morning was on its way. We collected our bags, filled with all that anticipation and uncertainty that comes at the start of every trip.

Once outside, I noticed an older local guy in his beat up truck getting ready to pull out onto the road, but before he did I ran up to ask him where he was going and he ended up offering us a ride to the supermarket. It was to be the first ride of many and we were happy to have gotten the ball rolling so easily. We climbed up into the tray of the truck and we drove on down the road as the sky began to turn light blue as morning approached. We gave each other a sly high-five as the cool morning air rushed around us. We took in our surroundings as old uncle drove through the streets of Lihue which were already noticeably and quite markedly quieter and less populated than the O’ahu roads that we had become used to. Our friend dropped us right at the supermarket, grinning and wishing us luck before driving off. It was our first shop and it would have to last us the next 4 days up in the canyon. We discussed in depth the pros and cons of each item, not knowing then that the issue of rations was to become one of the most discussed and intricately planned topics of the trip. We ended up walking out with water, bananas, noodles, jerky, peanuts, chocolate covered raisins, trail mix and a whole heap of Clif® Bars, all of which would become our staples in the coming weeks.

After cramming the food in every remaining crevice of our packs, we walked across the parking lot to the main road to begin the hitch to Waimea Canyon. The fantastic thing about hitching in Kaua’i is that there is generally one highway wrapping around the island, meaning if someone stops to pick you up, you already know they are going in your direction because there are only two directions to go. It’s simply a matter of distance. Once we reached the main road we found a suitable spot to hitch. After three weeks hitch hiking you generally get a good idea of proper places to stick out the thumb and in what manner to do it. By the end we had perfected our hitching strategy:

1. You must be standing in a spot where people can pull over without stopping traffic like a lip or a turn out.

2. You must give drivers enough time to see you, contemplate picking you up, and discuss with their girlfriend before pulling over, so you can’t stand close to a bend in the road. You must give them time to see the thumb.

3. Don’t hitch by stoplights. People are either rushing to make the green or have been waiting so long for the green they can’t be bothered stopping again to pick you up.

4. It always helps to be laughing and joking around with your co-hitcher to show your good nature.

5. I always prop up my backpack or surfboard to show that I’m not some homeless guy but need to get a ride to the next trail or a wave.

6. Smile. Sunglasses off. If you’re a girl, hair down.

The strange thing was, with all our theories on how to hitch, it was impossible to predict who would pick us up. By the end of the trip we had had locals and tourists of all ages, all with a story to tell. Our next ride, for instance, was Sandra, an elderly woman who was on her way to work at the botanical gardens in the flower arboretum. She said she was hard of hearing so we had to shout. We shouted to her all about Trails of Freedom and as we piled out of the car she turned around and smiling said “you are an inspiration.”

Kuku ’i Trail

Sandra had driven us half the way to Waimea, so we still had ten miles to cover. We waited in a turnout by a small shop and were picked up by Pe’a, a local guy who was driving a taxi van to Waimea town to pick some people up. He joked with us that we now owed him $25 for the ride. Pe’a drove us right to the foot of the great winding uphill Waimea Canyon Road. The sun was now out in full and we were in great spirits, congratulating ourselves on our luck with rides so far. We were eventually picked up by a couple from Washington State and as we wound our way up the Waimea Canyon, the guy told us how he was a professional poker player. Rain started to fall and as we got out of the car near the 9 mile marker where the trailhead of our first hike, the Kuku’i trail began, it came harder. This was not entirely helpful as we were about to embark on a 2,300 foot descent in 2 ½ miles, making it a tough scramble as it was and the rain only meant more time on our asses than we had planned. We could tell that those who had gone before us had suffered at the hands of the hard packed red clay that was scarred with the streaks of sliding hiking boots.

The trail took a little loop before we saw the actual trailhead leading down into the canyon. The rain hadn’t ceased so, unfortunately for my dignity, I had to adorn the giant hooded poncho that covered both the backpack and myself, giving me the appearance of a hunchbacked monk. In fact, the moment the rain let up, I took it off (later we learned to wrap up the bag alone, saving me the embarrassment). The first portion of the trail was a steep switchback track through the scrub which we trotted down while the sun would teasingly pop out for a brief moment before hiding once again behind the clouds.

After skirting our way around a little track that was cut into the cliff, we broke out onto the great vista of the canyon. We would see the canyon many times from many angles but it never ceased to take our breath away. This huge gaping wound in the earth was streaked with red cliffs and green scrub with waterfalls lacing the cliffs in the distance. The magnificent walls of the canyon stretched out into oblivion and everywhere you turned, massive rock structures jutted out like pinnacles. It took on the appearance of a painted backdrop, seeming impossible that it was right there in front of us.

From this point on, the trail seemed more like a descent down a semi-dried river bed. The track was just following the creases in the ground where water had run; just rocks, rubble and red sand causing a difficult climb down. As we reached the last half mile, the trail dove into a forest of skinny trees and boulders, markedly different from the red clay scramble of the first section. It got to the point where it seemed everything around us was dry but for the path ahead, which had turned into a muddy little stream with toads leaping away from our oncoming steps. We rounded the corner and saw the long-drop toilet and a ramshackle shelter, signifying the Wiliwili campsite alongside the raging river.

We set up camp among some of the most aggressive mosquitos I have ever encountered. There were swarms of the things, bombarding us from all directions like miniature cobra attack helicopters. Of course at this point we had no insect repellent and so the only way of deterring these determined buggers was to stand and act as a windmill with our arms swinging constantly. When it was time to throw our packs into the tent, one of us would assume the windmill position shouting “Go! Go! Go!” in a militant fashion, while the other would throw the packs inside and zip up the tent flap as fast as possible.

The rest of the afternoon was spent exploring upriver. The sun had come out and all around us were the towering walls of the canyon. As the sun sunk, we constructed a fire which was a little confident and determined flame, but it kept exploding due to wet wood. In fact there was a disheartening moment when our small tin foil trays in which we were attempting to boil water (in lieu of a cooking pot which would come later) were upturned by the exploding wooden frame supporting them. We couldn’t help but laugh as we had to settle with our dinner of jerky and nuts.

That night, before turning off our headlamps, Leigh Anne turned over and said “Ya know what Avi? I think we are the only people in this whole canyon.” And what she was right. This was the only camping area and we hadn’t seen anybody else hike in. It was a scary thought… an exhilarating thought that we were alone in this endless valley cut into the earth. I lay awake, recalling a feeling I often had when standing on the edge of something like a huge ocean or looking out across endless mountains, or for that matter an endless canyon, always from a vantage point wishing I was in it, not just standing on the edge of it taking a photo with the hordes, but to fully immerse myself in the thick of it. And here we were, on the canyon floor and we couldn’t be deeper amongst it all.

CONTINUE THE JOURNEY “Beyond the End of the Road: CANYON – Part 2“

Devil’s Hopyard State Park in East Haddam, Connecticut is supposedly named for the large, smooth “potholes” that can be found in the bedrock beside the rushing water of Chapman Falls. The most colorful story of the creation of these potholes is said to derive from colonial times when Puritans inhabited the area. In short, it states that the Devil was on a leisurely stroll through Eightmile River when he reached Chapman Falls and accidentally got his tail all wet. Apparently, the Devil hated getting wet (just like house cats) and proceeded to furiously stomp and “hop” his way down the waterfalls, literally burning potholes in the rock beneath his feet as he threw a demonic temper tantrum.

Not convinced? Well, I don’t think anybody buys that story, especially historians who posit the more believable explanation that Devil’s Hopyard was once in close proximity to a field, or “yard”, where hops was cultivated for use in making beer. Where the historians leave off, geologists have stepped up and conclusively demonstrated that the potholes in the bedrock were not melted beneath the feet of a pouting demon.

Also known as “kettles” or “giant’s kettles”, the potholes beside Chapman Falls developed as a result of erosion. Over the centuries, as water endlessly spilled upon the tiers of bedrock at the waterfall, eddies would develop where stones and grit had an opportunity to settle at the bottom of the river. This detritus, which was harder than the bedrock, was then swirled around and around by the current, boring a depression in the riverbed. As the depressions grew deeper and deeper with time, the eddies would have become more prominent, larger pebbles and greater quantities of grit would get stuck, and the process of erosion would accelerate. Eventually, the depressions became deep, smooth potholes in the rock which are easily observed today, especially during summertime when water levels are reduced.

Probably owing to the unique legend associated with Devil’s Hopyard, the potholes found there at Chapman Falls are some of the most well-known in the entire state. However, similar potholes can be found all over Connecticut’s parks and preserves wherever the conditions for their formation are present. I can specifically recall finding them near Buttermilk Falls (Plymouth), Kent Falls (Kent) and Westfield Falls (Middletown), to name only a few.