A few weeks ago, some friends came in from Oahu to hike the Kalalau Trail. Given that it is basically in our backyard, we joined in the fun. This trail is consistently ranked one of the best in the world, and it’s no surprise that people come from all parts of the globe to experience the amazing natural sights that one encounters. The trip starts at the end of the road, where a parking lot and Ke’e Beach are there to greet you. The first two miles, from the trailhead to Hanakapi’ai Beach, are the most frequently traveled by day trippers who just want to experience being on Kalalau. As a result, this part of the trail is pretty thrashed, and despite efforts at trail restoration, portions seem like a giant mud slide. Once you hit Hanakaps, the number of hikers decreases dramatically. After a steep series of cutbacks, there is a great view back towards the beach. Miles 2-6 are demanding, both on the way out and back in, with the trail winding from valley to ridge, and lots of elevation change throughout. And it’s hot. Our timing had us hitting this part of the trail at the peak of the day’s heat, which is not recommended. At mile 6 is Hanakoa Valley, one of the occasionally used camping areas along the trail. From this point, there are frequent streams for refilling water bottles (using sterilization tablets or a filter is a must, given that there are wild pigs and goats nearby– more on that later), and hydration is key. After mile 6 there are more climbs, but its a lovely part of the trail. And then… there are no words to describe it.
Mile 7-8 is a brutal terrifying trek through what I named the devil’s butthole, though one of my companions called it Afghanistan, and was pretty sure bin Laden was hiding out there. The trail is about 8 inches wide, and basically just the face of a giant rockslide waiting to happen. Every step requires concentration, and the winds and occasional goats are distractions you just don’t need. All that being said, it was a hell of a lot of fun to navigate that part, and when you looked back on it, it was really short and not that bad. After another daunting half mile or so of bare faced red dirt, you hit the helicopter landing pad. There’s an awesome dude named Bill who was hanging out there, doing his part to clean up parts of the trail, and engage in a bit of goat control. It may seem cruel, but the wild goats have been proliferating and wreaking havoc on the terrain, exacerbating the natural erosion that’s been taking place. Bill said he’s sick of goat meat. I say nothing.
After the heli pad, there’s 2 more miles of little valleys, some of which are quite nice and provide some shelter from the sun. Then, at long last, you hit mile 10, and you see Kalalau Beach ahead of you, and then there’s the red hill of death (probably not the official name). It’s just a straightforward, straight down path to the valley, but it’s a stretch that you know you will positively dread on the return trip. Once you make it down, the trail is a jolly little meander over the river and through the woods, to the campground and beach. The scene at Kalalau merits another blog post, so that will come later, but suffice it to say that it is exactly what the body and soul need after the trek.
Give yourself some time to recover and appreciate your surroundings, then repeat in reverse. While I was on the trail, I kept thinking, “I am probably never going to do this again.” Yet, after waking up in my own bed the day after the trip, all I could think about was how great it was, and how I can’t wait to do it again.
As a sidenote, the state is shutting down the trail for the months of September and October of this year to do some serious repairs. There is a fine line between appreciating and abusing nature, and between trail preservation and government regulation.
