May 26-28, 2017

     We’d only been backpacking on a tropical island once before, the week previous in Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. This trip was the one we’d both been looking forward to the most, though. The steep hillsides covered in lush undergrowth, the uninterrupted beautiful view of the incessant waves crashing against the rocks below, and the almost deserted beach waiting for us at the end.

     Our hike came to a screeching halt only 200 feet after leaving the car. A hastily written sign, declaring that the trail was closed due to flooding, sat astride our path. We stood still for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Should we continue on anyway, not knowing if we could get through to our destination? Or should we give up and try to figure out another way to spend 3 days? As we were talking it over with another hopeful couple, a ranger walked up and took the sign down right in front of us. Well, OK! I guess we know what our choice is now. Not that there was ever much doubt.

     It had been raining hard for the last few days, and the ranger told us that his trail crews had been unable to come back on schedule, but had just returned that morning. As we set off up the trail, the effects of the rain were apparent. The ground was muddy, and the rocks slippery. There were downed reeds plastered to the trail surface periodically, which gave some purchase to our trail runner soles, but hid the roots below, which threatened to twist our ankles.

     As we climbed in altitude, so did the temperature. We were leapfrogging a group of four younger backpackers, two girls and two guys. One of them, we could tell, was already flagging in the first two miles. I noticed she still had the rubber covers over her trekking pole tips, and they were sliding all over in the mud, almost useless. I mentioned to her in passing that they were made for indoor use and she could remove them if she wanted better grip. She thanked me and we moved on. Five minutes later they passed us again, and she was still struggling, the mall-walking tips still on her poles. Oh well. I don’t think these hikers made it to the beach.

     The sea breeze was refreshing as we topped out with a beautiful view. We could see a few sea kayakers hundreds of feet below. They were moving twice our speed, covering only half of our eleven miles to the beach. You don’t need to contour in the ocean. Sam and I had decided not to use our packrafts to paddle out, due to our inexperience on big water, and the scarcity of good landing options on the way. The decision not to packraft to the beach is one of the two things I regret about this trip, in hindsight.

     The trail is marked every mile, with one mile marker missing, just to liven things up a bit. These were the slowest miles I’ve ever hiked. I’m not used to doing 40 minute miles. The mud was taking it’s toll.

     We stopped for lunch at a beautiful stream a short distance past a campsite. Relaxing in the shade, we saw a group of backpackers hiking out, backs bent under the weight of huge packs. Extra shoes, multiple Nalgene bottles, palatial tents, and exotic trinkets of all sorts strapped to the outside of their already large packs. We sat eating our snacks, drinking from the cold stream, happy not to be pack mules.

     Sam, for all of her badassery, is not confident on rocky surfaces with exposure. There is a section of the Kalalau trail that is rocky and very exposed. As we approached it, we passed a family of four, with two children under the age of ten. They were hiking the opposite direction, and had just crossed the section of trail in question. The children, understandably, were on tethers. The adults, understandably, were both wearing HMG packs. Hmm. Sam said to me, “Well, if those kids can get across, so can I.” And on she went, crossing with no problems. I’m so proud to be her husband.

     After crossing, we stopped for the fiftieth time to enjoy the view. It was still every bit as good as the first look. We had been gifted with perfect weather for our approach to the beach. Unfortunately, this type of weather only encourages the rotor pests, who come to the Kalalau Valley for similar reasons as we do. They fly in from the ocean, circling loudly around the valley, carrying their babies inside them. Their loud buzz echoes off the near vertical walls of jungle, annoying everyone within earshot. Eventually every pest gets bored, and leaves, only to be replaced a few minutes later by another one, full of different babies. Later, they disgorge their babies onto the tarmac, who probably go eat some vending machine candy or something. I don’t know their diet. And they probably don’t know how annoying and disruptive they’ve been.

     In the late afternoon heat, we came to the most beautiful stream I may have ever seen in my life. Clear cold water cascading down from an otherworldy valley, it’s sinuous body flowing out to the blue waters of the Pacific. This stream marks the eastern end of the mile long Kalalau Beach. As we crossed, I thankfully soaked my shoes and feet in the refreshing water. The other end of the beach is marked by a large cave, the bottom of which is also submerged in water, the salt kind. Between these landmarks, we would choose our campsite. After some dropping of packs, looking around, picking back up of packs, and walking around some more, we found an area most of the way down the beach, nestled back under the canopy of trees, overlooking the ocean. I immediately soaked myself in the Pacific, while Sam chose to put up our shelter. We hung our hammock for relaxing in later and went in search of the waterfall.

     We were so thirsty we headed over there like it owed us money. Like most waterfalls, it announces it’s presence loudly, providing bathing and drinking water to all the beach’s occupants. My 12 year old Katadyn Pro Microfilter gave us about 2 liters of water before clogging completely.  Now, to be sure, there was nothing wrong with this water. The filter’s never given me a single problem, but I think it’s just the old girl’s time to go. I field stripped and flushed it and was able to get another liter before I had to strip and flush it again. This would be annoying for the rest of our stay. It’s nice to know that she made it to Hawaii before she died. Sam is immune compromised, so we always filter, and usually use Aqua Mira for good measure. We talked with some people at the watering hole. They were from Portland and New York. This place brings people from all over the world. Or two coasts, at least. After collecting enough water for the next 12 hours or so, we went back to camp to relax.

     After dinner, we fell asleep in our shelter, listening to the waves crash on the shore. My fifty degree quilt was too warm to wrap around me, so I folded it into a cigar shape and laid with my arms and legs outside of it. We opened up both shelter doors to increase airflow.

     In the morning, the first thing I noticed was that something had stolen my bag of Goldfish crackers that I had accidentally left in the vestibule. I found the bag a few feet away from the tent, mostly eaten. Whatever it was hadn’t woken me up, sneaking to within a foot of me as I slept. Very stealthy.

     As we cooked breakfast, we noticed a herd of goats nearby, who had come down from the cliffs above to munch on grass. These guys were loud, so I know they hadn’t eaten my Goldfish. We watched them ascend back up the cliffs as people woke up, marveling at their climbing ability.

     We took a morning swim in the ocean. After Sam was done swimming, I wanted to swim up and down the beach for exercise. Swimming in the open ocean is, for me anyway, a totally different experience than swimming laps in a pool. I could see the sand on the bottom moving, as well as other small shapes. I didn’t know what they were, and it triggered primal fears in me as I swam. I repeatedly had to stop swimming and float, just to calm myself down. I would remind myself that I was safe, and start swimming again. Within thirty seconds my heart rate would be through the roof again, and I’d be freaking out on the inside. I wasn’t even thinking about sharks. I wanted to quit swimming so badly, but forced myself to continue to get over the fear. It didn’t work. After fifteen minutes of this, I decided to stop torturing myself and swam back to the shore.

     Mid-morning, we emptied out a backpack and began a hike up the Kalalau Valley. We followed a trail rather than the stream. We saw two smaller encampments in the valley, but we saw no one who didn’t look like a tourist. The park staff was in the middle of a concerted push to rid the park of it’s almost permanent homeless population, and it seemed to be working. There was a group of other campers trying to find a rumored valley waterfall, but we told them we hadn’t seen it from the route we had taken. We hiked to a clearing from which we could see the sheer walls of the valley on every side, rising up to meet the blue sky. We took a break in the valley, before Sam noticed some trees that would be worth climbing. I climbed two of them to give them a light shake, and we gathered up our lunch as it fell to the ground. Satisfied with our valley exploration, we headed back to camp. We both wanted to spend some more time on the beach. Luckily I had brought a knife with me, and we ate our lunch in our hammock. I’ve never tasted such amazing mangoes. Wow. We shared some with our camping neighbors, and then went for another swim.

     After playing in the ocean and getting some pictures of the cliffs, we walked over to the waterfall. As we walked across the sand, we realized that our feet were burning from the heat of the sand. We both wordlessly began running, faster and faster. After 20 seconds we splashed into the waterfall water, as it terminates on the beach. Our feet were still hurting several minutes later. The afternoon sand was almost as hot as a parking lot in summer. I’ve never felt sand like that before. We spent some time gathering more water, and then took a nap in the hammock together. I didn’t want to bring the hammock on this trip, but caved when Sam said she wanted it. She was definitely right.

     Speaking of caves, we decided to go see the cave at the end of the beach. It has a clean tide pool inside it, with very cold water. We splashed around, reading what people had written in the sand on the other end of the cave. Toward the deepest end of the cave, the sound of the ocean fades, and it’s relatively quiet. In the waning evening light, the shallow water and muted sound reminded me of Gollum’s cave in the Misty Mountains. I couldn’t think of any riddles to tell Sam though. We’re so forgetful, precious.

     Before dinner I wandered around some of the use trail network near the beach. On a large rock, I saw the smallest, most malnourished cat I think I’ve ever seen. On second look, it wasn’t really malnourished, just very, very lean. I slowly approached, wondering if it would let me pet it. After two or three minutes of slow movement, I was beside the cat. I sat down and petted it for ten or fifteen minutes, before it had enough and ran off. There are quite a few of these feral cats around, and they apparently subsist off of Goldfish crackers that are irresponsibly left out by careless hikers. Tonight I would bring all of our food into the tent.

     We spent our final night on the beach being lulled to sleep by the waves. My second regret of this trip is not having at least another day here in this amazing place. Falling asleep next to Sam, though, is an excellent way to take my mind off regrets.

     The next morning we slept in until our bladders wouldn’t sleep any more. The sun was peeking through the thin canopy of leaves that shaded us, as people walked back and forth fifty feet from our tent for their morning restroom routine, or to the falls to gather water. This place had become familiar to us, and we both knew we would miss it as we left that day. We reluctantly packed our things, and began the hike back to civilization. I contemplated the transformation of possibilities into memories. Before a trip, everything is possible. Anything might happen. As the trip unfolds, the uncertainty becomes certain, turning into memories. Memories are less exciting than possibilities, but enjoyable nonetheless.

     We noticed a herd of goats on an impossible slope and wondered if they were the same goats we saw yesterday. Jumping from cliff band to cliff band, they are amazing to watch. We also watched the boats full of people in their Hawaiian shirts motor by below us, listening to the tour guides talk about the beautiful beaches over the loudspeakers. I wonder what Kalalau Beach looks like through binoculars? Then I wondered if the goats look at us hikers the same way as I look at those boat tourists. Only walking on the trails. Psh.

—-What is it, precious?—-

Gear Notes:

     We visited in May. For those with good backpacking skills who wish to save weight, I’ll offer some advice here.

     If you’re the type of person who can hike 11 miles in sandals, something with some good tread, do it. Then you won’t need to bring shoes. If not, bring some flip-flops for the beach.

     A tarp is all the shelter we would have needed. A double walled tent is overkill. This is paradise, after all.

     I hiked in my swimming trunks and a light polyester shirt, with a sun hat. These were the only clothes I needed.

     Insulating clothing was unnecessary.

     A fifty degree sleeping quilt was fine this time of year, and if you do get cold in camp (you won’t) you can wrap it around yourself.

     The cats won’t take your food from inside your tent. You don’t necessarily need to hang it.