Prior to the trip, Hawaiian Trail and Mountain club member Carole K. Moon, who had backpacked in the area several times, told me our preferred route, the Halape Trail, was closed by the Park Service during her most recent trek in early July because the area was a breeding ground for the Nene, the Hawaiian goose. As it turned out, the Park had just re-allowed access to the Halape Trail, but it would be "unmaintained and overgrown," according to the ranger who checked us in.
By the way, the 7.2-mile Halape trail was our first choice because it was the shortest, most direct and scenic route, according to Carole, Ken Suzuki (another HTMC member), and Stuart Ball (in his backpacking book). Other routes to Halape include the Hilina Pali (8 miles), Keauhou (8.4 miles), and Puna Coast (11.3 miles) Trails.
The ranger also informed us that the water tank (roof catchment) at Halape was half-full per a report received a few days earlier. This meant we wouldn't have to lug in a ton of H20 (eight pounds to a gallon). Good news!! I ended up carrying four liters and Bill and Willie three each.
So with our permit secured, off we motored around Crater Rim Drive to Chain of Craters Road and then to Hilina Pali Road. About four miles down the latter was Kipuka Nene Campground (elevation 2,900), the trailhead for the Halape Trail. A trail shelter, pit toilets, catchment water and possibly Nene (we saw two) can be found there.
At 2:15, Bill, Willie, and I bid farewell to Tim, and three of his na keiki--Hinano, Maile and Ho'okano--who had accompanied him, and off we trudged. Our plan was to hike to Halape, spend the next two nights there, and hike out on Wednesday via the Puna Coast Trail. Tim would pick us up at a pre-arranged time, 2 p.m., on Chain of Craters Road by the parking area of the trailhead to the Pu'u Loa petroglyphs.
Initially, the Halape Trail is basically a wide, grassy jeep road that contours east for two miles without any appreciable elevation loss or gain. The map currently provided by the Park doesn't show this trail (revised versions are being printed). Fortunately, Carole had given me an older park-issued map with the Halape Trail on it. Without this directional aid, we might have missed an unmarked junction and continued east on the jeep road when we should have headed south toward the ocean and Halape.
After the jeep road phase was completed, the remainder of the Halape Trail was indeed a trail, complete with rock pile markers (ahu) to show the way. The path basically followed a wire fenceline downslope, traversing older pahoehoe flows interspersed with patches of calf- to knee-high grass. After a little while (30 minutes?), the distant ocean came into view and we whooped with glee. Along the trail, a few small trees popped up here and there but the way was almost exclusively open to the blue sky and warming sun above. After a couple hours of hiking, we reached the edge of Puueo Pali where in the distance we could see the Keauhou shelter and Keauhou Point but not Halape, obscured by an upswelling called Pu'u Kapukapu (lit. "regal hill"). Willie, quite anxious to go fishing, kept asking if we'd arrive at Halape in time to try for some papio. I told him it was possible but unlikely because of the late hour.
At 6:30, we reached the three-walled Halape Shelter, which sits on a bluff about 150 yards inland from the shoreline camping area. About 20 yards east of the shelter is a virtually wall-less pit toilet which offers users arguably the best view-from-a-john in Hawaii.
At check-in, the ranger told us no one else should have been camping at Halape but we spotted a tarp lean-to and a couple of campers at the left-most (eastern) campsite along the row of coconut trees near the beach. We were bummed that we wouldn't have the run of Halape as we expected, but since darkness would roll around in an hour, we squelched our disappointment and hustled to replenish our water supply at the shelter, find a site for ourselves, and begin setting up camp. With not much time to scout around, we chose to pitch our tents at the right-most (western) site along the beach.
Ken Suzuki, who I mentioned earlier, had told me that "red ants will be your best friends at Halape." Well, correct Ken was, for those creepy-crawly buggahs were literally everywhere. Fortunately, we followed his advice to bring a can of bug repellent which we liberally sprayed on designated patches of ground to create ant-free areas Willie and I called "dead zones." It worked, too! Thanks, Ken.
We got our tents up as darkness fell; however, fatigue, flying roaches, and those ubiquitous ants doused our enthusiasm for preparing a cooked meal with our stoves. So after a bit of time scanning the star-filled night sky ("the most stars I've ever seen," said Willie), we retreated to our tents, nibbled on some non-cook type kaukau, talked story for awhile, and drifted off to sleep to the gentle whooshing of waves on shore on the beach at Halape.
We were up and around by six the next morning after an uneventful night that included just a brief flitter of rain. Willie's fervor for fishing remained unabated and off he went to check out spots for casting out his line. While he was rigging his gear, I set out with my rod and reel and flung out a plastic curly-tail jig into the waters of a little bay just west of where we camped. On my second toss, hanapa'a, a fish struck the lure. In thirty seconds, I reeled in a seven-inch ta'ape (blue-line snapper), a colorful, supposedly decent-eating fish species transplanted from the Marquesas in the late 50s. In the next 20 minutes, I landed a sand goby and what I think was a waha-nui (lit. "big mouth"). I released these and lost the ta'ape when a wave washed over a small tidal puddle in the rocks where I had put it. Several other papio-like strikes followed but alas no hook-ups. Meanwhile, Willie arrived and began trying his luck.
I left him to fish the small bay while I continued west along the coast to look for the brackish water pools and a campsite called Halape Iki that Carole had told me about. A minute after leaving Willie, I heard him whooping in glee because he had bagged a fish of his own. I waved to him, flashed a thumbs up for his success, and continued my exploratory jaunt down the coast.
The way was marked with white pieces of coral rock atop a wide shelf of pahoehoe by the ocean. To the right was a 20-foot wide collapsed lava tube. At the bottom of the tube were a couple of nice chest-deep brackish pools with bottoms tinted a golden hue. Continuing west, I spotted the tops of coconut trees and in a few minutes I could see the trees themselves, situated in front of a grove of hau-like trees at the base of a steep boulder-strewn slope that topped out at Pu'u Kapukapu.
In his second book, Stuart Ball refers to this area as "boulder bay," because of the aforementioned pohaku on the hillside and the small, inviting cove fronting the beach area and grove of trees. Carole and others call this place "Halape Iki," literally "Little Halape." By whatever name, I told myself this beautiful place (see pic below) was where we'd camp for the remainder of our stay.
After our chat with the Aussies, we headed for Iki. Once there, we decided to pitch our tents about 15 yards from the water's edge next to a large boulder (other campsites exist next to the grove of hau-like trees). From that spot, we had easy access to the ocean for swimming and fishing and there seemed to be fewer of our "best friends" around.
We explored the area, fished, ate lunch, and took a nap. Willie was eager to pick opihi and if it weren't for his prodding, Bill and I might have napped the afternoon away. At 2:30, Willie and I rock-hopped west along the rugged, boulder-strewn coastline while Bill donned a snorkeling mask and swam along the shore. Within a 100 yards of our campsite, we spotted opihi on the rocks. Being first-time pickers, we weren't equipped properly nor well-versed in the proper harvesting technique. Accordingly, Bill jabbed himself in the finger with a fork on one attempt which later resulted in a semi-nasty swollen digit. And I missed several opihi, which clamp like vices to the rocks once touched.
Through error, trial, and teamwork, we eventually figured out a successful strategy. Willie served as lookout, perching himself on the rocks above us and yelling out when menacing swells rolled toward shore. Meanwhile, Bill, who had left the water by this time, and I were the harvesters, quickly scrambling our way over slippery boulders to the water's edge to pry the opihi from the rocks and retreating to higher ground when a swell approached. In possession of a knife, Bill was more adept at harvesting than me and my teaspoon. Making sure to only go after the ones half-dollar size and larger, we ended up with 73 opihi in all, with Bill probably getting about 50. During the harvest, Bill offered a verbal "mahalo" for every opihi he bagged. I thought this was an appropriate and respectful gesture and followed suit.
One thing we noted was that the ocean and heavens were aboil during the adrenaline-filled picking session, with some fairly sizable rollers pounding the shoreline and a semi-heavy rain squall pelting us during that time. When we decided we had gathered enough for dinner, we had worked our way a couple hundred yards west from where we first had begun. Strangely, the rain stopped and the ocean calmed noticeably after we called it quits. Was this a coincidence or had some higher power been testing our worthiness to harvest the ocean's bounty? Hmmm...
We returned to camp, wet, a bit cold, but happy about our successful opihi adventure. Bill plopped down in the water of an inlet by our campsite and began unshelling the harvest while Willie and I fished (without success).
Eventually, the rains returned and except for a short respite around 7:30, continued until the next morning (this same storm caused flash floods on other parts of the island). We still had dinner to prepare and eat, so Bill used rope, a couple of plastic tarps, and branches from the grove of trees to construct a lean-to against the boulder we had camped by. This mini shelter would serve as our cooking and dining area during the storm and it served its purpose well.
For evening kaukau, we dined on hot cocoa, fresh broccoli and cucumbers, soup, rolls, ramen, poi, canned salmon, Maui onion, and all 73 opihi--some raw and some cooked in an onion, ramen, and cucumber soup. Ono!
As darkness rolled in, Bill lit a small butane lantern he had brought along. In the meantime, the rain continued its unceasing cascade and the wind was eerily non-existent. To stay reasonably dry and warm, we huddled under the lean-to, talking story about day's activities while waiting for a break in the showers to make the short dash to our tents.
I can't remember the exact time we retired that night, but I do recall being dripping wet when I stood outside the entrance of my tent. Not wanting to dampen the interior of my shelter, I stripped and ducked into my tent au naturel. I had a set of dry clothes inside, a sheet to serve as a blanket, and an air mattress to lay on. Best of all, my almost-new tent (Eureka Apex XT) was holding up to the rain well, thank heaven.
With the rain and semi-thick humidity, I can't say I slept peacefully that night, but I did manage to grab a good 5 to 6 hours in all, awakening every couple hours to listen to the waves slapping the shore and the neverending patter of ua on my tent.
During the night, I did worry a bit about the possibility of a rain-induced landslide, for the boulders on the slope above our campsite would certainly crush us if they came crashing down to the ocean. I also thought about earthquakes, an almost natural mental conjuring since I was aware of the tragic 1975 incident where several Halape campers were swept out to sea and two killed by a tsunami generated by a 7-plus earthquake in the Kalapana area.
But nothing went awry except a tiny bit of water in my tent. By 6 a.m. the three of us were stirring in preparation to break camp, bid aloha to Halape, and hike the 11-plus miles on the Puna Coast Trail to Chain of Craters Road.
The rain had eased to a gentle drizzle and by 7:15 we had packed all our belongings, policed the area for trash, and headed off to the Halape Shelter where we'd get more water and eat breakfast. Before striding off, we all turned to the bay, shouting "Aloha Halape Iki" in a parting gesture to the beautiful place where we had camped, swum, fished, and gathered opihi.
At the shelter, we met three local haole teenagers who had hiked to Halape the day before for a multi-day surfing trip. The trio watched the ocean longingly, using surf lingo like "a-frame" and "spitting" to describe the three foot sets curling impressively to the left of a small island about 100 yards offshore of the Halape camping area. We also found out they were from Puna and traveled to spots all around the island in search of waves.
At 9 a.m., we had eaten breakfast, filled our water bottles, and bid our final farewells to Halape and the surfing teens. By then, the rain had stopped but gray clouds covered most of the sky as we headed east following the line of ahu on the Puna Coast Trail. Atop a windswept bluff, we passed a sign that warned hikers of the prohibition of fishing and ocean gathering from that point east to Kalapana. "Only Native Hawaiian residents of Kalapana and individuals in their company" could fish and pick opihi there. In about 40 minutes, we had covered 1.6 miles, taking our first break at the Keauhou Shelter, located about a quarter mile inland of Keauhou Point and camping area and a virtual twin of the Halape Shelter.
From there, we continued east on the Coast Trail through mostly older grass-covered pahoehoe flows and occasional newer, shiny fingers. The rain also re-commenced, which although not ideal, did help keep us cool. We talked about how grueling the hike would be with humid, sunny conditions.
The next major landmark we reached was wind-whipped Apua Point. The trail, lined with a large number of white-flowered naupaka kahakai, passed about 200 yards mauka of the coconut tree-lined beach fronting the point. We saw what appeared to be a shelter and large tent situated there. Endangered hawksbill turtles were nesting in the area and the tent supposedly belonged to folks monitoring the turtles. To our right, large waves pummeled the shoreline at the point.
Further on, the trail passed right by the shoreline. We stopped at a couple spots to watch huge breakers slamming into opihi-covered shoreline cliffs and throwing up massive curtains of whitewater. We named one place "One-Ride Cove" because anyone bodysurfing there would never survive to see a second wave. Bill snapped some photos and we even saw a pod of spinner dolphins romping offshore. At several places, we passed petroglyphs and a rock carved with small holes for konane, a Hawaiian game similar to checkers. During one rest break, we stopped just past a large rock structure that either was a heiau or an old corral. By that time, the rain had stopped but conditions remained cool and overcast.
We pressed on, following ahu all the while, and in the distance to the left could see the section of Chain of Craters Road descending steeply on the ocean facing side of Holei Pali. As we hiked on, we could discern vehicles moving up and down the road. This turned out to be distracting, for I almost blew out my left ankle three or four times because I was paying more attention to the vehicles coming down the road instead of watching my footing on the rocky lava trail.
We reached Chain of Craters Road at 2:20, completing the 11.3-mile hike from the Halape Shelter in 5 hours, 20 minutes. The timing was nearly perfect, for Tim, accompanied by na keiki, Hookano and Maile, arrived in the family station wagon at 2:23. We were wet, aching a bit from the long haul that day, but happy to have ended our adventure with many pleasant memories and without major mishap.
In less than an hour, we were at the Lino homestead in Mountain View where we laid our stuff to dry in the carport, took warm showers, washed and dried our clothes, and devoured a great meal of barbecued teri chicken, corn on the cob, rice, egg rolls, and kim chee. Mahalo to Tim, his wife Millie, and their five children for hosting us. We spent the night at their home and flew home to Oahu the next day.
Even with the rainy weather, it was great trip that we'll certainly do again.
