Hawaii Hiking, Backpacking, and Camping Blog

Wiliwilinui to Lanipo -- by LastKoho

2010-09-01T20:44:00.020-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts archives

Date: Thu, 15 Mar 2001 19:59:07 -1000
From: LastKoho (lastkoho@yahoo.com)
Subject: A Walk on the Spinal Side

The plan hatches when Mrs. Koho reads about a recent Sierra Club hike from Wiliwilinui to Lanipo. We decide to follow suit. That is, we'll hike to the end of the Wiliwilinui trail, turn left, hike on the Koolau crest to the end of the Lanipo trail and turn left again and trek back to civilization. We hope the path, given that it's only been a few weeks since the Sierra Club outing, will not be too badly overgrown or too treacherous on this, our first, Koolau summit jaunt.

And so it is that we find ourselves in separate cars heading up Sierra Drive to Mauanalani Heights, parking one vehicle at the Lanipo trailhead. Together, we then coast back down Sierra Drive and ultimately up into Waialae Iki where we park at the Wiliwilinui trailhead after obtaining a permit at a guard shack. It's mid-morning, a weekend, and, slinging on our packs, I note that quite a few other cars are already in the lot.

I say, "Hope there's not a lot of people up there."

My wife says, "Just expect it."

We walk on a sure-footed road past acacia confusa, guava, ironwoods, and a water tank. Farther up, curving left behind a hump there is dueling plant-life: non-native versus native. On the right there's botanically unpopular guava fringed with evil clidemia; on the left there's koa and ie'ie.

"Nice dichotomy," I say, waving my arm dramatically.

My wife says, "Yeah."

At the end of the wide road but not at the end of the Wiliwilinui hike, we reach yellow boot brushes under a brown sign that asks hikers to wipe their shoes so that they don't carry the seeds of pest plants -- like, no doubt, guava and clidemia -- farther on. We run our boots over the brushes and then walk up a hill and by a set of utility poles and on to another set of utility poles where we stop for a break as we watch a long line of hikers climb steeply to the radio relay station, gateway to the Wiliwilinui summit. We are in no hurry to join the hordes, so we drink some water before pushing up the dry and eroded mountain and past a bevy of boy scouts who have suddenly appeared, heading down, this a different crowd from the one we had seen going up. One of the scout leaders, a bit of a wiseacre, tells us that at least twenty people are currently on the summit lookout.

"Have fun," he says.

Hot and tired, we eventually reach the relay station and look toward the summit just ahead and see that the scout leader was not exaggerating: it's more crowded than Starbucks on Ward Avenue. So we sit exactly where we are, eat some cream crackers, look at the cigarette butts littered around the building, and, through the arches of utility wires curving over the valley, survey a slice of the Koolau spine heading west. While I can't make out the width of the crest or how overgrown it might be, the grade up to a set of six utility poles looks not too severe. After the six poles, however, there's a sharp rise. I say out loud, "I don't know how we are going to go up that."

My wife says, "What?"

I point and trace the route to the steep section. "See over there? Looks tough." I pause, shuffle my feet and add, "Of course you never know what it's like until you're there."

I turn back to Starbucks on the Hill. A fellow is violently thrashing a tree, essentially doing his best to uproot the thing. I figure that it is a guava and that he is shaking and pulling it down in the name of pest control. I wonder, however, if he plans to pull down all guavas on the island with his bare hands.

After twenty minutes, the crowd still occupying the lookout, we climb up and wade into the masses, -- spotting the brown and yellow "End of Wiliwilinui Trail" sign and seeing that the emasculated tree is indeed a guava -- then excusing ourselves two or three times as we baby-step through and exit left, descending carefully on the summit path, which is narrow with a seriously steep drop windward.

But it's not all that bad, not all that bad because there's also a wall of vegetation up to my knees -- at spots a little higher, at spots a little lower -- that provides a certain amount of security. And opposite, on the lee side, the drop off is generally not so steep in pitch and the ground is thick in uluhe and ie'ie and clidemia, plant life that, I calculate, will slow down, if not halt, a falling body.

About halfway down the slope from the Wiliwilinui lookout we stop and look and it becomes immediately apparent why someone might want to venture out to the crest: Not necessarily for the scare or the dare or the brag -- but for the view. Tremendous. Unspeakable. Some other modifier that would make sense coming in the wake of the previous adjective. It's a rare feeling, floating free-style over the island, the greenery clinging onto the near perpendicular pali and -- makai to the right, makai to the left -- the tropical blue ocean framing tiny, silly, and insignificant civilization within.

I say to Mrs. Koho: "Wow."

She responds: "Calm down, Last."

I now turn and scan the summit lookout -- empty -- and then look right and see a line of hikers marching down and by the relay station.

On the crest we walk to a saddle and then start back up, passing two clusters of lapalapa trees (three to a cluster in this instance) and six utility poles and then, not too much farther, I stop dead in my tracks. Ahead and above is the portion of the ridge I had viewed earlier. Up close it looks the same as it had from a distance: steep, overgrown, and narrow. I wonder if it's really something I want to climb and, too, if this represents what the remainder of the hike will be like. One other thing, there is a mildly tricky spot -- a windward step-around -- that initiates this sharp-angled segment.

I turn to my wife and point out the obvious. "You see this?"

She interpolates. "It looks scary."

I reiterate. "No kidding. It does look scary."

I examine the trail and, confidant that I can ascend farther and, too, if need be, descend back, I lean into the cliff and hoist myself safely up and beyond the tricky spot. With the aid of some clidemia, I then continue up a bit more, wiggling into a snug place and sitting. I look back down at my wife who has, in the meantime, moved forward and is now face-to-face with the same little step-around obstacle. Behind and below her is nothing but air.

She says, "I can't move."

I say, "You can't move?"

She says, "No, I'm frozen."

It's a rather common scenario -- frozen hiker syndrome -- and one that I dread for myself or anyone else, including my wife -- my wife who is, at least for the moment, wide-eyed and paralyzed.
I say, "OK, relax. Not a problem." She half-nods. I explain that if she wants to head back, now would probably be the time, no need to come up. I simultaneously consider just how to negotiate the death step on the way down since I expect her to say, "Yes, let's call it off."

But she doesn't say that. She doesn't say anything -- she just looks at me.

I start to speak: "Just---"

"What's it like above you?"

I turn and look and then give her the straight dope: It's steep, there's a lot of brush obscuring the trail so I have no idea what's afoot, and I can't see the top.

The wind comes up, gusting pretty hard, and now she says, "I don't know about this."

"OK, then, that's--"

"I don't want to go back." She points. "What's up there?"

I pause, caught off guard, somewhat happy that she wants to carry on but now adjusting to the task at hand, namely, me climbing into the unknown rather than her falling into the abyss. I say, "Hang on," and take a deep breath and turn and head up, clinging tightly onto clidemia with one hand, -- lovely, remarkable, beautiful clidemia -- and keeping the other hand on or near the ground, hunched over in my own little cocoon of uluhe and ie'ie before soon discovering that a few makeshift steps -- lovely, remarkable, beautiful makeshift steps -- have been cut into the cliff. I report the good news to my wife and next thing, just like that, she climbs past the point of almost-no return (maybe it isn't an incredibly tough spot as much as it is unforgiving -- long way down -- and made more imposing by the steep ridge above). I shout out something vague in as peppy a tone as I can muster, something like, "All right," and then turn back to the incline. We inch our way carefully up, without incident, to the top of the puu where we stop and catch our breaths.

And soon enough we continue on, descending ewa and finding that the trail is again OK, sometimes steep and almost always narrow, yes, requiring a certain amount of concentration to safely cross, yes, but not so terrible that we can't stop and take a picture or two and stare in wonder up and down and left and right amid the fanned ridges.

Negotiating our third summit smile -- the irregular curve between knolls -- we are joined by a red-vented bulbul that's snacking on the orange fruit of the ie'ie, the bird fluttering away as we approach and thereby loosely foreshadowing the hiker who we now see descending from ahead. She's alone, wearing shorts, no gaiters, a t-shirt, just a small fanny-pack. Meeting up, we say hello and learn that she's already come up Lanipo and is now heading over to Wiliwilinui.

She looks down at our gaiters and says, "I wish I had worn long pants."

I look at her cut, red-streaked legs and say, "Yeah, well, I can see that."

Soon enough, wishing her luck, we part company. And not too much later, ascending and descending, we finally reach the grassy area at the end of the Mauumae Trail. We are more than mildly pleased to have made the crossover. I'm not in the least bit hungry but we break out lunch (3-minute eggs with salt and pepper, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, oranges, trail mix) and continue to drink in the views for nearly forty-five minutes. And then we pack up and head down the mountain.

We've trekked Lanipo (Mauumae ridge) a couple of times previously and the trail is no less enjoyable than before, starting with the stern descent from the summit lookout and on to the semi-serious ups and downs through a mostly native forest of koa and ohia. We're not in any hurry and we stop and sit and I peer through binoculars across the Palolo Valley at the Kaau Crater and the water cascading down the cliff.

My wife says, "See any pigs over there?"

I say, "Nope."

Afterward, standing and moving again, we walk through my favorite part of the Lanipo hike as the hills round off and the forest folds in and embraces. On the kokohead side, below, large patches of green -- koa and ohia foliage -- sway in the wind and host a fair amount of birds that we clearly hear chirping away, including an unseen apapane's throaty hee-hee-hee. Soon the area becomes a little drier and the flora becomes a little more mixed: a koa tree and a strawberry guava tree, a lama tree and a eucalyptus tree, some clidemia (lovely, remarkable, beautiful clidemia) and some ie'ie.

We eventually reach a large knob that sports three Cook pines -- a Lanipo landmark, one my wife noted from the crest. We sit for a little while and drink water and then, packs again slung on, move down the path and spot an artful arrangement of naupaka and pukiawe, an occasional ilima blossom -- dust now kicking up -- more and more guava trees, stick-like vervains with their little purple flowers, my wife falling, more pukiawe, she's all right, ulei, no broken bones and she eventually gets up and moves along as we pass a telephone pole and I now trip and almost bite the dust.

We're tired.

But in time we are climbing up boulders and, afterward, strolling by an autograph tree and through a grove of ironwoods and then walking along a narrow, fenced corridor running between a big house and a big water tank. A minute later, we arrive at the trailhead and sit and relax in the shade of our car. We drink a little more water, change out of our boots, then drive back down to H1 and over and up to the Wiliwilinui trailhead. I get out of one car and get into another, and, finally, respectively, we roll toward home.

Haleakala Secret Spots -- by Eric Stelene

2010-08-28T11:20:00.015-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

Date: Thu, 8 Mar 2001 09:00:47 -1000
From: Eric Stelene (stelene@email.com)
Subject: Secrets of Haleakala

I've been working at Haleakala National Park for about 5 months, but my job never gets me into the back country so I have to go on my own. Last week I went into the "crater" with another ranger on his back-country patrol. The plan was simple: he'll take me to the secret places he knows about and I'll show him the secret places I have discovered.

Keep in mind that hiking off established trails in the Park is prohibited and I am providing this write-up for "informational purposes". I'm not going to get specific about the locations of some of these places so don't bother to ask.

We started from the Halemau'u trailhead (elev 8000 ft.) about 6 miles up from Park HQ. Next time you go to Haleakala be aware that you pass no fewer than 5 lava tubes all within spitting distance of the road between the entrance station and Halemau'u. (Don't bother looking, you'll never find them unless you know where the are.) These tubes are fairly small but have some interesting history. When the road was built by the CCC in the 30's, the workers apparently used these little caves for shelters. There are remnants of dynamite boxes and other debris left behind. One has some petroglyphs which are believed to be pre-European.

Although I can't tell you where the lava tubes inside the Park are (well, I could but then I'd have to kill everyone who reads this) so here's one just ouside the Park which is similiar to the ones described above: When heading up the mountain pass mile marker 9 (Park boundry is mile 10). Park at the first guard rail mauka of mile marker 9. About 50 ft off the road you'll see the small cave.

Anyway, back to Halemau'u. The Halemau'u trail in use today was built after a landslide wiped out the old Halemau'u. No one I talked to seems to know how long ago this happened but from what I learned, the new trail is about 30 years old. The old Halemau'u was a pre-European route into the crater. We left from the parking lot and headed for the old trail. We were at the crater rim in a few minutes and spent some time looking for some petroglyphs rumored to be in the area. We found no petroglyphs but did find a small shelter (an alcove in the cliff with a small rock wall built in front of it.)

The old Halemau'u trail dropped steeply to the crater floor in a series of short switch backs. The footing was rough since the trail was rocky and ummaintained. About half way down we came the old landslide area. A huge, deep gouge cut into the crater wall and took most of the lower switch-backs with it. From here we just cut straight down the the steep cliff and were soon at the crater floor. Total distance from the parking lot to the crater floor on the new Halemau'u is 2.8 miles, the old Halemau'u: about 1 mile! At the crater floor we picked up a faint trail through a grassy area and in few minutes came to the gate at the bottom of the new Halemau'u.

From the gate, an unmaintained trail branches off in the direction of Koolau Gap. (Not being an established trail, its use is prohibited by visitors). Soon this trail branches. One fork cuts across Koolau Gap to Waikau, the other fork heads down Ke'anae Valley a short distance to the fence at the park boundry. There is a locked gate there and the trail continues past the fence. I have not been beyond the fence yet but I have been told by some hunters that it ends at a cinder cone or pit of some kind called "Dead Man's Hole". There have been past instances of Park personnel assisting in search and rescues in the area for lost hunters and one report of someone falling to their death off a ridge.

We took the fork that led across Koolau Gap to Waikau (pictured at right). There used to be a cabin there similar to the other cabins in the crater. Soon, we made a short side trip to some small lava tubes I found on a previous trip to Waikau. One of these small caves had skeletal remains that I thought were human. I have studied human bones and can identify them; however these bones were slightly out of proportion. They were small like a child's but too a little too thick. My friend thinks they were goat bones. I've never seen goat bones so I can't be sure. Maybe they were Menehune?

A little farther along the trail we made another side trip to huge a lave tube I found on my first exploration of the area. At the entrance there were more bones like the ones we found in the smaller cave. This tube is about as big as the one near Holua cabin. I paced it off to be about 150 yards long. In the back of this tube is one of the strangest things I've encountered while hiking. There is sort of table-like rock formation with about 50 seashells all lined up on it. In front of this is what appears to be shingle-sized sections of palm tree bark arranged in an even pattern. There was also a ti leaf lei and fresh ohelo berries indicating some one else has been here recently. The was also a circle of rocks arranged like a minature heiau on the cave floor.

Everyone in the Park who I asked about this has the same idea as to its origin: hippies probably did this. We do get a lot freaks and new-age types leaving weird offerings in Holua cave - candles, bird feathers, animal bones, etc.

We left the cave and continued to Waikau where the trail ended at an intersection with a streambed. This is as far as I have been in this part of the crater. Distance from Haleamu'u to Waikau is about 2.5 miles. Our plan now was to find a route into the central crater. We followed the gravely streambed upslope about 1/2 mile to the leading edge of a huge a'a flow. We were happy to find a rough switchback trail ascending the flow. We followed this narrow trail up the lava and climbed steeply through a gully. The trail leveled off at a beautiful meadow with the base of the pali on the right and the a'a flow to the left.
The guy I was with said he was familar with this area and was sure he get us to an old trail through the a'a to the central crater. To make a long story short, we spent the next 2 hours walking though hell with no trail in sight. The a'a finally ended in a sea of black cinders. We joined up with the Haleamu'u trail about midway between Bottomless Pit and Silversword Loop. My plan from here was to continue to the central Crater to check out some archeological sites I heard about and to look for a pit called "Dante's Inferno" and a lava tube called Crystal Cave. The trip through the a'a exhausted me and we still had over 5 miles to go to get back to the parking lot. Dante's Inferno and the arch sites weren't going anywhere, so we headed for home. I'll go back in a few weeks and let you know what I find.

Kamakou and Halawa Valley (Molokai) -- by Dave Webb

2010-08-25T10:45:00.023-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

Date: Tue, 20 Feb 2001 08:59:53 -1000
From: Dave Webb (dwebb@mailhost.k12.hi.us)
Subject: Molokai hikes

I did a couple of fantastic hikes on a recent trip to Molokai that I thought you folks would be interested in hearing about.

1. Kamakou Preserve - Pepeopae bog trail to Pelekunu valley overlook

For some time I've wanted to hike this trail but the problem was getting to the trailhead. Well, on this particular trip we had good fortune with us the entire time. The first night we were on Molokai we went down to the Hotel Molokai bar/restaurant for some pupu's and drinks. As we were enjoying the live entertainment, Sandy mentioned that she recognized someone that she knew from the Nature Conservancy here on Oahu. After speaking with him she told me that he was on Molokai to check out their preserve in Kamakou the next morning! We met the lady from the Molokai N.C. (Cathy) and her husband Brian who were going to take him up there and she agreed to take us as well. What luck!

To get to Kamakou you have to drive up a rough dirt road. You can find this road about 4 miles west of Kaunakakai. Turn mauka at the sign for Homelani cemetery and keep going mauka for about 10 miles until you reach the Sandalwood Pit and Waikolu lookout. The Waikolu overlook is awesome! From that vantage point on the west rim of the valley you can see all the way to the ocean. There is a large offshore rock just beyond the mouth of the valley. Across on the east wall are 3 or 4 beautiful falls plunging down from the heavens. The largest one in the middle feeds the Molokai tunnel that provides irrigation water for west Molokai. We were lucky enough to have mostly clear conditions here as the clouds were high that day.

On a dry day, you could probably get this far in a rental car if you were reallly careful. We saw two groups of people who made it in and back out OK. Beyond the Waikolu overlook, I would DEFINITELY NOT attempt to drive a rental car. To get to the beginning of the Pepeopae bog boardwalk it is necessary to drive another couple of miles and the road gets really bad. I wouldn't try unless you have 4wd with high clearance and you know what you are doing.

After negotiating the road we reached the beginning of the Pepeopae boardwalk. It's about 10 inches wide and covered with metal lattice to keep you from slipping off. The boardwalk trail is about 2 miles each way. At first, the trail passes through a nice forested area before gaining the bog itself. The bog is quite amazing, much like Kaala. Most amazing to me was the abundance of stunted Ohia Lehua growing right on the ground! I had never seen such a spectacle! If you like native plants, I'm sure this would be the place for you. I don't know many of them, but I learned a few from the NC folks on this day.

We walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the morning and talking story. I don't know how long it took us to reach the Pelekunu overlook. When we got there the wind was gusting up from the valley and it was full of clouds. After waiting a few moments, the fog lifted and we were blessed with a truly amazing view! We were perched on the rim of the west wall of the valley near the back, and the whole expanse of Pelekunu was before us. You could see all the way to the ocean! The awesome east wall of Pelekunu was directly across and you could see Olokui and the ridge separating Pelekunu and Wailau valleys! Brian regaled us with some of his old hunting stories in Pelekunu and the time he and a friend climbed up a side ridge chasing some goats until the ridge became less than a foot wide!! He told us that in the past, people would travel between Pelekunu and Wailau on a trail that crossed over the low saddle in the ridge. Supposedly there is a cave up there where they used to spend the night. This vista must be one of the most amazing in the Hawaiian Islands! Right up there with the view from Poamoho summit, Konahuanui summit, Kalalau lookout, and Haleakala rim looking into Kipahulu valley.

II. Halawa valley waterfalls

Before describing how to get to the trail, let me first explain the Halawa situation as I understand it. As of right now, the trail is off limits to the general public because the valley landowners don't want people "trespassing" on their land. I have heard stories about someone breaking their ankle up in the valley and then suing the landowners, but that simply never happened. I guess these folks are just paranoid - whatever. So, that leaves you with two choices as I see it. You can join a $25 "cultural tour" and have a guide take you to the falls if you wish. This would actually be quite interesting to learn about the history of the valley, but I'm too cheap for that and I don't really care to hike this beautiful valley with a big crowd of tourists. Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't have a problem with some enterprising Molokaians taking people on hiking tours to earn income. After all, if the demand is there why not take advantage of it? Anyway, tourists would never be able to find the trail on their own anyway.

Your other option is to take my advice, pucker up your lips, and get ready to kiss up to some valley resident and ask their permission to hike in "their" valley. This has worked for me twice, and although the folks that I met were at first reluctant to let me pass, I eventually won them over with my pretty smile and even prettier disposition! Good luck if you dare venture into this valley! Trail directions are pretty simple as they were given to me. Park at the end of the paved road in the valley and then take the small dirt road down past a little church. At the first junction go right and continue until you cross a bridge over the stream. Almost immediately, take the first overgrown road on the left through the grass. You should see a sign with a heart on it saying something like "private driveway, no trespassing". Continue and you will see two houses on the right. Go around these on the left and then cross a small irrigation ditch on a board. The trail is right there, turn left on it and follow it up into the valley.

From this point it is about 2 miles to Moaula falls. The trail is really easy to follow with no confusing places. At the end, you cross a stream just before reaching Moaula falls. The falls are really nice, with 3 or 4 different sections that are sometimes hidden from view. The lower cascade is really powerful and the pool is quite big and deep. Strip down and enjoy a great swim. If you want to visit the other falls, Hipuapua, you need to backtrack to the junction where the stream splits and rockhop unstream for about 30 minutes. Bring your tabis. It is really worth it because Hipuapua is truly awesome. The topo lists it at 500' (but it probably isn't quite that high). Maybe 300' or so, it's hard to tell. The volume of water in this fall isn't quite as high, so you can stand directly under it. No low-flow showers in Halawa! The pool is shaped like a dumbbell and the side opposite the waterfall is quite deep and nice for swimming. This place has a lot of mana. Standing back there with the falls coming down and feelig the wind on your face it is impossible not to be moved. This is one of the most remote places in all of Hawaii and something not to be missed.

Have fun if you go to Molokai! Some recommended things are:

Hotel Molokai: Cheap and really nice. Nice restaurant and pool and the whole thing is right on the beach. Great entertainment at night poolside.
Molokai drive-in: One word: Platelunch.
Kamuela cookhouse: Located in Kualapu'u, on your way to the highschool. Broke da mouf grinds and cheap. Go for breakfast, you wont be disappointed.
Kalaupapa lookout
Sunset from Kaluakoi pool

Moanalua Valley to Tripler Ridge -- LastKoho

2010-08-22T10:36:00.008-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

Date: Tue, 13 Feb 2001 16:38:17 -1000
From: LastKoho (lastkoho@yahoo.com)
Subject: Violators will be Prosecuted

Sitting at the computer all weekend (hopelessly trying to resolve a file access problem), I finally decide, late on Sunday afternoon, that I need to get out of the house.

With the intention of finding the trailhead at Monanalua Valley, I jump in the car and hop onto H1, exiting at Red Hill and following Ala Aolani Street to its end. From the car I walk to the back of the Moanalua Neighborhood Park and approach a fence that has a big white sign attached to it. The sign warns that access to the valley road without permission from the Damon Estate is restricted, that violators will be prosecuted. The words are clear but the gate is open.

With dual forces working within and without, I stroll light-footed through the fence and down the old carriage road and under a huge monkeypod tree hosting some equally huge pothos. While a northern cardinal sings in the distance, ahead I spot two people -- man and wife, I presume -- just off the trail. They must see me but they continue to examine the forest, not moving a muscle or saying a word as I pass at arm's length. Semi-kindred spirits, I speculate: they have read and wandered beyond the same sign as I have and are now frozen, worried that I might know their secret.

I hike forward a bit more, if only to allow the uncomfortable pair to move on. But, in turn, I am snared: Ahead two people sit on one of the many bridges that traverse the dry stream, and they are looking directly at me. There's nothing else to do but walk forward and smile in as natural a manner as I'm able. They smile back as I stiffly veer right and cross the stream on the road. I feel compelled under their watch to continue along the trail -- and that's just what I do, passing lots of hau (from within the tangle two white-rumped shamas vigorously mark their territory through a series of songs) and, farther along, koa haole and strawberry guava trees as the road more or less loses its canopy cover.

It's not too much later that I feel a small amount of dread as I spot more hikers, a mother and her two children. They are heading makai, toward the trailhead. Passing, the children smile and I force a smile back. The mother, a few yards behind the kids, averts her eyes. I figure that Mom is, like me, a Monanalua wanna-be. And I decide that this is not fun, seeing my ringer-self reflected in others.

I walk forward a few sluggish paces, looking right. I had read on the OHE web site about a path in this vicinity that climbs the valley wall. A quick peek --- and then I'll head back to the car. I move into the brush and spot a flag tied to a branch, and then, curious, head up through uluhe, with things getting steep fast as I grab and pull-on the smooth-barked trunks of the guava trees. I stop for a moment to rest and, looking up, see a series of colorful trail flags that continue to lead the way.

And then I have a brilliant idea. I decide to top-out and escape the valley via the Tripler Trail that follows the ridge above. Tripler, a hike I've never been on, is, I had read, open to the public (notwithstanding parking restrictions at its trailhead). No more ambivalent feelings and uncomfortable encounters with other hikers, I'll take the ridge trail back to its starting point and then walk down to the pink hospital not too far below and call my wife for a ride to my car. That's the idea.

So up the valley wall I go, and after about twenty minutes, the well-flagged climb ends at an imperfect oval of dirt. To the left is yet another flag, one that I reflexively follow, heading mauka. I figure that I must be on a tributary, a path that will connect to the main trail at a junction where I can turn back makai. I hike the ridge for five minutes, more flags marking the way, down and up and then down.

There's no junction. And I am heading toward the summit -- not the way I want to go at 5:00 P.M.
I stop and wonder: Did the trail at the top of the valley-climb also travel right? Was I so pleased by the flags that I let them lead me astray?

I decide to turn back and, if necessary, descend to Moanalua Valley and walk to the car -- again as hiking contraband.

Retracing my steps, I soon reach the valley-climb turnoff and the imperfect oval of dirt, and, sure enough, I now see that I could have easily gone right, toward the trailhead -- not just left, toward the summit. I am and have been for the last ten to fifteen minutes on the veritable Tripler Trail, not a conjured tributary.

I now hurry along, trail-legitimate, on course, pleased with the quiet path. At least for the moment. Suddenly, there's a violent commotion. Something jumps and crashes through the brush just behind the trees and I hear a snort and a grunt. I have startled a pig (or some other animal) -- and it, in turn, has scared the hell out of me. We both dart forward on parallel courses. I clap my hands and shout "hey-hey-hey," concocting this behavior on the fly in the vain hope that it will trick the little piggy into believing that there are lots of us and we are not pleased with those who trespass our turf, that violators will be prosecuted. I also consider -- all in a flash -- a worst-case scenario, how it might work out in hand-to-hoof combat. Will I be summarily slaughtered by a territorially ticked-off swine? What a way to go -- main entrée in a reverse luau. But in a few moments it's over. I hear only my own heavy breathing and fast-paced footsteps, no more sounds from the other side of the trees.

I slow my pace, shake my head, and, in time, settle down and carry on. I soon reach a bare hill, where I stop and soak in the views before walking through uluhe and passing a huge Cook pine. The trail is narrow but pronounced and yet, ironically, there is not one trail marker along the way. I glide down through a dark tunnel of guava and somewhere in the thicket a shama throws a fit, firing out an impressive arsenal of calls and clicks.

I eventually reach a paved road. And shortly I see a group of people, three men, two women, and two children. When they catch sight of me, they turn abruptly, almost in unison, and move down the hill. I follow for a bit, keeping my distance, and then they just stop. They are wooden, the kids at their mothers' sides as one of the men points in a phony way toward tiny Aloha Stadium in the distance. It's only when I am right on top of them that I receive two turns of the head and one grave nod hello -- the others continue to look off. I pass; and five or so minutes later, at the end of the road, through a gate, I look up and see a huge Damon Estate sign announcing in black and white that this area -- the area I've just come from -- is restricted, no access, that violators will be prosecuted.

Not my day.

I walk through army housing, reach Tripler Hospital, find a pay phone and call Mrs. Koho. I try, unsuccessfully, to explain why I need a lift, and she agrees to pick me up, ultimately driving back to Moanalua Park where I jump into my car and roll toward home.

Epilogue:

Today I called Moanalua Gardens, inquiring, of course, about permission to hike in the valley. A man on the other end of the line told me that with two (or fewer) people hiking there was "no problem," meaning there was no need, ironically enough, to come over and sign a waiver (larger groups, they want to know about, especially with children). I was also told that hiking was not allowed on Saturday because pig hunters had been hired to work that day.

Kapilau Ridge (Maui) -- by Eric Stelene

2010-08-19T10:22:00.012-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiast Archives

Date: Mon, 12 Feb 2001 20:52:02 -1000
From: Eric Stelene (stelene@email.com)
Subject: Kapilau Ridge - West Maui

Kapilau is the towering ridge above Wailuku that separates Iao Valley and Waikapu Valley in the West Maui Mountains (pic at left and other pics in this post are courtesy of chrisparis.org). To get to the trailhead, head into Iao Valley toward the Needle. Come to a fork in the road with a sign pointing right to Iao Valley State Park. Go left instead. Almost immediately, reach a pull-off on the left. Walk up the road a short distance to a telephone pole with the number 5 on it. The trail starts right next to the pole.

Climb steeply, climb some more, then keep climbing. The trail's in good shape, but the climb is brutal. Eventually, the trail levels off in an open area with a large white cross (visible from all over central Maui). The cross is wooden and much smaller than the old cross at Kolekole Pass on Oahu. There is a rickety ladder leading up to one of the arms.

Past the cross, the trail narrows a little and is overgrown in some spots, but is still in pretty good shape. Kapilau Ridge starts at about 500 ft and climbs to an unnamed peak at 4,426 ft in about 2.5 miles. I made to about the 3,000 ft mark in about 2 hours when clouds and rain showers moved in discouraging further progress.

The views into Iao Valley are incredible. The Iao Needle looks like nothing more than a bump on a small ridge from up here. You can also see into two hike-able (is this a word?) valleys: A'e stream, and what I have named the "Needle Canyon". A side ridge ahead blocked any view in Waikapu Valley, but if you keep going to the top you will probably be standing on a knife-edge sperating the two valleys. The ridge was not very narrow up to the point I made it to, so you don't have to worry about falling to your death until you get a little higher.

I posted a picture of Iao Valley from the ridge at the following link. I labeled the Needle and the 2 hike-able valleys mentioned. Its definitly worth a look - a view of the Needle few ever see! Picture quality's a little poor. I got a free digital camera for signing up for Worstlink internet service.

The Ngs and Turners on Pu'u Maelieli

2010-08-17T22:58:00.000-10:00

Yesterday, I called up my friend Wing Ng to ask him if he wanted to come along to check out the Maelieli trail for an upcoming HTMC hike (8/28 Saturday, coordinated by Justin Ohara).

Before saying yes or no, Wing asked me who else would be joining me.

“My wife,” I said.

“Good,” said Wing, “I have one of them now, too.”

Wondering if I was hearing things right, I asked Wing to clarify what he said.

Indeed, Wing is now a married man, having departed the ranks of bachelorhood on June 25, 2010. And he said would be bringing his new bride along to hike with us.

“She can hike faster than me,” said Wing, as if tempting me to make a sarcastic remark about his hike pace, which I refrained and restrained myself from doing.

“Good,” I said. “We look forward to meeting her.”

And we did meet her. And Wing is right. She can hike faster than he.

The write-up in the club schedule credits my wife and I for pioneering a new route that stems off the Maelieli trail. For the record, who also should be recognized as a pioneer is Wing, who joined us in scouting out the route last year.

Today, the four of us scouted out an even newer route which I must say is even better than the one we used last year. Just like last year, the newer route drops into the lowlands on the Kaneohe Bay side of the Maelieli Ridge, but what we found today is much more wide open, better marked, and more efficient. For those interested, come out in a couple weeks to join Justin at Maelieli.

In the map at left, the yellow dots are the usual route to Maelieli which begins along Kahekili Highway near Temple Valley Shopping Center and proceeds along a ridge to a WWII bunker (blue dot). The red dots follow the approximate route of the newest extended route that we scouted today.

Aiea Ridge -- LastKoho

2010-08-16T06:04:00.021-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts archives

Date: Wed, 7 Feb 2001 21:42:43 -1000
From: LastKoho (lastkoho@yahoo.com)
Subject: Tendered is the Hike

Sunday morning, a little tired after a late night, I drift to the kitchen where I make a cup of coffee and sit down and open the newspaper. My wife, in the living room, is alternately watching the TV and glancing at a booklet of Longs coupons. And then she looks over at me and says, "Well?"

I say, "Well, what?"

Conversation killed.

I sip from my cup and turn a page of the paper. A minute later, caffeine kicking-in, antennae emerging, I raise my head and look near the door and see two stuffed backpacks on the floor, propped against the wall, ready to go.

I point. "What's that all about?"

My wife says, "What's what all about?"

The negotiations commence. Implicitly, I have some leverage. Since my wife -- through the act of pre-packing -- has already indicated a desire to hit a trail, the particular trail hit should be mine to choose. As such, it only takes a small amount of haggling to settle on a specific hike, Aiea Ridge. But another issue arises: Do we hike to the end of the path? Details surface: We will be getting a somewhat late start, probably not arriving at the trailhead sooner than 10:00 A.M. Given this, can we safely and comfortably reach the summit and get back to the car before the sun goes down? Don't know. Therefore, the following deal is struck: "Both parties agree to not hike summit-way after 2:00 P.M. Both parties agree to only hike trailhead-way after 2:00 P.M." With sunset slated for about half past six, this should allow us to beat steady hiker Darkness to the car.

Still, in the back of my mind, I speculate that if I am anywhere near the summit at around two or two- thirty or two forty-five it will be difficult not to succumb to that gladiator / conquer and tame / ego building / bragging rights / we've come too far to turn back now / not getting any younger / it's always faster coming down / we have flashlights anyway / I really want to see that lapalapa tree feeling or some combination thereof (assuming we are injury free) and that negotiations will recommence trailside. But perhaps time won't be an issue and there won't be a need to renegotiate. That would be best. So I pull myself together, skipping breakfast, and get out the door and into the car and merge onto H1 and across 78 before jumping off the highway and turning up Aiea Heights Drive.

A few minutes before ten, car parked, we set off along the wide and civilly graded Aiea Loop trail, which comprises the first mile or so of the hike. We pass gum, guava, bamboo, paperbark, and swamp mahogany trees --- and then turn left and step up a slight grade and arrive at the intersection of Lace Fern and Steep Drop-Off, confluence of loop, valley, and ridge trails.

We stop and take a swig of water, lift our socks, zip up our gaiters. Then, moving again, we swing right, past ti and lantana and fern.

Suddenly, the scenery changes. The dark forest we've just left (off the loop trail) sported lots of tall eucalyptus, a high, majestic canopy, a wide path. But now, in contrast, there are lots of ohia and koa, a low, intimate canopy, a narrow path, benign greenery.

I half-turn to my wife. "Wow. Fast change." I swing my arm. "Like a whole 'nother trail."

My wife says, "It is another trail."

Right. So it is.

We walk amid uluhe, ie'ie, pukiawe, and audio irony. I mean, we hear more than the birds in the distance and the wind in the trees -- we hear cars, cars streaming along the mighty H3, the mighty H3 that snakes its way through Halawa Valley far below. It's get-away-from-it-all scenery with a cityscape voice-over.
I turn again. "Sounds like our living room."

"Yeah."

We pass a furry fiddlehead and step around a tree, turn left behind a hump. We stop, hear nothing but birds. And then we see four apapanes flying over Kalauao Valley. We follow in the same general direction, the trail becoming a little more overgrown not far from where we begin a not-so-easy ascent to Pu'u Kaiwipo'o. Along the way there's a pleasant interlude: After an aggressive incline, resting behind a cluster of ohias, a natural blind, we see two more apapanes land in a tree within thirty feet of us. The birds hop from branch to branch for a minute or so before I shuffle my feet and scare them away.

Two-plus hours on the trail and, not without some effort, we reach the top of Kaiwipo'o, a sizeable helipad. We drink water and, looking both ewa and diamond head, count the ridges fanning out from the Ko'olau spine. I turn toward the summit. Clouds slide here and there, and a dark utility tower stands guard in the distance. Five minutes, and we continue on, stepping across a few mildly narrow sections, squishing through mud among fairly thick vegetation, leaning into a few blasts of wind as we ascend and descend one small knob after another.

We top-out at another helipad, this one even bigger than the previous plateau. From here we can see a healthy slice of windward Oahu. And it's only 1:25; but I am suddenly, inexplicably, exhausted. I half wish it were two o'clock, turnaround time -- the hell with any more negotiations or ego building or bragging rights. I look at my wife and she looks at me. I wait for her to say something but she says nothing. So I start walking, say, "I guess we go this way."

We descend, curving slightly left, soon reaching the base of the utility tower. At last, my wife can't help but wonder, aloud, how much longer it is to the summit.

I stop. "Don't know. Maybe we should just call it off right here."

Perhaps thinking I was kidding, perhaps surprised by my lethargy, perhaps seized by a conquer and tame / ego building / bragging rights / we've come too far to turn back now feeling, my wife replies, "Oh, let's just keep going."

Right. A deal's a deal.

We climb a little rise and walk past an open grassy area and, just like that, reach the summit overlook. It's 1:35 P.M.

We are instantly energized and relaxed, snapping pictures of the land below and the sea beyond as wisps of cloud rush urgently up and over the lip of the pali. Clusters of toy houses lie far below in Ahuimanu. Beyond and a little to the right is the green of the Valley of the Temples Memorial Park and farther out still, across Kahekili Highway, very tiny, the monolithic blue-green roofs of the Temple Valley Shopping Plaza.

I'm hungry. And just behind the crest, where a small collection of ohia and lapalapa trees shelter us from the gusts, we sit and share a lunch of water, boiled eggs, cream crackers, raisons, a power bar, oranges. Then I lie down, hear the leaves of the lapalapa flutter and watch a dragonfly -- veering every which way in the air -- vainly, comically try to negotiate the swirling wind.

Thirty minutes pass before we pack up and leave. Walking at an easy pace, we spot a small mud-colored frog leaping awkwardly across the steep path in front of us. A little later, we stop and watch a grove of wind-swept loulu stand tough on the valley wall below. Later still, we bend to examine the bright green, forked wawae'iole growing trailside.

Again to Puu Kaiwipo'o and then down and across the saddle. The wind calms and the trail softens -- becomes more pronounced, less severe in its ups and downs -- and I feel as good as I have all day, marching slowly through the cozy forest. In time, we swing left, past fern and lantana and ti, and after a break at the Loop junction, we stroll along the wide path, listening to the birds - shamas, a northern cardinal, waxbills, bulbuls - as they call out and begin to settle for the evening. Finally, trailhead. No other cars are in the upper parking lot and we sit and take off our boots. A light breeze, quiet -- night falls like a feather. We stand, get in the car, and, with me behind the wheel, roll toward home.

Kuliouou Ridge -- By LastKoho

2010-08-10T13:07:00.009-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives
Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 21:08:41 -1000
From: LastKoho (lastkoho@yahoo.com)
Subject: This Way to Kuliouou

----

Thursday, though a work deadline looms, I decide to head out for a hike. My wife, who has the day off, agrees to join me.

After a drive through mostly flowing traffic, we park near the end of Kala'au Place and hop out of the car and sling on our packs. Across the street a couple of rottweilers stare at us from behind a fence as we cut through the cul de sac and then move down a paved road. After not-too-many paces we take a right turn at a brown and yellow sign that marks the beginning of both the Kuliouou Valley and Ridge Trails. Continuing along the path, we soon reach another sign marking the split between valley and ridge. We follow the arrow that points to the ridge route.

As a passing note, there are more signs per mile on the Kuliouou Ridge Trail than any other in Oahu that I've been on in recent memory: There are signs warning hikers to stay on path rather than use shortcuts between switchbacks because this, the use of shortcuts, facilitates erosion; there's a sign directly above two yellow bristle brushes that requests hikers wipe their boots at the end of the trek; there's at least one well-placed yellow-arrow directional sign; and there's even a sign of a petroglyph sketch pinned on a huge Cook pine. None of the signs bothers me (mostly informative and simple and unobtrusive in a yellow and brown kind of way); they're just a mildly curious feature of this trail. I suppose too this is the telltale sign of most well-traveled hikes, a proliferation of signs.

Meanwhile, back on the trail, we begin switching back and forth up the side of the hill. Soon enough, coming around a bend, we cross paths with a woman who has a frown on her face and three small children on her hands. One of the children is actually a baby, a baby that's strapped-in heavily on the woman's back and sleeping. Another child is about four years old and she stands shyly behind her mother. The last child, about two years old, has stopped dead in her tracks and is crying, crying because she is scared of a small drop-off in front of her.

We say hello and move around them. A minute later, out of earshot, I half turn to my wife and say, "Heights are relative."

My wife says, "Funny."

The trail is wide, dry, and sure-footed. But it's nothing but uphill; and it's generally steeper than either my wife or I anticipated. More than that, along various stretches there is not much, if any, breeze, so that at times it feels like we're hiking in the trunk of a car.

Still, up we go, passing guava and noni, hearing a white rumped shama, spotting a pair of Japanese white eyes and not-too-few bulbils. Then, fifteen or twenty minutes later, we see a shirtless man bounding zestfully down the grade. I say hi as he passes. This fellow, I speculate to my wife a few moments later, is the father of the family battling it out down the hill.

My wife, unimpressed with my deductive reasoning, responds with a dull "Yeah."

We press on and, finishing-off the switch backs, follow a directional sign and turn left on a padded path (the arrow actually points toward where we came from, intended more for the returning hiker). Within five minutes or so we are in sight of two picnic tables under a shelter. It has taken us a little under an hour to get this far from the trailhead and, as we sit at the tables and drink healthy gulps of water, I speculate that we are no more than halfway, if even that, to the summit.

But I was wrong.

After a five-minute break, we continue on, traipsing under big Cook pines, ironwoods, a few swamp mahoganies, and a banyan tree or two. We follow the arch of the trail and emerge into the sun among ohia and lama trees with mucho uluhe root-side. There is one grade with a gratuitous rope, and then we reach erosion-guard stairs. We climb, and just over thirty minutes after leaving the picnic tables, sooner than I had expected, arrive at the summit, where, of course, a sign says, "End of Kuliouou Ridge Trail." Below this sign is yet another sign, a yellow triangle with a black silhouette of a stick figure falling off a cliff (at least that's my wife's interpretation; I think it looks like two bears admiring the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel).

Clear, no summit clouds or overwhelming gusts of wind, we take a few pictures and then sit on the bare hill and dangle our legs and drink water and eat chips and salsa (a first for us, Mexican at the Koolau summit). Waimanalo crows and moos below and I look longingly at the ridge trail heading off Makapuu way. In the other direction, left, my wife spots a pink ribbon tied to a shrub on a dusty knob. What do things look like from over there? After lunch, we decide to find out. We take binoculars and camera and head left and down and across a section of the trail that should have (but doesn't have) a sign that says, "Whatever you do, don't fall here."

At the other end of this little stretch, stopping to soak in the view, my wife announces she has the heebie-jeebies. I know exactly what she means because I look over the ledge and get that light-headed falling sensation. I actually feel a little tug toward cliff side. But I shake it off and keep my mouth shut, only saying that it's best just to concentrate on the trail when walking and to only consider the view after you've positively stopped moving. I say this as much for myself as for my wife -- and then I ask if she wants to turn back. She responds that she'll continue for now, see how it goes. It goes OK, with one mildly tricky spot, relatively speaking, crumbly earth, no terrific handholds. We soon reach the pink ribbon and look left and right and up and down and snap a picture and then start back, again crossing safely through heebie-jeebie lane.

Back at the Kuliouou summit, my wife says, "Heights are relative."

I say, "Funny."

She says, absently, "Do you think anyone's ever fallen off the crest?"

I say, "Is the bear Catholic?"

We pack up and pound down the mountain, passing two pairs of other hikers on their way to the top. In a little over an hour (certainly the quickest hike to and from the Koolau summit we've been on), we sign out at the trailhead mailbox. We then stroll up the paved road, jump into the car, and, with me behind the wheel, roll toward home.

Manana Ridge -- LastKoho -- December 2000

2010-08-07T09:08:00.001-10:00

From the OHE archives, posted on 11 January 2001 by LastKoho (lastkoho@yahoo.com)

------- --------
This past December, early on a Sunday, I dragged myself out of bed and wobbled to the kitchen where I forced down two Eggos with maple syrup, some cold left-over fried rice, and a couple of Portuguese sausages. My wife, I vaguely recall, already done with her breakfast, was watching CNN. It was not morning ----- it was a dream, a dream that continued with me behind the wheel of our car as it floated along H1, a dream in which my wife and I talked about the traffic.

"Man, I'm surprised there're so many cars out here at this time of day."

"I guess folks are going to breakfast before church or something."

"Geez, who the hell are all of these people?"

We headed along Moanalua Road and turned onto Waimano Home Road and were then somehow magically curving up into Pacific Palisades on Komo Mai Drive. Finally, reaching the end of the street and the start of Manana trail, I parked at a cul-de-sac, feeling a small jolt as the front bumper scraped against the curb. Car locked, backpacks slung on, my wife signed-in at the trailhead mailbox ("Koho, party of 2, hikers, 5:55 AM, Please don't touch the car") and, with flashlights beaming, we headed up the paved road.

There was no wind but the air was cool and the torches provided plenty of light so that we glided past three utility towers and a water tank and, at the end of the pavement, entered a forest where three brown signs with yellow arrows (the first sign full of bullet holes) helped us stay on path. No menehunes, no boogeyman, no nutcracker doll, just a tranquil, dark forest that we emerged from after about a half an hour.

The skies had now lightened. There were clouds in the east, no great dramatic fireball or sizzling red-orange horizon, just a gray-white eastern sky. The air still, birds were calling in the distance, a serene dawn. I was finally awake and, to boot, pleased.

We now put our flashlights in our packs and walked on top of a bare hill below which the State (or some other concerned party) had planted baby pine trees and on top of which they had pounded-in erosion guards. The trail was slippery in spots because of the morning dew but we did just fine, hiking through brown-topped buffalo grass, up a lengthy and relatively steep grade, along the muddy side of a hill, and then climbing a puny pali with the aid of some well-placed ropes. Five minutes after 8:00 A.M. we reached the helipad, halfway ---- and it started to rain. This was not a terrible thing, the rain, since we found shelter under a tree past the pad and sat and each ate a banana (visually rhyming with Manana) and, after twenty minutes, now in gaiters and windbreakers, the rain just a sprinkle, trekked through a terrific native forest. The ohia and fern surroundings were so enjoyable that we almost forgot about the mud and steep hills.

We took frequent water and cardiac breaks (my personal rule of thumb: when the heart knocks heavily, answer it). And, after a few rope climbs (nice, these ropes; thanks to those who set them up), eventually broke into the open, no more rain, moving along the narrow somewhat overgrown ridge path from one small knob to another. While the flora along the sides of the valleys was clearly beaten and bent from frequent winds, there wasn't a breeze to be found on this day. We were far out in the thunderously quiet, peaceful Koolaus, just us. And then, suddenly, we spotted two apapanes; they flew above and over the Waimano Valley, gave out a call, and then just as suddenly disappeared below the cliff.

Happy, on we went; and after one last push through a bit of brush, we popped onto the summit knob, which was about twelve feet by eight feet with knee-high grass that we promptly matted down with body and bag. Like in a bad novel, the sun broke through now for the first time that day. Then a high cloud came overhead and then the sun again broke through. High clouds, sun, clouds, sun. Not a drop of rain, always the stunning view of the windward side below and the sea beyond, framed by Ohulehule to the left and Makapuu far to the right.

We ate lunch, which included a memorable peanut butter and guava jelly sandwich, and for a full hour enjoyed the scenery.

Starting back at around 11:30, with time on our side, we took a picture or two, gained three more quick looks at apapanes, stopped frequently for water. When we reached the helipad over two hours later, I was tired. I lay down on my back. When I lifted my head and looked toward the summit, I saw that it was now cloaked in clouds. My wife sat nearby and compared the mud on her legs and shoes to the mud on my legs and shoes and declared the contest a tie.

About twenty minutes later, in the sun, we began moving again. Shortly after passing a shelter and picnic table, about an hour or so from the car, we saw people, the sight of whom, after a day of relative solitude, was slightly jarring. A young man and young woman, perched on a green puu, were together bent over a book. We kept going. In the forest, we passed a mountain biker and a couple of other hikers and a little later, on the paved road, said hello to a pack of five or six fellows (towels slung over their shoulders) who carried and drank from McDonalds cups (they were heading, no doubt, to Waimano pool).

After a hundred or so more yards we saw a discarded McDonalds cup lying like an open wound in the center of the road. There's always something. It was a rather depressing sight after such a satisfactory day, this trash on the trail. I had an urge to backtrack and find the culprit and somehow make things right. But, of course, it was only an urge. Feeling a little foolish, I picked up the cup (somewhat absurd -- there was also litter in the brush on either side of the trail but I just focused on the "new" litter). I recalled the stretch of the hike where we hovered over the valleys on the narrow ridge path as the apapanes flew above us. I wondered what it would feel like to be there and come across, as someone inevitably one day would, a McDonalds cup lying on the ground. It stung a little, this thought.

At the cul-de-sac, finished, we signed-out at the mailbox and threw our rubbish in a smelly waste can. After changing shoes, we got in the car, my wife behind the wheel, and, with visions of McDonalds and Manana dancing in our heads, rolled toward home.

Waimalu to Moanalua on the Koolau Crest -- Pat Rorie

2010-08-04T08:48:00.001-10:00

Yet another post from the OHE archives, this one by Patrick Rorie, posted on 9 January 2001.

Gene Robinson and I have accomplished some pretty challenging backpacking trips together during the past few years (i.e. La'ie to Waimano in '98, Mauna Loa via the Ainapo Trail in '99). This past weekend (January 6, 7) the two of us got together to attempt another tough outing - an overnight stay on the Ko'olau summit at the terminus of the Waimalu middle ridge, followed the next day by a rollercoaster tramp along the Ko'olau crest, eventually dropping down into and exiting Moanalua Valley. Roger Breton also received an invitation, but he had a commitment on Saturday. Instead, Roger decided to meet us at the top of Aiea Ridge at noon on Sunday. The weather on both days? Almost completely clear skies and bright sunshine due to light winds until mid afternoon when thick clouds engulfed the Ko'olau summit.

Gene is a medical doctor and has two 8th grade children so he had some loose ends to take care of before we could commence the trek. As a result, the two of us didn't hit the trail (Waimalu Ditch - the first leg of our journey) until 11:15 a.m. Nevertheless, we made good time to the floor of Waimalu Valley via the ditch trail despite a hau tangle nuisance, arriving at the normal terminus of the HTM hike (elev. 657 ft) at 1:15 p.m.

After obtaining four liters of water from a nearby pool (the stream was not flowing, and Gene had never seen it so dry), I followed Dr. Robinson to the base of the middle ridge. Due to a lack of trade winds (steamy!), the initial steep climb through thick uluhe took quite a physical toll, every shady spot serving as an oasis. Fortunately, the ridge leveled off and the thick open uluhe section transitioned to forest, the home of a few native birds. Gene, an avid birder, paused frequently to listen to their calls and attempted to identify the species. Meanwhile, I spocked the surrounding flora. Farther ahead, we recognized dormant "Angel Falls" (a sheer rocky cliff on Waiau Ridge shaped like an angel), gained pleasure from the excellent view of Waimalu Valley stretched out before us toward Pearl Harbor, and enjoyed "the process of getting there", esp. over a particularly narrow stretch, as we continued the birder/botanical pace. Eventually, Gene and I commenced the final spectacular open grassy ascent to the summit, halting on atleast one occasion to gaze at a lovely copse of tall loulu palms to the left of the ridge. During the final climb, Gene sang a line from the movie "Sound of Music"..."The hills are alive with the sound of music!"and proclaimed the section "The Ramp to Heaven".

At 5:21 p.m. the two of us reached the Ko'olau summit (elev. 2,570 ft) in the fog and immediately began erecting our canvas coverings on the broad essentially tree-less peak, Dr. Robinson his four season tent and myself a slumberjack bivy (we decided against an exploratory jaunt down windward facing Kalahaku Ridge because of the fog and a shortage of daylight). Once our tents were pitched, Gene and I put on warm clothes, ate dinner and relaxed near the campsite. When darkess set in, a rare break in the mist revealed the nearly full moon high in the eastern sky and the Pearl City/Aiea city lights far below in the distance to leeward. A gentle breeze also existed in stark contrast to the gusty trades that normally pound the region.

Anticipating an arduous day of hiking along the summit ridge, Gene retired for the evening inside his humble abode around 8 p.m., and I entered my temporary shelter half an hour later upon giving up hope that the clouds would significantly dissipate.

== Sunday, January 7 "The Long Haul to Moanalua Valley"

A few minutes prior to 6 a.m. I emerged from my slumberjack bivy to a dark, chilly morning (57 degrees fahrenheit) but was amazed at the wonderful sights. At long last, the fog had lifted revealing windward suburban/city lights from Kahalu'u to Waimanalo, and to leeward, the lights of Salt Lake, Aiea, Pearl City, Waipi'o and Mililani/Wahiawa. The heavens were filled with many stars/constellations, including Leo almost directly overhead, the Big Dipper, the North Star, Hokulea, Spica, the Southern Cross and Gemini. I encouraged Gene to come out of his tent and soon he joined me in star gazing mode. As the glow of the golden hue of the rising sun filled the eastern horizon above Moloka'i and Lana'i, the silhouette of the Aiea Ridge terminus appeared to the south. Then we witnessed a gorgeous sunrise, and while the sun moved higher and higher above the horizon, its rays reflected beautifully off the surface of the Pacific Ocean and illuminated the impressive sheer fluted cliffs in back of Waihe'e Valley, as well as Mount Ohulehule and Pu'u Kanehoalani.

At 7:46 a.m. packed and psyched, Gene began the traverse to Aiea Ridge along the Ko'olau crest. I had spent too much time delighting in the marvelous panorama and required an additional half hour to get my act together. Nevertheless, I departed the peak at 8:20 a.m. bound for a rendezvous with Roger Breton.

Regarding Ko'olau summit trekking, every step usually finds terra firma under a mask of uluhe but stumbling or slipping is fairly common. Because the leeward side of the ridge tends to be choked with vegetation, travel is easiest on the extreme windward edge. However, it is similar to walking on a tight rope, one wrong step, esp. if burdened with a 45 pound pack, can send the hiker over the windward pali to a potentially catastrophic injury or even death!

It didn't take long for me to catch and pass Gene, and following the first serious climb to the top of the next prominent pu'u, I had to wait for my hiking partner (not a good sign). After a couple more significant ups and downs, Gene confessed that his legs just weren't in shape for the rigors of summit travel (he would bail down Aiea Ridge). Although steamy conditions prevailed and the journey proved laborious, the two of us enjoyed looking down on lines of loulu palms clinging to the sheer windward pali and the fluted cliffs/precipitous ridges to windward. Furthermore, the presence of native plants, such as lapalapa trees, bolstered our spirits.

Once Aiea Ridge came into view, I spotted Roger completing the final stretch to the summit. When he turned toward me, I signaled him with my mirror. Unexpectedly, Breton interpreted my act as a gesture of distress and descended along the Ko'olau crest, closing the gap between himself and Gene and I. Later, when I realized what Roger was doing, I yelled for him to stop, which he did. Dr. Robinson and I got together one last time and agreed to keep in touch via walkie-talkies. While Gene rested, I proceeded south along the summit and rendezvoused with Breton. I radioed Gene that a bottle of gatorade and Roger's truck keys lay in a clearing where he could find them. Suddenly, Dayle Turner chimed in on the radio, and he and Gene spoke briefly to each other.

Pressing on, Breton and I accomplished the tough climb to the Aiea Ridge terminus (elev. 2,805 ft) at 12:45 p.m. then took a much needed water break. Roger provided a 20 oz. Dr. Pepper to quench my thirst, and I also consumed the contents of a 12 oz. can of Dr. P! Talk about a sugar/caffine jolt! :-)

Leaving Aiea Ridge behind, Roger and I continued on the Ko'olau crest toward the Haiku Valley overlook between 1/1:15 p.m. During the cross over, the two of us recognized a tour helicopter parked on one of the concrete platforms once used by the Coast Guard to secure the former Omega Station wires, but the chopper flew away before we reached it. Upon arriving at the overlook at 2:43 p.m., I radioed Dayle and found out that he and his Red Hill Ridge gang (masochists?) were reclining at the Moanalua Valley saddle. En route to the Halawa Ridge Trail terminus, Breton twisted his ankle and doubled over due to heat exhaustion. As if right on cue, a thick cooling mist engulfed the Ko'olau crest, allowing Roger to partially recover. Nevertheless, Breton stripped off his shirt and hiked ala "Big" John Darrah style despite the scratches he knew he would suffer.

We reached the Halawa Ridge Trail terminus, but did not pause for a breather/rehydration. From Halawa Ridge, Roger and I ascended to the Ko'olau summit/Red Hill Ridge junction, successfully negotiated the Henry Davis rope sections, and used the steep eroded swath created by the Red Hill Ridge masochists to drop down to the Moanalua Valley saddle. Upon tramping through Thomas Yoza's superb clearing job, Roger and I attained the normal terminus of the Moanalua Valley Trail (elev. 1,680 ft) at approx. 5 p.m. I immediately contacted Dayle (now residing at the Moanalua Valley Park with those remaining from the trail clearing effort) via walkie-talkie that Breton and myself were at the saddle safe and sound.

After gazing at the sheer fluted cliffs of Haiku Valley for a short duration, Roger and I commenced the final leg of the day - a 5.5 mile stroll by way of the well cleared valley trail and long dirt/gravel road. Prior to exiting the valley, night fell but the pale moon light of the nearly full moon illuminated the thoroughfare nicely.

At 7:07 p.m. the two of us emerged from the woods onto Ala Aolani Street where our vehicles were parked (Gene had dropped off Roger's truck subsequent to reaching the Aiea Loop trailhead at the top of Keaiwa Heiau State Recreation Area), and bid each other "Aloha".

== Paka

Maui Valley Trails --by Eric Stelene -- 8 January 2001

2010-08-02T08:42:00.000-10:00

Another installation from the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives. This one is by Eric Stelene (stelene@email.com). Here's Eric.

I've been on Maui for about 3 months now, so I guess it's time to start posting stuff. So with out further ado here's some of what I've explored so far:

WEST MAUI

A'e Stream (aka JFK's Profile)-
This deep gorge in the Iao valley is only a roadside curiosity to those on their way to the Iao needle. The profile of John F Kennedy (the drunk, womanizing war-monger covered for by his classy wife) can supposedly be seen in the canyon wall.

Park your car at the Needle parking lot and walk back down to the bridge. Pick your way down to the stream bed and follow it up. There's no trail but the going's not too hard. Large boulders are scattered throughout the valley floor and seem to have originated high on the cliffs above and probably came crashing down long ago. Climb up a few small, dry waterfalls and in about 45 mins the canyon walls close in. About 3/4 mile from the start, the canyon becomes reminiscent of Ma'akua Valley on Oahu.

The narrow walls are covered with moss and water continuously seeps from above. A waterfall about 40 feet high blocks further progress upstream. However, a large tree trunk leans at an angle to the top of the falls and it seems possible, but very dangerous, to climb the slippery wet log to the top of the falls and continue to the amphitheatre at the back of the valley. Just below the falls, an irrigation tunnel comes out of the canyon wall about 6 feet above the stream bed. Those who are suicidally adventurous could crawl through tunnel and emerge (hopefully) somewhere else.

"Iao Needle Canyon" (unnamed stream)-
When looking at the Needle from the small footbridge everyone takes pictures from, you can see this incredibly narrow, steep gorge to the right of the Needle. In other words, the canyon's west wall is the Iao Needle itself. From the left side of the bridge, you can see a small trail leading down to the stream.

The is a sign written in some foriegn language that reads something like "No resspassing, keep ou" With no intention of "resspassing", follow the trail down to where it meets the stream. Cross it and climb up the embankment into the "Needle Canyon" streambed. The rocky streambed is thick with hau and progress is hard and slow. In several places it is necessary to remove your pack and squeeze through the branches. The stream bed opens a little and you can see the valley walls towering above you on each side. Although you can't distinguish it as such, the cliff on your left is actually the base of the Iao Needle. Climb up several rocky cliffs, each harder than the one before it, then the vegatation disapears and you can see the back of the valley ahead. The canyon walls soar high above you. Pass several small pools and dry slippery slides and come to one more dry waterfall to climb. You have to cling to roots and branches next to falls to make it up. Its not easy. Squeeze through a windy, fantastically carved section section of streambed comperable to a slot canyon of the southwest. Emerge at a small amphitheatre and 60 foot waterfall chute. Above the chute, you can see the back of the valley several hundreds yards beyond. Total distance to here is less than mile, it takes about 1 hour.

EAST MAUI

Twin Falls-
You have to do this early to beat the crowds at this very popular spot. Although it's a real tourist trsp, its well worth it. Twin Falls is the only waterfall I have found in Hawaii that is possible to walk behind. The trail starts at mile 2 of the Hana Highway and follows a dirt road about 1/2 mile to Twin Falls. Several pools and small falls are found along the way. The road is wide and easy. Come to a juction where a path splits off to the left. A rock with a faded painting of a waterfall and arrow pointing left sits at the juction. Take this path a short distance to another juntion. Bear to the right(to the left the path leads to a rusty gate). Reach an overlook of Twin Falls and climb down to the pool. At the back of the pool is a large eroded alcove. Walk/wade around the pool to alcove. Long ferns hang down over the cliff above you reminding you of Fern Grotto on Kauai (Note: There is only one single waterfall here, so I don't know why its called Twin Falls). When you're ready to leave, head back the way you came. At the juction you can take the path that leads to the rusty gate. You can continue a little further to several small water falls and pools.

Waikamoi Stream-
Waikamoi Stream is the first bridge past the Waikamoi ridge trail, past mile 9 on the Hana Hwy. The first waterfall you will find here is right at the bridge. Hike beyond on the trail to right of the falls and follow the streambed a few hundred yards upstream to another waterfall with small cave near its base (see pic at left). You can also hike downstream from the bridge and in about 15 mins come to the top of a 40 footer with big plunge pool. It looks like great place to jump from, only there is no apparent way to get back up.

Puohokamoa Stream-
Probably the most popular swimming hole along the Hana Hwy, its is 1 mile beyond Waikamoi stream. Like Waikamoi, you can find 3 waterfalls all within a short distance. The first one is a stones throw from the bridge. There is path to the left of the falls that leads to the top. Continue a little further to the second waterfall and a little more privacy. Downstream from the bridge, walk several hundred yards in the stream bed and come to the top of a specatular waterfall about 300 feet high. You can view this waterfall another way:

From the bridge, drive back in the direction of Kahului. Just before the road turns out of Puohokumoa valley, there is a pulloff on the left next to some powerlines. A short trail leads to a breathtaking overlook of the falls. a little further along the trail you can get a partial glimpse makai of the Hana coast and Keopuku Rock, an impressive seastack just offshore.

Punolao(?) Stream
Honomanu Valley is the largest valley on the Hana Highway west of Kipahulu. On the west side of Honomanu is a deep draw cut by Punolao(?) Stream. A short hike up this stream is a must. Almost immediately upon leaving the Highway you find yourself in deep narrow valley similar to Ma'akua. In 15 mins you find yourself at the base of a 100 foot waterfall. This valley looks so wild you would think you were in the most remote, unexplored parts of Hawaii and not minutes from a major thoroughfare!

Hanawi Stream-
Around mile 24, there is another roadside waterfall everyone takes pictures of and then drives off. If you climb over the fence and down to the stream, you will find one neat little place! A small stream comes down from the left from a cove so undercut by erosion it looks like its flowing out of a cave. The first pool above the falls has a natural arch big enough to walk through. This the only arch I've found along a stream in Hawaii. There are 2 more pools upstream and another waterfall, The whole place is filled with all kinds of alcoves, pukas, and swimming holes. Its definitley worth a look.

Nahiku-
Nakhiku Road turns makai off Hana Hwy to Nahiku landing. About a mile down the road look for caves on the right. you'll drive right past them if your not careful. There're not very big, but one is big enough to stand up in and goes back about 30-40 feet. You'll need a flashlight.

More to come.

Opaeula Watershed Project -- Patrick Rorie

2010-07-31T08:42:00.000-10:00

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

Date: Mon, 22 Jan 2001 14:08:41 -1000
From: Patrick Rorie (prorie@k12.hi.us)
Subject: Recent Ko'olau Summit Trail History

Ko'olau Summit Trail History

== 'Opa'eula Watershed Project (2000-2001)

On 20 January 2001 Patrick Rorie (HTMC President) and Stuart Ball (hiking author and a former HTMC President, pictured at left with wife Lynne) were flown with Joby Rohrer (biologist, U.S. Army Environmental Division) via helicopter to the 'Opa'eula Watershed Project, a newly established rain forest preserve located between Pe'ahinai'a Trail and the leeward slopes opposite the headwaters of Kaluanui Stream. The purpose of the trip was simple: establish specific instructions regarding how the fencers should proceed as they install a four foot tall fence along the historic Ko'olau Summit Trail to keep feral pigs from entering the preserve.

The chopper took off from the Army's East Range a short distance mauka of California Avenue in Wahiawa. As it neared the Ko'olau summit, the pilot carefully maneuvered through fog until he identified the designated landing spot. The helicopter touched down just long enough to allow the three men to exit the craft then lifted off into the clouds. The change in climate was substantial - from warm Schofield East Range to the chilly, foggy, and rainy Ko'olau summit. After putting on rain gear and speaking with one of the fencers, the trio headed east on foot over the skirt of an already completed section of the fence toward the crest and a rendezvous with the Ko'olau Summit Trail.

Once at the Summit Trail, the threesome halted, Rohrer to remove a notebook from his rain coat for note-taking, Rorie and Ball to envision how the fence and trail could coexist. While they walked the trail, Rohrer pointed out a couple of native tree snails and a rare native plant. At the end of the roughly one third of a mile segment that would be most impacted by the fence, Rohrer, Rorie and Ball sat down to have lunch and to summarize the new guidelines:

in general, keep the fence to the leeward side of the trail thus allowing an unobstructed windward vista
keep crossings via wooden stiles to a minimum
although more difficult and expensive to do, create as many corners as possible to protect the integrity of the trail
when given the choice between the easy way and the hard way, choose the more difficult option

After consuming the midday meal, Rorie and Ball bid farewell to Rohrer (later, a chopper plucked the Army biologist from the Ko'olau summit) then they continued tramping south at a leisurely pace. The two men enjoyed gazing at the native flora (clusters of crimson 'ohi'a lehua flowers, tall loulu palms, lapalapa trees) and paused briefly at a waterfall notch and at the landing zone near the Pe'ahinai'a Trail terminus to get an idea of exactly where the fence would be positioned.

Upon arriving at the Poamoho Trail terminus, they inspected the recently reinstalled Cline Memorial plaque (pictured at left) then climbed a small grassy hump and sat down for a quick bite to eat. Pressing on, Rorie and Ball remained on the Summit Trail and stopped again at the fairly new Poamoho Cabin to check its condition. While on the porch, the two men recognized three 'apapane flying through the air or perched on an 'ohi'a limb and delighted in the distinct calls the birds produced. Leaving the Poamoho Cabin behind, Rorie and Ball gained pleasure from the wonderful shelf-like windward sections of the Ko'olau Summit Trail dug out of the sheer pali, but the normally spectacular views of Punalu'u and Kahana valleys directly below were nonexistent due to a thick fog.

At about 3 p.m., Rorie and Ball reached the Pauao Ridge/Summit Trail junction, and following another break to hydrate, commenced the final leg of the day. During the methodical descent along the ungraded Pauao Ridge Trail, they endured a periodic drizzle, identified additional native plants/birds and enjoyed viewing the manner in which the low cloud ceiling engulfed the Ko'olau summit. Eventually, the two men ended up at the Kahana watertank at 5:30 p.m. and walked out via a paved road to the locked gate mauka of a small cluster of houses.

A Kawainui Campout --By Kapa Reero -- 3 Jan 2001

2010-07-29T17:56:00.001-10:00

This is from the OHE (Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts) archives and is written by Kapa Reero kapareero@lycos.com), an intrepid hiker and backpacker. It was posted to OHE on 3 Jan 2001. Here is what Kapa had to say:

Tucked away in the boonies, the Kawainui Trail is located in the leeward Ko'olau foothills many miles above the northshore town of Hale'iwa. Regarding Kawainui, Stuart Ball writes..."The circular pool at the end is the most beautiful one on the island. It is also one of the largest and is great for swimming."*

Every Labor Day weekend, members of HTM used to camp at Kawainui until access was prohibited. Prior to New Year's weekend 2000, I had never camped there, so I decided to go for it as a way to escape the noise and smoke of the New Year's fireworks. With Palama Uka closed and access to the trail limited to the Sierra Club/Boy Scouts/Audubon Society, I had to find another route to Kawainui. I decided to hike "over the top" of the Ko'olau Mountain Range, starting the journey in La'ie on Saturday, December 30 at 8:08 a.m. Saturday was a beauty weatherwise - an abundance of blue sky and sunshine, clear summit ridge due to light and variable winds, temperatures in the low 80's.

After tramping approx. 6 miles, I reached the Ko'olau Summit Trail (KST) at 10:27 a.m., dropped my heavy pack and proceeded to the La'ie foxhole to rest and enjoy the terrific vista of Kahuku and the La'ie coastline to windward. Pressing on, I traveled south along the KST for half a mile to the marshy region surrounding the Kawailoa flat-topped mound (obtained a liter of water from the pool below the tiny waterfall - barely a trickle).

At 11:11 a.m. I found myself a top the mound (elev. 2,360 ft) consuming lunch and gaining pleasure from the outstanding leeward view of the Wai'anae Range and northshore to Ka'ena Point in the distance, as well as the verdant wilderness stretching out for miles directly in front of me. Truely, O'ahu's backcountry. I changed into long pants and then at 11:45 a.m. started down the Kawailoa Trail, a graded contour footpath built in 1934 by the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC). Of Kawailoa, Ball writes..."Kawailoa is a bear of a hike through extremely wild and rugged terrain.

The Kawailoa Ridge Trail receives little or no maintenance. As a result, it is heavily overgrown with uluhe ferns and Clidemia in the lower and middle sections.

Although basically graded, the trail has many uneven spots because of erosion and landslides. Watch your footing all the time. Expect to fall down and get muddy and wet."*

Nevertheless, Ball also writes..."Up La'ie, along the summit, and down Kawailoa makes a superb Ko'olau traverse."*

During the Kawailoa segment of the journey to Kawainui, I paused to look at tall loulu palms dotting the slopes of a leeward Ko'olau ridge to the north on the other side of the gully containing Kamananui Stream, startled a feral pig, and lost the trail a couple of times.

At 2:47 p.m. I rejoiced upon emerging from the overgrown footpath and soon reached a dirt road characterized by a long series of ups and downs. Despite the ups and downs, I enjoyed the vista from the road of the steep, verdant leeward slopes of the northern Ko'olaus in the distance and the pleasant combination of Norfolk Island pines, tall eucalyptus, and Koa trees which parallel the thoroughfare. However, due to the high humidity, I had to fight off a nasty leg cramp.

Once I reached Pa'ala'a Uka Pupukea Road beyond the forest reserve boundary at 3:36 p.m., I followed the military road to the junction with Kawailoa Road. Continuing on Pa'ala'a, I descended into and then climbed out of a gully to broad Pu'u Kapu, an active Army landing zone (LZ). Leaving Kapu behind, I dropped down into Kawainui Gulch, halting on one occasion to study the Hendrickson Memorial, a Private First Class who died at age 22 in 1936 while participating in the construction of the road.

Finally, at 4:40 p.m., I arrived at the Kawainui trailhead. Because access to the trail is extremely limited, I was not surprised to find the footpath in need of a good clearing. I became especially exasperated at the hau section, having to crawl on all fours under thick branches to continue the trek.

Despite the humidity (leg cramps), the Kawailoa "Bear", the hot dirt/gravel road walk, and the Kawainui hau tangle - a grand total of 16 miles, I reached the campsite (approx. elev. 945 ft) at 5:45 p.m. and immediately cleared away knee high grass in preparation for the setting up of my canvass covering.

After pitching my tent, I proceeded to the large, circular pool to wash off. When I returned to the campsite, I climbed inside my humble abode and took a much needed snooze. Later, I commenced dinner preparations then consumed the evening meal (Mountain House chicken a la king) while gazing up at the clear night sky, which afforded excellent star/planet action (layers of heavenly bodies).

Revived by the cat nap and delicious supper, I took pleasure from my surroundings: the gurgling of Kawainui Stream, the chill in the air, the silhouette of a nearby ridge, and the wondrous evening sky.

Eventually, at 11:22 p.m., I reentered my tent and fell sound asleep.

== Sunday, December 31 "Layover Day at Kawainui" ==

Just what the Doctor ordered, a layover day at the Kawainui pool to recover from an arduous trip the previous day. Definately a leisurely morning: slept in til 8:30 a.m. and ate breakfast til 9:30. Completely clear blue sky overhead as the sunlight of the rising sun slowly made it's way down onto the surface of the pool and onto the floor of the stream bed.

Upon arriving at the rim of the tarn, I decided to take an invigorating swim then sunbathed on a rock (the perfect size and shape for doing so) for a spell. Unfortunately, clouds moved in around noon, blocking the sun, and by 1:30 p.m. had created overcast conditions.

Between 2 and 2:40 p.m. I explored upstream using a narrow trail to get beyond the pool, but backtracked when the clouds broke, allowing sunshine to hit the region again. Next, I swam to the other side of the pool and walked upstream to a small waterfall (natural jacuzzi), where I gained pleasure from the therapeutic massaging action caused by the stream flowing down and around a huge rock. The final two hours prior to night fall were spent pretty much lounging beside the tarn, gazing at the reflection of the surrounding low rocky cliffs and vegetated slopes (including many kukui trees) on the placid pool's surface.

Once darkness began setting in, I returned to my tent. After preparing and consuming sweet and sour pork with a salad, I hiked back to the pool and enjoyed the manner in which the crescent moon light illuminated the pale green leaves of the kukui trees. I also noticed the Great Square (constellation) and traced the path of a satellite as it traveled across the heavens. Eventually, I ended up at the campsite, but continued to delight in the marvelous star/planet configuration in the clear night sky.

== Monday, January 1, 2001

Arose at 7:15 a.m., ate breakfast until 8 and then reluctantly broke down my tent/packed for the impending noon departure. Prior to heading out, however, I experienced another exhilarating swim in the pool, lay in the small waterfall (natural jacuzzi) and sat by the pool's edge right up to the moment when I had to leave.

Overcast skies and a slight drizzle told me it was time to go so after putting my backpack on, I hit the trail at 12:15 bound for Kamehameha Hwy on the outskirts of Hale'iwa. En route to the Kawainui trailhead, frequent sunny periods prevailed, and I paused to take in the sights.

I retraced my steps to the Pa'ala'a Uka Pupukea Road/Kawailoa Road junction and headed west (directly makai) at 2:41 p.m. Endured a 5 mile gradual downhill semi-paved road walk which was murder on my feet but made less boring by the terrific view of the northshore to Ka'ena Point, the white wake of breaking waves clearly visible off the coast. Also, a huge cloud bank engulfed much of the Wai'anae Range with a heavy downpour onto the Wahiawa plain. On the way out I couldn't help but notice acres and acres of tall, green stalky grass existing on both sides of the thoroughfare. "What a waste of land" I thought to myself. Farther ahead, about one mile from Kamehameha Hwy, I recognized a large field of corn growing near a building.

When I spotted tall date palms in a ranch bordering Kawailoa Drive, I knew the end of my journey was near, and sure enough, I reached a bus stop on the shoulder of Kamehameha Hwy a few minutes later at 4:15 p.m. My buddy Ned Dilmon arrived in my vehicle at 4:25 p.m. followed by his lovely wife in their car. A big mahalo to Ned for picking up my vehicle in La'ie on Saturday and dropping it off at our designated rendezvous point on New Year's day.

Notes:

The wooden La'ie Trail sign is missing (someone obviously confiscated it). Perhaps Mike Algiers can make a replacement.

The Kawailoa Ridge Trail is still there! The first mile and a half beyond the long series of ups and downs is open, relatively speaking. Hunters probably use it. We simply must keep these classic (and historic) CCC trails alive considering how much human effort went into building them!

The Army has repaired (filled in the ruts) the military road leading to Pu'u Kapu. However, the ruts remain as the road drops down into Kawainui Gulch.

There is a guard posted at the Kawailoa Refuse Transfer Station. I'm not sure if his purpose is to protect the transfer station or to keep people out of the corn fields. As soon as the dude spotted me, he got on his bicycle and sped toward my position. I ignored him; therefore, a confrontation did not occur.

REFERENCES

* Ball, Jr., Stuart M. THE HIKERS GUIDE TO O'AHU. Honolulu: University Of Hawaii Press, 1993.

Castle Trail

2010-06-10T13:06:00.000-10:00

The HTMC is hiking the Castle Trail this weekend (Sunday 6/13). It's a members-only hike and with only a limited number of hikers allowed. The limit is very likely a result of a requirement of the landowners, the Kamehameha Schools/Bishop Estate, who probably are concerned about environmental impact and liability. In any case, it is good for the hiking community that KS/BE is allowing access to Castle as well as other trails, such as Kawainui, Kawai Iki and Opaeula, that are on KSBE properties.

I have hiked Castle a number of times, the first being back in the early 80s when I really wasn't into hiking at all. On that occasion, I joined two friends, Bob Benham and Guy Kaulukukui, who both worked for KSBE at the time and hence were able to get access.

During that hike of Castle, I remember a particularly dicey section where we had to inch across an exposed waterfall section of the old switchbacks. At the time, I thought that was the craziest thing I had ever done in my life.

I also remember only carrying a liter of water and drinking water out of the stream that the trail crosses what up in the mountains above Punaluu. At the time, I reasoned that the water had to be pure since no animals who could foul the water could exist this high up in the Koolaus. Of course, years later I found out how incorrect I was and that indeed there were lots of animals who live up that high (and higher) and they had no problem fouling the water.

Fortunately, I survived that drink-from-the-stream episode and lived to hike another day, which included other days in the years that followed hiking on the Castle Trail which is mentioned favorably in Stuart Ball's The Hikers Guide to Oahu.

Malaekahana-Kahuku

2010-06-06T03:12:00.003-10:00

This hike took place back in June 2001 and involved three trails: Malaekahana Ridge, Koolau Summit Trail and Kahuku Ridge. The whole thing had to be at least 12 miles but it could have been as much as 15. Whatever it was, we all had a sweaty, muddy workout. Ken Suzuki even said the plants along the Kahuku Trail are better compared to sister ridges, Laie and Malaekahana.

The hike started at the Laie ballpark on Poohaili Street, the trailhead for the Laie Trail hike. The first phase was a romp along a dirt road that passed the Laie trailhead and crossed a (dry) stream. There are several side roads on the left and right leading to farms. One concern along this stretch is harassment by dogs. A couple barked and growled as we went by in the a.m. but no dog hassles took place in the p.m., at least when I went by.

Not long after the stream crossing, we headed mauka on another dirt road.
This road eventually becomes eroded and rutted and then transitions
into the Malaekahana Trail, which we headed up. About an hour from the
cars, we passed the junction with the trail heading down to Malaekahana
Stream and continued mauka up the ridge. The trail beyond the junction
was overgrown but still passable.

Eventually, the ridge trail angles left, goes over several humps, and
arrives at a junction at a low saddle, now very well ribboned. This is
about 2 to 3 hours from the cars, depending how fast one goes. It was
there we left the ridge trail (heading right) to begin a segment we
called "The Shortcut to the KST," a longtime brain-child of Bill Gorst.
This route drops down to a little stream, passes some paperbark trees,
winds around some low ridges and ravines, crosses little streams at least
twice more, and eventually gains the summit trail about a half mile (as
the mynah flies) north of the KST/Malaekahana junction. It takes about
half an hour.

Once on the KST, our loop headed right (north) toward the Pupukea summit
hilltop, where the terminus of the Kahuku trail resides. The KST segment
was muddy in many places (to be expected) and about 2/3rds was
well-cleared. Count on at least an hour to get this part done.

At the base of the Pupukea summit hilltop is a signed junction. Today's
correct choice was to head up to the right (heading straight ahead would
take one around the hilltop and on to Pupukea). Near the top of the hill
was another signed junction. This is where the Kahuku trail begins/ends.

Getting back to the cars from this location will take approx 3-4
hours. We did it by heading down the Kahuku trail, which is a typical
uluhe-ohia ridge higher up. This part is very obvious and marked well.
After the uluhe abates, the trail transitions into the guava zone. The
corridor thru the guava is generally distinct and well-marked when the way
becomes less clear. After the guava zone, the trail becomes drier, more
eroded, and populated by vegetation like ironwoods, some pines, and
christmas berry, with some guava thrown in to keep things from
getting too easy/pleasant.

About 90 minutes from the summit, there is a junction with what appears to
be an old jeep road. We went right at that point, leaving the Kahuku
trail, which continues straight down the ridge, very broad at
this point. The old road arrives at another junction in a forest of
ironwoods. The correct way at that point is to head right to begin
descending to Malaekahana Stream. Ribbons mark the way, which eventually
gets steep and proceeds down a swath thru uluhe, then a large eroded
patch, and then puts one in the side fork of the (dry) stream. The side
fork quickly leads to a junction with the main (babbling) stream. At that
point, there is ribboned trail that gets the old ticker a-pumping by
climbing steeply to the ridgetop of the south side of Malaekahana Stream.

Once the ridgetop is gained, the trail heads mauka for a short spell, then
swings to the left thru a forest of guava and ironwoods. This area is well
marked. The trail reaches a barbed-wire fenceline, which is followed for
a bit and then ducked under at a ribboned point. A road covered
with horse manure heads makai to mauka (head makai). Heading as such will
lead to a large antenna tower. Near the tower is an indistinct (but
ribboned well today) path that heads to the right. This path leads to a
gate and the start/end of a dirt road. Go thru the gate (make sure to
secure the gate with the attached rope) and proceed down the road.

This road will lead to a junction with the dirt road leading to
Malaekahana that was walked on earlier. The conclusion of the hike is the
dirt road amble back to the Laie ballpark.

Some notes about the hike:

Several folks ran out of water en route. This is at least a three-liter
hike, especially in the summer months.

Walkie-talkies were useful in helping us keep track of who was where. For
those who don't have a walkie-talkie, consider purchasing one.

Marriage, Hiking, and Life

2010-06-05T06:04:00.003-10:00

While I haven't read the book Solemates: Lessons On Life, Love, and Marriage From the Appalachian Trail, it sounds like an interesting read. Maybe someday I'll write a book similar to it and call it Solemates: Lessons On Life, Love, and Marriage From the Trails of Hawaii.

Well, today is my wife and I's 6th wedding anniversary (the picture to the left is us above Poomau Canyon [Kokee] on Kauai). As I reflect on the years I've been married, I can say that they've been good years on the whole. Yes, there've been lots of trials and challenges along the way but I can say that I love my wife and I love being married to her. While it is true that I am hiking a lot less than I was in my pre-married days, I have no regrets.

Hiking, as it turns out, has played an interesting part in my life. I met Jacque in 1993. Up to that point, I had hiked very little, perhaps less than ten times in the 30+ years of my life. Interestingly, Jacque suggested a hike with a local hiking club (HTMC) as a date during my early courtship of her. I liked the idea and we decided on a Saturday hike with club on the Hauula-Papali trails. If you discount the suffering I endured on the climbs on these supposedly novice trails and also the fact that I led us astray at one point on the hike, we had a good experience that day

Such a good time did we have that we had other hiking "dates," one of them being a backpacking trip up Mauna Loa, which I blogged about recently.

Little did I realize that that date with my future wife would lead to LOTS of hiking thereafter (the pic to the right is us on a ridge in Kalihi Valley). So much so that we became members of HTMC and even lead hikes for the club till this day.

Right now, my wife and I are engaged in an urban hiking expedition, with the goal of hiking around Oahu (via roads) in stages for a total of 120+ miles. We have completed the section from Kaneohe to Haleiwa, from Pearl City to Kaneohe, and from Hawaii Kai to Nuuanu. What remains is the West side (Waianae Coast) and Mokuleia to Pearl City. We hope to complete all that by the end of summer 2010.

I also look forward to another year of happily married life with the woman of my dreams.

Aiea Hiking with the HTMC on National Trails Day

2010-06-04T09:37:00.000-10:00

Tomorrow (6/5/10 Saturday) is my wife and I's sixth wedding anniversary. On 6/5/04 at 3:21 in the afternoon, we were married at the chapel on the campus of the Kamehameha Schools, my alma mater. Happy anniversary to us!

Tomorrow also is National Trails Day. In tribute to the day, the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club will be conducting three (count 'em) hikes tomorrow, all in the mountains above Aiea.

The options, from longest/most difficult to shortest/easiest include

Aiea Ridge trail (12 miles)
Aiea Loop trail (4.5 miles)
Aiea bisectional trail (3 miles)

Meeting time tomorrow is 8 a.m. up at the upper trailhead in Keaiwa State Park.

Dunno if the missus and I will be hiking with the club, but we do plan on celebrating our 6th! BTW, the pic you see of my wife and I on this blog is taken at the upper trailhead aforementioned.

Backpacking Mauna Loa

2010-06-03T04:41:00.002-10:00

A week or so before Thanksgiving 1994, I received an email message from Guy Kaulukukui, a good friend and like me, a graduate of the Kamehameha Schools, a private K-12 institution for children of Hawaiian ancestry. Always one to seek out challenges of some kind, Guy had a new one he wanted me to consider: a hike to the top of Mauna Loa on the Big Island. To help spark my interest, Guy said that he'd send me a couple of pieces he read about the hike via snail mail.

After receiving and reading these pieces--"Cairns," a chapter from Peter Adler's Beyond Paradise, and "Ten Views of Mauna Loa," a chapter from The Burning Island by Pamela Frierson--I knew reaching the ML summit was something I wanted to do. We set a tentative hike date for early August.

In the next several months, we went about gathering as much information as we could about the hike. Guy, at the time in the midst of completing his PH.D dissertation (economics) at the University of Kansas, obtained info about the weather conditions, about the permits we'd need, and about altitude sickness.

Fortunately, our work proved fruitful, for we netted helpful information that made the hike more manageable. Kennan Ferguson, Joe Dellinger, Gerard Fryer, Kevin Herring, and Lisa Peterson responded to my plea for info about hiking Mauna Loa and were especially helpful, providing us with answers to our questions and recanting their journeys up the "Long Mountain."

In addition to info-gathering, Guy and I began preparing ourselves for the tough physical challenge Mauna Loa would present. Accordingly, I made adjustments to my diet, cutting out a large percentage of fat in it, and embarked on a rigorous routine of hiking, walking, and jogging. I also asked my girlfriend Jacque if she were interested in joining us. She said she was. So it would be the three of us.

In June, Guy returned to Oahu after successfully completing and defending his dissertation. At that point, we had decided on July 30th as the date to begin our hike and a tentative itinerary for the journey. We also enlisted the help of another Kamehameha grad, Alapaki Nahale-a, who agreed to drive us to the trailhead and to pick us up after the completion of our hike. In addition, Guy's aunt, Eleanor Kenney, was kind enough to offer us the use of her Nissan pickup as our transport vehicle and her home in Hilo as a place to rest and spend the night after we had completed the hike.

In the weeks preceding our departure for the Big Island, Guy contacted the rangers at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, who told him that we had to pick up our trail permits no earlier than 24 hours before we were to begin our hike [trail permits insure one a bunk in the Red Hill and Summit cabins].

Although assured by the rangers that we should have no problem obtaining permits for our intended departure date, Guy decided that we shouldn't risk a snafu and decided to leave on the early-bird flight from Honolulu to Hilo on Saturday 7/29 and head directly to the HVNP visitor center before it opened at 7:45 a.m. We also received some news that concerned us. The rangers informed us that while a limited amount of water was available at the summit cabin, no H2O could be found at the Red Hill cabin because of a breakdown in the catchment system. The result: we'd haul a bunch of water, which at eight pounds a gallon would increase the weight of our packs considerably.

As planned, Guy left early on the 29th, and he and his aunt drove the 25 miles to HVNP Visitor's Center and obtained our trail permits with no problem. Meanwhile, Jacque and I left Oahu at around noon and arrived in Hilo after a 40-minute flight. Guy met us at the airport and after eating lunch, we picked up some odds and ends, including canisters of propane that the airlines would not allow in our luggage, and tested out the cellular phone I had brought along. All went well.

We left Hilo for Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, and thanks to Guy's aunt, who made the arrangements for us, spent the night in a comfortable cabin at Kilauea Military Camp. Alapaki, who'd drive us to the trailhead the next morning, arrived with his wife Shelby at around 7:30 Saturday night.

Guy, Jacque, and I--what with the task we were about to undertake--were noticeably nervous that night. I probably slept no more than four hours, awakening every so often and questioning my ability to endure the hours tramping through the rough terrain. Guy and Jacque also reported being restless and not getting much sleep.

By 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, July 30, we were all up and about and readying our gear and ourselves for the departure. By 6 a.m. we had dressed, stuffed our backpacks in the most orderly fashion possible [my pack--filled with three gallons of water--probably weighed between 50 and 60 pounds], and eaten what little breakfast our apprehensive insides would allow.

After a winding 10-mile drive up Mauna Loa Strip road that ends at the 6,662 foot elevation level, we unloaded our gear, shouldered our packs, tested the cellular phone (it worked!!), took some pre-hike photos, bid Alapaki farewell, and were off on the first phase of our hike to the summit of Mauna Loa (elev. 13,667 ft.). Our objective that day was to reach Red Hill cabin, 7.5 miles distant and 3,500 feet in elevation higher than our starting point.

The first hour of hiking took us through ancient lava flows now populated by thickets of 'ohelo, 'ohia and a host of other plants. To help us keep track of where we were and how quickly or slowly we were proceeding, we referred to Lisa Peterson's "Mauna Loa Trail Guide", an informative 20-page booklet available at most public libraries.

The further along the trek we proceeded, the sparser the vegetation became. At around the 8,300 elevation level, one of the last ohia trees stands majestically from a lava outcropping. Perhaps only ten feet high, the tree is distinct nevertheless and from a distance resembles a Japanese bonsai plant. Ahead of us lay mile after mile of lava fields and dominating the horizon was the imposing summit mound of Mauna Loa bathed in yellowish brown by the steadily climbing sun.

We settled into a routine that had us hiking for 25 minutes, and resting 5. At that pace, we were progressing at about a mile and a quarter per hour, which was a reasonable rate considering the increasing elevation and the debilitating weight of our packs. As we were to discover, we were lugging way too much water, for the reports of zero water at Red Hill proved to be false.

The hike to Pu'u Ulaula (Red Hill) was a rugged one, and Jacque--all 4'11, 115-pounds of her--suffered the most because she was hauling a pack about a third of her weight. I, too, hurt and my shoulders ached from the weight of my pack digging into my trapezius muscles. As the day progressed, the temperatures rose, and the elevation increased, our rest breaks became longer and more frequent.

During our climb, we passed seven hikers heading back to Strip Road: a father and daughter who had overnighted at Red Hill, three mid-20-ish Canadians chaps who had gone to the summit, and two other haole hiking buddies who had departed from that summit that morning. All were tired, in good spirits, and reported good weather upslope. Seeing and chatting with them encouraged us.

At around 2:00 p.m., we were about half a mile from the our first day's objective. Unfortunately, the final ascent up Red Hill to the Cabin is a brutal one and we painfully trudged upward at a dreadfully slow pace I referred to as the Mauna Loa Shuffle. Suddenly, we were confronted with the sign "PUU ULAULA REST HOUSE elevation 10,035 feet." A hundred feet away was the cabin itself. (Pic of Jacque at left). Constructed in 1915 by a company of predominantly Black soldiers, the cabin is an eight-bunk abode complete with a front porch, picnic table, kitchen area, water tank (empty), a two-hole pit toilet, and a magnificent panoramic view of most of the Big Island.

A single hiker, a 20-something haole chap conducting scientific experiments for the State, was at the cabin when we arrived; however, he was just taking a short break there after descending from the summit. He told us about spending a night hunkered down in Jagger's cave at the 13,000 foot level. After 30 minutes of chitchat, he was off to the trailhead at the end of Strip Road.

And so it was just the three of us. Jacque staggered into one of the bunks and wrapped herself in her sleeping bag and napped for a couple of hours. After some initial exploring, Guy and I followed suit.

At around six, we prepared dinner--Jacque and I sharing a surprisingly delicious add-hot-water-to-cook beef stroganoff dish and some bagels. Guy wolfed down a Rice-A-Roni meal. After dinner, I ran another test of the cellular phone and was able to reach numbers in Hilo and even my mom several hundred miles away in Kaneohe on Oahu. This was good news, for we were uncertain whether the phone would work from such a high elevation.

At around 7 p.m., the sun disappeared behind Mauna Loa's massive crest and the temperature dropped to the 50s. Soon thereafter, Mars appeared on horizon and stars began to emerge. By 8 p.m. the afterglow of the sun in the western sky had disappeared and the Milky Way was spread across the heavens. Guy said that the Big Dipper never had appeared so prominently to him before that night. The three of us, energized by our naps, our meals, and our euphoria about arriving at our first stepping-stone, stood bundled up outside the cabin mesmerized by the awesome heavenly display.

By 8:30 we decided to bunk down, and we all looked forward to a restful night since we had planned to layover the next day at Red Hill to acclimate. However, something completely unexpected happened at a few minutes after nine: two hikers, a husband and wife from England, burst through the cabin door in the pitch black. Apparently, they had departed from Strip Road at around two that afternoon but had been slowed because the wife had developed altitude sickness. As a consequence, they had spent the last two hours hiking through the treacherous lava fields with just flashlights!! Amazing. After unloading their packs and preparing a quick meal, the two new cabin mates slid into two of the five remaining bunks and settled down for the night.

The next morning, Guy and I arose at around 5 and ascended the hill behind the cabin to get some photos of the sunrise. Even that early, the sun was beginning to light up the eastern sky and the cloud tops were tinted with a warm orangish hue. Below the cotton-textured clouds and many miles away from us, the lights of Hilo twinkled invitingly and the vents of Kilauea puffed clouds of steam skyward in the nippy 40 degree morning air.

Just before six, the sun peaked over the clouds and the lava fields upslope began taking form and color. Across the wide saddle to the north stood Mauna Loa's sister mountain, Mauna Kea, adorned by the mushroom-like observatories at its crest and an array of cinder cones on its flank. To the southwest was the powerful presence of the Mauna Loa summit, which we would attempt to reach the next day.

The English couple was up early and quietly packed their things so as not to disturb Jaque, who spent most of that morning sleeping. By 8 a.m. the couple, experienced alpine hikers who had scaled many of the mountains of Europe, were off for the 11.5 mile ascent to the summit cabin. Before leaving, the Brits told us to expect a party of twelve Boy Scouts that day. We wished them well, and from a vantage point above the cabin, followed their progress up the mountain for 30 minutes before they disappeared from view.

Monday morning was used for picture-taking, exploring, a day hike, and finding water, which we were told could be found in a catchment system set up in a small sink hole near the cabin. The cabin's water catchment set-up, a series of rain gutters on the roof, was not functioning correctly so the water tank next to the cabin was empty.

By early afternoon, our pictures and water were secured and our exploring and one-hour day hike were completed, so we settled in and waited for the arrival of the Boy Scouts, who began arriving in small groups at around 2:30 p.m.

There were actually eight Scouts--all either Iolani students or grads--and four adult leaders/chaperons. Guy, Jacque and I chuckled at the ragtag group, especially at the leaders, three of whom had to have their packs carried up to Red Hill by the teenaged scouts. While Guy and I were chagrined at the loss of tranquility, Jacque was overjoyed at the company and assumed the role of unofficial cabin hostess, helping the tired hikers with their packs and directing them to the important points of interest.

That night was a restless one for us. With twelve people sardined into an eight-bunk cabin and thoughts of the difficult climb to the summit the next day, sleep didn't come easy for Jacque, Guy and I.

We arose at 4:30 the next morning and surrendered our bunks to the scouts who had spent the night in their sleeping bags on the floor. By 6:00 we had dressed, packed and eaten breakfast and were on our way for the summit. We had anticipated progressing at about a mile an hour so we wanted to leave early to give ourselves as much daylight as possible to reach the summit cabin 11.5 miles away.

The hike to the top was surprisingly easier than the trek to Red Hill, perhaps because our packs were lighter (mine was about 20 pounds less) and we had a chance to acclimate. Easier does not mean the journey was a cupcake--far from it. The trail was long and traversing the lava-dominant terrain can wear on one's resolve.

Our spirits ebbed and flowed. At one time, we rejoiced after finding that we were ascending at a much better clip than the mile-an-hour pace we had thought we would proceed at; at other times, we snapped at one another about the length of our breaks and how many more miles we had to traverse.

All this notwithstanding, the lava along the way was amazing. Along with the standard black pahoehoe and a'a, lava tinted with gold, silver, red, green, orange, purple hues were at our feet as we ascended Mauna Loa's massive flank. For 2/3 of the trip, Mauna Kea stood off to our right. However, as we neared the summit, our world consisted of lava fields and blue sky, for we were at such a great height that ocean and other landforms were beyond our field of sight.

After about 8.5 hours of hiking, we had covered 9.5 miles were standing at the edge of North Pit at the 13,000 foot elevation level. From that point, with the Summit Cabin two miles away, we decided to ascertain our physical conditions. While Guy and I were fine, Jacque was experiencing headaches, nausea, and swelling in her feet and hands--all signs of altitude sickness.

Concerned about Jacque, instead of spending the night at the cabin, we opted to descend to the Mauna Loa Weather Observatory at the 11,000 foot level, a trip of about four miles. Before leaving, we used the cellular phone to contact Alapaki to pick us up at the Observatory.

In a little less than two hours, we arrived at the Observatory and waited, waited, and waited. We became concerned because as night approached, the temperatures were dropping into the 40's and Jacque, weakened by the effects of altitude sickness, was beginning to display effects of hypothermia. Fortunately, the two scientists working at the Observatory kindly consented to let Jacque into a heated trailer that serves as their lab/headquarters.

At around 8 p.m., Alapaki and his uncle, a Big Island county worker, arrived at the Observatory in a large pickup truck. They were delayed by a couple of hours because the truck they initially had left in had broken down about 10 miles up the Saddle Road.

In an hour and a half, we were in Hilo after a harrowing 19- mile ride down the narrow Observatory road and the equally nerve- wracking 20+ mile descent down Saddle Road. Back at sea level, Jacque recovered quickly although her appetite was non-existent. We spent a restful night at Guy's aunt's house in Hilo after taking long warm showers, devouring takeout Chinese food, and rehashing our adventure to whoever would listen.

I'll hike Mauna Loa again--perhaps not soon but at least once more nonetheless. We may not have made it to the cabin or to the true summit, but standing at North Pit that afternoon--all three of us--marked the realization of a dream that had been born seven months prior. Without a doubt, our lives are different now, for the ascent of Mauna Loa gives us a new perspective of who we are and what we can achieve.

Makiki-Tantalus Loop

2010-06-02T02:50:00.001-10:00

One of my favorite workout hikes is the Makiki-Tantalus Loop which is actually a circuit of several trails including Moleka, Makiki Valley, Kanealole, Nahuina, Maunalaha, Kalawahine, and Manoa Cliffs. Sound confusing? Well it is, that is until you have gone out and done it. After that, no problem.

The hike starts at the Nature Center in Makiki where there is a bathroom and water. Parking is down the road from the Nature Center in a gravel lot on the left.

Since this is a loop, it can be done in the clockwise direction (starting with the Kanealole Trail) or counterclockwise (starting with the Maunalaha Trail). The latter option gets the pulse climbing more quickly because of the climbing commences right away and with greater steepness. Most times, I prefer to get the hard stuff out of the way right off the bat.

The Maunalaha Trail climbs up a dry, rocky, tree-covered ridge (see photo at right) to arrive a big junction with a sign and a bench. To do the big loop (about 7 miles), proceed up to the right on the Makiki Valley Trail and not long after that, head left on the Moleka Trail. There are not many views along this part of the hike. The views will come later.

Eventually, the Moleka Trail ends at a crossing of Round Top Drive. Directly across Round Top is the start of the Manoa Cliffs Trail. The cliffy part of the trail doesn't start right away but in about 5 to 10 minutes it will.

Much of the cliff trail isn't really cliffy but there will be some nice views down into Manoa Valley along the way. The trail in this direction climbs gradually to make its way around Tantalus mountain. along the way at a sometimes windy lookout, there is a rest bench. I use this bench as a benchmark for my conditioning. If I can reach the bench from the Nature Center (via Maunalaha) in an hour, I'm moving at a good pace for me. The downhill part of the Manoa Cliff trail begins at a metal gate, which marks the entrance of an inclosed area to protect native plants.

Upon exiting the inclosed area, head left on the continuation of the Cliffs Trail. Do note that straight ahead after exiting the inclosure is the Pauoa Flats Trail, which leads to the Nuuanu Lookout, Konahuanui, and the Aihualama Trail down into Manoa Valley. But since we're doing the loop, we'll scratch that part, but if you feel so inclined, go for it. Just remember your landmarks.

The cliffs trail switches back several times to descend to the Kalawahine Trail. At that junction, head left and follow Kalawahine as it contours on the Ewa-facing side of Tantalus. The Kalawahine Trail ends at Tantalus Drive. To continue the loop, proceed straight ahead on Tantalus Drive for about 60-70 meters. On the left will be the Nahuina Trail which is accessed by hopping over a metal guardrail along Tantalus Drive.

Nahuina descends in switchbacks to a junction with the Makiki Valley Trail. At that junction, head left to continue the descent to the valley bottom. In a few minutes, the MVT will reach yet again another junction (this hike is big on junctions!). At that point, head right down the Kanealole Trail which ends at the Nature Center.

On good days (for me), I've done this loop in two hours. I will admit that I jog part of the flat and downhill sections of most of the route.

For a shorter (1-hour) option, the Makiki Valley Loop is a good choice. The variation on the route I described would be to head leftward instead of straight and up at the big junction to continue on the Makiki Valley Trail. Then at the junction with the Kanealole Trail, head down to return to the Nature Center.

Makapu'u Lighthouse Trail

2010-06-01T01:26:00.003-10:00

Most of us who live in Hawaii or have an interest in the islands are familiar with the TV shows Magnum P.I. and Hawaii Five-O. Remember scenes from a high vantage point with Rabbit Island and the Waimanalo coast in the background? If you were wondering, those scenes were filmed at the Makapuu Lighthouse overlook, a site accessible via a 45 minute walk from Kalanianaole Highway.
After years of driving from Honolulu to my windward side home in Kaneohe, I finally decided in the summer of 1994 to check out what lay beyond that gated roadway at the bottom of the long hill on the Hawaii Kai Golf Course side. What had taken a lifelong Oahu resident so long to explore this place? Probably like many others, I had a notion that access to the road beyond the gate was not allowed. Even though more times than not I saw cars parked along the roadway fronting the gate indicating that people were tramping around up there, I categorized these folks as trespassers who'd placed themselves at the mercy of the law, car thieves, or both.

I'm not sure if overhearing a conversation about the hike prompted me to venture forth; however, one midsummer morning I was on the road to Waimanalo and after a 20 minute drive from Kaneohe was parking at the Hawaii Kai Golf Course (I was more leery of car thieves than the law). By the way, you need not park at the golf course to do the hike. Parking along the fairly wide shoulder along Kalanianaole is fine.

Plan on a 15 minute walk to the gate if you park at the golf course. From there, simply follow the paved road that contours along the ridge in the direction opposite of your ultimate destination. The climb is gradual and soon enough you'll find yourself rounding the corner of the ridge where you'll have your first magnificent view of the azure Pacific from atop steep and rugged sea cliffs. However, the hike does not end there.

Continue up the road, this time heading in the direction of Rabbit Island. In some spots, the road skirts perilously close to the side of the steep pali. While walking along these places, I had visions of some olden day lighthouse keeper teaching his son or daughter to drive--certainly not a place to err.,p.
The ultimate reward of the hike is at the end of the road at a windswept lookout point high above Makapuu Beach and Rabbit Island. While I stood there and gazed seaward, visions of Tom Selleck, Jack Lord and television cameras and lights popped into my mind. In retrospect, I even recall episodes of Bodies in Motion, the aerobics show featuring Gil Janklowitz, being shot there. In fact, Makapuu point has been occupied or visited by many others before me: a couple generations of lighthouse keepers and their families, a group of Hawaiians who claimed family rights to the aina (land) there, scores of local fisherman who venture down the steep cliffs to take advantage of fruitful fishing grounds, armies of teens armed with beer and spray paint (graffiti abounds), and many others.

Along with Lord, Selleck, Janklowitz and a miscellany of siteseers, vagabonds and just plain folk, Dayle Turner can be counted among the many who have traveled up the Makapuu Lighthouse road.

I should mention that it is possible to hike from the road to the ocean. While walking up the road from the highway, look for the place where the concrete pillars begin (this is on the section of the road that overlooks the ocean and is heading in the direction of the lighthouse). Right at the first pillar, a trail descends the steep, rocky slope. The trail is readily apparent and if you think you have drifted off the path, look back upslope for arrows spraypainted onto the rocks.The descent to the ocean takes 10-15 minutes and at the bottom are some nice tide pools and a blowhole that puffs geysers of ocean water to the rhythm of incoming swells.

Once at the oceanside, it is possible to head right along the shoreline (toward Sandy Beach) to get to a cave and beyond. I've never gone beyond the cave, but others have told me it is possible to hike along the rocky shelf to reach Pele's Chair, the rock formation by the ocean in the Allan Davis area that is part of the Makapuu Shoreline Loop. Monitor the wave action if you decide to do this. Getting swept into the ocean in this area could mean curtains.

Bill Summers--Kalalau Trail Redeemer

2010-05-31T06:18:00.000-10:00

For a number of years, I volunteered with the trail maintenance crew of the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club. The crew’s mission is to clear and maintain trails used by the club for its weekly outings. Almost without exception, the crew is out on Sundays working on some trail in either the Koolau or Waianae Mountains. Hats off to these hardworking folks.

Speaking of volunteers, I just found out about the good work of Bill Summers (pictured left), who, after arriving on Kauai in 2007, has done literally tons of work on the Kalalau Trail on the Na Pali Coast of the garden isle. And he has done this on his own dime, depleting his life savings and even being ticketed by a state conservation officer. Jonathan Ley -- photo credit

Summers is still at work. There are photos of his work here. And more about him and his work here. Hats off to Bill Summers.

Dupont/DePonte Trail on Oahu

2010-05-30T07:06:00.001-10:00

[photo credit -- Tom Yoza]

"Honesty's the best policy" is a saying we're all familiar with.
Dr. Wing Ng calls Kamaileunu an "honest trail" because from start to terminus there is no concealed agenda: one climbs steadily with no appreciable drops. The antithesis of Kamaileunu is Manana, which taunts hikers with as many downs as ups. Like Manana, Schofield falls in the "dishonest" category, for its rollercoaster progression will kick one's tail ascending or descending.

Back in 2002, Pat Rorie and I, not in the mood for treachery, hiked what may be the most honest trail on Oahu: De Ponte (also referred to as Dupont). The route begins on a cane field road adjacent to Waialua High School and ends after a 4,000-foot vertical ascent gain at the summit of Mount Kaala, the apex of Oahu.

Stuart Ball tells us that Dupont (or De Ponte--recall a recent post quoting a *Honolulu Magazine* article) is a classic climb. He also says that the horror stories about the dangers of the trail are overstated. On both counts, he's correct.

Although not a cupcake, De Ponte isn't overly perilous. Previous hikers have strung an array of cables at steep and rocky sections of the trail (in some cases, the cables are overkill). And yes there are dike sections to traverse but these aren't of the Kalena- or Manamana-esque ilk. I suppose my view may be colored somewhat because De Ponte was dry and relatively windless today. Throw in some brisk trades on the dikes and some mud on the steeper sections and the hike would have been much tougher and tiring and potentially more dangerous.

Photo credit -- Jason Sunada

And it was plenty rugged and tiring as is, primarily because of its "honest" nature that had us climbing from the get-go to the end. We needed 3.5 hours to hike the 5.5 miles from our parking spot along Farrington Highway near the high school to the lookout spot by one of the huge soccer balls (FAA radar site) at Kaala's summit.

I can't say I enjoyed the ascent (sweating like a melting popsicle and listening to one's heart racing like a snare drum gets old after a while), but the miles and time moved by with reasonable quickness. We also were fortunate not to be stopped by anyone from Waialua Sugar or the macadamia farm or the horse ranch while going up or down. And although we saw scat of wild goats and pigs, we saw no signs of the scat makers. Further down, we did pass penned up goats, some wild pea fowl and later some horses resting under a copse of java plum. And the scratchy blackberry was present but not in huge quantities so we did not suffer any major flora abuse.

Thee trail passes through some lovely dryland forest and some exquisite native Hawaiian cloud forest near the summit. As inept as Pat and I are at identifying plantlife, we were able to recognize some trailside lobelia, lapalapa, and the more common koa and ohia. Hopefully, someone like Brandon Stone, Ken Suzuki, or Kost Pankiwskyj will hike the trail and provide a more detailed flora report.

Weather-wise, Pat and I had good fortune because a socked-in summit became a cloudless summit when we reached it, and during our one-hour lunch break we were treated to excellent views of the Oahu central plain and the distant Koolaus, the latter pelted by rain from dark gray clouds.

For me, the descent went much quicker and with less pain than I anticipated. Usually, a dry trail means a hard trail and a hard trail means pounding on feet and knees which means ouch to the 100th degree. But padded insoles, a pair of surprisingly comfortable Nike Sharks cleated shoes, and three aspirins popped down after lunch made the 5.5-mile descent quite nice. We left the summit at 1:30 and reached my vehicle at 4:00, ending an interesting day in the Waianae range.

For the record, this was Pat's third trip up DePonte and my first. And despite the long, tiring ascent, I'll do it again someday.

Honest, I will. :-)

--DKT

Puu Maelieli with the Sierra Club

2010-05-29T01:23:00.007-10:00

Tomorrow, Sunday, May 30, 2010, the Oahu chapter of the Sierra Club will be conducting an outing on the Pu'u Maelieli Trail in Kahaluu. It is a foothill/ridge hike and is 3 miles roundtrip.

This is a photography hike and the pace will be slow as a result.

The trail climbs to an old WWII pillbox with a good view of Kaneohe Bay and the Koolau Mountains.

For info, contact Stan Oka 429-9814, Clyde Kobashigawa 262-6092, John Shimogawa 227-9925

Poamoho

2010-05-28T06:10:00.001-10:00

On Sunday (5/30/10) the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club will be hiking the Poamoho Trail, which is located in the Koolau Mountains out past Wahiawa. The legendary John Hall will be coordinating the hike, which is a by-reservation outing (and all spots are filled). According to club records, Poamoho was first hiked by HTMC on July 14, 1935. The hike involves a lengthy drive on dirt roads to reach the trailhead. The actual trail itself is about three miles one-way to the crest of the Koolau Range overlooking Punaluu and Kahana Valleys.

The trail is graded (i.e. cut in the ridgeline) hence it is fairly easy to navigate. The hike to the top might be accomplished in about an hour for speed hikers. Add 30 minutes for those hiking at a more relaxed pace. Be ready to get muddy and wet.

Near the top is the Cline Memorial (pictured here), put there for HTMC member Geraldine Cline, who was tragically killed in an auto accident many years ago (no, not on the trail). There is even a memorial fund in memory of Cline.

Also at the top is the Koolau Summit Trail which can be hiked northward to Pupukea and southward to Kipapa.

Kaupo Cliffs Trail-- Waimanalo, Hawaii

2010-05-27T06:39:00.002-10:00

I did this hike back on Election Day in 2002 with Jay Feldman and Scott Villiger. Here is the write-up.

On the day that Hawaii will vote in its first wahine governor, Jay Feldman, Scott Villiger, and I elect to go hiking in the Waimanalo end of the Ko'olaus. We meet at 9:30 at the HTMC clubhouse in 'Nalo, then hash around some options for our outing, the top two being a circumnavigation of Koko Crater--my first choice--or a Kaupo Cliffs/TomTom combo, which Jay prefers. I actually like the Kaupo option but do not like the potential hassle we sometimes have from the guy who lives in the last house on the left on the street we use to access the trail. However, after some wrangling about transportation logistics and an assist from Man Friday, who says he'll help with the pre-hike drop-off, I relent and say okay to a Kaupo ascent, much to the delight of Jay, whose car we use to ferry us to our starting point on Manawaiola Street.

Thanks to MF's help, Jay, Scott, and I are dropped off at the end of the street and into the bushes of the vacant lot we go with no hassles from the guy in the last house on the left. In a minute, Scott and I are in a forest of koa haole, with Jay trailing behind us. Right off, we hit a snag when Scott and I veer left in the brush and Jay veers right to begin heading up the TomTom trail, thinking that is the plan. Meanwhile, Scott and I, not knowing where Jay has headed off to, wait in the forest for him. Fortunately, Jay and Scott have walkie-talkies, so we are able to summon Jay back to our position. After a couple minutes and a couple of whoops to home in on our locations in the thick forest, we all are back together again on our way to Kaupo Cliffs.

The "trail" over to the start of the climb up Kaupo isn't much of a trail. Instead, it's often just a meander thru a forest of knee-high grass, koa haole, some splotches of hau, and plenty of old rock terraces and walls. Remembering past hikes, I know that a key landmark is a fence line of old barbed wire that runs from mauka to makai, so that is the target. Once we hit the fence line, we turn mauka and began climbing, reaching, in a couple of minutes, an open area with a view back toward the ocean.

I start snapping some pics at this point with yet another disposable camera, and by hike's end I have shot the whole roll, 27 pics in all.

From the fence line ridge, we contour around the back of a steep ravine on a shelf that looks pretty gnarly from a distance but is quite safe when hiked upon. A very thin rope is available for grabbing if needed for a semi-exposed section, but in reality if a slip occurs, the rope isn't going to prevent the Big Spill.

After the contour, no spills having occurred, we begin climbing again, having switched over to a spur ridge more makai of the fence line ridge we have begun on. This climb is quite spectacular, most of it being on an open ridge with steep drops on both sides. At a couple points, the climbs are up and over some bouldery, exposed segments but the foot- and handholds are ample and generally stable. I take a bunch of pics along the way.

One of the more exciting sections of the climb involves a left-side contour to skirt around a vertical outcrop on the ridge. A long section of fixed rope, pitons, and cables is available to help prevent a Big Spill into a steep ravine.

Making use of the climbing aids, we execute the contour without a problem and then once on the ridgeline again, we climb a couple minutes more to an ironwood grove where we sit down to rest and talk story. During this respite, Jay shares some candy and almonds with us while we hunker down.

After the 15-minute break, we rise again to continue the ascent to the summit. We make our way thru the upper end of the ironwood grove, which Jay notes is a perfect place to string up a hammock and read a book, and then continue up a steep but broad slope with fairly decent footing. After climbing this way for ten minutes, the straight-up climbing becomes impossibly steep. At this point, we slab to the right, following a long fixed rope, which delivers us to an adjacent spur ridge. At that point, Scott spots a bunch of goats scrambling in the trees on the farside of a ravine to our right. At many points during our climb, we have seen evidence of the goat's presence via their black, pellety scat, so the sighting isn't a surprise.
Having executed the rope-assisted rightward slab, the major exposure sections are behind us and from then on we climb in relative safety thru another ironwood grove then up the final section of the ridgeline past or over a couple of rock outcrops. We acquire the summit very near the ironwood grove where we traditionally lunch during the Makapu'u-TomTom hike. A good climb completed safely.

From there, we hike along the summit, heading for the top of the TomTom trail. En route, we pause briefly at the Kamiloiki Ridge trail terminus in a shady grove of ironwoods and continuing on we pass the head of Kamilonui Valley. Beyond that, at the higher of two pu'us with powerline poles atop them, we reach the apex of the TomTom trail. A huge metal powerline pole with the word "FAT" spray-painted on it, marks the summit now. I take a pic of Jay and Scott next to the pole.

After resting and enjoying the wonderfully clear views atop the TomTom summit for a few minutes, we descend back to Waimanalo. While exiting in the grassy lot on Manawaiola, we see the man in the last house on the left. He is in his yard, cell phone in hand, with an angry look on his face. Is he calling the cops? We do not wait to find out and continue by somberly without pause.

Nothing comes of this but on the walk back to the clubhouse, Jay, Scott and I talk about how favorable it will be to talk story and make peace with this man, who may have some false impressions of us hikers. In fact, we may have false impressions of him. We agree that Mabel, with her grandmotherly looks and disarming ways, is an appropriate candidate to approach this man. We shall see.

When we reach Kalanianaole, we stop to buy lettuce from some nice folks at a roadside stand. An elderly tutu wahine at the stand, while eyeing us suspiciously, asks what we have been doing. When we say "hiking," her eyes soften and she smiles, replying, "Ahh, good exercise."
We smile in agreement, and each of us with a bag of fresh lettuce in hand, we tromp off back to the clubhouse for some cold drinks and snacks.

A good hike on a good day with good friends. I hope to have some pics up in a day or two.
With a new wahine governor to lead Hawaii for the coming four years, it's back to the grindstone tomorrow.

I hope you all are having a nice Election Day.

Kealia Big Loop 2/17/2001

2010-05-26T08:51:00.003-10:00

Yesterday morning (2/17), I hiked up the Kealia Trail to meet friends
backpacking their way from the Kaena tracking station to Peacock Flats
and/or the Mokuleia campsite. I figured to get a workout out of the
deal. I got that plus some unanticipated adventure.

I launched from the parking lot by the Dillingham airfield control tower
at 9:30, feeling relaxed and energetic after the hour drive from
Kaneohe. The switchbacks up the pali were overgrown, perhaps a
consequence of the budget/personnel shortcomings of Na Ala Hele.

Once I reached the ridgeline, I kept moving up the dirt road, a steady
unrelenting, and at times steep climb up to the rim of Makua Valley. With
a nice view into the controversial valley, I paused to rest and scan the
rim trail for any signs of my friends. Heading away from me to the left
appeared to be Pat Rorie.

I continued alone along the Mokuleia firebreak road toward Peacock Flats
and after fifteen minutes I came upon other hikers at a
junction with a lesser used road that descends a ridge to connect to a
lower 4x4 road.

I continued ahead of the three and ten minutes later came upon other hikers resting at a junction with a road that climbed a
slope to the right. The righthand road ascended to an overlook above the
abandoned Nike Tracking Station and connected with the Makua Rim
Trail. The Mokuleia firebreak road, the other option at the junction,
winds in and out of a series of gulches to eventually connect
with the paved road leading to Peacock Flats and up to the abandoned Nike
Site.

I headed up the righthand road and took a short rest at the overlook, and then hiked
along the rim trail, bound for the Mokuleia campsite. When I reached the
switchback section of the rim trail, I noticed lobelia plantings some folks
had done during a recent service trip.

At a beautiful overlook of Makua, we came upon Nathan and Justin, both
lugging heavy packs (Justin's was VERY heavy). I hiked with them, still
bound for the Mokuleia campsite. We passed sections of trail cleared very
nicely by Pat last weekend and later stopped to examine the twin pines
that mark the junction with the Piko Trail. Nathan and I looked
for a sign affixed to the tree but found none.

We stopped for lunch at the final hilltop before the junction with the
trail leading down to the campsite, and I happily and hungrily chowed down
on vienna sausage and a powerbar and glugged down a liter of
water. During lunch, Nathan and I chatted about techniques for cleaning and drying
camelback bladders, an undertaking I usually neglect and that Nathan
regularly tends to.

A bit before 1, I said goodbye to my friends and headed
off. After descending, I passed through the campsite and headed down the
trail toward Peacock Flats.

A few minutes later, I arrived at the Flats and spent time resting there.

Just past 2:00, I headed out of the Flats. Initially, my plan was to climb the paved road up to the old Nike
site, then drop back down to the fire break road and continue on to
Kealia. However, not enthused about the ascent up to the Nike site, I
opted for Plan B, which was to follow the fire break road and then veer
makai down an old jeep road which eventually would hook up with Kealia
just mauka of the top of the switchbacks.

After ten minutes of hiking along the firebreak road, I arrived at what I
thought was the junction with the old jeep road heading makai. So
makai-ward I headed. After a minute or so, I realized that what I was
descending was a trail rather than an old road but, using an
all-roads-lead-to-Rome analogy, I figured that all makai-heading trails in
this area lead to the lower jeep road complex.

How wrong I was.

I kept descending the non-road, spurred on by the presence of a well-used
path and an occasional old ribbon or cut branch. "Hunters must use this
trail," I reasoned, and as such they surely must have found a way to
connect with the old road and/or an adjacent ridge that will lead to the
old road.

After a half mile of descending, what had been a trail became less
distinct. In fact, the trail all but ended when I reached a 30-foot
dropoff. I found a way on the right to skirt the dropoff and continued
down the grassy, trail-less ridge. Further down was another dropoff which
I again skirted to the right.

The prudent thing to have done was to end the charade that this ridge was
going to lead me to the old road or a connecting trail. But stubborness,
ego, and a sense of adventure egged me on. Plus it would make for a good
story to write about.

Off in the distance, I could see that the ridge would eventually level out
in a broad expense of rolling hills and then flatten out at a large
banana farm. Already in my mind I was preparing my verbal defense when
confronted by owners/workers of the farm. "I'm a poor lost hiker," was
one possible spew. "I parachuted from a plane and was blown by the wind
into the mountain," was spew two.

Also as I was descending, thoughts of falling, hurting myself, and waiting
for rescue popped into my head. I visualized Tom Yoza meticulously
scouring the every ravine in the area weekend after weekend until finding
just the tatters of my red shirt and the blue lanyard with assorted
doo-dads I wear around my neck. I also had visions of a pack of huge
pua'a grinding my body as I lay helpless and injured (go see the movie
*Hannibal* and you may have similar visions).

Well, I didn't fall nor was I devoured, but I did have to spend a good
hour wading and swimming through thick buffalo grass until I caught a
break and came upon an ancient road that runs across the base of the
mountain (a review of the Kaena quad topo indicates that I was on
what is labeled as the "Peacock Flats Trail"). Now overgrown with
chest-high grass, the road was still apparent and I moved much more easily
by following its tread. Finding this meant was that I wouldn't have to
cut through the banana farm and if I was lucky, I'd be able to make it all
the way back to the Dillingham Airfield without having to pass through a
farm or ranch or homestead.

The old road/PFT eventually ended its traverse along the base of the
mountain and began climbing up along the side of a ravine toward the top
of the pali. No, I certainly didn't want to go back up again, so I hopped
over a barbed-wire fence and waded through high grass to make my way
toward lower ground.

I weaved through waist-high grass in a forest of haole koa and then
happened upon another old jeep road. This road soon ended at a
barbed-wire fenceline, which I hopped to continue my wade and weave. My
next objective was to make my way under a string of powerlines, thinking a
swath or road of some sort would be under it. I made it to the powerlines
okay but found nada swath or road.

Still determined to find my way out of the mess, I continued to angle
toward lower ground and in the general direction of the airfield until,
voila, I stood on a slope looking down on a large paved expanse that
probably once was an old landing strip for planes. I made my way down to
the old strip and followed it toward Dillingham Airfield.

The old air strip led to a well-used (military?) jeep road that led me to
the road that runs along the mauka side of the current airfield. I
followed the road to the hangars adjacent to the control tower and then
arrived at my car. It was 4:30, 2.5 hours after I'd left Peacock Flats
and only a half hour longer than I thought I'd need if I had hiked the
route I'd had planned in my mind.

The adventure was a nice tradeoff for the extra 30 minutes. In
retrospect, if I had a map with me I'd not have turned off the fire break
road to head down the ridge when I did. That being the case, I wouldn't
have stumbled (literally) upon the old Peacock Flats trail and hike back
to the airfield as I did. This adventure, it seems, was born out of being
mapless. And by the end of the day I had completed a loop of about ten
miles, never once having to retrace my steps. A nice hike.

Kaunala Trail out on Oahu's North Shore

2010-05-26T06:16:00.001-10:00

My wife and I lead hikes for the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club and the last hike we led (4/10/10) was on the Kaunala Trail in the hills above Waimea Bay on Oahu's north shore. About 40 people turned out for the hike, which was captured in words and pics by Richard Bailey and Nathan Yuen. The pic at left, in fact, was taken by Rich and in it are my wife and I hiking on a section of Kaunala. Mahalo, Rich.

One of the new features of this hike is a newly paved road in the mountains. Apparently, the military found it necessary to pave the formerly dirt road to make negotiation of the mountains easier for its vehicles.

For specifics about Kaunala, I wrote more about it.

Manana Trail--Pearl City, Hawaii

2010-05-25T06:03:00.005-10:00

I did this hike back in 2002. The photo at left was taken in 2010 and credit goes to Doug Baker for it. Here is the write-up about Manana.

Manana is one of those demon trails that whipped me when I first began hiking. I remember that first attempt when I aspired to reach the summit, only to turn back, stricken with huge blisters on my heels, exhausted, on the verge of near collapse in the heat and humidity of that summer day, humbled and humiliated, promising myself I'd try again. It comes as no surprise that Manana kicked my butt that first time, for it is a tough five miles of ups and downs, eroded slopes, occasional narrow segments, low-grassed windswept meadows, overgrown sections of uluhe, and mushy bogs.

I kept my promise to myself, and a month or two after that first failed try, I made it to the top. In the years that followed, I've hiked Manana other times, mostly for maintenance work with the Trail and Mountain Club but occasionally on my own to test lungs and legs and heart.

This morning I hiked the trail for the latter, arriving at the Komo Mai Drive trailhead a few minutes before eight. While many on Oahu still lay in bed, I readied myself to hike, taking off my slippers and putting on wool socks, New Balance trail runners, and gaiters. In my pack were food and three and a half liters of water. Feeling energetic, I set off, pausing for a minute to sign my name on the register in the hunter/hiker check-in mailbox by the trailhead. I noticed that four others had already signed in, probably hunters since parked nearby were three trucks with the recognizable hunter accessory--metal rack/cages in the bed.

The weather forecast for the day indicated humidity and rain were likely. While I have no aversion to humid, rainy hiking, I prefer a dry trail and cool conditions. While today was never cool, I've hiked in steamier and more scorching circumstances. And while the trail wasn't totally dry, it was far from a mudbath.

The first section of Manana passes along a paved road leading to a water tank. During this initial stage, I focused on establishing a rhythm while tuning in to the feeling in my legs, to my breathing, and to any discernible tweaks I felt. I've recently been experiencing pain in my left shoulder, perhaps a rotator cuff malady or maybe a tendon pull or something else, for the shoulder is a complex joint and problems with it are sometimes difficult to diagnose, or so I've been told by those who know such things. A dull ache was still present this morning when I began hiking, and I hoped the activity would flush blood into the area, helping it to heal or dulling the pain or doing something beneficial. I also realized that I could do something to cause more damage.

Hopeful that I wouldn't do anything to make the shoulder worse, I moved in good rhythm through the first two miles of the trail, passing a couple of brown & yellow directional arrows signs, the down-trail to Waimano Pool, a sign for mountain bikers about an upcoming dismount zone, a lone male hiker stopped to inspect a plant, and a picnic shelter, complete with table and identifying sign, #15 to be exact.

Rhythm-maintaining short, quick steps were what I concentrated on as I faced the first significant climb of the morning. I dubbed this 2.5-mile hill because midway up the grade is the marker, actually the halfway point of the route if--and it's a big if--the 5-mile marker at the summit is to accurate.

Mauka of 2.5-mile hill, as I crested out another pu'u, there was sound of running water coming from the gulch to the west. Scanning for the source of the sound, I spotted a small waterfall and flowing stream, things I'd seen just once before on Manana, and that was on a rainy day and not a clear, warm one like today. I deduced that it must have rained here the night before or maybe in the early morning hours.

The pu'u used as a helipad is, if I recall correctly, between markers 3 & 3.5. Today, I stopped to rest and refuel at the pu'u, a place I once camped with my friend Bill Melemai. That campout was something to remember, for a military chopper--its interior and exterior lights off--hovered 100 feet over us for a couple of minutes on that dark night. We surmised the crew was on a training run and using see-in-the-dark gear, and we hoped the chopper wasn't trying to land and aborted because of our presence there. We never were sure what was up with it.

From the helipad to the summit, the trail became damper and mildly overgrown but nowhere was the path totally obscured. In fact, I had no problem seeing where I was putting my feet. More big hills stood in the way during the summit push, and I kept plugging away at these, trying to maintain the rhythm I'd established from the start. Meanwhile, the nagging little ache in my shoulder never worsened but it never went away either. I just had to deal with it.

Between markers 4 and 4.5, the final approach to the summit comes into view. I was surprised that clouds hadn't covered up the crest by now. Maybe just maybe I'd luck out and top out and have a view of the windward side.

No such luck, however. I arrived at the summit, establishing a strange standoff with a huge bank of clouds damming up just to windward. I had no view of the windward coast, but everything to leeward was open and visible, for the clouds just hung on the windward side of the crest, stopping right there.

It was too early for lunch, so after a few minutes to rest and to call my sweetheart Jacqueline, who made me promise to be careful while she dined on orange juice and waffles at some faraway Zippy's, I re-shouldered my pack, grabbed my hiking pole, and headed down the mountain with the goal of eating lunch at the helipad pu'u.

The return leg to the helipad went without a problem, but since it was still too early for lunch, I decided to continue hiking and stop at the best available spot when noontime arrived. On my way, I came upon an older couple resting along the trail. With a sandwich in one hand, the wife had in her other the Oahu trail bible (i.e. Stuart's book), and upon seeing me she asked how far it was to the helipad. I gave her an estimate of a half hour, and she thanked me.

Noontime arrived as I reached the top of hill 2.5, and I found a flat, shaded spot to sit down to eat my cottage/tuna/curry glop. Though I wasn't ravenously hungry as I often am during midday hiking lunchstops, I still managed to eat all the food I'd packed. Feeling dehydrated, I drank a liter and a half of water, all that remained in my platypus container. I probably had a half liter or so left in my algae-laced camelback (yum!),

After a fifteen-minute lunch stop, I was on my feet again to finish the hike, the day still sunny and muggy with no hint of pending rain. I hiked the remainder of the trail, still keeping a good rhythm and passing a couple local 20-somethings just makai of the picnic shelter, a group of four who just completed the climb of cardiac hill from Waimano Pool, and a group of local teenagers who'd been picking up trash along the first mile. After hiking alone for several hours, I was glad to see all these folks.

I was also glad to see my vehicle at the end of Komo Mai, for after slipping out of the dirty gaiters, socks, and shoes, I was back in my slippers and back in the vehicle for the 30-minute ride home to Kaneohe where waiting for me were a shower, a meal, and an afternoon of watching the UH Warriors win the NCAA volleyball title on TV.

Lanihuli Trail Access

2010-05-24T12:11:00.003-10:00

Just got word last week that access to the Lanihuli trail is (temporarily?) available. Here is the skinny from someone who lives near the access point:

At the top of Alewa Drive, there's a separate gate on the Kamehameha School property side adjacent to the Board of Water Supply gate. For unknown reasons, the gate has been unlocked for a couple of weeks -much easier access than jumping the fence there or down at the end of Kalikimaka Street. Could change any day but for anyone interested, easy access right now.

Lanihuli has been accessed by other start-points other than the end of Alewa Drive including

an extension of the Kamanaiki trail
Nuuanu via Moole Valley
Kalihi Valley via Decorte Park Ridge
Pu'u Pueo Park on Alewa Drive

The Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club also conducts hikes (members only) to Lanihuli, the most recent outing there being on May 24, 2009.

Photo credit: Steve Rohrmayr (aka Waianae Steve)

Pu'u Manamana

2010-05-23T08:31:00.003-10:00

One of the most dangerous trails on Oahu is Pu'u Manamana. The first time I tried it, I lost my nerve and turned back. The second time, with the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club, went better and I completed the hike. After that, I have hiked Manamana a number of times without mishap.

I have also written a detailed hike description of the Pu'u Manamana hike elsewhere. Check it out.

The photo at left provides some perspective of what this trail is like--spooky yet spectacular.

Schofield Trail -- 6/23/2002

2010-05-22T09:55:00.005-10:00

Wahiawa, the home of the Mules, red dirt, military installations, folks of
many different ethnicities, and the best banana pie on Oahu. Wahiawa,
the land of many avenues--Kilani, Walker, Glen, Makani, Muliwai, Cypress,
Neal, and Kuahiwi, to name a handful. And, of course, in wet, wild
Wahiawa, the longest of all is church-lined California Avenue, where many
of us converge one summer morning, at a time earlier than the norm, at a
gravel parking area near its end, to prepare for a day of brisk winds, of
high clouds, of labor. To the mountains we go.

A briefing from a diminutive, silver-haired dynamo of a general begins
the day and from her we hear the plans for this day and for future days.
After the talk, there is a short drive to stage cars in the rear of
Army Rangers HQ at East Range, Wahiawa, and that done, we march on, up a
dirt road, graveled and graded in recent times, thus ridding it of
truck-eating ruts, boot-sucking mudholes, skin-scratching thick grass and
other such unpleasantness. We, members of the brigade, chat as we
march--talking in ranks being allowed in this people's army--some
choosing to move and gab at double-time and some at a less hurried pace.

Soon enough, after climbing a seemingly endless series of hills, we reach
one with a brown sign with yellow letters. "Schofield-Waikane Trail" it
says.

"We are here," I say to the battalion mailman, who we also call Man
of Feld, or simply Jay.

"Thirty minutes," is the report from the mailman, the time to march the
road of hills to this point.

Ahead of us is Nathan, one of the speedy double-timers, who allows us to
catch up when he stops to lay saw to branch of a tree that has fallen
across the path. I watch for a minute as Nathan saws furiously, then I
push on past him, saying, "See you later," later being three hours and
several miles up the mountain trail.

Alone now, I decide to break ranks and go forward, shuffling across a
small plank bridge that looks slippery but is not, past brushy sections
normally kept uncluttered by Na Ala Hele weed whackers, past a junction
with a pair of green arrow signs, one pointing mauka, saying, "Summit"
and then past the remnants of a campfire, still warm to the touch but
with no firemakers seen nor heard. The mystery of the makers of the
fire, like many others encountered, is unsolved.

After the junction, the parade of hills begins, some hills steeper and
longer than others, some with better footing than others, some more brushy
than others, some plain prettier than others. Inevitably, once atop a
hill, available is a view of coming attractions, which sometimes is
another hill, or a narrow corridor between ohia and koa, or a muddy patch,
or a pitch with hard-packed clay steps. The trail is graded, but
certainly not of the gentle ilk of Waimano, nor with a long, sustained
wide shelf of Maunawili Demo, nor of the muddy wildness of the KST.
Schofield-Waikane, despite its hills, is generally pleasant. "One of the
best sections of native forest on the island," says the great John Hall.

I push on, not listening to the sounds of the mountain as I should, not
hearing the fade-in-fade-out whistling of crickets, the playful warbling
whistles of native birds I can only guess the names of, the low-rumbling
whooshing of wind on treetops.

I amble on, flopping on my face at one point because of a short lapse in
concentration, and I chastise myself for inattentiveness, wiping off mud
from knees and shins then continuing on to pass a PVC pipe in the ground,
the marker signifying where Na Ala Hele stops clearing and where the trail
becomes more rutted and rough, though not bad at all and not nearly as
overgrown as feared. The way, in fact, is quite nice, and I proceed with
good pace, driving hard to make the summit before clouds cover its crown,
robbing views from a tired hiker and the rest of the people's army.

Deep in the mountains now, I tread along a section of narrow ridgeline,
passing an area of flattened vegetation, big enough for one small tent,
then another. "The campsite of the fire makers?" I wonder. Yet another
mystery. Unsolved yet again.

As the summit nears, I grow impatient and hurry, and with the haste
comes missteps and slips. I again chastise myself. "You know better," I
scold myself. And I do know better.

After I wind around a final turn, a brisk wind slaps me in the face and
moments later, I stride onto a saddle at the summit of the Koolaus. A huge
valley--Kahana--is a couple thousand feet below, with a massive Sphynx-ish
peak, Ohulehule, nestled in its na'au. Ka makani is strong here.
Jacketless and devoid of much of the internal insulation of two years
ago, I am chilled to the core by the steady whipping wind. Hoping to
warm up, I settle down near the edge, staring out at the green and
blue vista spread from left to right. Today's midmorning feed is an
energy bar, a protein bar, and a liter of water, and after consuming the
fuel, I try to raise good friend, Tom Yoza, on the walkie-talkie. He
is at home in Kahalu'u recovering from pneumonia and my thoughts and the
thoughts of others in this people's army are with him.

Cold and with no one for company, I do not feel compelled to linger at the
summit saddle, so after just ten minutes I shoulder my pack, grab my
hiking pole and machete and head back down the mountain.

Remembering the marching orders from the diminutive general, I put machete
to use, felling uluhe and clidemia where needed. At times I use feet and
legs and hips and elemu: crushing, and stamping and stomping work just as
well. When I reach a turn in the trail, I stop laboring for a minute to
gaze down the mountain ridge, seeing all the way to wet and wild Wahiawa,
and in the more immediate distance, spotting members of the people's army
advancing toward the windy summit I've just left.

An hour after leaving the summit, I meet the first member of the people's
army, Nathan the double-timing sawman, and over the next half hour I
encounter others, some hiking in small platoons, some traveling alone,
all carrying weapons of vegetation annihilation. "How far from the top?"
they ask.

"Twenty minutes," I say.

"Are there views?"

"Yes, views," I reply.

And after the small talk, we continue on, they for the summit, and I down
the mountain toward the home of the Mules and the best pie in the land.

I meet others advancing up the trail, and these others decide enough is
enough and they say they will go no further. So we settle down in uluhe
with a view, since the time is right, for the midday meal. As I gobble
my glop, I chat with (veteran) Bill Gorst, who seems to thrive on just
nuts and fruit. Also with us for chow are June and Lynn, other
infantryfolks in this people's army.

I complain about aching legs, partly a result of the earlier flop, and
after my meal is done, I head off, alone again, destination Wahiawa. By
this point, the trail has been opened to a reasonable width by the troops
of this people's army, so my weapon is holstered and I shift into
double-time.

After a few minutes and a few hills, I meet a resting & happy group of the
people's army. They are in good spirits and talk of future campaigns in
places like Mauna Loa and Wonderland, the former where lava eats soles
off shoes and the latter where bears eat unwary hikers out of their
shoes. Or so it is said.

Soon enough, leaving the resting and happy group to themselves, I continue
Wahiawa-bound down the mountain path, alone yet again. I pass the PVC
pipe in the ground, pausing to tie a pink ribbon to it, then commence the
parade of hills, this time in reverse order, and when fatigue starts to
overcome me, I transition into a calm zen state, my face appearing as if
I'm ready for sleep, or so I've been told. Sweating but in a zen calm, I
arrive at the green arrows junction and the mysterious fire pit, then
surmount a couple more hills. Then the short bridge. Then the final climb
to the brown sign with yellow letters. And then the regraded and graveled
dirt road which if double-timed puts wild and wet Wahiawa twenty minutes
away.

So I double-time, not really for any reason but to put the dreaded road
behind me as quickly as possible, and in the predicted twenty, I am done,
having returned to the Army Rangers HQ at East Range, Wahiawa, the home of
the Mules, military installations, folks of many different ethnicities,
and the best banana pie on Oahu. Over the next hour, others from the
people's army arrive, and we greet and congratulate each other for yet
another battle waged and won.

Butch the Koolau Bear

2010-05-21T09:40:00.006-10:00

Contributed by Norm Roberts on 12/3/1997

While on the Ka'a'wa Valley Hike last August, there came a point at which the grazing cattle turned as one and stared menacingly at us as we passed nearby. One of the hikers expressed relief that there were no large, wild animals in Hawaii. What old timer could resist a straight line like that! "But there have been," I said. "There used to be a black bear that roamed both sides of the Koolaus from Maunawili to Pupukea and back to Moanalua."

My statement was greeted with expressions of polite, sheer, and stark disbelief. "Isn't that just a legend?" I was asked.

"It probably is now," I replied.

"Is he still around?" asked another hiker.

"Probably not. Bears live 20 to 25 years, and he was last seen in 1970."

"Did they ever find his body?" asked a particularly skeptical hiker.

"No," I replied, "but there are lots of reports of sightings and bear signs, most by reliable observers."

The subject dropped because by this time we were starting up "that hill."

For some time, I've been attempting to locate as much information as is easily available about Butch and his adventures. There ought to be a story there. Maybe there already is. I think I have seen a children's book about a little lost bear in Hawaii. It would probably have come out twenty or more years ago after a feature article on Butch appeared in the Advertiser.

The bear facts are as follows:

Sometime around the Ides of March and St. Patrick's day in 1956, Butch, an eighteen month old American Black Bear cub pulled up his stake and escaped from Al "Whitey" Jensen's animal farm in Heeia Kea, near Kaneohe.

Jensen boarded animals used for entertainment and other commercial purposes, and there were usually a variety of exotic (to Hawaii) trained animals at his farm. He had recently acquired two bear cubs, Butch and Sis. He and his trainer Jim Woods had been working with the cubs. Butch, apparently, learned fast. Both Jensen and Woods commented on the bear's intelligence.
The bears were secured by a chain attached to a stake and to a chain collar around their necks. These collars had an extra link, secured by a master snap link, to allow for expansion as the animals grew larger. Butch and Sis got on very well according to Trainer Jim Woods.
But something happened, and one night Butch broke loose from his stake and took off into the bush, trailing his chain from his collar.

Apparently Jensen was not terribly concerned. He expected Butch to come back to a regular food supply, female companionship, and regular grooming. No animal trailing a six foot or longer chain could get very far. The chain was bound to snag on a root or get caught in the rocks. The bear's freedom wouldn't last very long.

According to the newspaper reports, Butch did not stray very far from Jensen's farm. He came around at night looking for something to eat, cleverly eluding all the ingenious traps Jensen and Woods had set to catch him. There were signs that he had visited Sis on several occasions. The female bear evidently wasn't interested in a life in the wild because she made no attempt to escape to join Butch.

The bear had been free for six months before the story got reported in the papers. Then for the next year there appeared regular accounts of Butch's activities and his owner's attempts to recapture him. These articles are written in a whimsical style, poking good natured fun at the humans and expressing admiration for Butch.

At one time there were 150 men from Schofield, the Army's Search and Rescue Force, and two helicopters searching the area for Butch. According to the newspaper accounts M/Sgt Allen C. Wheeler and his men ran across the bear several times, but Butch always eluded them. Sgt. Wheeler said, "He's too slippery for us. There are too many places to hide. The area is thick. We could pass right by him and never know it."

At this time there were large numbers of wild dogs all over Oahu. According to Sgt Wheeler, they would hear the dogs barking, go to the location, and there would be Butch.

None of the newspaper articles make any mention of anybody seeing Butch's collar or the chain attatched to it. This fact makes me think that Butch must have got the chain caught early on, and by clawing at the snap link, eventually got it open, expanding the collar, which he then slipped out of.

During the fall of 1956 Jensen and Woods hit upon the bright idea of staking Sis out in the area where Butch was roaming. They figured Butch would come to Sis and they'd trap him. It didn't work. Butch was too intelligent to be taken in by a chained female.

About this time Woods reported that as Butch grew, the chain collar would gradually cause his death. The chain would get tight, rub the neck raw which would then get infected and the infection would kill him. Other experts thought that the tight collar would eventually strangle the bear.

By December 1956 the papers reported that Butch had not been seen for five weeks. There was speculation that he was already dead because of the tight collar. By January 1957 the search for Butch ceased. Bob Krauss reported in his column the difficulties the search teams encountered.

Quoting Sgt Wheeler, he wrote, "We have too much help. Pig hunters and their dogs just chase him into another area and we have to start all over again. It's a real jungle there, swamp, high grass, trees, bamboo, guavas." Jensen stated that volunteer civillian hikers had come out scared. "We need experienced people or someone will get lost."

A member of the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club was quoted as saying that the area was spooky and easy to get lost in. I'm not familiar with the area, but I'm not at all surprised that the bear easily eluded the searchers, many of whom were probably reluctant and others just plain ignorant.

None of the accounts reveal what the searchers expected to do when they finally cornered the bear. Jensen and Woods probably had a plan. In an interview Jensen indicated that Butch knew them and once he was cornered, they could get him.

Krauss's column was the only article that expressed a decided lack of sympathy for Butch. Wrote Krauss, who admitted he was no animal lover, "I'm wondering if it might not be time to quit chuckling over Butch as a symbol of a revolt against civilization. Maybe it would be kinder to shoot him and get it over with. Up to now chasing Butch has been described as a sort of combination Snipe hunt and a Sunday school picnic; I'm afraid it's just the opposite. The area in which he operates is jungle: guava, grass 12 feet high, lantana, swamp, nearly impenetrable bamboo forest. You're lucky to come back out at all, much less with Butch."

But before you can shoot a bear, you have to see him; and you have to see him long enough to get him in your rifle sights and pull the trigger. And you want to be sure you can get off a second shot just in case the first one doesn't get him. I don't think anybody caught more than a glimpse of Butch's back or tail as he slipped into thicker growth. In my experience bears are not seen unless they want to be seen. And if the Search and Rescue people, whose business it is to find what they go looking for, couldn't get close to him, who could?

March 9, 1957, the Advertiser reported that residents of Palolo had heard bear-like growls, and dogs gave chase to an animal that had attacked a garbage can. Mrs Jean Sasaki of a Palolo Ave. address said dogs chased the animal to the crest of the hill on the Ewa side of Palolo Valley. No one actually saw the animal, but Mrs. Sasaki said it did not sound like a dog or a pig. She reported that for a week the animal had been in the area, but this was the first time it had come so far down the valley.

On May 15, 1957, William M. Shields of a Kailua address reported that at 10 a.m. he saw Butch on the Maunawili side of the Kailua cut off road, a quarter mile on the Kailua side of the junction with Pali Road. I'm not sure just where this location might be. I didn't arrive until 1958 and didn't get around much until later. Maybe an older timer than I can tell where Shields saw Butch, perched on a bluff above Kailua cut off, watching the cars go by.
The area is described as brush land with guava trees, and Norfalk pine, not as dense as the area he had previously roamed. Evidently Butch was on the move.

Butch was supplementing his diet of guavas, roots, grubs, and whatnot with raiding the Kaneohe dump and an occasional garbage can. When interviewed about this time Owner Jensen said, "If he's been eating well, he could be 125 pounds by now. Any other bear would have been sleeping in somebody's bedroom by now, but not this one. He's shy, extremely clever, and capable of taking care of himself." He added that Butch was worth $2000 because of his training. "It's too bad," Jensen said, "He's a terrific animal. It's too bad."

There are no more newspaper reports of Butch until December 12, 1960. Marine Gunnery Sergeant Gus P. Lass, Jr. said that three weeks previously he and 40 companions saw a black bear in the Koolau mountains. "He was walking along a stream, minding his own business, and eating guavas. 500 yards away. Four feet high, walking on all fours. In good health."

It's the 500 yards bit that bothers me here. That's over a third of a mile. I know marine gunnery sergeants are pretty capable people, but to identify a bear at that distance and estimate his height with any accuracy is pushing the envelope. No mention is made of binoculars, but with the unaided eye, not even Daniel Boone nor my Uncle Charlie could make a positive identification.

Besides, I don't think there are many places where you can get that field of vision. The next day's follow up article presents some different facts. This time it's ten marines and the distance is 2000 feet. The animal is described as about the size of a large dog. Frankly, it's getting difficult to tell what the marines saw or thought they saw. Or did the reporter scramble his notes. Or did anybody care anymore about the facts?

Harry Whitten, long time Star Bulletin reporter on nature and the environment wrote up an interview with Al Jensen as a followup. Jensen said, "If he's alive and behaving himself, as he seems to have, I'd favor leaving him alone to become a legend. Won't do any harm if you leave him alone. Wild bears aren't dangerous. It's the tame ones that are dangerous. A wild bear won't come to you; he'll always try to get away. He may live to 20, 25 years if left alone."

At this time Jensen still had Sis, the female bear. He speculated that while bears wander around a lot, they are apt to stay in one area if there is food and water. Jensen said he wouldn't try to catch Butch unless there were more sightings to pinpoint the area. "If we couldn't catch him in '56, it won't be any easier now."

And so Butch became a legend in his own time. There are no more news stories about him for ten years, but during this period sightings were frequently reported to the police and the newspapers. A hunter reported finding bear tracks in Waimalu Valley which he photographed. A hiker reported seeing a bear above Aiea. This same hiker reported seeing Butch on the Pupukea Summit trail.

Honolulu Zoo Director Paul Breeze [1960] speculated that Butch was probably dead, if not from the collar, then probably pig hunters had dispatched and eaten him and kept quiet about it. "I like the idea of a bear in the woods." Breeze said in an interview. "In fact, I tell that to people. But it really isn't very likely any more."

And then in November, 1970, James Malcolm, from Schofield, while hiking the Waimano Trail with the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club, said he saw a bear about thirty feet down the trail from him. Malcolm came from New Hampshire and could be expected to know a bear when he saw one. He said the bear would have been five and a half feet tall if he had stood up. They looked at each other briefly whereupon the bear went up the mountain, as they are supposed to do, according to the nursery song. Malcolm hurried along the trail to catch up with the other hikers.

When I read the account in the Star Bulletin that evening, I announced to my boys (aged ten and eight at that time) that come Saturday, we would go looking for bear tracks. Neither seemed very excited about it. [When I asked number one son the other day if he remembered the hunt, he said, "No." So much for corroboration, but I remember quite distinctly.]

We started out about seven in the morning and hiked the Waimano Trail from the entrance. At the point described by Malcolm in the newspaper article I found where something had gone up the hill, but there was nothing that I could call a bear track in evidence. Nor did I really expect to find any. We hiked on to the dam where we had a swim, cooked our lunch, relaxed, had another swim, and then hiked out.

After a period of heavy rain the following spring [1971], we hiked to the dam one Saturday morning. It took us about three hours to get there. In those days before the dam washed out, there was a little sand beach at the far end of the pond, and it was here on that day, I found what I am pretty certain were bear tracks.

Beyond the sand beach in the campsite area I discovered a rotting log that had been torn apart. Some distance beyond was a kukui tree that had some pretty convincing claw marks. While I admit that an enterprising Boy Scout could have set the scene with a plaster cast and wire "claws," I like to think that Butch had passed that way. My sons were more interested in swimming than bear track hunting so instead of looking for more tracks, we hiked back home.
The last newspaper article about Butch appeared in the Advertiser on July 2, 1975. It is essentially a summary article based on previously published articles. There had been no reports of Butch since Malcolm's in 1970. It was about ninteen and a half years since Butch had escaped. He had been eighteen months old at the time. If he was still alive, he was a lonely old bear. In all probability he had been long dead.

Zoo Director Jack Throp [1975] speculated that a number of reported sightings had probably been wild pigs. If you only heard something moving through the brush or merely caught a glimpse of something black disappearing into a thicket, you couldn't really be sure what you'd seen or heard. And even a mongooses can make a lot of noise when they don't think there's anything around to bother them.

This account is mostly based on old newspaper reports which give the outline of the story with the names and dates. There are probably more details to be found in police blotters and officer's reports. There are most likely permit applications on file wherever the official city/county records are kept, and the state archives would have some information.

It would be nice to interview people who lived in Heeia Kea at the time, the people who engaged in the searches, and people who have claimed to have sighted Butch over the years. There must be a huge fund of oral tradition here if you could find people who would talk. There's the real problem; most people don't talk. They don't want the noteriety; they don't want to be contradicted; they no like make "A."

The psychologists tell us we see what we want to see. A bear in the Koolaus? Nonsense! It's just a legend, right?

Yeah, right.

Bear Claw Ridge -- 4/1/2001

2010-05-20T09:28:00.003-10:00

[photo credit -- Jason Sunada]

I dislike hiking in streambeds and along narrow ridges with rotten rock. As things turned out, I did both today probably because I'm a hardheaded son of a gun. Or maybe I did it because it was April Fool's Day, and I'm the king of fools. Today, the TM gang was slated to work on the Kipapa Trail in cooperation with the feds, but that outing was cancelled at the 11th hour. So, in place of Kipapa, Mabel requested that the crew hike/work on the Pu'u o Kona route for an upcoming club hike.

So a bunch of us showed up at the end of Kalaau Place in Kuliouou Valley this morning to do our thing. I'd hiked the o Kona route last Saturday and reported to Mabel that not much work was needed on it. Given that, the day was designated more one for hiking than for labor. No complaints from me in that regard.

The assembled throng dispersed hither and yon. Some folks went up the direct route to Kuliouou Ridge. Some went up the middle ridge via the end of Papahehi Place. I went with a group of folks up the valley trail that led to the waterfall trail that led up to Kuliouou West by an airplane wreck near the summit. The valley/waterfall group had a good workout.

We all made it up to Kuliouou West in good stead, after a romp thru a dry stream (which, as mentioned earlier, I dislike) and a huff-n-puffer of a climb. Our group summited, rested awhile, then began clearing the trail along the crest toward Pu'u o Kona (not much work to be done).

Once at o Kona (elev 2200), we took a look at Bear Claw Ridge, the massive spur that extends down to Waimanalo. Many of us have looked at this ridge from the summit and from Waimanalo, wondering if we'd muster the nerve to ever attempt it. Well today a few of mustered up some muster.

After some rationalizing and feet dragging, we took the plunge. I went down a side spur and then bashed and slashed left into a wide, heavily vegetated ravine that was a mess of 'ie'ie and strangling plants. Ed later followed my basic line of torture. Meanwhile, Jason damned the torpedos and went down the direct ridge, and Peter edged after him. My way was safer but required more energy expenditure. Jason's way was direct but more exposed. It was pick your poison.

I eventually made my way thru the vegetation stranglehold, while being urged on and peppered with advice via walkie-talkie from comrades watching my progress up on the summit ridge. After hearing from Jason that the main ridge was "okay" (a relative term in the HTMC), I clawed my way very steeply thru 'ie'ie and buffalo grass to regain the main ridge where Jason had stopped to wait for me.

At this point, Peter had decided to head back up and Ed was still battling the tangling flora (Ed later gained the main ridge and then headed back to the summit). So Jason and I slowly and carefully continued makai down the Bear Claw. We moved gingerly down some steep, crumbly slopes that obviously were negotiable and edged to the right of a couple of pinnacle rock formations. While edging, I had to move extra carefully because of my wide and heavy bulk ("walk lightly" was my mantra).

Many of the rocks along the ridge, some boulder-sized, were rotten and ready to dislodge under the weight or tug of an unwary hiker. Fortunately, Jason and I are experienced enough to know what and how much to grab, lean on, and put weight on to avoid a big plunge. We passed to the left of a large ironwood tree and the ridge narrowed right after it. We crept along the thin, rocky ridge and then jumped down on the right. In the process, I dislodged a piece of the mountain. Looking at the ridge I'd destroyed, Jason said, "I hope we'll be able to climb back up." I hoped so, too.

Not far after that, we arrived at a place where the main ridge narrowed and veered to the left and a broader side spur split off down to the right, with a broad, vegetated ravine between the two. The main ridge dropped to a vertical rockface of 8 to 10 feet. On the other hand, the right spur could be descended without aids. While I watched from above, Jason descended the right spur ten feet then did a left slabbing contour to get over to the main ridge, bypassing the 8-10 foot rockface.

While I continued to watch (I'd decided not to go any further), Jason went down the main ridge a bit more then came back, saying he felt a little nervous. In a way, it was good to hear him say this because I was plenty nervous. Nervousness loves company, it seems.

Jason, having decided to descend the main ridge no further, reslabbed back to the righthand side spur, descended that for a bit, then came back up to where I was. From this position, we were at the ~1800 ft level (altimeter watch check) and about 100 meters mauka of the ironwood grove that marks the point where the two claws of the ridge split steeply downward to the Waimanalo foothills below. It was around noon and time for lunch, but we both agreed not to eat until we had returned to the summit since somehow food would probably be unenjoyable with thoughts in our heads of the dicey climb still looming.

Moreover, clouds started massing along the summit ridge, an indicator that rain might soon follow. Precipitation plus steep eroded slopes equal bad news, so even moreso were we motivated to return to the summit without delay. After discussing crossing over the ravine to our left to ascend a spur on that side, we decided to stick with the main ridge, which we carefully made our way up. When we reached the narrow section by the ironwood tree, Jason slabbed left past the tree while I used its branches like a ladder to regain the ridgetop (thank heaven for strong branches), bypassing the narrow neck we'd hopped down (and I damaged) earlier.

We then ascended the steep, eroded hill we'd come down earlier, did a twister contortionist routine thru a thicket of christmas berry (I did a bit of chopping there), then climbed steeply and carefully up a narrow hogback to the summit. Safety. Yes. Breathing proverbial sighs of relief, we turned south to hike along the summit to the clearing at the top of the state trail, pausing on occasion to look back at profiles of Bear Claw.

We ate lunch at the top of the state trail with Peter and Ed, who waited for us there. After lunch, we headed down the state trail, admiring the new stairs we'd worked on last Saturday, and eventually arrived back on Kalaau Place.

Notes: We found no ribbons or old cuts on Bear Claw today. It seems that no one has done this recently. We also left no ribbons. On my way home, I drove the Waimanalo backroads to take a good look at Bear Claw from below. Both claws appear do-able. In fact, we know that Al Miller, John Hall, Fred Durst, and others have done Bear Claw. John, who was in attendance today, told me he last did it about 30 years ago but can't recall if he went up on the left or right. He did remember that the climb required no cables/ropes and that access in Waimanalo wasn't problem. In typical HTM fashion, he described the climb as "not too bad." Miller, who has done it more recently, says the right claw is THE WAY to go and that cables are required in several spots. Will it be right or left? Hmmm...

A week ago Monday, Ed and Roger Breton completed the section between the Moanalua Saddle and Keahiakahoe. This was a daring, dangerous undertaking since it involved an ascent of a very narrow ridgeline much of it over rotten rock. Nice job to those two.

Kawiwi Waianae Kai -- 11/18/2000

2010-05-19T09:13:00.005-10:00

I wrote this post on 18 Nov

2000 17:06:46

(Photo by Peter Clines taken

in 2010)

Five club members--Richard Fernandez, Roger Breton, Justin Ohara, Dave Waller, and Peter Kempf--joined me today for the 11th Super Hike conducted by the Hawaiian Trail and Mountain Club. While Super Hike X (Wahiawa Nui) covered the most distance (~17-18 miles), today's outing covered the least--maybe six or seven altogether. However, portions of today's hike were more hazardous than any part of the previous ten, and I can happily report that all of us made it up and around our course without casualty. I also will report that I will end my coordinatorship of HTMC super hikes after Number XX, which will be after the first quarter of 2003. I'm sure a willing and able member of the club will carry forth thereafter since there is no lack of gung-ho types in HTMC. New blood will be a good thing.

We started hiking at the end of Waianae Valley Road by the hunters' check-in at 8:25. Around the halfway point up the single-lane Board of Water Supply Road, we headed left on a trail through haole koa. This section was generally overgrown, and the waist-high grass we waded through was wet from overnight rain. But we hiked in good spirits and commented how the cool conditions were welcome, particularly in upper Waianae Valley which often is muggy and hot.

After about twenty minutes of grass-wading, we began climbing steeply and emerged on open ridge. At that point we enjoyed a nice view of the spread of the valley and also of the massive bulk of Kaala, which was cloaked in clouds. I was concerned about rain since wet conditions on parts of the ridge we had to traverse would make the going extremely hazardous. Fortunately, when the rains did hit later in the day, we had completed the most dangerous segments.

In my pre-hike briefing, I mentioned the hazard of falling rocks raining down on trailing hikers. And in many ways the small size of our group today was beneficial since more folks would have multiplied the chances of rock falls. As it was with our small contingent, rocks became dislodged inadvertantly several times, but thanks to attentiveness and good communication ("Watch out, rock!" or "I'm climbing directly below you"), we completed the steep climb to Kawiwi without mishap.

From cars to summit, the group completed the Kawiwi ascent in under two hours. However, I didn't let them rest at the peak more than ten minutes because I wanted to complete the dangerous dike crossing to No-Name Peak before rain hit. This crossing, as others who have done it will likely attest, is much more hazardous than the worst sections of Manamana or Kalena. And that's given dry conditions. In rainy weather, certain parts can become life-threatening, which was the reason for my eagerness to complete the crossing today before the weather turned bad, a very likely possibility based on the gray masses of clouds swirling around the summit of Kaala.

Making our way carefully, we hiked across, up, over, around, and through rocks, trees, notches, and the like. At times, we did balancing acts on razor thin ridges. At times, we contoured to the left or right of the ridge crest to avoid cliffy sections or steep drops. At times, we slid down chutes in the rocks. At times we climbed up and over cracks and rocky ledges. It was challenging but we all made it across okay.

When we reached the ironwood grove on the ridge, I announced that the worst was behind us. "The rest of the way to No-Name Peak will be like a sidewalk," I said. Well, it wasn't quite sidewalk-like and we still had to do some hand-over-hand climbing, prompting Roger at several points to ask, "So where's the sidewalk?"

We completed the climb to No-Name Peak at 11:40 and decided to eat lunch and rest there instead of at Three Poles, our previously-stated goal for our noon meal. It was at No-Name Peak that we all decided to pass on a climb to Kaala today since doing so would involve a steep, slick ascent to a summit with no views (and views are something we look forward to).

I should also mention that the hike was advertised in the club schedule as including a descent to somewhere on Oahu's North Shore, but I decided to nix that option to simplify pre-hike transportation logistics.

We had an enjoyable lunch and afterward descended the brushy trail along the ridge to the junction with the Waianae Kai Trail. On the way, I briefly investigated the trail that descends into Makaha Valley (this trail is on the topo map). I hope to head down this at some future date to explore upper Makaha, a goldmine of native Hawaiian plants, according to Ken Suzuki, a man who knows his plants.

It was at the junction that we decided to forgo continuing to Three Poles and instead head down the makai-ward Waianae Kai Trail. By this time, a gentle drizzle had commenced. The descent went well, however, despite the wet conditions.

Once we reached the bottom of our descent ridge, we opted to follow a rough trail in a narrow ravine until we reached a junction marked by a jack fruit tree. I had never taken this route before and enjoyed hiking along new territory. Initially, there were no ribbons in the ravine, but the further down we went, ribbons began appearing in greater frequency.

Arriving at the jack fruit tree, we paused to examine it and to take a rest. Justin told us the fruits on the tree were still immature (the fruits at this stage resemble breadfruit), and that fully grown jack fruit are much larger than the ones we saw today.

For more about jack fruit, see

http://www.cuddalore.com/panruti/jackfruit.htm

From the jack fruit tree, we were just a five-minute hike from the end of the Board of Water Supply Road. When we arrived at the road, we met a (bird) hunter there. He asked if we'd seen any game birds. Nope, but we heard chukars in the forest below while up on the ridge, we said. Where had we come from? he inquired. He looked slightly stunned when we pointed out our route. Plenty of goats up there, we said. Listening to our remark, he didn't seem vaguely interested in ungulates.

Saying farewell to the hunter, we six headed down the road and in about twenty minutes we were back at our cars by the hunter check-in. Justin, as he regularly does, offered up posthike refreshments, which we enjoyed and thanked him for. After not too long, we boarded our vehicles and headed homeward.

Other kine stuff:

--Richard snapped many photos with his digital camera. I hope he will post these on the web for us to see. He has a nice website with pics posted at

http://www.lookwhatshere.com/rfgws/index_feature_home.htm

--Some of the cheapest gas on Oahu can be had at a couple of gas stations in Nanakuli ($1.76 per gallon for reg unleaded). Not one to pass up a good deal, I topped off my tank on the way home.

--Roger reported that he did a backpack trip on the KST a few weeks ago. He covered the section from Pupukea to Poamoho in a day! Because of bad weather, he aborted his plan to continue to Kipapa and points beyond and instead came out via Poamoho.

Piliwale Ridge --9/16/2000 --Jason Sunada

2010-05-18T09:05:00.009-10:00

The following post was written by Jason Sunada on Thurs, 21 Sep 2000. The photo at left is the worst section of Piliwale Ridge.Here is Jason's post:

Last Friday afternoon (9/15/00) was so nice that I started thinking I should hike somewhere on Saturday before the HTM Clubhouse Appreciation Night pizza dinner. Briefly considered beating Dayle and Co. (didn't know he had e-mailed his intentions that afternoon) to Lulumahu Ridge and its K1 summit (the taller of the Konahuanui twin peaks and formerly known as K2). He had mentioned exploring this ridge after his upper Nuuanu to Pali Lookout bushwhack the previous week. But that would likely be too long and rugged. And the parking's not too safe. Then mulled over various stream/waterfall hikes. However, with my birthday approaching (it came and went) I wanted to try something more. Piliwale Ridge came to mind. I did it twice before in the mid to late 80's and in the early 90's (should have kept a hike log). A few years ago I joined Stuart Ball to check out this ridge to the old HTM Club lunch spot (the grassy shelf). The trail above the Maunawili Contour was very overgrown and scratchy. When we topped out on the grassy shelf I was feeling uneasy with the big drop offs and no plants nearby for security. Across the dip in the ridge (which I considered the most dangerous part) the rock looked more eroded [due to (recent?) use]. It "didn't look too good" but the cable was still there (seen the second but not the first time).

Saturday morning was too cloudy deep in the valley for a stream hike so I settled on Piliwale Ridge -- if not to complete it, at least to check it out. Nothing was prepped the night before so I lost time getting ready, debating whether to bring the Camelbak. On the drive over the sky transitioned from sunny in town to very cloudy on the windward side causing some concern. Noticed Tom Yoza's yellow Scout parked at the hairpin turn and wondered what he was up to: mountain biking, more trailclearing, searching for missing hikers again? Because of high potential for break-ins why would he want to park there?

Parked on Lopaka Way in a beautiful Maunawili neighborhood and started up the water tank road at 9:05 am. The trail above the water tank was clear and appeared well used. Reached the junction with the Maunawili Contour in less than 20 minutes. Checked that no one was around then continued up the ridge. Within seconds noticed sunglasses (dark blue frame) laying on the trail. Further ahead the trail was very clear with nothing scratchy and also appeared well used. The sun shined more often so I sometimes waited for clouds to cover it before breaking out in the open. Looked down at the hairpin turn for Tom's vehicle but couldn't see it. Either trees blocked it or he had finished his bike ride already and left. I later learned they (his bike gang?) rendezvoused there then drove near the middle part of the Maunawili Contour to clear the trail.

Got to the grassy shelf before the dip feeling fine. Wondered what lunatic would leap across to the rock below. Noticed the cable across the dip. The ridge looked "not too bad." Dropped down on the left to the dip then climbed up with the cable nearby in case I slipped. For some reason (no recent erosion, more grass/greenery?) I didn't realize this was the most dangerous part and continued on. While on a narrow area I noticed my left trailshoe laces undone. Dohhh. Made a mental note to double check laces before dicey spots. Saw another cable (part of two cables in series). Contoured left around it then got back on the ridgeline above it. Saturday night I mentioned two areas with cables (three cables total). Now I'm not sure. May have been three areas (four cables total). Definitely remember seeing a black one (first cable by dip?) and a gray one.

Anyway, above the cables I reached a wider rocky face where I couldn't go straight up. At first glance the right side looked too sheer so I spent 15 minutes contouring a couple steps left then trying unsuccessfully to step and grab my way up, pondering between attempts. Gave up, backtracked to the ridgeline and sat down, relieved but disappointed to be turning back. Ate three pretzels and some li hing guava, enjoyed the great view and wondered if I could come down safely (safety was on my mind throughout this hike). While taking my partially frozen iced tea from my bag something fell out. Looked down and saw my umbrella, fortunately just a few feet below on the ridgeline. Figured I'd pick it up on the way down after checking the other side of the rocky face. Found a path so I retrieved my umbrella then continued up. All along I kept wondering why the trail seemed so much harder than the time I previously checked it out with Stuart. Maybe I had already passed the bad spots. Topped out at the next point (or the following one) and could see I was home free. "Safer," wider ridge with plenty of plants to grab. Think was around 11:30 am. Still looked like a long way to go with the summit clouded in. The trail had been nice and dry but above about 2600 ft the ground became moister with some stepping and sliding. It again appeared well used with some significant clearings (Pat and Laredo's top down exploration?) making the going easier than previous times.

Recognized ohia, maile, i'e i'e, kahili ginger (!, many in bloom with yellow flowers), lapalapa, uli grass, other shorter/thinner blade grasses, uluhe, clidemia, another pest plant with prominently-veined leaves bigger and smoother than clidemia leaves. Also strawberry guava and fiddlewood on the lower ridge. Unfortunately, didn't spend any time looking off trail for lobelias, etc. (not that I would know). Reached the summit trail at 11:55 am (still clouded in). Plucked a little purple flower and stuck it in some moss at chest level to mark the junction and continued left trying not to step in the putrid, watery mud.

Summitted K1 at 12:05 pm at the grassy lunch spot of the June 25 trailclearing (I was in the group that didn't go down Manoa Middle). Recalled taking one hour from the grassy shelf the first time up and being real surprised because Ski Pole had said it takes 4 hours (maybe he was mistaken or setting ropes). Reset altimeter watch (was reading couple hundred feet low). Thought I heard faint voices so I walked toward the K2 side where the summit narrows again. Realized was the buzz of bees or something whizzing overhead from the windward side. On the way up I had been debating which way to go down (originally planned to be home by 2 pm). K2-Aihualama and get picked up at Paradise Park (2-1/2 hrs). K2-Nuuanu-Nuuanu Pali Drive-Pali Hwy-Pali Lookout-Old Pali-Road-Maunawili Contour-Lower Piliwale Ridge to water tank (5-1/2 to 6 hrs? Much less for Pat). Decided the same way down would be fastest. Also remembered previously having concerns returning the same way but being pleasantly surprised. Called home to leave a message that I got to the top and would return the same way but would need at least 2 hrs back to the car.

Started back at 12:10 pm. Reached the Piliwale junction in 5 minutes. Saw my feel good flower in the moss. Then realized any hiker would naturally continue down Piliwale Ridge because the trail to Pali Lookout was obscure. (I once mistakenly went part way down Piliwale Ridge in a whiteout when intending to check the ridge to the Lookout.) The clouds opened some and I could see buses and cars at the Lookout. Continued quickly down. Didn't tie ribbons coming up so I sometimes had to stop and search where I came up or just went down a different route (Pat and Laredo's?). Got tangled periodically in maile, i'e i'e runners, and a vine with large, light green leaves. Passed the various patches of Kahili Ginger where I stopped to take altimeter readings. They're growing between 300-500 feet below the summit of K1. Emptied my bladder (Camelbak, that is). Glad I brought it -- great on narrow ridges. With a slight left thigh muscle ache (due to dehydration?) and shoulder ache (slipped and held on) I stopped to drink, refill the Camelbak (only half-liter water and some iced tea left), and take two ibuprofen caplets. Also felt a little weak and ate half an energy bar, enjoying sweeping views with Olomana straight ahead. Continuing down, I saw an old, L-shaped backpack frame below the highest cable on the right. Thought of Greg Kingsley's famous orange backpack. Only the aluminum frame lay there. No pack, no straps, no waistbelt. Hadn't noticed it on the way up.

Continued down, unintentionally dislodging a couple rocks. Followed the ridgeline along the cable previously bypassed on the way up. Got down to the dip and back up to the grassy shelf. Relaxed and breathed a big sigh of relief! Continuing to the Maunawili Contour seemed to take a long time. The sunglasses were still there. Passed a jogger heading up the concrete water tank road. Didn't see him heading back down so I assumed he went up to the Maunawili Contour. Changed out of my dirty pants and gaiters and got back to my car at 2:10 pm (3 hrs up, 2 hrs down). A very satisfying day in the mountains.

[Note: Sorry for the poor trail details which I attribute to my impaired memory (just ain't there sometimes) and safety anxieties.]

[Warning Note: Mid-ridge is steep and dangerous with loose rocks and big drop offs. Do not rely on existing cables.

Konahuanui via Lulumahu -- 9/16/2000

2010-05-17T08:55:00.005-10:00

This hike was done back in 2000, specifically 9/16/2000. It involves an ascent to the highest peak in the Koolau Range via a route not recently attempted by anyone we could discern. Later, the HTMC used this route for a club hike. After that, I am not sure if anyone else has been up to Konahuanui this way. The photo at left is taken from the traditional route to Konahuanui. The ridge in mid-photo is the ridge we climbed. Anyway, here is the write-up.

Yesterday, five of us set out to try the ridge on the north side of Lulumahu Valley in upper Nuuanu. We knew the ridge extended up to Konahuanui 1 (elev. 3,150 ft) but my thought was that we wouldn't make a try for it yesterday, mostly because the ridge was an unknown commodity; thus it might have thick vegetation and difficult-to-surmount obstacles, etc. In fact, the original plan for the day was to hike on the other side of the valley up the waterfall route of Mo'ole Stream. Hearing a suggestion from Rich (Jacobson) to try Lulumahu Ridge and seeing what a gung-ho crew had assembled (Henry Davis, Wing Ng, and Steve Poor were also on hand), I figured, why not give it a shot.

The start point was along Pali Highway by the hunters' check-in where Nuuanu Pali Drive rejoins the highway. I pulled up at a few minutes past eight and the other four, plus Tom Yoza, were waiting (Tom was headed to the Maunawili Demo Trail to do maintenance work and had stopped by to find out what we were going to do). After readying ourselves, our group of five headed into the woods via a trail on the makai side of an old road and gate that led into the former watershed of the Board of Water Supply.

The old road narrowed to a trail eventually. And that trail led to Lulumahu Stream and a trail that leads into Lulumahu Valley up to Lulumahu Falls. The ridge we climbed is on the left side of the valley. We found no discernible human-created trail up the ridge and initially just worked our way up through a forest of non-native vegetation (ink berry?) on pig trails or via the line of least resistance. Steve manned the ramrod and would occasionally yell out, "Perfect!" when he found an open area, a good pig trail, or just a good line to follow. The going in these early stages was muddy but not overly steep.

After maybe 30 minutes up the ridge, we climbed above treeline. Well below us to the left, we could see people fishing along the shore of the Nuuanu Reservoir. Steve continued to be the lead hiker, a fact I mention because when blazing a new ridge, the person in front plays a big role in establishing a swath and taking the brunt of the assault from the vegetation. Rich, at one point, asked if we'd be able to look down to our right to see Lulumahu Falls. "Maybe," I told him (we never did see the falls).

After climbing steeply through uluhe, we reached a section of the ridge that leveled off and narrowed considerably. It was at this point that Steve yielded the front position and Henry took the lead. We carefully negotiated the narrow section and then were confronted with a steep, near vertical spot. We discussed whether a rope was needed there but found that we could climb it with the assist of some feebly-rooted small trees and then a solidly-anchored ohia. Henry, Rich, and I made it up the near-vertical spot; meanwhile, Steve decided he wanted to go no further and Wing was lower down the ridge and also would go no further than this spot.

So this meant that it would be just three pressing on to find out what was ahead. After the steep section we'd just completed, the ridge was quite nice. The vegetation stayed relatively low and there were good views of upper Nuuanu to our left and upper Lulumahu and the Konahuanui trail ridge to our right. Turning to look makai, we had a nice sweep of Honolulu proper.

Around 11:30, with some big pu'us to climb looming ahead, we sat down to eat lunch and think about what we'd do. Our original plan was to hike upridge and, at a point where the ridge dropped to a significant saddle, cross upper Lulumahu to the Konahuanui Trail, which we'd use as a return route. At the point we sat down to eat and rest, we'd already passed the saddle in our ridge (there is a large, lone ironwood on the descent of the saddle). From our lunch spot, we could see that the descent into Lulumahu would be daunting (steep with thick vegetation) and the climb up to the Konahuanui trail appeared just as daunting, even worse. What's more, right around that same time, the summit ridge had cleared itself of clouds and we could see that the top was makeable from where we had lunch. Reckoning that the crossover to the Konahuanui ridge trail via upper Lulumahu would kick our tails, we figured why not try for the summit and have our tails kicked in attempting that instead?

So the crossover via upper Lulumahu was scratched and a summit attempt it would be. Feeling more energetic after lunch, Rich, Henry, and I began the ascent for what we hoped would take us to the summit of Konahuanui. Henry continued as lead man and did a nice job finding the best line up the mountain. The ridge remained generally open and the vegetation low, a fact likely attributed to the wind that constantly flows down the mountainside from the top. At one point, we looked down on the Pali Lookout, a circumstance Rich found remarkable.

All three of us were wearing altimeter watches and we did regular checks to determine how much more vertical gain remained to hit the target elevation of 3,150 feet. At about the 2700-2800 foot level, we arrived at a place I named Slip and Swear Hill. The reference stems from the form our actions took as we climbed: plenty of slipping & sliding on loosely compacted slopes and lots of cursing as we struggled to keep from losing vertical ground we expended much energy to gain.

At one point, we were confronted with a near vertical section that we got around with a left to right contour. After the contour, more climbing, sliding and cursing finally brought us to the crest of Slip and Swear Hill, where we plopped down for a much needed break. I put ribbons on a lapalapa tree to mark the spot.

From that vantage point, we could see the main summit ridge about 100 meters due east. Clouds had inundated the crest and our position by then. Thought disappointed about the lack of a view, we were happy that the toughest climb was behind us. All that remained was a fairly level 10-15 minute jaunt to the clearing that marks the summit of Konahuanui 1. With no views to enjoy and having rested just a few minutes prior, we did not stop at the clearing but instead began the southbound crossover to Konahuanui 2.

We needed about half an hour for the muddy, slippery crossover. During those 30 minutes, we had a view of the windward side for maybe three when there was a break in the clouds. We took another break at the K2 clearing, and I drank the last of my water. I calculated that about two more hours of hiking remained to get back to my car, and that estimate turned out to be fairly accurate. Figuring that I could survive a couple hours of mostly downhill hiking without H20, I set off down the Konahuanui trail ahead of my two hiking partners, who I wouldn't see for the rest of the afternoon.

The Konahuanui trail was minimally muddy but generally okay and I made it down to the Nuuanu Lookout without incident. At the lookout, I looked for signs of a trail that would take me down into the forest by the Nuuanu Reservoir. Seeing no clear signs, I decided to head down the Pauoa Flats Trail and then make the right turn on the Nuuanu Trail which would take me down to Nuuanu Pali Drive and my car.

I saw no one on Pauoa Flats but did meet six hikers on the Nuuanu Trail (three were ascending and three descending). My descent of the Nuuanu Trail went well, and I took a couple minutes to wash the mud from my shoes, gaiters, and legs in Nuuanu Stream.

The walk up to Pali Highway via Nuuanu Pali Drive took around ten minutes, and once back at my vehicle I jumped in and headed for home, glad for the good workout and the good results of the hike.

Wailupe Kului Ridge -- 6/12/2002

2010-05-16T10:07:00.001-10:00

A Flag for Kaimi

I have four nieces and two nephews, the oldest being twenty and the youngest five. None have shown indications of becoming hikers, but there is plenty of time to develop that interest, if they so choose. What's clear to them is that their uncle has an affinity for the mountains, or, as one of them has put it, "for getting sweaty, stinky, and dirty."

Today, I hiked a loop in Wailupe Valley and the most significant thing about the outing was that I was able to fulfill a request made by the youngest of the bunch, my nephew, Nestor Kaimi Na'auao Fernandez, 6. Our family calls him Ka'imi, which translates to "The Discoverer." Well, the Discoverer is the only child of my sister Mona and her husband Nes, and during May the three of them flew in from San Francisco, where they live, for a two-week visit here.

I went hiking several times during their stay, and as I left home to drive to a trailhead, Kaimi invariably would ask what I was going to do and where I was going. Invariably, I'd answer, "hiking" and "to the top of a mountain," which netted an "Okay" and a wave from the young one.

The morning that Kaimi, my sister, and her husband were to head back to San Fran, my young nephew asked me to do something for him. "I want you to put a flag on top of the mountain," he said. I'm not sure where he got that idea, perhaps from a movie he saw or from an episode of National Geographic Explorer on TV. But I said I'd do it, and today I lived up to my promise.

I met some friends at the mauka terminus of Hao Street in Wailupe Valley at 9:00 a.m. and soon thereafter we began hiking along the trail at street's end. After ten minutes or so, we reached a junction by a boulder, "a very significant rock" said Wing Ng, one of the friends on hand. We followed a trail that headed to the right at the junction, and a few minutes later we were crossing a dry stream and had arrived at yet another junction. The friends continued straight ahead at the junction, heading for the crest of Kului Ridge via a route Wing calls 1-2-3 (why he calls it that, I don't know). I, with my flag-placing mission in mind, headed left alone to climb the HTMC route we call the Middle Ridge or Wailupe Middle.

The club has just cleared and hiked the Middle Ridge route in the past month, so it is wide open. Additionally, a period of relatively rainless weather in that period has made for a dry trail underfoot. The climb of the Middle Ridge is never overly steep, with no significant downs, and I was feeling in good shape, so I moved along steadily.

At the summit, I stopped to rest, drink some water, and eat a protein bar. The weather was clear and beautiful, and the views of Waimanalo and the ocean beyond it were clear and beautiful as well.

After ten minutes of resting, I arose and headed south toward Koko Head on the rough trail along the summit. Though overgrown, the trail, with one significant down and one significant up, was easy to follow, and, like the climb of Wailupe Middle, mudfree. In fifteen minutes, I found myself atop a pu'u that marks the summit of Kului Ridge and without delay I began down the ridge trail. After 50 to
60 meters, right as the ridge trail was about to descend quite steeply, I stopped, dropped my pack, and fished out the object of my mission. The object, of course, was the flag I'd promised to place at the top of the mountain. And that I did, affixing the pennant to a tree branch in plain view of any hiker passing by. I'll admit that the flag really isn't a flag and it isn't overly large. But it's a reasonable facsimile of a
flag, and those who want to see it will have to find their way to Kului Ridge to see what I mean.

Of course, the flag might be gone by then, having been blown away by the wind or removed by someone thinking it's an eyesore or piece of trash.

However, on this day, it's a flag, placed there at the request of a part-Hawaiian, part Filipino six-year-old, who may not even remember the request nor care that the request has now been fulfilled nor care that it was affixed atop a ridge in the Koolaus by his uncle, who for reasons of his own understanding, saluted it, smiled, and then continued on his way to trail's end, ready for another hike, with mission or without, whatever and whenever that might be.

Aloha,

--dkt

Ahiki Makai -- 8/19/2000

2010-05-16T08:50:00.002-10:00


Date: Sun, 20 Aug 2000 18:29:18 -1000
From: Dayle K. Turner (turner@hawaii.edu)
Subject: Ahiki Makai

I enjoy exploring. Ditto for my hiking colleagues Wing Ng and Steve Poor. I'm not overly motivated and conscientious about proposing new exploratory adventures, but Steve is always brimming with ideas. Yesterday, he suggested we poke around the makai side of Mount Olomana to see if we could find a way up to Peak 2, also known as Ahiki (Peak 3 is Pakui). And lo and behold, we found a way although we stopped a couple hundred vertical feet of the goal when we dared not climb any further without aids.

We met at 8:45 on old Kalanianaole Road, headed up the route we recently opened to Olomana Makai, and then veered left down a path we call "The Three Little Pigs Trail." No, the three pigs aren't Steve, Wing, and I. The name refers to a sign we found on the ridge. It says, as you've likely guessed, "Three Little Pigs." Who put it there and what three pigs are being referred to is a mystery. But it seems that the sign leaver also hacked out a trail up to the ridge from the Waimanalo side of the Olomana Makai Ridge.

So we three followed this trail down and it led us to the bottom of a ravine. We crossed a small dry streambed, then climbed up a spur and then cross-sloped through a helluva gauntlet of bushes, vines, and bothersome flora. As you might expect, this interlude wasn't pleasant.

What was pleasant was that our cross-sloping ordeal led us to (surprise) a wide motorcycle trail at the edge of the spur. We followed the spur and trail mauka toward Ahiki (Peak 2), hoping it would go way, way up. It went up a good ways but then terminated at the 800-foot level (altimeter watch check) where the ridge began to narrow and steepen.

So we pushed and chopped our way up the spur, taking the path of least effort. After about an hour, we eventually made our way to the base of a broad rock band just above the 1200 foot level (the summit of Ahiki is 1480). Steve and I ate lunch there (for me, my usual fare of Vienna sausage and peanuts). Meanwhile, Wing was further down the spur, continuing to climb.

After lunch, Steve and I poked around 10 to 20 feet above our lunch spot and decided not to climb any further. The route might have been climbable but neither of us was motivated to give it go. Maybe another time. And maybe best done from the top down with some strong, long cables. Or maybe we'll leave well enough alone and call it unclimbable. Or more simply, what's the point?

On our way down, we met Wing, his trusty lopper in hand. He continued on up to eat lunch and check out where we'd been. Steve and I continued down the spur, clearing away branches and brush as we did. After reaching the motorcycle trail, we headed down it, passing junked cars, trash, and the like. Steve cursed the inconsiderate louts who dumped stuff in the area. We eventually emerged on Old Kalanianaole Road on the makai side of which was a white fence with blue trim. The significant thing about this fence is that there is no house behind it. Maybe someday there'll be house, but as of Saturday, nada.

To get back to where I'd parked my car, Steve and I walked back on the road for .6 miles (I drove back to the spot afterward and checked the distance with my odometer). On the way, we passed two horses in a corral. A fruit-bearing mango tree grew next to the corral and my question about whether horses eat mangos was answered when Steve picked up a fallen fruit from the ground, placed it on a fencepost, and we watched one of the horses stride over and eat it whole. Wow.

After the .6 mile walk, we drove to a nearby 7-11 on Kailua Road for cold drinks and a snack and when we returned to check on Wing, we found him 100 yards away from his car. My motivation for returning to look for Wing was not only to make sure he was okay, but to find out if he'd found my hat which I'd lost somewhere along the way, most likely during the bash-and-crash cross-sloping segment. No dice.

So that'll mean a return to the area for more exploring and also to search for my lost hat. I'll offer a reward of a can of Vienna sausage to anyone who finds my hat and returns it to me. It's a wide-brimmed boony type made of supplex material. Color is greenish-gray. Columbia brand. Mahalo.

Mano La Uka Ridge -- 4/22/2000

2010-05-15T08:28:00.002-10:00

This hike took place on 4/22/2000.

Today, Steve Poor and I reached the floor of Halawa Valley from Aiea Ridge by way of a route we christened "The Ridge Upland of the Sharkfin," or, as indicated in the subject line of this post, Mano La Uka. Wing, the main proponent of negotiating this ridge from top to bottom (he's tried several times), couldn't join us because of the workload demands of law school, where he's scheduled to graduate next December.

So it was just Mr. Poor and I this morning. We started at the upper parking lot of Keaiwa State Park at just past 8, noting that ours were the first vehicles to arrive there today. It was slightly gusty and drizzly when we set off up the Loop trail, but the weather improved over the next couple hours to the point where the day turned out to be a fine one for hiking.

As we hiked leisurely up the Loop Trail, we chatted about a variety of topics, mostly hike-related, of course. One thing we determined is that next Saturday (4/29), we'll hike up Aiea Ridge and cross over on the summit to get to Halawa Ridge. This outing will be a preparatory hike for the 5/6 HTMC hike which I'll coordinate. Anyone interested in joining us can email me for details.

In about half an hour, we reached the junction on the Loop where the Ridge trail commences. At that point, a trail climbs off to the right to reach a little clearing. From that clearing, a fairly distinct trail heads down a spur toward Halawa Valley. Attempting to work his way to the bottom, Wing has gone down this ridge four times, the most recent on February 6 of this year.

The ridge is a beautiful one, with an array of native flora populating it. Among the natives we saw were alahe'e, ho'awa, moa, lama, koa, maile, ohia, and some good-sized sandalwood. Of course, if I were more flora-adept, I'm sure I could name many more. The ground underfoot was never muddy, and we were always under a canopy of vegetation, making for cool, pleasant hiking. About halfway down our ridge, we could see on the spur to our right a distinct outcropping that looked like the fin of a shark. Steve expressed interest in trying to climb up that ridge once we had found our way down the one we were on. Hearing that, I reminded him that finding our way down might not be easy and that we'd better wait until we'd succeeded before making plans.

In the interim, Steve insisted that we come up with a name for the ridge we were descending. His suggestion was "Alahe'e Ridge" since that particular plant seemed to flourish more than any other along the trail. I suggested "The Ridge Mauka of Sharkfin," to which Steve took a liking. Of course, we had to come up with a Hawaiian translation. We both had a grasp of enough Hawaiian vocabulary to know that "mano" = "shark" and "uka" = "upland of". We didn't know the translation for "fin," but I was able to look it up in a Hawaiian dictionary at home to determine that "fin" = "la" (with a macron [kahakou] over the 'a'), hence the translation "Mano La Uka." Hawaiian language experts, please feel free to correct me.

Just as Wing reported, the ridge gets messed up with hau at the 700-foot level. However, based on reconnaissance from daily commutes on H3 through Halawa while driving to and from work, I noted that a way to avoid the mass of hau might be to veer left through a swath of ti. So when we reached the hau mess that Wing began pounding through on 2/6, we opted to veer off the top of the spur to head left through ti.

As we did, we encountered some older orange ribbons, which boosted our optimism that we'd find a manageable route down. Steve, meanwhile, put up orange ribbons of our own, for future reference in case others plan to descend/ascend the route. The machete that had been tucked away in my pack was now unsheathed and whacking away at lantana, guava, and ti. We made steady progress on our leftward descent. The most difficult part of the descent, which turned out to be not that difficult at all, was sliding down a short, steep slope under a small tangle of hau.

That done, we contoured left across the slope to avoid a huge hau tangle. Continuing to contour cross-slope for maybe 30-40 meters, we reached a distinct pig trail heading downward. We followed the pua'a path, clearing overhanging branches as we proceeded. The old orange ribbons were non-existent at this point; however, we were confident of success nonetheless since we were already below the level of the H-3 viaduct and we appeared to have avoided the hau.

Continuing to push downslope through ti, guava, and lantana, Steve and I came upon some very fresh pig scat, with little flies buzzing about the pile. "How fresh do you think it is?" asked Steve. I said I wasn't sure, but I indicated I'd stop short of picking it up with my hands to assess its temperature and content, something a pig hunter told me he'd do.

Not far past the dung, we saw that we were adjacent to a bridge on the H3 access road. After hopping over a wire fence, we climbed up a grassy embankment and hopped onto the access road on the mauka end of Bridge 13 (apparently, all the bridges along the access road are numbered). Steve and I congratulated ourselves for completing the descent without mishap, and we talked about using Mano La Uka Ridge as part of a club hike in the future. We'll see what the club's schedule committee thinks of the idea.

Instead of heading back up the ridge, we walked makai on the access road, intending to use the spur up to Aiea Ridge that Jay Feldman, Bill Gorst, Wing, and I had come down in January from the lower part of the Aiea Loop. On the way down the access road, we skirted around a locked gate and almost immediately came upon a Hawaiian cultural site in the forest on the left. Steve and I spent some time exploring the site, making sure not to disturb anything. The area has rock walls and terraces, and we speculated that this was the women's heiau that was much talked about when the H3 controversy was at its peak.

Finished with our exploration, we continued down the access road until reaching the ribboned point where we left the road to begin the climb up to Aiea Ridge. All the ribbons from the last time I was there were still up, and the trail up the spur is still easily passable and is ready for the 5/6 hike. Taking our time, Steve and I needed about 30 minutes to reach the Loop Trail from Halawa Valley. Once on the loop, we followed it back to the park grounds and then to our cars.

Waikane Ka'aumakua -- 3/18/2001

2010-05-14T14:44:00.008-10:00

Paying us will probably be the worst thing for the HTMC TM crew. If we ever were paid, then the amount of work we'd do, plus the quality of that work, would drop off drastically. I say this because as volunteers, with the only compensation being a couple of cold soft drinks and a piece of cheese cake (and occasionally hot dogs or meatballs) we do a helluva lot of work on Sundays. And if do say so myself, pretty damn bang-up work, too. Put a crew of paid workers up in the mountains to do what we do, and, yes, they'd get the job done. But likely in 3 to 4x the amount of time. And better? Probably not. But I'm biased.

Today, we worked on the Waikane Trail, which has traditionally been tough to clear because of numerous fallen trees, fast regrowth of trailside flora, and ongoing trail slippage. In short, we have to bust tail to clear this trail. But we inevitably do a good job. And today we did a helluva job. We started at 8, commencing with a hard hour of hiking just to get to the point where we began working. The last group was out at 5:30. That's 9.5 hours, with not much dillydallying.

While we traditionally use just machetes, sickles, and loppers to do battle, today the heavy artillery also came out, namely chain saws (3), hedge trimmers (2), picks, and shovels (several). The end result was a trail that in many sections is now as clear and well-graded as the Aiea Loop or the Maunawili Demo. Coordinated by Pat, the hike (members only) on April 1 will start at Kam Hwy and Waikane Valley Road. There's an hour walk on the dirt road in the valley to a water flume of the Waiahole Ditch (a good place to rinse/cool off on the way back). Next is a ~30 minute segment on the ditch trail to the Waikane saddle and the start of the Waikane Trail. Then add an hour to hour and a half climb to the junction with the KST (some magnificent sections of trail carved into the steep, vertical pali). Finally, finish with a 20-30 minute jaunt on the KST and a final scramble to Pu'u Kaaumakua, the piko of the Koolaus, where on a clear day you can see forever. I hope 100 people turn out for Pat's hike.

More than a dozen of us reached Kaaumakua today on one of the clearest days I've experienced in the mountains. Looking north, visible was the KST pointing toward Poamoho. Two large, recent landslides have raked over the summit trail just south of Pu'u Pauao. We're eager to find out what damage, if any, to trail occurred. To the south, about a mile and a half away as the apapane bird flies, was the summit of Kipapa Ridge. To leeward were the large, remote drainages of upper Waiawa where, in the land where no man roams, pigs rule. To windward, we looked down on the pointed pinnacle of Pu'u Ohulehule and its nearby cousin, Mo'o Kapu o Haloa, home of Kanehoalani.

The way up was the way down but the outbound leg went quicker than inbound, thanks to a beautifully cleared trail. While hiking down the mountain and admiring the work we'd done, I thought that if I were paid to do this, I'd stop trail clearing, for the work would then be a job. And I have one of those already. Sundays and trail clearing are a means to escape the world of my job, at least for the 6 to 8 hours I'm out in the hills. Somehow, getting paid would kill the escape.

Waimano Waiau campout --3/30/2001

2010-05-14T14:41:00.005-10:00

I'm on vacation this week (Spring Recess). Ditto for my friend Bill Melemai. We hadn't hiked together for a bunch of months, so Bill suggested an overnight backpack. His first choice was Haleakala and his
second was Poamoho-Schofield. However, circumstances indicated we best not attempt these. The third option was Waimano-Waiau, and we agreed that this would work.

We started at 12:45 on Tuesday afternoon at the Waimano trailhead. Bill's wife, Donna, dropped us off and she'd pick us up at the end of Kaahumanu Street at the end of our trip sometime on Wed afternoon. I was carrying a fairly light load--no more than 15 lbs. In comparison, Bill's pack was about 35. During our trip, he heard me extol the virtues of lightweight backpacking so much that he's convinced he should make modifications to what gear he'll use in the future.

Our plan for Day 1 was to pack in to the five-mile marker campsite along Waimano. From there, we'd make camp then fetch water via the trail down to the stream just before the 5.5 marker. Our hike in was slow and leisurely, and we took a long break at the picnic shelter just past the 2.5 marker. We arrived at five-mile camp at 4:30 and set up our tents quickly as dark clouds swept down toward us from up-valley. I was using a Walrus Micro Swift bivy and Bill a Peak 1 Cobra. These held up well though mine lacked roominess.

We obtained a couple of gallons of H20 from the stream via a trail just makai of marker 5.5. Back at camp, I added iodine to the water and later filtered a liter at a time with my SafeWater Anywhere squeeze bottle. After adding some Crystal Light iced tea mix, we had plenty of drinkable fluid for hydration for the night and next day. Since we were just overnighting, we decided to go the cookless route. For dinner, I ate a can of vienna sausage, some peanuts, and a protein drink (2 scoops of whey with some Waimano Stream Water Iced Tea). Bill ate an MRE entree with a Tiger's bar for dessert.

After dinner, we talked story in the clearing next to our tents under a splotchy night sky that hid all but a handful of stars. Rain chased us into our tents around nine, and after gabbing for a few minutes, I was off into z-land. The night turned a bit chilly and I could have slept more restfully if I had packed a sleep cover and a long-sleeve top. I decided not to bring the former and forgot to pack the latter. That'll teach me. Camping, as I always discover, is a never-ending learning experience.

The patter of rain on our tents greeted us at 6 the next morning. By 6:30, the light shower had passed and we were able to emerge from our tents to check out what kind of day we'd have. Though the sky was gray up toward the summit, the makai skyline was brighter, giving us hope we'd have a decent day to hike.

And we did. We were packed up and on our way up the trail to the summit at 7:30. The earlier rain made the trail a bit muddy, but on the whole it wasn't bad. Just like the day before, we hiked leisurely, arriving at the summit at 9:00. The summit crest was clear and a brisk breeze swirled up the pali from Waihee Valley below us. I pointed out to Bill the wrong-way ridge in the crossover section toward Manana and, looking in the opposite direction, the broad flat-topped summit plateau of Waimalu middle ridge. I also made an entry in a logbook someone had left in a bottle at the summit. Perusing other entries in the book, I spotted a handful of familiar names.

Bill had never made a summit crossing in this section of the Koolaus, so he was a bit unsure of what to expect. As I've done with others in the past, I rehashed the maxim of summit hiking: If you have to fall, fall to the right (the left, in this case, being the sheer windward pali). Bill laughed nervously at my words.

The crossover to Waiau is brief, only taking about fifteen minutes, but it's one of the windier summit stretches. Upon arriving at the heavily ribboned Waiau terminus junction, I stopped to plant the stalk of a red ti plant I'd obtained on a lower section of Waimano. Hopefully, the plant will grow and flourish there and be a marker of this location for future generations of hikers.

Bill and I made our way down Waiau Ridge and really enjoyed the upper section of the trail, which is still wide open from the TM the club did back in mid-October. The footing was also excellent, with no mud. About midway down, the trail became brushier, and I recognized this as the section where the TM crew started pushing thru due to fatigue and time limitations. Nonetheless, Bill and I had no problem hiking with our bulky packs.

We ate lunch at the junction with Brandon Stone's trail down to the old cabin by Waimano Stream. There's not much of a trail to speak of but I recognized the telltale double ribbons marking the spot. Plus, a visual reckoning told me the spur heading down to the stream had to be the one.

After lunch, we continued down the ridge, arriving at the Big Dip. I pointed out Wing's rescue spot and also the point where I had stopped to yell out for him a couple hours before he summoned Fire Rescue to pluck him out. We passed the junction with the trail down into Waimalu Valley and then began the notorious rollercoaster middle section of Waiau. This wasn't fun, especially since the heat of the day intensified, but taking one hill at a time, we progressed toward our final destination.

Further down, we met a lone male dayhiking up from Kaahumanu. The guy told Bill that the rest of the way was all downhill, but I told Bill that this statement was false. In fact, we still had several big hills to climb. "This is one helluva downhill," I yelled to Bill as we huffed our way up every ascent we encountered on the way out.

I found the new Halapepe Nui trail that connects Waiau to Waimano and hiked it for a short stretch. The club will conduct its maiden hike on this route on April 28. Check it out, HTMC members.

The final section of Waiau follows a jeep road, which leads to a watertank and then a paved road down to the end of Kaahumanu Street. Prior to reaching Kaahumanu, Bill called Donna via cell phone and she said she'd drive up to pick us up. Along this final stretch, I spotted a black rabbit, likely a pet someone let go, dashing off into the brush.

Donna was delayed by afternoon traffic, so Bill and I walked down Kaahumanu. Next to the curb about a quarter-mile down, we found a turtle crawling along the road. Bill took a liking to it and decided he wanted to take it home as a pet. So he took a towel out of his pack, wet it down, wrapped the turtle in it, and stuffed the towel-covered turtle in his pack.

So earlier, I'd spotted a rabbit and now Bill had a turtle. Maybe we'd interrupted a race between the tortoise and the hare? Ok, sorry, bad joke. :-)

To my surprise, a security guard was on duty at the shack at the start of the gated community of upper Kaahumanu. I approached the shack slowly, thinking the guard might read me the riot act for hiking out of the area past his post. But he was a nice guy and said hikers are allowed access in vehicles past the security post as long as they leave their name and the guard records the license number of the car. Good deal.

Bill and I hiked down to Waiau District Park and kicked back in the shade of a large tree as near us Little Leaguers practiced fielding grounders and teenaged soccer players honed their kicking skills in a massive green expanse. A few minutes later, Donna arrived and presented us with super-sized soft drinks and hot dogs. Without pause, Bill and I scarfed these down. Thank you, Donna!

So ended our overnight trip. In all, we covered about 15 miles and enjoyed decent weather. Though this route can be done as a dayhike, using it as an overnight backpack trip was a pleasant and interesting variation that others might want to try.

Mo'ole Lanihuli Kekoalele Big Loop

2010-05-14T14:35:00.006-10:00

Note: This hike was done on 3/7/2001

Today, Rich Jacobson, Peter Kempf, Jason Sunada, Ed Gilman, and I covered the route to be hiked for this Saturday's HTMC outing which I'll coordinate. I hiked part of the route this past Saturday but felt a need to cover the whole thing prior to make sure ribbons were up at key points along the way. And it was good that we hiked the whole deal because there were places folks might go astray without today's ribbons and trail bashing. Amen.

We left a car (Ed's) at the park on Puiwa Road which is just mauka of Queen Emma Summer Palace and then drove up to our hike's starting point at the upper end of Nuuanu Pali Drive. We started hiking at 8:30 and were joined by a Waianae bow hunter, who was unfamiliar with the area and wanted to tag along. On the way to the ditch tunnel into Mo'ole Valley, Jason said he and the hunter spotted three baby pigs. This apparently was a good sign for the hunter, who did not follow us through the tunnel, ankle-deep in water for most of its ~100 meters.

Once in Mo'ole, we headed upstream, following the route used in past forays there. Because of rain the night before, we faced more slippery conditions than I had had on Saturday. At a place where there was a rockslide, we put up an orange rope for security.

We made it past the seven falls of the valley without incident and then commenced the steep climb on the left to Alewa Ridge. Halfway up the spur from the valley, we stopped to check out the view of Honolulu urbandom, framed by the spreading funnel of the walls of Mo'ole. While we were on the ascent, Peter's cell phone chimed, and he stopped for a minute to chat with whoever had called. After the call was completed, I jokingly needled him for the idle chitchat that distracted us from the business at hand. With the views and phone calls taken in, we crested out on Alewa Ridge at 10:30, two hours after setting out.

From the ridgetop junction, four of us made the muddy ~20-minute climb to Pu'u Lanihuli. I noted heavy pig damage to the trail about half the way to the top. The pigs, it seems, do not fancy climbing all the way to Lanihuli. I'm not sure why since no physical obstacles prevent them from doing so. Maybe they're not into the views.

With the summit acquired, we ate lunch there (peanuts and vienna sausage for me), ogling occasional vistas of the windward side when clouds allowed them. Just like Saturday, I spotted my house in Kaneohe, which garnered only lukewarm interest by my colleagues. Jason and I talked about an upcoming HTMC TM outing of Kawaewae Ridge (aka Dusty's Ridge), one of the many features we could see from our summit vantage point.

When a drizzle shower arrived, we quickly packed up and headed down the slippery trail. In 20 minutes we had rejoined our non-summiting colleague and then commenced down Alewa Ridge. En route to the top of the Kapalama Loop, we passed several noteworthy places, including a junction where Rich and Henry had climbed up from Mo'ole on a past hike, a narrow dike section (I call this "Straddle Ridge"), a lunchspot used on HTMC hikes of the Kapalama Loop, and the junction with Brandon Stone's spur trail down to Mo'ole.

At the top of Kapalama Loop (an old wooden sign is affixed there), we veered left to head down its Nuuanu side. We passed a bamboo grove on the right, contoured up and around a small pu'u, traversed a fairly level section through uluhe, then climbed to the top of Napu'umaia, a large hill. Near the highest point of Napu'umaia, we veered left on an overgrown trail to descend Kekoalele Ridge, which bottoms out adjacent to the Oahu Country Club. To channel hikers from Saturday's group down Kekoalele, Jason and I stacked a blockade of dead uluhe across the loop
trail. I also affixed several ribbons there.

The initial descent of Kekoalele was messy (with a capital M), and we had to wade around in uluhe at times to find the correct line. At one point, Ed said, "I feel like I'm about to plunge into a deep hole." A couple minutes later--bingo--a-plunging Ed went, landing him in a hole obscured by thick uluhe (fortunately he was unhurt). After navigating and marking a line through the Mess, we veered right and down into a dark guava hollow then climbed gradually to go left around an eroded dike. After that, most of the "trail" down the ridge was generally obvious, with occasional old ribbons still hanging to help. I hung more ribbons, mostly for assurance value and also to direct folks to the best lines. About an hour down the
ridge, Jason and I stopped at a section of rocky dikes with a nice view of the neighborhood where Ralph Valentino (HTMC good-guy) lives.

Like the top, the bottom of the ridge was a bloody mess. Since the last time I'd been there (a year ago?), someone had cut down large trees with a chainsaw. The fallen timber wasn't moved and effectively obscured what was already a fairly obscure trail. With ample searching, hacking, and ribbon tying, we forged a hikeable route through the obscurity to emerge next to the maintenance area of the Oahu Country Club. Mission accomplished.

We were back at Ed's car at the park on Puiwa Road by 2:45 and by 3:00 I was in my Cherokee on the way home to Kaneohe. Much thanks to Jason, Ed, Rich, and Peter for hiking with me today. While we didn't do much clearing, the stamping down of the trail we did will be helpful to club hikers on Saturday.

Mo'ole Valley Loop

2010-05-14T14:31:00.004-10:00

I did this in March 2001 in preparation for an HTMC hike I was to lead in the coming month

I parked by the hunter check-in where Nuuanu Pali Drive meets Pali Highway.
I shouldered my pack, grabbed my hiking stick, and dashed across Pali
Highway to the start of the trail (hole in the fence).

A few steps into the forest, I noticed 8 to 10 young black pigs rooting
near a hau thicket about 20 yards away. I stood silently, watching them
for a minute, and then the wind shifted, and, boom, one of them caught my
scent (ripe from the earlier hike, no doubt). That started na pua'a on a
fleeing bolt through the forest away from me--a pig stampede, as it
were. After the keiki pua'a dispersed into their muddy realm, I scanned
the area for mama pua'a, who might likely be pissed off that I had
frightened her youngens. Seeing nada mama, I continued on.

Moving quickly as I am wont to do, I noticed ribbons on the ground. So
instead of tying new ones, I picked up the ripped down ones and re-tied
them to mark the way, which is jumbled and confusing. Luckily, I've hiked
in this area several times, so I knew the general direction to head if I
lost the trail. After a few minutes, the path descended a slope to cross
a tiny stream (Makuku) then climbed a narrow gully to emerge on a trail
along the Makuku Ditch. I continued to pick up and re-tie discarded
ribbons and noticed that someone had come through and sawed fallen trees
since my last hike in the area.

The trail followed the ditch for maybe a half-mile and ended at a
tunnel. The ditch fronting the tunnel often is muddy (usually very
muddy), but today it was bone dry. I poked my head into the tunnel and
saw that the ground in it too was as dry as my skin on a windy day. Going
thru the 100-yard tunnel is the quickest way to reach Hillebrand Glen (aka
Mo'ole Valley), but I was without flashlight and not in the mood to duck
thru the 6-foot-high tunnel in darkness. So I made the short climb up and
over the ridge the tunnel cuts thru and descended via a contour trail to
the tunnel's farside in the Glen.

From there, I followed a rough trail that headed up a trickling Mo'ole
Stream. In a minute or two, I came upon a small waterfall and climbed up
a slope on the right to get by it. I continued upstream for a bit more
and then again climbed up on the right to begin a bypass of a much larger
waterfall ahead. There are many ribbons from past visits on the contour
bypass, so the way is easy to follow. At one point, I stopped to do some
grading on a section that had been swept away by a rockslide.

Eventually, the high waterfall was passed and I descended back to the
stream, noting multiple pig scat and areas pigs have damaged. I continued
upstream, hiking mostly on the banks and crossing the stream
occasionally. I then came upon another waterfall that I bypassed on the
left. Upstream progression continued and I climbed to the right of yet
another waterfall with the help of a long rope. Later, I bypassed another
very high waterfall via a steep climb on the right. On a past hike, we
put a cable in one section of the bypass.

After descending back to the stream and heading up it a bit, I arrived at
the point on the left where I could climb a steep trail up to Alewa
Ridge. Pat and I pounded our way up this route a couple of years ago and
though hikers have gone up this since then, the numbers have been
relatively low. Add the passing of time and a good deal of rain, and what
you have is a ridge that needs to be pounded open again. I did what I
could on the way up, knowing there was only so much a single machete can
do.

I reached the crest of severely windswept Alewa Ridge and paused a minute
to drink some water (I had eaten lunch on the drive over from Pearl City
so I wasn't hungry--hunger would come later). I then dropped my pack and
then headed to the summit of Lanihuli via an overgrown trail. I crested
out in 20 minutes on a cloudfree summit. The wind was still blasting, and
I was without jacket, so I quickly scanned civilization below to find my
house in Kaneohe, and having found it, or what my mind told me was it, I
departed and began descending.

In twenty minutes, I had returned to where I'd left my pack. I gave
thought to returning the way I'd came, but opted to continue makai on
Alewa Ridge and descend back to lower Moole via Brandon Stone's spur ridge
trail. That meant traversing the once-vaunted straddle ridge (now it
doesn't seem bad at all), passing the junction with Kamanaiki Ridge (I'd
hiked up to this junction with Wing a few years ago), and then the
arriving at the junction with Brandon's trail. This was also overgrown
but became more manageable lower down. Once at the base of the spur
ridge, I was able to weave my way through a jumble of pig and hunter
trails to arrive back at the tunnel at the end of Makuku Ditch. From
there, it was a routine hike back to Pali Highway and my car at the end of
Nuuanu Pali Drive. After a shower at home, I was ravenous, and I prepared
myself a sumptuous meal, the kind that would make Wing pine for his
favorite beef broccoli noodles.

Godek-Jaskulski Loop -- 1/7/2001

2010-05-14T14:22:00.003-10:00

To OHE this past April, Stuart Ball posted a tribute to the late Chuck
Godek. In his write-up, Stuart mentioned a "hair-raising loop" using the
left (north) ridge of Moanalua Valley. The loop was pioneered by Godek
and his hiking contemporary Erwin "Ski Poles" Jaskulski. Intrigued about
the route, I made a mental note to give it a go at some point. Today, a
handful of us--after a bunch of sweating, scrambling, clawing, slipping,
and swearing-- completed the challenging circuit.

My companions today, for better or worse, were Dusty Klein, Jay
Feldman, Ed Gilman, Jim Wilburn, and Jason Sunada. Four of the five who'd
join me showed up at Moanalua Valley Park at 8 a.m. for HTMC trail
maintenance of the Moanalua Valley Trail and had no idea what the day
really had in store for them. The day before, Jason and I had talked
about the possibility of trying the loop. After checking out the route on
a topo map, I was encouraged that it was makeable in a reasonable amount
of time and suffering. So when I showed up at the park this a.m., I told
Jason of my plan. He was in. Dusty, Jay, Ed, and young Jim also
expressed interest, so our small hui was set.

The six of us pushed ahead of the main pack of a couple dozen HTM trail
clearers during the 45-minute walk up the valley dirt road. After a short
regrouping at the junction where the valley trail begins, our sixsome set
off for the unknown. Just past the gaging station, we crossed the stream
and almost immediately veered left through a small hau tangle to climb up
the start of a little spur ridge.

We followed old ribbons that led us into a ravine between two significant
spurs. We knew we'd eventually have to climb one of the two spurs, but
which one? Continuing up the ravine, we found that the ribbons petered
out. Based on what I remembered from the topo map, I suggested we try to
gain the crest of the spur on the right. And we were able to do that
after some steep climbing, scrambling, and pushing and clawing through
uluhe.

Once atop the spur, we saw signs, mostly old cuts of branches, that this
was the correct route to the top. Mabel, Ralph, Deetsie, and John had
explored this ridge back in April and they'd done a bit of the clearing
work we saw today. Today, Mabel, Deetsie, Charlotte (and
others?) followed us up the spur to do more clearing work to help keep the
trail open.

Nearby pig rootings and a metal pipe in the ground at a forested clearing
atop the ridge marked the topping out point of the spur. After an hour of
climbing, we had acquired the crest of the north ridge of Moanalua Valley
aka Red Hill ridge. We took a few minutes to rest there and
then commenced pushing our way up the ridge toward the summit.

Earlier, I'd suggested that the best way to proceed when bashing up a
trail-less ridge was to have each of us rotate systematically into the
lead position since the first man had to expend the most energy, bear
the brunt of the assault from the ferns and assorted vegetation, and, if
unrelieved, collapse from exhaustion. I estimated that five to ten
minutes at the front would suffice and then the leader would stop to let
the others pass, with hiker 2 assuming the lead position, akin to what
bicycle racers do in the Tour de France when drafting. The process would
repeat itself every five to ten minutes.

Well, the "system" didn't work out exactly the way I suggested, but five
of our group of six did man the front slot at various points. Being tired
and abused by flora (among other things) sometimes brings out the asshole
in me, and there were times today, especially when I took
long pulls at the front, when I became snippy and a basically a
dictatorial ass, resorting to sarcasm, taunts, and bad jokes to persuade
some of my colleagues to shoulder more of the burden. Sorry, guys, for
not being diplomatic.

The climb to the summit was a typical Koolau-type rollercoaster. A
few times we saw pig damage and followed rough pig trails, but most of
the time the ridge was trackless. The worst sections were ones with
overhead uluhe, not many but enough to make me cranky. We never had to
climb super steep slopes but one of the steeper ones had an old rope (left
by Chuck or Ski Poles?) that surprised us since we saw no other signs (old
ribbons, trash, or cut branches) that anyone has hiked this ridge in
recent years.

I believed we could summit by 12:00, but at 11:45, with a mid-sized
and a large puu ahead of us to scale, it became clear a noon kaukau
session overlooking Haiku Valley wasn't on our dance card. So we stopped
at a shady place on the ridge to eat lunch. The thinking was the
rest and refueling would give us the energy we'd need to push through to
the top. Jason and I debated how long we'd need to summit from our lunch
spot. I said 30 minutes while Jason said an hour. The 30 vs 60 estimate
became a running joke/taunt between us during and after lunch.

It turns out we needed more than 30 minutes to negotiate the mid-sized and
then the large puu. But our work was far from done. We then had to veer
off to the right to descend into a significant saddle (never a happy
time when making for a summit) and then endure a final uluhe-bashing climb
to gain the summit ridge and our long-awaited view of Haiku Valley
(another metal pipe marks the summit junction with the ridge we
climbed). Time needed from lunchspot: 75 minutes. Total
time needed to reach the summit metal pipe from the downridge metal pipe
clearing: 2.5 hours. 2.5 pipe to pipe.

I should mention that it was a great day for hanging out at the beach
(sunny with very few clouds) but not the best for hiking in the mountains
I prefer high overcast). It became especially warm in the late morning
and early afternoon. And warm means sweating, general discomfort, and a
need for greater water consumption.

There was some discussion about hiking north along the summit crest to
exit via the Halawa trail. But we decided to proceed southbound to hike
out the Moanalua trail (which the crew had cleared today) to complete the
Godek/Jaskulski loop. Actually, the decision for the latter was agreed
upon mostly because it would take less time and energy (in theory).

From the metal pipe at the summit, we followed the ridgeline south,
passing three (or two?) badly eroded leeward sections where Henry Davis
had left ropes. The drops to windward were extremely precipitous. After
the narrow, level eroded section, we then had to down-climb steeply, and
butt-sliding became a popular ridge-descending technique. This steep
section wasn't as bad as I anticipated but care had to be taken to
avoid falls to windward or leeward.

Enroute, we made radio contact with Tom Yoza, who was clearing along the
ridge from the Moanalua saddle lunchspot northward over toward where we
were. I, for one, was glad for Tom's work, which made the going easier
for us after a long, tough day.

Much thanks go to other folks on the TM outing who left water and a can
of Dr Pepper for us. The extra fluids were helpful since most of us had
run low or bottomed out our supplies (I began the day with four liters and
finished all but half a liter before I reached the saddle lunchspot).

From the saddle, we hiked the well-cleared valley trail to the dirt
road (great work in the hau sections) and were back at the park in about
two hours. We were glad participants in the posthike/clearing gathering at
the neighborhood park. Parched and tired, I must have downed a half dozen
diet Pepsis.

We also heard from Pat Rorie via walkie-talkie that he and Roger Breton
were coming down from the summit saddle to the park after crossing
along the summit from points north. Pat and/or his buddy
Kapa Reero will hopefully post something about that undertaking.

Hope everyone had a pleasant weekend, hiking or otherwise.

Silver Piliwale's 2nd trans-Koolau trek

2010-05-14T14:19:00.009-10:00

This is the transcript of an article titled "Hiking the Koolau Summit" by Harry Whittenfrom the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, 08/27/79.
Silver Piliwale (pictured at left, photo courtesy of Nathan Yuen) has done it again.
And this time he was 78 years old.
Six years ago he celebrated his 72nd birthday anniversary by hiking alone, from Pupukea, along the summit of the Koolau Mountain Range, and down into Moanalua Valley. The trip took five days.
This month, this time with a companion, Jo Anne Browne, he tried to repeat the feat.
But he and Jo Anne were slowed by rough going and late afternoon fogs, took a day longer than they had planned, and left the summit at the Aiea Ridge Trail instead of going on to where they could descend into Moanalua Valley.
This could hardly be cutting the hike short, but continuing on to Moanalua would have added another day to the trip. As it was, some of their relatives and friends who knew about the hike started to worry and began a search.
A helicopter flew over the mountains for a while looking for them and was seen by them, but the helicopter crewman did not see them. So they came out under their own power, which they planned to do anyway.
Another reason for coming out of the mountains at Aiea was that they were getting mighty thirsty. They had hoped to replenish their water supply by catching rain, but rains, which ordinarily bless the Koolau summit, failed this time.
They were without water their last day. The previous evening they had eaten dehydrated gravy to slake some of their thirst. Except for steak the first night, they subsisted on dehydrated food, plus some berries.
The adventure began when Silver began talking about his hike of six years ago and said he'd like to do it again. Jo Anne listened to him and said, "Okay, lets do it."
She had been hiking for 10 years and two years ago was on a trip to Brazil with members of her family. They hired an Indian guide for a trip into the Amazon jungle.
But she says now she didn't know what she was getting into when she agreed to accompany Silver along the Koolau summit.
Hiking the Summit Trail, 20 miles from the beginning at Pupukea to the junction with the Kipapa Trail, wasn't too bad. It was very muddy, but some hikers ahead of them had done some trail clearing.
The pair stayed the first night at the Kahuku shelter, the second night at the Poamoho shelter, and replenished their water supply at both places.
But the route is rough and dangerous after the Kipapa junction; there is no trail. There are knife-edged ridges. In heavy wind, its necessary to balance oneself against it.
There are ins and outs, as well as continual ups and downs which add considerably to the mileage that might be shown on a map.
"But mileage is not the factor; terrain is," says Lorin Gill, a veteran hiker who in years past has also traversed the length of the Koolau Range.
From the Kipapa to Aiea junctions, its necessary at times to hang out over the pali edge. Wind and rain add to the hazards.
Towards evening fog often rolls in. On their trip Silver and Jo Anne on occasion stopped their day's hike early because the fog made further advance uncertain.
They picked grassy spots, found occasionally on the route, to camp. One night feathers got lose from Silver's ancient sleeping bag and were blown into their morning cups of tea.
Jo Anne carried a nose flute which she played after the evening meal. She liked its haunting sound, she said, although Silver indicated he wasn't enthusiastic about it.
They saw a few wild pigs.
Jo Anne was pleased to report she knew enough about plants to choose the right ones for handholds. Nor did she suffer any blisters from the Japanese tabi reef slippers she wore.
Piliwale and Browne were both exhausted when they descended the Aiea Ridge Trail to the Keaiwa Heiau State Park, where they met some Hawaiian women.
The women asked where they had come from and were much amused when told the pair had hiked from Pupukea.
But if you ask Piliwale if he'd be willing to hike the Koolau summit again, he'd say yes.
Both Silver and Jo Anne, however, say the hike should not be taken by anyone who is not in strong condition and experienced in the hazards of Hawaii's mountains.
Gill points out that the worst mistake some hikers, usually brash but inexperienced, have made is to try a descent to the Windward Side.
Some have had to be rescued by firemen with the helicopter; some have never been found.
Piliwale sometimes goes over to the Big Island or Maui to walk great distances on roads or highways. One of his daughters, Varoa Tiki, the entertainer, now lives at Honokahua, West Maui. When Silver goes to see her, he walks to her place from the airport.
Piliwale is also a good man with a machete. This summer he has put in a week's volunteer work on the Nahuina and Moleka trials, Tantalus, which the Sierra Club's Hawaii Chapter is building.
Last summer he put in many days of work on the 'Aihualama trail the club built.

The rugged mountain man, "100 percent Hawaiian", has in his life been a musician, seaman and heavy crane operator, among other jobs.

Moanalua to Halawa -- 1/21/2001

2010-05-14T14:13:00.005-10:00

What a difference a swath makes. That's a thought that popped into my
head a bunch of times today while I hiked. Joining me was fellow
swath-buckler Ed Gilman, who needs no introduction since he's been
mentioned on the list quite a bit.

The swath we were glad to have in front of us was on the west (aka
north) ridge of Moanalua Valley. A small group of us did this ridge a
couple weeks ago, and in my write-up of that hike I belabored the point
that we had a pretty tough go of it because no trail existed up there.

But there is a trail on Moanalua west now as a result of the push-through
we did two weeks ago and some chopping Ed and I did today. Mabel tells me
she will lobby the HTMC schedule committee to include a hike on this
route, so club members stay tuned. And for non-club members, new hikes
like this might be incentive for joining the ranks of the HTMC. We're a
pretty good bunch of folks.

My motivation for doing what we did today was two-fold. First, the club's
trail maintenance crew would be working on Halawa Ridge--the
sequel. Since I had taken part in the original flick last Sunday, I
wasn't brimming with enthusiasm for Part Deux today. Second, I wanted to
hike a section of the crest between Moanalua and Halawa, the
penultimate hikeable segment of the Koolau summit I have yet to traverse
(Aiea to Waimalu will complete it).

It would be good if I had some company, so I through out a line to OHE on
Friday night to see if I'd get any bites. While there were some nibbles,
only Ed swallowed the hook. The plan was to meet this morning at 7:30 at
the Halawa trailhead on Iwaena Street, and Ed was there to meet me at that
time.

We had planned to use either Ed's or my vehicle to drive over to Moanalua
Valley, but we didn't have to since Deetsie Chave, an early arriver for
Halawa trail clearing, offered us a ride. Thanks, Deetsie.

We were dropped off at the Moanalua community park at about ten to eight,
and as Ed and I tied our boots and checked our packs, we saw an off-duty
soldier with a big ruck sack checking his gear in front of the park's
restroom. From his sweaty, disheveled disposition, he appeared to have
spent the night camping somewhere up mauka. Either that or he'd hiked up
the valley and returned. Give him credit.

Ed and I began hiking up the valley road a couple minutes before eight,
and we moved along at a steady pace, talking story to help pass the 45
minutes we needed to reach the place where we'd leave the road to start
the valley trail. Ed's an interesting and pleasant gentleman, and I found
out, via questions I asked, about his background in photography, his
fondness for sailing, his reasons for moving to Hawaii (he's originally
from the east coast), and other things. We had a pleasant chat.

The chatting diminished in the next 45 minutes, which is what we needed to
reach the crest of Moanalua west ridge. We had an easier time today thanks
to the trail work of Mabel, Deetsie, and Charlotte a couple of Sundays
ago. Like I said at the beginning, what a difference a swath makes.

At 9:30, Ed and I began heading mauka on Moanalua west after making
walkie-talkie contact with the HTM crew coming up Halawa. I talked with
Tom Yoza, who was in the eucalyptus section at the time. I radioed Tom
several other times that morning, usually to report our status.

And our status was always quite good, mostly because of the swath created
by our gang of six two weeks ago. Feeling energetic, Ed and I fished out
machetes from our packs and did some cutting as we made our way
up the ridge. Guava branches and i'e i'e tangles were chopped. Ditto for
uluhe. Hopefully, the swath will hold until the next time we go up the
ridge, perhaps with the TM crew.

At 10:30, we had completed the ascent of the steepest part of the ridge (a
rope is situated there) and we stopped to rest at the pu'u where we'd
eaten lunch two weeks ago. We were over an hour ahead of the pace from
that ordeal. The faster (and easier) progress was very encouraging.

Mushing on along the swath stamped down a fortnight ago, we dropped into
an intermediate saddle, ascended to a large pu'u (false summit), dipped
down into a significant saddle, and completed the final curving climb to
the Koolau summit. We arrived at 11:15, two hours ahead of the top-out
time two weeks ago.

We rested for five minutes at the summit clearing (there's a metal pipe in
the ground there) and soaked up the clear views down in Haiku Valley and
beyond to Kaneohe and Kaneohe Bay. A light, cool wind lifted up and over
the crest, and I found this very pleasant.

I radioed Tom to let him know we'd reached the top and that we were
commencing the crossover to the Halawa summit. A pretty decent trail
exists on the crest and I spotted several areas rooted out by
summit-loving pigs. There was one substantial nob to climb enroute to
Halawa, with severe dropoffs to windward much of the way. The footing was
quite reliable and there was virtually no mud. We needed about 30 minutes
to reach the Halawa terminus.

I again radioed Tom to let him know we had finished the crossover and that
we'd be eating lunch. Tom reported that the group he was with was nearing
the Halawa crossover and that others had pushed ahead and were heading for
the summit.

Around noon, Nathan was the first member of the crew to arrive at the
summit. He joined Ed and me for lunch. After our repast, we spent a
couple minutes clearing the summit area lunchspot for club hikers,
and as we did, Inger and her friend arrived.

We left them to have the summit clearing to themselves, and Ed, Nathan,
and I began heading down Halawa. "It's possible to be back at Iwaena in
two hours," I announced to my colleagues, who chuckled and nodded to humor
me. Picturing a 2:15 arrival at my car, I set off at a konk-head pace
(and, yup, I did konk my head when I misjudged a duck under a branch). As
we wound our way down the switchbacks, we enjoyed the good hedge trimmer
work done by Pat two weeks ago.

The planned two-hour outbound leg of Halawa never materialized. I
ended up hiking out with Mabel who told me she had hot dogs for the post-outing feast, and as an
avowed meat-lover, I was eager to scarf some 'dogs. I also realized I'd
have no hot dogs until Mabel arrived back at Iwaena, so there was no
reason to blitz down the trail.

I have to give Mabel her due. Now in her early 70s, she can still hoof
it at a good pace. She'll probably still be hiking in her 80s. I forget
what time we arrived back at Iwaena--it might have been 3:30. What really
mattered was that Mabel was there with her butane stove, pot, and boiled
hot dogs. I ate my share, plus the share of any/all vegetarians in
attendance (and even a couple who were not (wave to Jay and Jim). In
exchange, I offered any takers my share of cupcakes, cookies, chips, and
other miscellaneous available carby-fare.

Kipapa Windward pioneered -- 2/3/2001

2010-05-14T14:09:00.006-10:00

Jason Sunada, Pat Rorie, Laredo Murray, and I were successful in reaching the summit of the Ko'olaus from Waiahole Valley today. Since the topping out point was quite near the terminus of the Kipapa trail, I will refer to the ridge we climbed as Kipapa Windward.

As I mentioned in a recent OHE post, Jason and I pushed partway up the ridge last Sunday. What took us two hours a week ago required only 30 minutes today. What a difference a swath made.

Once we reached last Sunday's stopping point, we were on virgin ridge. Laredo, shirtless and with hair dyed partially red, jumped out into the front and bravely ascended through uluhe, an assortment of native plants, clidemia, and the like. The most challenging sections were 1) a contorted climb around/through an ohia tree that spanned a narrow section of ridge, and 2) a steep scramble up a loose rock section just above the tree. Cables and/or rerouting might help for future
ascents/descents.

The critical area was between the 1500 and 2000-ft level where we saw very closely packed contour lines on the topo map, a red-flag zone meaning very steep stuff. Yes, it was steep but never cable-steep, and with plenty of grunting, twisting, ducking, and crawling, we made progress. At one point during the steep section we found ourselves tunneling through a dark corridor formed by uluhe, an interesting albeit less than pleasant time.

After the 2000-ft point, Pat assumed the lead and powered us up the ridge. This section was fantastic, with more open ridge conditions so we could see the hogback ahead as well as the array of steep, magnificent spurs left and right that stretched and strained up to the crest. We passed plenty of native vegetation, including loulu palms, lapalapa, olapa, kopiko, and others I can't name. Yes, we damaged native plants as we climbed and later when we headed back down. There was no malice in our damage.

At 11:45, 3.5 hours after we set our from our vehicles, we summited at a wind-whipped pu'u at the 2640 elevation level. Shouts rang out and arms were thrust skyward, save for Jason, who is not the shouting or hand-thrusting kind. We also exchanged handshakes, Jason a bit begrudgingly, to mark the summit acquistion.

In an adjacent ravine to the south (our left) was a grove of sugi pines where the remains of an ancient cabin (sometimes referred to as Uncle Tom's cabin) lay in shambles. We descended toward the ravine, hopped onto the Ko'olau summit trail, and hiked to south side of the pine grove to hunker down by the cabin ruins for lunch. From our lunchspot, the Kipapa summit was about ten minutes away.

Clouds had enclosed the area by this time and a chilly wind prompted us to put on raincoats or windbreakers to stay warm. We spent half an hour resting and eating, and perhaps would have lingered longer if we had warmer, sunnier conditions. A brief rainshower prompted Jason to open an umbrella and ultimately the wet stuff hastened our departure.

The return down the ridge back to Waiahole was one of the great descents I've experienced. After 15 minutes or so of down-hiking, we were below the cloud line and from there the ridge dropped in fantastic fashion like a steep escalator toward the valley floor. There were often precipitous dropoffs left and right but since the ridge never narrowed to dangerous proportions and since we were surrounded by ample vegetation that provided security, I never felt in danger. It was actually quite enjoyable.

The rain had made the way slick, but we took care not to make a bad error that might lead to "the plunge." In all, we needed about 90 minutes to reach the ditch trail from the summit (more handshakes exchanged) and another 30 minutes to hike back to our cars. By 3 p.m. we were on Kam Hwy headed back to home and warm showers and meals.

Pu'u o Kila trail maintenance 2/18/2001

2010-05-14T14:00:00.003-10:00

Kahana is broad. Kahana is green. Kahana is also home to Pu'u o Kila,
which we hiked to today. Our main objective was to clear a
loop route the club uses to acquire Kila's summit, and 17 turned out to
tend to the task. The members-only club hike will be on Sunday, March 4.

From the hunter's check-in where we started, Kila is visible toward
the back of the massive maw that is Kahana. Jay, Dusty, Roger, Mabel, and
Connie crossed the dam and headed back on the valley trail to tend to the
left-hand ridge. Meanwhile, a dozen of us headed up the watertank road
then continued down to the stream crossing by the bamboo grove to
eventually reach the right-hand (north) ridge.

Our group encountered a hunter and his dogs by the junction with the start
of the Kila trail. A dark-skinned local guy, he was friendly
and later joined us for posthike refreshments.

The route to Kila was overgrown with uluhe, which wasn't surprising since
Kahana is quite rainy and the trail likely sees light traffic, if any at
all. While our group worked our way up the ridge, we kept in
walkie-talkie contact with Jay, Dusty, and Mabel of the left-hand ridge
team. While I'm respectful in my radio conversations with Mabel, I'm
prone to firing (friendly) insults at Jay and Dusty, and
vice-versa (though I'll admit I'm usually the instigator). Jay, whose
group was using a hedge trimmer, volunteered me to carry it out after they
were done using it. Of course, I balked at the suggestion and rained down
barbs on the glib Mr. Feldman.

Later after lunch, Dusty, in response to jovial hooting and hollering I
was doing while descending from Kila's summit, barked into his
walkie-talkie, "Shaddap and start working!" Dusty has taken to
addressing me as "wimp," especially when I express my dismay for hauling
the hedge trimmer. But it's all in fun (you are just kidding, right,
Dusty?).

Even with all the walkie-talkie insults, we actually did some work. The
majority of the right-hand ridge dozen reached Kila's summit before noon,
slumping down to eat lunch there. Meanwhile, the left-hand team members
had yet to arrive, claiming heavy uluhe overgrowth was slowing their
progress. Via walkie-talkie, we encouraged them to climb to the summit
and leave what was left for our larger group, but Jay and company, perhaps
spurred on by pride, ego and/or the possibility of insults from our group,
stuck to the task. Jay also requested that we dispatch members of our team
down the ridge to help clear, and, ever the loyal helpers, we responded to
his request. :-)

For those who've never hiked to Kila, be prepared for very steep
ascending & descending up to and down from the summit. Ample
trees and roots are available for handholds but dislodged rocks can be a
hazard, especially on the descent of the upper part of the left-hand
ridge.

Pu'u o Kila information

2010-05-14T13:56:00.000-10:00

Using the topo map software from delorme.com, George Shoemaker emailed
the following info about the route to Pu'u o Kila that we worked on back in 2001 in
Kahana Valley.  Thanks, George.

Terrain distance from parking area to Pu'u to parking area: 4.36 miles.
Elevation: 197 ft to 1362 ft to 197 ft.
Avg Grade: 14
Climb Distance: 1.64 miles.
Elevation gain from base to summit: 1,117 ft in one mile

Heroes of Kahana

2010-05-14T13:51:00.002-10:00

Lots of hiking trails in Kahana Valley. Here is a link to a story from 2001 about some young guys who did a heroic deed to help some hikers in distress in Kahana.

Best Hawaii Hiking, Backpacking, and Camping Books

2010-04-29T10:15:00.008-10:00

I have hiked just about every trail on Oahu and many trails on the other Hawaiian Islands. Plus, I am a writer and avid reader. As such, I have developed a good sense for what are the best books about hiking, backpacking, and camping in Hawaii. Here is the list.

For hiking on Oahu, the top tome is Stuart Ball's The Hikers Guide to Oahu. When I first began hiking in 1993, I carried this book (or photocopied pages from this book) with me on just about every trail I hiked. I even bought a second copy, one for my backpack while hiking and another for my home library. Best book on Oahu hiking, bar none.

For backpacking in Hawaii, Stuart Ball has also written the primo book: Backpacker's Guide to Hawaii. Ditto my comments above buth for backpacking. While it is true that there are not a slew of backpacking opportunities in Hawaii, for the outings that exist, Ball has written the most detailed and comprehensive guide. This is a must have for anyone who wants to backpack in Hawaii, especially the little-known routes like the Koolau Summit Trail.

For camping in Hawaii, the best book is Camping Hawaii: A Complete Guide by Richard McMahon. This is a great resource for camping in the Islands.

For hiking on the other islands, Stuart Ball is again the kingpin author with his book Hikers Guide to the the Hawaiian Islands. No one has matched Ball's comprehensiveness for hiking on the other major Hawaiian Islands, so this book is a good resource. While not extensively thorough, this book covers the major trails in the islands, with good pictures as well.

For the botanically inclined, an excellent book about trailside flora is John Hall's A Hikers Guide to Trailside Plants in Hawaii. Hall is a retired University of Hawaii professor and scientist and a legendary hiker. A great read.
While not a comprehensive trail guide, Peter Caldwell's Adventurer's Hawaii is a good read for those who are looking for recollections of great outdoor adventures in Hawaii.

Hawaii Hiking Gear -- Top Three

2010-04-28T14:21:00.045-10:00

Assuming you have the basics like a daypack/backpack and shoes/boots with good tread, what other gear would be beneficial for someone hiking a trail in Hawaii? Here are my top three:

Camelbak hydration system. Hawaii is in the tropics, hence warm weather, hence the need for very good hydration. A dehydrated hiker is an unhappy and unsteady hiker, so it is important to drink fluids constantly, especially in the Hawaiian climate, where a typical day on the trail will be in the low to mid-80s F even warmer in the summer months. Since I am a big guy, I require a lot of fluids; hence my system of choice is the camelback 100 oz reservoir which I fill and then slip into my daypack. Cost is $24 from Amazon.com.
Gaiters. Hawaiian trails can get quite brushy and overgrown, so gaiters help protect the legs, prevent dirt and brush from getting into shoes/boots, and keep shoelaces from becoming undone by trailside bushes and brush. An inexpensive pair can be purchased from Amazon for about $12.
Hiking pole/staff. I used to have problems with sore feet and knees and even had a bout with plantar faciitis. The solution for me was to hike with a hiking pole. What the pole helped me with is balance and cushioning. A hiking pole, which can be cumbersome when trails are overgrown, is nonetheless a blessing for most hiking trails in the island, especially when conditions are muddy and trails are steep. There are all kinds of hiking poles on the market but an inexpensive one can be purchased online for less than $20.

Yes, there are all kinds of gadgets and gear available for hikers, but the three I have mentioned here will help make your Hawaii hiking experience a better one.