Waikane Ka'aumakua -- 3/18/2001

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

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

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

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

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

This is the transcript of an article titled "Hiking the Koolau Summit" by Harry Whitten from 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

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

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.

Backpacking Mauna Loa

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.