Mano La Uka Ridge -- 4/22/2000

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

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.