Manana Trail--Pearl City, Hawaii

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lanihuli Trail Access

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

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

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

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

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

Photo credit:  Steve Rohrmayr (aka Waianae Steve)

Pu'u Manamana

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

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

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

Schofield Trail -- 6/23/2002

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Twenty minutes," I say.

"Are there views?"

"Yes, views," I reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butch the Koolau Bear

Contributed by Norm Roberts on 12/3/1997

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

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

"It probably is now," I replied.

"Is he still around?" asked another hiker.

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

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

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

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

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

The bear facts are as follows:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, right.

Bear Claw Ridge -- 4/1/2001

[photo credit -- Jason Sunada]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kawiwi Waianae Kai -- 11/18/2000

I wrote this post on 18 Nov 

2000 17:06:46

(Photo by Peter Clines taken

in 2010) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For more about jack fruit, see 

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

 

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

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

Other kine stuff:

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

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

 

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

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