The Ngs and Turners on Pu'u Maelieli

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

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

“My wife,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aiea Ridge -- LastKoho

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts archives

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

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

I say, "Well, what?"

Conversation killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My wife says, "It is another trail."

Right. So it is.

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right. A deal's a deal.

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

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

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

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

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

Kuliouou Ridge -- By LastKoho

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

My wife says, "Funny."

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

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

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

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

But I was wrong.

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

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

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

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

I say, "Funny."

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

I say, "Is the bear Catholic?"

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

Manana Ridge -- LastKoho -- December 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waimalu to Moanalua on the Koolau Crest -- Pat Rorie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

== Paka

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

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

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

WEST MAUI

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

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

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

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

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

EAST MAUI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to come.

Opaeula Watershed Project -- Patrick Rorie

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

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

Ko'olau Summit Trail History

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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