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

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II. Halawa valley waterfalls

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

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

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

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

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

Moanalua Valley to Tripler Ridge -- LastKoho

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiasts Archives

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not my day.

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

Epilogue:

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

Kapilau Ridge (Maui) -- by Eric Stelene

From the Oahu Hiking Enthusiast Archives

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Ngs and Turners on Pu'u Maelieli

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)

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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.