Showing posts with label backpacking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label backpacking. Show all posts

Friday, May 14, 2010

Waimano Waiau campout --3/30/2001

I'm on vacation this week (Spring Recess). Ditto for my friend Bill Melemai. We hadn't hiked together for a bunch of months, so Bill suggested an overnight backpack. His first choice was Haleakala and his
second was Poamoho-Schofield. However, circumstances indicated we best not attempt these. The third option was Waimano-Waiau, and we agreed that this would work.

We started at 12:45 on Tuesday afternoon at the Waimano trailhead. Bill's wife, Donna, dropped us off and she'd pick us up at the end of Kaahumanu Street at the end of our trip sometime on Wed afternoon. I was carrying a fairly light load--no more than 15 lbs. In comparison, Bill's pack was about 35. During our trip, he heard me extol the virtues of lightweight backpacking so much that he's convinced he should make modifications to what gear he'll use in the future.

Our plan for Day 1 was to pack in to the five-mile marker campsite along Waimano. From there, we'd make camp then fetch water via the trail down to the stream just before the 5.5 marker. Our hike in was slow and leisurely, and we took a long break at the picnic shelter just past the 2.5 marker. We arrived at five-mile camp at 4:30 and set up our tents quickly as dark clouds swept down toward us from up-valley. I was using a Walrus Micro Swift bivy and Bill a Peak 1 Cobra. These held up well though mine lacked roominess.

We obtained a couple of gallons of H20 from the stream via a trail just makai of marker 5.5. Back at camp, I added iodine to the water and later filtered a liter at a time with my SafeWater Anywhere squeeze bottle. After adding some Crystal Light iced tea mix, we had plenty of drinkable fluid for hydration for the night and next day. Since we were just overnighting, we decided to go the cookless route. For dinner, I ate a can of vienna sausage, some peanuts, and a protein drink (2 scoops of whey with some Waimano Stream Water Iced Tea). Bill ate an MRE entree with a Tiger's bar for dessert.

After dinner, we talked story in the clearing next to our tents under a splotchy night sky that hid all but a handful of stars. Rain chased us into our tents around nine, and after gabbing for a few minutes, I was off into z-land. The night turned a bit chilly and I could have slept more restfully if I had packed a sleep cover and a long-sleeve top. I decided not to bring the former and forgot to pack the latter. That'll teach me. Camping, as I always discover, is a never-ending learning experience.

The patter of rain on our tents greeted us at 6 the next morning. By 6:30, the light shower had passed and we were able to emerge from our tents to check out what kind of day we'd have. Though the sky was gray up toward the summit, the makai skyline was brighter, giving us hope we'd have a decent day to hike.

And we did. We were packed up and on our way up the trail to the summit at 7:30. The earlier rain made the trail a bit muddy, but on the whole it wasn't bad. Just like the day before, we hiked leisurely, arriving at the summit at 9:00. The summit crest was clear and a brisk breeze swirled up the pali from Waihee Valley below us. I pointed out to Bill the wrong-way ridge in the crossover section toward Manana and, looking in the opposite direction, the broad flat-topped summit plateau of Waimalu middle ridge. I also made an entry in a logbook someone had left in a bottle at the summit. Perusing other entries in the book, I spotted a handful of familiar names.

Bill had never made a summit crossing in this section of the Koolaus, so he was a bit unsure of what to expect. As I've done with others in the past, I rehashed the maxim of summit hiking: If you have to fall, fall to the right (the left, in this case, being the sheer windward pali). Bill laughed nervously at my words.

The crossover to Waiau is brief, only taking about fifteen minutes, but it's one of the windier summit stretches. Upon arriving at the heavily ribboned Waiau terminus junction, I stopped to plant the stalk of a red ti plant I'd obtained on a lower section of Waimano. Hopefully, the plant will grow and flourish there and be a marker of this location for future generations of hikers.

Bill and I made our way down Waiau Ridge and really enjoyed the upper section of the trail, which is still wide open from the TM the club did back in mid-October. The footing was also excellent, with no mud. About midway down, the trail became brushier, and I recognized this as the section where the TM crew started pushing thru due to fatigue and time limitations. Nonetheless, Bill and I had no problem hiking with our bulky packs.

We ate lunch at the junction with Brandon Stone's trail down to the old cabin by Waimano Stream. There's not much of a trail to speak of but I recognized the telltale double ribbons marking the spot. Plus, a visual reckoning told me the spur heading down to the stream had to be the one.

After lunch, we continued down the ridge, arriving at the Big Dip. I pointed out Wing's rescue spot and also the point where I had stopped to yell out for him a couple hours before he summoned Fire Rescue to pluck him out. We passed the junction with the trail down into Waimalu Valley and then began the notorious rollercoaster middle section of Waiau. This wasn't fun, especially since the heat of the day intensified, but taking one hill at a time, we progressed toward our final destination.

Further down, we met a lone male dayhiking up from Kaahumanu. The guy told Bill that the rest of the way was all downhill, but I told Bill that this statement was false. In fact, we still had several big hills to climb. "This is one helluva downhill," I yelled to Bill as we huffed our way up every ascent we encountered on the way out.

I found the new Halapepe Nui trail that connects Waiau to Waimano and hiked it for a short stretch. The club will conduct its maiden hike on this route on April 28. Check it out, HTMC members.

The final section of Waiau follows a jeep road, which leads to a watertank and then a paved road down to the end of Kaahumanu Street. Prior to reaching Kaahumanu, Bill called Donna via cell phone and she said she'd drive up to pick us up. Along this final stretch, I spotted a black rabbit, likely a pet someone let go, dashing off into the brush.

Donna was delayed by afternoon traffic, so Bill and I walked down Kaahumanu. Next to the curb about a quarter-mile down, we found a turtle crawling along the road. Bill took a liking to it and decided he wanted to take it home as a pet. So he took a towel out of his pack, wet it down, wrapped the turtle in it, and stuffed the towel-covered turtle in his pack.

So earlier, I'd spotted a rabbit and now Bill had a turtle. Maybe we'd interrupted a race between the tortoise and the hare? Ok, sorry, bad joke. :-)

To my surprise, a security guard was on duty at the shack at the start of the gated community of upper Kaahumanu. I approached the shack slowly, thinking the guard might read me the riot act for hiking out of the area past his post. But he was a nice guy and said hikers are allowed access in vehicles past the security post as long as they leave their name and the guard records the license number of the car. Good deal.

Bill and I hiked down to Waiau District Park and kicked back in the shade of a large tree as near us Little Leaguers practiced fielding grounders and teenaged soccer players honed their kicking skills in a massive green expanse. A few minutes later, Donna arrived and presented us with super-sized soft drinks and hot dogs. Without pause, Bill and I scarfed these down. Thank you, Donna!

So ended our overnight trip. In all, we covered about 15 miles and enjoyed decent weather. Though this route can be done as a dayhike, using it as an overnight backpack trip was a pleasant and interesting variation that others might want to try.

Silver Piliwale's 2nd trans-Koolau trek

This is the transcript of an article titled "Hiking the Koolau Summit" by Harry Whitten from the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, 08/27/79.

Silver Piliwale (pictured at left, photo courtesy of Nathan Yuen) has done it again.

And this time he was 78 years old.

Six years ago he celebrated his 72nd birthday anniversary by hiking alone, from Pupukea, along the summit of the Koolau Mountain Range, and down into Moanalua Valley. The trip took five days.

This month, this time with a companion, Jo Anne Browne, he tried to repeat the feat.

But he and Jo Anne were slowed by rough going and late afternoon fogs, took a day longer than they had planned, and left the summit at the Aiea Ridge Trail instead of going on to where they could descend into Moanalua Valley.

This could hardly be cutting the hike short, but continuing on to Moanalua would have added another day to the trip. As it was, some of their relatives and friends who knew about the hike started to worry and began a search.

A helicopter flew over the mountains for a while looking for them and was seen by them, but the helicopter crewman did not see them. So they came out under their own power, which they planned to do anyway.

Another reason for coming out of the mountains at Aiea was that they were getting mighty thirsty. They had hoped to replenish their water supply by catching rain, but rains, which ordinarily bless the Koolau summit, failed this time.

They were without water their last day. The previous evening they had eaten dehydrated gravy to slake some of their thirst. Except for steak the first night, they subsisted on dehydrated food, plus some berries.

The adventure began when Silver began talking about his hike of six years ago and said he'd like to do it again. Jo Anne listened to him and said, "Okay, lets do it."

She had been hiking for 10 years and two years ago was on a trip to Brazil with members of her family. They hired an Indian guide for a trip into the Amazon jungle.

But she says now she didn't know what she was getting into when she agreed to accompany Silver along the Koolau summit.

Hiking the Summit Trail, 20 miles from the beginning at Pupukea to the junction with the Kipapa Trail, wasn't too bad. It was very muddy, but some hikers ahead of them had done some trail clearing.

The pair stayed the first night at the Kahuku shelter, the second night at the Poamoho shelter, and replenished their water supply at both places.

But the route is rough and dangerous after the Kipapa junction; there is no trail. There are knife-edged ridges. In heavy wind, its necessary to balance oneself against it.

There are ins and outs, as well as continual ups and downs which add considerably to the mileage that might be shown on a map.

"But mileage is not the factor; terrain is," says Lorin Gill, a veteran hiker who in years past has also traversed the length of the Koolau Range.

From the Kipapa to Aiea junctions, its necessary at times to hang out over the pali edge. Wind and rain add to the hazards.

Towards evening fog often rolls in. On their trip Silver and Jo Anne on occasion stopped their day's hike early because the fog made further advance uncertain.

They picked grassy spots, found occasionally on the route, to camp. One night feathers got lose from Silver's ancient sleeping bag and were blown into their morning cups of tea.

Jo Anne carried a nose flute which she played after the evening meal. She liked its haunting sound, she said, although Silver indicated he wasn't enthusiastic about it.

They saw a few wild pigs.

Jo Anne was pleased to report she knew enough about plants to choose the right ones for handholds. Nor did she suffer any blisters from the Japanese tabi reef slippers she wore.

Piliwale and Browne were both exhausted when they descended the Aiea Ridge Trail to the Keaiwa Heiau State Park, where they met some Hawaiian women.

The women asked where they had come from and were much amused when told the pair had hiked from Pupukea.

But if you ask Piliwale if he'd be willing to hike the Koolau summit again, he'd say yes.

Both Silver and Jo Anne, however, say the hike should not be taken by anyone who is not in strong condition and experienced in the hazards of Hawaii's mountains.

Gill points out that the worst mistake some hikers, usually brash but inexperienced, have made is to try a descent to the Windward Side.

Some have had to be rescued by firemen with the helicopter; some have never been found.

Piliwale sometimes goes over to the Big Island or Maui to walk great distances on roads or highways. One of his daughters, Varoa Tiki, the entertainer, now lives at Honokahua, West Maui. When Silver goes to see her, he walks to her place from the airport.

Piliwale is also a good man with a machete. This summer he has put in a week's volunteer work on the Nahuina and Moleka trials, Tantalus, which the Sierra Club's Hawaii Chapter is building.

Last summer he put in many days of work on the 'Aihualama trail the club built.

The rugged mountain man, "100 percent Hawaiian", has in his life been a musician, seaman and heavy crane operator, among other jobs.

Sunday, July 30, 1995

Backpacking Mauna Loa

A week or so before Thanksgiving 1994, I received an email message from Guy Kaulukukui, a good friend and like me, a graduate of the Kamehameha Schools,  a private K-12 institution for children of Hawaiian ancestry. Always one to seek out challenges of some kind, Guy had a new one he wanted me to consider: a hike to the top of Mauna Loa on the Big Island. To help spark my interest, Guy said that he'd send me a couple of pieces he read about the hike via snail mail.

After receiving and reading these pieces--"Cairns," a chapter from Peter Adler's  Beyond Paradise, and "Ten Views of Mauna Loa," a chapter from The Burning Island by Pamela Frierson--I knew reaching the ML summit was something I wanted to do. We set a tentative hike date for early August.

In the next several months, we went about gathering as much information as we could about the hike. Guy, at the time in the midst of completing his PH.D dissertation (economics) at the University of Kansas, obtained info about the weather conditions, about the permits we'd need, and about altitude sickness. 

Fortunately, our work proved fruitful, for we netted helpful information that made the hike more manageable. Kennan Ferguson, Joe Dellinger, Gerard Fryer, Kevin Herring, and Lisa Peterson responded to my plea for info about hiking Mauna Loa and were especially helpful, providing us with answers to our questions and recanting their journeys up the "Long Mountain."

In addition to info-gathering, Guy and I began preparing ourselves for the tough physical challenge Mauna Loa would present. Accordingly, I made adjustments to my diet, cutting out a large percentage of fat in it, and embarked on a rigorous routine of hiking, walking, and jogging. I also asked my girlfriend Jacque if she were interested in joining us. She said she was. So it would be the three of us.

In June, Guy returned to Oahu after successfully completing and defending his dissertation. At that point, we had decided on July 30th as the date to begin our hike and a tentative itinerary for the journey. We also enlisted the help of another Kamehameha grad, Alapaki Nahale-a, who agreed to drive us to the trailhead and to pick us up after the completion of our hike. In addition, Guy's aunt, Eleanor Kenney, was kind enough to offer us the use of her Nissan pickup as our transport vehicle and her home in Hilo as a place to rest and spend the night after we had completed the hike.

In the weeks preceding our departure for the Big Island, Guy contacted the rangers at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, who told him that we had to pick up our trail permits no earlier than 24 hours before we were to begin our hike [trail permits insure one a bunk in the Red Hill and Summit cabins].

Although assured by the rangers that we should have no problem obtaining permits for our intended departure date, Guy decided that we shouldn't risk a snafu and decided to leave on the early-bird flight from Honolulu to Hilo on Saturday 7/29 and head directly to the HVNP visitor center before it opened at 7:45 a.m. We also received some news that concerned us. The rangers informed us that while a limited amount of water was available at the summit cabin, no H2O could be found at the Red Hill cabin because of a breakdown in the catchment system. The result: we'd haul a bunch of water, which at eight pounds a gallon would increase the weight of our packs considerably.

As planned, Guy left early on the 29th, and he and his aunt drove the 25 miles to HVNP Visitor's Center and obtained our trail permits with no problem. Meanwhile, Jacque and I left Oahu at around noon and arrived in Hilo after a 40-minute flight. Guy met us at the airport and after eating lunch, we picked up some odds and ends, including canisters of propane that the airlines would not allow in our luggage, and tested out the cellular phone I had brought along. All went well.

We left Hilo for Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, and thanks to Guy's aunt, who made the arrangements for us, spent the night in a comfortable cabin at Kilauea Military Camp. Alapaki, who'd drive us to the trailhead the next morning, arrived with his wife Shelby at around 7:30 Saturday night. 

Guy, Jacque, and I--what with the task we were about to undertake--were noticeably nervous that night. I probably slept no more than four hours, awakening every so often and questioning my ability to endure the hours tramping through the rough terrain. Guy and Jacque also reported being restless and not getting much sleep.

By 4:30 a.m. on Sunday, July 30, we were all up and about and readying our gear and ourselves for the departure. By 6 a.m. we had dressed, stuffed our backpacks in the most orderly fashion possible [my pack--filled with three gallons of water--probably weighed between 50 and 60 pounds], and eaten what little breakfast our apprehensive insides would allow.

After a winding 10-mile drive up Mauna Loa Strip road that ends at the 6,662 foot elevation level, we unloaded our gear, shouldered our packs, tested the cellular phone (it worked!!), took some pre-hike photos, bid Alapaki farewell, and were off on the first phase of our hike to the summit of Mauna Loa (elev. 13,667 ft.). Our objective that day was to reach Red Hill cabin, 7.5 miles distant and 3,500 feet in elevation higher than our starting point.

The first hour of hiking took us through ancient lava flows now populated by thickets of 'ohelo, 'ohia and a host of other plants. To help us keep track of where we were and how quickly or slowly we were proceeding, we referred to Lisa Peterson's "Mauna Loa Trail Guide", an informative 20-page booklet available at most public libraries.

The further along the trek we proceeded, the sparser the vegetation became. At around the 8,300 elevation level, one of the last ohia trees stands majestically from a lava outcropping. Perhaps only ten feet high, the tree is distinct nevertheless and from a distance resembles a Japanese bonsai plant. Ahead of us lay mile after mile of lava fields and dominating the horizon was the imposing summit mound of Mauna Loa bathed in yellowish brown by the steadily climbing sun.

We settled into a routine that had us hiking for 25 minutes, and resting 5. At that pace, we were progressing at about a mile and a quarter per hour, which was a reasonable rate considering the increasing elevation and the debilitating weight of our packs. As we were to discover, we were lugging way too much water, for the reports of zero water at Red Hill proved to be false.

The hike to Pu'u Ulaula (Red Hill) was a rugged one, and Jacque--all 4'11, 115-pounds of her--suffered the most because she was hauling a pack about a third of her weight. I, too, hurt and my shoulders ached from the weight of my pack digging into my trapezius muscles. As the day progressed, the temperatures rose, and the elevation increased, our rest breaks became longer and more frequent.

During our climb, we passed seven hikers heading back to Strip Road: a father and daughter who had overnighted at Red Hill, three mid-20-ish Canadians chaps who had gone to the summit, and two other haole hiking buddies who had departed from that summit that morning. All were tired, in good spirits, and reported good weather upslope. Seeing and chatting with them encouraged us.

At around 2:00 p.m., we were about half a mile from the our first day's objective. Unfortunately, the final ascent up Red Hill to the Cabin is a brutal one and we painfully trudged upward at a dreadfully slow pace I referred to as the Mauna Loa Shuffle. Suddenly, we were confronted with the sign "PUU ULAULA REST HOUSE elevation 10,035 feet." A hundred feet away was the cabin itself. (Pic of Jacque at left). Constructed in 1915 by a company of predominantly Black soldiers, the cabin is an eight-bunk abode complete with a front porch, picnic table, kitchen area, water tank (empty), a two-hole pit toilet, and a magnificent panoramic view of most of the Big Island.

A single hiker, a 20-something haole chap conducting scientific experiments for the State, was at the cabin when we arrived; however, he was just taking a short break there after descending from the summit. He told us about spending a night hunkered down in Jagger's cave at the 13,000 foot level. After 30 minutes of chitchat, he was off to the trailhead at the end of Strip Road.

And so it was just the three of us. Jacque staggered into one of the bunks and wrapped herself in her sleeping bag and napped for a couple of hours. After some initial exploring, Guy and I followed suit.

At around six, we prepared dinner--Jacque and I sharing a surprisingly delicious add-hot-water-to-cook beef stroganoff dish and some bagels. Guy wolfed down a Rice-A-Roni meal. After dinner, I ran another test of the cellular phone and was able to reach numbers in Hilo and even my mom several hundred miles away in Kaneohe on Oahu. This was good news, for we were uncertain whether the phone would work from such a high elevation.

At around 7 p.m., the sun disappeared behind Mauna Loa's massive crest and the temperature dropped to the 50s. Soon thereafter, Mars appeared on horizon and stars began to emerge. By 8 p.m. the afterglow of the sun in the western sky had disappeared and the Milky Way was spread across the heavens. Guy said that the Big Dipper never had appeared so prominently to him before that night. The three of us, energized by our naps, our meals, and our euphoria about arriving at our first stepping-stone, stood bundled up outside the cabin mesmerized by the awesome heavenly display.

By 8:30 we decided to bunk down, and we all looked forward to a restful night since we had planned to layover the next day at Red Hill to acclimate. However, something completely unexpected happened at a few minutes after nine: two hikers, a husband and wife from England, burst through the cabin door in the pitch black. Apparently, they had departed from Strip Road at around two that afternoon but had been slowed because the wife had developed altitude sickness. As a consequence, they had spent the last two hours hiking through the treacherous lava fields with just flashlights!! Amazing. After unloading their packs and preparing a quick meal, the two new cabin mates slid into two of the five remaining bunks and settled down for the night. 

The next morning, Guy and I arose at around 5 and ascended the hill behind the cabin to get some photos of the sunrise. Even that early, the sun was beginning to light up the eastern sky and the cloud tops were tinted with a warm orangish hue. Below the cotton-textured clouds and many miles away from us, the lights of Hilo twinkled invitingly and the vents of Kilauea puffed clouds of steam skyward in the nippy 40 degree morning air.

Just before six, the sun peaked over the clouds and the lava fields upslope began taking form and color. Across the wide saddle to the north stood Mauna Loa's sister mountain, Mauna Kea, adorned by the mushroom-like observatories at its crest and an array of cinder cones on its flank. To the southwest was the powerful presence of the Mauna Loa summit, which we would attempt to reach the next day. 

The English couple was up early and quietly packed their things so as not to disturb Jaque, who spent most of that morning sleeping. By 8 a.m. the couple, experienced alpine hikers who had scaled many of the mountains of Europe, were off for the 11.5 mile ascent to the summit cabin. Before leaving, the Brits told us to expect a party of twelve Boy Scouts that day. We wished them well, and from a vantage point above the cabin, followed their progress up the mountain for 30 minutes before they disappeared from view.

Monday morning was used for picture-taking, exploring, a day hike, and finding water, which we were told could be found in a catchment system set up in a small sink hole near the cabin. The cabin's water catchment set-up, a series of rain gutters on the roof, was not functioning correctly so the water tank next to the cabin was empty.

By early afternoon, our pictures and water were secured and our exploring and one-hour day hike were completed, so we settled in and waited for the arrival of the Boy Scouts, who began arriving in small groups at around 2:30 p.m.

There were actually eight Scouts--all either Iolani students or grads--and four adult leaders/chaperons. Guy, Jacque and I chuckled at the ragtag group, especially at the leaders, three of whom had to have their packs carried up to Red Hill by the teenaged scouts. While Guy and I were chagrined at the loss of tranquility, Jacque was overjoyed at the company and assumed the role of unofficial cabin hostess, helping the tired hikers with their packs and directing them to the important points of interest.

That night was a restless one for us. With twelve people sardined into an eight-bunk cabin and thoughts of the difficult climb to the summit the next day, sleep didn't come easy for Jacque, Guy and I.

We arose at 4:30 the next morning and surrendered our bunks to the scouts who had spent the night in their sleeping bags on the floor. By 6:00 we had dressed, packed and eaten breakfast and were on our way for the summit. We had anticipated progressing at about a mile an hour so we wanted to leave early to give ourselves as much daylight as possible to reach the summit cabin 11.5 miles away.

The hike to the top was surprisingly easier than the trek to Red Hill, perhaps because our packs were lighter (mine was about 20 pounds less) and we had a chance to acclimate. Easier does not mean the journey was a cupcake--far from it. The trail was long and traversing the lava-dominant terrain can wear on one's resolve. 

Our spirits ebbed and flowed. At one time, we rejoiced after finding that we were ascending at a much better clip than the mile-an-hour pace we had thought we would proceed at; at other times, we snapped at one another about the length of our breaks and how many more miles we had to traverse.

All this notwithstanding, the lava along the way was amazing. Along with the standard black pahoehoe and a'a, lava tinted with gold, silver, red, green, orange, purple hues were at our feet as we ascended Mauna Loa's massive flank. For 2/3 of the trip, Mauna Kea stood off to our right. However, as we neared the summit, our world consisted of lava fields and blue sky, for we were at such a great height that ocean and other landforms were beyond our field of sight.

After about 8.5 hours of hiking, we had covered 9.5 miles were standing at the edge of North Pit at the 13,000 foot elevation level. From that point, with the Summit Cabin two miles away, we decided to ascertain our physical conditions. While Guy and I were fine, Jacque was experiencing headaches, nausea, and swelling in her feet and hands--all signs of altitude sickness. 

Concerned about Jacque, instead of spending the night at the cabin, we opted to descend to the Mauna Loa Weather Observatory at the 11,000 foot level, a trip of about four miles. Before leaving, we used the cellular phone to contact Alapaki to pick us up at the Observatory.

In a little less than two hours, we arrived at the Observatory and waited, waited, and waited. We became concerned because as night approached, the temperatures were dropping into the 40's and Jacque, weakened by the effects of altitude sickness, was beginning to display effects of hypothermia. Fortunately, the two scientists working at the Observatory kindly consented to let Jacque into a heated trailer that serves as their lab/headquarters.

At around 8 p.m., Alapaki and his uncle, a Big Island county worker, arrived at the Observatory in a large pickup truck. They were delayed by a couple of hours because the truck they initially had left in had broken down about 10 miles up the Saddle Road.

In an hour and a half, we were in Hilo after a harrowing 19- mile ride down the narrow Observatory road and the equally nerve- wracking 20+ mile descent down Saddle Road. Back at sea level, Jacque recovered quickly although her appetite was non-existent. We spent a restful night at Guy's aunt's house in Hilo after taking long warm showers, devouring takeout Chinese food, and rehashing our adventure to whoever would listen.

I'll hike Mauna Loa again--perhaps not soon but at least once more nonetheless. We may not have made it to the cabin or to the true summit, but standing at North Pit that afternoon--all three of us--marked the realization of a dream that had been born seven months prior. Without a doubt, our lives are different now, for the ascent of Mauna Loa gives us a new perspective of who we are and what we can achieve.

Wahiawa to Lualualei via Kolekole Pass

Today (4 Aug 2001), accompanied by several hundred folks, including the J&J girls (Jackie and Jamie), I completed a 13.1-mile "hike...