Kalalau Trail

This whole trip to Hawaii started with an email. In January, I think, or at least some dark, cold month, Jessica wrote to me that she was dreaming of swimming in the ocean. I wrote back that I was dreaming of the Kalalau valley. I sent her this link,  and asked if she wanted to hike the trail with me. When Jeremy and I were here last March, we hiked the first two miles of the trail, and I thought it was so spectacularly beautiful, although also spectacularly muddy, rocky, and steep, that I wanted to hike the whole thing. It's a "strenuous" eleven mile trail, so it is a backpacking trip for all but the athletic aliens among us (who know who you are). Jeremy is not so jazzed about backpacking, as it doesn't have a high enough adrenaline to effort ratio, but I have been wanting to try it as an adult (I did some when I was younger with my dad). So, getting Jessica on board seemed like a great solution. I would get to do the trail, we would get to spend time together, Jeremy could get in some extra surfing, and we would have someone to take us to and from the trail head.

Oh, the best laid plans.

Things started to go wrong before we set foot on the trail. Regular readers will remember that, in my first post from Hawaii, I mentioned that it was raining. It didn't stop. It rained from mid-day on Saturday through Monday night with an intensity that defied my understanding of the laws of physics. The rivers flooded. The one-lane bridge on the only only road into Hanalei closed for two days, which meant that no one could get into town, which meant nothing was open. There were flash flood warnings and thunderstorms. Jessica and I were supposed to leave on Tuesday, spend Wednesday exploring the valley, and hike out on Thursday, but since there were still flash flood warnings through Tuesday afternoon and the trail includes several river crossings, we decided to put the hike off for a day and turn it into an in-and-out. Now, in some ways, this was a good decision. Tuesday turned out to be a nice day, but at least we were being cautious and respectful. But, it also set us up for trouble, since it meant we had to hike a very hard trail on consecutive days.

Anyway, we got up before dawn on Wednesday morning and hit the trail while it was still a little dark. Our hope was to get to the valley early enough that we would still have time to explore in the afternoon. We saw the sunrise from the first headland above Ke'e Beach, and it was a beautiful, misty, sunny start to our day. We watched the frogs scurry in front of us. We saw a large pod of dolphins from one of the headlands, and met a very skinny cat on the Hanakapi'ai Beach at the two mile mark. We also, in those first two miles, gained and lost 600 ft of elevation, slopped through some mud, and scrambled over a lot of rocks. And here was subtle hint number one that things were not going to go as planned. While I was in good shape, Jessica was moving very slowly. I asked if she was okay, and she said she was trying to be mindful of her steps, because she didn't want to aggravate a long-standing knee injury.

How I wish we had stopped and had a serious conversation about that. How I wish I had made it clear that we could stop, that I wouldn't hold it against her or be mad (although, to be honest, I would have been so disappointed I probably would have held it against her and been mad). How I wish she had been honest and said that her knee was already hurting, and that there was no way she was going to make twenty two brutal miles, carrying weight, in the next 36 hours. How I wish I had listened to the warning voice in my head, instead of doing what I always do and just bull ahead because I want to do something. Lesson one learned. I learned a lot of lessons on this trip.

None of these things happened. Jessica continued to insist that she was just being mindful and that she was fine. I continued to get annoyed with her slow pace instead of thinking about what that pace meant. The weather was glorious: sunny and warm, but not super hot. The trail was tough, but well within my comfort zone. The scenery was beyond words. Every headland offered new vistas of ocean and coast line; every valley offered a different tropical microclimate. I didn't expect the profusion of wild flowers and flowering trees. In places, the brilliant magenta petals fallen from a mimosa-like tree carpeted the ground. The air was perfumed with a floral, citrus smell. The trail was lined with wild passion fruit. The water was the most saturated turquoise I have ever seen, and so clear I could see the sand and coral ocean floor. Sure, there were some difficulties. For one, I was sweating like a horse (which is why I will be including no pictures of myself from this trip. Between the sweat and the doo-rag, I can't handle how butch I look in all of them. I loved being a lesbian, but that doesn't mean the butch look works on me. It so doesn't!) The mosquitoes were thick, and totally undeterred by my paltry Gentle Skin Off with Aloe Vera, or for that matter with Jessica's far beefier Deep Woods Off towelettes, so we were both getting eaten alive. And the trail is, I believe I mentioned, tough. As you can see from this elevation profile, there isn't a flat step to be had.

What the profile doesn't show is that the trail is split fairly evenly between scrambling over rocks, wading through clay-based mud, and clawing your way through thick vegetation. So, not only is nearly every step a stair master, but also every step has some other reason it is a challenge. But, slow as we were going, we made it to the campground at Hanakoa for lunch around 10:45. It was there that we first met the incredibly nice and fantastically speedy Larry and Natalie, who will play a big part in this story.

About mile seven, we reached the cliffs of insanity. As you can see, the trail hugs a very steep, very exposed headland. The rock is loose and crumbly, and is 400 ft above an angry surf. The trail itself is very narrow, and sloped strongly downward. It was dramatic and scary enough that a tour boat actually stopped to watch us make the traverse, and cheered when we were across. What I didn't realize is that Jessica was terrified. Her left knee hurt badly, and she didn't fully trust it, and her pack was not entirely centered, so she felt like it was pulling her off the cliff. I was being an ass, and was a good distance in front of her, and had no idea she was struggling until we reached the end of the section and she was shaking and nearly in tears.

That's when the situation started to dawn on me, miles and miles too late. That's when I finally realized, or admitted to myself, that Jessica was in no shape to do the trail. It wasn't lack of strength or conditioning, and she had will power to spare. But her knee just was not up to the challenge. She had known that within a mile of the trailhead, but didn't want to tell me because she knew how much I wanted to reach the valley, and she didn't want to ruin the trip for me. She had been gritting it out out of love for me. There is a good (if illegal) campsite at mile eight. We should have cut our losses and camped there, but it didn't occur to me as an option (the enormous NO CAMPING sign didn't help).  Instead, we limped our way to Kalalau. The trail ended with a half-mile descent down a red-clay mudslide which Jessica already could barely handle. We made it to the valley almost too preoccupied to enjoy how spectacular it was.

The valley is spectacular. The beach is large, and there is a waterfall nearby to use for fresh water and a shower. Behind the beach, the cliffs rise more sharply and with more green than words or pictures can capture.

Almost as otherworldly as the scenery is the community in the valley. The attitude seems to be that anyone who wants to be on the beach badly enough to actually get to the beach is okay. People stay there for weeks, foraging off the land, fishing, eating the abundant tomatoes that have gone wild over the valley floor, even hunting the pigs and goats with bow and arrows. The first question is always "first time here?" and the second one is "how long are you staying?" Five days seems to be a minimum, largely because no one wants to face the trail after having just faced the trail. We set up our little campsite, right next to our trail friends Larry and Natalie.

It was nearly four when we got into the valley, and Jessica was hurting so much there was no question of exploring more than the immediate beach. We showered off, spent some time on the beach, and just as we started thinking seriously about dinner, it started to rain. We had a wet dinner, and turned in a little after dark. We could hear the surf pound, but we could also see the lightening flashes through the tent and hear the rain fall. I was seriously scared about how we were going to get out of there. Neither of us slept well.

We woke at dawn, ate a quick hot meal of oatmeal and Starbucks Via. Whoever gave Jess that tip: thank you! I've never tasted better coffee. We broke camp as quickly as we could, with me taking as much extra weight as I thought I could handle to try to coddle Jessica's knee, and off we went. That first red dirt hill was brutal. I was blowing like a steam engine by the top, due to already tired legs and the extra weight. Jess started the trail barely able to bend her knee, but assuring me that, with a positive attitude, she could do what she did the day before. Lesson two: injuries don't get better. They get worse.

We did okay until about three miles from the trail head. We went slowly and took many breaks, but we made constant forward progress. Predictably, it wasn't long before Jessica's right knee started hurting from compensating for her left. I have never seen a gutsier, grittier performance. She walked eight of the toughest miles I have every seen on two very painful, barely functional legs. I am sure that I could not have done what she did. But the wheels came off on the headland above Hanakapi'ai Beach. With 900 ft to descend, and then another two mile headland in front of us, Jess went down with a cry and couldn't get back up.  She took eight Advil and elevated her legs; I took everything out of her pack except her sleeping bag and mattress and transfered it to my pack. Lesson three: know what your companion has packed, because you might end up carrying it. Jess and I both overpacked, due to inexperience and not knowing what to expect condition-wise. Man, did I regret every additional pound.

I was planning at that point to camp at the beach below us, and then hiking out solo to get help the next morning. Two fortunate things happened so that we didn't have to do this. First, Jess' legs responded well to the elevation, and she could walk, although extremely slowly and painfully. Second, Larry and Natalie came by just at that moment. We gave them Jeremy's number, with the message to get his boots and meet us on the trail. I didn't exactly know what he could do other than take Jess' already lightened pack, but I knew that if I could see him, everything would somehow be all right. With Larry and Natalie speeding to cell phone coverage, Jess and I started hobbling down the hill. As we headed up the slope after the river crossing at the beach, just to add a little drama to the situation, a dark, scary, intense thunderstorm moved in, flooding the trail and making it difficult to see. Jess could barely walk. I was pulling her up about half of the steps, because the rocks were too big for her to negotiate on her own. On the downhills, she leaned on my pack from behind. I was exhausted, and she was exhausted and in excruciating pain.

Thank god, Larry and Natalie were as good as their word. Jeremy found us about a mile from the trail head, rain pouring on us, thunder continuously growling, in the dark, and hardly moving. I nearly burst into tears of relief when I saw him, literally running up the trail to help us. I'm crying right now as I remember it. He gave us blissful non-treated water and took Jessica's pack. And then, step by painful step, we inched forward. Sometimes the two of us would flank Jess, but most often Jeremy supported her. It took at least an hour and a half to make it down that last half mile. By the time we reached the parking lot, it was nearly dark, and there was not a dry molecule anywhere near any of us. But, we made it. Safe, if not fully sound, and with a tale to tell.

The good news is that we are both basically fine. Jessica is limping and sore, but walking and okay enough to decide to put off a doctor's visit until she gets back to Spokane. I have more angry mosquito bites than I can count, and am covered in chafe spots from walking so long in wet clothes, and I have this lovely rash on my ankle. In short, I got off easy.

Mistakes were made. I pushed too hard to make something I wanted happen, and I didn't heed the abundant warning signs. Jess prioritized not disappointing me (or, I hope, herself) over being honest about her condition. Neither one of us had enough respect for that situation or that trail. We were novices, neither knowing what we were capable of doing or what we should do. We are extremely lucky not to have had a serious fall, given her unsteadiness and that I was carrying too much weight. I still want to do more backpacking, and I would even like to return to the valley to explore, but I will never have the same attitude toward the wilderness again.

And Larry and Natalie? We had Mai Tais with them last night at the Hanalei Colony Resort. I love that they turn out to be in normal life exactly what they seemed to be on the trail: open, friendly, smart, thoughtful, fun, kind beings, and a wonderful couple to be around. I hope they turn into long term friends and hiking buddies. They live in Seattle, so the North Cascades may be calling us . . .

Hanalei Rain Storm

So, here we are in beautiful Hanalei, on the north shore of Kauai.  We are just north of the wettest place on earth, Wai'ale'ale plateau, which gets a whopping 511 inches of rain a year. For comparison, Forks on the Olympic peninsula gets 120 inches of rain a year. But Hanalei itself only gets, on average, 78 inches a year. Alas, we are getting all 78 inches right now. The NWS is reporting 1.6 inches an hour. An hour! Honestly, until today I believed that there was a limit to how hard it could rain, that rain drops couldn't be bigger than drops, and that they couldn't fall faster than gravity would pull them. I have been schooled. It is raining so hard the eave line of the house is a solid sheet of water, like a water slide. It is raining so hard I actually got water in my lungs from breathing. It is raining so hard the rain drops are bouncing a good six inches after they hit the ground. There is flash flood warning. The bridge in and out of town is closed because the river crested at over nine feet (six feet is considered flood stage), which means that the entire town is closed. No one can get in to work, and god knows no one who works retail can afford to live in Hanalei.  This is epic, tropical, we-better-placate-the-Tiki-Gods kind of rain. I would go prepare a sacrifice, but the supermarket is closed.

Our first full day was lovely: warmth, sunshine, lots of blue sky and bluer sea. We snorkeled in the morning and surfed in the afternoon. Friday wasn't bad, either. A little more rain, but still plenty fine for snorkeling and surfing. Jeremy has already mastered his ten foot hardtop, and is planning on trading it in for an eight footer tomorrow. I'm still working on timing my waves, but my balance seems fine. Yesterday was mostly rainy, although Jessica got in a surfing lesson, which she declared "the most fun ever in my life" even though she got pelted with rain for part of it. I think she was pretty close to getting asked out by her hot surf instructor, too.  For the most part, what rain there has been has been typical, tropical rain: twenty seconds of intense downpour, and then the sun comes back. The word is that the system we are in will move by us sometime overnight, and we will return to our previously scheduled mostly sunshine.

Hanalei is a wonderful town for many, many things. I don't think there is a better place to learn to surf anywhere in the world. The beach has an enormous sand break, and there are almost always surfable waves that don't require too much paddling. There are amazing snorkeling beaches stretching in both directions, and the pristine Tunnels beach, with an easily accessible inner and out reef, is just minutes away (once you figure out which "No Parking -- Private Road" signs are lying and which will get you ticketed and towed). Hanalei town itself (all towns in Hawaii are referred to as town: Kapaa town, Puako town, etc. I don't know why) reminds me of a tropical version of Cannon Beach, but with more surf shops and bikinis. What Hanalei is not good for is restaurants. I suppose this is to be expected: none of the restaurants here depend on return customers, since very few people are in town for more than a week at a time. Plus, it is fairly isolated. So, the food tends to run from bad to edible, and all of it is expensive. I had a twelve dollar fish burger the other day that was a hamburger bun, a lot of mayo, and a very small piece of ono. The sausage that came with breakfast this morning was a cross between summer sausage and kielbasa -- very odd with french toast. But, hey, it was the only open cafe in town.)  The one exception that I have found so far is the blissful Java Kai. Oh, how I love the Java Kai. They roast their own coffee. They know how to pull shots of espresso with beautiful, sweet crema. They have solid baked goods. They have efficient service. I want to buy the Java Kai and go native. Really rather a lot, actually.

Fortunately, since we are renting a house, I have both a kitchen and a Weber. We have already grilled chicken and pork with some success. Last night, however, was the first truly good meal here on the island. We feasted on local bounty. See, Saturday mornings feature the wonderful Hanalei Farmer's Market. It isn't as big as the Portland market, but it has many more pineapples. It has an amazing amount of local produce. Jess and I came home with mizuna, green onions, green beans, gorgeous long purple eggplant, mint and basil. We were sorely tempted by the eggs, and utterly seduced by the salsa and the "herb almond pate." We were less impressed by the slightly sour goat cheese. We were amused by the earnest lady who wanted to sell us very expensive crystals that would make our dreams more vivid and help us with our psychological work.

The best part of any farmer's market, for me at least, is having to figure out how to combine what I bought into a meal. Combine that with the Top Chef worthy challenge of cooking in a rental home kitchen, with the random spices and accompaniments left by previous renters, and with the wholly inadequate knives and cookware that one finds in such places. This house actually has a decent pantry; clearly, someone has been cooking asian. I inherited fish sauce, soy sauce, and sesame oil. It has particularly dreadful knives, some of which I am convinced started their lives in a child-safe pumpkin carving set. The rest are obviously courtesy of late night infomercials. Never dull! Can cut through this can! Please note that the "best" knife here has a bottle opener built into the blade. The pans are, basically, formed out of aluminum foil. I scorched one pan without managing to brown the butter in it. How is that possible according to the laws of physics? Shouldn't the melting point of cookware be above the melting point of butter?

Anyway, here is what I came up with: Eggplant with diced chicken thighs, stir fried with garlic, ginger, vinegar and sambal olek. Tofu marinated in fish sauce, soy, sesame oil, basil, mint, and green onions. Green beans, mizuna and green onions sauteed in butter with good, old fashioned salt and pepper. And you know what? My favorite was the tofu! The sauce was deep and nutty, and contrasted with the bright, fresh herbs beautifully. It came together in about a second, too. I heated the soy with a little garlic and ginger in the microwave (I didn't want to bite into a big chunk of raw garlic, and I couldn't do more than gnaw at it with the available knives) for about a minute. Then I tossed in everything else. Simple, low calorie, high flavor, high protein. Jeremy missed out by refusing to try it (he believes soy products cause a brief upsurge in estrogen production followed by a longer depletion, leaving you incapable of feeling happy. He may be right, but I can't say my mood is crashing at the moment, and I ate a lot of tofu last night).

Tuesday morning we leave for the hike, assuming the flash flood warning is lifted and we can make the river crossings safely. Fingers crossed! Should be some muddy, slippery fun.