So we perused the guide book and decided to follow the advice that "if you only do one hike on Kauai, let it be this one"... up at Waimea Canyon (the Grand Canyon of Hawaii), along a boardwalk trail through the "highest elevation swamp in the country". 8 miles RT. Sounded fun! And flat! We just had to take a 1.8 mile other trail to get to the swamp trail that would then take us to an amazing vista point. We packed plenty of water, snacks, lunch, bug spray, sunscreen, the "10 essentials" and off we went, feeling maybe a little over-prepared as we saw others in flip flops, little kids, older folks heading out too.
The sun was shining. The sky was blue. Weather report promised "zero precipitation" for the afternoon. Immediately we headed down a rough rocky track as wide as a road, our hiking poles providing some steadying support, but barely needed actually. On our left was a huge and breathtaking view of the ocean at the Napali Coast. There was a precipitous drop off on that side, but only a fool would get that close to the edge of the earth. We are not fools and have a healthy fear of heights. No problem. Most folks only went this far and turned back to the parking lot. That was the flip flop crowd. But we journeyed on.
Soon we entered a tranquil forest, the flat walking path cushioned with leaves and we had plenty of shade. This was short-lived. No sooner had I had a moment of gratitude for this lovely easy trail, it opened onto a steep rocky climb through roots and rocks that required planting my poles and hoisting myself up to the the next rock, and the next, and the next. It was steep! But I figured this was just a little rough patch and once up top (I couldn't really see the trail above me anymore) all would even out again and be a breeze.
This was wishful thinking. The next mile or so was a horror show of constant up and down rocks and roots and ruts, poles helping in some spots, and just in the way in others where hand holds on roots, limbs, and rocks provided more assistance in pulling myself upward and hanging on to keep myself from falling/sliding downward. Hub was there to steady me as well, but he had his own path to forge and often we just had to stop and consider the best (safest) way to navigate the boulders and slippery red dirt pebbles that undermined every foothold that looked stable but wasn't. It was hot, sweaty, dirty, exhausting work.
One would think it wise to just turn around and go back, but we passed folks who said "this is the worst of it...it gets easier and so worth it!" so we kept going. And going. And going.
We finally reached the area that was on the forest floor, wet and swampy, so there had been boardwalks laid -- some decades ago. The wood was rotted in places, broken stairways left huge gaps, navigating was a bit of challenge, but it was so much better than what we'd traversed that it felt easy. Except where there was a huge overhanging branch above the trail. I kindly warned Hub to duck and promptly hit the top of my own head on the damn thing! We laughed and kept going to the junction of the next trail -- the one we actually had wanted to be on to get to the vista point. We were hungry, tired, and surprised that we'd spent far longer on that stretch of the hike than we'd planned. That treacherous mile had taken an hour or more. We sat down on a log and ate lunch, encouraging each other that the next stretch would be a piece of cake. (But knowing what we were in store for on the way back. I tried to stay in the present moment and not live in dread.)
As we sat enjoying our PBJ's and apples, the sky overhead turned a bit gray. Then we felt the mist. Then we felt the sprinkles. We both got very quiet. I was already pretty tired and Hub had already suggested we might not make it all the way to the vista point. As the rain fell harder, he said, "I'm making a unilateral decision -- we are going back. This is socking us in -- there won't be a view; it's getting late; and that area we have to navigate is going to become a river of slippery mud." Truer words were never spoken.
We ran out of boardwalk and into the rocks again but now everything was wet and muddy. Every foothold was full of murky brown water. Every bit of earth was soaked and had turned into slippery, famous Kauai red mud, making every step feel like I was slipping on ice. My poles helped in some spots, but mostly I dragged myself up by grabbing roots and branches. I held myself back from slipping down the same way. At one point there was a wire fence along one side of the ascent and I grabbed onto that and used it to pull myself upward. Somewhere along this stretch we missed our turn off and got lost. Of course. We reached the top-most point along this fence and nothing looked familiar. Hub figured out where we were and all was well, except for being on a "point" that had steep drops on both sides and nothing but fog and drizzle to stop us. It was a large enough piece of land not to feel precarious, but we did have to climb down from this point to where we should have turned off, so that added more descent treachery.
I think I blanked out here. All I can report from here on out is that it was wet, muddy, slippery, steep (VERY steep) and I was soaked with rain, covered with mud, had scrapes and scratches from sliding on rocks and being stuck by brambles and twigs. Hub was amazing at scoping out the route on each stretch -- where feet and poles and hand holds should be used. And he was also amazing at keeping me calm and supported as best he could using his own body to stop my slides and his strong steady grip to pull me up when I went down -- falling another couple of times in the slippery mud. I finally stopped trying to stay upright at the steepest places and just sat down and slid on my butt.
I'm known to be a Championship whiner on hikes; at some point I get so tired and frustrated that I actually cry. I swear a lot, or go steely silent, seething with resentment that "somebody" talked me into this. Here's the good news. I did not whine. I did not cry. I did not blame anyone. I did panic slightly a couple of times, imagining the worst, but Hub was right there to "center me" back to present moment reality with steady encouragement. The best thing he said was that this was among the 2-3 most challenging hikes he's ever done and he was amazed at my ability to keep going with great stamina and relative good humor. (Only three F-words!)
And we made it. Back in the now nearly empty parking lot we took photos of ourselves covered in mud. I was shivering cold, soaking wet, and laughing hysterically. We used Hub's handkerchief to wash off in a puddle the worst of the mud on our shoes and legs. We changed into much appreciated clean, dry shirts, put the floor mat from the car on my seat to protect it from my caked-on muddy butt, and hightailed it out of there for the hour drive to our resort and a hot shower that felt like Heaven.
I will say, I found it all rather surreal: simultaneously traumatizing and a source of pride. I do feel like I did a "thing", an endurance test I've never experienced before. I'm not naturally athletic and I don't seek out or generally enjoy physical challenges. And this won't change that. But I do feel some sense of accomplishment that I did it and was relatively unscathed in the end. We saw a sign hanging on a fence, post-hike, that described the trail as "difficult and potentially dangerous". I wish I'd known that!
However, when I looked up the hike on the Google Machine, others persist in saying what a terrific "moderately difficult" hike it is; They noted it's steep in places and "you might get a little muddy" but totally great anyway. I have to think they are far more adventuresome than I. Also taller. My short legs simply could not stretch into the slippery footholds worn into those rocks and I had to resort to butt sliding to prevent a head over heels tumble. I can just hear them: "It's just a hike! Not a feat of death-defying bravery!" Sure, easy for you to say. 🙄
Next week we are taking the Stand-Up Paddleboard up the Wailua River to "dock" at the shady inlet leading to a forest hike to Secret Falls. Never did that before either. I'll let you know how it goes...
At least, that's the view from here...©
I'm so impressed that you did this hike with relative good humor. Only 3 F-words where I would have had 300 hundred. What a bonding times with your more athletically inclined husband.
ReplyDeleteThanks! AND there are much more pleasant ways to bond with my husband. LOL
DeleteYa, but I bet he really appreciated your effort.
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