Category: Hiking

Sometimes the eyes deceive, as when one sees food and believes they could eat it, all of it. So too, when one sees a task and believes they can do it, with the simplest hand tools, in a day, by themselves. Such was the case when I volunteered to mow along a disused and neglected portion of one the my favorite trails, Kuilau Trail from Keahua Arboretum to the bridge where it joins Moalepe Trail.

Rather than use a gas-powered weed eater offered by the Division of Forestry and Wildlife (I cannot be the only person who detests that noise), I opted for a scythe, only to discover that no one seems to know what a scythe is anymore. What I ended up with was a nifty pruning hook and a grass hook.

The pruning hook only has a two-foot handle, but that is at least better than squatting  down with a sickle. Although the grass hook has a three-foot handle, it dulls quickly and easily, and is difficult to sharpen by hand.

Nevertheless, I set out to try them on the Sleeping Giant (Kuamo’o Trail). While the pruning hook performed well when removing overhanging branches and low-lying brush and pithy weeds, the grass hook was cumbersome and dulled quickly—especially when striking upturned rocks and snagging in the ubiquitous Albizia roots that are the foundation of the pathway. Consequently, I finished mowing the last few yards of that 200-yard stretch using only the pruning hook.

My next challenge would be mowing the last three fourths of a mile on the Kuilau Trail, so after returning home, I sharpened my tools as well as possible with a 2-1/2 inch whetstone, and put them away.

Over one month later, I packed a lunch, an extra liter of water, my tools, mosquito repellent, and finally got around to the task that I initially volunteered to do. Hiking in the first mile and a quarter there were no surprises such as fallen trees or landslides, and just beyond the picnic shelter area, I started capturing the “BEFORE” shots of places to be mowed. Arriving at trail’s end, I recorded a short video of the Little Falls before beginning to mow my way back to the trailhead.

Starting from the bridge, I cleaned up the first 100 yards and used up all of the ‘sharp’ that that grass hook had. In the process I also disturbed a big Black Witch Moth that fluttered around wildly, then returned to hide and slumber, upside down, in the upper thicket alongside an Albizia tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feeling as though I’d accomplished something, I set out to clean up the 50-yard stretch back to the 1.75 Mile marker. Below is an older photo of the view toward trail’s end from the marker, followed by the “BEFORE” and “AFTER” shots, looking back from trail’s end to the marker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although it looks quite a mess afterward, the first rainfall should clean it up quite nicely and leave the thatch to hold the thicket at bay for a while. At this point, I’d been mowing for nearly five hours, which made it obvious that I would not finish mowing my way back to the trailhead that day.

Here are two more BEFORE shots, and much work lies between them and the 1.75 Mile marker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With just over one half mile to go, I’ll need a few more weeks to chew the remainder of this bite.

First of all, I must apologize for the lack of photos from this hike because it was simply too steep and/or muddy to stand up and snap a photo. Still there’s no denying that what I saw was worth the mud and sweat, and I’m looking forward to plying the “fishnet” pathway again.

To get there, head north on Kuhio Highway (56), past Princeville and down the hill to the one-lane bridge over the Hanalei River. Turn left after crossing the bridge onto Ohiki Road, which lies between the river and the taro patches. Continue down Ohiki Road looking for a dirt parking lot on your left and a dilapidated footbridge on your right (less than a mile, but since my odometer only displays whole miles, I cannot say how much less).

Park and cross the road, and enter the trail by crossing the marked footbridge and following the muddy path a 100 yards or so until you come to a break on the left leading up the hill. At the very bottom, it was simply too wet to stand still, so this is the only decent photo I was able to get at lower elevations.

Carry a little more water than you think you’ll need. I carried 2 liters in a camel pack, and a half liter bottle and was mighty thirsty when I got back to the car three-and-a-half hours later. Again, carry more water than you think you’ll need.

The most significant feature of this trail is up; and the next most significant feature appears on your return, down. You will gain or lose more than 1200 feet in altitude over the 1.75 mile trek, and you’ll hike in and out of sun and shade, through tall grasses and deep ruts with few breaks to get a good look around on the ascent. These shots were taken at a bend just below the power line.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The view “up” reminded me of Pacific Northwest trails I have hiked and loved. “Down” did not invoke fond memories of anywhere. Next up came this stunning view from Makana to Princeville where the powerline descends into Hanalei Valley and the trail continues to the left. Delicious cool breeze was also available here.

Dappled patches of meandering trail such as this reminded me of my youth, and scenes on the Appalachian Trail…

…still other stretches looked as much as anything like portions of the Pacific Crest Trail in the Cascades. One other thing I found remarkable here was how wet it is even at 1200+ feet, and that’s because all of these root lattices catch and hold considerable quantities of water.

Looking southwest from Kauka’oopua (1,273 feet) at trail’s end the summit of Maamaloha pierces the clouds against the north rim of Lumaha’i Valley.

With east winds at 6 mph, gusting to 30 mph, it was difficult to photograph the view to the south from the plateau at trail’s end. Nevertheless, the nearer peak behind the trees is Kaliko and to its left the higher peak of Naamolokama Mountain.

To the southeast I saw the Anahola Mountains, and what I believe is Pu’u Ehu.

The little plateau at the ‘official’ trail’s end is heavily overgrown with a several taller trees, so vistas aren’t what they used to be. Additionally, the Ti plants that were cultivated here during the Prohibition Era are being crowded out by other species. Incidentally, ‘O.kole.hao means “iron bottom” and derives from the iron try-pot stills that bootleggers (who planted the Ki on this ridge for such purpose) used to brew a liquor known by the same name.

Along the routes between our house and two of the three trailheads on Sleeping Giant are several interesting structures such as I’ve never seen anywhere else we’ve lived. Creative mailbox installations are not new to me, but the unique shelters created so that utility meters can be read from the road are something else altogether. This was the first to grab my attention.

Unfortunately, the residence to which this meter house belongs was getting a new green composition roof on the day I photographed the matching meter house.

Shaked roofs, although more common on out buildings than on houses because of rapid decay in our hot, wet, tropical climate, often mimic the residence in the background.

Some meter houses have only a simple roof. As you can see, this is not the most durable shelter, but fortunately, the populated side is in fairly good shape.

While some mailboxes are quite elaborate, many are merely painted by their artist owners. This one reminds me of the Pacific Northwest with its fish head and tail.

…and here is a lovely passion fruit bouquet on a mailbox.

Some meter houses are quite spartan, a basic design that is fully functional, as shown below.

Still others are clearly identified with the house number (and at one time, I imagine would have had a roof that matched the house as well).

I love this particular mailbox, for a local bed & breakfast, because it is actually a model of the house!

Meter houses borrow various architectural treatments from the residences, such as this T111 sided box.

Stone veneer forms the base of this mailbox, just like the house.

…and sometimes the mailbox matches the fence.

Meter houses are sometimes quite massive, more likely to endure a major storm than any of the houses.

So much of the beauty of the hike occurs before you get into the woods (jungle), and makes the journey to the trailhead at least as exciting as discoveries along the trail. And this is just tiny sample because all of these are less than two miles from home.

 

Born in northeastern Maryland, the eldest son of emigrants from western North Carolina, trekking came naturally to me. Before I started school, many days were spent in the woods and on farms surrounding our house, as well as playing in and hiking along the nearby creeks. By the time I started first grade, I knew the names of every living thing in those woods and creeks. Since we often visited my parents birthplaces, I learned a great deal from short hikes over portions of the Appalachian Trail, and at 14 years of age, ran up the U.S. Forest Service Road to the lookout tower on Fisher’s Peak (3,580 feet/1,091 meters).

Years later, I also hiked the Oregon side of the Columbia River Gorge, half of the Wildwood Trail in Portland, Oregon, and a short stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail near Mount Hood. As a volunteer at the Hoyt Arboretum, southern terminus of the Wildwood Trail, I learned the flora and fauna while conducting tours on weekends, and by helping with trail maintenance and eradication of invasive species.

Since retiring to the Garden Isle, I have enjoyed many hikes, and look forward to many, many more. To date, the hike along (and in) the stream to Makaleha Falls is the most spectacular I’ve experienced, and the name of the mountains, the falls and stream,  maka·leha – to gaze in wonder, ranks it among the most aptly named features on the island. The stream itself derives from three springs, two atop a western ridge and one to the north near Poohaku Pili (2,592 feet/790 meters).

Hiking to the lower tier of these two- and three-tiered waterfalls is difficult because the trail, such as it is, is user maintained—as you get nearer to the falls the trail becomes vague or as Andrew Doughty says in The Ultimate Kauai Guidebook, “wretched.” Prepare yourself to rock hop and at least get your feet wet—I hike in running shoes, some hike in water shoes, and still others wear some seriously expensive boots. This hike begins in the ruts of the perimeter road around two private water tanks at the end of Kahuna Road. Follow the road around two sides where it breaks to the right. Less than a quarter mile in, the road ends and the fun begins where the bunny path dumps you in the stream, just below the remnants of a washed out concrete dam. Cross the stream here into a lush bamboo grove.

The inviting trail immediately to the right also dumps you in the stream and you could rock hop your way up and back onto the embankment, but that’s a bit dicey as well as being a little more treacherous on the trek out. It’s better to take the scenic route dead ahead, which turns right and up a steep embankment away from the stream and deeper into the groves. Although the trail is narrow it offers some spectacular views and eventually brings you back down to the stream. This way also tends to be a little drier than the “shortcut” (more than once, I recalled that the easy way out usually leads back in).

The path along the left stream bank is undulating, but more open than the bunny trail through the bamboo groves. Eventually, this too dumped me in the stream, across from a little island in the stream. I rock hopped my way to the island, but couldn’t tell which way to go the first time—the trail leads off both ways—and the crossing to the right looked easier. Now I know to ignore that because it too leads both upstream and downstream and is an absolutely horrid route, which forced me to cross the stream in deeper water, only to discover the nice trail that I should have taken to the left of the island.

Imagine my surprise when even the good trail ended in the stream. So, after crossing, I entered an enduring maze of Hau Trees (hibiscus tillaceus), some of which I went over and some were easier to go under. This is a common experience on the best trails here because these invasive, viny trees are everywhere. Ultimately, this mossy path eased into, wait for it, bamboo groves! Shortly afterward, it dumped me in the stream, where I easily hopped into the bamboo groves on the other side, and that was the last of the distinguishable trail.

First, I rock hopped my way upstream to the right in search of the two-tiered waterfall. Because the trail is nondescript from the convergence of the streams, I simply did my best to read which side of the stream yielded the longest passage, followed by an easy way to crossover to the other side, and discovered a few more recently etched trails around otherwise impassable portions of the stream. The longest of paths was the last one on the right which again, started in a bamboo grove, then passed through a small banana grove before returning to the stream below the falls.

After thoroughly taking in this rushing miracle, I hurried down stream over the rocks and paths to find the falls from the south and middle fork. While hopping upstream didn’t require many crossings, there was yet another island to traverse, yet there were no paths skirting obstacles. The further upstream I went, the more difficult the course until I eventually had to duck down an unlikely side stream which proved to be the way to go.