The annoying roosters outside anticipated the dawn by about two hours, compounding general disorienting effect of a six-hour jet lag. After a quick and foggy breakfast, we set out. From the trailhead a slick red clay path ran up a ridge into dense woods. At about 4,000 feet above sea level, the air was cool and misty. A light drizzle fell for few minutes as we began descending down the other side of the ridge. We spotted a couple of native birds, and a lot of imports. The endemic species, we're told, have survived only above about 3,000 feet or so, because avian malaria that probably arrived with Captain Cook's water casks wiped out the birds at lower altitudes. They had no immunity. But mosquitoes can't survive higher up, and so the birds that stayed up here stayed alive. Sure enough, there were no bugs at all so far. But the chickens seemed to be following us.
The three kids, full of early-hike energy, dashed off ahead, and we four adults let them go for a while. It was hard to tell if the trail would get treacherous, because our map lacked topographic relief, but it looked pretty tame for the moment. We knew we were walking from the interior toward the coast, and that at least some of the coast in this area consisted of a series of ridges rising 3,000 feet straight out of the Pacific. So we figured we might at least get to see the ocean. Sure enough, after 40 minutes or so we caught a glimpse of a twinkling blue band above the trees fading upward into an indistinct horizon. A land mass we figured must be the island of Ni‘ihau seemed to hover in space. Then it was gone as clouds swept in and released another gentle shower.
Before we came here, this was not the kind of scene we would have conjured on hearing the term "Hawaiian vacation." Then maybe watching McGarret and Danno chase crooks around Honolulu in Hawaii 5-0 reruns doesn't really qualify as sound research. But no matter how much careful homework we'd done, nothing could have prepared us for the jaw-dropping experience of hiking along the upper ridges of the Na Pali Coast in Koke‘e State Park. If Kauai is the lesser-known, off-the-beaten track island of the Hawaiian chain, then Koke‘e similarly is Kauai's out-of-the-way gem. On the continental U.S., a place this stunning would be a national park, no doubt with limited access to just keep the throngs from trampling it to death. Here, it was a charmingly unglamorous state park visited by an astoundingly small portion of the relatively few people who visit Kauai. Who knows why that is, but it was great for us: we seemed to have this whole otherworldly landscape to ourselves.
The Noualolo and Awa‘awapahui Trails. Many people have heard of Kauai’s famous Kalalau Trail, which leads for 11 spectacular miles along the Na Pali coast, staying near the water. Up here, you look down on the Kalalau from half a mile up: a few notches above spectacular. The recommended loop is to descend the Nualolo Trail, take a detour spur to a lookout point far out on a knife-sharp ridge, then backtrack and cross over to return on the Awa‘awapahui trail via the Nualolo Cliffs Trail. If you go the other way, you end up with a steeper climb at the end, but with a net loss of a few hundred feet of elevation over the course of the hike. Take your pick: either way, once you get out toward the edge of the island, this hike offers one mind-boggling view after another over terrain that, though precarious at times, is not particularly demanding (unless it rains and the mud turns slick). There is a second striking lookout at the end of a spur off the end of the Awa‘awapahui. From here it’s all uphill. This is where clever hikers will be happy they have brought plenty of water, as the ascent is gradual but lengthy. We were not clever, however, and by the time we reached the top, everybody was parched. Fortunately, anticipating jet-lag and the 6-hour hike, we had spotted a car at the Awa‘awapahui trailhead, which cut off what would have been a final two-mile walk along the road back to the start point. Downhill, but surely torture.
The Pihea and Alaka‘i Swamp Trails. A short drive up to the end of the park road is the head of the Pihea trail, which leads for a mile or so along the dramatic rim of the Kalalau valley, then downhill into the Alaka‘i Swamp, where a trail constructed mostly of wood and wire mesh boardwalk meanders through a surreal landscape of stunted, high-altitude jungle, eventually making its way to a viewpoint to the northeast. It rained on and off for much of the morning, but cleared up around 11:00. The Pihea trail is relatively heavily traveled and parts of its red clay surface are steep enough that steps have been cut into the slopes. Adding rain makes it a particularly messy process (the red mud is so indelible that a very successful local t-shirt company uses it as dye). It seems that the muddier the trail is, the less appropriately dressed people are, and this morning we saw lots of formerly white pants, a couple of people with slip-on shoes that keep slipping off, and one sharp looking young lady dressed for the evening in a peach colored cocktail dress.
The going is much faster (and cleaner) once you get on the boardwalks, but beware—they can be quite slick when wet, and their wire mesh edges make for nice scratches. After a left turn and a long descent of stairs and ramps is a stream crossing—a good excuse to take off your shoes for a minute. Then it’s on up the hill on other side. This swamp isn’t like any other—it seems something like a cross between Florida tidal marshes and the kind of gnarly forest that grows up near the tree line in the northern Appalachians. A couple of miles wide and maybe ten long, the Alaka‘i Swamp spreads across a plateau that slopes gradually all the way up to the summit of Mt. Wai‘ale‘ale (which is bounded on all other sides by sheer cliffs). Wai‘ale‘ale is the island’s central mountain, referred to at every opportunity by every map, brochure, and guidebook as “the wettest place on earth,” with 430-something inches of rain annually.
It’s been raining like this here ever since the island stuck its head above the ocean, and it shows: Kauai’s volcanic activity stopped about 6 million years ago and much of what used to be a huge dome-shaped volcano has been scrubbed away. The water carved steep gullies and created a landscape of sharp-edged ridges, deep valleys, and sandy beaches; meanwhile, a wide, relatively shallow underwater shelf roughly twice the size of the island suggests the original size of the landmass. The top of Wai‘ale‘ale sticks up into the moist trade winds, causing the air to rise and condense, resulting in a thick rain cloud that nearly always obscures the summit, even if it’s bright and sunny on the shoreline. Depending on seasonal winds, the island has a wet side upwind (northeast most of the year, southwest in the winter) and a dry side in the lee of the mountain. So there can be rainforest and arid, near- desert conditions only miles apart (it’s a very convenient way to experience lots of climates, except for the 12 hours in airplanes required to get here). A portion of the water that pours onto the mountain flows gently through the Alaka‘i swamp on its way to the sea.
The trail takes the shortest way across the width of the swamp to the edge of a 3,400-foot cliff. After what seemed like ages following the boardwalk though clouds and sun and breezes and bogs, we arrived at the “lookout,” which was completely socked in with clouds. As we sat and ate lunch on the wooden platform, the clouds thinned briefly three times, revealing our perch to be a few thousand feet above and a few miles southwest of Hanalei Bay and Princeville on the island’s northeast shore. Oooh, aaaah.
After a detour to check out the Pihea lookout on the way back (more great views and opportunities to fall and kill oneself), we were back at the trailhead--just in time to witness a postcard moment: a double rainbow that arched more than 180 degrees up out of the Kalalau Valley, over the Pihea ridge, and down into the Alaka‘i on the other side. Here we encountered German professional photographer who works for a stock image agency. He was beside himself.
Waimea Canyon. A short way back down the Koke‘e road is another fine network of hiking trails, these ones venturing not to the coast, but into the majestic Waimea Canyon in the island’s interior.
The dry Waimea Canyon looks a lot like the southwestern US. Since our chosen trailhead was actually a half-mile down a dirt track from the main road, we had the opportunity to use the 4-wheel drive vehicle we’d rented for just such a purpose--except the rental agent had made a point of saying the four-wheel-drive off-road vehicle was not to be used on any unpaved roads. We also had rented a Chevy sedan and we considered taking that instead, since they hadn’t specifically said not to take that car off-road, but ultimately we decided to take the chance ferrying the seven of us to the trail with the little SUV. After spectacular views, we descended briefly into the forest and settled down for a little while next to a waterfall/swimming hole. This, like the Noualolo trial, is a good place to get the surreal experience of looking down at little teeny helicopters buzzing about in the canyon.
The Kalalau Trail. Most of the best hikes on the island are in Koke‘e, but there are a couple of others worth doing. The Kalalau Trail, of course, is a major destination--indeed, some visit Kauai just to do this hike. One can get a flavor without doing the 22-mile overnight out-and-back trek simply by setting off with a picnic lunch from the parking area at Ke’e Beach. Just take the highway that circles the island all the way up the east coast, through Princeville and Hanalei until the road ends in a wooded parking area. The walk gets spectacular in a hurry, so even two or three hours will provide ample rewards.
The most popular hike on the east side is a quick and easy jaunt up Sleeping Giant, a ridge that juts 1,000 or so feet above the town of Kapa‘a. Since it’s away from the ocean and at relatively low altitude, it tends to get quite a bit hotter in the middle of the day than the Koke‘e trails or the Kalalau, so bring plenty of water. There’s a shady shelter with a couple of picnic tables at the top, and precarious side trail over the giant’s nose.
State Park Cabins. In Koke‘e State Park, we stayed in two rustic cabins, each equipped with a wood-burning stove for the cool nights and a basic kitchen whose appliances were spotted with rust because of the humidity. Our party of seven split into two cabins because the park’s limit per cabin is six persons, and they’re dead serious: in each place there were exactly six plates, six spoons, six forks, six knives, six coffee mugs, six plastic glasses, and so on. None of these was a matched set except for the six white towels. We confounded their organization by taking all the cookware and utensils and putting them in one cabin (where there were exactly six chairs so someone needed to sit on the bed for dinner). We didn’t think of bringing over a spare chair for some reason.
As we packed up to leave, we realized with alarm that we didn’t remember precisely which six plates, cups, forks, knives, and spoons were borrowed from the other cottage. With trepidation we compiled a likely-looking hodge-podge and restocked the raided kitchen. It’s been a few months and we have yet to receive a scolding note from the park, so the ploy must have worked. After returning keys, we browsed the Koke‘e Lodge gift shop and visited the adjacent Koke‘e Museum, where they have their own, differently stocked gift shop and a handful of informative displays, not to mention good hiking information (now that we were almost done hiking). Smart planners would visit here at the beginning of a stay in Koke‘e as opposed to on the way out. For a few days of hiking, it’s hard to imagine a better setup than staying in these affordable cabins.
Hotel. We also stayed at the Kauai Sands, a cluster of modest but serviceable buildings, most appearing to be of 1960s vintage, right on the beach between the towns of Wailua and Kapa‘a on the east coast a few miles from the airport. There were danger signs posted at the beach, and the dire warnings seemed to have attracted a small crowd of flashy surfers. The hotel adjoins the overpriced yet bland Coconut Marketplace, where we got a couple of fiberboard pizzas and decided not to buy much of anything else.
Our room had a balcony that overlooked one of two pools and offered a nice ocean view.
Camping. We didn’t camp on Kauai, but we often do camp, and from what we could tell, camping on Kauai is inexpensive and informal. You do have to get a county permit, which costs $5 to $10 a night per family, depending on location; they suggest you do this in advance by phone at 808-274-3444 or online at www.state.hi.us/dlnr/dsp/fees.html. There’s an open area at Koke‘e Lodge, for example, where you just set up your tent wherever you like. There’s a restroom with showers nearby. We saw a similar setup near Hanalei, right on the beach. If one wants to hike the entire out-and-back Kalalau Trail, an overnight permit is necessary to stay at the endpoint campsite.
While staying in the Koke‘e cabin, we made all our own meals. Aside from a $6 gallon of milk (imported from Oregon), the groceries weren’t too outrageously expensive. Some things would even qualify as deals--Australian wines, for example, were a couple of bucks less than back home. Hawaii is kind of on the way from Australia to Cleveland, so that makes sense, but it was still hard to believe we’d actually found a bargain. We fed seven people for three nights and days for about $300, less than $15 a day per person, including plenty of wine, beer, and fresh seafood.
Another reason we found to make our own meals was that the restaurant fare we tasted just wasn’t anything special, not even the places that had earned rave reviews. I guess you don’t come here for the cuisine anyway.
Still, a couple places merit mention. In Waimea on the west coast, we considered eating at a shrimp place, but there was a sign saying they had no local shrimp and what they did have was from Maine. That seemed silly, so we ate lunch at a place across the street called Big Braddah’s. The establishment seemed frequented by locals and offered everything from “plate lunches” of grilled meat or fish, potato salad and macaroni salad with some guava and mango, to that famous island specialty, chicken parmesan with spaghetti.
After that, we walked across the street to buy some red dirt t-shirts and get shave ice from what the “Ultimate Kauai Guide” says is the best place on the island, JoJo’s Club House. Shave ice is a concoction of superfine ice shavings with flavored syrup. Sometimes it’s put on top of ice cream, and sometimes it’s doused with yet another topping. The wait was long and it was excruciatingly hot. The proprietress kept scolding people who would hold the door open, saying they were letting out what she claimed was air conditioning. But the servers were drenched in sweat and the only cool air you could feel was when you held the shave ice next to your cheek. Maybe that’s what she meant.
JoJo’s menu has about 50 suggested flavor combinations, and you can also make up your own concoction, so it takes each customer about an hour to decide what to order, then another 20 minutes for the staff to prepare it. But it’s worth the wait, a least once anyway.
We got an equally delectable and much quicker shave ice way up at the other end of the island in Hanalei at a little trailer stand called Wishing Well Shave Ice.
There’s a large ethnic Korean community on the island and we found a good noodle place in Kapa’a and Korean Barbecue and some passable Tex-Mex in the Kinipopo shopping center at the north end of Wailua. On the downside there was some pretty unsatisfactory Thai food up the road at The King and I. Maybe they thought Thai soup was supposed to be made from boiled neckties, or maybe we’re just spoiled with the Lemon Grass and Mekong River restaurants so close to home in Cleveland Heights.
The swimming here is a little iffy for people used to places like Cape Cod and the southeastern states where the beaches are almost all sand. Here there is plenty of sand, but also lots of ledges of rock and coral, so if you happen to get face-planted by a wave, you’re likely to experience something worse than a few mild abrasions. We noted that, aside from surfers, no one on the beaches seemed to spend much time in the water, except in a couple of very protected areas. In fact, there’s a little brochure you can get that tells you which beaches are dangerous and for what reasons and guess what? They’re ALL rated as dangerous.
We took that to mean that you always need to be prudent, not that we should avoid going in--especially since we’d heard on good authority that Kauai offered great places to go snorkeling. We’d never been snorkeling, but it seemed like the kind of thing one had to do.
The question was whether to rent the equipment for five days or just buy it. We were not informed consumers, so we checked out Wal-Mart to see what it would cost to buy basic gear. It turned out we could get “kits” of mask, snorkel, and flippers for $25 or $30 per person, roughly the same as renting for five days--not the finest equipment, to be sure, but probably as good as the cheap rental stuff. So we bought the gear, telling ourselves we’d be able to use it later in the Cuyahoga River or Lake Erie.
Lydgate State Park, on the east shore south of Wailua, was recommended as a safe place for beginning snorkelers, and it was between Wal-Mart and the hotel, so we stopped there. The beach is protected by a stone breakwall that completely encircles the swimming area. The first thing we learned was it’s much easier to wade into the water carrying your flippers and put them on in the water than it is to walk down the beach wearing them. Then it took a little fiddling around to get the masks to fit tightly, but soon we were out in the gentle waves marveling at the number of fish that are apparently always swimming around your feet whenever you step into the ocean. We even spotted the unofficial state fish, the humuhumunukunukuapua‘a. If you really want to see lots of fish, we found, hang around the rocks. And be careful around the rocks if the surf is high, because rocks are very hard and abrasive.
We got tired and stopped for lunch, after which we decided to drive 15 minutes up the coast to Donkey Beach, where we had read there was a secluded cove that could be good for snorkeling. We found the parking area and walked down a long path past a crew of workers who were cutting down tall brush along the hills that led down to the water. Or some of them were working: a few others were just looking out toward the water with binoculars. We took a side trail to the left just before the beach in order to get to the secluded cove, which we found to be very lovely but perhaps better suited to white-water kayaking than snorkeling. So we scrambled over the super-green grass, bright orange dirt, and round black rocks to the beach itself, which was nearly deserted. We settled under a shady tree, where we noticed a little wooden plaque that said “Anahola Posse.” We hoped we weren’t invading the territory of some dangerous gang.
There were only a dozen or so people on the beach, scattered along a quarter mile of sand--a few were all the way at the south end, partially concealed in the shade of a large spreading tree. One woman and her toddler splashed along in the wash of the waves. We saw that the guys atop the hill were packing up the binoculars to leave. What were they looking at?
When we got back to the car, we re-read the entry on Donkey Beach in the guidebook and saw that it had a long reputation as a nude beach. Aha! Binoculars explained.
The best snorkeling experience we had was at Ke‘e Beach at the northern terminus of the road (in fact, it was so cool we went back three times). One’s driving progress slows steadily past Princeville as you encounter a series of one-lane bridges where you’re obliged to wait for oncoming traffic. Watch out for dogs wandering around and sleeping in the road, people strolling aimlessly, chickens roosting, etc. It’s advisable to adopt a kind of laid-back attitude.
The parking area at Ke‘e spreads out under the leaf canopy of an open woods that abuts the beach. The abrupt cliffs of the Na Pali coast begin at the left edge of the beach, with a steep hill that starred as Bali Hai in the movie South Pacific. You can sing it if you like, but people might look at you funny.
In the water, which was nearly calm our first day, a large reef reaches out from the shore and bends to the left, enclosing the beach area like a protective forearm and elbow. The tide was coming in and there was just enough depth to swim over the shallow reef if you held in your stomach. All kinds of colorful sealife thrives here, fish and eels gliding in and out of the holes in the reef, urchins nestled in the nooks. At the outer edge of the reef, we just about swam into a couple of sea turtles (honu) as they allowed themselves to slosh back and forth with the waves, floating just below the surface, munching on green stuff that grows on the reef. We visited with them for a while, even touching their leathery shells, then we drifted back toward shore.
We also had a nice time snorkeling at Po‘ipu Beach on the south shore. There’s a large reef that protects a couple hundred yards of beach, so the waves were very mild, though there was a strong lateral current when we were there. A lot of the swimming was very shallow, which was fine until a few waves would come along and you started bashing your knees and elbows (or worse) on the coral. With more experience, a snorkeler probably learns how to read these conditions and navigate accordingly.
Snorkeling really does allow you to feel like you’re in the ocean along with all the other living things--like you’re part of it, not just looking at it. We vowed to go back to Wal-Mart and get us one of those disposable underwater cameras so we could go back to Ke‘e and take some turtle pictures. But, of course, for the rest of our trip the seas were too rough there to swim to the outer reef edge. One day it rained on and off all morning and we discovered that snorkeling in the rain is perfectly fine--in fact, in can turn what would be a wash-out day at the beach into a new kind of adventure. But no turtles.
We used up the film taking underwater snapshots of ourselves making goofy faces at each other.
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