I collected the gear that I had gathered together the previous evening. In my pack I carried a rain poncho, light wind-breaker, two liters of water, first aide kit, emergency blankets and ponchos, webbing, a half dozen karabiners, leather gloves, and two lengths of rope, one about 80 feet long and one about 30 or 40. I also had my whistle, compass, lunch (big chunk of cheese), and a whole bag of Halls Black Cherry Cough Drops! My throat was sore, but it only hurt when I coughed!
I donned my Vasque hiking boots, jumped in the Jeep, still damp inside from the previous day’s rain, and was off to a great adventure in our tropical paradise wilderness.
As the sun cracked the darkness at my back, I steered west down H-1, our main "interstate" highway. With no top on the Jeep, the crisp morning air whipping by at 65 miles per hour (okay I was speeding a little bit) nearly made me wish for long sleeves… nearly. Oh, what a beautiful time of day!
Riding down the road, I felt exuberant. Even through the chest cold and sore throat I had contracted, I was ready for the day's hike. As I wound around the shoreline, the Waianae Mountain Range loomed towards the heavens on my right, blocking any view of the northeastern skies, from where the weather typically rolls in. I caught a couple of brief glimpses of our day’s goal, the massive Mt. Ka’ala, framed in a backdrop of clear blue and light wispy clouds. I squinted at the top, thinking, “I will conquer you!” Standing a nominal 4025 feet above sea level, Ka’ala’s plateau peak is the highest point on the island.
Atop the mountain is a thousand plus acre natural preserve that was established about 20 years ago. Though the summit is attainable via a narrow road from the North Shore, only government entities are allowed access. The road exists to operate and maintain the large Federal Aviation Administration radar and communications site. Two large prominent radar domes and myriad antennas stand sentinel, serving their part to guide and protect commercial air traffic. The large radar domes conjure images of the Jolly Green Giant out for 18 holes of golf! Did I show my age with that one?
All other approaches are via perilous ridge trails up steep-sided gulches, through very rugged mountain terrain. Our planned five-mile round-trip route would take us 2,600 feet (that’s a half mile!) up the western exposure, through a hunting preserve in the hills at the back of the Waianae Valley.
The interstate ended and I traveled down Farrington Highway past the quaint coastal towns of Nanakuli and Maili. With the expansive Pacific Ocean to my left and scattered homes and businesses on my right, I watched my speed down this four-lane highway. Not to long ago there were several fatalities when automobiles hit pedestrians.
Arriving in Waianae, I hit the local Burger King (can you believe they serve rice for breakfast?) and grabbed a “number two with orange juice” for breakfast. “How many ketchup you like?” asked the Hawaiian girl operating the register. I always enjoy listening to the local lingo!
Wolfing down my breakfast, I headed up Waianae Valley road to Steve’s house. Steve, who found his way to Hawaii courtesy of the US Navy, is a prominent figure with our informal hiking group. He takes the initiative and works tirelessly, organizing our monthly hikes. We all appreciate it more than he knows. “We” are a group of friends and acquaintances who have a common interest in dancing. Our main hangout is a club in Aiea called Pecos River Café. Somehow our informal gatherings to go hiking evolved into a regular monthly hiking event.
I approached Steve’s house and parked on the rural road. He came out with his usual cheerful greeting, opened his gate and got his truck ready to go. The rest of our friends arrived soon after me. George, a mechanical trainer at the shipyard, Lan, a Vietnamese native who works nights at a elderly care home (yes, she just got off work), Jessica, who came without Jeff, her husband, because he had to work (darn!), and finally Todd, a new arrival to the island, who is a twenty year Air Force veteran. Todd will only say “intelligence” with a mysterious grin when asked what he does in the Air Force! It was 6:45, our scheduled meeting time. The weather conditions seemed to be acceptable to make the assault. The only distracter was the heavy rain during the previous week, which could make for slippery conditions.
Todd, George and Lan piled into my Jeep while Jessica rode up with Steve in the pick-up.
A paved road extends about a mile or so into the hunting preserve, while gaining several hundred feet in elevation. It exists solely for the Board of Water Supply pumping station nestled in the mountainous foothills. The problem is the road has a locked gate! Not wanting to extend our hike by having to walk the road, Steve had previously made plans to obtain a key from a secret source. Don’t ask!
On the way in, we stopped by Linda’s “house” a fellow teacher with Steve at Waianae High School. I had had the pleasure of meeting Linda during a previous hike we did in the area. Her story is quite fascinating. Though I drove through her property, I was not aware until later that Linda and her husband live somewhat as the ancient Hawaiians did, mainly subsisting off the land. They have no electricity, no phone and the only running water is natural and cold! No wonder Linda seemed to be an expert about the flora and fauna in the area. Linda teaches Hawaiian Language and Hawaiian Studies at the high school. I am sure Linda has Hawaiian bloodlines, but had I unknowingly seen her on the street, I would not have guessed her Hawaiian heritage.
Linda gathered up some strange looking “dog collars” and jumped in her four wheel drive and headed towards the hunting preserve, a mere quarter mile from her abode. At the gate we met up with Shaun, a UH student pursuing a masters degree in education, and several local teen-age boys, students of Linda, who had her pack of dogs and were armed with large knives. Apparently these are the only tools required for pig hunting! Linda made the boys walk up the road since she said it would not be fair to other hunters had they rode. As the boys preceded us, some of her dogs returned. She lovingly petted one saying; “You have your safety collar on, good!”
I inquired about the strange collar. It was very wide, like a sleeve, and appeared to be constructed of sturdy canvas and Velcro or buckles. Linda explained that the feral pigs are vicious and “go for the jugular” so the collars protect the dogs’ most vulnerable area, the neck.
After unsuccessfully attempting to phone one of Linda’s hiking acquaintances who was missing in action, we headed up the road. By now the temperature was rapidly rising as the sun stood up over the towering mountains. We crawled up the steep road to the pumping station. I continued up the dirt road in my Jeep, about a tenth of a mile further and parked at the trailhead. Lan joked that the pavilion with its associated picnic table must be McDonalds! On a placard, the local Boy Scout Troop took credit for the facility.
The local boys were about even with us at this point and headed up the trail, eager to start their hunt. We followed at a more leisurely pace. Linda and Steve are a treasure trove of Hawaiian lore and history, plus they are each quite knowledgeable of the local and introduced plants. I cannot, however, for the life of me remember the Hawaiian names off the top of my head! Previous attempts to generate income by cultivating crops have left a legacy of wild, introduced species. Macadamia, allspice, sugar cane, guava, oranges, to name but a few, were imported and have since inundated the area.
Steve showed us the sticky remnants of a particular flower that the natives used to trap birds. Linda explained that they would “bait” a branch with a flower that the birds liked and would lie in wait with a long stick that had been coated on the tip with “glue” made from the sticky sap of the flower that Steve was showing us. They would catch the bird with the stick, remove any feathers they needed for their ornamentation, and release the bird unharmed.
We started up the first low sloping ridge, ready for the challenge. We chatted about Hawaiian history and Linda revealed that the trail we were using was an ancient pathway to the adjacent valley. She explained that Waianae Valley contained an entire Hawaiian culture that subsisted from the sea and nearby lands. They journeyed to the mountains for wood, food and medicinal herbs and traded with neighbors in the adjacent valley. Eager to learn more, I urged Linda to keep talking and tell us all she could. She promised to talk when she was not out of breath. “I am sixty years old,” she proudly proclaimed. I had to do the preverbal “double-take” because this not frail and not fat, healthy as a horse (no offence) woman was maintaining our breath-stealing pace, stride for stride. Okay, now I am impressed! Steve is not far behind and he screams right up the hills too.
We skirted off the ridge, following the trail down an embankment and across a creek bed. Amazingly enough, the creek was relatively dry. I took that as a very positive sign that conditions would be acceptable on the higher reaches.
Here is where the fun started. The next portion of the trail ascended rapidly. It seemed as if the trail were more vertical than horizontal. We were in a forested area and the small trees were helpful to use as crutches to make it up the hill. Once we attained the broad, narrowly defined ridgeline, we climbed steadily towards the “saddle,” a geographic feature consisting of a bridge between two mountains. This particular saddle is a low point through the mountains and there are three electric utility poles on top. We call this, “three poles” for obvious reasons. With several sightseeing and water breaks, we made good, but tiring progress up the hill. The views of Waianae Valley and the ocean were spectacular!
As we approached the saddle, Linda’s “boys” were hollering down the hill that they were going over to the other side as the dogs had a pig a bay. Linda attempted to get them to wait because she had a pair of walkie-talkies and wanted them to take one. They didn’t wait! Boys will be boys!
Ten to fifteen minutes later, after a steep climb on the last section of the trail, we reached three poles. Hanging on a guy wire was one of the boys’ daypacks. We could hear the dogs deep in the valley baying. Linda was able to interpret for us what was going on. She named the dog, where he was, and what he was doing. Some of the dogs are trackers and some holders. The tracker finds the pig and the holder fights with it and keeps it in one place until the hunter can trudge through the undergrowth and use his knife for the kill. Apparently one female dog had become bored with the first pig and was off chasing another. Way down in the valley we could hear the pig “screaming” which meant the dogs were there engaged in a death battle.
Linda told us that one dog, the one that hung out with us instead of hunting, had gotten “dirty lickin’s” and didn’t want to hunt. She explained that the dog had been injured pretty badly during a pig hunt and had required stitches and drainage tubes during recovery.
At three poles, we rested, watered, and enjoyed the view for about 15 minutes. At this point the trail was new to me. I had previously been up to three poles, taking a circle route back, three times.
We headed up the ridge that gradually became steeper and more defined, meaning narrower! I cannot imagine walking atop a board that is 300 to 500 or so feet in the air, but that is similar to what we had to do at some points! Typically the ridge in this area was three to four feet wide, but some places were as narrow as eighteen inches. There was a false since of security because of the vegetation growing on the side of the ridge. The north side, to our left, was less steep and was heavily overgrown with trees. The south side was sheer with plants and saplings. The rule was if you become unbalanced, go left for a better chance of survival!
Linda walked with us until we arrived at “the rocks.” From there she went back to help tend to her dogs.
The ridge seemingly dead-ended, turning steeply up. Several large boulders, with no way around on either side, loomed 20 feet above our heads. Previous hikers had left a rope ladder and cables to assist climbing the boulders. The climb was not so bad, but the rocks remained somewhat slippery from the wet weather. It was frightening for some of us. At least the ridge at the base of the rocks was wide and heavily vegetated.
Once we all made it over this major hurdle, me breathing hard and sucking on cough drops to keep the rawness down in my throat, we continued up the ridge. Lan took the lead, resulting in her becoming heavily scratched from the abundant blackberry vines that inundated the trail. We had to clear the trail as we went. Several times Lan jokingly shouted back to the group, “Dead end!!!” But, alas, we found the trail.
About half of the upper trail above “the rocks” was so steep that previous hikers had installed ropes or cables. We carefully checked each one before using them to bear our weight. Also, we made a rule that only one person at a time could use a cable or rope. This resulted in us becoming spread out because some of the lengths of cable or rope were 40 or 50 feet in length. I installed one of my ropes during the climb on a section that had no rope. I left it for retrieval on the return trip.
Here, the trail was definitely more vertical than horizontal. Typically, my eye level was at calf level or lower when the person preceding me was only 3 or 4 feet away. As we approached the summit, we had to make a 160-degree or so turn around a promontory. Steve proclaimed that this was the most dangerous point on the hike. The trail was narrow and the drop-off sheer with certain death for the careless person. We took our time and negotiated this section of the trail with extra concentration.
By now, we were soaked throughout. The water lingering on the vegetation and our own sweat mingled to ensure we would not be dry. Since our altitude was closing towards 4000 feet (Steve kept track with his GPS receiver), the temperature had dropped noticeably. I first noticed it when someone behind me said something about steam coming off my head! WOW! We could see our breath, but it didn’t feel cold. No colder than the air conditioning at Wal-Mart.
Finally we reached the lower edge of the summit. We stopped at a moss-covered area and enjoyed lunch. Shaun, our education grad student and the youngest in our group looked relieved to have a chance to rest. The food was good and we all shared and passed around our lunches. Sort of like a potluck on the mountain!
After eating, at 11:30 or so, we noticed that the clouds were rolling in from the opposite side of the mountain. We still had a good view of the Waianae valley, however.
On the lower edge of the summit plateau, the trail became nearly level, only rising slightly. A short way up the trail we were greeted by signs announcing our entry into the preserve. We each cleaned our boots with the mounted brushes provided. This was to prevent introduction of alien species seeds inadvertently attached to our boots.
We arrived at the boardwalk: two two-by-sixes attached side by side with wire and wooden lattice. The boards rested on the ground. The walkway allowed us visitors to explore this fragile environment with minimal impact on the ecosystem. I was fascinated by the diversity of vegetation within this flatland, seemingly on top of the world. Some of Hawaii’s most rare native plants maintain a tenuous hold on survival here.
We finished our walk through the bog, emerging at the FAA Radar site. A fence designed to keep feral pigs out of the preserve marked the end of the trail. The gate was not locked and we continued up the hill, past a helicopter pad and around the outside of the FAA site fence.
Though the clouds continued to roll in, we stood in awe, viewing hazy vistas of the entire north shore, Schofield Barracks and the Koolau Range on the opposite side of the island. Though my friends burned miles of film and digital bits with their cameras, I worry that the capturing the awesomeness of the view will be hampered by the haziness of the day.
With the clouds looming overhead, we headed back. I retrieved my pack from a tree along the boardwalk, where I had left in order to rest my back. We reached the mossy area where we had recently dined and started the trip down, much of it backwards using the ropes and cables for security. By now we were completely enveloped within the clouds with no view of the horizon whatsoever.
I forged ahead of the group and set up a short rappel for “the rocks.” Though certainly not required, I imagined it would be fun for my friends. I tied off to two sturdy clumps of trees, one to bear the weight, the second as a back-up.
Two of our group carefully climbed down, Steve and George opting not to rappel. The others wanted to try it. With the webbing, we tied Swiss seats, hooked into karabiners and used gloves to keep the friction from burning our hands.
After some minor trouble with moving laterally into some briars, Todd made it down fine. We modified the route slightly after that to prevent swinging into the shrubbery area. Jessica, Lan and Shaun did all made it down like pros. This was a first rappel for each of them and they remarked afterwards that they enjoyed it.
The group headed down the ridge and I stayed back to pack up the ropes and equipment. Therefore they had about a ten-minute head start.
As I was descending the ridge, I heard my friends yelling at me to look up. They were quite far down the ridge below me and wanted to take a picture. I climbed up on a nearby boulder, intending to stand, but on my way up I received a bee sting on my hand. Sitting on the boulder to scratch out the stinger, I felt a burning sensation on my inner left thigh. OUCH!!!! Another one! I waved for the picture and got right out of there.
The rest of the trip back to “three poles” was uneventful. The leaders of the group waited there while the rest of us made our way across the ridge.
Linda and the boys had headed back to the bottom with most of the dogs. Linda later said that often some of the dogs remain at large for days before showing up at home.
The reminder of the hike was practically “each for his own” with the leaders reaching the bottom 15 minutes prior to the last man down. I used a short rope, looping it around trees to assist with the steeper sections. This method likely slowed me down, but I think it was easier with less risk of sliding down and injuring my back.
The remainder of the trip down from the three poles was hard for me. My throat was raw and if I breathed deeply, I stared coughing. No fun! Plus, near the end of the steep part, just prior to the creek bed, my legs got the “shakes.” Strange!
Finally, seven hours after we started or trek, we all safely emerged from the forest, tired, muddy, bloody, bee stung and, at least for me, sore!
We car-pooled back to Steve’s house where George graciously gave me a Coke to drink. Wow, did that taste good!
The hunters were discouraged at having come up empty-handed for the day. I asked one for the story and he explained, “He neva hol ‘em,” meaning the dog let go before they arrived. Guess its McDonalds for them!
On the ride home I could not see Ka’ala’s peak, as it was blanketed with its typical fluffy clouds. I so much wanted to crane my neck in the general direction of the mountain, squint at the radar site and gloat that I had overcome its challenges and conquered it’s treachery. Ahh, but I can do that any time now. What a great feeling.