Clarification:
It has come to my attention that there may have been a misunderstanding regarding my last Na Pali blog post. When I wrote it, I talked about feeling a bit sorry that I was not camping overnight. Two things come to mind here. One is, I never intended that mild regret to be interpreted that I regretted not being able to camp "alone" with the gentleman I had just met. For one thing, had I brought my camping things along on my hike, although I had a camping pass, I never intended to go any farther than Hanakoa (the 1/2 way point). It was never my intent to hike the entire 11 miles to Kalalau Beach, only to turn around and hike 11 miles back the next day. I wouldn't have done that no matter how many convivial persons had come along to encourage me; I wasn't ready for it, and instinctively I knew it. The feeling of regret was that it is an awesome accomplishment to contemplate, and someday I would like to do that entire hike. One day I will, but the dream of being able to say "I did this hike" died a little death the moment it was born that day.
The other idea was that I had schlepped my camping stuff (about 5 pounds of it, or 1/6 of my total baggage weight) all the way to Hawaii, and didn't find any use at all for it. I made the executive decision not even to take it to the trailhead. And then along came someone to encourage me to camp, and I felt a bit bad that I wasn't prepared to do what I had intended (to camp at Hanakoa). So the other side of the regret was that I had essentially "wasted" that luggage space, and now had to deal with all the stuff. Of course, I did manage to deal with some of it by shipping it home. I address that in my up and coming post on my travel day yesterday.
So, to put your minds at rest, I never had any intention of going to Kalalau to camp, whether I had my stuff or not, although someday I would like to (I have some training to do before that). I had no intention of camping with a person I had just met, despite the fact that there would probably have been several other people there also (also strangers to me). And once I got to the Hanakoa campsite, I was very glad I had decided not to camp there.
I hope that sets any doubts to rest in any of my readers who were inclined to interpret those "regrets" differently. For those of you who are wondering why I am even writing this, because you didn't assume anything sinister from my perhaps carelessly worded phraseology, my thanks to you, and I hope you will continue to believe the best about me.
Now to finish the day: It had taken me almost 5 hours to get from the trailhead to Hanakoa (including a 20-minute stop at the first beach). Alex and I crossed the river and then stopped to eat something and get a drink of water (from our water bottles, not from the river; although I had my filter with me, I left my water treatment drops in the car). There was another man sitting by the stream; his name was Lesley, and he was a 50s-ish social worker from Vancouver. He was on his way back to the trailhead, hiking "out." Alex got some directions from him, and then I found out that his name is actually Axel, but he tells people "Alex" because apparently Americans have difficulties with names that are different. He didn't phrase it that way, exactly, but that was what he meant. I wished him well, and turned around to head back. Lesley had already left, but had supposed that I would catch up with him, because "you're a runner." (He had commented on my Five Fingers shoes when we stopped to eat.)
Having used up a bit more than 5 hours of the short daylight hours on my hike to Hanakoa, I tried to step it up a bit on the way back. I figure sunset (especially on the west coast) would be around 6:30, so I wanted to be back at the trailhead by 6 just to be safe. I left Hanakoa around 1:15, a bit nervous that I might not make it, but remembering the two 20-minute stops on the way out, I had high hopes of making that goal.
The trail back felt really different than the trail in, although it was the same trail. I was more focused on my walking - again, that "cognitive walking" that uses so much decision-making capability in a short time, with each step and placement of the poles. Which side of this pile of rocks am I going to climb? Which has the best footholds? Which has the least mud or chance of slipping or turning an ankle? I used my trekking poles all the way back; I literally wouldn't have made it back without them, because I could feel myself flagging a lot in the last 2 miles. I was passed by a person or two, and actually caught up to and passed Lesley, who was standing by the trail talking to another fellow, I don't know about what.
I noticed some landmarks on the way back - places I had stopped to take a photo behind me, and so forth - but much of the trail felt really surreal, and at times I wondered if I were still going the right way, because the switchbacks meant that the cliff edge wasn't always on my left. I felt more connected with the Lion on the way back, because I had no other regular company, but honestly I was more concentrated on the effort of hurrying back so as not to lose my limited daylight. I did not want to be on that trail in the dark. By mile 9, I was starting to feel the rocks through the soles of my shoes, and picking my way a bit more carefully accordingly. I made it to the beach in good time, and crossed the river over which I had so carefully climbed on the way in by walking through the water with my feet on the bottom, because it felt so good.
Principally what I noticed (besides the trail in front of me, and the time) were the smells of rotting fruit fallen off the trees, the cool breeze off the ocean (thank the Lion for that, because it was 95 degrees), flowers and little butterflies, and on the way back, ants EVERYWHERE on the ground. Teeming. I didn't notice them on the way in, and I as I spent a lot of time looking at the ground, I think I would have. Maybe they had a time of day that was better suited to their activities? Once I found a shell on the trail, with a moist critter still inside (or I might have pocketed it). Some seafaring bird must have dropped his tasty snack. How odd for a shell to be in the middle of the trail 700 feet up.
I stopped very little, and only for a moment or two to snatch a mouthful of water (I was running low) and eat a piece of fruit leather (Costco in Lihue). I knew my pace was all right but I could feel myself slowing down and I wanted to be done.
I tried using a free app on my phone called "ALLSport GPS Free" (hence the name) to track my statistics, and I was really impressed that although there was no cell service, the app seemed to work just fine with the satellites. According to the stats, the total elevation change was 4485 feet; I wish I could post the elevation graphs because they are impressive. I didn't start the app until about 10 minutes into the hike, so the total time isn't accurate.
I realized that although I got to the river in Hanakoa, I didn't get to Hanakoa Falls (1/2 mile farther inland). By the time I realized it, I was unsure enough about the time I had to get back before dark that I was OK with skipping it, and looking at it over my shoulder from the trail back.
The last two miles from the beach to the trailhead felt like carpeted stairs in many places, especially compared to the trail farther out; there were some steep climbs, but much of it was strewn with pine needles, and was flat with few rocks. I recognized the steeper rocky and muddy areas as being near the trailhead, which was good, because I was really ready to be done. I reached the trailhead at 5:05, exactly 9 hours and 5 minutes after starting out. There were water fountains across the parking lot from the trailhead, so I refilled one of my water bottles. My legs were shaking as I crossed the street, and I got some funny looks, but I didn't care. I was done. Twelve miles, almost 8-1/2 hours of walking. Amazing experience. Done.
Although I didn't get to the trickiest part of the trail (just south of Hanakoa, I hear), I hiked 12 difficult miles in one day, something my concierge had doubted I could do, and a mile further than anyone hiking out would do (unless s/he decided to take a side trip to the falls), I think few people have done Hanakoa as a day trip. I smile to myself thinking about it sometimes, because I like having done something few other people have done. I like being a collection of experiences, although I know I am more than that. One day I'll write them all down for myself and look the over on days I feel I haven't accomplished much.
Mahalo (thanks) for listening
wb
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