 |
| The writer hot on the 22-mile Kalalau Trail, on Kauai’s Na Pali Coast. |
Right as rain: one perfect day on Kauai’s Kalalau Trail
– Joy Martin
Nearly 40 feet of rain falls each year on Kauai’s second-highest peak, Mount Waialeale, making Hawaii’s oldest island one of the wettest places on Earth. Most of the dousing takes place in the winter months creating a general pessimistic aura on travel websites regarding outdoor adventure December-February on this sopping wet Eden.
Rainy season on Kauai’s Kalalau Trail brings persistent natural hazards to hikers, such as flash floods, landslides and merciless melees with muddy rocks; one misstep could lead to a tragic slip toward the roiling Pacific 1,000-feet below the red-dirt route. These contenders have led to the Kalalau’s reputation as one of Backpacker Magazine’s 10 Most Dangerous Hikes.
But the jagged green cliffs, hanging valleys, silver slivers of waterfalls and endless stretch of ocean along the Na Pali Coast provide adventurers with an idyllic backdrop earning the 22-mile trail a spot on Trail Runner Magazine’s “10 Trails That Should Be on Every Bucket List.”
Considering Kauai is one of the fastest eroding paradises in the world, my husband, Nick, and I were determined to not leave without experiencing the beauty and infamy of the 11-mile one-way trail that ends at Kalalau Beach.
We only had a day for the venture. Fit, young locals told us that the roundtrip could take 14 hours. We confidently calculated our Colorado-lungs could shave that estimation off to, at most, 11 hours but decided to get an early start just in case.
January rain dripped on giant jungle leaves outside our window the night preceding the alpine start. We hesitated a moment before rousing and gratefully accepting my dad’s offer to drive us to the trailhead.
At 6:30, the mid-winter sky was still dark but clear with stars and barely a chill from the rain that fell over night. We grabbed two walking sticks propped against the Na Pali Coast State Wilderness Park sign and Nick started his Garmin.
As his watch located satellites, we examined the trail signage. Missing-person fliers and warnings about high surf, falling rocks and the presence of leptospirosis in untreated water made us happy we’d bought iodine pills the day before at a gear shop in Hanalei.
Our dim headlamps lit the first mile through a canopy of jungle steam. It was too slick to run deftly in the dark, so we used our primal sticks to help balance and bound through mud, trying mightily to not squish the hundreds of frogs enjoying their morning choral practice.
A perfect day-hiking destination, Hanakapiai Beach sits 2 miles in from the trailhead. We didn’t have time to investigate the current conditions but passed a wooden sign with 82 tally marks, one for each of the people who have died trying to swim in the surly waters of this otherwise dreamy beach.
We flicked our headlamps off and headed into the permit-holder-only section, unbeknownst to us until our run-in with a ranger at the end of the journey. He made no big deal of it but asked that we’d tell the world that permits are required for anyone traveling beyond the 2-mile marker. Oops.
Thanks to the prevalence of oxygen found at sea level, we quickly tackled the biggest climb of the day: 900-feet of rock-hopping as the sky lightened and the sound of frogs was replaced with ceaseless waves and helicopters starting another day of flight tours of the USA’s most southern state. There are no roads to Kalalau Beach, so most visitors see it either by air or boat.
The trail became drier and drier the farther west we moved and the higher the sun rose. In and out of five valleys we ran, stopping at each high point to take in the colors of the coast and mammoth waves smashing against the sea walls below us.
After refilling and treating water near Hanakoa, the slightly-more-than-halfway campsite, we scared a tribe of goats. This made for our fourth great wildlife spotting since arriving on Kauai: Nick had swam with a sea turtle while snorkeling; I got inked by an octopus on the same outing; and later that day from our hot tub, we watched humpback whales giving real-world Pacific Life commercial performances featuring their lofty jumps and playful fin-splashing.
Ten miles into the run, the narrow path opens up to Kalalau Valley, a breathtaking slice in the island that’s provided scenery for no less than a dozen movies. After passing by a number of campsites and people who were clearly in no hurry, we had reached the beach in just over three hours.
Those with more time typically trek one-way in a day and camp overnight or even stay for weeks, enjoying such primitive amenities as a makeshift volleyball net and all the skinny-dipping you could ever desire. We didn’t know this until a most-excited naked man emerged from the waves, his unruly beard barely hiding a smile as he waved at us from afar. He threw a sarong on and joined a game of volleyball with other lucky idlers.
And so we joined the motley crew and slipped off our sweaty trail shoes and sopping duds and entered the shallow end of the angry Pacific. After refreshing dunks and a few minutes of getting pummeled by the relentless waves, we plopped down on the sand and discussed never leaving as we ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and saluted boat tourists off-shore taking photos of the sun peeking over Jurassic Park’s towering set behind us.
But we knew we couldn’t stay. As much as we loved the pocket of warm weather and break from a cold but snowless week back in Durango, the mountains provide something that the beach doesn’t quite satisfy. We relished the gift and then struck out on the trail again, determined to beat the eight-hour span of life on Nick’s Garmin. Racing the literal clock, we finished in a total time of eight hours and seven minutes just before the battery died.
Splattered in mud and sweat, we still managed to thumb a ride back to Hanalei where we indulged in chocolate milk and jalapeño chips and relaxed into recap about the time we ran the Kalalau Trail in the middle of rainy season and nothing happened. It was simply a perfect day spent running to the end of the line and the beginning of the Lost World on America’s most dramatic coastline, our pale-skinned, snow-deprived, stir-crazy souls full of Mahalo.
13th annual Snowdown Spaghetti Dinner, 4:30 and 7 p.m., Elks Lodge, 901 E. 2nd Ave. 749-2305.
Hand on the Safari Car, 5 p.m., 726 ½ Main Ave. 946-8267.
The Snowdown Firework and Snowdown Light Parade, 6 p.m., downtown, along Main Avenue from College Drive to 12th Street, parade awards show, 8 p.m., Durango Arts Center, 802 E. 2nd Ave. 749-1816.
Snowdown Jungle Jam Dance, 7-10 p.m., La Plata County Fairgrounds. 759-0763.
Snowdown Follies, 7:30 and 10 p.m., event also runs Feb. 1, Henry Strater Theatre, 699 Main Ave.; Durango Arts Center, 802 E. 2nd Ave.
Snowdown Follies Videocast, 7:30 and 10 p.m., Animas City Theatre, 128 E. College Dr. 799-2281.
Chapman Challenge Uphill/Downhill Race, 7:30 p.m., Chapman Hill Ski Area, 500 Florida Rd. 247-8728.
Ski Softball, 7:30 p.m., Softball Complex at Fort Lewis College. 247-2211.
Jungle Jam Music Trivia, 8 p.m., Derailed Pour House, 725 Main Ave. 847-852-0920.
Zumba Booty-Shaking Contest, 8 p.m., Durango Dance, 1120 Main Ave. 769-4154.
Hungry Hungry Humans, 8 p.m., Lawn Chair Kings perform, 8:30-11 p.m., Carver Brewing Co., 1022 Main Ave. 259-2545.