Cliff Hanger : Hiking Kalalau Trail on Na Pali Coast: an arduous 11 miles, views to last a lifetime

To hike the Kalalau Trail even once in a lifetime is an achievement. It’s 11 arduous miles of up and down along Kauai’s astounding Na Pali Coast. It’s a grueling trip through broiling sunshine punctuated by sudden rain squalls, iron-red dirt that yields to muddy brown slop and wicked switchbacks with devilish stream crossings.

Not to mention clouds of mosquitoes.

To embark upon the trail more than once is either an act of incredible stupidity or of remarkable lucidity--perhaps both. There is no better way to see Na Pali than from the trail: to gaze in awe at the knife-edged cliffs piercing the sky and at lush valleys that hang over the azure Pacific on the island’s north coast between Kalalau and Ke’e beaches. The trail winds past waterfalls and splashing pools, over arching sea caves and through dense jungle underbrush. I have traveled the world--backpacking solo around the globe more than a decade ago--and nowhere else has seemed more spiritual than this ancient Hawaiian trail that traverses this most remote stretch of coast on this most unspoiled island.

I first hiked the Kalalau Trail in 1987. When I finished, tired and sweaty and filthy, I vowed, “Never again.” But a few weeks ago I broke that vow, as should anyone who feels like climbing off a chaise lounge, putting down a forkful of luau pig and actually undertaking an adventure in Kauai.

The Kalalau Trail is a world-class hike. Yet the adventure is accessible in that it is Hawaii, not Nepal, and actually approachable to almost anyone in even fair physical condition.

While you must watch where you put nearly every step, the trail does not demand technical climbing or mountaineering skills. No bears roar from caves; no snakes slither along the ground. Prior hiking experience, while certainly helpful, is by no means necessary. Equipment is minimal and includes stuff you probably already have: a hat, sunscreen, sunglasses, a first-aid kit and running or hiking shoes.

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My mother-in-law’s 49-year-old boyfriend made it through all 11 miles (we only took the trail one way); he was pushed but did just fine. I’m 38 and completed the trek unscathed, though I confess I was in much better shape when I last did it at 28. On the trail, I passed a German woman who was well into her 40s and wearing a backpack designed for carrying infants. In it rested a small stuffed gorilla to whom she was singing lullabies--I kid you not. I heard later that she made the trip safely.

Frankly, the chief obstacle to overcome is bureaucratic. Owing to fears of overuse, the state of Hawaii sharply limits access to the trail, issuing permits for both camping and day hikes. Without a permit, you’re allowed to venture two miles from the trail head but no farther.

During the busy season, May 15 through Sept. 15, demand is “so great that if we allowed people to go in without a permit, we’d have 200 people per day,” said Wayne Souza, the state parks superintendent on Kauai.

The draw is not just the trail but Kalalau Beach, a stretch of sugary sand as far away from civilization as one can imagine. The beach has long attracted free spirits; the music of the Grateful Dead floats through the air, and clothes are decidedly optional. An Internet site for nudists recommends the beach and trail and notes: “You can also hike most of the 11 miles nude (except for hiking boots),” which, while true, seems to me less like fun and more like a mosquito feeding frenzy.

The Kalalau trail has been around for hundreds of years. It is the prime remnant of a network of paths carved out by ancient Hawaiians 800 to 1,000 years ago to gain access to parts of the coast--Na Pali means “cliffs”--when winter surf made travel by sea foolhardy.

A state permit grants you the right to walk from the trail head--where Hawaii Highway 560 dead-ends at Ke’e Beach--to Kalalau Beach and back (22 miles); to walk there and hitch a Zodiac boat ride back out; or to ride the Zodiac onto the beach and hike back to the trail head. That’s what we did.

The Zodiacs land at Kalalau Beach from May to Sept. 15. During winter months, surf reclaims the beach.

On my first trip here 10 years ago, I took a Zodiac down to the beach, then spent three days and nights there before hiking out. There’s little to do at Kalalau Beach, and that’s the point. You think deep thoughts while listening to the surf, watching the sunset and taking in the spectacular star show. Far from the city lights, the Milky Way is glorious and the constellations brilliant.

On my trip last June, there was no chance I would get three days of deep thinking on Kalalau Beach. I had traveled to Kauai for a week with my two young children, my wife, Laura, and her extended family of 16. The whole point of the trip was a family reunion, so spending three days away on a hike would have been bad form. A single day would have to do.

Laura decided she didn’t want to hike 11 miles. But my 29-year-old brother-in-law, Joe Hudson, did and so did David Janeczko, my mother-in-law’s boyfriend.

Permits proved unusually easy to get. The seas had been unseasonably rough throughout spring, officials said, making demand for day-use permits relatively light. So at sunrise the three of us found ourselves on a Zodiac bobbing in Haena Bay. The sea that morning was calm and the veteran watermen at the helm, John Sargent and Mike Wilson of Hanalei-based Capt. Zodiac, said it was the first smooth day of the year.

The boat ride cost a pricey $70 per person. But the boat has much to recommend it. If 11 miles is a long walk, 22 borders on masochism. And the Zodiac takes you past sites you otherwise couldn’t see, among them a sea cave with a secret backside entrance. As a bonus, we were accompanied that morning by dolphins playing in the gentle swell.

We zipped onto Kalalau Beach at 8:15 a.m. Joe and David collected their backpacks and shoes and shuffled over the sand to the trail.

The permit requires that hikers be off Kalalau Beach by 10 a.m. But before setting off, I wanted to see if the beach was as I remembered it.

Four naked men invited me to join them for breakfast. One was pierced in the most unusual places. “Bagels OK?” another asked, holding a stick with a bagel on it over a campfire.

After bagels, coffee and gracious conversation, I took a dip in the surf, then ambled over to a waterfall for a refreshing shower. As I got dressed, I chatted with a naked woman who was rubbing freshly picked aloe vera over her sunburned chest. She said she had stashed a cache of food back in the jungle and was planning to spend a month or more in Kalalau Valley. A friend, she said, was going to teach her how to carve a flute.

“I’ll be living like the ancient Hawaiians,” she said. “Can you rub some of the aloe vera on my back?”

Satisfied that little had changed at Kalalau Beach in 10 years, I tied my shoes and started walking. It was precisely 10 a.m.

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I vividly remembered the first challenge of the trail: tiptoeing across rocks to ford Kalalau Stream. What I had forgotten was that the trail then leads out to an arid patch of crumbly red dirt and up an enormous hill. The Hawaiians called the hill Ka’a’alahina, “the fragrance of Hina,” goddess of the moon, because planting and harvesting in the Kalalau Valley was regulated by the phases of the moon. Red Hill is the modern name. “The big red mother,” Wilson had said aboard the Zodiac, “that’s what everyone on the trail calls it.”

From sea level to the top of Red Hill is more than a 600-foot climb. Feral goats watched me--I could have sworn with disdain--as I sweated up the hill.

At the crest, the view of the sea, the mountains and the beach was outstanding. The trade winds were refreshing.

Only nine miles to go.

As I headed down, I remembered the trail’s distinct rhythm: Up a hill and out to a ledge over the water; down into jungle and valley, across a stream and then up again.

Up and down I went, ascending to landmarks with the nicknames “Whiner’s Hill” and “Crawler’s Ledge.” Kalalau Beach receded in the distance.

About noon, as a light mist began to fall, I ducked under a thick canopy of trees and ate the lunch I had been carrying in my backpack, in the process finishing off one of the 2 liters of water I’d brought.

Up and over Manono Ridge, the trail leads to what is considered the halfway point, Hanakoa Stream. A side trail leads to a beautiful falls, though it’s about a mile each way. The state allows overnight camping near Hanakoa Stream, though why anyone would camp here is beyond me. The resident mosquito population is, in a word, fearsome.

With about three miles to go, I rounded a corner and headed for an immense boulder that marks the high point of the trail, 800 feet above sea level.

For a moment I thought I was imagining things, when I heard a voice calling from the rock: “Alan! Alan!”

A few more steps and I saw David. He was dragging. Worse, he had virtually no water left. About half of his two-liter supply had leaked out in his pack.

It was 2:15 p.m. and I had covered nearly eight miles in four hours. It took nearly four more hours to shepherd David the remaining three miles to the trail head. From the boulder, the trail runs sharply downhill to Hanakapiai Stream. It was so steep we grunted with each step. In addition, the trail was a slippery, sloppy mess; we were soon covered with mud up to our knees.

The final descent to the trail head consists of sheets of rock laid over the trail. When we arrived at the road, Joe was waiting for us. He’d breezed through the trail in six hours, and had spent the afternoon relaxing at Ke’e beach.

We had left our rental car there at the beach lot, and David weaved in that general direction. He threw his gear in the trunk, then turned and smiled. “We did it!” he exulted. “I want to do it again.”

“Me, too,” I replied. “Not soon,” I said after a pause. “But I won’t wait another 10 years.”

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GUIDEBOOK

Na Pali Paths

Getting there: There are no nonstop flights from the U.S. mainland to Kauai, but United, American, Delta, Continental and Hawaiian airlines fly from LAX to Honolulu. There you must change to a Hawaiian or Aloha airlines plane for Lihue. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at $270.

Getting to the trail: The trail head is located on the south side of Hawaii Highway 560 where it dead-ends at Ke’e Beach on Kauai’s north shore. It’s well marked by a sign. Figure on at least an hour’s drive if it’s early in the morning and you’re coming from Poipu, Kauai’s main beach resort.

What to take: A hat, sunscreen, sunglasses, hiking shoes, water, a comfortable backpack or fanny pack and a first-aid kit for scratches and cuts. Take more water than you think you’ll need, at least two liters. If you’re going all 11 miles, also take purification tablets. And unless you’re impervious to mosquitoes, take repellent.

Getting a permit: The state issues 12 day-use permits for the Kalalau Trail. Anyone is welcome to hike the two miles from the trail head to Hanakapiai Valley and, as a result, locals call this section “the cattle trail.” Past Hanakapiai, however, you must have a permit, available up to two weeks in advance.

Camping permits are good for a maximum stay of five nights. The state issues camping permits for up to 60 people per day for Kalalau Beach. Call or write the State of Hawaii, Department of Land & Natural Resources, Division of State Parks, 3060 Eiwa St., Lihue, HI 96766; telephone (808) 274-3444.

Taking the boat: Many boat operators tour the Na Pali coast, but the only one currently making the Kalalau Beach drop-off is Capt. Zodiac, P.O. Box 456, Kuhio Highway, Hanalei, HI 96714; tel. (808) 826-9371. Drop-off fare is $70 per person.

For more information: Hawaii Visitors Bureau, 180 Montgomery St., Suite 2360, San Francisco, CA 94104; tel. (800) 353-5846 or (800) GO-HAWAII.