When I hiked into Kalalau for the first time, the margin of magnificence struck me dumb. There I was, after a gruesome 11 mile hike, standing on Red Dirt Hill gazing up at the mountains, into the valley, down at the beach, and across a bluff that extends over a tormented ocean. All alone on Kauai, I was a single woman, far away from home on the most isolated archipelago in the world, about to begin my two month long adventure in the Hawaiian jungle.
I originally went to Kauai for a university summer travel study from British Columbia. We spent the month galavanting around the island, snorkelling for marine biology and hiking for tropical botany, professors and students alike. However, as students were getting ready to leave at the end of the course, a question whispered itself into my brain. “What if I stayed?” she asked. The question began to take root and a few days before my classmates boarded the plane, I called the airline and extended my ticket for one week. Little did I know, I would be calling the airline during that week and extending my ticket again, but this time, for two months. I was the only one who stayed.
I had heard about the baffling trail to Kalalau from my classmates, and again from peers at a local hostel. Finally, a fellow traveling Canadian convinced me to traverse the trail with her. I had no idea what I was in for or how long I was going. I broke up with my boyfriend of a year and a half, strapped on my backpack, hitch-hiked to the trail head, and began to find out what I was made of.
The mysterious trail runs across the Na Pali coastline on the surreptitious island of Kauai. The oldest island of present Hawaii, the garden isle contains some of the wettest and driest points due to the submergence of the eroding mountains. Along the northwest coast lies some of the biggest mountains on the island, dividing the wet town of Hanalei with the dry, dry beach of Polihale. In between the two areas, there lies an ancient Hawaiian valley nestled in an embrace of the jagged peaks called Kalalau. At one time, this valley was home to 5,000 native inhabitants who built hundreds of terraces across the valley to grow the Polynesian food staple, taro. The Kalalau trail starts at the north end of the island, the only means to get to this valley in the wintertime when the seas are too monstrous to kayak or boat. It runs 11 miles, in and out of valleys, along the jagged craggy peaks of the Na Pali coast. At times, the path is only a 1 ½ wide with a mountain wall on one side, and a sudden drop-off of hundreds of feet into the rock-infested ocean on the other. For most of the hike, the trail is but a mere indentation into the side of a crumbling, rocky mountain. However, as you near the end of the 11 miles, with your pack weighing heavily on your back after the 7 hour hike, the mountains recede into the huge valley of Kalalau, marked by an old wind-blown sign.
There are tourists that the local Kalalau-ians call crazies. They hike in one day, rest the second, and attempt to hike out the third day. Some even try to hike out the next day after they arrive! The tourist boats that pass by blare out on their loud-speakers, “There are hippies living in Kalalau; they like to be called earth people, but I just call them bums”. At my camp on the bluff, overlooking the ocean with the mountains in the background, I laugh at the unsuspecting boats. The crazies, the tourists, they float in and out of Kalalau like the sand which blows across an expansive beach. I go to my hammock, hung up between two java plum trees, sip on some freshly brewed cowboy coffee, and gaze around at my camp underneath a date palm.
When I first found this camp, I was in search of a new site. I came up across the bluff and was intrigued by this date palm that can be seen from almost anywhere in Kalalau. As I walked underneath it, my camp site unfolded itself, causing my heart to spin as I tumbled into a pit of love and admiration. It lays nestled on an ancient Hawaiian terrace, surrounded by man-made, stacked rock walls. In Hawaiian, rocks are called ‘puhakus’; forces to be reckoned with, they lie on top of each other, perhaps in the same way they were first individually set. They tell the story of a more violent, harsh life; one of minimalism and requirements. A tale of labour and love, necessity and strife, these puhakus give off an ancient energy of a Hawaiian life once lived in the Kalalau valley. Standing in the camp, you look out directly onto the ocean. Turning left, I gaze up at the towering, ridged mountains, the mile long beach, and cliffs that extend as far as the eye can see. As I walk out of my campsite onto the bluff, I turn around and the openness of the valley greets my eyes. It is encircled by the mountain range and the greenery runs about 4 miles deep, continuously layered by ancient Hawaiian terraces used for agriculture. The terraces are covered now by seeded java plums which were dropped out of helicopters in the 1950s. Still, my first thought as I traveled up the valley was how similar it was to having Rome in my own backyard. As I moved into my campsite, I set up a kitchen tarp, protecting not only my pots and pans, but food that I hiked in, and a meagre library set up on a bamboo shelf. The fire pit, I carefully put together, lies nicely stacked in the middle, complete with a grate on top. Custom seats, made up of bamboo and duct tape, are set up on larger rocks that lie around the pit. A bamboo swing with pink rope dangles from the date palm. Without any tent, my tarp village sits secluded in the midst of the swaying palms. I had $50 in my backpack, was able to count all my possessions, and I viewed myself as the richest person because I didn’t have anything.
I hiked up to the bluff one day to get away from the beach. Too many people, too much booze, and too little time. Not many people get off the beach when they come to Kalalau. Most stories begin and end with the sand. People don’t know that there are miles of lush valley, a coursing, pumping river that I drank straight from, and a bluff-side that are basically empty except by the few that wander up that way. The Sanctuary, a Kalalau gathering spot, is hidden on the bluff, behind the rock walls and sprouting java plums. Every day, 10 or so people gather in this spot to eat, drink coffee, and smoke a hand-rolled cigarette. Like everyone else, these people have hiked, boated, or kayaked into Kalalau. However, the difference is that these people stay. Many have been in Kalalau for weeks, some for months, and a few for years. We gather here because we are all in Kalalau for the same reason. We aren’t here for a vacation or for the thrill of the hike. We come to Kalalau because we are searching, we are looking for something alternative to the lifestyle of the ‘normal’ world. In Hawaiian, the word Kalalau means ‘to wander’. At The Sanctuary, with tarps swathing the room-like atmosphere of the double fire-pits, we talk about our journeys, our wanderings, which have eventually brought us all to that single spot. Our experiences in Kalalau teach us an appreciation for the elaborate existence of the earth and the pleasure one can receive from living with few possessions.
As a single, 20 year old female, I had never camped by myself before Kalalau. After cooking quinoa and dried fruit over the fire and washing the dishes with water I hiked up from the river, the silence enveloped me, portioning me off from the rest of the world. The first night I laid in my hammock to go to sleep, my environment clad in a dark overcoat, I stared wide-eyed at the shadows. With no one around, I cocconed myself in a $10 sleeping bag, hoping that whatever was out there, lurking or buzzing beyond the trees, wouldn’t find me in my hanging, hiding spot. As my eyes grew weary, I thought about the events which took place to lead me to this position. After the treacherous hike, playing on the beach, wandering up the bluff, and finally establishing my own camp with items I had brought in myself, I was alone and living in the Hawaiian jungle far from anything I’d ever known before. I was searching for myself, to challenge myself, and find out who I was amidst this jungle. I think the reason I stayed was because I wanted an adventure I could complete all on my own; to prove to myself that I could lead a different life and thrive in a minimalist milieu. After 3 months of living in Kalalau, catching fish, prawns, and opi’hi, while learning to traverse the terrain hopping on slippery rocks, and sleeping underneath the brightest full moon I’ve ever seen, I learned that life is what you make it. I have accepted responsibility. My life will always be an adventure, something to top the last. I have searched, I am journeying, and I will continue to wander.
Needless to say, my ex-boyfriend followed me to Kalalau all the way from Toronto. He never gave up on me and came at the end of my trip to bring me home. It's interesting how our relationship has changed throughout the summer. I think the main lesson I learned in Kalalau was learning how to love without walls; to love fully. He has always loved me unconditionally yet I was always afraid to let go and fully reciprocate this love. Now, however, I can say that I love him more than ever with my whole heart and that our relationship is the most life-giving experience I've ever had. Love is more deep than any solo excursion. I am at peace and am not afraid to let myself go and give my love freely, without any hold-backs.
After being able to live and appreciate the native lands of Hawaii, I can finally grasp some meaning in the state motto: ‘Ua mau ke ea o ka ‘aina i ka pono’ --The life of the land in perpetuated in righteousness. These lands breathe out a beat of the ancient Hawaiian drums, drifting through Kalalau, I hear their ghostly footsteps running through the valley. The beauty of these lands and the lives led in them inspires me in my journey.
