The Ephemeral World Of Kalalau

With each step, I feel like my boots are made of lead. Delirious from exhaustion, my consciousness has hit an all time low. The surrounding landscape that was previously vibrant is now distorted and blurred. The late afternoon sun has caused my vision to go hazy and my mind to throb. Focusing on the dusty red trail ahead, my peripheral vision catches glimpses of the pounding surf hundreds of feet below me.

Stopping, I attempt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes only to further spread it across my face. I resaddle my backpack while cinching down my waist belt to try and alleviate the straps from chaffing my shoulders. Josh stopping to drink some water looks exhausted too. He gives me a look that seems to ask "what are we doing?" Reassuring him with silence, I continue my personal battle with exhaustion and push onward.

We will become silhouettes

We started hiking at 5:30am. An eleven mile trail that winds its way along the island's edge to the sacred valley of Kalalau. Along the way steep cliff sides plummet into the ocean and waterfalls seem to fall from the sky into the dark depths of the valleys. The salt spray from thundering waves hundreds of feet below casts a misty aura around the edge of the island.

Judging by the sun's height over the ocean, it's around 4pm. We've been hiking for over ten hours due to a slow pace and backtracking. It's been a long day for us and it's beginning to dampen our spirits. "What are we doing?" I ask myself.

These boots were made for walking - California, Central America, A Road Trip Around The US, Alaska, Hawaii

Just a stones throw

Smooth sailing

Exhaustion

Heading downhill towards sea level, the blood red dirt gives way to a dense forest of tall shrubs and spindly trees. As the trail narrows, glimpses of sunlight are cast through the underbrush tunnel. The branches reach out like fingers and catch my backpack as if holding me back from whats ahead. A couple tugs set me loose and I march onward. Soon the brush gives way to pink, orange, and red flowers. The floral smells lure me farther down the trail similar to how Icarus's curiosity of the sun brought him to his demise.

Ahead of me, Josh steps out of the forest first. Stopping in his tracks to take in the view, he puts emphasis on each word.

"No. Fucking. Way."

Stepping out of the wardrobe into another world. It's as if we stepped into a land that belongs to gods. Ancient Hawaiian terraces stand like massive steps built for ancient deities. Covered in moss, each stone still rests in place from hundreds of years ago and stand ready as if waiting to be revitalized. Kukui nut trees stand old as time, twisted and knotted below the prehistoric cliffs. The mystical spires that surround Kalalau rise out of the ocean like fossilized shark teeth. Their razor sharp points lost in a mysterious halo of clouds.

The beach gradually turns from stone to sand where we are greeted by a naked man hairy enough to be a fuan. Setting our packs down, Josh and I cross the sandy strip of land where a waterfall crashes onto the edge of the beach. Perched on rocks, Odysseus's sirens bathe beneath the waterfall visible to wandering eyes.

Josh and I sat on the beach and watched the crashing waves in silence. The setting sun cast a glare upon the sea helping to illuminate the spires behind us. Like the evening glow, our time here out at Kalalau is ephemeral but even then, we briefly got to stand in the realm of gods.

Breaking the silence Josh says with a tone of awe, "No. Fucking. Way."

"Yeah, I think you got it right."

It's the magical mystery kind

We were born before the wind

Early Morning Rides In The Back Of A Rusty Pickup Truck

Somewhere between R.E.M and reality I'm stirred awake by a voice outside my shack. Softly whispering I hear, "Wyatt... Wyatt... you up?"

To no response, I reply, "yeah, yeah, is it time to go?"

My mind slightly groggy from anxiety caused nightmares from the night before, I lay in bed and hear a gust of wind approach from the bottom of the valley. In a few seconds it will be rustling the waxy leaves of the sixty foot mango tree above my head. As if stirred to my feet by the wind, with renewed inspiration I pop in my contacts, hastily pull on my pants, and grab my wetsuit.

Silent as a mouse, I tread lightly around the house as to not wake any of the tenants while grabbing a few straggling items left behind - towel, surf wax, and my surfboard. Setting my gear in the back of my friend Josh's rusty truck, I sit down on the wet truck lining. While opening his truck door, he comments, "Don't lean on the tail gate, it might fall off at any minute." Shutting the driver door, the ignition turns over and with a slight belt squeal, we take off.

DMV approved bumpers

Just another piece of cargo in the truck bed, I hold my knees in an upright fetal position as I'm wedged between the truck and surfboards like a book stuffed into a librarian's bookshelf. My head swaying back and forth like I'm on a roller coaster ride, the rusty truck weaves up and down, in and out of valleys. From the valley floors to the ridges, my skin switches in and out of goose bumps as the temperature drastically changes.

Holding onto the truck and peering out beyond the cab, my hair lashes out at my face. Smiling, I tell myself, "I'm free as a dog." As if hearing my silent words, the weather retaliates with stinging rain drops. Retreating to the safety of the truck bed I curl back into the fetal position eager to paddle out into the gloomy sunrise.

Surfing is getting expensive

 "Taro fields forever." - The Beatles

 Treasures of another kind

 Cinnamon raisin bread

 Fresh

 Ingredients

 Necessities

 Road kill

 Boar hide hung out for all to see

 Hawaiian legend says that taro represents Hawaiian families because of the way it grows it's children around the mother

 Surinam Cherries

From One Edge Of The Island To The Next

Skipping like a stone across pot holes at twenty miles per hour, we take our seat belts off in celebration of the last five mile leg of our journey. The Tacoma's shocks hardly have time to recover as we chatter across the blood red dirt. Staring at the passenger mirror, I watch as the red dust kicks up and churns behind us giving the sunset a hazy veneer. Focused on our destination in the distance, the raw lava cliffs soar up out of the ocean like old skyscrapers of the past. Cast among the red cliffs, handfuls of green vegetation delineate areas holding water in the arid environment. To the left of us, long sand dunes roll to the ocean's edge signifying the last piece of land between us and Russia. To the right, GMO corn fields stand like minutemen in the soft glow of the evening sun.

"We made pretty good time! A little over three hours." Robo announced from the drivers seat. Looking at a map, our destination Polihale is only a few kilometers away from the North shore. However, separating Polihale and the North Shore is the Na Pali Coast; some of the most extreme coast line in the world. So close, yet so far, the only way to access Polihale from the North shore is by boat or a long drive around the perimeter of the island. It's like driving to a neighbors house down the block, but road construction forces you to take a detour around the city first.

With a sigh of relief and jittery like children during their first road trip, we pull up to our campsite. Stepping out of the truck, we put the first tracks in a long line of sand dunes towards the Pacific. Laying down in the sand, we watch the sun's everlasting light disappear for another day.

Cat naps

Another green flash playing tricks on me...

Sunny side up

 The search

 Experimentation

 Another one bites the dust

 Morning view

There were so many fewer questions when stars were still just holes to heaven

A drastic change from the last Polihale trip