This past weekend Paul and I went for a little hike. It was supposed to be a 14 mile, 2 day, round-trip excursion. The plan was to hike to the top of the
Koolau ridge from the Honolulu side, to the end of the
Stairway to Heaven , camp out, and return the next day via the same route. While that sounds simple enough, it soon turned into my own personal Vietnam.
The planning for this trip was minimal, at best. Paul and I had talked about doing the hike before, but never really all that seriously. I think it was Thursday or Friday that he asked me if I wanted to go and I said I would. Not because I really wanted to, but because it would be a good change of pace and because I would be glad I went once it was all over. The plan was for me to finally get my motorcycle brakes fixed (it only took 5 Saturdays!) and meet Paul at his place afterward. Saturday morning, I grabbed my pack, threw in a tent, sleeping bag, and camelbak bladder and was off.
We started a little later than planned, but were still on the trail at the reasonable hour of 2:00pm. We walked the jeep trail at a good clip and made it to the base of the mountain in an hour and a half. From there we began our climb. It is important to note that this particular trail is rarely used, probably because there is a perfectly good set of stairs on the opposite side of the mountain that brings you to the same destination. The trail from the backside is about 7 miles whereas the Stairway is only about 2. The lack of traffic has it's benefits and drawbacks. On the plus side, you have the whole mountain to yourself and get to enjoy all the raspberries you can find. On the down side, the trail can be hard to find due to the excessive growth.
The growth is what led us astray the first time. About 10 minutes into the initial climb, we started going vertical. At first it was fun. We were doing some easy rock climbing, getting to use our whole bodies to propel us instead of the typical hiking with only our legs. The trail was well worn in this portion because it seems that a lot of people have trouble staying upright (us included). We were sliding on our bellies and grabbing onto whatever we could find; roots, trees, clumps of grass, vines, rocks, etc. The fun was turned down a notch when we realized that we were 45 minutes into the climb, about 1/3 of the way up the mountain, and struggling to find proper holds. I'm a pretty tall guy and it was getting to the point that I was leaping from one foothold to grab the next tree up. I don't want to make that sound more dramatic than it was. The climb wasn't exactly vertical, but it wasn't exactly walkable either. It was very steep and getting steeper and required the participation of all limbs. It was after the first time I had to jump for a hold and was not able to find a safe place to go next that we decided to call off the hike for safety reasons.
As we struggled back down, we were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the day. After all, we had a loaf of french bread and an angel food cake that we had to eat. By now it was right around 4:30pm and we were well worn, as well as covered in dirt, scratches, and sweat. As we reached the bottom of the trail I told Paul, "I don't remember that being vertical. There's a switchback trail around here somewh... there it is." Just like that we were back on track and on hour way up the mountain. It took less than 10 minutes on the switchback to reach the same height as the vertical climb.
We had decided to press on. We still had enough daylight to make it to the top and we didn't have a really good excuse to stop. At this point I should mention the poor physical condition I am currently in. I stopped working out regularly about 3 months ago. I have lost 12 pounds of mass in that time and all semblance of strength and stamina. I point that out so that you will believe me when I say that I about burned out my lungs out of my chest on the rest of the upward climb. Dizziness, panting, and an incredible burning sensation in my legs are what I got out of the next two hours. That, coupled with the previous 45 minutes of strenuous vertical climbing equaled finishing off my entire supply of water before we even
reached the top of the nearly 3,000ft ridge.
Once we reached the top, with Paul out of water as well, we came to a decision point: do we turn around and return to the car or do we press on and beg someone to pick us up on the other side of the mountain. Because we already failed in this summit once and because it would be shorter to go down the opposite side, we pressed on. No sooner had we decided this, we came to our next obstacle: a dead body. Ok, ok, it turned out that it wasn't a real dead body, but just some contractor/construction plastic in the shape of a body. Looking back, it was probably a pretty funny site. Two guys yelling at a pile of plastic, looking for sticks to poke it with (how else would you know it was dead?), and trying to figure out the next move. In the end, with no poking sticks in sight, I ended up using my foot to tap the mummy shaped trail blockage. The plastic was empty. With that potential administrative burden removed, we pressed on once again.
Paul called our friend Ralia and she agreed to pick us up at the bottom. We tapped into Paul's secret reserve of Lemon Lime Gatorade (32 oz goes fast!) got our second wind, and walked along the wind swept ridge as the sun slowly dimmed behind the clouds.
As we approached what I remembered to be the top of the Stairs, a cloud from the windward side enveloped us. Timing is everything, it turns out, because that caused us to miss the trail. About forty minutes later, as the sun was giving off it's last glow, I realized that we had definitely gone too far. We were now at least one ridge back from where we needed to be. We had already doubled back once without success, but I was positive that we had gone too far... or had we? It was a long time ago that I last climbed this... So much indecision.
Long story short, we decided to set up camp, despite not having any water. Then we realized that we were extremely thirsty and at least 12 hours away from our next drink. We doubled back once more. We explored every trail and learned that we took the wrong trail while enveloped in the cloud. This is a good point to mention that I did bring a lot of safety gear for a situation such as this. I had a headlamp, Leatherman, rope, duct tape, and a lighter ready to come to our aid. I was so concerned about bringing that gear that I even doubled checked that I had packed it as we were locking up Paul's car at the base of the trail. For an unknown reason, I confirmed that I had my safety kit in my pack and then took it out and left it in his trunk. Bold move, I know.
We made our way down in the dark and hurried to meet our friend. Of course, nothing is ever easy, especially when you forget your GPS. We fumbled around in the dark woods for a while talking about how good drinking things would be... water, iced tea, Gatorade, juice, milk, and the like. Being really thirsty makes it hard to concentrate on anything but quenching that thirst. Score one for Maslow. Eventually linked up, made our way back to easily accessible water, and were back on track to self actualization.
The next day we went to the reliable old sand bar.
Ralia came out with her very inquisitive 7 year old son. After doing my best to explain how a rudder made the boat turn, how an internal combustion engine turned the motor's propeller and how that in turn made the boat go forward, what a semi-circle was, why my boat didn't have a mast, and answering whether or not he could steer, we
zig-
zaggedly (the answer as to whether or not he could steer was "yes") made our way to the sand bar.
Today, three days later, my body is still wicked sore. On a positive note, I have decided that it is time to start working out again. I'm really not old enough to hurt this bad 3 days the fact.
The Alamo. Pee Wee Herman, we salute you, but there is no basement.
